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Bedarte Profile Bedarte Profile views: 223 Fanbase: 2 About Me Not filled in yet Interests Not yet filled in Signed up: 1 month and 16 days ago Images viewed: 0 Images uploaded: 23 Gender: Male Birth: 20/04/1966 Location: East Timor Last Online: 8 days ago Connect with Bedarte Send Message Add Comment Become a fan Add to relations Status updates Comments (0) (See All Comments) Bedarte Comments: 8 Commented on Oct 4, 2026 "The afternoon sun slanted across the pastel walls of her bedroom, casting long, warm geometric angles of light across the mattress. Outside, the world of Bayside High was fading into a distant blur, but the heavy, ambient static of the day was still vibrating right beneath Kelly Kapowski’s skin. Ninety minutes earlier, she had been sitting in third-period history class, her body locked into a high-stakes game of physical containment. The individual purple cotton miniskirt she wore was short enough to require her specific, deliberate attentiveness to guard her lap, yet during a sudden, unstudied swivel to speak to a classmate behind her, the lightweight fabric had fluidly ridden upward. The brief, visually striking glimpse of her delicate, small pink panties had registered instantly on the substitute teacher, Rod Belding, who had met her eye with a sly, devilish grin. Kelly hadn't done it on purpose, but the sudden, mutual acknowledgment of that accidental exposure had left a tangible wash of unspoken tension hanging in the classroom air for the remainder of the lecture. Now safely behind her locked bedroom door, Kelly began the quiet process of settling into her private sanctuary. She shrugged off the floral miniblazer and kicked off her white Keds, letting her bare feet sink into the carpet. Underneath the structured jacket, she was wearing only a thin, body-clinging plum top. Shorn of any extra layers and completely braless, the lightweight fabric rested directly against her skin, registering every breath. She stood before the full-length mirror for a brief, honest moment, watching her reflection. The cool air of the room contrasted with the radiating baseline warmth of her body, causing the outlines of her nipples to become firm, smooth, and tightly puckered against the plum material—forming a visual map of her readiness. She turned away from the mirror, her mind already shifting gears into a heightened, slightly altered mental state where time began to stretch. Reaching down, she gathered her purple miniskirt and pulled it up to her waist, leaving her lap completely free but keeping her small pink cotton panties firmly in place. Her body’s natural responsiveness was already at a self-replenishing, eleventh-grade peak; purely from the power of replaying Rod's devilish grin, a continuous, heavy transduction of tropical nectar had already begun to pool at the center of the fabric. To protect the cherished childhood teddy bear she kept on her bed, she practically layered a small, dry hand towel over its back before lying flat on her stomach, positioning the cushiony object directly beneath her pelvis. By targeting the resistant core of the bear an inch above her clitoral glans, she concentrated her full body weight over the internal roots of her anatomy, bypassing the overwhelming sensitivity of the bud to build a deep, radiating reservoir of pressure. She began making slow, rhythmic downward pressing motions and quiet forward-and-backward slides against the towel. The physical effort was clear in the mirror across the room, where the muscles of her bottom visibly tensed and released with every movement. Through the tight, wet cotton of her underwear, her erect clitoral bud received a continuous, highly sensitized bath of vicarious slippery jostling. The thin pink fabric had become an active participant, soaking through so thoroughly that it darkened into a deep, rich rose gradient as her Skene's glands overflowed. The transgressive, scandalous thrill of using her school clothes and her forbidden thoughts to drive her system to a crisis flooded her with a sudden shot of adrenaline. The baseline heat surged past her plan for control, and accepting the wave with a wholesome, unvarnished self-trust, she quickened her pelvic rocking against the bear, letting a sharp, functional initial crescendo break beautifully right through her clothes to flush away the day's immediate nervous static. The room settled into a heavy, dreamlike stillness as the first release cleared her mind, but the engine was still running at full capacity. After a few slow, stabilizing breaths, Kelly pushed herself upright to sit on the edge of the mattress, transitioning into the long, mindful second phase of her pacing ritual. The dark rose pink panties were now completely warm, snug, and inseparable from her shape. Using her fingertips on the outside of the damp cloth, she began applying a series of precise, circular massages over the physically risen-up fullness of her clitoral hood. She was actively learning the language of her own desires, shifting gears by gliding her imagination through different candidates—using the abstract, reckless energy of Eric Hudson to stoke the fire before intentionally pulling her hand back, allowing the hood to slide down to cool the fire and extend her plateau. When the deep internal reservoir was completely saturated, she reached past the final threshold. Sliding her bare fingertips beneath the delicate waistband, she manually and permanently retracted the hood, baring the plump, mirror-slick glans of her clitoris to direct touch. Her analytical mind went entirely offline, replaced by a wordless focus on the raw physicality of masculine arousal. She thoughtfully circled back to the face of the classroom candidate, visualizing how his mind would be completely overwhelmed with erotic fascination by the secret depth of her nectar. As her fingers executed a fast, fluttering rhythm against the bare bud, the absolute inevitability of her release signaled through the micro-pulsing tissue. On the first and second contractions, she held her anatomy completely bare, riding the deep, internal waves of heat. Then, on the third contraction, the dam broke. Her pelvis involuntarily bucked forwards and upwards in total surrender. Her fingers relaxed, letting the hood slide back down as a magnificent, 12-contraction crescendo rippled through her entire frame. Her Skene's glands operated at a peak, self-replenishing level, forcing a massive, pulsed eruption of paraurethral fluid to cascade out in successive, warm ripples that completely flooded the fabric. She lay back against the pillows as the final pulses faded into a profound, cellular stillness, entirely at peace, completely grounded, and carrying the sacred, dried manuscript of her Tuesday awakening safely integrated into her identity as a woman."   Addicted2Nutti Comments: 122 Commented on Sep 30, 2026 "Oh my god mm"   See All Comments | Add Comment

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