A bath!

Martin had been educated by Monks of Sol while growing up. He had been taught because he’d been expected to enter the monastery from a young age. He knew what the old buildings were called. They were buildings from the extinct Yrkai civilization, from which Yrkheim took its name. It had been an advanced empire in its time, and some of the old technology and magical artifacts they created still worked, although the Yrkai themselves were long vanished.

A **** took the cloak that was wrapped around his shoulders and he stood there in his habit.

“You’re ripe,” said Brunhilde, “Take one of those candles so we can see. There you go. Follow me.”

Martin plucked a candle from one of the sconces and carried it with him. The floor of the house was stone, although they were in the wooden part. Martin guessed that it was built on the foundation of an old Yrkai structure that had since crumbled. He followed Brunhilde down a dark hallway. The floor was stone, but the walls were made of some kind of white plaster criss-crossed by wooden beams. At the end of the hallway, there was a stone arch, and Martin remembered that the house was built into the side of an old Yrkai tower. They entered through the archway, and suddenly the room they were in was too large for the little pool of light cast by his candle. He could not see the walls or ceilings. And it was very chilly. He wrapped his free hand around himself. His teeth chattered.

“Cold?” said Brunhilde, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and gently squeezing him against her.

“Yes,” said Martin.

Brunhilde spoke her incantation again, and torches blazed to life around them on the walls. Martin blinked in the sudden light. This was a larger room, entirely stone, and shaped like a circle. There was an archway on one side that probably led to a staircase to ascend the tower. In the center of the floor was a depression, almost like a tub sunken in the floor. Leaning over it was a hideous stone gargoyle. It looked like some kind of bat demon. Its fanged mouth was open, as if it were snarling down at someone trapped in the tub. There was a collar around its neck with a chain hanging from the collar. Martin stared at it, wondering. Did the Yrkai think that such things were attractive?

Brunhilde released his shoulder and walked over to the gargoyle. She pulled on the chain, and Martin gaped in awe as water came running out of its mouth and into the tub. And… Was that steam rising from it, too? It was hot water? How did they heat it? A hot spring under the tower? Magic? Was someone tending a furnace somewhere?

Martin decided that none of that mattered when he watched Brunhilde strip again. He’d seen her naked more than once now, but her body still enthralled him. He watched her wide, pale shoulders as she stretched and yawned, fully nude. He could spend a week counting the freckles on her shoulder blades and upper arms. She turned her torso toward him. Her bright green eyes looked coquettishly at him and she beckoned him forward, then turned to the bath. He stood still a moment longer, watching her hips swing, the round globes of her naked ass moving hypnotically as she stepped into the water. He tore off his habit and limped after her.

He came to the edge of the tub and realized that the floor in this room was no longer stone. It was marble. This had been a place of luxury many centuries ago. Brunhilde was sitting in the bath with the water coming up just barely to her nipples. There must have been some ledge there for her to sit on like a chair. She looked up at him and smiled again.

“Step in, nice and easy,” she said, offering her hand. He took it and stepped into the water. It was a longer drop than he thought and he nearly fell, but her strong hand steadied him. He sad on the ledge beside her. The water came up to his chin.

“Ahhh,” he said, settling down. She put her hand on top of his head and scratched his scalp as if he were her pet. _Perhaps I am her pet_, he thought, and smiled. The water was so hot that it took a moment to get used to, but it was a welcome change from the cold. He sighed, a little color returning to his face from all the heat, and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth and the feel of her hand on his head.

Her grip on his head tightened and she briefly dunked him under the water. He popped back up, sputtering and **** a bit.

“What the hell?” he spat, trying to breathe. She laughed loudly.

“Gotta wash your hair, too, kid,” she said. It wasn’t really about his hair, of course. She just wanted to dunk him. He looked up at her indignantly, and his facial expression made her laugh again.

“Oh, gods,” she said, “You really do look just like a cat. A wet cat.”

In spite of himself, he smiled wryly and said, “So now you’ve got a wet pussy.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied.

They sat for a few more minutes and relaxed. He eyed her breasts, half-covered in water. They were round and white, with a light dusting of freckles at the top of her chest.

“If you like those so much, why don’t you wash them?” she said, “There’s a bar of soap right there on the lip of the tub.”

Martin grabbed the soap from the lip and turned back to Brunhilde. She was resting with her back against the side of the tub, elbows propped on the edge as she leaned backward, thrusting her round breasts into greater prominence. She watched his hands as he worked up a lather with the soap.

“Sit in front of me,” she said. He looked at her quizzically.

“C’mon,” she said, taking him gingerly under the armpits and pulling him toward her. He wound up sitting on her lap facing her, which placed him just under eye level with her. She reclined back, putting her arms along the edge of the tub, and let her head roll back. Her massive tits were right there in his face, and he could feel his dick getting stiff from seeing them so close. He hurriedly lathered up his hands and placed them on her breasts. He started off by rubbing his hands over her nipples in slow circles until they stiffened. She gasped as his hands rubbed her breasts. Martin stared at them. They were so soft, except for the hard little nipples poking into his palms. He put his hands under her breasts and weighed them, bouncing them a little. Heavier than he expected, they jiggled in his hands. He gripped them and massaged them. Then he pinched her nipples lightly, and she moaned in lust. He returned to rubbing her breasts, pawing at the tops where they met her chest, then diving his hands down her cleavage, soaping them up thoroughly. They were soft and malleable and slick with water and soap. But then she opened her eyes and looked at him.

“I know you’re enjoying rubbing down my tits, but I’ll need you to wash the rest of me. And you’ll be doing this a lot from now on, so you’ll need to learn. Rinse me off.”

He complied, splashing some water on her breasts. His mouth watered as he watched the suds slide slowly off of her milky white tits.

“Stand up, sweety,” she said. He did so, standing on the ledge so that the water came up to his navel. She hoisted herself out of the water and sat on the edge of the tub.

“Now do my legs,” she said, “Start with my feet and work your way up.

He didn’t need to be asked twice. She lifted each leg out of the water in turn. He started on her feet, worked his way up her perfectly smooth, ivory calves. He ran his hands up and down her soft but finely muscled thighs, trying to concentrate instead of looking at her pink labia. Her legs were big enough to hold up the large Somai woman, and it took him a while to work his way up each one. On the first leg, his soapy fingers grazed the back of her knee, and she jumped and let out a small cry.

“What’s wrong?” he asked worriedly.

“Nothing,” she said, regaining her composure, “I just… I’m sensitive there.”

“Sensitive?” he asked, “It seems like you’re ticklish.”

She made as if to say something, but stayed silent. He moved up to her waist, soaping her thin belly with its subtle curve. Then he washed her hands for her, carefully taking them into his own and rubbing the soap into her fingers and palms, moving up her smooth warm wrists to her upper arms. Her biceps were muscular, not like a man’s but strong and firm. Then he took a sponge from the lip of the tub and assiduously washed the suds from her glistening body.

“Alright,” she said quietly, her voice nearly a whisper, “Now it’s your turn.”

She took the soap and started at his shoulders. She wasn’t as thorough as he had been. There was something in particular on her mind.