Water Pressure

Water.

Wet, warm, pulsing water.

You aren't really into astrology, but whenever you're in a situation like this, you remember you're a Cancer. Water sign. Drawn to water.

Drawn to this water. This Jacuzzi tub in this hotel in the middle of Texas. The conference has been long and boring and draining, and you're relaxing in a huge Jacuzzi tub alone. Candles. Bubbles. Music.

Water. Pulsing, warm, wet.

The jets are sending tiny bubbles cascading over your nipples, and they grow hard, aching from the pressure. You idly run your nails along the inside of your thigh, just enough to draw an angry line of pink, to draw a shiver down your spine despite the steam coming off the water, coming off your body.

You relax into the water more, arching your back and biting your bottom lip. Your hand moves from your thigh up your body to your nipple, pulling just a little bit.

Moving your hips juuuuust right, you catch one of the spray jets from the Jacuzzi at the ohmyfuckingghodsyes perfect angle, and that warm pulsing water hits your clit, hard, steady, unrelenting.

You close your eyes, your thoughts drift over old lovers, recent hookups, current partners. Soon your mind is nothing but a montage, a calvacade of images of cocks, nipples, pussies, asses, of you and others cumming over and over, as your hips buck against the steaming scented water in your hotel Jacuzzi.

The jet is unrelenting, the world's most persistent lover, and you almost bite through your lip to keep from screaming as you cum over and over again, the heat from the water and the endorphins from all those orgasms making you feel light and dizzy when you finally reach over and press the "stop" button on the jets.

Afterward you rub down with lotion, slip into your silk robe, and recline on the bed. You text your partner. "Had a bath. Much more relaxed now. Phone sex?"

When was the last time you floated away on your own bliss?