Indian slut's skirt woes in library

I glanced around, then slowly lifted the back of my short, pleated black PVC skirt, revealing my firm, O-shaped, dark Indian ass--thirty-five inches of sculpted curves, bouncing just a little, over my thick, muscular thighs and long, fuck-me legs.

I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my panties and slid them down, my palms grazing the bare skin of my ass-cheeks--slow, deliberate, enough to make me tremble as I imagined putting on a show for an audience that didn't exist.

The bright yellow lace panties--sheer, delicate, and unmistakably slutty--now lay shamelessly tangled around my feet.

It looked marvelous. Sexy. Loud. Like a dirty little dare, whispered to anyone who might wander into this quiet book aisle of my college library in Mumbai--right where I stood, heart pounding, on the edge of my next exhibitionist thrill.

I hadn't planned much this time--just the outfit, just the spot.

The aisle I stood in was tucked away at the far end of the library, quiet and almost forgotten.

I didn't want to get caught... but I kind of hoped I would. And if someone happened to wander by, the sight of my slutty sunshine-yellow panties--brazenly pooled around my black block heels--might serve as a warning... or an invitation.

Now that I've got your attention, let me introduce myself.

My name is Neha. I'm a 22-year-old dusky Indian girl living in Mumbai. I moved here four years ago from a small town in North India after getting into a prestigious college.

I identify as a slutty, exhibitionist cock-tease--or, as we might say in Hindi, a "Lund Mohini".

Lund means cock. Dick. Pecker. Penis. Whatever filthy word you like best.

Mohini? That's the tease. The temptress. The one who drives you crazy with wanting.

Lund is my favorite word for a cock. It's raw, rustic, raunchy--and it makes me wet the moment I say it. So yes, I'll be using lund throughout this story, even though it's otherwise in English.

For those unfamiliar, lund rhymes with fund. Think of it this way:

Lund: (L)ove, F(und).

When I'm especially turned on, I stretch it out--Lunnnnnd--the same way you might moan Caaaaar if you were begging for a ride. Except I'm usually begging for something else.

When my tongue presses down to stretch that nnnn in Lunnnnd, it feels like someone's tongue pressing deep against my cunt--slow, firm, and enough to make me shiver.

I stand 5 feet 6 inches tall--above average for a girl in India. With my fluffy black curls brushing my shoulders and a modest two-inch heel, I easily pass for 5 '10". And around here, that's pretty damn tall.

My 32C tits are crowned with long, pointed nipples--dark, stiff, and impossible to ignore. They're the reason I stopped wearing bras a long time ago. Why hide what everyone wants to check out?

And those sweet gentlemen who try to keep their eyes locked on mine? They always fail. Their gaze drifts down, helpless, tracing the twin peaks pressing through whatever thin fabric I've barely bothered to wear.

So let's be clear: if you're facing me, your eyes will feel my nipples. I make sure that there's no escaping.

I keep my body tight with regular gym sessions, which have earned me a toned 23-inch waist, a flat, firm stomach, sculpted shoulders, thick muscular thighs, and a perfectly round, high-sitting 35-inch ass.

But the sexiest part of me? My back.

From the strong curve of my shoulder blades, it narrows into my waist, then flares out again at my hips, leading to my full, O-shaped cheeks. The smooth line of my spine runs straight down, the knuckles of each vertebrae visible beneath my skin--diving deep into the warm, contoured cleavage of my ass.

And let's not forget my dusky, glowing Indian skin--always warm, always radiant. No one can resist a second glance. Or a third.

Which is why, more often than not, the generous me leaves a lot of my skin on display.

I consider it my duty to please their eyes.

So, at any given time, in any place, you just might catch me--fully or partially exposed, on purpose or by "accident"--delighting the wandering eyes of strangers (or not-so-strangers), and making their day... or night. If they're lucky enough to be in the right place, at the right time.

Back in the present, I couldn't take my eyes off the obscene little masterpiece at my feet--my sheer yellow lace panties, damp and delicate, draped shamelessly over my black block heels like a naughty confession whispered into the silence of a college library aisle in broad daylight.

I had to touch them. Instinct took over.

I bent at the waist--legs straight, knees tight, ass high--and reached down.

My fingers found the exact spot where my freshly waxed, dusky pussy had soaked the lace.

Still warm. Still wet.

I pressed into it, smearing the slickness between my fingertips. My breath caught, a soft gasp echoing in the stillness, as shivers bloomed through the darker pink folds of my glistening Indian cunt.

As I bent forward, the hem of my loose, sleeveless white linen shirt slipped forward, baring the soft swell of my underboobs--nipples grazing the inside of the fabric, already hard. Just the kind of detail that could drive a man insane without ever seeing the full show.

My other hand slid behind me, curious, checking just how far my skirt had ridden up. It barely covered my ass--just one teasing inch below the curve of my cheeks.

My legs, long and strong, ran bare all the way down to that scandalous little puddle of panties around my heels.

Anyone behind me would've had a full view--and possibly a heart attack.

The world was lucky--no one was there to suffer that fatal view.

Still, I frowned at the skirt.

It had the audacity to cover my pussy and ass while I bent over? Really? So what was it doing when I stood upright--reaching mid-thigh?

Annoyed, I stood up and gave it a quick once-over.

Yep. Three, maybe four inches below the curve of my ass.

Totally unacceptable.

"What am I, a fucking nun?" I growled, ripping the panties from around my feet and letting them fall to the floor like they belonged there.

I needed something shorter.

