Finish this sentence: My pussy is…

You pause mid-thought, pen hovering, thighs pressing together under the desk. The sentence sits unfinished on the screen, blinking cursor waiting for honesty you're not sure you can type out loud.

Warm. Restless. Already answering the question before your mouth does. Your fingers drift without permission, testing the truth of whatever word almost surfaced.

You fill in the blank slowly, deliberately — not for anyone reading, but because saying it, even silently, sends a specific heat crawling up your spine that no other sentence quite manages.