The Accident at the Supermarket

Lena woke up feeling relaxed.

No frantic jolt awake, no bitter taste in her mouth, no sticky residue between her legs. Instead, she lay there still, feeling how rested her body was. The sheets felt softer than usual. Her skin seemed smoother, somehow more even. When she threw back the blanket and sat up, she immediately noticed that something was different.

Her nipples brushed against the fabric of her nightgown, sending a distinct, warm sensation through her upper body. Not painful. Intense. As she gently ran her fingertips over them, she flinched. More sensitive. More pronounced. Further down, between her legs, she felt a pleasant, constant tugging sensation. Her clitoris felt freer, more swollen, more sensitive. And at the same time, she had the strange feeling that something was missing there. Something that was supposed to be there. A weight. A slight tug. A cool spot. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Just this vague, persistent feeling of incompleteness right at her most sensitive spot.

She guided her fingers there, stroking her fuller labia and her protruding clitoris. Her sensitivity had clearly increased. Yet the feeling that something was missing remained. As if her body were expecting a small, familiar sensation that was no longer there.

Today she had to take care of Jennifer.

Not only had they shared that extremely perverse dream—a collar, a strap-on that had turned into a real cock, toys, countless orgasms—but she’d also sent Jennifer the two nude photos. In the middle of the night, dazed and panicked. Afterward, she’d tried to recall the message. Too late. Jennifer had already read them. Lena was now pretty sure that Jennifer could only see the nude photos, without the semen and the red marks. Still, she had no explanation. What was she supposed to say? “Sorry, I accidentally sent you photos of myself where I looked like someone had just used me”?

Even worse was the certainty that Jennifer had shared the dream with her. Lena fervently hoped that Jennifer didn’t know it had been a shared dream. That she thought it was just a normal, particularly intense sex dream.

(Note to readers: Jennifer knew exactly what it was. And she enjoyed it. Ever since that night, she’d tried again and again to consciously dream about Lena. She never succeeded again.)

Lena reached for her phone and stared at the chat. Finally, she typed:

*Sry. Those were for a friend. Sent to the wrong person.*

Send.

Somewhere in another city, Jennifer read the message, and something cold and angry tightened in her chest. For a friend. Lena had taken those pictures for a man and accidentally sent them to her. The humiliation cut deep. At the same time, a dark sense of anticipation welled up inside her. She wouldn’t forget that the next time they shared a dream.

Lena put her phone away and went into the bathroom.

In the shower, her newfound sensitivity became unmistakable. The warm water hit her nipples and made them harden instantly. Every drop felt like a deliberate touch. As she guided her hand lower, between her labia, she felt how much fuller they seemed. Her clitoris lay more exposed, and the small piercing intensified every movement of her fingers. Lena braced herself against the tile with her free hand and rubbed more slowly, more firmly. The orgasm came quickly and warmly, without the desperate, forced contractions of the last few nights. She came with a soft moan, her forehead pressed against the wet water, and it took her a moment before her legs were steady again.

When she tried to put on her underwear afterward, she failed.

The fabric of the panties immediately rubbed too hard against her hypersensitive clitoris. Just pulling them up made her wet again. She stood in front of the mirror, the panties halfway down her thighs, and stared at her own body. Her breasts looked fuller and firmer. Her nipples stood out clearly. Between her legs, everything was more sensitive, more present, more desirous.

Now she knew.

That damned angel.

The man from her dream, who had called himself Admin, had changed her. While she slept. And the changes had carried over into reality.

Lena decided against wearing underwear. The thought of feeling fabric against that hypersensitivity all day long was unbearable. She put on a loose summer dress—and immediately realized that was a bad idea, too. With every movement, the thin fabric brushed against her hard nipples and bare crotch.

She took the bus into town anyway.

Already at the first stop, she felt the engine’s vibrations through the seat. It was just a faint hum, but it was enough. The fabric of the dress lay directly against her protruding clitoris. Lena pressed her thighs together, which only intensified the pressure. At the second stop, the hum grew louder as the bus pulled away. A deliberate, rhythmic stimulation built up, right at her most sensitive spot. Lena clenched her teeth, stared out the window, and hoped no one would notice her tense posture.

It didn’t help.

The orgasm swept over her right in the middle of the acceleration. Brief, intense, with a suppressed twitch of her hips and a wet surge that left the fabric between her legs darkened. Lena stood up hastily and pressed the stop button. The bus stopped at the next stop. She got off, her legs trembling, the back of her dress slightly damp, and simply stood on the sidewalk for a moment while the bus drove on.

The air between her bare labia felt like another touch.

The angel had done his job thoroughly.

Lena decided to buy only the bare essentials.

It was significantly cooler inside the supermarket than outside. No sooner had she stepped into the first aisles than she felt her nipples become rock-hard and press distinctly against the thin fabric of her dress. Every step caused the fabric to rub against her sensitive nipples. The lust that had been smoldering inside her since the bus ride immediately flared up again. She saw the stares. An older man was staring openly at her chest; a woman in her mid-forties shook her head in disgust; two teenagers grinned at each other and didn’t look away a second time. Lena felt the eyes on her tits and noticed how something inside her took pleasure in it. Subconsciously, she wanted more. To show more.

