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She sits, legs spread, fingers dancing along her slick folds, building a rhythm that's both soothing and maddening. Her back arches, pushing her breasts forward, nipples straining against the lace. Her breath comes in short gasps, her moans soft, yet insistent. She's chasing the high, the sweet, torturous build-up that only she can provide. Her fingers move faster, applying more pressure, her body tensing as she climbs higher. She's right there, on the precipice, when she suddenly pulls back, denying herself the release she so desperately craves. She's a slave to her own desire, a prisoner to her body's betrayal.