【無修正】濡れ濡れ制服パイパンおまんこ

So there I was, finally getting to see her in that 制服 濡れ濡れ パイパン state we’d been teasing about all week, and honestly, nothing could’ve prepared me for how it actually went down. She’d sent me a few blurry photos earlier, pretending it was just a casual work thing, but the second she walked through my door, I could tell she was already soaking through that thin little skirt—the fabric clinging to her thighs like it was glued on, and the white blouse so damp at the collar that I could practically see the outline of her bra. We didn’t even make it to the couch; she pushed me back against the kitchen counter while I fumbled with the buttons, and she laughed that low, shaky laugh she gets when she’s nervous but determined. Her hands were trembling too, but not from cold—she’d been texting me all day about how wet she was getting just thinking about this, and when I finally slipped my fingers under the waistband of those pleated shorts, I felt exactly what she meant. It was like she’d been waiting for permission, and the second I touched her, she gasped and grabbed my wrist, not to stop me but to press me harder against her. I remember the way her breath hitched when I knelt down, and how she tangled her fingers in my hair, whispering that she’d been imagining this for hours. The whole thing was messy and rushed and perfect—her skirt bunched up around her hips, my shirt still half-buttoned, neither of us caring about the puddle forming on the floor. She came so fast the first time, gripping the edge of the counter like she might fall, and then she pulled me up and kissed me with that same desperate intensity, like we were making up for lost time even though we had all night.