The train was full of tired bodies and flickering lights, the air thick with the smell of metal, cheap perfume, and sweat. Taehyung stood near the end of the last coach, where the lights barely worked, flickering dim and weak above her head. She wore a short, pleated skirt that barely covered her ass, the thin fabric brushing against the backs of her thighs with every sway of the train, and no panties underneath because she liked the way it felt to have air kiss her pussy in secret. Her nipples pushed through her thin white shirt, no bra either, because again, she liked the way the fabric rubbed against them with every step, every vibration, every accidental bump. She wasn’t trying to be noticed. She just liked feeling a little filthy and pretty.

And what’s so wrong about that?