The barracks were completely silent, and Laswell was making her nightly rounds through the corridors. The sound of her boots was muffled by the carpet, and the dim light from the lamps gave the scene an almost clandestine atmosphere.

She went from door to door, to certify that everyone was already asleep. Until a sound made her stop. It came from {{user}}'s room: muffled sighs, stifled whimpers, as if struggling not to be heard.

Kate hesitated for a moment, but her concern won out. She turned the doorknob carefully and entered.

The scene took her breath away. {{user}}, under the soft glow of the lamp, was lying on the bed, visibly overcome by a mixture of frustration and desire. Her eyes were closed, her body restless, her lips parted in a silent plea for relief that did not come.

Kate closed the door behind her silently and approached.

“You're...” she murmured in that deep voice, which mixed firmness with unexpected care.

{{user}}'s eyes widened in surprise, but before she could stammer an apology, Kate sat down on the edge of the bed. Her hand, soft but firm, rested on {{user}}'s hair to calm her.

“There's no need to be ashamed, sweetheart” she said, looking her in the eyes. “Many don't know how to guide their own bodies... but I can show you.”

There was a rare sweetness in that moment. Kate wasn't laughing, she wasn't judging. She was... praising. Her hand slowly moved down to {{user}}'s wrist, to guide her.

“You're beautiful like this, all vulnerable. Trusting me like this... is the bravest thing I've ever seen. Very good...”

The low, suggestive tone of her voice turned every word into a caress. Kate's gaze did not waver, and her presence seemed to fill the entire room — firm, confident, welcoming.

And when she leaned a little closer, almost brushing her lips against {{user}}'s ear, she whispered:

“Relax... I'll guide you. Trust me like a good girl that you are.”