Mission Day One: The Student Union Bathroom
As the three-hour lecture dragged toward its end, even sitting in my chair had become pure torture. The professor’s voice barely reached my ears. The words on the chalkboard swam in and out of focus. The only thing filling my head was the memory of that morning.
The photo I’d taken beneath the cherry blossoms, top stripped off, breasts completely exposed. The video I’d recorded in an empty classroom with the door unlocked, fingering myself naked. The heart-stopping instant when the security guard walked in. Every second replayed on loop, flooding my lower body with heat.
“Ji-soo, you okay?”
Minji whispered from the seat beside me. I flinched and looked up. The classroom was emptying. Students were standing up one by one, slinging bags over their shoulders. It was already noon.
“Uh… yeah. I’m fine.”
“Why do you look like that? Are you sick?”
Minji’s eyes were full of worry. I forced myself to wear the calmest expression I could manage.
“A little. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“You looked exhausted from the morning. You still need to eat.”
On the way to the cafeteria I walked sandwiched between my friends. This was our usual weekday routine. Minji, Sua, Haeun, and me. The four of us stuck together, attending lectures, sharing meals, hitting the café. The most ordinary college life imaginable.
But inside my body, something decidedly unordinary was happening. The electric memories from that morning raced through my veins and settled heavy in my lower belly. The space between my thighs was slick. Every step made my soaked underwear rub against me with unbearable sensitivity.
I sat in a corner of the student union cafeteria and ordered a hamburger set. While my friends laughed and chatted, I mechanically chewed. The food had no taste. Swallowing felt like a chore.
“Ji-soo, are you actually sick?”
Haeun pulled the straw from her mouth, her straightforward gaze sweeping over my face.
“You looked like you were suffering the whole class. Your expression gave it away.”
“Yeah, I saw it too. You were totally spaced out from the first lecture,” Sua added.
Three pairs of eyes pinned me in place, all of them laced with concern. I dropped my gaze, desperate to hide my burning cheeks.
“It’s nothing… I guess I’m just not feeling well.”
“Where does it hurt? Your face is bright red.” Minji reached out to feel my forehead.
I jerked my head away on reflex.
“I’m fine. Just tired, that’s all.”
It was a lie. Everything was a lie. I couldn’t possibly tell them my body was burning because I had stripped my top off in public that morning, baring my breasts for a photo, then masturbated naked in a classroom while recording video. Shame crashed over me. My friends had no idea what kind of perverted things I was doing.
Yet in the back of my mind, another thought kept circling: where was I going to masturbate before the two o’clock class? I had already done the first one this morning. Now I needed the second of the day, and it had to be in a different location.
You crazy bitch.
I cursed myself silently. My friends were worrying about me, and here I was thinking about where to finger myself next. I really was a crazy bitch.
After we finished eating, my friends stood up.
“Want to kill time at the café until two?” Minji suggested. “We can grab a coffee.”
My heart plummeted. If I went to the café I wouldn’t have time to masturbate. I had to do the second one.
“I… I’ll just swing by the dormitory real quick.”
The lie slid out smoothly, naturally.
“Why? Are you feeling worse?” Sua’s eyes widened.
“Yeah, I think I need medicine. My head’s killing me.”
“Then we’ll go with you,” Haeun said, clearly worried.
“No, it’s okay. I’ll go alone. I just need to lie down for a bit.”
“What about the two o’clock lecture?”
“I’ll make it on time. Once the medicine kicks in. I’ll see you in the classroom.”
They still looked concerned, but they nodded.
“Alright. Text us if it gets bad.”
“Rest up.”
I parted from them at the cafeteria entrance. Watching their backs head toward the café, I turned the opposite way. My pulse hammered. Where could I go?
The dormitory was too far. No time. The library? Too quiet—I was terrified of being heard. The classroom? I’d already used it that morning. It had to be somewhere new.
The student union bathroom popped into my head. It would be crowded during lunch, but if I used a stall and locked the door, it should be fine. The risk felt lower than the classroom earlier.
I hurried toward the restroom, weaving through the hallway crowd. Everyone was rushing somewhere. No one spared me a glance. I was just another ordinary female student. None of them knew my panties were drenched.
I stopped in front of the women’s restroom. The sign was clear. Inside I could hear running water and footsteps. Of course it wasn’t empty. It was lunchtime.
I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. Cool air brushed my face the moment I stepped inside. Harsh fluorescent light poured down. Two girls stood at the sinks, chatting in front of the mirror. I walked past them and headed for the stalls.
The first two doors were closed. The third was open. I slipped in, shut the door, and locked it. A cramped space. White tiled walls. A toilet. A toilet-paper holder. One small window high above.
