You groan as Gahyun slaps your cock against her plush lips, smooching your trembling manhood teasingly. You beg for her to put it in her mouth, but she remains determined to kiss your load out of you, gleefully using her perky lips to milk you. Gahyun smirks, gonna cum soon? 😘
It's raining again. Not a light drizzle, but a steady, torrential downpour, and there's one person to blame—you know this. The fact that you're having to get up from your comfy chair, put your mug down on the table and walk the several paces over to the front door because she, once again, is at it.
You find it surprising how whenever it rains, the moment that thunder echoes across the city, there's an almost frantic knock that follows. And of course, once you finally open it, the culprit is right there on the other side.
Ning Yizhuo. Your annoying, meddling, definitely too-involved, overly-attached-and-obsessed, whatever the fuck you wanna call the relationship you share with the girl. You'd call her an ex, but you never officially ended anything. Even with an ocean between the two of you, she'd still find a way, at some point or another, to show up at the doorstep in the middle of the night,
So you sigh at her presence—yet, not because you hate seeing her. No, quite the opposite. It's only out of some kind of spite that you keep her waiting, lingering there outside your house in the rain. Like this is the universe punishing you for past transgressions.
Against your better judgment, you open the door, checking if the doorknob is hot first.
There she stands, looking too attractive in all black, thin stockings, torn somehow, a way too tight skirt hugging her waist. Low cut top, visible through a dark coat, with far too much cleavage to defend against.
And somehow, nothing looks out of place—despite having no other option but to brave the rain to see you.
"Is this your doing, I assume?"
The expression on her face drops from hopeful to annoyance in mere seconds. Ningning rolls her eyes and takes a step forward. You take a step back.
"What, the sky? Please, not even I can control the weather."
"Then why do you always show up whenever there's a storm?"
She pauses, folding her arms. "Call it a coincidence. Now, aren't you gonna invite me inside?"
You hesitate as the storm begins to worsen. Not only the rain but the booming thunder and lightning that chases it, so bad that the entire street lights up. In all honesty, you know that you don't really have another choice. It's not like she'll physically enter the house if you don't allow it, yet she's just insufferable enough to camp in the driveway until the sun comes out.
"Do you even get wet, Ning? You're practically standing in a monsoon out there, and not a spot on you."
"Depends if your pants are still on or not," she fires back, that wicked smile always wide and ready to strike.
You've made worse mistakes than this, you suppose—even though a little voice at the back of your mind urges otherwise.
"Come inside," you say, already regretting the words the moment they leave your lips, gesturing to the open door.
Ningning can't help but smirk. "If things go right tonight, that's what I'll be telling you later, baby."
And just like that, she moves past the doorframe into your place—heading inside like she owns the place.
There's no point in pretending that this isn't an impromptu visit from your not-ex. She kicks her heels off, hanging her coat on the rack beside the door and making you wonder just how many times Ningning has shown up completely dry in the midst of pouring rain.
"So, what did I interrupt that was so important that you took forever to open the door?" Ningning asks, standing around as if she didn't show up uninvited, as if you're expected to drop to your knees just because she's arrived.
"Enjoying the peace, Ning, that's what. It's late," you reply, feeling an incoming headache at having to deal with her. "Maybe if you sent a warning—"
She ignores everything. Stares as you sit back down on the couch, your tea more than a little cold now. "Typical."
You roll your eyes, fighting not to pick an argument while she surveys the place. "Typical what?"
She ignores you again. Somehow unbothered and distant, focused entirely elsewhere—just as if nothing has happened between the two of you. The absolute gall, she has.
"Well, I'm glad you're up at this hour. Even better you're alone."
Now you're the one ignoring her, leaning back down on the couch to finish the last sips of tea, a nagging feeling brewing the pit of your stomach—because there's only ever one reason why she shows up late at night, and it's not to chat over tea.
Much to your chagrin, Ningning looks directly at you, but she moves close—very close, until there's a dangerous look in her eyes while she smiles. "Have you eaten yet?
"A bit, but not really—"
Ningning shakes her head, taunting with a feigned annoyance at your response. "How is it you never have food in this damn house?"
"Don't get hungry often enough, I guess," you say, fighting to keep your eyes off of her outfit.
She nods in response, crossing her arms. "I see. Well then—"
The storm rages on outside the living room window, but your focus is stolen entirely away as Ningning approaches, positioning herself in a spot right in front of your line of sight, as if to distract. Not that it's a hard thing to do. Not when she's wearing a tiny little thing she calls a skirt, stockings that do her legs far too much of a favor, and a top that struggles to contain much of anything.
"Yes, Ning?"
There's a moment that passes by where Ningning stares long enough that you're uncomfortable, long enough to where you feel as if the moment can shatter at any second.
"Look, before I say anything else," she begins, still standing in place as those eyes stay locked on you. "Had to take the train here. Nothing was fucking available. Then a taxi—since you had to live out in bumfuck nowhere. I'm tired, and sore—I'm absolutely starving. Not for food, obviously."
"Obviously," you repeat, hardly in shock with her direct nature. She's hardly ever subtle. "Then take what you need. Don't have to ask twice."
Her lips curl up. "Thanks, sweetie. Knew there was a reason why I liked you."
Without anything further, Ningning is quick—far too quick for your liking while she climbs atop, legs on either side, straddling you—close enough so you can feel the heat on your skin. You sit idly by and soak it all in.
"This'll hurt just a little bit—" she says, before her lips press deep so she can pepper several kisses along the side of your neck. "Just keep still. I'll be quick."
"Don't be."
You don't even register the words that come out of your mouth, not fully, at least. Ningning smirks, running her fingers through your hair, smiling in satisfaction that you've somehow fallen into her trap yet again.
"Darling, I will tear you apart if you let me have my way."
You'd damn near let her.
Ningning's not the type to wait around, tilting her head back so she can bare her glistening fangs, primed and ready to devour you whole in the process. They sink in at the crook of your neck, piercing the skin with ease—almost at the exact same spot you remember from the last time.
Sharp pain shoots through your body in a matter of seconds, as blood flows out without pause, succumbing to her hunger, letting Ningning takes what she pleases. You hiss at the sensation—a strange mixture of pleasure and pain, not sure which is winning out, only able to watch her drain you, eyes locked in an almost sinister trance while she feeds.
Then, just like that, Ningning pulls her head back, lips stained with a crimson red that she wipes off with the back of her hand. She looks more vibrant, alive—eyes that pierce deep, more than satisfied for the night.
"Thanks, love. That's enough," she replies softly, running her fingers over the bite mark before planting a little kiss on your cheek. "Took a little more than usual. Hope you don't mind."
You laugh, looking up, lost in her gaze. "What am I gonna do, Ning, take it back? Don't worry."
"That'd be very inconvenient," Ningning says, smiling at that. "You should rest a bit, yeah? How do you feel?"
You shrug. "I'll manage. Little dizzy, but I'll survive."
"Because you have nothing to eat in this shithole. You sure you're good?"
You nod, smile returning to your face as you glance up. "Yeah, of course. Nothing I haven't handled before."
"Good." Those devilish fangs fully on display linger for one more moment until they retract. You'd be lying if you said you weren't a little disappointed.
"So, is this the part where you tell me why you showed up at midnight, wearing next to nothing?"
Ningning presses her body close, offering just enough cleavage for your eyes to wander. "Like it's a surprise I'm here."
You say nothing, and somehow, that's the one thing that actually bothers her a bit. Ningning rises, turning away, more annoyed than offended—a bit different than her usual arrogant nature. "Haven't seen you in a few months. Didn't think I needed an invitation."
"And maybe there's a reason for that."
Surprisingly, Ningning says nothing else for a fleeting moment. Laughing in spite of it all. "Wow. Is there another vampire bitch here giving you what I can't? Because last time I checked—"
"Of course not," you answer immediately, ignoring the tone in her voice.
"Good. Like I was saying, nobody fucks you like I do, and I don't think there's anyone else out there that can."
You sigh, attempting not to feed that overzealous ego even more. "Ning—"
"Don't Ning me," she snaps, the fangs exposed again, retracting within seconds. "You should be so damn grateful that I'm here right now."
"For what, so you can have a midnight snack?"
Ningning ignores that entirely, moving quickly to straddle you once more, wrapping a set of slender, ice cold fingers around your neck.
Her eyes burn into you, and you're too powerless to look away. "Say it. Say I fuck you the best. I won't leave. Not until you say it."
You ponder whether or not to comply, the air leaving your body bit by bit. Ningning squeezes just the right amount—just enough to leave you wanting more, leaving an ache between your legs.
"You're unbelievable."
"In bed, yeah, I am, aren't I?" she purrs, bringing her lips to yours, crashing them into you, hard. You kiss back, already done with resisting, because like it or not—you need Ning as much as she needs you.
"If you didn't look so sexy right now—"
Ningning cuts off the thought, shoving her tongue down your mouth to silence you. "When do I not? You've seen me at every point possible, at every hour, dressed up, down. Sexy is just the norm for me."
"Always so fucking cocky," you mutter under your breath, diving back in for another taste.
"It's not cocky, it's just the truth," Ningning says, sliding off your lap so she can lower to her knees before you. "Let me prove how accurate that statement is. Let's get these pants off…"
You're far too weak to say no, and not because of the blood loss. One swift movement from Ningning, and she has her fingers hooked at the waistband of your pants.
"May I?"
So polite. With a nod, she tugs them down, just far enough for what she has planned, revealing your boxers that aren't doing a very good job at hiding how aroused you are.
"Mmm, yeah," Ningning purrs, satisfied at what she sees as she begins to palm you over the fabric. "Was kinda worried, but got plenty of blood pumping here..."
There's only one thing left, to let Ningning do whatever she pleases, shove your boxers down so your cock can spring out, the tip practically oozing already.
"All this for me? Gonna milk you dry tonight."
Again, there are no words that come from you, not a single thing outside a gasp. You try and keep your focus on Ningning herself—on that depraved stare when she strokes you. And she gets right down to business, pressing her tongue against the underside of your cock, flicking it a few times before taking a long drag down.
"I really missed this, baby," Ningning admits, planting several teasing kisses from base to tip, giving such satisfying strokes that make your stiff shaft leak.
You barely catch what she's saying—too focused on her touch, one that you haven't felt in far too long, by the person that knows you best. The heat from her mouth as her kisses linger along each and every inch, every vein that her hand travels down, familiarizing herself once more.
"Missed this inside my pussy, feeling how deep you fill me. Missed sucking it, missing making you cum just from this," she murmurs, staring up through those long eyelashes at you while she presses those full lips around your sensitive head, peppering it with affectionate kisses.
You simply moan, unable to get anything else out with her wet tongue swirling all over the head, savoring the taste.
"You missed me too, didn't you?"I know you did. That's why you won't push me away, or kick me out. That's why you won't ever tell me to stop."
Before you have a moment to breathe, Ningning wraps her lips around the head of your cock, trapping it in warmth, sinking down slowly. You can't hold what comes next, another loud moan that escapes as she gives a pleased hum in response, fondling your balls while her head bobs between your legs.
"Ning—"
She descends again, satisfied with that. And keeps at it—never fully down, never allowing her throat to be too full. Just slow, steady suction and delicious warmth while her tongue teases all over, sliding along base to tip, and back down, using all her tricks to draw your bliss out.
"This beautiful cock, fuck, missed the way you taste. The way you throb, how sexy you sound when you moan, mm," Ningning says, pausing just to run her tongue down every last throbbing inch. "And so, so fucking big. Mine. All mine."
Her head lowers, so sloppy and desperate, popping off just to spit on your stiff cock, spreading it all over before that heat envelops your shaft once more. All you can do is stare, every bob of her head drawing you closer to the back of her throat, a sight far too beautiful not to watch.
"God, Ning. Your fucking mouth…"
"Feels amazing, right? Nobody can make you feel this good. Nobody takes care of you like I do, baby? "
Ningning's right—of course, she's right, just like she always is, and you couldn't fight her words even if you wanted to. Because those lips know what they're doing—know how to please you, how to make you groan so pathetically, like her mouth was made just for your cock.
"I could suck your dick all day."
And you'd let her. Let Ningning take everything she wants and more. Everything feels too good—each flick, each slurp, the heat of her mouth—everything is taking you away, especially when she holds your gaze, until she finally swallows you whole in one fluid motion, nose pressed to your stomach as her lips seal tight.
"Fucking hell—"
It's almost a mistake to watch, to watch how her lips slide to the base and back down, this constant urge to please as her throat fills with every inch, tongue out with every stroke. The wetness that covers your shaft with every pass, mouth engulfing you, and all you can do is grab the back of her head, not to guide, not to control, but to simply indulge.
"Feels so fucking good, shit, nobody can do what you do, Ning."
She just stays still, eyes wide, appreciative at your words with her hands caressing your thighs, hardly any strain on her expression to have your entire aching cock buried in her throat.
"The best part is watching you lose yourself," she murmurs, popping off as saliva connects to your tip, breaking that connection so shes can stroke your the spit-covered shaft. "Lucky for you, I have no use for breathing, so I can have that big fucking cock just where it needs to be.
You're practically trembling, so close already it won't be difficult for Ningning to finish you off. That devious look she gives when reaching down to pull up her tight skirt without her lips leaving you. And it takes all you have not to lose it once you realize she has absolutely nothing underneath, her pretty, wet cunt for your viewing pleasure.
"It's a good thing you had an appetite," she says, shifting position just enough so you can see her fingers rub at her bare pussy. "Because my cunt is about ready to devour you."
Ningning says that as she picks up the pace, one finger between her legs, other hand resting on your thigh—bobbing her head at a frantic rate, taking you down and back up like nothing, not a single gag or struggle. You can't do much more than moan and stare, mouth parted and helpless, balls so tense the longer she keeps going, until Ning mercifully pops her lips from your throbbing cock.
"Thinking about how bad I want to ride you, baby. Or maybe you should have me bend over—fill me from behind and slap my ass as you give it to me. Or get all sprawled out, wrap my legs around you so you can't pull out, pound me while I scream how bad I need you. Lots of options for you to ravage my pussy, isn't there?"
The room is practically silent except for the sloppy, hungry sounds of Ningning awaiting your response, bobbing up and down your cock, tongue gliding flicking along every wet inch.
"Upstairs," you say, all out of breath—and it's all she needs to hear.
Ningning swallows you one more time, leaving a wet kiss on your swollen tip once she pulls off, ignoring your body's pleas to stay.
"Well then, lead the way my cute little fangbanger—but do be careful, I did just drain you."
In more ways than one, that's for sure.
There's a surge in motivation as you begin the trek up the stairs, Ningning close behind. Every footstep up the stairs, each thud echoes, like a countdown to your fate that awaits. You can only think of what's about to happen, the way she will take your body, and the sinful things you're going to do to her own in turn, nothing holding either of you back.
Once you arrive at the foot of your bed, Ningning is quick to shove you back with surprising force, giggling as she watches your weakened frame stumble back and land. She steps away, positioning herself close to the window, so you can see everything illuminated in the moonlight.
Ningning is unreal. Her ethereal beauty too much to handle as she undresses, her complexion glowing, that pale skin more beautiful than anything else. Those painted nails that have dug into your flesh almost as much as her sharp fangs, and your thoughts wander, watching each piece fall until a pile of her clothes lingers on underneath her bare feet.
You nearly faint once she's fully naked and turns to face you.
Every delicious curve for your eyes only, you feast on that naked skin, those pretty nipples, hardened by the cool air, those hips, luscious legs—every single inch of her more than overwhelming you. The silhouette of her body can't compare to the real thing once she closes the distance, climbing your lap in record time, hovering dangerously close to your erection.
"Been a while since you last fucked a vampire," Ningning teases, the heat of her cunt teasing the tip of your cock.
"And just whose fault is that?"
Ningning glares, spreading her wetness over the head and doing little else. "Now you're blaming me? When you made it so difficult just for me to see you?"
Before she drops her hips, Ningning allows her fangs to extend again, almost a reminder of her advantage over you. She's grazing over your chest, not using the full force just yet, merely playing with you. Little lovebites left scattered over her favorite parts of you, as if you won't remember the deep ones on your neck from earlier.
"Fucking love you like this—vulnerable, compliant, all fucking mine," Ningning purrs, catching her breath in between bites. "Bet you'd let me do anything to you tonight."
"I'd let you do anything you want anytime," you admit, realizing what comes from that statement.
She smirks at that, at your sudden honestly. Her tongue swipes the side of your face before trailing the shell of your ear, sucking on the soft flesh of your lobe. "Aren't I the lucky one, then?"
Without anything further, Ningning continues her path of destruction, trailing kisses and licks down your body. Like she's for the right moment to strike, or at god knows what else she has planned. Her lips catch a nipple, giving a few swirls that don't allow the pleasure you need, kissing down your abdomen and grazing the flesh with those fangs—those sharp things coming dangerously close, the thought of them puncturing the skin sending an orgasmic mixture of fear and arousal.
"Don't be nervous, baby," Ningning murmurs, lips tracing lower, planting kisses right below your navel that make you gasp. "Would never hurt you or do without warning. Well, without prior permission."
There's no time to give a snarky reply, nothing witty coming from your mouth as she looks at your skin she's made so sensitive, appreciating her work.
"Not nervous, Ning."
"Oh? Then I might wanna let you do what you want for a change," she murmurs into your skin. Ningning's lips hover right above your inner thighs, her hot breath enough to make you flinch, the anticipation of the bite, the delicate tease making every muscle tense up.
"You'll let me?"
Ningning laughs at your question, tongue dancing from where she left off. "Yeah, I'm giving you a freebie tonight. Have your way with me, darling."
It's a hard bargain—you don't trust her intentions, but there's no time for negotiation.
You lift her off with little effort, almost as if your strength returns without warning. Ningning's on her back, legs spread wide, glistening folds exposed to you as she waits for your next move.
"Yeah, this'll do," you say, drinking in that gorgeous view of her pretty cunt that's about to be made yours.
Ningning just smiles at the gesture. "Always knew you were a stickler for the basics. It's cute, really."
That's what she thinks. With that, you lift her legs up, resting both on your shoulders and folding her tiny frame, each of her feet by your ears. In an instant, her face changes from one of disappointment to realization, just at that split second before the plunge.
"Okay, this is different. I've misjudged, it seems—"
You say little else as your cock buries every inch in, sinking inside that soaking mess, making sure you fill her aching pussy perfectly. The groans slip out at her tightness, the wetness that consumes you, the way that Ningning looks once the motion of your hips start.
"You're fucking mine," you growl at the next slam, while her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head, her intoxicating cunt swallowing you up and clenching to make sure you won't dare leave.
"Ah, f-fuck!" she whimpers once you start to fuck her the way she needs. The way you think she deserves, the way you know the bed is going to protest to. No time for her to adjust, Ningning's tight little cunt clamps down with each desperate thrust, making sure you bury every last inch inside her.
"You're so tight—" you grunt, sweat gathering on your forehead already. "Feel too fucking good—always feel so fucking good.
Ningning looks gorgeous when she takes your cock. Hair a tangled mess, all spread out, completely at your mercy. "And you're so deep, so much deeper this way, damn, baby."
"Don't act so surprised, Ning."
"Oh, don't think I can be surprised? As if I expected this? You're never this aggressive."
"Maybe you pulled it out of me," you admit, hips snapping, watching Ningning's expression falter with each slam to the hilt. It's addicting to see her fall apart for a change, to watch those moans escape, pummeling her cunt like there's no other way, no other alternative—like your dick belongs inside her at all times.
"God, baby, look at you go," Ningning huffs out, parting her lips at the forceful treatment you're dishing out. "Making my pussy feel so good, ah—I haven't been fucked this good in ages."
"Then allow me to remedy that situation," you start, taking pleasure in the way she crumbles, the gasp she makes when you withdraw, the frantic moan when you hilt back in.
"Fuck yes, baby—give it to me. Harder, can feel you in my guts, shit," Ning cries out, throwing her head back, content to bask in the pleasure each time your cock disappears fully into her tight little pussy. "God, I needed you so bad. Needed you to fill me up so well."
"Here I am, Ning. Not going anywhere."
There's this rare moment where she can't find any witty comeback, not when that mouth hangs wide open, no snarky comments falling, nothing but pure unadulterated bliss. She's squirming, nails digging into the sheets, lifting her hips higher to let you reach places she'll feel for days.
"Fuck! Fuck, please, god yes," she pleads, struggling to find the words, staring at you through in hopes that you'll get the memo. "Please. Fuck me deeper, wanna feel all of you, want that cock to ruin me."
And that's precisely what you do—holding that position and looking Ningning right in those pretty eyes as you sink deep, pound that wet pussy until she's clinging for dear life to the sheets. She's powerless to you, or at least, pretending to be, words lost to lust as you fill her again and again.
Knowing that for once, she isn't the one in control—there's no strings attached or manipulating factors—that Ningning, that bloodthirsty, cunning, dominating vampire who can bring anyone and anything under her power, is nothing but a toy under you now. She's yours to do whatever with.
That sets something off inside of you, makes you want to push things further, take things to the next level. You shift, spread those legs wider and lift them off you until her knees almost meet her chest, folding her in half even.
Ningning's expression is filled with approval once you do, hips thrusting wildly with no mercy on her drenched pussy, hitting deeper than even before.
And now she looks delirious with pleasure, and your knees are digging into the mattress so you can get that little extra leverage, more power behind those harsh thrusts, hips working to the max, determined to ruin Ning—if it were even possible.
"That's it, destroy me, baby, make my pussy yours. Isn't it funny—you've got me in this, what do you humans call it? A mating press? And it's almost a shame that you can't breed me—makes me wish you could. Give all that hot, yummy cum something to do besides make my pussy gush."
"That's the last thing we need, another Ning. One of you is more than enough."
"You wish you had two. One to suck your hard cock in the morning and another to sit on your face. Yeah, you'd love that."
Your mind can't seem to even grasp the reality of that, picturing it all for a brief moment, only to continue hammering Ningning's tiny wet cunt. The urge, the carnal need to bring her to her brink and beyond consumes you—your hips working without rest, giving the girl no chance to recover, fucking her over and over in that delicate position with no way out of it.
Her body can't keep up with the intensity, and you can't almost either. Pinned against the mattress with nowhere to go, all that attention focused on her soaking cunt—too sensitive, too wet, too inescapable, each thrust becoming impossible to handle. For both of you.
You take pleasure watching her fall to pieces with each thrust that fills her, savoring every gasp that you cause, each plea for you to keep on driving in deep and hard.
"You, baby, keep pounding me like that—fucking my pussy and ruining it. Giving it to me so hard because you know I can take it, I can handle everything you give. Keep it going, keep going and give me what I deserve, empty those balls inside me like you own this pussy."
Hard not to when she's so convincing—staring at you, demanding your load, pleading to keep hammering that greedy cunt, your balls smacking against her asshole more than ready to dump it all in her.
"Get ready then," you say, hips losing all control—that pussy just won't relent, sucking and squeezing all around and making it harder than ever to keep going any longer.
"Oh, baby, please—I was ready to be pumped full of cum the moment you invited me in. You're gonna cum so hard, I know, fill me, make my pussy so messy. Get that hot load nice and deep in me," Ning pleads, bracing for the inevitable, too far gone for anything else.
"Don't you fucking worry, Ning, this tight pussy is getting everything," you say, sheathing yourself deep in that wetness for as long as you can stand.
"Good, then you know what to do—cum inside me."
You groan out—more than compliant with those demands, no longer fighting against the pressure boiling deep inside. No fight left from that tightness you can't escape from, so you give in, unloading as your cock empties into Ningning. The relief is heavenly, each violent throb, each hot spurt that floods her insides, her cunt clenching to demand it all, keeping you captive while you fuck it all deep.
Ningning follows not a second later, struggling to keep her composure as her own orgasm hits, face contorting in pleasure at her reward, toes curling, walls tightening even more as the sticky mess mixes with her own juices together in her hot depths.
And before you can even finishing pumping it all inside her, your fresh load leaks out that sopping, ruined cunt, pooling underneath your pleasure-stricken bodies.
"That's it, fuck… can always count on you to fill my pussy up, baby, just how I need," Ning groans, a tired smile creeping up on her face as she embraces her own bliss. "So fucking hot."
You linger in your high, and do little other than fall against her body and embrace the relief, cock slipping out enough as your cum begins to spill out and ruin the sheets further, something Ningning wears in such satisfaction.
"See?" Ning asks, a bit of smugness returning her voice, playing with your hair. "Aren't you glad you kept that sexy ass mine? "
Your body shifts, so you can focus your gaze on her beautiful complexion. Even if things may end messy again, you have no regrets. For now, all that matters is being right in the arms of the person who's never been more certain.
"You know how much I missed you, Ning," you respond, watching the way her breasts heave with the breaths that follow.
Ningning glances down at you, like that's an obvious conclusion. "Typical."
Too tired to even roll your eyes, too tired to put up with Ningning's usual antics. "Alright, sounds like its time to go back home, and—"
She wraps her legs around you, preventing movement. "And why do you think that is?"
"You got what you wanted, you drained my blood and my balls. Now you can go."
Ningning's quiet as she ponders, just long enough for a mischievous smile. "No, I don't think so. It's late—let me sleep on your sofa."
"Sleep? You don't sleep until morning."
Ningning just giggles, peppering you with kisses that break down your protests. "Then you get to entertain me until then. Deal?"
"And what if I want to sleep?"
She squeezes tighter with her legs around your waist, keeping you firmly in place. "Then you let the wrong girl inside. Do you think I'm done with you?"
Well, no, you certainly don't. That's something she'll make abundantly clear.
"Okay, fine, I'll stay up—but let me take a shower. You really made a fucking mess."
"Me? You were the one that dumped all that cum in me."
You simply stare at Ning, glaring right back at you. The more you stare, the more you both burst out into a fit of laughter, any attempts at acting serious not lasting more than a few seconds.
"No, I think your pussy deserves some blame. It had my cock trapped pretty tight—"
"But you had me all folded like a goddamn chair. Pinned and begging for your cum, that's on you."
Her eyes narrow and Ningning raises one perfectly shaped eyebrow in disbelief. You just remain there, hands lingering atop her waist. "Oh, my apologies for how rough I got with your pussy. Wasn't aware my precious Ningning was so delicate."
Ningning scoffs, using her strength to move your hands off. "I'm a goddamn vampire, don't talk to me about delicate. You can't hurt me no matter how hard you fuck."
"Is that a challenge?"
Her glare continues. "Don't get fucking cocky, love. You'll hurt yourself more than me."
"Hm, sounds like a challenge to me."
"You're such an idiot. You could literally use both hands to choke me with no mercy and I'll just laugh at how pathetic you look. Nothing you can do."
You tilt your head. "Does that mean you'd enjoy the idea?"
"I didn't say I was against it. Just won't do anything, is the point."
There's little sense in debating the merits of that claim. And you're so exhausted that you wouldn't even try. For tonight at least, you can let Ning have this victory.
The rain eventually calms down, enough for the two of you to head outside the balcony and enjoy the weather without risk. Freshly showered, with Ningning in nothing but a stolen shirt from your closet. It's late—so late, but you don't really care.
"Are you planning to make a habit of this?" you ask, knowing what you're asking might be dangerous territory.
Ningning's head turns, the grin on her face looking devilish from so close as she leans over the balcony railing. "Would it upset you if I did?"
An hour ago and you'd have a very different answer—now you aren't so sure. "No, not really. I mean, not like I can ever stop you."
Ningning just takes in your reaction, her own expression not changing a bit. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed me."
You sigh, staring up at the night sky as she inches a little bit closer. "A pretty girl shows up at my door and lets me do whatever I want, lets me fuck her hard against the shower wall—yeah, maybe a little."
Ningning laughs, her hand creeping around to find yours, fingers interlocking and thumb rubbing slowly against your flesh. "Is that all it takes? For me to show up, suck your dick and let you empty your balls into me, then I'm suddenly a good person?"
"Hey, I never said that—"
"Darling," she says, tightening her grip, bringing her head right next to yours, warm breath ghosting over your ear. "I'd bend over and do every dirty little thing you ask without complaint. I'd worship your cock just for the sake of making you happy. All I need is for you to say you want that. That you want me."
That gets your attention. You can't say that this night has been anything but wonderful, despite your trepidation in at the beginning. Your fingers squeeze tightly around hers, eyes focused on Ningning's pretty face in the dark, moon illuminating her features.
"God, what am I getting myself into.."
She laughs, flashing that bright smile before turning back to face the city skyline. "Hopefully me again, love."
You snake your arms over around her small waist until she's tight against you. With no shame whatsoever, you slide your hands underneath, squeezing Ningning's bare ass and pulling her into a kiss.
"But what if I wanted to do all kinds of crazy things to you, Ning? Or wanted you to do them to me?"
Ningning struggles not to smile, doing all she can to not succumb to the giddy laughter that tries to emerge. "Just tell me a time and date then. So I can catch that goddamn train."
Not letting up, you steal her lips, tasting them, savoring how soft they feel against yours, running your hands all over her cold, bare skin.
"Why catch a train when I have a perfectly good sofa for you to crash on?" you ask between kisses, trying to spend as much time pressed up against her body as possible.
"Darling," she interrupts, almost annoyed, staring directly into your eyes. "Please be serious right now. Don't treat me like I'm some random hookup."
You raise an eyebrow, confused. "I wasn't. I'm offering you a place to stay."
Ningning breaks out into a little laugh. She stops herself when you show no sign of joking.
"Wait, you're actually serious? Really? Stay?"
You interrupt her with another kiss. "Isn't that what I said? Not gonna make you sit on some shitty train for hours just to get dicked down at some ungodly hour. Stay with me. Tonight. Tomorrow night. Whenever you want."
She doesn't know what to say to that, only that her smile is spreading from ear to ear. "Of course I'll stay—thought you'd never ask. I'll happily get dicked down any time I come. Suck your dick the moment you wake up. Make breakfast, talk dirty to you while you stroke and cum on my tits, all kinds of crazy, naughty things—"
"Ning, you already have an invite, you don't need to try so hard."
She laughs it off. "What can I say, I get excited by the idea of seeing that cock at any hour."
"Christ. Is that the only reason you want to live here? Just so you can drain me dry every hour on the hour?"
The little giggle that Ningning gives is enough of an answer, knowing she can't deny the fact that it's a strong motivating force behind her plans. "No, of course not, baby. I also need you around so I can take your blood whenever I need it."
You scoff at that, threatening to leave the balcony altogether. Ningning, laughing again, wraps her arms tight around yours, refusing to let you out of her grasp. "I'm not a buffet, Ning."
"Mm," she hums, nuzzling into your neck. "You're whatever I need you to be. Your cock certainly is. Your thick, juicy, delicious—"
"Ning—"
"Yes, darling?"
"Come inside. It's freezing and the rain is starting up again. And you're not wearing anything to speak of."
Ningning laughs, clinging to your side. "Or what, I might die? Vampire, love. I could do this all night."
Another sigh escapes, pulling away only to lift her up into your arms, getting a good grip under her ass so the resounding sound of her squeal fills your ears once you carry her back inside.
"Someone is eager to go again," Ningning says, more than happy with where things are heading. You pretend that the thought doesn't cross your mind.
"No, I'm freezing and wanna go to sleep. I have work tomorrow," you say, depositing her ass right onto the cushions of the sofa before she can put up a fuss.
"It's the weekend, love," she reminds, pulling you down on the couch with her, legs already wrapping around and taking the fight out of you. "Which means you're stuck with me until Monday."
Nothing you can do but laugh at her persistence. You kiss her, once, and then pull away. Staring into her eyes, taking in her beauty, wondering if it would always be this difficult for you to escape.
"Should have listened. When people say you shouldn't feed strays. Because they always keep coming back."
Ningning's expression changes, lips turning into a far more offended pout. "Are you calling me a stray? What the fuck—"
"You always show up on my doorstep, wanting scraps and a place to rest. Is that not far off the mark?" you tease, only to be cut off by her lips.
"Rude," she mumbles between each kiss. "There are plenty of places I could be. Men to see. Bars to visit. Places to collect victims. Yet, here I am. Guess where I've chosen."
"Just sounds like you don't have anywhere else to go if you ask—"
Ningning's kisses stop abruptly, grabbing your head and guiding it down between her legs. "I didn't ask, thanks. Now if you don't mind, be a good boy and eat my pussy before I need to feed again."
There's no argument there, nothing that would ever stop you. All comfortable on your stomach before Ningning, her creamy thighs about to consume your entire existence. You might spend the entire weekend here, you think. And maybe forever.
A/N: Irene's comeback fic, finally. I could not choose one outfit of Irene that I liked the best, so I wrote four separate fics inspired by four different outfits that she wore for music shows/performances. This is the first part, containing two fics with somewhat similar themes. Scroll down a bit for the second one.
“You want mommy to take care of you?
My voice shook a bit, a mix of nervousness and excitement. Mostly excitement.
“Yes, mommy.”
“Then take your pants off, baby.”
Irene’s outfit for today’s Biggest Fan Music Core stage was one of my favorites. A white dress, adorned with laces that showed off her pretty shoulders, straight jet black hair contrasting her pale skin, and her light pink lips glossy and perfectly kissable. But somehow, her glasses were the draw for me today. On anyone else, it would have looked flimsy, but on Irene, it elevated her to heights of beauty only she could reach, lending her an air of authority. Or maybe, I just had a thing for glasses.
When I entered her waiting room at 4 in the morning, my eyes were heavy with sleep, my body lethargic, but my heart was buzzing with excitement. Irene was just getting the finishing touches on her makeup when I saw her reflection on the mirror, and it felt like a jolt of electricity passed through my entire body. Irene knew the effect she had on me just from my dumb expression when she matched my eyes through the mirror. Even if my face did not show my excitement, my bulge would have given it away to Irene anyway. There’s not much that she did not notice.
So, when Irene ordered me to take off my pants, my hands went straight to the button of my jeans, fumbling to undo the buttons. Irene enjoyed how eager and desperate I was, watching me through her glasses with a smirk. By the time I pulled my pants down to my knees, Irene was standing close to me. Too close, yet not close enough.
Her unique smell, something floral and light, hit my nose first. Then the amber. Then musk, her unique, perfectly enticing musk. I could not think of anything other than the goddess right in front of me, every ounce of my being screaming for Irene, my olfactory sense overwhelmed in just one moment. The rest were not far behind.
She stepped on my pants stuck to my knees, pulling them down to my feet. I immediately pulled my legs up, my lower body bare except for my underwear.
“Someone is eager, huh?” Irene softly rubbed the outline of my cock, already a bit wet from my leaking precum. Tugging on my waistband, she led me to the sofa at her waiting room.
“Lie down.”
I obeyed. Like the perfect little boytoy that I always strived to be.
Irene laid down beside me on the large sofa, her hand never letting go of the waistband, as if to tease, or to torment. Her perfect face was just beside mine; her warm, perfect body, dressed for the music show performance she was about to record, pushing against mine. Her perfect lips, lightly glossy and so, so kissable, whispered something to my ear.
“I just got my hair and makeup done and I don’t want to redo them again.” Irene tugged on the waistband of my underwear again, not quite touching my aching cock under the restraint of my clothing. “But I will let you taste my lipstick a bit. Everything else is off limits for now. Deal?” She concluded her offer by sucking on my earlobe softly, making a shiver run through my spine just from the sensation of her lips on my skin.
“Deal.”
Irene’s eyes sparkled behind those delicate glasses as she smiled, that knowing, dominant little curve of her lips. She shifted closer on the sofa, her lace-gloved hand finally slipping beneath the waistband of my underwear. I could feel the lace fabric brush against my skin as she slowly dragged it over my thighs, freeing my throbbing cock. It sprang out, heavy, the head smeared with precum already, the cool air of the waiting room brushing over the sensitive head and making me twitch.
Irene didn’t wait anymore. Her mouth found mine in a deep, claiming kiss, her glossy lips pressing firmly against me as she took complete control. The taste of her lipstick was sweet and faintly fruity, mixing with the warmth of her breath as her tongue pushed past my lips immediately, without hesitation. The kiss was sloppy right from the start, exactly how she liked it; wet and noisy and utterly consuming. The soft, slick sounds of our mouths moving together filled the quiet room, Irene’s tongue swirling around mine, sucking gently at first, then more demandingly. I moaned into her mouth as her lace-covered fingers wrapped around the base of my cock.
The texture of the lace was unlike anything I had felt before; slightly rough, delicate yet firm, a delicious contrast against the hot, sensitive skin of my cock. Irene stroked slowly at first, from base to tip, her grip confident and teasing. My precum was already flowing freely, coating her gloved hand in shiny streaks that made every glide smoother, wetter, better. The lewd, slick sounds of her hand pumping me mixed perfectly with the wet sounds of our sloppy makeout.
“Mmmph…” I groaned against her lips, my hips bucking instinctively.
Irene pulled back from the kiss just enough to whisper hotly against my mouth, her breath mingling with mine. “Stay still, baby. Don’t move. You don’t get to touch mommy right now. Just feel what I’m doing to you.” Her voice was low and husky with arousal, the authority in it sending another shiver down my spine.
Irene dove back in, kissing me harder, her tongue exploring every inch of my mouth while her hand worked my cock, making me feel her perfect rhythm. Up and down, twisting slightly at the head, her thumb brushing over the sensitive slit and spreading more precum. The lace dragged deliciously, catching just enough to create that addictive friction. My balls tightened as pleasure built quickly, her body pressed warmly against my side, her breasts pressing against my torso under her white dress.
The kisses grew even sloppier. Saliva coated my chin as Irene sucked on my tongue, then my lower lip, biting it gently and lapping at it with her tongue to soothe it. Noisy, wet pops echoed each time she pulled back for air only to crash back in. “That’s it… such a good boy for mommy,” Irene murmured between kisses, her hand never stopping its relentless stroking.
I was panting into her mouth, my whole body trembling with the effort to stay still like she ordered. Irene’s grip tightened, focusing on the head for a few torturous pumps before sliding back down to the base, squeezing there. More precum leaked out in thick beads, dripping down her fingers and onto my stomach, making everything messier.
Irene moaned softly into the kiss, a sweet, breathy sound that engulfed my auditory sense. She enjoyed this power she had over me, the way she could reduce me to a whimpering mess while staying perfectly composed in her stage outfit. Her free hand rested on my chest, not letting me touch her, just holding me down gently as a reminder.
“Mommy… feels so good,” I gasped when she briefly broke the kiss to let me breathe.
“I know, baby. Look at how much you’re leaking for me.” Irene glanced down briefly, her glasses slipping slightly down her nose, before capturing my mouth again. Her tongue fucked into my mouth in time with deep, rhythmic strokes on my cock, dominating me completely. The floral scent of her perfume mixed with the faint musk of her skin and the growing smell of sex and spit in the air, anyone entering the waiting room later would immediately realize what had happened.
Irene’s lace glove was now completely slick, gliding effortlessly as she jerked me faster. She twisted her wrist on every upstroke, focusing on that sensitive spot under the head until my moans turned into desperate, broken whimpers swallowed by her kisses. The sofa creaked faintly beneath us with the subtle movements of her arm.
“Shhh, just enjoy it,” Irene whispered again, sucking on my tongue. “No touching. You’re mine to play with right now.”
My cock throbbed in her grip, veins pulsing against the lace. Every stroke was louder now, wetter, the precum flowing so much it coated her glove and dripped in strings onto the base of my cock. Irene’s breathing grew heavier too, her breasts pressing against my arm harder as she leaned in closer, her kisses turning frantic with messy licks, gentle bites, and deep suction that left my lips swollen and tingling and hungry.
I could feel my orgasm approaching like an unblockable tide. “Mommy, I’m close…”
“Good boy. Cum for mommy. Let it all out on my pretty glove,” Irene purred against my lips before kissing me even deeper, her lips sucking my tongue completely as her hand sped up.
My orgasm jerked my body hard. I cried out into her mouth, my body tensing, toes curled, as thick strings of cum shot upwards from my cock. The first spurt landed across her lace-covered fingers, coating the delicate, white fabric in more white. More followed, splashing onto my stomach in warm streaks, some hitting her wrist as she kept stroking me through it, milking every drop. The sensation of the slick, cum-covered lace continuing to glide over my sensitive cock made me shudder and moan loudly, the sound muffled by her relentless kissing.
Irene didn’t stop right away. She slowed her hand but kept pumping gently, drawing out the aftershocks and sending shivers through my body again and again as she kissed me softer now, slower, savoring the taste of my desperation. Wet, sticky sounds filled the space between us as her gloved fingers played with the mess she’d made, spreading my cum over my skin and her lace.
“Mmm… such a big load for mommy,” Irene whispered, her voice laced with lust and satisfaction. She finally pulled her hand away, holding it up slightly so we could both see the way my cum glistened on the white lace. Then she brought her lips back to mine for another deep, lazy kiss, her tongue sliding against mine as if rewarding me. “You did so well staying still. Look at the mess you made… all over mommy’s pretty glove.”
My body buzzed with pleasure, the room feeling warmer now, mixed with the scent of my release and her perfume. Irene kept her body pressed against mine, her body heat seeping through her dress. She softly kissed the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, then peppered my face with kisses as a gesture of appreciation for my complete submission.
But Irene wasn’t done teasing. Her cum-slick gloved fingers traced lazy patterns on the base of my cock and my stomach, collecting more of my cum before she brought them closer to my face. “See what you did? Maybe at the next music stage, mommy will let you do more… but for now, this is all you get.”
Irene leaned in again, capturing my lips in another slow, sloppy kiss. Her tongue explored lazily, her lipstick completely ruined now as it had stained my face with soft marks already. I moaned softly, still sensitive and spent, but utterly addicted to her control.
The lace of her glove rested lightly on my thigh now, warm and sticky, a delicious reminder of what she’d done to me. All the blood in my body rushed to my cock again, making it hard and slick and ready.
