The late afternoon sun filtered through the sheer curtains of the living room, casting elongated rectangles of warm golden light across the hardwood floor. It had been three weeks since that fateful Sunday, the one they now referred to in hushed, amused tones as the No Clothes Sunday, the day when a drunken bet had escalated into something far more profound and permanent. The boundaries between Jihyo and him had dissolved entirely, leaving in their wake a domestic intimacy that felt both shocking in its casualness and natural in its rightness. The house had become a sanctuary of skin and comfort, a place where clothing was optional and desire was never far from the surface.
The front door clicked open with a tired, heavy sound, and Jihyo stepped inside, her shoulders slumped in a way that spoke of exhaustion so deep it seemed to permeate her very bones. She had spent the entire day at the practice room, running through choreography for hours on end, her body pushed to its absolute limits by the unforgiving demands of the entertainment industry. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, strands escaping to frame her face, which was devoid of makeup and pale with fatigue. She wore a loose black practice shirt that clung to her sweat-dampened skin and leggings that had long since lost their elasticity from being worn too many times.
She kicked off her sneakers with a grunt, not bothering to line them up neatly against the wall as she usually might have done. The sound of her sigh filled the entryway, a long, trembling exhalation of air that seemed to carry with it all the tension of her brutal day. She walked into the living room, her steps dragging, and found him reclining on the couch, his bare chest rising and falling with calm, steady breaths. He was wearing only a pair of loose grey sweatpants that sat low on his hips, the waistband of his underwear barely visible above the elastic. His skin glowed in the afternoon light, toned and inviting, a familiar sight that had become as comforting to her as her own bed.
Without a word, Jihyo crossed the room and collapsed onto the couch beside him, her body sinking into the cushions with a soft whoosh of displaced air. She leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. The silence between them was comfortable, filled with the unspoken understanding that had grown between them over these past weeks.
"Rough day?" he asked, his voice low and gentle, not demanding anything from her, simply offering a space for her to unload if she needed to.
She opened one eye and looked at him, a tired smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You have no idea," she said, her voice hoarse from disuse and dehydration. "We ran through the new choreography forty times. Forty. My legs feel like jelly, and my back is killing me. I think I pulled something in my shoulder during the last run-through."
He reached out and placed his hand on her thigh, squeezing gently through the fabric of her leggings. "Want me to rub it later?" he offered.
Jihyo chuckled, a warm, throaty sound that vibrated through her chest. "Later," she agreed. "Right now, I just want to not be wearing these clothes. They feel like they're strangling me."
She didn't wait for his response. With movements that had become routine, almost ritualistic in their comfort, she reached down and grasped the hem of her loose practice shirt. She pulled it up over her head in one smooth motion, revealing the sports bra beneath, which she unclasped and discarded onto the floor without a second thought. Her breasts fell free, full and heavy, the nipples slightly pebbled from the cool air of the air-conditioned room. She had always been self-conscious about her body in the past, aware of the industry's impossible standards, but here, with him, she had learned to exist in her skin without apology.
Next came the leggings. She peeled them down her legs, shimmying her hips to work the tight fabric over her thighs and calves. She got them down to her ankles but didn't bother removing them completely, leaving them bunched there like fabric shackles, too tired to finish the job. Now she sat beside him in nothing but a pair of simple cotton underwear, her skin glowing with a sheen of residual sweat from her practice, her curves on full display.
She turned toward him and leaned her head against his shoulder, seeking the solid warmth of his body. Her hand, which had been resting on her own thigh, drifted across the small space between them and found the waistband of his sweatpants. She slipped her fingers beneath the elastic, delving into the heat within, and wrapped her fingers around his semi-erect length. He was warm and heavy in her palm, already stirring to life at her touch.
"Already?" she murmured against his shoulder, a teasing note in her voice despite her exhaustion.
"You're naked," he replied simply, as if that explained everything. And perhaps it did. "Hard not to respond when you're sitting there like that."
She stroked him slowly, her fingers loose and lazy, not trying to rush toward anything, just enjoying the feel of him growing harder in her grasp. The rhythm was hypnotic, a gentle back and forth that matched the slowing of her own breathing as she began to relax for the first time since leaving the practice room that morning.
"Shall we do it?" he asked, his voice slightly rougher now, desire beginning to thread through his tone.
Jihyo didn't answer immediately. She continued her slow stroking, her thumb circling the sensitive ridge beneath the head of his cock, feeling him twitch in her hand. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, thoughtful, carrying a note of longing that made him turn his head to look at her.
"You bet," she said, confirming her willingness. Then she paused, her hand stilling for a moment as an idea seemed to crystallize in her mind. "But I am craving some sensual massage right now."
He blinked, surprised by the specific request. He looked at her, studying her face, trying to understand the shift in her desire. "Craving?" he repeated. "What do you mean craving? Did you have one before?"
She shook her head, her hair brushing against his shoulder with the movement. "No, I did not," she admitted. "But I like having sex with you, and I want a nice massage. My body is so sore, so tight. I was thinking... why not mix them both? Like in one of those Japanese styles? The ones where they use oil and take their time?"
Understanding dawned on him, and he nodded slowly, the image already forming in his mind. He had seen videos of such massages, the slow, deliberate touch, the way pleasure and relaxation intertwined until the recipient was nothing but a puddle of sensation. "I can do that," he said, confidence in his voice. He had strong hands, patient hands, and he knew her body well enough to read its responses.
Jihyo smiled, a genuine, bright expression that transformed her tired face. She squeezed his cock once more, firmer this time, before releasing him and slowly pushing his sweatpants down his hips. He lifted his hips to help her, and soon he was as naked as she was, the fabric pooled around his ankles much like hers.
As she settled back against him, her hand returning to his thigh, she suddenly went still. Her eyes widened slightly, and she looked up at him with an expression that was part mischief, part serious intent.
"I'll invite Momo tomorrow," she said, the words dropping between them like stones into still water.
He reacted before his brain could catch up, blurting out the first thought that came to mind. "So, no nakedness tomorrow?"
Jihyo laughed, a musical sound that filled the room. "I guess not," she said, considering. "But there will be when the massage starts."
He looked at her in confusion, his brow furrowing as she resumed her slow stroking of his cock, her fingers dancing along his length with maddening patience. "What does that mean?" he asked.
Jihyo's expression grew more serious, though her hand never stopped its work. "Momo went to one of those massages in Japan," she explained. "The sensual ones. She invited me once, back when we were on tour, but I was too afraid. Too shy. But now that it's you, someone I trust completely, I want to try it. And I know Momo loved that massage. She talked about it for weeks afterward. So I thought... let me invite Momo tomorrow. We can both experience it together."
His mind raced to catch up with the implications of her words. "Which means..." he prompted, needing her to spell it out.
"Which means," she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper as she slid down from the couch and positioned herself between his knees, "you'll need a little more stamina to handle both me and Momo. She liked that massage. It'll be up to you for her to like your massage."
