The Morning of the Long-Awed Proxy Attendance
The morning of the long-awaited proxy attendance day finally dawned.
As always, Geon-yul woke up first and shook me awake, pressing a well-washed pair of trunk panties into my hand.
“If we’d had just a few more days, I could’ve bought new ones. Why’d the coach have to tell us the day before of all times?”
“It’s not the coach’s fault. Blame the guy who ditched without notice. Anyway, good thing we got the wig and bandages.”
“True… Sigh. Let’s just get ready to head out.”
This was the bitch-accompanied dormitory. If I stepped out of the room already disguised as a guy walking side-by-side with Geon-yul, it’d look suspicious as hell. So we decided to leave the dorm in my women’s school uniform first.
“I’ll hit the bathroom. I’ll make coffee while you’re in there.”
Like always, while Geon-yul was in the bathroom, I squeezed out my breast milk and mixed it into the coffee. My breast milk extraction skill had leveled up so much I could hum a tune while doing it now.
Once the coffee was ready, I tagged out with Geon-yul and headed into the bathroom, women’s uniform and his trunk panties in hand.
The door creaked shut, completely sealing off the outside world.
Man, these are really the panties Geon-yul wears every day…?
The moment I was out of Geon-yul’s sight, I unfolded the trunk panties and examined them with a lecherous gaze. They looked brand new—no signs of wear anywhere. He must’ve gone out of his way to make sure they were spotless, worried I’d be uncomfortable. Probably picked the oldest pair he had, the one he’d worn the longest.
“Haa… haa…”
But Geon-yul had definitely lived in these—maybe even gotten hard in them countless times, smearing sticky precum all over the front.
That thought hit me: disgust at how dirty it felt, but my breathing quickened anyway. Wearing panties stained with the precum he leaked from getting hard over my body. Sure, they were cleaned spotless now, but imagination was a hell of a drug.
“Uh-hehe…”
I snapped to and realized I was standing in the middle of the bathroom, rubbing Geon-yul’s panties against my nose. The mirror reflected it all—my face twisted in a sleazier, more vulgar expression than I’d ever imagined.
“…What a fucking loser.”
The room was soundproof anyway, so I hurled the insult freely at my reflection. What the hell was I doing, sniffing panties that only faintly smelled of detergent and deodorizer?
If they’d been fresh off him, reeking of male pheromones, I could’ve blamed instinct. But this? No excuses.
Riiip! I tore off some toilet paper to wipe my dripping pussy, then slipped on Geon-yul’s trunk panties.
I checked myself in the mirror, spinning around to make sure nothing looked off. Wearing them felt awkward and alien. The fit was familiar enough, but these had zero sex appeal—made for guys, not girls. If my girlfriend saw me in these at a motel, the mood would die instantly, words or no.
They’re breezy and comfy, though…
This weird dissatisfaction nagged at me. I thought of my drawer stacked with cute panties.
I’ll change again once we’re out anyway.
With a sigh, I took them off, put on my usual bra and women’s panties, then threw on the skimpy school uniform top.
“Phew.”
The mirror showed a totally different girl now. The underside of my tits peeked out, teasingly erotic, and my lower belly—home to my baby-making womb—was bare as could be. The skirt was so short, one wrong move and my white panties with the pink ribbon would flash everyone. They were my cutest pair, the least embarrassing for others to see.
Damn, this outfit’s slutty as hell. Cute, but still.
In the real world, just walking around like this would get me a lecture from a cop for public indecency. Even most hookers wouldn’t wear this. Add the puppy headband and tail plug in my ass, and it was next-level.
But… something’s off.
I glanced down at the trunk panties in my hand. Wearing plain, unsexy underwear like this under baggy pants and a loose shirt should feel more normal—more comfortable, guy or girl. Yet somehow, this Bitch Class uniform felt more natural right now. Tail plugging my ass, tits squeezed tight, skirt fluttering with every step.
Then what the hell am I?
A bitch?
Slap. I lightly smacked my cheek.
“No way that’s true.”
My pussy had gotten wet again in the meantime, so I tore off more paper for a final wipe before heading out.
On the way to school, I ducked into a men’s restroom midway, stripped off the women’s uniform, and changed fully into the men’s.
I’d worried my small frame and short height wouldn’t match a guy’s uniform, but luckily, the student I was proxying for—Su-hyun—had a similar build.
Even as a bitch, he owed me one, so borrowing his uniform and gym clothes was no issue.
Plus, no one batted an eye at a bitch entering the men’s room. Not even when Geon-yul and I slipped into the same stall.
“Fuckin’ hurry up and spread that pussy—one thrust less, make it quick!”
“Y-yes, sirrr…”
Just toss out a line like that passing students, and they’d assume we were about to fuck—no questions asked. Men’s restrooms were crawling with bitches, female bitches, onaholes—you name it.
