Shower with Stacey

Steam fills the room as Stacey steps into that oversized tub, her blonde hair already clinging to her shoulders. The water runs hot and cold at once—your choice where to stand. She keeps a straight face, but her hands stay busy. She reaches for you first, soap gliding over every inch, her fingers sliding along your spine before moving lower, slower. She pauses at nothing. She expects the same in return. Start where you like, she says with her eyes. Her chest rises as your palms follow the curve of her breast, slick with soap. Her nipples tighten under the touch. She bites her lip, still serious, still watching every move you make.