A skirt that wouldn't dare dip past my ass cheeks--even when I stood tall. So that next time I bent over, legs straight, knees locked, my bare pussy and at least half my ass would stare boldly back at anyone lucky enough to catch me in the act.

"Mmmm... wardrobe emergency," I whispered, licking my lips. "And I know just how to fix it.

I tugged the waistband of my skirt up a few inches, raising the hem until the PVC edge flicked across the bare swell of my ass cheeks. Perfect. Now shorter than I had planned. Naughty enough to feel right.

As I started to move, the front hemline patted my clit and pussy lips--each touch sending a shiver deep into my core.

With every step, the hem swished--tickling, teasing, applauding my boldness. The front seam slid between my thighs, brushing slick skin, then flipping up with every stride, baring my naked ass to the empty aisle.

Each sway of my hips made the glossy hem slap against my clit.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Never hard enough. Never fast enough.

Every tap sent a sharp jolt straight to my core. Every curve of my spine threatened to flash my swollen, glistening slit.

I was soaked. Swollen. Sensitive.

My long, stiff nipples strained against the thin white linen of my shirt--clearly outlined, unmistakable. The fabric brushed them gently with every breath, every motion. But, they were begging not for cloth, but for lips. For mouths.

I strutted up and down the book aisle, pretending to glance at titles--but really, I was playing. Modeling. Posing just so. Imagining how I might look to someone suddenly walking into my aisle.

"Walking into my aisle," I whispered, biting my lip at the delicious double meaning.

There was definitely an aisle between my thighs now--and it was wet, open, and aching for attention.

Hot. Slick. Gaping.

Free of lace, restraint... or shame.

The delicious feel of air kissing the sticky lips of my pussy, the curve of my ass catching the light with every step--it was intoxicating.

But freedom came at a cost.

In tugging the skirt up to free my ass-curves, I'd hidden something else I loved.

That perfectly sculpted lower waist.

The soft dip just above my hips.

The gentle hint of cleavage where my spine disappeared between my ass cheeks.

The hard V that tapered down my pelvis, pointing straight to my slit.

And now it was all tucked away, hidden beneath PVC.

And, that wouldn't do.

I wanted to flaunt it all.

The smooth plane of my belly.

The tight V plunging into my cunt.

The shadowed dip of my spine, the tease of dusky curves--ass and pussy both.

If I had to choose? I wouldn't.

I wanted it all on display. Simultaneously.

I pouted--briefly.

The sensation of PVC tapping my clit had its own rhythm. With every step--tap, tap, tap--right on my most sensitive spot. I could feel it swelling, aching, desperate for more.

But those soft taps weren't enough anymore.

I needed slaps. Fast. Hard.

Maybe it would be harder if I walked faster, I thought.

My thighs flexed, my ass bounced, and my hips swung in wide, wanton arcs--like I was strutting down a private runway built for sluts without underwear, without shame.

The skirt obeyed.

Tap, slap. Tap, slap.

Each bounce hit my clit like a live wire--jolting through me, making my thighs tremble, making me throb, making me crave more.

My ass was practically performing--bouncing, jiggling, putting on a dirty little show with every step. In my head, the sound of each bounce was thunderous applause from my imaginary audience, loving every second of my fantasy runway tease.

And then the thought hit me:

Would they see how wet I was?

Would they notice the flush on my ass?

Would they hear how soaked I'd become... just from walking?

I laughed softly. My invisible audience was loud now.

"Touch it," one whispered.

"Slap it," another hissed.

I obeyed--hand dipping between my thighs to spank my aching pussy.

But I struck plastic.

Not skin.

I growled. Again. Still PVC.

That damn skirt had slipped down again--covering the very parts I craved to flash.

I was furious.

I had betrayed them--the horny audience in my head, aching for a peek at my soaked, swollen pussy.

The skirt's downward slide had been inevitable.

My narrow waist couldn't hold the loose waistband for long--not with hips strutting and thighs pulsing.

I paused, catching my breath, and caught a glimpse of myself in the library's reflective window.

There it was--

The flat of my lower belly.

The sculpted V, leading into my slit.

The top swell of my dusky ass cheeks.

The shadowed spine, vanishing into the cleft between them.

My lips curled into a slow smirk as my mood flipped up instantly.

My audience had something equally captivating to feast on.

"Why not both?" someone from the audience pleaded.

I smiled. Who was I to deny my fans?

I wasn't born to behave.

I was born to make you lose your fucking mind.

I pulled the waistband of my skirt up again--then rolled it down by the same amount.

Now the hem sat exactly where I wanted it.

The waistband clung low to my hips, tight and submissive.

The hem flirted with the curves of my ass, revealing everything--

The deep taper of my waist.

The flare of my hips.

The top and bottom curves of my dusky, round ass.

And the sweet, glistening flashes of my swollen, dripping pussy.

Now, no one had to choose.

They had it all.

The crowd applauded and I bounced like a horny cheerleader, the hem of my skirt slapping against my clit with every jump.

Thwack. Thwack.

The skirt's hem smacked my swollen clit with every bounce.

I bit my lip, stifling a moan as my slick smeared warmly down my inner thighs.

I twirled, strutted, and gave a full-blown pornographic ramp walk, swinging my hips like I was fucking the air.

The absurdity made it hotter.

But the illusion shattered when I caught my reflection in the window.

The skirt's thick waistband, now rolled over a few times, looked... bulky and cheap.

It bunched awkwardly, like a desperate stunt.

I didn't look like a sleek, smartly dressed slut anymore--I looked like a desperate whore playing a rich girl dress-up.

