Shower

You've only seen walk-in showers on television before, but the room Olivia leads you into is an elegantly modern example of them, with dark marble panelling and burnished steel accents. It boasts a detachable mounted head, fed by a ribbed hose. There's a small block pedestal in the stall, presumably so one can sit under the sprayer. A single pane of tall clear glass separates the showering area from the rest of the bathroom. Directly overhead, a skylight offer the stall natural illumination—or it would, if the weather this late afternoon wasn't so crappy.

Olivia needs no prompting to undress. She peels off her blue and white long-sleeve shirt and tosses it atop a wicker laundry crate. In contrast to Olivia's otherwise posh tastes, from the overpriced top to her silk bedsheets to a closet full of shoes, the redhead's bra is a simple white pushup. It creates what might generously be termed cleavage. You wonder if the teen's taste in panties in the old world—this morning's world—was equally as plain.

You consider asking her to strip completely, but hold off. It might be nice to take things slow this time, after two frantic quickies. Plus, well, It's not her breasts that have you hanging back, watching the teen go about her business. You didn't request a world of bottomless women because you're uninterested in voyeurism.

Bottle in hand, Olivia applies Shout to the shirt's grass stains.

Totally nude yourself, you creep up behind the teen. Gently planting a kiss to a small mole on Olivia's neck, you place your palms on her milky shoulder blades, savoring the feel of the oblivious redhead's skin and muscle shirting as she goes about an everyday laundry routine. Even as blood engorges your cock and the rising shaft slowly drags its tip up along her ass crack, Olivia doesn't acknowledge you. All she cares about is salvaging an overpriced eighty dollar shirt that probably cost five bucks to manufacture.

"I'm pretty sure," you say, half-remembering a FACS lesson from middle school, "that you're supposed to presoak grass stains in a mix of... water and... detergent? I think?"

Olivia stops scrubbing. "Crap," she breathes. "I think you're right."

The teen steps away from you, trailing an aromatic mix of funk, dried sweat, and whatever that brand of spicy body wash she uses is. Padding over to the shower room's sink, she stops up the drain and begins filling the basin. You watch her work: Olivia in her natural habitant. The hawk-nosed teen bounces gently on the balls of her feet, impatient for the basin to fill.

"I've thinking," you begin, "given we're going to be spending a lot of together, it might help if we knew more about each other."

"You mean, like you telling me your name?"

"I prefer to be a man of mystery."

She glances at you from the corner of one eye. "Uh-huh."

"So what's your story? Where do you go to school?"

"I don't have a story. I'm boring. And Dominic Academy."

You let out a long, low whistle. It almost makes you a little regretful Olivia walks around bottomless, given the prim dress uniform that the girls at Dominic Academy wear. Which raises a question. "So, did you, like, burn your uniform skirts when you turned eighteen?"

A throaty chuckle bubbles out of the redhead. "Hell yeah."

"Seriously?" You didn't take her for the type.

"Nah," Olivia admits, twisting the facet off. "My mom made me donate them to Goodwill. I probably would've anyway. Not like I wanted them cluttering up my closet."

"Didn't even keep one to try on now and again, for old time's sake?"

That question actually turns her head. The whites of Olivia's eyes shine at you.

"Just asking," you say.

"Um, no offense, but that's a fucked up thing to ask a girl."

Huh.

"Sorry. But, yeah, I can see why you wouldn't want to cover up that bush." You gesture to the dense carpet of short copper curls. "Ever think about shaving?"

"Not really."

"Because you think your hair is your best trait."

"No," she quickly replies, which makes you think that's actually 'Yes'. "It's just simpler, y'know? I'd get exhausted keeping up with new styles each season. Plus, razor burn. Ugh."

You suddenly have a suspicion that Seventeen magazine in this world must put Hustler from your old world to shame.

"Your hair really does look good. Upstairs and downstairs."

Olivia can't help but smile at the compliment, so she busies herself with adding detergent to the water-filled basin and then steeping her stained shirt. "You're an odd one, mister."

"I'm not that much older than you," you grumble. "So, junior? Senior?"

"Senior."

"Graduating soon, then. Where ya headed in the fall?"

