A bath with Dorothy

"Golondrina DEAR," Dorothy says. "What do you say?"

The undertones of the Porter's brassy voice vibrate through your body. After your bath in the Chilly Tarn, it feels lovely to be held. Pressed up against the giantess' bosom inside her blouse, you feel her nipples swell and stiffen against your skin. Dorothy's thinly veiled carnal proposition intrigues you. She desires you.

"Would you give me a bath, Dorothy?" you ask.

"Ah, I HOPED you'd say that," she says. "Dorothy will fix you right up with a BATH. You're such a lovely dear thing, Golondrina. Those awful girls had no account to be CRUEL. Now I'll take you to my ROOMS, dear, then we'll get us a bath in the LAUNDRY. We can get you House clothes for Leontes right there."

Dorothy tramps round the great pile of Boarbristle proper to a back courtyard. In one corner, steam rises from a stone building. Outside, a handcart laden with crumpled linens awaits attention. Dorothy steps up and calls in the window. "ALL RIGHT THERE, I GOT ONE DROPPED IN THE CHILLY TARN. YOU SET UP THE GREAT TUB FOR A BATH AND CLEAR OUT."

"Yes Dorothy!" you hear a voice call out. You think you hear laughter as well, but your ears are ringing from her shout.

She trudges out of the courtyard and a short distance to a sort of cottage.

Dorothy's place is an old stone outbuilding, once perhaps a stable or carriage house, but now a dwelling fitted with strongly-built outsized furniture for the giant portress. She drops your bag atop a great basket holding a few of her soiled tunics, lays a clean one atop the others, and loosens her belt.

"Have to have you out, dear," she says. "We'll have you right over to the laundry."

So Dorothy does have an indoor voice.

Dorothy straddles the basket and slides you down her belly and out of her tunic. Your cheek brushes over her soft furry mound of Venus. You look up, your view dominated by her grand pudenda, shaggy with red-gold hair and looking big enough to swallow you. The pink lips glisten with moisture and gape open hungrily, showing her inner folds.

She looks down at your nakedness. "Oh dear, we can't have you get a chill, now." She takes off her tunic and lays it on top of you. Covered with her warmth and the clean sweat of a hard-working woman, you ride in Dorothy's clothes basket back to the laundry.

The laundresses have cleared off as Dorothy directed them. Dorothy hangs up her clean tunic on a peg and puts your bag up next to it. She lays you on your back on a table.

"Just a little rinse, dear," she says.

Dorothy bends over the tub and fills a ladle. In the slanting window light, the square frame of her shoulders and the lines of her back muscles, contrasted with her swelling hips and buttocks above her tree-trunk legs would make a dramatic artistic study.

Half a ladle of steaming water pours over you. You sigh as its warmth relaxes you.

"Over now, dear." Dorothy's big hand on your hip helps you roll over.

Another gush of warmth washes over you from behind.

"Now a little soap and scrub, and we'll pop you in the tub."

A wet, nubbly flannel rubs up and down your back. Her big hands are gentle in their strength. When she washes between your legs, the flannel lingers on your intimate parts. A soapy fingertip presses the flannel to your bumhole and gives it a gentle little scrub.

"Such a lovely little dear," Dorothy says. "Over again, now."

Dorothy looks down at you with a broad smile. Her heavy breasts bounce as she puts soap and water on another flannel to do your front. The wet, soapy cloth caresses you as Dorothy works it over your arms and legs. Your own nipples stiffen as the nubbly cloth slides over your breasts, and you take a deep breath and smile back up at Dorothy.

As Dorothy slides the flannel between your legs, you open your knees wide.

"Ah dear one, I HOPED you fancied more than a bath," she says, a brassy note creeping back into her voice. Her strong, broad fingers caress your folds and raise lovely tingles that spread through your body. Dorothy laughs softly. "But do let's have a bath first."

Dorothy rinses you with another ladleful of water.

"Into the tub, now, little dear," she says.

You stand in the great washtub, water up beyond your waist, holding onto the edge and watching Dorothy soap and rinse herself before she joins you in the bath. She turns and shows herself for you as she dips, scrubs, and rinses. As she moves, her unusual proportions, tall and thickly built, recall art class again and again, until another move spreads her pudenda, the great wattles of her inner lips suffused with blood, and you simply stare, absorbed in the spectacle.

Dorothy rinses once more and steps over the rim to join you in the tub. The water sloshes as she settles down. You squeak as the water's motion pulls you off your feet. Dorothy laughs and catches you, cuddling her to herself, and sighs.

You sit in the steaming water, Dorothy's great long arms wrapped round you, cushioned by her belly and bosom, until you start to doze.

Dorothy murmurs in your ear. "Would you fancy making a little joy with me before you go back to your House?" The undertones of her voice vibrate through your back as she cuddles you tight.

You take a long slow breath. "Yes, Dorothy," you say. Your heart thumps. It feels glorious to be desired.

"Ah, yes, Golondrina," Dorothy rumbles. "Be my love and my little girl today."