Ivy stepped into the shower and pulled the curtain closed. She moaned as the water soaked into her hair and ran down her back. She rolled her neck, feeling her muscles loosen, and her whole body finally started to relax.
She turned around in the tiny shower stall, and leaned against the cool tile wall. The water beat against the inside of her thigh as she braced her foot onto the other opposite wall. She slipped her hand between her legs, her fingers finding her clit with practiced ease.
It wasn't easy for her to unwind. She needed to be alone in her apartment, with the comfort of her bed or her shower, and everything had to be perfect. It always had to be perfect, just like everything else she did.
She couldn't do it without the perfect fantasy, and right now, there was only one that did it.
Fucking Karen Cartwright had taken over every part of her life. She couldn't even masturbate without Karen shoving her way into it.
The imaginary Karen was on her knees, her hair dripping under the spray, looking up with her huge, naive eyes, and then she pressed her stupid red lips to Ivy's cunt.
The real Ivy dug her finger against her clit and hit her head against the tile. Ivy could just see herself in the fantasy, shoving her hands into Karen's hair and forcing her closer. She would make Karen do it. She was in control.
It was the one thing she could control.
Ivy arched her back, whimpering as she came. She slid down the wall, and onto the shower floor, pulling her knees to her chest. Her skin tingled with the current of her orgasm still running through her.
She wasn't proud of it, but it was perfect.