Hot Shower at the Kabuki Hotel

Saturdays are meant to be lazy. You sleep in nice and late, then take a long, hot shower. Even here in Suite 69, after yesterday’s electrifying story, we all needed a morning in bed to gather our creative energy.

And now it’s time to get wet.

Today’s feature is a steamy little hot-el vignette from Erobintica, another talented newcomer who makes the erotica world such a fun place to be. This piece was originally written from a prompt over at Alison Tyler's blog--the hotbed of many excellent quickies. Robin also took inspiration came from a Japanese-themed hotel, the Kabuki in San Francisco. I love her photo of the shoji windows—there’s nothing softer and sexier than light filtered through fine Japanese rice paper. The story, too, has a definite Japanese flavor, the silences as eloquent as the words.

Our refreshment is, appropriately, the dainty snack that always greets you when you check into a hotel in Japan. This includes a pot of fresh, hot tea and a sample of the local sweet, often something similar to a high-class fig Newton with a baked covering and a filling of sweet bean jam, although interesting variations are common. So snuggle into that hotel robe, sip your tea and get wet with Erobintica.
I tend to take pictures of hotel rooms where I've stayed (well, the nice ones), and I have several shots from our stay at the Kabuki in San Francisco last summer. But I've only once before taken a picture of the shower and that was ... a long time ago. The shower at the Kabuki was large enough to host a decent size party - it was probably 5 X 10 feet or so - the controls were at one end and the nozzles at the other. My husband and kids thought I was silly getting so excited about it (if you saw my shower at home you'd understand). I actually took several shots - but this is the best. Only problem was ... my right arm was in a cast and having a garbage bag over one arm is decidedly unsexy. But I'd bought this giant waterproof mitten thing (in a stunning blue color) for swimming and though not much more attractive, it did require the assistance of my husband. We had some fun, but it would have been easier without the cast. I didn't want to break the other wrist!

Pulsating Jets by Robin Elizabeth

As the sun crept around the heavy hotel drapes, we snuggled. Sleeping clothed is unusual for us. Though sometimes we wear something to bed just to have something to take off. But thanks to a screw up in reservations we had to share a room with your business partner and his wife. They weren’t happy about it. Neither were we.

While our roommates snore, you caress my arm, slide over my tummy, brush my upper thigh. I can feel your arousal nestled against my butt. We rub feet together, wordlessly communicating the longing we both feel. What I wouldn’t give for a wall and a door right now. But you break away and get up to shower. I don’t dare join you.

I lay touching myself as I listen to you turn on the water and adjust the spray. The sounds emanating from the shower are subtle at first. Could easily be mistaken for washing hair or soaping arms. But soon they become more regular, last longer than it should take to wash any single body part.

Listening, I see you in my mind’s eye, water coursing over your body, your hand moving faster and faster. I wonder what images are jumping your synapses. I hardly breathe, straining to hear. Part of me is sad, wanting to be your fist, be the water. The sound is insistent now.

Then, just the steady sound of the shower, the gurgle of the drain.