Chapter 319: Chapter 319- Taking a Bath with Ladies

“You want to,” she said finally, into the towel, “say something else to make this worse?”

“Shall we take a bath?” he said pleasantly.

Another silence.

Then: “I’m sorry.” It came out quiet and compressed, the sound of someone who had lost every argument. “I didn’t mean for that to — you just — you wouldn’t stop and I—” She stopped again. Her jaw worked. “I couldn’t — I’ve never had anyone touch me like that and I—”

She was going to start crying again.

He reached down and picked her up.

He lifted her cleanly with both arms, one under her knees and one at her back, carrying her in a smooth princess style the way a man does when he has decided she is going somewhere and is transporting her there. Her naked body pressed against his chest, full and warm and heavy — her soft belly and wide hips and the full, round, heavy weight of her breasts pressing against his chest with warm skin-on-skin contact as significant mass met another surface.

She grabbed his neck.

Both arms went around his neck instinctively so she would not fall, gripping with white-knuckle tightness because she had been picked up without warning and her sense of spatial orientation was already severely compromised.

“Wait—!” The alarm rang clear in her voice. “I will fall — put me down, I’ll walk—”

“You can’t walk,” he said. His tone stayed easy and factual.

“I can—”

“Your legs gave out twenty minutes ago.”

A pause.

It was an honest pause. Her thighs were still trembling with the aftershocks of everything the last hour had delivered, so she knew her legs were in fact not operational.

She tightened her grip on his neck.

He walked toward the shower.

Her breasts pressed against his chest with each step, full and heavy and warm, jiggling softly, their thick rounded weight shifting with the motion of being carried, her brown nipples brushing his skin. Her face pressed into the side of his neck with mortified surrender, the way a woman buries herself in the nearest available surface when she chooses not to exist right now.

She could feel his body clearly.

He felt hard and warm and cut against her — the abdominal muscles firm against her side where she pressed to him, the defined, dense build of a body that was not soft anywhere. It was the specific young-and-built feel of him.

“You’re young,” she said into his neck. Her voice carried a small, slightly horrified note.

“Yes,” he said.

“How young?”

“Young enough to still have opinions about it.”

“That’s not—” She gave up on the sentence.

He reached the glass shower booth.

He slid it open with one hand and stepped in.

Behind him, Veronica rose from the floor.

She rose in an unhurried, fluid motion, standing up from her knees with the easy confidence of a woman for whom this position was not unfamiliar and who had no complicated feelings about leaving it. She crossed to the shower. His free arm reached back without looking — reaching out smoothly — and his wrist caught hers. The grip felt warm and decided, the clear come-here pull that was not rough and was not a question.

She stepped in.

The three of them stood together.

The glass booth received them with warm steam beginning to gather, Raven setting Frau Müller on her feet but keeping one hand at her waist with firm insistence that she was staying upright and he was going to enforce that. The booth was not large. The three-body closeness created immediate close-quarters skin-on-skin contact.

Frau Müller’s back found him.

It pressed fully and involuntarily with no space left — her back against his chest, the warm hard defined lines of his abs against the small of her back, skin meeting skin directly.

Her face went red.

“He is—” She reached back, found him, and assessed. Her hand felt the hard cut zero-softness of his abdomen. “He is very young. He has — this is a very young man’s body—”

“He’s very handsome, too,” Veronica said cheerfully from his other side. “Only if you could see.”

“I can feel perfectly well that—” She stopped. Her hand had moved, reading the dense ridge-and-valley texture of a six-pack beneath her palm. “This is not appropriate to feel.”

“But you’re still feeling it,” Veronica noted.

Frau Müller’s hand came back quickly. She withdrew it with the sharp motion of someone caught doing something she should not.

Veronica stepped closer.

The water came on.

It ran warm and full, October-warm, finding all of them simultaneously — cascading down Frau Müller’s back, down Veronica’s front, over Raven’s shoulders and chest and downward.

Veronica leaned forward deliberately.

She opened her mouth, took in a mouthful of the running water, and then found the side of his neck and ran her mouth down to his chest, cleaning him with warm thorough attention because her mouth was also useful for this.

She cleaned him completely.

The warm oral care was thorough as she attended to the evidence still on his skin.

Her thighs found him.

Below.

She closed them around him with sliding deliberate pressure — his cock, still present and warm and not yet in any hurry, now nestled between Veronica’s thighs with warm closing pressure from both sides, the kind of thighs that had a long and fluent history with this exact location and were using it now to wake what they knew how to wake.

A feeling moved through him.

It came gradually, blood moving in that familiar way as arousal found its full amplitude from the pressure of her thighs working slowly, the friction they created, the warm and deliberate rub of her inner thighs.

His hands went to their asses.

Both of them at once.

He filled both hands completely and simultaneously — his left hand found the full wide thick soft expanse of Frau Müller’s ass behind him, fingers pressing in with the clear intent of a hand assessing what it had been thinking about since the massage table.

The thick flesh yielded fully, the considerable weight of a woman’s ass that had been carrying this for thirty-one years and had no precedent for someone touching it like this.

His right hand found Veronica’s.

It closed on the curve of Veronica’s ass with warm familiarity, the owning touch of a man returning to something he had been away from for several minutes.

He squeezed both simultaneously.

It was a full, both-hands-full, comprehensive squeeze.

Frau Müller made a sound.

Veronica smiled.

Their bodies pressed close together in the warm running water of the booth. Frau Müller stood from behind, her back against his chest, her ass filling his left hand, her heavy jiggling breasts pressed against his forearm. Veronica stood from the front, her breasts against his chest, pink nipples against his skin, her thighs still working slowly, her hands finding steady purchase against his shoulders.

The three of them stood there.

Warm water ran over all of it.

He leaned forward.

His face found the space between both of them, moving close so his mouth arrived at the specific point exactly between both women.

He kissed them together.

His mouth found both of theirs at once, lips pressing warmly against the corner of Veronica’s mouth and the corner of Frau Müller’s simultaneously in a three-mouth, three-tongue kiss where no one had asked anyone for permission and the plan had always been this.

Veronica opened immediately.

She kissed with trained willingness and full tongue, the way a woman does who had been through this before and had no objections. Her tongue found his with warm wet familiarity.

Frau Müller—

Her mouth opened in what was supposed to be a protest.

His tongue found the opening.

“Mmmph—!!”

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