The Glass Shower - A Duet

(Written from both his and her perspectives, starting with hers.)

It's been a long time. But as fate would have it, you had to come to Boston for business.

You're not sure if I'll be up for a rendezvous so you poke around hinting at it.

--

I send you photos of the hotel room, and it's one with a shower that has just clear glass as a wall facing the rest of the room; nothing else.

We pretend to make fun of it, it's so stupid... but of course I start getting ideas.

And I keep calling it a "sex room", pretending it's a joke. But if you're ok calling it that repeatedly, I know I can keep going...

"Like, not only would you see your partner naked, but also, if you were to fuck your partner against it, her tits would be squished obscenely against the glass!"

"They'd look so huge, and wet, and her nipples would rub against the chilly glass."

"So stupid..."

--

There's a mirror across from the shower on two sides. You can imagine how it would look from inside. Behind me. And you can't keep joking about it, it feels too real.

--

I'm bulging in my important work meeting, thinking about it.

--

I'm playing it coy. I haven't answered your joking flirtations with outright interest, I wasn't sure if it would be right for me right now.

We make plans just to get dinner, but I can't stop thinking about you all day. I have to change my panties at least 3 times.

--

Just as I'm wondering what your body looks like after a long time apart, you send me a photo "of the community garden" you're working in, but.. there's just enough cleavage in it to make me hungry for you.

Not overt. Coy. Just enough.

I leave my office, walk toward my hotel to planning jack off to the thought of you.

--

You're not aware that I've also been quietly touching myself to you to get it out of my system. Or at least make it manageable through dinner.

--

After work, I walk toward my hotel. I'm distracted, looking at my phone. I round a corner and suddenly bump into--

you.

Your community garden is right nearby. You haven't showered or changed yet. You feel slightly embarrassed.

But what I see makes me want to fuck you right then and there.

There's a bandana in your hair. Slight dirt smudges on your temple and arms. You're sweaty. Not drenched, but enough to bring sex with you to mind.

Your tank top is absolutely no match for your tits. You're braless. It's a work shirt, old and appear slightly torn, with paint and dirt spots. Your shorts are shaped by your amazing hips, and ass. Just a bit of midriff is showing.

And you can almost physically feel my eyes roaming you, even in the split second that we noticed each other.

--

I haven't been back to California for a while, work's been crazy, so we can't help soaking each other up and taking in any changes. Absorbing and relishing them. Within stolen fractions of seconds.

I see your eyes, bright as they always are, the sun is setting and it's catching them in that way that make them a blaze of green. I know no matter what changes, I can always count on that.

I linger on them because I can't help myself, but soon I start to drift down to your chest and notice you're wearing a shirt I've never seen before, it's hugging your burly chest quite nicely, but it's the sleeves that cinch around your biceps that turns my cheeks red. You're fidgeting a bit with your hands and I can't help but remember all of the times those strong hands pulled at my body, hungrily.

--

We're both stunned, trying to make awkward small talk. Your friend is helping you carry garden things back home, so we aren't alone.

And we're doing a terrible job of acting like we weren't just fantasizing about the other.

--

She's smirking as she observed us stammering around each other.

--

She knows what's going on, and makes us sweat through it.

The only reason I can stand not to stare openly at your tits is your smile. I've missed it. It's so lively and genuine, always.

--

You half-jokingly offer me use of your goofy shower just around the corner if I want to wash the garden off of me.

--

You half-jokingly look down at the tools you're carrying. There's not really enough that requires two people, so your gracious friend offers to take them the rest of the way. And so you join me, walking to the hotel.

--

You think you're certain you saw the same desire in my eyes, but as we get closer to the hotel, you start to doubt yourself and wonder how you're going to hold it together while I'm in the shower you had just made plans to jerk off thinking about.

I mistake your uncertainly for pulling away and am a little disappointed, almost a little hurt.

You show me to your room and we both awkwardly chuckle at the shower you had told me about.

You offer me a towel and chivalrously claim that you'll be admiring the city from the window in order to give me some privacy.