That illusion of calculated seduction had slipped. I felt like a slut, yes--but not a stylish one. And worse, the tight roll dug into my lower belly, making me feel both restrained and utterly ruined.

That's when I heard it.

Footsteps.

Getting closer.

My heart slammed--not from being exposed, but from looking like the disaster of a whore instead of the flawless fantasy slut I wanted to be.

My reputation was at stake.

My hands flew to the skirt, unrolling the waistband in a flash, restoring its smooth fall while keeping the hem hiked.

Crisis, mostly, averted. But then--fuck.

My panties - bright yellow, calling-for-attention, still on the floor, creamy and damp, like evidence at a crime scene.

Shit.

I darted toward them, scooping them up fast, already imagining how it would've looked--me, panties in hand, cheeks flushed, skirt barely covering my slit.

Too much. Unless... unless I liked who saw me.

The footsteps stopped. Then... faded.

Gone.

I peeked around the corner. No one. Not in my aisle. Not in the next.

I sighed, disappointed. I badly wanted to be seen.

My arousal had peaked with the risk--and now it was cruelly unresolved.

I returned to my aisle, panties still in hand, cheeks flushed.

What if someone had caught me holding them?

The thought made me blush deeply.

But, I resolved not to be too obvious until I liked who saw me.

I unzipped my handbag that was kept on a nearby stool. As I shoved my hand inside to finally tuck my panties away, my fingers brushed against something cold and metallic.

Scissors.

My eyes lit up and my heart skipped.

Suddenly, I had a solution to all my problems.

I darted out swiftly, checking a few more aisles--empty. At least in my half of the library, I was alone.

Good. I could enact my strategy safely, if I acted fast.

Back in my aisle, I moved like a girl possessed - panties still in my hand as I forgot to tuck them in the handbag in a hurry.

The aisle stretched between two 25-foot bookshelves, narrow and open at both ends. By now, I knew every book genre placed in this aisle, which had also been my private stage today--every ramp walk I'd done today had been here. Now, was the time for more!

Dropping the panties on the stool, next to the handbag, I unzipped my skirt, took it off, and discarded them too on top of the stool.

What remained on my body was just a white-linen shirt:

Paper-thin, Loose, Sleeveless.

Cropped--barely hanging three inches below my tits, never in touch with my flat belly.

Buttoned-down--Just 3 of them:

First button--Flirting with the top curves of my cleavage.

Second: Strategically stitched an inch above the level of my nipples.

Third: An inch below the bottom swells my tits.

No bra. No panties. Nothing else.

I stood nearly naked in my college library during working hours, in broad daylight.

And my black block heels anchoring me like a bitch ready to be discovered and fucked.

I moved the handbag and panties to the floor as I needed the stool cleared.

Spreading the skirt flat over the seat, I bent forward--slowly, theatrically--to retrieve the scissors from the handbag kept on the floor, carefully keeping my knees tight together and straight, like a good girl showing off, following the same sinful protocol.

As if reading my mind, my shirt slid again, this time completely, pooling around my shoulders.

Nothing was hidden now. Not even a little.

If anyone walked into the aisle right then, they wouldn't see a student.

They'd see a slutty little showpiece--bent over, naked, wet and inviting--putting her fat, Indian ass on full display--thirty-five inches of dark, filthy fuckmeat jiggling over her thick, muscle-packed thighs and legs made to be spread. Her cheeks bare and shameless, begging for a slap, a grip, or a load.

I closed my eyes and begged silently. Please... someone come. See me. Use me. Anyone. Please!

My pussy throbbed. I was leaking, trembling, open.

My clit felt like it had its own heartbeat.

I wanted to stay like this for eternity.

But, No. I couldn't look like whore--I wanted to be a stylish slutty tease!

So, I stood, flushed and shaking, the scissors trembling in my hand. The shirt dropped back around me--trying to shield me.

Time for the real work.

I bent again slightly, this time over the stool to start cutting the skirt to shorten the length.

My shirt hung away from my body completely, like a curtain pulled aside.

Anyone walking in from the front would get the full view down my open shirt--nipples stiff, tits hanging free, belly taut, pussy swollen and glistening, slick trailing down thighs begging for lips or fingers.

And if they came from behind?

Oh god. My favorite angle.

My glistening, aching, open cunt adorned with a narrow waist, sculpted back, perfect ass, and those long, toned legs stretching down in heels.

My whole body said one thing: Come ruin me.

My hands were shaking--either from adrenaline or arousal, I couldn't tell. Probably both.

The scissors hit the floor with a loud clatter.

I was running out of time.

Cutting PVC with those tiny scissors felt like trying to chisel marble with a toothpick--but I wasn't crafting a skirt anymore. I was sculpting sex. This wasn't just tailoring. This was foreplay.

I picked up the scissors again, gripping them with purpose, and hovered over the hem of the skirt.

I recalled that the skirt had landed three or four inches below the curve of my ass--reaching the upper thighs--when I stood straight.

Prudish. Not anymore!

I guesstimated four inches above the hem and started slicing, praying that I didn't undershoot. The blades sliced through the material slowly, stubbornly, like they knew the sin they were unleashing.

The final cut was neat and smooth--almost professional--except for a slight dipping curve in the middle, making the length shorter in the center.

It was no longer a skirt. It was a weapon.

Without wasting another second, I slipped the skirt up my thighs and over my ass. The waistband rested gently just below my pelvis.

I turned toward the reflective library window to admire my wicked handiwork.

My dusky Indian skin glowed against the black PVC.

