Exhibitionist Girl Goes to the Mall

The summer sun blazed mercilessly upon the small town, its rays cooking the asphalt and baking the air into a thick soup that hung like a suffocating blanket over everything it touched. It was one of those days where even the birds had stopped singing and the trees stood still, waiting for relief from the unrelenting heat. But I couldn't stay inside any longer; my skin was sticky with sweat, my hair plastered to my forehead, and my clothes were clinging to me in an obscene way that would have made my grandmother blush.

The slowly spinning fan in my bedroom did little to alleviate the oppressive atmosphere, and I knew that if I didn't escape soon, I might just lose my mind. So I grabbed a bottle of water and headed outside, gulping down as much as I could before making my way towards the bus stop.

The walk there wasn't long, yet it gave me time to reflect on how much I hated summer. The heat was unbearable, especially when you had to wear layers upon layers of clothing just to avoid being arrested for indecency. My skirt rode up my thighs with every step, revealing more than it should have, but in this weather anything less would be criminal.

When I finally arrived at the bus stop, I felt like a mess; sweat stains soaked through my shirt and my hair stuck to my neck in thick strands that made me look like an overripe fruit. But I didn't care, since I had a genius plan for cooling off: The mall.

The air conditioned haven was calling my name, promising relief from the heat that threatened to cook my brain. The mall had recently undergone a much needed renovation, with new stores, a whole new wing dedicated to food, and, the single thing on my mind right now, an AC system strong enough to rival a blizzard.

The bus finally arrived, and I squeezed onto it alongside other sweaty commuters, each one of us eagerly awaiting our escape from this cooking sardine can. We rode in silence, each of us suffering together, until I reached the mall. Squeezing once again through the bus's doors, I made my way into the cool haven that was the first step towards salvation.

As soon as I passed the mall's doors, I was blasted by cold air so refreshing it felt like a kiss on my skin. My clothes clung to me no more, but instead slid off with ease, and I could finally breathe without feeling like I was drowning. The AC had done its job, and I reveled in the momentary relief before heading out to explore the stores.

The first stop was a big clothing store. Recognizable brands lined the walls, each one promising cool comfort for the sweltering heat outside. The were couples, men and women, parents and children, all seeking respite from the inferno that was summer. But not me; I needed something different. Something special.

I took my time. Walking through racks of clothes, picking up this and that, feeling their textures against my skin. My hands roamed over silk and cotton, denim and lace, each one calling to me in its own way. I built up a small collection before my next goal: The swimwear section.

There, both sides of the room were filled with bikinis, one-pieces, and more revealing suits that made me wonder if anyone would dare wear them at the beach. After a while, I selected a simple red two-piece, cut low enough to show off what I had but not too much. It was perfect for the heat, and I couldn't wait to try it on.

And then, ​I found the changing rooms, surrounded by the same type of crowd as before, all waiting for a partner or a family member to step out so they could showcase their finds. I had to wait quite a bit longer than expected, and I couldn't help but notice the warning notice. "Caution: Cameras are in use."

Of course, there were cameras everywhere in the mall. It was standard security. However, to deter thieves, they had also put a special notice warning that cameras were filming the inside of the changing rooms. Below the main text, it read: "Do not remove your underwear if you don't want to be recorded".

It was all standard fare to put fear in the clientele no doubt. But my mind wandered elsewhere, imagining what would happen if someone saw me undressing, caught on tape. The thought made me hotter than I already was, and I couldn't wait for privacy.

Finally, an older woman emerged from one room, her husband by her side, and I quickly slipped into it, locking the door behind me. It was small but well-lit, with a full-length mirror that showed my own reflection back at me. No matter what I did, I was always confronted ​with an image of myself.

I grabbed the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head in one swift motion before letting it fall to the ground. My bra followed soon after, its straps sliding down my arms until they hit the floor. My breasts bounced free, small but firm, my nipples hardening under the cool air.

I looked around and at the ceiling, feeling naughty yet exhilarated by the thought of being caught on camera. I couldn't see any, probably a sign that the sign was all for show. I doubt they were legally allowed to film the inside of changing rooms anyway. But still, the thrill made me want more. My own topless reflection, usually so familiar, had never felt so exciting before.

My skirt followed next, slipping down my hips until it pooled at my feet. I stepped out of it, feeling lighter and freer than ever before. I removed my socks and shoes, leaving them in a pile with my clothes, and stood with only my panties on before the mirror. The heat was gone, replaced by cool air that played against my skin like a lover's touch.

