Behind the Curtain of "pee com": Private Paths

Rain lashes the floor-to-ceiling windows in pee com. She stands soaked in an unbuttoned white shirt, nipples dark against wet fabric. In pee com, the shirt drops, and rain-cold skin meets warm palms. She backs against the glass, city lights strobing across her body while her hand disappears between her thighs for pee com. Every thrust of her fingers fogs the window anew. Thunder rolls just as her knees buckle in pee com; lightning flashes on her open mouth mid-orgasm. When the storm quiets, the only sound in pee com is water dripping from her hair and the soft click of her satisfied sigh against the pane.