₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊Ｐａｎｔｙ Ｓｔｅａｌｅｒ₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊
cw: panty sniffing, size kink, tied up, humilation, sweat licking. wc: 4.2k 𐔌՞. .՞𐦯
You heard her before you saw her—Abby’s deep, determined grunts echoing from the far left of the WLF stadium gym, the sound cutting through the muffled thuds of barbells and the low chatter of soldiers starting their day. It was exactly seven in the morning, the time when the first rays of Seattle sunlight seeped through the cracked skylights, turning the dust motes gold. Even now, months into your new life here, you couldn’t shake the surreal feeling of living in a football stadium repurposed for survival. Rows of weight benches lined the walls beneath old, faded banners, and sandbags sat where cheerleaders once danced.
You tried to focus on your squats, feet planted on the cold, rubbery turf that had replaced the field. But your gaze kept drifting to Abby. She was a force of nature, her body gleaming under the overhead floodlights—broad shoulders stretching her tank top, thighs rippling with muscle beneath battered cargo shorts. You caught the way each droplet of sweat traced down the sculpted lines of her arms and chest, her breaths low and focused as she pressed the barbell up and down with a steady rhythm. She was doing bench presses, her face set in a mask of pure concentration, jaw clenched and blonde hair tied up messily to keep the sweat out of her eyes.
You had seen her here every morning since you and your sister arrived from the east coast, battered and desperate for sanctuary. The stadium had felt intimidating—rows of sleeping quarters, the sharp scent of disinfectant and sweat, the wary glances from WLF patrols—but Abby had been kind from the start. She’d guided you through your first awkward patrol briefing, corrected your grip on a rifle without a hint of condescension, and offered you food in the mess hall when she saw you hovering, unsure of the unspoken rules.
Not that she was all softness. You’d seen her barking orders at rookies who froze up during drills, voice hard as steel. Maybe you needed that, you told yourself—a bit of discipline after so long running from chaos. But here, watching her now, all you could think was how effortlessly she seemed to belong. How beautiful she was. How safe she made you feel just by existing.
You set your barbell down and sat back on your heels, breath quickening as Abby racked her own weights and sat up, wiping sweat from her brow with a towel. She caught you staring and cracked a crooked, tired smile. It was just a little thing—barely a tilt of her lips, a glint in her eyes—but it sent your heart pounding against your ribcage. You managed a shaky smile back, then hurried off the turf, desperate to steady yourself before anyone noticed.
The stadium locker room was always a chaos of damp towels and battered boots, the air thick with the scent of soap, bleach, and something earthy you could never quite name. Your hands shook as you spun the dial on your locker, but the door didn’t budge. Wrong locker. You realized too late—this was Abby’s row, not yours.
You froze, suddenly hyper-aware of the world around you. The clang of metal pipes against the tiled floor. The dull roar of the stadium beyond the concrete walls. Your fingers hovered over the battered lock, but curiosity won out. Abby’s locker was slightly ajar, a scatter of polaroids taped inside the door—images of her and her friends, some smiling, some blurry from motion, moments of happiness amid the storm. Gym clothes were tossed in a careless pile at the bottom, yesterday’s shirt tangled up with her black sports bra and a pair of worn shorts.
You told yourself you were just moving things aside to get a better look at the photos, but your hand brushed something softer—her underwear, crumpled and still faintly warm from use. Shame and desire twisted in your gut. You didn’t mean to… but you slipped them into your pocket, heart hammering with guilt and something else you couldn’t name. You ran to the bathroom stalls, breath shallow, the sounds of the stadium growing muffled as you slammed the door and slid down against the cold, graffitied metal.
Your legs trembled as you sat there, knees pressed together on the icy, pitted metal of the toilet lid, the fabric clutched in your hands. Abby’s underwear was soft and warm from the heat of her body, the black cotton worn thin from so many early mornings and brutal workouts. For a moment you just stared at them, heart slamming against your chest. The air in the stall was humid, thick with steam from the communal showers and the lingering scent of bleach, but Abby’s scent—earthy, electric, a blend of salt, skin, and something sweet—rose from the garment like a secret.
