Yes.

...I found relief.

I stared at the ceiling for a moment, my face flush with arousal, feeling sweaty and wet. Okay. I needed someone, and my dad was right downstairs. Fuck, I wanted him so bad. I knew this was wrong, so I didn't move. My breaths were halting, trembling.

In, out.

I tried to clear my mind, think of anything but that cock, but each time my thoughts moved away they were wrenched back to that singular focus. It felt like it was getting worse already, like I was getting hornier, and there was no way it had even been a minute. At that point I came up the straightforward idea of just...taking the sticker off. My fingers hovered over the fabric, but I couldn't quite. bring myself to do it. I needed this now. There was no way I was just going to let that go. Anyways, the feeling really was wonderful, even as I felt painfully empty. I threw all previous plans out the window. I needed to go downstairs.

I brought my arms up from where they were clutching the blankets under me, and pushed myself up. I could feel my lips rub against each other - something that I would expect to send at least a small pang of pleasure through me - but it felt like nothing. An entire body's worth of desire, of yearning, of feeling, was concentrated to a single point, a single idea.

After I stood up, I realized I would at least need some help. My dad might notice the change this time, and even if he didn't, it would be tough to convince him to- to fuck me. I had just enough sanity to hurriedly check through the sticker box to see if anything could help me in my mission. I would of course take another red heart, but I checked over the rest of the stickers to be sure I wasn't missing anything. Briefcase - that didn't seem to do anything. A 'slut' tramp stamp - maybe, but I didn't really need to become more slutty right now.