Clothes

Ok, so, remember all the BS we get taught at puberty? Cover up. Don't let anyone see up your skirt. All that shit. Maybe that's why see through or very small panties are such a turn on. Having almost nothing covering my vagina is intensely arousing. Remember that photo of Emma Watson getting out of her limo? I will never believe that wasn't staged. Every girl knows how to protect herself, and someone in her position who had already complained about the paparazzi lying on the floor and trying to get a photo up her skirt when she was 15 would definitely know how to get out of a limo, and the danger of see through underwear. But I get it. It's vey arousing to be naked, but it's twice as arousing to be ALMOST naked!  Girls have a strange relationship with their undies.....and our vaginas, come to that. They leak constantly, bleed sometimes, and generally can be a bit of a pain, but would I swap mine for a dick? Never in a million years. I have a theory that all these man-hating feminists are only really disgusted with their own bodies and jealous of guys. Why else would they be so hostile? Wear clothes the size of two small tea bags and guys are gonna look. Get over it. If you don't want to be checked,out, then don't put the goods in the shop window.    But I do like to get checked out. I'm 20, but depending on what I'm wearing and how I'm made up, I can look much younger or even a little older. I'm not very tall, but then that helps sometimes. You've no idea what power I feeel when I'm, say, on a bus or a train, maybe looking like a teenager, and 'accidentally' parting my legs and someone notices. I love the power struggle as they try NOT to look, but their instincts win out. I love there being only the crotch of my panties between me and them, and I love what they might be thinking.  Sometimes, it's a woman who might sneer with an unspoken 'slut' in her mind. Yes, sweetie. I am a slut, and I bet I've had more sex with my fingers than youve had in the last ten years. Or the guy who is wondering what I do to myself at night. Ah...if only you knew! Or the guy who finds me so attractive he gets a hard on and wants to fuck me. There are times when I'd let him!  But right now, I'm lying on my bed wearing a soft bra....no lace, just cotton. It's almost like a trainer bra. I've got white cotton panties on and that's all. I feel very sexy this morning. I know I'm creaming my panties and I'm enjoying every moment of it. I've been reading a few stories here, and it has set me up with a nice buzz between my legs. My brain, my dirty little brain seems to be leaning towards giving me images of me as a young teenager. Oh, how wet I would get at school, and how much I would touch myself under the desk. I knew some girls could cum like that, but it took me some time and lots of courage to finally let go and have a cum in class. I remember Sister Jude looking at me after my (fake) fit of coughing and sneezing that I used to cover up the orgasm. I don't think I fooled her for a second. And Brother Michael. The first man to touch my boob. Oh, he didn't know, of course. There was a crush of us waiting to get into the Sistine Chapel and he had his arm on the shoulder of a boy who was freaking out in the crowd. The boy had Autism, and it was almost too much for him. I pressed myself against the back of Brother Michael's hand. My bra-less 15 year old boob with only a thin t-shirt between me and a man's hand. See? There it is again. That idea of only JUST being covered. That caused an absolute flood in my panties. For the entire day, whenever I sat down I got a whiff of my scent. By the time we got back to the hotel I simply had to do myself. Happy memories, which have expanded and mutated into Brother Michael slipping his hand down against my tummy. Hidden by the crowd, no one could see what he was doing. He lifts my skirt and his hand is rubbing my knickers. I'm pressing against his hand, willing him to do more.  And he does. His hand finds my waistband and he slips it down, over the sparse covering of pubic hair and a finger presses into my wetness and finds my clit. I wonder if this is the first time Brother Michael has touched a girl. Is he hard under his habit? I'd love to find out. He rubs my clit and I respond by matching his rhythm and pushing against him. On my bed, my hand underneath myself, I feel close.  The scene changes.  Brother Michael has taken me into a store room in The Vatican. He makes me sit on an old desk, and he hitches my legs up onto his hips. He lifts his robe, and his dick just out hard and angry. He pulls my knickers to one side and presses into me. It hurts, but also feels amazingly good. I ignore the pain which somehow seems to be simultaneously helping the pleasure. I fling my arms round his neck and moan, "Fuck me, Brother." He doesn't last long. How could he? I feel him burst inside me and simultaneously, I cum.    Post Orgasm.  Wow. That was a huge orgasm. I must fantasise about monks more! My panties are now soaked through. I guess I squirted. I'm getting good at that. Maybe I'll change my underwear, but then again, I feel really horny today so maybe I'll keep them on. I'm going out later today, and I will definitely be flashing myself. I will let you know how it goes.