Wet Wednesday

If you were taking an erotic photograph of me, I would ask you to…

…capture the essence of the moment…harness the light as it is…focus on what the eye would otherwise miss…intensify the colors and mute the insignificant…blur the inconsequential…and above all else, seize the story by way of the image itself…

As the hot water cascaded down my skin, the suds worked well into my hair, I was wet long before stepping into the shower. My clit, now engorged and sensitive, welcomed the warm flow from above as I adjusted the temperature even hotter. Stepping back and bracing against the smooth tile, the stream found its hardened target and elicited the intended response.

With a slight adjustment, the rushing water parted its way in, deeper and more intense, and caused a blur of motion in the developing fog. Pushing back against the stream, I became lost in the primeval rhythm of desire. Toes strained to compensate for weakening legs, until my back arched and overrode them all.

The overwhelming sensation escalated rapidly and without further warning, crashed upon me forcing an audible scream and clenched knuckles as I dropped to one knee to help weather the storm. Over and over, waves of pleasure washed over me along with the steaming water responsible for it all. As it subsided and I rose, I saw you lift the camera back up to your eye.

For a mesmerizing second it hung, suspended by the tiniest thread, a perfect drop glistening in the morning sun. I heard the shutter click just before it dropped, splashing against the tile floor, and your smile told me that you did exactly what I had asked…

 

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