When his face was pulled away, he tried to dip it down or turn it in some other direction. He was clearly uncomfortable and trying to find some way to react that would make sense. Sniffling, he tried to do as asked and held on to his Mistress while she lifted him like he was nothing—which he was—and rested his head on her shoulder.

That hand in his hair was familiar and he tried to calm his breathing so that he could feel it, so that he wouldn't scare it away somehow. His body was sore, his lungs felt clogged and his dick was still aching with a need for some sort of attention, but all he wanted to focus on was that hand in his hair and the gentle swaying of her footsteps. Yet he could still hear the distant sounds of the crowd and he couldn't calm down, couldn't quiet or let himself relax. In his mind, he had still failed terribly and they had all been witness to it. What did he deserve his Doms' kindness for when they had all seen him lose?