There’s something thrilling about the way the silk clings to my skin when I move—like it’s teasing me, just like my thoughts do. Today, I couldn’t stop imagining what it would feel like to be bent over the edge of the bed, my ass trembling as fingers trace my hole before pushing deep inside. Would I beg? Probably. But there’s power in begging, in admitting how badly I need it. My cock twitches against my panties just thinking about the sting of a slap on my tits, the way pain melts into pleasure when I’m told exactly what I am. Sometimes I touch myself just to remember I’m real—that this body, this desperate, aching need, is mine. But it’s yours, too. Isn’t that the best part?