Steamy Shower Sex With A Married Woman In A Halloween Mask

What happened when she locked the door

Quick recap for those joining late: At my boss's Halloween party, I wore a Catwoman mask that covered my mouth, gave a handjob to a mysterious "gladiator" in the closet, and he came in both my eyes—gluing my lashes shut and blinding me. My boss and his wife found me on my knees. The boss added his own cum to my eyes as my "punishment," then his wife licked it all off, kissed me, and said she was taking me to wash up. That's where we left off.

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Straight to the Shower

She didn't lead me to a bedroom. She didn't stop to talk. She took my hand and walked me directly to the master bathroom, pushed open the door, and guided me straight to the glass shower enclosure.

"Get in," she said, turning on the water. "The water will help your eyes."

I stepped into the warm spray still wearing my Catwoman suit, the latex instantly clinging tighter to my skin as it got wet. The water felt incredible against my face, washing away the last traces of dried cum, soothing my irritated eyes. I stood under the rainfall showerhead and let it pour over me.

Behind me, I heard the bathroom door close. Then—the decisive click of the lock.

"There," she said, her voice carrying over the sound of water. "Now we're alone."

I turned around, wiping water from my eyes. Through the steamy glass, I watched her unzipping her own Catwoman costume. She peeled it off slowly, revealing soft curves, full breasts, and a stomach that curved gently. She was all woman—soft where men were hard, inviting where they were demanding.

She stepped into the shower with me and closed the glass door behind her. The space was generous but suddenly felt intimate, enclosed, just us and the steam and the sound of water hitting tile.

"Your mouth," she said, touching my lips with wet fingertips. "It's been covered all night. You couldn't speak, couldn't scream, couldn't beg."

I nodded, the memory of my silence making me hyper-aware of every sound now.

"I want to hear you," she said, stepping closer until her breasts brushed against mine. "I want to hear every sound you make when I touch you."

The Undressing

She turned me around so the water hit my back, then found the zipper of my suit and pulled it down slowly. The latex loosened, and she peeled it away from my shoulders, pushing it down my arms until it pooled at my feet. I stepped out of it, standing before her in nothing but my black stockings, completely exposed while water streamed down both our bodies.

"Leave them on," she said, noticing my hands moving to roll down my stockings. "I like the way they look when you're naked."

She pushed me gently until my back pressed against the warm tile wall. The glass was cool against my shoulders, a contrast to the heat everywhere else. She leaned in, her body pressing fully against mine, her thigh sliding deliberately between my legs.

"Spread," she whispered.

I widened my stance on the wet shower floor, and her thigh pressed up against my center. I gasped at the contact—her wet skin sliding against my most sensitive place, the pressure perfect, the friction immediate.

"That's it," she cooed, rocking her thigh slowly, rubbing against me with every movement. "Feel that? How wet you are already?"

"Yes," I breathed, my voice echoing in the enclosed space.

"Good. Because I've been thinking about this since I saw you on your knees in that closet. Blind. Covered in my husband's cum. Unable to do anything but take it." Her mouth was at my ear, her breath hot despite the steam. "I wanted to be the one who made you helpless. And now I have you all to myself."

She kissed my neck, her lips soft and warm, trailing down to my collarbone while her thigh kept rocking against me. I was already panting, already close, the build-up from the entire night making me sensitive and ready.

Her hands came up to cup my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples, making me arch into her touch. The water streamed down between us, making everything slick, her fingers sliding easily over my skin.

"Sensitive?" she asked, pinching my nipples gently.

"Very," I gasped.

She rolled them between her fingers, tugging, making me whimper and push harder against her thigh. Then she lowered her head and took one nipple into her mouth, sucking hard while her tongue flicked the tip.

I cried out, my hands flying to her hair, holding her there as she sucked and nibbled. The combination of her mouth on my breast and her thigh rubbing against my pussy was overwhelming. I could feel my orgasm building fast, that tight heat coiling in my belly.

"Not yet," she said, pulling back and releasing my nipple with a soft pop. "I want to taste you first. I want to know if you taste as sweet as you look."

On Her Knees in the Shower

She sank to the shower floor right there, the water streaming over her hair and face, cascading down her back. She pushed my legs wider, my stockings squeaking slightly against the wet tile, and looked up at me with dark, hungry eyes.

"Watch me," she commanded. "Don't close your eyes."

I looked down at her—my boss's wife, on her knees for me in their shower—and felt a rush of power and submission all at once. She started at my knee, kissing her way up my inner thigh, her lips soft, her tongue darting out to taste my wet skin. She bypassed where I wanted her most, going instead to my other thigh, teasing me, making me wait and want.

"Please," I whispered, the word sounding loud in the enclosed space.

"Please what?" she asked, looking up at me through wet lashes.

"Please... lick me. Please taste me."

She smiled, water droplets on her face mixing with the steam. "Since you asked so nicely."

She finally touched me there, her tongue sliding up my slit in one long, slow lick from bottom to top. I moaned loudly, my head falling back against the tile, my hands gripping the shower handle for support.

"Louder," she commanded. "I want to hear you. I want the sound to echo in here."

