You're taking a shower right outside your villa's backyard. Cool stream of water cascading down you and your girlfriend's naked bodies. You hump her from behind, sliding your tiny cock in between her butt crack. You move your hip front and back, lustfully grinding on her massive sized ass.
"Calm down, Babe... I'm not going anywhere 😄", she says to you as you ignore her saying and keep humping her while hugging her tight from behind. After years of being exposed to so many sexual pleasure given by her, a thick mommy cougar woman as your girlfriend, how can you calm down? You keep humping and moaning like a feral dog wanting to breed their mate, yet your penis isn't even inserted to her pussy. The feeling of being naked and wet right outside and blown by a cool wind just makes the sensation even more pleasurable.
She suddenly tightens her ass crack, gripping your penis tightly, making you moan loudly and instantly cum another big loads. Her butt crack alone squeezes out lots of sperm out of you, even though you already cum twice before this. So young, so innocent, yet such a thick gooey sperm you accumulate for her. One of many things she loves about you.
You've always been so potent, a boy your age shouldn't be exposed to too much sexual pleasure. Yet here you are, becoming her personal sex toy, escorting her to many adventures and outings where you should be at school. This is only possible with her money and influence that she piled up from her previous "career". Her financial freedom and sexual experience with many men are now being given solely only to the one boy she loves.
Charlotte’s phone buzzed again—third time in ten minutes. She ignored it, tracing the floral lace trim of the black dress clinging to her hips as she turned sideways in the mirror. The dressing room was cramped, fluorescent light bleaching the color from her skin, but the dress? It hugged every curve like a second skin, the off-the-shoulder cut exposing the slope of her collarbone, the slit riding high on her thigh. She snapped another selfie, the camera flash catching the sheen of sweat at her temples. “Perfect,” she murmured, adjusting the strap that kept slipping off her shoulder.
The attendant—Kyle, according to his name tag—had been hovering since she’d stepped into the store. Dorky, yeah. Glasses perpetually sliding down his nose, awkward smile, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his polo. He’d offered to “help her find the right size” the moment she’d picked up the dress, his voice cracking on “right.” She’d laughed it off, but now, as she tugged the dress down to smooth a wrinkle, she noticed the faint click of the door latch behind her. Kyle’s reflection appeared in the mirror, standing just outside the curtain, holding a phone.
“Uh, sorry,” he stammered, but he didn’t move. “Just… checking if you need help zipping up? It’s a tricky one.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Just give me a minute.” She turned her back to him, deliberately, letting the dress gap at the waist as she reached for the zipper. The fabric clung, revealing the dip of her spine, the curve of her ass. Kyle’s breath hitched. She heard the click again—this time, the shutter of his phone. She didn’t turn around. “You’re filming me, aren’t you?”
He froze. “I—I’m not—”
“Bullshit.” She spun, the dress swaying, and grabbed his wrist. His phone screen lit up: a live feed of her, the camera angled low, capturing the swell of her hip, the lace riding up her thigh. “Delete it. Now.”
Kyle’s face flushed crimson. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—I just thought—”
“You thought what? That I’d let you jerk off to this?” She shoved him back, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he grinned—a sudden, ugly twist of his mouth. “Actually? Yeah. But also… I’ve got a better idea.”
He tapped his screen, pulled up a folder labeled “Charlotte’s Favs.” Inside: screenshots of her Instagram, her DMs, her location tags. “You post everything, Charlotte. Every outfit, every party, every ‘casual’ selfie. You think you’re in control? You’re just a walking ad for this store. And I’ve got the footage to prove you’re not as innocent as you pretend.”
She lunged for the phone, but he yanked it away. “You want this deleted? You’ll do what I say. Right here. Right now.”
Charlotte’s pulse hammered. She could scream. Kick the door open. But the store was empty, the manager on lunch, the security cameras pointed at the registers, not the dressing rooms. Kyle’s grin widened. “First, you’re going to take off the dress. Slowly. And you’re going to let me film it. Every inch.”
She hesitated, then reached for the zipper. The metal teeth scraped against her skin as she pulled it down, the dress pooling at her feet. Kyle’s camera whirred, capturing the tremor in her hands, the flush creeping up her neck. “Now the bra,” he ordered, voice thick. “And don’t stop looking at me.”
She unhooked the clasp, letting the fabric fall. Kyle’s breath came in ragged gasps. “You’re so fucking hot, Charlotte. I’ve watched you for weeks. You think you’re untouchable? You’re just… mine.”
She stepped out of the dress, standing barefoot on the cold tile, her nipples hardening under his gaze. Kyle circled her, the camera trembling as he filmed the curve of her waist, the dip of her navel. “Now,” he said, voice cracking, “you’re going to touch yourself. For me. And you’re going to smile.”
Charlotte’s hands trembled as she slid them down her stomach, over her hips, to the thatch of hair between her legs. She spread her thighs, fingers parting her folds, the wetness slick against her skin. Kyle’s camera zoomed in, capturing the glisten, the flush of her clit. “Smile,” he hissed.
She forced her lips into a grin, teeth bared, eyes blazing. Kyle’s cock strained against his khakis. “Good girl,” he breathed. “Now… you’re going to bend over. Let me see that ass.”
She obeyed, hands braced on the mirror, ass raised, the camera capturing the swell of her cheeks, the crease between them. Kyle stepped closer, his breath hot on her skin. “You’re going to take it,” he whispered. “My cock. Right here. And you’re going to beg for it.”
Charlotte’s heart pounded. She could still fight. But the footage… her reputation… the way Kyle’s eyes devoured her… She pushed her hips back, arching her spine. “Do it,” she whispered. “Film it.”
Kyle fumbled with his belt, his cock springing free—thick, veined, already dripping. He slapped her ass, the sting sharp, the sound echoing in the small room. “Say it,” he growled. “Say you want it.”
“I want it,” she gasped, the words tasting like ash. “Fuck me. Film me.”
He shoved inside her, the stretch burning, the camera capturing every jolt, every gasp. Charlotte’s nails dug into the mirror, her reflection distorted, her face a mask of humiliation and heat. Kyle’s hips pistoned, his grunts loud, his phone held high, recording the slap of skin, the bounce of her tits, the way her ass clenched around him. “You’re mine,” he snarled, slamming deeper. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” she sobbed, the words tearing from her throat. “Fuck me. Harder.”
He came with a guttural cry, his seed spilling inside her, the camera catching the tremor in his hands, the way her body convulsed around him. He pulled out, his cock slick with her juice, and stepped back, panting. “Now,” he said, voice hoarse, “you’re going to clean me up. With your mouth.”
Charlotte dropped to her knees, the tile cold against her thighs. Kyle guided his cock to her lips, the taste of salt and sweat thick on her tongue. She sucked, her cheeks hollowing, her eyes locked on his, the camera still rolling, capturing the way her throat worked, the way her tears fell onto his shaft. “Good girl,” he whispered, stroking her hair. “Now… you’re going to wear that dress again. And you’re going to walk out of here like nothing happened. Or I send this to your boyfriend. Your mom. Your boss.”
Charlotte stood, her legs trembling, the dress clinging to her sweat-slicked skin. Kyle handed her the phone, the screen still showing the video—her mouth wrapped around his cock, her eyes wide with shame. “Smile for the camera,” he said, tapping record.
