Starring : Male oc x Kwon Eunbi & Karina Aespa & Yujin Ive
Warning: These theme were contained incest, Mother-Son, Brother-sister, Voyager.
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Your father.
How does his figure come to mind? Is he a suitable man to be a role model for you? Is he a responsible man?
The answer was that he is an great man,responsible man and good father figure.
A question that has been ingrained in your mind all along.
How could you stabbing your father in the back by playing with fire with your mother? Messing with your sister and family. Shouldn't you be ashamed of the depraved things you did to your mother and older sister?
What if he knew about it, about the immoral and taboo things that you all have done.
And what you will do if that happens is...
***
The first thing you registered wasn't the dawn light filtering through the curtains, or the familiar ache in your shoulders from last night's exertion—it was the wet heat engulfing your cock before you'd even opened your eyes. Your hips jerked forward instinctively, a groan tearing from your throat as consciousness crashed over you in waves.
"Mom..." The word slipped from your lips in a sleep-thick whisper as consciousness seeped back in—each syllable weighed down by the syrupy haze of pleasure already coiling in your gut.
Your eyelids fluttered open to the obscene sight of Eunbi's lips stretched around your morning erection, her cheeks hollowed with practiced suction that sent jolts of electricity down your spine.
Eunbi pulled back with a wet pop, strands of saliva clinging to her swollen lips as she smiled up at you through her eyelashes—that same smile that used to greet you over breakfast bowls of steaming rice.
"Good morning, baby," she murmured, her voice husky from sleep and misuse, before swallowing you whole again with a groan that vibrated through your entire length.
Eunbi's mouth constricted around you with terrifying precision—that warm, wet vise of a throat milking your cock in rhythmic pulses timed to the twitch of your balls. You felt it first in your lower spine, that electric tightening no amount of willpower could stop.
"Mom—I'm gonna—" The warning tore from your throat half-strangled as her fingers dug into your thighs, nails biting flesh through the thin blanket.
Her response was to hollow her cheeks violently, the suction so abrupt your vision whited out as your hips jackknifed off the mattress.
The first spurt hit the back of her throat with a wet slap you felt in your molars. Eunbi's nostrils flared as she swallowed instinctively, her eyelashes fluttering like a hummingbird's wings against your trembling stomach.
You watched, hypnotized, as her throat worked around each subsequent pulse—the bob of her Adam's apple synchronizing with your contractions as she drank you down with shameless greed. A stray pearl of cum escaped the corner of her stretched lips; her tongue darted out to catch it with a slurp that made your softening cock twitch against her chin.
"Oh… So amazing, Mom," you groaned, still shuddering from the aftershocks as Eunbi pulled back with a wet pop. She chuckled—a low, throaty sound that sent heat pooling right back into your spent cock—while wiping the last glistening strands from her lips with the back of her hand.
"Take a shower first," she murmured, already sliding off the bed with that effortless grace that shouldn't exist after what you'd just done.
"Let me cook breakfast for us.”
After finishing the shower, steam still clung to your skin as you padded toward the kitchen, the scent of sizzling garlic and sesame oil pulling you forward like a lifeline.
The first shock wasn't the heat—it was the way morning light caught the curve of Eunbi's bare thighs beneath her apron straps, the fabric barely covering the swell of her ass as she bent over the stove. The second was the thin black strap of her thong cutting between those familiar cheeks, so obscenely visible you choked on your own breath.
Your palm connected with her right cheek before rational thought intervened—a sharp smack that made her yelp and nearly drop the spatula.
"Ouch... Baby!" Eunbi straightened with an exaggerated pout, rubbing the spot where your handprint bloomed pink across her skin. Her nipples peaked visibly beneath the apron's thin fabric as she fake-glared at you over her shoulder, the effect ruined by how her thighs pressed together instinctively.
"Oops... Sorry Mom," you lied, stepping closer to press against her back, your still-damp towel brushing her legs.
"I can't stand to see your juicy ass just... sitting there." Your fingers traced the thong's edge where it vanished between her cheeks, feeling her shiver against you.
Eunbi's gasp hitched when your index finger breached her tight rim, her cooking chopsticks clattering against the wok as her hips jerked forward instinctively.
The startled noise she made—half-protest, half-pleasure—dissolved into a shuddering moan as your tongue followed where your finger had been, lapping at the puckered flesh with slow, deliberate strokes that made her thighs quiver. Sesame oil sizzled violently in the pan behind her, forgotten as her fingers scrambled against the stovetop for purchase.
"Baby... What are you doing?" Her voice came out strangled, the syllables fracturing when your tongue swirled tighter around her rim, probing deeper with each pass.
The apron strings trembled against her bare waist where you'd untied them earlier, the fabric gaping open to reveal the flushed curve of her ass as you spread her wider.
"Trying to taste this one of yours hole , Mom," you murmured against her skin, the words vibrating through her sensitive flesh before diving back in with renewed hunger.
The salt-bitter tang of her musk flooded your senses as you worked her open with your tongue, each flick and thrust drawing out another broken sound from her throat. Her thong, already damp with arousal, stretched taut between her cheeks as her hips rocked back against your face in helpless little jerks.
Eunbi's protest dissolved into a wet gasp as your cockhead caught against her clenched rim, the slick friction drawing a shudder through her entire body.
"But—ah—mommy is cooking, Baby," she breathed, her fingers scrambling against the stovetop for purchase as her hips jerked backward instinctively. The wok behind her hissed violently as garlic burned, the acrid scent mingling with the musk of her arousal as you pressed forward—just enough to make her tight ring stretch around your tip without yielding.
"Are you refusing me to fill this hole of yours, Mom?" you murmured against the nape of her neck, teeth grazing the damp strands of hair clinging to her skin.
Your hands slid around her waist, fingertips digging into the softness of her belly before dragging upward to palm her breasts—still warm from sleep, the nipples pebbled beneath your touch.
Eunbi's hips jerked back against your cock with sudden, desperate urgency, her fingers scrambling against the stovetop as burning garlic filled the kitchen with acrid smoke.
"No... Mommy wants—" Her breath hitched when your thumb circled her clit through damp fabric, "—Mommy wants you to fuck her ass, baby."
Your grin widened into something feral as the wrinkled pucker of Eunbi's asshole fluttered against your cockhead, her body tensing then yielding in alternating waves that mirrored her ragged breathing. The first inch slipped in with obscene ease—her tight ring stretching around your girth with a wet pop that made her gasp sharp enough to cut glass.
"Your so big, baby," she whimpered, fingers scrambling against the stovetop as her thighs trembled—not in resistance but in anticipation.
"Fuck—you're so tight, Mom," you groaned through clenched teeth, the words scraping raw against your throat as Eunbi's anal muscles fluttered around your cock in frantic pulses. The heat was suffocating—a wet, clenching vice that threatened to milk your orgasm from you before you'd even found a rhythm.
Eunbi's body arched backward like a bowstring pulled taut, her hips rolling instinctively against yours as her asshole gradually adjusted to your girth. You could feel the exact moment her muscles stopped resisting—that subtle shift from painful clenching to hungry pulsing as her rim fluttered around your cock.
"That's it, Mom," you growled against the damp skin of her shoulder, fingers tightening around her hips hard enough to leave fleeting white marks.
"Take it all."
The first full thrust punched a scream from Eunbi's throat—high and shattered like broken crystal—her fingers scrambling against the stovetop as her legs trembled violently. Her hips jerked backward to meet your next thrust with startling precision, her body moving with a rhythm that felt both practiced and desperate. The apron strings trembled against her bare waist where they'd come undone, the fabric gaping open to reveal the flushed curve of her ass as you spread her wider with each snap of your hips.
Eunbi's moans shattered into fragmented whimpers with each thrust, her back arching as her apron straps slid down her shoulders. The fabric pooled around her waist, exposing the heavy swell of her breasts just as your hands closed over them—her nipples pebbled instantly beneath your palms.
"Urgh... Baby... Fuck Mommy's ass like that," she gasped, her words slurring as her hips rocked back to meet your movements. Your fingers dug into the soft flesh, kneading with rough urgency as her tits spilled between your fingers, the heat of her skin searing against yours.
The rhythmic slap of skin against skin filled the kitchen, drowning out the hiss of burnt garlic in the pan.
Eunbi's breath came in sharp, fractured gasps, her body trembling as you pistoned into her tight heat. Every time you pulled back, her asshole clung to your cock like a vise, reluctant to let you go, only to swallow you whole again with a wet slurp that sent shocks of pleasure up your spine. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, the soft weight of them a delicious contrast to the punishing grip of her ass around your length.
"Mommy, I want to cum," you gasped, fingers biting into the soft flesh of her hips as her asshole pulsed around you in erratic contractions. The words tasted like shattered glass on your tongue—sharp and dangerous and exhilarating.
Eunbi twisted her head to look at you over her shoulder, her lower lip caught between her teeth in a way that made her look twenty years younger. Sweat dripped down her temples, tracing the delicate hollow of her throat before disappearing beneath her askew apron.
"Inside, baby," she panted, rolling her hips backward with a filthy grind that made you see stars. "Cum inside Mommy's asshole."
The command tore through you like lightning.
Your hips snapped forward without conscious thought—one brutal, final thrust that buried you to the hilt in her clenching heat. The orgasm ripped through you with violent precision, your cock twitching as thick ropes of cum painted her inner walls white.
You felt each pulse—deep, shuddering bursts that made Eunbi's knees buckle beneath her. Her answering moan was muffled against her own forearm, her teeth sinking into the tender flesh as her body convulsed around you.
Hot semen flooded Eunbi's tight channel in viscous spurts, each jet hitting deeper than the last as her anal muscles milked you with greedy precision. The sensation was obscene—her body pulling your seed in with each contraction as if determined to claim every drop.
You could feelthe exact moment your cum began leaking around your still-hard cock, the warm slickness mixing with the sweat dripping down her trembling thighs.
Eunbi's breath came in fractured gasps as she slumped forward against the stovetop, her fingers scrambling for purchase against the now-cold pan. Her apron straps slid completely off her shoulders, pooling around her waist like a discarded afterthought. The burnt garlic scent had long been overpowered by the musk of sweat and sex—a heady combination that made your spent cock twitch inside her.
"Fuck," you groaned, your voice raw as you slowly pulled out, watching with rapt fascination as your cum dribbled from her gaping rim.
"Are you satisfied now?" she huffed, her lips pursed in a mock scowl that couldn't disguise the swollen redness from earlier.
A single strand of hair clung to her damp temple, her apron now properly retied though slightly askew, hiding the evidence of what you'd just done to her against the kitchen counter.
You caught her wrist before she could retreat, pressing a kiss to the inside where her pulse fluttered like a caged bird.
"Not even close," you murmured against her skin, grinning at the way her breath hitched despite her exasperated eye roll.
Then after minute ago, the kimchi fried rice was slightly burnt at the edges—just how you liked it—with crispy bits of garlic clinging to the underside of the fried egg Eunbi had placed on top.
You looked at your mother and then dared to speak after you hid a fact that might surprise her later.
"Mom, I need to say something".
"If you say, I'm pretty to want myself to leave you for the next round, forget it, Baby", Eunbi looks joking but you're serious.
"No, Mom!"
From the serious tone of your speech that made Eunbi turn into serious, "Say it, Baby!"
"Mom, Actually..."
****
"Noona....Karina Noona, wait me, please! "
Karina's stiletto heel clicked sharply against the pavement as she spun around, the midday sun catching the dangerous glint in her narrowed eyes.
"Do you know how much it hurt me," she hissed through clenched teeth, her manicured fingers curling into fists at her sides, "to defend that whore instead of your own sister?"
You dropped to your knees without thinking, the concrete biting through the fabric of your jeans as you stared up at her. Shadows from the overhead awning striped her face unevenly, making her expression unreadable except for the furious tremble of her bottom lip.
"I'm sorry, Noona," you whispered, the apology tasting like ash in your mouth, "I know I'm wrong. I regret it that I didn't... I don't believe you.”
Karina's arms remained crossed, the sharp angles of her elbows catching sunlight as she listened with an expression carved from ice.
You could see the exact moment public scrutiny pricked her composure—her shoulders tensing as passersby slowed their steps, murmurs rising like steam from pavement cracks.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" The whisper tore from her clenched teeth, her stiletto tapping an erratic rhythm against concrete.
Karina's fingers flew to her temple, nails digging crescent moons into skin as she hissed through bared teeth: "Jesus Christ. You fucking embarrassed me. Get up! Now.”
"I won't stand up until you forgive me, Noona," you repeated, louder this time, drawing curious glances from passing students whose whispers prickled the back of your neck like static electricity.
Karina's jaw tightened visibly—you watched the muscle twitch beneath her pearl-pale skin—before her shoulders slumped in exasperation.
"Okay, fine," she hissed through clenched teeth, her manicured fingers flicking dismissively as she glanced around at the gathering onlookers.
"I forgive you. Now get your ass up, now", The last word cracked like a whip, her heel grinding against pavement for emphasis.
You smiled—too sharp, too tight—and followed Karina's staccato footsteps down the alleyway, her stilettos clicking like a metronome counting down to something inevitable.
"About the video you sent," you started, your voice carefully neutral despite the acid churning in your gut, "is it true that Yujin and—"
Karina whirled so fast her hair lashed your cheek like a whip. "Do you think I'm lying, huh?" Her manicured finger jabbed into your sternum hard enough to bruise.
The words tasted like sawdust in your mouth even as you said .
"It's just one minute... So it's possible to deepfake, right?" You swallowed hard, watching Karina's expression twist with something between pity and disgust," They can't do it, right?”
"Follow me!" she snapped without turning, her voice sharp enough to slice through the humid afternoon air.
"Where—?"
"To prove to the fucking blind eyes of yours that fucking whore cheat on you, asshole," she hissed over her shoulder, nails biting deeper as she cut through an alleyway strewn with discarded takeout containers.
The motel's neon vacancy sign flickered like a dying heartbeat as Karina dragged you through the peeling lobby doors.
The receptionist barely glanced up from his magazine—some faded gossip rag featuring a decade-old celebrity scandal—until Karina's stiletto cracked against the linoleum like a gunshot.
"I need lemonade," Karina announced, her voice slicing through the stale air.
Her fingers drummed an impatient rhythm on the chipped countertop, French tips clicking like tiny knives.
The receptionist blinked slowly, his gaze drifting from Karina's heaving chest to the sweat beading on your temple.
"Sorry miss," he drawled, scratching at a patch of stubble, "we don't have that."
