I’m practically buzzing with anticipation as I step into the bathroom. The tub is the star of the show, and I can’t wait to try it out. I bend down to plug the drain, then turn the knobs to let the water flow. I test the temperature with my hand, then leave it to fill.
To my right, there are cabinets. I open them, hoping to find some bath salts or oils, but instead, I find neatly rolled towels. They remind me of a spa. I grab a couple and place them on the stool next to the tub.
Under the sink, there are more cabinets. I open them and find exactly what I was looking for—bath bombs. I unwrap one, and the scent of lavender fills the air.
“This is going to be so relaxing,” I say, tossing the bath bomb into the tub and watching it fizz. “That’s pretty neat.”
I strip off my clothes, starting with my shirt, then my bra, and finally my shorts and panties. I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror against the wall. I cup my breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze, then dip a toe into the water to check the temperature.
“Just right.”
I step into the tub, slowly sinking into the hot water. I brace myself with my arms, adjusting to the heat. Once I’m fully submerged, I lean back and let out a sigh of satisfaction.
“Hell yes,” I murmur.
I soak a washcloth in the water, wring it out, and place it over my eyes. After a few minutes, I’m completely relaxed, my arms resting on the sides of the tub. I let my right hand drift down to touch myself.
I start to rub my clit in small circles, while my other hand teases my breasts. My nipples peek out from the bubbles, and I give them another gentle squeeze.
My hand moves faster over my pussy, and I slide two fingers inside myself. I pump my fingers harder, continuing to rub my clit.
The water ripples around me as I pant, my mouth hanging open. A soft squeal escapes my lips as I climax, my orgasm rippling through me underwater.
I retrieve the washcloth that had slipped into the water, wring it out, and place it back over my eyes, my breathing slowly returning to normal.
The bubbles have dissipated, and the water is calm again. I start to do some breathing exercises, taking long, slow breaths through my nose.
After about ten minutes, the water starts to cool. I sit up slightly and use my toes to turn on the hot water, then close my eyes again.
Soon, I’m moaning softly, biting my lower lip. I lift my foot to turn off the water.
My breathing grows heavier, my breasts rising and falling in the water. I realize I’m on the brink of another orgasm.
My eyes snap open in surprise; both my hands are still gripping the side of the tub.
“What the hell just happened?” I ask aloud, sitting up and looking around.
Nothing seems out of place, so I lie back down in the tub, place the towel over my face, and close my eyes again.
A few minutes later, I feel something touching my pussy.
“Chelsea, I didn’t know you swung that way,” I say with a giggle, my eyes still closed. “That feels amazing.”
I lift the towel, expecting to see Chelsea teasing me under the water.
But there’s no one there. I see ripples in the water, as if something is touching me. I try to sit up, but I can’t move.
It feels like I’m being held down. I can’t move my arms. Something is holding me down. My arms are frozen on the sides of the tub, and I can’t move.
Now I feel something inside of me, fucking me under the water. I try to scream, but no sound comes out.
I can feel my breasts being squeezed, my nipples being tugged. My mouth is open, my breath coming in ragged gasps as the water splashes onto the floor.
Suddenly, I feel myself climaxing again. I close my eyes as I cum, harder than I’ve ever cum before.
Then, just as suddenly, I can move again.
I scramble out of the tub, wrapping myself in the towels. I look down and see wet footprints leading out of the bathroom.
I’m lounging at my desk, feet up, eyes closed, lost in the B side of Fleetwood Mac. Then I hear the needle scratch across the record.
I open my eyes to see Zoey standing there, water dripping onto my floor.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Your tub assaulted me and raped me,” she says, her voice raised.
“Oh my god. Did my tub call you a dirty bitch and have its way with you?” I say, laughing.
“No, I mean it sexually assaulted me,” she says, and I give her a puzzled look. “Something or someone fingered and fucked me while I was taking a bath.”
“Okay, I’m confused. Start from the beginning,” I say, noticing the water pooling at her feet. Her hair is soaked.
She recounts the whole incident in vivid detail. I look at her like she’s lost her mind.
“Sweetie, you did drink more than me. I think you passed out from the hot water after you got yourself off and dreamed about getting fucked underwater.”
“I wasn’t dreaming it! It felt real,” she insists.
“Okay, you need to go to bed and sleep it off,” I tell her.
“Why won’t you believe me?” She huffs, stomping her feet, then storms off.
“Note to self: no more wine for Zoey.”
I glance at the clock on the wall—it’s past midnight.
“I think I’ll call it a night,” I announce, heading towards my room. The bathroom light is still glowing, a soft beacon in the dim hallway.
Stepping inside, I notice the bathtub is still filled to the brim. I reach down, pulling the plug to let the water swirl away. My gaze drops to the floor, catching sight of a single set of footprints. Zoey’s. With a flick of my wrist, I switch off the lights and retreat to my room for the night.
