The Adult Story Hub

As she slid her pewter Mercedes sports coupe into the one remaining guest parking space, Mrs. DuPont took in the old-fashioned, romantic charm of this country B&B. She wished it was earlier in the day, she could vaguely make out a well-manicured garden of shrubs, some still holding leaves of red or holly-green. She slipped on her red fox wrap and picked up her soft-sided leather overnight bag along with the matching shoulder bag that held all her necessaries, stepped delicately from the car and set the alarm on.

She could not resist a further look at the garden and made her way gingerly to what looked like the entry point. There were two ornate white iron benches flanking the way. She set her bags down and stepped into what now, on closer inspection, appeared to be a walking maze of bushes trimmed to about 6 feet tall.

The exhaustion of the drive from the Cape slipped from her as her curiosity and delight peaked. There were footlights every 10 feet or so, just enough to enable her to pick her way through in the growing darkness. Despite her careful lifestyle, she could not resist such an artful treat, even if her best judgment told her to head inn-side and register.

She heard rustling of leaves, and jumped, startled by an overly friendly tabby Tom now wrapping himself around her calves, his tail tickling between her thighs, further up. Suddenly, a woman's voice spoke to her, the nearness of the voice, highlighting her vulnerability out here in the darkness and privacy of the maze.

"Ma'am, you might come on inside, now. We need to make repairs to the little bridge you'd come to near the center, and it's treacherous at night... both dark and slippery."

"Oh, of course, thanks for the warning," she barely whispered, still startled and wondering how the cat and the woman got so close so quickly and so quietly. "I'm Rochelle DuPont. Are you the gardener?"

"Oh no, " the young woman said, "I help Mrs. L. when she needs me in the kitchen and I help with housekeeping too, but only on weekends. I'm still in school during the week." The redhead's frown made it clear she was no one's star pupil at school.

Rochelle thanked the girl for her timely advice. They walked together to the front porch, the girl carrying the larger of the two leather bags for Mrs. DuPont. On the last riser, the door opened as if on cue, and a woman who was obviously in charge, stepped out to welcome her guest. "Mrs. DuPont, how wonderful to see you. Your suite is ready. Welcome back." Rochelle, accepted a warm embrace from her old friend, and the women smiled softly to each other.

A huge fire blazed in the dining room hearth, and a trio of black and white dogs peered at the threesome coming in, not sufficiently interested to move from the warmth and the red rug. They were beautiful, Rochelle thought, canines in a heap like rag dolls temporarily forgotten by an untidy little mistress. She had a deep love for such randomly esthetic moments created by chaos, and she reflected on the apparent orderliness of her life. One needed a certain amount of regularity and structure to function well in this world.

In her world, where the rich work and work at play, form was paramount and The Rules were worshipped as intensely as any god. And while she was generally able to swim with the rest of the well-dressed mackerels, there were times she knew she had better absent herself to avoid becoming a Disruption.

Unlike many of her peers, she still appreciated having the where-with-all to get away for a long weekend to obey her own instincts. She was a good team player, but she never could identify with the team the way the others did, and therefore, did not derive as much pleasure from simply fitting in as she might have.

"Your fire will need rekindling, now, Ma'am." said the freckled girl, innocently offering to add a few more logs to the dwindling fire. Mrs. Lattimer and Rochelle exchanged quick looks of surprise and delight. The suite was as magnificent as Rochelle remembered. Her country getaway, she had to laugh to herself, was every bit as luxurious as her regular haunts. The difference here was that one could never guess the inclinations of the other guests.

In the light of one hurricane style oil lamp and the quieting fire in the hearth, Rochelle took in the room. The four poster bed, wider than it was long, draped in a lofting white comforter and chiffon netting, beckoned to the Rochelle. A single yellow rose rested on a soft mound of goose down pillows. Next to the hearth, where the girl was carefully placing aromatic splits of hardwood was a small, intricately carved table holding a crystal decanter and three goblets. She smiled to herself again, remembering the last visit, and charmed that Mrs. L. took such care of her.

With that, she glanced warmly at Mrs. L., complimenting the room and said to the girl, "that fire will do nicely, thank you, young Miss." Rochelle paused, then added, "do please fetch the small kennel from passenger's seat. You'll need to twist the key twice to disable the alarm," handing a small set of keys to the girl. "If you're unsure..." she started to say but Mrs. L. piped in offering to retrieve the kennel herself.

Rochelle noticed another of those randomly and transcendently beautiful moments. The girl was back lit by the now blazing fire creating an aura of hot copper. When she passed the brightly glinting keys to the older woman it was as if she was transferring some mystical feminine energy. The receiving hand of Mrs. L. warmed by the images of the fire, girl, and keys, glowed warmly as she smiled gently at Rochelle. "I'll be back momentarily," the young redhead told her.

Both women left the room, the younger one shutting the door softly. Rochelle slid out of her shoes, padded along the thick carpeting, poured herself a short snifter of brandy, and proceeded to the bathroom. Lighting a fat white candle, she was welcomed home by the deliciously enormous claw foot tub.

