Shower Thoughts

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Read Time: 2 mins


Sundown approaching, I rose from the pool, took hold of a warm towel, and entered my girlfriend's house in hopes of cleaning chlorine off my body before dinner. I'd taken a trip to the east side of town to stay in her ritzy bachelorette pad, charmed by the competitive length swimming pool and the promise of quality time with an amazing woman. It was different. Much of my relationships were across and down the socioeconomic ladder; sons of my parents' friends, other starving college students, and athletes I met through school sports. Walking barefoot over cool, tile floors through halls with decorative art, past rooms that a maid had cleaned earlier that day was utter culture shock. Life couldn't get any better. . . or so I thought

I almost went with the guest bathroom, but the idea of Lydia returning home from Giovanni's Italian restaurant to find me steamy and naked in her shower was too good to pass up. Just imagining her wiggling eyebrows and snarky comment made me tingle with excitement. So I helped myself to Lydia's open-concept bathroom and bashfully entered a glass booth bathing area that could easily fit seven other people. I fussed with the panel on the wall for five minutes before a perfect blend of mist and warm beads fell from the fancy shower head above, covering me in a just-right mix of warm, wet relaxation. Instantly the right temperature, too, I thought. Lydia really has it all. A shower that required launch codes to turn on, a swimming pool, wealth to afford it all and humility in spite of it. Fantasizing about my perfect girlfriend distracted me from my search for soap, the warmth of the water cutting through my pool-chilled skin. Her body was full, bowing at its ends and tapered at its middle. I envied it—without malice, of course. And Lydia busted her ass, so she deserved to sport a head-turning hourglass shape. But as I wiped water over my ivory plains, I felt intrusive insecurities arise. I could swim laps forever in Lydia's pool and it wouldn't fix flat chest."A rich, accomplished woman with the body of a goddess is bringing home fancy Italian food. Are you really gonna sulk in the shower about tits?" I said aloud. Of course I wasn't. Instead, I let the shower take those thoughts away, melting them until they rolled over my body and down the floor drain. Doing so was shockingly easy, like Lydia's glass booth was mope resistant. With steam and smooth water—I'd bet money it was filtered, not tap—in such an idyllic place . . . I couldn't stay mad.

"Mmmh! So nice," I moaned, physical relaxation begetting a rise in arousal. "Mmmmmh. Must've thought about Lydia's tits for too long, hehe."

My hands perused my body at their leisure, the sensation of hands on my exposed skin exciting me. Natural inhibition didn't arise when a stray finger dipped to where my legs met and I saw no point in bothering it. With the shower's hypnotic massage knocking on my flesh, I ceded my body to its urges, hornier the more I thought of Lydia's perfect J cups.

"Mmmh! Lydia. That body of yours is amazing." I leaned back against a shower wall, groping my body with one hand, pushing my bikini bottom aside with the other. "Those sexy hips. Full thighs. Big, kissable lips and huge, womanly set of. . . b-breasts? Breasts?"

I took pause at an odd sensation. My A cups. They were more substantial than before. "What the. . . When did they get—. . . Mmmh! Sensitive!"

My own hands made me tense from the sudden sensation, but as the surprise of it waned, the pleasure redoubled. I gave them both another test squeeze, skeptical of what I'd done.

"Oof! Th-they've neer felt like that before. When did you girls get so. . . Mmmh. Sensitive? Gosh. Th-That's the spot, right there. Wait. . . you're not. . . g-growing?"

I continued to squeeze myself, my bikini shifting under my greedy hands. As I did so and water rained down, I saw for myself how my breasts grew larger, filling my palm in little, blushing heaps before growing grander. Something about the utter pleasure I experienced made that fact less alarming; less urgent; mope resistant. I squeezing at what was a featureless plain, heart racing as they rose into hills.

"Mmmh! Whoa-yea. That's it. That's a rush! Shit! I-I can't stop. A-Am I—. . . MMMMH!" I crooned, as my new breasts jutted from my torso, standing pert and round. They were D cups within a minute—a full chest after years of wishing for one. They continued, blessings improving until I had to fight just to keep them close to my body. They fattened and I moaned. They gained weight like they were absorbing the water. And the sensitivity! I recalled only one other woman who complained of such sensitive tits: Lydia.

"Wait. . . If I'm using her shower, does that mean—. . . MMMMH! Oh god! T-Too. Huge!"

Suddenly, my legs went weak and I slumped against the glass wall, shower water landing square on my bosoms. They rushed forward, going from buds to blossoms to melons. They slumped against my flat tummy, their weight like gallons of milk, their size like backpacks hung from my neck.

"I-I can't even see my stomach. C-Crap. These are WAY bigger than Lydia's—. . . MMMMH!" I had so many questions, but none of them seemed to matter as I groped my new chest. My bikini top failed, falling into my greedy hands as I squeezed. There was more flesh than I could even fit in my arms, more breast than I could have hoped or dreamed for, and I just about lost it at how good it felt to make them wrestle between my flattened palms. I was in such throes of bliss that I didn't even notice my audience as she stood beside the shower. Lydia playfully appraised my body from the outside of the glass, licking her lips at the sight of my boobs as they expanding into my lap.

"C-Care to join me?" I asked, horny beyond belief. Lydia just rolled her eyes.