The Water In the Bowl

Copyright © 2007 by Crystal Barela

I was standing in the water. Standing in the bowl. An oval shaped full-length mirror trimmed in delicately carved mahogany reflected the length of my nude body. My ankles and feet could not be seen. They were blocked from view by the rim of the white porcelain bowl. The diameter of the basin was just wide enough for the length of my feet from heel to toes.

Earlier, Mistress had taken off her jacket and hung it from a gold hook on the back of the door. She removed her studded cufflinks and put them in her vest pocket, then folded the sleeves of her pressed white blouse to her elbows. The crisp line of my Mistress’s black trousers broke when she squatted behind me, a steaming jug of hot water in her hands.

Now, she tipped the pitcher of water and the wet heat spread around the seam of my feet. The liquid squeezed between my toes and swam over the arch of my foot. It pooled around my ankles and rose up my lower calves with a soft swish. All skin below the water bloomed to a delicate pink.

Mistress took the sea sponge next to the basin and dipped into the water. She pressed the sponge against the back of my knee and the hot water warmed its way back to the bowl. The drip of the water was the only sound in the room. Sponge to thigh and stomach. Sponge to back and ass. Water lingered on the fine hairs that trailed from my navel and lower.

I would have closed my eyes to focus on the sensations, but Mistress would not be pleased. She liked my eyes open, watching her hands on my body, the dark red of her nails in contrast with my pale skin. Seeing the rivulets of water caress my body held me in a mental prison, unable to express my desire, but literally bathed in it.

With one hand, Mistress took the length of my long black hair and pulled the soft strands to one shoulder. She pressed the wet sponge to my collar bone and the warm water spread in tiny streams down my torso. The wetness caught in the puckered wrinkle of one dark nipple, before traveling to the hollow of my navel. She brought the sponge up again and the water rushed between my small breasts and down across my belly into the dark hairs covering her sacred treasure.

The sponge was an extension of Mistress’s hand and she ran it over every inch of my body, my breath quickening as I fought not to move or tip the bowl. She stood behind me, the darkness of her pants and vest strengthening my silhouette. The gentle curve of my hip made more womanly by the sharp lines of her dress.

Mistress brought her arm around my waist and pressed the sponge between my legs, against the moist heat gathered there, and lingered at my center. She watched my eye color change from soft gray to blue with my rising desire.

She slid the sponge along my slit until it pressed against my aching hole. Mistress twisted her hand back and forth, her thumb rubbing my clit as the soft buffer was forced inside me.

My mistress took a step back to admire her work. The ochre spotted thing sprouting from my bush like an exotic mushroom.

Mistress stepped behind me, close enough to ruin the careful ironing of her suit. She reached between my thighs and drove the sponge further inside me. Not two fingers, but all of them, thrust against my pussy.

My control snapped. I humped her hand uncontrollably.

“Filthy cunt,” my Mistress whispered. The sound of her voice was a tonic.

I ground my fuckhole on her fist. Wanting her in me. Mistress twisted her knuckles until the sponge and her hand took up all room in my body. I was crying. Emotion overwhelmed me. She pressed into me again and again, my wet box pulling her deep inside.

My Mistress pulled the sponge free. I came hard and desperate. My weak knees wobbled the bowl.

“Take hold of the mirror.” There was no emotion in her voice.

My fingers gripped the wooden frame, careful not to spill the water from the bowl. The sound of her fly being unzipped nearly made me press back against her.

Mistress always took me from behind.

The silky length of my black hair was wrapped around her fingers. She yanked my head back and pressed the sponge in my mouth. My thick scent clogged my nostrils and coated my tongue.

It was hard to breathe.

Mistress rubbed the length of her strap-on dick along the crack of my ass. I cooled my cheek against the glass in front of me, eyes wide open. Her cock was big but I was wet—more than wet and she had no trouble sliding into the back of my womb. Mistress was still, her breath hot on my neck. She pushed her hand between us. Her thumb pressed my anus and I nearly came again. She wiggled the digit into the hole. Never had she touched me there. Even though I wanted Mistress in there, fear clenched my ass cheeks tight.

The water in the bowl sloshed in danger of wetting the floor.

The sound of Mistress’s hand coming down on my hip was like a door slamming in the room.
I bit down on the sponge hard, my juices dribbling down my throat and chin.

The water in the bowl settled.

Mistress pulled her big rubber dick from cunt. The thick knob pressed against my back door. Instinct said no. But my body always wanted my mistress in me. Her tool hurt, the pain ripping the nerve endings around my sphincter. Tears wet my cheeks but still my ass pressed back against her. Mistress’s cock thrust through.

My body felt backward, like my insides were outside and the layers of my skin were on fire. I looked over my shoulder and Mistress met my eyes. I nodded.

She slammed into my ass with a swift stroke.

I stumbled, the water in the bowl sloshing onto the floor.

My heart fell into my stomach and my eyes shot to my Mistress’s. I couldn’t help it, my eyes pleaded!

Mistress punished me, fucking me like I took it from behind every day, every hour, every minute.

The bowl wobbled and tipped, water spreading across the shiny bamboo in all directions.

The mirror shook and I held on for dear life. My body pulsed and my clit was a hard pearl of aching need.

Mistress pulled free.

I dropped to my knees.

The sound of the bowl rolling across the floor echoed in the room; the circular waves of the porcelain came to a stop. It was the only sound I could hear over the pounding of my heart.

“Turn around!” she said. Mistress was angrier than I had ever seen her.

Even though I never faced her, only saw her reflection in the mirror in front of me, I turned slowly on my hands and knees. Mistress had her cock in her hand and she was stroking the black rubber. With every pass of her hand the swollen head of the hard dick passed through her fingers.

I wanted her swollen flesh. Her hard desire to press the back of my throat. My tongue ached.

My lips trembled. But she didn’t give me what I wanted, she didn’t come closer. I rose to my knees, mouth watering.

With a twist of her wrist, Mistress unsnapped the harness and came in a wet stream. The heat of her wet juices slapped me in the face and made my pussy cream. I was shocked. Mistress made a mess in front of me. She liked her space, her fucking to be clean and orderly. Controlled.

Mistress returned her clothing to their previous order. Her fingers trembled slightly when she helped me rise.

“Fill the bowl.”

Eyes down, I did what I was bid and returned the soapy hot water to its home in front of the mirror. I stepped inside the liquid and looked at my reflection.

My normally smooth hair was matted with my Mistress’s come and my eyeliner in black streams beneath my eyes. The sponge poked obscenely from between my lips.

Mistress gently removed the sponge and walked over to the sink. She rinsed it several time before returning. Mistress bent and soaked the sponge.

“Close your eyes.”

I did. Mistress gently wiped my eyes and cheeks clean. With careful strokes she bathed my soul. She placed a soft kiss on my forehead and left me standing in the water. Standing in the bowl.