Behind Red Doors

The steam from your shower has just begun to fog up the mirror when I arrive home, back aching from a long day bent over a massage table. My eyes narrow and the corner of my mouth twists upward in a devilish smirk. "You little bastard, think you'll beat me to the shower do you," I mumble to myself as I kick the door closed, drop the trappings of my pedestrian lifestyle in the hall, and walk assertively towards the bathroom door- which you have left brazenly ajar- shedding items of clothing as I go.

I pause at the door, considering what a scene it must be: me naked at the door of my own bathroom, with a trail of clothes behind me. My heart speeds up, as it always does when I think of touching you. Lust unswayed by time and familiarity. I slip in silently. You're singing to yourself, "Hey Julie" by Fountains of Wayne. Your eyes are closed to avoid the sting of the shampoo, and you haven't noticed me yet. I seize on the opportunity.

Easing my head around the curtain, I burst into your bubble of soap and song, finishing the most appropriate lyric for you, "I'm here to rub your back..." You freeze, eyebrows at attention, but wisely wait to rinse your hair before opening your eyes. My arms and lips are on you before you can catch a glimpse. "Mmmm, hello naked," you breathe into my ear, your voice causing me to shiver and sigh uncontrollably. A new ache arises in my body, and my back and shoulders are forgotten until you kiss and caress them as we explore each other in the steam.

We circle one another until I simply can't stand it anymore, pressed against you I can feel your need pulsing with every beat of your heart. I pull my lips from yours reluctantly and sink to my knees. My mouth begins to water as I run my cheek and lips along your sensitive skin, I can't wait for the taste of the water as it runs over your body, and I ease you eagerly between my parted lips and onto my waiting tongue.

A barely audible gasp issues from your throat. Always the picture of self-restraint, but I'll have you moaning loud enough to wake the dead before I'm through with you. I always do. Practice and your gentle instruction have left me an expert at sending you through the roof, but I take my time, savoring the moment and the feel of you.

I lean back to enjoy the look on your face, one of my hands still keeping the beat, the other drawn between my thighs by the undeniable force of the need rising within me. I take you back into my mouth, this time with much more satisfying and audible results. I stroke you languidly for a little longer, until I hear urgency creep into your voice and you twist your fingers through my long wet hair in search of a handhold amongst all the slick surfaces.

My pace quickens, and my imprisoned fingers are released for the finale. Working in perfect harmony, as they do all day at my clinic, they almost take on a life of their own when I bend them to this more pleasurable purpose. I'm left to relish the feel of you in my mouth for these last few moments. Your breath becomes ragged and I'm rewarded with some mild expletives and favorite pet names as you climax. I lean back, letting the results wash down the drain as I stare into your exhausted and elated face.

You open your eyes and I am reminded of the burning between my thighs. So, it would seem, are you. Experience and your natural telepathy tell you exactly what I want. You ease to the floor of the tub on slightly shaky legs and follow the trail blazed by my fingers a few minutes before. Thumb and forefinger working inside and out, you raise me off the ground and up to your waiting mouth.

One light kiss and I reach out for the wall to support myself. You grace me with your tongue and I moan in appreciation. Either the room is getting extremely steamy now or my eyes are fogging over in pleasure. Maybe it's both. One last look at your playful smile and I close my eyes to concentrate on the tactile pleasures of the moment. The water running down over me, your fingers slipped blissfully up into me: one-- oh god-- two of them. And your tongue sending waves of heat through me.

I want to stand that way forever, even when my legs start to shake from the muscles tightening and my breathing is so fast and shallow I'm starting to lose feeling in my face. Your pace is steady and insistent as always, and with a moan I feel a wave of pleasure shudder through my body. I contract around your fingers only once or twice before you pull away and guide me down to your lap.

I'm a little dismayed at first that you didn't ride the orgasm out with me until I realize your intentions. You guide me down to you and slide smoothly inside me. Apparently I wasn't the only one who's hand was wandering while they worked. The last sparks of my pleasure explode on contact and we grind into each other in an effort to make the moment last. Regaining my composure, I try to rock on top of you but the space in the tub is slightly cramped with both of us sitting down. Our eyes lock.

Without a word the taps are twisted and we tumble onto the tiles. The porcelain is utterly frigid, but the solution is simple: touch as little of it as possible. I clamber onto my hands and knees and look over my shoulder expectantly at you. You pounce on me eagerly, and then we're together again, like wet and wild animals soaked and slippery on the bathroom floor.

You ride me that way until I'm shaking again with pleasure. "I want to see you," I gasp. You pull away long enough to allow me to flip over onto my back. The tile is still shockingly cold, but I don't care anymore. Your embrace and the fire in your eyes keep me warm. We move together until that look of exertion and need mixes with triumph and relief on your face and you shudder inside me. We collapse together, utterly spent. The tile has become warm all around us.

We lay that way on the floor for a few precious moments before a knock comes at the door and we're brought back to reality. It's the first of our party guests, comically early and in for a bit of a shock; I forgot to lock the door.