She dove back in, her tongue finding my clit and circling it with expert precision. She knew exactly what she was doing—soft flicks that made me gasp, then firm pressure that made me moan, then sucking gently while her fingers came up to slide inside me.

"Oh god," I cried out, my voice bouncing off the glass walls. "Oh god, yes, right there, please don't stop..."

She worked me with her mouth and fingers, the water pouring down around us, steam filling the enclosure until I could barely see. Her tongue was magic—soft when I needed soft, firm when I needed more, curling inside me while her thumb rubbed my clit. I was getting close, my hips bucking against her face, my moans loud and unrestrained in the private, locked space.

She could feel it, my walls tightening around her fingers, and she doubled her efforts, sucking my clit hard while curling her fingers to hit that perfect spot inside, that rough patch that made stars explode behind my eyes.

"Come for me," she urged, her voice vibrating against me. "Come on my tongue. Let me taste you. I want to drink you while the water washes everything else away."

That was all it took. I shattered, my orgasm crashing through me like a wave, my whole body shaking, my cries echoing off the glass walls of the shower. She kept licking me through it, gentler now, drawing out every spasm, every aftershock, until I was limp against the wall, barely able to stand, my stockings soaked and my legs trembling.

The Turn

She stood up slowly, water streaming down her body, and kissed me hard. I could taste myself on her lips—musky and sweet—and it made me hungry for more, made me want to give her what she'd just given me.

"My turn," I said, my voice rough with desire.

I pushed her back against the opposite wall, switching our positions, the water now hitting her back. She laughed, surprised by my sudden confidence, but her laughter turned to a gasp when I dropped to my knees in front of her, the water pooling around my knees, my hair sticking to my face.

"Your husband came in my eyes," I said, looking up at her through the water streaming down. "Twice. Once as my 'punishment' while you watched from the doorway. You had to lick it all off, remember? Now I want to make you come while he can't do anything but imagine what I'm doing to you behind this locked door."

Her eyes went dark with desire, her breath catching. "He can probably hear us," she whispered.

"Let him hear," I said. "Let him hear what you sound like when someone who actually knows what they're doing gets between your legs. He got to mark me, blind me, cover me... now I get to make you scream."

I didn't wait for her response. I buried my face between her legs, my tongue finding her center immediately. She was already swollen, already wet, and she tasted incredible—sweeter than me, with a tang that made me want more, made me want to devour her.

I licked her from bottom to top, slow and deliberate, savoring every inch of her. Her hands came to my hair, gripping tight, holding me against her as I explored her with my tongue. I found her clit and started a steady rhythm—up and down, side to side, circling and flicking, learning what made her gasp, what made her moan, what made her legs shake.

"Yes," she moaned, her voice loud and unrestrained in the shower. "Oh god, yes, just like that, right there, don't stop..."

I added my fingers, sliding two inside her while I sucked on her clit. She was tight and hot around me, pulsing already, close to the edge. I curled my fingers, finding that rough spot inside her, and she cried out, her hips jerking against my face, water splashing around us.

"Don't stop," she begged, her voice breaking. "Please don't stop, I'm so close, I'm going to come, I'm going to—"

I had no intention of stopping. I wanted to make her scream, to make her forget about her husband listening outside the door, to make her mine completely in this steamy, locked enclosure. I fucked her with my fingers harder, faster, while my tongue worked her clit in tight, insistent circles, the water pouring down over both of us, making everything slick and hot and perfect.

She came with a cry that I knew could be heard through the whole house, her whole body convulsing, her grip on my hair almost painful, her thighs clamping around my head. I kept licking her through it, slowing down as she came down, until she was sliding down the wall to sit on the shower floor with me, both of us panting, water streaming over our entwined bodies.

Scissoring in the Steam

We sat there for a moment, catching our breath, the water still pouring down around us. Then she looked at me with a glint in her eye that made my stomach flip with renewed desire.

"Again," she said. "But together this time. I want to feel you against me."

She pulled me up and positioned me so we were facing each other, both on our knees in the water, our bodies pressed close. She spread her legs and I spread mine, and then she pulled me even closer until our pussies were touching, sliding against each other with the water making everything slick.

"Scissor with me," she whispered, her voice husky. "Rub against me."

I had never done this before, but my body knew what to do. I rocked my hips forward, pressing my center against hers, and we both moaned at the contact—wet skin sliding against wet skin, our clits meeting with every thrust. She rocked back, then forward, and we found a rhythm—sliding against each other, our wetness mixing, our clits rubbing together with every movement.

"Fuck," I gasped, the word echoing. "Oh fuck, that's..."

"Good?" she panted, her hands gripping my hips.

"So good," I moaned. "Don't stop, please don't stop..."

We moved faster, harder, grinding against each other with abandon. The water poured down over us, making everything slick and hot. I could feel her swollen clit rubbing against mine, the friction building that perfect pressure that was going to make us both explode. Our breasts pressed together, nipples rubbing, our mouths finding each other in messy, desperate kisses.

"Look at me," she commanded, pulling back slightly. "Look in my eyes when we come."

