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. Anadolu Yakası Escort 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 Anadolu Yakası Escort Bayan 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 Escort Anadolu Yakası 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.

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