And public restrooms always have a Toilet Meat stall for each one…
Crossing the men’s room, I squeezed my eyes shut at the “[Toilet Meat Stall]” sign I’d glimpsed earlier.
[Toilet Meat Stall]
A line of guys stood waiting. One in, one out system, apparently.
Seeing that made me vow to study harder. I’d take onahole class over Toilet Meat Class any day.
I changed in another stall on the sly.
“It’s so cramped. Scoot over a bit.”
“I’m up against the wall already!”
“Your tits and ass keep brushing me!”
“Hey, that’s just your body…”
The stall was tiny, so Geon-yul saw everything—stripping naked, ditching my underwear for the trunk panties.
We’d seen each other bare countless times, so it was just embarrassing, not mortifying.
Why cram two into one stall? Simple: the benefits outweighed the shame. Changing was faster with help. Geon-yul wrapped the bandages around my chest himself, had me brace against the wall, then yanked the uniform pants up from my ass to my waist.
“Whew, all set.”
Smack!
“Kyaaang?!”
The second the pants were up, Geon-yul slapped my ass with his thick palm. My legs shook as I whipped around, glaring at him.
“You turning into the coach or what?”
“Nah, it was just too smackable.”
“One free pass this time…”
“You gotta tough it out, though. You’re a guy for the day, right? ‘Bro skinship’ comes with the territory.”
“Y-yeah, true. I’m a dude. Used to it.”
“Good.”
We faced each other in the cramped stall, running through the final rules.
“Keep talk to a minimum. Even if you lower your voice, it’ll still sound girly. If someone brings up stuff you don’t know, play it off and come find me.”
“Heehee, you’ll protect me, right?”
“Fuck, why the aegyo all of a sudden? Fine at girl mode, but not like this.”
“Why so serious? Pfft, kidding. Looks like the disguise turned out pretty good.”
“Yeah, dead ringer for the guy. Ready to head out?”
“You go first, I’ll follow in a bit. Oh, right—take off my collar before you go.”
Geon-yul unclasped my custom bitch collar last. Hiding it meant concealing I was owned—making me fair game for anyone. It also disabled the collar’s functions: contraception, auto hair removal, glans recognition.
Now, if I got creampied, pregnancy was on the table. Body hair might sprout below my neck. A day without it was fine for hair, but losing glans recognition was huge.
Means I’d get soaked even for some other guy’s dick. Just one day, but back to that dangerous pre-contract state.
Geon-yul left first. I sat on the toilet, wondering if I could survive the day. Tough, but also a huge chance for me.
Creeeak. When I emerged, the pre-class rush had cleared the bathroom. Bag stuffed with my old clothes in hand, I bolted out—then froze at the “[Toilet Meat Stall]” again.
[Toilet Meat Stall]
No such thing in women’s rooms. Toilet Meat were strictly men’s-room fixtures—adult toys in human form.
Curiosity got me; I cracked the door for a peek.
As expected: a woman sprawled out, pussy fountaining cum in spurts. Body splattered with semen and piss, used condoms scattered, colorful dildos—standard issue?—rolling on the floor.
“Urk, the stench…”
Correction: not a woman, not Toilet Meat—just a slab of fuckmeat for disposal.
Did all Toilet Meat Class girls get this? Worse than onahole-class Jin Ha-eun. Horrifying beyond imagination, but I couldn’t groan or curse—had to silently close the door.
Never end up like that.
If my disguise failed, gangrape could leave me that broken. But don’t get caught, problem solved. And worst case, I had Geon-yul as my shield.
Like I’d let any guy but him fuck me.
One man only—past, present, future. I checked my wig one last time and headed to class.
Rattle!
But the second I opened the classroom door, I knew this day wouldn’t be easy.
Hold up.
Men’s class meant guys all day, every day. Thicker, muskier male stench than the soccer locker room—sweat, fresh from toilet meat with cum reek wafting, even a guy mid-fuck with an onahole girl. Precum tang, early summer sweat, that fishy night-bloom scent mixing deep into my fetish nose.
“Oh… ohooo…”
Full-body heat, pussy in heat mode.
“Oh, what the—? Finally showed? Thought you were ditching again, you crazy fuck Su-hyun.”
Boom—crisis from the jump. A gorilla-lookin’ dude—Su-hyun’s friend?—closed in, swinging for a “bro prank” ass smack.
Move!
I locked eyes with distant Geon-yul, feet finally unstuck. Clamped my mouth, shook my head wildly, and dodged.
“Whew.”
Standing still would’ve meant ass-slap orgasm on entry. No relaxing in this minefield men’s class cross-dressing life. I reminded myself, sharp.