"It's hot here," she repeated through clenched teeth, the words sharp enough to slice through the motel's stale air.
"I heard your lemonade is fresh."
The receptionist—a gaunt man with nicotine-stained fingers—didn't even glance up from his magazine this time.
"Like I said, miss," he drawled, flipping a dog-eared page with deliberate slowness, "we only got Orange."
You blinked, sweat trickling down your temple as the exchange coiled tight around your ribs like barbed wire. Something about the way Karina's heel tapped morse code against the floorboards—three quick, one slow—made your stomach drop.
Then with a grin Karina said, "I'll make it lemonade," her crimson lips curling around the words like a predator baring teeth.
The receptionist smiled—a slow, knowing thing—and handed the key to Karina while saying, "Welcome miss, I hope you like our service later," his yellowed fingernails brushing her palm just a second too long.
After taking the elevator and passing through several hallways of the hotel room, the two of you arrived at the far end of the room without a number.
The key turned with a rusty screech, the motel door swinging open to reveal a room that smelled of Pine-scented bleach and something darker underneath. Your pulse hammered against your ribs as Karina's stiletto heels clicked across the threadbare carpet—each step precise as a sniper's bullet—toward the lone monitor humming on the dresser.
"What room is this, Noona?" Your voice came out hoarse, cracking like cheap varnish on the last syllable.
Karina's reflection in the darkened screen showed lips curving slow as a sickle moon.
"You'll find out," she murmured, fingers trailing across the monitor's power button and pressing it.
The monitor flickered to life with a static hiss, revealing a grainy CCTV-style feed that made your stomach drop. There she was—Yujin, unmistakable in her school uniform.
"What the hell is this, Noona?" The words tore from your throat like shrapnel.
Karina's fingertip tapped the monitor with a manicured click.
"Proof," she said, voice dripping with venomous triumph, "This is a video captured by a mini camera in one of the rooms of this motel. On live."
The screen flickered with digital ghosts—Yujin's familiar laugh lines pixelated into something strange. Your fingers twitched toward the monitor as if you could reach through and shake her by the shoulders until this stopped being real.
"Noona, this has to be—" Your throat closed around the lie.
Then the screen flickered again, and then the door swung open. The figure that stepped inside moved with a familiar gait—shoulders slightly hunched, that particular way of turning his wrist when pushing hair from his eyes. Your breath caught in your throat like a hooked fish as the man pulled Yujin into a crushing embrace, his hands already working at her uniform buttons with practiced efficiency.
The man lifted his face from Yujin's neck, his profile illuminated by the bedside lamp—You know him. You're familiar with him. He knows you better.
He is your father.
"Still don't believe it?" Karina voice was flat, lifeless, like the hollow tone of a doctor delivering terminal news.
You keep silent.
Actually, you already know that your father and Yujin had an affair secretly through a video sent by Karina the other day, But you tried to deny it until it was proven now.
The screen pulsed like an open wound—Yujin's bare thighs clamping around your father's waist as he lifted her onto the motel bed with a grunt that vibrated through the tinny speakers. Your vision tunneled until all that remained was the obscene glide of his tongue along her collarbone, the way her fingers twisted in his graying hair with possessive urgency.
The screen burned brighter than the overhead bulb—Yujin's lips stretched obscenely around your father's cock while her fingertips traced the veins bulging along its length. A wet pop*echoed through the tinny speakers as she pulled back, her tongue darting out to lick the flushed head with theatrical slowness.
Your father groaned, his fingers tightening in her hair—that same paternal grip that once steadied your bicycle now forcing her mouth deeper onto his shaft.
The monitor's speakers crackled with Yujin's breathy moan—"Daddy... You fuck me so good"—as your father's hips snapped forward, plunging his cock into her with a wet slap that made your vision pulse red at the edges.
His hands, the same ones that once patted your head after little league games, now gripped Yujin's thighs hard enough to leave crescent-shaped indents in her flesh.
It was disgusting and pain inside your heart.
Karina's stiletto tapped a nervous rhythm against the motel's threadbare carpet, her breath coming in shallow bursts that fogged the stale air between you.
When you turned your head toward her, her cheeks burned crimson—not from anger, but from something darker, wetter. Her thighs squeezed together instinctively, the whisper of nylon against nylon louder than the tinny moans still spilling from the monitor.
"You... you like this," you breathed, watching her pupils dilate as your father's grunts punctuated Yujin's falsetto cries.
Karina's protest tore through the stale motel air like a paper-thin lie, "No, I don't!" Her fingers twitched against yours, slick with sweat despite the AC unit rattling in the corner.
On screen, Yujin arched backward with a silent scream as your father's hips pistoned forward—the motel bedframe slamming against the wall in a rhythm that matched Karina's suddenly shallow breathing.Her grip tightened with each thrust, her manicured nails biting crescents into your palm.
You watched—transfixed—as Karina's lower lip disappeared between her teeth, her free hand drifting unconsciously to the hem of her skirt. The harder your father fucked Yujin on screen, the more Karina's thighs pressed together, the nylon whisper of her stockings louder than the tinny audio feed.
The monitor's glow painted Karina's trembling lips blue as your father's grunts filled the motel room—each thrust against Yujin's body seeming to vibrate through Karina's tense shoulders. Her breath hitched when Yujin's back arched on screen, fingers clawing at the sheets while your father's hips pistoned with brutal efficiency.
Karina's knees buckled slightly, her stiletto scraping the carpet as her thighs pressed tighter together.
"I hate this," she whispered hoarsely—but her hand was already guiding yours beneath her skirt with desperate urgency. The lace trim of her panties was soaked through, heat radiating through the damp fabric before you even touched skin.
Karina's breath hitched as your fingers brushed the soaked lace clinging to her folds—her thighs tensed, then parted with a shudder that betrayed her earlier protests. The monitor's glow painted her trembling lips blue as Yujin's falsetto cries filled the motel room, each moan seeming to vibrate through Karina's body like an electric current.
"Touch me, please ," she whimpered, her manicured nails digging into your wrist as she ground against your tentative fingers.
The anger and emotion over Yujin's and your father's betrayal needed an outpouring, and now, Karina offered it.
Your fingers squeezed Karina's labia with punishing force, the wet heat of her arousal slick against your knuckles as she gasped into your mouth. The kiss wasn't tender—it was teeth and tongue and the metallic tang of blood where her lip split against yours.
Karina whimpered, her body arching toward you even as her hands scrambled at your shoulders in weak protest, her stiletto digging into your calf as she rocked against your palm with frantic urgency.
The monitor behind you flickered—Yujin's ecstatic scream tinny through cheap speakers—as you shoved Karina backward onto the motel bed. Her skirt rode up around her waist, revealing the ruined lace of her panties stretched taut between trembling thighs.
You didn't bother removing them—just yanked the fabric aside with a tearing sound that made Karina's breath hitch, then drove two fingers into her without preamble. Her back arched off the mattress, a broken moan escaping her throat as her hips jerked to meet your thrusts.
Yujin's voice crackled through the tinny motel speakers—"Daddy, I want to cum"*—her whimper punctuated by the rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh.
Your fingers inside Karina stuttered, then matched the brutal pace on screen thrust for thrust. The wet squelch of Karina's arousal filled the stale air louder than the monitor's audio, her thighs clamping around your wrist like a vise as you crooked your fingers just so.
"Fuck—yes—like that," Karina gasped, her head thrashing against the yellowed pillowcase.
The monitor's flickering light painted sweat-slick streaks down her neck, each moan from Yujin seeming to spur her hips into a more desperate grind. You watched Karina's abdomen clench, the muscles fluttering beneath her skin as her orgasm built—so close, so fucking close—while your father's grunts through the speakers grew louder, more urgent.
The tinny speakers crackled with Yujin's falsetto scream—"Daddy, I'm cumming!"—just as Karina's thighs clamped around your wrist like a vice.
Her back arched off the motel bed with a violence that sent her stiletto flying across the room, the heel cracking against the baseboard as her hips bucked wildly. You felt it before you saw it—the sudden gush of warm liquid flooding your fingers, her inner muscles pulsing in erratic contractions that soaked the ruined lace of her panties and left dark streaks on the motel's threadbare sheets.
Karina's breath is still choking but emotions are still hanging in your mind, emotions betrayed, anger and disappointment.
Suddenly, the monitor's speakers crackled—your father's guttural moan slicing through the motel room's stale air as he pounded into Yujin with renewed fervor.
"Urgh... Karina... Your pussy is so beautiful, my daughter. Daddy wanted to cum inside you."
You froze.
Confused.
The words hit like a physical blow—sharp and sudden—leaving your lungs empty.
Karina's breath hitched beside you, her body going rigid as tears welled in her widened eyes. They spilled over in silent streaks, tracing the contours of her flushed cheeks before dripping onto the motel's yellowed sheets.
The monitor's flickering light caught the wet tracks, making them gleam like exposed nerves.
Karina's lips trembled—her carefully painted lipstick smeared in jagged streaks like war paint after battle. Tears spilled from the folds of her eyes in hot, silent rivers, cutting through her foundation in glistening tracks.
"I can explain," she whispered, the words cracking like thin ice underfoot.
***
"Mom, Actually, Dad is cheating on you" .
The wry smile that curled her lips didn't reach her eyes—those dark pools reflected only the ghost of something long anticipated.
"I knew it," she murmured, turning the words over like a stone smoothed by river currents.
"Since when?" Your voice cracked like dry wood in a silent house. The kitchen smelled of burnt garlic and something sour underneath—sweat, maybe, or the metallic tang of betrayal lingering in the air. "And why did you let it?"
She wasn't looking at you—her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the window where afternoon light sliced through the blinds in sharp lines.
"It's been a long time," she said, the words measured, careful. A confession wrapped in cellophane. "And the reason for this is because I just want to maintain the integrity of our family.”
Eunbi's thumbs traced the curve of your cheekbones, her touch lingering where sweat had dried in the afternoon heat. The pads of her fingers trembled slightly—not with hesitation, but with something darker, hungrier.
Your mother was gone now, replaced by someone whose pupils dilated when your breath hitched.
"But all of that doesn't matter anymore," she murmured, pressing closer until the heat of her body bled through your shirt. "I've found something more precious than all of those things", she leaned in, her breath hot against your ear.
"And it's you. I love you, baby." Her teeth grazed your earlobe, sharp enough to make you gasp.
In the glittering world where every desire has a price, Jennie Kim discovers a velvet door she was never meant to open. Behind it lies a secret life far more intoxicating than fame — one that pays in millions and demands everything in return.
* * *
The Seoul skyline bled amber through floor-to-ceiling windows as Jennie Kim swirled the last of her Cabernet, bare feet pressed into the Italian marble that still felt new, even after three years in this apartment. Her phone lay face-up on the glass coffee table, the Bloomberg terminal glowing with the day's market close. She'd made another two hundred thousand today on her tech portfolio alone. Not bad for a Tuesday.
"Jennie, you're not listening to me."
Jennie blinked, dragging her gaze from the city lights to the woman curled on the opposite chaise. Mia Winters—British actress, three-time BAFTA nominee, and the only person in the industry who'd ever told Jennie the truth about anything. They'd met at a Chanel fitting four years ago, bonded over shared exhaustion with the performance of it all.
"I'm listening. You said something about a party in Ibiza that you're not going to."
"I said something about an opportunity." Mia set down her wine glass with a deliberate click. "Something I shouldn't be telling you. But I watch you, Jen. I see you scrolling through those spreadsheets like they're going to fuck you better than any man ever has."
Jennie's laugh came out sharp, defensive. "And what's wrong with that? Spreadsheets don't lie. Spreadsheets don't leak to Dispatch."
"Spreadsheets don't make you feel alive either." Mia leaned forward, her blonde hair catching the low light. "You've had everything handed to you on a silver platter—fame, money, looks, talent. And you're bored, Jennie. I can see it in the way you order the same thing at every restaurant because you can't be bothered to decide. In the way you haven't called that producer back even though you told me he was good in bed."
"He was adequate."
"Adequate." Mia shook her head. "That's exactly my point."
The silence stretched between them, filled with the distant hum of Gangnam's nightlife twelve floors below. Jennie's fingers found the stem of her glass, tracing the rim. "What are you trying to tell me, Mia?"
"There's a service. Ultra-exclusive. Invitation-only, and I mean only—you don't find it, it finds you. They call it The Velvet Rope." Mia's voice dropped, the playful tone evaporating into something almost reverent. "It's for people who have everything and want something they can't buy on the open market. Billionaires. Royalty. Tech founders who've literally been to space."
"And what do they want?"
"Fantasy fulfillment. Specific, expensive, consenting fantasy fulfillment." Mia held up a hand before Jennie could interrupt. "I know what you're thinking. But it's not trafficking. It's not coercion. The talent—that's what they call the celebrities who participate—sets their own boundaries. The NDA is ironclad. Thirty million dollar penalty for leaks, and it goes both ways."
Jennie's throat tightened. "You're telling me to sell my body."
"I'm telling you to consider an option that pays more per hour than your entire night at Born Pink tour." Mia reached into her Prada bag and slid a matte black card across the table. No text, no logo. Just a phone number embossed in silver. "Think about it. That's all I'm asking. You're twenty-nine, you're at the peak of your power, and you're lonely. This isn't about desperation. It's about curiosity."
Jennie stared at the card like it might bite her. "How do you know about this?"
"I used it. Twice." Mia's smile was thin, private. "I paid off my mother's medical debts and bought a flat in Paris. And I learned things about myself I didn't know I was capable of wanting."
The words hung in the air long after Mia left, long after Jennie had poured herself another glass, long after she'd carried the card to her bedroom and placed it on her nightstand like a religious artifact.
She didn't sleep that night. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the familiar itch beneath her skin—the one that told her she was wasting her life in gilded comfort, that there had to be more than album cycles and brand deals and the careful, curated loneliness of being Jennie Kim.
Three days later, she made the call.
---
The hotel suite in Gangnam smelled like orchids and new money. Jennie sat across from a woman who looked like she'd been assembled in a lab—severe bob, charcoal suit, tablet held with both hands like a sacred text. No name was exchanged. No pleasantries.
"Ms. Kim. Thank you for your interest in The Velvet Rope."
The woman's voice was neutral, clinical. She walked Jennie through the paperwork with the efficiency of a surgeon: biometric scans, retinal imaging, a digital signature that required both fingerprint and passphrase. The NDA was forty-seven pages. The compensation clause was clear: any breach of contract by the talent would result in liability for the full booking fee plus penalties. Any breach by the client would result in automatic forfeiture of the fee plus damages.
