Bathing Beauty

BATHING BEAUTY

by

Andrea Dale

copyright 2011,
Andrea Dale

Published by
Soul’s Road Press

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BATHING BEAUTY

by

Andrea Dale

It all started because Paul's mother was an
Esther Williams fan.

He grew up watching the sleek swimmer,
respectful and fascinated by strong, independent, creative
women.

And rubber bathing caps.

I didn't actually learn this about him until
we found an old poster of Esther in an antiques-and-collectibles
shop at the shore. We had a funky and eclectic décor, and I thought
the poster was neat, too, so we bought it and had it framed and
hung it on our sun porch, which had something of a nautical theme
already.

It wasn't until I came home early from
shopping with the girls one day and found Paul masturbating to the
poster that I suspected that anything was up.

I wasn't upset, or even concerned. We had a
healthy sex life, and hey, sometimes a guy (and even a girl) has
gotta take matters into his own hands. In fact, the sight of him
sitting there, cock red and slick in his fist, made me feel frisky
enough to dive in and help out.

I knelt between his legs and took the hot,
hard length of him into my mouth.

He'd been at it long enough that his own
sweet pre-come mingled with the mostly flavorless lubricant he'd
used. I flicked my tongue against the little hole to coax out more
of the sweet liquid. He whispered "Oh, yeah," and caressed my hair,
not quite pulling me down harder on him, but encouraging me to
continue at will.

It wasn't long before I felt his balls tense
and heard his breathing catch, and I knew he was on the edge. My
pussy tingled in empathetic response (knowing too that he'd return
the favor) as I coaxed out his pleasure. I looked up at him as he
came, and saw his eyes were wide, and fixated on the poster.

*

I asked him about it later, when we were in
bed, and he confessed everything like a naughty schoolboy who
always knew—and even half-hoped—that his secret would be
discovered.

Esther had consumed his boyhood fantasies,
featured heavily in his adolescent longings. His first wet dream
had been of her (and we both laughed at the pun in that). Finally,
out of erotic desperation, he'd stolen his mother's rubber bathing
cap. It was lime green, he said, with big flowers sprouting off of
it. Hideous. But compelling.

He knew he couldn't give it back to her
afterwards, so he said the dog had chewed it up. He kept it hidden
in his mattress for years, brought out only in the dead of
night.

Paul was a little hesitant as he told me the
story, watching for my reaction, having to be coaxed to tell all
the details. We'd been happily experimental when it came to sex,
but he'd worried that this was a little farther over the edge than
I'd be interested in. I knew, too, that he'd feared tainting the
adolescent fantasy. I reassured him, and in the end he said he was
glad to be able to tell me.

What he didn't know is that I was already
mentally plotting a nice sticky fun birthday surprise for him.

*

Thankfully, I had time to prepare, because
it took me a while to find exactly what I needed. I wasn’t even
sure it existed. But it did: a retro water skiing show, the kind
with people stacked in a pyramid, like in the Go-Go’s “Vacation”
video.

Best part was, they wore bathing caps.

Not rubber ones, alas, but close enough for
my purposes and, I hoped, Paul’s desires. From afar, it wouldn’t
really be easy to tell what the elaborate headdresses were made of.
It was the show that counted.

Plus there’d be synchronized swimming. And
proper bathing caps or no, that had to count for something. It was
an Esther Williams fan’s dream come true.

When Paul woke on his birthday morning, I
greeted him with a kiss, cappuccino, a bagel with cream cheese and
lox, and a card that told him he was going to have a special
day.

Lunch was a lovely meal at a prime seafood
restaurant at the shore, and then we were off to the show.

Paul had a mix of mild confusion and
burgeoning lust on his face when he realized what we were about to
see. I snuggled up against him and breathed into his ear, “This is
your special day, honey. Enjoy.”

He enjoyed, all right. More than once I saw
him adjust himself, and for a while even lay his program over his
lap to ensure innocent bystanders weren’t treated to an eyeful. I
was tempted to bring him off right there at the show, but the
bleachers weren’t exactly set up for any modicum of privacy, and it
would kind of spoil the occasion to get arrested for public
indecency.

I had other, better plans.

In the parking lot, he backed me up against
the car and kissed me, his tongue darting into my mouth in a way
that makes me think only of how that would feel on my clit (and I
always knew that pleasure would be forthcoming). He pressed his
hips against mine, and I felt the outline of his hard cock against
my mound.

“
Thank you, sweetheart,” he
said when we broke for air. “That
was
special.”

“
Oh, we’re not through
yet,” I said, unable to keep the teasing glee from my voice. “This
was just…foreplay.”

I swear I felt his cock twitch against me.
We decided I should be the one to drive home, just to be safe.

