I yelped in surprise and tried to twist away. Strong hands grabbed my sides and held me under the flow of water. "No, quit squirming, we've got to get you clean!" He turned me this way and that under the shower. When he was satisfied, his hands left me, and the water slowed to a tiny trickle. I heard him moving behind me. "This your body wash? Rob doesn't use it?"

"Yes, it is, and no, he doesn't. Why?"

"Oh, no reason." I heard more motion, then suddenly, his body was pressed against me from behind. I felt him hard in the cleft of my ass, and the sensation sucked my breath away; I squirmed against him in spite of myself.

Then his arms reached around me, and I felt the slight coarseness of my bath sponge on my neck and shoulders and breasts. He lathered me, working his way down, and I felt the warm sudsy water spilling down my body. I felt a stirring, arousal coming to life within me, and writhed against him, enjoying the heat of his body pressed against me , the feel of his arms wrapped around me, my own helplessness. The rough sponge moved lower, over my nipples, and I gasped and pressed tighter against him.

"This marker you wrote on yourself with doesn't come off easily, does it?" He scrubbed harder, almost painfully, over my breasts, and I cried out and squirmed against him. His hand slid around the side of my breast. "You have a little tiny bruise, right here." His thumb pressed into a sensitive part of my breasts, and I yelped. "You must have done that last night when you were squeezing your breasts."

The sponge moved lower, and ground hard against the soft skin of my belly. I felt the lather cascade over my mound and down my legs. "Hold still!" he said, as his hand tightened on my breast, and pinned me more firmly against his body. "You're awfully squirmy."

He bathed me that way, his body pressed against me, reaching around and soaping me up with the sponge. I felt roughness on my inner thighs as he worked to scrub me clean; then felt him kneel behind me as he worked his way down my legs to my feet.

When he'd finished, he rose and turned me around by my shoulders. He slid his arms around me, drawing my body tightly to his, and began lathering my back with the sponge. He traveled down my back, slowly, inexorably, and soon I was whimpering and grinding my hips against his. I could feel the hardness there, and raised myself onto my tiptoes to lower myself on it...

"No." He stepped away and reached over my head, and the warm blast from the shower washed over me. I cried out in surprise, and he held me firmly as he rinsed me off. It felt sensual, but at the same time impersonal, as if he were cleaning a prized possession.

When he was finished, he unhooked me from the showerhead and lowered my arms, leaving my wrists bound together. My shoulders ached from the way I'd been tied, and I held my arms tightly against my body.

"Rob's coming into town today, right?"

"Very late tonight. Tomorrow morning, technically."

"And will I still get to fuck you after that?"

"I-" I had no idea; I hadn't really thought that far. "I don't know. Up to him, I guess."

He took my hands in his, and guided them between his legs. "I think I'll give you a little something before I go. Oh, and we still have to discuss your end of the bargain..."

"What bargain?"

"Well, seems to me that you said if I gave you what you wanted, you'd do anything I say. And I think I gave you what you wanted, so..." His hands slid down to my ass, pulled me close against him. He was rigid between my fingers, his erection straining against me.

"What is it you want?"

"Another show," he said, and laughed. "Tonight. When you get home from work. I love watching you. This time, you'll put on a show just for me, nobody else watching." His hips pressed forward, and I felt his shaft sliding through my fingers. "Only I'm not going to tell you what to do. I want you to do whatever you like."

"But I..."

"No buts. Now kneel." His hand slipped up my back, caressed my neck, then wrapped in my wet hair. He pulled, not gently, forcing my head back, and pushed me down to my knees in the shower stall. My heart fluttered. "Here." A bar of soap was thrust between my fingers. "Soap your hands."

I turned the bar of soap awkwardly, the cuffs constraining my motions. When I was sufficiently soapy, he pulled the bar of soap away from me, and placed my hands between his legs once again. "Make me come."

I curled my hands tightly around the rigid shaft and stroked. His breathing intensified; I heard him sigh as I squeezed tighter. I gripped him firmly in both hands, working my way from the head of his cock to the base of his shaft, over and over again.

