Hell, no!

As you think of how you are the worst for spying on your crush like that, you see her poke again with her fingers the crust of cum drying under her belly button and then, reach down to the thicker, and apparently still wet, clump between her thighs.
Again, you see her bring the dirty figers closer to her face, curiosly gazing at the white tar-like substance, again, smelling it.

Is it possible that this is the first time Miranda sees a guy's cum?
You shake your head.
In a way, you'd kinda like to belive it, but honestly, it's impossible.
Miranda virgin? Word would have proably spread around, wouldn't it?
Maybe she's not as popular as Sarah, but still...
What's sure is, that she looks awully curious about it...

You can't belive your eyes, when you see her sticking out her tongue and touching its tip with the same fingers which she has been poking Tom's cum with up untill now, before withdrawing it back in her mouth with a blank expression.
It's almost like she is deciding if she likes the taste or not.

God ...

With horror, you witness her dipping again the two same fingers, but deeper down in her bush this time, collecting a noticeably larger quantity of that white muck, fiddling with it, and then brining it again close to her mouth.
The water has started fogging the showerbox.

Miranda gazes, hesitant, on her fingers.
With unexpected resolve, you see her stick both of them inside her mouth, sucking on them like covered in a delicious marmalade, even if her eyes betrays a different feel.
Revulsion, you'd say, at first at least...

Eww! My God, this is just sick!

What did she expect? Of course it tastes foul.
Her other hand reaches to feel the water.
Must be hot.
Dripping wet , she tucks it between her thighs, still sucking on her fingers, and soon you realize what is it that you are watching.

The tought of unzipping you pants and beging to jacking off right here, shrouded by darkness, courses thorugh your mind, making you feel miserable for a split second.

You watch her buck her hips, her hand working her slit while she slides in and out of her mouth two fingers.
Tom's cum, fluidified again by water, acts like an inconcievable ointment, lubricant for her pleasure.
Her hand works faster. She squirms.
Finally, you see her reach for the hand faucet and point it to her pussy.

Wash it off, damn you!

The jet is strong, it noisly hits her bare skin as she spread her legs.
Through the noise, you seem to hear her moan.
She presses the head of the faucet against her mound, water splashing everywhere, then closes her thighs around it, pincing her nipples through her clothes with the oher hand.
Shuddering, she crouches, jaw dropped and heaving.

The feeling of your cock painfully stretching the fabric of your pant's crotch, forces you to change position, but you slip.
Dry leaves and tweegs creak under your knee.
Panic.

Regained a safe footing, you decide to peek thorough the window again.
Miranda is still crouched in the shower, but now her legs are squat and open and she is soothingly washing herself.
Thank God, she didn't hear you.
As you watch her scrubs herself under the water jet, you notice how much attention she is paying to the operation.

Suddenly you realize that there is a chance, albeit small, for her to get pregnat in case any of Tom's foul seed has gotten inside her pussy.
A chill courses down you spine.

Apparently happy with her work, she stands up and closes the water.
In lack of anything better, she grabs the little teal hand towel, which she has beforehand prepared next to the showerbox, and gently rubs her body dry.
Still somewhat wobbly, but evidently refreshed, she walks again towards the sink and collect her clothes from the ground.

You just can't wrap your head around it.
How could she have just done something like that?
The question rings in your mind, as you watch her the checking herself mirror like nothing has happened, combing her brown-haired mound with her fingers to see if there are still traces of Tom down there, then picking her panties and slipping back inside them one foot at a time.

Her pants are not as easy. Mid-thigh she stops, bending over, butt on display, to alsocheck her make-up in meantime.
It's perfect.
But those pants don't seem to get it.
Squeezing all that ass back inside them, takes a while and you don't mind the show.

"Ok, Miranda, now just act natural. Like nothing happened ... Because nothing happened, right?" You hear her mumble.

She throws a last glance to the mirror from over her shoulder and heads to the door.
Not even her can resist checking her own ass apparently...

As the door closes behind her, you realize is high time to get back to the others.
Still bewildered, you shuffle thorough the intricated greenery, stumbling and falling on your hands a couple of times, scratching and dirtying yourself.
Miranda tonight has made you discover a totally new level for the saying blue balls.
You feel blue from head to toes and your balls feels ready to burst.

Guided by the lights coming from inside the kitchen, you reach the patio in front of it and enter the french door.
No one is there, but you hear elated chattering coming from the living room.
They didn't wait for you, and why should they, after all?
Still unsure of how you should treat your crush after what you have just seen, you push the door and enter the living room.