Emily's Afterglow

The men had retreated back behind their walls, the glory holes now quiet and spent. Mei had already left a few minutes ago with a cheerful wave, her thick body glistening white as she waddled off to the changing room, completely oblivious to the state she was in. Now Emily had the bath all to herself, and she intended to savor every last moment.

She lay back and let herself float. The cum was thick enough to support her weight with barely any effort — far denser than water, it cradled her body like a viscous, warm cloud. Her small breasts broke the surface, her nipples pink and hard against the white coating that clung to every inch of her skin. Her red hair fanned out around her head, already saturated and heavy with the stuff. She could feel it between her toes, between her fingers, in every crease and fold of her body. The cum that had been fucked into her pussy slowly leaked out as she floated, her well-used cunt still gaping slightly, contributing her lovers' loads back to the communal pool. She smiled at the ceiling, utterly at peace.

The surface rippled gently around her as she drifted, her body rocking with the smallest movements. The cum lapped at the edges of her face — her cheeks, her ears, the corners of her lips. It was warm and musky and everywhere, and Emily felt held by it. Embraced. Like the cum itself was thanking her for her service, wrapping her in its thick, salty warmth as a reward for being such a good little cumdump. She hummed contentedly, trailing her fingers through the viscous surface, watching how it clung to her hand in long, sticky strands when she lifted it before dropping back with a soft plop.

She stayed like that for several long minutes, just floating, just existing in this perfect cocoon of male essence. Every man who had used this bath, every cock that had been milked by the hands and mouths and tits of Overwatch's finest female agents — their cum was all around her, on her, inside her. She was soaking in the combined seed of potentially hundreds of men, and the thought made her pussy clench with renewed arousal despite how thoroughly she'd already been fucked.

Then Emily took a deep breath and submerged.

The world went white and silent. Thick, warm cum pressed against every part of her — her closed eyelids, her nostrils, her ears. It surrounded her completely, heavier and more present than water could ever be. She felt it pushing against her lips, seeking entry, and she gave in immediately. Emily opened her mouth wide beneath the surface, and cum flooded in — filling her cheeks, coating her tongue, sliding toward the back of her throat. The taste was overwhelming — concentrated salt and musk and male, an entire ocean of it, and it was all hers to drink. She held it in her mouth for a moment, savoring the texture, the weight of it on her tongue, the way it was so thick she almost had to chew it.

She stayed under as long as her lungs allowed, eyes closed, mouth full, completely enveloped. She could feel the cum pressing into her ears, filling the shell of each one with its warm thickness. It squeezed between her ass cheeks, pushed against her ravaged pussy lips, clung to her eyelashes in heavy clumps. She was not a woman in a bath. She was an object buried in cum. A treasure lost in a sea of seed. And she never wanted to surface.

But eventually her lungs burned enough that she had to rise. Emily broke the surface with a gasp — but only through her nose, because her mouth was still packed full of thick, white cum. She floated there with her lips sealed shut, tilting her head back so just her face was above the surface, the rest of her body still submerged in the warm bath. Cum dripped from her forehead, from her nose, from her chin, streaming down in thick rivulets. Her eyelashes were clumped together with it, and she had to blink several times before she could see the ceiling above her.

She kept the cum in her mouth, swirling it with her tongue, pushing it between her teeth, tasting every molecule. It was thick and complex — not just one man's load, but the combined flavor of dozens. She could taste subtle differences if she focused — some sweeter, some more bitter, some almost metallic. All of it divine. She let it sit on her tongue like a fine wine, her cheeks bulging slightly with the volume, before finally — slowly, deliberately — she swallowed.

Emily tilted her head back and let the massive mouthful slide down her throat in one long, thick gulp. She could feel it the whole way down — heavy and warm, coating her throat, dropping into her already-full stomach with a satisfying weight. She opened her mouth and exhaled happily, a string of cum still connecting her upper and lower lip.

Mmmm, she moaned aloud to the empty room, licking her lips thoroughly. Delicious.

She ran her tongue around the inside of her mouth, catching every last trace, then reached down into the bath and scooped another handful, slurping it from her palm with loud, wet enthusiasm. No one was watching. She didn't care if they were. This was heaven.

Then she turned her attention to her hair. She gathered the sodden red strands — darker now, almost brown where the cum had saturated them completely — and began to work the fluid in with her fingers. She massaged it into her scalp, rubbing in firm circles, feeling the sticky thickness coat every strand from root to tip. She raked her fingers through, pulling long ropes of cum through her hair like the world's most obscene conditioner treatment.