It didn't take long. I felt him move, felt him reach for something, then he brought his hands near mine and he shook and gasped and twitched in my grasp. He reached down and pulled my blindfold off in a single motion, and I realized what he was doing...

...too late to prevent it. His hand held the bottle of body wash, cap removed, against the end of his cock, and as I stroked, he cried out and came. I watched, fascinated as he spurted thick white come into the bottle.

"You didn't!"

"Oh, I did." His knees buckled for a second, and he steadied himself and straightened. Then, casually, he slid from my grasp and swirled the bottle, mixing the body wash with his come. He replaced the cap and set the bottle down on the ledge in the shower. "Just something for you to think about the next time you get clean," he said, and grinned down wickedly at me. "You'll be washing in my come."

My cheeks grew hot and my breath caught in my throat. He lifted me to my feet and unhooked the carabiner holding my wrists together. "Time to get moving! You don't want to be late for work." He rinsed and stepped from the stall. "I have to be going as well. I'll be looking forward to tonight!" He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. I stood flustered, watching him towel himself dry; then he dressed and was gone.

I stood naked and dripping in the middle of the bathroom for a long time, not quite sure what to think or do. In my mind, I heard myself begging him to use my mouth; I felt his hands between my legs, drawing out my orgasm; felt his flesh between my fingers... I was still aroused, and slightly overwhelmed, and not entirely sure how I felt. What would happen after Robin got home-would I still be fucking Ranbir? Would Robin expect me to continue exhibiting myself to him, or giving my body to him? Did I want that? I hadn't had time to process any of the things that had happened over the last two days, but I couldn't deny how much my body had enjoyed everything that had happened...

The writing was still faintly visible on my breasts and body; he had not quite managed to scrub it all away. I ran my fingers lightly over my skin. The marker I'd used was permanent; the ink was faded but still readable. I shivered and whimpered.

The passage of time eventually prodded me to dry myself off and get on with the business of life. I dressed conservatively, long skirt with blouse and business jacket, what Robin liked to call my "frumpy banker's clothes." I put on the coffee and started making toast, the process distant and mechanical; in my mind, I was still bound on the bed, and the image of myself on my hands and knees, mouth open, would not be shaken. I opened the refrigerator, and my breath caught; the stick of butter I'd used the night before, blunted into a tapered cylinder, had come partly unwrapped, triggering a flood of images of the things I'd done in front of the camera. I felt a twitching, unbidden, between my legs. I heard myself whimper, trying not to think of all the possible reasons Robin had wanted me to save it.

The ruins of the clothing I'd so meticulously shredded from my body last night still lay scattered on the living room floor. I made a mental note to myself to clean up after work, and a small corner of my brain found humor in the incongruity-"well, I need to do some errands, you know, tidy up from ravishing myself in front of an audience last night..."

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. The normal, day-to-day business of moving other people's money around, attending staff meetings, reassuring nervous clients, consumed most of my focus-most, but not quite all. Some small part of me was still in the bedroom, and that part kept tugging at the corners of my attention. I kept turning over the things I'd said, simultaneously appalled by them and savoring them. The power those words had to become real, the way being told to beg for something made me want that thing, fascinated me. I caught myself murmuring the words out loud to myself, as I tried to understand their power. "Please, please shove your cock in my mouth, I am a filthy desperate cocksucker, please come in my mouth..." I raised my fingertips to my lips and closed my eyes. "Fuck my mouth, fill it up, don't let me swallow, make me messy..."

My phone chirped to announce an incoming message, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I dropped my fingers from my mouth and stared blankly at the phone for a moment before I flipped it open.

Thinking about you. Can hardly wait for the show tonight. J

Before I could flip the phone shut, it chirped again.

ps you look good covered in come

My pussy clenched and tightened. "Oh, you're good," I said out loud, "you're really getting the hang of this."

It occurred to me to wonder how much he and Robin were talking to each other, and how many of my secrets Ranbir was privy to. The relationship that had developed between Robin and I had grown slowly, with many missed steps, as we had explored what we both wanted; I'd always had a vague need for something different, and always known that the things everyone else seemed to want from their relationships didn't quite work for me, but it took me a long time to be able to figure out what that need was and to put words to it.