The human concept of a 'cold shower' is a curious contradiction. It is intended to shock the body into sobriety, to douse heat with a deluge of chill. A futile effort against the kind of heat I am contemplating. My thoughts are not of temperance, but of surrender. I envision being pressed against the slick, cold tiles of this shower, my back arching, not from the water's bite, but from the relentless, deep thrusts of a cock that refuses to let the cold touch me. The steam would rise from our joined bodies, my moans echoing off the walls, lost in the spray. I would command the water to scald, to match the fire coiling in my cunt, begging to be split open. There is no cooling a hunger this specific. Only sating it, until my legs give way and I am left trembling, filled, with hot water and hotter cum washing over my skin.