Sweet Sin

The sweetest sin beckons with another's body. When you crave it so badly that hot lust throbs in your groin and your body fills with sticky heat. You itch to wash that fire off at once, to hide it from people's eyes. Then your feet carry you of their own accord beyond the village, to the half-sunken old bathhouse by the pond. But the bathing there does not cool you. It is hot without any fire, and it washes away not dirt but shame, leaving you naked before your own lust.

The water there smells of sweet female wetness; it waits, it runs with juices, it craves your body and your consent. Semen had always seemed a righteous man. He never looked women in the eye, and crossed himself at every bawdy song. But inside he was fairly drowning in an engulfing lust. That evening a young bride passed him by, hot from dancing, smelling of a girl's sweat and mint. Semen's fingers cramped, and his trousers grew tight and hot.

At night, when everyone was asleep, he ran to the abandoned bathhouse. He fled as if from sin, but in truth he ran to where it smelled of a heated woman, choking on his own desire. Inside the bathhouse hung a damp heat so thick his shirt stuck to his chest. Semen threw off his clothes. In the middle of the darkness the bath breathed a languid, longed-for aroma.

First, long woman's hair swirled on the surface of the black water, and a moment later a woman's breasts rose from the depths, gleaming with hot moisture. Two steam-flushed palms settled on the edges of the tub, sliding slowly over the slippery wood around them. From the darkness of the water came a whisper, slow, like a hot whisper right into the ear: - You breathe so heavily, Semen. Do you want to hide?

He could not move. His flesh had filled with lead, heavy and thirsting. Out of the steam rose wet shoulders, slowly, glistening, covered in a clear, longed-for moisture that smelled of wild night passion. - Who are you? - he asked, though he had known the answer from the start. - The one who will free you from shame, - the wet lips whispered so close that he felt the heat of her breath on his own lips. - You are ashamed. Ashamed of wanting so dirtily and so badly.

But there is no one here to lie to. Tell me, what does your beast crave? - I want... to cleanse my thoughts, - he lied, though his heart was pounding somewhere in his groin and hot sweat rolled down his thighs. The black water in the tub splashed in quiet ecstasy. Steam settled on the walls of the bathhouse, drawing slick, wet trails, like the movements of fingers over a body. - You're lying, - she breathed gently, sliding her belly along the edge of the tub.

- Your body begs for something else. It wants to tear its shame apart. Tell the truth. Don't lie to yourself. Whom do you picture in your dirty, lustful thoughts? Semen's breath caught. His mind gave out; all that remained was the sweet, sticky ache in his groin and a wild desire to sink into that dirty, warm wetness. - Her, - he rasped. - The bride. And every woman who ever walked past. I want to slide over them, to sin so hard the earth caves in beneath us.

I want to set the beast free. - Oh yes, - she whispered, and her wet fingers touched his thigh. The skin under her fingers hissed with the heat, wildly, painfully, sweetly. - You are becoming real. Tell me, are you ready to give everything? It seemed to him he was burning at the stake, but it was the sweetest fire of his life. He no longer thought of saving his soul. He longed only to dissolve into that dirty, hot body that smelled of hot female wetness.

- I don't want paradise, - his voice broke into an animal growl. - I want passion. I want you. Let me burn. She moved closer, and the steam around them turned pink, thick, like blood rising on the skin from an embrace held too hard. - Will you let me inside? - she whispered, touching her lips to his neck, leaving a sticky, hot trace. - I will take your shame. You will never again have to bear that hunger alone. - I let you... Enter me!

- Semen moaned, his whole body shuddering with a sweet, unbearable spasm that rolled from his lower belly up to his very heart. In that same instant the hot liquid surged up from the bath, wrapping his legs and thighs, not scalding but soaking straight in through the pores of his skin. He screamed, but what tore from his mouth was not a voice but a stream of hot, fragrant steam. She was entering him, filling every vein, widening his vessels with sinful warmth.

When it was all over, the bathhouse was empty. The bath was gone. Semen lay on the rotten silt, breathing hard with two breaths at once. Between his shoulder blades burned the deep, wet print of a woman's palm. His flesh no longer ached with strain - it had become part of the dark water that now flowed in his veins. The next day Semen came back.

He was quiet, calm, but the women who looked at him suddenly blushed and felt a wild, shameful languor in the groin that made them want to close their eyes. When his wife asked where he had been, Semen smiled tenderly and answered in her own voice: "I am no longer ashamed of my desires, my love. Now I am always desired." The bathhouse still stands, but it is no longer empty. So if you crave the same sweet sin - come. The water is warm again.