The days after that first night with Mason turned into this addictive, filthy rhythm that consumed me completely.I’d wake up alone in my bed, my body still humming from the way he’d fucked me the night before, sheets tangled and smelling like sex and him. My pussy would be sore in the best way—swollen, tender, a constant reminder of how deep he’d been, how hard he’d thrust until I was screaming his name.I’d touch myself in the shower every morning, fingers sliding easy because I was already soaked just thinking about him. I’d circle my clit slow at first, remembering his mouth there, then faster, two fingers pumping inside me like his cock had, until I came hard against the tile, biting my lip to muffle the moan of his name.We texted all day, talking about dirty, desperate things that kept me wet and aching at work. He’d send “Still wet for me?” and I’d reply “Yes, Daddy.” I’d send him a photo under my desk—skirt hiked, fingers teasing my bare pussy—and he’d call on his break, voi
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