17. Graffiti 1 (3)
I grip the chains tightly and carefully climb down from the swing. My legs tremble like a baby deer's between them, and my dolphin pants drop right off with a thud. Ah, the ground's so filthy. I snatch them up quick, but tiny rubber bits are still stuck all over the soaked fabric. I shake them out hard with my hands, but all that gets me are black smudges on my palms—nothing comes off properly. Sand would've been better. It's so drenched that no dust sticks to it anyway. But this cushy urethane playground floor? It's covered in grimy crap.
Now, to head back, I've got two choices: pull on these filthy dolphin pants or go with nothing down there at all. Walking back in just the box tee with my bottom bare? No way. Sure, it's called a box tee, but it's not some oversized guy's shirt—the hem barely reaches two finger-widths past my crotch. Strutting around like this, my pussy would flash with every step, flapping wide open. And it's not just that; the parts that were supposed to be covered by the dolphin pants are now plastered with huge, vulgar black graffiti... cheap, obscene scribbles that scream trashy. Everything would be on full display. God, it'd feel dizzyingly good to risk it, but I can't.
Still, I don't want to wear these either... Maybe they'll dry enough to shake clean? I spread the damp dolphin pants out flat on the swing seat. Ah... now I can't head back to the dorm until they're dry. A tiny spark of anticipation blooms deep in my chest. It's a secluded corner of the park, sure, but... with this lewd graffiti scrawled all over my body and nothing covering my bottom. Anyone passing by just turning their head would see everything—no hiding a thing. The words on my thighs, the phrases twisted onto my ass... all out in the open.
A fierce rush of pleasure heats me up again. Feels so good. Being out here like this is just too good. Even I have to admit I'm a total pervert. No excuses left anymore. I want to spread my legs right now and shove my fingers into my pussy hole. But... but this spot's way too exposed. I can't just do it here... I want the razor-edge thrill, not to recklessly flash everything.
Cautiously, I climb up onto the play structure. It's faded white, open to the sky, worn out—but there's something deliciously taboo about it. Kids must've romped around here once. Now it's occupied by a horny pervert dripping obscene juices everywhere. A space meant for children... taken over by a deviant covered in filthy, vulgar graffiti. Kids, lend it to me just for a bit. You don't use it anymore, right? Just a little... a tiny bit. Might get it a little dirty, but that's 'cause I'm such a nasty pervert—I can't help it.
Like a dog marking its territory, slick fluid splatters in spots across the equipment. Every cool breeze, every distant footstep of passersby—it sets my body burning hotter. The structure has no roof, wide open on the approach side with nothing to hide behind, but there are walls. This should keep me out of sight from outside. The wavy cutout holes give away that someone's here, but a quick glance from someone passing? They'll just think, Oh, someone's there, and move on. No big deal. Which means I can do whatever I want. No one'll catch me anyway...
I reach up and slowly lift the box tee. My lower belly's thick, heavy graffiti swims into view. Branded on like a slave mark—so dark and bold, anyone seeing it wouldn't be able to look away. Stupid me. What if I get caught with this on? Why write it so huge? But... the bigger it is, the higher the risk, the dizzier it makes me. More intense. So much better.
I yank the box tee all the way up, pulling it off over my head and arms. My bruised-red breasts jiggle faintly. Ngh. Still sharp and stinging with every shake. Even under them, there's obscene graffiti no one can ever see. Haha... outside, not even in a building—buck naked in the great outdoors...
The sinful thrill and satisfaction make my lower belly throb. Transparent fluid keeps trickling down my legs, nonstop. Some drops plop to the floor, others soak into my slippers. Where the dirt mixes with my lewd juices, it squelches underfoot. I'm not even walking—just shifting my weight—and it squishes wetly. God, what would it sound like if I walked? If someone chased me, that sticky squelch would give me away—I couldn't even run...
Worst-case scenarios flood my mind. I've played my fill at the playground and head home, but the dolphin pants still aren't dry. No choice but to go bottomless in just the box tee. Someone heading the same way notices something off. Spots that the only thing on my legs instead of pants is graffiti. Lewd... cheap stuff even a whore wouldn't do... and they see it all. They grab my ass right there. I scream in the middle of the street, but their hands keep groping. The guy orders me: Spread your legs. Don't hide a thing. "N-no, please..." My timid protest draws every eye around. Everyone stares. The guy's commanding a girl right there in public, but no one helps. They've all read the graffiti on my body. Oh my, what a slut.Can I touch too?She wrote it herself, right? Hey, snap a pic quick—this isn't an everyday sight.Mommy, that big sister's not wearing pants! Look at her butt!Chul-soo, don't look. That's not for your eyes. I can't run, just get pawed all over. Then the box tee rips off, they realize I'm a freak who gets off on pain and exposure, and I'm dragged into a back alley. Onlookers crowd around, murmuring, forming a ring to watch as the guy who sniffed out my perversion forces himself on me...
Ngh... ungh... A stifled moan slips through my clenched teeth. My legs quake wildly, pussy juice gushing like I've lost control, pooling in a huge wet spot below. My fingers, twitching around the hole, are frothy white, dripping slowly. Haa... masturbating out here where no one's supposed to be feels so good...
I huff ragged breaths into my lungs and reach for my slutty hole again when—footsteps. Close ones, coming into the park, not down the alley. My whole body freezes like a mouse before a snake. The sky dyes red and orange, a long shadow stretching right up to me. I-it's fine. He hasn't come this way yet. Terrified my breath will leak out, I hold it, arm frozen mid-air near my pussy, praying time stops. I stay rigid, unmoving.
The heavy steps hit the urethane and quiet. "Hey, so when are you coming out?"
"...".
A man's voice—not one I recognize. Probably some local. He's not talking to me, right? No way he's telling me to pop out?
"Thirty minutes? Man, that's forever. Hey, I'll wait at the playground here, so hustle over. Got it?"
Whew, not me after all. He's on the phone or muttering to himself.
"...".
"Yeah. Hanging up."
The guy doesn't leave. Silently, I slip my feet from the slippers and huddle barefoot on the plastic. Cold, juice-smeared sensation climbs my soles. I scoot to the corner so my body won't show through the wavy holes. Cautiously, I peek out.
He's on his phone, heading right for the swing. Ah... that's where I hung my dolphin pants. Not even hidden—just laid out plain as day where anyone close would see. My heart pounds like mad. My breath surges in my nose, threatening to burst, but I'm too scared of being heard—I bite my lip. I want my rising-and-falling chest to just stop.
No way to stop him reaching the swing. Unless I bolt out naked, nothing comes to mind. Can't get caught like this, not this state... I just mutter desperate, meaningless prayers inside, begging him not to go there. But my earnest wish gets shot down easy. The swing in front of him? The exact one with my dolphin pants. Naturally, as he goes to sit, his eyes go wide.
"What's this?"
The man glances around.