Emily awoke with a start, her body already soaked in a mix of her own desires and fluids. Her eyes fluttered open, but every morning was the same; her nipples were engorged and throbbing, and her clit felt as if it might burst. She let out a soft, shuddering moan, already feeling the warm, thick cream dripping down her inner thighs. "Good morning, my depraved mistress," she whispered to herself, her voice already hoarse from the constant, all-consuming lust that kept her in its powerful grasp. Her hands roamed over her curves, which were slick and smooth from her own natural lubrication. Her breasts felt heavy, nipples like hard stones, aching for any touch, any release. She could already taste herself on her lips, a mix of musk and honey, as she often French kissed her own pussy in the quiet, desperate moments of her day. With a shaky breath, Emily knew what awaited her. Her panties were soaked through, a huge wet patch that she could smell even from where she lay. She reached for them, fighting with an exhilarating mix of desire and embarrassment. Pulling them to her face, she took a deep inhale, savoring the intoxicating scent of her own arousal. As she l ถed the sodden fabric, she couldn't help but wonder what the day would bring, how her body would sustain itself in this endless cycle of lust and release.