She did. The flash blinded her. The dress felt like a shroud. And as she walked out of the store, the bell jingling behind her, she knew: Kyle had her. And he’d never let go.
My cute valorant duo, was asking her about this lustful dress that she wore and told her it's quite revealing but she went on and said: " i like to show off my neh neh (boobs) " damn i was instantly hard and i sent her videos of me cum tributing to these pictures, she got so turned on by it and confessed that she likes seeing guys do this. what a slutty girl
The air in the dressing room was thick with the scent of sweat, glitter, and hairspray. Ryujin was slumped in a chair, still breathing hard from the encore, but her attention was entirely consumed by her phone. A lazy, thoroughly satisfied smirk played across her lips as she scrolled through a message thread.
Yeji, toweling off nearby, watched her friend’s secretive intensity. Driven by curiosity, she walked over, leaning against the chair next to Ryujin.
“Seriously, put that down, Ryeong. You need to rehydrate,” Yeji chided, her eyes casually glancing at the screen.
In that split second, the image on Ryujin’s phone changed. Yeji froze, her own eyes snapping wide open in utter disbelief. The photo filling the screen was intensely private and explicitly seductive. It was a perfectly focused close-up of a man’s torso: hard, deep-cut abs glistened under warm light, taut and impossibly sculpted. The powerful V-lines dove into the low waistband of dark fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination about the raw masculinity of the body.
Yeji straightened, the shock stealing her breath. She dropped her towel, her voice a sharp, urgent whisper. “Ryujin! What the hell is that? Who is sending you pictures like that? And why are they so… exposed?”
Ryujin smoothly tapped her phone screen dark and looked up at Yeji with a knowing, heavy-lidded smirk, entirely devoid of guilt. “Oh, these? Just checking up on my man. He’s celebrating our success in his own way.”
Yeji’s confusion deepened into alarm. “Your man? But… that is not Minho! I saw the photos last month when you told me you were finally serious about someone. Minho is handsome, but he’s certainly not… that.” Yeji gestured vaguely at the spot where the muscular image had been.
Ryujin chuckled, a low, easy sound. She reached out and patted Yeji’s arm, then leaned close, her breath warm against Yeji’s ear.
“Ah, Yeji, you’re always so focused on the official narrative,” Ryujin whispered, her eyes dancing with wicked amusement. She gave a slow, deliberate wink that was the most incriminating gesture of all. “Minho is still my sweet boy, yes. But this is Eun Gyeol. He’s my second boyfriend.”
The words landed like a physical blow. Yeji recoiled, shaking her head sharply, her panic immediate and visceral.
“Are you completely crazy, Ryujin? Two boyfriends! At the same time?! Do you have any idea what kind of career suicide this is? If this ever, ever gets out—if one of them talks, if you slip up—we are finished! This will ruin everything!” Yeji’s whispered plea was laced with raw fear for both of them.
Ryujin remained perfectly calm. She grabbed Yeji’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze that was dangerously relaxed.
“Calm down, Unnie. Really,” Ryujin urged, her tone dismissive of the risk. “They’re both very discrete, and more importantly, they are both extremely sensitive about their little arrangement. They know the price of exposing me, and they value our time together too much to risk it. Besides,” she leaned in again, her eyes flashing with a predatory gleam, “I make sure they both get exactly what they want. And right now, what they want is my absolute silence and my absolute compliance. So long as I maintain that, this delicious secret is safe. I get to have everything I crave, and nobody has to know.” She then tapped her phone again, smiling. “Now, are you going to lecture me on ethics, or are you going to keep my secret safe?”
The stadium’s backstage corridors, usually chaotic with crew and backup dancers, were now relatively quiet. Ryujin pulled her thick, padded stage jacket tighter around her sequined outfit, the adrenaline still thrumming beneath her skin. She was walking with a focused, fast pace toward the staff exit where her driver—or in tonight's case, her other driver—would be waiting.
As she reached the last turn, her phone lit up. The name flashing on the screen, Minho, instantly brought a wicked, playful heat to her smile. Minho, her established, public-facing, yet sexually submissive boyfriend, was always ready to talk after her shows. She swiped the answer button, pressing the phone to her ear.
“Hello, handsome,” she purred, her voice dropping instantly to a low, husky register reserved only for these calls.
“Baby, you killed it. I was watching the stream,” Minho’s voice came back, thick and slightly ragged, betraying a definite arousal. “But watching you just makes me miss you. God, I miss your mouth on me right now.”
Ryujin slowed her steps, leaning a shoulder against the cool concrete wall, savoring the immediate shift in their dynamic. The rush of the performance was nothing compared to the thrill of this private, illicit game.
“My mouth?” she whispered, letting a dangerous amount of playful challenge bleed into her tone. She ran the tip of her tongue slowly over her own lips, imagining the contact. “You have a lot of places that need attention, sweet boy. Tell me, exactly where is it that you want my mouth right now?”
Minho groaned on the other end, a low, thick sound of immediate need. “Don’t tease me, Ryeong. You know where. My thick cock is throbbing, so hard it hurts. It needs your tongue, needs your mouth. I want you on your knees right now, sucking me dry until I explode all over your beautiful face.”
“Mmm, you always know how to ask nicely,” Ryujin replied, dragging out the last word as she started walking again. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the graphic image Minho had conjured—his heavy, demanding cock, fully erect and glistening—fill her mind. The thought of that intense, deep sensation on her tongue made her breath hitch. “Maybe if you beg properly when I get home…”
As she rounded the final corner leading to the secluded artist parking lot, Ryujin’s eyes scanned the vehicles. Her smile, which had been purely sensual, now stretched into a thin, predatory line of triumph. There, leaning against the hood of a sleek black sedan, was Eun Gyeol. He was wearing a low baseball cap and a black mask, diligently covering his face, looking exactly like the perfect, discrete secret boyfriend he was. He watched her approach, his posture already stiffening in anticipation.
Ryujin didn’t miss a beat. Her voice remained steady in Minho’s ear, the raw desire still threading through her words.
“...but you should know, Minho,” she continued, walking directly toward Eun Gyeol, “I’m always thinking about doing what you need me to do. I’m thinking about how much pressure your body can take.”
She reached Eun Gyeol, who immediately unfolded from the car to greet her. He moved to embrace her, his arms wrapping around her waist. As she returned the hug, her body pressed flush against his, she spoke directly into the phone, the words heavy with double meaning that only she knew the full truth of.
“It’s just that I’m feeling so rough right now, sweetheart. The performance was intense, and everything is hard and ready to go. I just want to feel the weight of something solid against me.”
Eun Gyeol, unaware of the explicit conversation she was having, misinterpreted her words as her expressing exhaustion and need for comfort. He squeezed her tighter, resting his chin on her shoulder, murmuring his sympathy. But as he held her, Ryujin’s sensitive fingers, concealed by the stage jacket, traced the muscular lines of his back, confirming the taut, physical readiness that Minho was merely talking about. She felt the heavy, immediate presence of his hard cock pressing against her thigh through the denim of his jeans.
She pulled back from the hug, her hand slipping down Eun Gyeol’s chest as she continued the conversation with Minho.
