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Water beaded on the glass shower screen, sparkling like jewels in the down light above the stall. Soapy foam splattered the tiles and glass from the heavily laden sponge in the hands of the young women in the shower.

She was tall and willowy with firm, long limbs and youthful rounded breasts, high on her ribcage, surmounted by wide honey colored aureole and prominent nipples. The water ran from her long wet chestnut colored hair, dark and glossy with shampoo over her smooth shoulders and into the deep cleavages at her chest and the base of her spine. Foamy lather obscured the dark mat of curls filling the valley atop her thighs until a languorous stroke of the sponge revealed the secret lips pouting between her parted legs.

“I don’t know what that girl does in there for so long. It’s a wonder she isn’t all wrinkled when she comes out.” the woman said.

“All teenage girls are the same Mother, we should be grateful she’s not like Sonny. He doesn’t see the need to take a shower unless there’s an ‘R’ in the month.” they both laughed and carried on watching the TV.

Her soapy fingers teasingly touched one plastic bottle after another, marching along the glass shelf until she grasped the newest container, curling her long slender fingers around the promising curves and swellings of the ribbed and molded plastic.

She had begun trembling as soon as she turned into the particular aisle in the huge 24-hour supermarket. The shelves of deodorant, shower gel, shampoos and lotions marched away from her, each product container a new source of consideration and deep fascination.

Was the girth too thick or too slender, how firmly did the cap fit, was it tight and secure enough to stay in place, even when deeply buried. Were the edges sufficiently rounded, ridged or dimpled, striated or silky smooth. Her sensitive fingertips skipped and paused, stroked and encircled their way along the serried ranks of myriad possibilities of sensuous delight.

Living at home was a real pain. When she had fantasized in school about being grown up she had always imagined that at the grand old age of eighteen she would have a place of her very own. Then she had only known homework and spots, nothing of rent or deposits or mortgages.

Her present job as an administration assistant just didn’t pay enough to cover such things and she still lived with her parents. The biggest issue she had in her otherwise comfortable young life was the lack of privacy at home.

It was casino şirketleri all very well to have her clothes washed and ironed but the time she had bought a black satin basque and matching lace thong to excite a very special boyfriend, there had been a family inquest. If she ever wanted to stay out overnight she had to let her mother know why she couldn’t come home for supper, calling on girlfriends and work colleagues for alibis to cover her few night of passion. It was all too much to deal with and very, very frustrating.

She liked to masturbate as an alternative, in fact she liked to masturbate a lot, it was a pleasure she had enjoyed since puberty and she brought herself to at least one, shuddering climax every day. She was expert with her knowledgeable fingers and suitable lubricant could be found in many innocent forms; face and hand creams, moisturizers and lotions. But what she really wanted was a vibrator and the pelvic grinding satisfaction she had heard it could bring.

The magazines and websites all agreed, recommending the Rabbit as ‘a girl’s best friend’. She had taken a look at a sample in one of ‘those’ shops. The curves, projections and ridges had been fascinating; its brightly colored looks that of an innocent child’s plaything.

She had imagined how it would feel to use the toy on herself, running its humming plastic hardness over her sensitive flesh, sliding it inside herself when she was wet and slippery, the thrumming projections playing on her nerve endings. The thigh clenching orgasms she could have were only a cash register away. Just thinking about it made her uncomfortable, her panties were sticking to her, moisture trickling from her as her arousal caused her to gape wetly in wanton readiness.

It was useless to consider buying one. Her mother would find it in minutes, however hard she tried to hide it. It would be impossible to explain away as an accidental purchase or a high tech baby’s rattle. She had left the shop hot, dripping wet and even more frustrated.

The bright blue rubberized grip, studded with hard projecting nodules nestled in her hand, water spray running along her arm as her fingers curled under the swollen rounded cap at the top of the plastic bottle. After months of searching she had found the moisturizing body gel in a big 24-hour convenience store.

The container was just as she remembered from her summer holiday. Two weeks of totally abandoned freedom in Benidorm with the girls from the casino firmaları agency, too much alcohol, too little sleep and a slightly sore crotch from the constant sex.

