He had absolutely spent the night putting on a show for whoever might have been watching. He wasn’t happy until every inch of me had been displayed in front of that glass. He wasn’t happy even then. He didn’t stop until there actually was a puddle on the floor in front of the window. He waited until I was genuinely begging him; a whimpering, overstimulated, shaking heap of body parts that no longer worked to support my own weight. He didn’t just let me enjoy it. He went well out of his fucking way to make sure I enjoyed it, over and over again.