The sharp V of my pelvis pointed straight into my hidden slit.

The curve in the middle of my skirt's new hemline boldly revealed the glossy cleft of my dusky pussy lips and a scandalous peek at my ass crack on my back.

The sides of the black skirt hung slightly lower, barely covering the tops of my thighs, drawing the eyes back to the center like a dark frame around naked art.

I was a walking fantasy, and I fucking knew it.

And I would look like a sex goddess if I used a little bit of makeup. Sluts always carry some in their handbags.

As I bent down to pick up the handbag from the floor, I felt the skirt riding up my ass--uncovering it fully.

Mission accomplished!

I did it--it was a moment of slutty pride.

Standing straight again, I put the handbag down on the stool and retrieved my lipstick--glossy, dark pink--the color of mischief.

I smeared it across my lips, watching the gleam dance in the light. Bold and deliberate.

Then I crouched slightly, with one hand down between my thighs, I painted my lower lips too--the soft, wet ones dripping obscenely.

The slick, pink pout of my cunt--my slut signature--practically begged to be kissed.

I wasn't done.

I picked up the scissors once more, held them to the top button of my shirt, and snipped.

The button popped off like a champagne cork, clinking across the floor.

The remaining buttons struggled to hold back the twin threats of my rock-hard nipples.

The broad, reckless plunge of cleavage was in full display as the next button was just barely holding above my nipples.

As much as I adored the sight in the reflective window, I had to admit: welcoming someone in the library of my own college blatantly showing off my half-naked pussy and ass felt a bit too scandalous and reckless.

It wasn't the exposure that bothered me--God, no--The danger was that, anyone, just anyone could walk in--

A professor, his glasses slipping down his nose, his eyes catching the glossy dark pink between my thighs.

Visiting parents--imagine a mom in a saree angrily staring at the dad's ogling eyes lingering too long at the parted crack of my ass cheeks.

A janitor wheeling in his mop trying to wipe my dripping wet cunt.

Or maybe a whole group, catching me mid-bend, my slick folds glistening in the light.

Just imagining all of this made my pussy clench and clit throb.

God, I wanted it.

But as much as the thought made the desperate slut in me craving to be fucked on the spot, I wasn't ready to be thrown out of college or cuffed with my legs spread or marched to the police station with my skirt up around my waist.

No, not like this.

I needed to be subtle... calculated.

I'd let them catch glimpses, let curiosity build. I'd play it slower.

Let the skirt slip just enough.

Let the curve of my ass peek out a bit.

Let my pussy glisten in flashes, not in full view.

I'd reel them in with glimpses.

And when I saw the hunger in their eyes--then I'd open wider.

Then I'd let the show begin.

Then I'd give them everything.

With these thoughts, I pulled the hem of my skirt downwards, just enough to frame the wet curve of my freshly damp pussy.

That was the maximum safeguard possible as the waistband had already settled dangerously low on my hips--lower than modesty allowed--revealing the deep cleavage of my ass.

I was finally ready--ready to welcome my guest(s), in anticipation.

As I waited, I tucked away the scissors and lipstick in the handbag.

Then, I picked up and twirled the four-inch wide black PVC band I'd cut off the skirt--slightly curved and wider in the middle.

I held it up to my chest and giggled--Would it fit over my tits like a crop top? Hehehe.. Maybe!

Would it hold?

Might pop off with just the right movement--It'd be slutty. I chuckled.

That was tempting.

Very tempting.

I was just about to pull my shirt off to try my new custom-designed crop top on.

But then came the thud.

Leather boots approaching--firm and measured.

Boots.

Heavy.

Confidence.

Male.

Closer with every step.

I prayed he didn't turn in another aisle like the last person did.

My heart raced. My pussy clenched.

With a devilish smile, I went to take my position.

I spun my back to the sound of the footsteps--slightly bent over the stool--legs straight and together, pretending to tuck my PVC crop-top into the handbag.

"Oh Fuck!" I cursed myself instantly, as I felt the hem slid up the ass slightly, exposing a little of my ass-crack below it.

Since the top of my ass-crack was already exposed, I looked like a 'desperate slut, ready to be fucked'.

That was not what I had planned.

I wanted to play it slower.

But, it was too late now.

There was no going back.

"Oops... Sorry" I heard a startled voice--masculine, deep and warm, as the footsteps stopped behind me.

His voice melted my pussy.

I had an audience. Finally!!

All my prayers were answered.

And the sound of his voice made me like him already.

My nipples stiffened. Pussy dripped.

"Play it slower, Neha--play it slower" I reminded myself in my head.

"Err... hi," I squealed and jumped in response, turning around to face him.

And also to hide my 'desperate slut, ready to be fucked' look from him.

But, I was mistaken--what he saw now was equally slutty.

The jump made my tits jiggle under the loose, thin white shirt.

The cropped shirt hung over my tits like translucent curtains, held by the sharp-long nipples--as the top button rested just above them.

My cleavage gaped wide--deep, decadent and bold.

Dusky Indian skin barely hidden behind the paper-thin white fabric.

God, I looked like a wet dream.

And those long, stiff brown nipples? Proudly on display, daring him to look away.

He stood there--frozen, except for his bulge. My eyes could trace the outlines of his growing lund.

Standing as tall as me, wearing a white nerdy shirt tucked into his high waisted loose denim pants, he checked me out from top to bottom.

His hungry eyes tracing every inch of my body--my whole beautiful, artistic and naughty gallery on a slutty exhibit.

