She flew through the house and tore up the stairs. Why today, of all fucking days, she had to have not one, but two things spilled on her at work was a mystery for the ages. First the fucking copier had vomited developer powder on her, then Mickey had tripped and spilled his (blessedly not hot) coffee on her. Half milk, 2/3 sugar, a dash of coffee. Good old Mickey, and his syrupy java, all down the front of her jacket, splattered on her shirt, and down her left leg.
Fucking fuck! She impatiently ripped the shower knob to “ON”, then peeled out of her clothing so fast it was a miracle she didn’t set it ablaze.
She had to wash her hair, she thought, uncertain as to whether she was wearing a coating of copier toner in her tresses. And on top of everything else going awry today, she had to top it all off by getting caught in a traffic jam. A tractor-trailer carrying dog food, of all things, had jacknifed across the three lanes, and spilled thousands of pounds of kibble across the expressway. It had taken over 2 hours to make her normal 45 minute commute home. Detoured, stuck in the morass of motor vehicles, she began to wonder if she’d make it home at all tonight. Now, here it was 8:38 p.m. and she was going to be late for an informal date in her own living room. Fuck!
She sighed, stepped into the shower. She looked down at her feet, and almost cried to see she was still wearing her heels. Then it started. At first a teary sniffle of a giggle. Then a snort, and that made the laughter even harder. It wasn’t a moment later that she was bent double, laughing like a lunatic in an asylum.
“OGAWD” she tried to calm her racing heart, stop the wild release of the laughter, but bent as she was, there they were, her fucking shoes. Right there on her fucking feet, with her fucking thigh highs. In the fucking shower. She guffawed. She swallowed, choked, giggled, guffawed some more. OGAWD, she moaned, her stomach aching from the wild laughter.
Palm braced on the front wall, head leaning against that arm, eyes closed, she gave up and simply allowed the laughter to flow, as cleansing as the tears would have been.
Tension poured out of her, washed away by the heat of the water, the sheer ridiculousness of the position she was in.
He stood watching her through the gap in the curtain. Her laughter was slowing now, reduced to giggles and hiccups.
His cock was hard as stone in his pants; he was smiling widely at the picture of her there, her softly arched back, her delightful ass, the hose and heels drenched, but delineating beautifully curvy legs. He could see the outward curve of her right breast, the protective curl of her arm across her belly.
She had no idea what time it was, when she finally got herself under control. She straightened, arching her back, and shaking back the sodden mess of her hair. It trailed in long, saturated tendrils down her back, around her tits, tickling her elbows.
She was rinsed enough. Gods knows she must’ve been in here close to 20 minutes. She cranked the water off, and reached out to grab her towel. It wasn’t there.
She pulled back the curtain, and scanned the floor to see if it had fallen.
It wasn’t there.
hmmm. She thought she’d put one there this morning when she did the wash but perhaps she’d forgotten. Squeezing as much water from her hair as she could, she bent and removed her ruined shoes. She poured the water out of them, and still wearing her stockings, carried them into her bedroom.
He was laying on her bed, propped on her pillows, arms folded behind his head. Her towel lay draped across his lap. She let out a shriek of surprise, of shock.
He raised an eyebrow. He wondered, as he watched her mouth move soundlessly for a moment, if the rosy tone of her flesh was embarrassment, the heat from her shower….or from a much more exciting source.
“Well, my dear girl, when I suggested you dress for Me tonight, I had no inkling what you had in mind. Gotta tell you though…that outfit works for Me.”