"Well, now what?"

The implication of her message was clear, although Carol said nothing. Even that special link they had from mind to mid was quiet, humming, as if she was waiting to see what his choice would be. It seemed that hers was to follow wherever he led.

However, he had seen that brief pause, and felt the deep, calming breaths that Carol took as he finished doing her back. He knew this was affecting her. Even so, his honor would not allow him to lead her into disadvantage. It would have to be her clear choice, her initiative.

Stooping, James grasped one ankle and lifted her foot off the bottom of the tub. Resting it on one of his thighs, he began to wash it, paying particular attention to what he was doing in order to avoid the invitation that shifted gently right near his face. Slowly he worked his way upward. Again as he worked up her thigh, he heard the sound of her breathing. Glancing upward only once, he saw that her head was thrown back, eyes squeezed tightly shut, and her fingers were grabbing at the walls of the shower. A slight smile crept onto his face as he finished that leg, without touching anyplace he had not been given explicit permission to do.

Softly and gently he set that foot back on the bottom of the tub and lifted the other, repeating his performance of cleansing, all without any other sign of recognition for Carol's reaction to what he did. When he was finished with the second leg, he rose slowly in front of her. Carol's eyes, slitted with her response, stared straight ahead at his chin. Her lips quivered slightly, showing him how great was her effort to maintain her own self-control. James raised his hands and once again laved the washcloth with the sweet-smelling heather-scented soap. Then he began anew.

This time, his effort was directed at her torso. He worked quietly upward, never hurrying, across her upper groin and abdomen to a point just below the base of the swell of her breasts. There James stopped, waiting for her to look at him, his own head cocked to the side as an imitation of her questioning attitude. When she did open her eyes, they were bright silver from her response to what he already had done. However she said nothing, made no move.

"They are part of you. Shall I wash them?" He asked the question aloud.

Carol gazed at him, a look of growing wonder in her expression. At last she heaved a deep but soft sigh, looked down, seemed to consider, and then raised her eyes to his again. Her head barely moved, but it was a nod. Again he made a small production of laving the cloth, and then he began. He was gentle ... Oh! so gentle. Yet he was positive in his movements, doing nothing that was intentionally arousing. Even so, Carol's head snapped back and she arched toward him. Still, though, her hands remained glued to the walls, seemingly trying to force places to grip into the hard ceramic tiles. Just as he finished and moved on upward to the fronts of her shoulders she gasped, just once.

Then, as he began to work down one arm, he felt the tremble he had anticipated. Without breaking his concentration or looking at her face, he continued his ministrations. The quiver grew, but James worked on. Beginning the other arm, he felt the spasms grow still deeper. Now he could hear her breathing, no longer soft. When he reached her palm and washed that and the fingers, Carol reacted in a final, convulsive manner. Her free hand came up, grabbing into his long hair, clinging fiercely. And then she went limp.

She might have fallen if he had not slid his arm around her. There was a soft, dreamy expression on her face, such as one expects to see on the face of a young lover. Her eyes sought James', and he was surprised to see them change swiftly from the shimmering silver of desire to a deep purple. Ah! Something had changed. Some threshold had been crossed. Her hands, now both free, came to the sides of his face, caressing his cheeks and chin. A vixenish smile bowed those lush lips, and her voice was deeply husky as she issued her own invitation.

"Now, Sir James, it's my turn!"