Ambushing Keile in the showers - part 1

Keile is a young girl, 18 years old, who is slacking in the shower room of the local soccer club. When she's alone I get into action.

The hinges didn't squeak—that was the first small miracle. The second was how the steam curled lazily around Keile’s silhouette, her ponytail clinging wetly to the nape of her neck as she tilted her head back under the spray. Water sluiced down the knobs of her spine, over the faint ribs pressing against her skin, and pooled in the delicate dip of her lower back before vanishing between the tight, pale crescents of her ass. My phone was already up, thumb hovering over the shutter button, heart hammering so loud I was sure she’d hear it over the hiss of the shower.

She hummed something tuneless, scrubbing at her arms with quick, efficient strokes, completely unaware of the shadow lurking just beyond the steam. The camera whirred softly as I zoomed in—her nipples, pink and puckered from the heat, the faintest dusting of downy hair between her thighs, still sparse enough to see the flushed skin beneath. Her legs, long and coltish, shifted as she turned, water sluicing down the inside of one thigh in a way that made my throat go dry.

The phone dipped lower without thinking, capturing the way her toes curled against the tiles when she arched to rinse her hair, the way her small breasts lifted slightly with the motion. A droplet clung to the tip of one nipple before falling, and I caught it midair—just a streak of light and liquid in the frame. My free hand was already slipping into my jeans, fingers brushing against the thick ache of my cock straining against the denim.

Keile shook her head suddenly, water flying in a sparkling arc, and I froze. But she just sighed, pushing her hair back with both hands, exposing the delicate tendons of her neck as she tilted her face up into the spray. The steam thickened, blurring the edges of her body, and I edged closer, the tile cold against my shoulder as I angled for a clearer shot. Her fingers trailed absently down her stomach, stopping just short of that tempting patch of hair, and I held my breath, waiting—hoping—for her to slip lower.

The shower knob squeaked as she turned it off, and in the sudden silence, I heard the drip of water from the faucet, the soft slap of her feet on the wet tile. She reached for her towel, draped over the stall door, and I moved without thinking—the lock clicked shut behind me, loud in the quiet. She spun, eyes wide, mouth opening, but I was already on her, one hand clamping over her lips, the other gripping her wrist hard enough to feel the frantic flutter of her pulse. The towel dropped, forgotten, and her naked body pressed against mine, slick with moisture and shaking.

She jerked, trying to twist free, but I tightened my hold, grinding my cock against her hip. The heat of her skin burned through my jeans, and I groaned into her ear, savoring the way her breath hitched. My fingers slid down her ribs, over the shallow dip of her waist, and cupped the slight swell of her breast—so small I could almost span it with my palm. Her nipple stiffened against my thumb, and she whimpered, the sound muffled by my hand.

The scent of soap and sweat filled my nose as I dragged my lips down her neck, tasting chlorine and salt. Her thighs clamped together instinctively when my fingers brushed lower, but I wedged my knee between them, forcing them apart. The damp curls between her legs were soft against my knuckles, and she went rigid, her whole body tensing like a wire about to snap. I pressed closer, pinning her to the wall, the cool tile against her back making her shiver. "Quiet," I breathed, and she went still—not obedient, just calculating, her eyes darting toward the door.

My thumb found the slick heat of her pussy, rubbing slow circles over the tight little bud hidden beneath. Her breath came faster, hitching in her throat, and I swallowed the sound with my mouth, biting her lower lip until she gasped. The taste of her—sharp, clean, untouched—made my cock throb against her hip. Her nipples were stiff peaks under my fingers, and I pinched one hard enough to make her jerk, then sucked it into my mouth, swirling my tongue over the sensitive tip. She arched, torn between pulling away and pressing closer, her fingers clawing at my shoulders.

Her hips bucked when I slipped a finger inside her, just the tip, just enough to feel the flutter of her muscles resisting. So fucking tight. I groaned against her breast, my cock aching at the thought of stretching her open. She whimpered again, her body tensing—not in fear, but something darker, something that made her thighs tremble against mine. The wet slide of my finger was obscenely loud in the steamy room, and I added another, watching her face twist as she tried to take it.

Her nails dug into my arms when I curled my fingers, searching for that sweet spot, and her breath stuttered—half a moan, half a sob. I could feel her pulse hammering against my fingertips, the hot clench of her cunt as she fought the pleasure building inside her. Her legs shook, her knees buckling, but I held her up, my mouth moving back to hers to swallow her ragged gasps. The taste of her panic, her reluctant arousal, was intoxicating. She was so close, teetering on the edge, and I wanted to watch her fall.

I spun her suddenly, shoving her face-first onto the damp tile, her ass jutting up, pale and vulnerable. She cried out, the sound bouncing off the walls, but I ignored it, spreading her knees wider with my foot. My fingers plunged back inside her, harder now, rougher, her slickness coating my knuckles as I fucked her with quick, brutal strokes. Her back arched, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the slick floor, but there was nothing to hold onto—just the steady, relentless thrust of my hand between her thighs.

Her breath came in sharp, shallow pants, her hips twitching backward to meet each thrust, betraying her. I could see the exact moment she stopped resisting, the way her muscles went slack, her thighs trembling around my wrist. A choked whimper escaped her lips, her cunt pulsing around my fingers as she came, her body shuddering like a leaf in the wind. I kept going, prolonging it, drawing it out until she was sobbing, her fingers clutching at the wet tile, her entire body taut with oversensitivity.

The scent of her arousal clung to the steam, thick and musky, mingling with the sharp tang of fear still radiating off her skin. I pulled my fingers free, glistening with her, and pressed them to her lips. She turned her head away, but I grabbed her chin, forcing her to taste herself—her own wetness, her own shame. Her tongue darted out, hesitant, then retreated, her eyes wide and dark with something I couldn’t name. Not yet. But I would. I leaned in, my breath hot against her ear. "Again," I murmured, and her whole body tensed.