Again, I'm a little disappointed that not only can you refrain from taking me right then and there, but you're being considerate and inaccessible to me in the way I'm longing for.

You go to the window and look down at the harbor, but you can see my silhouette in your periphery. I start to undress, peeling my sweaty shorts from from my ass and thighs. You hear them hit the ground and without realizing it, your straining to side eye me without turning your head.

I notice in the mirror now how my tits are clinging to my tank top, and I start to pull at it so that my tits pop over the top. This is one of my favorites and I was planning to put it straight in the washer when I got home, so I decide to step into the shower still wearing it, to make sure the dirt stains don't set.

I start up the shower and now you're sweating, straining so hard to see. You can't turn your head, not just out of respect, but because you now can't hide the raging boner bursting your pants.

I'm soaping up and I start chuckling to myself, remembering how you joked about this shower and how a pair of tits would look against the glass.

The more I think about it, the more I wonder what my tits would look like pressed against that glass.

I look over at you and from what I can make out through the condensation collecting on the glass, you're as still as a statue.

I think, well, just because he's not going to tear me apart, doesn't mean I can't have a little fun on my own.

I look over toward the mirror and make sure my tank top is low enough to expose me. I rub some soap across my tits and approach the side of the shower.

The glass is fogged up so I'm not expecting it to be cold on my skin. I squeak when my nipples first hit the glass and reactively pull away, but suddenly I'm being pushed against it again so forcefully that my nipples aren't the only parts of me reckoning with the cold.

I'm not sure how you moved so fast, but I know you're behind me now, and in front of me is that cold glass, my tits splayed against them, making perfect circles in the condensation. You're pressed against me and your cock is jabbing into my ass. You rock back and forth a couple times against me before adjusting so you can slide your cock between my thighs and along my clit.

--

You don't dare say anything.

You thought I was trying hard to not indulge myself in your body. But instead of distance or apathy, you were just witnessing the last of the restraint I could muster.

When I saw from the corner of my eye you check to make sure your tits were openly exposed, I just couldn't take anymore.

I absolutely needed to have you.

You couldn't hear me over the shower, but I almost stampeded over to you once you went behind the foggy glass.

I managed to strip off most clothes on the way, my pants, boxers, socks.

I'd unbuttoned my work dress shirt, but I couldn't take it off fast enough. It remained, loosely draped from my biceps.

So here we are. My cock head is now openly resting against your swollen, sensitive, dripping clit.

But I don't move forcefully, yet. I have you, already.

It's over.

You're mine.

Now I can take my time with you until it drives you mad.

My voice is low, calm, but forceful.

"Show me."

You're not sure what I meant, but whatever I want, you definitely want to show it to me.

"Your tits. The glass. Show me," I growl.

I loosen my pressure just enough to let you push away from the glass.

But I don't move.

When you pull back from the glass, you also end up sliding your clit along my cock head.

It's so slow, and light, but feels so intense.

You were so focused on your needy pussy, that it took you a second to feel what happened to your firm, soapy tits.

The glass was cold. It hardened your nipples. But your skin acclimated to the glass briefly. Now that you've pulled away, you can really feel the chill where they were pressed on the glass.

Your hard nipples are the last part of you to break contact from the glass. It feels as if the cold glass wall licked them as you pulled away.

Starting from your breasts,

your whole body

ripples with goosebumps.

I can feel them against me. It makes me want to touch you more. With the goosebumps come a shiver.

But with your clit just so lightly touching my cock, your body's shaking effectively

slaps

my cock

repeatedly

against

your pussy lips.

Gently, rapidly, involuntarily.

"Good," I groan, slowly.

You think I mean your shiver.

Or your pussy.

But I mean your tits.

I'm still so fixated on your tits.

Obsessed with your tits.

Desperate for your tits.

What I meant was how good your tits now look, pulled away from the glass.

Already perky normally, they sit propped up atop your lowered tank top, effectively presented to me.

It's a wonderful presentation.