"Nowhere," Olivia replies. "I'm taking a gap year to find myself. I'm still trying to decided which country I want to do volunteer work in, but I'm definitely gonna read everything on that 'Hundred Books to Read Before You Die' list. Y'know, the one that went viral a few years ago?"

"That's pretty cool." Judging by the interior decoration, and the Tesla parked the driveway, you suppose her parents can afford a gap year. "Actually," you say to yourself, caught unawares by sudden idea, "that might not be a bad idea for me."

"Don't you have a job?"

"I've, well, sort of hit the jackpot. Long story. Anyway, I guess I'll quit, because as a job it sucks, but I don't want to rush things."

You walk into the shower and crack it to full blast, careful to check the temperature of the stream. Unfamiliar water heaters can be peculiar beasts. Once you've got it comfortable, you drift past Olivia and open the door out to the hallway—a door located opposite the shower itself.

"Forget something?" she asks.

"I want it open."

"...Why?"

"If anyone in your family walks by, I want them to see you and me together."

"Oh." The teen thinks that over. "Okay."

With a burst of speed, you scoop Olivia off her feet into a bridal carry. She squawks, but only in surprise. You heft the teen into the shower. "Wait, wait! Let me get my bra off!"

"Leave it on."

"W-what? You can't be..."

Olivia's round cheeks flush crimson, causing you to pause at the edge of the shower stream. "After all that," you say, "this is what turns you on?"

"This is fun!" Her morose expression cracks into a beaming smile. "I mean, before felt fine, I guess, but showering with my clothes on? That's so... so..."

"Sexy?"

Olivia blushes.

For a girl who's been fucked twice today, that's a decidedly tame definition of a turn-on. You suddenly suspect that Olivia preserving her virginity was a less a product of never meeting the right guy then her not having much of an appetite for adventure. Good thing you're here.

"Don't worry. I'm not one to yuck the yum."

You carry her into the shower stream, and she squawks anew. "Gah! No! My hair!" Remembering how long it took some of your exes to dry their hair, you turn, carrying her head out of the firing path of the steaming spray. The water still pelts her body, drenching the white bra. Olivia glances down at the newly semi-translucent garment. Her gaze sticks. You both watch as her nipples stiffen. It's erotic enough on its own, but the teen's unselfconscious rapture makes your cock throb in time with your heartbeat.

"I'm thinking I'll stay a while," you announce.

Olivia reluctantly pulls herself away from own breasts. "What do you mean?"

A hazy plan comes together in your mind's eye as you talk. "Get my feet wet. See how far I can push things in this one little corner of the map before I strike out for new ground."

"You're not making any sense."

"We're going to start by you trying on your school uniform for me," you say, thinking of the girls you've occasionally seen around town, decked out in golden ties and prim tailored blazers. Their daring plaid skirts, well, eyeballing that probably marks you as a pedophile in this new world, but what was covered by a woman's bottom was always more your thing. "And giving me a blowjob."

"We're eating dinner in, like, a half hour."

"An after-dinner blowjob. I'll be your dessert."

Olivia nods, finding sense in that scheduling. "I've never given head before, just a fair warning."

"I'll give you pointers. We're both doing the gap year thing, remember? We're all about finding new things our about ourselves, and trying shit out."

You set the teen down. Left to her own devices, Olivia reaches around herself to undo her bra's clasp—but you beat her to the punch. She mumbles a thanks and then mechanically slips off her white underwear. She pitches the waterlogged garment into the corner of the stall. Turning, small breasts on display, she stands still.

Waiting her turn, you realize.

Stepping out of the spray, you gesture as if to say: ladies first.

Olivia doesn't put on a sexy show for you, sadly. The same disconnection that let you pound her pussy into the grassy earth doesn't translate that spike of excitement she felt at showering with her clothes on into action. You're just furniture to her without prompting. Only the rosy tips of each 'champagne glass' breast hints at a lingering horniness. Instead, the copper-haired teen lathers up matter-of-factly, and then steps into the hot spray to rinse herself. Olivia is careful to keep her hair as dry as possible.

