What I Discovered Alone Under the Hot Shower

It had been a while since I’d written anything here. Life had filled up with work, schedules, screens, and one day I realized I’d gone weeks without giving myself even a single minute. Today I want to tell you something that happened to me yesterday, with my skin still hot just thinking about it.

My name is Carla, though that isn’t quite my real name. I’m short, I barely measure a meter and a half, but I’ve got curves that draw attention: wide hips you can steady a hand on without any effort, a good ass, and medium-sized breasts that respond to the slightest caress. I have brown skin and long, wavy hair, almost to my waist. I’m telling you this because I need you to picture me as you read.

I work from home. That setup has its good sides and its dangerous sides, and one of the dangerous ones is that my bed is three steps from my desk. That afternoon I was finishing up the last things on my list, answering emails with my body worn out from so many hours sitting, when I started to feel something different. It wasn’t tiredness. It was a warmth rising slowly from my belly, a dull pressure between my legs that wouldn’t let me focus.

I reread the same email three times without understanding a word. My mind was somewhere else. I squeezed my thighs together under the desk and felt that pressure grow instead of easing. Finish and go take a shower, I told myself. I closed the laptop early. What was left could wait until tomorrow.

I got up, took off my clothes in front of the bathroom mirror, and looked at myself for a moment. I don’t usually do that, but that afternoon I stopped to take myself in: my nipples were already hard, erect, as if they knew what was coming before I did. I turned on the water and waited for it to get properly hot, the way I like it, almost to the limit of what I can stand.

I stepped under the stream and at first that was all it was: warm water running down my back, my neck, loosening the tight muscles from the whole day. I took the sponge, put soap on it, and started running it over my arms, my neck, with no intention at all. Until I passed it over my breasts.

It was like an electric current. The brush of the sponge over my nipples sent a shiver straight to the center of my body, between my legs, where that pressure had been waiting for hours. I froze for a second, surprised by my own reaction. I ran it over them again, this time more slowly, and the shiver came back multiplied.

I let the sponge fall. I didn’t need it anymore.

I started massaging my breasts with my hands, slowly, feeling the weight of each one in my palm. I squeezed them, kneaded them gently, played with my nipples between my fingers. I tugged at them a little, pinched them carefully, imagining it was another mouth squeezing them, biting them. The hot water kept pouring over me, sliding between my breasts, down my belly, and every drop seemed part of the caress.

***

I closed my eyes and let myself go. One of my hands started moving down on its own, tracing my stomach, lingering at my navel, descending to where the heat was unbearable. I spread my legs a little, arched my hips forward, and my fingers found my clit.

I barely brushed it and let out a sigh that bounced off the tiles. I started slowly, drawing lazy circles, feeling my whole body tighten with every movement. I changed the rhythm: little taps, then circles again, playing with myself as if I had all the time in the world. I was trembling all over, my legs shaking a little, and I had to brace my back against the cold wall to keep myself upright.

And then I felt it clearly: I needed something inside. The caress wasn’t enough; I wanted to feel full. My hips moved on their own, forward and back, searching for a body that wasn’t there, imagining someone holding me against the tiles and pounding into me without mercy.

I lowered my hand a little more and slipped one finger inside. I twisted with pleasure as soon as it went in. I was so wet, and not just from the water, that it slid in with no resistance at all. I moved it slowly, in and out, and with my other hand I kept working my breasts, not neglecting them. I added a second finger and the feeling grew, but it still wasn’t enough. My fingers were too thin for what my body was begging for.

Meanwhile, my head filled with images. I imagined a faceless man kneeling behind me, his big hands roaming over my hips, his hot breath on my nape. I imagined his voice in my ear, telling me how wet I was, ordering me not to stop. That fantasy made me squeeze my fingers harder, move my hips hungrier. The shower steam wrapped everything up, and I could no longer tell where the water ended and where my own sweat began.

I opened my eyes and looked around, searching for something, anything. On the shelf there was a long-handled brush with a smooth shaft. The shape was almost perfect, thick and firm, exactly what I needed. I took it, rinsed it under the stream for a moment, and went back to leaning against the wall.

I brought it to me slowly, rubbed it against my clit first, wetting it, and then started to push it in little by little. I didn’t have to struggle: it went in deep in one go, all the way to the bottom, and I could barely hold back the cry that escaped me. Finally, that feeling of being full, of having something occupying all my insides. I stayed still for a few seconds, getting used to it, feeling it pulsing inside me.

And then I started.

***

A slow back-and-forth at first, pulling it almost all the way out before driving it all the way in again. With every thrust a moan tore out of me that I no longer even tried to control. I was alone at home; I could scream as much as I wanted, and God did I. I moaned as if I really had someone on top of me, someone fucking me hard, holding my hips and not letting me get away.

The hot water kept falling over my body, over my breasts, over my hand that wouldn’t stop moving. I sped up and my legs started failing me for real. I felt like I wouldn’t be able to keep standing much longer, so I let myself slide down the wall until I was sitting on the shower floor, with the water pouring over my head and shoulders.

There I was. Sitting on the floor, legs wide open, one of them hot with a brush buried all the way in, my face undone by pleasure. If anyone had seen me, I would have died of embarrassment. But that image, far from stopping me, only turned me on more.

From that position I had much more control. I started pushing the handle in and out faster and faster, harder, while my other hand returned to my clit, drawing circles in that same frantic rhythm. The combination drove me crazy. I threw my head back, the water hit my throat, and I couldn’t stop moaning, gasping, saying things I didn’t even understand myself.

I could feel something building inside me, a tension growing and growing, squeezing my belly, tightening every muscle. I was close, very close. I didn’t stop. On the contrary, I sped up even more, ignoring the burn in my wrist, chasing that feeling with desperation.

And then it exploded.

***

The orgasm shook me from head to toe. It was one of those releases that come from very deep inside, that leave you breathless and make your whole body tremble. I felt my pussy throbbing hard around the handle, contracting in waves that wouldn’t stop. I screamed, I think, or maybe I just moaned very loudly; I don’t remember clearly anymore. What I do remember is the intensity, the way pleasure ran through every inch of my skin.

I pulled the brush out slowly, carefully, because everything was still too sensitive. I brought my fingers down and felt my own release, warm and abundant, mixing with the water. I stroked myself gently, stretching out the last aftershocks of pleasure, until little by little the sensation faded and my breathing returned to normal.

I stayed sitting on the floor a while longer, my legs still weak, letting the hot water finish relaxing me. I felt light, empty and full at the same time, with that strange peace that comes after a good orgasm. I thought I wished all my workdays ended like this.

When I finally found the strength, I got up, took the sponge again, and washed my body thoroughly, calmly, still enjoying the tingling that remained. I turned off the tap, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped myself in a towel, looking at myself in the mirror again, this time with a smile I couldn’t wipe off.

***

I hope you enjoyed my little confession. The truth is that while I’m writing this I can feel that warmth rising again, and I don’t know if I’ll make it through the day without repeating the dose. There’s something about telling it, about imagining that someone reads me and gets turned on with me, that lights me up almost as much as living it.

I welcome comments, you know that. I like reading what I provoke in you. And I’m sending you a huge kiss, wherever you like to receive it most. I wish you lots of pleasure and very good orgasms, both in company and in that beautiful solitude under the hot water that I know so well now.