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So I lean in and make sure to brush my tits against his back as I stroke the cloth down his front.
That gets a reaction. He quivers, his entire body jerking, but he continues to stare straight ahead.
“Does my touch displease you, my lord?” I keep my voice soft and low, reaching over him to wash his shoulder. As I do, my breasts push into his face. “Should I stop?”
“No.”
The word is soft, but it’s enough. I continue to bathe him, pressing my breasts into his face at every opportunity. I bathe his shoulders thoroughly, and then slide the cloth over his thin chest and down his stomach. His cock is painfully engorged, and I work the cloth lower, wondering at my next step. Should I…?
I decide that yes, yes I should. Not just because I think he will like it, but because it’ll please me to do so. I move to the little table I keep beside the tub and add a few drops of oil to my hand. I set the cloth down and then smooth my palms together. Leaning over the side of the tub, my breasts practically spill out of my gown when I move in, and I notice his gaze goes there. He’s so busy staring at my cleavage that when I touch his cock, it catches him unawares.
Neska gives another full-body shudder as I close my fingers around him.
“Should I stop, my lord?” I meet his gaze, trying to keep mine unconfrontational. This is about me showing him what pleasure really is when it’s given, not taken.
“…No.”
Again, that one simple word. But I smile at him to let him know that I’ve got him, and I slide my fingers around his engorged shaft. With wet, quick strokes, I jerk him off under the water, my gaze on his face the entire time. I get to see every reaction, from the clench of his jaw as he tries to remain motionless, to the way his lips part and his breath quickens when my hand does. He gives the smallest shudder when he comes, but he grips my wrist when he does, and when I try to pull away, he holds me there, as if he needs me to keep touching him. I murmur soft words of encouragement, of how lovely his cock is, how much bathing him pleases me, of how much I liked watching him come, and I could swear that he enjoys my words as much as my touch. When he’s done, I clean up the strange, floating clump of spiderweb that is his release and go back to bathing him. I wash his arms and move down to his fingers, massaging as I do. I move to his legs, starting with his feet and his long toes, and by the time I make it back up to his thighs, I can see he’s hard again.
Neska is silent throughout this, but this time when I reach for his cock, he makes a soft little groan, as if this is a pleasure he didn’t dare ask for.
I jerk him off again, clean the water of his leavings, and then wash his long, silky hair for him. I rinse it with fresh water, then run a bit of oil over my fingers and work it through the strands, detangling them. When his mane is combed out, I work it into a loose braid and then impulsively slide my arms around his wet neck, hugging him from behind because I’m so very pleased with this moment. It was just a bath, but it feels like more.
It feels like Neska is starting to see me, in a strange sort of way. So I kiss his cheek and whisper, “Now you don’t smell like dust, my lord.”
He turns to look at me, and the expression on his face is utterly dazed. I realize he’s still pleasure-drunk from the hand-jobs I’ve given him, and it takes everything I have not to laugh with delighted amusement. Instead, I move to his ear and brush my lips over it. “Sex is just sex, but if there’s an emotional connection, it’s so much more, don’t you think? I touched you today because I wanted to. Think on how it compares to how we touched in the past.”
And then I pat his shoulder and get to my feet, the front of my dress wet and my skirts damp, and head down to the kitchens to get myself something to eat.
I’m feeling rather smugly pleased with myself. Let Neska mull that over for a bit. Let him think about how it feels when he’s used compared to how it is when a touch is freely given.
* * *
I wakeup the next morning to find Ossev leaning over my bed, his blue eyes vivid. “Will you bathe me?”
And I bite back a chuckle.
Eight
After the bathing incidents,things seem to change between us. The unspoken tension is gone. No one demands to be serviced or for me to flip my skirt up so they can fuck me. Instead, Neska and Ossev seem to retreat a step, as if content to wait for my affections to come naturally. Zaroun wants nothing more than affection and loving touches, so it’s easy to spend time with him. Now, when someone seeks me out, it no longer feels like a chore.
Living in the tower has started to become…enjoyable.
Zaroun and I make time to spend together every afternoon, with his head in my lap and just caressing and petting. We talk of nothing, but our time together seems to calm him. He gets a bath, too, and even though no one seems to want to bathe themselves, at least the stench of dust is gone. I braid Zaroun’s hair into intricate woven tails, and work on making a robe for him with a dark, embroidered trim to match his eyes.
Ossev is a simple one to please, too. He comes to me when I’m in the kitchens and asks questions about what I’m doing, what my plans are for the day, and what my food tastes like. He’s fascinated with everything, and so I try to describe each bite or action, thinking of what Neska told me in the past—that just because they see what is happening does not mean they comprehend it. If I mention I miss a particular fruit, or a flower, I’ll see a spider a few days later with a bundle for me, and know that Ossev is wooing me in his strange way with gifts.
Neska is the tricky one. He watches me at all times, sometimes, I suspect, even when I’m with the others. He does not ask anything of me. He doesn’t give me gifts. He simply observes with narrowed eyes, as if I’m a fly he hasn’t figured out how to swat just yet.
I try not to let it bother me.
Instead, I focus on making the tower my home, since I will be spending the rest of my days here. Ossev added a second door to my chamber, and a window. It is now light and airy, with a fresh breeze coming in whenever I like. It makes me feel less trapped to sit in the sunlight, and I love it. Now that I have a door and can leave whenever I please, I explore the tower a bit more. There’s a few additional chambers like mine—with doors, of course—like the one Faith and Aron stayed in. I leave those rooms alone since they don’t feel like they’re used unless there’s a visitor…and something tells me that even if there is one, I’m not going to be allowed near them. The Spidae are oddly possessive. I sweep the floor of the ramp clean of cobwebs, apologizing to the spiders as I do. I leave the walls alone, since I know they like to crawl all over them. I tidy the kitchen and spend a lot of time there, baking and cooking for myself. I’m dreadful at both, but I don’t mind it, even when my creations don’t turn out so well. I’ve only myself to please, after all.
The door to the outside is barred, and I haven’t asked to go out yet. I’m not a prisoner, but something tells me that they wouldn’t like me going out, either. It’s too early for me to push my boundaries with the three Spidae more than I already have, so I keep my rooms tidy and try not to think beyond the walls here.
* * *
“Bread is supposed to rise,”I tell Ossev as I work my dough on the counter. “I’m not sure why mine isn’t. I think bakers normally let theirs sit in the sunlight, but I don’t have a window down here.” I slap the dough down on the surface again, annoyed. It has the right sort of consistency for bread, I think, but it’s utterly flat. “Perhaps I should just make crisps instead of trying to make a loaf.”
