The first real light of morning creeps through the massive penthouse windows,
painting everything in a soft, golden haze.
The suite looks like a battlefield of pure filth.
Sheets are twisted,
soaked through with sweat,
squirt,
cum—
some spots still wet and glistening.
Empty champagne bottles roll on the floor.
Used toys lie scattered:
a thick black dildo crusted with dried juices,
nipple clamps dangling from the headboard,
a bottle of lube tipped over,
its contents pooled on the nightstand like evidence.
The air is heavy—
thick with the raw smell of p***y,
cock,
ass,
and the faint metallic tang of multiple orgasms pushed past limits.
I’m sprawled in the very center of the ruined king bed,
legs still open because I don’t have the strength to close them.
My body is a map