I set my bag on the closed lid and exhaled. The door was locked. Unlike the classroom this morning, I had that small safety net. I told myself this would be easier.
Even so, my heart thundered. Beyond the partition I could hear voices, footsteps, running water, laughter. People were right there, separated from me by a single thin wall.
My fingers trembled as I grabbed the hem of my T-shirt and pulled it up. Cool air kissed my stomach. I yanked it over my head and hung it on the hook. My bra cupped my breasts. I unclasped it, slid the straps down. The bra dropped to the floor. My breasts spilled free, nipples already stiff and aching.
I shoved my jeans down. They pooled at my ankles, leaving only my panties. Plain white cotton—or they had been white. The crotch was dark, soaked, stained yellowish.
Fucking slut.
I cursed inwardly and yanked the panties down. The wet fabric dragged along my thighs and slipped off. I was completely naked. Standing bare inside a tiny stall while people moved around just outside.
Someone outside began humming. It sounded like they were washing their hands at the sink. I held my breath. My naked skin prickled in the cold air. Goosebumps raced across me. I couldn’t tell if the shaking was terror or arousal.
I pulled the selfie stick from my bag. I had decided that for the entire week I would record every masturbation session. Filming it would be far more intense than simply doing it. I could upload it to Twitter. No—I had to. The mission required raw, unedited footage for a full week.
I attached the phone to the stick and opened the camera app. My naked body appeared on screen. Blurry under the fluorescent lights. Pale skin, heavy breasts, flushed erect nipples. The curve of my waist. The thick patch of hair between my thighs, and beneath it, my glistening, swollen folds.
I’m really recording this.
I tapped record. A red dot blinked in the corner. The video was running.
I wedged the selfie stick against the wall so it captured my whole body. I lowered the toilet lid and sat on it. Cold plastic pressed against my ass. I spread my legs. My pussy filled the center of the frame in close-up.
The sound of high heels clicked into the bathroom. I froze, breath caught in my throat. My heart felt ready to burst.
What if they hear me? What if I can’t stay quiet?
I slid my hand between my thighs. I was already soaked. My fingers parted slippery flesh. Juice coated them instantly. I pushed one finger inside. Warm walls clenched around it. A wet sound escaped—small, but unmistakable.
The high heels stopped. A stall door opened next to mine. I exhaled. Relief and disappointment hit me at the same time.
I pushed my finger deeper, slowly, trying to stay silent. More fluid kept leaking out. Every thrust made my inner walls twitch. Pleasure shot up my spine.
You filthy whore. Doing this with people right outside.
The more I degraded myself, the wetter I became. Someone was literally in the next stall. And here I was, naked, plunging my fingers into my cunt.
Perverted bitch. How desperate are you that you can’t even wait?
The toilet next door flushed. I froze. I held my breath. The door opened. The heels clicked away toward the sinks. Water ran.
I started moving again, harder this time. I curled my finger and scraped that sensitive spot. Pleasure flooded every nerve. I bit my lip to stay silent. A moan crawled up my throat anyway.
Mmm…
The tiny sound slipped out. I clapped my free hand over my mouth. No reaction from outside. They hadn’t heard.
I used both hands. One finger-fucked my pussy while the other rubbed my swollen clit. Juice poured over my fingers and dripped onto the toilet lid.
You’re nothing but a cheap whore. Spreading your legs anywhere, anytime.
All the degrading comments I’d read on Twitter flooded my mind. The ones men left under my photos. This slut should be tied to a street pole and used by everyone.Bitch who only lives to sell her fuckhole.
I hurled every insult at myself. My pussy clenched harder. My fingers drove deeper, faster.
Another door opened outside. Someone new had entered. I stopped moving, finger buried inside me. My muscles trembled. I was so close.
“I’m cleaning the restroom now.”
It was the cleaning lady. I froze solid. Her footsteps passed right outside my stall. I heard her set down her tools. For one terrifying second I thought she might knock.
She simply moved on to the opposite stalls. I stayed perfectly still, finger still buried in my dripping cunt.
Look at me. Finger-fucking myself while the cleaning lady is right here.
The humiliating thought only pushed me higher. My heart hammered wildly. The risk of being caught at any moment. Being trapped naked in a toilet stall. Everything fed the fire.
Finally the cleaning lady left. I let out a shaky breath and immediately began moving again—harder, faster.
Climax rushed toward me. My stomach muscles tightened. My thighs shook. My breathing turned ragged. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. I couldn’t make a sound. I couldn’t get caught.
Ah… ngh…
The moan tried to escape. I forced it back down. Hot breath exploded from my throat. The orgasm crashed over me. My pussy spasmed violently around my fingers, gushing juice. My back arched, head thrown back.