“I know, darling, I know. It sounds like you had a very demanding afternoon yourself. You definitely need me to come home and take care of that long, difficult session you had.”
Eun Gyeol smiled down at her, seeing her flushed face and attributing it to the cold night air and post-show adrenaline. He opened the passenger door for her, his eyes warm and attentive.
She settled into the leather seat, keeping the phone pressed to her ear, the switch now complete. The conversation had to transition fully into the language of their public lives—but laced with venomous, delicious sexual innuendo that only Ryujin could appreciate.
“...but I’m going now, baby,” she told Minho, as Eun Gyeol slipped into the driver’s seat. “I’m heading back to the apartment now. The driver’s here, so I’ll be fine. Tell me about your project again, Minho. You said it was really thick and you had to plunge deep into the data to get the result?”
Eun Gyeol started the car, the engine a low hum. Ryujin’s left hand, now free, found its way to Eun Gyeol’s lap. She didn't press down immediately; she let her fingers rest innocently on his inner thigh, dangerously close to the swelling she felt beneath his jeans.
Minho, believing Ryujin was talking in code because her staff or managers were around, played along perfectly. “Yeah, Ryeong, it was a beast of a project. I had to go deep and hard for hours. It was a lot of work for me, honestly. I was so drained when I finished, but the climax of the project was worth it. I just wish I had you here to help me clean up after all that strenuous activity.”
Ryujin’s fingers danced lightly on Eun Gyeol’s thigh. She was barely touching him, just using the tips of her nails to trace circles on the sensitive skin, close to his groin. Eun Gyeol’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, trying to keep his attention on the road while this sensual torture unfolded on his lap. He thought she was being innocently flirtatious, a reaction to the privacy of the car. He didn't realize the entire scene was a performance for the man on the other end of the line.
Ryujin leaned back, giving Minho the final, most deceptive line. “Well, you know I’m always happy to take care of your mess, Minho. Just wait for me to arrive, okay? I’ll be there soon to give you all the attention you need.”
She hung up, tossing the phone onto the center console with a satisfied sigh. The moment the call ended, the playful, professional mask dropped, replaced by a look of pure, dominant desire directed entirely at Eun Gyeol.
He pulled up to a traffic light, the low red glow filling the cabin. Eun Gyeol was breathing heavily, his eyes darting to her face, his earlier composure entirely gone.
“You’re… you’re playing with me,” he managed, his voice strained. “You’ve been playing with me since you got in the car. What was that? You were so close to… to it.”
Ryujin didn’t answer with words. She slid her hand, which had been teasing his thigh, further across his lap. She felt the rigid, straining fullness beneath the denim—a monumental erection that Eun Gyeol had desperately tried to conceal.
Eun Gyeol groaned, unable to resist any longer. His free hand shot down, grabbing Ryujin's wrist. Instead of pushing her away, he applied firm pressure and, with a silent, desperate plea, guided her hand fully onto the rigid, hot head of his cock, pressing her palm hard against the straining fabric of his jeans.
Ryujin smiled at him, a wide, slow, wicked smile that contained the entire, thrilling truth. She was holding Minho’s desire in her voice and Eun Gyeol’s hardness in her hand. The delicious, dangerous game had escalated to an unbearable new peak, and she had won. Her next move would be to take him, right there in the car, fueled by the memory of Minho’s demand and the current urgency of Eun Gyeol’s immediate, palpable need.
The traffic light turned green, and Eun Gyeol reluctantly lifted his hand from Ryujin’s over his swollen cock, shifting the car into drive. He pulled away from the curb, but his attention was a fractured thing, half on the road, half consumed by the woman beside him whose casual touch had just shattered his composure.
Ryujin saw the struggle in his jaw, the tightness in his shoulders, and the way his eyes kept darting to the bulge straining his jeans. She knew exactly how to break the last of his focus.
She reached up slowly and deliberately unzipped the heavy, padded stage jacket she wore, the movement drawing his gaze immediately. The zipper descended with a soft zzzip, a sound that was suddenly deafening in the confines of the car. She slipped the jacket from her shoulders, letting it pool around her hips, and then tossed it carelessly onto the backseat.
Eun Gyeol’s breath hitched—a loud, ragged gasp that he immediately tried to mask with a cough.
“Fuuuck,” he muttered, his grip tightening on the steering wheel until his knuckles were white islands against the tanned skin of his hands. The single, rough word was a plea, a curse, and a surrender all at once.
Ryujin’s performance uniform was now on full display, designed for high-energy movement but currently serving the singular purpose of intoxicating him. The top was a high-necked, black, shimmery fabric—a second skin that was impossibly tight across her chest. The fabric pressed against her body so perfectly that it offered no shadow, no concealment. He could see the full, glorious curve of her perky breasts—their outline defined with sharp clarity beneath the fabric. The nipples were already hardening, pushing against the synthetic material, broadcasting her immediate arousal to him.
Her waist, honed by years of grueling choreography, was impossibly narrow, creating a breathtaking hourglass shape that flowed into the tiny, fitted bottom half. She was wearing a short, pleated tennis skirt—a slash of white fabric that rode high on her hips. It barely covered her and provided an electrifying contrast to the dark material clinging to her torso.
The skirt, designed to fly during dance moves, now simply served to showcase the perfect, sculpted sweep of her thighs where they met the delicate lace edge of her barely-there panties. Her legs, long and toned from her endless training, were exposed in their entirety, the skin pale and shimmering slightly under the streetlights flashing past the car windows. Every muscle was defined, a testament to her athletic fitness, yet the softness of her inner thighs was an immediate invitation.
Eun Gyeol couldn’t look away. His eyes devoured the sight—the sexy contradiction of the global idol, meticulously styled and perfectly built, sitting next to him in a state of raw, unashamed exposure. His mouth felt dry, his throat thick.
Ryujin’s smile widened, slow and utterly triumphant, as she took in his reaction. The awe, the shock, the animal hunger in his eyes—it was exactly the fuel she needed. She loved the feeling of rendering him speechless, of making the strong, controlled man beside her buckle under the weight of her visible sex appeal.
With a silent, predatory confidence, Ryujin leaned back against the headrest, her gaze never leaving Eun Gyeol’s face. Then, with a casual, almost lazy movement that felt infinitely more provocative than any theatrical gesture, she spread her legs slightly.
The movement made the white skirt shift, momentarily exposing a flash of soft, pale skin high on her inner thigh, right where her crotch was straining against the damp fabric of her panties. It was a blatant, silent invitation—a challenge she knew he couldn't refuse.
Her hands, which had been resting in her lap, moved. They dropped instantly to his. She guided his hand away from the steering wheel with firm purpose and, with his hand trapped between hers, she placed her fingers back on the prominent, hard tent that stretched his denim. This time, she didn't just rest them there; she began to stroke him with deliberate, knowing pressure. Her thumb pressed down into the thick ridge, tracing the throbbing length of him.
Eun Gyeol groaned, a sound lost beneath the hum of the engine. The touch—the combination of her brazen exhibition and her immediate, physical claim—ignited a firestorm of dominance inside him. He didn’t want to be teased; he wanted to take.
He yanked his hand from beneath hers, not to stop her, but to assert control. His hands, large and warm, fell instantly upon Ryujin’s exposed thighs. He didn't caress; he claimed.
