The blood drains from my face. Is he threatening to cuff my wrists to the sides of the tub if I don’t stop covering my breasts? I’m shaking as I lower my hands to my thighs. I know I’ve understood correctly when he smiles and gives me a curt nod.
I’m shocked by our ability to communicate without words. I’ve never tried to talk to someone who spoke a language I don’t know. It’s bizarre, and yet we’re managing. But it will be exhausting if I have to gesture to express my thoughts and needs for the rest of my life. The sounds coming out of the Venkorians’ mouths are not noises I could ever learn to make.
The man sets a palm on the back of my neck, covers my eyes with his other hand, and leans me back until my hair is completely underwater.
I panic and reach for his forearm, but he doesn’t let my facego in. In seconds, I’m upright, startled, as he pours what I assume is shampoo into his palm.
He points at my eyes and squeezes his own closed for a few seconds. I understand his meaning and lower my lids to avoid getting soap in my eyes.
As soon as he starts massaging my scalp, I whimper. His touch is so nice. I can’t recall the last time someone washed my hair. It must have happened when I was a toddler, but that was so long ago.
He takes his time, and I’m glad because I never want him to stop, but eventually he tips me back to rinse off the soap. I’m not nearly as scared this time. I know what to expect.
Next, he pours more soap into his palm, lifts one of my arms, and washes from my fingers to my shoulders. He does the same to the other arm and then my feet and legs.
I think he might be done, and I won’t have to endure him washing my torso, but I realize I’m sadly mistaken when he grabs my hips, stands me on my feet facing him, and sets my palms on his shoulders.
I’m getting him wet, but that’s not even a tiny fraction of my concern because the man reaches around to wash my back and then my front. He cups my breasts and spends far more time than necessary fondling them.
When he pinches my nipples, I yelp.
He chuckles, his voice deep. It seems to reach inside me.
With one of his giant palms on the small of my back, he uses his other hand to play with my breasts again, glancing at me. He’s smirking.
I’m cold, standing here in the chilly air, but my face heats as my pulse increases. It feels so odd having him touch me like this, but I like it.
Eventually, he slides his palms around to my butt and then runs them up the fronts of my thighs. His head tips back to meetmy gaze while he drags his thumbs higher and higher, coming too close to my private parts.
On a sharp inhale, I try to move away and avoid the odd sensations, but the man reaches around and swats my bottom. Hard. Shocking me. All the air leaves my lungs.
He gives me a sharp, intense look and shakes his head.
I’m panting as I inch forward. For some reason I can’t explain, I don’t want to anger him.
The man holds one of my butt cheeks firmly and wiggles his fingers between my thighs, prodding me.
When I part my legs a few inches, he nods but continues to tap my inner thighs. Does he want my legs even wider? I spread them, just in case, and he takes the opportunity to slide his palm all the way up until he’s cupping my most private parts.
Gripping my bottom tighter, he stares into my eyes while he drags his fingers slowly through my folds.
I gasp as my knees nearly give out, but he has a secure hold on me—both my butt and my crotch.
I’m tingling all over, my body shaking from sensations I’ve never experienced. His fingers are wicked, and he keeps stroking through my private parts, making me aware of a sensitive bundle of nerves I didn’t know existed. He even slides his middle finger back and washes my tight rear hole, rubbing it over and over until I think I might faint.
Suddenly, it’s over. He removes his hand and helps me sit on my bottom again.
FOUR
I’m trembling violently, grabbing the sides of the tub so I don’t slip underwater, panting as I try to process what just happened. I should have pushed him away. I have no idea why I let him touch me so intimately. Except, obviously, I couldn’t force this man to stop. He’s far too strong for me to be able to overpower in any way.
I’m having conflicting feelings because I want him to touch me like that again. In fact, I’mdesperate. My body aches in a way that has nothing to do with lying in a metal cage for days.
My mysterious man drains the water out of the tub, wraps me in a towel, and lifts me effortlessly out of the basin. After returning to the exam table, he dries me and squeezes out as much water as he can from my hair. Then he surprises me by using a comb to carefully untangle every lock of hair until it’s been so cared for that it’s nearly dry.
He does all of this without giving me anything to wear. He also makes me sit tall, my legs dangling over the edge of the exam table. Every time I slouch, or he doesn’t like where I put my hands—which is anywhere but at my sides—he swats me.Sometimes he slaps the back of my hand; other times he gives a sharp spank to my thigh.
I feel like a trained animal, which isn’t a stretch since I just spent days in a cage.
