It should have been a shock when the water hit him. It was ferociously hot and needle sharp and seared his skin, but he didn’t notice because she was there. She was upon him and about him. The jet from the shower hit his neck and poured over his back to slide across his hips and run down his legs.
John held her head and kissed her, then turned her so that the water poured over the back of her head, soaking her hair. He ran his hands over it, revelling in the soft silkiness of it under the onslaught of the shower. Her wet body pressed against his and immediately he grew stiff again. She had brought out such sexual potency in him that he could almost feel the years vanishing. He was 17 again and as hard as rock at the hint of any intimacy.
‘I thought you wanted to wash,’ she smiled, but she lowered her hand and took hold of him. Water ran between them and poured over his cock as she started to stroke.
This reality. It was almost unfeasible. It was almost inconceivable. But here she was now and he had been lifted from himself. When he released into her he experienced a freedom he had never imagined, and he wanted to feel that, again and again.
‘Soap,’ he murmured, although the imperative to wash seemed to have vanished.
She relinquished her hold on him and he almost groaned at the loss of it but when she turned in his arms and pushed the softness of her backside, wet and reddened from the heat, against him he was back to perfection again. Juliana reached for the soap and began to rub it over her body, but he soon relieved her of it.
‘I’ll do it,’ he murmured. She lifted her head up to the stream, letting the water pour onto her.
He held the soap at her hip but slowly brought it up over her belly, leaving a trail of suds. John stared down at her. They moved a little to avoid the direct stream of water and he continued, rubbing the soap over her in concerted circles, watching intently as it lathered up over body. When he brought it to her breasts, she gasped and jerked under him, but he pulled her hard back against him, resting his lividly erect cock in the crevice of her rump. ‘Shh. Stay still.’
She bit her lip and let her head fall back against him.
John trailed the soap over her and, where it left suds, he rubbed and stroked with his other hand, until soon she was a soapy, wet mess of lather and desire. Both his hands were on her breasts. The one that was free smoothed the suds over the nipple, which was so hard and prominent under the assault of the water, soap and his fingers that he’d never seen it so tight and dark. The other was pressed and crushed under the soap, rolled in circles as he worked it around her.
Instinct was an under-rated quality, he considered. For this was pure instinct. He realised that his approach now must have lain dormant for some time. He recalled it briefly from his youth, before marriage, before Helen, but it seemed to have burst out now like some beast which had long been subdued. The woman in his arms gasped. He was doing something right.
He brought the soap down and moved it to the other hand while his right hand reached between her legs and parted her lips. The suds followed his trail and aided his strokes. She was so wet and slippery that he could barely hold onto her, but he found her clit and teased it, gauging her reaction. When she jerked upon him he continued, sliding a finger down and dipping up inside her. He adored her pussy. When he was in it or on it the world settled and stilled. Now he had it, now he had her, he could not let it go. He curled another finger up into her and felt her clenching and unclenching on him. His cock twitched against her ass, practically demanding entry. They had little time, but some things could not be rushed.
John held her back against him, putting the soap in the holder before taking hold of her left breast and massaging it, squeezing the nipple between forefinger and middle finger. Still he rubbed and cajoled her soapy clit, still she sighed under his touch.
‘Does it sting?’ he queried, a sudden awareness taking hold. Soap, after all …
‘Uh uh,’ she denied immediately and pressed his hand harder to her. He moved her so that the water hit her belly and poured down between her legs.
It would have been so easy. She was poised and ready, her hands out, bracing her on the sides of the shower. Her head was down and she was entirely in his hands, on his fingers, ready for pleasure to ransack her.
But he moved his fingers away and instead continued rubbing the soap over her instead.
She pulled her head back and whined at the denial of it, almost lost.
‘Not yet,’ he rasped in her ear. Juliana bit her lip hard to ward off the frustration, her eyes closed, a frown knitting her brows together, but she accepted and she waited.
When he’d washed every nook and cranny of her perfect body, she reached for the soap then spun around to him.