You pressed the fabric to your nose and breathed in, deeply. Sweat, clean soap, a trace of her musky heat. Beneath it all, a faint sweetness lingered, something delicate and feminine that made your mouth water and your thighs clench. The shame was dizzying, but the pleasure was sharper. You bit your lip, muffling a quiet moan as you fought the urge to bury your face in the fabric and stay hidden forever.
Suddenly, the echo of footsteps bounced off the cracked tile outside the row of stalls. You froze, blood turning to ice in your veins. Then her voice—Abby’s—cut through the cavernous space, rough and searching.
“Anyone in here?”
Your heart plummeted. She was so close now, maybe a few paces from your stall. You pressed yourself back against the partition, holding her underwear tight in your fists, trying to will yourself invisible. But between your legs, you throbbed with a forbidden ache, as if your body didn’t care about the risk.
Her heavy boots stopped just outside the door. You could see her shadow shift beneath the stall, the blocky shape of her shoes, the familiar bend of her knees. Abby knocked gently, voice suddenly softer—almost vulnerable.
“Janice?” she called, a note of genuine concern threading her words.
You swallowed hard, scrambling for composure. Your voice came out shaky and raw. “Yeah?” You tried to sound casual, as if you weren’t sitting there with her stolen underwear pressed to your lips.
“Did you see anyone open my locker?” Abby’s voice wavered—just a little. You could picture her standing there, arms crossed, brow furrowed in worry.
Shit. She must’ve noticed already. You coughed, feigning nonchalance, your palms sweating around the stolen fabric. “No… sorry. Haven’t seen anyone,” you lied, the words nearly catching in your throat. You knew she was good at reading people. She’d clocked you the first day, picked up on your nerves and the way you clung to your sister. Now, you could almost feel her stare, cutting through the thin metal like a blade.
There was a long pause—so long you thought she might say something else, or force the door open. But at last Abby just grunted, voice clipped and suspicious. “Okay,” she said, and her footsteps retreated, fading back into the drone of the gym.
You sagged with relief, thinking you were in the clear. You tucked the underwear hastily into your waistband, adjusted your shirt, and waited until the coast was clear. When you finally stepped out, the light seemed brighter, harsher, making your skin prickle with embarrassment.
But Abby was there, leaning against the wall across from the sinks, arms folded tight over her chest. Her eyes pinned you the moment you stepped out, sharp and unreadable.
“Not gonna flush?” she asked, raising a single eyebrow, voice low and dangerous.
Your words tangled in your mouth. “I—I was, um… I just—” Your face burned, blood roaring in your ears.
Abby didn’t move, just clicked her tongue, the sound echoing in the tiled room. “Right,” she said flatly, but there was something wounded in her expression, something that almost made you want to cry.
You tried to sidestep her, desperate to escape, but as you brushed past, something slipped free from your waistband and fluttered to the floor—the black cotton, a crumpled, damning secret.
Abby bent to pick it up, her movement slow and deliberate. She held the underwear in her hand, looking at it, then at you, her blue eyes clouded with confusion, anger, and a glint of something else.
“Is this…?” Her voice was gentle, not accusing, but weighted with concern.
You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes, humiliation choking your words. For a split second you wondered if you should just run—sprint out into the chaos of the stadium, disappear into the crowd, never come back. But your legs wouldn’t move. You stood there, caught, exposed, and trembling—waiting for whatever Abby would do next.
Abby let out a low, throaty chuckle, her gaze meeting yours with a feral sort of amusement as she slowly closed the distance between you. Backed up against the rough, cold concrete wall of the locker room, you felt so dangerously small—like prey trapped by a much stronger animal. She was so much taller, broader; even in the dim stadium light, you could see the carved definition in her arms and shoulders as she planted one palm flat against the wall, pinning you in place.
In her other hand, she still clutched her discarded underwear—your filthy little secret, now held up for both of you to see. She didn’t hesitate. With almost casual force, she pressed the worn black cotton right to your nose, her hand wide enough to cradle your jaw and hold you there, trapped beneath her gaze.
Your breath stuttered in your chest. Abby’s scent was thick and dizzying—sweat, skin, something raw and unmistakably her. You tried to play it off, tried not to show how your whole body ached for more, but your eyelids fluttered at the intensity of it. She saw right through you, a slow smirk curling on her lips as she leaned in.
“Dirty,” Abby murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, but it echoed like a command. Her eyes flicked up and down your body, taking in your trembling thighs, your parted lips. There was something wolfish in the way she looked at you—hungry, yet in control.