"Your profile will be entered into our database," the woman said, sliding a burner phone across the table. "When a client's request matches your parameters, you'll receive an encrypted notification. You have seventy-two hours to accept or decline. No negotiation. No second chances."
Jennie picked up the phone. It was heavier than she expected, dense with purpose. "What kind of requests?"
"Whatever the client desires, within the boundaries you've set. Your profile indicates 'full evening companionship, no limits within safe boundaries.' Is that accurate?"
The words felt alien coming from her own mouth. "Yes."
"Excellent." The woman stood, smoothing her skirt. "One final note, Ms. Kim. There is a waiting list of celebrities who would kill for this opportunity. Actresses. Singers. Athletes. Our clients are discerning and our slots are limited. If you want to succeed in this line of work, be willing. Show your client a good time, and you'll never want for offers again."
Jennie sat alone in the suite for twenty minutes after the woman left, the burner phone cold in her palm. She thought about the building she wanted to buy in Cheongdam-dong. The garage of vintage cars she'd never drive. The emptiness that yawned beneath every achievement.
She put the phone in her safe and tried to forget about it.
She didn't.
---
Three weeks. Twenty-one days of checking the safe every morning, of jumping at every notification, of telling herself she was being ridiculous. Then, at 2:47 AM on a Thursday, the burner phone buzzed.
Jennie's heart stopped.
She fumbled it open, hands shaking. A single text: an encrypted link. She clicked it, and a video message loaded—a polished woman in her forties, silver hair swept back, voice like warm honey.
"Ms. Kim. We have a client who has requested your services for a private evening in Los Angeles. The occasion is his son's eighteenth birthday. The request is for full evening companionship, no limits within safe boundaries. The fee is two million US dollars, with a fifty percent deposit held in escrow. You have seventy-two hours to accept."
The video ended. Jennie stared at the black screen, her pulse a war drum in her throat.
Two million dollars.
She did the math in her head. After the agency's cut, she'd take home one-point-eight million. The down payment on the building. The garage. The freedom to walk away from a contract negotiation, to tell a label to fuck off, to exist without the constant calculation of survival.
She typed her response before she could talk herself out of it.
Yes.
---
The Gulfstream G650 hummed through the night sky, its cabin a cocoon of cream leather and warm wood. Jennie sat in a club chair, legs crossed, wearing a cream silk blouse and tailored black trousers—effortless, expensive, armor. The flight attendant had offered champagne, caviar, a full-service spa treatment. She'd declined everything.
Her stomach was a knot of wires.
She told herself she could leave. She could show up, assess the situation, and if anything felt wrong, she could walk. She was Jennie fucking Kim. She'd performed for two hundred thousand people in a single night. She'd stared down YG executives, survived the crucible of K-pop, built a brand worth tens of millions.
She could handle a birthday party.
The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.
---
The Beverly Hills hotel penthouse was the kind of space that made you feel small no matter how famous you were. Marble floors, twenty-foot ceilings, a view of the city that stretched to the ocean. A female assistant in a crisp white shirt met Jennie at the door, expression professionally blank.
"Ms. Kim. Welcome. Mr. Calloway will be with you shortly. In the meantime, please make yourself comfortable. There's a changing room through there." She gestured to a door on the left. "Your attire for the evening has been prepared."
She handed Jennie a glossy black box tied with a white ribbon and disappeared before Jennie could ask any of the thousand questions crowding her throat.
The box sat on the king-sized bed like a coffin. Jennie approached it slowly, fingers tracing the ribbon. She untied it with the same care she used for couture gowns on awards night, preserving the presentation even as her heart hammered.
She lifted the lid.
And froze.
Inside, nestled in white tissue paper, was an ensemble that belonged in a fever dream. A lace-trimmed push-up bra in fuzzy black. A ruffled micro-mini skirt with heart-shaped cutouts along the hips, the fabric so insubstantial it looked like a child's costume. White thigh-high stockings with satin bows at the top. A lace headdress with a tiny veil. A black velvet choker with a silver bow at the throat.
And no panties.
Jennie held up the skirt, watching it unfurl like a handkerchief. It would barely cover her ass. If she bent over, it would be a formality.
"What the fuck," she whispered.
A laugh bubbled up from somewhere dark and hysterical. She'd worn stage costumes that left little to the imagination, but those had been power—she'd been in control, performing, untouchable. This was different. This was an invitation to be consumed.
She was still holding the skirt when a knock came at the door.
"Ms. Kim? It's Calloway. May I come in?"
Jennie dropped the skirt like it was on fire. "One moment." She shoved the box aside, smoothed her blouse, and opened the door.
The man in the hallway was exactly what she'd expected and nothing she'd prepared for. Late forties, silver hair swept back from a face that was handsome in the way of old money—strong jaw, cool gray eyes, a mouth that seemed perpetually on the verge of a private joke. He wore a dark suit, perfectly cut, no tie. In his hand, a crystal tumbler of amber liquor.
"Ms. Kim." His voice was low, unhurried, the kind of voice that had been giving orders for decades. "I'm Calloway. Thank you for coming."
"Mr. Calloway." She kept her voice steady. "I was told this would be a private evening."
"It will be. But first, the party." He smiled, and it didn't quite reach his eyes. "My son Ethan is downstairs with his friends. They're celebrating his eighteenth birthday. In about an hour, I'll bring him up to the private lounge." He nodded toward the adjoining door. "I'll call your room phone. You'll enter. A surprise for my son."
Jennie's throat tightened. "And then?"
"And then you'll make his century." Calloway's gaze flickered down her body, not lascivious but assessing, like a jeweler appraising a stone. "He's a massive admirer of your work. Has every album, every poster. You're his ultimate fantasy." He paused, taking a slow sip of his scotch. "I trust you'll exceed expectations."
The words landed like stones in her chest. She forced herself to nod, the same boardroom nod she used when closing a deal she wasn't sure about. "I understand."
"Good." Calloway turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Ms. Kim? The outfit. Wear it exactly as presented. No modifications."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Jennie stood in the middle of the penthouse, alone with the black box and the weight of what she'd agreed to. She walked to the bathroom on autopilot, turned the shower to scalding, and stepped under the spray.
She shaved every inch of skin. Legs, underarms, the sensitive curve of her bikini line. She exfoliated until her skin was raw and pink, then slathered herself in the hotel's expensive lotion, the scent of jasmine and vanilla clinging to her pores.
Then she put on the costume.
The bra was a puzzle of hooks and straps, the cups lifting her breasts into obscene prominence, her nipples visible through the sheer lace. The stockings required concentration—rolling them up her thighs, adjusting the satin bows so they sat perfectly at mid-thigh. The choker fastened with a delicate click, the velvet warm against her throat.
The skirt was last. She stepped into it, pulled it up, and felt the hem barely graze the bottom curve of her ass. When she turned, the heart-shaped cutouts revealed the flare of her hips, the shadow between her thighs.
She looked in the mirror.
The woman staring back was a stranger. Obscenely expensive, meticulously arranged, utterly debauched. The lace headdress sat atop her hair like a crown, the tiny veil brushing her forehead. The choker drew the eye to her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts.
She looked like a dessert. A very expensive, very specific dessert.
"Fuck me," she whispered.
Two hours. She sat on the edge of the bed, champagne sweating in her hand, not drinking. She scrolled through her phone, saw messages from her manager, her mother, her stylist—all the normal threads of her normal life. They felt like artifacts from another dimension.
The hotel phone rang at exactly 11 PM.
Jennie's hand hovered over the receiver. She picked it up.
"Now." Calloway's voice, calm and final.
She set the phone down. She stood. She walked to the adjoining door, her bare feet silent on the carpet, the cool air kissing the exposed skin of her thighs, her stomach, the curve of her ass.
She pushed the door open.
The room beyond was a study in controlled luxury. Dim mood lighting, a massive U-shaped sectional in cream leather, a bar stocked with every spirit imaginable. And three young men, frozen mid-conversation, their eyes locking onto her like missiles.
Ethan was easy to identify—the birthday boy, handsome in that freshly-minted way of eighteen-year-olds, athletic build, dark hair falling across his forehead, wearing a designer hoodie that probably cost more than most people's rent. His jaw dropped. His hands came up to his head.
"No. No fucking way."
His voice cracked on the last word, pure adolescent disbelief.
Marcus, lanky and white, with a shock of red hair and a grin that split his face, turned to clap Calloway on the shoulder. "Holy shit, Mr. C. You weren't kidding."
Devon, Black and broad-shouldered, said nothing. He just stared, his dark eyes fixed on her face, his expression unreadable.
Jennie stood in the doorway, frozen, feeling the air hit parts of her body that had never been so exposed. The tiny skirt did nothing. The sheer bra did nothing. She was naked in all the ways that mattered.
Ethan crossed the room in three strides, stopping inches from her. His eyes were hungry, reverent, disbelieving. He reached out, slowly, and cupped her breast through the lace.
Not hard. Not rough. Just... possession.
Jennie jerked back. "Wait—wait, I thought—"
The room went silent.
"I thought it would be private." Her voice came out thin, reedy. "Just him. Just Ethan. That's what I agreed to."
Calloway's laugh was soft, paternal, devastating. He rose from his armchair, swirling his scotch, and approached her with the easy confidence of a man who'd never been denied anything.
"My dear." His voice was almost kind. "For two million dollars, you're not a date. You're the entire evening's entertainment."
Jennie's blood turned to ice.
"The contract you signed," Calloway continued, "specifies 'full evening companionship, no limits within safe boundaries.' It doesn't specify the number of participants. And the compensation clause—" He tilted his head, sympathetic. "Well. I'm sure you remember."
She did. She remembered every word.
"You can leave, of course." Calloway spread his hands. "No one will harm you. But the penalty for breach of contract is the full booking fee, plus a thirty percent inconvenience penalty to the agency and the client. That's..." He did the math in his head, casual. "Two million six hundred thousand. Due immediately."
Jennie's knees gave out. She sank onto the nearest couch, the ruffled skirt doing nothing to shield her, the leather cold against her bare thighs. She calculated in a panic. Her liquid assets. Her savings. The money she'd set aside for the building.
It would wipe her out. Almost to the penny.
And the scandal. If this went to court, if it leaked—her career, her reputation, everything she'd built. The headlines wrote themselves. Jennie Kim Sued for Breach of Billionaire escort Contract.
She looked up.
Ethan was still standing close, chest rising and falling, his eyes not just hungry but pleading. He wasn't a monster. He was a fan, an overgrown, spoiled fan, but she could see the boy beneath the billionaire's son. The one who'd plastered her posters on his walls. The one who'd learned her choreography in his bedroom.
And the money. The fucking money.
She'd already worn the outfit. She was already half-naked in a room with four men. The Rubicon was wet, and there was no swimming back.
A switch flipped inside her.
Part survival. Part something darker she'd never let out, never acknowledged, never even touched. It rose up from the base of her spine, hot and electric, and she let it.
She stood slowly. Drew her shoulders back. The motion made the push-up bra do its work, her breasts lifting, the lace straining.
She locked eyes with Calloway.
"I'm in."
---
The words hung in the air like smoke, curling around the room, settling into every corner. Jennie felt them leave her mouth and something shifted in her chest—a lock clicking open, a door swinging inward to a room she'd never explored.
Ethan moved first.
His hands landed on her breasts with the desperate certainty of a boy who'd imagined this exact moment a thousand times. The lace of her bra crumpled under his palms, his fingers digging in, kneading like he was testing whether she was real. His breath came in ragged gasps against her neck.
"Oh my God. Oh my God." His voice cracked, reverent and disbelieving. "They're real. They're so much better than the Calvin Klein pictures."
Jennie's mind supplied a dozen biting retorts, but her body was already ahead of her, nipples tightening under the sheer fabric, a pulse beginning to throb between her thighs. She'd been touched before, sure, but never like this—never with this raw, unfiltered worship. This boy had jacked off to her image for years, and now she was here, warm and real and wearing nothing but a maid's fantasy.
"Fuck, Ethan, don't be gentle." Marcus's voice cut through, sharp and teasing. "She's not glass. Suck 'em."
Ethan didn't need encouragement. He pushed the bra cups down with clumsy urgency, her breasts spilling free, and his mouth was on her before she could brace herself. His lips were wet, his tongue sloppy, tracing circles around her nipple that were too fast, too eager, lacking any finesse. But the heat of it—the desperate, starving hunger—sent a jolt straight to her core.
He's a kid. A stupid, rich kid. But the way he moans my name...
Ethan pulled back, lips glistening, eyes blown wide. "Jennie. Fuck, Jennie, I've wanted this since I was fourteen. I used to—" He stopped, a flush creeping up his neck.
"You used to what?" The words slipped out before she could stop them, her voice huskier than she intended.
"I used to cum on my phone screen watching your fancams." He said it like a confession, like a prayer. "And now you're here. Dressed like a maid. About to suck my dick."
The vulgarity of it, the sheer audacity, should have snapped her back to reality. Instead, she felt a slick warmth pooling between her legs, her thighs pressing together instinctively.
Ethan's hands found her waist, guiding her down. The carpet was thick and plush under her knees, the fibers pressing into her bare skin. The tiny skirt rode up immediately, exposing her completely to the room, to the three pairs of eyes that were fixed on her like she was the main event.
He fumbled with his jeans, and when his cock sprang free, it was exactly what she expected—average length, flushed red, already leaking a bead of pre-cum. He cupped her face, his thumb pressing against her lips, and she opened automatically, letting him slide it into her mouth.
"Say you're my birthday present." His voice was strained, desperate. "Say it, Jennie."
She hesitated. Pride flared, hot and indignant. She was Jennie fucking Kim. She'd performed at Coachella. She'd modeled for Chanel. She didn't say things like that.
But the money was already spent in her mind. The building. The cars. The freedom.
And the way he was looking at her—like she was the answer to every question he'd ever asked.
"I'm your birthday present," she murmured, the words tasting like surrender.
Ethan shuddered, his whole body trembling. "Fuck. Fuck."
Then he was in her mouth, pushing deeper than she expected, and she gagged. Her hands flew up to his hips, trying to slow him down, but he was already lost, fisting his hand in her hair and holding her in place.
"Look at me. Eyes up. Yeah, like that." His voice was a stream of filthy adoration, each word punctuated by a thrust. "You're the hottest woman in the world and you're choking on my cock. Best day of my life."
Jennie's eyes watered. Her throat burned. But beneath the discomfort, beneath the humiliation, something else was stirring—a dark, greedy heat that fed on his worship like oxygen to flame.
