Warm Shower

A hairy black spider was making its way across its shimmering web. Its eight eyes were watching the nubile body in the shower. It waited, patient and certain, expecting its thirst and hunger to be satisfied soon.

Ashley came in shivering, peeled off her clothes, and stepped under the hot spray. The water loosened the chill from her shoulders and coaxed a slow heat across her skin. She circled her palms over her breasts until the pins-and-needles eased into something softer.

Her dark nipples had always been very responsive, blessing alone at night, but a distraction by day, especially to her colleagues.

Intrusive thoughts of the stranger still occupied her mind, his intense eyes and the confident voice that spoke to her. Ashley craved him and feared him at the same time, but now in the safety of the shower, the fear only made her want more. She envied his pristine suit for being able to wrap around him.

Her skin turned pink from the heat. The droplets came together across her flesh like a spiderweb of water.

Finally feeling warm, she began washing herself with soap. Just trailing her digits across her body felt more sensual than usual.

Lust crept through her like a fever she hadn’t invited. It wasn’t just arousal, it was hunger, sharp and alien, as if something inside her was whispering for more. It quickly filled all corners of her mind, and her hands returned to her breasts to tease them.

She relaxed, pressing her fingers into the supple flesh with the soap helping her palms glide across the little nubs that sent electric sparks through her.

The thought of the stranger’s bright smile shimmered in her mind, perfect and inviting, like the spider’s web, spun to draw her in without struggle. With a sigh, she pressed one of her hands between her thighs to the place that always responded.

The spider twitched, still watching her.

Ashley was soaking wet from more than just the shower; more heat was spreading through her flesh with lust quickly threatening to consume her.

She wanted the experience rather than just looking for a quick release. Her digits teased the sensitive wet folds and her excited button. There was an unsatisfied emptiness deep inside of her that hungered to be filled.

The hollow place inside of her clenched, finding nothing to press. It was taking her breath away how much lust was trapped in her core, and her body was answering to it with desperation.

The hot droplets of the shower danced across her skin, reminding her of the rain outside. She thought of the stranger's voice, so deep when he spoke to her.

In the corner, the delicate web was glistening with droplets of moisture, and the spider moved in to quench its thirst.

Her fingers moved in a practiced rhythm, and the throbbing of her excited nub poking out from under its hood was threatening to send her over the edge.

Suddenly, the water turned cold over her, and she yelped in startled surprise. George must have used the hot water in the kitchen.

Ashley was immediately angry at him for ruining the moment.

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Her chest was heaving, recovering from the trance-like state she had entered under the shower head. The wild heat was still there, but now she also felt wrath and the need to take ****.

Her eyes found her fragrant oil, and she started rubbing it into her hair. The scent filled the little room.

As her fingers rubbed the strands of her hair, her mind came back to the stranger. Ashley had to admit to herself that she wanted him. He must be the reason that she was so riled up as soon as she touched herself. However, it had never happened to her before that she would meet someone and have such a visceral reaction.

Her heart was still pounding in her chest.

Grunting, she felt frustrated because the stranger was in the past, and she would likely never see him again. But George was here, and she could almost smell the sweet aroma of her retribution.

She must think of some decently long movie like The Voyeurs with Sydney Sweeney nude. George was quite responsive to that one the last time.

When she discovered Euphoria, she made George binge-watch it with her over the weekend. She wore one of her loose-fitting t-shirts with nothing underneath and sat on the floor below him so that he could easily look down her chest and imagine her being naked in place of Sydney.

George just kept shifting in his seat. Like a moth drawn towards a light, he could not avoid looking at the swell of Ashley's mounds barely hidden by the fabric. He wanted to squeeze the soft flesh and never let go. He wondered if it really was possible that she didn't know how visible her dark areolas were under white fabric, especially with the hard points drawing even more attention to them.

In return, Ashley got several opportunities to confirm how hard he was in his pants. By the end, there was a faint wet spot, showing that his cock was leaking precum even without her touching it. It was thrilling to see him battle with himself, deciding whether to escape or continue watching the show.

The bulge in his pants looked pretty large and tempting, but she preferred to enjoy teasing him this way rather than giving him the satisfaction of being able to touch her himself.

Nothing turned her on like tormenting George. Before sleep, she made herself cum several times while she thought of how **** he must have been.

Ashley’s history with men was a slow education in disappointment. Every promise turned to selfishness, every touch became a theft. They wanted her body, not her. They thought only of their own pleasure and always spurted so quickly when it finally got to sex.

They asked the same pointless questions: "Did you come?", "Did you like it?".

Fumbling idiots.

Somewhere along the way, she stopped believing love was real. Men were predictable, clumsy, fragile things; their confidence was paper-thin and easily torn.

Now, she found satisfaction not in romance but in taking control. Watching George squirm under her attention was more invigorating than trusting in any relationship.

Tormenting George would give her the fuel that she then used to fulfill her desires completely.

Steam still clung to her skin when she left the bathroom, the scent of her oil following like perfume and poison. The spider remained waiting in its trap made out of a perfect geometry of silk: delicate, deliberate, lethal.

Ashley smiled, eager to see George... and take her position in the center of her own web.