It had been my guilty pleasure for a few months by then, though my hands were clammy and my heart beat like mad each time I could find the nerve to actually go through with it. Yes, it felt exhilarating, and it gave me the most intense orgasms of my short life, but I also felt depraved and carried a bad conscience afterwards. However, something about it was addicting.
I was sure by then that something was seriously wrong with me, but hey, there were some other issues that couldn’t be denied anyway. For example, my body. Where the girls in my class had all grown and filled out over the last few years, I was still the small, five-foot-two, thin, waifish, mousy-haired, almost boobless young girl who always had to carry her passport with her to make people believe her age. I was often guessed as barely sixteen, and when I told someone I was eighteen, the reactions ranged from lifted eyebrows over condescending chuckles to outright laughter.
Dating? An impossibility for me. Most guys old enough didn’t even realize that I existed, and those few who did were either seriously screwed in their heads or carrying around their own heap of problems. So my few first dates all ended in absolute disaster.
But less whining, back to the present. Somehow I had developed a fixation on what I couldn’t have, and lonely days of trying to make time go by at the mall had turned into regular excursions into clothes shops and lingerie stores where I would eye and touch the garments and dream of being just as womanly as the other customers. I’d steal glances at them and imagine myself being them, voluptuous, curvy, the soft fabrics hugging my body and making me look sensual and classy.
The truly guilty part, though, came from the one thing that developed quite normally in me - my rising but unfulfilled libido. Without another outlet, it roared to life when I was indulging my clothes-watching sprees. One time, after having gotten a glimpse of a beautiful woman trying on black, lacy lingerie, having seen her voluptuous body in those pretty garments through a gap in the curtain to her dressing room, it just overwhelmed me. Without conscious thought I found myself in the other cabin, my skirt and panties pooled at the floor, and my fingers running through my sticky folds while I imagined being as pretty as she, being surrounded by people who adored and worshiped me, being touched and kissed - and well and truly fucked.
The release was quick and hard, and addictive. I had to bite my lip hard to keep from crying out loud. And I was back the next week, racked with guilt but ready to indulge myself again. And again the week after, until it had become my weekly flight from the cruel facts of my life.
Until that one, fateful Saturday. I had established a bit of a routine by then, alternating between shops and always using the stall farthest to the back to avoid drawing attention to myself. And things had progressed just like normal. I had spent an hour browsing, taking in the wonderful fabrics, watching the female customers from the corners of my eyes, and building up dreams. When my heartbeat was galloping like a racing horse, I hurried into the stall and undressed quickly while my mind clung to the delicious images it had been dreaming up. I sat on the bench at the back, pulled my heels up and splayed my legs, and started to stroke my pussy, already soaking by then, to bring myself towards the sweet release.
I had my eyes closed, and when I heard the voice, my first reaction was to freeze in my movements and simply will it to go away.
"Oh my god!"
It sounded like it was right in front of me. But it was probably just some girls outside of the changing cubicle.
"Gosh, just look what she’s doing!" Another voice exclaimed.
The little hairs on my skin were standing upright, and a churning, lightweight feeling rumbled through my tummy.
I opened my eyes and immediately wanted to die on the spot. The curtain was held aside, and a gang of girls about my age was standing in front of the opening and blatantly staring at me. Their eyes, wide and full of disbelief, were locked on my exposed pussy, on the two fingers buried inside and on my thumb that was pressing down on my clit. Then the second shoe dropped.
"That’s Deirdre McKennings," a girl at the back of the group exclaimed, "I know her; she’s in advanced calculus with me!"
I couldn’t look at them. My whole body flushed with shame, and my skin started to burn, but I was unable to move.
"Oh come on," another piped, "she can’t be in class with you. Is she even sixteen? Just look at her body!"
"I know how she looks, but I swear, that’s she, and she’s eighteen already."
I thought it was unbearable then. But before I could react, the girl at the front had stepped into the changing room. She was tall, almost six feet, and lean, probably on one of the sports teams. She wore shorts, those military style, khaki colored things which are rather hip, and a matching white tank top that showed off her tits. I couldn’t stop myself from guessing their size, another habit I had picked up on my weekly sprees, and with her height, they had to be a good C-cup.
Still frozen in shock, I watched her step closer and crouch down in front of me, a mysterious smile on her dark red lips. Her eyes, a deep green and beautifully contrasting the bright red of her long, curly hair, seemed to pierce right into my mind. Then she opened her mouth.
"What a dirty, dirty little girl," she cooed.
My body started to tremble even more.
"Here, let me help you."
One of her hands wrapped around my wrist and pulled my sticky fingers from my pussy. The corners of her mouth twitched when she saw them glisten in the light. My heart missed a few beats when she guided my fingers upwards and towards my face.
There was something so compelling about the casualness with which she acted that I didn’t think about what she was doing. When the fingers were right in front of my mouth, my lips parted on their own volition and - for the first time in my life - I tasted my own juices.
