The Absolute, Utter, Complete, and FINAL Destruction of the Auto-Washing Tub For Ryalin - Happy (Very) Belated Birthday! ***** Dawn light filtered through the jungle canopy, softly illuminating the interior of the Treehouse. Veronica took a moment to appreciate the gentle warmth, lifting her face into the first sunbeams and briefly closing her eyes. No one else was awake at this hour. It was so calm at this moment, so peaceful… …so very much what it won't be as soon as Marguerite wakes up. Sighing, Veronica re-opened her eyes. It wasn't really the older woman's fault, she reminded herself. The early morning's warmth would swiftly become yet another day of blistering, stifling heat - heat that the still-injured woman could not escape. Marguerite's injuries, just one legacy of their most recent interaction with the lizardmen, weren't life-threatening, but they were more than enough to make her miserable. Challenger had ruled out any activity that might put any weight or strain on her badly-sprained right ankle. Since her right wrist was also mildly strained, that left dark-haired woman bedridden, unable to walk more than a few steps, even with the help of a walking stick. Worse yet, the shower head had fractured, leaving Challenger's device nonfunctional - and leaving those unable to go down to the pond (such as Marguerite) unable to get clean and cool. Rather than concentrate on fixing it, the scientist was still obsessing over the recovered auto-washing tub, tinkering with it for hours in the compound beneath the Treehouse and wearying them all with the clamor. Given all that aggravation, Marguerite's behavior really had been remarkably restrained. It was simple for the jungle-raised blonde to guess why, but she could also tell that Marguerite's restraint was nearly worn through. Veronica dreaded the inevitable scene when it finally gave way. I wish there was something I could do to help, she mused. But I can't change the weather, and healing takes time. Still, there has to be something… Frowning, Veronica absently fingered the Trion pendant she always wore. Moments later, her eyes brightened as an idea formed in her mind. She considered it carefully, then nodded in satisfaction. It's harmless, and it should at least give Marguerite some peace today - and us too. She chuckled. Hm - it's just the kind of devious trick she'd come up with. Mind made up, she hastened to Ned's room and knocked quietly on the doorframe. "Ned, are you awake? I need your help with something…" ***** Marguerite opened her eyes reluctantly at the soft sound of a knock. It was only midmorning, judging from the light, but it was already unpleasantly hot. A thin film of sweat covered her, doing nothing to cool her. Despite being completely naked beneath the thin sheet, she was still too hot, sticky, and miserable. Sighing, she pushed the lank, stringy tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid away from her eyes, made sure she was decently covered by the sheet, and looked towards the curtain-shrouded entrance to her room. "Come in," she said, trying to sound gracious about it. Temper, Marguerite, she reminded herself, smoothing her face into pleasant lines. You don't want to sound upset, just in case it's… Her somewhat artificial smile blossomed into an expression of real warmth as a tall figure came through the doorway, carrying a breakfast tray. "John!" Her smile grew wider as she quickly realized what she was seeing - and more importantly, what he was seeing. "No more bandages?" "Not indoors," Roxton confirmed with a grin. The bright-pink, healing flesh around his eyes emphasized the green within the sparkling hazel irises as he stared appreciatively at Marguerite. Her dark hair was pulled back too severely, and the few tendrils that had escaped were limp instead of curly; there were dark circles under her grey eyes; her face and neck were flushed an unbecoming pink with the heat…and she was utterly beautiful to him. "I'll still have to wear protection in direct sunlight, but Challenger says that the powder burns have healed enough to forgo bandages here in the Treehouse." Marguerite shuddered involuntarily, remembering the misfire that had led to their capture by a rogue band of lizardmen. A flawed rifle cartridge had exploded right in Roxton's face, leaving him in blind agony. Thankfully, the blindness had proved temporary, but the memory - and the fear - was still raw. "Are you cold?" the hunter asked incredulously, seeing Marguerite shiver. He couldn't imagine it himself; the temperature in the Treehouse already had him sweating, dampening his dark-blue shirt. He set down Marguerite's breakfast tray and stared at her in concern. Marguerite stared at him in disbelief. "You must be joking," she snapped before she could stop herself. Recovering, she quickly softened her statement by adding, "Believe me, if there's one thing I'm not, it's cold. At this point I'm not even sure I remember what that feels like." "But you're shivering." Marguerite hastened to soothe Roxton's obvious worry. "More like shuddering at the state I'm in. I can't remember what clean feels like, either." She looked up hopefully