The cropped shirt ended miles above my navel--completely unveiling my tapered waist and the flat plane of my lower abdomen.

The swaying split ends, below the last button of the cropped shirt, threatening to uncover the skin right below my tits.

The sharp V of my pelvis pointed straight into the slit beneath my tiny skirt.

And that dangerously low waistband only made things worse.

The glossy pink-painted lips of my dusky Indian pussy tried to peek through the arch of the PVC skirt's new hemline. The sides dipped slightly lower, barely covering the tops of my thighs, framing the heat between my legs like a dark border around forbidden art.

I was a sinful fucking fantasy--and every inch of me knew it.

His mouth parted like he was going to say something, but all that came out was a nervous breath--hot and shallow.

His gaze dropped to my nipples...

lingered...

then drifted lower...

slower...

like he was afraid the moment might vanish if he looked too fast.

But, his lund gave away as it twitched in his pants profusely.

Staring at his lund, transfixed, I smiled--a slow fuck-me-and-thank-me smile.

His piercing eyes traced the curve of my smiling pink lips, as if he was imagining pumping his throbbing lunnd in and out of my slutty mouth.

"The librarian said the Fantasy section was back here...", He blurted, breathless, trying to sound casual.

I felt the tremble in his voice.

His blabber licked my clit with every breath--thick lips working without even touching me.

I smirked to myself--Aren't you already facing your damn fucking fantasy right now?

Can you handle it?

She's without panties and is dripping wet.

"Probably that way," I gestured...

shifting sideways, sensually... inviting him to slip past...

He hesitated. Then stepped closer.

As he moved sideways--facing me, to squeeze past--his deep breath grazed my chest--stiffening my nipples tighter and weakening my knees.

Unwilling to balance my body, I almost dropped myself onto him.

As he struggled to shift past me, my tits pressed into him--my twin rock-hard arrows scratching his chest.

Wanting to feel his bulge on my pussy, I thrusted my hips forward, making him struggle a bit too much.

His lunnd grinded me eagerly, as he huffed and puffed trying to rub past.

Then came the snag.

As he passed, disheveling my skirt and shirt, the pin of his belt's buckle caught the lowest button of my loosely hanging shirt.

A sudden tug.

A breathless jolt.

My body jerked forward--dragged with him like a slut being claimed.

Our eyes dropped between us, and froze.

There it was--my dusky right tit, fully exposed beneath the displaced shirt.

The brown nipple pointed straight at him--swollen, rock-hard, and shameless--sizzling under the heat of our breath.

Me, flushed and wild.

Him, frozen and fucked.

His gaze glued to my naked tit--hypnotized.

His mouth parted.

No words--just a gasp.

His lips twitched, trying to form something... anything.

But all that spilled was a whisper: "Fuck..."

God, the way he said it--like he was cursing and praying at the same time--sent a pulse straight to my clit.

He didn't look away.

He couldn't.

And he didn't dare try.

I watched his throat work as he swallowed hard--like the sight of my nipple was stuck in it.

"Sorry," he finally croaked, but he didn't move. Didn't blink. Didn't even look away.

God, his apology tickled.

"Are you?" I moaned.

He blinked. Swallowed. Eyes still fixed.

And I didn't flinch. Didn't fix my shirt.

Instead, I arched my back--just slightly--letting that stiff brown nipple jut even prouder, like it had something to prove.

He shifted. Lund, in his pants, twitched again.

I smirked.

Embarrassed, he tried to untangle us--hands trembling, fumbling with the button, muttering apologies under his breath.

I glanced down. And, saw what he probably didn't.

My skirt's waistband had slid up and hid my belly button.

Surely, his lund did it when he'd squeezed past me earlier.

His tight crotch had nudged the waistband, and the erected lund tugged it upward like a leash pulled by hunger.

And, it meant that my pussy--my clit--every inch--was completely exposed below the skirt.

Although I couldn't see it myself, as it was not in my POV (point of view), I knew exactly how it was.

Did he see it? Not sure.

Even his rock-hard lunnnd could not assure me of him seeing my dripping wet cunt, because the poor fellow had had too many shocking reasons since it arrived here.

I watched his face.

His initial shock of seeing my naked tit had turned into an embarrassment by now.

No new shock was there.

He surely hadn't seen my cunt, not yet.

I was disappointed, and my pussy determined.

Still stammering, still apologizing, trying to free his belt, his fingers remained tangled in my button--his thick, long and intimate fingers, extending from his firm, massive and strong hands.

Back of his trembling fingers brushed against my naked tit...

His face flushed.

My pussy leaked.

I almost pleaded with him to tear my shirt apart and molest my tits.

But, he was nervous, flustered, and apologetic.

I decided to take matters into my own hands.

So, I brought my hands on top of his, pretending to help him untuck the belt--but only caressing, playing, and provoking him to crush my tits.

Still unwilling to take the initiative, he didn't budge.

But he didn't resist or push back either.

I knew he wanted me.

But why did he restrain so much?

Couldn't he see that I was dying to be fucked?

Did he think that I would charge him with harassment?

Or the fucker was just teasing me with his shyness, trying to get me to the edge?

Would he be more daring when he saw my dripping naked cunt, inviting him to kiss its glistening pink lips?

With this hope, I reached the button and popped it open, freeing his belt.

He stepped back slightly--giving us a little breathing space--but not enough to bring my bare pussy in his POV, yet.

Another short step back would allow him to see it.

But, he won't move.

One, he didn't know what he was missing.

Two, he couldn't resist staying close to me.

Fuck... what a view he had now.

