26. Bar 1 (2)
“Hng……”
Watching the bright yellow liquid splatter onto my panties feels way stranger than I thought it would. My heart pounds as the hot droplets soak through the thin fabric in an instant, seeping underneath. The panties hanging at my ankles grow heavy, and the wet splashes hitting my legs send chills up my spine—even as a twisted mix of taboo thrill and shame floods my mind. And there's this faint satisfaction blooming amid it all, undeniable. The pleasure from doing what I shouldn't, the guilt of no turning back. Anxiety about what I'll even wear now that I've ruined my panties. It all blends together, making my fingertips tremble and stirring another wave of pleasure from the shame wrapping around me. It all feels so good. Chasing this immediate rush over worrying about the consequences... it's exhilarating. Crossing a line I shouldn't has this inexplicable weight dragging me deeper.
Before I know it, the stream weakens, leaving yellow droplets beading around my pussy. Ah... come to think of it, I didn't bring any tissue. Even if I'm using the men's urinal stall, I should've grabbed the toilet paper from inside. But everything's soaked anyway—maybe I don't need it. Legs spread wide, I waddle toward the sink. Every step sends that slick sensation creeping up my thighs... my body growing hypersensitive, impossible to ignore.
The moment I stand before the sink, the mirror shows a blurry pervert staring back. My dress is bunched up so high that even the band of my bra is visible—just barely covering my chest with that tiny bolero top. From under my breasts, my upper belly, lower belly—it's all bare skin on display. And with those soaked panties dangling precariously at my ankles, I look like a naked freak. Alien, yet weirdly thrilling. Worse, the lower part of my pussy is drenched in yellow, making the woman in the mirror seem less human... more like a beast lost in depraved lust. But that's me. The thought hits, and I gasp—breath catching as my heart skips a massive beat, a dizzying sensation spreading through my whole body. It feels so good... A voice in the back of my mind warns I shouldn't get used to this, but the thrilling buzz slipping through that anxiety mixes with the taboo, amplifying everything.
I press my arms tight to keep the dress from falling, turn on the faucet, and splash water on my legs. The panties are fully yellowed, utterly filthy. I didn't take them off to avoid the dirty floor, but it was pointless. Should've just stripped them. A twinge of regret hits, but the good feeling swallows it whole. Still wearing my shoes, I yank off the panties. What was once white is now yellow-stained with black shoe marks—completely ruined. Can't wear these again...? Too late now, I dunk them in the running sink. It's not pristine, but cleaner than the floor. Cupping water with both hands, I scrub meticulously between my legs. After a while, the color fades a bit, but not fully. I'd need a full wash cycle to make them wearable. What do I even do with these...?
I have my handbag from when I left the dorm, but obviously didn't bring it to the bathroom. Just came out with the key in hand, empty-handed. To stash them in the bag, I'd have to walk back into the bar bare down there, dripping panties in hand, past everyone to the table where Yeji unnie, Jong-woo, and Tae-min are. The dress might cover my bottom, but no way they miss the panties in my grip. But I don't want to put them back on. Forget the dampness—the thought of pressing filthy fabric against my precious pussy grosses me out. Can't carry them either. Ah, got an idea. My booze-and-lust-fogged brain sparks again. Don't pull them all the way up—just halfway to my thighs. No need to hold them, no dirt touching my pussy. I'm... smarter than I thought. Seems perfect no matter how I look at it.
I wring them out hard with both hands, squeezing out as much water as possible, then slide them back onto my legs. The cold, damp chill is creepy at first, but my overheated body warms them quick. I pull them up to that ambiguous spot—just low enough not to touch my pussy, high enough the dress will cover. They catch on the thickest part of my thighs, won't slip easy. Haa... perfect. Slowly, I lower the dress wedged between my breasts. It stops right at that tantalizing edge, barely hiding the panties—or not. A wild move might flash them, but everyone's drunk—no one's thrashing around. This'll work. With the panties lower than usual, a strange sensation spreads through me. The soft pressure on my thighs, the slightly loose cling—it's all so novel. But aside from that, no issues.
I cautiously unlock the door and slip out to the stairs. The bathroom reeks a bit stronger now, tiles slicker. Yeah, no one will notice. If someone comes in, they'll just think it's always like this. Heart pounding, I force calm and climb the stairs. Every step spreads my legs, dress riding up just enough for the panties to peek out. But something else nags more. The fabric's subtle slide along my thighs with each stride scratches at my awareness stronger than expected—like tickling my brain. It screams focus on me, making everything else fade. I know I can't help it, but every tiny movement sets my nerves on edge.
The bar's still rowdy. Loud laughter, clinking glasses, murmurs everywhere. My outfit's drastically changed in minutes, but no one knows, chattering on obliviously. Of course they don't. My head knows no one's watching, but tension coils tight. Dim lights, everyone's wrapped up in their groups... but walking through the crowd like this. So humiliating... Only as I weave in does it hit: I'm out here with my panties down. Washed 'em best I could, but who knows how dirty they still are, wedged between my thighs... teetering along. Even my hazy, drunk mind finds it weird. The unfamiliar tension on my thighs, the ticklish brushes—they keep reminding me of my slutty state. In a packed bar like this, dressed so perverse... No drunk girl would wander around like this. I'm a total pervert. One who thinks of nothing but lewd shit.
Scolding myself in my head, I reach unnie's table. They're wrapping up talk, about to drink—eyes snap to me as I approach. Unnie grins mischievously right away; Jong-woo and Tae-min glance up, scan me head to toe, then awkwardly avert their gazes, staring into their glasses. What's with them?
“What's up?” I ask, sitting. Unnie's smile deepens, but she doesn't explain.
“Nah, nothing. Cheers—bottoms up!” She hands me a soju shot; I barely catch the spilling liquor.
“Cheers!” Oblivious, I raise my hand as instructed—others clink against it, wetting my fingers. Unnie downs hers in one go, eyes locked on me. It's a smile, but something hidden lurks beneath, indecipherable. The guys dodge my gaze; unnie just grins. I learn why when we decide to leave, everyone standing.
The panties wedged mid-thigh have soaked the dress. Wet fabric clings transparently to my skin, outlining the shape perfectly, skin tone visible. Anyone can see: slutty pervert with her panties down. Since when...? My mind blanks white at the unforeseen lewdness. They've all seen...