Clean up

The men slowly backed away, their cocks still half-hard and dripping. I lay there on the towel, completely spent, my body a sticky, cum-smeared mess. Thick white streams were running out of my pussy and my ass; my face, my hair, and my tits were completely glued together. I was breathing heavily, my legs still spread wide, the sun beating down on my bare skin, when suddenly two women stepped forward from the group.

The first was a tall, athletic brunette in her mid-20s with long, wavy hair that fell over her shoulders. She had a toned, firm body, small, perky breasts with dark, stiff nipples, and a completely smooth-shaven pussy. Her labia were already slightly swollen and glistening with moisture. She smiled at me, straddled my face with her legs wide apart, and slowly lowered herself down.

The first woman, the tall brunette, slowly sat down on my face. The moment her warm, smooth pussy touched my lips, an intense, musky feminine scent exploded in my nose. Warm, heavy, slightly salty, and a bit sweet—like pure, aroused femininity after a hot day.

When I stuck out my tongue and licked her labia for the first time, it felt incredibly soft and smooth. Her skin was silky, almost oily with moisture. I pushed my tongue deeper between her lips and really tasted her: warm, creamy-sweet with a slightly tart, metallic undertone. Her juices were thick and sticky, almost like warm honey. The more I licked, the wetter she got—her wetness streamed down my tongue, over my lips, and down my chin. Her clit was small, hard, and swollen, pulsing beneath the tip of my tongue. As she began to grind against my face, I felt the warmth of her thighs against my cheeks, the slight tremor of her legs. When she came, her pussy literally clenched around my tongue, growing even hotter and wetter. A gush of creamy, sweet liquid flowed straight into my mouth. I swallowed instinctively as she whimpered softly and pressed herself tighter against my face.

No sooner had she stood up than the second woman—the curvy blonde—lowered herself onto me.

Her scent was even more intense, earthier, almost animalistic. A heavy, sweet-sour musky scent, mixed with fresh sweat. Her pussy was softer, fleshier; the large, full labia lay warm and heavy over my mouth. As I licked, I felt the fine, short hairs on my tongue—a slightly tickling, rougher sensation in contrast to the smooth brunette. Her taste was stronger, more mature, almost a bit sharp, but at the same time incredibly sweet and creamy. Her juices were thicker, almost slimy, and immediately ran in large quantities over my tongue and down my throat. I sucked on her full lips, plunged deep into her hot, soft opening, and really tasted her—salty, sweet, a little like urine and pure lust. Her clit was bigger, softer, and swelled even more as I circled it with my tongue.

When she came, it was overwhelming. Her pussy clenched, suddenly getting even hotter and wetter, and a thick, warm gush of her juices poured over my face. It dripped into my eyes, my nose, my mouth. The taste was so strong, so intimate, that I had to gag briefly before swallowing it all. Her soft, heavy thighs trembled against my ears as she moaned loudly and pressed herself tightly against my face.

I lay there, my entire face glistening and sticky with the juices of both women, breathing in their intense scent heavily and feeling the mixture of cum and female wetness run down my cheeks and into my hair.

And I felt… used. Humiliated. And incredibly horny.

I never saw Peter again.

After the day at the lake, I came home, stuffed all his stuff into a big box, took it out to the backyard, and set it on fire. His clothes, his books, even that stupid hoodie he always lent me—everything burned. I stood there, naked under my coat, staring into the flames and feeling nothing but liberation.

He never tried to call again. No message, no attempt to explain himself. Just… gone. As if he knew it was over.

And me? I didn’t dwell on the sadness for long.

Instead, I went to the old library bathroom upstairs almost every other day. Sometimes alone, sometimes with a guy from the seminar, sometimes just knowing that someone would be there.

I love it now. The quiet squeak of the stall door, the wait in the middle stall, the adrenaline when the first cock comes through the hole. I suck them all off—young, old, fat, thin, black, white. I let them fuck me, in the mouth, in the pussy, in the ass. Sometimes three or four come one after another. Sometimes I just stay sitting there afterward, let their cum run out of me, and play with it with my fingers while I’m still trembling.

Once—I swear on everything I hold sacred—a very specific cock came through the hole.

It was already half-limp, a little smaller than most, with that one slightly crooked vein I knew so well. It looked… sad. Almost guilty. I recognized it immediately.

Peter’s cock.

I didn’t touch it. I just watched it hanging there, soft and lost. Without a word.

I don’t know if it really was him. But I hope so. Because I don’t belong to him anymore. I now belong to the hole in the wall.

And to anyone brave enough to stick their cock through it. And I’ve never been happier.