God, that feels good, she murmured, scrunching her hair, twisting sections of it, making sure every single strand was completely drenched and coated. She gathered it all to one side and wrung it out over her shoulder, watching the thick white fluid pour down her chest in a slow cascade. Then she dunked her head back under for more, came up, and repeated the process — working, massaging, coating. Her hair would dry stiff and crusty later, she knew. It would smell like cum for days even after she washed it. She loved that thought. She wanted to smell like cum always. It was her natural perfume now.

When she was satisfied with her hair — it now hung in heavy, wet clumps, absolutely plastered with white — Emily decided she wanted one more taste. One for the road. She lifted herself to a sitting position in the tub, the cum level dropping to her waist, and cupped both hands together beneath the surface. She raised them to her lips — a generous double-handful of thick, warm, communal cum — and tilted her head back. She poured it into her open mouth, letting it overflow, letting it run down her chin and neck and between her tits. She swallowed what she could in three big, audible gulps, her throat working visibly, her eyes closed in pure bliss.

Ahhh. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, which only smeared more cum across her face. A satisfied, well-fucked, well-fed smile spread across her features.

Time to go.

Emily stood up in the tub, and the cum slid down her body in slow, thick sheets. It was so viscous that it didn't simply run off like water would — it clung, leaving her coated in a white glaze from her shoulders to her toes. Strings of it connected her thighs, her arms to her sides, her breasts to her stomach. She looked like she'd been dipped in white glue. She stepped out of the tub carefully, her feet immediately sticking slightly to the tile floor, and padded over to the towel rack.

The towels were stiff and yellowed, crusty in patches and damp in others — clearly used by woman after woman before her, absorbing cum without ever being washed. Emily grabbed one and began to "dry" herself. She dragged it across her chest, and all it really did was push the cum around — spreading it thinner in some areas, smearing it in circles on her skin. The towel itself was so saturated that it left as much behind as it picked up. She ran it down her arms, between her legs — pressing it against her swollen, cum-leaking pussy for a moment just to feel the pressure — and then over her back.

When she was done "drying," she was arguably no cleaner than when she'd started. Her skin was still coated in a thin, shiny film of cum that was beginning to dry and tighten. Flecks of white still clung to her hairline, behind her ears, in her belly button, between her toes. Her inner thighs were particularly crusty where cum had leaked from her pussy and dried during her float. She tossed the towel back on the rack with a satisfied nod and walked naked to the changing room.

Her clothes were where she'd left them, folded neatly on the bench. Emily pulled on her panties first — the thin fabric immediately darkening in spots as it pressed against her still-sticky skin and her cum-leaking pussy. Then her jeans, which clung slightly to her glazed thighs. Her bra stuck to her chest where the cum film was tackiest. Her blouse went on last, and by the time she was dressed, she could already see dark patches forming where the residual cum soaked through the fabric.

She turned to face the full-length mirror and took herself in.

Her red hair hung in stiff, clumped strands, clearly coated in something white and dry. It stuck up in odd angles where she'd worked the cum in and it had begun to set. Her face had a strange sheen to it — flushed from exertion but also glazed, with a few telltale flecks of dried white visible along her jawline and near her ear. Her blouse was darkened with damp spots across the chest where her cum-slick tits pressed against the fabric. Her lips were slightly swollen from all the cocks she'd sucked, and there was a dried streak of cum at the corner of her mouth that she'd missed.

She looked thoroughly, completely, undeniably like a woman who had just been used by a dozen men and bathed in their collective seed.

Emily grinned at her reflection — wide and genuine and delighted.

Perfect, she whispered to herself, turning to check the back view. Her jeans were slightly damp across the ass from the cum that clung to her skin. Absolutely perfect.

She looked like a cum slut. Because she was one. And she couldn't be happier about it.

Emily gathered her bag, gave herself one last admiring look in the mirror — one last appreciation of the thin white streaks drying on her neck that were visible above her collar, the stiffness of her hair, the glazed look of total satisfaction in her own eyes — and walked out.

She passed Johnny on the way out. He did a double-take, his eyes widening as they traveled over her obvious state — the crusty hair, the shiny skin, the damp patches on her clothes, the smell of cum radiating off her in waves.

And how was it? he said with that same sleazy grin from earlier. Looks like you enjoyed the bath.

Emily stopped and turned to face him fully, making no effort to hide or apologize for her appearance. I loved it. I'll be back tomorrow.

Johnny's grin widened. Nice to have you, gorgeous. Nice to have you.

Emily walked out of the Overwatch facility and into the evening air. The cool breeze hit her damp skin and she shivered pleasantly, feeling the cum tighten further as it dried. A few people on the street glanced at her — at her stiff, oddly-white-streaked hair, at the shiny patches on her face, at the overall state of her. She didn't care. Let them look. Let them know. Let them smell her and understand exactly what she was and what she'd been doing.

She practically skipped home, humming happily the entire way, already counting the hours until she could return.