Wife Joins Me in the Shower

The water hit Cyrus hard enough to sting. He stood under the wide rainfall head in the master bathroom, thirty-two and wrung out from another day of ledgers and client calls, and let the heat work the knots out of his shoulders. Steam fogged the glass. Soap slid over his chest in slow white ribbons, catching in the dark hair there before the spray rinsed it toward the drain. His arms ached. His neck ached. The tiled enclosure was big enough that he could spread his elbows and still not touch the walls, and he used every inch of it, rolling his head until something in his spine popped.

The glass door clicked.

He turned his face out of the spray and found Miriam already inside, the door swinging shut behind her. Twenty-nine, his wife, and completely naked. No robe, no towel, nothing between her skin and the steam. Water struck her collarbones and ran in bright lines over the full swell of her breasts, beading on her nipples until they tightened. Her hips curved out from a narrow waist, wet and shining, and the dark triangle between her thighs glistened as she stepped under the edge of the spray. She did not smile the way she did when she wanted a quiet evening. Her eyes locked on his and stayed there, open and hungry, the look she got when she had already decided what she wanted and was only waiting for him to catch up.

Cyrus felt it low and immediate, a thick pull behind his cock that the long day had nothing to do with. Soap still clung to his sternum. Miriam’s gaze dropped to it, then lower, and the corner of her mouth moved like she was tasting something. The shower roared. Neither of them spoke. The air between them went heavy with heat and the clean smell of his soap and the warmer scent of her skin as the water found it. Her breasts rose with a slow breath. A drop slid from one nipple and fell. He watched it. She watched him watch it. The tension sat between them like a third body, thick enough to lean on, and his cock gave a heavy twitch against his thigh before he had even touched her.

She came to him without asking. One step, then another, bare feet sure on the wet tile, and she moved around his side until she was behind him. Her front met his back in a long, slick press. Breasts flattened against his shoulder blades. Hard nipples dragged as she shifted, two tight points scraping over muscle and the ridge of his spine, and the drag pulled a low sound out of his throat. Her arms came around his waist. Palms flat on his stomach, fingers spreading through the soap, she held him there while the water pounded both of them and her hips settled against his ass.

“Long day,” she said against his wet shoulder, voice low enough that the spray almost took it. Her hands did not stay on his stomach. They slid down, slow and sure, over the cut of his hips, through the wet hair at his groin, until one wrapped around his cock and the other cupped his balls. He was already thickening. She felt it happen in her fist, the swell and the heat, and she stroked once from root to tip, thumb smearing the water and the first slick of precum across the head. “God, I love this. I love feeling you get hard for me. You were soft when I walked in and now you’re filling my hand. Keep doing that. Get thick. Get heavy. I want all of it.”

Cyrus braced a palm on the tile. Her nipples kept dragging across his back every time she stroked, a dirty little rhythm that matched her wrist. She pumped him slow, then tighter, then slow again, squeezing at the base until he pulsed in her grip and groaning softly when he did. “There it is,” she whispered, filthy and pleased. “That’s my husband’s cock. Swelling just because I asked. You feel so fucking good in my hand, Cyrus. Hot. Getting bigger. I could stand here and jerk you until you painted the wall, but I don’t want to waste it.”

He spun. Water slapped his face and then hers as he turned in her arms, caught her jaw in both hands, and crushed his mouth to hers. The kiss was open and urgent from the first second, no teasing, no closed-lip courtesy. His tongue pushed past her lips and she met it, sucking, biting his lower lip hard enough to sting, moaning into his mouth while her fist kept working his cock between their bodies. Soap and water slicked every place they touched. Her breasts mashed against his chest, nipples hard points, and he dropped one hand from her face to grab a handful of her ass, hauling her tighter so his cock rode the wet seam of her stomach while they kissed like they meant to crawl inside each other.

She broke the kiss only to gasp, then came back for more, tongue sliding along his, teeth catching. “Fuck, yes,” she said into his mouth. “Kiss me like that. I’m so wet already and it isn’t the shower.”

He felt it when his hand slipped between them, fingers finding her cunt slick and hot and open. She rocked onto his hand, shameless, and bit his lip again. The desire that had been thick a minute ago was a live thing now, clawing. Cyrus kissed her harder, tongue deep, one hand fisted in her wet hair, the other working two fingers into her while she stroked his cock in messy, desperate pulls. Water ran into their mouths. Neither of them cared.

He went to his knees on the wet tile before the kiss had fully ended, dragging his mouth down her throat, over one breast, sucking the nipple hard enough to make her cry out, then lower, over the soft give of her stomach, until his face was level with her cunt. The tile was hard under his knees. He didn’t care about that either. He hooked one of her thighs and lifted it over his shoulder, opening her, and the shift put her weight on the planted foot and against the wall behind her. Water streamed down her belly and over his face. He didn’t wait.

His mouth closed over her pussy in one hungry seal. Tongue flat, he licked a long stroke from the tight pucker of her ass up through her folds to her clit, tasting her under the shower water, salt and heat and the sharp clean of her arousal. Miriam’s hand slammed into his hair. “Oh fuck—Cyrus—” He did it again, slower, dragging the flat of his tongue through every slick fold, then pointed it and pushed inside her, fucking her with it while his nose ground against her clit. She was soaked. Not from the spray. From him. He groaned into her and the vibration made her hips jerk.

