Watery thoughts

Some time later Stacy finally limped into her next class. Peter’s overbearing size was still a lot to handle for her newly baptised pussy, even after a warm up round, though she would never let him see how much that affected her. There were some loose giggles as she clumsily found her seat, but the message had clearly been passed on and her excuse had held. The teacher chose to simply quiet the class and ignore her lateness, presumably with the intention of pity. Thus fairly soon the day slipped back into a semblance of normality, albeit with just a hint more whispering behind her back.

Stacy couldn’t give less of a fuck. A dry smile slid across the far side of her face. There she was, sat quietly at her desk. Idly twirling her pencil in the dappled sunlight and staring out the window at nothing very much. Yet underneath that thin shell of an average schoolgirl… Her womb ached and pussy stung, shimmering in the memory of the two thick shafts that had just passed through them. She could feel the slight wetness of her panties where the ongoing flow of her own juices were joined by just an escaping hint of Mark’s as well. Within her blouse was yet more slimy incrimination, where she had persuaded Pete to relieve himself all across her ample chest. She could feel the sticky, warm dampness within her bra cups. Trembled as she felt a drip of it slide down the side of one breast and drop onto her stomach below. The heady scent of it wafted up to her directly through the gap in her cleavage, so strong and obvious that she constantly had to keep reassuring herself that no-one else could smell it.

That heady scent and hot classroom seemed to swim and swirl around her. The schoolgirl come cumbucket found herself drifting in and out of reality and fantasy, not quite sure where one began and the other ended. She felt so relaxed. So in tune with the universe at large. In a way her nervous, self-conscious self never had before. A patch of sunlight glinted upon her through the dirty glass windows and she basked in it. Up above a clocked ticked away and she bounced between its seconds, happy to feel each one slide past. Dragging her effortlessly towards the next moment she could shed these silly clothes and swell into her true self once more. Around her: pencils scratched and feet shuffled. Stacy found her imagination tracing its way up each pair of twining legs. So many young and eager cocks lay around her, she realised. So many wet and waiting pussies hid only behind thin layers of cotton, just as ready to be delved into as her own. Even the teacher: a thin, dark-haired and bespectacled lady who was feared for her stern glances and silent judgements. Even she must have spent a selection of nights upon her back. Must have bucked in screaming ecstasy as some unknown man… or woman, ravaged her with everything she hungered for. Must have succumbed to her own idle daydreams of when it might happen again, perhaps even in this classroom… as her distracted students scribbled away.

Stacy felt complete. She felt alive. And yet also near asleep. She felt like all her life had built up toward this moment: sitting in an uninteresting lesson with semen seeping out between her labia and slowly drying upon her tits. And yet all her future still spread out ahead of her: far from these pointless academic distractions into a limitless expanse of lurid explorations. None of this mattered... she was finally certain of that. None of this led where she wanted to go. She didn't want to be a doctor, or gymnast, or astronaut, or politician. She wanted to be a slut! A whore! A pornstar or camgirl! She wanted to devote herself to the pursuit of pleasure. Of penis. Of baths in stranger’s jizm. She wanted to wallow in every dirty act and hollow she could find for herself and roll from side to side, shuddering in the electric excitement of it. Stacy sat in her silent classroom and felt her own juices trickle out. Felt her skin shiver with static and her panties slowly moisten… all by the power of her own delicious delusions. She was awake at last to who she really was… and when that last bell would finally ring; she would be leaving a little puddle on her seat.