Female perspective · straight

A Glassy Incident

Foreword: This piece is very loosely based on a dream I had in which I landed up in a building with a shower that had a really complex design and absolutely zero privacy. Embellished here for fictive purposes, and disclaimer – I don’t have any fetishes directly associated with what happens at the end of the story.

Not me. Someone else maybe.

But not me 🙂


A Glassy Incident

I waltz naked along a corridor with a towel wrapped loosely around my waist with my breasts exposed. I take a deep breath. The air smells musty in this place, wherever it is. I hear the playful echoes of laughter emanating from somewhere I can’t see. Is the noise coming from behind me, or beyond this point? It’s impossible to know. I haven’t seen anybody in the building for a while now.

I approach a large wooden sliding door cut with a small glass panel around eight inches long and four inches wide. This is supposedly where I’ll be taking my shower. Looking at the layout, it really doesn’t seem like much of a bathroom to me. I slide the door open and enter the room. Inside is like a warehouse in the process of being redecorated. There’s plasterboard everywhere, with some grey paint slapped all over it in lieu of anything remotely tasteful. But, who am I to judge? It suits the present atmosphere—cold, damp and devoid of any trace of homeliness. I don’t even remember how I landed up here in the first place. This all feels like a dream, but I know it’s real. The way the chills run up my bare legs and give me goosebumps tells me as much.

Ahead, there’s another set of wooden sliding doors, this time without any glass panelling. Part of me is still doubtful that this is even the right room, but the other part of me is just really craving a hot shower right now, and perhaps if I go through those doors I’ll find what I’m looking for. So I do, and I’m a little surprised by the shower cubicle that waits behind them. Sure, I was always expecting to find one but this…this isn’t how I pictured it at all.

The shower is transparent—nothing to complain about there—but it’s suspended a couple of feet off the ground using what look like fairly sturdy cables coming from the ceiling. Even the bottom of the cubicle is completely see-through where there would ordinarily be a porcelain or plastic base. The light in this section of the room is blindingly white, like floodlights filling a sports pitch at nighttime. I squint as I slowly pivot on the spot and take in the strange yet captivating design of this bathroom. I’ve never seen a setup quite like it before.

I let my towel slip to the floor and a new chill ripples along my spine. I should at least shut the doors to give myself the best chance of privacy. There’s conveniently no lock to be seen. But as I try to pull the doors closed, I find myself straining against some invisible force. They don’t budge even the slightest bit. I let out a frustrated sigh. Why won’t it just let me shower in peace?

This place is freezing and I need to warm my body up somehow. I’m seriously hoping the shower works. Is there even hot water? It looks like a state-of-the-art model, after all, and was probably custom-made by someone, somewhere.

Ugh. What am I even thinking? I don’t have time to question this right now.

I’m going in.

Because the shower cubicle is raised off the ground, I hold onto the edges as I heave myself up and clamber inside it. The thing rocks from side to side and I try to steady myself as best I can. This is almost nauseating. I flop onto the base, gasping with relief as my breasts press hard against it.

Holy ice buckets that’s cold!

Then, without so much as a hint of a warning, a heavy stream of water starts to gush out from the shower head above me. I get up onto my feet and stand directly underneath the waterfall, closing the transparent door. Thankfully, this thing is warming up nice and quick. The sheath of water covers me from tip to toe. I turn to look over my shoulder through the slight gap between the sliding doors. I notice that the first door into this room has been pulled shut, and a small crowd of men are gathered inside just staring at me.

What the hell do they want?

That’s when I realise I forgot to bring any shower gel or shampoo. To be honest, something as straightforward as that didn’t even occur to me. A few minutes ago, I was so desperate to get out of…wherever I was before this. My memory is so hazy and it’s painful to even try and recall the events. Oh well, I guess I’ll have make do with what’s here—plain old water. But no matter how much I try and focus on enjoying this shower, my attention is diverted by those men outside. I notice that they’ve all got their hands down their pants, ominously. It looks like they’re jerking off. Is watching me take a shower that much of a turn-on? It’s not like I’m doing anything remotely dirty that might give them other ideas.

“Hey…” I start tapping hard on the glass and raise my voice. “What do you think you’re doing out there?”

One of the men grunts a reply.

“What? I can’t hear you.”

