Women With Wet Panties Novels & Stories

“Show me that virgin pussy, baby.” I obeyed, cheeks burning with shame and arousal. My thighs parted slowly, knees bending, until I was open for him—for all of them. Cool air kissed my overheated skin, and I could feel how soaked I was. The thin fabric of my panties clung to me, translucent with my wetness, the outline of my swollen lips and the dark little patch of hair clearly visible. I knew every man in the room could see it. The thought made me clench, another rush of slick heat flooding out of me.

I did so without question. A lady with a posh white dress came over. She dropped her knickers to the floor and stepped out of them. She then proceeded to stand over me her legs spread wide over my face. I clearly see her cunt which was bald and completely shaven. Her pussy was tight and perfectly formed. She hoisted up her dress and then relieved herself. The droplets of pee landed on my face. It certainly smelt and tasted different like a bad white wine. I licked my lips. Droplets ran down my face and began to dampen the carpet. The woman laughed before making herself look respectable and picking up her wine. Two ladies took their turn next. A small crowd had gathered around and were watchi

It accented her beauty and her sexuality, a short and flirty skirt, showcasing her legs, barely coming three or four inches below the apparent apex of her legs. I hugged her. "Have you any panties on, Reneé?" I whispered as I held her. "Heaven's no. I was off on Friday and today. This is the first thing I've worn since Thursday night." "You shall have to be careful sitting or we shall all be staring at your pretty pussy," I giggled. "I think I already flashed the water server. I feel like Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct." "My God, Scott," Jerry said. "You let your women out of the house looking this magnificent. Aren't you afraid someone will try to make off with them?"

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 desk dug into the small of my back, holding me upright as he pressed forward, the hard line of his erection unmistakable against my hip through his tailored slacks. “Do you always show up to work like this… wet, bare, and so damn tempting?" he continued, voice rough with approval. “Or is today my lucky day?” I’d ditched wearing panties months ago after seeing some late-night TV segment about breathability and feminine health—best decision I’d ever made, especially now, with Blackwell’s fingers sliding against me with nothing in the way.

Her shape was more Rubenesque than she was in the video, but still great proportions and tone. Mum's panties were soaked with moisture from her arousal to the point I could almost see right through them to her pussy. I hooked my fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulled them too off her hips and down her thighs. Her pussy was so wet they clung there a moment longer, letting go with a snap. Down and off along with her pants. Mum was now naked too, as Ginger and me.

Elena’s POV Tell me… should I close my legs and pretend that my panties is not hanging around my ankles like the slut I am? Or play the superwoman, grab the soaked thong and dip it in my purse while the ‘fucking’ god himself watches? Or maybe I should take my panties, sniff it in and run my tongue along the wet area… Say I go further and spread my legs so he sees how wet and sloppy the real pot is. Shit! Shit!!

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

When women are oppressed, it's tradition. ― Letty Cottin Pogrebi “Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.” ― Margaret Atwood “Life affords you infinite possibilities to pay more attention to what is actually happening. Not just around you but what is Inside you.” ―Jeff Warren

Nesting inside them were a pair of white panties. Annie had dropped onto her haunches and looked on as her hand reached down for them; as her thumb and forefinger fondled the soiled gusset. Squatting over the open jeans she pictured Michele standing over her, the statuesque brunette with her feet spread and ass raised. She'd pictured her smooth tan skin, her bulging muscles taught and flexing. Annie pinched hard at the dried stain, grinding her thumb into it, before raising it to her mouth. ...