I was well into masturbating in public, and equally well into letting myself be seen. This one occasion, I had been flirting outrageously with a boy from school. I had deliberately turned the conversation sexual, and we were talking openly about masturbation. I was really wet, but he, poor guy was trying to walk with a hard-on.
Also, at this point in time, I would sometimes leave my wet panties in places for others to find. Public lavatories were my favourite…especially the mens’ side.
Paul was really trying hard not to be shocked. I had told him about how often I masturbate and where. He had told me about his first ejaculation and that he usually does himself in the morning before school…morning glory, I suppose. I had told him that I like being watched, which had made him say, “God no! I’d die of embarrassment if anyone caught me wanking.” There was a pause before he said, “Do you really like someone watching you?” I assured him that I did and that it made me feel powerful.
Ever heard a boy ask a question without moving his lips? I am certain I could hear the cogs in his brain working overtime as he tried to work out how to ask me if he could watch me without actually asking me outright….and I, evil bitch that I can be, let him suffer. We walked on in silence….ah, but I knew something he didn’t. I knew where we were going.
It’s a quaint little building on the edge of the village green. One side “gents’, one side ‘Ladies’ and a disabled toilet in the middle, which can only be accessed with a key. We walked past the ladies, and then I pulled him into the gents' side. He became visibly agitated as I pulled him into one of the two cubicles and locked the door.
I am well aware that I am a little odd, but I love the grungy smell in gents public toilets. It’s a mixture of pee and cum. The inside of the doors are usually filled with dirty graffiti, but this just makes it all the more horny for me.
Once in there, I unbuttoned the ridiculous kilt that was part of the uniform, and handed it to Paul. I suspect it might well have been the first time he had held an item of girl’s clothing that was still warm. I told him to hang it on the hook behind the door. Then, I slipped my by now very wet undies off and told him to hold them. I remember looking into the crotch, as all girls do when they take their panties down, and balling them up so the stained crotch was uppermost.
Next, I sat on the seat of the lavatory, looked Paul straight in the eyes and masturbated to orgasm. I held off a few times, because I wanted to make sure I squirted. As I came, there was the sound of liquid hitting water. Paul’s eyes bugged and he asked if I’d peed. I told him no, not this time, but sometimes I do.
Which left him standing, holding my panties which, as I said, I had made sure I gave him inside crotch up so he could see (and hopefully smell) the wetness and it must have worked because there was now a coin-sized perfectly circular wet spot on his pants. I remember saying just one word. “Well?” And gazing meaningfully at his erection.
You know, I don’t think if the entire complement of nuns from the school, or the Holy Father himself had been present would have stopped Paul from unzipping and getting his cock out. He did it almost painfully slowly, but nonetheless, he did it.
No, my lovelies, it wasn’t huge, not by any standard of judgement. Paul wasn’t richly blessed, but it was as hard as steel and nicely wet on the end. He locked eyes with me and slowly wrapped his fingers around it, and equally slowly started to wank. He was still nervous, but I had one last trick in store. I glanced at my panties in his hand, then looked back into his eyes and said “smell me”.
Time seemed to run in slow motion as his hand moved to his face. I saw him inhale and his eyes closed. Simultaneously an arc of semen jetted out hitting my thigh. I (stupidly) spread my legs as wide as I could, and the next two shots hit my lower tummy. (But could easily have hit between my spread lips. Probably I wouldn’t have got pregnant, but it was a silly thing to do.)
Toilet paper was the only thing that prevented it running down and between my lips.
I told him he could keep my panties, and to give them back when the scent faded. I wrapped my kilt around me and we listened carefully to make sure no-one was there…..in fact, as I recall, I sent Paul out to check not only that no-one was there, but also that outside was clear too.
Soon we were continuing our journey home, with Paul a lot wiser on the whole business of being watched…and watching….and with my panties still wet, in his pocket.
At 17, I was very clued up on how a dirty expression could affect a boy for a very long time. I used to be openly potty-mouthed around boys, and would talk about taboo things…mainly because doing so turned me on. As we parted ways, Paul patted his pocket and said “I’ll enjoy these..for as long as they last”. Miss Brain popped a cheeky little comment in the ‘Say it now’ file. “That’s ok, Paul. When my panties no longer smell of pussy…there’s always your sister’s panties.” You should have seen the look on his face…and it wasn’t disgust. It was more along the lines of “Shit…why didn’t I think of that?”
I should mention here that I had a major crush on Paul’s twin sister. Alice had been my masturbatory fantasy for over a year, and better than that, once a week I got to see the object of my lust naked in the showers. I already knew what she smelled and tasted like from the times I skipped PE and was forced to “….sit alone in the locker room, and just think about what you’re missing.” as the nuns used to say. What I actually thought about was being between Alice’s legs and licking her divine cunt. The thought that Paul might…..even just might….give in to temptation was deliciously naughty…well…to me, anyway.
Things have changed. I’m with Emily now, and deliriously happy. That’s not to say I don’t still enjoy flashing myself because I do…very much…and it’s something Emily is coming to enjoy as well. Next summer is going to be glorious. I have so many plans around where Emily and I will make love, and what dirty things we will do with each other. Emily is more restrained than I am, and that is the right word…restrained. She had a mega-strict upbringing, and this isn’t me forcing or coercing her, it’s more like exploring and unlocking doors that were previously locked, against her will, by someone else.
Emily is discovering, with child-like innocence, the delights of just showing her crotch in public, or the time I got her to rub herself off in a shop fitting room. She ended up squatting just before she came and squirted on the floor. So many good things to come.
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