‘You’ve caused enough trouble. Now ... my turn,’ she said, her eyes so hopelessly seductive he wondered if he could last to do what he desperately wanted.
She started high at his shoulders, rubbing the soap over him and letting it run down his chest to sit in his belly button. But soon it poured further down. She worked the soap along his arms then over his torso but then lathered it in her hands before replacing it on the holder. Then, with an expression of indomitable sexual power, she curled her soap covered hands around his cock.
‘Oh Jesus Christ!’ he groaned. He never used that expression, he hadn’t for years. It was not an expression acceptable to the Reich. But … fuck almighty!
Her hands worked in an intuitive rhythm, over and up and around, pulling and tugging the shaft with such perfect skill that he doubted it was instinct guiding her. How many lovers had she had? Had they been good? They must have been for her to be this adept. He swallowed back a surge of jealousy and looked down. She was here now on him. And he, for now, was hers.
She was working his cock with one hand while the other cupped his balls. He sucked in, trying to rein it back; he could come so easily and spurt onto her belly.
‘Do you like that?’ she asked.
‘You know I do.’
‘No sting?’ She cocked a teasing eyebrow.
There wasn’t, but he doubted he’d care if there was. ‘No.’
She pressed in closer, still plying him, occasionally letting her hand stroke over the head and making him suck in with the sharp spike towards ecstasy.
‘I’ve wanted to tell you,’ she whispered, intimate, private, ‘you have the most beautiful cock. It’s perfect for me. It’s perfect inside me.’
Oh God, could anything be bettered?
But it brought him to his senses. ‘Need to be inside you. Have to come inside you. Stop.’ He reached down and pushed her hands away, then, with a sudden force, turned her around so that she was pressed against the misty glass of the shower.
‘Down.’ He pushed on her back and she moved down the glass so that her backside jutted out for him. Pushing her legs apart with his knees, he positioned himself, opening her with knowing fingers.
He slid in easily; she was so incredibly slick from their foreplay. Fuck, he was in deep. He imagined himself disappearing into her, existing solely within her. It would bring a contentment he’d never before imagined.
Once inside her, he nudged her to stand taller again, but his cock remained as embedded as before. The water still poured down on them, the humidity making them high on sex and heat.
‘Move,’ she said.
He did. Pulling back he then powered forward again. The give and welcome of her pussy as he entered her was the most glorious feeling. She groaned, a strange guttural noise of complete abandon.
He would give her as hard as she wanted. One hand gripped her shoulder, the other her hip, and he fucked her. With brutally focused thrusts, he drove into her, intent on her pleasure.
Her eyes rolled back in her head and her mouth gaped. He went at her desperately, not sure how long he could hold back. He almost admired his restraint. But John was moving so fast that he knocked the shower head out of its socket.
‘Shit!’ he spat as water spurted up at them from below. She moaned when he had to pull out to pick it up but as he stood up with it the jet of water inadvertently hit between her legs. Her moan became a sudden catch of pleasure.
He didn’t hesitate; it was too obvious. He would not replace the shower head. Holding it in his right hand, he pushed his cock back into her and started to move again.
Then, when he was back in a rhythm, he moved the spout round and aimed it at her clit.
‘Oh please, ohh ... fuck!’ she exclaimed.
He sniffed out in satisfaction. Instinct.
‘Oh, fucking God!’ The usually demurely restrained Juliana Crain was lost. The contrast between the shy girl curling her hair behind her ears and the erotic goddess now clamped tight around his cock made him fuck with increased certainty.
But the moment brought out the familiar. It was too easy, the assumption of control. And here, now, it would benefit them both.
She was ready, as was he. But the lure of what he would do subdued his need to release. He could feel her poised. She was building up a rhythm of preparation – clenching on him, deep breaths. He knew her approach to orgasm well now. And so he said:
‘Do you want to come?’
He saw no way back for her, but this was too good to end quickly, so he let the jet of water fall from its direct assault on her clit and slowed his strokes. She practically roared.
‘Yes, yes, I want to come!’ she yelled, feeling for his hand again, trying to find the spout.