Your nipples are as hard as possible, the glass having done its job. I marvel at the goosebumps passing in waves along the tops of your soft, firm tits. And finally I look toward the glass. They left two perfect circles wiped free of fog.

"Again," I quietly order you.

You think to nod in agreement--or is it obedience?--but before you can react, I've slowly started pushing you back against the glass.

Your clit rides the length of my cock, once again.

You gasp at the fresh cold of the glass, now touching skin it didn't reach the first time when you weren't pressed so hard against it. I pull you back--clit rides my cock head again--and look again at the circles.

They're slightly larger now. It makes me want to make them even bigger.

I gently fold your arms behind your back, and use them as a handle for your body. I begin sliding your clit--I mean, your body.. forward and backward along my shaft.

I pretend I'm just trying to get bigger circles. A little game. But you can tell from how my cock is pressing more and more upward each time that the only plaything here is your pussy.

Along with your arms, I'm gripping your rolled-down tank top. It's also been reduced to being a handle for me to use you.

I don't take your tank top off, though your full tits are now fully exposed. I want one last shred of decency on your body when I fuck you. I want to see your body framed, like a work of art. I want you to have something on that you could, in theory, cover yourself with... but choose not to.

As I slide your pussy up and down my cock, you can feel the soaked tails of my shirt grazing, then clinging to your ass. Even the shirt is pulling you toward me. They briefly remind you of my hands on you, and the thought of four of my hands groping your body makes you sigh.

I don't ask if you're ready.

I don't ask if you want a condom.

I don't ask how you're feeling.

Your sigh was the last straw.

On the next pull backward, I ever so slightly pivot my hips upward. My cock was always about to fuck you. All it took was a little shift.

I've lost it.

I pull your folded arms hard, splashing water from where your ass slaps against my abdomen.

My sounds are just guttural groans.

The glass is reasonably thick--I fully shove you into it so I can get deeper inside you.

Not just your tits, but your whole chest.

Your cheek.

Your forehead.

Anyone on the other side would only see.. that. Your pleasured face, and your giant fucking tits, pressed clearly onto the glass surrounded by fog.

I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror. It fires me up even more.

Your moans are resonating against the glass.

"Thnnysrr" you murmur.

"Wghat?" I growl.

"Thankyuu sir" you repeat.

You feel my cock throb inside you, harder.

"You can thank me... when you're... full of cum.. ugggh..."

"Ok.. sir...."

Even with the water running, I can very much tell the difference between the water on my cock and your wetness on my cock. Over time, your pussy is keeping my cock wetter than the shower that's directly on it.

We are loud. So loud. You're making so many happy noises, that you may have cum, multiple times.

But I'm not considerate enough to slow down or stop.

I don't care if you're coming too much.

I don't care if you need a break.

I don't care if you're worried about us being heard.

I just need to dump my load inside you. That's all.

My sex brain has put any feelings aside entirely, for the good of your pussy. And for the goal of emptying my balls.

You hear me get quieter. More repetitive. You know what's coming.

You try to fully relax, so I can get deeper inside you. But you can't stop using your bound arms to pull yourself back against me.

But that's ok. I pull and turn you against the only real wall, and I give up on pleasuring you...

and just breed you.

I just need the most leverage.

The hardest surface.

The best angle.

I just need my cum inside you.

That's all.

Nothing more.

Just cum.

And since you let me take what I want,

you get it.

The cum.

All the cum.

It's pumping inside you.

I don't call your name.

I don't use words at all.

I just groan.

And cum.

And groan.

And cum some more.

And you relax as much as you can stand it.

You want it to get deep.

None down the drain.

None dripping down your legs.

All inside you.

Staying there.

Where you want it.

...Several minutes later, we have, shockingly, not fallen against the shower floor. But we're leaning hard on the wall.

The hot water has been running this whole time. But we still smell like sex. My animalistic grip has become a caress.

And we dose off briefly, my cock inside you. Before turning off the water, and going to bed together, shedding the last of our now very clean clothes.