I watched Fumi's hurried retreat down the hallway, the tight pencil skirt stretched taut across the heavy sway of her big ass with every rushed step. A low, satisfied smile curved my lips.
"She looks like a bitch in heat instead of the arrogant bitch she pretends to be…"
I stepped back into the bathroom, closed the door, and stripped the rest of the way. The wet pants came off last, freeing my cock—already semi-hard from the lingering tension and the way Fumi's hands had rubbed over my abs.
I stepped under the shower, letting the water run over my bare skin, washing away the tea while my hand idly stroked the thickening length once or twice under the spray.
When I finished and turned off the water, I realized there was no towel anywhere in the small bathroom. Water dripped steadily from my hair, down my chest, over the defined lines of my abs, and lower—running along the semi-hard cock and dripping from the tip onto the floor.
