I know that I've only got 45 minutes before I need to leave for the theater. I tell myself that I'm not going to masturbate in the shower. It would be a complete waste of time. I decide to give myself ten minutes. I'm just going to hop in, wash my hair, and hop out. Then I can throw on some clothes, do my makeup, and be ready to leave in plenty of time to catch the show. I step beneath the shower head and let the hot water pound down on me. I take a moment to revel in it, giving a little moan and tilting my head back so that the water wets my hair and cascades down my back. It's almost uncomfortably hot, but that's just the way I like it.
I get down to business, grabbing the shampoo, and working it into my hair, then rinsing, doing the same thing with the conditioner. It's as I'm rinsing out the conditioner that my resolve begins to weaken. The shower head is one of the variety that detaches from a bracket on the wall, so that you can concentrate the water in whichever area you like. I've switched the water pressure to the highest setting, thinking that it will clean the remaining conditioner out of my hair much more efficiently. But now I think about how good it would feel to direct that powerful jet of water against my clit. I imagine the heat of it, the intense pressure of the water, the challenge of finding the perfect spot upon which to concentrate the stream.
No, I tell myself. There's no time. My ten minutes are almost up. But the hand holding the shower head moves so that the stream of water is splashing against my pussy. Fuck it, I decide. This will only take a couple minutes. I reach down with my other hand and spread the lips of my pussy wide. I tilt my hips forward and angle the jet of water so that it pulses against my clit. It takes me a few moments to find the right spot, but when I do, I moan and hold myself still, letting the water do its work on me.
I think about the last time we were together, about the way you grabbed my hair and spun me around to face you. You pressed yourself against me, letting me feel how hard I was making you, all the while telling me of the things you were going to do to me. I think about how you fucked me that night, taking me in first one position and then another, forcing orgasm after orgasm out of me, making me work for every one of them. When you finally allowed yourself to come (spending yourself in my mouth, telling me to swallow every drop), I was so exhausted that I could hardly manage to get up from the bed.
I moan, biting my lip, my breathing ragged. I begin to undulate my hips, working myself against the stream of hot water between my legs, letting the intense heat and pressure stroke my clit. My pussy is throbbing, swollen and wet, both inside and out. I think about what an insatiable slut I am. I can't even manage to take a quick shower without using it as an opportunity to rub one out.
I think about what you would do to me if you caught me masturbating when I should be getting ready to go out. Would you chastise me? Maybe smack my ass and drag me out of the shower, tell me that I'm going to make myself late? Or would you maybe slip in behind me, press me up against the shower wall and fuck me so hard that I would forget all about the theater? I imagine your hand circling my throat as you pull my body back against yours. I can almost feel the thickness of your cock thrusting in and out of the tight wet warmth of my cunt.
I gasp. The hand holding the shower head between my legs starts to tremble. Then my hips begin to thrust back and forth as the tension inside of me breaks and the orgasm takes hold of me. I cry out, trying to muffle it, but the sound echoes off the bathroom walls. The pulse of the hot water on my clit provokes wave after wave of ecstasy, and I ride them until the sensations suddenly become so intense that they edge into pain. I reach out a shaking hand and turn off the water.
I hop out of the shower and dry myself off. There is a lingering tenderness and wetness between my legs that I savor as I pull on a clean pair of panties and slip into my little black dress. I glance at the clock, knowing already that I'm running late. I manage to get myself coiffed and made up in record time, but you're going to beat me to the theater by at least ten minutes. I decide that I am going to tell you exactly why I'm late, and let you decide on a fitting punishment. There is much to be said for punctuality, but I think that you will probably agree with me that it is also important to make time for orgasms.
