Elena bolted upright, cursing the alarm she’d snoozed one too many times. “Late again, genius,” she muttered, already stripping as she sprinted for the shower. Hot water sluiced over her skin; she lathered, rinsed, and emerged dripping to attack her makeup with surgical precision. Crisp white blouse, beige pants, silver necklace—check. She spun before the mirror, only to freeze at the tiny coffee stain blooming near her collar. “Perfect. Just perfect.”
Fury prickling, she grabbed the washcloth from the shower stall. A stray droplet from the leaky head landed squarely on her breast, darkening the lace bra beneath. Another followed, then a third, tracing a path straight to her nipple. The fabric clung, translucent, and a low, electric thrum unfurled in her belly. “What the hell am I doing?” she whispered, hand hovering over the knob. Work waited. Logic screamed. Yet her thighs pressed together, already slick with more than water.
She twisted the handle. Warm spray cascaded, soaking the blouse until it turned sheer, nipples hard and dark against the ruined white. The pants molded to her ass and the cleft of her pussy, every curve on display. In the full-length mirror she watched herself transform—strong, unapologetic, dripping. “Look at you,” she told her reflection, voice husky and amused. “Supposed to be conquering boardrooms, not getting off on a wardrobe malfunction.”
Her fingers slipped beneath the wet waistband, finding her clit swollen and needy. She circled, panting, hips rolling. “God, I’m so wet… dripping for this.” The pressure built fast; she imagined a hard cock sliding between her lips, filling her mouth in a filthy blowjob while she rode her own hand. Her ass clenched, pussy pulsing. “Yes—fuck—right there.” She came hard, thighs shaking, cum slicking her fingers as she moaned her own name, body arching under the relentless spray.
Breathless and grinning, Elena shut off the water, peeled away the ruined clothes, and toweled dry. Fresh blouse, dry pants, quick lipstick touch-up. She glanced at the clock, still late, yet utterly satisfied. “Work can wait five more minutes,” she told the mirror. “I’ve already had my explosion.” With a wink she grabbed her keys and headed out, strong, late, and deliciously sated.
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