The heady surge of power – something he was used to, after all – was too delicious not to humour.
‘I’m not sure I should let you, Miss Crain,’ he murmured low in her ear. ‘You’ve been far too self-indulgent recently.’
‘Oh fuck!’ she practically screamed, pushing back to feel more of his cock. ‘You give me no fucking choice, you bastard.’
She stamped her foot in rage and tried again to move onto him but he held back, almost withdrawing. Christ, he needed to come himself, but he’d restrain it to witness this. He had never considered their relationship to be anything other than a meeting of equals, but he enjoyed indulging the dominant side which he had fine-tuned over the years, not under these circumstances, admittedly, but with her wanton moans and the writhing of her deliciously wet body, he knew she was enjoying it as much as him.
He slid his hand up over her and cupped a breast. Taking the nipple between thumb and forefinger, he rolled and pinched it so that she sobbed and pressed into him.
The water jet was angled against her upper thigh but he gave her a tantalising jolt of pleasure by turning it towards her clit briefly before withholding it again.
‘What do you say, Juliana?’
She swallowed in frustration and pushed back for his cock but he carefully evaded her searching hips. Throwing her head back, she practically growled with restrained fury.
'Hm?' he hummed tauntingly.
She clenched her teeth. ‘Let me come.’ It was said tightly.
‘Ask … nicely.’
Her breath came in heavy drags. She was wrestling with herself. He tweaked the nipple; still rock hard with need.
‘Please … let me come,’ she said, but her breath was held as if she was considering something. It would have been enough, but then she added, as deliberately provocative as he had been, ‘… Oberst-Gruppenführer.’
Fuck, the perfection of her.
He leaned in and breathed her name, as much for him as her. ‘Juliana …’
John started moving again, urgent but steady. He held the shower head so that the stream once again cascaded warm and full onto her clit. The water also hit his cock as it surged in and out of her, adding to the extreme pleasure rampaging through him.
‘Ohh …’ she said, speech gone. She slid a hand down the steam-frosted glass as sense started to abandon her. Juliana met his rhythm as he shook the shower head so that it delivered pulsing pressure to her clit.
Burying his head at her neck, John breathed against her, ‘Come, come … come, Juliana …’ Instinctively, he bit down on her damp skin. It was too inviting not to.
He was in cock deep, moving fast. He felt it first: a sudden tightening on him as her pussy spasmed in orgasm. He heard it next: the strange heaving sob as she came apart on him. John moved fast, pounding into her, and could do no more. His teeth dug in harder to stem the cry which would have broken free otherwise. His come burst from him with such violence he was sure she’d feel it hitting her inside.
The force of his orgasm robbed him of sense and strength; he could barely stand. If he hadn't been embedded in her, he would have slumped to the floor. John dropped the shower head. It fell with a clatter and continued to pour its stream over their feet. Juliana fell against the glass, pressing herself along it in recovery.
Reluctantly, but necessarily, he slipped out and turned the dials, shutting off the water at last.
Juliana turned around and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him, a kiss of perfect gratitude which he returned completely.
‘I really have to go,’ he said, resting his forehead against hers.
She nodded. ‘I’m going to stay here a bit,’ she said, the irony of needing a shower after a shower not lost on either of them.
He gave a slight smirk but the immensity of their time together seemed to negate more speech.
He stepped from the shower and dried himself then went to recover his clothes, which were still strewn across the floor of her apartment. John dressed quickly and adjusted his uniform as immaculately as always. He stared at himself in the mirror and wasn’t entirely sure who it was looking back. He was grateful that at that moment Juliana emerged from the bathroom.
She leaned against the door frame and simply looked at him. Until now, he had detected the resistance in her when he wore the uniform, the guarding against the persona. But as she gazed at him now, he saw none of that. To all intents and purposes, at that moment in her eyes he was still naked. She had a warm glow of remembered pleasure in her stare that made something catch inside him.
‘Thank you,’ he said, and, after a beat of a pause, he turned and left.
It was still only 6:15.