Wet Through Panties Novels & Stories

Don't jerk off thinking about me. Zane- I may leave class and do just that. Not like we actually have to be here if she is. Me- NO my panties are not wet! That's a total lie I was in such a hurry to change out of my pajamas that I totally forgot to change my soaked panties, I can feel the wetness rubbing against my thighs and its disgusting. They definitely do not need to know that though. Zane- I don't fucking like liars and right now you're being one. I felt how greedy that cunt was for me.

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?"

It hung low enough that she didn’t hesitate to push her arms out of the soaked sundress, peeling it from her damp skin. She hesitated, glancing at him again. He had pulled on his own sweatpants, his back still turned. Exhaling shakily, she realized her bra was just as drenched as the dress—cold, uncomfortable, sticking to her like a second skin. She let out a breath, reached behind herself, and unhooked it, tugging it free before slipping it into the hoodie’s front pocket. As she removed her panties, something caught her eye. A sharp, piercing ache twisted through her chest as she looked down and saw it. A bloody stain, remnants of lubricant mixed with Wes’s bodily fluids.

I slid down to the floor for a second, thighs clenched tight. I was dripping. Literally dripping. My panties were soaked through, clinging sticky to my skin. I could feel it every time I moved. Wetness coating my inner thighs. I couldn't take it anymore. I stood up shaky and yanked my sundress over my head, tossing it aside. My bra came next. Then my panties. I peeled them off slow, watching the wet spot in the crotch. God. I was a mess. For him. Because of him. I crawled onto my bed naked, the cool sheets making me shiver. But I was burning up inside. My pussy throbbed so bad it hurt. Aching. Needing.

Her legs were shaky as she turned off the water and dried her face. She dropped her charcoal-gray trousers and pink panties and sat on the toilet. A glance told her that those panties were drenched. Her hand reached out to grab the rag from the edge of the sink, pulling it once again to her face. Her other hand snaked down between her thighs to spread the petals of her soaking wet little pussy. She shook as soon as the tip of her finger touched her sensitive little button.

The delicate pink lace panties she wore were damp and he slipped his finger under them to feel the evidence of her need. “Fuck,” he growled. “You’re so wet, Blue.” She wriggled and removed the loose blouse that she wore, throwing it to the floor. His eyes wandered up from her damp panties, his finger still stroking her wetness, and took in the hollow of her stomach, the rise of her rib cage, and the plump pillows of her breasts. They were full and lush, overflowing from the demi-cup bra she wore and her nipples were hard nubs straining against the pink lace.

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 air in my wet panties was so inviting it cooled down the heat that was emanating between my thighs. He reached down with his fingers, finding the almost drenched spot in my panties. His eyes widened in surprise. “You are already wet, little whore?” The name rolled off his tongue. I would typically find this word offensive but, oddly enough, it excited me more. I murmured to him. “Yes Sir” and he rubbed my pussy through my panties hard. I tried to crawl away. I was so sensitive down there. He dragged me back down to the edge of the bed. “Ah ah ah,” he stated and barked at me. “Stay!”

“The sting. The way it makes your pussy ache. You were dripping for me last night when I spanked you, and you’re dripping now. I can see it. Your panties are clinging to you like they’re begging to be pulled down.” He ran his fingers along the edge of my panties, tracing the line where the fabric met my skin. I shivered, my breath coming out in a soft gasp. The touch was light but deliberate, and it made my whole body feel alive and sensitive. I could feel the wetness pooling between my legs, soaking through the thin material even more.

I was soaking through my lace panties now, grinding shamelessly against the thick ridge of his cock. His hands stayed on my breasts for a while, squeezing and playing with them while he devoured my tits. Then one hand slid down my body, over my stomach, until his palm cupped my pussy through the drenched fabric. “Fuck… you’re so wet,” he muttered against my breast, voice husky. His fingers started rubbing me firmly through the thin, soaked panties, slow circles at first, then faster, pressing the lace right against my swollen clit. I gasped and rocked into his hand, my juices coating his fingers even through the material.