“The bathroom’s just down the hall on the left,” Chris said, opening a linen closet and handing me a couple towels. “Take your time.”
Chris lived in a small house nestled between two apartment buildings. It was an older place, clearly built before the rest of the neighborhood, but clearly in good repair. “My uncle left me the place,” he’d explained, “but I’ve done a lot of work on the interior.”
That was an understatement. Gorgeous hardwood floors, LED lighting, and the door to the bathroom opened completely silently. And the shower.
The shower was glass-walled, with room for at least two people, and had three different heads with a faucet on each one. There was even a little bench-like shelf to sit on.
I pulled my shirt up and off with a bit of difficulty, then hung it over an empty towel rod to drip. My bra joined it, and I found myself wondering if water damage would ruin bras. Were they like running shoes?
Chris tapped on the door. I’d left it ajar, and it opened a crack. “Hey, Shawna, I brought you a robe,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said, opening the door and taking the bathrobe from his hands. It was white, and really soft. I was feeling it between my fingers and smiling, enjoying the way the fibers rubbed my skin, when I realized that Chris was staring at me.
“Oh shit, sorry!” he said, looking away. “I didn’t mean to…”
I blinked. What was he talking about? Then I remembered that I was a woman, with womanly parts.
“Fuck!” I said, pulling the robe to cover my breasts. I suppressed the urge to moan in pleasure at the way the little fuzzy hairs tickled my nipples. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to flash you. I wasn’t thinking.”
“No, it’s alright,” Chris replied. His face had turned a really deep shade of red. “Anyway, I’ll put some coffee on. Take your time, alright?”
He pulled the door closed before I could answer, and I heard footsteps retreating toward the kitchen. “Shit,” I muttered, “I’ll never get used to these things.”
I turned the water on and inhaled deeply, letting the steamy mist warm me from the inside. Then I peeled off my jeans and panties, wringing some water out and adding them to the dripping bar.
It occurred to me that I’d need to at least toss these things in a dryer before they’d be wearable, so I decided to ask Chris to do just that. I thought about putting that incredible robe on, covering my body with that soft tickling warmth, but decided that it was better not to with how wet my skin and hair were.
I wrapped a towel around myself, making sure this time to cover all my important parts, and stepped out into the hall. I could already smell the coffee brewing. Chris used good beans, and I let myself just enjoy the scent for a moment.
I heard a quiet groan while I was standing there, so I turned and went down the hall. The door to the master bedroom was open a couple inches, and I could see movement in there, so I crept up for a closer look.
Inside, sitting on a truly gorgeous King bed, was Shawn. His clothes, not as wet as mine but certainly needing to be laundered, were in a basket on the floor. Chris was completely naked.
Naked, and jacking off.
He had that huge cock in his hand, and was stroking it slowly. His eyes were closed, and his chest and arms glistened with sweat and rainwater. I watched, unable to pull my eyes away, as his hand moved up and down, again and again. He groaned, and I felt a tingle that started between my legs and rolled all the way up my spine.
I couldn’t believe it. First Tommy attacked me, and now this. Chris was jerking it while I was supposedly in the shower just down the hall! I wasn’t that sexy. I should know. But men kept totally losing control around me! It was like I was sweating out pheromones or something.
Chris groaned again, and again my pussy tingled into my spine. Except this time the tingling went on. It took me a few seconds to realize that I was touching myself.
My hand had slid under the towel and was nestled between my legs; my fingers were moving quickly up and down against my slit. My surprisingly wet slit.I gasped as a wave of pleasure rolled over me.
This is wrong, I thought, for so many reasons. I’m not some lovesick girl. I’m a straight man! In a lovesick girl’s body!
A body that had stopped listening to my objections. My other hand dropped the towel to the floor, cupping my breast and pinching my nipple. I bit my lip, trying not to moan, as my fingers moved down, then up, then down and finally slid inside me.
I kept my eyes on Chris, the entire time, telling myself I had to make sure he didn’t look in my direction. It was just an impulse, I reasoned, and as soon as it was relieved I could get cleaned up and forget about it.
I watched as Chris stroked faster, shivering at the sensation of my own fingers pumping in and out of my slick passage. It felt incredible. Every time he stroked down, I felt a jolt of pleasure as if he were pushing himself up inside me, but at the same time I felt a hole, an emptiness deep in the core of my body, and somehow I just knew that I was looking right at the thing that would fill that void.
He sped up again, and I realized that I was speeding up too. I’d been fingering myself to time with his strokes. I imagined that I was on top of him, that instead of pulling his fingers down around his dick he was holding my hips, lifting me and pulling me down, sliding that thick cock easily up into my tight body where it fit perfectly.
Chris was going faster and faster. He was at the edge, and I was too. I felt myself about to moan and slapped my hand over my mouth, muffling it to a quiet little sound that came out with each breath. I panted and pushed harder, faster, still matching Chris stroke for stroke, thrust for thrust.
Finally, with a little cry of pleasure, Chris leaned back and came. His cum shot up into the air, landing on his stomach and hips. The sight triggered something in my confused, lust-clouded mind, and I came moments later. It was intense, like the first time I’d thought about him while touching myself, but somehow even more so. My body shook and I held my breath, clenching my muscles so tight that I started to fade out from a lack of blood moving up my neck.
I floated back into my head by stages, wiping my fingers on my thigh and pulling my towel back on. I could see Chris laying on the bed, looking like he’d just run a marathon while he wiped blindly at himself with some tissues. It was a lot to wipe; he’d shot so much that I could smell the coppery scent of sex in the air.
Forgetting why I’d come out here in the first place, I retreated as quietly as I could back to the bathroom, closing the door behind me. Read more »