Shocked and cummed on again

The moment passed, as moments do — not because it deserved to, but because it had to. They couldn’t sit frozen forever. The silence broke eventually, awkward and tentative, like glass reforming.

“I’ve got tissues,” Erin said gently, reaching into her bag.

Paru shook her head, barely. “No. Leave it.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “I’m okay.”

She wasn’t. But wiping it off would’ve felt like admitting something — that it had worked, that it had gotten to her. So she let it sit. Let it be. Thick, gleaming cum slowly congealing on her skin, a small patch already drying against her cheek. Her long hair stuck to her temple in messy clumps. She blinked slowly, eyelashes heavy with residue.

The girls tried to regroup.

Ayesha opened a bag of crisps and offered it around with a trembling hand. Lucy **** a joke about how if the government really wanted women “bukkaked” they could’ve at least made onlyfans share their cash. It was brittle, but they laughed, barely. Just enough to carry the mood forward.

Erin poured drinks like it was still just a picnic, like the sun hadn’t dimmed, like the dignity in the air hadn’t been cracked open and spilled.

Paru sat very still, food on her plate untouched, pretending. Trying. Smiling faintly when someone made eye contact. No one mentioned the fact she was still visibly dripping with cum. No one said what they were all thinking — Why her? Why again?

Then it happened again.

Splurt.

A sickening, heavier hit this time. Right at the top of her head. The sound more wet. More deliberate.

Paru flinched hard, gasping involuntarily — the second load of cum a direct, sticky insult. The huge dick shooting onto her face blocking her vision of anything else.

This time the cum was thicker. It clung harder. It matted her scalp instantly, seeping into the roots of her long dark hair. Then it began its descent — sliding more confidently now, globs of hot, gelatinous strands rolling over her ears, down her neck, curling across her collarbone.

A glob slapped the inside of her arm as she raised her hand instinctively — too late.

There was no laughter this time. Not even nervous giggles.

Just silence. Shock. Erin’s mouth was half open. Ayesha had covered her own face as if she had been hit. Lucy was up again, whirling around, furious.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” she shouted.

A man, slapping his dick against the top of Paru’s head to get the final drops of cum out — not even bothering to run — gave a little wave, smug. Then finished, turned his back and walked off.

Paru sat with her hands in her lap. Shaking now.

She looked down at the picnic blanket, blurred through the slowly dripping whites hanging from her lashes, nose, chin. The food was still there. The sun was still warm.

But everything had changed.

She clenched her jaw.

You’re not supposed to cry, she told herself.

You’re supposed to laugh it off. It’s just a stupid law. Just a joke. Just cum.

But she felt something deeper now — a tremble beneath her ribs. Not just shame, but a strange, quiet fury. The world was watching. Letting it happen. Treating it as normal. Acceptable.

And she — brilliant, beautiful, dignified Paru — was sitting here, in her favourite dress, cum-soaked and shaking, like that was all she was allowed to be.

The sun carried on shining, as indifferent as ever.

They stayed in the park for another thirty minutes, trying—really trying—to salvage the picnic. The food grew cold, drinks lukewarm. Conversation stumbled, started, stalled again. The laughter returned in brief, flickering waves — like the light on the surface of a dark lake — but it was never quite the same.

Paru didn’t wipe her face.

The second load of cum had cemented it. The thick white strands were now drying in faint, glossy streaks on her cheeks and jawline, stiffening in her hair like bad mousse. A piece of it still hung near her ear, suspended mid-drip, catching the light like a cruel joke.

She sat quiet, back straight, chin lifted just slightly — not proud, not defiant, just enduring. She spoke when someone spoke to her, but more often just listened.

She wasn’t angry at her friends — of course she wasn’t. But she was increasingly aware that she was the only one. The only one cummed on. Twice. The only one sitting there marked. The symbol, the sacrifice, the chosen face.

“Okay,” Erin said, trying to lighten the moment with her usual mischief, “I mean, I knew it would happen to you.”

Paru turned, brows raised.

“I mean look at you,” Erin said, gesturing at her, mock-serious. “Big brown eyes, perfect cheekbones, skin like a damn angel. This just confirms it. You’re officially the best looking of us all. Obviously they’re targeting the hottest girls first.”

Sonal laughed, nervously. “Beauty tax, huh?”

