Being naughty in the cafe goes terribly wrong [Flashing]

In the grimy, dimly lit corner of the rundown café, I watched her leg bounce nervously, her skirt riding up to reveal the lacy edge of her stockings. She was a mess, eyes glazed over, cheeks flushed with a mix of cheap wine and desperation. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her skirt, inching it higher, flashing her thong to anyone who cared to look. She was a slut, no doubt about it, and she knew it. Her eyes met mine, a challenge sparking in them. She spread her legs wider, the scent of her pussy wafting over, thick and intoxicating. I could see her juices glistening on her thighs, her clit swollen and begging for attention. She was wet, soaking wet, and she wanted everyone to know it. Her fingers dipped into her pussy, spreading her lips wide, showing off her gaping cunt. She moaned softly, her head falling back, oblivious to the stares and whispers around her. She was lost in her own world of filth and debauchery, and she was loving every fucking minute of it.

Suddenly, the café door burst open. A gruff voice barked, “What the fuck is going on here?” She froze, her eyes wide with shock. The manager, a burly man with a scowl, stormed over. “You’re flashing your pussy in my café, you little slut?” He grabbed her wrist, yanking her hand away from her cunt. She whimpered, but he didn’t care. He dragged her up, her chair clattering to the floor. “You’re out of here,” he growled. She stumbled, her legs weak from arousal. He pushed her towards the door, his hand on her ass, squeezing hard. She yelped, but there was a hint of excitement in her voice. She loved it rough, and he was giving it to her. As they disappeared into the night, I could hear her moans, her pleas for more. She was getting what she deserved, a hard fucking in the alley, her pussy pounding against the cold brick wall. Her night of flashing had ended, but her night of fucking was just beginning.