Irene’s soft laughter shot right at my heart, and my cock. “My eager little boytoy… already getting hard again just from my lips? We still have time before the stage recording. Maybe mommy will have to take care of you one more time…”
Irene deepened the kiss once more, her hand sliding back toward my cock, lace still slick with my cum, more pleasure waiting for me through her gentle but firm dominance. The wet, noisy sounds of our mouths resumed, filling the waiting room as her fingers began their teasing strokes again, slow and deliberate, as I kept moaning her name again and again, against her lips.
I felt every sensation at a heightened state; her breasts pressing against my arm and chest, the delicate scratch of lace on the oversensitive skin of my cock, the sweet taste of her lips, the soft authoritative whispers between kisses reminding me to stay still and let mommy handle everything. Time seemed to stretch and shrink as Irene kept me on the edge with her expert hands and mouth. She was building me up again with patient, loving cruelty, using my insatiable craving for her lips to push me towards my orgasm yet again.
Irene’s glasses pressed lightly against my cheek as she tilted her head for a better angle, tongue swirling deeper. “Good boy… just like that. Let mommy make you feel heaven.” The words melted into another messy, saliva-coated kiss, her hand never stopping its slick, rhythmic work.
The minutes blurred into a haze of pleasure, moans, and her complete control. By the time Irene finally coaxed a second, weaker but still intense orgasm from me, my stomach and her glove were even messier, and my mind was filled with nothing but Irene; her scent, her taste, her voice, and the overwhelming feeling of being utterly hers.
The heel of Irene’s black knee high leather boot on her right leg pressed on my naked chest, almost pushing me off my balance as I knelt.
“Why do you think you deserve to worship me?”
“Because I am your biggest fan?”
“You are not, but that’s okay. Mommy likes you.”
Irene pushed her heel harder, almost boring into my chest now. I did not falter. Instead, I looked up at her ruthless, devastatingly beautiful face; my back straight, putting all of my strength to stabilize myself. For someone as tiny as Irene, she always was freakishly strong, and I relished the sensation of her sharp heel on my skin, the physical pain contradicting the mental pleasure, my cock straining my underwear. My hands went up to caress her leg, touching the dark, cold leather of her boots.
“You haven’t earned touching mommy yet. Be a good boy and I will let you. Hands behind your back.” Irene’s voice was low, huskier than usual; the authoritative voice that could shush thousands of shouting Reveluvs in a moment.
I immediately put my hands back, letting myself submit to my goddess more and more. Irene’s eyes lingered on my face all the while, her eyes intense, filled with a domineering sense of lust. She pushed her heel higher on my skin, now onto my shoulder, her skirt rising up higher onto her waist. I tore my eyes off of her face and looked at the glimpse of heaven right in front of me, between her legs.
“Mommy is not wearing anything under her skirt. Can you smell how wet I am?” Irene’s voice was almost whispering, letting me hang onto her every word as I looked at her naked pussy under her raised skirt. All within my reach, if I just defied her and leaned forward, but I did not. Instead, I inhaled hard, taking in Irene’s unique musk that got intensified when she was aroused.
“I can, mommy. Can I taste you?” My voice shook as I asked to please my goddess, my hands restrained at the expectation of being rewarded.
“I don’t know baby, can you? You can just take what’s right in front of you, instead, you are asking me for a command.” Irene’s heel pushed harder onto my shoulder, making me fall on my back from my kneeling position. As I lay down on the cold, hard floor on my back, her boot was on my cheek now, caressing. It moved to my jaw next, then pressed softly on my throat, and then made its way to my lips. “Taste.”
My tongue lapped at the black leather of her boot, drawing long licks from the pointed toe to the sharp heel. Like a good boy, I kissed her boot all over, softly licking and occasionally sucking on the dark leather, my hands fully immobile. Irene let out a soft moan, her effortless restraint faltering a bit; as she became more aroused at my pure submission, me emulating on her boots what I would do to her wet cunt. My cock was fully hard, almost painful at how it was being denied of stretching fully, pushing against the confines of my underwear.
I stayed on my back on the cold floor, my tongue gliding reverently over the smooth leather of Irene's right boot. The bottom of her pointed toe pressed on my temple, the heel resting on my jaw; as she trampled on my face a little, her face contorted with a cruel satisfaction at inflicting pain on someone as willing as I. Irene gazed down at me with her sharp, beautiful eyes, her pale skin glowing under the dim lights, full lips parted in a smirk that was equal parts regal as it was deviant.
"Good boy," she purred, her voice sounding satisfied, yet greedy. "But Mommy has two boots. You don't get to neglect one. Worship me equally, or I will make you watch me pleasure myself without you."
I nodded eagerly, my cock throbbing painfully in my underwear, a wet spot already forming from precum. Irene stepped over me with graceful authority, her black leather boots planting firmly on either side of my head. She towered above me now, skirt still hiked high around her slim waist, revealing the glistening pink folds of her bare pussy. I felt dazed and hypnotized looking at her smooth, puffy lips slick with arousal, her clit peeking out like a pearl with arousal, demanding attention. I inhaled deeply yet again, her musky, sweet scent filling my lungs, intoxicating me.
"Look at mommy's pretty pussy while you worship her boots," Irene commanded, lowering herself over me in a squat so her pussy hovered inches above my nose and mouth. "Smell what you are doing to mommy as you lick the other boot. Slowly. Make love to it with your tongue like the desperate fan you are."
I turned my head to my side, extending my tongue to the left boot. The leather was warm from her body heat, cool and unyielding under my lips. I started at the heel, tracing its sharp edge with long, worshipful licks, then moved up the shaft, kissing every inch. Irene’s thighs flexed, toned and flawless, as she sat on my chest; her pert, round ass making contact with my skin. She was so fucking tiny, but her legs seemed endless in those boots.
"Mmm, that's it," she moaned softly, grinding her hips in a slow circle on my chest, slobbering her wetness all over my bare skin. "You're making Mommy's pussy drip even more, all shiny and ready. But you don't get to taste it until I say so. Keep licking. Suck on the heel like it's my clit."
The unmatched authority in her voice made me obey instantly, as I wrapped my lips around the stiletto heel and sucked it deep into my mouth, bobbing my head as if it were her clit. My eyes never left her bare cunt, the lips swollen and parting slightly with each subtle movement. Irene's fingers trailed down her own body, teasingly brushing near her pussy but not touching, denying herself as much as she denied me. Her long dark hair cascaded over one shoulder, framing that flawless face as her eyes were half-lidded in pleasure and cheeks flushed with arousal.
After what felt like an eternity of boot worship, Irene pressed her left boot against my face one last time. She opened her legs wide sitting on my chest, showing off her perfect pussy to me. "Enough. You've been such a patient little toy. Now, you'll get to worship my pussy properly. Mommy’s going to sit on your face."
Irene dragged her pussy over my chest to my face, then lifted herself up to place her tight little cunt right on my lips, her round asscheeks resting on my neck. Her skirt draped over my forehead, but her bare, soaking cunt pressed directly against my mouth and nose. The wet heat was intense, her slick folds smothering me in the most heavenly way. I could barely breathe, but I didn't care; this was paradise.
"Lick," she ordered, her voice laced with unparalleled authority. She rocked slowly, grinding her pussy against my tongue. I obeyed, dragging my flat tongue from her entrance up to her clit in long, deliberate strokes. She tasted divine, the way only someone like Irene could; salty-sweet nectar that I lapped up greedily. Her thighs clamped around my head, her boot heels pressed firmly on the floor beside me for balance. "Deeper now, baby. Fuck Mommy with that tongue. Show me how much you adore your goddess."
I plunged my tongue inside her tight pussy, thrusting in and out as she rode my face with increasing fervor. Irene’s juices coated my chin, my cheeks, dripping down my neck, and I could not get enough of the taste. I could feel her clit swelling against my nose as she shifted forward, using me like a living toy. Her moans grew louder, that perpetually calm voice now moaning soft, breathy whimpers that contrasted her ruthless control.
Irene's beauty in this moment was transcendent. From below, I caught glimpses of those perfect breasts straining against her top whenever her skirt moved off of my forehead. She was fully dressed except for the hiked skirt, the contrast of her elegant MV outfit against her raw, dripping arousal was driving me insane. My cock strained desperately, untouched and leaking, as my hands were still immobile.
"That's my good boy," she gasped, grinding harder. "Suck on my clit now. Gently… yes, like that."
I sealed my lips around her swollen nub, sucking rhythmically while my tongue flicked rapidly. Irene's body tensed, her hands gripping my hair as she fucked my face. Her first orgasm hit; her thighs quivering, a gush of fresh wetness flooding my mouth as she cried out my name. She didn't stop moving, riding out the rolling spasms of her orgasm, using my tongue to prolong her pleasure.
But Irene wasn't done. "Again," she demanded breathlessly. "I want to squirt on your pretty face."
I redoubled my efforts, driven by the singular desire to please Irene better. My tongue thrust deep into her pussy made much wetter with her orgasm, curling and stroking along her slick inner walls with frantic hunger. I alternated with sealing my lips tightly around her swollen clit, sucking with rhythmic, pulsing pressure firm enough to make her thighs tremble yet gentle enough to draw out those broken, melodic whimpers from her perfect lips. My nose pressed firmly against her mound, inhaling her intoxicating scent with every restricted breath.
Irene’s hips began to lose their controlled rhythm on my mouth. The graceful, commanding rolls turned erratic and wild, her small, powerful body bucking against my mouth as if chasing every spark of pleasure I could give. Her toned thighs squeezed harder around my head, the smooth leather of her boots brushing against my ears and temples with each frantic movement. One of her hands fisted tightly in my hair, nails scraping my scalp as she held me smothered beneath her dripping pussy.
Irene’s second orgasm built fast. Her entire body began to shake uncontrollably on top of me. The hot walls of her pussy spasmed wildly around my tongue, pulsing and rippling in powerful contractions. A fresh gush of her arousal flooded my mouth, but this time it was stronger, hotter, better. Irene’s hips stuttered, then slammed down hard on my face as the climax crashed through her.
Irene came hard; with a sharp, broken moan, her pussy squirted hot, clear fluid forcefully across my face in pulsing jets, splashing over my lips, tongue and nose. It filled my mouth instantly, sweet and slightly tangy, dripping down my chin and neck. I drank greedily, swallowing as much of her essence as I could, still frantically licking and sucking to prolong her pleasure.
Irene kept riding my face with selfish abandon, using my tongue and lips to wring out every last tremor of her orgasm. Soft, breathy aftershocks kept escaping her lips, music to my ears, as there was nothing like her husky voice moaning in pleasure that I gave her.
My cock throbbed painfully against the confines of my underwear, leaking steadily, aching for any kind of relief from the moment Irene pushed her boot on my chest. Every pulse of her squirting orgasm sent fresh waves of denied need surging through me, but I didn’t dare move my hands from my sides. I existed only to serve the goddess pleasure.
Irene’s movements slowed to lazy, lingering grinds, smearing her soaked pussy and the remnants of her squirt across my face as she finally caught her breath. She looked down at me with heavy-lidded, lust-drunk eyes; utterly dominant, devastatingly beautiful, even more so in her post-orgasmic glow. A slow, satisfied smirk curved her lips as she took in the mess she had made of me. She stroked my hair wet with sweat almost tenderly. "You worshipped mommy so well, baby. Now, as your reward…"
Irene lifted off my face, standing tall above me once more. Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen from biting them, eyes gleaming with satisfaction and lingering dominance. She looked like the goddess of sex; flawless skin flushed red and dewy with sweat, that tiny yet powerful frame radiating absolute control. Reaching down, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of my underwear and slowly pulled it down, finally freeing my aching, hard cock. It sprang up, thick and veined, throbbing in the cool air, the head purple and covered in precum.
"Look at how hard you are for me," Irene purred, wrapping one delicate hand around the base and giving a single, teasing stroke. "Mommy's going to ride you now. But your hands stay on my boots only. No touching my tits, no grabbing my ass. You hold onto your goddess's boots like the good boy you are. Understood?"
"Yes, mommy," I groaned, my voice hoarse from licking her boots and pussy endlessly.
Irene straddled me, her boots planted firmly on the floor beside my hips. She hiked her skirt again, higher this time, exposing her dripping pussy hovering just above my cock. With one hand, she guided the head to her entrance, rubbing it teasingly through her wet folds made slick from multiple orgasms. "Beg for it."
"Please, mommy… let me inside you. I need to feel your perfect pussy on my cock again."
Irene smiled that maniacally beautiful smile, her mouth curving into a smirk, and sank down slowly. Inch by inch, her tight, wet heat engulfed my cock, feeling every curve and ridges of her pussy. I gasped at the sensation as her pussy was still pulsing softly from her orgasms. Fully seated, Irene let out a satisfied sigh, her clit pressed against my pelvis.
"Hold my boots," Irene ordered.
My fingers wrapped around the cool, smooth leather of her knee-high boots, gripping the shafts tightly just below her knees. Irene knew that this position would keep me submissive; arms extended, completely under her control. She began to ride me with deliberate, powerful movements as she rose up until just the tip remained inside, then slammed back down, her ass slapping against my thighs in delicious smacks.
My brain was hazy, witnessing Irene fucking herself on my cock. Her body moved with a dancer’s grace, breasts bouncing slightly under her top, hair swaying. Her face—God, her face, was a vision of dominant ecstasy; lips parted, eyes locked on mine, her flawless beauty twisted in pleasure she dictated every step of the way. Each downward thrust sent waves of ecstasy through me, her pussy clenching rhythmically, milking my cock.
"Faster, Mommy?" I dared to whisper, but she immediately slowed, teasing.
"No. Mommy sets the pace." Irene started rolling her hips in slow, grinding circles, stirring my cock deep inside her. The wet sounds of our fucking filled the room. Her continuously dripping arousal coated my cock fully and dripped down my balls. She leaned forward slightly, one hand bracing on my chest, the other in her hair, looking every bit the untouchable idol turned personal dominatrix.
Irene picked up speed gradually, bouncing harder, as I grabbed onto her boots tighter. I could feel every ridge inside her cunt, the way her pussy fluttered and squeezed my cock. "You're filling Mommy so well," she moaned. "Such a thick, good cock for your goddess."
My hands kneaded the boots, feeling the sharp heels and supple material all over as she rode me relentlessly. The denial of touching anywhere else only heightened everything else; the focus on her control, her beauty, her wetness, her. Irene leaned back, hands on my thighs for leverage, giving me an even better view of her pussy devouring my length again and again, as her clit rubbed against me with every motion.
Time blurred as she used my body for her pleasure. Irene varied her rhythm from fast and shallow, then deep and grinding to edge me closer, but never letting me cum. Her moans grew breathier, another orgasm building for her. "Don't you dare cum yet," she warned, her voice maintaining authority still. "Mommy cums first… always."
She slammed down harder, her small frame shaking with effort, boots planted like anchors. Her third climax hit with a cry, pussy spasming wildly around me, but Irene didn't slow. She rode through it, overstimulating herself beautifully, chasing more pleasure as she pushed me towards my orgasm.
As I felt I was about to cum, Irene slowed to a torturous grind. She looked down at me, skin glowing with sweat, that ruthless beauty softened only slightly by constant pleasure. "Do you want to cum inside mommy? Tell me properly."
"Yes, mommy," I panted, voice breaking. "I want to cum inside you. Your pussy is my altar, and my cum is my offering to the goddess."
"Good boy. Fill your goddess. Give me everything." Irene resumed riding with renewed vigor, tight walls clenching my cock perfectly. My grip on her boots tightened as I reached my peak. I exploded deep inside her, my cum gushing into her pussy as my balls tightened and toes curled from being edged for so long. Irene milked every drop I could give, grinding down and clenching her pussy constantly, her own smaller orgasm following as she took my offering.
Irene stayed seated for a while afterwards, stroking my chest lightly, her pussy still fluttering around my softening cock. "You pleased mommy very well tonight," she whispered, voice low. "My biggest fan… or at least, the one I like best."
A/N: Halfway into the Bro Zuha's second set! Last one should be soon, barring any surprise BFHs.
Fanprose link here.
Enjoy.
Like, seriously, if there is one thing you don’t get about Kazuha, is that she does things without letting you know sometimes.
You’ve learned to get used to it, really. You’ve stopped wondering how in god’s green earth this happened, or why the universe decided to send it to your end of the world.
The Chaewon incident that started this whole thing coming to mind, which you weren’t opposed to at all, considering the events that occurred afterwards. A few more surprises here and there with her closest friends with the other, the more recent one being Kazuha coming home, drunk off her ass along with the girls.
That was a rather interesting Friday night, you’ll say. Your body has never felt so sore in your entire life the next few days after.
Extremely worth it, for all intents and purposes however.
But, to your point, she doesn’t let you know about things that you would very much like to know beforehand. Like today, for example, when you come home from what you thought was going to be an ordinary Wednesday until—
“Hi!”
“Jesus–” This was not what you were expecting when you came home from work. Luggage bags left in your hallway, a woman that is most certainly not Kazuha sitting on your couch, sipping on one of your yogurt milk drinks as she waves at you. Which makes you question where Kazuha is. “Uh, hello?”
“You must be Kazuha's boyfriend.” The woman continues sipping on her drink, the loud slurps coming from the straw pausing as she smiles prettily at you. “She said you'd be here around this time, so I thought of saying hi.”
“Right.” You are, for all intents and purposes, extremely skeptical of this woman. Don’t know who she is, where she came from, why there’s so much of her shit scattered in your hallway. She’s just here, for reasons you have zero idea of.
You walk to the kitchen counter, placing down your backpack before turning towards her. “Sorry, who are you?”
“Oh!” She practically jumps out of the couch, and skips straight towards you with a grin on her face. “Name’s Rei. Naoi Rei.” She outstretches a hand.
You take her hand and shake it gently, tell her your name and be answered with a cute little nod that you swear is not making you cringe on the inside or make your heart race from how adorable it was.
“So you are Zuha’s boyfriend!” she repeats, and before you could come up with a reply for it, the front door swings open once again.
“Looks like you two are getting along.” Kazuha's striding in, a shopping bag in one hand, and a small handbag in another. She stands next to you, smiling and leaning in to give you a peck on the lips before she hands the bag to Rei. “Here's some extra pillows you can use.”
Rei gasps, and you're confused on whether this woman's a walking adorable little thing or not because every action she does looks way, way too cute to be normal.
“Thank you so much, I'll pay you back before I leave,” Rei says, pulling out a pair of pillows from the bag, the paper falling down the ground.
“Don't worry about it,” Kazuha replies, placing her bag next to your pack, and you watch as Rei squeezes one of the cushions between her arm, picking up the bag on the ground and walking back to the couch with another thanks.
Which leaves you with Kazuha. You turn to her, blinking slowly and giving her a pointed look. Your hands gesture towards Rei, who's gotten in her own world on the couch, setting up her makeshift bed on it. “So.”
“So,” Kazuha repeats, eyes following your hands. “That's Rei.”
“That is Rei, yes.” Your palms rest on your hips. “Why is Rei here with a bunch of luggage, exactly?”
“She’s asked if she can crash for a few days,” she explains, leaning her elbow on the kitchen counter. “Traveled all the way from Japan for some music festival this weekend.” Said Rei would be gone by Wednesday next week, Kazuha swears. “She won’t cause us any trouble, trust me.”
You turn your gaze back to Rei, legs up in the air while she’s hugging one of the pillows and scrolling down her phone. You can faintly hear the sounds quickly shifting from one topic to another as her thumb swipes up every so often. “And when you say trouble–” Queue your finger air quotes. “You mean she’s not going to be involved in one of your plans?”
Kazuha only smiles at you, hand rising up to pat your cheek fondly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” There’s that familiar twinkle in your eye that you spot—one that you’re not sure whether to be excited or wary of what she’s cooking up—before she walks away.
Sighing and shaking your head, you take another look at Rei. Still busy with her phone, paying you no mind and not causing any trouble, just like Kazuha said.
You can’t help but add a ‘yet’, though.
—
Trouble, you’ve realized, decided to come in small batches over the course of the next few days.
Nothing that would get you arrested or caught in an indecent way, no. For the most part, it was you doing your usual routine with the added intrusion that Rei is living in your living room. And it causes a few odd encounters with her every now and again.
Like when Kazuha decided to jump you the following Thursday when you got home, kissing you right there in the doorway just as you opened the door to your apartment. And while it was an unexpected surprise that you would normally, wholeheartedly welcome with open arms, seeing Rei pretend that you and Kazuha are not sucking each other’s faces off wasn’t weird at all.
At least, not for Kazuha. It was odd as all hell for you when you realized that Rei was looking pretty earnestly until she got caught.
Or on Friday, where you swear to all manners of religion out there that you heard moaning outside your bedroom door when you woke up in the middle of the night because the bathroom was calling you. Suffice to say it was a quick run to and from the bathroom to avoid interrupting Rei’s potential ‘her’ time.
And you won’t lie, needing to be quiet in your own home because a guest was touching yourself was incredibly awkward, considering that’s not something anyone would ever stumble upon. Even more so when you were left alone on Saturday, when Rei was out at her festival, Kazuha coming along with her when Rei said her friend wouldn’t be able to make it.
“It’d be a great way for us to really catch up!” You remember Rei telling Kazuha before they left this morning. And for the most part, you kinda agree with her. The three of you never really seem to have a good time to sit down and hang out, outside of the two of them since they seemed rather close. You in particular, given that you’re mostly out on the weekdays that Rei started living in your apartment.
And as much as they wanted you to come with, the extortionist pricing to get tickets this late made all three of you exclaim profanities so loud that you were afraid of finally getting a noise complaint.
Aside from the rather relaxing afternoon you had cleaning up your home while watching the weekend motorsport race in an attempt to get rid of any lingering thoughts about Rei touching herself on your couch—one that you sat on for quite a while after doing the chores (you need to clean this couch soon)—and making some dinner for yourself after getting a text from Kazuha that they’ll be coming home late, you decided to call it early tonight and catch up with the two in the morning.
Which gets completely derailed when you wake up in the wee hours of Sunday, where you are awoken from the sounds that are coming from your living room. It causes you to groggily get out of bed, the intimate familiarity of your home allowing you to walk on autopilot even without fully opening your eyes.
Or have your senses wake up until you flick the light on to find Kazuha and Rei making out by the kitchen counter, the former practically shoving her tongue down the latter.
You blink like an owl. Slowly, peculiarly, until the scene before you registers in your mind and you start looking like a deer in headlights. Then your brain finally catches up to what you’re seeing and—
“Well, good morning to you girls too.” Dragging a palm across your face, you decide to head over to grab a cup and fill it up with water. “Did you have fun earlier?”
Rei lets out a blissful hum, letting out a gasp as Kazuha leaves her lips to kiss down her neck. “Great,” she gasps, holding onto Kazuha’s locks. Rei lets out an even loud gasp when she gets hoisted up onto the counter by Kazuha, and even you were raising eyebrows at how assertive Kazuha is being tonight.
Or today, you’re not sure yourself.
You take a good, long drink of your cup, downing it all in one go, a quiet, refreshed noise coming out of your lips before putting it down. You have half a mind to walk up and join in on whatever debauchery Kazuha’s planned, and another to go back to bed and let them have their fun, considering they’ve already started without you.
Kazuha might not even know you’re here, what with her buried completely in Rei’s chest, her hands pulling the jacket she has on away before her fingers begin to pull Rei’s top up to expose her chest and holy shit Rei being even more stacked than you thought was not in your bingo card.
Not that you were looking, of course. You were simply appreciating the times her cleavage was in display. Totally not looking down whenever you had the chance, no.
Your bro will never let you live it down. But then again, anyone would be happy to have their faces shoved full of tits, especially ones as big as Rei’s.
Kazuha included.
Speaking of, she’s finally gotten her head out of Rei’s tits and turns to you with a grin. “Hey.” Is all she says, like this is another Sunday for her (and for the most part, this was a normal Sunday before you two were a thing, the player that your girlfriend was. Still is.) “Had a good day doing nothing today?”
“I cleaned, thank you very much,” you answer, walking up next to her, arm wrapping around her waist and leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek, like this is another Sunday for you. “I’m guessing this is how Rei is paying you back for staying?”
“Oh this was for the pillows I got her,” Kazuha says, taking your free hand and placing it on Rei’s bra-covered breast, and even with the fabric in the way you can feel how soft and large they are in your hand. Rei encourages you further, pushing her chest out for the both of you and your fingers can’t stop themselves from squeezing. “Now she’s paying us back with her pillows.”
“They are some very nice pillows,” you mutter, engrossed in the soft flesh.
Kazuha chuckles, a hand coming down to cup the bulge growing in your shorts, fondling you through your clothing. Her lips come close; kisses starting from your neck, journeying her way up to your cheek all the way until she can nibble your earlobe, cooing a question that you’ll ever answer. “Better than Kkura’s?”
Whether it be because you don’t want to hurt Rei’s feelings (especially cause you’re getting a feel of her tits), Sakura’s feelings when Kazuha eventually tells her (cause you know Sakura’s going to come barging in your apartment one night when she learns about it), or your own physical being, you can’t be sure. What you are sure of is that all three can be an option, but you’re too busy fondling Rei’s breasts to give Kazuha an answer anyway.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kazuha sing-songs, tugging your shorts down to your ankles. “Rei, be a dear and help me out here, why don’t you?”
“On it!” Rei’s hands come to the waistband of your boxers, and they end up right above your shorts. Your cock twitching and leaking and Christ her hands feel amazing stroking you so gently it makes you moan.
It makes Kazuha giggle; a sound that makes you fall deeper into this whole rabbit hole of fucking yet another one of her friends. “Excited now, are we bro?” And it’s like she’s reading your mind, even when she’s on her knees and looking at you with those doe eyes. Knowing that you’re just as turned on as she is, that you’ll be sharing Rei between the both of you.
That, or it could be the other way around and she’s sharing you with her friends.
“Well, don’t worry too much,” Kazuha continues, inching closer to your cock. “Let Rei and I take care of you for the night, hmm?” Her tongue gives a quick lick at your tip, making your thighs clench.
“Let me guess–” you exhale, glancing back to Rei. “Is this your thanks for letting you stay?”
“Nope!” she says, her entire face lighting up. She leans in and gives your cheek a quick peck then drops off the counter to follow Kazuha on her knees. “I’m doing this cause I’m so fucking wet right now.” Rei gives that same quick kiss to your tip, holding you by the base all while Kazuha watches by her side.
“Rei’s a little bit of a horndog,” Kazuha adds, nudging Rei lightly. Rei only nods in agreement, her tongue coming out to lick your shaft; from the tip going down to the base of your cock, she leaves no surface safe from her pretty pink muscle that’s eager to get you ready. “And she is very adventurous.”
“I can tell.” Just by the way Rei is worshipping your balls, taking each one in her mouth and rolling them with her tongue, sucking and licking away at them so goddamn well it makes you lean back onto the counter to brace yourself for when Kazuha inescapably joins in. “Christ, Zuha, you’re making me think you’ve fucked all your friends.”
“Not all of them,” Kazuha snaps back, a smirk on her lips. She gets closer to your dick, hot breath tickling you, and the air you need in your lungs gets exponentially bigger the moment her own tongue comes out to have her fun. “I’m thinking we should double team someone one of these days, though.”
Jesus, this woman truly is after your own heart. Even the mere thought of Kazuha wearing a strap, pinning Rei down and getting to stuff her in both holes sounded insane. And here she is, telling you that she’s ready and willing to go; might not even need to be Rei at all.
“Hot,” Rei comments, like her mouth isn’t preoccupied with your balls. “Can that be me? Please let it be me.”
The shit eating grin on Kazuha’s face when she hears that, paired with her eyebrows wiggling at you causes a shaky laugh to spill out of your lips. Knowing that it really, actually, might be Rei that’s going to get stuffed by the both of you in the near future makes you throb harder, pulsing around Kazuha’s hand.
Something you’ll anticipate for later, when the time comes. Right now you need to focus on not cumming too early when both Kazuha takes your cock in her mouth, tongue swirling around your cockhead just as Rei manages to take both your balls in hers. It makes you grip the counter tighter, hissing a curse and looking up at the ceiling just so the view won’t make you explode in record time.
Not that it matters, you’re only delaying the inevitable when it comes to Kazuha.
“Z-Zuha–” you stutter, a hand coming to rest on her hair, running your fingers through her locks when she takes you deep. Mouth locked firmly around your length, she sucks eagerly, cheeks hollowing out as she bobs. Up and down and up and down and down and down until her nose almost reaches your crotch. Letting out a gag before she comes up for air, stroking your spit covered cock and looks up at you with a smile.
“Problem?” The tilt of her head partnered with the grin playing her face is fucking you up seven ways to Sunday, and your fingers curled up in her hair tightens in response. Combined with the fact that Rei’s never let up on your balls, and it’s a constant barrage of pleasure that you do not have the strength to win against.
“I–fuck–” It’s embarrassing to admit, having to lose so quickly against these two, but waking up and having your dick sucked wasn't exactly what you were expecting to happen. “I’m not gonna last long.”
Rei pauses, coming up and finally giving you a moment's rest, and she is a mess. Droll running down her chin that she doesn’t bother wiping off, only slurping what she can in her mouth as she grins at you two. “Can I do the thing please?”
You turn to Kazuha. “What thing?”
“Course you can, Rei.” Kazuha gives Rei a kiss on the cheek.
“Yes!” Rei leaves one last kiss on your cock, her tongue making out with the tip and the surprise almost makes you kick your feet up.
“Holy shit–”
She doesn't stay for long, kissing you cock one last time before she stands up. Before you can know it Kazuha is pulling you away from the counter, getting you to stand upright.
“Dude, what is she talking about?” You hold on to Kazuha's shoulders, the clothes around your ankles being a pain to move forward.
Kazuha only grins and gives you a wink. “When I said Rei was adventurous–” You can feel Rei behind you now, her hands on your shoulders, face peeking out from behind to kiss you dangerously close to your lips but pulls away to smooch you on the cheek. “She’s really adventurous.”
Rei must know what'll happen if she decides to have a taste of your lips.
Clothes rustling behind you pique your curiosity, making you want to turn around to see Rei's breasts out of that damn bra. Wanting to feel the weight of them in your palms, pinch and play with her nipples, give them a nice, good squeeze—
A squeaky, girly noise comes out of you, shivers up your spine, your skin tingling all over the place, body locking up; it happens all at once, overloading your senses and almost making you double over if not for Kazuha holding you upright. You don’t know how to react, your body running on instinct at the burst of pleasure that’s hit you, all because of a wet intrusion poking in your taint.
“What the fuck, Rei–” The letters that constitute pronouncing her name slowly become gibberish in favor of a long, drawn out moan, your hands grabbing Kazuha’s head in an attempt to find solace. Even if you must look so fucked stupid in front of her, that smile Kazuha gives you is somehow both endearing and problematic at the same time.
“Relax,” Kazuha says, and that one word—that one, simple word—is enough to let you know that there is, in fact, a problem. “Just let go when you need to, alright?”
And when Kazuha starts to double down on the assault of pleasure being inflicted on you, you just know that you’re not going to last much longer. You’re almost hyperventilating at how potent the feeling is, the tingling becoming a numbing sensation over your body from it all.
The sensation of Rei licking around your pucker, circling it with her tongue before she does a few pokes to test your reaction. Kazuha’s head a blur from how fast her head is bobbing, blowing you so eagerly. Rei digging her fingers in your ass once her tongue plunges in to rim you. Kazuha’s gaze never losing its focus away from you, her lips suctioned at your tip, tongue circling around, flicking the slit of your cockhead while her hands stroke you.
You’re seeing stars. Blots of white start blocking your vision, the hold you have on Kazuha’s head getting firmer to hold yourself together. It’s useless trying to fight back against it, not when these two are tongue fucking you on both sides. You try to warn either of them that the inevitable is happening, but all that comes out is garbled mutterings of a man gone mad.
It just happened, is what you eventually tell the both. When your eyes roll back and your cock erupts straight into Kazuha’s waiting mouth, filling up with cum at each pulse. The hum that vibrates around your cock along with the tongue slowly licking around your taint coaxes more and more of your load to come out, and it all seems neverending.
Rei comes out from behind, leaving your backside to kneel next to your leg. A finger feathers around your taint, even as she stares at Kazuha prolongs your load. And Kazuha manages to stay attached to your cock, jerking you off to gain more of your spunk, swallowing what she can even as it starts to spill out of her lips. The wonder in Rei’s eyes as she watches, the perverse anticipation in her lips—and all you can do is moan and let it all happen.
“There you go,” Rei mutters, her thighs pushing together. “Give her all that cum. Give her everything so I can have some for myself.”
Kazuha’s lips leave your shaft and you’re crumbling to the floor, feeling like you just ran a marathon and back from the experience. Rei makes sure that you don’t hurt yourself, getting your back against the counter before she gets pulled in for a kiss by Kazuha.
Cum gets swapped between their lips, lips savouring the taste, their tongues sliding together and sharing what Kazuha has milked from you. Some spill down, some stick to their lips, most get swallowed from both. It’s all so messy, and they don’t care at all.
Somehow, someway, your cock comes to life from the view. You don’t understand how, and you’re genuinely scared to find out what happens when you figure out that your body is overruling your sense of survival for more of this.
They part, Kazuha turning to you as Rei licks up any leftover cum that’s fallen down to the former’s chest. “You look like you enjoyed that.”
“I look like I’m a fucking corpse,” you reply, causing Kazuha and Rei to giggle. “What the hell was even that?”
“Just a little thank you for cleaning up the apartment while we were off partying.” Kazuha closes the distance between you two, coming to your left. She cups your cheek, and her lips meet yours.
Arms wrap around her waist to pull her close, and you relax. Letting yourself get swept away by Kazuha’s soft lips for a moment, whispering such a rare phrase to you in between all of the kisses that it makes you smile. You say it back, just when you feel a wet pressure around your length.
It makes you flinch in surprise, pulling you away from the moment, from Kazuha. You look down, and Rei’s in between your legs, cock popping off her lips.
“So about that double team,” Rei starts, slowly stroking you. It was enough to ease you back into hardness. She’s careful with you, making sure that the pleasure doesn’t become pain from overstimulating you. “Can that be my payment for staying here for the week?”
You have a history with Somi. Back when you were a freshly new bodyguard, she repeatedly sought out your services. Regardless of whether the close relationship you shared with her is just a distant memory for you, she still thinks of you from time to time—perhaps more often than you'd expect. And here you are, reminiscing about the old days and walking in front of Somi as she follows behind.
“Oppa, y’know my song was inspired by you.”
“Fast Forward?”
There’s a reason why Somi isn’t your client anymore—she switched agencies, that’s the only reason. You advanced quickly, gaining many celebrity clients along the way. It’s the law of attraction: when people seek top talent, companies turn to you. And when Somi needed to make a decision on her own career as an idol, she only had two choices: move to a different agency or continue to have you by her side. It was a hard choice for Somi until she came to the obvious conclusion. You didn’t hold any resentment; you understood her decision. This was all business anyways.
However, the glares in your eyes weren't always so friendly. Your presence was already intimidating, with the black suit, sunglasses, earpiece, and sometimes even a holster at your hip. You didn't smile much, but you got the job done. Initially, Somi thought you were a cold person, but that changed once you became her regular bodyguard. The more time she spent with you, the more her perception shifted. Despite your cold and intimidating appearance, you cared for and protected your client. That was the job you had signed up for.
“I took part in the lyrics,” Somi says, causing you to stop short before opening the door and look back at her.
“What do I have to do with your song?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Just.. just missed you, Oppa. Don’t you miss me too?”
You couldn't give her an answer when she expected a 'yes,' but you remained silent. Was it wrong to forget about her? You had her phone number, but you never called or texted. Not even to wish her something like a 'Happy Birthday' or 'Happy New Year.'
Somi glances around to make sure no one is watching. Once she's certain both of you are alone, she takes your hand. “I know we are parting ways again after this. But can we catch up? I don’t want you to leave.”
“I think your manager is waiting, Somi. We can catch up next time. Promise?”
“But remember the promise you made with me last time?”
You're clueless. Her question was too vague. It's been years. "What promise?"
“May I come over, Oppa? You’ve seen my place. I never saw yours.”
Somi never slept with you, but it was obvious that she wanted to fuck at the hotel when you went overseas with her, which didn't went her way anyways since this was all business. “Does Chaeyoung talk about me to you, Somi? I’m sure she said something.”
“Oppa, just once. Please?” Somi’s begging for you straightforwardly, you can tell from her eyes that she’s been lonely for far too long. “Aren’t we close? How many years have we not seen each other? It’s been too long, Oppa.”
There’s also not a single lie that you can tell Somi was interested in you, not just sexually, but also romantically. When times change, it’s questionable when you and Somi parted ways.
“Ennik,” you say softly. “Somi.”
“Yes?” she smiles and lets go of your hand.
“Come home with me.”
She chuckles, “finally, you’re not playing hard for once.”
———
“Daddy?” Somi says cautiously out of the blue as you pull into the driveway.
“Is that like one of your kinks?” you chuckle.
“You don’t like it?”
“I’m not judging. I don’t mind it, Somi.” You turn the car off and close the garage door. “Let’s go inside.”
She's unusually quiet, waiting impatiently as you both exit the car and walk inside. There's no doubt that Somi won't let you off the hook the moment you step in. She's hungry. She's lonely. As you shut the door calmly, before you can even turn around, she gets on her knees with her hands in her lap, looking up at you desperately.
"Give it to me, Daddy," she softly pleads once you see her kneeling, slowly placing her hands on your pants and pulls down slowly.
“Somi,” you take a breath, "how much did you missed me?"
"So much." Somi leans closer, staring right at you from below and getting a whiff of your crotch.
"Then show me how much you missed me. Be a good girl."
Somi doesn't respond, but you can see it in her eyes that she wants to be proven worthy. And slowly, Somi bites onto the waistband of your boxers, then pulls it down with a wicked smirk, and you felt her nose dragging against your skin.
She’s not someone who you just met. You know that she's a horny one at heart. Somi didn't want to waste any time. Her breaths came shallow and quick, as if each breath were full of desperation. She gulps and stares at your cock the moment it flings out of your boxers. But before you give her a taste, what's the fun without a small tease? You already have her in a chokehold, and she wouldn’t want to escape it.
"Take off your shirt," you demand, caressing her cheeks. Somi didn't even hesitate and takes off her shirt, revealing a black bra as you stare at her cleavage. Her tit's are round and perfect, more than enough to where you would want your face in between.
“Good girl.” you say, smirking.
She leans closer again and only stares at you after a quick kiss on the tip of your cock. “I’ve been fantasizing about you. I thought about you late last night."
“I’ll make it come true, Somi.” You say, brushing her hair and getting a clear view of her beauty. Once her mouth opened, she wanted only one thing: to taste you. But knowing how desperate Somi is, you're not letting her. Not this easily. You pull her hair back and she gasp, staring up to meet your gaze.
Somi gulps, which was loud in this quiet house. “Daddy,” she whispers. You saw your own reflection in her eyes as she looks at you.
“Open your mouth,” you say, wanting to be in control. Quietly, she opens her mouth without hesitation and you slap your cock right on her cheeks, not once, but twice as she flinches and smiles, then Somi wickedly chuckles.
“I’m such a slut for you.”
“It should be that way,” you say, a deeper tone that made her heart to start fluttering. Your cock was right in front of Somi. She’s impatiently waiting like a good girl. “Keep your mouth open and your tongue out.”
Again, she listens to everything you demanded. Her eyes gleamed, begging you so desperately to the point she’ll do anything just for a small taste. And as you’re curious to how desperate she was, her salvia starts to drip off the tip of her tongue.
You slap your cock right on her tongue, then held her nape with no intentions on letting Somi have it her way. You’re planning to ruin her face. She deserves it. There’s no excuse if Somi’s been waiting for this day. And with a small thrust into her mouth, she chokes once you reached the back of her throat. You push harder, slowly every few seconds without pulling out your cock.
Somi's throat expands, and you could feel her trying to choke, when it’s only a weak one with your cock deep in her throat. She leans back, almost falling behind, and you intentionally did it to pin her against the wall. She closes her eyes shut, face trembling to how deep your cock was in. Well, you weren’t trying to make her pass out, but you did start to worry and gave Somi some room to breathe.
She takes a deep breath with your cock still in her mouth. Without a response, Somi grabs onto your hips, bobbing and tilting her head slowly. You couldn’t help but smirk at how much of a slut you made her. There was no sense of pride from Somi. She's going crazy for your cock.
“Good girl,” you groan, complimenting Somi. “Go ahead, have it. Take it.”
“Mhm,” she murmurs. Then there’s a long hum, the type of hum of tasting something delightful. You felt her perfectly manicured nails digging into your skin as she grips harder and harder, cock disappearing in and out from her mouth. Saliva drips down from her chin and right onto her cleavage. You give a hard thrust and her head’s now against the wall, perfect as you smirk to what wicked intentions you have for her face—a hard face fucking.
Somi closes her eyes, letting a tear out by how hard you were thrusting into her mouth. It’s the tears of happiness that everyone gets after getting what they’ve been longing for. You decide to suddenly stop, still with your cock deep down in her throat. And with your thumb on her face, you wiped her tears, smudging her mascara in the process. She looked more of a slut at this point, and you aren’t complain of seeing Somi like this when her hair is sticking to the wall.
“Good girl,” you say, more softly with a deeper tone. “You look so fucking beautiful like this.” Praising her is a cheat code, she loves being complicated and praised at, especially if it’s from you. You’re well aware of how much you meant to her. It’s no secret.
And it’s clear that you’re using her mouth like a toy, she’s choking and gagging. You could care less while you chase this peace of mind from a singer’s mouth. Somi’s not stopping you, neither would you want to.
“Fuck,” you groan softly, taking a quick breath, and seeing how much of a mess her face was and pulls out. Saliva drips down to her tits after she spits more out to make a mess. You love it how she’s just a slut taking your cock like there’s no tomorrow. Her lips are coated in saliva as she worships your cock with her lips pressing right on it.
“Am I being a good girl, Daddy?” she mumbles, lips on the tip of your cock.
“You are. Maybe you should stop talking and show me that you’re even better than a good girl.” Somi’s face was all fucked, a whole hot mess. She’s even more beautiful like this.
“I want it all over my face, Daddy.”
