You can pretty much tell who is the culprit of the wet spot by the size of it, and I’m afraid to tell you dear, but this one is all you.
What happened, Kitten?
Was it my fingers inside you, thrashing around at your G spot until I felt the gushing start to take place? Then I really stepped it up, felt my forearm burn, and waited for the waterworks.
Rhetorical I suppose; I was there after all.
It could have been my palm on your clit afterward, spinning a record to the beat of my own sadistic soundtrack as you soaked through into the mattress.
I’m sure my cock pounding you, bottoming out inside you didn’t help the matter.
Either way, you can fight me all you want, but I get to sleep in your wet spot tonight.