Balls drained, feeling empty but relieved by magnitudes he hadn't thought possible, he walked, slowly, back to the couch. There was, as always, a slight tingle in the backs of his hands and the small of his back, and even in his satisfied (but not quite satiated) balls, a desirous tingle that pressed against the underside of his brain like fingertips imbued with static shocks, crisp snaps that fired at his imagination dark and greedy desires, but he refused to give in to them. He'd sit, on the couch, and wait for Angela to finish in the bathroom. Once she did, he'd go in, clean himself, and go back to...