“Should maybe get ready then.”
You grab onto her face, squeezing her cheeks with your fingers and palm right on her chin to make Somi look up at you. You were once her love interest. You were her protector. And now, she’s on her very knees, in a mess taking your aggression. Somi couldn’t say anything, she’s more mesmerized by your glare. You push your cock back into her mouth to make Somi gag and continue to choke all over your cock.
“Fuck, your mouth feels so good,” you groan. Your cock was shoved deep down to the point it bulges out her throat. Her eyes are closed, tears slowly coming down her face. You felt saliva dripping all the way down to your balls. Her small mouth couldn’t take it, but she's not stopping you from using her like a toy.
Your cock begins to throb, violently more as you keep shoving your cock into her mouth. There’s a whole mess on her tits as it’s drying out layer by layer. Somi’s taking it like a slut that she is. It doesn’t matter how rough you were, Somi loves the way your cock throbs. After a deep gasp, and a moan, you pull out. Webs of saliva flows out her mouth and on your cock down to her chest.
She grabs onto your cock to start stroking it. Somi knew what to do. She wants to make you cum all over her face. Her hands squeezes your cock, stroking it faster and faster while looking up at you.
“Make me cum, Somi,” you uttered quickly. “I’ll cum on your pretty face.”
“Give it to me, Daddy,” she murmurs. Her mouths wide open, tongues out, eyes all closed.
You cum by her small hands squeezing and stroking your cock, releasing all the built up sexual tension for years, but all Somi can feel was how much cum there was on her face. With a bright smile, and a couple flinches from cum shooting onto her face, she finally got her fantasy to come true. It’s warm. It’s thick. Just what she’s been craving for.
Somi’s face is the definition of getting face fucked. Her hairs a mess, cum all over her lips, cheeks, and even up to her hair as she couldn’t open her eyes but smile. Then strands of cum stretch and drip down her chin to her tits.
“What a mess,” she utters after swallowing your cum, and the biggest smile you saw from her today. Somi scoops all the cum on her face and licks every single finger.
“You’re missing more, Somi,” you say, wanting her to lick your cock clean. She crawls on her knees to suck you off without a word. “There’s some on your hair too.”
“It’s fine,” she says after pulling off your cock with a loud pop. “You taste good.”
“Was I too aggressive?”
“Kind of. Tolerable thought. But why should I complain?” She then leans in again to give your cock a quick kiss. Her chest is pumping after being used as a toy.
“Water?” you say, wanting to give her some care.
“No,” she whispers shyly.
You grab your pants and gently hand Somi her shirt. She’s still on her knees with the shirt rolled up into a ball as she covers part of her chest. “It’s not a problem if you want get in my panties if you’re thinking about it right now.”
Well, you did give her a hard face fucking. It’s only right that you give Somi a time to rest. As you put on your pants, she’s just staring down at the floor, lost in thought.
“What are you thinking, Somi?”
“Are you gonna kick me out?” she says, looking up at you. There’s a pure moment of silence, you couldn’t believe what she just said. After face fucking her? Why kick her out?
“Do you want me to, Somi?” you smirk, teasing her when you aren’t planning on kicking her out.
“You want my pussy? I’ll give it to you right now for as long as you want. Please let me stay for a while, Oppa. Please, Daddy?”
You’re dumbfounded to why Somi thinks that you’ll kick her out. “Calm down, let’s go sit on the couch. I’m not telling you to leave.”
“Oh,” she embarrassingly says and puts on her shirt. After Somi stands up, she follows you to the couch and sits right beside you. Somi couldn't belive that she got naked and took your cock like a slut. Neither did she want to fully admit of being one.
“How was it since you changed agencies, Somi?”
“I really missed you. I couldn’t stop thinking that I might of made the wrong choice to leave you behind. And now you’re with Twice.”
“I’m just a bodyguard,” you chuckle.
“So what? You’re so comfortable to be around with. Isn’t it obvious?”
You shrug, “don’t know.”
“Oppa,” she takes a deep breath. “Was it also obvious that I was interested in you?”
“It was. Why are you bringing this up, Somi?”
“If I can’t buy your love, I’ll sell you my body. That’s the most I can do for you to want me in a way.”
You sigh, “there’s gotta be a better way to word that, Somi. C’mon.”
She then sits closer to you and puts her head on your shoulders, “we never had a proper farewell to each other. I want to thank you for everything.”
“It’s..not like I’ll never take you in as a client again, Somi. If both our schedules are right, I don’t mind taking you.”
“Really, Oppa?”
“When’s your next concert? I’ll come with Chaeyoung.”
“Why come with her when you can be alongside me like we used to? Be backstage and we can eat at a restaurant after with my manager. I want to treat you for everything you’ve done with me.”
“Just text me, Somi. I’ll be there if your agency reaches out to me.”
“Mhm, I can’t thank you enough.”
“Do you plan on spending the night here?”
“I’m busy tomorrow morning, Oppa,” she sighs.
“I’ll take you home later, Somi.”
A/N: Lost motivation to write more, but hope this is enough. Half ass edit too.
The GPS had led you through winding, tree-lined roads for the last twenty minutes, each turn taking you deeper into a neighborhood that didn't feel like Seoul anymore. The mansions here didn't even try to blend in, they announced themselves with wrought-iron gates and stone walls, with security cameras that tracked your car's movement like predator eyes.
Your hands were slick against the steering wheel.
Senior Park had called this morning, his voice crackling through the phone with that particular brand of amusement he reserved for special assignments. "New client. Young. Recently married." A pause. "You've seen her face before."
You'd seen her face everywhere. Billboard in Gangnam. Subway advertisement for soju. The thumbnail of every third video on your YouTube feed. Karina. Yu Ji-min. The face of AESPA, the woman whose wedding had crashed three different entertainment news sites, whose husband, some shipping magnate's son had apparently decided that a wife was something you acquired, not something you maintained.
"That's the job," Senior Park had said. "She called us. Not the other way around. Remember that."
And now here you were, sitting in your Hyundai at the security gate of a house that looked more like a modern art museum, trying to remember how to breathe normally.
The gate buzzed before you could press the intercom.
A woman's voice, softer than you'd expected. "Come in. The front door is around the fountain."
The gate swung open.
The walk from your car to the front door took exactly forty-three steps. You counted them. Anything to keep your mind from spinning out. The fountain in the driveway was one of those minimalist things, a black stone slab with water sheeting down the sides. Classy. Expensive. The kind of thing you could stare at and feel nothing about.
Your professional training ran through your head like a checklist Senior Park had drilled into you months ago. Posture. Eye contact. Don't stare. Let her set the pace. The first meeting is always about making them comfortable enough to admit what they want.
But none of the training had mentioned what to do when Karina opened the door.
She wasn't wearing makeup. That was the first thing you noticed, not what you'd expected. Every image you'd ever seen of her was polished to a high gloss, stage-ready, camera-ready. The woman standing in the doorway had her dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping at the temples. She wore an oversized gray sweater that hung off one shoulder, black leggings, bare feet on the marble floor.
And her face. Jesus Christ, her face.
The bone structure that launched a thousand fan edits. Lips that were slightly chapped, slightly parted. Eyes that held yours with something between curiosity and exhaustion.
"Come in," she said, stepping aside. "Take off your shoes."
You did. Brain on autopilot. The foyer was all white marble and indirect lighting, a staircase curving up into shadow. The house smelled like fresh laundry and something floral… lilies, maybe. A bouquet sat on a console table near the door, still wrapped in cellophane, the card unopened.
"I'm…" you started. "I know who you are." She was already walking toward what looked like a living room. "The agency sent me your file. Do you want something to drink?"
The living room was vast and somehow still felt empty. A sectional sofa big enough for twelve people. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a garden you couldn't see in the dark. No photographs on the walls. No magazines on the coffee table. It looked like a showroom, like no one actually lived here. "Water would be great," you managed.
Karina gestured toward the sofa. "Sit." She disappeared through an archway. You heard water running, the clink of glass. Your heart was doing something ridiculous in your chest—not racing exactly, more like it was trying to relocate to your throat.
The file Senior Park had given you was thin. Married eight months. Husband's name was Lee Joon-ho, heir to Lee Shipping & Logistics. According to the tabloids, he'd been spotted at clubs in Gangnam with actresses whose names you didn't recognize, while Karina attended industry events alone. The word "lonely" appeared in a lot of the articles, usually paired with photos of her looking wistful at award shows. "Here."
She was back, holding two glasses. One water, one something amber. Whiskey, maybe. Your eyes tracked the movement of her bare arm as she set the water down on the coffee table between you. "You're nervous," she said, settling onto the opposite end of the sectional. Not a question.
"A little."
"Why?"
Because you're Karina. Because every man in this country has fantasized about you. Because I'm sitting in your mansion and you're wearing that sweater and I don't know what I'm supposed to do with my hands. "New clients are always nerve-wracking," you said instead. "For both of us."
Something flickered in her expression. Amusement, maybe. Or skepticism. She took a sip of her drink—whiskey, definitely—and let her head rest against the back of the sofa. The movement exposed the long line of her throat, the delicate architecture of her collarbones where the sweater had slipped. "How long have you been doing this?"
"A year."
"And before that?" You hesitated. The training said honesty was valuable, but only in measured doses. "I was a personal trainer. Senior Park recruited me. Said I had the right… temperament."
"Temperament." She said the word like she was tasting it. "Is that what they call it?" The silence stretched. Outside, wind rattled something against the glass—a branch, probably. The house was so quiet you could hear the refrigerator humming from two rooms away.
"Why did you call the agency?" you asked. Karina's gaze slid toward you. "Aren't you supposed to know the answer to that?"
"I'd rather hear it from you." Another sip of whiskey. Her throat moved as she swallowed. "The agency brief didn't tell you?"
"It said you were recently married. It said your husband travels frequently for work."
"Travels." A short laugh, not especially warm. "Is that what they're calling it now?"
You didn't answer. Sometimes silence was the best tool you had. Karina set her glass down on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary. The sound echoed in the cavernous room. "He doesn't travel. He's in Seoul. He just doesn't come home." She was looking at the windows now, at her own reflection in the dark glass. "Three months. I've seen him three times in three months, and each time it was for less than an hour. Photo opportunities, mostly. His PR team coordinates them."
"That sounds lonely." Her jaw tightened. "Don't."
"Don't what?" "Don't do the sympathetic thing. I'm not paying for sympathy."
You shifted on the sofa, turning to face her more directly. "What are you paying for?"
The question landed differently than you'd intended. Karina's eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment the mask slipped—the idol mask, the one she wore in every interview and variety show appearance. Underneath it was something rawer. Something hungry and furious and so tired of pretending. "I want to feel something," she said. "Something that isn't…" She gestured vaguely at the house around her. "This."
"This?"
"Empty." The word came out smaller than the others. She picked up her whiskey again, took a longer drink. "Everything in my life is scheduled and managed and presented to the public in exactly the right light. My marriage. My career. My face." Another drink. "I wake up in this house and I feel like I'm already a ghost. Like I'm haunting my own life." You watched her fingers tighten around the glass. The knuckles went pale.
"So when you ask what I'm paying for," she continued, "I'm paying for something real. Something that isn't polite. Something that doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass." The air in the room had changed. Thicker, somehow. Charged with something you couldn't name.
"Have you done this before?" you asked. "With anyone from the agency?"
"No."
"And you understand how this works? The boundaries, the rules—"
"I understand." She cut you off with a look that was almost defiant. "I read everything. I know about the safeword protocols. I know I can stop anything at any time. I know this isn't…" She paused, searching for the word. "Conventional."
"It's not," you agreed. "Which is why I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."
Karina raised an eyebrow, and for a second you caught a glimpse of the stage persona, the one who commanded thousands with a single glance. "Ask."
"Are you sure you want this?" The question hung between you. Outside, the wind picked up again, and somewhere in the house a door creaked—settling, probably, or the air pressure shifting. Karina didn't look away from your face.
"Do you want me to prove it?" she asked.
"I want you to tell me." She was quiet for a long moment. Then she set her glass down again, stood up from the sofa, and walked toward you. Her bare feet made almost no sound on the marble floor. The sweater slipped further off her shoulder as she moved, revealing the strap of something black and lacy underneath. When she stopped, she was standing directly in front of you, close enough that you could smell her perfume—something light, citrus and white flowers—and underneath it, the clean scent of her skin. "I've been thinking about this for three weeks," she said. "Ever since I found the agency's number in a forum I wasn't supposed to be reading. Ever since I realized that the only person who's touched me in eight months is my makeup artist." Her voice was steady, but there was a tremor underneath it. "So yes. I'm sure. I want this."
She held out her hand. "I want you to make me feel something. I don't care if it hurts. I don't care if it's ugly. I want to stop being Karina for a few hours and just be… a body. A woman. Whatever is left of me when all of this"—she waved at the house, at the empty walls, at the unopened flowers—"isn't here anymore." Your pulse was a drumbeat in your ears. Her hand was still extended, palm up, waiting.
"Tell me your safeword," you said.
"Red."
"And if you can't speak?"
"Three taps. Anywhere you can feel them." You'd said the same words to half a dozen clients before her, but something about the way Karina recited them back—steady, rehearsed, like she'd practiced them in front of a mirror—made your chest tighten.
"Okay," you said. And you took her hand. Her skin was warm. Soft, the way you'd imagined, but there was strength in her grip too—the hand of someone who'd spent years in dance studios, who'd trained her body to do exactly what she wanted it to. She didn't flinch when you stood up, which brought you close enough that you could see the individual lashes framing her eyes, the tiny mole near her left eyebrow, the way her lips had parted slightly.
"Before we do anything," you said, "I need you to understand something."
"What?"
"This isn't about your husband. This isn't about revenge or filling a void or proving something to yourself." You kept your voice low, even. "This is about what you want. Right now. In this room. Nothing else exists." Karina's eyes searched your face. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it, because something in her expression shifted—a loosening, a letting-go.
"Nothing else exists," she repeated.
"Good girl." The words slipped out before you could stop them, but the effect was immediate. Karina's breath caught. Her pupils dilated, just slightly. The hand in yours tightened its grip.
"That's what you want?" you asked. "To be good?"
"I want…" She swallowed. "I want to stop thinking. I want someone else to be in charge. Just for a while." You lifted your free hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. The movement was gentle, almost reverent, and it made no sense with the things you were about to do—but that was the point, wasn't it? The contrast. The collision of tender and brutal that would short-circuit her brain and give her exactly what she was asking for.
"Your bedroom," you said. "Take me there."
She led you up the curved staircase, her hand still in yours. The upstairs hallway was lined with doors, all of them closed except one at the far end. Soft light spilled out of it, and as you got closer you could see the corner of a bed—a huge bed, king-sized at least, with white sheets and too many pillows. The master bedroom. Karina's bedroom.
The room that her husband had probably not set foot in for months. She paused at the threshold, and for a moment you thought she might hesitate. Might change her mind. Might realize what she was about to do and decide it was too much, too fast, too far outside the carefully constructed image of Yu Ji-min, beloved idol, perfect wife.
Instead, she turned to face you. "What do you want me to do first?" The question was genuine. Not a test. She was waiting for you to take the reins, willing to hand over control before you'd even started.
"First," you said, stepping into the bedroom and pulling her gently after you, "I want you to take off that sweater." Karina's hands moved to the hem of the gray wool. The fabric lifted, revealing the black lace you'd glimpsed earlier—a bralette, delicate and expensive-looking, the kind of thing you wore when you wanted to feel beautiful even if no one else would see it. The sweater came over her head and dropped to the floor.
Her skin was luminous in the low light. Pale and smooth, with the kind of muscle definition that came from years of dancing—toned arms, a flat stomach that tensed as she breathed, the curve of her ribs just visible beneath the skin. "Now the leggings." She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pushed them down, bending at the waist. The movement was efficient, not seductive, but it didn't matter—the sight of her body unfolding as she straightened up, the black lace of her underwear matching the bralette, the long lines of her legs.
You circled her slowly. She stood very still, the way she'd probably been trained to stand for fittings and stage checks, but there was a tremor in her thighs that she couldn't quite control. Anticipation. Maybe fear. Probably both. "Lie down on the bed," you said. "On your back."
Karina did as she was told. The mattress barely dipped under her weight—memory foam, probably, the kind that cost more than your monthly rent. She arranged herself in the center of the white expanse, arms at her sides, looking up at the ceiling. "Close your eyes." Her lashes swept down against her cheeks. The room was silent except for her breathing, which had gone shallow and quick. You stood at the foot of the bed and watched her. The rise and fall of her chest. The way her fingers curled against the sheets. The faint flush spreading from her neck to her collarbones.
"How do you feel?" you asked. "Exposed."
"Good." You moved to the side of the bed and sat down on the edge, close enough that your hip nearly touched hers. Karina's breathing hitched at the proximity.
"Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"
A pause. "No." "I'm going to use you." The words came out rougher than you'd intended. "I'm going to take everything you're willing to give me, and I'm going to make you feel every second of it. Your body belongs to me tonight. Do you understand?"
Her voice was barely a whisper. "Yes."
"And you want that?"
"God, yes."
"Look at me." Her eyes opened. They were glassy already, the pupils blown wide. The composed idol from five minutes ago was already starting to dissolve, replaced by something more vulnerable and infinitely more real. "Your husband," you said. "Does he ever look at you like this?"
Karina flinched—a tiny movement, but you caught it. "No."
"Does he touch you?"
"No."
"Does he make you feel anything at all?" A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, tracking down her temple and into her hair. "No." You leaned closer. "Then forget him. Forget all of it. Right now, there's only me and you and what your body can take. Nothing else. No Karina. No Yu Ji-min. Just a woman who needs to be fucked like she matters."
The tears were coming faster now, but she wasn't sobbing—just leaking, silently, the release of pressure that had been building for months.
"Please," she said. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Make me forget." You stood up and began unbuttoning your shirt. Karina watched you through blurred vision, her chest rising and falling with breaths she couldn't seem to control. The black lace of her bralette had shifted, revealing the upper curve of her breasts, the skin there flushed and warm.
"Last chance to change your mind," you said, pulling your shirt off and letting it fall. Her eyes traveled over your chest, your arms, the line of your stomach. When she spoke, her voice was steadier than it had been.
"I'm not changing my mind."
"Good." You unbuckled your belt and pulled it free from the loops with a single smooth motion. The leather whispered against the fabric of your pants. "Because I'm just getting started." The belt was still in your hand. Karina watched it loop between your fingers, the leather dark against your palm. Her tears had left shiny tracks down her temples, disappearing into the hairline, and her breathing had gone shallow again—not from crying now, but from something else. Something that made her thighs press together on the white sheets.
“Sit up,” you said. She pushed herself upright, the bralette shifting as she moved. One strap slipped off her shoulder. She didn’t fix it. You folded the belt in half and ran your thumb along the smooth side. “You said you wanted to stop being Karina for a few hours.”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m going to take away your sight.” Her lips parted. A micro-flinch—not fear, not exactly. More like the body’s instinctive response to a cliff edge. The moment before the jump. “The blindfold,” you continued, “stays on until I take it off. If it becomes too much, you use the taps. Three of them. Anywhere you can reach me.”
“I know the rules.”
“I know you do.” You stepped closer, until your knees touched the edge of the mattress. “But I want to hear you say it. What happens if you need to stop?”
“Three taps.” Her voice was steadier now. “On you. Anywhere.”
“And what’s your word?”
“Red.”
“Good.” You reached down and brushed your knuckles along her jawline. The contact was feather-light, almost accidental. “Lift your hair.” She gathered the dark strands and held them up, exposing the nape of her neck. The movement arched her back slightly, pushed her chest forward. The black lace strained against her breasts. You brought the belt around her head. The leather was cool, supple from use. You positioned it across her eyes, careful not to catch her hair in the buckle, and pulled it snug against her temples. Not tight enough to hurt. Tight enough that she wouldn’t see anything but darkness.
“How does that feel?”
Karina exhaled. “Dark.”
“Can you see anything?”
“No.”
“Good.” You fastened the belt at the back of her head and let your fingers trail down the side of her neck as you withdrew. Her pulse hammered against your fingertips. “Now lie back down.” She lowered herself onto the mattress. The movement was different now—less controlled, more tentative. Without her sight, every shift of her body became a negotiation with the unknown. Her hands found the sheets and gripped them. You stood at the edge of the bed and looked at her. The idol that half of Korea fantasized about. The face on every billboard. Reduced to a blindfolded woman in black lace, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid cycles, her lips slick where she’d licked them.
“Spread your legs.” Karina’s thighs parted. The movement was slow, almost reluctant—but she did it. The matching black panties were cut high on her hips, the fabric thin enough that you could see the suggestion of her underneath. A dark shadow. A slight dampness already bleeding through.
“Wider.” She obeyed. Her knees fell open, exposing the full length of her. The panties pulled taut across her cunt. The outline of her lips. The little seam where they parted.
You didn’t touch her there. Not yet. Instead you climbed onto the bed, positioning yourself beside her. The mattress dipped under your weight, and Karina’s body shifted toward you instinctively—gravity pulling her toward the heat of your skin. “You’re going to use your mouth now,” you said. “And while you do, I’m going to play with these.” Your fingers found the strap of her bralette. You pulled it down. Then the other strap. The lace caught on her nipples for a moment—already peaked, already hard—before you tugged it free and let the fabric pool around her waist.
Karina’s breasts were full and pale, the nipples a dusty rose color that darkened at the tips. They stiffened further in the open air, and she made a small sound—something between a gasp and a whimper. “You like that.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“You like being blindfolded. You like not knowing what’s coming next.”
“I… yes.” You traced a circle around her right nipple with your fingertip. The skin puckered. Karina’s back lifted off the mattress.
“Don’t move,” you said. “Stay still and let me touch you.” She forced herself down. The effort was visible—her abdominal muscles tensed, her hands fisting in the sheets. You circled the nipple again, closer this time, and then you took it between your thumb and forefinger and squeezed. The sound she made was not a moan. It was a broken exhale, a noise that started in her chest and caught in her throat. Her hips bucked once—an involuntary spasm—and then she forced them still. “That’s it,” you murmured. “Let your body react. Don’t fight it.”
You rolled the nipple between your fingers, working it slowly. The texture was fascinating—the way it tightened and pebbled under your touch, the way the areola crinkled around it. Karina’s breathing had gone ragged. A flush was spreading down her chest, past her collarbones, toward the swell of her breasts. “Does your husband ever touch you like this?”
“No—” The word came out strangled.
“Does he know what your body does when someone pays attention to it?”
“He doesn’t… he never…”
“He never what?”
“He never touches me.” The confession was barely a whisper. “He never—ah—” You’d switched to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. Roll. Squeeze. A gentle twist that made her gasp and arch before she remembered she was supposed to stay still.
“Then he’s a fool,” you said. “Because your body is extraordinary.” You leaned down and took her nipple into your mouth. Karina cried out. The sound was sharp and sudden, echoing in the vast bedroom. Your tongue laved across the tight bud, traced circles around the areola, and then you sucked—a long, pulling pressure that made her whole body go rigid.
“Oh—oh god—” Her hands came up, flailing in the dark, and found your shoulders. Her nails dug in. You didn’t tell her to stop. Instead you sucked harder, pulling the nipple deep into your mouth while your other hand continued working its twin—rolling, pinching, tugging in counterpoint to the rhythm of your tongue. She was making sounds now that had no words in them. Just vowels. Just broken, desperate vowels that rose and fell with the movement of your mouth. You released her nipple with a wet pop.
“Hands down,” you said. “We’re not done.” Karina’s fingers uncurled from your shoulders. She lowered her arms back to the bed. Her chest was heaving, both nipples now slick and swollen, darker than they’d been before. The blindfold had shifted slightly—just a millimeter—but she hadn’t tried to remove it. “Good girl. Now.” You unfastened your pants and pushed them down. Your boxers followed. “I want you to sit up. I want you on your knees. Can you do that?”
She nodded. The belt bobbed with the movement. Getting her upright was an exercise in trust. She couldn’t see the edge of the bed, couldn’t gauge the distance. You guided her by the shoulders—first into a sitting position, then turning her so her legs hung off the side of the mattress. “On your knees,” you said. “On the floor.” Karina slid off the bed. Her knees hit the hardwood with a soft thud. The position put her face level with your hips, and even though she couldn’t see you, she must have sensed your proximity, because her breath quickened. “You’re going to use your mouth now,” you said. “The way you’ve been thinking about since you first called the agency. The way you’ve imagined in this empty bed at night while your husband was god knows where.”
Her lips parted. Her tongue darted out, wetting them. “But you don’t get to use your hands. Not yet. Just your mouth. And while you work, I’m going to keep playing with your nipples. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” You guided yourself toward her mouth. The head of your cock brushed her lower lip—just a touch, just enough for her to feel the heat. Karina’s whole body shuddered. “Open.” She did. Her jaw dropped, and you pushed forward, sliding the tip past her lips. The inside of her mouth was hot. Wet. Her tongue met the underside of your shaft, tentative at first, then bolder—flattening against you, tracing the ridge of the head. You groaned. The sound was involuntary. “That’s it. Take more.”
She did. Her lips stretched around your girth, and you watched her jaw work as she accommodated the intrusion. There was no hesitation now—the blindfold had freed her from something. From the performance. From the expectation. From Karina Yu, the idol, and all the ways that identity constrained her. The woman kneeling on the floor was just a woman. A woman who wanted to suck cock. You reached down and found her nipples again. Both of them this time, one in each hand, rolling them between your thumbs and forefingers as she began to move.
Karina moaned around your shaft. The vibration traveled through you, up your spine, into the base of your skull. “Mmm—”
She pulled back, let her tongue swirl around the head, then pushed forward again—deeper this time. Her throat flexed. A gag reflex triggered, and she choked, but she didn’t pull away. She held herself there, breathing through her nose, letting her throat adjust to the intrusion. “Fuck,” you breathed. “You’ve done this before.” She couldn’t answer—her mouth was full—but the way she moved said everything. This wasn’t practice. This was muscle memory. Somewhere in her past, before the fame and the management and the carefully curated image, there had been a girl who knew exactly what to do with her mouth. You pinched her nipples harder. She whimpered. Bobbed her head. The wet sounds of her mouth filled the room—the slick slide of lips on skin, the soft suction when she pulled back, the obscene little pop when she reached the tip and let go for just a moment before diving back down.
“Look at you.” Your voice had gone rough. “The most famous woman in Korea. On her knees. Blindfolded. Choking on a stranger’s cock.” Karina’s response was a moan that vibrated through your entire shaft. She sucked harder. Faster. Her tongue worked the underside of your cock with the kind of precision that spoke to experience—flicking against the frenulum, tracing the vein that ran along the length, pressing flat and wide when she reached the base. You tugged her nipples in rhythm with her bobbing. Pull when she went down. Release when she came up. The coordination turned her body into an instrument—you played her nipples, and she played you with her mouth. Saliva dripped down her chin. It pooled in the hollow of her throat, ran in thin rivulets toward her collarbones. She was messy now. Undone. The composed idol from an hour ago was dissolving into something rawer and infinitely more beautiful.
“Deeper,” you said. “Take it deeper.” She pushed forward. Her throat constricted around the head of your cock—a tight, hot pressure that made your vision swim. She gagged again, harder this time, and you felt her throat spasm around you. “Stay there.” She held. Her shoulders trembled. A tear leaked from beneath the blindfold—not from crying, but from the physical reflex of her throat trying to expel the intrusion. The tear tracked down her cheek and mixed with the saliva on her chin. You released her nipples and cupped her face instead. Your thumbs traced the stretched line of her lips, the bulge of your cock visible through her cheek.
“You’re perfect like this,” you murmured. “Blind. Choking. Desperate. This is what you needed, isn’t it? To be used. To be nothing but a mouth.” Karina made a sound—half moan, half sob—and nodded as much as she could with your cock buried in her throat. You pulled back. Let her breathe. A thick strand of saliva connected her bottom lip to the tip of your cock.
“Don’t swallow yet,” you said. “Let it drip.” She obeyed. The saliva pooled and spilled, running down her chin and onto her chest. It made her skin glisten in the low light.
“Now use your hands. Both of them. Show me how you touch yourself when you think about this.” Her hands came up immediately—eager, almost frantic. One wrapped around the base of your shaft while the other cupped your balls. Her fingers were cool against the heat of your skin. She squeezed gently, testing the weight, and then her mouth was back on you—lips stretched wide, tongue working, throat opening. The blindfold was soaked now. Tears and sweat had darkened the leather around her eyes. You reached down and found her nipples again. Plucked them. Rolled them. Pinched them until she keened around your cock, the sound high and desperate. “You love this. You love being on your knees for a stranger. You love not being in control.”
“Mmmhmm—” The affirmation vibrated through your shaft.
“Say it. Pull off and say it.” She let you go with a gasp. Her lips were swollen, the color darkened to a deep rose. “I love it. I love being on my knees. I love—” She swallowed, her throat working. “I love not being in control.”
“Why?”
“Because…” Her blindfolded face tilted up toward your voice. “Because for once I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to be Karina. I can just be… this.”
“A mouth.”
“Yes.”
“A set of holes.”
She shuddered. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’m a mouth.” Her voice cracked. “I’m a set of holes. I’m just—I’m just a body that wants to be used.” You stroked her cheek. “Good girl. Now open up.” She did. Her jaw dropped, tongue extended—a gesture of pure, shameless submission. You guided yourself back into her mouth and this time you didn’t let her set the pace. You fucked her throat with slow, deliberate thrusts, watching her lips stretch around you, watching her chest heave as she struggled to breathe through her nose.
Your hands never left her nipples. They were dark now, engorged, slick with the saliva that had dripped down from her chin. You twisted them in opposite directions and Karina screamed around your cock—a muffled, desperate sound that was swallowed by the column of flesh filling her throat. “Again.” Twist. Scream. Her thighs squeezed together, and through the thin black panties you could see her cunt clenching on nothing.
“You’re getting wet from this. From choking on a stranger’s cock while he twists your nipples.” She couldn’t answer. Could only whimper and bob her head and take it. You pulled her off again. She gasped, coughed, and then immediately tried to lean forward—to get you back in her mouth. You held her by the hair. “Not yet. I want to look at you.” Karina knelt there, chest heaving, lips swollen and slick, chin dripping. The blindfold was a dark slash across her face. Her nipples jutted out from the flushed mounds of her breasts, hard and dark and wet. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you said. “And I mean that. Not Karina the idol. Not the image. This. Right here. A woman who finally stopped pretending.”
Her lips trembled. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please let me finish. Please let me taste you. Please—I need—I need to feel you—”
“You need to feel me come down your throat.”
“Yes.” The word was a sob. “Yes. Please. Use my mouth. Use my throat. I don’t care if I can’t breathe. I just want to feel it. I want to taste it. Please.” You guided her back onto your cock. She took you deeper than before—no hesitation, no slow build. She swallowed you whole, her nose pressing against your abdomen, her throat working around the intrusion like it was made for this. Made for you. Your hands found her nipples one last time. You pinched them hard—the hardest yet—and held the pressure as she sucked. Karina’s whole body convulsed. Her thighs pressed together so tightly that the muscles in her legs stood out in sharp relief. A muffled, keening sound escaped from somewhere deep in her throat. She was close. Even without touching her cunt, even without any stimulation below the waist—she was close. The nipple play and the blindfold and the degradation had wound her up to a breaking point.
You felt your own climax building. A tightening at the base of your spine. A coiling pressure that radiated outward. “I’m going to come,” you said. “And you’re going to swallow every drop. Do you understand?” Karina’s response was to suck harder. Her tongue worked the underside of your shaft, pressing and stroking in time with her bobbing. Her hand cupped your balls and squeezed—gently, then harder—and that was it. The orgasm hit like a punch to the spine. You groaned—a deep, guttural sound—and your hands tightened on her nipples as the first pulse of cum shot into her mouth. She swallowed. You felt her throat work around the head of your cock, milking you, drawing out every pulse. The second shot. The third. She took them all, her lips sealed tight around your shaft, not letting a single drop escape.
“Fuck. Fuck, Karina—” She pulled back just enough to let the last pulse land on her tongue. Then she closed her mouth and swallowed again, her throat moving in a long, deliberate gulp. When she finally released you, she sat back on her heels. Her chest was still heaving. Her nipples were dark and swollen. Her chin glistened. A single drop of cum had escaped the corner of her mouth and was tracking slowly down toward her jaw. You reached down and wiped it away with your thumb. Then you pressed your thumb to her lips. She sucked it clean.
“Thank you,” she whispered. You crouched down in front of her. The blindfold was ruined—soaked through with tears and sweat, the leather darkened to near-black. You reached behind her head and unbuckled it. The belt fell away.
Karina blinked. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, the pupils so dilated that her irises were barely visible. Tear tracks striped her cheeks. Her lips—swollen, bruised-looking, the lipstick she hadn’t been wearing long since replaced by a deeper, more honest color. She looked wrecked. She looked free. “How do you feel?” you asked.
A long pause. Then a smile—small, fragile, but real. “Like I’m still here. Like I’m actually… in my body. For the first time in months.” You brushed the hair away from her face. “We’re not done.” Karina’s smile widened, just a fraction. “I know.” “Lie back down on the bed. On your stomach this time.” She rose on unsteady legs and climbed onto the mattress. The black panties were soaked through now—a dark, wet patch that spread from the gusset all the way to the waistband. She arranged herself face-down on the white sheets, her arms stretched above her head, her legs slightly apart.
The position made her ass look incredible. Round and full, the cheeks peeking out from beneath the lace.
You climbed onto the bed behind her. Your cock was still half-hard, already stirring again at the sight of her. “I’m going to take these off now,” you said, hooking your fingers into the waistband of her panties. “And then I’m going to find out just how wet choking on a stranger’s cock made you.”
Karina’s voice was muffled by the pillow. “Yes. Please. Touch me.” You pulled the panties down. And stopped breathing. The panties slid down the curve of her ass, the black lace peeling away from skin that glistened with moisture. The gusset left a shining trail across the backs of her thighs—a snail's track of arousal that caught the bedroom's low light. You stopped breathing.
Karina's cunt was laid bare before you, the lips puffy and flushed a deep rose, parted just enough to reveal the darker, wetter flesh within. Her arousal had coated everything—the inner thighs, the neat strip of dark hair above her mound, the puckered swirl of her asshole that winked at you as she shifted on the mattress. The scent hit you next: salt and musk and something sweeter underneath, the raw perfume of a woman who'd been sucking cock while her nipples were tortured and had loved every second of it.
"Fuck," you breathed. Karina's response was muffled by the pillow. "What? What is it?"
"You're dripping. You're actually—" You ran one finger along the seam of her cunt, not pushing in, just gathering the slick that had pooled there. The touch made her whole body jolt. "You're soaked. All the way down your thighs."
"I know." Her voice cracked. "I could feel it. While I was—while you were in my mouth—I could feel myself getting wetter and I couldn't do anything about it."
"Did you want to?"
"Yes. God, yes. I wanted to touch myself so badly. But you told me not to move. So I just… leaked." You brought your slick-coated finger to your mouth and tasted her. Salty. Slightly bitter. Clean. The flavor bloomed on your tongue, and something in your chest tightened—not just lust, though there was plenty of that, but something closer to awe. The most famous woman in Korea was face-down on her marital bed, her cunt drooling onto the sheets, waiting for a stranger to decide what to do with her.
"Please," Karina whispered. "Please touch me. I've been waiting. I've been so patient. Please."
"How long has it been since someone touched you here?"
"Eight months. Since before the wedding. He never—Joon-ho never—" She choked on the name. "He never wanted to. Even before we got married. He said it was… messy. He said he preferred—"
"Preferred what?"
"His hand. His own hand. While I lay next to him pretending to be asleep." The confession hung in the air. You looked at the perfect curve of her ass, the trembling muscles of her thighs, the slick heat of her cunt that some man had decided wasn't worth his time. "His loss," you said. "Don't move." You positioned yourself behind her, kneeling between her spread legs. The position gave you a view of everything—the long line of her spine, the flare of her hips, the dark cleft of her ass, and at the center of it all, her cunt. Swollen. Wet. Waiting.
"Two fingers," you said. "I'm going to put two fingers inside you. And you're going to scream into that pillow." Karina grabbed the pillow and pulled it to her face. You pushed your middle finger into her first.
The heat was staggering. Tight—god, she was tight—but so wet that your finger slid in to the second knuckle without resistance. Her inner walls clenched around the intrusion, a rippling squeeze that traveled from base to tip. Karina's back arched. A strangled sound escaped the pillow.
"One," you said. "Here comes the second."
Your index finger joined the first. The stretch made her gasp—a sharp intake of air that she cut off by biting the pillow. You pushed both fingers deep, curling them upward, searching for the rough patch of tissue that would make her see stars.
You found it.
Karina screamed.
The sound was muffled by the pillow but still loud enough to echo in the vast bedroom. Her hips bucked backward, driving your fingers deeper. Her cunt clamped down with a force that made your knuckles ache.
"There it is," you murmured. "That's what you needed, isn't it? Someone to find it. Someone to touch it. Someone who isn't afraid of a little mess."
"Don't stop—please don't stop—"
You didn't stop. You fucked her with your fingers in slow, deep strokes, curling them against that spot every time you bottomed out. The wet sounds were obscene—a slick, squelching rhythm that filled the room. Her juices coated your hand, dripped down your wrist, pooled on the sheets beneath her.
"Listen to yourself," you said. "Listen to how wet you are. You sound like a—"
"Like a whore." The word came out muffled but clear. "Say it. I want you to say it."
"You sound like a whore. A dripping, desperate whore who's been neglected for eight months and finally has someone's fingers in her cunt."
Karina moaned—a long, wavering sound that rose in pitch as you increased your pace. Her fingers clawed at the sheets. Her ass lifted higher, presenting herself more openly, and you watched her cunt stretch around your fingers, the lips clinging to your knuckles every time you pulled back.
"More," she gasped. "More. I need more. I need—"
"You need what?"
"I need to come. Please. Please let me come. I've been so good. I swallowed everything. I didn't spill a drop. Please."
You slowed your fingers. Stopped them entirely, buried to the hilt inside her.
Karina whimpered. "No—no, why did you stop—"
"Because I want to hear you beg properly." You leaned down, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You're not Karina right now. You're not an idol. You're just a wet hole that wants to be filled. So beg like one."
A shudder ran through her body. Her voice, when it came, was smaller than before—stripped of the polish, stripped of everything except raw, naked need.
"Please fuck me with your fingers. Please make me come. I've been empty for so long. I've been so empty and so lonely and the only thing that's made me feel anything in months is your cock in my throat and your fingers on my nipples and now I need—I need you to let me finish. I need to feel something break inside me. Please. I'm begging you. I'm begging like the desperate slut I am. Please."
"Good girl."
You resumed fucking her with your fingers. Faster this time. Harder. The curl against her G-spot became a pounding rhythm, and Karina's whole body began to shake. Her thighs quivered. Her ass clenched and unclenched. The pillow was soaked with saliva and tears.
"I'm close—I'm so close—"
You pulled your fingers out.
"No!" The word was a howl. Her cunt gaped for a moment, empty and clenching on nothing, and then she collapsed forward onto the mattress. "Why? Why did you—I was right there—"
"Turn over."
She rolled onto her back. Her face was a wreck—eyes wild and glassy, cheeks blotchy with tears, lips still swollen from the blowjob. Her chest heaved. Her nipples stood out like dark berries against the pale swell of her breasts.
"Spread your legs."
She did. Her cunt was even more obscene from this angle—the lips engorged and spread, the inner flesh a slick, vivid pink, the hood of her clitoris pulled back to reveal the pearl beneath. Everything glistened.
"Touch yourself."
Karina's hand flew to her cunt. Her fingers found her clit and began rubbing in tight, frantic circles. Her other hand grabbed her breast, squeezing, pinching the nipple.
"That's it. Show me how you make yourself come when you're alone in this empty house."
"It's always you," she panted. "Not you—not you specifically—but someone. Someone who isn't him. Someone who wants me. I imagine—I imagine being taken. Being used. Being ruined." Her circles grew faster. "I imagine a stranger's cock. A stranger's hands. I imagine being bent over and fucked until I can't walk. Until I can't think. Until I forget my own name."
"And does your husband ever make you come?"
"Never. Not once. Not even—not even when we—ah—"
"Don't stop. Keep rubbing."
Her fingers were a blur on her clit. Her hips lifted off the mattress. The muscles in her stomach stood out in sharp definition. She was close again—you could see it in the flush spreading across her chest, the way her mouth fell open, the frantic, jerky movements of her hand.
"Please," she gasped. "Please let me—"
"Stop."
Her hand froze. A sound came out of her that wasn't human—a guttural, animal keen of pure frustration. Her clit twitched visibly, denied its release. Her cunt spasmed, squeezing around nothing, gushing a fresh surge of fluid that soaked the sheets.
"Fuck!" She slammed her fist against the mattress. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
You grabbed her wrist and pinned it above her head. "Look at me."
Karina's eyes met yours. They were wet and desperate and furious and grateful all at once.
"You said you wanted to be ruined. Ruined doesn't mean easy. Ruined doesn't mean I let you come the moment you ask nicely. Ruined means I take you apart piece by piece until there's nothing left but the animal underneath. Do you understand?"
"Yes." The word was barely a whisper.
"Do you still want this?"
"God, yes. Yes. Ruin me. Please. I want to be ruined."
You released her wrist. "Then get on your hands and knees. I want to see all of you."
Karina scrambled into position. The movement was ungraceful, uncoordinated—the idol's dancer precision abandoned in favor of pure, sloppy need. She presented herself on all fours, her back arched, her ass lifted high. The position opened her completely—her cunt a dark, wet gash between her thighs, her asshole a tight pink knot, everything glistening with the evidence of her arousal.
"Spread your ass cheeks."
Her hands reached back. Her fingers dug into the full flesh of her buttocks and pulled them apart, exposing herself more completely. The vulnerability of the gesture made your cock throb.
"Wider."