He's been dreaming of this since he was a child. And I'm here. I'm real. I'm making it happen.
Ethan pulled out, gasping, and hauled her to her feet. Before she could catch her breath, he'd bent her over the arm of the sectional, the leather cool against her flushed skin. The skirt flipped up uselessly, offering her to the room like a gift.
He entered her in one hard, dry stroke.
Jennie's gasp was sharp, the stretch almost painful. She wasn't ready, not nearly wet enough, but Ethan didn't seem to notice. He was already moving, his pace frantic, his hips slapping against her ass with a rhythm that was all teenage urgency and no skill.
"Your pussy is so tight." His voice was a broken litany. "Tighter than I ever dreamed. Holy shit, Jennie, Jennie—"
I should be appalled. Instead my thighs are dripping. His dad is watching.
She risked a glance over her shoulder. Mr. Calloway was still in his armchair, scotch swirling lazily in his glass, his expression one of mild, clinical interest. Marcus was leaning forward, hand already palming his crotch through his jeans. Devon sat back, arms crossed, his dark eyes tracking every movement with an intensity that made her stomach flip.
"Ruin her, birthday boy!" Marcus crowed, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.
Devon said nothing. But his gaze was a weight, pressing down on her, making her hyperaware of every inch of her exposed body.
Ethan's thrusts turned frantic, his grip on her hips bruising. "I'm gonna cum, Jennie. Is that okay? Tell me it's okay."
He's asking permission now. Cute.
"Yes," she heard herself say. "Cum for me."
The words seemed to unlock something in him. He drove deep, a guttural moan tearing from his throat, and she felt the hot flood of his release hitting her back—too soon, too quick, before she'd even begun to climb. He collapsed onto her back, his weight pressing her into the leather, his breath hot and ragged against her shoulder.
"Jennie. Jennie."
She lay there, motionless. She was nowhere close. Her body was humming with unspent tension, a wire pulled taut and left to vibrate.
Ethan sits back, dazed and grinning like he'd just won the lottery. He looked at his father, chest heaving, seeking approval.
Mr. Calloway set down his scotch. The sound of glass against wood was loud in the sudden silence.
"Is that it?"
The words were soft, almost gentle, but they cut through the room like a blade. Ethan's grin faltered.
"Dad, I—"
"The poor woman isn't even close." Calloway rose, his movements unhurried, deliberate. He began unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling the crisp white fabric up his forearms. "You've a lot to learn, son."
Ethan's face flushed. "I'll be ready for round two. I just need a minute."
"Then watch." Calloway's voice was final, brooking no argument. "I'll teach you how to handle a premium investment."
---
Jennie's mind scrambled, a frantic search for footing in the shifting terrain. What the fuck—now the father?
But her body was already responding, the unfinished need making her shameless. She pushed herself up on her elbows, watching Calloway approach. He moved with the economy of a man who'd never wasted a gesture in his life. He removed his jacket, draped it over the back of his chair. His belt buckle clicked open with a sound that seemed to echo.
"Dad, what about Mom?" Ethan's protest was weak, almost reflexive.
Calloway didn't even glance at him. "What about her? She's probably already fucking one of your friends in some other room."
Marcus let out a bark of laughter. Devon's lips twitched.
"Lie back, Ms. Kim."
It wasn't a request. Jennie found herself complying, shifting onto the wide ottoman, her head resting on the tufted velvet. Calloway arranged her limbs with clinical precision—legs parted, knees bent, the skirt a forgotten scrap around her waist. She was completely exposed, her glistening folds on display, the evidence of his son's enthusiasm still leaking from her.
"Pour yourselves drinks," Calloway instructed Marcus and Devon. "Keep your hands visible. You're here to watch and learn."
Devon's hand was already adjusting his fly, but he stopped, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
"You have one hell of a nice pair, Miss Kim." His thumb brushed her nipple, circling slowly. "No wonder the kids are obsessed with them."
Calloway knelt between her legs, and for a long moment, he simply looked at her. His gaze was unhurried, appreciative, like a collector examining a newly acquired piece. He reached out, tracing a finger along her inner thigh, collecting the trickle of her wetness.
Then his hand moved higher, and his fingers found her clit.
"The clitoris is not a doorbell, Ethan." Calloway's voice was calm, instructive, as if he were teaching a golf swing. "You don't jab at it. Slow circles. Watch her hips."
He demonstrated, his touch precise and unerring. The pressure was perfect, the rhythm hypnotic, and Jennie felt a genuine spike of pleasure for the first time that night. Her hips rolled instinctively, chasing his hand.
"There. See how she responds? That's feedback."
He lowered his head, and when his tongue touched her, Jennie's entire body arched off the ottoman. He was methodical, relentless, his tongue flat and broad, tracing long stripes through her folds before focusing on her clit with a pressure that made her see stars. Two fingers slid into her, curling, searching, finding that spot that made her cry out.
"Oh—fuck—"
"Language, Miss Kim. But yes, that's the spot."
His fingers pumped lazily, his tongue never stopping, and Jennie felt the orgasm building like a wave, cresting, crashing over her with a force that stole her breath. She heard herself moan, long and low, her hips grinding against his face, her hands fisting in his silver hair.
"Good girl." He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's how you start."
Jennie lay there, gasping, her first orgasm of the night still pulsing through her. Calloway stood, unzipped his trousers, and freed his cock.
It was not what she expected.
He was notably larger than Ethan—thick, veined, intimidating. The head was flushed dark, already slick with pre-cum. He guided it through her soaked folds, teasing, letting her feel the weight of it against her entrance.
"Watch, Ethan. This is how you fill a woman."
He sank in with one slow, inexorable push.
Jennie's mouth opened, but no sound came out. The stretch was overwhelming, a fullness that pressed against her walls, that reached deeper than she'd thought possible. He seated himself to the hilt, his hips flush against hers, and paused.
"Feel that? She's gripping me like a fist." Calloway's voice was calm, almost conversational. "That's what happens when you take your time. A tight premium cunt like this deserves respect."
Premium cunt. He called me a premium cunt. Why does that make me burn?
He began to move, and Jennie's thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. His strokes were long, deep, punishingly controlled. Each thrust ground against her cervix, a pressure that was almost pain, almost pleasure, a boundary she hadn't known she had. He set a torturous rhythm, slow and deep, then faster, then slow again, building her up and letting her fall.
"You feel that, Ethan? That's control. That's how you make her forget her own name."
Jennie was already forgetting. Her moans were loud, unguarded, filling the room. She didn't care who heard. She didn't care about anything except the next thrust, the next wave, the next shattering release.
Calloway pulled out, and hands guided her onto all fours. The carpet was soft under her knees, her palms flat against the fibers. He entered her from behind, the new angle driving even deeper, and she let out a sound that was almost a sob.
"Ride her, Mr. C!" Marcus's voice was hoarse, his hand moving over his jeans.
"Patience." Calloway's hips slapped against her ass, each stroke a punctuation mark. "Good things come to those who wait."
He reached around, fingers finding her clit again, and the dual stimulation was too much. Jennie came again, her body convulsing, her walls clenching around him. He didn't stop, fucking her through it, drawing out every pulse until she was limp and trembling.
"Now you." He pulled her upright, guiding her onto his lap as he sank into the armchair. "Reverse cowgirl. Face your fan."
She straddled him, her back to his chest, facing Ethan. The position was obscene—her legs spread wide, her breasts bouncing with each movement, his cock buried deep inside her. Calloway's hands guided her hips, setting a rhythm that was slow, deep, devastating.
"See how she shudders? Slow down when she's close, then pound through it."
He demonstrated, his pace shifting, and Jennie's third orgasm tore through her, a scream ripping from her throat. She collapsed against his chest, her body wracked with spasms, her mind a white-hot blur.
"That's three." Calloway's voice was amused, approving. "She's a quick learner."
He laid her on the couch, positioning himself between her legs. Missionary. Eye contact. His thumb found her clit, pressing down, and he began to move with a rhythm that was almost gentle, almost cruel.
"Look at me, Miss Kim. I want to see your face when I break you."
Jennie's eyes locked with his. She saw the cold amusement, the clinical satisfaction, the hunger beneath the control. And she met it, matched it, her hips rising to meet his thrusts.
"Oh god. Yes. Please don't stop."
Her internal voice was gone, drowned in a sea of sensation. There was only this—the stretch, the fullness, the relentless pressure building toward something she couldn't name.
He came with a low grunt, burying himself deep, and she felt the hot pulse of his release trigger another aftershock. She clung to him, her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his back, her stockings slipping against his skin.
He stayed inside her for a long moment, then withdrew, producing a handkerchief from somewhere and cleaning himself with fastidious care. A thick, creamy trickle seeped from her onto the couch, pooling on the leather.
He patted her inner thigh, his touch almost paternal. "That, Ethan, is how you treat a vehicle. Now she's primed."
---
Ethan was already rock-hard again, his cock standing at attention, his eyes hungry. Marcus and Devon stepped closer, hands freeing their own arousal from their pants. Marcus's was long and lean, curved slightly upward. Devon's was massive—thick as a forearm, dark and veined, making Jennie's breath catch.
Calloway returned to his armchair, freshening his scotch. He settled in, crossing his legs, and nodded his permission.
"She's all yours. Don't disappoint me again."
Jennie pushed herself up, her body humming with oversensitivity and insatiable hunger. She looked at the three young men, at their cocks, at their hungry eyes, and lifted her chin.
Ethan grabbed her first, pulling her into a searing kiss. His tongue was eager, sloppy, tasting her own arousal. Then he passed her to Marcus, who spun her around and bent her over the ottoman.
"Hands and knees, princess."
Marcus's first stroke was brutal, a vicious hammer that rattled her teeth. He didn't ease in; he drove, fast and hard, his hips slapping against her already-reddened ass. His hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back.
"You like that, don't you? Getting railed by three strangers while your fans think you're a saint."
Jennie's response was a snarl. "Harder. You fuck like a boy scout."
Marcus laughed, but his pace increased, each stroke driving the air from her lungs. He was loud, his grunts and curses filling the room, his rhythm relentless.
"Fuck, her pussy's gripping me. She's been stretched out by your old man and she's still tight as a fist."
Ethan moved to her face, his cock bobbing in front of her lips. She opened her mouth, let him slide in, tasted herself on his skin. He fucked her throat with a confidence he hadn't had an hour ago, his hands cupping her jaw.
"That's it. Take it. You're my K-pop whore tonight."
The words should have broken her. Instead, they made her wetter.
Devon was next.
He didn't speak. He simply lifted her, his hands under her arms, carrying her across the room. Her back hit the wall, and then she was looking at herself in the mirror—a massive, gold-framed mirror that reflected every detail of her debasement.
He held her thighs spread wide, her weight supported entirely by his arms. And then he entered her, slow and deep, and Jennie felt herself stretch around his girth in a way that was almost unbearable.
"Oh god. Oh fuck. You're so—"
"Big." His voice was low, rough, the first word he'd spoken all night. "Say it."
"You're so big. You're splitting me in half."
He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that had her watching herself in the mirror—her headpiece askew, her choker twisted, a mess of leaking cum running down her thighs. He fucked upward into her, each stroke hitting a depth she hadn't known she had, and she watched her own face contort with pleasure.
"That's it. Look at you," Devon murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "Look at what you've become."
Look at you," Devon murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "Look at what you've become."
Jennie's eyes were fixed on the mirror, on the woman reflected there—headpiece dangling askew, choker twisted, mascara smudged, lips swollen and red. A mess of leaking cum ran down her inner thighs, mingling with the sheen of sweat that coated her skin. And between her legs, Devon's massive cock disappeared into her, stretching her in a way that made her feel split open, claimed, owned.
"I'm watching," she gasped, her voice a broken thing. "I'm watching you ruin me."
"Good." His pace increased, each stroke driving her higher against the wall, her breasts bouncing with the force of it. "I want you to remember this. I want you to look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow and remember exactly who put that look on your face."
His hand found her throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a reminder of his presence, his control. And Jennie came again, a scream tearing from her throat as her body convulsed around him, her vision whiting out.
Devon held her through it, fucking her through the aftershocks, his own breathing finally ragged. When he pulled out, she slid down the wall, her legs unable to support her.
Ethan was there, catching her, guiding her back to the ottoman. His cock was still hard, bobbing with eagerness.
"Round two," he said, his voice a mix of awe and demand. "I learned my lesson. I'm gonna make you cum this time."
Jennie laughed, a breathless, hysterical sound. "Prove it."
He laid her back, spreading her legs, and entered her with more care than before. His pace was slower, his hips finding a rhythm that had her gasping. His hand found her clit, mimicking his father's technique, and she felt the familiar coil beginning to build.
"That's it," she encouraged, her voice husky. "Just like that. Don't stop."
"Fuck, Jennie. You feel so good. You're so beautiful."
The sincerity in his voice, the raw adoration, undid her. She came with a sob, her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him down for a kiss that was all teeth and tongue.
Marcus and Devon circled, their hands stroking their cocks, waiting. Marcus was grinning, his eyes glittering with mischief.
"Tag team, birthday boy. Let's see how long she lasts."
What followed was a blur of positions and combinations, a carousel of flesh and sweat and filthy words. Jennie lost count of the orgasms, lost track of whose cock was where, lost herself completely in the relentless assault on her senses.
Marcus took her from behind while Devon fed her his cock, her mouth stretched wide, her throat working to accommodate his girth. Ethan knelt beside her, his hand stroking her hair, murmuring encouragement.
"You're doing so good, Jennie. Taking us all. You're the best birthday present I've ever had."
Devon pulled out, his release painting her face, her chest, her hair. Marcus followed moments later, his hot seed spilling across her back, pooling in the small of her spine. Ethan was last, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside her, his body collapsing against hers.
She lay there, pinned beneath them, a canvas of their desire. Her body was wrecked, her mind a blur of endorphins and exhaustion. But even as the boys began to stir, to pull away, to collapse onto the couches around her, she felt the hunger stirring again.
More. I want more.
---
The night stretched on, relentless until sunrise.
She was bent over the bar counter, Marcus behind her, his hips slamming against hers with a rhythm that rattled the crystal glasses. Her hand was wrapped around Devon's cock, stroking him in time with Marcus's thrusts, her palm slick with his pre-cum.
She was on her back, her breasts coated in champagne, Ethan and Marcus kneeling on either side of her head, their cocks sliding between her slicked-up tits. She watched them fuck her chest, their eyes fixed on her face, their groans mingling with the pop music playing softly from hidden speakers.
