Novel & Cerita My Wet Panties

Already aroused, that German voice in her head kicked Sabrina's libido up to a thirteen on a ten point scale. Her playmates in easy reach, she wiggled out of her jeans. She sighed, wondering how long the wet spot had been showing on her crotch. Hopefully she'd not been walking around with it at work. She mopped herself with her panties and tossed them in the hamper thinking she'd need to do the wash tomorrow because she was going through underwear at an alarming rate. She was still wet, because the panty bath hadn't done any good.

I whispered under my breath, grabbing the counter for balance. I wiped myself with shaking hands, but it was useless. I was still wet. Still leaking. My inner thighs were glossy. My scent filled the room like heat. Damon. His name pulsed through my chest again. I bent quickly, grabbed the ruined panties from the floor, stared at the soaked fabric for a second, then shoved them into the trash like they were evidence. Another knock. Louder this time. “You dead in there or just drowning in your own cum?” one of the girls laughed from outside.

Trembling, weak at the knees, I unzipped it and let it fall to the floor. "Remove those panties." Complying, I lowered them, noticing the wet spot in the narrow cotton lining that had soaked up my juices. "I'll take those. You won't be getting them back. By the way, start wearing sexier, thong-style panties from now on." I said, "Yes, sir" as I handed my panties to him across his desk. He inspected the wet spot, smelled it, then put my panties in his desk drawer. "You know what this is, don't you Miss Choi?" he said, glancing at the plug.

The concrete bites into my skin, cold and unforgiving, and she circles around to face me. Her silk robe hangs open now, revealing a black lace bra that barely contains her perfect tits and matching panties that are... Fucking soaked. The black lace is nearly transparent with wetness, clinging to her pussy lips, and I can see the outline of her swollen clit straining against the fabric. "Oh my God." I start laughing, delighted. "Look at you. Your cunt is absolutely dripping. Does slapping naked pledges around always make your panties this wet, or am I just that fucking special?"

Faster, wetter, the obscene sounds muffled only by her sleeve-bitten moans. Climax ripped free fiercer this time, vision whiting, knees nearly giving out as she squirted against her hand, splattering the concrete floor with clear evidence of her sin. Panting, she cleaned up hastily with a rag, the fabric coming away soaked. Emerging with a stack of them, face composed, she handed them out. "Found plenty!" The ladies smiled, oblivious. Lila helped wipe tables, but her panties chafed wetly, a constant reminder, her clit pulsing with aftershocks.

My pussy juice had spilled down my leg when I came, so I awkwardly cleaned myself up with toilet paper. Once I was recovered more or less, I also wrung out my panties while they were wrapped in toilet paper to try and make them less damp, but after putting them on, I could still feel their humiliating wetness. Usually I loved sex. I loved coming; but the constant reminder by these wet panties that my son's cock had gotten me horny was too much to bear, so I took them back off. Instead, I hid the sexy wet thong in my purse and went to the sink to wash my hands and legs. Unfortunately, a mother with her child came in, so all I could do was wash my hands thoroughly, hoping that would be enough

I just glared at them and they finally ran away. "She has a period? Sir you might just want to buy her period panties, I guess?" "What?" "Period panties are washable, reusable underwear designed to replace pads and tampons, or be worn with tampons and cups for extra protection." "I'll buy them all." After buying those shits, I went straight to my private room and saw retard standing on one corner while her hands are on her tummy. “What the hell are you doing there?” I asked her. She looked at me like a poor little puppy. “I’m afraid I might stain your couch. I already stained your coat.”

The position left her waist directly at my eye level, and with her spread legs and how non-existent her skirt was, I could see a dark, wet spot right in the center of her crimson panties. "It was just like this," she said, as she brought two of her fingers between her legs and began rubbing that spot. Zoey's eyes closed as her breathing picked up, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from her fingers and how the wet patch was slowly getting larger. "What were you doing as you imagined this?" she asked, eyes still closed.

The image is so vivid, so real, that a rush of heat surges through me, leaving me damp, throbbing. I glance at him. He’s still asleep. Perfect. I bite my lip, fighting with myself, but the need is too great. I let my hand slide under the thin fabric of my skirt. My fingers brush over my panties , already soaked , and I inhale sharply. I press harder, rubbing myself, letting the pleasure build. My eyes close, and a quiet moan escapes my lips before I can stop it. Then I feel it , warm breath, right against my cheek.

CHAPTER 42. I reach for her panties, my fingers interlinking with the fabric, then I notice it wasn't worn properly—it’s twisted toward the back. My lips curve. “Tell me…” I start, voice dark, “how many times did he dive into this pussy that made you forget how to wear your panties?” She ignores it. I continue, pulling her panties down, and the real deal is in front of me. Swollen, pink, and glistening with wetness.