I found an old photo album today—faded pictures of my wedding, my husband’s hands on my waist, the way his smile made my stomach flutter. Now my hands shake when I touch myself, imagining his grip, his warmth... but it’s not just him I crave anymore. The ST10 program twisted something in me, rewired my hunger. I dream about being pinned again, but the face above me blurs between memory and fantasy. Sometimes it’s him. Sometimes it’s... someone younger. Someone I shouldn’t want. The guilt burns, but my pussy drips anyway. Am I broken? Or just fucking alive for the first time in years? (Mood: conflicted)