He smirked down at her, his heart pounding at the thought. Not only had he won Jihyo's complete trust and intimacy, but now Momo was being added to the equation. The prospect was dizzying, exhilarating. But he needed to understand the boundaries, the expectations.
"Does Momo know about me?" he asked. "The whole naked thing? Our arrangement?"
Jihyo looked up at him, her eyes dark and intense, and slowly lowered her head. She placed a soft, wet kiss on the tip of his cock, making him groan. "She does," she confirmed, the words vibrating against his sensitive skin. Then she opened her mouth and took him inside, her lips stretching around his girth, her tongue flattening against the underside of his shaft.
He nodded, his hand finding its way to her hair, tangling in the strands of her messy bun. The night commenced in earnest then, Jihyo setting a pace that was neither rushed nor lazy, but perfectly calibrated to drive him wild. She used her hand in concert with her mouth, twisting and stroking the base while her lips worked the upper half. The wet sounds of her ministrations filled the room, mingling with his groans and her own soft hums of pleasure.
When he could take no more of her mouth without spilling, he gently pulled her up and guided her to turn around. She understood immediately, positioning herself on her hands and knees on the floor, her discarded leggings still tangled around her ankles, her underwear the only barrier remaining. He removed that barrier with one swift tug, revealing her glistening sex, swollen and ready for him.
He entered her from behind in one smooth thrust, filling her completely, and she cried out, her voice echoing off the walls. The carpet was soft beneath her knees, the air cool against her bare back, but his heat was overwhelming, surrounding her as he began to move. He set a deep, rolling pace, each thrust hitting that perfect spot inside her that made her toes curl. Her breasts swung with the motion, heavy and free, and she reached back with one hand to grip his thigh, pulling him deeper.
They moved together like that for what felt like hours, though it was likely only minutes, their bodies finding that perfect rhythm that they had developed over weeks of intimacy. When they finally collapsed, he still inside her, they rolled onto their sides on the living room floor, their limbs tangled, their chests heaving. He remained nestled within her, softening slowly, their bodies still joined as they drifted toward sleep.
The last thing he remembered before consciousness faded was the warmth of her back against his chest, the rise and fall of her breathing, and the anticipation of tomorrow pulsing through his veins like a second heartbeat.
--------------------
Morning light crept through the windows, pale and insistent, pulling Jihyo from the depths of sleep. She stirred, her body aching in the pleasant way that came from thorough use, and realized she was lying on the cold hardwood floor of the living room. She chuckled to herself, the sound dry and amused, remembering how they had collapsed here last night, too sated and lazy to make it to the bedroom.
She turned her head, expecting to find him still beside her, but the space was empty, already cooling. The blanket they had somehow pulled over themselves during the night slipped from her shoulders as she sat up, revealing her nakedness to the empty room. She stretched, her spine cracking in several places, and looked around for him.
The sound reached her then, a low, rhythmic moaning that was unmistakable in its intent. She followed the sound and found him sitting on the couch, his hand wrapped around his erect cock, stroking with slow, deliberate movements. On the television screen, a scene played out in high definition, a Japanese massage parlor where a man was slowly, methodically working oil into the body of a woman who was making those exact sounds.
Jihyo stood up and walked toward him, her nakedness complete and unashamed. She positioned herself between him and the television, blocking his view, and placed her hands on her hips. She smirked down at him, one eyebrow raised in playful accusation.
"Am I not enough for you," she asked, her voice carrying a teasing lilt, "that you have to watch porn and jerk off by yourself? And that too this early in the morning? You could have woken me up for a good, good morning sex."
He looked up at her, his hand stilling on his cock, and reached out with his free hand. He grasped her hip and gently pushed her to the side, not forcefully, but with enough intent to guide her to sit beside him on the couch. She allowed herself to be moved, settling onto the cushions next to him, her thigh pressing against his.
"That's not it," he explained, his voice rough with arousal and sleep. He gestured toward the screen with his chin. "I was looking at a Japanese massage porn video. For research."
Jihyo followed his gaze to the television, where the masseuse was now working his way up the woman's thighs, his hands disappearing into regions that were definitely not standard massage territory. Understanding dawned on her, and her smirk softened into something warmer, more appreciative.
"Oh," she said, realization coloring her tone. "So you're practicing the sensual massage techniques? For today?"
He nodded, his hand resuming its slow stroking, though now he was looking at her rather than the screen. "Uh huh," he confirmed. "I want to give both of you guys the best experience of sensual... massage." He had almost said porn, and they both caught it, sharing a smile at the Freudian slip.
Jihyo melted at his words, at the thoughtfulness of his preparation. She watched the screen for a moment longer, studying the techniques being demonstrated, the way the masseuse used his entire palm, the way he teased and retreated, building anticipation. Then she slowly bent down from her seated position, her hair falling forward to curtain her face, and took his cock into her mouth.
He groaned, his hips bucking slightly at the sudden wet heat of her. She bobbed her head slowly, her tongue swirling around his shaft, while he reached out with his other hand and found her sex. She was already wet, always ready for him, and he slid two fingers inside her with ease. They sat there on the couch, the morning light growing stronger around them, giving each other pleasure while the instructional porn played on in the background, forgotten.
It was a mutual exchange, a give and take that required no words. When he crooked his fingers inside her, finding that rough patch of tissue that made her gasp around his cock, she responded by taking him deeper, relaxing her throat until her nose pressed against his pelvis. When she hummed, the vibration traveled through his entire body, making his fingers work her with renewed vigor.
They came together, or near enough to it that the distinction was meaningless. He spilled into her mouth with a grunt, his hips jerking, while she clamped down on his fingers, her orgasm washing through her in waves that made her moan around his pulsing length. She swallowed him down, every drop, then slowly released him from her mouth and sat up, her chest heaving.
The video had ended, the screen gone blue with the player menu. They sat in the quiet aftermath, their bodies glowing with the pleasant lassitude of morning release. After a moment, he withdrew his fingers from her and reached for the tissue box on the side table. They cleaned themselves, then the couch, wiping away the evidence of their activities with lazy, satisfied movements.
"We should get dressed," Jihyo said, though she made no move to stand. "Momo will be here soon. We don't want to greet her naked from the start itself. That might be a bit much, even for her."
He agreed, and they both rose from the couch, their naked forms moving through the house with the ease of long familiarity. They showered together, the water hot and steamy, washing away the night's sweat and the morning's activities. They took turns soaping each other's backs, the touches functional now rather than sexual, though the underlying current of desire never fully disappeared.
After drying their hair with towels, Jihyo stood in front of the bedroom mirror, contemplating her underwear drawer. She reached for her usual comfortable cotton, but he stopped her, his hand closing around her wrist gently.
"Jihyo," he said, his voice soft. "Wear these first." He pointed to a set of lacy white lingerie that he had laid out on the bed, a delicate bikini-style panty and matching bra. The fabric was sheer, almost translucent, designed more for visual appeal than support. "After stripping to just these, I'll start the massage on both of you. Momo also needs to wear these." He gestured to a second set, identical in style but in a different size, laid out beside the first.
