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that she was actually experiencing… nothing, except the strange and distracting sensation of something warm and soapy slithering across her bare feet.
    Angela peered down at the white suds oozing out of her new dishwasher, building up like a mountain of whip cream along her kitchen floor.  “Shane!”
    “Bloody hell!—”
    Angela glanced over her kitchen sink.  Her container of dishsoap—once full—was now almost empty.
    “Did you put that into my dishwasher?”
    “Well, yeah.  Isn’t that what it’s there for?”
    Angela watched as her dishwasher suddenly belched out more billowy suds. “No, not exactly.”
     “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he said, swiping up a handful of foam and smearing them across her neckline.  Then, without warning, Shane pinned back her arms, flicked on the faucet, and pulled out the retractable spray hose.  With his other hand, he simultaneously unfastening her bra and released a warm, wet shower down her exposed breasts.  Angela jumped, trying to wrestle away the spray head from his hand.  But Shane was stronger—and more determined to have his way with her.
    He tongued her deeply and forced the spray head between her legs.  Angela cried out with an involuntary shiver as the warm, wet sensation penetrated into her crotch.  But he tightened his hold, suffocating her into submission.  The spray head massaged her clitoris with unyielding stimulation; she could feel herself relinquishing control and giving in to the tremors and vibrations.  Angela clung onto him, fearing he would stop early if she let go.  Her dishwasher rinsed and churned, releasing the soapy pressure of foam through its front door.  Shane reached out for puffs of lather and smeared them around her backside.  The spray of the water, the tickle of the foam, Shane’s firm commanding embrace.  Angela exhaled and raised her eyes and chin to the ceiling as Shane replaced the spray head with his fingers.  She had fantasized about Shane touching her this way before; but even in her forbidden fantasies, she never had the courage to abandon herself the way she was abandoning herself now. 
    Suddenly, Shane embraced Angela tighter in his arms and sunk them down into the playground of bubbles—a white wonderland of frothy delight.  She relaxed her head against the hardwood floor, the pooling water and foam suds saturating her hair and crowding around her ears, encasing all sounds into sudsy, muffled silence. She watched as Shane pushed up the flowing hem of her dress and slipped off her panties with his teeth, smearing white suds up her thighs and between her legs.  Then, he smothered his body over hers.  She opened her mouth with a silent gasp.  With one swift motion, the weight of his masculine body pushed his cock between her legs and deep inside her.  His mouth searched for her mouth, and they locked tongues and breaths.  Angela circled her fingernails over her pecks, digging them deep into the contracting muscles of his dragon tattoo every time he penetrated her, then withdrew.  She arched her back, grinding her G-spot against Shane’s pubic bone, allowing his thrusts to shift her into uninhibited vibrations.  It was all happening now—the way that Angela had always wanted it, but never dared imagine it.  And it was better than any glossy CHIC magazine page.  She was building in a way that she had never imagined, climaxing with a violence that made Shane drive faster and faster, deeper and deeper, until Angela released an exhilarating yelp of pleasure, signaling that she was no longer a boring workaholic who had never had sex on her kitchen floor.  Damn it !
    Angela felt the warmth of the suds against her skin and the warmth of his cum as he exhaled and exploded inside her.  A perfect circular bubble rose out of the foamy aftermath and spiraled through the air, twisting with prismatic colors.  Shane pulled back onto his knees, and gazed at Angela with his own prismatic eyes.  He