Night Watch I: Eliza, Ward of Andrew

*Andrew's POV*

I didn't know what in the nine hells to do. I had a filthy, despondent, naked woman under my care that was not very communicative, and that desperately needed to get washed up and have her wounds tended to. For all I knew, she could be a murderer! Shit, shit, shit!

I went over to the wall and pulled the still-quivering throwing knife out of my poor sponge. It was on its last legs. After cleaning up Eliza, I’d really have to get a new one.

I considered Eliza's pathetic form, and I couldn’t prevent a wave of sympathy for her washing over me. Regardless of what she had done, she was in bad shape in more than one sense, clearly, and needed help.

I doubtlessly hadn’t improved her comfort level with me. All she had done was toss a damp sponge at me, and I had responded by pulling a weapon, used it to pick the sponge out of the air mid-flight, and then worried more about the welfare of the sponge than what essentially amounted to my new housemate and Watch partner.I decided that being a warden did not suit me at all, but I was stuck with it.

Juliet would have been ashamed of me. She had always been so good at tending to the wounded and the sick.

Fuck it. I could handle some tits and ass, it wasn't anything I hadn't seen before. I decided to just be an adult about the situation.

I walked towards her slowly, talking with a soothing tone all the while. "Eliza, let me help you out. I'll help you finish washing. Nothing sinister, I don't want to hurt you, I promise. I am also a man of my word, ok?"

I waited for Eliza to respond. She stood up, and I was careful to look only at her eyes (not, for example, at her absolutely giant bosom). Her irises were so pretty, like grasshoppers, imported parrots, or clover, but her expression as a whole was just tired. She nodded, and she turned her back to me, spreading her damaged wings as well as she could, so I could stand between them.

I carefully moved her matted hair over her shoulder so I could clean her back. I soaped the sponge, and began small, circling motions on her upper back, around her wings, then her lower back. She surprised me when she bent over, just presenting me with her buttocks. I was mortified when I felt myself begin to stiffen as I made the same small circles over her ample behind, watching the soap run over the pale curves.

When she spread her legs, implying I should wash her... her personal area, it was too much. I cleared my throat. "Eliza...It might be best if you washed… there."

In response, she just snorted, clearly unimpressed, and didn't move. I watched the soapsuds glistening on her buttocks. And damned if I didn't move the sponge down, underneath, to where I knew her thighs must meet. I rubbed in light circles, trying to control my breathing, trying not to get further aroused and failing.

To reach the front, I leaned forward a bit, just as Eliza shifted her weight. Her upper back was now touching my chest, and parts of my arm and wrist were resting against her inner thigh and buttock.

I could have moved, but, like a callous asshole, I didn’t. It had been so fucking long since I had felt the touch of a woman, and under all the filth and bruises, her skin was soft, and she was warm against me.

For perhaps a few more seconds than would have been strictly necessary, I rubbed the sponge gently, in small circles. I thought I felt her thigh quiver against my wrist ever so slightly, and I remembered how glorious a thing it is to pleasure a woman. I felt myself throbbing with needs I had neglected for longer than I had realized.

When I felt near to losing the battle and close to dropping the sponge to see if Eliza, too, was aroused, I withdrew the sponge, embarrassed at my lapse in judgment.I could feel my face heating up with conflicting impulses.

I put more soap on the sponge and gently washed her legs, having to squat to clean her calves. I finally had to adjust my kilt, as my erection was so hard it had grown uncomfortable in its confines. I swallowed, terrified of being discovered.

"Ahem. Ok, let's do your right arm." Eliza flipped her bat-like wing over my head and turned ninety degrees. As I washed her arm, I uncovered a few wounds that would need treatment, and a plethora of deep bruises. I frowned. Why hadn't her tribe treated such egregious wounds? Her hands were small but covered with callouses. I looked up to see that she was watching me intently with no expression.

"Alright, eh, front?" Eliza turned another ninety degrees, and I started soaping up her chest. I tried without looking, but it wasn't very effective, so I ultimately ended up getting an eyeful.

Eliza had magnificent, full breasts, with jewelry in her nipples that caught my eye. She also had bruised bite marks all over her chest, and bruises around her neck and hips. She had a fairly deep cut on her stomach.It was horrifying.

"What happened?" I spoke softly. Eliza just shook her head and averted her eyes. "Why did your tribe not treat your wounds?" She didn't respond, so I continued softly cleaning her breasts and stomach until all of the dirt and dried blood was gone.

The rest of the wash passed in relative silence. I washed Eliza's left arm and her wings (taking extra care with her left wing, which was very badly broken). Then I rinsed each part in turn.It took a lot of water; I’d need to make a trip to the well in the next few days.

After that, I helped her wash her hair with soap. It was so ragged after rinsing that I put a few creams in and carefully combed it out before rinsing again.

Her horns weren't very dirty, they just looked shabby from past trauma. Eliza must have gotten into a lot of very serious fights when she was a teenager.Though each horn was extremely large both for a woman and a Fae that appeared less than middle age, the ends of both came to abrupt, early ends, and both had multiple chips missing. I dabbed them over with the sponge, envious. Eliza would never have to deal with having embarrassing, itchy, smelly crap peeling off of her horns, or girls following her around, waiting for her horns to shed!

Afterwards, I brought her a drying cloth.There was no repeated moment of sexual arousal; I began to wonder if I had imagined it. And if I had not, what the deuce had I been thinking?

Notes

Well, shit. I'm posting a chapter when I'm sleepy again. Let me know if you find any errors, please.

:D