Punish her

You don't touch her. Not yet. Instead you watch as her cock stays—limp and twitching uselessly with anticipation in the cool air—while the agonizing silence stretches between the two of you. If she's already filled with embarrassment just from thought of doing it then you know this must be **** to her, burning with shame from the thought of it. You listen to her breath through the stalls wall coming in soft, trembling gasps of uncertainty, her small chest rising and falling rapidly.

She knows you're there. But you do nothing.

Her hips shift slightly, the smallest, most hesitant movement—like she’s thinking about pulling back. Maybe she’s rethinking this entirely? That’s your cue to finally move. A single knock on the stall wall. Just one. A single, final, firm knock. She freezes her movement. A shuddering inhale— she knows exactly what it means and that there’s no turning back now.

You reach up with two fingers—playfully tapping the side of her soft cock. It's barely a touch, just a small tease, but the reaction is immediate.

She jolts—whole body standing straight as she goes stiff—her cock jumping at the sudden contact. A strangled gasps comes from her throat, her voice high pitched.

"I-I… this is… I shouldn’t be doing this…" she murmurs, but she doesn’t pull away. You hum softly amused, just enough to let her know you can hear her. Then you knock again, slower and more deliberate in nature. You wait, letting her squirm in her shame, you know she believes this to be wrong, something she absolutety should not, cannot be doing. That she's a proper woman and could never do such a thing, ever.

Yet—here she is, her cock hardening against the cold air, even without you giving her any proper attention. Just knowing that she's doing what she shouldn't, that you're there on your knees in front of her cock waiting for her to beg. A shaky breath and then, a whisper—soft, humilated and filled with need.

"P-please…"

You don’t answer.

Instead, you lean in—close enough that your breath ghosts over her tip.

And then?

You wait.

She waits too. Breathless and trembling in the stall next to yours. Her cock gives sublte, involuntary jerks in the chill air, already stiffening, half-hard, stirred from nothing but the crushing weight of her own shame and heat of humiliation. And still—you do nothing, breath lingering near her tip—warm, teasing exhales against the frigid firmness of her half chub but lips never touching, driving her mad with need. You hear her swallow thickly and then, in a gentle voice she begs

“Please…! Oh God, please—!”

Again, you do nothing more even with her pitiful begging, knowing she's hoping thats enough for you. That you'll take pity on the poor girl. Instead you stay as you are, giving another slow knock against the stall wall just as before, hoping she understands your intentions.

“I… I d-don’t…” she stammers, her voice cracking with hesitation. “I shouldn’t… I can't be doing this. I shouldn't need this.”

Another, more demanding knock against the stall this time. Her cock throbs in response, voice quivering as she tries to string a coherent sentence. You can hear the conflict in her tone, the way her body tenses, trying to hold herself back. But her cock betrays her, pulsing with a burning need, pre starting to bud on her head.

"A—ahh… I’m… I’m a… a dirty woman…"

Her confession comes in a breathy whisper—so drenched in humiliated—barely reaching you from her trembling lips. It's enough to make you feel some amount of pity for her. Enough for you to show the slightest hint of mercy towards that suffering, needy plaything of hers. You finally move, your fingers ghosting along the underside of her shaft—just enough for her to feel your barely touching fingertips along with the heat of your breath.

"I-I’m such a filthy woman…! A shameful, needy thing who can’t think past her own c-cock…!"

Her voice cracks, laced with self-disgust. Shame burns through her body, but it only makes her cock lurch with every throb, bouncing helplessly under your ghosting fingers. She's doing well you think but you're not done pushing her quite yet, giving another few knocks against the stall wall to spur her on, to push her over the edge she's teetering on.

“…I-I'm an improper, w-whorish woman…! A ****, improper w-whore who can't control herself…!”

The words come whimpering out from her lips, sounding so deliciously filthy—her prim and proper facade shattered, replaced with the **** pleas of a needy, shame-drenched woman. This time you give a hum of approval for the her to hear, she shudders in response, drooling helplessly against your hand as your fingers finally, finally grasp her length properly.