"Here," you say, unhooking the mounted sprayer. You point to the safety railing built into the shower's single glass wall. Bending her over the shower's sitting pedestal block might be safer, but you want to put to put on a show if any family members happen to walk by. "Let me get your ass. It's still got some lawn stuff on it."

Gripping the steel safety railing, Olivia stands against the glass wall. Her faint reflection meets your gaze. "Can you not call it that, please?"

"What? Ass?"

"Yeah."

"Sure. You've still got some lawn stuff on your money-maker."

"Fuck you," she quips, without heat.

"Bend over. No, stick it out a little more."

She complies.

You spray the teenager down. Bits of mud and grass swirl at your ankles before the whirling stream sucks them down drain. Crouching down on your knees, you adjust the shower head, setting it to a pulsing spray. Massaging Olivia's firm ass cheeks with one hand, you use the other to angle the sprayer about, thoroughly cleaning her undercarriage of today's excitement—and enjoying the view of rivulets flowing along the curve of her butt.

Huddled down at the teen's waistline, you belatedly notice the large finger-shaped bruises dotting her thighs. Carefully, you reach out, tracing the damage your hands made gripping Olivia on that long bus ride of sexual frustration.

"Do these hurt?"

Olivia wordlessly shrugs.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Dunno."

Mixed emotions fill you. One part distressed at unwittingly harming a random girl. Another part, you're ashamed to admit, excited at marking her as 'yours'. You split the difference by kissing Olivia's bruises.

As you lavish attention on her bruised thighs, you angle the pulsing shower sprayer directly on the redhead's well-used pussy. Olivia shudders.

"You ever use it like this?"

She gets your meaning. "A couple times."

You offer up the sprayer. "Show me."

Walking over to the shower's short pedestal, intended so a user could sit and relax under the stream, the high schooler plants one foot up on it. Eyes closed, Olivia reaches over, adjusting the temperature, and then turns the pulsing stream on her exposed vulva. Against the dark copper curls lining her womanhood, you can barely make out her angry slit.

You settle down onto the floor at the far end of the shower, chilly and dripping, but nevertheless enjoying the spectacle Olivia is providing. This is something nobody else has ever seen before, and you have a front-row seat as she unhesitatingly indulges in a very personal act.

Slowly, lazily, you being to jack yourself. Not to get off. Just because.

Unexpectedly, with her at the wheel, you discover that Olivia really is a quiet girl, even when you're not Freely Using her. Her breathing deepens. Her expression becomes one of intense concentration. Her nipples harden into eminently suckable pebble-tips. But no whimpers escape the teen's lips. She doesn't keen. At last, Olivia rubs her free hand along the curve of her neck. She sighs deeply. Her knees close, pinning the shower head between her thighs.

The teen rests like that for a minute or two.

And then, fumbling for the handle, she cranks the water off.

"Very nice," you say.

"Thanks?"

Still lazily jacking your shaft, you make a come hither gesture with your free hand. Olivia's expression turns exasperated. "I just got clean."

"Good thing we're in the place to wash up fast."

Softly shaking her head, Olivia nevertheless settles onto the slippery shower floor. She lays down on her back, spreading her knees.

And waits.

"Okay," you admit, back flushing in embarrassment, "I'm honestly the guilty party here, but there's more to life than the missionary position."

Olivia, frowning, sits up, folding her legs together Indian-style like back at the library. "Don't assume I know this adult stuff! I've never had sex before today!"

"Never watched porn?"

"Ew."

Great.

You both clamor to your feet. You gesture to the water-speckled glass. "Turn around and grab the guard rail, like before. No. Stand taller. Lean in a little. There." You walk around to the other side, enjoying the spectacle of Olivia's humble teats kissing the glass, like she was a stripper working at an old-fashioned peep show booth.

It's an idle fantasy you have to squash—for now. This redheaded teen is seriously inexperienced. It's even odds that the result of asking Olivia to 'dance dirty' would just make you laugh. But there'll be time to educate her. Corrupting my own personal prep school girl, you muse. This'll be a fun distraction while I figure everything out.

Before you can circle back into the shower, however, there's a knock at the door. "Hello?"