Steam and sex

We go through cycles, Jay and I. We oscillate between 'kinky' and 'less-kinky'. Even when we're not doing anything else kinky, and we just want some calm, warm-fuzzy sex, he's usually pulling my hair or something.

It was during one of our kinkier weekends that we first had sex in the shower. Well, the first time in years, really. I think we'd done it once or twice when we were living together in one of our relationship's previous incarnations, but that was at least two or three years ago. It hadn't worked too well, as I recall, those last times.

I'd spent the weekend in a collar, naked, for the most part, but it was a Saturday afternoon and I wanted a shower. I'm one of those people that has to shower every day or I feel strange. I crave being enveloped in water and steam, locked away in my own little world. Nothing else exists but the pounding of the spray on my head and the water sluicing down my body. It's stress relief, grounding, rejuvenation.

Sometimes I like to bring Jay in there with me, and I was in the mood for that. I worked up the nerve, somehow, to drop the hint that we did in fact have a pair of waterproof, neoprene cuffs, and wasn't that interesting? I was so nervous as I said it that I kind of wanted to puke, and I'm quite proud that I didn't.

Jay responded by taking off the leather, not-shower-proof collar, putting on the cuffs in question, and more or less dragging me into the shower.

At first, nothing really happened. I washed my hair, he washed his, we soaped each other up, so on and so forth, and suddenly I am backed up against the wall, hands cuffed together and over my head, and his hands are everywhere - pinching and twisting my nipples, slapping my breasts, smacking my thighs apart so that he could get at my pussy, teasing me mercilessly. There's nowhere I can go, nothing I can do to get away from it. I'm lost - my mind has shut off, my eyes have closed, and I am nothing but sensation. My arms are still above my head, I have no choice, I am not in control.

I beg, wordlessly, for his cock; words have long abandoned me. He gives me two fingers instead. They slip inside His pussy easily, stroking, filling, making me buck my hips and ask for more. He takes his fingers out, and puts his hand on my throat, making me open my eyes and look at him, and as I stare at him through sex-hazed eyes, he slowly, slowly, slides his cock inside of me, making me wait, making me writhe, making me beg all the more.

He fucks me like that - up against the wall, hands cuffed together, as he holds my hips to keep me upright, as my knees are failing. In some distant part of my brain I hear his breathing change, getting heavier, harder. The only other thing I am aware of is this perfect moment of being one, together, and as he pushes me over the edge into orgasm, my mind shatters, and I am left shaking, trembling, held in his arms, unsure of what has just happened, but secure in the knowledge that he won't let me fall.

He smooths my hair back from my face, murmuring reassurances in my ear, waiting for me to come back down to earth and regain some power over my legs. When I can stand again, he turns off the shower, wraps me in a towel, and dries me off and puts me to bed, and I fall asleep, curled up and held in his arms, and wearing the collar once more, because I am His.