It was intense, sweet, bitter and tangy at the same time, but not enough to be revolting. But I didn’t have time to savor the moment. Her other hand extended towards my pulsing pussy, and then two fingers slowly pushed their way inside me. They were wider than my own, and the feeling of being stretched sent delightful twinges through my loins. I would have moaned and drawn unwanted attention if my mouth hadn’t been filled with my own digits.
This was the first time anyone but I had touched me there, and it felt wonderful. That it was by a virtual stranger probably should have had me running and screaming. That it was by another girl even more so. Instead, the tension left my body and I slumped against the back wall while a wonderful heat built up between my legs.
Suddenly I felt a small twinge inside my love tunnel, and the girl gasped. "Oh god," she whispered with wide eyes, "you’re a virgin?"
I could only nod ashamedly.
But then I noticed the way her chest was suddenly heaving, her cheeks aflame, her eyes lidded and her lips pouting.
"May I?" She asked, husky and short of breath.
I froze in a short moment of panic.
"Please," she purred, "say yes. Let me make you a woman. Let me watch your face as I tear your hymen and fill your wet little snatch."
I should have refused. A little shake of my head, or no reaction at all would have stopped the whole thing. I was quite aware that this would be a singular event in my life. But I was horny like hell and the girl in front of me was so pretty and the look of need in her face so captivating, so I simply nodded.
She sent a beatific smile at me while her eyes locked onto mine.
It was quick. It was painful. My arousal was dampened in the blink of an eye, but it wasn’t completely squelched.
She gave me a few seconds to adapt to the feeling of being impaled all the way on her long, slender fingers. And when she wiggled the tips and I could feel them touch me deep in my womb. I was already back on my way.
She started sliding them in and out, slowly and only an inch at first, while she read the emotions on my face. My nostrils flared with each heavy breath, and I felt like I was flying. Her movements grew in intensity and speed, and every time her fingers buried themselves so deep inside me, ripples of pleasure traveled up my tummy.
The intensity of the feelings grew when she picked up more pace. My whole body was soon shaking with the pistoning of her fingers, accompanied by and a soft, squelching sound, and my eyes were losing their focus. My small nipples tugged and pulsed in time with my pussy. I was in heaven.
Then the girl bent forward. For a moment I held my breath. 'She wouldn’t…' But she did. Her lips wrapped my right nipple and she softly bit down on it, while at the same time her fingernail dug into my engorged clit.
It was like a switch that launched a firework of pleasure. My body arched and my eyes rolled back, and then I was trembling and tumbling through wave after wave of ecstasy, my pussy constricting around her fingers with each one. It went on for ages. It was the most wonderful experience of my life.
Finally, my body couldn’t stand it anymore, and I slumped back once more and mewled, "Please stop, please!"
The girl let go of me and slowly withdrew her fingers. It was hard to focus, but I could see my wetness on them, with a slightly rosy hue.
"Thank you," she whispered and pulled my hand away from my mouth. My fingers bore the marks of my teeth. "Wait here."
I couldn’t have stood up even if I wanted to. So I watched her leave the cubicle, her companions wide-eyed and giggling.
A few minutes later she slipped back inside, and I saw her carrying a bundle of fabric which she put down next to me. She rustled through the pile of my own clothes and pulled out my tiny cotton panties with the kitten print. My cheeks flushed again, but she only mumbled, "perfect."
I watched with a bit of curiosity when she wrapped them over her index finger, but when she spread my pussy lips with the other hand and pointed the finger at my opening, I once more froze up.
"We wouldn’t want you to leak, would we?" She commented, and then I felt the panties being pushed inside me.
It felt strange, in a way exciting, but they were also dry and a little uncomfortable against my irritated pussy walls.
She left a bit of white fabric dangling outside, and it looked rather dirty to me. But when I moved my hand to push it inside, she held my wrist. "Don’t. Now put this on."
She handed me a pink t-shirt - standard wear for young girls - with a white Hello-Kitty print on the front and a white miniskirt. I didn’t understand what was happening, but I was still too dazed to question her self-assured manner. So I stood on shaky legs and slipped into the t-shirt, then donned the skirt. Both fit almost like second skin, the skirt coming down only two inches below my buttocks. The color of the t-shirt even matched my pink sneakers.
I looked at her, feeling a little insecure, and tried to pull the hem a little further down without success.
"It’s okay," she placated me, "you look perfect. Pick up your clothes; you’re coming with me."
She took my hand and I let myself be led to the counter, where the price tags were removed from my new clothes. A quick swipe of her credit card later, I stumbled dazedly after her across the parking lot and into the back of the old SUV in which her friends were already waiting. She took the middle seat and pulled me onto her lap. A second later we backed out onto the street.
I nodded, my mind still too busy trying to grasp the enormity of the situation.
"I’ll call you Diddly," she whispered into my ear, "after all, that’s how I found you, diddling yourself. We’re going to have so much fun."
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