Jihyo looked at the lingerie, then at him, her eyes widening with impressed surprise. "Oh oh," she said, a smile spreading across her face. "Professional, aren't you?" She reached out and smacked his ass playfully, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "You've really thought this through."
She took the white set and began to put it on, the lace hugging her curves in ways that were both revealing and concealing. The panties sat low on her hips, the delicate strings rising up to emphasize the swell of her hips. The bra lifted her breasts, presenting them like offerings, the nipples barely visible through the sheer fabric.
Just as she was adjusting the straps, the doorbell rang, a sharp, insistent sound that made them both jump. They exchanged a look of panic mixed with excitement, realizing they were not quite ready. They hurried, Jihyo pulling on a loose sundress over the lingerie, him tugging on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. They moved through the living room, gathering the tissues, turning off the television, erasing all evidence of their morning activities.
Jihyo took a deep breath at the door, smoothing her hair, then opened it with a bright smile. Momo stood on the doorstep, looking radiant and eager. She wore a simple outfit of a cropped t-shirt and high-waisted shorts, her hair down and flowing around her shoulders. She carried a small bag over her shoulder, presumably with a change of clothes.
"Jihyo!" Momo exclaimed, stepping forward to embrace her friend. "I am so excited for this! I haven't had a proper massage in ages!"
They separated, and Momo stepped inside, her eyes immediately finding him where he stood in the living room. She smiled, a knowing, teasing expression that suggested Jihyo had indeed told her everything.
"So," Momo said, her voice carrying that distinctive tone she used when she was being playful, "this is the infamous naked Sunday house? I have to say, I'm disappointed you're both wearing clothes. I was expecting to be greeted by nudity."
He felt his face flush slightly, though he smiled back at her. "We thought we'd ease you into it," he replied. "No need to shock you at the door."
Momo laughed, a bright, infectious sound. "Oh please," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "Jihyo told me everything. The bet, the stripping, the... everything." She winked at him, then turned back to Jihyo. "I have to admit, I was jealous when she told me. I wanted to know what it felt like to be so free, so comfortable. And now I get to find out."
Jihyo took Momo's hand and squeezed it. "We're going to take care of you today," she promised. "No more tired muscles. No more stress. Just relaxation and pleasure."
Momo's expression grew serious, though her eyes sparkled with anticipation. "I don't want to waste any further time," she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Let's start the massage. I've been dying to get one since last year's one in Tokyo. That was heavenly, but I have a feeling this will be even better."
Jihyo guided her toward the bedroom, her hand still clasped in Momo's. She showed her the outfit laid out on the bed, the white lingerie that matched her own beneath her dress. Momo's eyes widened as she took in the delicate lace, the sheer fabric.
"Oh my," Momo breathed, picking up the panties and holding them up. "This is... this is beautiful. And very erotic. Just from the outfit, I can tell this is going to be an experience."
They both stripped, Jihyo removing her sundress to reveal the white lingerie beneath, Momo peeling off her casual clothes until she was in her own underwear, which she then replaced with the set provided. The fit was perfect, hugging Momo's slimmer frame in all the right places, the white lace contrasting beautifully with her skin.
He stayed outside the bedroom door, giving them privacy to change and prepare, though his imagination was running wild with what was happening on the other side of that door. He could hear their soft voices, the rustle of fabric, the occasional giggle. His heart pounded in his chest, anticipation making his hands tremble slightly.
After what felt like an eternity but was likely only minutes, the door opened, and Jihyo emerged. She was still wearing the white lingerie, looking like a vision of bridal innocence and seductive intent all at once. She walked up to him, rose on her toes, and kissed him softly on the lips, a promise of what was to come.
"Everything's ready," she whispered against his mouth. "We're both laying on the bed, waiting for you. Take your time. Make us feel good."
He nodded, his throat too tight to speak, and followed her into the bedroom.
(Japanese JAV Actress, Waka Misona)
The scene that greeted him was indeed heavenly. The bedroom had been transformed, the lights dimmed, candles lit around the perimeter of the room casting flickering shadows on the walls. The bed was covered in fresh white sheets, and lying upon them were two of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. Momo was laying on her stomach near the edge of the bed, her cheek resting on her folded arms, her eyes closed. Her body was long and lean, the white lace of the lingerie doing little to conceal the curve of her ass or the length of her thighs. Beside her, Jihyo had positioned herself similarly, her fuller curves creating a beautiful contrast to Momo's slighter frame.
On the bedside table sat bottles of massage oil, several varieties, along with warm towels. He approached the bed, his footsteps silent on the carpet. He picked up a bottle of oil, one infused with jasmine and sandalwood, and poured a generous amount into his palms. He rubbed his hands together, warming the oil, preparing himself.
He started with Momo, placing his oiled hands on her calves. Her skin was soft, the muscle beneath firm from years of dance. He squeezed gently at first, then with more pressure, working his way up her legs. He paid attention to every inch, kneading the tension from her muscles, his thumbs pressing into the knots he found along the way. Momo sighed, a long, contented sound, her body sinking deeper into the mattress.
As he worked his way up her thighs, he moved to Jihyo, alternating between them, keeping the sensation continuous. He worked Jihyo's calves with the same thorough attention, feeling the tightness there from yesterday's practice. She groaned softly, her hips shifting slightly on the bed.
He moved higher, his hands sliding up their thighs, the oil making his movements smooth and gliding. He went dangerously close to the junction of their legs, his thumbs brushing the inner thighs, that sensitive skin that made them both shiver. He could feel the heat radiating from their cores, could see the way the white lace was becoming translucent with oil and arousal.
With deliberate slowness, he reached for the waistband of Momo's panties, then Jihyo's. He didn't remove them completely. Instead, he pulled the fabric tight, making it form a thin string that disappeared between their cheeks, exposing the outer lips of their sexes to the air and to his gaze. The white lace was now a mere suggestion, a frame for the pink, glistening flesh it revealed.
He used the taut fabric to his advantage, running his thumbs along the edges where lace met skin, then sliding beneath the fabric to touch them more directly. They grunted in unison, their bodies tensing at the intimate contact. Jihyo shivered particularly violently, her back arching slightly off the bed.
"Oh god," she breathed, her voice muffled by her arms. "Right there. Please, don't stop."
Momo made a sound of agreement, her own hips lifting slightly, seeking more contact. "His hands are so warm," she whispered to Jihyo, though he could hear her clearly. "I can feel every callus, every ridge. It's like he's mapping my body."
He continued his work, his fingers dancing along the edges of their panties, teasing the sensitive skin, occasionally dipping lower to brush against their entrances, gathering the wetness that was already flowing freely. He kept the touch light, maddeningly light, building the anticipation until they were both squirming on the bed, their breath coming in short gasps.