She was on the couch, Devon beneath her, her hips rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Ethan was behind her, his cock sliding into her ass, the stretch making her gasp. Marcus was in front of her, his hand guiding her mouth to his cock. She was filled, completely, utterly, every hole occupied, every inch of her skin alive with sensation.
"Look at her," Calloway's voice drifted from his armchair, dry and amused. "She's a natural."
The sun crept through the curtains, pale California light painting the room in shades of gold and rose. The boys were finally collapsing, one by one, their bodies spent, their breathing slowing. Ethan was the last to fall, his head resting on her stomach, his hand splayed across her thigh.
Jennie lay still, her body humming with a satisfaction she'd never known. Her skin was marked—handprints on her hips, love-bites on her neck, a bruise blooming on her inner thigh. Her throat was raw from screaming. Her muscles ached. She was a wreck.
She was alive.
Slowly, carefully, she disentangled herself from the pile of limbs. She walked to the window, her bare feet silent on the cool marble, and stared out at the Hollywood Hills, just beginning to glow with the morning light.
She calculated, her mind sharp despite the exhaustion. $1.8 million. A building in Cheongdam-dong. A garage full of vintage cars. Freedom from the endless cycle of contracts and compromises.
But more than that—she'd discovered something. A part of herself she'd kept locked away, hidden beneath the polished surface of idol perfection. A hunger that had been waiting, patient and patient, for the right moment to emerge.
For this kind of annihilation, they'd pay anything.
She caught her reflection in the glass—a ghost of a woman, hair tangled, lips swollen, eyes dark with a knowledge she hadn't possessed twelve hours ago. Her skin was slick with drying sweat and the mingled evidence of four men's desire.
And so would I.
The smile that curved her lips was bloody, bitten, and utterly satisfied. She pressed her palm against the cool glass, feeling the warmth of the rising sun seep through.
Behind her, Ethan stirred, his voice thick with sleep. "Jennie? You okay?"
She turned, the smile still playing at her lips. "I'm perfect."
And she was.
The Velvet Rope had found its newest star.
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K-pop stories of passion, possession and blurred boundaries 💦
In the glittering world where every desire has a price, Jennie Kim discovers a velvet door she was never meant to open. Behind it lies a secret life far more intoxicating than fame — one that pays in millions and demands everything in return.
* * *
The Seoul skyline bled amber through floor-to-ceiling windows as Jennie Kim swirled the last of her Cabernet, bare feet pressed into the Italian marble that still felt new, even after three years in this apartment. Her phone lay face-up on the glass coffee table, the Bloomberg terminal glowing with the day's market close. She'd made another two hundred thousand today on her tech portfolio alone. Not bad for a Tuesday.
"Jennie, you're not listening to me."
Jennie blinked, dragging her gaze from the city lights to the woman curled on the opposite chaise. Mia Winters—British actress, three-time BAFTA nominee, and the only person in the industry who'd ever told Jennie the truth about anything. They'd met at a Chanel fitting four years ago, bonded over shared exhaustion with the performance of it all.
"I'm listening. You said something about a party in Ibiza that you're not going to."
"I said something about an opportunity." Mia set down her wine glass with a deliberate click. "Something I shouldn't be telling you. But I watch you, Jen. I see you scrolling through those spreadsheets like they're going to fuck you better than any man ever has."
Jennie's laugh came out sharp, defensive. "And what's wrong with that? Spreadsheets don't lie. Spreadsheets don't leak to Dispatch."
"Spreadsheets don't make you feel alive either." Mia leaned forward, her blonde hair catching the low light. "You've had everything handed to you on a silver platter—fame, money, looks, talent. And you're bored, Jennie. I can see it in the way you order the same thing at every restaurant because you can't be bothered to decide. In the way you haven't called that producer back even though you told me he was good in bed."
"He was adequate."
"Adequate." Mia shook her head. "That's exactly my point."
The silence stretched between them, filled with the distant hum of Gangnam's nightlife twelve floors below. Jennie's fingers found the stem of her glass, tracing the rim. "What are you trying to tell me, Mia?"
"There's a service. Ultra-exclusive. Invitation-only, and I mean only—you don't find it, it finds you. They call it The Velvet Rope." Mia's voice dropped, the playful tone evaporating into something almost reverent. "It's for people who have everything and want something they can't buy on the open market. Billionaires. Royalty. Tech founders who've literally been to space."
"And what do they want?"
"Fantasy fulfillment. Specific, expensive, consenting fantasy fulfillment." Mia held up a hand before Jennie could interrupt. "I know what you're thinking. But it's not trafficking. It's not coercion. The talent—that's what they call the celebrities who participate—sets their own boundaries. The NDA is ironclad. Thirty million dollar penalty for leaks, and it goes both ways."
Jennie's throat tightened. "You're telling me to sell my body."
"I'm telling you to consider an option that pays more per hour than your entire night at Born Pink tour." Mia reached into her Prada bag and slid a matte black card across the table. No text, no logo. Just a phone number embossed in silver. "Think about it. That's all I'm asking. You're twenty-nine, you're at the peak of your power, and you're lonely. This isn't about desperation. It's about curiosity."
Jennie stared at the card like it might bite her. "How do you know about this?"
"I used it. Twice." Mia's smile was thin, private. "I paid off my mother's medical debts and bought a flat in Paris. And I learned things about myself I didn't know I was capable of wanting."
The words hung in the air long after Mia left, long after Jennie had poured herself another glass, long after she'd carried the card to her bedroom and placed it on her nightstand like a religious artifact.
She didn't sleep that night. She lay awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the familiar itch beneath her skin—the one that told her she was wasting her life in gilded comfort, that there had to be more than album cycles and brand deals and the careful, curated loneliness of being Jennie Kim.
Three days later, she made the call.
---
The hotel suite in Gangnam smelled like orchids and new money. Jennie sat across from a woman who looked like she'd been assembled in a lab—severe bob, charcoal suit, tablet held with both hands like a sacred text. No name was exchanged. No pleasantries.
"Ms. Kim. Thank you for your interest in The Velvet Rope."
The woman's voice was neutral, clinical. She walked Jennie through the paperwork with the efficiency of a surgeon: biometric scans, retinal imaging, a digital signature that required both fingerprint and passphrase. The NDA was forty-seven pages. The compensation clause was clear: any breach of contract by the talent would result in liability for the full booking fee plus penalties. Any breach by the client would result in automatic forfeiture of the fee plus damages.
"Your profile will be entered into our database," the woman said, sliding a burner phone across the table. "When a client's request matches your parameters, you'll receive an encrypted notification. You have seventy-two hours to accept or decline. No negotiation. No second chances."
Jennie picked up the phone. It was heavier than she expected, dense with purpose. "What kind of requests?"
"Whatever the client desires, within the boundaries you've set. Your profile indicates 'full evening companionship, no limits within safe boundaries.' Is that accurate?"
The words felt alien coming from her own mouth. "Yes."
"Excellent." The woman stood, smoothing her skirt. "One final note, Ms. Kim. There is a waiting list of celebrities who would kill for this opportunity. Actresses. Singers. Athletes. Our clients are discerning and our slots are limited. If you want to succeed in this line of work, be willing. Show your client a good time, and you'll never want for offers again."
Jennie sat alone in the suite for twenty minutes after the woman left, the burner phone cold in her palm. She thought about the building she wanted to buy in Cheongdam-dong. The garage of vintage cars she'd never drive. The emptiness that yawned beneath every achievement.
She put the phone in her safe and tried to forget about it.
She didn't.
---
Three weeks. Twenty-one days of checking the safe every morning, of jumping at every notification, of telling herself she was being ridiculous. Then, at 2:47 AM on a Thursday, the burner phone buzzed.
Jennie's heart stopped.
She fumbled it open, hands shaking. A single text: an encrypted link. She clicked it, and a video message loaded—a polished woman in her forties, silver hair swept back, voice like warm honey.
"Ms. Kim. We have a client who has requested your services for a private evening in Los Angeles. The occasion is his son's eighteenth birthday. The request is for full evening companionship, no limits within safe boundaries. The fee is two million US dollars, with a fifty percent deposit held in escrow. You have seventy-two hours to accept."
The video ended. Jennie stared at the black screen, her pulse a war drum in her throat.
Two million dollars.
She did the math in her head. After the agency's cut, she'd take home one-point-eight million. The down payment on the building. The garage. The freedom to walk away from a contract negotiation, to tell a label to fuck off, to exist without the constant calculation of survival.
She typed her response before she could talk herself out of it.
Yes.
---
The Gulfstream G650 hummed through the night sky, its cabin a cocoon of cream leather and warm wood. Jennie sat in a club chair, legs crossed, wearing a cream silk blouse and tailored black trousers—effortless, expensive, armor. The flight attendant had offered champagne, caviar, a full-service spa treatment. She'd declined everything.
Her stomach was a knot of wires.
She told herself she could leave. She could show up, assess the situation, and if anything felt wrong, she could walk. She was Jennie fucking Kim. She'd performed for two hundred thousand people in a single night. She'd stared down YG executives, survived the crucible of K-pop, built a brand worth tens of millions.
She could handle a birthday party.
The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.
---
The Beverly Hills hotel penthouse was the kind of space that made you feel small no matter how famous you were. Marble floors, twenty-foot ceilings, a view of the city that stretched to the ocean. A female assistant in a crisp white shirt met Jennie at the door, expression professionally blank.
"Ms. Kim. Welcome. Mr. Calloway will be with you shortly. In the meantime, please make yourself comfortable. There's a changing room through there." She gestured to a door on the left. "Your attire for the evening has been prepared."
She handed Jennie a glossy black box tied with a white ribbon and disappeared before Jennie could ask any of the thousand questions crowding her throat.
The box sat on the king-sized bed like a coffin. Jennie approached it slowly, fingers tracing the ribbon. She untied it with the same care she used for couture gowns on awards night, preserving the presentation even as her heart hammered.
She lifted the lid.
And froze.
Inside, nestled in white tissue paper, was an ensemble that belonged in a fever dream. A lace-trimmed push-up bra in fuzzy black. A ruffled micro-mini skirt with heart-shaped cutouts along the hips, the fabric so insubstantial it looked like a child's costume. White thigh-high stockings with satin bows at the top. A lace headdress with a tiny veil. A black velvet choker with a silver bow at the throat.
And no panties.
Jennie held up the skirt, watching it unfurl like a handkerchief. It would barely cover her ass. If she bent over, it would be a formality.
"What the fuck," she whispered.
A laugh bubbled up from somewhere dark and hysterical. She'd worn stage costumes that left little to the imagination, but those had been power—she'd been in control, performing, untouchable. This was different. This was an invitation to be consumed.
She was still holding the skirt when a knock came at the door.
"Ms. Kim? It's Calloway. May I come in?"
Jennie dropped the skirt like it was on fire. "One moment." She shoved the box aside, smoothed her blouse, and opened the door.
The man in the hallway was exactly what she'd expected and nothing she'd prepared for. Late forties, silver hair swept back from a face that was handsome in the way of old money—strong jaw, cool gray eyes, a mouth that seemed perpetually on the verge of a private joke. He wore a dark suit, perfectly cut, no tie. In his hand, a crystal tumbler of amber liquor.
"Ms. Kim." His voice was low, unhurried, the kind of voice that had been giving orders for decades. "I'm Calloway. Thank you for coming."
"Mr. Calloway." She kept her voice steady. "I was told this would be a private evening."
"It will be. But first, the party." He smiled, and it didn't quite reach his eyes. "My son Ethan is downstairs with his friends. They're celebrating his eighteenth birthday. In about an hour, I'll bring him up to the private lounge." He nodded toward the adjoining door. "I'll call your room phone. You'll enter. A surprise for my son."
Jennie's throat tightened. "And then?"
"And then you'll make his century." Calloway's gaze flickered down her body, not lascivious but assessing, like a jeweler appraising a stone. "He's a massive admirer of your work. Has every album, every poster. You're his ultimate fantasy." He paused, taking a slow sip of his scotch. "I trust you'll exceed expectations."
The words landed like stones in her chest. She forced herself to nod, the same boardroom nod she used when closing a deal she wasn't sure about. "I understand."
"Good." Calloway turned to leave, then paused. "Oh, and Ms. Kim? The outfit. Wear it exactly as presented. No modifications."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Jennie stood in the middle of the penthouse, alone with the black box and the weight of what she'd agreed to. She walked to the bathroom on autopilot, turned the shower to scalding, and stepped under the spray.
She shaved every inch of skin. Legs, underarms, the sensitive curve of her bikini line. She exfoliated until her skin was raw and pink, then slathered herself in the hotel's expensive lotion, the scent of jasmine and vanilla clinging to her pores.
Then she put on the costume.
The bra was a puzzle of hooks and straps, the cups lifting her breasts into obscene prominence, her nipples visible through the sheer lace. The stockings required concentration—rolling them up her thighs, adjusting the satin bows so they sat perfectly at mid-thigh. The choker fastened with a delicate click, the velvet warm against her throat.
The skirt was last. She stepped into it, pulled it up, and felt the hem barely graze the bottom curve of her ass. When she turned, the heart-shaped cutouts revealed the flare of her hips, the shadow between her thighs.
She looked in the mirror.
The woman staring back was a stranger. Obscenely expensive, meticulously arranged, utterly debauched. The lace headdress sat atop her hair like a crown, the tiny veil brushing her forehead. The choker drew the eye to her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breasts.
She looked like a dessert. A very expensive, very specific dessert.
"Fuck me," she whispered.
Two hours. She sat on the edge of the bed, champagne sweating in her hand, not drinking. She scrolled through her phone, saw messages from her manager, her mother, her stylist—all the normal threads of her normal life. They felt like artifacts from another dimension.
The hotel phone rang at exactly 11 PM.
Jennie's hand hovered over the receiver. She picked it up.
"Now." Calloway's voice, calm and final.
She set the phone down. She stood. She walked to the adjoining door, her bare feet silent on the carpet, the cool air kissing the exposed skin of her thighs, her stomach, the curve of her ass.
She pushed the door open.
The room beyond was a study in controlled luxury. Dim mood lighting, a massive U-shaped sectional in cream leather, a bar stocked with every spirit imaginable. And three young men, frozen mid-conversation, their eyes locking onto her like missiles.
Ethan was easy to identify—the birthday boy, handsome in that freshly-minted way of eighteen-year-olds, athletic build, dark hair falling across his forehead, wearing a designer hoodie that probably cost more than most people's rent. His jaw dropped. His hands came up to his head.
