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I picked this thong just for you—white lace, crotchless, soft at first. Not anymore. I wore it while I touched myself slow… then rough. I couldn’t stop. I kept going until it was soaked—until I was shaking, breathing hard, saying your name under my breath. I didn’t wash it. Didn’t fold it pretty. I left it messy. The way you like it. You’ll smell me the second you open it—raw, wet, used. You’ll taste the truth of what I did in it. And you’ll know… I was thinking about you the whole time. Wear it. Hold it. Bury your face in it. Then come back for more. —Charli