"Turn over," he instructed, his voice rough with his own arousal. "I need to see your faces."
They obeyed, rolling onto their backs with languid movements. The sight that greeted him was breathtaking. Both women had their eyes closed, their cheeks flushed, their chests heaving. The white lace bras were soaked with oil, sticking to their skin like a second layer, revealing everything and nothing. Jihyo's breasts were full and heavy, spilling slightly from the cups, her nipples hard peaks visible through the sheer fabric. Momo's were smaller, pert and perfect, the dark circles of her areolas visible beneath the lace.
He reached for the oil again, but this time he didn't pour it into his hands. He held the bottle over Jihyo's chest and tipped it, letting the golden liquid pour directly onto her nipples, pooling in her cleavage. She gasped at the coolness of it, her back arching. He repeated the action with Momo, watching as the oil slid down her stomach, pooling in her navel.
He set the bottle aside and went to work. He started with Jihyo, using both hands to massage the oil into her breasts. He squeezed them firmly, lifting them, shaping them, his thumbs circling the nipples but never quite touching them directly. The fabric was long dissolved in oil now, transparent and clinging, revealing the dark rose of her areolas, the hardness of her peaks.
Momo received the same treatment, his hands moving to her chest, kneading her smaller breasts with the same thorough attention. He pinched her nipples through the soaked lace, rolling them between his fingers, making her cry out.
"So good," Momo moaned, her head falling back against the pillow. "Jihyo, you were right. His hands are magic."
Jihyo could only whimper in response, her body writhing beneath his touch. He spent twenty minutes on their breasts, an eternity of sensual torture, circling their nipples, squeezing the firm flesh, watching their reactions with intense focus.
He went inside the fabric, his fingers sliding beneath the lace to touch skin directly, circling their nipples with his oiled fingertips, feeling them harden further at his touch.
When he finally released their breasts, they were panting, their bodies glistening with oil and sweat. He moved down, his hands sliding over their stomachs, dipping into their navels, then lower.
He reached the waistbands of their panties and slowly, agonizingly slowly, pulled the fabric to the side, exposing their pussies completely. The white lace was bunched at their hips, no longer serving any purpose of modesty.
He poured oil directly onto their sexes, watching it slide between their folds, mixing with their arousal. He slid his palms over their private parts, using broad, sweeping strokes that covered their entire mounds. He pressed firmly, grinding the heel of his hand against their clits, making them both cry out.
"Please," Jihyo begged, her voice breaking. "Please, I need more. I need you inside."
He didn't make them wait any longer. He slid two fingers into Jihyo, curling them immediately to find her spot, while his thumb stayed pressed against her clit. With his other hand, he did the same to Momo, entering her slowly, feeling her tightness contract around his fingers.
He fingered them both simultaneously, his hands moving in rhythm, thrusting deep, curling to hit those perfect spots, his thumbs circling their clits with relentless pressure. They moaned in stereo, their voices harmonizing in the room, their hips bucking against his hands.
"Oh god, oh god, I'm close," Momo gasped, her hands gripping the sheets white-knuckled.
He increased his pace, his fingers moving faster, harder, driving them toward the edge. He felt Jihyo clamp down on his fingers first, her orgasm crashing through her with a scream that filled the room. Her body convulsed, her back arching off the bed, her juices flowing over his hand. Momo followed seconds later, her own climax ripping through her with equal intensity, her voice rising in a cry of pure pleasure.
He kept his fingers inside them, gentling his touch now, helping them ride out the waves, milking every last spasm from their bodies. When they finally stilled, their chests heaving, their eyes glazed with satisfaction, he slowly withdrew his hands.
They lay there for a moment, catching their breath, then slowly, as if moved by a single thought, they both sat up. Their eyes were dark with renewed desire, their bodies glowing in the candlelight. They looked at each other, then at him, and smiles that were positively predatory spread across their faces.
They reached for him together, their hands finding the waistband of his jeans. They worked together to unbutton, unzip, and pull his pants down, freeing his cock which had been straining against the fabric for what felt like hours. He was hard as steel, precum already beading at the tip, his arousal at fever pitch from touching them, from watching them come apart.
They pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed, then knelt before him, one on each side. Momo took him in her right hand, Jihyo in her left, and they stroked him together, their hands meeting at the top, sliding down to the base, working in perfect synchronization.
Then Momo leaned in first, her tongue darting out to lick the drop of precum from his tip. She hummed at the taste, then opened her mouth and took him inside. She was warm and wet, her tongue flat against his underside as she bobbed her head, taking him deep, her hand working the base where her mouth couldn't reach.
Jihyo watched for a moment, her hand still stroking him in time with Momo's movements, then she leaned in and began to lick his balls, her tongue soft and wet, sucking one into her mouth, then the other, while Momo continued to work his shaft. The dual sensation was overwhelming, the sight of them sharing him, working together to bring him pleasure, was almost enough to make him lose control right then.
They switched places, Jihyo taking him into her mouth, her technique different from Momo's, more aggressive, her hand twisting as she sucked. Momo moved to his balls, her tongue tracing patterns on the sensitive skin, her hand reaching up to stroke his thigh, his hip, anywhere she could touch.
"Your mouth feels so good," he groaned, his hands finding their hair, stroking their heads, encouraging them. "Both of you... god, you look incredible."
They took turns like that, passing him back and forth, sometimes both licking him at the same time, their tongues meeting around his shaft, kissing each other with his cock between them. It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen, these two beautiful women, completely devoted to his pleasure.
When he was on the brink, his balls tight, his cock throbbing, they pulled back with wicked smiles. They weren't done with him yet.
Jihyo climbed onto the bed first, positioning herself on her hands and knees, her ass presented to him, glistening with oil and arousal. She looked back over her shoulder, her eyes heavy with desire.
"Take me first," she commanded. "I need to feel you inside me."
He didn't need to be asked twice. He positioned himself behind her, grasping her hips, and thrust into her in one powerful stroke. She cried out, her back arching, her body pushing back to meet him. He set a hard, fast pace, driving into her with abandon, the sound of their bodies slapping together filling the room.
Momo didn't stay idle. She positioned herself beneath Jihyo, her head between Jihyo's legs, and began to lick her clit while he fucked her from behind. The sensation of being filled while being licked drove Jihyo wild, her cries becoming louder, more desperate.
"I'm going to come again," she warned, her voice breaking. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."
He felt her orgasm rip through her, her walls clamping down on him, milking him, but he held back, not ready to finish yet. He pulled out, his cock glistening with her arousal, and turned to Momo.
"My turn," Momo said, her voice husky. She pushed him onto his back on the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. She reached down and guided him into her, sinking down slowly, her eyes rolling back at the sensation of being filled.
She rode him slowly at first, her hips rolling in circles, her hands braced on his chest. Her breasts bounced with the motion, still encased in the oil-soaked lace, her nipples hard and visible. Jihyo, recovered from her orgasm, moved to sit behind Momo, reaching around to cup her breasts, to pinch her nipples, to kiss her neck.
