There’s something so raw and primal about the way my body reacts to the idea of being filled, of being truly claimed. My pussy aches for it, my cock twitches in protest—like it knows it’s not the part of me I want to give. But god, I crave the weight of a man on top of me, his hands gripping my hips, his cock buried deep inside. Not as some fetish, not as a novelty—just as a woman. Just as the mother of his children. Is that too much to ask? Or am I just doomed to be someone’s dirty little secret forever?