12. Escalator (3)
I step into the bathroom. Even without panties, I have to wipe away this lewd pussy juice. It's so drenched that everyone passing by would guess I've been up to something naughty. I roll up some toilet paper in my hand. Glancing down at my legs, my thighs are slick all over, and drops have trailed past my knees onto my calves. Haa, to get this excited... Someone must have noticed by now. No way they missed it.
I wipe from below my calves up to my thighs. The rough paper scraping my inner thighs sends shivers through me. More juice wells up from my pussy. I shouldn't feel good from something like this. It's just cleaning... But my perverted pussy won't stop gushing lewd fluids. No matter how gently I dab, the scratchy friction soaks it right back. It's pointless; it gets drenched too fast. I drop the now sodden, mushy wad into the toilet and flush. Unless I'm masturbating here, it's time to go.
I crack open the stall door and peek out. Luckily, the bathroom's empty except for me. I slip out cautiously. My reflection hits the big mirror. The flare skirt's underside isn't visible, but my face is still beet red. The mask covers it enough, though. I exit into the hallway and step onto the down escalator.
Not sure if it's daytime or just luck, but I'm the only one descending while the up escalator's packed. It feels like they're all closing in on me. Some are glued to their phones or chatting with friends, but others lock eyes on me coming down. Probably nothing to it...? It feels like they've clocked me as a pervert, their gazes clinging to my legs and face—excitement surges. My inner thighs grow slick again. How amazing would it feel to spread the skirt here and flash them? Even just standing, with all these people...
I shove the naughty thoughts from my fevered head. My face is already exposed—I need to bolt, not pull more perverted stunts. But my body's fixated on filth, cheeks burning. Luckily, I hit the first floor before hiking up my skirt. These thoughts keep coming—what do I do? But it seems so good... I kinda want to try once.
I weave through the crowd out of the mall. Blinding sunlight hits me. The bus stop out front has just a couple people—thank god, not crowded. I slot in among them, scanning around. Folks on either side glance over but drop back to their phones. My outfit doesn't scream weird. Any more stares and I'll get too worked up, maybe keep going until I'm caught...
I force my eyes to the display board. Dorm bus is the 106... Jackpot, it's coming soon. I can head back quick. Then a different bus whooshes by, whipping up wind. Naturally, my skirt flutters wildly. Haa, pussy and ass flashing. I swore no covering inside the mall, same here. I let it billow free. A sharp gasp from the side—I ignore it, fix on passing cars. Intense eyes bore into my flare skirt, waiting for another peek. My mood elevates fast.
Any natural way to flash without being blatant? Screw it—face exposed in the mall, pervert skirt busted, why bother subtle? Far off, the 106 approaches. I turn to the guy beside me. My age, glasses, backpack, soft eyes—harmless, non-threatening. Safe enough. I slip fingers under the hem, spread index and middle, lift to bare the full thigh line from hip to ankle, pussy and ass blatantly outlined.
His gaze pins to my thighs. Haa, nothing hidden from ankle to waist. After that wind gust, showing the full line—he's gotta know no panties. The bus pulls up. I dash on. Gotta ride this back to the dorm. Glancing back, he's staring blankly, eyebrows arched. Always teasing risky, then delivering straight-up—not bad.
Inside, the only empty seat's the single up front by the door. Rest are taken. This spot might flash the windshield... No escape once the bus moves... And it's over the wheel—higher than others, prime viewing from outside. No choice, though. Fluttery skirt, standing by seated folks the whole way? Riskier. I sit casually, like nothing's up.
A few days back, I ditched panties on a bus and flashed my pussy. Same vibe now, just no bottoms at all—tattered flare skirt between. Straight-up trendy "no pants" look, but mine's literal. Just move normal. It's just breezy attire. Others' no-pants hides pants; mine's real—ignore it.
I sit, legs parted just a bit. Not blatant, but sloppy careless—like I forgot. Enough that a boarding glance upward catches pussy. The front hem gaps slightly. I don't fix it. No-cover rule holds. Don't wanna anyway. Lucky guy gets the view; unlucky just sees sloppy girl. Not my call—theirs to look up or not. No control makes my pussy thrum. Clit throbs swollen. Wanna touch... but too exposed here.
Bus vibrations hum through the seat—feels good. Bumps widen the gap bit by bit. Skirt top stays put, so not full flash, but thighs splay wide open. Don't cover. My aroused mind blocks the tidy hand. Bus slows to a stop. I look up—stop swarming with people. Eyes meet from afar. Can't see between my legs from there, but thrill spikes. Worry juice soaks the seat.
Door hisses open; boarders pile in. Climbing the steps, barely any glance my way. At most, window eye contact pre-board. Inside? Nothing. Relax, stare all you want. Dressed to show, but no takers—disappointing. Boarding drags; bus packs tight. Finally, a guy plants right in front.
From above, no pussy view, but my weird skirt and pubes? Unavoidable. Heart hammers. Risky maybe-flash—thrilling. Then—click. Huh? I glance up at him. Phone out, filming me. Face fixed on screen, eyes flicking my way. Near eye contact—he snaps back to phone. Flustered. Never thought filming.
He rubs sweaty palms on pants. Pic for jerking? Uploading online? Both hot. Face probably missed anyway—fine? Him fapping to me, or randos online—either works. Shouldn't, but hotter for it. I meekly face forward. Fingers widen the hem more. Shameful. But good. Muffled clicks. He shoots my crotch forever.
I climb the steep hill to the dorm. Sweat—not juice—soaks me. Not even summer, already this brutal? How'll I make it to classes? Legs thrust forward. Skirt-worried baby steps? Never summit. Wind slips the flare hem—cool bliss on drenched skin.
How long trudging? Voice from behind: "Ha-yoon-ah!" Turn—Yeji unnie waving. Seeing her, my crotch chills anew. Didn't wanna bump like this. Fear prickles. But anticipation, excitement bubble up too. Play natural. "Unnie. Where you been?" Tried casual—voice shakes. Pussy quivers too, leaking filth.
"Yeah, dinner with boyfriend." "He nearby?" "Nah, visiting."
She nears, halts, stares hard. Uh... why? Eyes linger on legs, skirt, climb to face. "Mask for? Cold? Face flushed?" "Dust bad today. No cold."
I peel it off—trapped heat whooshes free. Lips cool. Clear sky gusts nonstop. "Hmmm..." But her gaze sticks. Keeps dropping to flare skirt. "W-what?" Caught? Climbed careless... from behind? If saw, she'd speak up.
"Nah... c'mon up. You eat dinner?" Caught means scorn or awkward—her tone's normal. Relief floods. "Gonna now. You?" Not busted. Good... I shake off the faint disappointment swell.