She stretched herself open until the pink of her cunt gaped slightly, until you could see the dark entrance of her body, the place where her wetness pooled and dripped in a slow, viscous thread onto the sheets.
"Please," she breathed. "Please ruin my pussy. I need your cock. I need it inside me. I've needed it since you walked through my door. Since before that. Since I first saw your picture in the agency file. Please. Fuck me. Fuck me like you hate me. Fuck me like I'm nothing."
You positioned yourself behind her.
Your cock was fully hard again—thick and veined, the head an angry purple, a bead of precum already forming at the slit. You gripped the base and ran the tip along her slit, coating yourself in her slick. The contact made her shudder.
"Is this what you want?"
"Yes—"
You pushed the head against her entrance. The heat of her cunt kissed the tip of your cock.
"Say it again. Louder."
"YES. Fuck me. Please fuck me. Ruin my pussy. I want to feel you in my womb. I want to feel you for days. I want to walk into my next schedule and still feel where you've been. Please—"
You thrust forward.
One motion. No gradual entry. No easing her open. You buried yourself to the hilt in a single, brutal stroke, and Karina's plea dissolved into a scream that had no words in it.
Her cunt was impossibly tight. The wet heat of her gripped every inch of you—a clenching, rippling pressure that traveled from base to tip. You felt the head of your cock butt against her cervix, felt the resistant give of that deepest barrier, and then you pushed past it.
Karina's scream pitched higher.
"Oh fuck—oh fuck, you're so deep—you're in my—"
"Your womb. I know."
You stayed there for a moment, buried to the root, letting her body adjust to the intrusion. Her inner walls fluttered around your shaft—spasms of sensation that were half pleasure, half shock. Her fingers were still digging into her ass cheeks, holding herself open, and you could see exactly where your bodies joined. The stretched ring of her cunt. The way her lips clung to the base of your cock. The shine of her fluids on your skin.
"You're taking all of it," you said. "Every inch. You feel that? Feel how deep I am?"
"Yes—yes, I feel it—I feel you in my stomach—"
"Good."
You pulled back. The drag of her walls against your shaft made your vision swim. Then you slammed forward again, harder than before, and Karina's head dropped between her shoulders, her whole body rocking forward from the force.
"AH—"
"Again."
Another thrust. Harder. The sound of your bodies colliding was a wet slap that echoed off the bedroom walls. Her ass rippled with the impact. Her breasts swung beneath her.
"You wanted to be ruined," you growled, gripping her hips. "So I'm going to ruin you. I'm going to fuck this tight little cunt until you can't remember your own name. Until you can't remember his name. Until the only thing in your head is my cock and how deep it is and how hard I'm using you."
"Yes—yes—fuck—harder—"
You gave her harder.
The rhythm you set was brutal—deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against her cervix with every thrust. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the room. Your balls slapped against her clit. Sweat dripped from your forehead onto her back, tracing rivulets down her spine.
Karina was making sounds that didn't belong to any language. Guttural moans. High-pitched whines. Broken syllables that might have been words if she'd had enough control to form them. Her fingers had released her ass cheeks and were now fisting in the sheets, knuckles white, arms trembling.
"Look at you. The most famous idol in Korea. On her hands and knees. Getting her pussy destroyed by a stranger. Moaning like an animal. This is what you needed, isn't it? Not the fame. Not the money. Not the perfect husband and the perfect house. This. Just this. Just a cock in your cunt and someone who knows how to use it."
"YES—YES, THIS—THIS IS WHAT I—OH FUCK—"
You reached around her body and found her clit. The bundle of nerves was swollen and slick, hard as a pebble under your fingertip. You pressed down and circled—not gently, not teasingly, but with the same brutal intensity as your thrusts.
Karina's whole body convulsed.
The orgasm hit her like a wave breaking against rocks. Her cunt clamped down on your cock with a force that almost hurt—a rhythmic, pulsing squeeze that traveled in waves from her core outward. Her back arched impossibly. Her head flew up, mouth open in a silent scream, eyes rolled back so far that only the whites were visible.
Then the sound came. A wail. A keening, animal cry that started low in her chest and rose to fill the room. Her arms gave out. She collapsed forward onto the mattress, but you followed her down, never stopping, never slowing, fucking her through the orgasm with the same relentless pace.
"Thaaaat's it—don't stop—don't stop—don't—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can take it. You wanted to be ruined. You're going to take every thrust until I'm done with you."
"It's too much—it's—oh god—OH GOD—"
A second orgasm crashed over her before the first had fully subsided. This one was stronger—violent, almost. Her cunt gushed around your cock, soaking your thighs, soaking the sheets. Her screams dissolved into sobs. Her body shook with a force that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than muscle, somewhere primal.
"Please—please—I can't—I can't take any more—"
"One more. Give me one more."
"I can't—I can't—"
"You can. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? Feel how full you are? That's what you needed. Not his empty house. Not his empty promises. This. A cock that fills you up. A body that knows how to use yours. Come for me again, Karina. Come on this cock like the desperate whore you told me you are."
Her response was unintelligible. A stream of syllables that might have been Korean, might have been English, might have been neither. A confession. A prayer. A surrender.
You drove into her harder—deeper, if that was even possible—and pressed your thumb against her clit. The stimulation was merciless. Her cunt seized around you. Her sobs pitched higher.
And then she shattered.
This orgasm was different from the others. Quieter. Deeper. Her body went rigid for a long, suspended moment—every muscle locked, every breath held. Then the release came, and it came with a flood. Her cunt gushed around your shaft—not just wetness this time, but a clear, copious fluid that sprayed against your thighs and soaked into the mattress beneath her.
Karina's voice broke on a single word: "Fuuuuck—"
Her body went limp. Completely limp. She collapsed into the wet sheets, her chest heaving, her limbs twitching with aftershocks. Her cunt still pulsed weakly around your cock—little flutters of sensation that traveled up your shaft.
You slowed your thrusts. Eased to a stop. Buried yourself deep inside her one last time and held there, feeling the heat of her body, the slick grip of her cunt, the violent thudding of her heart that you could feel through the walls of her core.
The room was silent except for her breathing—ragged, broken gasps that gradually slowed to something approaching normal.
"Are you still with me?" you asked.
A long pause. Then, muffled by the mattress: "I don't know. I think so. I think… I think that was…"
"That was what?"
"That was the first time. The first time anyone's ever—" She swallowed. The movement traveled through her whole body. "The first time anyone's ever made me come. Not just during sex. Ever."
You pulled out slowly. Her cunt made a wet, sucking sound as you withdrew—reluctant, almost, as if her body didn't want to let you go. A gush of fluid followed, clear and viscous, pooling on the already-soaked sheets.
Karina whimpered at the emptiness.
"Turn over," you said. "Look at me."
It took her a moment to find the strength. When she finally rolled onto her back, the sight of her made your chest tighten.
She was wrecked. Absolutely wrecked. Her face was blotchy with tears, her eyes swollen and glassy. Her lips—still puffy from the blowjob—were parted, a thin trail of drool connecting the corner of her mouth to her chin. Her nipples were dark and angry-looking, surrounded by faint marks where your fingers had been. Her thighs were slick with her own fluids. Her cunt gaped slightly, the lips engorged and spread, still pulsing with aftershocks.
She had never looked more beautiful.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I know. I want to." Her voice was hoarse—fucked raw, used up. "I've been numb for so long. I didn't even realize how numb until… until you made me feel all of this. The pain. The pleasure. The—the shame. The humiliation. I felt all of it. I'm still feeling it."
"And right now? How do you feel?"
Karina's eyes found yours. The glassiness was fading, replaced by something clearer. Something almost peaceful.
"Full," she said. "And sore. And wet. And tired. And…" A pause. "Alive. I feel alive."
You reached down and brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair away from her forehead. The gesture was gentle—a stark contrast to everything you'd just done to her body.
"Good," you said. "Because we're still not finished."
Her eyes widened. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her wrecked face—small and fragile and utterly genuine.
"I know," she said. "I was counting on it."
The shower was a rainfall fixture, wide enough for two, the water coming down in a steady, warm curtain. Steam fogged the glass enclosure. You stood behind Karina, cupping water in your palms and letting it run down her back. The rivulets tracked the geography you'd already memorized—the dip of her spine, the flare of her hips, the twin dimples just above the swell of her ass.
She leaned against the marble wall, forehead pressed to the cool stone.
"I can't feel my legs," she mumbled.
"That's normal."
"Is it?" A laugh, breathy and exhausted. "Good to know."
You reached for the body wash—something expensive, sandalwood and bergamot—and worked it into a lather between your hands. When you touched her shoulders, Karina sighed. The sound was different from the ones that had filled the bedroom an hour ago. Softer. Quieter. The sigh of a body that had been wrung dry and was finally allowed to rest.
Your hands moved down her back in slow circles. Over the faint red marks your fingers had left on her hips. Across the small of her back where sweat had pooled and dried. Down to the curve of her ass, where you kneaded the muscle with careful pressure.
"You're going to be sore tomorrow," you said.
"Good." Her voice was muffled against the marble. "I want to be sore. I want to remember."
"Remember what?"
She turned around. Water sluiced down her front, plastering her hair to her neck and shoulders. The mascara she hadn't been wearing was long gone, but her eyes were still rimmed with red, still slightly swollen. The marks on her nipples had darkened. Her lips—still puffy, still that deep bruised rose—curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"That I'm a real person. That someone wanted me. That for a few hours, I wasn't just a photograph."
You cupped her face. Your thumbs traced her cheekbones. "You were never just a photograph."
"You know what I mean."
"I do." You leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then the bridge of her nose. Then each eyelid, feather-light, the way you'd close a book you weren't finished reading. "But you need to hear it anyway. You're not what he made you feel. You were never what he made you feel."
Karina's breath shuddered out. Fresh tears mixed with the shower water—silent ones this time, not the wrenching sobs from before. She didn't answer. Didn't need to. You held her there in the steam until the water started to cool.
Later, wrapped in a robe that probably cost more than your monthly car payment, Karina walked you to the front door.
The foyer was different now. Less cavernous. The unopened flowers still sat on the console table, but something about them had shifted—they looked less like an accusation and more like a relic. A fossil from a life she was leaving behind.
She pressed a small folded paper into your palm.
"My real number," she said. "Not the one the agency has. Not the one my manager screens." Her fingers lingered on your wrist. "Call me. Or text me. I don't care which. Just… don't disappear."
You unfolded the paper. The handwriting was neat, precise—idol training, probably, years of signing autographs until every stroke was perfect. Ten digits. No name. She didn't need one.
"I won't disappear," you said.
"You say that now."
"I mean it." You caught her hand and lifted it to your lips. Kissed her knuckles. Then the inside of her wrist, where the skin was thin and the pulse still fluttered. "You survived eight months of being invisible in your own house. The least I can do is answer a text."
She laughed—a real one this time, short and surprised. "That's a low bar."
"I'm a simple man."
Karina pulled her hand back, but slowly, the way you set down something fragile. "Go. Before I ask you to stay."
You didn't say goodbye. The training had taught you better than that. Goodbye implied an ending, and endings were the one thing clients like Karina didn't need more of. Instead you stepped out into the cool night air, the paper clutched in your hand, and let the door click shut behind you.
Three weeks passed.
Senior Park called on a Tuesday.
"New client," he said, the way he always did—like he was offering you a gift and daring you to guess what was inside. "Young. Married. The usual story."
"The usual story" had become a kind of shorthand between you. Rich husband. Neglected wife. A mansion full of expensive things and no warmth. You'd heard it so many times now that the details blurred together—only the faces changed, and even those were starting to feel familiar. Actresses. Idols. The wives of men who'd acquired beauty like a stock portfolio and then forgotten to check on it.
"Who is it?" you asked.
A pause. Park was savoring this.
"Jang Wonyoung."
The name hit you like a bucket of cold water.
"Wonyoung? From IVE?"
"The one and only." You could hear the grin in his voice. "Married at twenty-eight. To Kim Seok-joong. The producer. You know him?"
Everyone knew him. Kim Seok-joong had produced half the hits on the charts for the last five years—a genius behind the mixing board, a tyrant in the studio, and, according to every rumor mill in the industry, a man who treated marriage vows like a suggestion. The tabloids had run photos of him leaving clubs with trainees young enough to be his daughters. Wonyoung's name always appeared in the same articles, usually paired with words like "humiliated" and "trapped."
"She called us directly," Park continued. "Apparently she heard about us through a mutual acquaintance. Someone who spoke very highly of your work."
You thought of Karina. Of the paper still folded in your wallet.
"Mutual acquaintance?"
"I don't ask. I don't want to know. I just make the arrangements." The rustle of paper on his end. "She's in Hannam-dong. The penthouse. Tomorrow night, nine o'clock. Don't be late."
The line went dead.
Hannam-dong at night was a different kind of wealth than the gated mansions of the suburbs. Here the money went vertical—glass towers that stabbed into the sky, each floor a monument to someone's ambition. The penthouse elevator required a code, which Senior Park had texted you an hour earlier along with a single line: She's nervous. Go slow.
The elevator ascended in silence. No muzak. No mirrored walls. Just brushed steel and the soft hum of hydraulics. You watched the floor numbers climb and tried not to think about the fact that Jang Wonyoung was waiting at the top of this building. Jang Wonyoung, who'd debuted at fourteen and been famous before she could legally drive. Jang Wonyoung, whose face had sold a million magazines. Jang Wonyoung, who'd married a man twice her age and apparently regretted it before the ink on the certificate was dry.
The doors opened onto a private foyer.
The penthouse was smaller than Karina's mansion—everything in Seoul was smaller than Karina's mansion—but it made up for it in verticality. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Han River, the city lights reflected in the water like scattered coins. The furniture was minimalist: a low white sofa, a glass coffee table, a single orchid in a concrete pot. No photographs. No personal touches. It looked less like a home and more like a hotel suite where someone had been staying for too long.
Wonyoung stood at the window with her back to you.
She was taller than you'd expected. Taller than she looked on stage, where the camera angles and the choreography and the other members had a way of shrinking her. In person, barefoot on the marble floor, she was statuesque—long legs, a narrow waist, the kind of proportions that designers fought to dress. She wore an ivory silk robe that fell to her ankles, her dark hair loose and straight, still damp at the ends as if she'd just showered.
"It's a nice view," you said.
She didn't turn around. "I used to think so."
Her voice was different from Karina's. Lower. Flatter. Where Karina's words had crackled with suppressed fury, Wonyoung's came out like the air leaking from a tire—slow, deflated, resigned.
You stepped further into the room. "Senior Park said you wanted to meet me."
"Meet you." A short laugh. "That's a polite way of putting it."
"I can leave."
"Can you?" Now she turned. The sight of her face hit you like a physical force—the kind of beauty that felt almost aggressive, all sharp angles and full lips and eyes that were too big for her face. But there was something hollow behind them. Something that had been scooped out and never filled back in. "You can leave. You can stay. You can do whatever you want. I'm just… here."
"How long have you been 'just here'?"
Wonyoung crossed her arms over her chest. The robe was silk, thin enough that you could see the outline of her body beneath it—the curve of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, the long lines of her thighs. She wasn't trying to be seductive. She wasn't trying to be anything. That was the most unsettling part.
"A year," she said. "Maybe longer. I stopped counting."
"A year of what?"
"Of waiting. Of pretending. Of showing up to award shows on his arm while everyone in the audience knows he fucked one of his backup dancers the night before." Her jaw tightened. "Do you know what that's like? To smile for cameras while your husband's mistress is standing ten feet away, adjusting her earpiece?"
You didn't answer. You'd learned with Karina that sometimes the best response was no response—just the space to let the words hang in the air until they lost their poison.
Wonyoung uncrossed her arms. Let them fall to her sides. "I'm not looking for sympathy."
"Then what are you looking for?"
"The same thing everyone who calls your agency is looking for." She met your eyes, and for a moment the hollowness flickered—replaced by something harder. Something almost defiant. "I want to feel like I exist. Like I'm not just… a decoration. A trophy. Something he acquired and then forgot about."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-nine."
"And how old is he?"
A pause. "Fifty-two."
You let the number sit there. Fifty-two. Older than her father, probably. Old enough to know better. Old enough to treat a twenty-eight-year-old bride like a collectible—desirable right up until the moment the paperwork was signed, and then irrelevant.
"What does he say when you confront him?" you asked.
Wonyoung's laugh was empty. "He doesn't. He just… leaves. Goes to the studio. Comes back three days later smelling like someone else's perfume. And I'm supposed to pretend I don't notice. I'm supposed to be grateful. He made my career, after all. Half my songs were his. Half my image. Half my life." Her voice cracked on the last word. "I was nineteen when I met him. I didn't know anything. I thought it was love."
"What do you think it was now?"
"Ownership." The word came out flat. "He didn't want a wife. He wanted a muse. Something beautiful to inspire him. And now he's inspired by someone else, and I'm just… here. In this penthouse. With this view. Waiting for him to come home and pretending I don't know where he's been."
You moved closer. Not close enough to touch—not yet—but close enough that she had to tilt her head slightly to keep meeting your eyes.
"What do you want from tonight?"
Wonyoung held your gaze. The defiance was back, stronger now, warring with the exhaustion. "I want to stop waiting. I want to be touched by someone who actually wants to touch me. I want…" She swallowed. "I want to feel like a woman instead of a photograph. Does that make sense?"
"Perfect sense."
"And you can do that? You can… give me that?"
"I can give you whatever you're willing to take." You held out your hand, palm up, the same way you had with Karina three weeks ago. "But I need to hear you say it. I need to know you're sure."
Wonyoung looked at your hand. The hesitation was visible—the same hesitation every client had, the moment before they crossed the line from thinking about it to doing it. The moment where the life they'd been living warred with the life they wanted.
Then she took it.
"I'm sure," she said. "I've been sure for six months. I just didn't know who to call."
"Your safeword?"
"Red."
"And if you can't speak?"
"Three taps. Anywhere you can feel them."
Her palm was cool against yours. Her fingers were long and slender—pianist's fingers, though you knew she didn't play. The silk of her robe brushed against your wrist.
"Before we start," you said, "I want you to know something."
"What?"
"This isn't about your husband. This isn't about revenge. This isn't about making him feel what you've been feeling." You squeezed her hand gently. "This is about you. Right now. In this room. Nothing else exists. Do you understand?"
Wonyoung's lips parted. For a moment she looked younger—not twenty-nine, but nineteen again, standing in a studio somewhere and believing that the famous producer who'd noticed her was offering her the world.
"I understand," she said.
"Good. Now take off the robe."
She released your hand. Her fingers went to the sash at her waist, the silk loosening with a whisper. The robe slipped off her shoulders. Pooled at her feet.
Underneath she wore nothing at all.
Her body was long and lean, with the kind of proportions that seemed almost impossible outside of a magazine spread. Small, high breasts with nipples the color of pale tea. A waist that nipped in dramatically before flaring into hips that had launched a thousand fan cams. Long legs, smooth and toned, the muscles of a dancer visible beneath the skin. A dark triangle of hair at the junction of her thighs, neatly trimmed.
But what struck you most wasn't the beauty. It was the stillness. Karina had been trembling with suppressed energy, her body practically vibrating with need. Wonyoung stood completely motionless, her arms at her sides, her expression unreadable. She looked like a statue—beautiful and cold and utterly detached from the body she occupied.
"You're very beautiful," you said.
"I know." Not arrogant. Just… factual. "People tell me that a lot."
"Do you believe them?"
A flicker of something—surprise, maybe, or confusion. "What?"
"Do you believe them? When they tell you you're beautiful. Do you feel beautiful?"
Wonyoung's brow furrowed. "I don't… I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do." You circled her slowly, the way you'd circle a sculpture in a gallery. "You've been told you're beautiful your whole life. It's on every magazine cover. Every comment section. Every introduction. But when you look in the mirror, what do you see?"
Her voice was quieter now. "I see what everyone else sees."
"That's not what I asked."
You stopped behind her. The view from here was just as striking—the sweep of her back, the curve of her ass, the way her hair fell in a dark curtain between her shoulder blades. She hadn't turned to follow you. She was still facing the window, still looking at the river and the lights.
"I asked what you see," you continued. "Not what they see. Not what the cameras see. What you see."
The silence stretched. Outside, a boat moved across the Han River, its lights reflecting in the dark water.
"Nothing," Wonyoung said finally. "I see nothing. I see a body that exists to be looked at. A face that exists to be photographed. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a person. I see…" She trailed off.
"A product."
"Yes." The word was barely audible. "A product. Something that was packaged and sold before I understood what I was agreeing to."
You stepped closer. Close enough that the heat of your body registered against her bare back. Close enough that if she leaned back even an inch, she'd be touching you.
"That ends tonight," you said. "Tonight, you're not a product. You're not a photograph. You're not what your husband neglected or what the cameras captured. You're a woman. Just a woman. And I'm going to make you feel like one."
Wonyoung's breathing had changed. Shallower. Faster. Her shoulders rose and fell in the window's reflection.
"How?" she asked.
"First, I'm going to touch you. Not the way a photographer touches you. Not the way a stylist touches you. I'm going to touch you the way a man touches a woman he wants." You raised your hand and let it hover just above her shoulder—not making contact, but close enough that she could feel the heat of your palm. "And you're going to stand right here and let yourself feel it. All of it. Every sensation. Do you understand?"
Her voice was a whisper. "Yes."
"Good."
You let your hand settle on her shoulder.
The contact was light—just your palm against her skin, your fingers curving over the ridge of her collarbone. But Wonyoung's reaction was immediate. Her breath stuttered. Her spine stiffened. The muscles beneath your hand went rigid, then slowly, gradually, began to soften.
"When's the last time someone touched you?" you asked.
"I don't…" She swallowed. "I don't remember."
"Months?"
"Longer. Before the wedding, maybe. He was… interested then. Before he had me. After that…" She shook her head.
You moved your hand down her arm. Slowly. Deliberately. Letting your fingers trace the curve of her bicep, the dip of her elbow, the smooth skin of her forearm. Goosebumps rose in the wake of your touch.
"Close your eyes," you said.
She did. Her lashes swept down against her cheeks, dark against the pale skin.
"Now I want you to focus on what you're feeling. Not what you're thinking. Not what you're worried about. Just the physical sensation. My hand on your skin. The heat of my body behind you. The cool air on the rest of you. Can you do that?"
"I can try."
"Don't try. Just do."
You brought your other hand to her waist. The silk of the robe had been thin, but her bare skin was thinner—softer, warmer, alive in a way the fabric never could be. You felt the slight give of flesh over muscle, the delicate architecture of her ribs. Wonyoung's lips parted. A tremor ran through her.
"Good," you murmured. "That's it. Stay present. Stay here."
Your hands moved together now—one sliding up to cup her breast, the other tracing the curve of her hip. The contact was gentle, almost reverent. You weren't trying to arouse her yet. You were trying to wake her up. To remind her body that it was capable of sensation beyond the clinical touches of stylists and makeup artists and the indifferent hands of a husband who'd long since stopped seeing her as anything but an acquisition.
Her breast was small and firm, fitting perfectly in your palm. The nipple was already tightening—an involuntary response, the body's language for yes, this, more. You circled it with your thumb, not quite touching the peak, letting the anticipation build.
"Oh," she breathed. Just that. Just the single syllable, but it was the most human sound she'd made since you'd arrived.
"You feel that?"
"Yes."
"What does it feel like?"
"Warm. It feels… warm. And tingly. Like—like pins and needles, but soft."
"That's your body waking up." You brushed your thumb across her nipple, finally making contact. The peak was hard now, pebbled and tight. Wonyoung's breath caught. Her hips shifted—an instinctive movement, barely conscious. "That's your body remembering what it feels like to be touched."
"Don't stop," she whispered.
"I'm not stopping. I'm just getting started."
You turned her around to face you. Her eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted, a flush spreading across her chest. The cool, detached statue from five minutes ago was already beginning to thaw.
"Open your eyes," you said.
She did. The hollowness was still there, but it had receded slightly—pushed back by something warmer. Something hungrier.
"Lie down on the bed," you said. "On your back. I'm going to touch every inch of you, and you're going to stay present for all of it. No disappearing. No retreating into your head. You're going to feel everything. Do you understand?"
Wonyoung's voice was steadier now. "Yes."
"Good. Then let's begin."
She walked toward the bedroom—the same statuesque stride, but looser now, less guarded. The ivory robe stayed in a puddle on the floor behind her, already forgotten.
You followed her. The penthouse bedroom was all windows on one side, the city lights glittering below like a mirror image of the stars. A king-sized bed dominated the center of the room. White sheets. Too many pillows. The same story, different setting.
Wonyoung lay down in the center of the mattress. Arranged herself with her arms at her sides, her hair spread across the pillow, her legs slightly apart. The position was almost clinical—like she was posing for a photograph. Muscle memory.
"Relax your arms," you said. "Above your head."
She lifted them. The movement pulled her breasts higher, flattened her stomach.
"Close your eyes."
Her lashes swept down.
You knelt on the bed beside her. In the silence, you could hear her breathing—quicker than before, but still controlled. Still holding onto something. You would need to break through that control. Not with force. With patience. With attention. With the kind of touch she'd been starved of for years.
"Now," you said, letting your hand hover over her stomach. "Let's find out what Jang Wonyoung feels like when she stops being a photograph and starts being a woman."
Your palm settled on her skin.
And Wonyoung began to tremble.
Your palm settled on Wonyoung's stomach.
The trembling started small—a flutter of muscle beneath warm skin—then spread outward, rippling through her thighs, her belly, the flat plane of her chest. She kept her eyes closed, arms still arranged above her head in that posing-for-a-photograph way that had become second nature.
"You're shaking," you said.
"I know." Her voice was thinner now. "I can't seem to stop."
"Don't stop. Let it happen."
Your hand moved in a slow circle, tracing the faint definition of her abdominal muscles. The skin here was softer than you'd expected—yielding, warm, the kind of softness that came from being young and healthy and well-cared-for in every way except the one that mattered. Wonyoung's breath stuttered when your palm grazed the bottom of her ribcage.
"What are you feeling?"
"Your hand." A pause. "It's… warmer than I expected."
"What else?"
"I don't know. It's been so long since—" She swallowed. The movement traveled down her throat, a subtle ripple. "Since anyone touched me without an agenda. My stylists touch me to adjust my clothes. Photographers touch me to fix my hair. Seok-joong…" The name came out like a curse. "He doesn't touch me at all."
You traced the lower curve of her breast. Not the nipple—not yet—just the swell where her chest began to rise. The skin was impossibly smooth, pale as cream in the city light streaming through the windows.
"When's the last time you touched yourself?"
Wonyoung's eyes opened. The question had surprised her. "What?"
"You heard me."
"I don't…" Her brow furrowed. "I don't do that."
"You don't masturbate?"
The word made her flinch. A tiny recoil, barely visible, but you caught it. "That's not something I—I mean, I've never really—"
"Never?" You kept your hand where it was, still and warm against the curve of her breast. "You've never made yourself come?"
Wonyoung closed her eyes again. A flush was spreading from her chest up her neck, blooming across her collarbones like spilled wine. "Once. Maybe twice. A long time ago. Before I debuted. Before everything got so…" She trailed off.
"So controlled."
"Yes."
"Show me."
Her eyes flew open. "What?"
"Sit up." You withdrew your hand and sat back on your heels. "I want to watch you touch yourself. I want to see how Jang Wonyoung pleasures her own body when no one else is looking."
The hesitation was visible—a war playing out behind her eyes. The trained idol, the curated image, the woman who'd spent her entire adult life being looked at without ever being touched. Then something shifted. A crack in the facade. Her lips parted.
"Okay," she whispered.
She sat up slowly. The movement was graceful despite her trembling—dancer's muscle memory, the body knowing what to do even when the mind was unmoored. She propped herself against the headboard, the white sheets pooling around her hips. Her breasts were small and high on her chest, the nipples still tight from your earlier attention.
"Lie back," you said. "Spread your legs. Let me see all of you."
Wonyoung arranged herself against the pillows. Her thighs parted with visible reluctance—not resistance, but the shyness of a woman who'd been taught that her body was a commodity, not a source of pleasure. The dark triangle of hair between her legs was neatly trimmed, the lips beneath barely visible in the dim light.
"Touch your breasts first," you said. "The way you like it."
Her hands lifted. The movement was hesitant, almost clinical, like she was examining herself rather than pleasuring herself. Her fingers brushed her nipples and she gasped—a sharp, surprised sound.
"That's it. They're sensitive, aren't they?"
"Yes—I didn't know—no one's ever—"
"No one's ever played with your nipples?"
"No." The word came out strangled. Her fingers circled the tight peaks, tracing the areolae with tentative strokes. "Seok-joong said breasts were for—ah—for looking at. Not for—"
"Not for touching."
"Not for touching."
You watched her hands grow bolder. The circles became pinches—gentle at first, then harder, the way you'd done earlier. Her back arched slightly. Her mouth fell open.
"Good girl. Now move one hand lower. Touch yourself between your legs."
Wonyoung's right hand slid down her stomach. The trembling was worse now—her whole body vibrating with a tension that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with the forbidden nature of what she was doing. Her fingers reached the dark curls and stopped.
"I don't know if I can—"
"You can. Part your lips for me. Show me your cunt."
The vulgar word made her gasp. But her fingers obeyed—they slid through the trimmed hair, parted the outer lips, exposed the pink flesh within. Even from where you knelt, you could see the gleam of moisture. The way her inner lips clung together, then separated with a wet, sticky sound.
"You're wet," you said. "You're wet and you haven't even touched your clit yet."
"Is that—is that normal?"
"It's more than normal. It's beautiful. You're beautiful." You leaned closer. "Now find your clit. The little pearl at the top. Touch it."
Wonyoung's middle finger found the swollen bud. The contact made her whole body jerk. A sound escaped her—half moan, half whimper—and her thighs snapped shut around her hand.
"Keep them open. I want to watch."
"I can't—it's too—"
"You can. Open your legs, Wonyoung. Let me see what your body does when you stop being a photograph."
She forced her thighs apart. The effort was visible—muscles trembling, breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. Her finger began to circle her clit in slow, tentative strokes. The hood pulled back with each pass, revealing the slick pearl beneath. Her other hand stayed on her breast, pinching and rolling the nipple in counterpoint.
"There," she breathed. "Oh—there—that feels—"
"What does it feel like?"
"Tight. Hot. Like—like something's building. Like I need to—" Her circling grew faster. "Like I need to—"
"You need to come."
"Yes." The word was a sob. "Yes. I need to come. Please. I've never—not with anyone watching—not with anyone—"
"Come for me, Wonyoung. Let go. I've got you."
Her body seized. Her back arched off the mattress, her head thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream. The hand between her legs moved frantically—rubbing, pressing, chasing the climax that was crashing over her. A keening sound escaped her throat, high and desperate.
Then she collapsed.
Her chest heaved. Her thighs quivered. The hand on her breast fell away, and the other remained pressed against her cunt—not moving now, just holding, as if she couldn't bear to let go of the sensation.
"That was your first orgasm with an audience," you said.
Wonyoung's laugh was breathless, almost giddy. "That was my first orgasm. Period. I don't think the other times—I don't think they were real. Not like that."
"Not like that."
"No." She opened her eyes and looked at you. The hollowness was gone—replaced by something brighter, something almost hungry. "I want more. I want—" She swallowed. "I want you inside me. But I want to be in control. Just this once. I want to decide."
You raised an eyebrow. "You want to ride me."
"Yes." The word came out stronger now. "I've spent my whole life being positioned. Being told where to stand and how to pose and what to wear. I want—just this once—I want to be the one who decides. Does that make sense?"
"It makes perfect sense."
You stood up from the bed and unbuckled your pants. Wonyoung watched with open curiosity—the way her eyes tracked the movement of your hands, the way her lips parted when you pushed your boxers down and your cock sprang free. She'd seen it earlier, of course, but now she looked at it differently. Like she was sizing it up. Like she was planning.
"It's thicker than I thought," she murmured.
"Is that a problem?"
"No." A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. "It's just… I've never seen one this close before. Not like this. Seok-joong and I—the few times we—it was always in the dark. Always over quickly. He never let me look."
"Look all you want."
She did. Her gaze traveled the length of your shaft—the vein that pulsed along the underside, the ridge of the head, the way the skin pulled tight when you were fully hard. Her tongue darted out and wet her lips.
"Lie down," she said. "On your back."
You obeyed. The sheets were cool against your shoulders. Wonyoung rose on her knees and swung one long leg over your hips, straddling you. The position put her cunt directly above your cock—you could see the pink of her inner lips, still slick from her orgasm, still parted and ready. A drop of her arousal fell onto your stomach.
"Like this?" she asked.
"Reverse."
"What?"
"Turn around. Face my feet. Reverse cowgirl."
Wonyoung blinked. Then understanding dawned, and with it came something you hadn't seen on her face before—a flicker of genuine excitement. "I've seen this position. In… things I've watched. When I was alone."
"Then you know how it works."
She turned around. The movement was awkward—she had to lift one leg, then the other, bracing herself with a hand on your thigh—but the awkwardness was part of the appeal. She wasn't performing. She wasn't posing. She was just a woman figuring out how to take what she wanted.
When she settled into position, facing away from you, the view was spectacular. The long sweep of her back. The curve of her ass, round and firm. The dark cleft between her cheeks, and below that, her cunt—still wet, still open, positioned directly above your cock.
"Reach back," you said. "Take hold of me."
Her hand fumbled behind her. Fingers brushed your shaft, then your balls, then closed around the base. Her grip was tentative—too light, too careful—but she guided the head to her entrance anyway. The contact made her gasp.
"Oh god. You're so—I can feel how big you are just from this—"
"Take your time. You're in control."
Wonyoung lowered herself an inch. The head of your cock pressed against her opening, parting the slick lips. The heat of her was incredible—wet and tight and pulsing with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She stopped there, breathing hard, her thighs trembling on either side of your hips.
"I don't know if I can—"
"You can. Slowly. Just a little at a time."
She sank down another inch. The head slipped inside her, and Wonyoung cried out—a sharp, startled sound that was half pain and half pleasure. Her inner walls clenched around you, a rippling squeeze that traveled from tip to base.
"Fuck—fuck, you're stretching me—"
"You're doing so well. Take what you need."
Another inch. Then another. Her cunt was impossibly tight—tighter than Karina's, tighter than anyone you'd been with in recent memory. The walls gripped you like a fist, hot and slick and pulsing. Wonyoung's breathing had gone ragged. Her head dropped forward. Her hands braced on your thighs, nails digging in.
"I'm only halfway—oh god—I'm only halfway and I already feel so full—"
"Keep going. You wanted control. Take it."
She took it. Her hips dropped the rest of the way, and your cock buried itself to the hilt inside her. Wonyoung screamed. The sound was raw and uncontrolled—nothing like the polished idol voice, nothing like the careful, measured tones she'd used earlier. This was pure animal. Pure sensation.
"Oh fuck—oh fuck—you're in my stomach—I can feel you in my stomach—"
"Good. Now move."
She lifted her hips. The drag of her walls against your shaft made your vision swim. When she dropped back down, the impact sent a visible ripple through her ass. The cheeks jiggled with the force of it.
"Yes—" She did it again. Faster. "Yes—this is—this is what I wanted—this is what I needed—"
"Tell me what it feels like."
"Full. So full. Like—like I'm being split open. Like I'm being—ah—like I'm being claimed." She was moving faster now, finding a rhythm, her hips rolling in a way that spoke to years of dance training. The muscles in her back flexed and released with each stroke. "But I'm the one claiming you. I'm the one—I'm the one in control—"
"That's right. You're in control. Take your pleasure, Wonyoung. Take all of it."
Her pace quickened. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the bedroom—a slick, rhythmic slap every time she bottomed out. Your cock was coated in her arousal, glistening in the city light. She reached back with one hand and grabbed your chest—not for balance, but for leverage, pulling herself harder onto you with each stroke.
"Touch my—touch my breasts—please—I need—"
You reached up and cupped her breasts from behind. The position was awkward but the effect was immediate—Wonyoung's rhythm faltered, then resumed faster than before. You pinched her nipples and she sobbed.
"Yes—yes—harder—"
You twisted. She keened. Her hips became a blur—up and down, up and down, fucking herself on your cock with a desperation that bordered on violence. Her head was thrown back now, her dark hair cascading down her spine, her whole body sheened with sweat.
"I'm close—I'm getting close again—I can feel it building—"
"Look at you. Jang Wonyoung. The nation's sweetheart. Riding a stranger's cock in her marital bed. Moaning like an animal. Dripping down my thighs."
"Yes—yes—I'm dripping—I'm making a mess—Seok-joong would hate this—he'd hate how wet I am—he'd hate how—how much I love it—"
"How much do you love it?"
"So much—so fucking much—I love being full—I love being stretched—I love being in control—I love that you're letting me—" Her voice cracked. "I love that you're letting me take what I need—"
The tears started then.
They came without warning—a sudden spill from her eyes, tracking down her cheeks and dripping onto your thighs. Her rhythm faltered. Her breathing hitched and broke into sobs.
"I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I don't know why I'm—"
"Don't stop." You squeezed her breasts gently. "Don't apologize. Keep moving. Let it out."
"I can't—I can't stop crying—" But her hips kept moving. Slower now, but still moving. "It's just—it's been so long—I've been so alone—"
"I know."
"No one touches me. No one looks at me. No one wants me. I'm just—I'm just a thing he bought and forgot about—"
"You're not a thing. You're a woman. A beautiful, passionate woman who deserves to be touched and wanted and pleasured. Keep moving. Let yourself feel it."
The sobs grew louder. Her hips moved faster, chasing the release that was building despite—or maybe because of—the tears. Her hand tightened on your chest, nails digging crescents into your skin.
"I want to come—please—please let me come—"
"It's yours. Take it. Come on my cock, Wonyoung. Come while you're crying. Come while you're in control. Show me what you look like when you let go."
She shattered.
The orgasm hit her like a wave—a convulsive, full-body spasm that made her back arch and her thighs clamp around your hips. Her cunt seized around your shaft, a rhythmic pulsing that milked you from base to tip. The scream that tore from her throat was wordless and raw, echoing off the penthouse windows.
And then she squirted.
The fluid gushed around your cock—a hot, copious flood that soaked your thighs and the sheets beneath you. Wonyoung's hips kept moving through it, grinding down onto you, drawing out every pulse of her climax. The squelching sounds were obscene. Her sobs mingled with moans.
"Oh god—oh god, I'm still—it's still going—I can't stop—"
"Don't stop. Take everything."
She rode the orgasm until her thighs gave out. Then she collapsed backward, her spine landing against your chest, her head falling back onto your shoulder. Her cunt was still spasming weakly around your cock. Her chest heaved. Her face was a wreck—tears and sweat and smeared mascara that she hadn't been wearing.
You wrapped your arms around her waist and held her.
The silence stretched. Outside, the Han River glittered in the darkness, indifferent to everything happening in this penthouse. Wonyoung's breathing gradually slowed. The tremors in her thighs subsided.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I know. I want to." She turned her head, her cheek pressed against your chest. "No one's ever… I've never cried during sex before. I've never cried at all. Not since the wedding. I thought I'd forgotten how."
"Tears are just your body's way of releasing what you've been holding too long."
She laughed—a small, wet sound. "You sound like a therapist."
"I've had practice."
Silence again. Then, quieter: "Will you stay? Not—not for more sex. Just… stay. Until I fall asleep. I don't want to be alone tonight."
You pressed a kiss to her damp temple. "I'll stay."
Wonyoung sighed. The sound was different from before—not resignation, but relief. The relief of a woman who'd finally let go of something she'd been carrying for years.
"Good," she murmured. "That's good."
She closed her eyes. In the penthouse bedroom, with the city lights glittering below and your cock still half-hard inside her, Jang Wonyoung finally stopped trembling.
You held her until her breathing evened out. Until her body went slack against yours. Until the tears on her cheeks dried to salt and the wetness between her thighs cooled on your skin.
Tomorrow, you'd leave. Tomorrow, she'd go back to being Jang Wonyoung, idol-turned-trophy-wife, and you'd go back to whatever Senior Park had lined up next.
But tonight, she wasn't a photograph. Tonight, she was just a woman who'd remembered how to feel.
And that, you'd learned, was worth more than any paycheck the agency could offer.
Waking came in stages.
First, the soft gray light of early morning pressing against your eyelids. The penthouse windows had no curtains—Wonyoung liked to wake with the sun, you'd learn later—and the Han River was a sheet of hammered silver outside the glass.
Second, the weight. Or rather, the absence of it. Sometime in the night she'd shifted off your chest, and now the mattress beside you was warm but empty.
Third, the sensation.
Wet. Hot. A rhythmic pressure that started at the base of your cock and traveled upward in slow, deliberate pulls. Your hips stirred before your mind caught up—an instinctive response, the body recognizing pleasure before the brain had finished booting up.
You opened your eyes.
Wonyoung was between your legs.
Her dark hair spilled across your thighs in a tangled mess, still sleep-mussed from the night before. The sheet had slipped off her shoulders, leaving her bare—the long sweep of her spine, the curve of her ass, the soles of her feet crossed at the ankle behind her. She'd positioned herself on her stomach, propped on her elbows, and her mouth was wrapped around your cock.
She was still learning. The technique was messier than Karina's had been—more enthusiasm than skill, more eagerness than precision. Her tongue moved in uncertain patterns, tracing the ridge of the head, then the vein underneath, then back again as if she couldn't decide which part she wanted to taste most. Saliva pooled at the corners of her lips and dripped down your shaft, slicking her fingers where they curled around the base.
But what she lacked in experience, she made up for in something else. Something rarer.
She was happy.
You could see it in the way her cheeks bunched—the muscles straining to smile even with her lips stretched wide. In the little hums that vibrated through your shaft every time she took you deeper. In the way her hips wiggled slightly, a tiny dance of satisfaction, like a cat kneading a favorite blanket.
You chuckled. The sound was rough with sleep.
Wonyoung's eyes flicked up to meet yours. They were clearer than they'd been last night—the hollowness replaced by something bright and mischievous. She didn't stop sucking. If anything, she redoubled her efforts, her head bobbing faster, her tongue working the underside of your shaft with renewed determination.
