Candy Nymphia Caress (Level 3) mail warning

A little message to the guys:
Sending me a DM is fine, but please don't open with an unwanted confrontation link.
I understand that it might be hard for you to find a girl to match with. That's the reason you should try a little harder with your first message. Well, I'm even fine with a simple "Hi, how are you?" and a quick chat after.
Just try to be nice, you can still treat me like a slut when we match.

Is it a bad thing that I like being called a slut?

I've been askes about my main kinks; it's the holy trinity of the kinky Cs:
- Collars & Chains
- Cum
- Cock

Not into Hentai or Wrestling, sorry!

I was asked about my
most embarrassing, humiliating but extremly hot sexual encounter
After finishing my bachelor’s degree, I transferred to a new university and moved to a different city. With a modest income, I ended up sharing a flat with two other girls.

My new roommates were nice enough (and still are) to take me bar‑hopping so we could get to know each other and explore the city. It was in the middle of the week, and we only wanted to stay out for three hours, so I chose comfort over looks. My colour of choice was grey—for both the tank top and leggings.

We went to a fairly empty bar, sat down, and ordered drinks. We chattered away until both of my new roommates said they were going outside to take a few hits from their vapes. I don’t smoke or vape, so I stayed inside. I was nearly finished with my drink when one of the bartenders (let’s call him Nick) waved to me and asked if I wanted another one. I nodded and was about to get up to get it when he told me to stay at the table. He brought me my drink and said he had to pass the table anyway because he was going out the back for a break. He mentioned he had never seen me before and asked if it was my first time there. Then he invited me to look around the outdoor area they were building at the back, which should open the next week. I could have a look, see if I liked it, and maybe come back when it opened. Of course I went with him (and I would again).

The outside area was really nice: a BBQ space, tables, plants, and a small bar. Suddenly the guy got very flirty, and I usually flirt back when someone flirts with me. He said something sweet about my cheeks, and I replied, “Aww, for that I could kiss you! How much do you charge for a kiss?” He said the first one would be free. “I’ll take one!” I giggled and got closer. He gave me a quick peck on the cheek—sweet but underwhelming. I said, “If that’s the way you kiss, I’m not coming back for more!” and gave him a longer, nicer smooch. “That’s a kiss, and thank you for the compliment,” I said after letting go of his face.

He stepped back and mumbled something I couldn’t understand. I asked, “What?” His response was, “This one is free of charge.” He moved forward again, grabbed my face, and started kissing me. It was a long kiss that became more demanding. He pushed me back until I was standing against the wall. I was caught in the situation but enjoyed every second of it. One hand let go of my face and went to my hip. He broke the kiss, looked me straight in the eyes, and waited for some kind of objection—but there was none. My mind was blank, and the kissing just felt amazing. What could happen anyway? He still needed to work, so I thought, “Relax and enjoy, right?”

We kept kissing; one hand explored my body while the other held my head. His hand moved over my clothes, wandering up and down. With each downward stroke he went a little farther until his hand finally rested on my crotch. I opened my legs slightly, and he gave me a long, gentle squeeze. I moaned into his mouth. On the next upward stroke his hand went into my top, feeling my skin on the way up to my breasts. He tried to slip his hand into my bra from below; I immediately moved forward a little, put my hands behind my back, and unclasped the bra. He slipped his hand right in and pushed me back against the wall. Our lips stayed pressed together while our tongues wrestled for dominance. He squeezed my breasts and brushed past my nipples. I was a little disappointed when he let go of my breasts to move back down, but that didn’t last long. When his hand reached the seam of my leggings, I instinctively pulled in my stomach. His fingers found the way into my pants and the soft cotton panties I was wearing. He started to slowly massage my mound while working his way down between my legs. I felt his fingers gently sliding along my labia, and I came right on the spot. I moaned in his mouth and began breathing heavily. He opened his lips so I could catch some air and let out some whimpers. His lips then glided over my cheek to my ear, where he whispered, “Wow!” and let me enjoy my subsiding orgasm. The whole time his hand rested under my spasming pussy, gently caressing it.

