Annie's Indiscretion

He didn't let me finish shaking. He pulled out, and then he picked me up (I couldn't have stood on my own). He carried me into my bathroom where he sat me on my vanity stool and went over to the shower. I watched him twist the knob, admiring the tracks his sweat made in the singular muscles in his back and the wet trail that disappeared into his buttocks. He came back to me and stood behind me. I felt his wet penis slide into my back, and he touched my neck, massaged my muscles with his fingers, and together we watched the steam rise. I wanted it good and hot. Though we'd separated less than a minute ago the house was still so cold.

I didn't say another word. What Michael wanted to do with me was his to divulge, and he did so physically. We didn't enter the shower for some time; he spent it massaging my back, my arms, kissing my neck. Sore as I was, he got me wet again, and just when his fingers were kneading my ass on the stool and I thought he might enter me, he lifted me up and led me into the shower. I turned back only once as we stepped into the glass together, looking shyly at his face, then casting my gaze downward to see his cock hardening anew.

He washed me, letting me first squirt and thread the shampoo into my hair and then generously filling the loofah with the soap. He kissed me sweetly on the lips and dragged the abrasive pad around my neck, over my shoulders and back. I raised my arms for him and he glided the loofah down to my armpits, where he scoured me, trailing it down between my breasts. He skated down, all business, to rub my stomach and get into the matted stickiness of my pubic hair. He attended to my thighs and knees, and then took me tenderly by the hips and turned me around.

I faced the glass and put my soapy palms against the pane. He did my buttocks next, and gave them a bit more attention than I would have liked, than I was used to. He scrubbed me good, and I would have been mortified by how he pinched and prodded my cheeks apart, wiping me down, cleaning me as thoroughly as if I were an animal, but his scrubbing and rolling so near my tender asshole made me feel dirty enough to need the cleansing, and how Michael could make me feel both clean and filthy at once was, I learned, his specialty (at least where I was concerned).

He slid the loofah down to the backs of my legs and then I felt him hang it up on the shower knob. His hands led me by the hips into the shower spray, and he washed the soap down my cheeks, helping the suds flow down my legs, opening me to let it wash down my crack. When next he touched me his palms were thick with the soap, and now he gave my breasts their due attention.

He came up close, his cock sliding up into the cleft of my buttocks, and, my back to his muscular chest, he wrapped his arms around me and covered my breasts with the gooey soap. I sighed as his fingers swirled around my tender nipples, as they hardened, and he kissed his way up my neck, his cock hardening as he sawed it up and down my ass. All thoughts of the oven and when the family would arrive evaporated as his fingers roved lower and began to play with me. I heard myself making noises I hadn't made even in the height of our lovemaking, and now the hot spray and Michael's eager attention was getting me anxious; at his thumb's soapy circle about my clitoris I bent into him, rubbing my anus into his shaft. His lips found mine and I bent lower, lower still until I felt him grab his member and brush it against my dripping labia.

I moaned "Again?" once, as if I hadn't known, and then let my body release a delicate cry as he took me from behind. My voice mingled with the shower's roar as his hands simultaneously roved up to my breasts and down to hold my hip in place. I did not remove my hands from the fogged shower glass and submitted to him wordlessly, letting him guide us into a slow, sensual rhythm sprinkled all over with the hot tickles of the mist. I bent my head, still thick with the shampoo and the water, and he, taking it as a cue, wrapped his fingers in it and pulled. It was gentle, but it was firm, and as I looked up I could barely make out our figures in the foggy mirror beyond the shower; the dark man behind and the prone woman, her breasts bobbing and flattening against the glass as he plunged, the wet slaps of our skin rising in the humidity. I had to wonder what was this for him? He'd already had me once. Was I now his whore? Was I his plaything to feed his cuckolded lust? Or had he always dreamed of this moment, us two in my shower, naked and panting in the heat.

A heavy drip left the place where he slid into me and I felt it ooze down my leg. I thought it was the soap, but it was more than that. It was his semen, mixed with the soap he'd lathered me up with, the sperm he'd filled me with before, being squeezed out of me by his renewed entry. A shudder wracked my body, such that he had to grab my stomach to steady me. What was it to me? What was this to me? He thrust deep and pressed me up against the glass. His lips touched my ear. "What do you want, Annie?" he asked, as if he could read my mind.