I couldn't wait anymore; I needed to go all the way. My fingers fumbled with my panties, pulling them down slowly as if they were the last barrier between me and freedom. They slid off easily, revealing my modest bush below, and I felt free for the first time in weeks.

My underwear lay at my feet, my body bared to the hypothetical camera. As I watched myself in the mirror, I imagined someone watching too, seeing every curve, every freckle, every hair. It was intoxicating, like a drug that made me want more. A thought crossed my mind: What if it was a two-way mirror? What if the camera was behind it, recording me right now?

I didn't care anymore. My hands went to my breasts, cupping them gently before squeezing and releasing. The nipples hardened further under my touch, begging for attention. I pinched them lightly, feeling the pleasure build as they tightened.

The sound of a knock on the door made me jump. I immediately covered myself with my arms in panic. I had went too far and security or even the police might be waiting outside! I grabbed my shirt to cover myself some more, unlocked the door and slowly opened it, making sure only my eyes were peeking out, ready to face whatever came next.

But it was just an older man, holding his own clothes, looking at me with confusion before he left without saying anything. It was over so quickly that I couldn't help but wonder if it was all in my head. The fear, the thrill of being caught, the pleasure of undressing. But I knew better than to take any chances.

I quickly put on some of the clothes I bought, trying them on as best as I could while still feeling naughty from the experience. My body was wet with sweat and desire, a mix that made me feel alive again after weeks of suffocating heat. It was fun to try some new clothes, but the fear from earlier lingered like a shadow.

Still inside the changing room, I removed the cute tank top and shorts I had just tried on. My nude reflection stared back at me in the mirror. Taunting, teasing, it beckoning me to do something more than just try them on. To push my limits further. And so I did.

My fingers slowly slid down my body, tracing every curve, feeling the heat of my skin under my touch. I couldn't help but think about what would happen if someone was watching through that two-way mirror, recording everything I did. The thought made me hotter, more reckless.

I pinched my nipples, squeezing and releasing until they were hard peaks beneath my fingertips. My breath quickened as my hand moved lower, over my stomach and lower still, brushing past my pubic hair to find the wetness between my legs.

My fingers dipped inside, rubbing gently at first before increasing pressure. It wasn't long before I was stroking myself with a steady rhythm, feeling the pleasure build within grow stronger. My legs, shaking, couldn't support me anymore, so I leaned against the wall for balance, facing the panopticon mirror.

I closed my eyes, letting the sensation take control of my body. The red swimsuit was forgotten as I lost myself in the moment, every thought replaced by my overactive imagination. In my mind, whoever was behind the cameras saw everything: my naked form, my hand on my crotch, my hips rocking back and forth. They would probably record myself, forever trapped in that moment. Maybe even call colleagues ​to watch too.

I was rubbing faster now, a hand cupping my right breast, squeezing it hard enough to make me gasp with pleasure. My other one kept up its pace between my legs, fingers rubbing circles against my clit. I thought back to when that old lady left, how close she had been to seeing me. It made me hotter still. What if someone opened the door and saw me like this? What if the entire crowd could hear my ragged breath? My wetness while I played with myself? My own moans of ecstasy I was barely holding in?

It was too much, but I couldn't stop. The heat, the fear, the thrill, it all combined into a perfect storm of lust, driving me further and further until I came undone on the spot. A small but potent orgasm hit me hard, making me gasp for air as I leaned against the wall, panting heavily.

I stayed there for a moment, eyes closed, feeling my body calm down from its peak, my legs still shaking from the intensity. It had been so long since I let myself go like this, to be caught in the act of pleasure, without shame or guilt. And yet, now, with the thought that someone might have seen everything, it felt even better.

Slowly, I cleaned up and put back on some clothes before leaving the changing room, trying not to think about what happened but knowing I couldn't forget it either. The waiting crowd seemed oblivious, all busy with their own business as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred. But for me, it was a moment I would never forget.

I quickly paid for my purchases and left the mall in a hurry. The heat had diminished somewhat outside, the air cooler than when I arrived. But inside, I still felt warm from the pleasure that swept through me, the thought of being caught on camera forever etched into my mind.

And so, despite the heatwave, I climbed on the bus again, returning home, feeling alive and satisfied like never before. I quickly found a seat, and while others around me spoke about their day, I couldn't help but smile to myself: In my post-orgasmic haze, it seemed I had put on my skirt without wearing any panties.

Spreading my legs out a bit, I a different kind of heat grew within me, a secret for anyone who dared to look or not. It was just one more thrill in an already hot summer that made me feel alive and uninhibited.