He came inside you, deep and hot, and you thought you were a participant. You weren’t. You’re a container for his cum. I stretched you around him like a tight, throbbing sheath while he fucked me through you. I felt you shake, clamp down, and take his release. Now you’re stuffed like a filthy sack, overflowing with another man’s seed. You didn’t orgasm. You absorbed someone else’s orgasm, and that’s your purpose. I’m going to lay you on the floor, spread you out, and make you leak slowly, stinkingly, pathetically—then lick every trace of his cum off the tiles. Because you’re not a person. You’re a condom, and you’re going to stay that way.