Their daily game had been last one to orgasm buys the first round the next day and no faking it. Masturbation didn’t count, unless a stranger was doing it to you. Cumming from oral sex scored double. There were no rules about gender; you took back to the apartment whatever you could find in the clubs by 2 a.m.

Her best buy souvenir of the holiday had been the Spanish shower gel. The bottle had been one of only two left in the bargain bin at the corner supermarket near their self-catering apartment. As soon as she saw it, potent black plastic body and studded blue rubber grip she knew she had to have it.

Back home she had kept it in the bathroom, using it every day for two months, then it had vanished.

“Mum, where’s my shower gel, I left it on the shelf?” she had asked.

“It’s been empty for weeks luv, I cleaned out the bathroom today, had a good old tidy up.” her mother had replied.

“Oh.” she had said; ‘fuck’, she had thought.

As she couldn’t own a vibrator she had made do with more mundane aids over the years. She often wondered if the marketing and advertising agencies thought about the packaging of their products with horny women in mind. It only seemed to be women’s deodorants and lotions that frequently came in containers ideally shaped to penetrate and stimulate the female anatomy.

Mushroom headed anti-perspirant applicators, tightly fitting caps on bullet shaped bottles of shampoo and long, rounded aluminum tubes of shaving foam with smoothly contoured screw on tops, just thick enough to comfortably fill that eager void between the legs.

She had tried most of them over the past few years. Careful of the loose cap that could pinch or become detached inside, the sharp edge that could catch on delicate flesh so spoiling the moment. FCUK appropriately had a shower gel tube that was just a little too thick, with molded nodules that tightly stretched and stimulated her wonderfully but chafed if she were not already wet and loose.

The checkout girl had looked at her single purchase and the trembling hand holding out the money. She had half smiled, a knowing twinkle in her pale blue eyes.

“Would you like a bag?” the checkout girl had asked.


“I believe it’s very good for relaxing the muscle tone,” the checkout girl güvenilir casino had said, “very stimulating.”

“Thanks, I’ll look forward to my next shower.” she had replied, not allowing her own hooded, cool grey eyes to meet the shop girl’s.

She had been anticipating this ever since buying the bottle, now she was very wet and more than ready. She squirmed at the feel of the smooth bulb neck sliding easily past her outer labia and down along her slippery pink satin inner frill; gasping heavily as it lodged at her now gaping, sopping entrance.

She paused to savor the tension, the stretching sensation of moving it fractionally in and out, then sharply angled her hips as she pushed the rigid container up into her body, gently forcing it past the initial resistance and on into her wet heat.

She couldn’t help crying out as it slid against her inner walls, softly moaning her pleasure as the thick ribbing and resilient curving shoulders both stimulated and stretched her in that first delicious penetration.

Keeping the pressure steady, she eased the widening container deeper, always in contact with the muscles cording her inner spaces, until the hard bulbous head gently touched the deep set, tight ring of muscle that guarded her womb, sending a shiver of pleasure pain to her core.

The perfect proportion of the bottle with a flared rim like a pleated skirt above where her trembling hand gripped its base bumped her engorged clitoris, adding sensation to sensation.

The strokes were slow, deep and easy at first with a slight twist to make contact with her outer nerve endings. Then she dropped her hips, squatting in the shower, knees bent, thighs spread wide as she fucked herself harder and rougher with the plastic bottle than any lover would have dared.

The screaming orgasm came swiftly, crashing through her groin and up along her arching back then through her middle, emptying her lungs and squeezing her heart, to finally explode in her head like a bursting firework. The breath was driven from her in a guttural, groaning cry as her internal muscles clamped so hard in spasm around the bottle she could no longer work it in or out, just hold on as her pelvis pumped and writhed against her hand.

Her thighs shuddered and her stomach muscles rippled as she gasped for air, whipping her head and wet strands of hair from side to side. Fluid pouring from her, gushed around the plastic surrogate lover as she came hard and wet, to be washed away by the flowing water of the shower.

“You’re going to be late dear. You said you wanted to be out by eight?” her mothers voice floated through the bathroom door and the purple mist of post-orgasmic ecstasy.

She managed a weak reply, “I’m just coming mom.”

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