The shower was huge, more like a walk in closet than a space for bathing. It had tiles from floor to ceiling and a little ridge around the edge so that the water would collect just slightly on the floor, making a warm puddle. The water cascaded down from the ceiling like rain. It felt more like standing outside in a warm storm, rather than taking a shower.

He lay me down on the tiles of the floor and positioned himself over me, masking my face from the rain with his, one hand supporting his weight, the other caressing the side of my face. He looked, smiling, into my eyes.

One of his knees was between my thighs, high between them, keeping them apart, almost touching my sex, but not quite. As the water ran down the length of his thigh, it dripped tantalizingly on to the tip of my clitoris, a teasing drip, drip, drip, that was sweet torture. I moaned, closing my eyes and licking my lips.

He smiled quizzically.

“I’m not even touching you.”

“Look at your knee.”

He lifted one eyebrow and moved his gaze down.

“Oh.” He said, when he realized what he had inadvertently been doing.  “Hmmm.” He wondered out loud.

Then he bent down and, purposefully, covered my sex with his mouth. With a long, smooth, sensual suck, he drank all the moisture from my skin. I gasped with pleasure and arched up from the floor. He laughed, enjoy the effect of his actions.

I laughed too, then closed my eyes. His arms were wrapped around my hips, his hands on my stomach, his fingers holding on to me and drawing my body against his mouth. His lips were on me, licking and sucking, making a slow, sensuous feast of my sex.

His mouth was talented and purposeful; its movements executed in well-practiced patterns. He circled me with his tongue, exploring every fold of my sex. He covered me with firm, languorous licks. He penetrated me with his tongue, retreating from my body with slow, strong sucks of my clit. He flicked his tongue with skill, delivering quick, sharp jolts of pleasure to my body. He took his time and his own pleasure in doing it. He was attentive and calculating, bringing me just to the brink of orgasm, then slowing down, waiting for my peak to subside. Then he would begin again. The experience was breathtaking and slow, maddening and perfect.

As I yielded to his carnal ministrations, all my senses awoke and my body became receptive to the greater, all-encompassing physical situation enveloping me: The warmth of the water raining down over me. The constant drip, drip of the drops assaulting my skin. The slickness of the wet. The heaviness of my soaked hair around my face. The hard, slick of the tiles under my back. And the man between my thighs.

 

I stretched my arms above my head, lengthening my body, making more room for the waves of sensation to wash over me. And then…oh…he was ready for me to come. He was going to make this happen, now. He sucked harder, flicked more quickly, and with a smooth movement, brought his fingers to my sex and slid them into me. I gasped and curled upward, coiling my fingers into his hair. His mouth attended to that mass of nerves outside of me as his fingers massaged its opposite inside of me and I exploded in an all-encompassing climax that traveled over me, rippling up and down my body.

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