Though not to my cunt, but to my shirt--which was hanging on by just one last button, barely covering my left nipple, and desperately trying but miserably failing to hide the tit under it.

The swaying tails of the shirt, split below the only button, played peek-a-boo with the lower half of my left tit.

And my bare right tit? It stood shameless. Brown nipple, thick and swollen--jutting out like it needed his mouth. Daring him to lean in. Daring him to bite.

I stared at his face, silently demanding him to: take the dare, right away OR tear apart my shirt, first.

He felt my fiery stare.

Further embarrassed, he dropped his gaze, cheeks flushed, eyes falling to the floor.

His eyes widened and froze out of another shock.

There, on the floor between us--lay my bright yellow lace panties, a little wrinkled, a little crumpled.

So delicate. So slutty. So damn mine.

A flashy proof of what was missing below my naughty-girl skirt.

A dirty secret dying to be found.

The first shameless sign of the dripping, desperate hole throbbing between my legs.

Already soaked and aching to be stuffed, a sloppy little cunt begging for a long hard lunnnnd before he ever got here.

His lund jerked. And, shuddered, trying to break free.

Time to up the ante--I decided.

"Will you pick them up, or just stare?" I purred, voice low and wicked--aching for him to bend over.

So that he could get a full, close-up view of my glistening, lipstick-smeared, bare cunt throbbing just inches from his face below my skirt--hiked-up by his own notorious lunnnnd.

Hypnotized by the panties on the floor, looking down, refusing to look away from that shiny yellow lace, he crouched down slowly, rock-hard and shameless.

His head shockingly moved past my pussy--unaware of my raised skirt--denying my naked cunt, his eyes...

His mouth...

His lips...

His nose.

I was shocked.

My pussy was ignored!

How could he not try to check out my naked pussy when it was evident that I was not wearing panties--the same panties that his hungry eyes were locked onto.

His fingertips brushed the fabric, like he needed to feel where I'd been, what I'd done in them, how soaked they still were.

He traced the damp silk with a slow tease, fingers flirting with the glistening lace where my cunt had kissed.

Watching him worship my panties, I softened.

But, I still needed his face in my pussy.

Badly.

I was buzzing with lust.

Burning up, feral with need--I wanted to grind his skull that was hovering right in front of my aching pussy.

Just then, the soft tickles of his hair grazed my slit.

Featherlight and maddening.

Every hair-brushing sent shivers shooting through me, driving me fucking insane.

Each strand dragged across my clit, sending jolts of electricity through my body and making my pussy clench around nothing.

I was on fire.

The need pulsed through every inch of me.

I couldn't wait anymore.

My pussy twitched like it was waving hello, and he just stayed there... teasing me without even trying.

He picked up the flimsy lace, pressing it to his face.

His nostrils flared, greedily inhaling my scent.

My cunt throbbed, desperate to replace those panties in his nose...

In his mouth...

And down his fucking throat.

I didn't just want him near my pussy--I wanted his face buried in it--drowning in slick--tongue shoved deep in my cunt while I ground his nose against my clit.

I couldn't fucking wait.

His head swayed with hunger, still looking down, inhaling the scent off my panties deeply.

Every head-swing crawled his thick hair against my slippery hairless pussy, teasing the clit, sending shivers down my spine.

I swayed my hips slowly, to match with his head-swing, taking the hair deeper in my cunt.

One hand shot straight to my clit, two fingers circling that fat, swollen nub, right over his goddamn head like I was jerking myself off on him--while the other hand grabbed my naked tit.

Fingers pinched that bare, proud and exposed nipple hard until it ached.

My other nipple throbbing for attention, still trapped under that stupid thin fabric, was desperate and begging to be used.

I moved my hand from the clit to that last stubborn button of my shirt and popped it open--finally freeing that gorgeous dusky tit to join its twin and enjoy the party.

Now both tits bounced freely and both nipples were mine to torture.

I grabbed my tits with both hands, fingers digging in. My hands owned them freely--crushing, tugging, and twisting them raw.

The fucking shirt, having no real job, hanging annoyingly over my shoulders, was messing with my rhythm.

Fuck that. I wriggled out of it and dropped the useless shirt on the floor behind me.

Now I was topless in the goddamn library, crushing both tits together--rolling my nipples between my fingers and pinching them until they were red, mean and aching, like they were begging to be punished.

And my clit, neglected, pulsed for more.

But, I had only 2 hands!

One of them had to be freed and made available to the throbbing clit.

So, I crushed my tits together and pressed the long-hard nipples against each other--holding and pinching them together with one single hand--freeing my other hand to dive between my thighs again.

Fingers crushed my clit in sync with every nipple-pinch. I rubbed all three of them together, like I meant it.

Down below, his hair was scratching my cunt rougher, deeper and sharper, taking me beyond the ecstatic heights.

I needed him now--needed to give him everything--tits, cunt, ass, all of it--but how?

That fucking little tiny skirt was still hiding my ass.

How would he grab it?

How would he feel it?

I wouldn't betray him with anything less than full access.

Couldn't let him miss a single fucking inch.

I couldn't let the skirt ruin this!

But, sliding it down wasn't an option--not without moving my pussy away from his titillating hair--and, not without ruining the surprise.

I wanted the reveal to shock him. Make him look up and find a naked slut standing over him, pussy out, tits bouncing, ready to be devoured.

That's when a nasty lightbulb popped in my head.

I dragged the waistband of the skirt all the way up to my underboobs, leaving the hem dangling loose above my uncovered belly button--fully exposing my sharp pelvic V dipping into my slit, once again.