at Roxton. "I don't suppose Challenger is going to fix the shower today, instead of working on that stupid tub of his?" He shook his head, wishing he could give her the answer she wanted to hear. "I'm afraid not - but he won't be working on the tub, either. Ned mentioned at breakfast this morning that he'd heard intermittent squeals coming from the windmill gears yesterday, and that he noticed an acrid odor when he tried to investigate. He and Challenger have gone to investigate, with Veronica keeping watch." Unspoken was the thought that Veronica was taking his usual role, as his eyes were not yet healed enough to spot the many dangers of the jungle or withstand long hours in the tropical sun. "They probably won't be back before late afternoon." He gave the bedridden woman his best roguish grin. "I'm afraid it's just the two of us in the Treehouse today." An answering spark gleamed in her grey eyes as Marguerite flirted right back. "Goodness," she murmured provocatively. "Whatever shall we do with ourselves?" Shrugging her shoulders caused a twinge of pain to shoot up her right arm, and her unclean, injured state impinged itself back into her awareness. Her sultry smile turned wry. "Not that I'm in shape to do much. Oh well, at least I won't have to listen to that tub." "True," Roxton agreed. Despite its proven usefulness against the lizardmen, Roxton was no fan of Challenger's erstwhile invention, either. He reached for the glass of juice on the tray in order to hand it to Marguerite, then paused with an arrested expression on his face as an idea occurred to him. Marguerite was immediately aware of his change in mood. "What is it? John?" "Oh, nothing," the hunter replied, finishing handing her the juice. "Will you be all right on your own for a few minutes if I move the tray a little closer?" Marguerite refused to be diverted. "I'd be fine any which way, but…" "Good," Roxton cut her off, knowing the only way to keep her from questioning was to not let her get a word in. "Then tuck in to that breakfast. I've got a surprise for you, but only after you finish eating. You need to eat more and keep up your strength." "John…" Marguerite protested, wheedling even as his antics coaxed a smile from her. "Eat," he admonished with a teasing smirk. "I'll be right back. And don't worry," he added with another appreciative look at Marguerite's thinly covered form. "You won't have to dress for it." "Roxton!" ***** Ten minutes later, Marguerite had finished her breakfast, but her curiosity was by no means satisfied. Roxton reappeared in her room, shirtless now, but wearing his hat and an odd set of smoked-glass goggles she vaguely remembered from Challenger's lab. "John, what on earth…?" "All finished? Good," Roxton commented, ignoring Marguerite's half-voiced question. "Now, my queen, what say you to a short outing?" Marguerite looked down at her sheet-covered body, and then at Roxton's odd eyewear, obviously meant to protect his eyes against light. "Like this?" she demanded incredulously. The hunter pursed his lips, considering. "Well, no, not precisely like that." He gently tugged the sheet away from Marguerite's body, enjoying the sight of his lover's naked body as the cloth peeled away. "You'll be much more comfortable without that. And I much prefer it, too." Ignoring Marguerite's sputters, he carefully eased one arm under her knees and wrapped another under her arms. "Gently does it," he murmured, lifting her into his arms. Despite her half-outraged protests, Marguerite willingly slung her uninjured left arm over Roxton's broad shoulders, helping support herself as best she could. "John, what are you doing? Where are we going?" "You'll see. Trust me," he reassured her. "As if I had a choice," Marguerite grumbled, but she knew he wasn't fooled. She was enjoying the mystery, the relief from boredom, and the sensation of being carried in Roxton's arms. It had been weeks since they'd been able to touch each other more than casually. Adding to that, seeing him moving about freely on his own again, no longer battling fear and pain, was doing her a world of good. She was slightly less sanguine when Roxton carried her into the elevator and started it descending, but she did trust him. Roxton carefully picked his way across the compound, choosing his steps with care in order to avoid jostling Marguerite. "You're not in any pain, are you? I'm not hurting your ankle?" "No, you're not hurting my ankle - just my curiosity." Marguerite kept looking around, wondering what on earth Roxton had in mind. Roxton chuckled. "You won't have to be curious much longer. Here we are." Marguerite stared in consternation at the only object nearby. "The auto-washing tub? You brought me out here for this?" He kept from laughing with an effort. "I brought you out here for a bath. I thought you might like to rediscover clean. You're just small enough that with a little care, I think we can tuck you into the basin." The heiress assessed the water-filled washing tub and raised a dubious eyebrow, torn between the heavenly idea of being able to get clean and cool off, and the not-insignificant chance of her getting stuck inside