It’s a nice room, in a very nice hotel. My choice. I can be a bit of a princess, you see. 

He hangs up his jacket, draws the curtains.

‘Hey’ I say, goading him, ‘I thought you were an exhibitionist.’

He yanks them open again, and the window, too, a bit. Just so we can be heard. The street outside is not so nice.

Pulling me close, he drags my dress over my head, and flicks open the catch my bra. I shrug it off, and lose my knickers, too.

The room is warm – it’s been a hot day – but night has fallen, and it’s drizzling, so when he shoves me up against the glass it’s cold enough against my nipples to make me gasp.

He alternates kisses and filthy, filthy words. I only hear the ones that count. Dirty. Cunt. People. Street. Watching. Slut. Cunt. 

‘Touch yourself,’ 

Oh, fuck. I’m not sure I remember how. I haven’t used my fingers to make myself come since, oh, 2010?

I rub my clit and watch the rain bounce off the pavements. There are people down there now, talking, laughing.

Please don’t look up. 

They round the corner, out of sight. I’m relieved. No wait, that’s wrong. I’m not relieved at all.

I’m … disappointed.

My fingers slow, and he grabs my wrist. ‘Did I say you could stop?’

He spins me round, practically throws me onto the bed. ‘Don’t stop.’

I don’t stop.

I can be a bit of a princess, you see, and princesses do as they’re told.