Emily's fingers trembled as she traced the wet patch on her panties, her heart pounding with anticipation. She brought the fabric to her lips, her breath hitching as she inhaled the musky sweetness of her own desire. Then, with a deep, shuddering sigh, she slowly dragged her tongue across the sodden crotch, feeling the rough fabric against her tender flesh. The taste was intense, a heady mix of her natural honey and the salty tang of her own fluids. She closed her eyes, savoring the flavor, letting it stir the deep, primal need within her. As she licked, she imagined the faces of the men who had so recently reaped the bounty of her arousal, their desires sated by her relentless groans and arching body. Her thoughts were swirling, and a deep, guttural moan escaped her as she took the fabric from her lips and began to smear the dampness across her forehead, cheeks, and chin. The wetness marked her, claiming her as a whore to her own desires, and she reveled in the knowledge that her scent would linger on her, a silent declaration of her endless hunger. Emily's body responded to the act, her breasts growing heavier, nipples aching for attention. The creamy dampness of her thighs felt like liquid fire, and she could feel the throb of her clit, a constant, aching reminder of her unquenchable need. She let the panties fall to the bed, now merely a wet, wrinkled cloth, and turned her attention back to her body, eager to satisfy even a fraction of the lust that consumed her.