The heavy iron bolt of the washroom door slid home with a definitive, metallic clack. It was a sound that severed them from the rest of the farmhouse, creating a pocket of reality where only steam, silence, and the heavy scent of arousal existed.
Rowan stood with his back to the door, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The damp wood pressed against his spine, grounding him, while the sight before him threatened to unravel his sanity.
Aunt Seraphina stood by the large wooden tub. The water inside was still, a mirror of heat waiting to be disturbed. She didn't look at him immediately. Instead, she looked down at her sodden dress.
The linen, once crisp and modest, was now a translucent second skin. It clung to the swell of her hips and the dip of her waist, dark with moisture.
"It sticks," she whispered, her voice husky. She plucked at the fabric near her shoulder. "It feels heavy."
"Let me help you with the burden," Rowan said. His voice sounded deeper than usual, resonating in the small, tiled space.
He stepped forward. The floor was slick with condensation. He moved slowly, giving her every chance to retreat, to remember her station as his aunt. She didn't move. She only lifted her chin, exposing the creamy, pale column of her throat to the steamy air.
Rowan reached out. His fingers, still tingling from the release she had just given him, found the laces at the back of her dress. They were wet and stubborn.
He fumbled slightly, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin of her nape. Seraphina shivered, a tremor that started at her neck and rippled down to her bare feet.
"Your hands are shaking," she noted softly, not mocking, but pleased.
"You have that effect on me," Rowan admitted.
With a final tug, the knot gave way. The laces loosened. The dress sighed open, peeling away from her back like a husk. Rowan placed his hands on her shoulders—warm, smooth, and smelling of rain—and pushed the fabric down.
It pooled at her ankles in a wet heap.
She stepped out of it, leaving the puddle of cloth behind. She turned to face him, wearing nothing but the steam.
Rowan had seen women before in his old life, on screens and in magazines. But Seraphina was different. She was real. She was imperfectly perfect.
Her body was lush, a landscape of soft curves and mature ripeness. Her 'soft peaks' were full and heavy, tipped with 'pink pearls' that had hardened in the cooling air. Her belly had a gentle softness to it, a testament to her age that only made her more desirable to him.
Below, her 'hidden valley' was neatly kept, a dark triangle of maturity that glistened with the remnants of her own excitement.
"Stop staring," she murmured, though she made no move to cover herself. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes half-lidded. "The water is waiting."
She stepped into the tub. One leg, then the other. She sank down with a contented sigh, the water rising to embrace her chin.
"Join me," she commanded softly.
Rowan shed his clothes quickly. His trousers, damp with sweat and the aftermath of their earlier encounter, hit the floor. His 'iron-hard length', revived and eager, sprang free.
Seraphina's eyes widened as she watched him climb in. The tub was large enough for two, but intimate enough that contact was inevitable.
He settled in opposite her. The water was scalding hot, stinging his skin in a pleasurable way. It seeped into his muscles, relaxing the tension of the farm work, but doing nothing to quell the fire in his blood.
"Turn around," Rowan said. "I'll wash your back."
Seraphina obeyed wordlessly. She shifted, creating a wave that lapped against his chest. She presented her back to him—a canvas of pale skin, vulnerable and trusting.
Rowan picked up a coarse sponge and a bar of lavender soap. He worked up a lather, the bubbles rich and fragrant.
He began at her shoulders.
Scrub. Scrub. Slide.
"That feels... good," she mumbled, her head lolling forward.
"You carry too much tension here," Rowan said, digging his thumbs into the knots at the base of her neck.
"It's the accounts," she sighed. "Worrying about gold. Worrying about the harvest. Worrying about... being alone."
Rowan moved the sponge lower, tracing the deep groove of her spine. The soap made her skin slippery, frictionless.
"You aren't alone anymore," he whispered.
He discarded the sponge. It was too rough. He wanted skin on skin.
He lathered his hands again and resumed the massage. His broad palms glided over her shoulder blades, down to the curve of her waist, and finally to the flare of her hips.
Under the water, his legs tangled with hers. His foot brushed against her calf, then higher, grazing the sensitive skin behind her knee.
Seraphina gasped. She leaned back, pressing her body against his chest. The back of her head rested on his shoulder, her wet hair tickling his neck.
"Rowan," she breathed. "The soap... it's slippery."
"Is it?"
He moved his hands around to her front.
Her body was buoyant in the water. He cupped the weight of her 'soft peaks', the water amplifying their heaviness. They were slick with soap. His thumbs brushed over the 'pink pearls', circling them, teasing them.
"Ah!" Seraphina arched her back, splashing water onto the floor. "Rowan... not there... it's too sensitive..."
"But you like it," he whispered into her ear, biting the lobe gently.
"I do," she whimpered. "I really do."
Her hands came up to cover his, not to stop him, but to press him harder against her.
She wiggled her hips, settling herself firmly into his lap. Under the water, his 'throbbing pillar' found a home between the soft cheeks of her behind. He wasn't inside her, but the pressure was immense.
Every time she breathed, every time she moved, the friction sent sparks flying up his spine.
"Auntie," Rowan groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "You're torturing me."
"Good," she murmured, turning her head to kiss his jaw. "Now wash the rest of me."
His hand slid down her stomach, past her navel, into the dense, warm forest below.
She parted her legs instinctively. The water here was hotter, trapped between her thighs.
When his fingers brushed against the entrance to her 'heavenly gateway', she shuddered violently.
"Gently," she begged. "I haven't been touched there in... years."
Rowan slowed down. He treated her like the delicate flower she was. One finger traced the outer lips, parting them. The 'wet sanctuary' was swollen, eager.
He slipped one finger inside.
It was tight. Unbelievably tight. And hot. It felt like sticking his finger into a jar of warm honey.
