5. Physical Training Room 1 (2)
“Haa… haa…”
My breath grows even more labored. My pussy clenches tighter, the surrounding muscles contracting along with it, making my whole body feel constricted. Right now, I'm in the men's shower room. The small shower attached to the physical training room. The door to the women's shower is plastered with "No Entry" signs, but the men's just says plainly "Men's Shower," which feels strangely thrilling. Structurally, it's just the mirror image of the women's, with the same interior—no extra fixtures or anything missing. Just lockers lining the walls, glass doors leading to the showers, and a scale like the one in the sauna next door. At a glance, it looks no different from the women's changing room.
But the numbers on the lockers are in blue, and that alone fills me with a profound sense of taboo. It feels like I've intruded into a space where I don't belong. The naive signage assumes no woman would ever enter the men's shower—obvious, sure, but that's exactly why the depravity hits harder. It's like doing something wicked no one in their right mind would do. I feel like a true, unspeakable pervert.
That depravity stirs a lewd heat inside me. I pull up my t-shirt and strip it off completely. Now I'm in my underwear in the men's changing room. What if there were people here? In a gym full of guys, flashing my panties, shaking my ass, ending up half-naked in their locker room… Just imagining it makes my waist tremble finely as I open a random locker and stuff in my discarded shirt. I bend forward slightly to make my breasts fully visible, then slowly unhook my bra. My perfectly teardrop-shaped tits thrust out vulnerably, as if on display for every man. My nipples are already hard and swollen.
It's okay to look at everything. I won't cover up. Look—they're this hard just from imagining your eyes on me, without even touching.
I tuck the bra neatly into the locker and reach for my panties. The thin elastic band is the last flimsy barrier. It gives way easily as I slide them down slowly. Thick, sticky fluids cling to the fabric, stretching into long strings. I don't have the guts to really show anyone, but feeling those imagined gazes has me soaked like this. The terror from nearly being caught in the laundry room creeps back in. It felt good, but it was scary. I want someone to see… but being seen terrifies me. Contradictions I can't even sort out flood my mind.
And those contradictions feel so good. I pull out my phone and play the video I took earlier. The small screen fills my vision. It shows a girl in a t-shirt, bent over at the waist—her legs not yet visible. Gulp. Knowing the secret hidden in the frame makes tension swallow my saliva involuntarily.
Soon, she steps back, revealing the surroundings: a facility crammed with exercise equipment. In the center, a woman flashing her panties. Even with the t-shirt on, it barely covers half her ass. Like red sauce splattered on a white shirt, the everyday scene is pierced by something utterly out of place. So this is how slutty I looked. Watching the pervert who was me just moments ago makes my face burn.
Then, in the video, she slips her fingers under the panty line to adjust them. Whoa, I didn't notice while doing it, but she's emphasizing her panties even more. Like begging someone to look. The act of fiddling with them draws the eye inescapably. Even standing still would attract attention, but touching them like that? Impossible to ignore.
The girl in the video starts walking slowly, shaking her sleek legs. Thighs… so slutty. With her panties showing, the upper thighs that never see daylight are fully exposed. Every crossing of her legs creates and erases a gap between her crotch. I can't tear my eyes away. Pervert. My body was doing such lewd things, such lewd moves. From behind, I looked several times sluttier than I imagined. True pervert. Or maybe I really am one.
But here I am, standing stark naked in the men's changing room, not covering a thing. Anyone seeing me now would find me even sluttier than in the video. No mirrors in the changing room, but the pale skin burned into my retinas lets me picture myself easily. I'm a pervert who loves being seen. Look all you want.
I shake my fingers, slick from rubbing my pussy, side to side.
“Eut… mm, huuuh…”
In the video, she's shaking her ass now. I thought it was subtle, swaying innocently, but no—it's blatantly provocative, like showing off, begging to be seen. With each shake, the t-shirt rides up, exposing the top of her panties. Undeniable pervert behavior.
I squeeze my tits together and thrust them forward. Not just my ass—look at my tits too. They're fresh, untouched by anyone.
“Ahh, mm… uut.”
My hand delving into my pussy is soaking through. Lewd juices trail down my legs, leaving marks on the floor. In the video, something unbelievable catches my eye: the crotch of her panties darkening with wet stains, visible in glimpses. Did jumping around in just panties get her that soaked already? It was damp when I took them off, but I didn't realize it was that drenched from then on.
Haa… true pervert. But it felt so good then. Enough to drench my panties…
My pussy won't stop gushing love juices, as if refusing to be outdone. My crotch and thighs are completely soaked. A puddle might form on the floor soon. In the video, she steps off the treadmill and slowly lifts her shirt hem. No abs, but a smooth, flawless belly fully exposed—no cover for the panty ribbons either. Behavior that would make strangers question her sanity.
The t-shirt keeps rising past her panties, almost like it'll expose her bra too—and it matches the set. But it stops just short, peeking only the underboob. She wipes sweat in that pervy pose, staring off with a dumb, slack expression. The hem drops with a soft rustle, hiding the bra but bunching up short of her lower belly. The drenched panties clearly show the stain at the crotch. Even a passerby would glimpse the obscene shape.
Seeing it makes me feel so good. Because I was the one looking that feral. Watching my pervy self, I rub my pussy harder.
“Haa… ahng… mm… hngut… uu… aat.”
Even as I do, I imagine others' gazes. Machine eyes that can't possibly see feel this good—what if real people saw me? My heart pounds wildly, heat flooding my body. Scary… but exciting.
“Haa… look at me… haa, this pervy body… ahng… please look…”
Without realizing, pervy words spill toward the imaginary man. My fingers stroke relentlessly from deep inside my pussy to the clit, along the inner lips. He eyes me with contempt. A gaze that would offend any normal girl feels shiveringly good. My body hair stands on end under his stare. He notices and mutters shortly.
Perverted bitch.
Not content with words, he reaches out and grabs my tit. I seize my own breast in his place. My bitten nails dig into the soft flesh. Every knead sends sharp sensitivity through me.
“Uut… haat, haa… haaaang… more… touch me more…”
As I beg, he yanks my tit roughly in my mind—hard enough to feel like pinching. Yes. Feels too good. I shouldn't… can't show this to just anyone…
Yet the wet friction sounds from below don't stop. I'm a pervert masturbating in the men's shower room. Touch me all you want.
“Haa, eung… hngat, hwaaaang!”
Orgasm crashes over me in an instant, my body shuddering violently. Imagining real eyes shocks me with how good it feels. I'm insane. This feels this good…
My trembling body clings to the hot afterglow for a while. When I cautiously open my eyes, love juices have splattered far, leaving wet spots. That far…
The pervy footage, the thrilling tension, the heat—and now this new evidence. Crystal clear: I'm a pervert who gets off on showing her body to strangers. I half-knew it, but consciously admitting it makes my pussy clench again. My heart keeps racing.