"What a cheeky girl," you murmured.
Your hand found her head. Your fingers threaded through the dark tangles of her hair, not pulling, not directing—just holding. Just letting her feel the weight of your palm against her scalp. Wonyoung's eyes fluttered closed. The hum she made this time was different—softer, more satisfied. A sound of pure contentment.
She pulled back until just the tip remained in her mouth. Her tongue circled the head—once, twice, a slow figure-eight that made your breath catch. Then she pushed forward again, taking you deeper than before, and you felt the head of your cock bump the back of her throat.
She gagged. Coughed. Pulled back with a wet, gasping laugh.
"Too much?" you asked.
"Not enough." Her voice was hoarse—fucked raw from the night before, from the screaming and the crying and now this. "I wanted to… I woke up and you were still here and I just wanted to…"
"To what?"
"To taste you. Before you left." She rested her cheek against your thigh, her breath warm on your damp skin. "Is that weird?"
"No." You stroked her hair. "It's not weird."
"I've never done that before. The morning thing. I've never woken up next to someone and thought… I want to make them feel good. Just because." Her fingers traced idle patterns on your hip. "I've never woken up next to anyone, actually. Seok-joong never stayed the night. Even when we were engaged. He said he couldn't sleep in unfamiliar beds."
"His own bed was unfamiliar?"
Wonyoung's laugh was bitter. "I was the unfamiliar part."
You sat up. The movement dislodged her from your thigh, and she rose with you—sitting back on her heels, her hair a wild curtain around her shoulders, her lips swollen and slick. The morning light caught the angles of her face, the sharp cheekbones and the full mouth, and for a moment she looked exactly like the magazine covers. The nation's sweetheart. The girl who'd debuted at fourteen and never stopped smiling for cameras.
But the smile she gave you now was different. Smaller. Realer. A smile that belonged to her and no one else.
"Come here," you said.
She came. You gathered her in your arms and lifted her—bridal style, her long legs draped over one arm, her head cradled against your shoulder. She was lighter than you'd expected. All those years of dieting for comebacks, probably. All those years of being told she needed to be smaller, thinner, more perfect.
"The shower," you said. "We're both a mess."
"Your fault." But she was grinning as she said it.
"Entirely."
The bathroom was all white marble and chrome fixtures, with a rainfall showerhead even larger than Karina's. You set Wonyoung down on the heated tile floor—her bare feet made a soft sound against the stone—and reached into the glass enclosure to turn on the water. Steam began to fill the room almost immediately.
She stepped into the shower first. You followed.
The water was hot but not scalding, beating down on your shoulders and back in a steady rhythm. Wonyoung tilted her face up into the spray, letting it run over her closed eyelids and down her throat. The mascara she hadn't been wearing was still absent, and without it she looked younger. Not twenty-nine. Not the weary trophy wife from last night. Just a woman in the morning, clean and bare and unguarded.
You reached for the body wash—something floral, jasmine maybe—and worked it into a lather between your palms.
"Turn around," you said.
She did. You started with her shoulders, the same way you had with Karina. The same ritual. The same aftercare. The same reminder that what happened in the bedroom wasn't just about sex—it was about being seen. Being handled. Being treated like a body that mattered.
Wonyoung sighed as your hands moved down her back. "You do this for all your clients?"
"The shower?"
"The… gentleness. The talking. The staying until morning."
"Most of them." You worked the soap into the dip of her spine, the curve of her hips. "The ones who need it."
"And how do you know which ones need it?"
You turned her around to face you. Water sluiced down between you, washing away the suds. Her eyes were level with your collarbone; she had to tilt her head back to meet your gaze.
"Because they're the ones who cry," you said. "And you cried."
Wonyoung's expression flickered—something passing through it too fast to name. Then she reached up and took the body wash from the shelf behind you. Poured some into her own palm. Worked it into a lather.
"Your turn," she said.
Her hands on your chest were tentative at first—the same hesitance from last night, the same uncertainty about what she was allowed to do. But as she grew bolder, her touch firmed. Her palms traced the lines of your pectorals, the ridges of your abdomen, the V of your hips. She was washing you, but she was also learning you. Mapping the geography of a body that wasn't hers.
"You're different from what I expected," she said.
"Different how?"
"I don't know. Less… transactional." She rinsed her hands under the spray. "When I called the agency, I thought it would be like ordering room service. Something mechanical. Something I could pretend didn't happen afterward. But this is…"
"This is?"
She looked up at you. The water had plastered her hair to her skull, darkened it to near-black. Droplets clung to her lashes.
"Real," she said. "This feels real."
You cupped her face in your hands. Your thumbs traced the sharp line of her cheekbones, the soft skin beneath her eyes. She leaned into the touch—pressed her cheek against your palm like a cat seeking warmth.
"It is real," you said. "Whatever happens in this room, whatever you feel—it's real. The pleasure is real. The tears are real. You're not pretending anymore. You're not performing. You're just… here."
"Just here." She tested the words. "I like that. I've never been 'just here' anywhere. There's always been a camera. Or a manager. Or a husband who wanted me to be somewhere else."
"Not here."
"Not here." She rose on her toes. Her lips brushed yours—soft, tentative, a question more than a statement. "Thank you."
"You already thanked me."
"I know. I want to do it again. Properly." She kissed you again, deeper this time. Her lips parted, and her tongue traced the seam of your mouth—asking permission, not demanding it. You opened for her, and she made a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, as her tongue met yours.
The kiss was different from the ones last night. Last night had been hungry. Desperate. A woman starving for contact and finally given permission to eat. This kiss was slower. Sweeter. A kiss of gratitude rather than need.
Her arms wrapped around your neck. Your hands found her waist. The water beat down on both of you, and the steam rose around you like a curtain, and for a long moment there was nothing in the world but this—the heat and the wet and the soft pressure of her mouth on yours.
When she finally pulled back, her lips were pinker than before. Kiss-swollen. The color had risen in her cheeks.
"I put my number in your phone," she said.
"You what?"
"While you were sleeping. Earlier. Before I…" She gestured vaguely downward, toward the general vicinity of your crotch. "I wanted to make sure you had it. In case you wanted to call. In case you wanted to…"
"To what?"
"To see me again. Not as a client. Not through the agency. Just… me." Her voice had gone smaller. The confidence from moments ago was fading, replaced by the same vulnerability you'd seen last night. "Is that allowed? Is that something you do?"
You considered the question. The agency had rules about this—Senior Park was very clear about keeping things professional, about not blurring the lines between service and relationship. But Senior Park wasn't here. And Wonyoung was looking at you with those too-big eyes, the ones that had been empty last night and were now full of something fragile and hopeful.
"It's allowed," you said. "But I should warn you—I'm not a boyfriend. I'm not going to be. Whatever this is, it's not going to become something else."
"I know." She didn't look disappointed. If anything, she looked relieved. "I don't want a boyfriend. I don't want another man who owns me. I just want… someone who sees me. Someone who touches me like I'm real. Someone who'll answer when I call." A pause. "Will you answer?"
"Every time."
She kissed you again—quick and fierce, a press of lips that was more gratitude than passion. Then she stepped back, out of the spray, and reached for a towel.
"You should go," she said. "Before I ask you to stay again."
The elevator ride down was quiet. No muzak. No mirrored walls. Just brushed steel and the soft hum of hydraulics and the memory of Wonyoung's voice: Please… call me again.
You checked your phone in the lobby. There it was, in your contacts, added sometime in the early morning hours while you were still asleep: Wonyoung ♡. The heart was a nice touch. A little cheeky. A little hopeful.
You smiled despite yourself.
Three days passed.
Senior Park called on a Friday.
"New client," he said, the same way he always did—that particular lilt in his voice that meant he was enjoying himself. "Actress. Very famous. Very married. Although her marriage is…" A pause. "Complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"You'll see. She's been asking for you specifically. Apparently your reputation is spreading."
"Who is it?"
"Moon Ga Young."
The name made you stop walking. You were on the street in Gangnam, the afternoon sun beating down on your neck, and for a moment you just stood there with the phone pressed to your ear.
"Moon Ga Young? The actress?"
"The one and only. Star of True Beauty. The Interest of Love. Half a dozen other dramas I've never watched but my wife loves." The rustle of papers on his end. "She's staying at the Signiel. Suite 2704. Tonight, eight o'clock."
"Wait." You stepped into the shade of a building, out of the flow of pedestrian traffic. "Moon Ga Young is married? I didn't know that."
"Neither did anyone else. She kept it quiet. Very quiet. No press, no announcement, no wedding photos in the tabloids." Park's voice had gone sly. "The husband is some finance executive. American. Works in New York. They've been married for two years, and in those two years, he's been in Seoul for a total of six weeks. You do the math."
Six weeks out of a hundred and four. You did the math.
"Same story," you said.
"Same story, different window. The view from the Signiel is nicer, though. She's booked the suite for the whole weekend. Says she wants to take her time." Another pause. "She also said—and I quote—'Tell him I'm not fragile. Tell him I don't need the gentle version.' End quote."
You raised an eyebrow. "She said that?"
"Word for word. I think you're in for an interesting night."
The line went dead.
The Signiel Seoul occupied the 76th through 101st floors of the Lotte World Tower. It was the kind of hotel where the lobby was on the 79th floor and the elevator ride up made your ears pop. The kind of hotel where the staff wore suits that cost more than your monthly rent and the vases in the hallways were probably worth more than your car.
Suite 2704 was at the end of a quiet corridor. The door was a slab of dark wood with a brass number, and when you knocked, the sound was swallowed by the thick carpet.
"Come in. It's open."
The voice was lower than you'd expected. Smokier. The kind of voice that belonged in a noir film, all shadows and secrets.
You pushed the door open.
The suite was magnificent. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Seoul skyline, the city lights glittering below like a spill of diamonds. The furniture was modern and understated—a low gray sofa, a glass coffee table, an abstract painting that was probably worth more than everything you owned. The bedroom was visible through an open doorway, the bed enormous and white and untouched.
And there, on the balcony, stood Moon Ga Young.
She was smaller in person than she appeared on screen. The camera had a way of adding presence, of making actors seem larger than life. In reality, she was petite—barely over five feet, with delicate wrists and a narrow frame that made her look almost breakable. Her hair was long and dark, falling past her shoulders in loose waves. Her face was the same one you'd seen in a dozen dramas—the wide eyes, the full lips, the delicate bone structure that made her look younger than her thirty-something years.
But the robe she was wearing was anything but delicate.
It was silk, pale champagne in color, and almost entirely transparent. The fabric clung to her body like a whisper, revealing the outline of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the dark triangle between her thighs. She wore nothing beneath it. The robe was held closed by a single sash, loosely tied, and as she turned to face you, the front gaped open slightly—just enough to confirm that yes, she was completely naked under there.
In one hand, she held a flute of champagne. The liquid was pale gold, the bubbles rising in lazy spirals.
"You're punctual," she said. "I like that."
"Senior Park said you didn't want the gentle version."
"Did he?" A smile played at the corner of her mouth. "I said I didn't need it. There's a difference." She raised the champagne flute to her lips and took a sip. Her eyes never left yours. "Would you like a drink? There's a bottle on the minibar. It's not cheap—I made sure of that."
"I'm working."
"So am I. Or at least, I'm about to be." The smile widened. "One drink won't hurt. Consider it part of the negotiation."
You crossed to the minibar. The champagne was vintage, the label one you recognized from a previous client's penthouse. You poured yourself a glass—not because you wanted it, but because refusing would mean ceding the rhythm of the encounter to her. And Ga Young, you were already beginning to understand, was someone who was used to setting the rhythm.
She joined you at the sofa. The robe gaped further as she sat, revealing the pale curve of one breast. She didn't bother to adjust it.
"So," she said, settling back against the cushions. "You're the man who made Karina cry."
You paused with the glass halfway to your lips. "She told you?"
"She told someone, who told someone, who told me. The idol world is small. Smaller than you'd think." Ga Young swirled her champagne. "The rumor is that you were… thorough. That you gave her exactly what she needed. That you didn't treat her like glass."
"I don't treat anyone like glass."
"No. I don't imagine you do." She leaned forward, setting her glass on the coffee table. The movement made the robe fall open completely, exposing the full length of her body. She didn't seem to notice. Or if she noticed, she didn't care. "Here's the thing. I've been married for two years. In those two years, I've had sex exactly four times. All of them on our wedding night. After that, my husband decided he preferred New York to Seoul. He calls me once a week, usually from his office, usually while he's doing something else. Reading emails. Checking stocks. He's never once asked me how I'm feeling."
"Does he know you're here?"
"He knows I'm at a hotel. He doesn't know why." Ga Young's smile was sharp. "He probably thinks I'm having a spa weekend. That's what he'd do, if he thought about it at all. 'Ga Young's having a spa weekend. How nice for her.'" The mimicry was cruel and precise. "He doesn't know me well enough to suspect anything else."
"And what are you looking for tonight?"
She leaned back. The robe fell open completely now, pooling on the cushions around her. She was leaner than Karina, leaner than Wonyoung—the body of a woman who'd spent years in front of cameras, who'd been told she needed to be thinner, always thinner. Her breasts were small, the nipples a pale pink. Her stomach was flat. The hair between her thighs was dark and neatly trimmed.
"I'm not looking for therapy," she said. "I'm not looking for someone to hold me while I cry. I'm not looking for validation or reassurance or any of the things your other clients probably need." She uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. The movement was deliberate. Performative. "I'm looking for a good fuck. That's it. That's all. I want to be fucked so hard I forget my own name. I want to walk bowlegged tomorrow. I want to feel like a woman instead of a mannequin. Can you do that?"
You set your champagne glass down next to hers. "Safeword?"
"Red."
"Tap-out?"
"Three taps. Anywhere." She cocked her head. "You're very professional. I like that too."
"Part of the service."
"Then let's get started." She stood up. The robe stayed on the sofa, a champagne-colored puddle of silk. "The bedroom's through there. I want you to use every inch of that bed. I want you to use every inch of me. And I want you to stop treating me like I'm going to break." She walked toward the bedroom, her bare feet silent on the thick carpet. At the doorway, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. "I'm not going to break. I promise."
The bedroom was all windows on one side, the city lights spread out below like a circuit board. The bed was king-sized, the sheets white, the pillows arranged in a perfect geometric pattern. Ga Young climbed onto the mattress and positioned herself in the center—on her back, her arms above her head, her legs slightly apart. The pose was deliberate. A parody of submission. The same way she'd done everything so far—with a wink, with a smirk, with the implicit understanding that she was playing a role.
"The last time I had sex," she said, "was my wedding night. He was drunk. I was nervous. It lasted maybe six minutes. He fell asleep immediately afterward, and when I woke up the next morning, he was already on a plane to New York." She looked at the ceiling. "I didn't have an orgasm. I've never had an orgasm with another person. Not once. I'm thirty-four years old, and I've been faking it since I was twenty."
You unbuttoned your shirt. "You don't have to fake anything tonight."
"I know. That's why you're here." She watched you undress with open appraisal, her eyes tracking the movement of your hands. "I've done my research. I know about the agency. I know about Senior Park. I know about the other women you've been with. The idols. The heiresses. The wives. I know you're discreet. I know you're skilled. I know you're exactly what I need."
"Which is?"
She met your eyes. The smirk was gone. For the first time since you'd walked through the door, her expression was completely serious.
"Someone who isn't afraid of me," she said. "Everyone's afraid of me. My husband's afraid of me. My managers are afraid of me. The directors I work with are afraid of me. I'm Moon Ga Young. I'm the nation's sweetheart. I'm the girl next door who's been in a dozen dramas and never had a scandal." Her voice was flat. "People think I'm delicate. They think I'm fragile. They think I need to be protected. No one's ever looked at me and thought—she wants to be destroyed."
"Do you?"
"Yes." The word was barely a whisper. "God, yes. I want to be destroyed. I want to be ruined. I want someone to look at me and see what I really am, not what the cameras see. Not what my husband sees. Not what the public sees." She swallowed. "I want to feel something real. Even if it's pain. Even if it's rough. Especially if it's rough."
You finished undressing. Your clothes made a pile on the floor—shirt, pants, boxers. Your cock was already half-hard, responding to the challenge in her voice, the directness of her gaze. Ga Young looked at you and didn't flinch.
"Good," she said. "Now come here. I've been waiting two years for this. I'm not waiting any longer."
Moon Ga Young watched you undress with the eyes of a woman who'd spent two decades being looked at and had finally decided to do some looking of her own.
"On your knees."
The command landed in the space between you. Her lips curved—not quite a smile, more a recognition. This was what she'd asked for. This was what she'd been waiting two years to receive.
She slid off the bed. The movement was liquid, all those years of dance training and red carpet practice translating into something that looked effortless. Her knees met the carpet with a soft thud. The city lights through the window painted her bare skin in shades of amber and gold.
"Hands behind your back."
She complied. The position made her small breasts lift, the nipples still pale pink and tight. Her eyes stayed on yours. Defiant. Hungry. The smirk was still there, but it had thinned—become something sharper, more expectant.
You picked up the champagne-colored robe from where it had fallen on the sofa. The silk was cool and slippery in your hands. You pulled the sash free with one sharp tug, and the fabric whispered against itself as it came loose.
"Wrists."
Ga Young's smirk flickered. "You're going to tie me up?"
"I'm going to do a lot of things." You crouched behind her, looping the silk around her wrists. Not too tight—you knew the difference between restraint and injury—but snug enough that she'd feel the pull every time she moved. "You said you wanted to be destroyed. Destruction requires surrender. You can't be in control and be ruined at the same time."
"I know." Her voice was quieter now. The bravado was still there, but something else was bleeding through. Something that sounded almost like relief. "I know. That's the point."
You tied the knot. Tested it with two fingers. "Too tight?"
"No."
"Good."
You stood and walked around to face her. From this angle, with her wrists bound behind her back and her knees pressed into the carpet, she looked smaller than before. More vulnerable. The nation's sweetheart, stripped of her armor, kneeling naked in a hotel suite with her pulse visible in her throat.
"Open your mouth."
Ga Young's lips parted. Her tongue was pink, wet, waiting. You took hold of your cock—fully hard now, thick and veined, the head already slick with the first bead of precum—and guided it toward her waiting mouth.
"Wider."
She stretched her jaw. The corners of her lips went taut. You pressed the head against her tongue, and she made a sound—something between a hum and a whimper—as the taste of you filled her mouth.
"Good girl. Now take it. All of it."
You pushed forward.
The first few inches slid in easily. Her tongue moved beneath your shaft—uncertain at first, then finding its rhythm, tracing the ridge of the head, the sensitive spot just beneath. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked. The suction was strong, practiced, the muscle memory of a woman who'd done this before even if it had been years.
Then you pushed deeper.
The head of your cock hit the back of her throat, and Ga Young gagged. The sound was wet and sudden—a choked, spluttering cough that made her whole body convulse. Her bound wrists strained against the silk. Her eyes watered. A thick string of saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth and landed on her chest.
"Don't fight it. Relax your throat."
She tried. You could feel her trying—the way her muscles fluttered around your shaft, the way she forced herself to breathe through her nose. But the gag reflex was strong, and when you pushed another inch deeper, she convulsed again.
"Fuck—" The word came out muffled, garbled around your cock.
You pulled back. Let her gasp. A bridge of saliva connected your shaft to her bottom lip, stretching, then breaking.
"I can't—" She coughed again. "I can't take it all. It's too thick—"
"You can." You grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. Her throat was exposed now—a long, pale column, the skin delicate and unmarked. "You said you wanted to be ruined. Ruined means taking cock down your throat until you can't breathe. Ruined means gagging and choking and still pushing deeper. Do you understand?"
Ga Young's eyes met yours. They were wet now, the first tears clinging to her lashes. But behind them, something was blazing. Something that looked almost like joy.
"Yes."
"Then open your mouth."
She did. You pushed inside again, and this time you didn't stop. Your cock slid past her tongue, past the soft palate, into the tight grip of her throat. Ga Young's whole body seized. A guttural, choking sound vibrated through your shaft. Her bound hands clawed at the air behind her back. Her throat muscles clamped down around you—spasming, fighting, then slowly, gradually, yielding.
"There you go. Take it. Take all of it."
Your hips met her face. Your cock was buried to the hilt in her throat, and Ga Young's nose was pressed against your pubic bone. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Could only gag and choke and let the tears stream down her cheeks while you held her there, impaled on your length.
You held the position for a count of five. Then ten. Her face was turning red. Her body was writhing—not fighting, not trying to escape, but writhing with the sheer overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled.
You pulled back.
Ga Young gasped. The inhale was ragged and desperate, followed by a coughing fit that made her whole body shake. Saliva dripped from her chin. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy, her carefully arranged hair a tangled mess.
"More," she rasped. "Give me more."
You slapped her.
The crack of your palm against her cheek echoed through the suite. Ga Young's head snapped to the side. A red mark bloomed on her pale skin—the shape of your hand, stark and undeniable.
"Did I tell you to speak?"
She shook her head. The defiance was still there, but it was muted now—submerged beneath something deeper. Something that looked almost like peace.
"Then don't speak. Your mouth has one purpose right now. Do you understand?"
She nodded. Her cheek was still red. The tears had multiplied, tracking mascara-less lines down her face.
"Good. Now show me you understand."
She opened her mouth. Leaned forward. Took your cock between her lips with a hunger that bordered on worship. This time, when you pushed into her throat, she didn't gag. She swallowed around you—a deliberate, rhythmic clenching that traveled from her throat to the base of your shaft. The sensation was electric. Your vision swam.
"That's it. That's my good little throat-whore."
She moaned. The vibration traveled through her throat and into your cock, and the pleasure was so intense that your hips bucked involuntarily. You grabbed her head with both hands—fingers tangled in her hair, thumbs pressed against her temples—and began to fuck her face in earnest.
The rhythm was brutal. Deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against the back of her throat with every thrust. The wet sounds were obscene—squelching, choking, gagging, the slap of your balls against her chin. Ga Young's bound hands clenched and unclenched behind her back. Her body swayed with the force of your thrusts. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming freely, but she never pulled away. Never tapped out. Never gave any signal that she wanted this to stop.
"You love this. You love being used like a toy. Tell me you love it."
She couldn't speak—not with your cock buried in her throat—but she moaned again. The sound was desperate. Affirmative. Broken.
"Then take it. Take every inch. I'm going to come down your throat, and you're going to swallow every drop. Do you understand?"
Another moan. Higher-pitched. Almost frantic.
You fucked her throat faster. The tension was building—a coiling pressure at the base of your spine that spread outward, downward, gathering force with every stroke. Ga Young's throat muscles were fluttering around you now, spasming in rhythm with her muffled moans. Her body was trembling. Her bound hands had gone limp behind her back, all the fight drained out of her.
"I'm close—fuck, I'm close—"
You slammed into her throat one last time and held there. Buried to the hilt. Her nose crushed against your pelvis. Her throat working desperately around your shaft, trying to swallow, trying to breathe, trying to do everything at once.
The orgasm hit you like a freight train.
The first pulse of cum shot directly down her throat—thick, hot, copious. You felt her swallow reflexively, the muscles of her esophagus contracting around your shaft. The second pulse followed immediately, and the third, and the fourth, each one painting her throat white with your seed. You kept your grip on her head, holding her in place, making sure she couldn't pull away until every last drop was drained.
"Swallow. All of it."
She did. You felt her throat constrict again and again, gulping down your cum with an eagerness that bordered on desperation. When you finally pulled back, a thick string of saliva and semen connected your cock to her bottom lip. Ga Young's mouth hung open. Her tongue was coated white. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring at something only she could see.
She swallowed once more. Licked her lips. The taste of you was still on her tongue, and she savored it—closing her eyes, letting out a small, satisfied hum.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The words were hoarse. Fucked-raw. Barely audible. But the gratitude in them was real.
"We're not done."
Ga Young's eyes opened. The smirk was back—smaller now, more fragile, but still there. "I know."
You untied her wrists. The silk sash left faint red marks on her skin—nothing that would bruise, nothing that would last, but enough to remind her tomorrow of what had happened tonight. She rubbed her wrists absently. Then she looked up at you, and the question in her eyes was clear: What now?
"Against the wall."
She rose. Her legs were unsteady—the long minutes of kneeling had left her knees red, her thighs trembling. She crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window and pressed her palms against the glass. The city lights glittered below, indifferent to the scene unfolding above them. Her reflection stared back at her—naked, disheveled, marked.
"Spread your legs."
She did. The position opened her completely—the long line of her spine, the curve of her ass, the dark cleft between her cheeks. Her cunt was visible from this angle, the lips swollen and glistening. She was wet. Had been wet since the moment you'd pushed into her throat, probably. Maybe since the moment you'd walked through the door.
You stepped behind her. Your left hand found her throat—not squeezing, not yet, just resting there, a reminder of who was in control. Your right hand slid down her back, over the curve of her ass, between her cheeks. You spread her open, exposing the tight pink knot of her asshole, the darker, wetter flesh of her cunt below.
"Look at you. Moon Ga Young. The nation's sweetheart. Bent over against a hotel window with her cunt dripping and her throat full of cum. What would your fans think?"
"I don't care." Her voice was raw, almost defiant. "I don't care what they think. I don't care what anyone thinks. Just fuck me. Please. Fuck me like you mean it."
You tightened your grip on her throat. Not enough to cut off air—just enough to make her feel the pressure. Just enough to remind her that you could.
"Beg."
"Please." The word came out strangled. "Please fuck me. I've been waiting two years. Two years of empty beds and empty phone calls and pretending I'm fine when I'm dying inside. Please. I need this. I need you. I need your cock inside me. I need to feel something real. Please—"
You thrust into her cunt in one brutal motion.
Ga Young screamed.
The sound was raw and animal—nothing like the polished, controlled voice she used in interviews. This was a scream torn from somewhere deep inside her, a scream that had been building for two years and finally found its release. Her cunt was tight—tighter than you'd expected, the walls clenching around your shaft with a force that made your breath catch. She was soaked, though, and the slick heat of her made the brutal entry possible.
"Oh fuck—oh fuck—you're so deep—"
You didn't give her time to adjust. You pulled back and slammed forward again, harder than before. The impact made her palms squeak against the glass. Her breasts pressed against the window, leaving smears of sweat on the pristine surface. Your left hand stayed on her throat, your right hand gripping her hip, and you fucked her with a rhythm that was punishing.
"This is what you wanted. This is what you begged for. To be fucked like an animal. To be used like a toy. To be ruined."
"Yes—yes—harder—"
You gave her harder. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the suite—squelching, slapping, the rhythmic thud of your hips meeting her ass. You could see her reflection in the window—her mouth open, her eyes half-closed, her cheeks flushed and tear-streaked. The idol image was gone. Completely obliterated. What was left was just a woman, raw and desperate, taking cock like she'd been starving for it.
You tightened your grip on her throat. Squeezed. Not enough to cut off her air entirely, but enough to make her lightheaded. Enough to make the edges of her vision go dark. Ga Young's eyes rolled back. Her mouth opened wider. A strangled sound escaped her—half moan, half gasp.
"That's it. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? Feel how full you are? This is what you needed. Not the fame. Not the money. Not the perfect husband who never touches you. This. Just this. Just a cock in your cunt and someone who knows how to use it."
"YES—YES—THIS IS—"
You released her throat. She gasped—a huge, ragged inhale that made her whole body shudder. Then you grabbed her hips with both hands and fucked her even harder. The pace was brutal now—piston-like, relentless, each thrust driving her against the window with a force that made the glass vibrate. Her ass rippled with every impact. Her breasts bounced. Her reflection stared back at her with wild eyes and a slack mouth, and she looked at herself like she didn't recognize what she was seeing.
"Look at yourself. Look at what you've become. You're not an actress right now. You're not a wife. You're just a wet hole. A set of holes. A body that exists to be fucked. Do you see her?"
"I see her—" Ga Young's voice was broken, sobbing. "I see her—I see myself—"
"And what do you see?"
"A whore." The word came out on a sob. "A desperate, dripping whore who's been neglected for two years and finally has a cock inside her. I see a whore. I see a whore. I see—"
You felt her cunt seize around you. The orgasm was sudden and violent—a convulsive, full-body spasm that made her back arch and her legs give out. You caught her before she collapsed, pinning her against the window with your body, and kept fucking her through it. The clenching of her walls was rhythmic, almost painful in its intensity, milking your shaft from base to tip.
"That's it—that's it—come on my cock—come while you're watching yourself—"
"I'm coming—I'm coming—oh god, I'm—"
She squirted. The fluid gushed around your cock, soaking your thighs, splashing against the window, dripping down the glass in long, obscene rivulets. Ga Young's scream was wordless, primal, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than her throat. Her body convulsed in your arms. Her cunt pulsed and fluttered around your shaft, and the sensation was so intense that you felt your own orgasm building—a tightening pressure at the base of your spine.
But you weren't done.
You pulled out of her. Ga Young whimpered at the emptiness. Her cunt gaped for a moment, then clenched around nothing, gushing another pulse of fluid onto the carpet. You turned her around—roughly, hands on her shoulders, spinning her like a doll—and pushed her back against the window. Her shoulder blades hit the glass. Her eyes were wild, unfocused, still hazy from the orgasm.
"Hold onto me."
Her arms wrapped around your neck. Her legs wrapped around your waist. You gripped her thighs and lifted her, positioning her cunt above your cock, and thrust inside her in one smooth motion.
Ga Young's head fell back against the glass. "Oh ffffuuuuck—"
"You wanted to be ruined. I'm not finished ruining you."
You fucked her against the window. The position was different—deeper, somehow, the angle letting you hit spots inside her that you hadn't reached before. Ga Young's moans were continuous now, a stream of broken syllables and guttural sounds that didn't belong to any language. Her nails dug into your shoulders. Her heels pressed into the small of your back. Her cunt was a mess—slick and swollen and pulsing, still gushing intermittently with the aftershocks of her orgasm.
"Harder—please—harder—"
You slammed into her. The window rattled. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered that there were probably people in the building across the street, people with binoculars, people who might be watching. Let them watch. Let them see what Moon Ga Young looked like when she was being fucked properly. Let them see the nation's sweetheart with her legs wrapped around a stranger, her cunt dripping down his thighs, her mouth open in a scream that had no end.
"Look at me."
She forced her eyes to focus. They were glassy, tear-filled, but they met yours.
"You're going to come again. You're going to come on this cock while I'm choking you. And you're going to watch yourself in the reflection while you do it. Do you understand?"
"Yes—yes—"
Your left hand found her throat again. Squeezed. Harder this time. Ga Young's face began to flush. Her lips parted. Her eyes rolled back. But she didn't tap out. Didn't signal. Didn't do anything except moan—a thin, wheezing sound that vibrated against your palm.
"That's it. Let go. Let yourself fall."
You fucked her harder. The rhythm was punishing—deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against her cervix with every thrust. Your right hand found her clit, the swollen bundle of nerves slick and hard under your fingertip. You pressed down. Circled. Ga Young's body convulsed.
Her orgasm hit like an explosion.
This one was different from the first—quieter, deeper, more devastating. Her cunt clamped down on your cock with a force that almost hurt. Her whole body went rigid, every muscle locked, every breath held. Then the release came, and it came with a flood. Her cunt gushed around your shaft—not just wetness this time, but a clear, copious fluid that sprayed against your thighs and soaked the carpet beneath you.
"Fuuuuuuuck—"
Her voice broke on the word. Her body went limp. Completely limp. She collapsed against you, her head falling onto your shoulder, her arms sliding from your neck. Her cunt was still pulsing weakly around your cock—little flutters of sensation that traveled up your shaft.
You released her throat. She gasped—a huge, ragged inhale—and then she started to laugh.
It wasn't a happy laugh. It wasn't bitter, either. It was the laugh of a woman who'd been holding something inside for years and had finally, finally let it out. The laugh turned into sobs, and the sobs turned into silence, and through all of it you held her against the window, your cock still buried inside her, your hands gentle on her back.
She kept saying it. Over and over. Like a prayer. Like a confession. Like the only words she had left.
You carried her to the bed. Laid her down on the white sheets. Her body was marked—red impressions of your fingers on her throat, faint bruises already forming on her hips, her cunt swollen and gaping and still leaking onto the mattress. She looked up at you with eyes that were clearer than they'd been all night.
"Stay," she said. "Please. Just until I fall asleep."
You climbed into the bed beside her. Pulled the sheets over both of you. Ga Young curled against your chest, her face pressed into the hollow of your throat, her breath warm on your skin.
"I haven't felt this alive in years," she murmured. "I haven't felt anything in years."
"Feel it now."
She did. Her breathing slowed. Her body relaxed. The tension that had been coiled in her muscles since the moment you'd walked through the door finally, fully released.
Outside the window, the city glittered on, indifferent and eternal. Inside the suite, Moon Ga Young closed her eyes, and for the first time in two years, she slept without dreaming of being somewhere else.
The morning light through the Signiel's floor-to-ceiling windows was the color of honey. It pooled on the white sheets, caught the edge of the champagne flute still sitting on the coffee table, painted Ga Young's bare shoulder in shades of gold.
She was still asleep.
Her breathing was slow and even, her face half-buried in the pillow, her dark hair fanned across the cotton like spilled ink. The marks from last night were already fading—the faint impressions on her throat, the bruises on her hips. In sleep, she looked younger. Softer. The sharp, sardonic edge that had defined her when you'd walked through the door had melted away, replaced by something unguarded.
You slid out of bed carefully. The sheets whispered against your skin. Ga Young stirred but didn't wake—just shifted, her hand reaching out to the empty space where you'd been, her fingers curling around nothing.
You dressed in silence. Shirt. Pants. Belt. The routine was automatic, muscle memory from a dozen similar mornings. The suite was quiet except for the distant hum of the HVAC system and the soft shush of traffic eighty floors below. Your shoes were by the sofa where you'd kicked them off. You bent to pick them up.
"Where are you going?"
The voice was sleep-roughened but still unmistakably hers—that smoky, noir-film cadence that made everything sound like a secret. You turned.
Ga Young was sitting up in bed. The sheet had fallen to her waist. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes still puffy from sleep and last night's tears. She looked nothing like the polished actress from the dramas. She looked like a woman who'd been thoroughly fucked and had slept better than she had in years.
"Home," you said. "You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you."
She laughed. The sound was low and warm and entirely unselfconscious. "Nuh uh." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, crossing the room toward you with the sheet still trailing behind her like a train. "I'm still your client. The weekend, remember? You're not going anywhere."
She reached you and wrapped her arms around your waist from behind. Her cheek pressed against your spine. Her bare breasts flattened against your back, and the warmth of her body seeped through your shirt. She smelled like sex and sleep and the faint floral remnants of whatever expensive soap the Signiel stocked in its bathrooms.
"Ga Young—"
"Shh." Her arms tightened. "You're not leaving. Not yet. Not until I say so."
The suite door clicked open.
You heard it before you saw it—the soft sound of the electronic lock disengaging, followed by the whoosh of the door swinging on its hinges. Two voices drifted in from the hallway, mid-laugh, the kind of easy, familiar laughter that came from years of friendship.
"—and then he said, 'That's not a prop, that's my actual—'" The voice cut off.
Karina stood in the doorway.
Wonyoung was right behind her.
They were both carrying shopping bags—the discreet, expensive kind that came from boutiques in Cheongdam-dong, the logos embossed in subtle gold foil. They were both wearing black outerwear—Karina in a long trench coat, Wonyoung in a cropped leather jacket—and they were both staring at you with expressions that shifted from surprise to recognition to something else entirely.
Something hungrier.
"Unnie!" Ga Young's voice was delighted. She released you and stepped around, completely unbothered by her nudity, the sheet slipping from her shoulders and pooling on the floor. "You're early. I thought you weren't coming until noon."
Karina's eyes flicked from you to Ga Young and back again. A slow smile spread across her face. "We wanted to surprise you." She stepped into the suite, and Wonyoung followed, closing the door behind her. "But it looks like you're the one with the surprise."
"Wait." You looked at Ga Young. Then at Karina. Then at Wonyoung. "You three know each other?"
"We're best friends." Wonyoung's voice was light, almost teasing. She set her shopping bag down on the console table by the door. "We've been best friends for years. Since trainee days. Did you really think it was a coincidence that we all ended up calling the same agency?"
"We talk," Karina said. She was still smiling, but there was something sharper beneath it—a blade hidden in silk. "We talk about everything. The husbands. The loneliness. The emptiness." She paused. "The men we hire to make us feel alive again."
Ga Young had retrieved her robe from the floor—the champagne-colored silk, still wrinkled from last night—and was tying it loosely around her waist. "When I heard that Karina unnie had found someone who actually made her come, I had to see for myself. And then Wonyoungie called me the next morning, practically glowing, and I knew." She turned to you, her eyes bright. "I knew I had to book you. And I knew I had to make it a weekend."
"A weekend?"
"Senior Park didn't tell you?" Karina's trench coat was already unbelted. She shrugged it off her shoulders, and it slid to the floor in a whisper of black fabric. Beneath it, she was wearing lingerie—not the practical black lace from your first encounter, but something deliberately chosen. A deep burgundy set, the color of aged wine, the bra cupping her breasts in a way that made them look fuller, the panties high-cut and sheer. "This booking is for all three of us. The whole weekend. Friday to Sunday."
Wonyoung was unzipping her leather jacket. Her movements were slower than Karina's, more deliberate, but no less confident. The jacket came off, and beneath it was a pale lavender set—the color soft against her skin, the fabric delicate, almost bridal. The contrast between the innocent lingerie and the knowing look in her eyes was intentional. You could see it in the way she tilted her head, the way she watched you watching her.
"Three clients," she said. "Three women who need to be reminded what it feels like to be touched." She stepped closer. "Three women who've been talking about you for weeks."
On the coffee table, you noticed for the first time a folded piece of paper. It was propped against the champagne bottle, your name written on the front in Senior Park's precise, old-fashioned handwriting. You crossed to it and picked it up.
Your client for this weekend is the three of them. They've been planning this for a month. Don't disappoint them. — SP
You swallowed.
The sound was audible in the quiet suite. Ga Young heard it and laughed—that same low, warm laugh from before. "Nervous? The man who made me come twice against a window is nervous?"
"Not nervous." You folded the note and tucked it into your pocket. "Just… recalibrating."
"Recalibrate faster." Karina had crossed the room to stand beside Ga Young. The two of them together were a study in contrasts—Karina's burgundy against Ga Young's champagne, the idol's sharp, aggressive beauty against the actress's delicate, knowing allure. "We've been waiting a long time for this. All three of us. We've been planning it ever since Wonyoungie called me the morning after your session."
"I didn't just call her." Wonyoung had moved to your other side, bracketing you between the three of them. Her lavender lingerie made her skin look luminous, the pale tea-colored nipples visible through the sheer fabric. "I told her everything. Everything you did. Everything you said. Every way you made me feel." Her voice dropped, became something softer, more intimate. "And she told me what you did with her. And then Ga Young unnie said she wanted to find out for herself, and we decided—why not all three of us? Why not a weekend?"
"Because none of us has ever had this." Ga Young's hand found your shoulder. Her fingers traced the line of your collarbone through your shirt. "None of us has ever had a man who knew what he was doing. Who cared about making us feel good. Who looked at us like we were women instead of objects." She paused. "We wanted to share you. Just for a weekend. Just to remember what it feels like."
"To be alive," Karina said.
"To be wanted," Wonyoung added.
"To be fucked properly," Ga Young finished.
The three of them were close now. Close enough that you could smell them—Karina's perfume, something floral and expensive; Wonyoung's shampoo, jasmine and vanilla; Ga Young's skin, still warm from sleep, still carrying the faint musk of last night's sex. They were looking at you with the same expression. The same hunger. The same desperate, aching need that you'd seen in each of them individually but never all at once.
"Take off your shirt," Karina said.
The command was soft but firm. The same voice she'd used when she'd first welcomed you to her mansion, but stripped of the nervousness now. This was a woman who'd spent three weeks waiting for this moment. This was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
You unbuttoned your shirt. Slowly. Deliberately. The three of them watched every movement—the slide of each button through its hole, the parting of the fabric, the reveal of your chest. When you shrugged the shirt off your shoulders, Wonyoung made a small sound—a quiet, involuntary hum of appreciation.
"His body is different in the daylight," she murmured. "I couldn't see it properly last time. It was dark. I was…" She swallowed. "I was distracted."
"You were crying," Ga Young said. Not unkindly. Just matter-of-fact. "You told me you cried."
"I did. I cried a lot." Wonyoung's eyes met yours. "But I also came. Twice. The first real orgasms of my life."
"Mine too." Karina's voice was quieter now. "The first real ones. The only real ones."
Ga Young's hand slid from your shoulder to your chest. Her palm was warm against your skin. "And I came twice last night. The first time I've ever come with a partner. The first time I've ever come without faking it." Her fingers traced the line of your pectoral, down to your abdomen. "So you see, we have a lot to thank you for. And a lot more we want to experience."
"Together," Karina said.
"Together," Wonyoung echoed.
The word hung in the air between you. Together. Three women who'd spent years being neglected, being ignored, being treated like accessories to their husbands' careers. Three women who'd found each other in the loneliness and decided to do something about it. Three women who were looking at you now with the same expression—expectant, hungry, alive.
"Are you going to be able to handle all three of us?" Ga Young's voice was teasing, but there was a genuine question beneath the playfulness. "We're not going to be gentle with you. We've been planning this for a month. We have… ideas."
"Three days," Karina said. "Three women. One man." She stepped closer, close enough that her breasts—still encased in that burgundy lace—brushed against your arm. "Think you can keep up?"
"Senior Park seemed to think so." You looked at the note still folded in your pocket. "He wouldn't have booked me if he didn't."
"Senior Park is a smart man." Wonyoung had moved behind you. Her hands found your shoulders, her fingers pressing into the muscle, kneading gently. "He told us you were the best. He told us you could handle anything. He told us you wouldn't break."
"I won't break."
