© 2002 Couture

You're only sitting here because your computer at home is broken. Yes, the old 400 Mhz has surfed it's last erotic story site and taken with it every last story you archived to a hidden folder.

"Thank God for libraries," you think, glancing around quickly to make sure no one is looking, before pulling up the latest Couture story. No, they aren't the best written stories out there, but they never fail to make you wet.

Yes, there's a new one! You bring up MSN, and switch your active window back to the story; just in case you need to clear the screen in a hurry.

As you read the story, your thighs squeeze together, wringing moisture from the soaking sponge that is your cunt. Your hand strays to your breasts, not for pleasure, but just to make sure your nipples aren't advertising your secret hidden thoughts like two beacons flashing from your chest.

You continue to read. Your thighs begin their now familiar rhythmic motion: Squeeze, open, close- squeeze, open, close. Your thoughts are interrupted by the aggravating squeaking of a chair. Blushing, you realize it's your chair.

The story is about two young girls dominated by two older women in a public restroom. The story makes you particularly hot, because in just a few minutes, you will be the one doing something naughty in the library restroom.

You squeeze your thighs together again, priming the pump as it were. You feel your pussy open as your thick labia pull apart. It's hungry, you realize; smacking its lips in anticipation of being fed. At home it would get to feast on a trusty vibrator as you indulged your fantasies, but today it would have to settle for your fingers.

Your lips pull apart again. You swear you could hear it smack this time.

'Stop that,' you think, as you look down at your crotch. 'Isn't it enough that you make me read these horrible stories? Why can't you like normal stories... like romances? No, instead you make me come down here to the library and risk everything for you. Even making me get my husband to take us here.'

You realize your pussy cares not one wit for your patronizing speech. She's as hot as she's going to get and if you are going to keep from embarrassing yourself, you better go to the restroom and satisfy her hunger.

After triple checking to make sure Internet Explorer is closed and there is no incriminating evidence left on the computer, you get up and head to the restroom. Once there, you check to make sure you are alone and secure yourself in the last stall. You decide to forgo the tissue on the lid and sit down unprotected after every other woman that has been there before.

You ruck your skirt up, pull down your panties, spread your legs lewdly and stick a finger in your needy cunt, in one smooth motion.

"There, are you happy?" you ask her.

She isn't. Your hand deposits the panties in your purse, but returns with the pantyliner.

"No," you beg. "Not that."

Your hand moves of its own volition, overruled by your cunt. The liner soon finds its way to your nose. You try to hold your breath, but eventually you are forced to inhale the musky scent her arousal.

Your fingers speed, fucking her, faster and faster. It's loud, and you wish you could quiet them - quite her.

'This isn't me,' you think. 'I'm a housewife, not the sort of slut that does this. That makes these sorts of squishing and smacking noises.'

Your fingers move to your clit and circle the tiny pearl with deft strokes born of years of practice.

'Please hurry,' you beg her, but she's still not satisfied. She needs more. You hand begins to force the pantyliner in your mouth.

'No, please,' you beg silently, turning your head to the side. 'Don't make me do that. Not here. Not in public.'

The orgasm you so desperately crave dances out of your grasp, leaving you there, gasping, sweating, and hanging by a thread.

'Oh, that's so mean, you horrible cunt.'

Somehow your lips part just far enough for a finger to push part of the liner into your mouth. You give up and suck the remnants of the juices from it.

'See, I've done it. You made me taste you. You made me suck you. Please-please-please, just let me cum.'

You spy your discarded panties lying balled up in your purse. You quickly look away, hoping she missed them. She didn't. That wicked little cunt never misses anything.

Leaving the pussy pad in your mouth, you hand moves down and picks up the panties.

'No, please' you beg. 'Someone could come in at any moment. My husband's coming back to pick me up and I can't afford to smell like some back alley slut. Oh, please, haven't you humiliated me enough.'

You hand pulls the panties over your head, and then proceeds to smear the soiled wet crotch over your face, rubbing her scent all over you, marking you, before settling the crotch over your nose.

'Oh, you've done it now. You've broken me. Turned me into your slut again. You've made a whore out of me. Are you happy?'

You inhale the crotch of the panties, as you suck on her cunt soaked liner. Hands quickly unbutton your blouse, pulling your breasts out of their cups. Fingers tweak hardened nipples, not lovingly, but hard. Showing you she owns you. Your legs pull up and spread, causing the plumbing on the commode to jam uncomfortably into your back, but that cunt doesn't care about your back. She only wants to make you suffer.