Beasts in Winter:Tangere Tales 1(8)

By: Heather Rainier

Spotting a silver hairbrush on the vanity counter, she picked it up and gave it a hard look, waiting for it to do something crazy like start talking to her. It remained inanimate.

“Okay, I can deal with this. Until I find my way out of this whacked-out dream I will find the value in it. That’s what Dad would tell me to do. Find the value in every situation, good or bad. This whole castle has to be really cool. Maybe I can explore. Shoot.” She remembered her smartphone was in her bags back at the campsite. She could’ve taken pictures. “Oh well,” she murmured as she stepped into the misty shower. A fresh cake of French milled soap, scented with a delicate fragrance, had been provided for her in the soap dish.

She lathered the soap on a sea sponge, and as she scrubbed herself clean, she became aware of a sensation not unlike what she’d experienced in the sex dream. Her pussy quivered as the water from the shower trickled over her lips.

“Ooooh.” That felt good.

Then she moved so her entire body was under the showerhead in the ceiling and stood still.

With her eyes closed, it felt as if warm fingers were trailing all over her body, caressing her, even between her legs and her ass cheeks. Nerve endings sparked to life on every inch of her flesh, and she spread her legs slightly, just to see what happened.

Those fluid fingertips found her most sensitive areas, rubbing and stroking her clit, her pussy lips, until she had to put out her hands to brace herself on the walls. Like a bowstring being put to use, her body tightened, her pussy becoming hot and liquid with her own juices, and she bit her lip as the sensual touch rubbed at her asshole, as well.

“I wonder if there is—” She giggled as she turned to the shelf on the wall and spotted the bottles containing what she hoped was shampoo and conditioner of some sort. She didn’t recall seeing them earlier, but for now, she’d go with it.

“Thank you, freaky enchanted dream-porn shape-shifting shower slash sex toy.”

“But of course, mon ange. I exist to serve you.”

Okay, that shouldn’t make her laugh. She should be totally freaked out, but this was her dream and she had an orgasm to chase, though she didn’t say that out loud.

She took her time lathering her hair, rinsing it, and applying conditioner, allowing the waterfall showerhead to run all over her body. She was probably taking way too long, but she didn’t mind a cold supper. They hadn’t said they would be joining her.

Finally, she stood beneath the spray. The silky conditioner did marvelous things to her, just as the bubbling shampoo had, as it coursed its way over her skin and down her legs. If she didn’t come this time, she was taking things into her own hands.

The pleasure of cascading water sliding over her skin intensified, and her pussy pulsed and ached with tension as she sailed higher and higher into the stratosphere. The water warmed slightly, and a rivulet trailed right over her clit. “Oh, fuck, yes,” she whispered as her orgasm crested, the quivering ache exploding into waves of pleasure as she cried out.

The water shut off and was replaced by a comforting warm breeze that blew her and the shower dry as she slid to the floor. It even dried her hair. Looking around she didn’t spot any vents or wall-mounted dryers or anything mechanical. “Wow. Just wow. I need a minute.”

She spotted a length of ivory fabric hanging on a hook by the vanity, and after she was completely dry, she slipped it on over her head. The shift-like garment was made from a fine silk that warmed and caressed her skin with a sensual touch and fit as if it had been made for her. She hadn’t spied anyone entering the room through the carved screen. Was this castle run with magic, or had she been that out of it?

“I could get used to this,” she murmured as she peered in the mirror at herself. The mirror made a slight affirming sound as if agreeing but said nothing else. Her nipples tightened as the silky fabric brushed against them, and she giggled.

She took a few moments to take in the splendor of the room, the dark wood floors beneath her feet, warmed by the fireplace, the leaded glass windows keeping out the snow and wind, the luxurious bedding and drapes, and the furniture, substantial but obviously intended for a special woman.

A sudden stray thought brought a frown to her face. While her parents had been alive, her father had always strived to provide a good home and everything she and her mother needed. Like with any family, there were occasional hard times. Her mother, a woman prone to negativity, had resented those times. Yet she had always made a point of telling Angel, when she complained about not having something she wanted, that anything she could get sick of she could also get used to—in other words, to just get used to being unhappy and unfulfilled.