After the orgasm faded, I turned my head slightly and answered, “Yeah, wow!” probably bright red. He smiled and said, “So kissing really does work for you?” Before I could even think of an answer, he put his lips back onto mine. It felt gentle, like a new beginning. His fingers in my panties came to life. Just as his tongue was parting my lips, his fingers started parting my lips on my pussy. He circled around my entrance to collect some of my wetness, then slowly brought his finger up to my clit. His kisses grew more demanding, his finger circling and nudging my clit. There was no oversensitivity, just pure bliss. My hips started moving against his hand. I was ready for another orgasm and wanted it. While this was happening I kept one hand on his hips and let the other dangle beside me. I reached for his crotch, wanting to feel it. As soon as my hand made contact he pulled his hand out of my pants and pushed my arm away again. I wanted to part our kiss, but he didn’t let that happen. His hand went straight back into my panties, this time rougher and more demanding. He demanded another orgasm, and I couldn’t let him wait much longer. I came hard; I wanted to scream and moan, but he muffled all the sounds with his kisses.

He slowed down but didn’t stop. As soon as my orgasm was over he started speeding up again. His hand was in full contact with my now soaking‑wet pussy, stimulating my clit while sliding one—and later two—fingers inside me every now and then. I went through another three orgasms like that. My legs were shaking and I could barely keep myself upright. I think the only thing that kept me on my feet was the friction from the wall and his hand firmly pressing against me.

Now comes the embarrassment and humiliation:
Even though I was a total mess and couldn’t stand on my own, he kept going—harder, faster, more demanding with his kisses and his hands. He wanted more orgasms from me, and he should get a huge one. I could feel it coming, but this time it felt different. My pussy started spasming around his fingers, my whole body tingling. I came… I came and squirted for the first (and so far only) time of my life. I had no control; it just gushed out of me, soaking his hands, my panties, and my pants, running down my legs. He was as surprised as I was and stopped the kiss. I finally caught some air for a loud moan. I’m sure the whole city could hear that roar. I slowly came down from my orgasm and realized what had happened. He slowly pulled his hand out of my pants, giving my clit one last spark of ecstasy.

He noticed my legs were weak and quickly pulled up a chair. I sat down smiling, but the smile turned to horror when I looked down. I looked like I had peed myself—my crotch was completely wet, and some of the wetness made it all the way down to my kneecaps. Nick suddenly started stuttering, “I… I’m sorry, I… didn’t know…,” unable to finish the sentence. I sat there in silence for what felt like an eternity. Nick then sprang into action, saying he’d get me a few bar towels, and quickly went back inside. My brain slowly started booting again. He came back out with a pack of paper towels, a bar towel AND MY FRICKIN ROOMIES. They started asking questions, which I answered with none. Luckily Nick kept his mouth shut too. They dragged me inside the bathroom, and I tried to dry the mess. The questions kept coming (just like they did outside). I couldn’t and didn’t want to talk.

After doing a basic job of cleaning myself up, I told my roommates I was going back to the apartment. I draped the bar towel around my hips, but it was too short to go all the way around me. I tucked it into the seam of my pants. From the front I looked like I was wearing a mini‑skirt; from the back you could see a big wet patch between my thighs. The walk to the apartment isn’t very long, but it felt like an eternity.

I didn’t leave my room for two weeks, apart from going to university.

Embarrassing? Check!
Humiliating? Check!
So fucking hot? DOUBLE‑CHECK! (I still masturbate thinking about that night.)

Before you ask: Nothing else ever happened between me and Nick. My roommates gave him my number that night, and he kept sending messages asking if I was okay. I started replying after a week, and we became kind of good friends and colleagues. Yes, I work at the bar on weekends now. We often make insider jokes about the incident. We vibe really well together, and he’s an important part of my life.