Ayesha added, “Yeah, if I see one guy with his dick out, I’m diving behind Paru. She’s clearly the cum magnet.”

They all chuckled. Even Paru did — just a little. It helped, in a way. Turning it into something familiar. Something that made sense. If the world was going to punish her, maybe it was because she was beautiful. Maybe that was a better reason than none at all.

But the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

As they began packing up, brushing crumbs off the blanket and gathering paper cups, Erin pulled out her phone.

“Group selfie. Mandatory.”

Paru hesitated, just for a second.

She still hadn’t cleaned her face. Her hair was stuck to her cheek. She looked — and felt — wrecked.

But everyone was leaning in, arms around shoulders, squinting into the sun. Erin held out the phone, counting down.

“Three… two… one…”

Click.

Paru managed a smile. Not quite fake. Just… quiet. Worn.

The photo came out golden, sun-drenched — four girls in the girls in the grass, laughing, cheeks flushed, snacks around them. And Paru, beautiful Paru, centre-left of the frame with dried cum in her hair and on her face, still shining in the light. Smiling like it didn’t matter.

Later that evening, Erin posted the photo on Instagram.

"Girls Day Out** #SummerVibes #Besties #JustIgnoreIt"**

It got dozens of likes within minutes.

And Paru, alone in her room with the door closed, stared at it on her screen. Her smile. Her friends. Her ruined dignity caught in a square frame.

And she wondered, quietly: Is this how it starts?

Not with outrage. Not with protest.

But with silence. With hashtags.

With smiles.

Back at the flat, the world felt quieter — the kind of quiet that only happens when you've used up all your energy pretending you're okay.

Paru sat curled in the corner of the sofa, wrapped in her dressing gown, her legs tucked under her. The dried cum still clung to parts of her face and hair — brittle now, almost flaking, but unmistakably there. She hadn’t showered yet. Maybe she didn’t want to. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe she just couldn’t face the mirror.

Beside her, Erin was scrolling through movie options on their shared account.

“Okay,” she said, “we’ve got romcoms, sad indie films, or absolute trash. What’s the mood?”

Paru gave a tired laugh. “I think I’ve lived through a tragedy already today, so… trash.”

Erin grinned. “Trash it is.”

They settled on a guilty pleasure: a chaotic teen film involving cheerleaders and improbable love triangles. The volume played low. Neither of them was really watching.

Paru opened Instagram again, scrolling through the comments under the picnic photo.

Some were kind:

“You girls look gorgeous!”
“Paru is glowing, even with whatever that is on her face**”**

But others weren’t:

“Can’t wait for my turn**”
“She looks better _with_ it.”
“That face was made for cum.”**

Paru’s jaw clenched. She put the phone down without a word.

Erin glanced over, sensing the shift.

“People are gross,” she said flatly. “Delete the comments if you want. Or leave them. Your choice.”

Paru didn’t reply right away.

Then Erin nudged her lightly with her elbow. “You do know, though… if I were a guy, I’d definitely cum on you.”

Paru turned to look at her, eyebrows raised.

“I mean,” Erin went on with a playful grin, “not in a mean way. Just like… you’re stunning, and apparently that’s the rule now.”

Paru let out a real laugh for the first time in hours. “Thanks? I think?”

Erin leaned back dramatically. “Honestly, if it were up to me, I’d cum on your face every single day.”

“Oh my God,” Paru said, laughing more. “That sounds like some twisted declaration of love.”

“I’d be so respectful about it,” Erin added, mock-serious. “Like, I’d wait until your makeup was done. And I’d hydrate, Premium splatter.”

Paru laughed until her cheeks hurt. She could feel the stiff cum tugging as her skin moved. “You’d probably monologue while doing it.”

“Oh absolutely,” Erin said, adjusting her voice. “‘Paru, the sun is nothing compared to your radiance—splat—behold your glory, adorned in my semen.’” Erin mimed jerking over Parus face.

They collapsed into giggles again. For a moment, it felt like before. Before the law. Before the cracks.

Paru wiped a tear from her eye, unsure if it was from laughing or something else.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

“For what?”

“For not making it weird. For making me feel normal.”

Erin nudged her shoulder gently. “You are normal. Just slightly cummier than usual.”

They laughed again, and kept watching the film — or at least, kept sitting in the light of it, together.

And Paru, face still marked by the day, leaned her head against Erin’s shoulder.

For now, that was enough.