intensity ...virtuous

 oh...!... the virtue of self-discipline as he sat and watched her bathe.

the torture...!... of following E..V..E..R..Y.. droplet of water, as it dribbled and d.r.o.p.p.e.d....off the tip of her nipple...

his mind insane yet, respectful to sit in painful throbbing... wanting to immerse himself

below the waters,

and like a gladiator RISE...!... before her and conquer every curve, every mound of her femininity.

aaah...!... to suck on her flesh and taste her sweet nectar tainted by the fragrance 

of bath oils....for, nothing sweeter be there than the naturalness of her essence.

to glide between her thighs, oiled and silky, for the bath waters would know to assist his venturing of limbs lithe, seeking further treasures hidden in mounds of petalled softness.

how he would arch her, bend her...curve her to his touch....his mouth...making her 

reach... sigh and faint into surrender complete.

he would wash her every part, every piece every ...all. 

he would lather and splash her with waters cooling and never be further than a breath away from her nakedness.

he could not imagine it being otherwise.

RB.