I imagine being bent over, waiting my turn. Maybe on my hands and knees, maybe my elbows. Maybe neither, my arms instead tied behind my back, my cheek pressed against the hard ground, or maybe against the cushion of a bed. I like the idea of the bed. Maybe I wouldn’t be on my knees, but instead standing at the bed, bent over. Or maybe not, instead looking over to you, waiting for you to get to me and make me bend over.
I imagine you are preoccupied, however, with someone else. Another girl, like me. Naked and tied up, like me. Bent over the bed, like me. However, she is luckier than me, as it is her you are behind, your muscular arm pressing down into the arch of her back. I look at her, watching you take her from behind, a jealousy in my eyes, a hunger in my heart. I watch her moan, her face full of pleasure and ecstasy. I want that pressure, I want that ecstasy. But it is not my turn, and I know what will happen if I try to rush you. So instead, I wait, eyeing her, and then you, the movement of your hips, the force of your arms, wishing for nothing more than taking the place of that lucky fucking whore.