I remember the click of my heels on the tiles, each step echoing like a countdown to his humiliation. The dress rode up, exposing my bare ass, and I knew he was watching, his eyes glued to my curves. I didn’t need to see him to know the look on his face—desire mixed with dread. The sound of my heels receding was the sweetest music, a symphony of his impending cuckoldry. I could almost feel his gaze, hungry and helpless, as I walked away, leaving him to his fantasies and my reality. In a few minutes, I’d be with another man, and he’d be left with nothing but the memory of my ass and the echo of my heels.