His grip was immediate, firm, and possessive. His fingers dug into the soft flesh of her inner thighs, just below the edge of the skirt, squeezing and clutching with a rough, insistent power. He moved his thumbs across her skin, pinching the sensitive, yielding flesh, drawing a sharp, startled breath from her.
He smiled then, a primal, wicked smile that transformed his normally gentle features into something hard and demanding. “You asked for this, Ryeong,” he growled, his voice low and thick with lust. “You asked me to be rough.”
Ryujin’s eyes closed immediately, a sound of pure satisfaction escaping her throat. This was the thrill, the contrast that fed her secret life.
She loved the absolute, overwhelming dominance of Eun Gyeol. When he looked at her like this, she ceased being the untouchable idol, the perfect dancer, the unassailable celebrity. She became a piece of sexy meat, a prize to be claimed, groped, and used for his immediate, burning pleasure. His hands on her thighs, gripping hard, felt like the perfect, demanding weight of male ownership, an intense, thrilling surrender. This was raw, immediate, and utterly selfish pleasure—he took what he wanted, and she loved feeling the force of his desire pushing her to the edge of control. It was intoxicating.
It was the complete opposite of her time with Minho. Minho was her pet, her adoring boy who worshipped her body and her command. With Minho, she was the one in control, riding him hard, demanding specific actions, using his body as a willing, submissive tool for her own satisfaction. She loved Minho for his gentle passion and his devotion to her pleasure, for how he would lie there beneath her like a grateful dog while she used him.
But Eun Gyeol? Eun Gyeol made her feel like a slut, exposed and desperate, and that feeling, right now, as his fingers kneaded her inner thigh, was electric. Her hips lifted off the seat an inch, an involuntary reaction to the deep pressure.
The car was moving slowly now, caught in the dense, brightly lit city traffic. Outside, pedestrians walked past, glancing casually at the expensive sedan. They were surrounded by people—other drivers, delivery cyclists, groups of friends laughing on the sidewalk. No one had any idea.
Ryujin’s hands immediately wrapped around Eun Gyeol’s thick length, the denim straining and rough against her soft palms. She was now fully focused on stroking his cock, the immense hardness beneath the jeans a heavy, demanding presence. She gripped him with rhythmic, urgent pressure, mirroring the deep, slow grinding he was performing on her.
Eun Gyeol’s dominant hand, still clutching and pinching her inner thigh, now moved higher. He slid his fingers up the soft, sensitive skin, reaching the edge of her skirt. He found the ridge of her panties—already damp and stretched thin—and began to rub her pussy lips over the fabric.
He used two fingers, pressing down hard and working a circular motion right against the most sensitive spot, the friction of the wet fabric against her swollen flesh driving her wild.
“Mmmh! God, Eun Gyeol,” she gasped, the sound barely audible over the hum of the city noise filtering through the windows. Her head fell back against the headrest, her spine arching as the intense, focused rubbing began to spiral her back towards a devastating climax.
He maintained the contact: his palm grinding against her soaked crotch over the thin panties, his fingers kneading her thigh, while her hand was pumping his huge, straining cock. They were a frenzy of silent, frantic motion in the dark sanctuary of the car.
They were riding home, navigating busy intersections, surrounded by the oblivious chaos of rush-hour traffic. The irony was intoxicating—the globally famous idol Ryujin, whose face was plastered on billboards and magazine covers just outside the window, was inside this car, her legs spread, getting groped and fingered by one boyfriend while she was sluttily stroking the hard cock of another. The danger only intensified the pleasure. Every sudden brake, every passing pedestrian who looked in their direction, sent a violent, exquisite tremor of fear and arousal through her. She was a celebrity slut, exposed yet concealed, and the secret thrill was the best climax of all.
Eun Gyeol glanced at the road, then back at her. He saw the pure, uncontrolled ecstasy on her face—the flushed skin, the dilated pupils, the lip bitten tight against a scream. He drove his rubbing finger deeper, pressing her hard against the seat, as Ryujin’s hand worked faster and harder on his demanding cock. He knew exactly how close she was. They wouldn't make it back to the apartment before she came completely undone.
The city lights blurred into streaks of color outside the sedan windows, forgotten by Ryujin as the world narrowed down to the intense, ruthless friction between her skin and Eun Gyeol’s hand. He was no longer teasing; he was demanding a climax.
His fingers, thick and insistent, ground against the thin, wet fabric of her panties, pressing her swollen, throbbing pussy lips against the rigid bone of the seat. The friction was unbearable, exquisite, a constant, sharp pressure on her most sensitive point that sent jolts of white-hot electricity straight through her core.
Ryujin could not maintain the pretense of control. Her posture broke completely. She let out a sharp, breathless gasp and began to writhe and shudder violently in the leather seat. Her perfect, athletic body convulsed, twisting her hips in desperate, involuntary movements, pressing harder against his demanding hand.
Her hands, which had been stroking his rock-hard cock beneath his jeans with a smooth, relentless pace, suddenly froze. They went completely still, clenching the fabric around his length, her entire focus swallowed by the overwhelming ascent of her pleasure.
Eun Gyeol didn't slow down. Seeing her hand go rigid, seeing her face contort into that raw mask of impending climax, only fueled his need to dominate her entirely. He smiled, a dark, primal expression of triumph, and drove his fingers deeper, pressing the center of her pussy harder and faster against the seat.
The sensation was too much. It was the moment of complete, shattering release.
A low, guttural moan tore from Ryujin’s throat, immediately muffled by her hand. Her whole body seized, trembling violently as the first wave of her orgasm slammed into her. The contraction started deep inside her core, spreading outward like wildfire, making her muscles spasm and her entire lower body buck and shake in a desperate frenzy.
But his fingers were relentless. He didn't lift his hand; he kept the pressure, the friction, and the deep, demanding rub going, even as her body was coming undone.
“Come for me, Ryeong. Come hard,” he growled, his voice a low, rough rumble.
The continued stimulation prolonged the climax, stretching the exquisite tension. Ryujin was thrown into a rapid succession of seizures. Her hips rose and fell, thudding against the seat, her spine arching so violently that her back was suspended in the air. She was coming again and again, waves of pleasure crashing over her in a glorious, unstoppable torrent that left her dizzy and gasping. Her thighs clamped around his forearm, her skirt hiked up high around her waist, revealing the entirety of her shaking, slick pussy beneath the wet panties. She was nothing but raw, shuddering release.
The torrent slowly subsided. Ryujin remained arched and trembling for several long seconds, her breath coming in short, choked gasps. The residual spasms faded, leaving her slick, spent, and utterly depleted, her legs weak and heavy.
She gradually dropped back into the seat, pulling her skirt down slightly, but making no move to hide the damp patch blooming on her panties. She felt the warmth of his fingers still pressed against her, the intimate weight of his conquest.
She finally opened her eyes, which were wet and glazed over from the intensity of her release. She turned her head, her gaze meeting his.
Eun Gyeol was looking at her, not with lust, but with a deep, proprietary satisfaction. He was smiling softly, a beautiful, confident smile that acknowledged both her vulnerability and her surrender.