the small basin. "I'm not sure what good it'll do," she said doubtfully. "Oh, I have some ideas on how we might improve the experience. I'll add more water after you're in the tub; I've got two buckets ready. First, though, let's get you settled." Roxton carefully lowered Marguerite, easing her down into the water. It was a snug fit, and avoiding any strain or injury to her ankle required a great deal of careful manoevering, but eventually Marguerite found herself sitting upright in blessedly cool water. Her knees were practically drawn up to her chest, but the cramped position was purely incidental to the joy of having water lapping around her, gently caressing her overheated skin. "Comfy?" Roxton asked as he poured another bucket of water over her shoulders and into the tub, his voice deepening with pleasure at the look on Marguerite's face. "Mm-hmm," Marguerite intoned blissfully, closing her eyes. "Good. I think the tub's about as full as it's going to get, so let's see about getting you clean. Just sit there and relax; I'll do everything." With infinite care, Roxton unbraided Marguerite's hair, then dampened it with fresh water from one of the buckets. He lathered her hair, massaging her scalp with gentle, sure strokes, then rinsed it with yet more water from the bucket. After her hair was free from lather, he soaped his hands and worked his way down to her neck and shoulders, easing away the knots of tension he found there. "Oh, this feels wonderful," Marguerite murumured as his hands traced their way from her collarbone to her upper chest. "Yes, it does," Roxton agreed, relishing the sensation of Marguerite's soft skin under his hands, but cherishing the sight of her even more. After his days of darkness, he was struck as never before by the sheer wonder of Marguerite's body, the subtle shadings of her skin, the glory of her dark, curly hair, the exquisite play of emotions across her features. He was already achingly hard with desire. He couldn't get enough of looking at her, of admiring the ivory pillows of her breasts and the deep pink of her nipples. He wished he could see more than just a glimpse of the dark triangle of pubic hair between her legs - or that the tub was big enough for her to relax into full length, so that he might have a chance to explore those depths with his eyes and his hands, experience once again the wonderful complexities of her sex. As Roxton's hands moved to soap her breasts, tracing ardent spirals circling in on her nipples, Marguerite half-opened her eyes. She was aware that Roxton's breathing had changed, and a single glance at the unmistakable swelling beneath his trousers confirmed his arousal. She, too, was highly aroused, enjoying his hands on her body but wanting much more. Her ankle was a problem, and at first glance the tub hardly seemed propitious, but Marguerite was determined. In the tub, no, that wouldn't work, but if she took advantage of the height of the tub…ah, yes, that had possibilities. "Roxton…" "Yes?" Roxton continued to stroke Marguerite's breasts, watching the nipples harden under his touch. "Help me out of the tub." Surprised and a bit concerned, Roxton pulled back to look searchingly at Marguerite's face. "What is it? Are you hurting?" Marguerite's face and voice were calm, and her eyes were heavy-lidded and smoky. "No, I'm not hurting, but I need to get out of this tub. Trust me." Roxton did his best to hide his disappointment. "All right, if you're sure. I thought you'd enjoy this." "Oh, I am, but now I really need to get out of the tub." Shrugging inwardly, Roxton rinsed his hands of soap and then carefully lifted Marguerite out of the tub. Oh well, at least I can see more of her now. Marguerite smiled slightly, aware of Roxton's momentary disappointment. It was her turn to give him a surprise. "That's better; it was definitely a bit cramped in there. Can you set me down so I can stretch my legs?" "What about your ankle? You can't put any weight on it," Roxton warned. "Believe me, I know. I can balance against the tub. It'll be fine," Marguerite reassured him. "All right, although I think you should hang on to me too." Roxton cautiously let Marguerite slide out of his arms until she was balancing on one foot and balancing herself with one hand against the auto-washing tub automation equipment. Marguerite continued playing her role for just a few moments longer. "That's better, but I think I need a bit more of a stretch." She leaned her right knee against the lip of the tub, spreading her legs, then leaned forward and braced her left hand against the opposite lip of the tub. She turned her head to look back over her right shoulder at Roxton. "…There. I don't think we're quite done with the tub yet, John." Roxton looked at Marguerite, his groin tightening as he drank in the sight of her. Lookig back at him, bent over, one knee raised, he had a wonderful view of her backside, the outer folds of her sex, and the blatant, loving desire that blazed as brightly as her open invitation. He could see all of it. "Well?" Marguerite asked as Roxton just stared at her through those strange-looking goggles. Is he having problems seeing