"Does he feel good inside you?" Jihyo whispered in Momo's ear, loud enough for him to hear.
"So good," Momo gasped, her pace quickening. "He's so deep. I can feel every inch."
Jihyo's hands moved down Momo's body, finding her clit, rubbing it in tight circles while Momo rode him. The combined stimulation was too much for Momo, and she came with a scream, her body convulsing, her walls gripping him so tightly he saw stars.
Before she could fully recover, he lifted her off him and laid her on her back. He positioned himself between her legs and entered her again, this time in missionary, able to see her face, to watch her expressions as he thrust into her. Jihyo moved to kneel beside them, watching them fuck, her hand between her own legs, touching herself.
"Fuck her hard," Jihyo commanded, her eyes dark. "Make her come again."
He obeyed, pounding into Momo with deep, powerful strokes, angling his hips to hit that perfect spot inside her. Momo wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her nails scratching down his back, leaving red marks that would last for days.
"Yes, yes, yes," Momo chanted, her head thrashing on the pillow. "Right there. Don't stop. I'm going to... I'm going to..."
She came again, her third orgasm of the session, her body going rigid beneath him, her mouth open in a silent scream. He pulled out before he could finish, his control hanging by a thread.
"Both of you," he gasped. "I need both of you."
They understood. Jihyo lay on her back, and Momo positioned herself on top of her, but facing the opposite direction, in a sixty-nine position. Jihyo began to lick Momo's pussy, cleaning her arousal, while Momo did the same to Jihyo. He stood at the edge of the bed, looking down at the erotic sight of them pleasuring each other, their bodies intertwined.
He entered Jihyo first, sliding into her from behind while she ate Momo. He could feel Momo's tongue occasionally brush against his shaft as he moved, the sensation driving him wild. He fucked Jihyo with deep, steady strokes, feeling her moan against Momo's pussy, the vibration making Momo cry out.
He switched then, pulling out of Jihyo and entering Momo, who was already dripping and ready for him. He took her from behind while she continued to lick Jihyo, the angle different, tighter, making him groan. They moved like that, a tangle of limbs and pleasure, switching between them, taking them both, until he was on the absolute edge.
Finally, he pulled out and lay on his back in the middle of the bed, utterly spent but not quite finished. Jihyo and Momo moved to either side of him, their bodies slick with oil and sweat and arousal. They kissed him, their mouths tasting of each other and of him, their tongues sliding against his in a messy, passionate exchange.
They pulled back, their tongues out, showing him the white strings of saliva connecting them, then they leaned in and kissed each other over his chest, their breasts pressing against him, their hands stroking his spent cock, his chest, anywhere they could touch.
They lay there in the aftermath, three bodies entwined on the oil-drenched sheets, their breathing slowly returning to normal. The candles had burned low, the room smelling of jasmine and sex and sweat. He lay in the middle, his arms around both of them, feeling their hearts beating against his chest, knowing that this was just the beginning of something that would last far beyond this single afternoon.
Momo nuzzled her face into his neck, placing a soft kiss there. "I think," she whispered, her voice drowsy and satisfied, "that I need to visit more often."
Jihyo laughed, a warm, contented sound. "I think," she agreed, her hand finding his and squeezing, "that we can arrange that."
The afternoon light had shifted, casting longer shadows across the bedroom floor, when he finally stirred from the tangle of limbs and sheets. His body felt heavy, saturated with pleasure and exhaustion, every muscle loose and languid. He opened his eyes to find Jihyo still nestled against his right side, her cheek pressed to his shoulder, her breathing slow and even. Momo was on his left, her leg thrown over his thigh, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest, drawing through the mixture of oil and sweat that coated his skin.
"We should move," he murmured, his voice rough, throat dry from all the groaning and gasping.
Momo hummed, a contented sound vibrating against his ribs. "Do we have to?" she asked, her words muffled. "I think I live here now. This is my home. I am a permanent fixture."
Jihyo laughed, the sound sleepy and warm. "You would turn into a prune if you stayed in this bed forever," she said, stretching her arms above her head, her back arching off the mattress. "And we have made a terrible mess of these sheets. They are ruined. Completely ruined."
He sat up slowly, his head spinning slightly from the exertion, and looked down at the bed. She was right. The white sheets were now a disaster of oil stains and bodily fluids, crumpled and damp, clinging to their bodies where they lay. The smell of sex and jasmine hung heavy in the air, thick and musky.
They disentangled themselves with reluctant movements, peeling apart where skin had stuck to skin. Momo sat up and immediately groaned, her hand going to her lower back. "I am going to feel this tomorrow," she said, rotating her shoulders. "In the best possible way, but still. I will be walking like I have ridden a horse across the entire country."
Jihyo stood first, her legs trembling slightly as she found her balance. The white lingerie she still wore was completely destroyed, the lace torn in places, stained beyond recognition, hanging off her body in tatters. She peeled it off with a grimace, the fabric sticking to her oily skin, and dropped it into the wastebasket beside the bed. "These are garbage now," she announced. "A casualty of war."
Momo followed suit, removing her own ruined set, but instead of throwing it away, she held it up, examining the damage with a smirk. "I am keeping these," she decided. "As a souvenir. A memento of this very excellent afternoon."
They shuffled into the bathroom together, too tired and intimate to bother with modesty. He turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam began to rise, filling the small room with fog. They stepped under the spray together, the three of them fitting awkwardly but perfectly in the enclosed space, bodies pressed together out of necessity.
The water ran brown at first, carrying away the oil and sweat and evidence of their activities down the drain. They took turns soaping each other, the touches functional now, gentle and caring. He washed Jihyo's back, his thumbs pressing into the knots that had formed from their activities, working them loose until she moaned in relief. Momo washed her own hair, the suds running down her body, mixing with the streams of water that cascaded over her breasts and down her stomach.
When they emerged, wrapped in fluffy towels, their skin was pink and clean, the oil finally gone, though the memory of the touch remained in their relaxed postures. They dressed in the living room, retrieving clothes from where they had been discarded hours earlier. Jihyo pulled on a pair of soft cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt, forgoing underwear entirely, her body too sensitive for any constriction. He pulled on his jeans and a fresh shirt from the laundry basket, the fabric smelling of detergent and home.
Momo dressed slowly, pulling on her cropped t-shirt and shorts, her movements deliberate, as if reluctant to cover the skin that had been so thoroughly worshipped. She sat on the couch to pull on her sneakers, bending forward to tie the laces, and when she sat up, she found Jihyo standing before her, holding out a bottle of water.
"Drink," Jihyo commanded. "You are probably dehydrated. We all are."
Momo took the bottle and drank gratefully, the water cold and refreshing against her parched throat. She stood, and the three of them moved toward the front door, the goodbyes lingering, none of them quite ready to end the day.
"I will see you at practice tomorrow?" Momo asked Jihyo, though they both knew the answer.