"Good." Ga Young's hand was still on your chest, her thumb tracing idle circles over your sternum. "Because we're not going to break you. We're going to use you. All three of us. However we want. Whenever we want. For the whole weekend." She looked up at you, and her eyes were dark and serious despite the smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Is that understood?"
"Understood."
"Good boy." She patted your chest and stepped back. "Then let's get started. The bedroom's big enough for all four of us. I checked."
She turned and walked toward the bedroom, the champagne robe trailing behind her like a whisper. Karina followed, her hips swaying with that dancer's grace she'd never lost despite years away from the stage. Wonyoung released your shoulders and moved around you, her lavender lingerie pale against the gray walls of the suite, and when she reached the bedroom doorway, she looked back over her shoulder.
"Are you coming?"
The question was simple. The answer was simpler.
You followed them into the bedroom.
The bed was still rumpled from the night before—the sheets twisted, the pillows scattered, the faint impressions of Ga Young's body still visible on the mattress. The morning light was stronger here, flooding through the windows, making everything look clean and bright and new. The three women arranged themselves on the bed with the ease of long practice—Ga Young in the center, propped against the headboard; Karina on her left, sitting cross-legged with her burgundy lingerie stark against the white sheets; Wonyoung on her right, her long legs stretched out in front of her, her lavender set a soft contrast to the sharper colors around her.
They looked at you. Waiting.
"Clothes off," Ga Young said. "All of them. We want to see what we're working with."
You unbuckled your belt. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Three pairs of eyes tracked the movement of your hands—the slide of leather through the buckle, the pop of the button, the hiss of the zipper. Your pants fell to the floor. Your boxers followed.
Your cock was already half-hard. Responding to the attention, the anticipation, the sheer overwhelming presence of three beautiful women watching you undress. Ga Young's eyes flicked down, then up again. The corner of her mouth twitched.
"He's bigger than I remembered," Karina murmured.
"He's thicker than I remembered," Wonyoung added.
"And he knows how to use it." Ga Young's voice was satisfied. "He used it in my throat last night. And in my cunt. And against the window." She gestured at the glass, still faintly smeared from where her body had pressed against it. "I left a mark."
"So did I." Wonyoung's voice was soft, almost wistful. "At my penthouse. On the sheets. I haven't washed them yet. I keep thinking I should, but I can't bring myself to do it."
"I know what you mean." Karina's eyes met yours. "I still have the sheets from my first time with him. They're in the back of my closet. Joon-ho never goes in there. He never goes anywhere in that house except his study and his bedroom." She paused. "He has his own bedroom. We've always had separate bedrooms. He said it was better for his sleep."
"Seok-joong has his own apartment." Wonyoung's voice was flat. "He lives there with his current girlfriend. A trainee. She's nineteen."
"My husband has his own continent." Ga Young's laugh was bitter. "He's been to Seoul for six weeks in two years. Six weeks. He's probably slept with half of Manhattan in that time."
The three of them were quiet for a moment. The morning light poured through the windows, and the city glittered below, and the three women on the bed were looking at each other with an expression that was part grief and part fury and part something else—something that looked almost like hope.
Then Ga Young shook her head. "No. No more talking about husbands. That's not what this weekend is for." She looked at you, and the fire was back in her eyes. "This weekend is for us. For pleasure. For release. For everything we've been denied." She patted the mattress beside her. "Come here. It's time to earn your paycheck."
You climbed onto the bed.
The mattress dipped beneath your weight. The three women shifted to accommodate you—Ga Young making room in the center, Karina and Wonyoung flanking her on either side. You ended up face-to-face with Ga Young, close enough to see the faint lines around her eyes, the small scar on her chin from some childhood accident, the way her pupils were already dilating with anticipation.
"Kiss me," she said. "Kiss me, and then kiss them. We've been waiting. We've all been waiting."
You kissed her.
It was different from last night's kisses. Last night had been about dominance—the rough press of lips, the battle for control, the assertion of power. This kiss was slower. More deliberate. A kiss of greeting rather than conquest. Ga Young's lips parted beneath yours, and her tongue met yours with a soft, exploratory touch. She tasted like sleep and champagne and something indefinably her.
When you pulled back, she was smiling. "Now Karina."
You turned. Karina was watching you with dark eyes, her burgundy lingerie stretched tight across her breasts, her breathing already uneven. She didn't wait for you to lean in. She closed the distance herself, her hands coming up to frame your face, her kiss hungry and urgent and full of three weeks of waiting.
"It's been too long," she whispered against your mouth. "Three weeks. Three weeks of thinking about you. Three weeks of touching myself and pretending it was your hands."
"And now?"
"Now I don't have to pretend." She kissed you again—quick and fierce—then pulled back. "Wonyoung's turn."
Wonyoung was the shyest of the three. She'd been hesitant last night, tentative in the penthouse, uncertain about what she was allowed to do. But now she leaned in with more confidence, her lips brushing yours with a gentleness that was almost teasing. Her hand found your chest, her palm flat against your sternum, feeling your heartbeat.
"I've been thinking about you too," she murmured. "Every night. Every morning. I've been thinking about what you did to me. What you made me feel." She kissed you again—longer this time, deeper. "I want to feel it again. All of it. Everything."
"You will."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She smiled. The expression transformed her face—made her look younger, lighter, more like the idol she'd been before the marriage and the neglect and the loneliness. "Good. Then let's get started. Ga Young unnie's been waiting the longest. She should get the first turn."
"Agreed." Karina was already shifting on the bed, repositioning herself to give Ga Young more room. "We've got three days. We can take our time."
"Three days," Ga Young echoed. She was lying back against the pillows now, her champagne robe falling open, her body bare and waiting. "Three days, three women, one man." She looked up at you, and her smile was sharp and hungry and full of promise. "Let's see what you're made of."
SYNOPSIS : I woke to my girl, Yooyeon, next to me while she was still a sleep. I realized it was Saturday, the start of our small 2 day vacation. Which made me recall what she said before, that if I ever caught her being lazy on her off day I could do anything I wanted. That's just how determine she was to achieve, and for me, I been having that ass on my mind.
MASTERLIST
1.6K WORDS
(P.S. Think of this as a tribute to, what I fear, this world has lost. Which is the beautiful ass of Kim Yooyeon, with her weight lost also there goes the perfect idol. The world has truly lost a gem🙏)
With a great opportunity to feed my carving for my girlfriends ass, I dove under the blankets. As I lifted the bottom of her shirt exposing the waistband of her pajamas pants. Knowing what's on the other side of this thin breathable material, made me excitedly slide my fingers behind the waistband, and careful slide her pants & panties down. As it exposed her stomach which I couldn't help but kiss it & throw in a few licks, while my hands were sliding her bottoms off. Once my hands took her bottoms off, I made my way down between her legs opening them very slowly;
Hoping not wake her up because if she does, she wouldn't let me enjoy. Since Yooyeon is the type to like to be in control but can act like she isn't; Gaslighting me for her own amusement & entertainment.
As I got her legs open, I got a strong scent of Yooyeon's musk. With it hitting my nose, I could feel my dick throbbing; While I started with kissing her inner thighs, so I went from smelling to tasting her musk as I made my way to her center. I kissed her clit and gave it a tongue flick, to show it acknowledgement but today is all about her ass. With the kiss, her legs adjusted making think she was awake. So I peeped my head out of the blankets to check.
ME : " hey bae, you awake?"
She didn't have the slightest response, so I took that as her body flinching. I went back to exploring her holes as I traced them with the tip of my tongue; While I made my way down to her asshole which held the strongest scent of her musk. Introducing her asshole to my tongue, as I moved it circular motions tracing outline of her rim, dipping in & out of the wrinkles on her tight muscle ring. Loosening it up for my tongue to spread it open, as I push it through having her muscle ring grip it. Which gave me enough room to also introduce a finger as I was working it in & out of her ass, having her asshole gape enough to replace my tongue with two more fingers. Making it three fingers in & out of her as, having it make wet gaping sounds as air went in & out while I was lick the stretched out rim. In the middle of this I felt her hands slowly make their way to the back of my head, trying hold it in place as her legs were slowly rising up. This made me realize she was awake this entire time. So I popped up out of the blankets sending them off of the bed, exposing her naked body to morning sun light. Seeing every beautiful inch of her body light up as I lean a little closer, making my dick line up perfectly with her gaping asshole with a rectum that has been primed to get filled.
ME : "So you been awake the entire time huh?"
All she did was look at me with puppy eyes and nod. This made just going in for a passionate morning kiss that turned into a make out. I finally pulled back to see Yooyeon's face.
ME : "Why are you smiling?"
YOOYEON : "Well I was too lazy to wash up after a long day, so I change into my pajamas and jumped into bed! I'm just impressed with myself! Because even though yesterday, I fell asleep in my own sweat and it's first thing in the morning! But my most nasty dirtiest place still taste good!!!"
ME : " OH! You a dirty nasty slut!!"
Yooyeon responded to that by pulling me in close, and whispering in my ear with a deep, seductive, commanding tone.
YOOYEON: "Don't act like a pervert like you doesn't like my nasty holes!!! I know you been craving this ass, I seen how you been staring at it these couple of days!!! So how about filling my ass with that big pervert cock of yours!!! After all I can feel how the tip is throbbing right on my asshole!!! How it wants to spread open my shit hole so badly!!! So if I'm a dirty nasty slut, what does that make you, who loves it?"
Hearing this put a smile on my face, as she pulled her head back with a sassy look on her face. Which quickly turn into a face that was corrupted by the guilty pleasure of suddenly getting her asshole spread open, and her ass filled with cock. As her mouth drops open with eyes widened like I took her breath away, with a single thrust of my hips. While I lowered my face just enough to have the tips of our nose touching.
ME : " That makes me the luckiest man in the world!!! To have such a beautiful, smart, dirt slut as my girlfriend!!!"
I was trying to fight the need to cum, and I guess Yooyeon saw that on my face. As her giggling caught my attention.
YOOYEON : " What is it too much for you? All that time spend wanting to fuck my ass! And yet you'll going to leave the cake half eaten! Is okay, go ahead cum in my ass already! It was fun while it lasted, because I guess it's too much for a little boy like you! I don't blame you, this ass would be too much for anybody!!"
As she had a big smirk on her face, while she smiled at me with her eyes. This facial expression had me frustrated, she was practically having a face that said "he, he, he, he"
ME : " Shut up slut!!! I don't know why you're so smug. I'm the one fucking you in the ass!!! Turn around I don't want to see that smug look!!!"
With that the frustration I was feeling made it easier not to cum, as I flipped her on to her stomach.
YOOYEON : "Somebody is mad! They can't handle my nasty little dirty shit hole? It's about to drain you dry isn't!? you nasty pervert cum inside something so dirty, especially when I have such nice tight clean shaven pussy!"
Now I was facing her ass, while I was fucking & spanking. Which had her burying her face into the pillow biting it, while gripping the sheets. Making it easy for her to muffle her moans, as I was thrusting into her ass feeling her warm tight rectum welcoming me in. Gripping my dick as if it didn't want me to leave it empty when I pulled out.
ME : "Yeah, that's what I thought what happened to the dirty overly smug slut? That was talking all big? Look at you! You are nothing more than anal bitch with the fattest ass I have see on idol..... it's do annoying why you have to act like a stuck up princess?"
She supported herself on my dick, and used for turning around as she pulled me into her. With Yooyeon having a serious facial expression, she looked directly into my eyes and spoke to me in a serious direct no bs tone.
YOOYEON : " Because you are mine! This dick is mine!!! You understand me??? You are nothing but mine!!! I can & will do anything I want to do to you..."
As she moved her mouth next to my ear, and whispered in a heavy deep tone.
YOOYEON : " And you are going to love it!!! Love every single touch, every breath that you feel on your body, every drop of my saliva that hits you!!!"
She paused to give one long lick to my cheek, and went back to my ear with the same tone; But this time it had a hint of happiness.
YOOYEON : " Because there's nothing you can do about it!!!"
Followed by her pushing me off, having me laying on my back; Next to her as she straddle me while slowly taking in my dick into her ass, causing her to fill up the room a dragged out moan that ended with a whimper. As she hanged her head while she was out breath; she gather her strength up and started to slam her hips down. To tease me more, she leaned back, opening her legs wide giving me a clear view of her pussy & asshole that was getting stretched out.
YOOYEON : "So go ahead and cum in this nasty dirty hole! Because that's all you can do!! You don't get this tight smooth pussy!!!"
As she reached down eagle spreading her pussy lips, making her throbbing clit pop out. With that I had enough, so in hopes of trying to take some control; I reached down getting two strong handfuls of her ass, and started to thrust upwards as I used my hold on her ass; To help her slam her ass down even harder while I picked up the pace of my thrusting. Which made the room get filled with the sound of sweaty, wet, gaping asshole being filled combine with Yooyeon's moaning. As she finally broke again, had her upper lean into me with her mouth next to my ear; While she kept slamming her ass down with my help, and trying to talk through her moans.
YOOYEON : "Oh!...my god...this dick...is amazing...I'm about... to cum... from getting...my ass fucked...this dick...is making me addicted... I don't want ... to leave... forget being... an ...idol... I wanna.... be yours...I'm sorry... I'm a slutty woman!!!"
It didn't take long before I filled her ass with my cum, which made her squirt all over me; As she collapse into me tired, sleepy, and out breath she softly whisper in my ear.
YOOYEON : "I love you!!! Please don't leave me for being a busy slutty woman"
"Mmmmh uhhh" Leeseo whimpered, then bit her lip and looked down feeling embarrassed. There was no reason she should feel embarrassed, she was only human. Anyone would feel good having their breasts caressed and kneaded softly. Cassie still couldn't believe she managed to convince her sister Leeseo to do this. To let her finally feel her firm tantalizing tits.
Cassie was only 2 and a half years older than her 19 year old sister Leeseo. And ever since Leeseo had come into her adult physique, she had found herself admiring her curves on multiple occasions. Especially her large ripe breasts. She truly loved her sister and cared for her but gosh she couldn't help coveting the woman she had become. Eventually she couldn't keep her feelings hidden. Every hug became a little too long and tight. Every kiss on her face, a bit too close to her soft plump mouth. And one day as Cassie was scrolling online, she came across the perfect opportunity.
The post and the comments were all about how their moms would feel their breasts occasionally to check for lumps that could affect their health. Cassie hadn't been familiar with this practice. Her mom never tried checking her or Leeseo. But maybe she could try convincing Leeseo about it, only for her health and wellbeing of course...
That night Cassie was watching a movie in her room. Leeseo announced her way in as she opened the door.
"Whatchu doing.. Ooh snacks" she made her way to Cassie's bed and made herself comfortable. Then she began snacking on her crisps. "What's this movie called"
"I don't remember. It just started though. Lay off my food" Cassie took the bag of crisps away from Leeseo and the younger sister pouted. "Aww little Leeseo is upset, whatever shall we do" Cassie mocked.
"Oh shut up"
Cassie smiled and handed it back to her. "Just don't finish it for me"
Leeseo stayed to watch with her sister and eventually leaned comfortably against her. Cassie had one arm over her with her hand resting on her hair. The two sisters often sat comfortably like this when they hung out together.
Cassie thought about bringing up what she saw earlier after the movie but eventually she backed out. She thought it was such a huge risk.
Leeseo yawned as the ending credits lined the screen. "I'm gonna go to bed now, I have classes tomorrow." Leeseo looked at her sister "Don't you?" they were three years apart in their college years. Leeseo being a freshman and Cassie a junior.
"Yea I have two"
"Goodnight then" Leeseo hugged her sister, who held her really tightly again. She could even feel Cassie's firm breasts pressing against hers. Leeseo never knew what to make of this but she liked the sensations it invoked in her. She hugged her back tightly. She then kissed Cassie on the cheek, and her sister kissed her on hers, then gave her yet another one closer to her mouth then on her nose. Cassie had such a strange way of doting on her, Leeseo thought.
Then Leeseo made her way to her room, feeling slightly turned on after that goodnight ritual.
The following day Leeseo came to hang out in her room, and this time she did not back out. As the film drawled on in the background, Cassie brought up the topic, trying her best to sound sincere, and like she was only concerned about her well being.
"I don't know, it seems a little.."
"Don't overthink it"
"But, what if we get caught"
"We won't. I mean, we're not doing anything wrong anyway. Right?"
"I guess"
Leeseo was still unsure, but Cassie knew it was because they hadn't crossed that boundary yet. Once they did, there would be no more complaints. So she went through the motions before they both could change their minds. As they sat facing each other, she pulled Leeseo's top over her head and she let her. It probably looked suspicious that she had suddenly stopped and was just staring but gosh she couldn't help it. Her younger sister's big round tits were finally completely bare for her eyes to feast on. She drunk in the sight of them. Then she let her hands grip them. There was no pattern in what she was doing. She was too overwhelmed by lust and excitement at the fact she was actually doing this. She kneaded and gripped them firmly in her arms then lifted and shook them. Hearing an unexpected sound from Leeseo awakened her from her daze. She looked at her big tittied sister who just whimpered, then looked down embarrassed. Cassie thought she looked so sexy right now. She kissed her sister on the cheek and reassured her.
"Will you feel a bit better if I take off my top too?"
Leeseo nodded and Cassie pulled her sleeveless pajama top over her head. Then she held her close and kissed her cheek again "Is that better?"
Leeseo's thoughts were a jumbled mess as her sister now held her around the waist and kissed her face, after groping her sensitive breasts so sensually to the point she felt her clit throb painfully begging for attention. What were they even doing at this point. She certainly didn't believe her sister's claims of "looking out for her health and well-being" anymore after all that, starting from the moment she stared lewdly at her chest after she took off her top. Cassie had been acting off weeks before today and now Leeseo knew why. Her sister wanted her. And as Cassie kept kissing her face, holding her so close their breasts brushed against each other that was all she could think about.
Leeseo turned her head and the next kiss landed on her mouth. Before long the girls were kissing. Leeseo opened her mouth and their tongues collided in a lewd dance. Cassie held her tighter so their bodies were pressed flush against each other. They continued to kiss until Cassie breathlessly broke it.
"I didn't know you were such a liar Cassie."
"I never lie to you, except this one time. Are you mad at me" she kissed her neck.
"Mmmh a little."
Cassie snuck her hand under Leeseo's shorts. "You're so wet though. You want me don't you"
Leeseo didn't answer, instead she looked down at her sister's eager hand disappearing down her shorts.
She gasped as Cassie's fingers came in contact with her wet intimate parts. She probed her entrance until a finger slipped into her. Leeseo felt confused, slightly embarrassed and incredibly turned on as her sister slipped her finger in and out of her pussy. Soon a second finger slipped inside. And her mind buzzed as she heard Cassie's voice say the most inappropriate things to her. That soothing voice that reassured her whenever she needed it, now expressed how her body had made her think sinful things about her.
Their mouths joined again and the girls kissed as their breasts teased each other, sliding and pressing against one another, and the slippery incestual assault continued in Leeseo's pussy. The younger sister whimpered and thrust her hips into the contact, her arms wrapped around her assailant.
“Oh Cassie that feels so good mmmmh”
Cassie felt Leeseo's walls grip her and she continued a steady rhythm finger fucking her. "That's it, keep going, good" Cassie encouraged.
Leeseo felt her orgasm rock her and her hips bucked and moved in odd movements. She even attempted to withdraw but Cassie held her and made sure she savored every last bit of her orgasm.
She held her as she slowly calmed down from her high, caressing her back and then slowly sliding her shorts down her body. Leeseo let Cassie lay her down and tug her shorts down.
Cassie then removed her own constraints and moved her laptop off her bed. Soon she was laying on top of Leeseo kissing her. Leeseo held the sheets behind her head as her older sister ground her wet pussy against hers. She still felt sensitive from her last orgasm. And it amplified the sensations all over her flush pussy and she moaned loudly as her sister fucked her. Cassie took the lewd sounds coming from Leeseo as encouragement and didn't hold back. She sat upright to feel her better and held the bed post above them, thrusting her cunt almost aggressively against her younger sister's wet throbbing one. The forceful contact caused Leeseo’s tits to jiggle and bounce back and forth. Cassie stared at her sister's active tits, the sight turning her on even more.
"How long have you wanted this mmmh you pervert" Leeseo drawled as she whimpered.
"I've always wanted your sexy little ass.. Fuck"
Her quick hard thrusts and grip on the headboard made the bed creak rhythmically. Paired with Leeseo's loud moaning she began to wonder if their parents might hear them. But it was only a fleeting thought, as her pleasure was too heightened to care. She continued to thrust against her sister even as she felt her orgasm looming. Sharp stabs of pleasure assaulted her clit in waves as she came against her sister's swollen pussy. As her orgasm began to subside she looked down at her beautiful little sister. Her hair messy and wavy around the bed. She lowered herself and kissed her softly. They kissed passionately, and Cassie then slowly nudged Leeseo on top. She let her sister do whatever she needed to do to get her second climax, even as she grimaced slightly from how sensitive her pussy now was. Leeseo felt a little awkward being on top but continued to chase her pleasure. She gradually felt more comfortable, grinding firmly against Cassie who praised her.
"Good girl... You look so sexy"
Cassie stared, already beginning to throb with need once again, at Leeseo writhing above her. Her heavy tits swaying softly back and forth. She thought she might combust with another orgasm as she watched Leeseo begin to fondle and tease her own breasts. She ogled as Leeseo teased her own erect nipples, rotating them with her index fingers and twisting them softly. Cassie thrust back more vehemently and Leeseo began to cum. Her whole body shook and she threw her head back and forth.
"OH fuck Cassieee mmmmh" Leeseo continued to moan until the pleasure subsided.
She collapsed on top of her. Cassie pulled her duvet on top of them and caressed her sister's back. "Are you tired?"
"Mmh" Leeseo hummed in affirmation. Cassie bit her lip, she probably wouldn't be able to coax another fucking out of her. Her clit throbbed and she teased it against Leeseo's thigh as she held her.
"Go to sleep" she smoothed Leeseo's hair and lulled her even as she continued to tease herself against her towards another orgasm. She held the drowsy girl tight in her arms as she came against her leg. Then they both fell asleep, disregarding how their position looked lest someone walked in.
Summary: A hungry college girl and a young cook bond over late-night meals.
Special thanks to @kwilquib, as without him, I never would have known how much this girl could eat.
“Let’s get some skewers!” said Ahyeon. There was a festival in town, and she could smell the different food stalls all the way from the other side of town. She remembered reading about the evening on the posters outside the college building: a simple street food fair with some other shops.
“You girls hungry?” asked one of her friends, turning to the other girls.
“Yeah,” “sure,” they said, and so to the town center they went.
The festival was already alive by the time they arrived. With the streets full of people, they could already hear the chatter of the crowd from far away. The golden light coming from the stands softened the chilly night air, and everything felt warm and cozy: autumn had arrived.
There were all kinds of stalls: teokkbokki, skewers, noodles, and even a corner dedicated to desserts. However, that part was a bit further away from the others because they needed to keep a lower temperature for their food.
You worked at one of those stalls. Your skewer stand wasn’t the biggest nor the brightest, but it stood proud amongst the others. The smoke and the scent of the charcoal did all the work. You were one of the only few guys with an actual grill, and everyone could smell it.
Each time the fat from the chicken and the pork dripped into the charcoal, the fire crackled, and that sweet-salty perfume of soy and garlic would rise in the crowd. It was cheap and quick, a perfect treat for the people who were just coming by and didn’t want to get anything too heavy. You could just get a couple and eat them as you were walking around.
You had handed out tray after tray all day—students, couples, elders, kids tugging at their parents for “just one more.” You were having a great time: those satisfied smiles, the little pauses before a second bite, you loved seeing people enjoy your food.
You lifted your gaze from the grill and saw another small group of girls near your stand. They were examining the menu glued to the edge of the iron pillars. One of the girls stood out as the others were laughing and teasing her for eyeing the menu too long.
“Don’t eat the whole stall this time!” one of them joked.
“Better watch out, she’ll order for three!” another added, nudging her shoulder.
She laughed nervously, slouching her shoulders. You noticed the way her gaze flicked towards the grill, lingering at the glossy skewers before darting away. She was hungry, you could tell. But she was trying to resist it.
Just moments later, the girls came to sit on the stools you’d arranged around your big wooden counter.
“Welcome, girls, what can I get you?” you asked brightly, brushing a glaze over the skewers as the grill crackled.
“What would you recommend?” one of them asked, leaning forward.
“Probably the pork skewers,” you said, turning one over and clicking your tongs. The scent of the marinade rose into the air. “We’ve also got squid and chicken, if you’re into that.”
“That sounds good,” the quiet girl replied.
You moved to the grease-covered cash register, and the girls followed you. They all placed their orders, asking for one of everything so they could try the different flavors. But the last one hesitated and mumbled something under her breath: “Just… one skewer, please. Pork is fine.”
You nodded, but you were feeling a bit doubtful about her. It didn’t match the hunger in her eyes.
“Okay, something to drink, girls? Beer? It goes well together with the grease.”
“Yeah, why not?”
You closed the order and went to the grill, flipping a couple around just for show and getting the boxes out. Some pork, some squid, and some chicken. You just picked up a bunch and shoved it in the boxes; you weren’t the type to hold back. Some of them were thinner and some were thicker, so you couldn’t really decide on a specific number. They needed to get their money's worth.
You brought out the boxes and put them on the table. They immediately started eating, but the other girl stared at you with surprise.
“Excuse me, I ordered just one…” she started, but you quickly interrupted her.
“Don’t worry, it’s on the house,” you said and gave her a wink.
She blinked, glancing at the skewers. “Oh… thank you, then.” Her fingers fumbled around the tray, a little embarrassed, but she eventually picked one up and started eating as well.
Her friends leaned in, nudging her. “Hey, don’t eat too much now.”
She laughed nervously, trying to hide her blush. “I—I won’t…”
You shrugged casually. “There’s nothing wrong with eating a lot. Enjoying food is the whole point, isn’t it?”
Her friends rolled their eyes. “Sure, that’s what you say—because she’s buying everything you make!”
You shook your head. “She is eating as much as you girls, so shut it.”
The girls laughed in amusement and went back to their food. She peeked up at you, her cheeks still pink, and mumbled a soft “Thanks…”
You went back to the grill, glancing sideways at her as she chewed. Some other customers were waiting in line, and you served them all. Luckily for you, the fair was pretty packed, and you were in a good position.
After a while, you went back to their side.
“So, you girls in college?” you asked.
“Yeah,” one of them said, brushing hair from her face. “The one near the station.”
“Oh, same as me,” you said, leaning an elbow against the counter. “I go there too.”
That got a few surprised looks. “Wait, seriously? You’re a student and you work here?”
“Yeah,” you said with a small shrug. “After classes, I help out at the family shop. We’ve got a place across the city, near the mall.” You pointed in its direction. “You can drop by if you’re ever hungry.”
“Is it the same as the stand?”
“No, we make a lot of different stuff. Skewers, noodles, rice—whatever keeps people coming back,” you said, and it got a few small laughs.
Her friends paid and thanked you, all smiles and chatter as they left. But she turned back for a moment before following, a soft “Thanks, it was really good” slipping out almost too quietly to hear.
Ahyeon, that was her name. You caught it from her friends. You saw a lot of pretty girls that day, but somehow you remembered her quite well.
-
It had been a few days since the festival ended. It was a success, and you earned a lot. The work did not end, though. You were back in your family restaurant. The lanterns were gone now, replaced by the cool hum of streetlights. The crowd had thinned to the usual evening flow. Sometimes it was scarce, sometimes it was really busy.
You were preparing for the evening service. The grill was already on and running, skewers on the side, and sauces in containers. On the other side, you had all the ingredients for the wok. You knew your typical customers. The workers always came at the same time, and they needed their food quickly. You agreed to a special discount. They were loyal after all.
The restaurant filled up with the men, and after a couple of beers, it became lively and fun.
You spotted a girl at the front door. You had young people coming in, too, but they usually weren’t alone. She paused at the entrance, checking her phone to pretend like she had something to do. After the hesitation, she stepped inside.
“Hey,” you said, keeping your tone light. “From the festival, right?”
She tilted her head, a little startled, then she smiled. “Yeah… you remember me?”
You looked at her, wrapped in a light cardigan, hair slightly messy from the breeze. She was still as pretty as you remembered.
“Yeah, I never had anyone order just one skewer.”
Her cheeks flushed. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s not a problem. You just looked hungrier than what you ordered,” you said, turning the meat on the grill. “Dinner for one?”
She exhaled through a laugh. “Yeah. I didn’t feel like cooking tonight.”
“Every once in a while, a princess has to treat herself.”
She laughed again. Ahyeon sat on one of the stools at the tables in front of you. Her backpack slipped off her shoulders as she made herself comfortable.
“So, what will it be?” you asked.
She looked at the menu again, though you could tell she already knew what she wanted. “Hmm… two pork boxes, one chicken, and—” she glanced up, “is the squid still available?”
“Still got a few left,” you said. “You sure about three orders though?”
“Yeah,” she said quickly, then seemed to realize how that sounded. “I mean—uh—yeah, it’s been a long day.”
You chuckled and went back to prepare her food. The grill hissed as you set the skewers down. She sat quietly, scrolling through her phone, probably pretending not to notice you watching her. Eventually, the food was ready. You put everything on the table, bowed, and went to serve other customers.
When you came back, she seemed to have almost finished everything. The thing was that only 10 minutes had passed.
“You’re eating well tonight,” you said.
Ahyeon froze mid-reach for her drink, caught off guard. “Is that your polite way of saying I eat too much?”
“Not at all,” you said. “You seem happy.”
Her shoulders relaxed a little. “Yeah… you could say that.” She laughed awkwardly. “My friends always make fun of me for it. They say it’s not… very girly.”
“So starving is really girly, right?”
She looked down, poking at her food. “I mean… when you say it like that.”
You clicked your tongs. “It’d be worse if you were sick and couldn’t eat.”
“Well, you’re right.”
For a moment, neither of you said anything. You could only hear the quiet hiss of the grill and the distant chatter of the street. You cleared your throat, calling her attention. She looked up.
“Uhm… you still hungry?” you asked.
“A little.”
“Good,” you said, sliding another skewer onto the grill. “Because I was about to give you something extra.”
She blinked. “Extra?”
“Yeah,” you said, reaching for a new tray. “Trying out a new seasoning. Want to see if it’s any good.”
She tilted her head. “You want me to taste-test it?”
You nodded. “Someone’s gotta make sure I’m not poisoning customers.”
She tilted her head, clearly suspicious. “You mean I’m your guinea pig?”
“Pretty much,” you said. “But don’t worry—it’s free.”
“I accept.”
When the skewer was done, you set it in front of her, the glaze still glistening under the light. She didn’t hesitate. She took a bite, then another. She seemed to think carefully.
“It’s good,” she said finally. “The sauce is sweet but not too heavy.”
You nodded. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You could maybe use a little more ginger, but…” she took another bite, “I like it.”
“Too salty?” you asked, feigning concern.
“No, it’s perfect. What’s in it?”
You shrugged lightly, pretending to think. “Guess.”
She narrowed her eyes playfully. “Soy sauce, obviously. Maybe sugar? Some sesame oil… garlic, definitely garlic.”
You stayed quiet, hiding a grin as you wiped the counter.
She squinted at the menu taped to the stall window, reading under her breath. “Wait a second—this one already has sesame oil and garlic listed…”
You turned the skewer once more, trying not to laugh.
Her eyes widened slightly, then she pointed at you with her chopsticks. “So you weren’t really testing the seasoning, were you?”
You looked up at her finally, caught. “Maybe not.”
She leaned back, a small smile creeping across her face. “You just wanted me to eat more.”
You gave a half-shrug. “Is that bad? Your expressions are really cute.”
That shut her up for a bit. Her cheeks turned faintly pink, and she ducked her head to take another bite — maybe to hide her face, maybe just because she was genuinely hungry.
“No,” she said. “Not really.”
When she finished eating, she wiped her hands and leaned on the counter. “You work here every day?”
“Yeah,” you said
“Must be nice,” she said. “Doing what you like every day.”
“It’s mostly just standing around smelling like smoke, but yeah, it’s not bad.”
She smiled, fiddling with the empty skewer sticks. “Well, your food’s good. Way better than anything I’ve had around campus.”
“Glad to hear that,” you said. You knew the evening was about to come to an end. And truth was, you wanted to see her again, so you took a deep breath and tried your luck: “I try new stuff sometimes, mess around with the recipes. If you ever feel like testing them, you’re welcome to drop by. I’ll pay you in food.”
She raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “Free food, huh?”
“Only if you give honest feedback.”
“Deal,” she said, grinning. She extended her arm and shook your hand. “I’m good at eating.”
“I noticed,” you said.
She rolled her eyes, but she didn’t seem annoyed by your comment.
“By the way, what’s your name?”
“Ahyeon,” she said as you gave yours in return.
“I’ll remember it,” you replied.
“It’s gotten late, I should go,” Ahyeon said as she stood up.
You nodded. She collected her stuff and paid for the skewers she had ordered at the start. Before she could step out of the door, you stopped her for a moment.
“My offer is still up, if you want,” you said with hesitation. You rolled your lips, thinking that maybe you had been too pushy.
“I’ll be back,” she smiled, and relief washed over you.
When she finally left, so did everyone else, and the restaurant went silent. You cleaned the counter, turned down the grill, and caught yourself looking down the street where she’d gone — just for a second, before shaking your head and going back to work.
You didn’t know if she’d actually come back, but you kind of hoped she would.
After that first night, she started showing up every now and then. At first, it was once a week, usually when her classes ended late, or when she was up studying and the dorm cafeteria had already closed. She always came up with the same excuse.
“Just passing by.”
“Had to walk off a long lecture.”
“Too hungry to wait until dinner.”
She always sat at the same spot, where she would be close enough to the grill to feel its heat. That way, she could talk to you while you were working. You suggested another table, but then you’d have to walk back and forth, so she refused. She didn’t mind smelling like grease, apparently.
Sometimes she’d text first, but most of the time she’d show up unannounced, claiming she happened to be nearby.
By the third or fourth week, she knew your menu by heart. You stopped handing her the paper list. She’d just order from memory, adding, “and whatever you’re testing today.”
Ahyeon didn’t come just for the food. She came for you. You’d work the grill while she chatted about life: her professors, her roommates, the stress of the midterms, and so on. In between, you’d slide her something new to try: spicy sauce one night, honey glaze the next, and when you didn’t think of anything, just some food you had lying around, like a bowl of fried rice.
She took it pretty seriously.
“Needs more crunch.”
“Too salty.”
“Perfect. Don’t change a thing.”
Maybe she was meant to be a food critic. You pretended to jot down what she said, but you never had any intention of serving that food.
Sometimes she had her own requests too. It was after a very big meal that she leaned back in her chair and raised a finger at you. “You got dessert?”
“Dessert?”
“Yeah,” she said. “You know, sweet stuff? Something that isn’t meat?”
“No,” you said lightly. “Don’t have it.”
Her eyes widened. She was shocked, and quite frankly, offended. “What do you mean no? You’re a restaurant.”
“We only serve salty foods.”
“Unbelievable. You feed me this amazing dinner and then just… stop?”
You smiled. “Yeah, that’s how meals work. Our customers usually wash the meal down with more booze. You want some?”
“No, no,” she said, crossing her arms. “I want something sweet.”
You leaned on the counter. “What do you want me to do, go buy you a chocolate bar?”
She thought about it. “Actually, yeah. That’d work.”
“I am not doing that.”
“I am waiting,” she said, holding out her hand.
You sighed, shaking your head as you turned to the fridge behind you. “Let me see if I have something sweet for our child here.” Of course, there wasn’t anything. So you walked to the back of the kitchen, seeing if there was anything that could resemble a dessert. A moment later, you returned with a small plastic cup of pudding that had been sitting there since lunch service.
She squinted at it. “Is that… cafeteria pudding?”
“Yeah, didn’t want it,” you said. “It’s dessert, right?”
Ahyeon shook her head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Eat it or I’m putting it back in the fridge.”
“Fine,” she said, taking the spoon from your hand. You went to the other side of the room to tidy up after some customers left. When you were done and came back, Ahyeon was staring at you.
“You got another one?”
“I thought you didn’t like it,” you chuckled.
“So?”
“Yeah, I do, actually,” you said and walked to the back again.
-
Dinner rush.
The restaurant was loud: the clatter of chopsticks, the hiss of the grill, the music, the drunks, and the families. You were behind the counter, working through a steady line of orders.
You were backed by your team, but it was still extremely hectic.
Then, through the noise, you caught a voice you recognized.
Ahyeon’s.
She was laughing somewhere near the door, but her voice was quickly joined by a couple more familiar ones. You glanced up briefly and saw them stop by the door. You didn’t call out. She didn’t see you yet.
“See?” one of the girls said. “I told you she can’t go a day without food.”
Both of them laughed. You smiled faintly at first, expecting Ahyeon to laugh it off like always, but then another voice joined in: “Of course she can’t. She’s got her own personal chef now.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ahyeon asked. There was a strain on her voice; she seemed uncomfortable.
“Oh, come on,” her friend said playfully. “You’re always here. Don’t act like you’re not getting special treatment. They probably gives you extra food for free, right?”
Her words seemed to hit the bullseye on Ahyeon. She quickly lowered her head and started playing with the hem of her shirt. You were in the middle of handing a tray to a customer, so you couldn’t step out. Couldn’t correct them.
“You’re such a glutton, Ahyeon.”
“Stop it,” she said, her voice small. “It’s not like that.”
“Relax, we’re joking!” another friend said quickly, trying to reduce the damage. But it had gone too far. It wasn’t the first time, and it certainly wasn’t the last. You wonder how many times they repeated this to her. Ahyeon seemed used to it, but it still hurt her a little bit.
Orders kept coming in, customers calling your name. You caught her looking up once, eyes flicking briefly toward you — but you didn’t know whether to smile or pretend you hadn’t heard.
Your eyes met, and she quietly left.
It was just teasing.
Harmless.
The kind of thing friends say all the time.
That’s what you told yourself, but she stopped showing up.
You told yourself she was busy — exams, assignments, anything — but you knew it wasn’t that. You missed her, you really did. The gap she left was too obvious. You’d glance toward the door every time it opened, expecting her to walk in, pretending you weren’t.
By the fourth night, you stopped looking.
But you still found yourself setting aside a small dish near the counter before closing — out of habit more than hope.
It took a few days before you stopped expecting her to walk through the restaurant door. Then, another couple of days before you gave up pretending not to notice.
By the end of the week, it was starting to worry you.
So one afternoon, between deliveries, you packed a small take-out box yourself. Pork skewers, her favorite glaze, and a side of rice. You even added a little box of soup, which you usually handed her during the cold nights. Then you looked up her university’s website to guess where she might be.
No lessons today. Great. So she couldn’t be in a class.
What about the exams? She said they were coming up in like a month, but that was two weeks ago, so maybe she was studying?
There were some libraries near the main buildings. You thought you might as well try your luck. You didn’t have anything else to do anyway. The restaurant wasn’t far. Ten minutes on foot.
The campus was quieter than you expected. There weren’t many people around. You started walking around, looking inside the halls, around the garden. You even asked the girls walking by, but none of them knew who you were talking about.
Made sense. It was a large course after all.
After a couple of minutes, you did eventually find her. She was sitting on the low stone wall outside the library, earbuds in, a half-open notebook on her lap. Her hair was pulled back loosely, she looked very concentrated, her eyes wrinkled like she had forgotten her glasses.
You hesitated for a moment. Maybe this was stupid. Maybe she did not want to see you at all.
But you were already here.
“Hey.”
She looked up and her body jumped. She looked around her to see if it was some kind of joke, but it was just you. Ahyeon quickly brushed her hair behind her ears and straightened her back. “Oh. Hey. What are you doing here?” she said without looking into your eyes.
You held out the take-out box. “Food delivery.”
Ahyeon narrowed her eyes. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” You set it down beside her. “House special.”
Her eyes softened, and she sighed. She didn’t reach for it right away; instead, she looked at you, mortified. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Yeah, I did.” You crouched beside the wall so you were eye level. “You disappeared. I figured either you were avoiding me or you got sick of my cooking. And since the second one’s obviously impossible…”
Ahyeon chuckled and shoved your shoulder. It was the first time you heard her laugh in a week. She had no idea how much you missed it.
You nudged the box toward her. “Eat before it gets cold.”
She finally took it, opening the lid. Steam rose in a faint curl, carrying a smell that she knew very well. She looked at the food for a second, then at you, with a small pout. “You know people will start talking about you if you do deliver food to random girls.”
“Not random. Just you,” you said, smiling. “Besides, I wanted to tell you something.”
She paused, chopsticks hovering over the food. “What?”
You looked at the box, then at her. For a second, you almost chickened out. It wasn’t the right time, or the right place. But you were tired of waiting.
You took a breath and said, “I don’t care what anyone says. About how much you eat, or how often you come by, or whether you ‘use me for food’ or whatever that was. None of that matters to me.”
Ahyeon froze and simply stared at you with her mouth slightly agape.
“I love seeing you enjoy food,” you said simply. “It makes me happy that you like what I make. And I like talking with you. You’re… easy to be around.”
Her voice softened. “You mean that?”
“Yeah,” you said. “And it’s cute, honestly. The way you eat a lot. It’s like Kirby.”
Her eyes widened. “Kirby? You’re comparing me to a pink ball that swallows everything?”
You rubbed your neck, groaning. “Okay, that came out wrong.”
You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck, suddenly aware of how awkward you sounded. “If you don’t want to come by just to eat, that’s fine. I just wanted you to know I care. About you.”
She still didn’t say anything. She looked down at the food, then picked up a piece and took a slow bite.
Your heart was beating steadily while you waited for a response. She chewed carefully with her eyes closed. She inhaled carefully and looked at you.
“You really walked all the way here just to say that?” she asked.
“Yeah. Well, and to feed you,” you said.
Ahyeon laughed. “Well, if you keep feeding me like this, I might get addicted… to you.”
“That’s uhh—uhm,” you said, stammering. You didn’t expect her response at all. You swallowed and reminded yourself that you did know how to talk to girls. “I’ve heard addiction’s hard to cure.”