You squirmed, trying to shift away, but her body pressed flush against yours, heat radiating from her sweat-soaked skin. Her grip never faltered, the fabric still tight to your face, forcing you to breathe in nothing but her—the earthy, intimate funk of a body pushed to its limit.
She watched you for a long, charged moment, as if weighing what to do next. Then, with a sudden decision, she seized your wrist and guided you out of the main locker room, down a narrow hall lined with old jerseys and faded banners, until you reached the supply closet—one of the few places in the stadium where you could be truly alone. She shoved open the door, the sharp scent of cleaning solution and rubber mats hitting you in a wave, and pulled you inside.
The room was cramped and cluttered, boxes stacked to the ceiling, a battered mop bucket in the corner. Abby sat on it like it was a throne, her powerful legs spread wide, eyes burning into you.
“How bad do you want it?” she asked, her voice thick—cracking with nerves, as if admitting she’d never done this before. Her tough exterior faltered for half a second, and you saw the vulnerable girl beneath.
You nodded, biting your lower lip so hard you tasted blood. “I’ll do anything,” you whispered, your words trembling with need.
Abby’s eyes darkened, her jaw set. She thought for a moment, then reached for her tank top, stripping it over her head with practiced ease. Next came her shorts—tossed aside until she sat before you in nothing but a sports bra and her own, sweat-damp skin.
“Lick the sweat off me,” she commanded, her voice suddenly harsh and low.
Your knees hit the hard tile as you crawled toward her, hands shaking. You started at her thighs—broad, muscular, covered in a fine sheen of sweat from her relentless workout. You licked slow, deliberate circles, savoring the salty tang, the way her muscles flexed under your tongue. Each pass of your mouth sent a shiver up her spine; you could feel her pulse hammering just beneath the surface.
Abby watched you, breathing uneven, one hand tangled in your hair. “Touch yourself,” she ordered, voice almost desperate.
You moaned in response, slipping a hand into your pants, your fingers finding heat and slickness instantly. Your free hand gripped her calf, nails digging in for purchase. You moved up to her abs, licking each hard-earned line, tracing the path of sweat from her belly button up to the curve beneath her sports bra. You sucked and nipped at her skin, leaving tiny purple marks in your wake.
She bit her lip, a soft groan escaping as her head lolled back, exposing the strong column of her throat. You licked there too, feeling her swallow, the tremor in her body matching your own mounting urgency. You were getting close, so close, your thighs trembling as you rocked your hips against your own hand.
Abby suddenly pressed her thigh between your legs, pinning you still. “You can’t cum,” she ordered, voice breaking, breathless.
A needy whine escaped your lips. You pressed your forehead to her leg, breathing in her scent, desperate. “Why?” you managed, voice barely more than a whimper as you gazed up at her, wide-eyed, pleading.
That did something to her. She gripped your hair tighter, jerking your head back until you met her eyes—blue, wild, and burning. “Because you’re a nasty girl who likes to sniff panties in the locker room,” Abby growled, her teeth bared in something halfway between a snarl and a smirk.
You whimpered, circling your clit with trembling fingers, your mouth working at her thigh, marking her skin with dark hickies as the muscles there clenched and quivered. Abby’s own control seemed to be fraying. She groaned, tossing her head back, sweat trickling from her temple down the corded line of her neck.
“Beg for me to touch you,” she said, her voice rough and commanding, her chest heaving as she watched you fall apart at her feet.
You could barely think, barely breathe. Your world narrowed to the taste of her skin, the ache in your core, the pressure of her hand in your hair. You looked up at her, lips swollen, tongue wet, desperate. “Please… please touch me, Abby. Please. I need you.”
She didn’t wait. Abby grabbed your face, shoving you between her thighs, grinding her heat against your mouth. The rough fabric of her sports shorts scraped your cheeks, her scent so thick it was all you could taste and breathe. You moaned into her, licking desperately, your nose pressed to her dampness, her hips rocking shamelessly against your lips.
“Come on, slut,” Abby groaned, her voice reverberating through you. You whimpered and pressed harder, your tongue tracing her through the fabric, lost to everything but her.
“Please… mph… touch… me,” you begged, the words muffled by her thighs and the thick, intoxicating heat of her body. You were drowning in Abby, and you never wanted to come up for air.