She stopped in front of one of the large freezers and bent over deeply. The dress gaped wide open in the front. Both breasts nearly slipped out; her hard nipples were clearly visible. At the same time, the fabric rode up in the back, exposing her bare ass and shaved slit. She deliberately took her time. She reached deeper, dropped a package, bent over again—even lower—with her legs slightly apart. A man on the other side of the freezer was staring openly between her thighs. Lena pretended not to notice and dropped another package on the floor.

Then she saw the two stockers.

Barely eighteen, narrow shoulders, pimples on their faces; one had wet hair from cleaning. One of them was just pushing a mop across the floor. Lena felt the tension building inside her. She walked slowly toward him, stopped two meters away, and bent over again, this time right in his line of sight. The dress rode up. For a long moment, he saw everything—her bare buttocks, her parted labia, the glistening moisture between them. The boy stared so intently that he knocked over the mop bucket. The dirty water spread out into a large puddle.

Lena laughed softly. That was exactly what she’d been hoping for.

She stepped closer, deliberately slipped in the puddle, and fell to the ground with a loud scream. Her dress rode up completely in the process. She lay on her back, her legs awkwardly spread apart; one side of her dress was wet and dirty. Everything was exposed between her legs—her smooth labia, her protruding clitoris, already slightly glistening. She whined exaggeratedly and pulled one leg up, causing her thighs to open even wider.

“Ah… my ankle… damn…”

The two boys stood over her, flushed and helpless. One of them tentatively reached out his hand.

“Do you have a stretcher?” Lena gasped. “Help me up… I need to put something cold on it…”

They supported her on both sides. Lena made herself feel heavier than necessary and felt her bare hip and the lower edge of her breast pressing against their arms. They led her through an inconspicuous door into the small break and staff room in the back. A narrow stretcher stood against the wall, next to a sink and a locker.

Lena sat down on the stretcher and winced. “My ankle… and a dull ache in my thighs because I fell so stupidly.”

One of them ran off and came back with a bag of frozen peas. The other stood there, not knowing what to do with his hands. Lena kept complaining about her dress.

“I can’t go home like this… it’s totally dirty. Can’t you just rinse it out quickly?”

The boy nodded and was about to get a rag. Lena shook her head.

“No… right. In the sink. Otherwise the stain won’t come out.”

Then she grabbed the hem, pulled the dress over her head, and held it out to him. She made no move to cover herself. Naked except for her shoes, she sat on the lounge chair, her breasts exposed, her nipples hard, her legs slightly parted. The boy took the dress with trembling fingers. At that moment, the second boy returned with the peas, saw her naked, and the bag fell right out of his hands. As he bent down to pick it up, his eyes were at exactly the same level as her pussy. Lena gave him a faint smile.

“I feel uncomfortable,” she said quietly, “being naked with two clothed men.”

The boys looked at each other in panic and immediately started searching for something to cover themselves with—a towel, a jacket, a trash bag. Lena let them search for a moment, then said calmly:

“Either one of you has to leave… or you both have to get undressed too.”

Silence. Then they began to push each other out of the room with their eyes. Neither wanted to be the one to leave. Lena started counting.

“Ten… nine… eight…”

By “two,” both had thrown off their shirts and pants. They were standing there in nothing but boxer shorts, which were already bulging noticeably in the front. Lena watched with satisfaction.

“Soak the dress for a moment,” she said to one of them, “and then come over here.” To the other, who was already holding the peas against her ankle: “That’s sweet… but the pain is higher up.”

She rolled onto her stomach with a groan. The massage table was narrow. Her bare ass was exposed and slightly elevated.

“I fell on my butt… it really hurts. Could you… please massage it a little?”

The guys swallowed and nodded. Two uncertain hands rested on her buttocks. At first, too lightly, too cautiously. Lena moaned deliberately and spread her legs a little. The fingers slid deeper. She felt one of them stroke the inside of her thighs, a thumb coming too close to her labia. By now, the wetness was impossible to ignore. A glistening film already covered the insides of her thighs and her fuller labia. Her clitoris, with its still-unnoticed piercing, was visibly throbbing.

The hands grew bolder. One massaged her buttocks more firmly, while the other deliberately slid between her spread legs and brushed against her wet slit. Lena heard them both breathing heavier. When she turned her head to the side, she saw the distinct bulges in their boxer shorts. Both were rock hard.

She let her legs slide a little further apart and murmured into the massage table:

“Deeper… please. It still hurts.”

The fingers slid deeper. One of them was now openly stroking her labia, spreading them slightly, feeling the heat and the wetness. The other pinched her ass harder and let his thumb brush over the tight, clenched hole. Lena bit her forearm to keep from moaning too loudly. She was soaking wet between her legs; the scent of her arousal was already palpable in the small room.

The two guys continued massaging her, more and more directly, more and more openly, while their cocks pressed painfully against the fabric of their boxer shorts and Lena lay on the massage table with her legs spread, wondering how far she would let things go this time.