"Taking a shower." You call out as you disappear into the bathroom. Ever since we built that new walk-in you have taken every excuse to use it. (So have I.)  I've also made more than a few hints that maybe we should use it together, but that idea, while tasty on the tongue as a whisper over dinner, often plays out far differently in real life.  I quit mentioning it, but I haven't given up.  

I'm still surprised - in a good way - when your head pokes around the door - "Coming?" - before disappearing inside again.  

I sure hope so.  


You have small votive candles lit, and nothing else.  A faint red glow from the top of the sky, the echo of the echo of Sunset, can be seen out our Oriole bay window, adding just a touch of illicit back-splash red to the room.  The shower is already running full-steam, the multiple shower heads pulsating from every direction, and the waterfall walls I never get tired of seeing.  

You are already in the shower, dripping wet, a goddess.  Your hair is soaked but still so beautiful. I step in and you hand me the shampoo to allow me to caress it into your tresses.  I love your hair, love playing with it, and you love me stroking it.  

Tonight is another level altogether.  The thick slippery suds added to the pulsating water and the luxuriousness of your hair is a potent combination.  Liquid soap is in your hands and your hands are all over my body....making it harder and harder to concentrate.  I get in on some of that soap for you, and in short order we are both as lathered as two people can be.  

I want to go slowly here, not ruin the moment, determined to show you how non-threatening it is to move it up a level. You are way ahead of me, and pull on my shoulders until I get the hint and drop down on my knees.  Yes, it hurts, but if I complain it may kill the mood.  I will gladly pay the price tomorrow.  

My mind is thinking, over-thinking, trying to figure out the right gear to not upset you.  Ah, screw it.  I'm letting Instinct take over for awhile.  


My tongue laps between your legs like a dog in heat. Your hand tightens in my wet hair.  Through the shower's incessant drumbeat and the thudding in my ears of my own heart I still hear you moan and it makes me soar.  I want to take you over the edge......if you're ready.  

I continue to drink in your honey and probe with my tongue.  Soft lips slide into my mouth, and I taste the tinge of soap, sweat and shampoo from your body along with your continual unabated wet nectar. It is your essence, the sweetness of your soul. 

My mouth moves up to your clit, hidden in the shower's storm.  While my mouth gently (well, sort-of gently) suckles that gem, one, then two fingers slip inside you. At first the fingers explore gently, happy just to be there.  Then slowly, but relentlessly, they thrust, as deeply as possible (and you know the size of my hands), forcing you up on your toes, if only to accommodate. 

Your breathing is ragged; not pain, exactly, as the shower (and you) lubricates everything, but there is a "stretching" that makes you shudder.  Your hair hangs down over your face, Could be coincidence, but I wonder if it is because you don't want me to see your thoughts. I am enjoying every second....but are on another level.  It is like you are tearing your Shadow away from your body. I am incredibly hard but I don't make the next obvious move.  I just suck on your clit, biting gently, and work my fingers inside you. Your muscles close around them...

Ye gods they are going to have to rename the Kegel after you.


With none-too-gentle force you tug on my hair; if I did not rise at your command I think you'd have pulled me up on your own or ripped my hair out trying.  I do believe you have something on your mind.

My legs are asleep so I rise in a stagger, and stumble against the wall, banging my head against the waterfall.  Disoriented, I don't realize until you have moved that my head is in your hands. You grip me tightly; too tightly, but I don't say a word of protest.  You look at me like the fate of the world depends on me understanding your wordless fury. Eyes blaze into mine, and I'm held fast; were your hands to abate their pressure I wouldn't even notice. 

I'm still half-staggered, the beauty of drinking you, the quick change from kneeling to standing, the pressure on my ears....I feel concussed.  You pull my head down to you and take my lower lip in your mouth.  It's the only part of my face you touch. you suck on my lip hard with mouth and teeth, and as you pull your mouth away you scrape your teeth on the softness of my inside flesh.

It hurts. A lot. As my mouth is returned to me I taste blood. You're a little frightening....I could not be more pleased. Take you over the edge? YOU MIGHT TAKE ME.