"No. No fucking way."
His voice cracked on the last word, pure adolescent disbelief.
Marcus, lanky and white, with a shock of red hair and a grin that split his face, turned to clap Calloway on the shoulder. "Holy shit, Mr. C. You weren't kidding."
Devon, Black and broad-shouldered, said nothing. He just stared, his dark eyes fixed on her face, his expression unreadable.
Jennie stood in the doorway, frozen, feeling the air hit parts of her body that had never been so exposed. The tiny skirt did nothing. The sheer bra did nothing. She was naked in all the ways that mattered.
Ethan crossed the room in three strides, stopping inches from her. His eyes were hungry, reverent, disbelieving. He reached out, slowly, and cupped her breast through the lace.
Not hard. Not rough. Just... possession.
Jennie jerked back. "Wait—wait, I thought—"
The room went silent.
"I thought it would be private." Her voice came out thin, reedy. "Just him. Just Ethan. That's what I agreed to."
Calloway's laugh was soft, paternal, devastating. He rose from his armchair, swirling his scotch, and approached her with the easy confidence of a man who'd never been denied anything.
"My dear." His voice was almost kind. "For two million dollars, you're not a date. You're the entire evening's entertainment."
Jennie's blood turned to ice.
"The contract you signed," Calloway continued, "specifies 'full evening companionship, no limits within safe boundaries.' It doesn't specify the number of participants. And the compensation clause—" He tilted his head, sympathetic. "Well. I'm sure you remember."
She did. She remembered every word.
"You can leave, of course." Calloway spread his hands. "No one will harm you. But the penalty for breach of contract is the full booking fee, plus a thirty percent inconvenience penalty to the agency and the client. That's..." He did the math in his head, casual. "Two million six hundred thousand. Due immediately."
Jennie's knees gave out. She sank onto the nearest couch, the ruffled skirt doing nothing to shield her, the leather cold against her bare thighs. She calculated in a panic. Her liquid assets. Her savings. The money she'd set aside for the building.
It would wipe her out. Almost to the penny.
And the scandal. If this went to court, if it leaked—her career, her reputation, everything she'd built. The headlines wrote themselves. Jennie Kim Sued for Breach of Billionaire escort Contract.
She looked up.
Ethan was still standing close, chest rising and falling, his eyes not just hungry but pleading. He wasn't a monster. He was a fan, an overgrown, spoiled fan, but she could see the boy beneath the billionaire's son. The one who'd plastered her posters on his walls. The one who'd learned her choreography in his bedroom.
And the money. The fucking money.
She'd already worn the outfit. She was already half-naked in a room with four men. The Rubicon was wet, and there was no swimming back.
A switch flipped inside her.
Part survival. Part something darker she'd never let out, never acknowledged, never even touched. It rose up from the base of her spine, hot and electric, and she let it.
She stood slowly. Drew her shoulders back. The motion made the push-up bra do its work, her breasts lifting, the lace straining.
She locked eyes with Calloway.
"I'm in."
---
The words hung in the air like smoke, curling around the room, settling into every corner. Jennie felt them leave her mouth and something shifted in her chest—a lock clicking open, a door swinging inward to a room she'd never explored.
Ethan moved first.
His hands landed on her breasts with the desperate certainty of a boy who'd imagined this exact moment a thousand times. The lace of her bra crumpled under his palms, his fingers digging in, kneading like he was testing whether she was real. His breath came in ragged gasps against her neck.
"Oh my God. Oh my God." His voice cracked, reverent and disbelieving. "They're real. They're so much better than the Calvin Klein pictures."
Jennie's mind supplied a dozen biting retorts, but her body was already ahead of her, nipples tightening under the sheer fabric, a pulse beginning to throb between her thighs. She'd been touched before, sure, but never like this—never with this raw, unfiltered worship. This boy had jacked off to her image for years, and now she was here, warm and real and wearing nothing but a maid's fantasy.
"Fuck, Ethan, don't be gentle." Marcus's voice cut through, sharp and teasing. "She's not glass. Suck 'em."
Ethan didn't need encouragement. He pushed the bra cups down with clumsy urgency, her breasts spilling free, and his mouth was on her before she could brace herself. His lips were wet, his tongue sloppy, tracing circles around her nipple that were too fast, too eager, lacking any finesse. But the heat of it—the desperate, starving hunger—sent a jolt straight to her core.
He's a kid. A stupid, rich kid. But the way he moans my name...
Ethan pulled back, lips glistening, eyes blown wide. "Jennie. Fuck, Jennie, I've wanted this since I was fourteen. I used to—" He stopped, a flush creeping up his neck.
"You used to what?" The words slipped out before she could stop them, her voice huskier than she intended.
"I used to cum on my phone screen watching your fancams." He said it like a confession, like a prayer. "And now you're here. Dressed like a maid. About to suck my dick."
The vulgarity of it, the sheer audacity, should have snapped her back to reality. Instead, she felt a slick warmth pooling between her legs, her thighs pressing together instinctively.
Ethan's hands found her waist, guiding her down. The carpet was thick and plush under her knees, the fibers pressing into her bare skin. The tiny skirt rode up immediately, exposing her completely to the room, to the three pairs of eyes that were fixed on her like she was the main event.
He fumbled with his jeans, and when his cock sprang free, it was exactly what she expected—average length, flushed red, already leaking a bead of pre-cum. He cupped her face, his thumb pressing against her lips, and she opened automatically, letting him slide it into her mouth.
"Say you're my birthday present." His voice was strained, desperate. "Say it, Jennie."
She hesitated. Pride flared, hot and indignant. She was Jennie fucking Kim. She'd performed at Coachella. She'd modeled for Chanel. She didn't say things like that.
But the money was already spent in her mind. The building. The cars. The freedom.
And the way he was looking at her—like she was the answer to every question he'd ever asked.
"I'm your birthday present," she murmured, the words tasting like surrender.
Ethan shuddered, his whole body trembling. "Fuck. Fuck."
Then he was in her mouth, pushing deeper than she expected, and she gagged. Her hands flew up to his hips, trying to slow him down, but he was already lost, fisting his hand in her hair and holding her in place.
"Look at me. Eyes up. Yeah, like that." His voice was a stream of filthy adoration, each word punctuated by a thrust. "You're the hottest woman in the world and you're choking on my cock. Best day of my life."
Jennie's eyes watered. Her throat burned. But beneath the discomfort, beneath the humiliation, something else was stirring—a dark, greedy heat that fed on his worship like oxygen to flame.
He's been dreaming of this since he was a child. And I'm here. I'm real. I'm making it happen.
Ethan pulled out, gasping, and hauled her to her feet. Before she could catch her breath, he'd bent her over the arm of the sectional, the leather cool against her flushed skin. The skirt flipped up uselessly, offering her to the room like a gift.
He entered her in one hard, dry stroke.
Jennie's gasp was sharp, the stretch almost painful. She wasn't ready, not nearly wet enough, but Ethan didn't seem to notice. He was already moving, his pace frantic, his hips slapping against her ass with a rhythm that was all teenage urgency and no skill.
"Your pussy is so tight." His voice was a broken litany. "Tighter than I ever dreamed. Holy shit, Jennie, Jennie—"
I should be appalled. Instead my thighs are dripping. His dad is watching.
She risked a glance over her shoulder. Mr. Calloway was still in his armchair, scotch swirling lazily in his glass, his expression one of mild, clinical interest. Marcus was leaning forward, hand already palming his crotch through his jeans. Devon sat back, arms crossed, his dark eyes tracking every movement with an intensity that made her stomach flip.
"Ruin her, birthday boy!" Marcus crowed, his voice echoing off the high ceilings.
Devon said nothing. But his gaze was a weight, pressing down on her, making her hyperaware of every inch of her exposed body.
Ethan's thrusts turned frantic, his grip on her hips bruising. "I'm gonna cum, Jennie. Is that okay? Tell me it's okay."
He's asking permission now. Cute.
"Yes," she heard herself say. "Cum for me."
The words seemed to unlock something in him. He drove deep, a guttural moan tearing from his throat, and she felt the hot flood of his release hitting her back—too soon, too quick, before she'd even begun to climb. He collapsed onto her back, his weight pressing her into the leather, his breath hot and ragged against her shoulder.
"Jennie. Jennie."
She lay there, motionless. She was nowhere close. Her body was humming with unspent tension, a wire pulled taut and left to vibrate.
Ethan sits back, dazed and grinning like he'd just won the lottery. He looked at his father, chest heaving, seeking approval.
Mr. Calloway set down his scotch. The sound of glass against wood was loud in the sudden silence.
"Is that it?"
The words were soft, almost gentle, but they cut through the room like a blade. Ethan's grin faltered.
"Dad, I—"
"The poor woman isn't even close." Calloway rose, his movements unhurried, deliberate. He began unbuttoning his cuffs, rolling the crisp white fabric up his forearms. "You've a lot to learn, son."
Ethan's face flushed. "I'll be ready for round two. I just need a minute."
"Then watch." Calloway's voice was final, brooking no argument. "I'll teach you how to handle a premium investment."
---
Jennie's mind scrambled, a frantic search for footing in the shifting terrain. What the fuck—now the father?
But her body was already responding, the unfinished need making her shameless. She pushed herself up on her elbows, watching Calloway approach. He moved with the economy of a man who'd never wasted a gesture in his life. He removed his jacket, draped it over the back of his chair. His belt buckle clicked open with a sound that seemed to echo.
"Dad, what about Mom?" Ethan's protest was weak, almost reflexive.
Calloway didn't even glance at him. "What about her? She's probably already fucking one of your friends in some other room."
Marcus let out a bark of laughter. Devon's lips twitched.
"Lie back, Ms. Kim."
It wasn't a request. Jennie found herself complying, shifting onto the wide ottoman, her head resting on the tufted velvet. Calloway arranged her limbs with clinical precision—legs parted, knees bent, the skirt a forgotten scrap around her waist. She was completely exposed, her glistening folds on display, the evidence of his son's enthusiasm still leaking from her.
"Pour yourselves drinks," Calloway instructed Marcus and Devon. "Keep your hands visible. You're here to watch and learn."
Devon's hand was already adjusting his fly, but he stopped, a muscle in his jaw twitching.
"You have one hell of a nice pair, Miss Kim." His thumb brushed her nipple, circling slowly. "No wonder the kids are obsessed with them."
Calloway knelt between her legs, and for a long moment, he simply looked at her. His gaze was unhurried, appreciative, like a collector examining a newly acquired piece. He reached out, tracing a finger along her inner thigh, collecting the trickle of her wetness.
Then his hand moved higher, and his fingers found her clit.
"The clitoris is not a doorbell, Ethan." Calloway's voice was calm, instructive, as if he were teaching a golf swing. "You don't jab at it. Slow circles. Watch her hips."
He demonstrated, his touch precise and unerring. The pressure was perfect, the rhythm hypnotic, and Jennie felt a genuine spike of pleasure for the first time that night. Her hips rolled instinctively, chasing his hand.
"There. See how she responds? That's feedback."
He lowered his head, and when his tongue touched her, Jennie's entire body arched off the ottoman. He was methodical, relentless, his tongue flat and broad, tracing long stripes through her folds before focusing on her clit with a pressure that made her see stars. Two fingers slid into her, curling, searching, finding that spot that made her cry out.
"Oh—fuck—"
"Language, Miss Kim. But yes, that's the spot."
His fingers pumped lazily, his tongue never stopping, and Jennie felt the orgasm building like a wave, cresting, crashing over her with a force that stole her breath. She heard herself moan, long and low, her hips grinding against his face, her hands fisting in his silver hair.
"Good girl." He rose, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's how you start."
Jennie lay there, gasping, her first orgasm of the night still pulsing through her. Calloway stood, unzipped his trousers, and freed his cock.
It was not what she expected.
He was notably larger than Ethan—thick, veined, intimidating. The head was flushed dark, already slick with pre-cum. He guided it through her soaked folds, teasing, letting her feel the weight of it against her entrance.
"Watch, Ethan. This is how you fill a woman."
He sank in with one slow, inexorable push.
Jennie's mouth opened, but no sound came out. The stretch was overwhelming, a fullness that pressed against her walls, that reached deeper than she'd thought possible. He seated himself to the hilt, his hips flush against hers, and paused.
"Feel that? She's gripping me like a fist." Calloway's voice was calm, almost conversational. "That's what happens when you take your time. A tight premium cunt like this deserves respect."
Premium cunt. He called me a premium cunt. Why does that make me burn?
He began to move, and Jennie's thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm. His strokes were long, deep, punishingly controlled. Each thrust ground against her cervix, a pressure that was almost pain, almost pleasure, a boundary she hadn't known she had. He set a torturous rhythm, slow and deep, then faster, then slow again, building her up and letting her fall.
"You feel that, Ethan? That's control. That's how you make her forget her own name."
Jennie was already forgetting. Her moans were loud, unguarded, filling the room. She didn't care who heard. She didn't care about anything except the next thrust, the next wave, the next shattering release.
Calloway pulled out, and hands guided her onto all fours. The carpet was soft under her knees, her palms flat against the fibers. He entered her from behind, the new angle driving even deeper, and she let out a sound that was almost a sob.
"Ride her, Mr. C!" Marcus's voice was hoarse, his hand moving over his jeans.
"Patience." Calloway's hips slapped against her ass, each stroke a punctuation mark. "Good things come to those who wait."
He reached around, fingers finding her clit again, and the dual stimulation was too much. Jennie came again, her body convulsing, her walls clenching around him. He didn't stop, fucking her through it, drawing out every pulse until she was limp and trembling.
"Now you." He pulled her upright, guiding her onto his lap as he sank into the armchair. "Reverse cowgirl. Face your fan."
She straddled him, her back to his chest, facing Ethan. The position was obscene—her legs spread wide, her breasts bouncing with each movement, his cock buried deep inside her. Calloway's hands guided her hips, setting a rhythm that was slow, deep, devastating.
"See how she shudders? Slow down when she's close, then pound through it."
He demonstrated, his pace shifting, and Jennie's third orgasm tore through her, a scream ripping from her throat. She collapsed against his chest, her body wracked with spasms, her mind a white-hot blur.
"That's three." Calloway's voice was amused, approving. "She's a quick learner."
He laid her on the couch, positioning himself between her legs. Missionary. Eye contact. His thumb found her clit, pressing down, and he began to move with a rhythm that was almost gentle, almost cruel.
"Look at me, Miss Kim. I want to see your face when I break you."
