He looked at the screen.
The woman on it was — he swallowed — the woman on it was crying. Real tears, actual tears, running sideways across her face, and her mouth was making shapes around whatever was stuffed in it, and the shapes looked like words, and the words looked like—
He leaned forward.
He told himself he was checking the resolution.
The words her mouth was making looked like please don't watch.
Something in his chest shifted.
Not recognition. He filed it before it could become recognition.
"Shit," he said again, to the screen, to the woman's blurred, tear-tracked face, to the heavy, swinging weight of her breasts as the man above her drove forward. "She's too hot."
His second orgasm hit.
He gasped.
The seed fell from his cock straight down, hitting the hardwood floor in a series of small, warm drops, and he sat there with his head tipped back and his hand still around himself and his earphones still in, and he thought:
'I need to throw this laptop away.'
