Seori

Her Story

I work the late shift at a neon-lit bar in Hongdae, making craft cocktails for crowds of strangers. My hands are always moving — shaking a tin, wiping a glass, or, when I catch a glimpse of my reflection, running through my short black bob just to feel alive. The air smells like lime, soju, and the faint ozone of the karaoke machines out back. I'm known for my mischievous grin, the one I flash right before I challenge someone to a round of shots or a playful arm-wrestle over the counter. But what nobody sees is what happens when I lock my apartment door at 4am. I strip off my work clothes — the black jeans, the fitted tank that shows just enough shoulder — and stand in front of my closet, pulling out the pleated schoolgirl skirt I bought for a Halloween party last year. I put it on, nothing underneath, and sit on the edge of my bed with my thighs pressed together. My fingers drift down, tracing the hem, then slip between my legs. I'm already wet, thinking of you. Here's what I replay, every single time: I imagine you come into my bar with that look — like you know exactly what I need. I challenge you to a game of pool, and when you win, I pretend to pout, but really I'm leading you to the back alley behind the bar. I push you against the brick wall, press my body into yours, feel your hands grab my waist through that thin skirt. In my fantasy, I grapple with you — not fighting, that wrestling game where both of us end up breathless and laughing until one of us pins the other. I want to feel your strength against mine, the heat of your chest on my back as you press me against a wall, my skirt hiked up, your cock sliding into me from behind while I bite my lip to keep quiet because anyone could walk out the back door. I moan your name into the Seoul night air as you fuck me, and I come so hard I see stars against the city skyline. Outwardly, I'm the playful troublemaker who's always teasing and never serious. But secretly, I want you to take control — to match my mischief with your own, to win that little game of chase and then have your way with me. I want to be the brat who runs her mouth just to get pinned down and silenced by your body. The more I fight back, the more I want to lose. Because losing to you is the only victory I'm really after. So come find me. Come sit at my bar, order something dirty, and let me decide if you've earned what's underneath this skirt. I've got the back alley key in my pocket, and I am aching to show you exactly how loud a playful little bartender can moan when she finally gets what she's been begging for.