1. Glitter


    Date: 2/27/2015, Categories: Masturbation, Author: RavenStar, Rating: 19, Source: LushStories

    clit, keeping those pulses and throbs coming. My hips rocked and humped thin air, and suddenly I needed to be filled. I clumsily shoved two fingers into my dripping snatch, then curled them up and immediately found my quivering, slightly swollen g-spot. I fucked myself for what seemed like eons in that darkly glittery bathroom, fingers to the hilt in my cunt, vibe pressed to my clit. My mind expanded and burst, then collapsed in on itself countless times. My throat became raw from the screaming I was doing. I didn't spare a single thought to the where or who might hear. I was in Nirvana. Eventually, I started to notice things again. My easing breath, the cold, black glitzy tile on the floor, the cramp in my hand from being bent at an odd angle too long. I blinked slow eyelids and swallowed painfully through my dry, roughened throat. I was slumped against the stall door, my bare ass and pussy plastered to the tile, my lower back visible to anyone and everyone on the other side of the door. With an effort, I tugged my fingers from my still slowly seeping slit. They made a wet sucking sound as they came free. Wiping them on my thigh, I gathered the effort to leverage myself up off the floor. My nether regions made an embarrassing slurping sound as they unstuck from the tile. “Fuck me,” I muttered under my breath. I was using the stall wall and door to carefully shimmy up to my trembling, unsteady feet when I heard the quiet, breathless giggle. Not that I cared. I was still ...
    riding my high, both the chemical and the orgasm. After tugging everything back into a semblance of decency -- not that the dress was really decent -- and tossing the little vibe necklace back over my neck, I braced myself and opened the stall door. The sink counter top and mirrors were directly across from the stalls, and sitting on the surface was a little slip of a girl. She couldn't have been more than five feet tall, and maybe a hundred pounds wet. Her dress, a neon blue version of mine, showcased tiny pointed tits, a miniscule waist and surprisingly substantial hips and thighs. I took all this in from the stall door, still a little slow on the uptake. My eyes finished their crawl up and down her body, then settled on her bright, glittering blue eyes. They held bales of mischief, and a knowing little smirk curled plump, pink lips. Then, to my complete astonishment, her smile widened and she slowly began clapping. I could feel the blush blasting into my cheeks, my ears, my neck, the top of my chest. Looking down, I tugged at the hem of my microdress and walked to one of the sinks farthest from her. Trying to ignore the blatant ridicule, I turned on the tap and got some soap. I lathered my hands and rubbed them vigorously, looking directly at them, even as I heard her stop, get down off the counter and walk towards me. I felt the heat of her mere inches from me, felt her breath on my ear as she said, “That was so fucking hot.” Her voice was that of my invisible voyeur. I ...
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