After the men had left, the Asian men who had just finished coming all over my face, my hair up in pigtails, my arms, my legs, and the ludicrously lurid schoolgirl outfit Suki had made for me, I pleaded with Suki to unbind me. I wanted to wash myself up, for one thing, but more than that I wanted to touch her, run my hands over her body, help her off with the gray business suit she wore. The black dildo she had reamed me with still hung obscenely through the open zipper of the trousers. I wanted to help her off with that, as well, and get to her sweet pussy and lick her dry if she'd let me.
She unbound my hands, but she wouldn't let me touch her. "You're all filthy," she said. "All those dirty men's stuff all over you." She put her hands on her hips, the black phallus swinging between her legs. "You go home. Fix yourself up." I asked her for the clothes I had worn to her place, and she just laughed. "Don't be silly," she said.
Apparently I was going to have to come home in the obscene schoolgirl costume, with dried come all over it. I pulled the wool stockings back up over my knees, and tried to brush off some of the dried flakes from the blouse, which was stuck to my skin in various places where wads of semen had struck me. I peeled it free and tried to button it up again over my breasts, which was difficult because the blouse was designed to be so tight. And it was translucent, so anyone could see my nipples right through it, as well as every curve of my bosom, the size of which has always made me self-conscious. And the high-waisted plaid skirt I had on barely reached my thighs, and I wore no panties. On my way home, not only would I reek of sex and semen, but anyone who cared to could see my pussy right up my skirt.
I didn't know what to do. I had no choice but to try to make it home like this. Walking through the confusing unfamiliar streets in Suki's neighborhood at night was extremely scary to me, and now I was dressed as a target, just begging to be assaulted, to be taken. I couldn't possibly be wearing something that screamed "please fuck me" more.
Inevitably, a man began to follow me. I didn't want him to see me looking at him, so I wasn't sure what he looked like. He seemed to be short, wore a tan Members Only jacket and khakis, and he walked with a stoop, so he was probably older. I couldn't shake him though. The patent-leather Maryjane shoes that Suki had made me wear were already giving me blisters, making every step jarringly painful.
I made it to the subway, but the man followed me on to the platform. It was late, so there was nobody else around that I could see. Maybe a few lonely souls down at the other end, but they hardly noticed us. They looked to be homeless people, sleeping in their clothes with their plastic bags piled around them.
I prayed for the train to come soon. I could feel the short little man's gaze burning into me. I scratched nervously at my stockings, tried in vain to make my skirt cover more of my thighs, cover some of that bare skin between the tops of the stockings and the skirt's bottom edge. But it was useless.
The longer we waited, the more self-conscious, the more afraid I became, and the more fear I felt, the harder I could feel my nipples were becoming, until they jutted out against the fabric of my tight blouse, making my arousal unmistakable. I could sense the man coming closer. I didn't know what I could do.
Finally I turned to face him. He was taken aback for a moment, but then I saw that his hands were fishing around in his pockets. I realized that he had been playing with himself, just watching me. At first I was completely nauseated -- he was an obviously harmless little man, bland, balding, well over fifty. But he was no threat. I was a fool to have been scared. And then I thought about how he probably hadn't had a thrilling sexual experience in decades, that this night, this chance meeting he had with me on the street might fuel his masturbatory fantasies for years to come.
And that idea got me turned on. I took a quick look around and saw that no one else could see us. And then I slowly lifted my skirt. "Stay where you are," I said quietly. "You can only look."
He nodded that he understood. I kept the skirt lifted and swayed my hips a little, getting into it. "Do you like what you see?" I asked. He nodded again, furiously. I could see him fists pumping away in his pocket, his legs shifting as he tried to get better angles to stroke his cock. "I can tell you like it," I said. Hearing myself talk this way, all slutty and seductive, was making me hot. I could feel myself getting wet as he stared in at my pussy. I started to touch myself as he watched. "Look at my cunt," I said, rubbing my pussy lips with my fingers, slipping my index finger up inside myself. "You like the way I touch it?"
Obviously I was still in a delirious state from my experience at Suki's, when all those men, all those cocks were coming on me. It had deprived me of the ability to see the possibility of any human transaction being anything other than sexual. I mean, all those strangers came into that room and promptly pulled out their penises and masturbated right before my eyes, and because of me, because of the way I was dressed, because of the way I am shaped, because of what I was obviously willing to do. I never know it could feel so powerful, submitting.
I sat down on the filthy bench by the garbage can so that I could play with myself more easily. My cunt was suddenly on fire again, as wet and pulsating as it was when I was tied up at Suki's. I couldn't get the image of those men jerking themselves off out of my mind, nor could I forget Suki, in the business suit that made her seem so much older, so much more mature, her sparkling, laughing eyes, drinking in my humiliation with delight. I had to sit down. I didn't want to lose my balance and fall onto the tracks or something. I kept my eyes locked on the unassuming little man, working on himself through the pockets of his khakis. He watched me, too, my skirt folded back, one pair of fingers spreading my cunt open, another three fingers slicing inside me, god, it felt so raw, so amazing. I could tell by the way the man was squirming that he was coming into his pants. I would've started to come myself, if I hadn't heard the train approaching.
The man followed me on the train. We sat across from each other on the car. I was extremely turned on, and the men already on the car all stared at me, of course, seeing how I was dressed. I wanted desperately to come, but I didn't know if I could do it with such an audience. The thought of all these strangers jerking off at the sight of me pleasing myself was intensely erotic, an extreme turn on, but I wasn't sure if I was ready for them to be gang raping me; that was not such a turn on, and the way I was dressed was a plain invitation to that.
Still I wanted to touch my pussy. I rubbed my ass back and forth on the hard plastic seat, trying to generate some friction. I tugged on my blouse so it would pull the silk taut against my hard nipples and tease them, and that felt overpoweringly delicious. The man who had already come on the platform still watched me; he knew what I was up to. But I could bring myself to do it, I could not get myself on the train. I had to wait until I got home, where I could stare at my shockingly disheveled self, my hair in pigtails, still clumped and sticky with dried semen, my breasts heavy, heaving against the tight blouse, the plaid schoolgirl skirt covering nothing, the wool stockings pulled up to my thighs, sticky with come themselves, God I hardly recognized myself, and what I saw in the mirror turned me on incredibly.
I saw this used fuck slut, a piece of meat that I wanted my own piece of. I started to suck on my thumb, watching myself, pretending it was some old solemn hard-faced Asian guy's cock. My other thumb I was thrusting in and out of my throbbing pussy. I sucked and sucked, watching the slutty me in the mirror all covered in semen, until finally I got myself off, spasming on the hardwood floor in front of the mirror.
When I woke up the next day, I was filled with shame. I called out of work. I didn't want to leave my apartment. I didn't want to face other people. I felt like the horror of what I had done would be written all over me, would be obvious to anyone who would see me.
And other people seem frightening to me, it seemed like their sexuality might leap out from them at any given moment and expose itself. The whole city suddenly seemed like a crazy cauldron of uncontrolled lust and I just needed a break. I felt sexed out, overwhelmed by sex; and I just wanted to be able to think about something else for a change.
