It's a wonder no one else has found out what is happening. She can feel his seed dripping out of her when he finally grows tired of fingering her to o****m. His fingers are probably wrinkled prunes by now.
"I've reached my stop, my dear," he says, like they're lovers who are to be separated by forces out of their control. "I'll see you tomorrow, darling," he promises, pecking her cheek and untying her wrists in a seamlessly quick motion, and then he's gone, leaving her to tug her hoodie down as quickly as she can and yank her skirt up.
She squeezes her tights together and her hands, now slightly wet with precum and sweat, grip the pole. She grimaces, feeling bad for dirtying public property.
The floor underneath her is wet with something that refuses to acknowledge.
Chapter Three: Crea
