Wet Panties Stories Novels & Stories

He was stroking himself, his hand moving in a frantic, blurred motion, the friction of his palm against his sensitive head nearly driving him to an early release. "That’s it," she whispered, her voice husky. "Look at it. You’ve fucked ninety-nine girls, Carter. You’ve seen everything, right? But you’ve never seen me." She was getting louder, her movements more frantic, the friction of her fingers against her clit turning into a rhythmic, punishing pace. She was right on the edge, her back arching, her breasts swaying in the dim light. Carter’s breathing was ragged, his eyes rolling back in his head as he watched the wet, rhythmic slide of her fingers. He couldn't take it anymore. The restrai

I swear in my state if anyone came in and I were fully clothed, they would think I was sick. Now I've always loved a fuck that made me lose my breath, the one that made me so fucking tired, the one that would make me not walk properly. I never truly got it with my husband, and I always thought a man with a huge dick and high sex drive had to do that to you when all it took was a deodorant bottle and a cam girl. Yes, that's what she said she was called. “Fuck.” I placed my legs down as I felt air enter my pussy. I sat up and pulled down my pants and then the panties even though they both were wet; even the floor was wet. I've never squirted like that before.

The man on his knees reached up her skirt and pulled down her panties. I about had a stroke when Tammie lifted her feet one at a time to voluntarily step out of her panties, leaving nothing between the men on the dance floor and her pussy. The panties where tossed around a bit before they where brought to me and I was told, "Mira lo mojadas que estan." 'See how wet they are.' Then he put them in my mouth. I was flabbergasted to find them soaked with pussy juice.

The kind of wet that soaks through underwear and makes the fabric cling. Six days ago I walked in on my ex inside another woman and felt nothing but relief. Relief that I could stop pretending. Stop being Boring Betty — the quiet girl who never asked for more than missionary and a goodnight kiss, who faked orgasms because it was easier than explaining what she actually needed, who went home after safe, bland sex and touched herself to fantasies so dark they scared her. I sign my name at 6:55 PM. My legs are trembling as I walk the envelope to the executive suite. My underwear is ruined. I can feel how swollen I am with every step, my clit pulsing against the wet lace, my nipples stiff under

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.

So wet. He broke the kiss. “You’re soaked.” “I know,” she breathed. “I’ve been wet since I fell on you.” His fingers found the waistband of her shorts, tugged them down. She lifted her hips just enough for him to work the cloth over her ass, then her thighs. Her panties were a thin strip of black lace, already dark with moisture. He hooked his thumb under the elastic and pulled them aside. Her cunt was bared to him, glistening in the dim firelight. He couldn’t stop staring. The lips were pink and swollen, slick with her arousal. He slid a finger through her slit, and she bucked into his hand.

I moaned seductively. “You’ve gotten very wet. Your panties are soaked here…” Adrian whispered alluringly into my ear as he pressed his finger against my crotch through my panties. He began stroking me through the thin fabric of my panties and the texture of the fabric began rubbing against my soaked entrance and my sensitive clit. I moaned at the pleasure of his touch as I wished that he would start touching me there directly. His pleasurable touches only made me wetter down there. I felt another gush of hot heat in between my legs, and I started feeling embarrassed at how hot and wet I was getting.

His voice was cold as ice and when he picked up my pantie from the floor, I froze, my face flushing red with embarrassment. "Give back that! What right do you have to touch my underwear!" I yelled, trying to reach for it but the motherfucker was taller. "Hmm….." he hummed, sliding his fingertips along the soaked fabric, "G-string? our dear nerdy wears sexy panties too? Hmm, interesting. But why is it so wet, who made you cum this much?" I twisted my face in pure disgust when he brought it close to his nose and took a long sniff. "Wow….such depraved scent…."

VIVIAN "You're drenched. Fuck, Vivian, your panties are ruined." "I've been wet for you all day. Every day. For three years." He rips my panties off — literally tears them from my body, the fabric giving way with a sharp sound. Cool air kisses my bare pussy, and I shiver with anticipation. Then his fingers are there, sliding through my folds, spreading my wetness. "So fucking wet," he murmurs. "So ready for me. Have you been touching yourself, thinking about this? Fingering this pretty pussy and imagining it was my cock?"

I couldn’t wait for him to touch me there directly. “R…please…” I pleaded in a weak whisper. “Your panties are completely soaked here…” he commented, and I could feel his eyes in between my legs. “Ahhh…R…Ahhhh…” I moaned as I felt his hand sliding my panties down my legs. The little piece of garment fell to my ankles, and I quickly kicked it away in my desperation to remove any barrier between us. His hand quickly returned to the wetness in between my legs and my pussy clenched in anticipation and need. I called out his name when his fingers brushed softly against the heat of my wetness. His touch was painfully soft, and it made me want more of him. He began stroking his fingers along my wet