The bathroom door clicked shut behind me, the lock snapping into place like a promise I had made to myself weeks ago. Steam was already rising from the showerhead, fogging the large mirror above the sink, turning the small, tiled space into a warm, humid cave that felt both familiar and foreign. I was thirty-four years old, alone in my apartment on a quiet Saturday night, and my cock was already half-hard just from the thought of what was about to happen.

On the marble ledge beside the shower sat him: 18 centimeters of veiny, flesh-tone silicone, thick flared head, heavy balls, realistic down to the last detail. I had ordered it online two weeks earlier, hidden it in a drawer under my socks, and jerked off every single night since its arrival, imagining this exact moment. The anticipation had been building for days—every time I walked past the bathroom, every time I took a regular shower, I pictured it waiting for me. My hole twitched at the thought, a subtle clench that sent a shiver up my spine.

I stripped slowly, savoring the ritual. The black T-shirt hit the floor with a soft thud. My boxers followed, sliding down my legs and pooling at my feet. My reflection stared back from the foggy mirror: lean build, hairy chest, trimmed pubes, dick pointing straight up, already leaking a bead of pre-cum that glistened under the bathroom light. I turned the shower on—scalding hot, the way I liked it. Water drummed against the white tiles like applause, filling the air with white noise that drowned out the world outside.

I stepped in.

The heat hit my skin like a slap, immediate and intense. I let it run over my shoulders, down my back, between my legs, soaking every inch of me. I lathered soap across my chest, over my nipples, which hardened instantly under the friction, down my abs, tracing the lines of muscle I had earned from years of sporadic gym visits. My fingers brushed my hole, and it twitched again—not yet. I rinsed off the soap, watching it swirl down the drain in white streams, then grabbed the dildo from the ledge.

The suction cup stuck to the wall at waist height with a wet thunk that echoed in the enclosed space. I angled it perfectly—the head kissed the top of my crack, cool silicone against hot skin.

Deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

I pushed back.

The tip pressed against my hole. Resisted. I pressed again, harder. A pop—fuck—the head slipped in. My knees buckled slightly, the stretch burning in the best way possible. Water pounded my back like a drum, steady and relentless. I stayed perfectly still, letting the burn settle, letting my ass learn the shape of it, the thickness, the curve.

One inch. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six.

I reached back with both hands, spread my cheeks wider, fingers digging into the flesh. The shaft slid deeper. The veins dragged against my inner walls, every ridge sending sparks up my spine, making my cock throb harder. Pre-cum leaked in long, clear strings that mixed with the water and ran down my thighs, disappearing into the drain.

I started to move.

Slow at first—just tiny thrusts, barely moving, just the head popping in and out, teasing the rim. Then deeper, inch by inch. My prostate lit up like a fucking firework, a jolt of pleasure that made my toes curl against the wet floor. I groaned loud enough to echo off the tiles, the sound bouncing back at me.

“Take it,” I growled to the empty room. “Take that cock.”

I did.

I fucked myself harder. Water slapped against my ass with every thrust, the sound wet and obscene. The dildo bottomed out—balls against my taint, the full 18 cm buried inside. I held it there, clenching, feeling every ridge, every vein, my hole pulsing around it like it had a mind of its own.

My free hand found my dick. I stroked in rhythm—slow at first, matching the thrusts, then faster, grip tight.

Thwap-thwap-thwap.

The sound of silicone pounding wet flesh filled the shower, mixing with the water, my breathing, my groans. My legs shook. I leaned forward, palms flat on the wall, ass out, taking it like a slut, water cascading over my back.

The first orgasm hit without warning.

I yelled, the sound raw and primal. Cum shot in thick ropes, splattering the tiles in front of me, washed away instantly by the shower. My hole clamped around the dildo, milking it, waves of pleasure crashing through me. I kept thrusting through the spasms, riding it out, prolonging every second.

But I wasn’t done.

I pulled off—slow, deliberate, the obscene pop echoing. Turned around, faced the dildo, and sucked it clean. Tasted myself. Salty. Musky. Raw. The flavor coated my tongue.

Then I stuck it lower on the wall, at knee height this time.

I faced the spray. Water in my eyes, mouth open, gasping. I backed onto it again, faster this time, no hesitation. My cock—still hard, impossibly—bobbed with every slam, slapping against my stomach.

Second round was brutal.

I fucked myself like I hated my own ass, like I needed to punish it. The head punched my prostate over and over, relentlessly. My balls drew up tight, aching.

“Again,” I snarled through gritted teeth. “Cum again, you whore.”

I did.

Second load erupted—harder than the first, more intense. Cum painted my chest, stomach, ran down my thighs in thick white rivers. My vision blurred, stars behind my eyes. I roared, the sound drowned by the water, my body shaking violently.

I stayed impaled, trembling, muscles spasming, until the dildo slipped out on its own with a wet slide.

I sank to my knees. Water still pouring over me, relentless. My hole gaped, tender, satisfied, pulsing with aftershocks.

I smiled at the fogged mirror, barely visible through the steam.

Round two tomorrow. I hope you enjoy my first story. More content coming soon. Stay tuned.