The water is scalding, beating down upon his flesh and burning away the aggravations of the day. Taking me gently in his hands, he makes me wet; he soaps me and I bear the fragrance the will fill the dreams of many this night.

I hear him sigh as he strokes me across his face. My soft folds brush his lips and I can only imagine what it would be like to feel them against honest-to-god flesh. Stretching against my fabric, his neck relaxes as his hand kneads the tense muscles at its base. He moans in relief, the water cascading down his naked form.

The broad expanse of his chest is scrubbed clean and I wait in breathless anticipation for what is to follow.

Oh sweet relief ... catching his breath at the unexpected sensation, he touches himself. *I* touch him. My soft folds follow his lead as he wraps me around his hardening length. Slick with creamy bubbles, I ease the way for his release.

Leaning against the shower wall, he pleasures himself and I am witness to the glory of it all. I catch the first warm droplets that appear and hoard them in my fibers. He moves steadily against his hand, murmurs something -- a name perhaps? -- and his other hand joins the fray. Reaching between his legs, he cups himself through the soapy rivulets that run from his body and his breathing all but stops.

Concurrently, his hand tightens and his member swells. A strangled cry breaks forth as he finds his release and I am flooded with a heat more intense than any I've ever known.

I anxiously await ... yes. There. He is breathing again. Lovingly, he rinses me clean, every last trace of himself washed away.

Until the next time.