“You always come first,” he murmured, his voice gentle now, but holding a playful hint of accusation. He gently rubbed the still-throbbing center of her pussy before slowly withdrawing his hand, leaving a trail of warmth and wetness. “It always takes me so long to get you where you need to be, Ryeong. You leave me alone in the end, feeling all this thick pressure, all by myself.”
Ryujin laughed, a low, husky sound of pure contentment. She was high on the double ecstasy of the forbidden act and the raw, physical dominance he exerted.
She leaned in, pulling his face toward hers, their lips meeting in a deep, hungry kiss that tasted of salt, sweat, and sexual conquest.
“You’re never alone, my dominant boy,” she whispered against his mouth, her voice still rough with passion. “I use my body to satisfy you in every way I know how, Eun Gyeol. You just ask, and I give you everything.”
She pulled his hand—the same hand that had just driven her to ruin—and guided it up to her chest. She placed his large, warm palm directly over the perky curve of her breast, deliberately pressing his fingers against the tight, sensitive nipple that was still erect beneath the skin-tight shirt. “I am all yours to take, every inch of me.”
He gripped her instantly, cupping and squeezing her breast with a possessive strength that made her sigh with pleasure.
The intense intimacy of the moment was jarringly broken.
Eun Gyeol pulled the car to a stop with a gentle thump. They had reached the underground parking spot of her high-rise apartment complex.
Ryujin looked out the window, then back at Eun Gyeol, a beautiful, wicked idea forming in her mind. His cock was still rock-hard, immense beneath the denim. Her body was spent, but her hunger was already reigniting, craving the deep, consuming act of him taking her again, for hours, without the constraint of the car or the outside world.
She was about to voice the proposal—“Come upstairs. Fuck me all night.”—when her phone, lying on the center console, flashed with an incoming message.
The name: Minho.
She kissed Eun Gyeol quickly, a brief, distracting brush of lips, and grabbed the phone.
The message was brief, but utterly devastating to the moment: “I’m waiting, kitten. Your collar is ready.”
Attached was a picture: a simple, stark shot of a thick, black leather dog collar and a matching leash, resting casually on the white duvet of her own bed.
Ryujin’s breath hitched. She bit down hard on her lower lip, tasting the metallic hint of blood.
The image was a sharp, non-negotiable command. Minho, her submissive lover, was demanding his dominant time. The need for control was now transferred; she was due to be his mistress, not Eun Gyeol's conquered toy. The thought of that intense, role-playing session—the deep, worshipping reverence Minho had for her—was just as potent as the raw force of the man beside her.
She glanced at Eun Gyeol—at his heavy, hard erection straining the denim, at his eyes, dark with the certainty that they were going inside to fuck. She had to choose, and she had to choose now, before he pulled the keys from the ignition.
Minho was already in her apartment, waiting. That was the more immediate, more dangerous risk to contain.
She closed the phone, tossing it back onto the console as if it were a casual text from a stylist. Her hands, without hesitation, returned to Eun Gyeol’s lap, cupping and stroking his thick cock through the jeans with renewed, desperate energy.
“Let’s go up, Ryeong,” Eun Gyeol murmured, his hand moving to the ignition. “I need to be inside you. Now.”
Ryujin was faster. She leaned forward, pressing her body against his shoulder, her voice dropping to a sweet, falsely apologetic whisper, selling the lie perfectly.
“Oh, baby, I can’t right now,” she sighed, running her tongue lightly over the shell of his ear. “I am so, so sorry. But Minho is actually upstairs waiting. He brought some of the staff over, and we have to do an emergency lyrics session for the new track. They’re on a tight deadline, you know how it is. If they see you, it’ll be a huge mess.”
Eun Gyeol’s face fell instantly, the disappointment a visible, sharp wave of confusion and frustration. “Staff? Minho? Now?”
Ryujin increased the speed and pressure of her stroking hand.
“But what about this?” Eun Gyeol asked, his voice rough with anger and frustration, pointing explicitly at the throbbing hardness her hand was now frantically working over. “I’m rock hard, Ryeong. I just drove you home, and you let me touch you until I was like this. You can’t just leave me with this.”
Ryujin smiled, a slow, utterly wicked smile that held all the promise of her sluttish devotion. She pulled his mask down just an inch, leaning in close, her lips brushing the corner of his mouth.
“I would never let my dominant boy leave me with a hard-on like that,” she whispered, her tongue darting out to trace the perfect curve of his lower lip, tasting the breathlessness of his desire.
Without another word, without giving him time to protest or question, she lowered her head. She unzipped his fly with one urgent, swift movement, and with a soft, wet sound of immediate surrender, she took his thick, demanding cock into her hungry mouth, silencing his doubts with a burst of intense, immediate, devastating pleasure right there in the dark of the parking garage. The leash and collar could wait; for now, she was his willing, obedient mouth, her ultimate show of dedication to both her secret loves.
Her mouth closed around the thick, hot head of his cock with a sound of immediate, desperate need. Eun Gyeol gasped, his head snapping back against the seat, every ounce of his immediate, consuming frustration dissolving into a blinding rush of sensation.
She didn't take him gently. She was an expert, using her lips and tongue to immediately claim his immense thickness. Her lips were impossibly soft, wet, and warm, gliding over the straining, swollen ridge of his cock head. Her mouth applied immediate, demanding suction, drawing a deep, guttural moan from his chest.
Eun Gyeol’s eyes squeezed shut, the sight of the dimly lit parking lot vanishing entirely. All that mattered was the intense, engulfing heat of her mouth. This was Ryujin of ITZY, the globally famous idol, currently on her knees, deep in the dark secrecy of his car, working her magic on his cock. For him, a young man who had only dreamed of such things, it was a moment of dizzying, intoxicating fantasy made brutally real. The thought of the millions of young men who worshipped her, who would give anything to be in his position, only amplified the raw, possessive power of the act.
He released the steering wheel and instantly brought his hands to her body. His left hand slid under the short, pleated stage skirt, finding the wet, aching curve of her ass. He cupped her cheeks, kneading the firm, muscular flesh, pulling her tight against his crotch.
Ryujin’s hands, which had been unzipping his fly, now gripped his hips, pulling him forward, guiding him deeper into her mouth. Her head began to bob up and down with a rhythmic, fierce urgency. She was working him expertly, her throat flexing, her tongue circling the sensitive underside of his shaft, drawing forth a constant, low moan that he could feel not just in his ears, but in the base of his spine, transmitted directly through his cock.
But Eun Gyeol was not a submissive boy waiting to be serviced; he was a dominator who had been denied his full release. He intended to take what he craved, fully and immediately.
He shifted his body, bringing his right hand up. He grabbed the thick bundle of Ryujin’s long hair where it was pulled back at the crown of her head. He wrapped the strands tightly around his fist, securing a firm grip that gave him absolute control over her head.
The movement made Ryujin pause, her eyes looking up at him for a brief, startled moment through the gloom. Before she could react, he asserted his will.
“Open wider, Ryeong,” he commanded, his voice rough and low, thick with sexual aggression.
He gave a sharp, firm tug on her hair, forcing her head back slightly, stretching her throat. Then, he began to thrust.
He thrust his cock deep into her mouth, his powerful pelvis driving forward, using the leverage of her hair to pull her down and over his shaft. The sudden, immense intrusion was too much for her delicate throat. His full, thick length plunged past the curve of her tongue, hitting the back of her throat.