Your lip curls slightly, almost contemptuously, as if you read my thoughts plain as day.   My head is still in your hands, though gentler now, and there seems to be a battle for control.  But it's not between me and you. I'm not even in it. I'm half mad with lust for you, but in humbled awe at everything going on inside and around you. Right now, if you asked me to, I would try almost anything. But what does happen I never would have EVER expected.


You slap my face, hard. I'm so shocked I can do nothing but widen my eyes. (In the back of my mind I note with quasi-disgust that I "grew" slightly at that slap; ye gods I hope you did not notice.)

Before I can recover your other hand slaps me; both sides of my mouth sting. Imagine an open-hand slap...with water pouring down. It's like nothing on this earth. (And yes....sheesh. I'm getting to be a regular naughty catholic school girl.)

I see your shoulder twitch with the third slap--it's coming with speed. I move quickly (I'm deceptively fast) and your own momentum causes you to stagger. I don't exactly have a plan, but I have a goal; no more slaps unless I dole them out.

I take advantage of your stumble and I pull your other hand behind your back, then use my hip to check you up to the wall. You push against the wall by instinct, the distraction allowing me to pull both hands behind your back. My hands encircle your wrists, gently, but with absolutely no chance of getting away.  Your arms can't be comfortable, but surprisingly (or maybe not), you're not writhing in fury.

You don't look back at me.  I can SEE your neck muscles cord and twitch in an effort to keep you from doing just that. Have I just pinned you against the shower wall, and pinned both of your hands? Or have you maneuvered me exactly where you want me?

Philosophical as I am, I'll worry about it later. I suddenly find myself with more....pressing matters at hand. 

Knowing you as i do, I find myself confused by the fact that I'm (temporarily) holding your wrists, and yet you're not fighting me like a chicken-hawk.  Could it have something to do with that private inner-moment earlier, when you seemed to disappear from the world?  Could you have been throwing off the shackles of memory and proving your freedom by stepping into the teeth of your fear? Are you "choosing" this to show who has the actual power, since you've been maneuvering me from word Go?

Or did you concoct the whole thing just to make me THINK that's what was going on, totally confuse the hell out of me, get to slap me, give the the glimpse of a prison guard fantasy, just to yank it all away from me?

In a word, yes.


Somehow without even turning around, you know everything going through my head. Of course you do. You know me as I know you, and you are every bit as devious and far-thinking. (And in the far-back reaches of my mind, somewhere I realize that this is a gift to me. To insert a freaking mystery into everything else, knowing I would not be able to stay's beautiful, simply beautiful.)

But I have other problems. In my haze of thought I have lost focus, and you take this opportunity to sweep your well-formed leg up, hook behind my knee, and pull forward, buckling me. You use THAT distraction, to easily slip from my grip, spin around, and literally jump me right there in the shower!

We tumble to the floor, you on top. (I'll feel that tomorrow.)  I'M STILL HARD AS A ROCK, and so you need do no coaxing. On principle I should try to stop you but I can no longer feel my legs.

And I don't want to.  All I feel is you, and all I see is you. 

You lift yourself up, and impale yourself on me in one motion.  You are NEVER able to take it fast, that smoothly. (Suddenly the stretching from before makes more sense.)  You put your hands on my chest, and lean down over me. This gives your clit friction against my skin as you begin to ride me. Hard.

Your hair falls over my face. I can barely see you though it, and i struggle to. I don't care if my lip bleeds for days, and if my cheeks have two hand prints tomorrow for all the world to see.  I'll moan about my bumped head and bruises tomorrow.  Right now all I want is you.  I am inside you, and you devour me even as i penetrate you. And I must see you.

I shake your hair away and there is your face. Filled with such tenderness and yet such fury. Fury for me?  Maybe.  Mostly, though, just fury. The good kind.  You have always been a ferocious woman, even if people didn't know it. It's time they did.

My mouth finds yours and we attack, not at maiming speed, but plenty fierce. Our bodies sync, and my thrusting is added to your intense downward pressure and back-and-forth gyrations. Water continues to pour down over us, but has become almost forgotten in the mangled purity of your moment.  Of my moment. Of OUR moment.

I always need you, I always want you, but right now I feel another door open, and I don't even have a word for it. I don't need one

I will push through that door with you, and we will discover it together.

[I had more pictures than I could fit into the story. I put the rest on Monkey Barn, because I liked them even if I couldn't use them.]

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