Seraphina threw her head back, a high-pitched keen escaping her lips. "Oh! Rowan!"
He began to move. In and out. Curling his finger to hit the 'magic button' hidden inside.
"More," she hissed, her fingernails digging into his forearms. "Please, Rowan. More."
He added a second finger. She was so wet, so ready, that she stretched easily to accommodate him. The sound of the water splashing mixed with the wet, squelching sounds of his fingers working inside her.
"Look at me," Rowan commanded.
Seraphina turned in his arms, twisting her body so she could straddle him. The water sloshed violently, spilling over the edge of the tub.
She sat on his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. She looked down at him, her eyes glassy, her mouth hanging open.
"You are beautiful, Auntie," he said, staring up at her.
Water dripped from her chin onto his chest.
She reached down, guiding his hand back to her 'hidden valley'.
"Don't stop," she demanded. "Make me bloom."
Rowan obliged. He found her rhythm. He used his thumb to circle the sensitive nub at the top, while his fingers thrust into her depth.
Seraphina began to bounce on his lap. She ground her hips against him, using his thigh and his hand to seek friction.
"I'm close," she panted. "Rowan, I'm... I'm going to..."
"Let go," he urged. "I've got you."
Her body went rigid. Her toes curled against the bottom of the tub.
"Rowan!"
She screamed his name as the 'explosion of bliss' hit her. Her inner walls clamped down on his fingers, pulsing rhythmically, milking them. She shook uncontrollably, waves of pleasure crashing over her, drowning her.
Rowan held her tight, kissing her throat, feeling her pulse flutter like a trapped bird.
[System Notification]
[Partner 'Seraphina' satisfied.]
[Yin Energy Absorbed: Moderate.]
[Passive Effect Triggered: 'Rainy Day Fertility'. The soil moisture in the West Field has reached optimal levels.]
It took a long time for her breathing to slow.
The water was beginning to cool. The steam was fading, leaving damp streaks on the mirror.
Seraphina slumped against him, her forehead resting on his shoulder. She looked exhausted but radiant. The lines of worry that usually creased her forehead were gone, smoothed away by the release.
"I can't believe I did that," she whispered, her voice laced with guilt and wonder. "With my nephew... in the bath..."
"We're just family taking care of each other," Rowan said soothingly, stroking her back.
She chuckled, a dry, throaty sound. "You have a strange definition of family care, Rowan."
She pulled back, looking him in the eyes. There was a new depth to her gaze—a dangerous loyalty.
"But... I don't hate it," she admitted. "In fact... I might need another massage tomorrow."
She stood up, water cascading off her body like a waterfall. The sight of her 'wet sanctuary', swollen and pink, made Rowan's mouth go dry again.
"Turn around," she said, regaining some of her aunt-like authority, though her cheeks were still scarlet. "Let me dry off first."
Ten minutes later, they stepped out of the washroom.
Rowan was dressed in fresh clothes, though his hair was still damp. Seraphina had donned a fresh dress, buttoned all the way to her chin, attempting to look proper.
But the smell followed them. The thick, unmistakable scent of sex and lavender.
They walked down the hallway toward the kitchen.
Suddenly, a door to the left creaked open.
Big Sister Elara stepped out.
She was holding a basket of vegetables. Her eyes were sharp, scanning them both. She looked at Rowan's damp hair. She looked at Seraphina's flushed face. She sniffed the air.
Her eyes narrowed.
"You two were in the washroom for a long time," Elara said, her voice deceptively calm.
"The sheets were heavy," Seraphina said quickly, her voice pitching slightly too high. "Rowan helped me."
"Is that so?" Elara walked closer. She stopped right in front of Rowan.
She reached out and adjusted his collar. Her knuckles brushed against his neck, lingering there.
"You smell like Auntie's soap," Elara noted. She leaned in close, whispering so only Rowan could hear. "And you smell like... you've been 'naughty'."
She pulled back, a strange smile playing on her lips. It wasn't anger. It was... competition.
"Rowan," Elara said loud enough for Seraphina to hear. "The roof in the barn is leaking. I need you to help me fix it."
She grabbed his hand. Her grip was firm.
"Now."
She dragged him away from Seraphina, pulling him toward the back exit that led to the barn. As she pulled him, she looked back at the Aunt with a gaze that said, 'You've had your turn. Now it's mine.'
The barn was dark, smelling of hay and dry wood. Rain hammered against the roof, but inside it was warm and secluded.
Elara let go of his hand and turned to face him. The 'Motherly Sister' facade dropped for a moment.
"I know what you did," she said, crossing her arms. Her chest, bound tightly beneath her tunic, heaved. "You gave your 'essence' to Auntie, didn't you?"
Rowan didn't deny it. The System didn't allow him to lie to his 'targets'.
"She needed help," Rowan said simply.
"And what about me?" Elara stepped closer, backing him against a pile of hay. "I've been taking care of you since we were children. I cook your meals. I mend your clothes."
She placed a hand on his chest, sliding it down to his belt.
"Don't you think Big Sister is thirsty too?"
She looked up at him, her eyes burning with a mix of jealousy and desire.
"The roof isn't leaking, Rowan," she confessed. "But I am."
Sensual Question for the Reader - 👇👇👇
Big Sister Elara has dragged the MC to the barn, fueled by jealousy and the scent of another woman on him.
What "Punishment" does she have in mind for her naughty little brother in the next chapter?
A) The "Milking" Stool: She makes him sit and claims she needs to "drain the bad influence" out of him using her own 'heavenly gateway' in the Cowgirl position.
B) The "Silent Service": She pushes him into the hay and performs an aggressive 'mouth service' to reclaim his scent, refusing to stop until he begs.
Comment your choice below!