I couldn’t stop touching myself in the days leading up to the follow-up. Every night, every morning, I’d lie in bed with my legs spread, fingers circling my clit while I replayed the last appointment in my head: the stretch of his fingers, the hot swipe of his tongue, the thick weight of his cock sliding over my tongue until I gagged. I’d edge myself for hours, bringing myself right to the brink and then stopping, whimpering into my pillow because I wanted to save it all for him. By the time the day arrived, my pussy was already swollen, hypersensitive, leaking steadily down my inner thighs just from walking...