*

It wasn’t long before I had Paul naked and
stretched out on our bed, his cock at half mast, pulsing towards
full erection as he imagined what erotic surprises I might have in
store for him.

He'd been a competitive swimmer in high
school and college, and had the body for it: long and lean with
sleek, seal-like muscles; broad shoulders and narrow hips; and
mostly hairless, so he hadn't had to shave his chest and legs like
some of his teammates. Indeed, I'd always been hot for the way he
looked in a Speedo, the shiny Lycra outlining the taut dimples in
his hips and the heavy soft package of his penis and balls cupped
in the front.

I didn’t think I had a rubber fetish myself,
but I found myself wondering how his groin would look encased in
rubber. Deep royal blue, to bring out his eyes.

As if I’d be looking at his eyes.

We’d played with cock rings before—simple
leather adjustable ones—so I figured a slightly stretchy rubber one
wouldn’t be too much of a step up. I rolled it down Paul’s cock,
gently tucked it behind his balls. Now he was fully hard, his cock
like velvet-covered steel in my hands.

He reached for me, nuzzling my breasts
before grazing his teeth across my nipples, just the way I like it.
I’d been wet all day, really, just imagining how this would go, and
now a fresh wave of desire shimmered through me, from nipples to
clit. I wanted more.

That’s when I pulled out the bathing
cap.

Yep, I’d found one of those old rubber ones,
It wasn’t lime green, unfortunately, but white, with a couple of
red and blue flowers on one side that gave it the look of a cloche
hat from the 1920s.

Paul sucked in his breath when he saw it.
With a deliberately lewd grin, I sprawled back on the bed and
stretched it across my pussy. “Dive in,” I suggested.

He didn’t need further encouragement. He
rarely did, but this time he was like a man possessed, breathing in
the rubbery smell as he found my clit.

It wasn’t long before I needed more, though.
The material was just too thick for me to get full sensation—and I
needed it right now. I pulled the cap away, and he paused, just for
a moment, to turn it over and run his tongue along the side that
had been against me, tasting my juices coating the rubber. His eyes
were closed, his face worshipful. Then he turned back to me, and he
gave me the same worshipful attention.

I held the cap across his neck and used it
to pull him closer as my thighs started to tremble. My orgasm
wasn’t long in coming, but I could feel every second, every degree
of it as the erotic sensations pooled in my groin. My legs, my
stomach tightened, and then the flick of Paul’s tongue against me
finally pushed me over the edge.

It took me a moment to recover, but when I
did, it was time to focus on him.

To my amazement—and, I’ll confess, delight—I
almost sent Paul over the edge when I rubbed the bathing cap across
his nipples. I knew he was sensitive there, but the feel of the
rubber heightened things exponentially. I expect the cock ring was
the only thing that kept him from coming from the nipple play
alone.

Well. He was close, and I wanted to bring
him off so much my clit was tingling again in anticipation. I
trailed the cap across his balls, watching as they jumped. Listened
to his breath hissing between his teeth.

I slipped my hand into the cap and drizzled
rubber-friendly lube across it, and then, using it almost like a
mitten, wrapped it and my fingers around his steely cock.

He cried out my name, his hips rising off
the bed. Just a few tight strokes, and he was pulsing and
twitching, his come mingling with the lube, the musky scent
mingling with the rubber smell, and I think I had a sympathetic
mini-climax just from watching him and hearing him.

You’d think that would be enough. But we
played long into the night. I don’t know…I didn’t think rubber was
my thing. Still, there’s this bra-and-panties set I’ve found
online, in a jaunty red, that I’ve got my eye on…

*

Called a “legendary
erotica heavy-hitter” (by the über-legendary Violet Blue), ANDREA
DALE writes sizzling erotica with a generous dash of
romance.
Her work appeared in the
LAMBDA-award-winning anthology
Lesbian
Cowboys: Erotic Adventures
and
Romantic Times
4.5-star
anthology
Fairy Tale
Lust
, as well as about 100 other
anthologies from Harlequin Spice, Avon Red, and Cleis Press.
She finds passion in rock music, clever words,
piercing blue eyes, the wind in her hair, and the scent of the
ocean. Visit her
website
for more
information.

If you liked this story, you might also
enjoy these other Andrea Dale treats:

“In
Her Hands
”

“The
Queen of Christmas
”

“Redemption
”

And for even more of
Andrea Dale’s online publications, visit
Soul’s Road Press
.

“Bathing Beauty”
originally appeared in
Rubber Sex: Erotic Stories
(Cleis Press, 2008).

Author's note: All
characters depicted in this work of fiction are 18 years of age or
older.