The Dunwich Romance Read Online Free PDF Page A

legion of fleas and lice that took up constant residence in her scalp) were making a prompt departure from their abode. Lice and various other body vermin brought her no shame simply due to the universal fact that nearly everyone had them, and so Sary had for as long as her mind enabled her to recall. The itching one grew used to quite quickly. Yet, now, with an analogous quickness, the vermin were retreating from her. A similar exodus, then, was noticed trailing down her thighs: the multitudinous pubic mites she’d grown so equally accustomed to. It proved the strangest observation, while at the same time one she was quite pleased with.
    “Havin’ yew’reself a muddle in thar?” resonated Wilbur’s voice. “Forget haow ta work the shower?”
    “Aw, no, no, Wilbur. I ‘member naow,” and then she eased the lever back and shot to tiptoes as the joyously refreshing torrent sprinkled down on her head and ran down her body.
    Her fascination with the soap grew childlike when she glided the fragrant gray lump about, first, skin, then her hair. The smear turned to lovely suds the more she agitated them with her hands. When she was scratching the suds into her recently deloused scalp, Wilbur’s heavy and oddly vibrating voice resounded yet again from behind, “I done ment yer gaown, so’s naow I’ll warsh it fer ye. I got suthin’ for ya to whar whiles it’s dryin’. I hope ye like it.”
    “Oh, I’m sure I will, Wilbur. Thanks!”
    When nearly the entirety of her body became a suit of suds, Sary caught her hands returning to her breasts to suds them further, then her furred sex as well. A dense tingling rarely felt in her caused her already pump nipples to plump up more, and she felt a strange warmth fill her breasts themselves. More and more, then, she caught her fingers delving as deep as their length would permit into the soft channel of her vagina. The sensations intoxicated her. Inconscient of any forethought, then, she meekly called out, “Wilbur?”
    “Ee-yuh?”
    “Only place on me I carn’t warsh is my back. Could yew do it for me?”
    A long pause ensued, then Wilbur’s large frame was heard rising, his unduly sizable feet thumping toward the curtain. “Sure, if ye like. I’ll just put my hand in so’s ye dun’t have to open the—” but Sary had already drawn the curtain open, standing naked and suds-encloaked with her back to him. Wilbur released something akin to a pleased sigh. Her small hand reached rearward until his much larger hand took the lump of ash soap. Another pause ensued: she guessed either reluctance or more likely another example of his bashfulness, then she suddenly sucked in a breath between her tongue touching the roof of her mouth when she felt her uncharacteristic rescuer begin to glide the soap up and down over her back.
    “That feels soooo nice,” she uttered.
    He withheld any response, just kept gliding the ash soap up and down.
    Then, unable to control herself, “Lower please, if ya dun’t mind.”
    “Yuh-yuh-yuh...ya mean ye’re backside too?”
    Sary nodded. Of course, she’d already cleansed this region, but the feel of his strong and unusually long fingers beguiled her to make the redundant request. She leaned forward now, bracing the wood beam which supported the sprinkling can. She parted her legs.
    Two long fingers of Wilbur’s hand now ran up and down through the groove of Sary’s buttocks; and in response, her buttocks repeatedly clenched and released. So long those fingers were—the middle one seven inches long at least, she’d previously noticed, and their companions not much shorter—and this fact only forced a consideration of fantasy: how potent a joy it would be for her to feel one of those fingers slip unhesitantly into her anus, while another slipped up into her sex. Thinking of this, in fact, caused her vaginal muscles to pulse in pre-orgasm. The fantasy turned so dense now that Sary felt not quite in her proper awareness, and she was even