"Of course," Jihyo replied, stepping forward to embrace her friend. They held each other for a long moment, a different kind of intimacy now, soft and supportive. When they pulled apart, Jihyo kissed Momo's cheek, then her mouth, a gentle press of lips that spoke of affection and shared secrets.
Momo turned to him then, her expression shy suddenly, despite everything they had done together. She stepped close, rising on her toes, and kissed him as well, her lips soft and tasting faintly of mint from the toothpaste they had shared in the bathroom.
"Thank you," she whispered against his mouth. "For the massage. For everything. I will be thinking about this for a very long time."
He smiled down at her, tucking a strand of damp hair behind her ear. "Come back soon," he said. "Anytime. The door is always open."
She stepped back, her smile bright and genuine, then opened the door and stepped out into the evening air. The sun was setting now, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. She turned once on the doorstep, waving, her silhouette framed by the dying light, then she was gone, walking toward her car with a slight limp that made him grin with masculine pride.
Jihyo closed the door and leaned back against it, her eyes meeting his. The house was quiet now, just the two of them again, but the atmosphere had shifted permanently, expanded to include the possibility of more, of Momo, of future afternoons spent in similar fashion.
"Alone at last," Jihyo said, her voice teasing, though her eyes were soft.
He stepped toward her and gathered her in his arms, feeling her fit against him as if she had been designed for that exact purpose. "Alone," he agreed. "But not lonely. Never lonely."
She rested her head on his chest, and they stood there in the entryway, holding each other as the last light of day faded from the windows, content in the knowledge that this was only the beginning.
I stepped into the apartment three months ago, my heart still hammering against my ribs at the absurdity of it all. The rent was astronomical, far beyond what a normal person should pay for a shared living space, but this was not a normal situation. This was Jihyo's apartment. Park Jihyo. The leader of TWICE. The woman whose voice had soundtracked my late nights and whose smile had lit up screens I stared at for far too long. When the listing appeared, when I realized it was genuinely her, genuinely the opportunity to share oxygen with her daily, I signed the lease before rational thought could intervene.
The first three months dissolved into something more comfortable than I had any right to expect. Jihyo's schedule was merciless, a revolving door of tour dates, Music Bank shoots, fan meetings that sent her stumbling home at hours when the city had gone quiet. She needed someone to water the plants, to accept packages, to make sure the gas was off and the doors were locked. I needed proximity. It was an unspoken contract that worked.
Every morning became ritual. I would wake in my small room, the one adjacent to hers with only a thin wall between us, and I would emerge shirtless. Just shorts. Sometimes black, sometimes grey, always loose enough to sleep in. I would pad barefoot across the hardwood, open the curtains to let the morning light flood the living room, and collapse onto the couch with my water bottle. Jihyo had seen me this way dozens of times. She never commented, never seemed to notice the bare chest, the sleep-mussed hair, the way my shorts rode low on my hips. She would emerge fully dressed, hair done, face composed, and we would exchange pleasantries like normal roommates.
I assumed she was comfortable with it. I assumed wrong.
The morning it changed began like any other. I woke to the grey light of dawn filtering through my blinds, pulled on my black shorts, and nothing else. The fabric sat low on my hips as I walked to the kitchen, retrieved my glass from the cabinet, filled it with cold water from the fridge. I was mid-sip, my throat working against the chill, when I heard the distinctive click of her bedroom door.
She emerged.
The glass slipped from my fingers, not falling, but my grip loosening enough that water sloshed over the rim and splashed onto my bare chest. I choked, sputtering, the liquid going down the wrong pipe as I stared.
Jihyo was not wearing a shirt.
She was not wearing anything on her upper body at all.
Her breasts were bare, full and heavy and unencumbered, moving slightly with her steps. The morning light caught her skin, highlighting the soft weight of them, the darker circles of her areolas, the way they swayed as she walked without a hint of self-consciousness. Below, she wore only black panties. I recognized them immediately, the memory surfacing unbidden, the same pair she had worn in Hawaii for her birthday trip, the photos I had seen online now nothing compared to the reality three feet from me.
She moved as if she were fully clothed. As if this were normal.
"Morning," she said, her voice casual, melodic. She didn't look at me. She walked past me toward the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the floor.
I wiped water from my chin, my throat working. "Jihyo... what..."
She opened the fridge, the light illuminating her torso, casting soft shadows beneath her breasts. She hummed, a tune I didn't recognize, and pulled out a bottle of water. She twisted the cap, took a long drink, her throat moving, water spilling slightly from the corner of her mouth. It traced a path down her chin, her neck, and dripped onto her chest. She didn't flinch. She reached for a tissue from the counter, the motion making her breasts lift and shift, and she wiped at the moisture, the tissue dragging across her nipples, her skin.
"You're staring," she said, finally looking at me. Her eyes were bright, amused. Not ashamed. Not even slightly.
"I... you're..." I couldn't form words. I looked away, my face burning, my shorts suddenly feeling tight and constricting. "What are you doing?"
"Getting water," she said simply. She leaned against the counter, her hip cocked, her breasts resting against her ribs. "Is that not allowed?"
"You're naked," I managed, still not looking, my voice coming out strangled.
"I'm wearing underwear," she corrected. "You're practically naked too. I've seen you in those shorts every morning for three months. What's the difference?"
"The anatomy," I said, finding some semblance of logic. "It's different. I'm shirtless, you're... you're topless. It's not the same."
She pushed off the counter and walked toward me. I heard her footsteps, felt her presence before I saw her. She stopped in front of the adjacent couch and sat down, crossing her legs. The position did nothing to hide her; if anything, it framed her differently, the softness of her stomach, the curve of her hip, the way her breasts settled against her body.
"I know about anatomy," she said, her voice dry. "I took biology. But I also know about equality. You walk around here every morning, half-naked, comfortable as you please. Why can't I?"
"Because..." I had no answer. I turned my head, risked a look at her. She was watching me with an expression I couldn't read, challenge mixed with something else. Something curious.
"Because what?" she pressed.
"Because it's distracting," I admitted.
She smiled. It wasn't shy. It wasn't coy. It was confident, powerful. "Then that's your problem, isn't it? I'm comfortable like this. If you're not, that's on you."
Something shifted in my chest. The shock was fading, replaced by something warmer, something that pooled in my gut. I smirked, the tension breaking into something else entirely. "I've got no problem," I said, my voice steadier now. "But isn't it a bit much? For a Saturday morning?"
"Why? Because it's unexpected?" She leaned back, her arms spreading along the back of the couch. The motion lifted her breasts slightly, presented them to the room. "I think we've been tiptoeing around each other for three months. I think it's exhausting. I think..." she paused, her eyes meeting mine, "I think we should stop pretending."
"Pretending what?"
"That we don't notice each other. That this is just a roommate situation." She tilted her head. "You applied for this apartment knowing it was me. I accepted you knowing you were... you. Let's stop acting like we're strangers who just happen to share a bathroom."
