Bathing Venus

She stands before the tub like sculpture given warmth. Long, straight blonde hair falls past narrow shoulders, bright against smooth skin. Water beads on her breasts, catches on pink nipples already tight from the cool air. Her hips are slim, the kind you want to fit your hands around, and her ass is firm, high, untouched by time. She steps into the bath, a slow slide of leg over the rim, then lowers herself until only her chest rises above the surface. Fingers slip between her thighs, parting the pink slit. She circles her clit once, twice, then presses down harder, hips lifting just enough to catch the reflection on the water. Her other hand cups a breast, thumb brushing the stiff nipple in rhythm with the fingers working below. Breath quickens. She bites her lower lip, head tipping back, and keeps rubbing, steady, wet sounds rising in the quiet room. Her body tenses, legs pressing against the tub’s edge, then releases with a soft, sudden moan that echoes off the tile. Afterward, she lingers in the water, chest still heaving, a lazy smile on her lips.