He sucked her clit between his lips and held it there, tongue flicking the underside in tight, filthy circles, then released it only to lick her open again, broad and messy, chin wet with her. “You taste so fucking good,” he said against her, the words muffled by her cunt. “Stand there and let me eat you. Give it to me.” She did. One leg hooked over his shoulder, heel digging into his back, she ground down on his mouth while he devoured her—long licks that parted her, short sucks that pulled her clit until it throbbed, two fingers sliding into her cunt and curling while his tongue worked the swollen bud above them. The wet sounds were obscene under the roar of the water. Her thighs started to shake.

“Don’t stop—don’t you fucking stop—right there, suck it, suck my clit—” Her voice broke. He sealed his mouth over her and sucked hard, fingers pumping, tongue relentless, and she came against his face with a raw, cracking moan, cunt clenching around his fingers, hips bucking, flooding his mouth and chin. He stayed on her through it, licking her through every pulse, drinking her down while she shook and swore and pulled his hair hard enough to hurt. When the last shudder rolled out of her, he kissed her clit once, filthy and soft, then stood, water sheeting off his shoulders, cock jutting thick and flushed and shining.

“Turn around,” he said. “Hands on the glass.”

Miriam turned. She bent forward, palms slapping the fogged glass of the enclosure, ass presented, back arched. Cyrus stepped in behind her, one hand on her hip, the other guiding his cock. He dragged the head through her soaked folds once, twice, coating himself, then pushed in. She was swollen and tight from coming, and the first deep stroke sank him to the root with a wet, heavy sound that made both of them groan. He held there, buried, feeling her clench, then drew back and drove in again, harder.

The rhythm built fast. Deep, powerful strokes, his hips cracking against her ass, balls swinging to slap her cunt on every thrust. Water ran down her spine and over the place they joined. She braced on the glass and pushed back to meet him, taking him to the hilt, moaning every time he bottomed out. “Fuck me—harder—yes, like that, use that cock, fill me up—” He did. One hand fisted in her wet hair and pulled her head back; the other gripped her hip hard enough to mark. He fucked her in long, punishing drives, then shorter, meaner ones that ground his cock against the front wall of her cunt until she was panting and the glass under her hands smeared with steam and the print of her palms.

“You feel incredible,” he gritted, watching his cock disappear into her again and again, her ass rippling with each impact. “So tight. So wet. Taking every inch.” She answered by shoving back harder, meeting him, the slap of skin on skin loud even under the shower. He reached around and found her clit, rubbing it in rough circles while he pounded her, and she wailed, cunt fluttering, close again. He didn’t let her have it yet. He pulled his fingers away, grabbed both hips, and fucked her deeper, slower for three strokes, then fast again, chasing the tight heat of her until his balls drew up and the edge roared close.

He yanked out. The sudden emptiness made her gasp and sway. “Turn around. On your knees. Now.”

Miriam spun, dropped, and the tile met her knees with a dull thud she didn’t seem to feel. Her mouth was already open. Cyrus stepped in, one hand in her hair, and fed her his cock—slick with her, pulsing, thick enough that she had to stretch her lips around the head. She took him. No hesitation. Tongue flattening, cheeks hollowing, she swallowed him down until her nose pressed his stomach and her throat worked around the head. He groaned, loud and broken, and held her there a second before letting her pull back for air. Spit and water strung from her lip to his cock. She looked up at him, eyes wet, and went down again, sucking hard, one hand pumping what her mouth couldn’t hold, the other cupping his balls and rolling them.

“That’s it,” he said, voice wrecked. “Suck it. Take my cock. I’m close—fuck—Miriam—” She moaned around him and the vibration shot up his spine. He fucked her mouth in short thrusts, careful enough not to choke her past what she wanted and rough enough that she had to brace a hand on his thigh. She wanted it. She opened her throat and took him deeper, eyes on his, filthy and eager, swallowing around the head every time he pushed in. His cock pulsed. Thickened. The heat coiled hard at the base and broke.

He came with a hoarse shout, hips jerking, spilling in heavy pulses straight down her throat. Miriam stayed on him, swallowing, throat working, taking the load as the water cascaded over both of them, over her face, over his stomach, over the mess of spit on her chin. She didn’t pull off until he was finished, until the last weak spurt coated her tongue, and then she drew back slow, lips tight, milking him clean. A thin strand connected her mouth to the head for a second before it broke. She swallowed again, deliberate, and licked the slit once, filthy and thorough, while he stood shaking under the spray with his hand still fisted in her hair.

They caught their breath under the water, chests heaving, his cock still half-hard and shining, her lips swollen and glossy. Miriam reached for the soap without softness in it. She lathered her hands and dragged them over his chest, his stomach, then wrapped them around his cock again and stroked the soap along the shaft in slow, dirty pulls, cleaning him and teasing him at the same time, thumb working the sensitive head until he twitched and thickened in her fist all over again. “Not done with you,” she said, voice rough. “Rinse.”

He took the soap from her and did the same, palms sliding over her breasts, pinching the nipples until she hissed, then down between her thighs, fingers soaping her cunt in firm circles, slipping inside her, fucking the lather in and out while she braced on his shoulders and rocked. They rinsed each other under the spray with the same greedy hands—his cock in her fist, her pussy on his fingers—mouths meeting in hard, open kisses that tasted like water and sex and the load she had just swallowed. No gentle smiles. Just the slick slide of soap and skin and the wet sound of his fingers in her while she jerked him back toward hard.

She stepped out first onto the mat, water streaming off her ass, and looked back over her shoulder at his cock, still thick, still wanting. “Dry off fast,” she said, and her last words came out filthy and flat. “I’m going to get on the bed, spread my cunt, and you’re going to fuck another load into me before it even cools.”