Sameena Cleans a Seaside Cafe

Bliss washed over her at the exact same time as the batter. It started in her tautly curled toes, ran through tensed knees, exploded from the pussy she continued to rub until she slumped to the ground in self-satisfied exhaustion. She felt her heart thrumming in her ears for several seconds afterwards, and for that same fleetingly intense time she felt as though she was one with the very molecules of the all the gunk she had coated herself in. She was the slime and the slime was her. Everything felt more... more. Stickier, thicker, slimier. Dimly, she knew she should be repelled by this, but she loved it. She was blissfully, deliberately lost in it.

And then the doors of reality were rudely forced open by the unwelcome guest known as responsibility. The last throes of orgasm faded into pleasant memory, and Sam was left with harsh actuality: she still had to clean this place, and now she was coated in sticky mess. And, despite all her planning and excited anticipation, she hadn't bothered to pack a spare uniform. She glanced down at the damage she had done -- her skirt in a heap on the floor, her stockings both inappropriate and soiled, her polo shirt clinging to her and uncomfortably sticky. She liked how she looked, and the missing skirt actually helped with the heat somewhat, but it wasn't the look of a professional on-shift. It was the flustered, dishevelled look of an unrepentant deviant.

It suited her perfectly.

Yes, she still had the actual job part of her job to do, but it had been worth it. It had been so worth it that she had a sneaking suspicion that she would be thinking about this particular adventure when she got home and had a much needed shower -- never mind the fact that she had to drive home like this.