I arched my back and struggled to stop myself from crying out. The neighbors could be watching.
An hour earlier, I was sinking into my new hot tub for the first time since Cash left. I had a book. I had my huge glass of red wine wine. Life was good, despite missing him.
The hot tub was a major selling point for our new house. I’m not a huge water lover myself, but even I had to concede that it would be really nice to turn on the bubbles and relax after a long week at work. And that’s just what I intended to do. It was a lazy Sunday, and I wanted to really take this baby for a spin.
I tried out all of the seats and finally settled into the one corner that swooped down lower than the rest, allowing you to prop your feet and really lounge in the softly churning water. After a few chapters, I set the book down on the bench outside of the tub, closed my eyes, and leaned my head back. The jets felt perfect on my lower back and legs and the wine had made my head feel wonderfully loopy.
And then my pony tail hit the button that flipped the jets from low and lazy to fast and furious. I jumped, startled at the unexpected bubbles, but then giggled and sank back into my seat.
Except with the jets on high, the one leg massager wasn’t just hitting my leg anymore. I reached down. Did it…? Yes, why yes, I could slightly adjust the rouge jet to position it directly at my pussy.
It was dusk. The neighbors could look down into my backyard from their houses, but they probably weren’t. At least, that’s what I told myself. And even so, who’s to say what was happening under the agitated, swirling water?
I repositioned my hips a bit and moved my bathing suit to one side. The water splashed against my clit and my nipples were instantly hard. Thinking of Cash, I closed my eyes. If Cash was there, what would he do?
He’d force me to hold my clit against the jet. He’d tell me to keep quiet. Shhh, Rori, the neighbors will hear how big of a slut you are. You like that, don’t you? You’re like a bitch in heat. You want me to fuck you, don’t you?
But he wouldn’t fuck me. He’d plunge a finger in my tight pussy and let the jets do their job. You’re my slut and I want you to come. Do you hear me? This pussy is mine to finger-fuck. Keep your clit on the jet. Don’t fucking move. Show me how quite you can be. Show me how hard you can come without screaming.
The jets were starting to get intense. My orgasm was building, and I didn’t know if I could find that release with such direct stimulation to my clit. Oh god, oh fuck, I breathed, trying to control myself and keep my clit against the jet like Daddy would make me.
He’d hold down my hips when I’d try to squirm away. Cum for me, slut, cum for me, he’d growl into my ear, and I’d cum, over and over again, my body convulsing in the hot tub.
I came and I imagined it, with the jets loving my clit. It was so intense, I had to back away, and I turned the water back down to low, catching my breath in the chilling air as the last shivers ran through me.
Leaving on a jet plane has a whole new meaning for me. I think I’m going to like living here…
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Rori is the founder of Between My Sheets. She works full time as a writer, reviewer, and online educator and can be reached at rori-at-betweenmysheets.com