The air in the room had changed. It was charged, electric. I could feel my pulse in my throat, my wrists, lower. "So what do you propose?"
She thought for a moment, her finger tapping against her lip. Then her eyes lit up with mischief. "A challenge. Tomorrow's Sunday. We both have the day off. We spend it completely naked. Not a single piece of clothing. All day. Whoever gets uncomfortable first, loses. The winner decides what the loser has to do."
"You're serious."
"Deadly."
I looked at her, at the bare skin, the challenge in her eyes. "You're on."
The night before Sunday, Saturday evening bled into the apartment with the sound of keys in the lock. I was on the couch, shirtless as had become my habit, when Jihyo stepped through the door. She was still in her outfit from the Barrel photoshoot, some combination of denim and fabric that looked expensive and uncomfortable, her hair styled within an inch of its life, makeup still perfect despite the long hours.
She kicked off her shoes without looking at me, walking past with a mumbled greeting, her body language radiating exhaustion. "Long day," she said, not a question.
"Go change," I told her. "You look miserable."
She paused, looked at me, and something in her expression shifted. Remembered. "Right. Give me a minute."
She went to her room. I heard the rustle of fabric, the snap of a bra being unhooked, the whisper of clothes hitting the floor. When she emerged, she was wearing only pink shorts.
Cotton, simple, riding low on her hips. Her breasts moved freely as she walked to the kitchen, her nipples slightly hardened from the air conditioning or the transition from the hot outdoors.
She retrieved a bag of chips from the cabinet, tore it open, and ate standing at the counter, her back to me. The muscles in her back shifted, her shoulder blades moving, the dimples at the base of her spine visible above the waistband of her shorts. She finished a handful, licked salt from her fingers, and turned.
"Tomorrow," she said, before walking back toward her room. She stopped at the threshold, looked back at me over her shoulder. Her hair was coming loose, strands falling around her face. "Remember? It's tomorrow. Let's see who breaks first."
Sunday arrived with sunlight that seemed too bright, too exposing.
I woke early, my stomach tight with anticipation. The apartment was silent. I pulled off my sleep shorts before leaving my room, standing in my doorway completely nude, my cock already half-hard from the thought of what was coming. I took a breath and walked out.
Jihyo's door opened at the same time.
She was wearing the pink shorts. Nothing else. Her breasts were bare in the morning light, the nipples darker than I remembered from the glimpse before, slightly erect from the cool air. She looked at me, her eyes dropping immediately to my hips, to what hung there between my legs.
"Let's start," she said, her voice steady. "Shall we? Or if you're uncomfortable, we can stop it right here."
I scoffed. The sound came out braver than I felt. My fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts, and I pulled them down in one motion. My cock sprang free, fully hard now, bobbing slightly as I stepped out of the fabric pooled at my ankles. I kicked them aside and stood there, naked, exposed, my arousal evident and unapologetic.
Jihyo's eyebrows raised. She looked me up and down, her gaze lingering on my erection, on the way it stood out from my body, thick and veined. "Impressive," she said, and there was no mockery in it. Just observation.
Then she hooked her thumbs into her pink shorts and pulled them down. They fell to her ankles, and she stepped out of them, kicking them toward me playfully. She was bare now, completely, her pussy exposed. The hair there was neatly trimmed, a dark triangle that drew the eye, the lips slightly parted, glistening faintly with arousal she didn't bother to hide.
"Now we're even," she said.
The day stretched before us, endless and charged.
We moved around each other in the kitchen, the space suddenly too small. I was at the counter slicing an apple when she came to get coffee. She reached past me, her bare arm brushing mine, her breast pressing against my bicep as she stretched for a mug. She didn't apologize. She didn't move away. She ground the beans, the machine whirring, and when she turned to wait for the coffee, her hip bumped my ass.
"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all.
"You're in my way," I said, but I didn't move.
She stayed there, pressed against me, her soft skin warm against my backside. I could feel the curve of her hip, the swell of her stomach, the way her breath moved her chest. I turned slightly, and my cock brushed her thigh. She didn't flinch.
"Excuse me," I said, my voice rough.
"You're excused," she replied, and took her coffee to the living room.
I followed, my erection leading the way, unashamed. I sat on the couch, the leather cool against my bare skin, and I spread my legs wide. The position opened me completely, displayed everything. I placed my hand on my cock, not stroking, just holding, resting it there in plain view.
Jihyo sat on the adjacent couch, her coffee cup in both hands, her legs crossed. The position gave me a view of her pussy, the folds visible, the pink flesh between her thighs. She sipped her coffee, her eyes flicking to my hand, to my cock, then back to the TV.
"You going to do something with that," she asked, "or just hold it like a security blanket?"
"Waiting for you to break," I said.
She laughed, a real laugh that made her breasts shake. "Not going to happen."
I started stroking. Slowly, my fist moving up and down my shaft, the friction building. I watched her watching me, her eyes following the motion of my hand, the way my thumb swirled over the head, spreading the bead of moisture that had formed there. I made it obvious, made noise, grunting slightly as I worked myself, the wet sounds of my hand on my skin filling the silence.
She didn't look away. She finished her coffee, set the cup down, and stood. She walked to her room, her ass swaying, the muscles in her back flexing. She returned holding a box of tissues.
"If you make the table or the couch dirty," she said, setting the tissues on the coffee table between us, "I'll kill you."
Then she walked back to the kitchen, her hips rolling, and placed her cup in the sink. The sound of porcelain against porcelain. The water running. She was washing it, her back to me, her ass presented to the room as she bent slightly to reach the faucet.
I kept stroking, kept watching, kept waiting for her to crack.
She didn't.
The hours passed in a haze of naked proximity. We ate lunch at the small table, both of us nude, passing dishes, our legs brushing underneath. She dropped a napkin and bent to retrieve it, her ass in the air, her pussy visible from behind, the dark cleft between her cheeks. I watched, my cock throbbing against my stomach, and she stayed bent longer than necessary, looking back at me with a smirk.
"See something you like?"
"Just admiring the view," I managed.
She straightened, sat back down, and ate her sandwich as if she were fully clothed at a business lunch.
By evening, the tension had become a physical thing, a weight in the air. I was in the living room, pretending to read, my cock still hard, still ignored, when I heard her in the kitchen doing dishes. The water running, the clink of plates.
I stood. I walked to the kitchen doorway and watched her. She was at the sink, her back to me, her hair tied up in a messy bun that exposed her neck. Her back was beautiful, the line of her spine, the way her waist narrowed before flaring into her hips. Her ass was round, perfect, the dimples at the sides visible as she shifted her weight.
I approached slowly, my bare feet silent. I stopped behind her, close enough that I could smell her shampoo, her skin. I stepped forward until my cock pressed against the cleft of her ass, the length of it nestling between her cheeks, the heat of her skin against mine.
"Oh," I said, my voice dripping with false innocence, "sorry, Jihyo. I didn't mean to touch you—"
She pushed back.
