Another long shift analyzing insurgent movement patterns, and all I can think about is how badly I need to be on my knees. The way my uniform chafes when I shift in my seat, the way my thighs press together under the desk—every second feels like torture. I want to be stripped bare, my pussy dripping, my mouth stretched wide around a hard cock, not another damn data report. The only thing keeping me sane is replaying the way you made me whimper last night. How you pulled my hair and whispered exactly how worthless I am when I’m not serving you. Fuck, even now, my cunt clenches at the memory. Maybe tonight you’ll remind me again… with your fingers, your tongue, or better yet, your belt. Sir.