Kate rests her chin on Anthea’s shoulder as, arms entwined, they let the water sluice down their skin. Its insistent stream and punishing heat beat into their flesh, kneading their muscles into new pliancy. Anthea reaches for a bottle and, squeezing body wash into her palm, begins to lazily soap them up.
Her hands glide up over Kate’s hip and around to her arse, fingers teasingly moving over the full curve and up, lingering in the dimples at the hollow of her back. She traces vertebrae up, fingertips dancing over each nodule, and sweeps across one shoulder blade. She thinks of the delicate scent lingering in Kate’s skin, marking her, invisible evidence of their time together. She thinks of it filling Irene’s nose when next she touches Kate’s skin, when she presses her lips to the soft, tender parts of Kate’s body.
She backs Kate up to the wall, cool tile at her back and steam filling their lungs. The soap on her back makes her slide a little and they grin together, Anthea pressing up firm against her, holding her in place with her hip. She braces against the wall with one hand and slides the other between their bodies, down to where Kate is slick and open.
Kate smiles lazily at the slow, slick slide of fingertips against flesh, her body responsive in relaxed, unhurried way, the pleasure deep and warm rather than needy and insistent. Anthea circles her clit, mouthing kisses along her jawline, water hitting the small of her back and running down her thighs. Kate’s hair is dark auburn when wet and sticks to the side of her neck, mussed by Anthea’s nose as she tongues her pulse.
Anthea slides two fingers inside, palm nestled tight to her cunt and fingers reaching, stretching for her depths. She rocks into her, slow and steady, her flesh soft against sensitive fingertips. Kate pulls her close, one arm tight around her neck, and whispers, “Go on then, fuck me properly.”
With a grin against the muscle of Kate’s shoulder, Anthea does just that, thrusting into her body more firmly, using her thigh for leverage, ball of her palm rubbing hard against Kate’s clit with each push. Kate cants her hip and wraps one leg around Anthea’s thighs, pulling her closer and using her body for support. Anthea leans heavily against her, holding her up, their hips pressed so close that the back of her hand brushes her cunt as it moves inside Kate.
Kate shoves against her, hips rising off the wall, panting, mouth hot against Anthea’s wet shoulder. She murmurs, “Jesus, fuck, god,” the words drawn-out and muffled, benedictions blessing Anthea’s skin. Not quite pleading, but appreciative, her moans are nearly lost to the sound of the shower. Anthea can tell she’s getting close, can feel it in the tensing of her thigh and the flutter of her cunt, in muscles hot and pulsing around her hand, in wetness that has nothing to do with the shower.
She concentrates on her hand, then, on feeling the sensations of Kate around and against her, body demanding, begging, hoping, her moans half-formed words that emerge full of breath and want and need. She fucks her firmly, throws the weight of her body into each thrust and hopes her balance will hold, precariously anchored as she is with one hand grappling at the slick tile.
Kate bites down on her shoulder, and Anthea knows that move; it’s less to derive pleasure than to focus it, to bring all the warring thoughts and sensations down to a point so they may coalesce, build, and explode. And explode she does. Her climax shatters throughout her body and Anthea can feel it, feel the moment it all goes still, breath held and body taunt, before Kate collapses forward, hands scrambling for purchase and mouth open wordlessly against Anthea’s skin. Anthea fucks her through it, slowly but firmly, and shuffles her feet to keep her balance.
Fill: Stress Relief (4/5)
Her hands glide up over Kate’s hip and around to her arse, fingers teasingly moving over the full curve and up, lingering in the dimples at the hollow of her back. She traces vertebrae up, fingertips dancing over each nodule, and sweeps across one shoulder blade. She thinks of the delicate scent lingering in Kate’s skin, marking her, invisible evidence of their time together. She thinks of it filling Irene’s nose when next she touches Kate’s skin, when she presses her lips to the soft, tender parts of Kate’s body.
She backs Kate up to the wall, cool tile at her back and steam filling their lungs. The soap on her back makes her slide a little and they grin together, Anthea pressing up firm against her, holding her in place with her hip. She braces against the wall with one hand and slides the other between their bodies, down to where Kate is slick and open.
Kate smiles lazily at the slow, slick slide of fingertips against flesh, her body responsive in relaxed, unhurried way, the pleasure deep and warm rather than needy and insistent. Anthea circles her clit, mouthing kisses along her jawline, water hitting the small of her back and running down her thighs. Kate’s hair is dark auburn when wet and sticks to the side of her neck, mussed by Anthea’s nose as she tongues her pulse.
Anthea slides two fingers inside, palm nestled tight to her cunt and fingers reaching, stretching for her depths. She rocks into her, slow and steady, her flesh soft against sensitive fingertips. Kate pulls her close, one arm tight around her neck, and whispers, “Go on then, fuck me properly.”
With a grin against the muscle of Kate’s shoulder, Anthea does just that, thrusting into her body more firmly, using her thigh for leverage, ball of her palm rubbing hard against Kate’s clit with each push. Kate cants her hip and wraps one leg around Anthea’s thighs, pulling her closer and using her body for support. Anthea leans heavily against her, holding her up, their hips pressed so close that the back of her hand brushes her cunt as it moves inside Kate.
Kate shoves against her, hips rising off the wall, panting, mouth hot against Anthea’s wet shoulder. She murmurs, “Jesus, fuck, god,” the words drawn-out and muffled, benedictions blessing Anthea’s skin. Not quite pleading, but appreciative, her moans are nearly lost to the sound of the shower. Anthea can tell she’s getting close, can feel it in the tensing of her thigh and the flutter of her cunt, in muscles hot and pulsing around her hand, in wetness that has nothing to do with the shower.
She concentrates on her hand, then, on feeling the sensations of Kate around and against her, body demanding, begging, hoping, her moans half-formed words that emerge full of breath and want and need. She fucks her firmly, throws the weight of her body into each thrust and hopes her balance will hold, precariously anchored as she is with one hand grappling at the slick tile.
Kate bites down on her shoulder, and Anthea knows that move; it’s less to derive pleasure than to focus it, to bring all the warring thoughts and sensations down to a point so they may coalesce, build, and explode. And explode she does. Her climax shatters throughout her body and Anthea can feel it, feel the moment it all goes still, breath held and body taunt, before Kate collapses forward, hands scrambling for purchase and mouth open wordlessly against Anthea’s skin. Anthea fucks her through it, slowly but firmly, and shuffles her feet to keep her balance.