Ahyeon grinned. “You really need to work on your lines.”
“As long as you don’t mind them,” you said. “That’s all I need.”
You sat down beside her and talked about all the things you missed. When the food was gone, neither of you got up right away.
“So,” she said finally. “If I show up tomorrow… same spot as usual?”
You nodded. “I’ll make something new.”
She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Can’t wait.”
or:
ELEGIES to forget all these metaphors for fucking
read on fanprose (better dividers)
7k words
sohyun x male reader
Your coffee, she says. Sliding it to you.
Spat in?
Of course.
And it's flawless, because she makes it flawless - which is the true cruelty of it.
You reply: for the record, I poison the food, trace amounts, bioaccumulative. you'll go quietly in your sleep the week before you become partner, and i'll be left to grieve into your half of a security deposit
we are never seeing that deposit again because you put your fist through the drywall demonstrating a rear naked choke
You said you felt unsafe walking to the subway
I feel unsafe walking to the kitchen, thank you very much. She turns a page she was reading - now drink your spit.
Gladly
You'd had this apartment since you were both broke - instant-noodle broke, splitting one metrocard broke, the sort of broke that's almost fun in the rearview because you survived it by the skin of your teeth.
Now she bills more in an hour than the rent. You do something with capital you've stopped trying to explain at parties - rather, take a middle distance, talk about all the publishing companies you've sponsored. exclaim books aren't dead after all! [1]
[1] of course, the irony of it is that they are, kind of dead
The radiator finds a new place to leak everyday, the second bathroom is a closet on account of all the pipe failures - and you have to pass by her bedroom to go to the bathroom. You'll take your grim - as she says - 4-in-1 facial cleanser, moisturizer, toner, window cleaner beside her 70 products to - as she says, to look like a porcelain cup. Either of you could leave tomorrow. But you don't.
I'm making you a tinder profile you say, taking her phone off the counter, sliding in the code to her phone.
I don't need a profile
You need a life. Or, at minimum, an orgasm that isn't self-induced.
She scoffs at the answer, still focused on the book -
You read aloud what you type in: emotionally available between the hours of never and also never.
Keep going. I'm aroused.
Lawyer, with three working holes
She sets the book down - this is how you know you've drawn blood - give me the phone
Make me
You had reserved a restaurant for the two of you, this new restaurant that was supposed to be great according to 15 google reviews who probably were the owner's extended family - doing their due diligence to make sure that this specific child doesn't become the family disappointment.
As always, the food comes out less than satisfactory; all the dishes are doused in butter; and the salad section was the most calorically dense section of the menu. You whisper about how much better you can make each of these dishes back home - and she'll agree, for once:
You ruined restaurants for me. I used to enjoy being disappointed by the $20 millennial man-bun burger. Now there's a douchebag at home who makes a great burger.
my pleasure with a smile.
She's scrolling tinder, still scrolling ever since the morning. Look at this, look at what's available to me. This one opened with the word 'yes'.
Atleast he's confident about it.
Oh please... she sighs, and this one wanted to know - whether i would rather have one thumb for a tongue or a tongue on every finger.
What did you land on. I think the tongue on every finger -
Nothing! It's so impractical, i'd rather think about - i don't know, vigorously masturbating.
You choke on some food you were actively chewing on, and she giggles - of course she does - and this one spelled 'pussy' wrong, this one wrote 'wyd 2nite' and I just have to scoff - how lazy do you have to be. It is ONE keystroke. T-O.
She drops the phone facedown, Who raised these men. Who looked at a child and thought: i will release this, unfinished, into the apps.
You'd know more about raising them, if you'd dated more than one person since the Pleistocene.
Atleast I committed, you - you just find anybody to fuck around with. She points at you, still chewing the complimentary bread - there was that one with the lululemon workout gear, said that's her sexpertise - she mimics a gag - then the DJ. The other DJ. Then I think there was another fucking DJ. I just genuinely -
Respect the hustle, Sohyun.
Respect the hustle? Your dick has commitment issues.
You laugh, and she's laughing too, the helpless one she hates, hand over her mouth, a soft cackle, perfect, uneven teeth showing - and you pay before she can fight you about it.
There's a dress shop two blocks down, on the way back to your apartment - and there's a green dress of something very expensive, to which she slows just a tad for -
You: Try it.
No thanks. It's ten thousand dollars with a tag.
So is everything you own. And then, you can't help it, it's right there - you lower your voice into something oily, shriveled, all menace, Let your uncle get it for you.
Absolutely not, strike it from the record
Uncle's had a very good quarter sweetheart. You pat a pocket. Uncle wants to see you in the green one.
I will call the actual police, I will have you locked up in maximum security - but, that laugh, she can't help herself, laughing into her hand - ...does uncle want to come in - watch me try it?
And for once, neither of you has the line to pull back.
...That got away from us, you manage, like something's lodged in your throat
That got away from you. She says. Buy me the dress, uncle. I've earned it.
Of course. You buy it.
The weekend arrives with the both of you brushing in the same bathroom, the only usable bathroom. She gargles, lets the foam clear away before slotting a length of floss between her teeth - By the way, I've a date today
With a... functioning human being?
His name is Mark. He used a semicolon correctly, nearly proposed on the spot.
So he's unemployed
He's a structural engineer, building the finest bridges.
Man who builds bridges and stays punctual - sounds like you matched with linkedin premium.
He's nice. Two long relationships, both ending kindly. Tips like he's apologizing for capitalism.
...So a serial killer?
He's just nice, man. She moves to throw the length of loss away.
Nobody's just nice. 4 months later the neighbors will find the crawlspace. You amble a comb through your hair. and then, I'll say I told you so.
She presses an index finger into your gut and you reflexively jolt - save this barking for later, uncle.
You move into the living room, waiting for Sohyun to get ready. You didn't get to see her in a green dress yet -
Uncle, I'm ready. She says, behind the door.
This uncle bit is getting old, Sohy - She comes out, the green dress skims her curves, the v-neck that presses her cleavage together, gleaming hair, glowing skin, plump lips -
Eyes up here mister.
Right. Get a hold of yourself - yeah, it looks great. Like, I don't know, it's like an accidentally sexy librarian.
Your eyes are fixed to my cleavage, I'm not even sure if you got the full view.
You did, you definitely did. This is, without a doubt, the hottest woman you've ever seen.
Now, help me zip up this thing.
There's the long bare reach of her back, you drag it up slowly, the zipper is small and your hands are big and you don't want to waste a moment of counting all the moles on her back.
I'm sorry but there won't be a person left in this city who hasn't looked down the front of that dress you say, pulling the zipper by parts.
Here I was, hoping the one exception was you.
Afraid not. You move some hairs away from her nape to get the zipper fully closed.
And she turns again, the dress comes out even more pressed to her curves, and that v-neck, god almighty. She steps into the heels -
I'm picturing it, you - a human - and this... linkedin premium.
God please no
I'm picturing it - two barbie dolls in the dark, knocking smooth plastic parts together. You say, vulgarity be damned.
Please stop talking - a familiar twitch to her mouth, god what you would do to continue living with her.
He won't get anywhere regardless, you add, holding out her coat unasked. Ten years with one man, a year of nothing since: there are cobwebs in there.
You know what's charming about the women you date? she says, taking the coat. How they all vanish after exactly one dinner. Like you're running a very tidy little murder operation
You know what's charming about the men you date? They don't exist. Mark is the first confirmed sighting. That's a million dollar sighting. Rarer than bigfoot.
Mark exists.
We'll see if he survives contact. Go easy on him, castrator
Don't need to go easy, dahmer. He's structurally sound. She slings a bag over her shoulder. Dont wait up.
You wait up, badly: lights off, a finance newsletter open on your phone that you're not reading, slouching on the couch like a man who is definitely not watching the door, ambling away the scalding minutes.
The lock turns at around eight PM. She comes in on the green dress and a drunk smile -
So, you say
So. She drops her shoes
How was Marco
Mark - she says, with emphasis - was wonderful.
And something about it feels wrong. Like swallowing something that's whole, cratering its path through your esophagus. Wonderful how, be specific, treat it as a deposition.
He's funny, actually funny, she pads into the kitchen, where you've already moved, filling two glasses of wine - we didn't stop talking. Three whole hours of talking, they flipped the chairs onto the tables around us.
Insufferable
There's a second date, a sip from the wine, a gentle smile on her. You wouldn't know the feeling.
Conversation's never been my deliverable.
No. I've seen your deliverable. It leaves before the coffee and changes its phone number
It leaves satisfied, you gesture, A courtesy Mark may never trouble you with
She hops up onto the counter, legs swinging in a gentle rhythm. And that dress - your dress, your genuinely terrible idea - pressed high to her thigh, all pretense of hem gone, riding clean all the way to the upper -
You'd buy it anyway. You'd buy it on leverage you don't have -
Oh please, monk of the orgasm temple. She scoffs. "Satisfied." Then tips her head, lowers the lashes, entering this little play that she imagines your women sing: I see you across the bar and - gosh (this emphasis on the trashiest possible gosh) - you really want me to put my tongue there!? I've never done that before. Sweet as a song. Does that play? On the book-illiterate?
Devastatingly so, you say. You should audition to be one of these... book-illiterates. I'm always casting.
No thanks. I've got a second date to look forward to.
Do you even get to the regular stuff, you ask, or do you have to bury the body first?
Now - she aims the empty glass at your sternum - you're trying to get me worked up.
You retrieve the glass, but up close she's all wine-warmth, hot perfume, the gentle trace of another man's cologne, and your body, traitorous as it is, gets worked up.
Oh my god. she says, looking down, radiant, with a ticking-time-bomb of a laugh - is that what I think it is?
Quickly, try to play it off - Don't flatter yourself, I was outside for a while and walked past alot of women - and she catches the lie like it's nothing, scoffing: You walked past, maybe, a leaking radiator.
The radiator's been forward lately. I haven't wanted to make it weird.
Should've seen it sooner, looks like we're arranging the date soon for the radiator fucker, she rules.
Oh, but I'm shy - an awful pitch to your voice.
And there's this soft silence, like nothing's wrong in the world - and Sohyun's grinning at you, wine marking her lips a tad darker, like you could just -
She tilts her head, openly appraising - I've always had a soft spot, she murmurs, for the small and the weak.
There's nothing small about me
You bring your dick up an awful lot. She slides off the counter and lands close. I wonder what that means.
It means you keep looking. I knew you would.
I wanted a visual, she says, It'll be giving me nightmares for weeks, thank you very much.
And then nothing's said. Kitchen too small, this green dress too close, the fact that you've got a hard-on to her and she... Fucking. Knows.
Goodnight, Dahmer she brushes past - because she has never once let you have the last move - and goes down the hall to her bedroom
And you're fine.
Completely fucking fine.
A month passes, Mark, the angel Sohyun's in love with has her busy on the weekends, letting her experience the city for what it's worth, letting her live a life she's missed out on for years.
He texts you on a Tuesday. Apparently I've been dating your roommate a month and never once bought her roommate a drink. Let me fix that - Friday? Sohyun's in, obviously.
You go to hate him - an agenda that Sohyun is already aware of. They're already there in the corner booth, two of them sitting next to eachother - and Mark rises to shake your hand. Tall and good-looking, how cliche - like he's never been escorted out of a holiday party by the shoulders.
You came. Mark says. Sohyun bet me twenty you'd bail.
I should have. I had a flawless evening of resenting you from across the city already booked. You slide in across from them.
So, you say. Bridges, tell me about the one that collapsed. The bodies, all the bodies.
None of mine have collapsed
That you know of.
He won an award, Sohyun interjected.
An award for a bridge that hasnt failed yet - committee's bold then. Waitress brings a beer, foam leaking at the top, and you take a sip - Personally, cantilevers - I say as a layman - overrated.
Overrated how. He gives a pleasant smile
The general load -
You don't know what a cantilever is.
I know it's a kind of bridge
It's mostly a kind of shelf. And he's kind about it, which is just unsufferable. You just came to find something wrong with me.
A felony. An ugly walk. An ugly way of chewing. Maybe you cheer for Arsenal. You reply, suavely.
Sorry to disappoint.
It's enraging. I keep waiting for you to mention the women in the well.
No well, he mock-sighs. HOA's strict.
It's the moment you tip - Has she told you what she actually does? She castrates men for a living. It's all framed back home.
And Sohyun - careful all night, porcelain-beautiful, hair curled to perfection - It's family law, castration for itemization. There's a huge difference.
Then she adds: Don't let him do the wounded act by the way. He's a "venture capitalist" and calls it a vocation.
I also keep a few dying publishers as pets, you tell Mark.
Sohyun, not missing a beat, There's a working theory. I won't bore you with the evidence but it has to do with organs.
There's no evidence. You point at her, then finally finishing the rest of the beer. It's all gone, mysteriously.
Mark interjects: They're not dying, though, the publishers. A little lost.
Oh, they're dying, you and Sohyun say, at the same time, in almost the same key - the both of you laugh.
That's the first time you feel him fall behind. He laughs too - but it's lagged, late.
You always look like you're one step off a knife fight, she tells you.
I'm delighted to be here, actually. Means I'm not off evicting some single mother from a shelter.
That was an accident.
Hmm.
There was a - Mark starts. - a shelter?
Long story, you and she say, in unison, and don't tell it.
He sits back a little.
You mention you came straight up from the office and she says she didn't realize they let people jaunt back and forth over the River Styx[2] like that, and you say there's a small toll, it's all very very very civilized, and Mark says the cross-town traffic this time of night is honestly murder -
[2] Sohyun's foul mouth comes up with a brilliant joke: that you are dead, but you still walk back and forth over the River Styx, which is the boundary from the living world and the underworld in greek mythology. Curse her!
and hears himself, and stops. Lays an arm along the booth behind her, losing the ability to time himself, and just watches. Like this girl was nothing like what he was looking at, something nearer to wonder, a man at the aquarium glass.
She laughs, turning mid-laugh to bring him in, asking isn't this funny, and finds him already looking at her, gone soft and far off, and the laugh snags in her throat.
Mark calls for the check - On me. Least I can do. For the floor show.
Laying -
drunk off my tits
the wine we spilt painting the ground
there's a barrier that jives around his warm face
And I notice then, you could
ruin my life
Chapter 2:
A day later,
You get home, you spot a bottle of something brown open, shining on the island. You're good at connecting dots. There were peonies scattered on the floor (Mark is the one to end things with flowers, pleasant as always).
And she's drunk enough to reach for the old shtick. So. Who's the lucky sixty-nine-year-old you've been ruining lately?
My aunt.
Your aunt's dead.
Which would explain why she's been so pleasantly quiet in bed.
She laughs, then she stares at the open window, ruminating:
I had someone. He left his contacts wilted on the bathroom counter, fossilized into half-globes. I'd come home and want to hear about his day - I mean I really wanted to, almost fetishistic, kiss what was left of the razor burn on his neck. He made the worst scrambled eggs. Rubbery, every morning, and I ate them every time. She turns around: ten years of rubber eggs.
What about you, she asks.
I had a woman. You take a sip of the brown she was drinking. She used to argue about the doneness of pancakes and then put her hands up my shirt and call the whole morning menial, and I'd ask: what purpose do we serve. The answer was always: I'm fine right here.
She sits, lets her head rest back against the cushion. Everyone wants somebody to understand their personality and their childhood and what each of those things has done to the other one. That's the scam of it. You show your pale underbelly, turn your ribs inside out, fashion your whole interiority for them and beg them closer, closer than that, even closer - and they get close enough, and then it's - they're already on the other side, and everything's over.
She picks up the bottle and sips. I feel like an alarm. Wailing. That's the humiliation of wanting. Capitalists fooled us into thinking wanting is shameless. Love takes you to shame two times over. 10 years. A scoff at the number.
You're not an alarm.
That's very funny. She stares past you, calculating the whole of you. A lawyer and a venture capitalist with Beckett on the shelf. He'd write us as two people in bins.
I once saw a pigeon on its back, she says. Alive but dying. It blinked at me, tire-smirched, blood-grizzled. I didn't do anything. I should've stepped on its brain. You know why that's sad? Pigeons know how to hurt but don't know how to sin. She drinks. I'm not sad about me. I get exactly what I deserve.
What do you deserve. You ask.
I don't know. Everything terrible. A man who makes bad eggs.
She's close enough now that you get the liquor and under it the her of her, the scalp, the skin, and you think of the skyscraper poem your ex wrote: how we overextend our necks staring at something enormous, like those mornings when someone's still asleep and their face is so calm and wantless and they're not even being a person yet and they're so perfect you want you want you want.
Do we ask the earth for permission? she says. Do we? There are little arachnids living on our eyelashes right now, clearing our pores and mating under the full moon, and their whole lives depend on us, and they never asked and we never asked - do, we, as arachnids, need permission from our earth?
No.
You press a hot hand to her stocking-clad thigh. She presses a flat hand to your chest, slips a whole hand in between the buttons of your shirt, spreads her fingers over the heartbeat.
Do you feel that, you say. Do you feel what you're doing to me.
You hold her hand there until the urge to kiss the fingertips wins - pen-worn hand, redness at the tips from gripping the legal pad all day, nails short and practical. You lift it, kiss one fingertip, and she makes a sound, this small mewl, and leans forward, mouth to your chest through the shirt, your neck, your jaw. You hold still. If you move you'll move wrong. You'll break whatever calculus she's built in her head to let this happen.
How am I supposed to not want you, you say.
What's the difference between you and other men. They're all horrible.
I'm horrible. But I'm here.
Don't be full of yourself. She pulls you in by the tie. You're preposterous
Her fingertips find a piece of twine protruding from a button and incise it. Your mouth on her shoulder. Her spine under your palm. The heft of her hair hooked left, more kisses, the tendon on her neck, the jaw, her mouth again, and she pulled you by the the tie, left and right, kissing whatever remained unkissed - a gesture so old, as old as the grandmother who named an ocean on her grandfather's wrist, who kissed each knuckle, who drew an island into his palm and told him which parts they would share and which they would leave alone - the open brown, the Francis Bacon print on the wall, and to think of her holding you down tugged up the wire of every species on this earth, not the electric inventions, something bigger, a fevered movement across the world, all the trees at once turning dewy -
nothing else matters at all.
stomach-churning pulses grinding through your intestines - and she's between your legs, pressing your legs apart, pulls off her dress shirt, her skirt, all that's remaining: nude bra and panties.
There's a soft unsteadiness in her, the alcohol, the need, the want all combining into this weak-knee'd unsteadiness - you hold her smallest fingers, steady her.
Did you jerk off thinking about me? she asks.
All the fucking time.
She smirks, sinking to her knees, hands bracketing the heat of your thighs. Her hands twist into your trousers.
I want to taste you, the weight of you on my tongue, the stretch. The heat of your cock.
She gently pulls down your trousers all the way, hands tracing the heat of your thighs - ignoring the obvious, the trapped heat.
She reaches up, still kneeling, finds the first button of your shirt, let's a hand go under to feel your warm abs as she unbuttons with one.
Did you do this with Mark, you say.
A smile on her - No, no I didn't. Are you glad?
You sigh with relief -
She grins, splays a hand on your chest, all the buttons off, the heartbeats -
do you feel it Sohyun - do you fucking feel it - you're driving me insane.
She takes a deep breath, breathing you in, the cologne melting off with your sweat, and you dot kisses on her scalp - that flowery shampoo, that smell that's hers, distinctively.
She's easing the lid open on you, finding the kinks in the armor. dotting kisses on your pecs, sitting up, still on her knees, pressing her fingers into soft spots and hard spots alike. She runs her palms down your thighs, closer to your cock, back up again.
You pull her hand into you, hand on her cheek, tilting her head up and pressing your lips onto hers, tonguing at her. Retaliation beckons: she palms your cock, rubs her palm over the heat, working the thin fabric for all it's worth.
She leans forward as she curls fingers over the band of your boxers, kissing the V of your waist, and she trails lower, closer to the heat. And you're pulsing, barely keeping it together and she lets your cock rest next to her neck -
it's so fucking hot
I know, please. you barely let out
please what?
stop fighting me, you're torturing me.
She presses a kiss on the first thick inch she sees:
You're granting me all this control - second inch, fingers curling on the base of your cock. kissing the inches, all the way - and the fingers - wrapped all the way around the thick of it.
it's hard to even close around it. And she's almost relieved.
It's hard to breathe, do you tell her that? Do you tell her that she's ruining you with just her hand staying static around your cock? That her little kisses are already taking you to that extreme?
You're twitching. A venom to her voice.
What do you want? your hands turning white gripping the couch.
I want you to fuck me. fuck my throat, turn me into a whore. I've all this control and it disgusts me.
But before you could process any of it, the sickening thrill of it: she grips harder, lets you throb in her hand, the burn of your cock; and leans forward, dragging her tongue flatly from base to tip in a wet line.
Your thighs tick forward.
And she mewls: I want more of that
She shifts higher, brings her mouth to the head of your cock and lets saliva drip along her tongue.
Pushing, letting it glance unevenly over the head - she flattens her tongue again, drags it over your cock, drags her fingers oh so soft. All this slick, the twist of her wrist, the second hand now closing in around the head of your cock, fist curving tighter over the sensitivity as it slips through all her spit.
And you're losing it: she's turning her wrist near the top, letting it meld into her soft tongue, letting your thick cock hit her tongue once or twice then not again and you can't fucking take it:
please
what?
please - what more can you say? She's trying to end you and it's all self-fulfilling.
you dig your palms into your eyes trying to process, you're already on the edge, twitching, weeping pre-cum onto her tongue and she's taking it all like it's everything to her. like the tears of weeping angels.
Another hip twitch -
this salty-sweet tang of your precum, you're so adorable. And she drags both fists up, spreading the remaining precum all over your cock -
Her mouth connects, sucking hard at the head, gripping tigher with her hands, lips stretched, mouth wide, as she sucks and tries to swallow more of you.
She pops off gently, getting breaths in, letting your weeping corded cock rest on her red-hot lips, before swallowing you back down, all the way until the head of yours bumps the back of her throat.
Relaxes - enough to breathe just a little, your cock still taking space in her throat - pulls your hand all the way to her hair, letting it entangle.
Sohyun's spit-slick, hand lands on top of your hand. And she presses down, like demonstration -
but you yank back, and a girlish yelp leaves her -
You finally coil enough power to get a turn. You pull her up by her armpits - and how light she is, like a fucking doll - you rip the stockings underneath her skirt, let two thick veiny fingers enter her sopping wet pussy.
clit rolling against your rough palm, the wet satin of her panties barely there.
And you scrape your teeth over her neck, sucking a mark onto her, as she bounces desperately over your fingers.
such a little thing, locking her waist into you as you push your fingers even deeper. two fingers trying to tear off her bra. two breasts pressed to your face, a nipple in your mouth.
made to fit me.
Cunt squelching on your palm, head dropping back. And you're sick with it, pulling her underwear to the side to watch her cunt weeping on your fingers.
Kissing all over chest, marking her up with your mouth.
On the bed, you think, sink inside her -
but you grab your cock anyway, dragging your head along the slippery pink of her pussy, and Sohyun moans - all sorts of needy that makes your cock throb, weep outside her.
sink on me, princess.
She sinks, forehead pressed to yours, and she's trying -
Feeling her, the wet and slick and tight - the spasm of her cunt, the clench, the leak of her arousal down your veiny cock.
You're fucking her raw, without a condom, rutting up into her, again and again, and she pushes back gently, trying to find a pace that doesn't utterly ruin her and you're chasing her, fucking her deeper, ruining her little pussy.
Until she presses a soft hand to your shoulder, leaning back, face flushed, nipples pink and hard, stomach tensed.
Stare at her - how fucking ruined she is: swollen lips from sucking your cock like it was made for her, sweat beading down her forehead - god is the sweat running down her face. You kiss the salt-worked forehead - a moment of softness.
Then she rolls gently, slipping a hand between her legs, past your thumb resting on her clit, onto the soaking mess of her, that hot pink mess that she's responsible for -
let me hear you, you growl, to her collar, kissing the blooming hickeys you left earlier.
grab at her hips, sit straighter, pull her into your body, let her wrap her hands around your shoulder - grasp at levity as this goddess is cock-drunk off you, still rolling, offering her clit to your thumb.
And she pants.
Clinging onto you.
letting her sopping cunt cling onto you like this was fucking prophecy - it's hot - sweat beading along your back, between your bodies, sticky - the wet noise of her cunt being excavated by a cock a smidge too large.
You're both close, these petty uncoordinated movements making the orgasm closer - sensitivities reaching an opus - only these little shifts of her hips - the urge to stretch this moment for as long as possible
And only then: the quietest orgasm, stuck to the top of her breasts, barely hanging in there, her waist locked between your thick forearms, cum spreading, filling in whatever was left between you.
poems for fucking:
romantic walks up your arm with my lips
dinner on your collarbones, a bottle of wine paper bagged
somewhere on your ribs
I want to see your city, and by don't take me home just yet
I really mean:
Let's share a whiskey, take the train over your city, spot the pennies lodged between the pavement - let's make sure every part of your skin's been kiss-bitten
and that'll take us a while
and if it means anything at all,
putting a stamp upside-down means I love you
and I would turn over every post office in the world
just to show you how much I care.
You wake to the cold half of the bed, and the rest of it makes a grim kind of sense: she's gone. Most of her stuff is still here, her shoes, but her daily shoes - gone.
You call, and it rings and rings until the call cancels - you text and the delivered stays there.
It's a Saturday. There's nowhere a person needs to be on a Saturday - but she's a workaholic - and the dots connect: you drive to her firm.
The weekend guard waves you up on account of being acquainted with Sohyun. And you get to the floor where she's usually working, and there she was, through the glass - neat-clothed, glasses on her, working hard on a case you'd never understand.
She looks up and clocks you, immediately bolting to the men's restroom - not toward the elevators or the stairs. And you go in after her -
Sohyun. I just want to talk
God, listen to you. "I just want to talk" Do you have any idea how many women have said that to your back while you looked for your shoes?
Yes. I'm aware of the irony, it's why I'm standing inside your firm at eight a.m instead of pretending you don't exist.
There's nothing to talk about. We were drunk, it was -
There was a shuffle outside the door - an employee? - but before you could look back, she pulled you by your tie into one of the stalls.
And you were dangerously close to her, her face, this face you've been in love with since forever. The one face that you cannot imagine living without - Listen, you try to say -
and she's off the tiles, fist in your tie, pulling you down, kissing you. Shut up.
You take her face in both hands, gently, and hold her back just far enough that the kiss can't keep doing the talking.
I'm not leaving. I'm going to be the worst thing that ever happened to your avoidance. Kiss me to keep me quiet all you like. I'll enjoy it, I'll still be here when you open your eyes.
Her hands press against your shirt, head pressed to your sternum. She stays there for a moment.
Starts kneeling -
Sohyun. You catch her hands. You dont have to -
I know. She looks up, Let me.
The Castrator, who has never once knelt to a man in her life, lowering herself to the tile of the worst room in the building.
You put a hand in her hair, to hold. The dots connect.
Daddy, she mewls.
Hands in your lap.
There's no sympathy for her. You're in this cramped bathroom with her, your groin pushed up to her face, and all she can say is: Daddy.
Open your mouth
Through the small opening in her mouth, you slot in a finger, trace the lower lip and upper lip - gather spit from the tip of her tongue to glaze her lips.
Wider. You say.
She's just sitting there, rubbing her thighs together - like she isn't so fucked and slippery in her underwear that just a small touch could make her cum - that you pressing a finger into her mouth - letting her throat close around that digit - wouldn't make her burst into decibels and let the whole town know that you are fucking her dumb.
She's staring at how you unbutton your pants. Button by button, all the way until your cock's out half-mast diagonal to her face and she's fucking drooling. Slowly moving forward and you pin her head to the wall of the bathroom stall.
How do you want this dick?
Like how you fucked all those other girls.
You think I'm not enjoying every moment with you? That day, we fucked like lovers. You cup her cheeks with one hand and her glazed lips point out duck-like. I'll show you what I like.
You bundle two fingers - index and ring - down her mouth, until her throat closes and she half-gags. Eyes fill with these tears and she tries to straighten herself. Fingers still down there, and it makes it hard for her breathe but -
She's fucking climaxing, barely keeping her hands on her lap. A breathless moan escapes her and you take this opportunity to let your fingers in deeper. Her chest jerks, a tear goes down her left cheek as your knuckles bump her teeth.
Roughly: good girl.
White-knuckled against her spit-trickled dress shirt that won her millions in lawsuits. Just then, you pull your fingers out, and she finally gets to swallow down.
You should be able to price anything. Be cutthroat about it, hedge your potential losses, then hedge on top of them - that's the only way to win. You've seen people go full-in, bet their futures on a life they so desperately deserve and by the end of it, they're lost souls, begging for the past. You thought it made you the only adult in the room. Then the day after that you came inside her and everything crumpled.
Your spit-slick fingers wrapped around your cock and you fisted it gently, just inches away from her mouth. She couldn't help but move forward, but you pin her head again and she's completely mindless - obeying any mechanic of hers that'll grant her a feather of stimulus. You tap your cock against her tongue. You could see the way her lips twitched to close, but she seemed to contextualize enough to know that anything that you didn't allow would be swiftly punished. And maybe now everything was dawning on her:
That you enjoyed sex with her rather than the opposite - that it's supposed to be as intimate as the day you came inside her.
Because this? This was heady, broken, and embarrassing - and all of it was happening in her own office bathroom that she shares with subordinates. One mistake and she's kicked off the ladder. And yet:
I want all of it. I want it. I want it.
You could see how her cloudy eyes mechanized - she was about to cum again - you let your tip on her tongue and she's already around the cycle again. You press the heft of your shaft into her mouth and push in gently. Push in gently because she already came, push in gently because you want to savor - for a few moments longer - how she crumples under you.
You're gentle with it, letting her set the pace, letting her get breaths between strokes. She anchors herself, and this control you give her makes her shiver - even the way her throat clenches when she goes too fucking deep.
She pulls back to breathe, a strand of saliva still connects your tip and her lower lip. And she's staring at the corded red-tipped shaft, speechless.
Stand up
She does, her skirt crumpled just a way's up. She's expectant, wanting something. But this wasn't a day for her wants.
You grab the waistbands of her panties and nylon, pull it down midway and her pussy's just glistening - all-pink, heady, musky, almost pulsing.
Hold your skirt up
And she does, further surrendering to your hand around her throat. And everything was a bit clearer:
You began fisting your spit-slick cock again, pointed down to her panties. Another embarrassing and heady position she can't seem to get enough of: Her eyes are full of will-you's and wants that she can't act on. You press a thumb over her pulse - grunting more hunch-backed trying to not spray your cum too early - and you tighten, tighten until she grips your forearms and loses her breath for just a second - then you release. There's this rush of inhales and exhales as she catches some air and you repeat the choke - until, just until, you press harder than you've done before - her legs going loose, eyes going to back of her head - and you cum all over her panties. Cloudy liquid dotting her skirt, the floor, the nylon , the front of her pussy, and all over the panties.
Fuck.
Is all she says, can say. You pin her jaw to the side so that she can't look at you, only the door, the cruel door that may open for a coworker - and you jolt closer, scooping a bit of your cum and letting two fingers enter her just then. And she's already climaxing, screaming in her own hand.
This is what happens when I do what I want.
Your nose is buried into her exposed throat and your fingers throttling her pussy. your callused hand scraping the hood of her clit, your hooked finger rubbing that spot that makes her legs splinter half-way. You take your fingers out and mash the front of her pussy with the heel of your palm before going into her again. She's rolling with how your cum-slicked fingers penetrate her.
Her body finally gives out and that's when you hug her, your fingers still slotted into her.
In truth, I can't fuck you the way I fucked these other girls. Your fingers finally slow their rolls. I want to enjoy my time with you, not treat you like trash.
And her reply, as best as it could be presented: a wet kiss, hands wrapped around you, grasping the hair behind your head.
Her kiss fluttered gently as you finally let her have one final climax.
A/N: Happy Nakko Day!! She is one of my two ults and it's my first time writing her so I hope it turned out well!!
“That slice of cake was so amazing babe, I think I could eat the whole fucking thing.”
“I’m glad I picked the right bakery to order from honey. I’m looking forward to trying some myself.”
You heard Nagyung close the bedroom door behind her as she walked in, at least that’s what you thought you heard.
See, you were in a bit of a predicament. There was a silk blindfold covering your eyes. Each of your hands were tied to one of her bedposts. You couldn’t move your arms, you couldn’t see and you were completely naked. At least she didn’t tie your legs and have you truly spread out like some Medieval torture device. Your other senses felt heightened, waiting to see… scratch that, you were waiting to hear or feel what Nagyung was about to do to you.
“I think you’ll enjoy this other dessert I brought you a lot more.”
---
Earlier that morning…
You were brushing your teeth, she had just gotten out of the shower and was looking at you in the mirror. “You know what I would love for my birthday tonight baby? I… I think I would really enjoy tying you up and getting to do whatever I wanted.”
You almost choked on your toothbrush. “Wait, what? You’re joking right?” looking up after spitting the toothpaste out, meeting her eyes in the mirror.
She was dead serious.
“Nope, not one bit. You’ve been the dominant one in bed for as long as we’ve been together. And listen, I love how you usually have your way with me. How you make me cum when you choke me, how hard you squeeze my tits, how you slap my ass until I can’t take it anymore, and don’t even get me started on the dirty talk you whisper in my ear as you pound me through the bed.”
Nagyung hadn’t even dried off yet, she was still naked and dripping wet as she made her way over to the sink, her hips swaying and water dripping off her breasts, before getting down on her knees in front of you.
“But I just thought it’d be fun if we switched it up a little for one night as a nice little birthday gift.”
She put her hands on the waistband of your shorts and looked up at you with those puppy dog eyes that were your kryptonite along with a slight pout on her lip.
“You know if you need a little extra convincing… I think I know of a few things I can do before we have to go to work.”
She pulled your shorts down.
---
So yeah, here you were, tied up and blindfolded.
It took about ten minutes that morning for her to definitely convince you to let this be one of her birthday presents. Who’s ever going to say no to getting the sloppiest blowjob from one of the hottest idols on the planet? Not you, not with the way she uses that mouth and throat of hers. She enjoyed it just as much as you did too.
You’re the luckiest dude on the planet.
“You didn’t order a different dessert for your birthday, did you? I told you I was getting you a cake.”
You heard a zipper slowly get undone and fabric hit the floor. There goes her dress.
“Of course not dummy, you’ll find out in a sec. Don’t be so impatient.”
“Dummy? Isn’t that what you call your fans?” you almost couldn’t help but laugh.
“Yes, it is and tonight I’m going to call you that as well, so get used to it… dummy.”
Oh, she is serious about this. It sounded to you like she had been planning what she wanted to do to you for a night like this for a long long time. You felt her get onto the bed and mount you, dropping her tight ass onto you, sitting right above your hardening cock. Well at a minimum she still has her thong on. You could feel a little wetness from the fabric that was now pressed into your crotch.
“Dummy, open your mouth and stick out your tongue so you can try this.”
As soon as you opened your mouth wide not knowing what kind of dessert to expect, all you felt was a plastic nozzle get shoved onto your tongue. And then she pressed it down.
Pshhh…
Your tongue was being completely covered with whipped cream.
“Wha–”
“Shhhhhh dummy. Don’t say a thing, just keep that mouth open and tongue out.”
So, you did.
You suddenly felt her tongue meet yours, she was slowly licking all the whipped cream off of it. Lifting your head up as much as you could, you tried to kiss her, but she quickly pushed you back down into the bed with a hand on your neck.
“No no no, who said you could kiss me yet? I just want to clean all of this mess up first.”
Nagyung continued to use her tongue until all the whipped cream was gone.
“That tastes so good doesn’t it.”
“Yes ba–”
She gripped your face with one hand.
“No calling me baby tonight, okay dummy? Just say my love instead.”
“Yes, my love.”
“Good boy.”
Not expecting it at any point in your life to be something you’d be into, your stomach did a tiny flip hearing that. Well, that’s a first.
Pshhh…
That was the whipped cream cannister again but you couldn’t tell what it was being used on. Then suddenly her tongue, with a lot of whipped cream was back inside your mouth. She pressed into you for a heated kiss and you kissed her back. Tongues were tangling with the whipped cream adding to the flavor of her. It was the perfect combo. Forgetting that your arms were still tied up, you tried to move them to hold her, letting out a bit of a whimper when you couldn’t move them any closer.
“I know baby, you want to touch me so bad. It’s too bad you’re all tied up,” dragging her nails up your sides as she pulled her mouth away and whispered. “Don’t worry I’ll just have to touch you more to make up for it.”
“Please do, my love.”
Her hand took a hold of your now fully hard shaft. “Guess you really are enjoying this dessert more than the cake.” You bucked your hips up into her hand, lifting her up as your tip dripped with excitement. “Oh yeah, you REALLY are enjoying this more.” She slowly worked her hand up and down coating your need all over while you could start to feel her thong get wetter and wetter.
“My love, I want to touch you so fucking bad.”
“I’m sure you do. Here I have an idea,” her fingers slid off your cock.
You heard her unclasp her bra and take it off.
Psssssssshhhhhhhhhhhh…
Pssssssshhhhnnnnhshhh…
“Open up dummy”
Once again you opened your mouth not knowing what the fuck she was going to do next.
You first felt the cold whipped cream that you’re all too familiar with now hit your tongue but then you feel the warmth of her skin, a soft curve that squished into your mouth. Instinctively you closed your mouth over it, that’s when you realize it’s one of her tits.
“Fuckkk…… think you know what it is?”
“Mmmph!” your mouth is so full as you start to suck.
You realize Nagyung had covered the entirety of her tits with whipped cream so while you sucked the hard peak in your mouth there’s whipped cream going all over your face thanks to her deceptively large tits.
“Suck… FUCK… suck harder dummy….”
Even with her in a dominant position for the first time, you knew she still wanted you to be rough with her, she couldn’t resist it. You sucked as hard as you could as you swirled your tongue around her nipple, the whipped cream there was long gone. Now this, this was the real dessert.
Nagyung let out a loud moan.
“God… you’re always so fucking good at that. Chaeyoung and Jiheon always give me shit for the hickeys you leave all over them.”
You pulled back, “I can’t help it my love, you just taste so good and they’re just so fucking big, I swear they’ve gotten bigger since we first started dating.”
“Oh they definitely have. Now enough talking, time for you to clean the other one off.”
You felt her shift her weight to lean and put the other one up to your mouth. Deciding to give her a bit of surprise this time, you close your mouth around her breast and lightly bite down.
“AHH– FUCK, a little softer dummy.”
Easing up, you focused on using your tongue to clean up all the whipped cream. Yes, you were doing this all blind, but at least the whipped cream was cold so it made it a little easier to find. You knew your face was getting absolutely covered by it, but you did the best you could as she was smothering you more and more, putting more and more weight onto your face. It got a little harder to breathe because she was pressing her huge perky tits into you so much.
This would be a hell of a way to go.
“Think you’re getting all of it ba… dummy?” You could tell she was extremely flustered, her cheeks were probably super flushed like they always get.
“I think I am my love, but you’re going to have to tell me considering I can’t see.”
“I think you’ve gotten most of it. I think you’ve done such a great job that I think you earned me taking off that blindfold.”
“Finally.”
With a smile on your face, she reached behind your head while her tits once again pressed against your face. Please take as long as possible taking that blindfold off, this is paradise. Sadly, it took less than ten seconds before she pulled the blindfold away from your eyes.
It was a flash bomb at first with the bright light overhead but it turned into more and more of an ethereal view as Nagyung came into focus. She had put her long hair up into a ponytail, probably to keep it out of the mess of all of the whipped cream. Like you guessed, she was completely naked except for the black lace thong that you felt getting more and more soaked and the gold necklace you gifted her after the first few months of dating. Her cheeks were also indeed super flushed. As you took in her beauty, you could tell that you did not in fact do that good of a job getting the whipped cream off of her tits.
You made it look like she was getting a cast of her chest, the whipped cream was just spread all over. Maybe getting a cast of her chest isn’t such a bad idea, could be a nice sculpture piece to put in your place.
“Well now you can see finally see your work.” She laughed.
“All I see is a work of art.”
Nagyung’s cheeks reddened even more before she leaned down to give you a quick peck on your lips. “God, I love you.”
“I love you too,” you leaned up as much as you could to give her a quick peck back.
“Okay…” clearing her throat “getting back into character… where were we?”
“I don’t know my love, this is all your doing.”
“Right… ummmm… oh I remember, there was another reason I took your blindfold off.”
Her game face was back on. She leaned down again, but this time she put herself right next to your ear, her whipped cream covered tits now pressed against your chest.
She whispered.
“I wanted to make sure you saw what I’m about to do to you now since both your face and chest are covered with whipped cream.”
As you turned your head to look at her, she all of the sudden licked a long stripe from your ear, to the front of your face, ending at your nose. “I’m going to lick every…”
Nagyung licked from your nose to your mouth.
“…single…”
She licked from your lips to your other ear.
“…bit of this…”
Her tongue moved down your jaw to your chin.
“…whipped cream off of you…”
And then her tongue moved up the other side of your jaw back to where she started.
“…until you’re all clean.”
“Oh, is that so?” Your heart was pounding, your cock was throbbing to touch anything, you felt so hot.
“Yes really. I wanted you to watch so that whenever you see me sticking out my tongue in any photo or video, you know that I’m thinking of this exact moment and so will you.”
“Fuuuucccckkkkkk.” You moaned.
She stared into your eyes.
“Yeah, that’s what we’re going to do once I get you clean. Fuck.”
Fuck.
What did you to deserve her.
For the next what felt like an eternity, she cleaned you up using only her tongue and made sure your eyes stayed locked onto hers. She started with your face and then worked her way down your neck…
…over your collarbones…
…down the middle of your chest…
…over to one of your nipples the she sucked on for long after the whipped cream was gone from there…
…before going to your other one and doing the same exact thing.
While she was cleaning up the rest of your chest her tight ass was slowly scooting further down until she was basically grinding on the top of your cock.