My glistening dusky pussy--obscenely painted with glossy pink lipstick--was shining between my thighs, like it had dressed up just to get licked.

I was naked.

Completely.

In a goddamn college library.

Tits out.

Nipples pinched.

Ass bare.

Pussy fully exposed and dripping...

And this fucking idiot!

Still on his knees, sniffing and licking the crotch of my panties like they were a drug.

Completely fucking unaware that his head had been fucking with the dripping pussy of a completely naked slut--standing right above him--ready to give him everything, only if he cared to look up.

I was on fire--completely undone.

I twisted both the bare nipples so hard that I had to muffle my moans.

Spit bubbled through my mouth and dropped onto my tits, running through my chin.

I rubbed it all over the tits and massaged my nipples with it.

Both my tits were full of my own spit. I rubbed it all over with both hands.

Grabbing both spit-coated glistening nipples in one single hand, mashing them tip to tip and pinching them at once with no mercy, I let the other free hand return to my craving clit and massaged it too with my own spit.

I was unhinged. I needed him to fuck me, eat me, own me.

Then came the move...

Hips shoved forward, pussy grinding against his scalp, I fucked his hair, shameless.

I was leaking...

Actual drops of slick running down my thighs, coating his hair, and glistening in his curls like slut-perfume.

I humped his fucking head, grinding my wet slit against him like he was my fuck-toy.

I gripped his head with both hands, fingers tightening in his hair, and spun it toward my cunt.

"I haven't got all day, lover," I purred.

My voice curled with lust...

"and I'm done fucking around..."

The shock exploded across his face.

His eyes blew wide, stunned, like he couldn't believe the naked cunt, dressed in glossy pink lipstick, right in front of him was real.

His gaze climbed up, then froze, caught between awe and disbelief.

Completely unprepared to see a fully naked slut towering over him...

Tits out--coated in her own spit...

Long hard nipples, roughened and brown-red due to excessive pinching...

Hands holding his head softly, looking into his eyes with love...

And smiling at him with lust, as more spit bubbled through her lips.

His breath stuttered like he'd stepped into a forbidden fantasy.

It was as if his brain had short-circuited at the sight of a personal pornstar...

Waiting just for him...

Naked, shameless, dripping with desire...

Just inches from him...

Close enough to taste.

I pushed forward, thighs framing his head, cunt right at his nose until his breath fanned directly against my slit.

He inhaled sharply.

The scent of my arousal hit him--sharp, raw, heady.

His eyes locked on my pussy lips, flushed and shiny with need.

I didn't wait.

My fingers curled into his hair and yanked his face right into my cunt.

He gasped.

I moaned.

My pussy landed square on his mouth and nose.

He caught on fast...

Tongue out, licking everywhere--slick folds, clit, dripping hole...

His whole face was getting painted in cunt.

I ground harder.. hips rolling, cunt slapping his face.

I didn't just ride him--I used him.

His hands grabbed my ass tight--fingers spreading me open like he owned me.

His nose rubbed my clit raw and lips slurper everything I poured onto him.

I was leaking all over him...

His face was soaked.

His hair matted slickly.

My thighs trembled.

I rocked so hard that I knocked him over.

He hit the floor, and I dropped down with him, straddling his face like a woman possessed.

His hands grabbed my ass instinctively--squeezing, spreading me open--guiding me down harder onto his tongue.

I grabbed his head, held it in place.

His tongue dove deeper.

And I fucked it like it was a lunnnnd.

I moaned again, louder this time.

I could feel every hot swipe of his tongue up my slit, every little circle around my clit.

His nose slid along my folds as I ground down into him, painting his whole face with the glossy pink lipstick of my cunt.

I wanted more...

I needed all of him...

I bent forward, crazed, my hair spilling down, tits brushing against his chest.

One hand reached down and unzipped his pants--the other hand slid in, wrapped around his lunnd.

Thick.

Hot.

Pulsing.

I pulled it out and stared at it for a bit...

Then, I wrapped my lips around it and stuffed it into my mouth...

All seven fucking inches of it... while his tongue stayed deep in my cunt, licking like he wanted to live inside it.

I sucked hard.

No teasing.

Just full-on, throat-deep, spit-roasted sucking.

He matched with me quickly.

His tongue darted in deep--licking greedily--lapping up the slick dripping straight from my core.

His nose pressed against my clit, the friction maddening, sending shudders up my spine.

He ate my cunt like it was the last meal of his life.

I sucked his lund like I needed it to breathe.

His moans vibrated against my pussy.

I moaned on to his lund.

It was raw.

It was filthy.

And none of us wanted it to stop.

We were locked in a filthy loop...

Me riding his face, him holding my ass and burying his tongue deep inside me, while I sucked him like he was the only man I'd ever need.

Suddenly the lund jerked and erupted right in my mouth without a warning, catching me off guard.

Flood of cum dripped from my mouth to his groins running through my chin.

His moans rumbled into my cunt, as the lund continued jerking in my mouth.

I moaned right back onto his lund.

Realizing that he would lose his hardness soon, I sucked the lund faster and harder like a whore on fire, cheeks hollowing, his cum leaking down my chin.

I wanted to feel his hardness in my mouth for as long as possible...

On every spot inside my mouth...

Inside of the cheeks...

Inside of the lips...

Inside of the back of the cheeks...

Tongue...

Under the tongue...

Sides of the tongue...

Sides of the back of the tongue...

Tonsils...

Deeper Tonsils...

Oh God...