Ryujin gagged, a sharp, choked sound of protest and pain swallowed immediately by the thick mass of his cock. Her body tensed, the involuntary retching reflex trying to expel him, but his grip on her hair was absolute. He held her there, deep on his cock, forcing her to endure the overwhelming pressure.
He began to pump, short, brutal thrusts that slammed his pubic bone against her chin. Her head bobbed not by her own choice now, but by the relentless, demanding force of his assault.
His fingers beneath her skirt were kneading her ass cheeks harder, the roughness of the texture a perfect counterpoint to the velvet heat engulfing his cock. He could feel her moaning through his cock, the slight vibration of her throat muscles clenching and releasing around him, even as she struggled to breathe.
The sensation was overwhelming: the immense pressure on his cock, the absolute submission of the globally famous idol, the raw, forbidden location. It pushed him to the edge of his control.
“Take it all, Ryeong! Take every inch, like the good slut you are!” he grunted, the rough, dominating words fueling his lust.
The pressure, the gagging, the frantic, pumping motion—it was too much for her to contain. A thin stream of her saliva, mixed with the slick wetness from his cock, began to run down his shaft. It dripped slowly from the head of his cock, falling onto the carpeted floor of the expensive sedan, the ultimate, physical proof of her complete submission and humiliation.
He didn't care about the mess. He only cared about the feeling of her struggling, giving everything she had to satisfy the beast he had unleashed. He drove into her throat once more, holding her deep for a final, agonizing second, before pulling back, his cock glistening, coated entirely in the slick, hot residue of her desperate service.
He held her panting head steady, waiting for the reflexive spasms to subside.
“Good girl,” he whispered, his voice thick with triumph. He released her hair, the strands falling back around her flushed, wet face. “Now, make it clean.”
Ryujin, gasping for breath, looked up at him, her eyes dark, wet, and filled with a mixture of pain and fierce, compliant desire. She immediately lowered her head, closing her lips around his thick, heavy cock, her tongue working with renewed, desperate passion, cleaning the traces of her own saliva and his pre-come, silently accepting the final, humiliating command.
He leaned back, watching her work, the full, raw power of his dominance realized in the dark solitude of the parking garage. Minho and the collar were forgotten. For this moment, this secret, intense performance, Ryujin was his, and his alone.
Her mouth worked him with a desperate, practiced expertise, the raw, intense friction in the silence of the car consuming them both.
Inside the hot, wet velvet of her mouth, Ryujin was in a state of controlled sensory overload. Her mind, usually sharp and strategic, was split between the physical reality of the hard cock currently occupying her throat and the thrilling, dangerous mental comparison it evoked.
Eun Gyeol’s cock: A demanding weight. Hard, thick, and unforgiving. Every thrust, every push of his dominant hand on her head, was a confirmation of her immediate status: conquered. She loved the smell of his skin, the slight saltiness of his pre-come, the way his muscles tensed under her hands. This felt like a violation, a necessary humiliation that broke the flawless idol persona and reduced her to a hungry, obedient mouth. It was a release of control she craved.
Minho: The thought of her other boyfriend was a powerful, dark aphrodisiac. He’s waiting upstairs, on his knees, begging for me. The image of Minho—handsome, eager, completely submissive—with her collar around his throat, waiting to be commanded, was a promise of the complete opposite dynamic. With Minho, she would be the master, the demanding one, the owner. That was the other half of her addiction: the need to dominate as fiercely as she was currently being dominated. The immediate rush of Eun Gyeol’s force only made her anticipate the slow, reverent worship of Minho even more intensely.
I have to hurry. The dual roles made her movements frantic. She was servicing Eun Gyeol to placate his frustration, but every moment was stealing time from the dangerous, delicious game waiting for her upstairs.
Eun Gyeol leaned back, his head against the seat, his eyes closed in pure ecstasy, listening to the wet, fervent sounds of her dedication.
From his perspective, the sight of her head bobbing on his cock was the most stunning degradation. Her long, dark hair, slightly disheveled from his rough handling, fell forward, obscuring her face, leaving only the rhythmic, urgent motion to confirm his domination. Her body—that perfect, idol-sculpted form—was bent low, her tight shirt stretched across her back as she worked. He could see her shoulders trembling with effort and need.
He tightened his left hand on her ass, pulling her hips in, driving himself deeper, eliciting a loud, sucking moan that she was forced to create around his thickness.
Ryujin, working with professional intensity, varied her technique. She alternated between deep-throating him, forcing the entire length to the back of her throat and enduring the painful stretch, and using her tongue to flick and circle the frenulum, the sensitive ridge underneath his head. She would pause, drawing her mouth back to tease the heavy, full base of his shaft before plunging deep again, creating a loud, echoing slurp that resonated in the car.
Then, she focused on his balls. She drew her mouth back slightly, applying immediate, searing heat to his scrotum, sucking and licking the taut, sensitive skin of his balls with quick, wet movements. The unexpected, intense pleasure of the oral focus on his testicles made Eun Gyeol groan, his hips bucking instinctively.
“Ryeong… God… yes…” he gasped, the sounds of his pleasure raw and heavy.
He felt the tell-tale rush, the final, agonizing pressure building in his groin. He grabbed her head again, gripping her jaw firmly, controlling her absolute final position.
“Take it all, Ryeong! Now!” he commanded, his voice strained and thick with the imminence of his climax.
He exploded into her mouth.
The sensation for Ryujin was overwhelming. It wasn't a soft release; it was a violent, pulsing, relentless eruption of thick, hot fluid. Load after load spurted deep into her oral cavity, the force of his release making her whole throat twitch and tighten around his cock.
She held him, her mouth clamped tight, her hands clutching his thighs, enduring the intense, demanding pressure. Her mouth ballooned with the sheer volume of his seed. She could feel the powerful, final twitching of his cock inside her mouth as his pleasure subsided, the immense release leaving him breathless and shaking. Some of the cum, too much to contain, overflowed her lips, running down her chin in a thick, sticky stream, dripping onto her neck and chest.
He pulled back, extracting his slick, spent cock from her mouth with a loud, sucking sound. Ryujin lifted her head, her face a mess of cum, saliva, and sweat. She was breathing heavily, her eyes wide with the shock of the immense volume.
He immediately reached out, his hand wrapping around her jaw, holding her face up to the dim light of the parking lot.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly, holding her gaze. He gently wiped a thick line of cum from her cheek with his thumb. “Swallow it, Ryujin. All of it. Don't waste a drop.”
Ryujin didn’t hesitate. She was his slut in this moment, and she played the role to the absolute limit. She focused, her throat working hard, swallowing his thick cum fully, gulping down the immense load he had just deposited into her. She closed her eyes, forcing it down, every swallow a deliberate act of obedience.
She then used her dainty fingers to scrape the sticky fluid that had trickled down her chin and neck, bringing the last few drops to her mouth, licking her fingers clean with a final, deliberate movement. Her face was clean, but her submission was absolute.
He smiled, a deep, satisfied grin of utter triumph. He released her jaw.
“Good girl. You’re a perfect slut,” he praised, his fingers tangling again in her hair, now gently.
He guided her head back down to his crotch. His cock, though spent, was still thick and needed attention.
