Watch her shower

You follow Morgan into the bathroom, your small feet padding silently across the cool tile. The space is enormous—all white marble and chrome fixtures, with a shower large enough for six people enclosed behind frameless glass. Steam already clouds the air.

Morgan stands under one of the multiple shower heads, water cascading over her golden skin. Her wings are spread slightly, black feathers glistening as water runs through them. Her eyes are closed, head tilted back, blonde hair plastered to her spine. She's breathtaking—every curve, every muscle highlighted by the water.

You stand just outside the glass, watching. Your cock stirs again despite having just orgasmed minutes ago, hardening to its full two inches. The hypersensitivity makes even the ambient steam feel intense against your skin.

Morgan's yellow eyes snap open and fix on you. She doesn't look surprised—just mildly annoyed.

"Did I invite you in here?" she asks, turning to face you fully. Water streams between her enormous breasts, over her abs, down her powerful thighs. "I don't remember inviting you."

You open your mouth but no words come. What would you even say? That you wanted to watch her? That you couldn't stay away?

She reaches up and runs her hands through her wet hair, the motion making her breasts lift and sway. "You're hard again," she observes, glancing down at your erection with obvious disdain. "That sad little thing is already ready to go. How embarrassing."

She steps toward the glass, pressing one hand against it. Her palm is large—you notice it could probably wrap around your entire cock with room to spare.

"You want to watch me shower?" she asks, her voice dripping with mockery. "Fine. Stand there and watch. But you don't touch yourself. You don't move. You just stand there with that pathetic excuse for a dick pointing at me and remember that you'll never satisfy me. Not ever."

She turns back to the shower, picking up a bottle of body wash. She pours it into her hands and begins lathering her breasts with slow, deliberate movements. Her fingers circle her nipples and you can see them harden under her touch.

"I'm going out tonight," she says conversationally, soaping her stomach, her abs. "There's a club in Pacific Heights where all the modified people go. I'm going to wear something tight and I'm going to find a real man. Someone with a cock that can actually fill me up."

Her hands move lower, between her legs, and she makes a small sound of pleasure.

"You'll stay here," she continues. "Maybe I'll let you jerk off while you watch the livestream of me getting fucked. Would you like that? Watching me enjoy what you can never give me?"

She's working herself now, one hand braced against the shower wall, the other moving between her thighs. Her wings shudder.

"Answer me," she demands, her voice breathy. "Would you like watching me get fucked by real men?"

"Yes," you hear yourself say, the word coming out raw and honest. "I would want to watch."

Morgan's hand pauses between her legs. She turns her head to look at you through the steamed glass, water still streaming over her golden skin. Those predatory yellow eyes study you for a long moment, and then her lips curve into a smile that's equal parts cruel and delighted.

"Of course you would," she says, resuming her movements with renewed vigor. "You'd sit here in this apartment with your useless little cock and watch me get railed by men who actually know how to fuck. You'd probably try to jerk yourself off and fail because you can't even do that without me."

Her breathing quickens, wings trembling as she works herself closer to climax. "You know what the sad thing is? You made yourself this way. You had complete control and you chose to be pathetic. You chose to make yourself inferior to me in every way."

She's right. The truth of it settles in your chest with perfect clarity. You did choose this. Every specification, every modification, every detail of your inadequacy was your decision.

"I'm going to cum now," Morgan announces, her voice breaking into a moan. "And you're going to stand there and watch and remember that this is as close as you'll ever get to satisfying me."

Her back arches, wings spreading wide against the shower walls as orgasm crashes through her. She cries out, the sound echoing off the marble, her whole body shuddering with pleasure. It goes on and on—her enhanced nervous system making the climax last far longer than should be possible. When it finally subsides, she slumps against the shower wall, panting.

Your cock is rock hard again, throbbing with need. You haven't moved, haven't touched yourself, but watching her has brought you to the edge of desperation.

Morgan straightens up, running her hands through her wet hair. "Turn around," she commands. "Face the wall. I don't want to see your face while I finish showering."

You obey immediately, turning to stare at the white tile. Behind you, you hear the water continue to run, hear her moving around. The scent of her pheromones is thick in the air, making it hard to think about anything except how perfect she is and how utterly you belong to her.

"When I'm done here, we're going to go through the wardrobes the studio sent," Morgan says casually, as if she hadn't just masturbated while humiliating you. "I want to see what kind of clothes they think a goddess should wear. And we need to figure out what to do with you. I can't have you following me around with that hard-on all day."

The shower turns off. You hear her step out, water dripping from her body.