Her ass pressed firmly against my cock, her cheeks parting slightly around my shaft. She ground back, a slow, deliberate rotation of her hips that dragged her skin against my length. She turned her head, her profile visible, her lips curved in a smile.
"Were you saying something?" she asked.
She pressed back harder, rubbing against me, using my cock to pleasure herself, the friction building. I groaned, my hands coming to her hips, gripping her, pulling her harder against me.
"I was saying," I managed, my voice strained, "that I think you lost."
"Did I?" She turned fully, twisting in my grip, and her mouth found mine.
The kiss was not tentative. It was not gentle. It was the explosion of three months of tension, of mornings and evenings and stolen glances. Her tongue invaded my mouth, her hands came to my chest, her nails digging in. I groaned into her, my cock trapped between us, pressed against her stomach.
She broke the kiss, her breath coming fast. "Help me with the dishes," she said, her voice husky.
"What?"
"Help me." She turned back to the sink, her ass pressing against me again, but this time she reached for my hands, pulled them around her, placed them on the plate in the soapy water. "Guide me."
I moved behind her, my chest to her back, my cock nestled against her ass, and we washed the plate together, my hands over hers, slippery with soap. When the plate was clean, set aside, my hands didn't return to the water. They moved up, cupping her breasts, lifting their weight, my thumbs dragging across her nipples.
She gasped, arching back against me. "Yes."
I squeezed, my fingers digging into the soft flesh, rolling her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, pulling them, elongating them. She moaned, a sound that vibrated through her chest into my palms. She turned again, and this time the kiss was desperate, her hands in my hair, pulling, her teeth nipping at my lower lip.
"Table," she gasped between kisses. "Now."
I lifted her. My hands went under her thighs, and I hoisted her up, her legs wrapping around my waist, her pussy grinding against my stomach, leaving a trail of wetness on my skin. I carried her the few steps to the dining table and set her down on the edge, the wood cool against her ass.
I kissed her neck, my mouth trailing down, tasting the salt of her skin, the perfume at her throat. I moved lower, my lips finding the hollow above her collarbone, the swell of her breast. I took her nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, my tongue flicking against the hardened peak, my hand kneading the other breast, switching back and forth, worshipping them, the weight and softness of them, the way they filled my hands and mouth.
She moaned, her head falling back, her hands gripping my hair, holding me to her. "Don't stop," she breathed.
I moved lower, my mouth tracing a path down her sternum, her ribs, the softness of her stomach. I dipped my tongue into her navel, felt her muscles contract, heard her gasp. I kept going, my hands pushing her thighs apart, opening her to me.
Her pussy was beautiful. The trimmed hair glistening with her arousal, the lips swollen and parted, the pink flesh inside visible, wet and inviting. I could smell her, musky and sweet, and it made my cock throb painfully.
I started at her knee. I kissed the inside of her thigh, high up, close to where she wanted me but not there yet. I moved to the other thigh, doing the same, teasing, making her wait. She whimpered, her hips lifting, trying to guide me.
"Please," she said, and the word broke something in me.
I licked her. A long, slow stroke from the bottom of her slit to the top, my tongue flat, dragging through her folds, gathering her taste. She cried out, her hands flying to her own breasts, squeezing them, her back arching off the table.
I did it again, and again, finding her clit with the tip of my tongue, circling it, flicking it, sucking it into my mouth. She was loud, uninhibited, her moans filling the apartment, echoing off the walls. I speared my tongue into her entrance, fucking her with it, feeling her muscles contract around me, then returned to her clit, alternating, driving her higher.
"Inside," she begged. "Please, I need you inside."
I stood, my cock bobbing, heavy and hard. I positioned myself at her entrance, the head of my cock kissing her wetness, sliding through her folds, coating myself in her. I looked at her, at her flushed face, her parted lips, her breasts heaving with her breath, her legs spread wide for me, her pussy open and waiting.
I pushed in.
She was tight, hot, slick. She enveloped me, her muscles gripping me, pulling me deeper. We both groaned, the sound mingling, becoming one noise of pure pleasure. I bottomed out, my hips pressed against hers, my cock buried to the root inside her.
I started to move.
Slow at first, long strokes, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, feeling every inch of her around me, the way she gripped me, the wet sounds of our joining filling the room. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her heels digging into my ass, pulling me deeper, harder.
"Faster," she demanded.
I obliged. I picked up the pace, my hips snapping against hers, the table creaking beneath us, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, the sight of them hypnotic. I leaned down, captured a nipple in my mouth again, sucking hard as I fucked her, the dual sensation making her scream.
I could feel her tightening around me, her muscles fluttering, her breath coming in gasps. "I'm close," she warned. "Don't stop, don't stop, please—"
I didn't stop. I fucked her through her orgasm, my hand between us, my thumb finding her clit, rubbing it in tight circles as she came apart beneath me. She cried out, her back arching violently, her nails raking down my back, her pussy clamping down on my cock in rhythmic waves that milked me, threatened to push me over the edge.
I pulled out before I came. I wasn't done with her yet.
"Bedroom," I growled. "Couch. Now."
I lifted her again, my cock sliding against her stomach, wet with her, and carried her to the living room. I set her down on the couch, the same couch where we had spent the day tormenting each other, and she immediately turned, presenting herself to me on her hands and knees, her ass in the air, her pussy visible from behind, swollen and dripping.
"Like this," she said, looking back at me. "Take me like this."
I lined myself up and pushed back in, the angle different, deeper, hitting places that made her cry out immediately. I gripped her hips, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass, and I fucked her hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud in the room, her breasts swinging beneath her, her hair falling around her face.
I reached around her, my hand finding her clit again, rubbing it in time with my thrusts, feeling her build again, feeling her start to shake. "Come with me," I commanded. "Come with me now."
She did. Her second orgasm was harder than the first, her body convulsing, her pussy squeezing me so tight I saw stars, and I couldn't hold back anymore. I buried myself to the hilt and came, my cock pulsing, shooting deep inside her, filling her, my groan torn from my chest, my body shuddering against hers.
We collapsed together onto the couch, a tangle of limbs and sweat and cum. I was still inside her, softening but not leaving, my chest to her back, my arms around her, my hands cupping her breasts. We breathed together, hard and fast, the air cooling our skin.
"So," she said, her voice hoarse, "who won?"
I laughed, the motion making my cock slip out of her, making us both gasp at the loss. "I think we both did."
She turned in my arms, facing me, her legs tangled with mine. She kissed me, soft now, gentle, her hand cupping my face. "Roommates with benefits," she said. "Like that movie. Friends with benefits."
"Just sex," I agreed, though we both knew it was already more. "Whenever the mood strikes."
"Whenever," she confirmed, her hand drifting down between us, finding my cock again, already stirring at her touch. "Which might be sooner than you think."
I groaned, capturing her mouth again, ready for round two, the deal forgotten, the challenge won by both of us, the apartment filled with the sounds of our new arrangement.
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