Walk of Shame

I sat on the toilet seat for a moment longer, my legs spread wide, enjoying the warm, sticky sensation between my thighs. Peter’s cum was slowly oozing out of my well-fucked pussy—thick and creamy—and dripping in long strands onto the seat. My pussy felt wonderfully sore and used—slightly open, throbbing, full of him.

Then I heard rustling again from the neighboring stall. A soft scraping sound. He set his phone down again, this time so that the flashlight shone directly through the glory hole into my stall. The bright light fell on my face, my bare, heavy breasts, and right between my legs, where his cum was still oozing out.

I grinned lewdly, raised my right hand, and flashed a cheeky peace sign right at the camera. With my left, I spread my labia once more, showing him just how full and glistening I was. “Enjoy the memory, you pig,” I whispered softly.

Shortly after, the phone was pulled back. I heard him zip up, open the stall door, and then the heavy bathroom door. Footsteps receding. He was gone. Back to studying.

I stayed seated for a moment, slipped two fingers between my legs, and played with the warm cum that kept flowing out of me. I spread it over my swollen lips, slowly circled my still-sensitive clit, and pushed a little of it back inside me. It felt so dirty and hot—his thick load slowly dripping out of my unprotected pussy while I sat here alone in this old college bathroom.

Finally, I stood up, pulled my skirt down (I left my top off for now, my breasts still exposed) and opened the stall door.

My panties were gone.

The black lace panties I’d so carefully hung over the doorknob as a signal had vanished. The little pervert had actually taken them.

I stood there, barefoot on the cold tiles, skirt hiked up, tits out, and felt another warm drop of his cum run out of my pussy, slowly trickling down the inside of my left thigh and dripping onto the floor. No panties. No protection. Every step would remind me that I’d just been fucked and cummed on through a glory hole in a public restroom.

I bit my lip, smiled to myself, and whispered softly into the empty room:

“Just you wait, Peter… I’ll get you back for this.”

Then I pulled my top back up, quickly wiped between my legs with a piece of toilet paper (which barely helped), and made my way outside—with his cum running out of me with every step, right down my bare thighs.

Finally, I slammed the apartment door behind me. My legs were still shaking as I leaned my back against it. My skirt was sticking to my thighs—and not just from sweat. I immediately felt your warm, thick cum flowing out of my pussy again, slowly, unstoppably, forming yet another trail down the inside of my right thigh.

I pulled out my phone, my fingers still a little shaky, and typed:

Lena: You perverted thief

I’ll show you when I get home, Peter.

The walk back was hell… and at the same time the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.

Then I leaned back again and kept writing, reliving the images all over again:

Going down the stairs was brutal. Every floor, every step. Without panties, with your fresh cum inside me. I had to walk slowly because my legs were still weak from fucking—and that’s exactly what made it worse. From below, they could see everything. Every time someone came toward me, their gaze lingered briefly, then that dirty grin. I know exactly what they saw: my smooth, bare thighs, the curve of my ass, and in between, my swollen, pink pussy, from which thick, white drops of your cum were running. Some even slowed down, almost coming to a stop.

Outside, it got even worse. The wind was warm and gusty. Twice my short skirt flew right up—once almost to my waist. I was just able to push it down, but I’m sure at least two guys saw everything. My naked, cum-covered pussy in the sunshine.

The worst part was the subway station and the ride. On the platform, the wind was blowing right through from below. My skirt was fluttering constantly; I stood there with my thighs pressed together and felt your cum being pushed further out with every gust. Of course, I didn’t sit down on the train—I clung to a pole. Every time it braked or turned, my skirt slid up a little higher.

And then our stop… up the escalator.

I knew right away it was going to be tight. Three guys were standing behind me, pretty close. I could feel them staring up at me. My skirt was way too short, and since I was standing one step higher, they had a direct view. I tried to push it down with one hand, but that only helped until the next step came. The whole ride up, they were peeking up my skirt. Right at my dripping, unprotected pussy. Your cum kept oozing out with every step, pulling long strings and dripping onto the escalator steps. My face was bright red, my heart was racing… and at the same time, I was so horny that I almost came again.

When I got home, I went straight to the bathroom. I’m standing here now in front of the mirror, skirt hiked up, legs slightly spread. Your cum is still slowly oozing out of me, thick and creamy, mixed with my own juices. My pussy is still slightly open, swollen, and glistening. I look totally used—and I love it.

Lena: God, Peter… how I love this.

I’m standing here without panties, with your load inside me, and I’m getting wet again at the thought that strangers saw my cum-filled pussy today.

Can we do this again?

Soon?