“FUCKKKKKK, FINALLY.” You have been yearning for any sort of touch down there, leaking precum the entire time she had been cleaning you up. While you were being cleans, you were also becoming a mess.
“What dummy? Have you been wanting someone to touch you down there? Seems that way with how wet everything is down there.”
Nagyung ground her ass against your cock, her soaked folds rubbing the skin right above it.
“Yes… FUCK… I’ve been waiting for so long. I need you so bad.”
“Well then, why didn’t you say something,” she smirked and unmounted you, getting off the bed. She hooked the waistband of her thong with her fingers as you saw just how wet it had become, it was basically form fitted to her puffy folds.
Your mouth was watering as she pulled it down, taking it off. Her now bare pussy was glistening. Good lord. Your cock ached, you involuntarily kicked your legs and let out a moan, wanting to get in there so bad.
“See something you like?” Nagyung climbed back onto the bed, her thong balled up in her hand. “Open up that mouth one more time dummy.” Your mouth dropped open and she stuffed the soaking wet thong in your mouth.
It tasted incredible, she always tasted incredible, you have spent many a night just between her legs.
“How’s that taste?” It’s like she could read your mind.
“Mmmmmmppppphhhh”
She ran her fingers through her folds as she mounted you and then brought them up to her mouth. “Yeah, I think I would agree with that.” Her fingers went back to playing with her folds, your cock so close to her entrance.
“So now you’re all clean, you know what that means right?”
“Fmmppppkk”
“Yes. Fuck.” Her fingers went through her folds one more time before she grabbed your cock, adding even more slickness to your shaft. And then with no warning at all she very quickly lined you up and dropped down.
…
Tight.
…
So fucking tight.
…
You almost choked on her thong as your brain couldn’t process the pleasure you felt. She sank all the way down, her walls wrapping tighter and tighter around you as you filled her up.
“Fuuuuuuckkkkkk du… baby… you’re so fucking thick.”
“Mmmmmmppppphhhh”
Nagyung started to roll her hips back and forth, not letting your cock escape at all. You felt her clit grind into your crotch as she pushed down on your chest to balance herself. It was a slower pace at first before she really started to get into it. Slowly getting faster…
…and faster…
…and faster.
She knew how to work her hips with all the choreo she’s had to learn through the years. DM, We Go, Supersonic, the list goes on. They all were played a part in what she was currently doing to your cock.
You locked eyes with her as her nails dug into your chest. She was close, you could tell it in the way her breathing turned into panting as she started to let out those cute moans that have become one of things that turned you on the most.
She moved her feet to either side of your hips and started to squat onto you. Up and down she went as the PLAP of her ass slammed onto you. Faster and faster, her moans getting hotter and hotter but also cuter and cuter. Her thighs started to shake, you strained against the constraints on your wrists, wanting, no, NEEDING to help her get to that peak.
“I’m so close… FUCK. Just… just… a… little more.”
You felt her squeeze so hard around your cock, her back arched as her still whipped cream covered peaks stretched towards the ceiling.
“OH MY….. OH MY FUCKKKKKKING GOOOOOOOOOOODDDDDDDD.”
She moaned at the top of her lungs and then collapsed onto you trying to catch her breath. You just laid there. What else could you do with your hands still tied? For a moment she just rested on top of you with your cock still rock hard inside her. Once she recovered, Nagyung went in for what you thought was going to be a kiss as her tongue entered your mouth. Wait… the thong was still in your mouth. Guess you forgot when you had the personification of Helen of Troy riding you. She explored the inside of your mouth before you felt her tongue hook and then slowly pull the thong out, dropping it off to the side.
“My tongue can do sooooo many things.” She laughed.
“Holy fuck that was so fucking hot,” finally able to speak again, “You’re so fucking hot.”
Nagyung went back in to actually kiss you this time, kiss you like she hadn’t heard from you in a long time, which was technically true. You spent a few minutes with your mouths practically melded together while your tongues intertwined. And yes you were STILL inside her. You wanted to stay inside her forever.
When she pulled back, you could tell by her cum drunk eyes and labored breathing she was tiring out. “That felt so fucking good, you still feel so fucking good in me. Though, I sometimes miss the days when you would just cum when I would.”
“Trust me, it’s taking so much to not cum inside you right now.”
“I bet,” smirking while playfully moving her hips. “I’m kind of worn out from all of that though. I really don’t know how you have the stamina to be in control the whole night.”
“It’s because you’re hot as fuck. It’s really just that simple.”
You both laughed.
“Well I want to make sure you get to cum too, it’s only fair.” She reached for one of your hand restraints.
“And I think you’ve been enough of a good boy that you deserve a reward.” She untied one of your hands.
“I want you to do whatever you want to me, whatever you need to me so you can cum. Have your way–”
Your freed hand immediately grabbed one of her tits and squeezed it hard. Right behind your hand, with your newfound freedom of movement, your mouth just latched onto her nipple and sucked not giving a fuck about the whipped cream still on there.
“AH–”
Still sucking, you moved your free hand off of her chest and around her hip.
SMACK.
You loved smacking her cute ass.
“Babe… fuuuuuuckkkk… give me a sec to get your other hand free.”
Pulling back from sucking on her nipple, “Ughhhhhhh… fine… I just want you so fucking bad baby.”
You still gripped her ass, you were not going to let your hand go as she freed your other hand.
“There, you’re free. Now just wOOOOOAAAAH–”
As soon as you felt that your other hand was free your mouth immediately went back onto the same nipple, sucking as hard as you were before. Your newly freed hand mirrored what your other hand did, moving it around her and towards her ass.
SMACK. SMACK.
“FUCK!”
Both your hands were gripping her tight ass as you figured out exactly what you wanted to do to her. You stopped sucking and looked directly into her eyes. “Ready?”
She threw her arms around your neck and gave you a quick kiss. “Oh yeah.”
Immediately with your hands cupping her ass you moved and switched positions with her, you were now on top and her underneath. You couldn’t wait any longer. As soon as she hit the bed you started thrusting as hard as you could, driving as deep and fast as you could.
“OH… fuck… yes… just like that… right there… YES.”
You were grunting with every thrust as she moaned into your ear. You wanted to go even deeper. You wanted to go even harder. Your hands went to the back of her thighs and pushed them up, all the way until her feet were next to her head, folding her in half. Now you had all the leverage.
“God you’re so fucking amazing. I love you so much.”
“I love you too baby.” You leaned in and passionately kissed her while still slowly moving in and out of her. “I’m… I’m close. Where… fuck… where do you want me to cum?”
“Where do you think dummy?” She kissed you again. That’s all you needed to hear.
With her thighs still in your hands, you put your whole body behind pounding your cock into her tight wet heat as her puffy folds stretched around you. All you could do, all you wanted to do was watch the emotions on her face as you were pounding her…
And pounding her…
“Fuck… you’re so fuck… you’re so fucking big!” Her hands cradled your face.
And pounding her…
“GOD, I think I’m going to cum again... fuck... fuck… fuck…”
And pounding her…
“Yeah? Is my baby going to cum all over this big fat cock?”
“YESSS… don’t stop… PLEASE don’t fucking stop.” Her hands fell to rest on your chest.
And pounding her. You felt her squeeze and pulse around you as her thighs in your hands were beginning to quiver. The coil in your stomach was winding tighter and tighter as you slid in and out of her.
Her face shattered into pure ecstasy as her body began to shake with pleasure and she let out a loud moan. It was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and it made the coil in your stomach suddenly unwind. You drove yourself to the hilt deep inside and erupted, emptying everything you had into her. You fell onto her as you let out a loud moan of your own and her arms went around your shoulders as she brought you in close, slowly stroking your back as you rode it out to the very last drop.
You laid there on top of her, the two of you absolutely spent as she gave you small kisses all over your face. “That was so incredible.”
“Yeah…” still trying to catch your breath. “that was.. you are fucking amazing. I don’t really have the words right now other than Happy Birthday.”
She laughed as she slowly massaged your scalp. “That’s okay honey, I’m more than cool with you just being right here. And thank you for making it such a memorable birthday. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.” She licked your cheek. “Missed a spot. I know you won’t ever forget this either.”
Just as she said, you were never going to forget this, you knew she was going to start sticking out that tongue more and more in photos, videos, fan cams, you name it. Just so she can trigger that memory in you.
Your breathing finally returned to normal and you pushed yourself up a little bit. Fuck. In the passion and heat of the moment, you had forgotten she was still halfway covered in the remnants of the whipped cream. She was realizing it at the same time you were as she looked down to see what caught your curiosity so much.
You both broke out in laughter at the mess you found yourselves in.
“Yeah, let’s go clean all of this off.”
“Shower time and then maybe I can finally try some birthday cake?”
“Sounds good to me. Shower ti… AHHH….” Before she could finish her sentence, you wrapped your arms around her ass and picked her up off the bed, taking her into the bathroom.
“Sir, Wonyoung’s been looking for you—” A staff member spotted you at the emergency exit.
“Shh! Don’t tell them you saw me—” You quickly shut her up.
You look behind her, and thankfully, no one’s around except her.
“When will the shooting start? Why the hell is there a delay!?” You dragged her inside the exit.
“IVE members and your agency already gave their assurance. Sorry for the delay; we’re just tweaking some technical issues.” She apologized.
“But, why are you here? IVE’s looking for you, specifically Wonyoung. She’s panicking, actually more like tantrums— sorry, I’m just used to people calling her a brat.” She told you.
“I know, but she’s a good girl, trust me.” You assured her that Wonyoung’s a really, really bad— good girl.
Now, you feel bad pressing on her. She’s not the issue; the shooting delay’s not the issue; it’s because of IVE.
You’re IVE’s newest playth— Manager. Unlike any other manager who’s staying with their idols and prepared to give all that they need, you’re different.
You’ve been hiding from them, and there’s a very specific reason for that.
You can’t just give them what they want.
What they really want is you, specifically, your manliness. You’re IVE’s newest plaything.
“...”
“Okay, please, don’t tell them where I am—” You plead for the staff to remain quiet about your whereabouts.
“Oh, there you are. Oppa, Wonyoung needs the mic.” Yujin speaks behind you.
“Okay, let me… WHOA! YUJIN!” You turned around and found the towering idol with her crossed arms.
“Hi, oppa, so you were here. Why are you hiding?” She waved; I bet there’s anger behind her puppy eyes.
“I’m not hiding, w-w-why would I?” You stuttered; if they knew that you were avoiding them, they would definitely put a leash on you.
“Uhhh, Yujin-ssi, I already brought the mic to the dressing room—” The staff said, giving Yujin’s assurance about the microphone.
“Unnie, you can go now.” She looks irritated.
If the staff leave… you’ll be left with a wild dog.
She’s untamed; her hunger has never been fulfilled once; she’ll eat you the moment you're alone.
“Okay, then—” She’s leaving.
“Uhh! Uhh…” You stopped her, but you don’t know what to say. You can’t tell her that Yujin’s a vacuum devil.
“Yes?” The staff actually stopped and waited.
“Yes, Op…pa.” Yujin smiles a warning sign.
You’ve been caught already, so there’s no point in fighting back.
“N-nothing. Please… no more delays.” Your last words for the staff.
“We'll do our best, then… excuse me.” The staff disappeared instantly.
“...”
“...”
“HAAA!” You shrieked when Yujin’s hand touched your shoulder. She’s like a snake that’s playing with its food.
“Oppa, you’re tense. Don’t be like that~” Her nails pressed through the fabric of your shirt hard enough to pin you against the wall.
Just like what they say, whenever you encounter a wild beast, don’t move.
“Why are you running?” She leaned in, her head next to yours.
The snake’s hissing.
“N-n-no, why would I? You know, Yujin, I thought you were a puppy… but you look like a snake.” You just threw a joke at her, but she didn’t laugh.
You tried to get away from her, but her hands are too strong for you.
“Oppa, do you think I’m joking right now? You know I can be any kind of animal if I have to just to have my turn~” She purred directly to your ear.
“Y-Y-Yujin-ah, there might be someone—”
“There’s no one here except us.” She cut you off instantly.
She finally released your shoulders. You had the urge to run, but you could sense the danger from her.
She now turned into a grizzly bear, and you had to bear with it even though there’s a chance you’ll be bare naked in no time.
This animal shape-shifting beast.
“Wonyoun’s wanted the mic, let me—” Right, Wonyoung’s much better than being with her.
“TURN. AROUND.” There’s a noticeable power in her words.
You turn around like what she told you.
She kneeled in no time, unbuckled your belt and pants. Slid it down without your consent, but they didn’t need it; they’ll do anything they want to you, even if you refuse.
She tugged your underwear down, and your cock sprang free; it’s hard enough to reach her face and land on her nose.
“Omo, you’re hiding from us, but you’re hard as a rock.” She looks so happy.
The moment she saw your hard rod, her face never dropped once.
“Wonyoung has to wait for her mic, and Oppa, do you know how much our fans wanted us, right? You’re actually lucky to have us chasing you for this… hard… thing–huehuhehiehe~” She immediately put your dick into her mouth and bobbed her head.
“Hng~ Y-Yujin-ah, Won-Wonyoung’s waiting.” You held her head, but you couldn’t stop her head from bobbing.
“Hmm~ wits wokey woppa–huehuehu, shwe wownt wow (It’s okay oppa, she won’t know.).” Yujin’s tongue sweeps your entire rod. Her oral warmth and sucking skills are unmatched,
“B-but, Yu– shit! I’m cumming!” You groaned, she’s way too good that you can’t even hold yourself.
“HMMPP~” She stopped bobbing, her lips touched your balls and your dick near to her throat.
You erupted, straight to her throat. You heard her gulping as if she were just drinking some lemonade. This is the vacuum you were saying, even you were cumming, she keeps sucking in. Draining everything you had.
But, Wonyoung’s gonna be mad.
Someone got her microphone before her, and worse is that there’s a possibility that there’s no more cum left for her.
Suck. Suck. Gulp.
“Yujin… hngg.” It’s been a minute since you came, and yet Yujin’s sucking pressure remained.
There’s no more to suck at the moment.
“Oppa, have some ginseng. I’ll buy you some.” She finally let your softened dick go. Her wicked smile is terrifying.
“Ohh~ how cute, oppa, it looks like an elephant trunk.” She pokes it.
You just came, but seeing her pretty face makes your dick alive. Every touch she made, your dick twitched.
“Ohh~ now it looks like an electric eel, I feel an electrifying energy within me when I touch it— hey, oppa, where are you going!?”
You'd better go away before your dick electrifies more of that so-called energy. There’s no doubt about it, she’s talking about her horny energy.
“W-W-Wony!” You ran away from that animal, fixing your pants in the process.
IVE’s dressing room is not that far, just a couple of floors and a minute's walk. But you took your time, you need to regain your lost energy, or else Wonyoung will throw tantrums.
“Oppa.” Rei spotted you.
Compared to Yujin, Rei is more reserved and calm.
“R-R-Rei-ya, is Wonyoung’s inside?” You asked her, stalling for more time.
“Yes, she’s been looking for you for some time now…Sniff. Sniff. Wait a minute—— “ Rei squints her eyes.
“Rei-ya. I—” You’ve been caught, again.
“You just came… on someone.” Her guest is always spot on. She kept sniffing you; her cute face was just inches away from you,
It made you hard, just what you need before heading to Wonyoung.
“How’d you know!?” You act surprised, but that’s no surprise anymore.
There’s this moment she caught that you face fucked Liz before her turn, similar to what happened today. Then another moment when your dick was only half hard when you’re about to have sex with her, she guessed it right that Gaeul rode you in the car a moment ago.
Rei’s the Nostradamus of IVE when it comes to their plaything.
“Wonyoung will be mad,” Rei states a fact.
“I know— HHNNGG~ W-what are you doing!?” You immediately looked around. Thankfully, there was no one except you and Rei.
Rei just cupped your dick through your pants, she fondled it, and your boner raged in an instant.
“Helping you, Wonyoung always thought she was the prettiest. It’s better to enter the dressing room with your dick hard. It will give her a great impression.” Rei’s surprisingly calm when explaining it.
“H-hard… I’m hard enough.” You hold Rei’s wrist, a few more gropes, and you’ll end up cumming again.
“Hmm, should I just put it in my ass?” Rei crossed her arms, thinking.
No way, you need to go to Wonyoung.
“I-I need to go to Wony, remember, schedule.” You hurriedly walked away from Rei while she was still thinking.
“No, put it in— AHH!” She attempted to stop you, but you suddenly cupped her crotch.
Her knees instantly gave up. You’ve been in bed with her a couple of times already, and you knew what part of her weakens her.
“Cheating!” She shouts, her voice fainting as you walk your way to Wonyoung’s dressing room.
After another minute of walking, you’re finally in front of the room.
“Hooo, better end it quickly.” You finally made up your mind.
You took a deep breath before coming in.
“...”
The room is quiet, and there she is, sitting in front of the mirror, eyes on her phone.
“Won–”
“OPPA!” She instantly looked around and plunged herself into you for a hug,
“Sorry, I just had to kgh—” Your mouth stopped.
She immediately choked your throat with her slender fingers, both hands.
“Where did you go?” She asked you flatly; she’s towering over you as well, just like Yujin.
“Kghhh– r-r-rest room–” You answered, looking up to her. She’s gripping your neck, enough to let you suffer, and keeps you alive.
“Too long for a restroom, open your mouth.” She ordered you.
You did as she told, opening your jaw slowly as the constrictions on your neck lightly loosened.
“Liar.” She said,
Then she spits into your mouth. A sharp bullet of spit landed on your tongue.
You can’t call it disgusting. Her beautiful face makes it more like a blessing, but spit is a spit.
“Sooowwy.” You apologize. Her spit slowly slides into your throat.
“You looked… drained. Who is it? Gaeul? Leeseo? Liz? Who dares to use my microphone before me!?” She missed the person who did it to you.
“Its—”
The moment you answered, she spat again. Her timing’s late, her spit landed the moment you closed your mouth. It landed through your lips.
“Tch. Missed. Lick it.” She told you.
“Hmmm!” You don’t want to. You shook your head, eye wide open at how absurd she wants you to do.
“Lick it.” She repeats it. You don’t want her to say it three times.
You licked it. Your tongue sweeps her bubbly spit around your lips. You’ve got a better taste of her saliva this time; it tastes like cherry. She must have taken candy while waiting for you.
“Who is it?” She’s dead serious about finding out who played with her toy.
“Yujin…” You answered her truthfully.
“That girl, everyone doesn’t respect the schedule!” She scoffed.
“Stick your tongue out.” She added.
Without hesitation, you followed her. There’s no point of contemplating whether to obey her or not. She had control over you.
“Hmm~” She stuck her tongue as well and intertwined with mine, slithering with each other like an oiled rope.
“I’m no longer interested in a used mic. Did someone ever claim your mouth?” She momentarily pulled back.
“N-N-No one… I guess?” You’ve kissed all IVE members, but no one ever claimed your mouth as theirs.
“Then your mouth is mine from now on. Your lips, your tongue, and your spit. In exchange, my lips are yours, my tongue and my spit.” Wonyoung has decided to make it mutual.
Do you have a choice? None.
She kissed you right away after you nodded, a confirmation for her to eat you. Her lips are soft, enough justification for how glossy it looks like when on camera. Her tongue interlocked with yours, and your fluids swapped.
Bit by bit, you matched their hunger. You cupped her ass, always felt a little fuller than usual. She loves showing it, a couple of months ago, her smooth, peachy, cute ass.
“Hnng~ do you want to put it in?” She purred through the kiss.
“Where?”
“In my ass.” She released your neck and put her hands through the wall.
You circled your way behind her, and she stuck her ass out.
“Wonyoung, but this is your stage outfit.” You hesitated since she’s already on her shooting fit; any moment from now, they might call her.
“It’s easy as one, two, three.” She slowly counts.
One, she unbuckled her buttons. Two, she pulled her shorts down. Three, her underwear.
There it is, the holy grail. Peachy ass from the cherry girl.
“Wonyoung-ah…” Your dick twitched.
“Put it in, oppa… hurry.” She used her left hand to spread her cheeks. Her pink puckered hole looks very inviting.
You lined it up on her ass. The head kissed her entrance; it slowly opened up, welcoming the intruder with its warm greeting.
“AHHH~ Oppa~ Yes~” Wonyoung placed both of her hands on the wall, her nails scraping through the paint.
You’re both struggling on every inch of penetration. Bit by bit, her ass wall stretches and adapts to your length.
“Yes~ hmm~” She pushed her ass towards you, hurriedly putting it in.
“W-W-WONYOUNG! AHHH~” You let out a moan.
It’s finally in, your dick fully nestled in the depths of her anus. She let out a loud moan as well, hoping no one heard it.
“AHH~”
“HMNNG!”
You started to thrust slowly, eventually increasing the speed. You just noticed that you’re fucking her ass without any lubrication, it cause some resistance, especially the friction made by your rubbing skin.
But, does it matter? What matters is you’re fucking Wonyoung in the ass.
“AHH!” Wonyoung’s moan is telling you she’s enjoying it.
“Wonyoung-ah… I’m close.” You told her, while grunting in between your thrusts.
Her ass rippled with every impact of your hips. Loud slaps echoed through the dressing room.
“Inside, I want to feel your cum inside my a-a-ahngg-ass while performing~.”
You heard her crystal clear.
Cum inside Wonyoung’s ass, that’s her order.
“C-Cumming!” For one final thrust, your hips closed the gap. Her smooth butt pressed against your hips.
You came inside her ass just like what she told you to. Burst after burst, think gooey cum flood her anus. She wants to perform with it, as your manager, you’re obliged to grant what she wants.
After a few more eruptions, your dick stopped spitting cum.
You slowly pull it out.
Floods of thick cum instantly sipped out of her asshole. Her puckered hole is still slightly agape in memory of your hard rod.
“Oppa… that’s so hot.” Wonyoung fell on her knees. She’s flushed red.
Both of you hurriedly cleaned and tidied up, while fixing both of your clothes, she asked you.
“Oppa, what’s the schedule?”
“Uhh, music bank tomorrow, then radio show the next day.” You answered right away, closing your zipper and buttoning up your pants.
“Not that, your schedule to us.” Wonyoung crossed her arm.
She went back to her bratty side in no time, as if you didn’t cum in her ass a while ago.
“Ah, that… uhh, I’ll eat Liz’s pussy later, then I’ll pound Rei’s ass as well. Then tomorrow I’ll wreck Yujin’s pussy, and Gaeul requested to fuck her face next time.” You told her the plaything schedule.
Today’s her day, so she had to wait for another three to four days for her next turn.
“Tch. WHY DO I HAVE TO WAIT THAT LONG!?” She’s annoyed.
Well, all of them had the same reaction whenever they found out that they had to wait a few more days to satisfy their needs.
Then, Wonyoung, be ready. The shoot may start anytime.”
“Yes, Oppa, your semen inside me boosts me up~” She cheerfully responds.
It’s a weird thing to say, but it feels good, really good.
The moment you opened the door. The girls are there; they looked concerned about something.
“Is it done?” Gaeul asked.
“Y-yes.” You responded.
Then a staff member approached you and IVE. You’ve got a feeling about it, since the staff immediately bowed their heads.
“I’m sorry, the tweaking’s not done yet. Could you wait for another hour?” She told me very bad news.
“I, uhh—”
“YES!” The girls instantly answered in unison.
“We’ll wait inside the dressing room,” Liz assured the staff that they’re fine with the delay.
But, you’re not.
Another delay means another play for them.
“Miss— HMP! HMMM! HMMMFF!” Yujin instantly muffled your mouth.
Together with Gaeul and Liz, they dragged you inside the room.
Rei and Leeseo closed the door for you, and the lock sounds audible for some reason.
They sealed you inside the dressing room; your fate had been decided.
“Move… move… pant pant.” You’re running for your life.
You’ve been slipping through the tight alleys, shoes stomping over puddles of mud. You’re trying to conceal your presence as much as you can, just to buy a cup of noodles from a secret shop run by an old man.
“I SWEAR I SAW A MAN!”
“SEARCH THE AREA!”
“CATCH HIM NO MATTER WHAT!”
“These girls are such an ass pain!” You took a peek and saw a horde of women holding leashes and dildo swords roaming on the road, searching for a man, that’s you.
The world you’re living are much different from five years ago. A fatal virus have spreaded across the globe, targeting only men. Luckily, you’re one of the few men who were born with immunity.
The virus was called the Mandemic.
And now, women are desperate for partners; they’ll do anything they can to have one, to taste one, and to get one. Birthrate also fell tremendously; coincidentally, the men-to-women ratio is 1:100 for the newborn.
Some of those didn’t last long, since the Mandemic still exists.
In conclusion, men are like white crows in a flock. If someone spots one, the entire neighborhood loses its mind.
“Pant… pant… I should just hide and stick to plants.” You step back.
You shouldn’t have left your safe house in the first place; it’s too dangerous. Why the hell did you crave a cup of noodles!?
You ran, and ran, avoiding any possible interaction you could.
“Pant… pant… shit, my bladder's full, where can I piss— there,” Nature called you, your dam’s full, and you got to open the gates.
You found a bin nearby, yes, it’s disgusting and immoral, but it’s for your survival. You can’t just knock on a door or enter a public restroom for a piss.
Especially the male restroom… they’re guarded.
“....”
“....”
“You there! What are you doing there?” A woman called you.
“Oh fuck!” You quickly pulled your zipper up and hid your elephant trunk. Thankfully, you had your hoodie on.
You wanted to run, but she’ll definitely scream the moment you do it,
“Uhhh, I’m looking for a man! He’s not in the trash bin.” You answered her with the girliest tone you had. You sound like the long-gone Kevin Hart, a mosquito.
“Really? We’ve been looking for him. Tell me if you find him.” You heard her footsteps walk away.
“Yes, sure, I’ll find that disgusting man.” You respond.
“...”
The foot stops.
“Fuck, did she stop? Why!? Go away already!” You still can’t run; you can feel her eyes behind you.
“Wait.”
Your heart beats fast.
She walked back instead of leaving.
“Y-y-yes?” You lightly looked behind you. In your peripheral vision, you saw a pair of black boots with inch heels. That’s a very familiar thing, a uniform——
“SHE’S A MAN-TER!??? FUCK!” Upon realization, she’s a Man-ter, or what they call the Man-Hunter.
But, for men, they’re the Man-Eater.
“Say it again.” She tapped the bin twice with a metal thing. It's definitely a metal dildo club.
“Yes? I said Yes?” You don’t know what she’s talking about.
“No, the other one, about that man.” Another tapped at the bin.
“Uhh… Disgusting—- WHOA!” Right at the moment she heard the word disgusting, she swung her club.
Luckily, you evaded it. Thanks to the glass window at your side, you can see her reflection even though it’s blurry.
“Fuck!” You came face-to-face with her. A couple of feet away.
“So, you’re the man.” She smirks.
You can’t run, you can’t hide, and more importantly, you can’t eat a cup of noodles anymore.
The woman in front of you is definitely a trained Man-ter.
“H-h-how did you know I’m a man!?” You asked her, stalling for some time to think on how to escape. “I-I-Is it my voice?” But you did your best to mimic one.
“No, it’s not your voice. It’s when you call a man disgusting.” She tapped the dildo club to the floor.
You thought they despised men? You heard they torture them.
“You know, we seek men, so we can’t call them disgusting. They are blessing, YOU! Are blessings. God gave me you, to breed us, to be my partner! To be my entertainment!” She plunged forward with a quick step.
She’s too fast; you barely dodge her club.
“Fuck!” So it’s your words that bring you to danger.
“Surrender!” She yelled at you.
She did not ask for help or even announce that she found a man. That’s the moment you knew, you’re fucked.
She can handle you alone; she can subdue you, alone.
“Run.”
You threw the bin nearby, then another bin, and slipped when she was distracted—the club swung, and it caught your side.
“ARGHH!” You slammed through the brick wall.
She parried all the bin with her dildo club… there’s no sweat, no signs of struggle, just a mocking grin all over her face.
"Men." She sighed as if she were dealing with a stubborn puppy.
She swings her dildo club.
Black out.
*****
Drop. Drop.
The sound of the water droplets wakes you up.
“Arghh… my head… my— dick!? W-w-where am I?” You wiggled and discovered that you’re tied up with a metal chain.
You’re naked, your dick is out in the open and glistening, and someone might have had a taste of it already while you’re unconscious.
“Oh, you’re awake.”
There she is, the Man-ter that caught you.
“W-w-where is this?” You looked around, and it looked like a secluded warehouse. This might be the place where they torture the men they catch.
“Before I answer that, why don’t you ask my name? The beautiful officer who subdued you and sucked your dick while you’re sleeping.” She’s proud of what she did.
“I knew it, someone really sucked my dick… okay, who are you?” You did not include the beautiful part, but now that you got a good look at her face, she’s actually beautiful.
Your dick twitched, embarrassing.
“I’m Arin, an ASSasinator, but I got a patrol duty nearby the area, and luckily, I found you~ and you’re here at the interrogation room at our Man-ter Dickheadquarters.” She licks her lips.
“I see…” So she’s an ASSasinator, no wonder you’re no match for her.
“If you only saw how the other officers drool at you when I brought you here! They’re hungry eyes… they’re endless hunger that is fueled by their lust! But… I haven’t tasted you yet that time! So, I sucked your dick, and you cum fountains straight to my throat— a man’s cum! What a blessing.”
You just listened to whatever she says; she’s also drooling!
“So, this is what they call psycho—”
“Psexchopath! I’m a psexchopath!” She insists.
“THERE’S NO EVEN PSEXCHOPATH IN THE DICTIONARY!” You shot back.
Five years ago, most women were modest, but today it’s quite different.
“There is, on our DICKTIONARY!” She laughed maniacally.
She’s hopeless.
“Shit.” You muttered, already thinking of ways to escape, but you’re tied up, and what’s worse is that you're in their dickheadquarters.
“...”
“What?” You observed and noticed that she suddenly behaved.
“Your dick, it’s hard. Harder when I suck it… AMAZING!!~” There are stars in her eyes.
“WHAT THE FUCK!? WHY WOULD I—” Your body’s betraying you.
Upon seeing her earlier, your body stiffened, and your dick hardened.
You can’t deny it, she had a killer body on par with that demonic, pretty face.
“...”
“Want me to suck it?” She licked her lips.
“No.” You respond flatly.
“Want me to fucking suck it?” Her eyes widened in anticipation.
“No, please, no.” You shook your head.
“Release?” She steps closer.
“Yes, release!” You thought she would show you mercy.
“Release your cum? Want me to suck it?” She took another step.
“Yes– huh? NO!” You shook your head violently; those metal chains tied you, clinking.
“Okay, I’ll suck—” She tied her hair.
Bam!
The door suddenly opened.
There were two women in uniform who entered. They’re… hell of a beauty as well.
“ASSassin Arin, please calm down and follow the protocol procedure,” the woman on the left said, smiling like the bright sunshine.
“We’re here to examine the man.” The woman on the right spoke. She had a body that’s banging.
Your dick twitched.
“GenerAnal Karina and Private First Ass Jiheon. What a surprise, please, be my guest.” Arin bowed and showed her respect.
“Private first ass— GenerAnal!?? What the fuck?” They’re crazy, even their rankings are crazily stupid.
“Manners.” Arin squeezed your cock,
“AAARGGGH!! YES! YES! PLEASE!” You begged, and she had her grip tight.
“Tch.” She let it go.
“It’s okay.” GenerAnal Karina leaned in.
You can see how big her tits were from the top; her deep cleavage gave another emphasis on how massive they are.
Your dick twitched once again.
“Ohhh, what a man, his dick’s the liveliest I’ve ever seen.” GenerAnal licked her lips.
“Are they dogs? Why do they keep licking and drooling?” You thought.
“What do you think, Private?” Karina gave a way for the other girl.
“Hmm, it looks like snickers, look at the veins~” Private First Ass Jiheon leaned this time. Her cute face is on par with the GenerAnal ballistics.
Your dick twitches, one more time.
“Omo~”
“Wow~”
“I know~~.”
Three of them shared a smile and enthusiastically slapped one another in joy.
“How fuck am I?” You muttered.
“Fuck? That’s for later, you’ll fuck each one of us until you can’t walk. Don’t worry, we’re the tightest of all tight~” Karina leaned in for a peck.
Damn, her lips were too soft for you.
“OMG! I KISSED HIM!” She hopped with happiness.
“Wait ‘til you taste his dick~” Arin teased Karina and Jiheon.
“OHHH~ EXCITING.” Jiheon blushed.
“...”
These girls are crazy, and you’re doomed.
“But, GenerAnal, surprisingly, you’re here. I thought the milking battalion was the busiest?” Arin asked Karina.
“What the hell is even a milking battalion?” Questions kept piling up in your brain.
“It’s fine, Admilkral Eunbi is there, she can handle the milk rations herself,” Karina answered while not taking her eyes off your dick.
“Why the fuck do they even need milk rations!? WHAT THE HELL IS EVEN HAPPENING!?” Another damn question that you need an answer to.
“Apparently, Admilkral Eunbi got some help from the platoon who had just come back from man-hunting,” Jiheon responds.
“Ohhh, so Vice Admilkral Magenta’s back.” Arin nods. “Then, we should share him with them, right!?” Arin added.
Among those absurd lines, the last one— you understand it very well.
“W-W-WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHARE!?” You yelled.
“As we said, you’ll fuck each of us until you can’t walk… each… one… of… us.” Karina kissed your dick.
“OMG! I KISSED HIS DICK!” She hopped with happiness again.
"What the fuck..." you whimpered in sorrow. All this... just for a cup of noodles.
“But, GenerAnal… something is bothering me… why did the Shin sisters at the milk battalion as well?” Jiheon asked Karina.
“I also had a suspicion, they definitely don’t belong there, apparently, their big sister power-trips them in,” Karina answered.
“Big sister… Johyun? I just heard that her real name is Shin Jeewon.” Jiheon nodded as if her curiosity had been answered.
“But still, those flats don’t belong to the milk battalion. They should be in Wall Defense!” Arin’s mad.
“Ohh, so those are flat— but why the fuck am I invested in their matters!? I should be thinking how to get away!” You got distracted for a moment.
“...”
“...”
“...”
The three just watched you as you shook your body, trying to slip your hand from the chains.
“W-what?” You got a bad feeling from the way they look at your… dick.
“WOW~ LOOK AT IT SWINGING!”
“LEFT, RIGHT, LEFT, RIGHT!”
“I WANT TO KISS IT AGAIN!”
“SHIT!” You stopped moving. They’re all psychopath— or whatever they call it in their dicktionary.
Ring. Ring.
In the middle of their enjoyment, the phone rang.
“Oh, GenerAnal Karina.” Jiheon handed Karina the phone.
“Hello, Lieuthighnant Yujin.” Karina took the phone.
“Now, what the fuck does even lieuthighnant mean!? Thick thighs!?” Questions piling up in your brain resumed.
“Private First Ass Jiheon, why didn’t you accept the promotion to become Lieuthighnant?” Arin asked Jiheon, tapping her shoulder to gain her attention from staring at my dick.
“Huh? Me? Ah, I just don’t want to. There are too many Lieuthightnant out there. There’s Kazuha, Tzuyu, Rei, Jisoo, and many more…” Jiheon looked at Arin briefly and went back to your dick.
“I see,” Arin responds and joins her, staring at your dick.
“...”
“...”
“Girls, I’ll leave for a moment.” Karina excuses herself.
“I’ll come with you.” Jiheon will go with Karina.
“I’ll have my way to him, goodbye GenerAnal.” Arin stroked your dick and kissed your thighs.
“Ahnng~ w-w-why don’t you leave as well?” Her tongue tickles you,
“I won’t, I’ll have my price for catching you… You’ll plant your seed into me first before everybody else.” She purred.
So the unconscious blowjob earlier wasn’t her price, yet.
“Shit, w-w-wait! GenerAnal Karina!” You called her before she left the room.
“Hmm, what is it? You can’t fuck me yet, even though I wanted it too, but Arin’s got to take you first.” Her lips curled up.
But that wasn’t what you wanted to tell her.
“N-no! Not that—”
“Me?” Jiheon butt in.
“No, not you too! I just uhhh, can I speak to your leader? The highest authority!” You hoped that their leader would spare you, or even convince her to take you instead of fucking all of them.
“Sorry, but Optimus Prime Ministits Winter’s not available for any audience until next week. I’ll put a schedule together the other week instead, then, goodbye.” The door closed.
“But… I’ll be dead next we—AHNNGHH~ D-d-don’t just put it inside your mouth all of a sudden!”
Arin sucked your dick the moment you’re alone with her.
“Hmm~ what a delicacy!” She bobbed her head.
“AHHHHNNG!” You can’t fight back; all you can do is moan and beg her to slow down,
The whole room is filled with your moans, together with her loud sucking. She kept humming as well, and her tongue worked its way from your base to the tip.
“Men’s popsicles are the best way to beat the heat within me~” She momentarily stopped sucking just to say that line.
“Haaa~ Arin~” You hate to admit it, but it felt so good.
“Hmm, wait, let me show you something you’ll enjoy.” She straightens up.
Her hands went everywhere they should to strip herself, pulling off her clothes one by one. Another cloth, another twitch.
You’re anticipating it for some reason, and that reason was her body.
“How is it? Perfect, right? This tight pussy… never been fucked by a real man like you, these tits also never been sucked by a man, and my womb… no semen had ever swam.” Her hand roams everywhere she mentioned.
“Fuck…” You’re on the verge of defeat. Half of you wanted to tell her that she can use you anytime she wants.
“So….” She loosened the chains enough for your foot to touch the floor.
You’re eye level with her.
“What color is this?” She cupped her breast.
“White…” Its snowy skin is enough to hypnotise you.
“And this…?” She squeezed both of her tits with her hands; her perky nipples stood out.
“Pink…” There are lots of colors in the world, but there are two vivid colors in front of you.
“Right… never been sucked.” She purred, then she leaned in.
“Do you want to suck it?” The moment you heard Arin ask it, you gave up.
“Yes.” You opened your mouth, waiting for the food to come.
“...”
“AAHHHHNNGG!” She lets out a high-pitched moan.
You suck her tits like a suction cup. Her perky buds danced with your tongue, and her smooth, snowy tits were swallowed by your mouth. Her skin is so smooth, it slides into your lips like butter.
“Yes! Suck it! Make me yours!” Arin grabbed the back of your head and pressed it deeper into her.
“HMMPPP~ HMPP!” You kept sucking from left to right. Sucking as if your life depends on it, well— it does.
“Yes! AHHHNG!”
“P-P-PUT IT IN!”
She kept moaning. You don’t know what you should put and where.
“HAAA~ YAH!” She pulled your head away from her tits.
“Hwah?” Your mouth won’t close; you still want more of her tits.
“I know… it tastes good, but I want this inside me. Right. Now.” She stroked your dick, pumping it in a spiral motion.
“Beg. Beg me to put it in.” She purred, just a second ago, she was the one who wanted it badly, and now she’s begging you as if you’re the one who wanted it.
“Haaa.” Her handjob were too good. It’s like a work of God.
“Beg.”
“P-please… Arin… put my dick inside of your tight pussy.” You gave up, you also want it.
“Very well… AAARRGHGH!” She groaned, your dick head pushed in.
Her wet folds are enough lubrication for you, and her spit around your shaft added some ease as well.
“AHHGH! GOD! MEN! I LOVE MEN!” She pushed her hips into you.
Bit by bit, her pussy swallowed your dick, abducting it in the depths of her tight womanhood.
“AHHHH!”
“AHH MORE!”
“AHHHHHH!”
“SHIT!” Her last words after your dick is finally inside her. All of it.
“You're the missing key… haa~, and my pussy’s the lock. We are one… HMMM~” She kissed you, and she starts moving.
Fucking herself to her content using you.
“Arin.. Arin!” You called her name; her angelic face was still mere inches from you after that kiss.
“Yes… I’m yours… and you’re mine.” She cupped your cheeks while she was still thrusting your dick into her pussy.
She looked so dreamy.
She’s a fantasy.
And you’re—- you’re cumming.
“AHHH! ARIN! I’m close!” You closed your eyes, but she opened them.
“Inside! And look at me while you do it! Look at the girl you’re coming with and realize how lucky you are to cum inside me, Arin!” Her statement is telling you that this won’t definitely be the last.
“AHHH!”
“ANGHHH!”
There it goes, your dick spraying cum straight to her womb. Filling her up nicely and flooding her until she doubled her weight.
“Ahhh, there~ hmm~ so warm~” She plants small kisses on your neck.
After several twitches and cum spitting, she stepped back, letting your softened dick plug out of her filled pussy.
“Oh shit, what a waste.” She grinned after seeing lots of cum spilling out of her pussy, creating a puddle of white gooey fluids on the floor.
“Pant… pant…”
“You look exhausted already. Don’t worry, you had enough time to rest,” What Arin said gives you a little relief.
Knock. Knock.
“Who is it!?”
It’s definitely not GenerAnal Karina and Private First Ass Jiheon since it knocked, those two just simply whack their way in.
The Auxiliary Fleet's vessels are rudimentary in nature; short, simple, and mood driven. For those wishing to explore longer, more comprehensive vessels, we direct them towards the Primary Fleet.
Important Notice from the Commander:
Due to the nature of the missions, no persons under the age of 18 are to visit the Fleet.
Under the same condition, no idol under the age of 18 are eligible to take command of a vessel.
Vessel Name – Mission Type (S: Smut, F: Fluff, A: Angst) – Class – Commanding Officer
Crashing Computations – S – tripleS – Kim Nakyoung
Public Praise – S – tripleS – Seo Dahyun
Saccharine Fornication – S – tripleS – Park Shion
Blowing the Ballasts – S – tripleS – Lee Jiwoo
Depth Charge – S – tripleS – Lee Jiwoo
Retention Rate – S – tripleS – Hsu Nientzu
Overtime Ontology – S – tripleS – Kamimoto Kotone
Two-phase Stepdown – S – aespa – Kim Minjeong
Entries are in chronological order, from oldest to newest.
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