She set her drink on the marble ledge and ran her hand along the cool enamel of the tub. Pure white terry bath blankets were stacked nearby and a long white robe hung on a porcelain hook. The room was elegantly dressed in black and white, reminding her briefly of the dogs, with a checkered floor of large tiles and white walls trimmed with double rows of narrow black tiles at the level of the oversized sink. The only nod to color in here sat gracefully next to her goblet on the marble mantel, a large bouquet of her favorite yellow flowers, the thorny stems revealed by the tall clear vase.

Rochelle overheard a small commotion downstairs as the kennel was hurried past the dogs in formal wear. She went to the door, opened it and stood waiting for her beloved. At the far end of the great hall, she watched the familiar head rise like a dark sun over the rich maroon Oriental carpeting, and watched as the tiny vinyl and mesh pet carrier emerged into view.

Mrs. L. carried her precious load in both arms, like one would carry a small child and told Rochelle that she had let the little one out to "tend to business" by the garden, and that she should be set for the evening now. Thanking her, Rochelle, accepted the small burden from Mrs. L., touching her hands softly as she spoke. "I'll be retiring in about an hour, Emily," she said and stepped back into the room, pushing the door shut with her bare foot.

Rochelle set the carrier on the bed, and unzipped the screen, reaching in and lifting out her girl. Amanda, a five pound Yorkshire Terrier, was a Lady's lady, her long silky hair pulled into a topknot of chestnut brown and black with escaping wisps demurely covering one eye. Those large, soft brown eyes gazed into her mistress' face.

In place of a collar, Amanda wore a gold bracelet that was inscribed with a phone number and the simple word, "reward", as if there would be any doubt of compensation for returning this little girl. The tiny fox face wore an alert and gentle expression, her muzzle opening in a Yorkie smile revealing tiny white baroque pearl teeth and a clean ultra-pink tongue. With two quick licks to the nose, Amanda greeted Rochelle.

"Good kisses, Manny, you're my good girl." At that, Amanda brightened and returned the affection by licking the hands that held her. "Let's get you undressed, girl," Rochelle said as she unzipped Amanda's pink fleece warm-up jacket, adding, "oh, you are a beeeeyoo-tiful child." Amanda shook out her silky tresses and stood before her mistress, who then lifted her and headed for the bathroom.

Rochelle fluffed a white towel and set it next to her drink and the roses on the mantel, which was wide enough to comfortably accommodate the small dog. Amanda settled quietly into place, watching every move her mistress made. Rochelle set out a few towels for herself. She started the water running into the deep tub, adjusting the temperature, and undressed quickly, silk falling from her hips and shoulders like a soft rain. She was formed elegantly and white as porcelain.

Before even an inch of water had accumulated, Mrs. DuPont stepped into the tub, feeling the barely warmed water around her ankles. The candlelight licked her skin. She slowly sat, letting her delicate parts test the water. "Perrrfect," she said to Amanda, as she inched closer to the front of the tub, lifting her legs to hang over the porcelain lip. With a quick rocking of her hips, she positioned herself under the water, regulating the flow to be full, but soft, and which she knew would lap her gently and untiringly.

The water flowed between her thighs, nearly cool, kissing her labia and sliding between her inner lips to lick her clitoris. The sensation was delicious, and Rochelle leaned back onto her elbows, letting her head roll back and exposing her long white neck. She rocked her hips to direct the water to lick her growing bud from side to side. When she tipped her hips toward the ceiling, the water traced a course over her clit and along the sensitive skin to her vagina, gently filling that loving cup and spilling over onto her ass.

The depth of water in the tub was still shallow, and it's relative coolness next to her growing heat made her ecstatic as it rose slowly up her ticklish sides. She rocked forward, opening her legs wider and directing the stream over her clit and sat still, nearly breathless with pleasure. The smallest motion would redirect the stream, but wherever it fell, it was delicious.

As her excitement grew, and the tingling around her clit signaled orgasm, she tried to hold completely still, letting the natural variation of the water flowing on her clit and lips and vagina and ass drive her to the brink. The water level was getting higher around her body, and definitely cool, and her unrelenting liquid lover licked and pushed and seeped into her and flowed out of her.

Her pleasure zone was submerged now; the cool stream was even softer, gliding over her engorged and super sensitive clitoris like silk. She was paralyzed with pleasure, hyper aroused, and aware of the movement of every drop of her chaotic lover's liquid sliding and probing.

Close to orgasm, she rocked her hips, spreading the fluid kisses over every part of her pussy, and feeling the pool around her responding with its own rhythm, quick tides lapping against and into her holes. Her cool watery nymph was everywhere at once, completely submerging her in pleasure.

As the water rose to touch her nipples, she began to come, slowly, effortlessly, completely filled and then wrung with pleasure, until every bit of her was cleansed by her orgasm.