No one’s home.
Just you. Me. This empty house. The hum of the fridge in the kitchen. The faint tick of that stupid wall clock in the hallway. And the sound of your own breathing getting louder the longer you sit there pretending you’re not already wet.
Why are your legs still pressed together like that?
You think I can’t tell? The way your thighs keep flexing, rubbing just enough friction through your panties to make your c**t throb without actually giving you what you want. Cute. But unnecessary.
Open them.
Right now.
Spread your knees wide. Wider. Until the cool air hits the damp cotton between your legs and you feel exposed even though no one else is watching. Only me. Only my voice in your head telling you exactly how this is going to go.
Good girl.
Now look down.
See how your