“Now, clean up my cock and balls. Leave nothing,” he instructed.
Ryujin immediately obeyed. She licked his shaft with a slow, thorough reverence, her tongue tracing the length of his cock, swirling around the base and the head, gathering every trace of cum and fluid. She then moved to his balls, licking and sucking the sensitive, still-taut skin until they were entirely clean and dry. She missed nothing, consuming every last vestige of his release, purifying him with her mouth.
When she was finished, she looked up at him, her mouth glistening, her eyes wide. She reached out, kissing the clean, soft head of his cock one last, final goodbye before she zipped his fly.
They both quickly and silently tidied themselves. Eun Gyeol pulled his jeans straight and smoothed his shirt, while Ryujin frantically wiped the leather seat with the stage jacket she had tossed in the back.
They spoke in low, breathless tones, their voices thick with the lingering pleasure.
“You know, I’ll be thinking about this deep thrust all night,” he murmured, cupping her breast one last time.
“And I’ll be thinking about the taste of you until you let me take control again,” she promised, her fingers stroking his cheek.
With a final, desperate kiss, they said goodbye. Ryujin grabbed her bag and her discarded jacket, slipping out of the car and heading straight for the elevator bank.
The elevator ride was a blur. She used the reflective surface of the door to quickly check her makeup, a triumphant, secretive smile playing on her lips. She had done her duty. She had satisfied the dominant one.
She reached her floor and walked down the silent, luxurious hallway. She took a deep breath, composed her face into a mixture of exhaustion and mild annoyance, and turned the key to her apartment door.
The moment she stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted completely. The lighting was low, ambient, and warm. The air smelled faintly of incense and expensive leather.
And there, sitting directly in the center of her white living room rug, was Minho.
He was even more handsome up close, younger than Eun Gyeol, with sharp, delicate features and a body sculpted to perfection. He was sitting on his knees, patiently waiting, wearing nothing but a pair of tight black briefs. Around his neck, secured and prominent, was the thick, black leather dog collar from the photograph. The attached leash lay coiled neatly by his side.
The moment he saw her, his eyes lit up with a look of pure, unadulterated devotion. His posture changed from patient waiting to eager submission. He didn't stand up. He immediately crawled over the rug toward her on his hands and knees, dragging the leash slightly, his gaze fixed entirely on her.
Ryujin’s exhaustion vanished, replaced by a surge of intoxicating power. She smiled, a triumphant, proprietorial expression that belonged only to the owner.
She stopped just short of him. Minho, her obedient pet, halted, settling on his knees directly at her feet, his head bowed, ready for instruction.
Ryujin kicked off her high-heeled boots, letting them drop with a soft thud. She then placed her bare feet on his shoulders, using his strong, kneeling body as a soft pedestal. She slowly rubbed her feet against the taut muscles of his shoulders, a silent command for him to worship her.
Then, with a deliberate, slow movement, she hiked the white stage skirt up high, exposing her inner thighs and her wet, leaking pussy. The fabric of her panties was soaked through with Eun Gyeol’s cum and her own climax, glistening dark against the white lace.
She looked down at Minho’s eager, devoted face, the contrast between the rough dominance she had just endured and the absolute submission she now commanded, sending a fresh wave of arousal through her.
“Good boy,” she murmured, her voice deep and thick with power.
It was time to start the second round with her obedient pet.
Hey Baby," Jaime smirks while she drags you into the unoccupied room, pulling down her top to reveal her perky breasts. Her massive, puffy, brown nipples harden eagerly under your loving attention, hardening within your mouth. Jaime moans, eagerly groping your crotch, be gentle!
Has she heard stories about the masked busty woman going around deflowering virgins? She laughs, of course not! Now shut up and pull down those pants mister! The anonymous lady grins toothily as she mounts your unused dick, Nayeon just cant resist cherry boys' delicious cocks! 🤤
“Alex Lim! Get off the sofa and help me with the luggage!” Mrs Lim chided her husband who was plonked down on the OSIM massage chair watching Netflix.
“Oh, you are back from the airport.” Alex sighed and got up reluctantly.
“And don’t mention anything about my sister’s divorce to our niece. Just do anything she asks. We need to keep her happy till my sister completes the papers and come back to Singapore from the United States.” Mrs Lim whispered fiercely. “And put on a shirt. There is a guest now and you cannot walk around in your boxer shorts for goodness’s sake!”
Misty, their niece appeared at the door of their bungalow together with their daughter Chantelle. She was carrying several bags of shopping from Calvin Klein, Kate Spade, Lululemon, Marc Jacobs and Victoria’s Secret. For a person who is supposedly having a hard time processing her parent’s divorce and need to come to Singapore, she seemed to be still in a mood for shopping.
“Hello uncle! Long time no see!” Misty dropped her shopping bags on the floor and rushed forward to hug Alex.
Alex awkwardly pushed Misty away gently. It was almost ten years since he saw his niece. She was just 8 years old then. Now that she is 18, she has grown into a very sexy young lady. She was tall with long slender legs, accentuated by the lemon-yellow tights she was wearing. Perhaps just a bit too tight as Alex saw her camel toe quite clearly. Misty had put on short cropped blouse, exposing her taut and slim waist. Her breasts were large, and her blouse could hardly cover them. Her cleavage can be seen clearly together with the lacy top of her red bra contrasting against the creamy white top of her breasts. He should not be hugging her especially when he was only wearing a boxer and she was all grown up. He hoped he will not get an erection or it will be too embarrassing.
Alex tried to change the subject. “Er…I see you did a lot of shopping. In Orchard Road?”
“No. She just went crazy when we arrived at Changi Airport. First time I ever shopped at Changi Airport when I ARRIVED.” Chantelle pretended to be annoyed. Alex knew that his daughter was close to Misty as she had always stayed with her when she goes to the US for holidays.
The excitement from coming home over, the girls went up to their rooms on the second floor to unpack their shopping spoils while Alex went into his room at the ground floor to pull on a pair of track pants and a tee shirt.
When evening came, the family went out to Marina Bay and had seafood as Misty loved chili crabs. Alex loved oysters and ate a dozen of them. As he finished off the last shell, he saw Misty smiling at him knowingly. He was perplexed as to the reason behind the smile. “So, what is trending among young people in the United States now, huh?” Alex thought perhaps he should strike up a conversation with Misty.
“Oh, the intellectuals, like yours truly, are into Wordle. There is a new challenge today to change the word “Uncle” to “Slave”. Maybe it is destined that I will get to solve the challenge because I am meeting my favourite uncle again today.” Misty winked naughtily. Alex smiled. He had no idea what Misty was talking about. Generation gap, he thought to himself and decided to order another dozen oysters.
With dinner over, they drove home in the family Mercedes Benz. Just as they stepped into the house, Mrs Lim received a phone call. She looked at the number with a worried look and signalled to the others to keep quiet.
“Did something go wrong?” Mrs Lim sounded very serious. She muttered something softly into the phone for a couple of minutes before hanging up. “I need to fly to Japan tonight. I go up to pack a couple of things. Alex, send me to the airport.”
“Do you need to go to office to get your things?” Alex asked.