Suddenly, Abby wrenched you away from her, her grip as unyielding as steel. You tumbled backwards, limbs sprawled awkwardly across the cold, sticky linoleum of the supply closet floor. The mop bucket rattled nearby, the sour-sweet stench of disinfectant thick in the air. Before you could even catch your breath, Abby’s hands were on you—large, calloused palms gripping your hips as she yanked your shorts down in one rough motion, then tore your panties off with a force that made your skin prickle and burn.
A whimper of protest escaped you, mortification burning hot across your cheeks, but it was cut off almost instantly. Abby balled up her own damp, black underwear and shoved them between your lips, silencing you.
“Shut up,” she commanded, her voice a ragged growl that brooked no argument.
You nodded quickly, biting down on the fabric, the taste of her salt and sweat flooding your mouth. Shame and want tangled inside you as her hands forced your thighs wider, pinning you down. Then her mouth was on you—her tongue flicking over your clit, rough and hungry, sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. The sensation made your back arch sharply off the dirty floor, your hands scrambling for anything to hold onto as you shook beneath her relentless touch.
Her tongue was relentless, swirling, sucking, working you over with bruising intensity. Every nerve ending felt like it was lit on fire. You moaned around the wad of fabric in your mouth, your sounds wet and muffled, desperate for more.
Then, without warning, Abby pressed a finger inside your slick, the invasion sudden and overwhelming. She groaned into your heat, her breath hot against your skin as she moved her finger with practiced authority. Your hips jerked, trying to squirm away from the all-consuming pleasure, but she was too strong, holding you in place as her tongue and finger worked in tandem.
Frustrated by your resistance, Abby suddenly withdrew, her finger slipping free and leaving you empty, raw, and aching. Your hips bucked instinctively, chasing the friction, eyes brimming with helpless tears. All you could do was shake your head, mouth stuffed and cheeks wet, begging her silently for more.
She just laughed—a dark, throaty sound—and reached behind her for a length of rope, coiled and forgotten in the corner. In seconds, she had your wrists tied to your thighs, your legs forced wide and open, your body completely exposed and unable to close itself off.
“Don’t move so much, then,” she said, her voice rough with desire as she leaned over you.
You sobbed into the fabric, humiliated and needy, as her finger slid back inside you. The rope bit into your skin, holding you open for her mouth as she returned, tongue lapping at your clit with renewed purpose. You writhed in your restraints, body trembling violently, moans stifled by the cotton between your teeth.
Her tongue drove you higher, pleasure mounting like a tidal wave, every muscle locking up as your orgasm built to a fever pitch. You could barely breathe, your chest heaving, tears streaking down your cheeks as you bit down on the taste of her.
But just as you reached the edge—shaking, about to tumble over—Abby pulled away, ripping her fingers from you, leaving you gasping and denied. You screamed into the fabric, the sound torn and raw, body thrashing against the rope, desperate for release.
Abby only laughed, settling back on her heels to watch you. She relished the sight of you writhing helplessly, hips bucking for friction, knuckles white from straining against your bonds. Your pleas were hopelessly muffled, your thighs slick and trembling, your voice nothing but broken whimpers.
She let you struggle like that for long minutes, her gaze heavy and unreadable. Your whole world narrowed to the burning ache between your legs, the pressure in your chest, and the soft, forbidden taste filling your mouth.
You sobbed, shaking, as your body begged for what only she could give.
“Mel and I were planning to try this in here,” Abby said, her voice nonchalant but edged with something sharper.
At the mention of Mel’s name, your whole body stilled beneath her. The fabric was still thick in your mouth, muffling the tiny whimpers that tried to escape. You’d always known there was something complicated between Abby and Mel—those glances, the shared secrets, the tension that crackled when Owen wasn’t around—but you hadn’t realized their flirtations had turned physical. The idea of Abby planning to fuck Mel in this closet sent a sharp ache of jealousy through you, mingling with your humiliation and your need.
A sudden metallic clatter echoed off the cement walls, drawing your attention back. You looked up as best you could, thighs trembling, wrists still bound, drool wetting the edge of the stolen panties between your lips. Abby was bent over her duffel bag, thick arms working at a tangle of nylon straps and gleaming steel rings—fingers surprisingly nimble as she assembled a black harness. She stood and let the harness dangle for a second, cocking her head, then buckled it tight around her hips.
