Autumn's shower becomes her private stage, her body the instrument she plays. She lathers up, the soap bubbles sliding down her curves, accentuating every dip and swell. Her fingers trace the lines of her body, dipping into her navel, then lower, finding her clit. She gasps, her back arching as she grinds against her hand, the water pounding down on her, adding to the symphony of sensation. She's a vision of raw, uninhibited pleasure, her body writhing, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps, until the knock at the door brings her back to the real world.