I locked eyes with her—dark brown to my hazel—and felt the intimacy of it wash over me. We were connected, completely, our most sensitive parts pressed together sliding and rubbing, our gazes locked, our moans mingling in the steamy air, water streaming down our faces.

"I'm close," I whimpered, my hips snapping faster.

"Me too," she gasped. "Together. Let's come together."

We ground against each other harder, faster, our hips moving in perfect unison, the sound of wet skin against wet skin mixing with the shower water. I could feel my orgasm building, coiling tight and hot in my belly, and I knew she was right there with me, her eyes glazing over, her breath coming in short gasps.

"Now," she cried. "Now, now, now!"

We came together, our bodies shaking, our cries echoing off the glass walls, our pussies pulsing against each other in waves of pure pleasure. It went on and on, the longest, most intense orgasm I'd ever had, and when it finally subsided, we collapsed against each other in the water, holding each other up, panting and trembling.

The Last Round

We stayed like that for a long time, just breathing, just being, the water starting to cool around us. Eventually, she reached up with a shaky hand and turned off the shower. The silence felt heavy, intimate, broken only by our breathing.

"We should unlock the door," she said softly, her voice rough. "Eventually."

"Not yet," I whispered, kissing her neck. "Once more. I want to make you scream one more time before we let the world back in."

She laughed, the sound breathless and happy, and pulled me close again. And in that locked shower, with her husband somewhere outside wondering what we were doing, we started again—slower this time, softer, exploring every inch of each other with hands and mouths until we were both trembling and spent and completely satisfied.

But we weren't done.

She turned me to face her, her hands cupping my jaw, her thumbs brushing over my swollen lips. "I want to taste myself on you," she murmured, her voice low and hungry. "I want to know what we taste like mixed together."

She pulled me into a deep, devouring kiss that made my knees weak all over again. Our mouths opened wide, tongues sliding against each other, tangling and sucking. She sucked my tongue into her mouth, pulling it deep, moaning as she tasted our combined flavors—her sweetness, my musk, the salt of sweat and shower water.

I responded in kind, capturing her tongue between my lips and sucking hard, pulling it into my mouth, swirling my tongue around hers. We traded deep, open-mouthed kisses, our heads tilting, our hands gripping each other's hair, holding each other close as our tongues danced and fought and surrendered.

It wasn't gentle—it was desperate, hungry, two women who had found something in each other that couldn't be rushed or contained. We sucked each other's tongues, bit each other's lips, breathed each other's air until I felt dizzy and drunk on her.

"More," she gasped between kisses, pulling back just to dive back in, her tongue thrusting deep, mimicking what we had done below.

I gave her everything, opening my mouth wide, letting her explore, then taking control and doing the same to her. The sounds we made were obscene—wet, sloppy, desperate—the kind of sounds that would have given us away immediately if the door hadn't been locked, if her husband hadn't already known exactly what we were doing.

We kissed like that until our lips were swollen and tender, until we had tasted every corner of each other's mouths, until we were both panting and trembling against the wet tile wall.

Only then, when we were truly, completely, utterly spent—bodies satisfied, mouths bruised, hearts hammering—did she rest her forehead against mine and whisper, "Now we can unlock the door."

The Door Unlocks

We finally stepped out of the shower, wrapped in towels, our hair dripping, lips still swollen from all that kissing. He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, exactly where we'd left him in spirit—hard, desperate, waiting.

The wife walked over to him, still in nothing but her damp skin, and stood between his legs. She didn't say a word. She just reached down, wrapped her hand around him, and started stroking slow and deliberate.

"Please," he groaned, his head falling back.

"You'll get your release," she said, her voice cool and controlled. "But then you're going to the guest room. And you're going to stay there."

She jerked him faster, her grip tight, her eyes locked on his. I stood in the doorway watching, the towel slipping slightly, my body still warm from everything we'd done. He lasted maybe thirty seconds before he groaned and spilled over her hand, his whole body shaking.

She wiped her hand on his shirt and stepped back. "Go. Now."

He stood up, unsteady, looking between us—between his wife and me, wet and satisfied and clearly finished with him. He opened his mouth to argue, but she raised one eyebrow and he closed it. He grabbed his clothes and left, the door clicking shut behind him.

She turned to me, a smile playing at her lips. "Get dressed. You're taking me to your place tonight."

I started pulling on my clothes, but she stopped me. "Wait. Let's go pick the toys first."

She took my hand and led me back to the closet—the same closet where I'd been with the gladiator, where she'd found me blind and covered in cum. She reached up to a high shelf and pulled down a decorative box I hadn't noticed before.

She opened it and revealed a collection of toys—silicone in every color, straps and harnesses, things I'd never seen in person.

"Pick your favorites," she said.

I reached in, my hand trembling slightly, and pulled out a purple strap-on harness and a thick double-sided dildo, clear pink and curved at both ends.

"Good choices," she purred, taking them from me and tucking them into her purse. She pulled out her phone and called a taxi.

Five minutes later, we were in the back seat, her hand on my thigh under my coat, the toys hidden in her bag, both of us staring out the window as the city lights passed, heading to my apartment and whatever came next.

To be continued...