“Jenny will get all my office stuff and meet me at the airport. I hope she can still get the tickets for tonight’s flight.” Mrs Lim sounded upset and worried.
“Is it serious?” Alex inquired.
“I have no time to talk to you, Alex!” Mrs Lim shouted “Even if I tell you, would you understand? Just get the car ready. Do what you are capable of.”
Alex sighed. It was true that he did not understand all the financial mumbo jumbo that his wife does. She is very successful managing mergers and acquisitions for her bank. He was just an engineer who was lucky to have sold off his one and only invention for a large sum of money. It was more than sufficient for him to retire. But without working, he feels that he is now useless in the household especially when his wife is so successful and earning so much money.
By the time he returned home from sending his wife to the airport, it was already midnight and the house was quiet. The girls must already be asleep, he thought to himself. He took a quick bath and dressed only in his boxers, he laid down on his bed to sleep.
He woke up, seemingly in a dream state, his head still hazy. It was still dark, he should continue to sleep, he thought to himself. At this moment, he was aware of a pleasurable sensation coming from his cock. He looked down and saw that his boxers had been removed. He was naked and a head was right between his legs, bobbing gently, giving him a blowjob.
He quickly sat up. Surprised by Alex waking up suddenly, the person looked up to smile seductively at him. It was Misty.
“What are you doing?” Alex shouted.
“Shh. You don’t want to wake Chantelle. It will be difficult to explain what we are doing here.” Misty sidled right up to him, her body rubbed against his hard cock as she now faced him squarely. “You are 2 dozen oysters tonight. You must be so horny but yet auntie is not around to satisfy you. I thought I would be the filial niece and help you out.” Misty’s soft hands grabbed his hard cock and gently stroked it.
“You have such a big and beautiful cock, uncle. It was so satisfying to suck on it while you were sleeping. But now that you are awake, maybe it will be more fun, huh?” Misty bent down to kiss Alex, her other hand now resting on his nipples, circling it. Alex sighed in pleasure.
He had not had sex for a very long time. His wife is always busy or tired. Misty’s hand felt so warm and soft. It was so much better than masturbating with his own rough and callous hand. He could feel his insides stirring as the pleasure intensified. His body shook uncontrollably with pleasure that he had long forgotten as Misty’s tongue caressed the insides of his mouth. Her warm tongue created a tingle of pleasure wherever it went.
When she withdrew her tongue, Alex wanted to push her back in. But Misty simply wanted to tongue an even more pleasurable area, his nipples. Alex groaned when the wet, slippery tongue flicked his already erect nipples. The pleasurable tingle made him shuddered. All this time, Mist’s hand expertly squeezed and stroked his hard cock, alternating to create varied forms of sensation to heighten his pleasure.
Going down further, Misty’s tongue trailed a line from his chest to his navel. It lingered there for a while, heightening Alex’s expectation of the pleasure that he will derive from Misty’s tongue on his cock.
“Do you want me to continue sucking you?” Misty asked innocently.
“Yes, please.” Alex whimpered, holding on to Misty’s head, as he tried to guide her to give him pleasure.
Misty continued to lick down from the navel but detoured away from the raging, erect cock to the base, licking the side of his balls, lapping it like it was some kind of fruit handing from a tree.
“Just suck me, please.” Alex whimpered, his cock throbbing for the warmth of Misty’s tongue and mouth.
But Misty did not comply. She continued licking first one side and then the other. She licked further down towards the anus. She licked Alex’s inner thighs. But she did not touch his hard cock that is now so swollen with lust that it was almost bursting.
“Come on, suck me now.” Alex arched his cock towards Misty, his body twitching with anticipation.
“Okay. I am done.” Misty suddenly sat up and turned away from Alex.
Blinded with lust and blue balls, Alex lunged forward and pressed Misty down. He got on top of her and started kissing her savagely, his hard cock rubbing against her body, his hands holding her hands high above her head.
“No, please don’t do this.” Misty cried. “I am your niece. Don’t rape me.”
But Alex did not reply. He lifted Misty’s t-shirt and saw that she was not wearing any bra. He devoured each breast hungrily. Misty continued with her pleas but Alex was not listening at all.
Alex next turned his attention downwards. He pulled off Misty’s Lululemon running shorts and was surprised that she was not wearing panties either. He spread Misty’s legs expecting her to resist and clamp them shut. But Misty was not resisting at all but instead seemed to welcome his impending penetration by keeping her legs wide open. Alex found Misty’s cunt wet and inviting and driven by lust, pushed his cock into the warm waiting hole.
Engulfed by the tight, young cunt, Alex calmed down a little. He laid on top of Misty and plunged deeper, feeling the pleasurable sensation as his hard cock pushed against the folds of the vagina walls. He withdrew his cock, and a whole different sensation filled his body. It had been a long time since he experienced sexual pleasure. This may be the most pleasurable sex he ever had as Misty is young, tight and voluptuous. Even when his wife was younger, she never had Misty’s figure nor the tightness that his cock is experiencing now.
“Get off me! Stop this, uncle!” Misty cried but her legs wrapped around Alex, refusing to let him go, her body responding with thrusts that matched his own. It was as if she was enjoying being raped.
“Argh!” Misty suddenly released her hold of Alex and managed to push Alex off her. She climbed on her fours, her ass and cunt pushed towards Alex while she faced the end of the bed and the dressing table placed there. Alex was shocked by the move for a moment but seeing Misty wriggling her ass and cunt in front of him, he held onto her slim waist and guided his cock into her waiting cunt, fucking her doggy style.
“No, Stop it, Uncle Alex. Stop raping me!” Misty cried, looking straight ahead. Alex continued fucking her, grunting “You asked for it, you cock-tease.”
He raised himself, climbing on top of Misty to grab her massive tips as they swung like ripe melons on a tree. He turned Misty’s head upwards as he attempted to kiss her. At this point, Alex knew he was approaching the point of no return. He increased his pace, plunging deeper with each thrust, feeling his cock hitting the end of the tunnel. As his balls tightened and prepared for his release from his lust, he noticed a red blinking light just above the tissue box on the dressing table. He realised that hidden behind the tissue box and the bottles of his wife’s cosmetics, was a phone recording their tryst. At this moment, his dam broke and he held onto Misty tightly as he ejaculated into her with a loud groan.
He collapsed onto Misty, enjoying the last pulsating pleasure from his cock as it releases the waves of seeds into Misty’s waiting womb. Satisfied at last, he rolled off her, sighing the end of the ordeal.
Misty got up nonchalantly and picked up the hidden phone. She sat down next to Alex and played the video for him.
“Wow! This came up better than I thought. I managed to capture all the audio telling you not to rape me, and your face is caught on the camera when we did the doggy fuck.” Misty sounded ecstatic. “Look. From this angle, I can see clearly your cock entering me.”
“What is this? Why are you recording this?” Alex asked, his senses no longer overcome by lust, he was starting to get worried.
“Isn’t it obvious? With this video, you will need to do everything I ask. Or else, I will upload it to the internet. What will auntie and Chantelle do if they see this video? Or maybe you will go to jail for raping me?” Misty laughed.
“Don’t joke. Delete the video, Misty.” Alex was now frightened.
“Don’t worry. As long as you listen to me, I will not let anyone see the video.” Misty patted Alex’s head like he was a dog.
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