“I guess it’ll be good to practice on you before I fuck her,” she said, a wicked little grin flashing across her face as she clicked everything into place. You saw the cock she’d picked—a massive, rubbery shaft, cartoonishly thick and long, the kind you’d only ever seen as a joke in supply crates or black market stashes. Your eyes went wide, head shaking in disbelief, brows knitting in fear and anticipation.
Abby noticed your look and bit her lip, laughter dancing in her blue eyes. “Big stretch,” she teased, lowering herself between your spread thighs. With her calloused hands, she lined the toy up with your entrance, her knuckles brushing your slick, sensitive skin.
You barely had time to steel yourself before she pressed forward, the toy splitting you open in one, slow, unrelenting push. Your back arched hard off the sticky floor, a strangled whine vibrating against the panties in your mouth as the fullness sent shockwaves through your body. The stretch was so intense it was almost painful, a kind of overwhelming pleasure that bordered on nausea. You squeezed your eyes shut as tears slipped down your cheeks, overwhelmed by the sensation and by the way she watched every twitch, every cry.
For a moment, Abby just held there—her chest heaving, sweat dripping down the carved line of her jaw, the rubber cock buried inside you to the hilt. The pressure was dizzying, your wrists throbbing from the rope as you shivered beneath her.
Finally, she leaned forward, voice gentling as she reached for your wrists and undid the knots with swift, practiced motions. “Hold onto me, baby,” she murmured, her breath hot against your ear as she peeled the soaked panties from your mouth and tossed them aside.
You gasped, lungs filling with her scent and the sharp tang of sex, then buried your face in her neck, arms flying up around her shoulders. You clung tight, your thighs shaking as you wrapped your legs around her waist. Abby pressed a kiss to your temple—surprisingly soft—before rolling her hips, thrusting deeper. You cried out, breath ragged, as her body ground into yours, the toy driving so deep you felt it in your stomach.
You could feel the base of the strap-on pressed tight against Abby, knew it was probably grinding against her, too. The friction, the slick heat, the pressure—it was almost too much. You tried to twist away, overwhelmed, but Abby only growled and pressed a gentle kiss to your tear-streaked cheek.
“If you keep squirming, I’ll have to tie you up again,” she warned softly, her voice thick with lust.
You whimpered and nodded, digging your nails into the freckled skin of her back, grounding yourself in the solid weight of her. Abby moved with a merciless rhythm, her hips slamming into yours, her voice turning into a soft, ragged moan as she pressed her mouth to your ear, tongue swirling around your earlobe. The sensation was almost agonizing, pain and pleasure fusing until you thought you might come apart.
The world shrank to the sound of her breath in your ear, the slap of her hips against yours, the wet sounds of your body clinging to hers. The pleasure built, overwhelming, your muscles fluttering and spasming around the toy as your climax climbed higher and higher.
Suddenly, Abby clamped a strong hand over your mouth, muffling your gasp. “Someone’s in here—be quiet,” she whispered urgently, her lips brushing your cheek. You could hear footsteps out in the hall, the murmur of soldiers passing by, voices echoing against concrete.
Your body shook, heat spiraling out as you squeezed your eyes shut, thighs quivering as your orgasm crashed over you. You squirted, a rush of wetness splattering between your bodies, soaking the harness, the floor, everything. Abby groaned at the mess, hips thrusting even harder as she rode out the waves of your pleasure, the only sounds your slick and the distant hum of stadium life outside.
Her palm pressed tight over your mouth, holding in your cries as she drove you through another orgasm, your body shaking uncontrollably, legs clamped tight around her waist. You bit down on her hand, desperate to keep quiet, desperate not to draw the world in.
Then, just as suddenly as she’d started, Abby pulled out and away, the toy slipping free and leaving you empty, aching, still trembling with aftershocks. She stood quickly, tugging her shorts and shirt back on, her eyes unreadable.
“Stay here. I’ll be back later,” she said quietly, her voice rough with need and something more tender beneath.
And you did. You lay there, ruined and dripping, every muscle twitching, staring up at the flickering fluorescent light—waiting, heart hammering, for Abby to return and wreck you all over again.
tehehehe :3