"Don't stop," I said. "Just don't stop, baby. Do what you have to do."

Because he had to step back before he pulled out, pulling out felt like forever. Charles was never in me so long, or so hard. His big hands spun me around. Then he was against me, his cock on my belly, and he was kissing me again, our wet mouths fighting each other like hungry animals.

"What do you want to do?" he asked.

I took his cock in my hand and began to jerk him off in the cum and the soap. He didn't waste time touching me, reaching into me, thumbing my clitoris as he fingered me.

"Don't leave Carly," I hissed into his kisses, even as I rubbed his shaft in and out of my grasp.

"Annie..." he groaned.

"Christ, Mike, if you fuck her like this why would she ever leave?" It was the wrong thing to say, the wrong argument, but I was far from in my right mind.

But he smiled and pulled out of my pussy. He came so close to me that I had to drop his cock and let it rub up my bellybutton. He held me, and I slid my hands down to grab his tight ass. There under the water we held each other shivering, despite the heat, and I loved him and hated him at once. "Carly needs a good man in her life," I said. "For once."

"You think I'm good? Even after this?"

"What is this?" I said.

"I've wanted you..." he started.

"I know," I said. "You told me, I know. I know. And I gave myself to you. So if you love me do what I'm asking you. Make it work with my daughter."

He looked bemused. "All this was for Carly?"

I grabbed his cock again. "This was for me," I said. And for the first time I saw Mike lose a little bit of that composure, saw his head tilt back. I squeezed him for good measure. "But don't make me regret giving in to the worst thing I've ever done."

"Your worst is the best thing I've had in years."

We stared at each other in the shower's mist. I kissed him. He began to rub against me again and I tried to control myself as my sensitive nipples slid over his, the coating of soap making us slippery. "This was just one mistake," I said into his neck. Already his hands were working on me again, touching me, exploring me.

"Two mistakes?" he teased.

My fingers dug deep into his back. "I'll talk to Carly, you'll talk to Carly, and you can both work it out. I know you can." We were still kissing when he pressed me against the glass and turned my ass against his cock.

"And you make me a promise," he said into my ear, his cock sliding under my buttocks and back into my hot pussy. I gasped uncontrollably as he pressed in to the hilt, forcing my heavy breasts into the wet glass. "If I need you..." he started. He thrust again.

"No," I groaned, his hands taking my tender breasts.

"You'll let me come to you," he went on, arcing his hips sharply.

"No, oh God no," I moaned, trying to stay on my feet.

"Promise me," he said. I met his next thrust with my hips. His voice was deep, barely contained, bordering a growl.

My orgasm was tingling, frothing at the edges of my pussy like the percolating droplets in the puddle at our feet. "M-Mike," I tried. I wanted to feel him burst in me so that I could burst all over him. Again. Again.

"If I need you," he said, and he said it with such mournful desire that my heart nearly broke.

"Mike, please, I'm a good woman."

"So good," he grunted into his thrust. We cried out together. "You'll help me, when I need you?"

"Oh, God, Mike-" My breasts squashed against the glass. I was pushing my hands into it, bucking into his thrusts. "You can have anything you want just cum for me!"

We cried out together as his ejaculate burst from his plunging cock. I made an utterly dirty sound when he grabbed my hair and pulled my last orgasm out of me. I shouldn't have said it, I should have never said it, but in the heat of the moment, with his heat inside me, I gave in to him, I gave him exactly what he wanted.

* * *

We finished the shower. It wasn't easy. And then we both...did what we'd promised we'd do. That night the family ate Christmas dinner like nothing untoward had transpired in our house, like Carly and Mike were a happy couple, and afterwards she came to me, talked to me, and I steered her back to Mike.

They spoke that night and decided to keep trying. I was happy for them. I wanted their marriage to work.

And when Mike left he left with that look in his eye, the look I would be worried to see again, the look a good mother should not encourage from her son-in-law. Of course it's not just the look that I can't stop thinking about...