again? Before she could really start to worry, Roxton undid his trouser buttons and stripped out of his pants, impatiently tugging them over his boots before tossing them aside. No, no problems seeing, Marguerite thought in relief, eyeing his prominent erection with satisfaction. Roxton moved up behind Marguerite, reaching between her legs and delicately stroking the sensitive folds before dipping his fingers inside her. His erection quivered as he fought the urge to drive inside her that instant. "Are you sure you can balance this way?" he asked, continuing to stroke her. "Quite sure," Marguerite panted a little as Roxton's expert fingers unerringly found her most sensitive places. "My ankle's well out of your way, and I'm not bearing any weight on it." A moan rose in her throat as Roxton brought his other hand up and flicked a thumb across one nipple. She arched her back a little in response and wriggled her hips against his groin, feeling the heat and hardness of his erection as pressed against her buttocks. "Don't let me hurt you," Roxton rumbled, cupping her closer and positioning himself so that the head of his shaft sank just slightly into her vagina. Marguerite pushed back against him as much as she could, bringing him a little deeper. "I won't." With a groan, Roxton thrust fully into Marguerite and reveled in her cry of pleasure. Steadying them both with one hand firmly grasping her hips, Roxton pulled back and then thrust again, his pent-up desire expressing itself in a rapid, hungry rhythym. Reaching around with his other hand, he echoed that rhythym with finger flicks across her clitoris, teasing and tantalizing the tender nub of flesh as he thrust within her from behind. Marguerite gasped and shivered as Roxton's movements quickly brought her to the edge of ecstasy. She understood his urgency, felt it herself. It had been too long. She rotated her hips clockwise, increasing the friction and pressure of his strokes even as she ground herself against his fingers. Another clever flick of his fingers, and she reached the pinnacle, her muscles clenching around his shaft as she climaxed. Feeling her tighten around him was enough to send Roxton over the edge. Moaning her name in broken syllables, he grabbed onto her hips with both hands and thrust as deeply as he could go, spilling himself inside of her. For long moments afterwards they stood there panting, still joined, unwilling and unable to move apart. Then Roxton gently withdrew from Marguerite and lifted her up into his arms. "What a wonderful bath, John," Marguerite murmured, running one finger over Roxton's chest. "But now I think I'd like to continue this in my bedroom, if you don't mind." Roxton laughed. "Whatever my queen commands." He briefly considered whether he should pick up his pants first. He leaned over to try and spot them, and momentarily lost his balance. He staggered a step, banging into the auto-washing tub as he regained his balance. A lever slipped. CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!!!! "What the hell?" Marguerite squawked, cupping her hands over her ears as the auto-washing tub clamored to furious life. Before Roxton could answer her, a bellowing roar froze them both. He looked around, tightening his hold on Marguerite. "T-Rex!" A second angry roar quickly followed the first, and the ground shook with monsterous running steps. "It sounds like it's coming closer, John!" Marguerite yelled over the din. Roxton didn't bother to waste breath on a reply. He sprinted for the Treehouse elevator with Marguerite gripped firmly in his arms. As they reached the lift and started upwards, they heard a third roar and the splintering of branches. "It's headed straight for us!" Marguerite gasped. "Will the electric fence stop it?" "It has before, but I've never heard one so angry," Roxton murmured, wishing he had a better view of what was going on. At the top level of the Treehouse, Roxton got his wish. As they emerged from the lift, Roxton and Marguerite could plainly see a full-grown, maddened male T-Rex charge the electric fence and smash right through it. It shrieked in pain but did not slow its desperate charge towards the object of its fury - the clamoring, clattering, clanking auto-washing tub. Roxton hastily put Marguerite down on the nearest chair and lunged for the rifle rack, bringing his heaviest rifle up to bear. With a cry that shook the Treehouse, the huge dinosaur bit the machine, tearing off a chunk of the tub and sending it flying. Not satisfied, it stomped and bit and tore until nothing was left of the auto-washing tub but a few metal scraps. "Good Lord," Roxton breathed softly, not moving a muscle. "All right, old boy. You've killed it. Now go on home." With a satisfied snort, the T-Rex gave one last stomp and then started lumbering back the way he came. On the chair, Marguerite started laughing hysterically. "John, do you believe that?" Roxton shook his head. "I saw it, and I don't think I do." Marguerite giggled. "Well, we'd better get dressed and start thinking." "About what?" Roxton wanted to know. "About whatever will we tell George?" FINIS ***** Return to The Lost World Menu |