His hands moved slowly, almost reverently, as he slid the panties down my thighs. It wasn’t rushed, no, it was ritual. I could feel his breath on my skin, his fingers dragging the fabric inch by inch like he wanted to savor every second of my helplessness. I stood there, exposed and burning, feeling the air thicken around us, heavy with the weight of what I couldn’t say.
The panties caught slightly on the cage, and he paused, smiling to himself. “Delicate little thing…” he whispered, like the moment might break if he moved too fast. And maybe I would, too.