I needed it everywhere...

For much longer.

I slurped and puffed and slurped the remaining hardness until both of us were drenched and dripping in each other.

I rested my face next to his beautiful Indian lund, relaxing in front of my eyes peacefully, feeling its warmth on my cheek.

My cunt, still undone, quivered on his dead face.

I don't know how long we rested there, like that.

When I came out of trance, it hit me that I was still lying naked on top of a stranger, in a sixty-nine, in my college library--easy to be discovered by anyone looking for the damn Fantasy section!

The crumpled black PVC micro skirt around my underboobs made it all look sluttier.

I jumped to stand up and dragged my skirt down casually, not bothering what it covered and what not, and squealed-

"Get up, Mister. We need to hurry up; someone may..."

My mouth froze open, unable to complete my sentence, as I watched him pick up my thin white shirt, laying next to him, and use it to wipe the cum and saliva off his lund and groins.

"Don't worry, no one will", He said, getting up slowly.

"How can you be so sure?" I murmured, as I watched him tuck his soft lund in, and zip his pants up.

I hoped that he was wrong. And I yearned for someone to walk in.

I was clearly not done--not yet.

"I locked this part of the library before coming here", he said, casually checking me out from top to bottom.

"WHAT! HOW? Who are YOU?"

"Nice to meet you, slutty girl. I am Kumar, the Librarian."

"Fuck.. No. You are not. I know the librarian" I squealed.

"I am. I joined this week, as the old one quit."

"Holy Shit! But, why would you lock this part before coming here?"

"Because, the slutty ramp walk on my CCTV computer screen was too hot to resist. I needed live action"

"Fuck.. Fuck.. Fuck..! So, you will use the videos to blackmail me now?"

"Not if I know the name of the slut who sucked my cock without asking for my consent, not even my name."

He smiled--his eyes darting my cum soaked lips and chin.

"Neha", I blushed, looking down.. "And, err.. Lunnd"

"Whaat?"

"Lunnd.. It's called Lunnnnd. Cock is so basic."

"Ummm.. I see.. Lund sounds sexy in your voice" He moved closer.

"And... in my mouth?"

"Err.. You didn't let me see my lund fucking your mouth... Maybe some other time... but the view of your bouncing ass sitting on my mouth was mind-blowing. So, thanks for blowing my mind and lund at the same time" He whispered, chewing each word.

His seductive words reddened my face--as he wiped all the cum off my lips and chin--slowly and seductively--using the shirt that had just cleaned his lunnd.

My eyes glued to the floor in shame.

He followed my eyes and discovered my shiny yellow panties still lying there.

He bent and picked them up, and casually slid them in his pocket.

"I guess you don't need them anymore", He looked into my eyes sharply.

"I never do", I was still looking at the floor, sheepishly.

My nipples were hard again.

Maybe because of his darting eyes.

Or maybe because of his cheesy talk.

Or maybe because of the way he claimed my panties and asserted his ownership of them.

"Why do you wear them then?" His piercing eyes talked to my bare pussy--my skirt not covering it fully.

I hesitated slightly, and croaked -

"Because, I love to take them off...

I love to take them off at places where it is shocking to find them...

I love to take them off where there is a risk of someone watching me do it...

I love to take them off when I know of someone discreetly watching, thinking that I didn't know...

And, sometimes, I just love to leave them for someone to find them...

And, sometimes, like today, I allow someone to claim them for their pleasure!"

He was dumbfounded. His lund bulged his pants again.

Keeping his eyes locked into my pussy, he crouched in front of me and pulled the panties out of his pocket.

With both hands, he spread the panties, in front of me, hooking his fingers and thumbs in the waistband, gesturing me to lift my leg to wear them.

I couldn't be more astonished.

He wanted me to wear them back!

And, he wanted to do the honours himself.

This was so seductive and romantic!

But, I didn't want to wear them...

I was loving the feel of air on my pussy...

I didn't like to wear panties anyway--Not after losing them once.

Yet, I couldn't turn down his sultry gesture.

So, I lifted one foot and slid it in.

Then, I lifted the other and slid it in too.

His hands then gently and carefully pulled the delicate fabric up my thighs, gesturing me to lift the skirt.

I pulled it up--all the way to my underboobs, again.

And watched him admire my delicious bare pussy, so up close!

He kissed it softly and sniffed it deeply, before pulling the panties up, tight in my pussy, until it couldn't move up any further.

Then he slowly pulled down my skirt over the panties, bringing it back to its original position.

The bright yellow lace of the waistband of my panties stuck up a good three inches above the very low rise waistband of the skirt.

And the bright yellow crotch tantalizingly close to peek out when my black pleated skirt would flip the way it does when I walk.

He stood facing me, up and close, diving deep into my baffled eyes, and cupping my crotch rough.

And whispered -

"I guess there's still a long day ahead...

And you're still dying to lose your panties, just for someone to find.

Someone who may or may not know you, but who would know exactly who the discarded panties belonged to.

Because today, everyone is going to see what panties you're wearing...

Until, you're not wearing them anymore!"

His words made me shudder--and cum on his hand--instantly.

Dumbstruck, I watched him turn around and walk away.

There I stood...

Almost naked, once again...

In the 'Fantasy' section of my college library...

His seductive voice, still echoing in my ears...

Enticing me to walk out, for my next slutty exhibitionist adventure...

My cum-soaked thin white shirt, completely unwearable...

And the tight crotch of panties--hiding between my pussylips--splitting them apart--assuring me of my bare pussylips... before I head out...

To be continued...

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