Another from the group backs up the grunting man with a more coherent answer. “You want to wash yourself properly, right?”

Is he reading my mind? “Well, yes I do. But how is that related to-”

The water suddenly stopped and I can feel that chill returning.

“Look up and put your hands out,” says the man.

I do as he suggests and a pearly white substance begins to drip through a small pipe at the top of the cubicle. I make a bowl with my hands to catch it. There’s a fair amount of the stuff.

Well, I wasn’t expecting shower gel but…great!

I slap it onto my skin and start rubbing it in. The texture is ridiculously silky and it feels like it’s already moisturising deeper than any product I’ve tried before. When I massage it around my breasts and pussy, it lathers up so damn much. I use my fingers to get it right into all the hard-to-reach places.

“Consider this a little gift,” says the man. “From us.”

I stop, mid-rub, and glance back at them. They’re all hitching their pants back up again. I inhale, then gag a little as I come to the realisation that I’m completely covered in their semen. Even knowing this, something just makes me want to carry on smothering my skin with it. The sensation is, by no exaggeration, out of this world and my whole body is aching for more. I want to spread all this cum into even the most intimate places, but perhaps what I want more than anything is a sense of privacy, a place where I can enjoy revelling in these moments of horniness without the anxiety that accompanies trying to please others. I check the cubicle door. It’s jammed.

One more push…



I knew I should have waited until I escaped from this building before having a shower. The one at home would have more than sufficed, compared to this circus-like cage where I’m being observed by all these strangers, generous though they may be. And I can assure you, this is no David Blaine magic trick. I’m not willingly keeping myself inside a glass box for a week without sustenance.

Plus, I still haven’t figured out what the fuck I’m doing here.

Still, deep down I understand that depriving myself of what I want will only lead to frustration. At this very moment, I couldn’t care less who’s watching me. So I spread the remainder of the milky semen across my buttocks, allowing it to get nice and frothy. Then I press my backside flush against one of the glass panes. It’s anyone’s guess how to switch the water back on again. In the meantime, I’ll take this opportunity to revel in the wet, slippery sounds I’m making as I lather myself up some more, getting it all the way into my asshole and the inner walls of my pussy.

Mmm. Yes, this is the life.

But it’s starting to get chilly again and I could really do with that hot water again.

I turn back towards the group of men, arms crossed over the top half of my body. “I’d really like to wash myself off now. Do you know how to make the water come out?”

“Sorry,” one of them pipes up. “We don’t control that.”

“Okay. Then who does?”

He shrugs. “We’re as much in the dark about this as you are. But you might be stuck there for a while.”

“A while?” I echoed. “How long is that?”

“None of us know.”

So…who asked you to come to this place, jerk off and watch me shower?”

“I can’t answer that.” The man stared blankly ahead.

“There has to be someone in charge, right?”

“No,” he continued. “Something just compelled us. It’s like we weren’t in control of our bodies.”

Another member of the group stepped forward. “I was masturbating in my own bathroom at home before I even arrived here.”

“Y-yeah. Me too,” said another. “Trust me, I wouldn’t have chosen to do this.”

I try to get my head around this concept. “So in other words, you were transported here against your will?”

The men nod in consecutive unison.


I look up at the ceiling for any sign of a spy camera, but there’s nothing. “Well, whoever you are, is there any chance of getting the hot water back?”

No sooner had I finished the sentence, than the man who had spoken first pulls his trousers down and begins to urinate onto the concrete floor. A few drops of water hit my head. I tilt my head backwards to see those drops combining into a more steady stream.

Some of it falls directly into my eye, and it stings like a bitch. I blink in rapid succession to try and clear it away, but the sensation only intensifies. Before I know it, the thin stream of liquid turns into a hot, steaming tidal wave of piss.

Oh, hell no. This isn’t what I meant!

“Guys!” I call out in my loudest voice. “Looks like we’ve figured out how to fix the water but I really don’t need it anymore.”

I look over at the group of men, who are carrying out the act in near-perfect formation, creating tight arcs as if these are test runs for the new ‘synchronised urination’ event at the Olympics. They keep their eyes focused on the ground.

“Um…” I switch tactics. “Is there any shower gel left?”


“Okay, please stop peeing now!”

Still nothing.

There had really better not be a shit storm coming after this.


















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