Letter - 1
From Torg Adventure
My dear friend,
It is with great affection that I send you this communication. Since we parted company in London, I have had quite the adventure. As you know, I boarded the airship to Morocco with some trepidation and mixed feelings, my heart full of longing to stay by your side as you departed on your own journey.
Since we sacrificed bathing in favor of loving, the slickness between my thighs only made me wish even more fervently that we might repeat our morning of delight. But it was not to be. Thus, I embarked under less than ideal emotional state, but my funk couldn't survive the view that assaulted my senses as we soared over the city and out over the countryside.
Even better was the lovely porter assigned to see to my comfort, his dark skin and accent marking him as a native of the land to which I was bound. Ah, my dear, I tell you truly, he saw to my comfort with great enthusiasm and aptitude! From his first greeting, "And how may I settle you in most comfortably?" and the gleam in his eye, I could see he had noticed the flush on my skin and perhaps even the darkening bites on my shoulders when my shawl slipped.
"I believe I would like to bathe. Would that be possible?" I politely inquired.
"Certainly, miss." He began to press buttons and pull levers in my state room. With a hiss, a section of wall lifted away and revealed a large copper tub. Another lever started the flow of water into the tub, steaming hot. I wondered again at the wealth my mysterious host in Morocco must have in order to afford this opulence for a simple employee. "May I undo your stays?"
"Please." I turned my back and he deftly untied and unhooked for me. Overwhelmed by emotional and physical exhaustion, I left modesty behind as my jacket and corset fell away and I was left in just my light shift. Dark hands lightly touched my shoulders and my shift fell away as well, leaving only stockings.
I had forgotten till that moment that you had requested the odd souvenir of my drawers, and I felt quite brazen. He fell to his knees behind me and began to beguilingly roll down the silky sheaths on my legs, all the while acting as though this were all part of his job description. I had no inkling at that moment that he was much more than a mere porter on an airship. I obediently stepped out of them and into the tub at his urging.
The water engulfed me in perfect sweet, hot, spicy fragrance, exotic like my companion. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, inhaling scents of some imagined market or perhaps a temple to some pagan god. A splash brought me back to the moment and I opened my eyes to the sight of my handsome porter, also in his altogether, settling into the tub with washcloth in hand.
I tell you truly that, as I looked at his slender dark form, I couldn't help but compare it to your larger, paler body. His muscles were subtler, longer, leaner, compared to your more powerful self. His hair gleamed darkly in the light from the window which, even now, gave us such a view as we began to move out over the water. The length of it was a surprise to me, as he had worn it under a cloth when he had been clothed in his uniform. I resisted a strong urge to reach out and stroke it, pulling him to me by its rope-like braid.
He began with my feet. Gently, he washed every inch, pausing meaningfully from time to time to look into my eyes as if to ask permission to continue. I was so bemused by the strangeness of the experience that I never once thought to ask him to stop. I don't remember ever having been treated this way, though I suppose mother must have done so once upon a time. But that was in another life before I had grown up into a world of coarseness, properness and rigidness. And certainly well before you introduced me to all that I could feel if I simply let a man touch me as I had always wished to be touched.
And so my fine young porter washed toes, heels, instep, worked his way up my calves and behind my knees, paused for a long look into my eyes, and then on up my thighs, first on the tops and outsides, then behind and up the insides. Another pause and look, and he moved on to my belly, avoiding my soft curls for now, as if saving them for last.
He took my hands, which had been resting on my belly, into his and slowly, softly, carefully washed them, rinsed them, and took first one forefinger and then the other into his mouth. He thoughtfully licked and bit at various parts of my hands for a while before moving his cloth up my arms to my pale shoulders, now beginning to bloom with red and purple marks from your attentions. Clucking in soft disapproval, he gently washed those parts and my neck, leaning me forward to get at my back.
From beside the tub, he lifted up a ladle and began to wash my hair. At first tenderly, then with a growing vigorousness, as I failed to stop him, he scrubbed at my scalp and pulled at my hair, playing with my shoulder length curls and stimulating me in new ways. I will never again be unmoved by my own bathing habits, I tell you now. The rinse was unceremonious, and he settled me back against the far end of the tub.
I watched, bemused, eager to see what else he had in store for me. He returned to his washcloth and began to wash the places he'd missed on the first pass. A touch to a breast, yet another pause and look, and then he swirled the cloth towards the center, stopping on my rosy peak and daintily tweaking it between thumb and forefinger with the cloth. He began to squeeze, all the while watching my face. I gasped, but not in pain. He smiled and squeezed harder. When I closed my eyes, he released me and moved to the other breast.
Again the touch, the pause, the look, the swirl, the pinch. Again I gasped, this time with a very conscious awareness of warmth growing between my legs. My eyes fluttered shut as he bore down and then released. His hands drifted down my belly towards the warmth. Lightly, he stroked my curls, paused, looked for a sign I wished for him to stop. But I didn't!
My dear, I couldn't have said no in that moment even had you asked me to. And with nothing spoken between you and I, I had no notion of a reason in the world I should call a halt to this delight. On the contrary, I spread my legs open for his hands. A slight pause and mildly surprised look and then his long fingers dipped in to sample that place, washing away the last vestiges of you.
His hands were soft, not those of a working man. It was at that moment that I grew aware that there was more to this man than I had previously understood, but I didn't care. I abandoned myself to his ministrations.
Ah, my dear, I fear my time to relate my story to you has ended for now. I will write again and tell you more soon. And do tell me about your journey. I ache to know what happiness you have encountered on your path.
Fondly,
S