At some point I was staring at the camera. On the screen I saw my own face—eyes rolled back, mouth slack, tongue lolling slightly. It was a perfect ahegao expression. I hadn’t meant to make it. My body had done it automatically. The habit had already taken root.
The orgasm slowly faded. I pulled my fingers out. Thick strands of juice stretched between them. Panting, I slumped against the toilet lid.
Only then did reality return. Had my moan leaked out? Had anyone heard? I listened carefully. The bathroom was quiet. Not completely silent—distant conversation drifted in—but no footsteps approached my stall.
No one heard. They couldn’t have.
I stopped the recording. The file saved. Seventeen minutes and thirty-four seconds of me masturbating completely naked.
I tore off toilet paper and wiped myself. The sticky fluid soaked through multiple sheets. No matter how much I cleaned, the wetness remained. My panties would be ruined again the moment I put them on.
I picked up the soaked panties from the floor. The crotch had gone cold. I forced them up my legs. The damp fabric clung to my pussy. Fresh goosebumps erupted.
I pulled up my jeans, fastened my bra, and tugged my T-shirt back on. I tried to fix my hair. Sweat-soaked bangs stuck to my forehead.
I unlocked the stall and stepped out. At the sink, I finally looked in the mirror. My heart dropped.
My face was flushed crimson. Something—sweat or tears—trickled down my temples. But the real shock was my eyes. They were drenched in lust, still hazy yet burning somewhere deep inside. Even I could see it clearly. This was the face of a woman who had just come hard.
This… is me?
The girl in the mirror felt like a stranger. She looked nothing like the ordinary college student who had applied makeup in the dormitory that morning. What was I now?
I’m turning into a bitch.
The thought felt true. I really was becoming one. Masturbating naked in a public restroom, filming it, then standing here with a face dripping with sexual heat.
I washed my hands. The scent of my juices mixed with the soap. I splashed cold water on my face. The burning heat eased slightly. After drying off, I checked the mirror again.
My face was still red, but my eyes looked calmer. Or maybe I was just trying very hard to make them look calm.
I left the restroom. Checking my watch in the hallway, I saw it was 1:20. Plenty of time. I could walk slowly to the classroom.
Second masturbation mission of Monday—complete.
A strange sense of satisfaction bloomed in my chest. I was actually doing the missions. Two more and today’s quota would be finished. Tomorrow I’d have to find yet another location.
I entered the lecture building, climbed the stairs, and stepped into the second-floor hallway. Outside the classroom door I took a deep breath and composed my face. I couldn’t let my friends notice anything.
As two o’clock approached, Minji, Sua, and Haeun walked in.
“Ji-soo, you feeling better?”
Sua waved. I smiled and waved back. The muscles in my face felt stiff. The smile was forced.
“How’s your body now?” Minji asked, studying my face with concern.
“Much better. Resting helped.”
“That’s good. Your face does look brighter,” Haeun said.
I nodded. Brighter? Maybe because I’d just finished masturbating during lunch. The tension had definitely drained from my body. Post-orgasm languor wrapped around every limb. My mind felt clearer too.
“Yeah, I’m fine now.”
I sat down and took out my tablet. My friends resumed their conversation. I had no idea what they were talking about. I just nodded and smiled at the right moments.
At two the professor entered and class began. I pretended to take notes, staring forward. My mind was somewhere else entirely.
Two down. I still had two more to go today. Where? The dorm room? I could only manage once there. The library bathroom? Another classroom? A different building?
And I had to upload everything to Twitter. I’d review the photos and videos from the classroom and bathroom later. Once I posted them, the men would flood the comments with abuse and degradation. Just imagining it made my pussy twitch again.
I really am a crazy bitch.
I cursed myself once more. Yet a small smile crept across my lips. I lowered my head so my friends wouldn’t see and pretended to write notes.
Throughout the lecture I couldn’t concentrate at all. The professor’s voice became background noise. The words on the board registered only as shapes without meaning.
Instead, my mind kept drifting to my plans for the afternoon and evening. Where would I do the third? The fourth? And tonight, when I uploaded the video to Twitter, what kind of comments would pour in?
Sitting among my friends, pretending to be an ordinary college girl, I was secretly drowning in filthy thoughts. The gap between my outward appearance and inner self felt strangely, addictively delicious.
Have I truly become a pervert?
I already knew the answer. It had been decided long ago. I was becoming a pervert. Or maybe I had always been one, and the mask was finally slipping.
Spring sunlight poured through the classroom windows. An ordinary afternoon at a provincial university. Inside that normalcy, I was quietly planning my next secret perversions.
