Polly put out her hand automatically, as most people do when you hand them something. I put the washcloth in it and turned my back, looking over my shoulder at her and smiling. She hesitated a second, as if she wasn't sure that this was something she should be doing, but then she smiled back and started rubbing my back with the soapy cloth. I ducked my head so she could get the back of my neck and then I arched my back as she washed from my shoulders down my backbone. She did a good job of washing until she got to my bottom. She hesitated again when the cloth passed over my crack and I really thought she would stop there, but she kept going. She washed my cheeks and even ran the cloth into my butt-crack, before going down the backs of my thighs to scrub my legs all the way to my feet.
The feeling of having someone bathe you must be one of those sensual experiences that we remember from infancy. Even though Polly did only a straightforward job of washing me, I still felt very warm and loved. The feeling of the hot water and the slick soap and the coarse texture of the cloth all seemed magnified when someone else was handling it. Every inch of skin she touched made me more aroused and I began to anticipate her and turned slightly as she washed me to present each section of my back and legs for her care and attention.
When she had done all she could reach from behind, I turned to take the cloth from her. When I saw that her nipples had hardened from washing me and that she was soaping up the washcloth again, I dropped my hand down to my side instead of reaching up as I had intended. I stood there waiting to see what she would do. Her eyes were focused on my breasts and I could tell that she wanted to continue my bath on the flip side.
I stepped forward so that the soap from the cloth dripped onto my left breast and Polly started to wash that breast with large swirls of the soapy cloth. She did not linger, but went across my chest and throat to the other breast and washed that one as well. She then went on to wash my whole front as thoroughly as she had done my back, and with as little sexual content to the act as before. It wasn't until she got to the spot between my legs that she hesitated again.
She had just done both thighs and my pussy was the next logical place to go. When she paused, I put a hand on her back as though to brace myself and I spread my feet apart slightly in invitation. Again, she responded by washing the offered area. She pressed the soapy cloth between my legs and washed me as she would have herself. Her hand was completely covered by the cloth and the only skin contact was my own hand on her back.
When she finished, she held out the cloth to me and turned her back and looked over her shoulder as I had done. The implication was clear. She was inviting me to wash her as she had done me. I re-soaped the cloth and did exactly as she had done — a thorough job of washing with no attempt at a caress or unnecessary touching. Even so, when I ran the cloth between her legs, I could feel her tremble at my touch and her hand tightened on my shoulder as she braced herself to keep from falling. This deliberately nonsexual act of washing each other was still one of the most erotic things I had ever experienced and we were both on the verge of climax when it was over.
As I turned to rinse off, I noticed that not one single girl had left the shower room. Judging from the looks that I saw on some faces, I could have a number of volunteers to bathe me if I wanted. I wanted, but time for play was over. Again, I was the first girl out. As I left, I felt the steam in the room being replaced by a cool draft as many of the shower-controls were moved over to Cold.
As I dried off, I made a mental note of the girls who had looked most eager to share my washcloth with me. This seemed a perfect way to encourage involvement beyond the staring stage and in an act that no one could say was contrary to the purpose of our being in the shower together. Besides, having someone else wash you inevitably resulted in getting cleaner than doing it by yourself. They tended to be more thorough and could reach places much easier than you could yourself.
Sure. This wasn't likely to fly as an argument in front of the school administration, but I couldn't see anyone reporting us for mutual cleanliness so I never expected to have to use it.
I had just enough time to get dressed and still run into a restroom stall and stroke my clit to climax. I was so hot already that it only took a few seconds. When I left the stall, I saw that there were two girls waiting to use it. From their body language, any flushing going on in that stall would not involve water or drains.
Bambi picked me up after school so we could get right over to Mr. Morton's and collect my new clothes. I tried on a few as he brought them out, but the fit was so perfect on everything that I needn't have bothered.
While his clerk made several trips to carry everything out to the car, Bambi and I were ushered into the back room and shown into Mr. Morton's private office. He closed the door behind us and we all sat at a small table in the corner. On the table were a drawing pad and a small bolt of cloth.
"I want to thank you for coming to me for this, ah, special request," he told us. His voice betrayed his excitement. He was smiling broadly. He obviously thought he had found something that we would like. "It was certainly one of the most interesting projects I have ever worked on. First, I would like to show you this sample of cloth."