Jennie's eyes locked with his. She saw the cold amusement, the clinical satisfaction, the hunger beneath the control. And she met it, matched it, her hips rising to meet his thrusts.
"Oh god. Yes. Please don't stop."
Her internal voice was gone, drowned in a sea of sensation. There was only this—the stretch, the fullness, the relentless pressure building toward something she couldn't name.
He came with a low grunt, burying himself deep, and she felt the hot pulse of his release trigger another aftershock. She clung to him, her legs wrapped around his waist, her heels digging into his back, her stockings slipping against his skin.
He stayed inside her for a long moment, then withdrew, producing a handkerchief from somewhere and cleaning himself with fastidious care. A thick, creamy trickle seeped from her onto the couch, pooling on the leather.
He patted her inner thigh, his touch almost paternal. "That, Ethan, is how you treat a vehicle. Now she's primed."
---
Ethan was already rock-hard again, his cock standing at attention, his eyes hungry. Marcus and Devon stepped closer, hands freeing their own arousal from their pants. Marcus's was long and lean, curved slightly upward. Devon's was massive—thick as a forearm, dark and veined, making Jennie's breath catch.
Calloway returned to his armchair, freshening his scotch. He settled in, crossing his legs, and nodded his permission.
"She's all yours. Don't disappoint me again."
Jennie pushed herself up, her body humming with oversensitivity and insatiable hunger. She looked at the three young men, at their cocks, at their hungry eyes, and lifted her chin.
Ethan grabbed her first, pulling her into a searing kiss. His tongue was eager, sloppy, tasting her own arousal. Then he passed her to Marcus, who spun her around and bent her over the ottoman.
"Hands and knees, princess."
Marcus's first stroke was brutal, a vicious hammer that rattled her teeth. He didn't ease in; he drove, fast and hard, his hips slapping against her already-reddened ass. His hand fisted in her hair, yanking her head back.
"You like that, don't you? Getting railed by three strangers while your fans think you're a saint."
Jennie's response was a snarl. "Harder. You fuck like a boy scout."
Marcus laughed, but his pace increased, each stroke driving the air from her lungs. He was loud, his grunts and curses filling the room, his rhythm relentless.
"Fuck, her pussy's gripping me. She's been stretched out by your old man and she's still tight as a fist."
Ethan moved to her face, his cock bobbing in front of her lips. She opened her mouth, let him slide in, tasted herself on his skin. He fucked her throat with a confidence he hadn't had an hour ago, his hands cupping her jaw.
"That's it. Take it. You're my K-pop whore tonight."
The words should have broken her. Instead, they made her wetter.
Devon was next.
He didn't speak. He simply lifted her, his hands under her arms, carrying her across the room. Her back hit the wall, and then she was looking at herself in the mirror—a massive, gold-framed mirror that reflected every detail of her debasement.
He held her thighs spread wide, her weight supported entirely by his arms. And then he entered her, slow and deep, and Jennie felt herself stretch around his girth in a way that was almost unbearable.
"Oh god. Oh fuck. You're so—"
"Big." His voice was low, rough, the first word he'd spoken all night. "Say it."
"You're so big. You're splitting me in half."
He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that had her watching herself in the mirror—her headpiece askew, her choker twisted, a mess of leaking cum running down her thighs. He fucked upward into her, each stroke hitting a depth she hadn't known she had, and she watched her own face contort with pleasure.
"That's it. Look at you," Devon murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "Look at what you've become."
Look at you," Devon murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear. "Look at what you've become."
Jennie's eyes were fixed on the mirror, on the woman reflected there—headpiece dangling askew, choker twisted, mascara smudged, lips swollen and red. A mess of leaking cum ran down her inner thighs, mingling with the sheen of sweat that coated her skin. And between her legs, Devon's massive cock disappeared into her, stretching her in a way that made her feel split open, claimed, owned.
"I'm watching," she gasped, her voice a broken thing. "I'm watching you ruin me."
"Good." His pace increased, each stroke driving her higher against the wall, her breasts bouncing with the force of it. "I want you to remember this. I want you to look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow and remember exactly who put that look on your face."
His hand found her throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a reminder of his presence, his control. And Jennie came again, a scream tearing from her throat as her body convulsed around him, her vision whiting out.
Devon held her through it, fucking her through the aftershocks, his own breathing finally ragged. When he pulled out, she slid down the wall, her legs unable to support her.
Ethan was there, catching her, guiding her back to the ottoman. His cock was still hard, bobbing with eagerness.
"Round two," he said, his voice a mix of awe and demand. "I learned my lesson. I'm gonna make you cum this time."
Jennie laughed, a breathless, hysterical sound. "Prove it."
He laid her back, spreading her legs, and entered her with more care than before. His pace was slower, his hips finding a rhythm that had her gasping. His hand found her clit, mimicking his father's technique, and she felt the familiar coil beginning to build.
"That's it," she encouraged, her voice husky. "Just like that. Don't stop."
"Fuck, Jennie. You feel so good. You're so beautiful."
The sincerity in his voice, the raw adoration, undid her. She came with a sob, her hands fisting in his hair, pulling him down for a kiss that was all teeth and tongue.
Marcus and Devon circled, their hands stroking their cocks, waiting. Marcus was grinning, his eyes glittering with mischief.
"Tag team, birthday boy. Let's see how long she lasts."
What followed was a blur of positions and combinations, a carousel of flesh and sweat and filthy words. Jennie lost count of the orgasms, lost track of whose cock was where, lost herself completely in the relentless assault on her senses.
Marcus took her from behind while Devon fed her his cock, her mouth stretched wide, her throat working to accommodate his girth. Ethan knelt beside her, his hand stroking her hair, murmuring encouragement.
"You're doing so good, Jennie. Taking us all. You're the best birthday present I've ever had."
Devon pulled out, his release painting her face, her chest, her hair. Marcus followed moments later, his hot seed spilling across her back, pooling in the small of her spine. Ethan was last, his hips stuttering as he emptied himself inside her, his body collapsing against hers.
She lay there, pinned beneath them, a canvas of their desire. Her body was wrecked, her mind a blur of endorphins and exhaustion. But even as the boys began to stir, to pull away, to collapse onto the couches around her, she felt the hunger stirring again.
More. I want more.
---
The night stretched on, relentless until sunrise.
She was bent over the bar counter, Marcus behind her, his hips slamming against hers with a rhythm that rattled the crystal glasses. Her hand was wrapped around Devon's cock, stroking him in time with Marcus's thrusts, her palm slick with his pre-cum.
She was on her back, her breasts coated in champagne, Ethan and Marcus kneeling on either side of her head, their cocks sliding between her slicked-up tits. She watched them fuck her chest, their eyes fixed on her face, their groans mingling with the pop music playing softly from hidden speakers.
She was on the couch, Devon beneath her, her hips rising and falling in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Ethan was behind her, his cock sliding into her ass, the stretch making her gasp. Marcus was in front of her, his hand guiding her mouth to his cock. She was filled, completely, utterly, every hole occupied, every inch of her skin alive with sensation.
"Look at her," Calloway's voice drifted from his armchair, dry and amused. "She's a natural."
The sun crept through the curtains, pale California light painting the room in shades of gold and rose. The boys were finally collapsing, one by one, their bodies spent, their breathing slowing. Ethan was the last to fall, his head resting on her stomach, his hand splayed across her thigh.
Jennie lay still, her body humming with a satisfaction she'd never known. Her skin was marked—handprints on her hips, love-bites on her neck, a bruise blooming on her inner thigh. Her throat was raw from screaming. Her muscles ached. She was a wreck.
She was alive.
Slowly, carefully, she disentangled herself from the pile of limbs. She walked to the window, her bare feet silent on the cool marble, and stared out at the Hollywood Hills, just beginning to glow with the morning light.
She calculated, her mind sharp despite the exhaustion. $1.8 million. A building in Cheongdam-dong. A garage full of vintage cars. Freedom from the endless cycle of contracts and compromises.
But more than that—she'd discovered something. A part of herself she'd kept locked away, hidden beneath the polished surface of idol perfection. A hunger that had been waiting, patient and patient, for the right moment to emerge.
For this kind of annihilation, they'd pay anything.
She caught her reflection in the glass—a ghost of a woman, hair tangled, lips swollen, eyes dark with a knowledge she hadn't possessed twelve hours ago. Her skin was slick with drying sweat and the mingled evidence of four men's desire.
And so would I.
The smile that curved her lips was bloody, bitten, and utterly satisfied. She pressed her palm against the cool glass, feeling the warmth of the rising sun seep through.
Behind her, Ethan stirred, his voice thick with sleep. "Jennie? You okay?"
She turned, the smile still playing at her lips. "I'm perfect."
And she was.
The Velvet Rope had found its newest star.
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K-pop stories of passion, possession and blurred boundaries 💦
Eunbi gave them a slow, suggestive wave of her hand, inviting them to follow her toward the camp's main hangar. It was a vast space, roofed but open on the sides, where the air seemed to stagnate and the heat became suffocating. In the center, someone had already set up industrial speakers that emitted an electric hum, waiting for the signal. The soldiers walked behind her in a sort of hypnotic procession; no one spoke, only the coordinated sound of their boots and the heavy pants of those who could no longer fake their composure.
When Eunbi reached the center of the improvised space, she stopped and looked back. Her eyes scanned the mass of men surrounding her, forming a tight circle. They were so close that she could feel the heat radiating from their bodies—a wave of human temperature mixed with collective anxiety. With a fluid motion, Eunbi signaled the sound technician, and suddenly, music with a slow, heavy beat and deep bass began to rumble through the hangar walls. The sound wasn’t just heard; it was felt; the bass hit the soldiers' chests like a drum, syncing with their racing hearts.
Eunbi closed her eyes for a second, letting the rhythm possess her, and then she began to move.
At first, the dance seemed almost normal—professional and elegant—but in the context of that place, it became visual torture. Eunbi started with soft hip movements, swaying from side to side while keeping her shoulders relaxed. But what truly captured everyone's attention was the physics of her body. Every time she turned or made a sudden move, her tits—massive and heavy—bounced violently under the fabric of the dress. The deep neckline ensured that her flesh swayed in a hypnotic rhythm; the soldiers watched as her chest heaved up and down, the fabric stretching to the breaking point and then giving way, revealing flashes of white skin in desperate bursts.
"Fuck... look at that," one of the soldiers whispered, his voice completely broken and his throat dry. "They move on their own... it looks like they're about to jump right out. I can't stop looking... goddamn it, I can't breathe."
"Look at how she moves that ass..." another replied, his gaze locked onto Eunbi's backside as she slowly sank down into a squat. "That fabric is about to rip. If she keeps doing that, someone's going to lose their fucking mind right here."
Eunbi knew exactly what she was provoking. While she danced, she maintained aggressive eye contact with different men, casting glances loaded with playful lust. She slid across the floor, arching her back and pushing her tits forward, exposing them fully to the hungry gaze of the group. The movement was visceral; every shake of her body sent a signal straight to those men's primal instincts.
Sweat began to run down the soldiers' temples, dripping down their necks and soaking the collars of their uniforms. Their pupils were dilated to the max, consuming every inch of Eunbi's figure. The air in the hangar grew heavy, saturated with the smell of desire and desperation. Many of them had their hands clenched into fists, squeezing so hard that their knuckles turned white, fighting the animal urge to leap into the center of the circle and seize that swaying body.
Eunbi ramped up the intensity. She began moving her shoulders rapidly, making the bounce of her tits more frenetic—a rhythmic, wild movement that made the dress ride up and down dangerously. She put her hands behind her head, stretching her torso and exposing the tension of her belly and the sheer mass of her chest, letting out a small moan that blended with the bass of the music.
"Do you like it?" she asked in the middle of the dance, her voice sounding breathless and wet. "Do you like watching me move for you? I can feel how you're looking at me... I can feel your hunger from here."
She stopped abruptly, standing face-to-face with the group, her breathing heavy and her chest heaving violently. Her tits continued to sway slightly from the inertia of the movement, and a sheen of sweat began to cover her neck and the valley of her cleavage. The soldiers were on the verge of collapse; the sexual tension had reached a critical point where silence was no longer possible and gasps were the only thing filling the space between the notes of the music. Eunbi looked at them with a malicious smile, knowing she had them exactly where she wanted: broken, starving, and completely under her control.
The music shifted subtly; the rhythm became slower, denser, with a bass that seemed to vibrate directly in the men's bones. The air in the hangar was no longer just hot—it was suffocating, saturated by the ragged breathing of dozens of soldiers and the sweet scent of Eunbi's perfume mixing with the smell of stale sweat. She stood still for a moment, her chest heaving violently, observing the hunger in those men's eyes. She knew they had reached the limit; the tension was a string stretched to the breaking point.
Eunbi let out a low giggle, almost a purr, and slowly brought her hands to the shoulders of the dress. She didn't do it quickly; every movement was calculated to prolong the agony. Her fingers, long and delicate, began to slide the fabric down, inch by inch. The sound of the fabric rubbing against her white skin was almost audible over the thumping bass—a soft friction that made the soldiers hold their breath in unison.
"It's too hot in here, don't you think?" she whispered, casting a glance loaded with malice. "I feel like this dress is squeezing me... I feel like it's suffocating me."
As the dress slid far enough to let one of the straps drop, a collective gasp rippled through the circle of men. The white, smooth skin of her shoulder was exposed, shimmering with a fine layer of sweat that reflected the hangar's fluorescent lights. But the most devastating part happened next: as she lowered the fabric, the support of the dress gave way slightly, causing her massive tits to sway with a real and visceral weight. The soldiers saw the massive curve of her chest partially release from the fabric, revealing an obscene amount of white flesh struggling not to jump out completely.
"Fuck!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, unable to contain himself. "Look at that... it's all coming out. Dammit, I'm going to go crazy!"
"Keep going... just take it off already..." another pleaded in a broken whisper, his gaze locked on the valley between her breasts, where sweat formed small droplets that slid slowly down the skin.
Eunbi ignored the pleas, enjoying the absolute power she held over them. She moved slightly backward, arching her back while sliding the dress further down, allowing the garment to fall to her waist in a slow, fluid motion. The dress didn't disappear entirely, but it hung precariously, leaving the upper part of her torso exposed.
What appeared under the hangar lights was a vision that made several soldiers let out a guttural sound (glup). Eunbi was wearing a tiny bikini, a piece of fabric so small it was an insult. The top was barely a strip of material attempting—unsuccessfully—to contain the massiveness of her tits. Flesh overflowed from the top, the sides, and underneath; her breasts were so large that the bikini looked like a joke, a mere suggestion of clothing that left almost everything in sight. One could see the tension of the fabric stretching to the limit, marking the aggressive roundness of her chest and hinting at the pressure of her nipples against the thin material.
