Tries to clean herself up.

Struggling to get to her feet, Selina pushes herself up by taking firm hold of the sink counter. Thankfully, she is alone in the bathroom. Walking awkwardly because of her still swollen dripping sex, the troubled thief slowly makes her way over to the mother's toilet stall which is extra big and has a changing table and sink. Closing and latching the door behind her she places her dark gray and comics store t-shirt on the counter Selina then splashes some cold water on her face and looks into the mirror, “What the fuck was was that?!” She silently asks herself as she tries to focus her still clouded mind.

Drying her dripping wet face with many paper towels Selina then takes off her jeans and black thong. The panties are drenched with the creamy white liquid of the rare female ejaculation. The amount, however, makes no sense to the vexed voluptuous vixen. No women should be able to produce that much, however, it's clearly not urine, like those porn videos which try to pass themselves off as women “squirting.”

Wanting to get out of this bathroom, Selina, unlike her husband, puts off the pondering for later and tries the best she can to dry off her cum soaked panties and then gets dressed, putting on her comic store t-shirt.

Looking in the mirror the shapely Gothamite groans in frustration as her still rock hard and rigid nipples, with their swollen areolas, can clearly be seen jutting up against her t-shirt. Even worse, the large wet cum stain is glaringly obvious in her crotch. Being sexy and tempting is one thing, she grumbles to herself, but looking like some cheap whore is never acceptable for the classy Mrs. Anderson.

Selina heads for the door and ties to walk as normally as possible when her cunt and all her nerves begin to quake and burn.

“Oh, no, not again.” She whimpers as she falls back against the sink. This time the flame is not sudden or violent, but slow and gradual. There is much less pain, but for more vexation as Selina's breath quickens and an all consuming desire to masturbate begins to overwhelm her.

“No, no, no.” She pants as she hands violently grab onto the counter, trying to fight the increasing desire to fondle herself. Most strange and disturbing, however, is the echoing thought in her head, that if she rips up and throws away her t-shirts and spanks her bare breasts 40 times with one of her sneakers, the torturous passion will go away.