Public/Private New York

He pushes my face into the glass of the window. The warmth of the sun roses my cheek until the pressure of his hand turns it white again. There is a small footstool, and he is so tall, that I must balance on top of it, still stretched on my toes.

I wobble a little as he pulls up my skirt and takes off my top, nipples crushed against the glass now. He is being more rash than usual. I would smile at his rush if my face wasn't crushed into the window. He wants to be inside me and this makes me happy. But in his rush, his brutality is laid bare.

I whimper a little as his arm flexes and pushes me harder into the glass. My fingers try and grip onto the metal at the base of the window, but all I succeed in doing it flaking the red which coats my nails. My toes dig into the footstool as I arch my feet painfully high, and in my precarious placement, I continue to dig my fingers into the metal to try and find some kind of hold. He pushes me harder into the window, which I imagine is what is really keeping my upright.

Finally I feel him release and I shakily plop down onto the foot stool, bracing myself against the window. His arms move around me as they slide the glass up, and there is nothing between me and the cold air of the encroaching winter. I am caught off guard, my nipples hardening to painful points, my chest losing air frighteningly fast, tipping forward and almost falling out onto the fire escape.

But with the window open I brace myself against the frame. I arch out, my ass sticking back into his hardening cock as I feel him unzip his pants behind me. I want him inside me, swollen and thick. I spread my legs, waiting. My breath is ragged from the cold, and I realize after a long moment that I am holding it in until he fucks me.

The pause is monumental. I am soaked. He is hard.

"Do you see him, baby?"

I look up. Outside I see my fire escape. I see the building that is across the small, kissing back yards of my building and the building on the street below. I try and make a quick scan but my mind is on the empty, dripping crevice between my legs.

"Look, baby." His voice is quiet and calm in a way which only frustrates me more.

I finally see it. I am bent slightly at the waist, tits pale and exposed to the cold, tipped out my own kitchen window, hovering above the fire escape, trying to keep quiet. And not 30 feet away, close enough to speak. Close enough to see. Is a man smoking a cigarette. He is calm, but watching intently. His cigarette has paused and I can imagine how it is slowly burning, unnoticed, towards his thick fingers.

"Do you see what I see?"

I nod. I try not to make eye contact while still staring at him and vice versa. I can't stop looking, waiting for him to respond. He simply continues to watch. After a long stand off between the two of us, he finally sucks on his cigarette, still moving in practically slow motion.

"I see him."

"Good girl." His hands grip around my waist and I feel his cock ram into me, the head of his cock claiming every inch of my pussy in a single swoop.

My face contorts and the man with the cigarette knows. I cry out, dropping my head and letting my hair fall into my face. I moan as my pussy tightens around him, begging him to stay inside me as long as he can. As my breath slows and becomes fuller, he pulls out and fucks me again, hard enough to slam my hips into the wall of the kitchen. I moan again, louder, whimpering as the moan decrescendos.

I grip the frame of the window as I try and hold back. He always tells me I'm too loud, covering my mouth or filling it with panties or his cock. This is the moment where he needs to do nothing and I will struggle to be silent. I bite my bottom lip, I press my lips together, I cover my own my with my hand, trying to react less, trying to make less of a spectacle for the man who is now lighting another cigarette. I wonder if he was a chain smoker before this incident.

He continues to fuck me, taking no notice of the man. His fingers slide over my hip to find and rub my clit in small circles, teasing me, making me pulse around his cock as I am filled over and over and over.

I finally gain the courage to look up, pushing the hair out of my face. I lurch forward with each thrust, hitting the kitchen wall over and over and over, tits bouncing. I look him in the face, in the eyes, and stare at him as I am fucked harder and harder.

My bottom lip begins to tremble but I hold my gaze. I am being destroyed, my cunt is owned and aching from his cock. I moan, letting them escape from the back of my throat.

I am taking it like a good girl should. I am being fucked like the best little cunt the world could imagine. I am being fucked by a man who owns me. And I am proud.

And as I feel that swell inside of me rise higher and higher, I stare at the man with the cigarette and let a snarl bloom on my face and a curl form in my lips. I am being fucked. I am being used and claimed and dirtied. And as I stare at him, his arm freezes and the cigarette fails to reach his lips. My hips push back for more of his cock, begging him silently to give me more. I want this man with the cigarette to dream of this moment, of seeing a wanton, willing, aching slut be taken, consumed, overwhelmed, controlled. I stare at the man with the cigarette and though I say nothing, he knows.

He holds my hair and pulls my head back, arching my body in a single, severe curve from my ass to the top of my head. "Do you see what I see now, baby?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."