Wet Through Panties Novels & Stories

No, I'd say it needs it. I carefully slide my cum saturated panties on, trying not to spill any. Before I finish pulling them all the way up, I spread my slick pussy lips with my left hand and pull the satin waistband up with my right. I press the sperm covered gusset into my cunt, and feel his warm cum invading my pussy. I walked to the door and opened it.

I quickly rubbed up my legs before grabbing some of the magical cleanser that would make my legs seem like I had taken a shower. After I was done cleaning off my legs I grabbed my white panties and pulled them off. I quickly threw them into the sink and started up the water. After adding a little cleanser I let them sit. I took the towel and gently rubbed my Goddess part with a delicacy that did not help. The need that I had not felt during this party slowly bubbled up with every rub. I could not stop the need nor the juices that were leaving me and dripping down. I snatched my underwear and pushed it into the thing that would dry it off instantly. As I pulled it out relief filled me.

Susan wore simple cotton panties, white and virginal, a stark contrast to the raw desire that now consumed her. Kayla’s fingers, hot and insistent, hooked into the waistband of Susan’s panties, pulling them down slowly, deliberately. Susan watched, mesmerized, as the fabric slid down her thighs, revealing the dark, moist triangle between her legs. A sweet, musky scent, uniquely female, filled the air. “God, you’re already so wet for me, aren’t you?” Kayla’s voice was a low growl, her eyes devouring the sight. She leaned in, her nose brushing against Susan’s pussy, inhaling deeply. “Mmm, smells so good. So sweet.”

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.

It’s all I can think of – its all I want, and all I could ever want. I am on my knees now – all caution and propriety are vanished. With both hands, I part her thighs and begin to lick up the track of the little brown stream on her right thigh. I am inching my way towards her panties and the forbidden treasures they hold. Her shit is thicker now, hotter, stronger and more arousing. I have hiked her dress up to her waist, exposing her beige cotton panties. My eyes are met with an indescribably perverse sight. Her lovely panties are bulging with her hot soft shit. It is seeping out of the right leg-hole, staining her cotton crotch a wet brownish yellow.

"Down. Now. You're wasting our precious time." They pushed me onto the wet grass, kicking my legs open, my dress pulling up. "Push your panties to your ankles. We wanna see that famous cunt." I dragged the thin fabric off my waist, down my knees and to my ankles, trailing my legs. My bare cunt lips was soaked, clit sticking out long and swollen like it always does when I was worked up. Slowly spreading my knees, panties hanging uselessly, keeping me in check, exposing everything for their eyes. "Fuuuckkkk...."Connor whistled. "Look at that fat wet gash. Clit's already begging for attention."

No one laid a finger on my cunt. But I'm already soaked. My impatient fingers clenched the hem of my dress and I lifted it up. Desperate. Needy. I pressed a fingers to the crouch of my panties and fuck…. It was drenched. No… I shouldn't be this wet for a man that is not even here. Not from a mere imagination of him. But I was. Shamelessly so. I grabbed the band of the lace panties and slide it down my thighs. It was ruined. The lace underwear was utterly ruined—saturated, darkened, and heavy with need that refused to be tamed.

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

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.

She screamed into the pillow to muffle the sound, but at the same time, she forced a pee in her pants. “What the hell?” She muttered. Feeling the wetness in her panties as she trotted to the bathroom, she locked herself in. Her office pants were the first to hit the floor, then her thong followed, then she opened her thighs to check the source of the wetness. To her dismay, milky liquid formed irregular lines as they trickled down her inner thighs.