She opened her eyes and shivered with the remembered sensations. Where had they gone wrong? It had been a month since the last time he'd fucked her – and even then, he'd toiled mechanically over her.

Didn't she excite him any more?

She frowned, then looked down at herself as the powerful, stinging spray bounced over her smooth flesh. Her nipples were stiffly erected, the tips like twin towers of blood-engorged flesh, and they ached to be sucked and kissed and licked and fondled and even bitten.

She took the soap and began lathering herself, stepping back out of the spray momentarily and quickly working the thick, fragrant lather up. Her long slim fingers moved deftly over her skin, and she felt the excitement growing within her, the familiar wants welling up between her hips. Janet Jamison was a true sybarite, so much so that even her own touch could arouse her to a fever pitch.

Over her shoulders, down the length of her arms, back up over her tanned chest, the lather spread under her hands. She'd gotten a better tan this year than ever before since that sixteenth summer when Tom had carried her off; rushing in the old Buick to put miles between them and a posse of male relatives and rejected suitors determined not to see her run off with some stranger unfamiliar to their small town beyond the monthly calls for tire orders.

She smiled softly to herself as she recalled the way she'd quickly lifted herself over his lap in the service station, dropping her dripping wet cunt down onto the mighty, upthrust spike of his cock as it jutted up out of his pants through the fly she had opened herself just moments before.

She could remember so well how it felt when that rigid cock slipped home between her cunt walls.