Eunbi placed her hands on the sides of the bikini, squeezing the fabric slightly to lift her tits even higher, projecting them forward like two mountains of white, soft flesh. The men were in shock; some had their mouths open, others closed their eyes for a second only to snap them open again, unable to process the magnitude of what they were seeing. Shame had completely vanished, replaced by an animal and voracious hunger.
"Is this what you wanted to see?" she asked, her voice wet and provocative, while swaying her shoulders to make her tits bounce softly under the bikini. "I wonder if it's enough... or if you're still hungry."
The silence that followed was dense, charged with a sexual electricity that made the air spark. The soldiers were no longer a military formation; they were a group of desperate men, veins in their necks dilated and breathing erratic, staring at that exposed body as if it were the most forbidden feast in the world. The tension in their pants had reached an unbearable point, and Eunbi, aware of this, gave them a predatory smile before preparing for her next move.
Eunbi stayed silent for a moment, enjoying the image of the men around her; they were like hungry dogs waiting to be let off the leash. Her eyes scanned the circle, stopping at the trembling hands of some and the way others bit their lower lips to avoid letting out a scream. The dress still hung dangerously around her waist, an insignificant barrier that only served to increase the agony of those present.
With excruciating slowness, Eunbi brought her hands back to the fabric of the dress. She didn't just let it drop; she began to slide it down inch by inch, making the fabric rub against the skin of her hips with a soft sound that seemed to rumble in the hangar's silence. The soldiers were hypnotized, their gazes locked on the line where the fabric separated from her body. They could see the dress sliding slowly down the curve of her white, smooth thighs, revealing skin shimmering with sweat under the white ceiling lights.
When the garment finally hit the floor with a dull thud, leaving Eunbi completely exposed in her tiny bikini, the air in the hangar seemed to vanish instantly.
If the top was an insult, the bottom was a direct and aggressive provocation. She wore a thong that barely existed; a ridiculously thin strip of fabric that sank deeply into the crack of her ass, disappearing between her massive, round cheeks. The bikini covered nothing; it simply accentuated the obscene roundness of her hips and left almost all of her white skin bare. The string of the bikini dug into her sides, creating a small ridge in the flesh of her thighs that made the men want to sink their fingers right there.
The silence was broken by a collective sound—a mix of gasps and heavy exhales filling the space. The youngest recruit let out a muffled moan and had to lean against the wall to keep from falling; his legs shook violently and his breathing was so erratic it looked like he was having a panic attack, though what he felt was absolute sensory overload.
"Holy fucking shit...!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, his voice broken and hoarse. "Look at that ass... fuck, it's huge... it can't be real. Look how the string sinks in!"
"I'm tripping out..." another muttered, his gaze fixed on the curve of her hips, sliding down toward where the bikini barely managed to cover her most intimate area. "Fuck it all, I can't take this anymore. Someone has to touch her now, fuck, my cock is about to explode in my pants."
Eunbi, far from being intimidated by the growing aggression of the comments, let out a playful giggle and took a step back, turning slowly on her heels to face away from the group. She made a deliberate move: she arched her back, pushing her ass backward and making the thong tension even further, sinking deeply into her flesh. The rhythmic sway of her heavy, firm cheeks caused several soldiers to make a guttural sound (glup), swallowing hard as their pupils dilated until they almost covered the entire iris.
"Do you like my clothes?" she asked, looking over her shoulder with an expression loaded with lust. "I think it's a bit small... don't you? I feel like it'll rip at any moment if someone pulls it hard."
The atmosphere had shifted drastically. Military shame and respect had been incinerated by the fire of animal desire. The men were no longer in formation; some had unconsciously stepped forward, breaking the circle to get closer to her. Their faces were distorted, veins in their necks dilated from blood pressure and sweat soaking their uniforms.
Eunbi turned back toward them, her chest heaving violently, making her tits bounce under the small strip of the bikini. She placed a hand on her thigh, sliding her fingers slowly upward, approaching the edge of the bottom fabric dangerously.
"I see you're not shy anymore," she whispered, her voice now hoarser, wetter. "I see you're hungry. And I... I love it when you're hungry. I wonder who among you will be the first to stop looking and start touching."
The challenge hung in the air, dense and electric. The limit had been crossed; the psychological barrier had completely broken. The soldiers were no longer disciplined men; they were predators who had just seen their prey offer herself voluntarily, and the hunger in their eyes was so visceral it could almost be touched. The sexual tension had reached its breaking point: only one movement, one signal, was needed for carnal chaos to erupt in the middle of the hangar.
The silence that followed Eunbi's words was dense, almost solid, interrupted only by the sound of the men's ragged breathing and the electric hum of the speakers. The air was so charged with desire it seemed to vibrate. The soldiers were in a trance, their gazes locked on her, but none dared to take the first step; it was that last vestige of military discipline fighting against the animal tide pushing them forward.
Eunbi, enjoying the agony of those men, decided she had played enough with their minds. It was time to break the physical barrier.
With a predatory gaze, she scanned the circle until her eyes locked onto the youngest recruit—the one who had been trembling since the moment she stepped out of the car. The boy was pale, his lips dry and his eyes wide, totally overwhelmed by Eunbi's presence. She let out a malicious smile and extended her hand toward him, making a slow gesture for him to approach.
"You... come here," she ordered, her voice no longer just playful but imperative, loaded with a sexual authority that left no room for doubt.
The youth took clumsy steps, almost tripping over his own boots. When he reached her, the smell of vanilla and female skin hit him like a sledgehammer, leaving him breathless. Eunbi looked at him from bottom to top, analyzing the tension in his neck and the way his hands shook violently at his sides.
"You're afraid..." she whispered, moving so close that the heat of their bodies merged. "I love it when you're afraid. It means you know exactly what you have in front of you and you don't know if you can handle it."
Without giving him time to respond, Eunbi took the recruit's right hand firmly. Her fingers were soft but strong, and she guided him directly toward her own chest. There was no subtlety; Eunbi slammed the palm of the boy's hand against one of her tits, sinking it deeply into the mass of white, soft flesh that the tiny bikini barely managed to contain.
The recruit let out a muffled moan, a guttural sound from deep in his throat (glup), while his eyes dilated to the max. The impact was visceral. The sensation of warm, wet, elastic skin under his hand, combined with the massive bounce of the tit against his palm, caused a cerebral short circuit. For a second, the boy froze, fearing this was a dream or that someone would punish him for touching a woman like this.
"Don't just stand there stunned, idiot," Eunbi hissed in his ear, her voice now raw and loaded with dirty talk. "Squeeze... squeeze my tits hard. I want to feel you mash my flesh with your calloused hands. Use your hand, fuck, make me feel like you're a man and not a scared child."
The command was the trigger. The recruit, driven by an animal need he could no longer control, closed his fingers over Eunbi's chest, squeezing with desperate force. He let out a grunt as he felt the softness and firmness of that body, the way the tit overflowed between his fingers, escaping the bikini. Eunbi let out a loud gasp, arching her back and closing her eyes, enjoying the roughness of the contact.
Around them, the rest of the soldiers exploded. Seeing the recruit touching her was the signal they were waiting for. The barrier of modesty shattered into a thousand pieces. Several men stepped forward, surrounding them, with hungry gazes and erratic breathing. Some began to shout dirty words, urging the boy not to be selfish, while others simply gasped, watching as the recruit's fingers sank into Eunbi's white flesh.
"Do it harder!" one of the veterans shouted, his voice broken. "Look how her nipples are marking through that fucking fabric! Take that bikini off her now, fuck!"
Eunbi opened her eyes and looked at the group with an expression of absolute lust. She felt excited by the aggression of the environment, by the smell of masculine sweat that now completely enveloped her. With a quick movement, she reached for the knots of the bikini. First, she untied the strap of the top with a sharp tug.
The fabric snapped, instantly releasing her massive tits. The visual impact was devastating; her breasts dropped with real weight, swaying violently before settling, exposing her erect, pink nipples under the hangar lights. The men let out a collective shout—a mix of awe and animal desire. But Eunbi didn't stop there. With the same speed, she slid her fingers down and untied the thong that had been sinking into her ass.
The bikini fell to the floor like an insignificant piece of trash. Eunbi stood completely naked before them, exposed in every inch. Her massive tits, her flat belly damp with sweat, and her intimate area, fully uncovered, were on display for everyone. Silence returned for a moment, but it was an electric silence—the calm before the animals lunged at their prey.
"There's no more clothes..." Eunbi whispered, looking at the men with a predatory smile while her nipples vibrated from the cold and excitation. "I'm ready now. Now... come and get what you want."
The hangar became a pressure cooker that finally exploded. It wasn't a chaotic or disorganized attack, but a slow, heavy tide of masculine bodies closing the circle around Eunbi, suffocating any empty space. The air became dense, saturated by the smell of testosterone, stale sweat, and the growing humidity of arousal. Eunbi was in the center, naked and glorious, feeling the temperature of the place rise several degrees just from the proximity of so many men burning with desire.
The first contact was like an electric shock. Several hands, calloused and rough, lunged at her simultaneously. One soldier grabbed her tits with desperate force, sinking his fingers into the soft, heavy flesh, while another positioned himself behind her, squeezing her ass with a pressure that left instant red marks on her white skin. The contrast was brutal: Eunbi's extreme softness against the roughness of the military uniform and the hardened hands of hard labor.
"Fuck, she's so soft!" one of the men groaned, his voice sounding like it had sand in its throat. "Her tits are like pillows... look how they overflow between my fingers. I can't believe this is real!"
Eunbi let out a long, wet moan, throwing her head back as she felt the group claim her. There was no trace of fear in her; on the contrary, her pupils were dilated and her breathing erratic, enjoying the sensation of being consumed by that animal hunger. She felt the soldiers' tongues roaming her neck and shoulders, leaving trails of hot saliva that shimmered under the fluorescent lights.
"That's it..." she whispered, her voice hoarse and loaded with lust. "Use me... make me feel how much you've wanted me these past months. Don't stop now..."
Eunbi decided it was time to lower the level of the game. With a fluid movement, while feeling hands continue to knead her tits and others explore the crack of her ass, she slid downward. She let herself drop onto her knees slowly, ending up in a submissive yet dominant position, right in front of the soldier who had been the most anxious throughout the encounter.
The man was paralyzed, looking down at the most desired woman in the camp kneeling before him. Eunbi looked him straight in the eyes, a gaze loaded with dirty promises, and brought her hands to the waistband of the soldier's pants. The sound of the zipper going down was like a gunshot in the hangar's silence; a metallic noise announcing the start of true degradation.
When the soldier's cock sprang out of the pants, hard as a rock and throbbing, Eunbi let out a sigh of satisfaction. She could see the dilated veins running along the member, the tip already wet from accumulated arousal. The smell of musk and sex filled her nostrils, triggering her own lubrication. Without warning, Eunbi opened her mouth and wrapped the head of the member with a slow, sucking motion.
Glup.
The sound was wet and visceral. The soldier let out a muffled cry, arching his back and closing his eyes tight as he felt the suffocating heat of Eunbi's throat enveloping him. She was in no rush; she began to suck with rhythm, lowering her head to swallow as much as possible, making her cheeks sink and the sound of the vacuum resonate in the hangar.
Plok, glup.
Every time she descended, the sound of saliva mixing with hot skin was obscene. Eunbi used her tongue to lick the base and the frenulum, moving with an expert technique that had the man on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The soldier began to pant violently, his hands instinctively descending toward Eunbi's hair, not to push her away, but to press her head deeper against his crotch.
"Oh God... fuck!" the man moaned, his voice breaking. "It's so hot... her mouth is a fucking fire! Keep going, keep going, dammit!"
Around them, the other soldiers were in a frenzy. Some masturbated openly while observing the scene, others pressed against Eunbi, touching her tits and her ass while she remained concentrated on the oral act. The atmosphere was a chaotic mix of sounds: the hoarse pants of the men, the wet noise of Eunbi's mouth (plok), and the constant rub of sweaty skin against uniform fabric.
Eunbi looked up for a second, the cock still between her lips and a string of saliva connecting her corner of the mouth with the tip of the member. Her eyes glowed with absolute malice; she knew she had pushed them to the limit and there was no turning back. She was turning the hangar into a temple of flesh and fluids, where military discipline had completely surrendered to animal lust.
Eunbi felt the soldier reaching his limit; the man trembled violently, and his hands gripped her hair with almost painful force. Just before he exploded in her mouth, Eunbi pulled away with a slow, deliberate movement, leaving a thick string of saliva connecting her lips to the throbbing tip of the member. The soldier let out a grunt of frustration and desire, an animal sound that resonated in the tense silence of the hangar. He couldn't take it anymore; the hunger accumulated for months had transformed into a blind urgency that could only be satiated by penetration.
Without a word, the man grabbed Eunbi by the shoulders and turned her brusquely, forcing her to lean on her hands and knees on the cold floor of the hangar. The position left Eunbi's ass projected upward—a massive white curve that seemed to invite assault. The thong was gone; now only naked, wet skin remained, shimmering under the fluorescent lights.
"Enough games..." the soldier grunted, his voice sounding like a tear. "I'm going to go crazy if I don't get inside you right now."
Eunbi let out a hoarse gasp, arching her back and pushing her cheeks backward, seeking contact. She could feel the man's hot breath against her skin and the smell of sex and sweat emanating from him. The soldier wasted no more time; he positioned himself behind her, and with a firm, dry movement, guided his cock toward Eunbi's entrance.
The first thrust was slow but deep.
Eunbi let out a muffled scream—a mix of pain and extreme pleasure that filled the space. She felt how the flesh stretched to the limit to make room for the thick, hard member, a visceral sensation of fullness that made her shiver from her fingertips to the base of her spine. The soldier let out a long sigh, closing his eyes as he felt the suffocating heat and tight humidity of Eunbi's interior enveloping him completely.
When he finally entered all the way, both froze for a second, allowing their bodies to adjust to the intensity of the encounter. But the calm was short-lived. Animal instinct took command and the rhythm began to accelerate.
Clap.
The sound was dry and loud; the collision of the soldier's balls against Eunbi's ass resonated in the hangar like a gunshot.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
As the rhythm became more frenetic, the noise of flesh colliding became constant and obscene. It was a rhythmic, visceral sound that marked the beat of desire. Eunbi was completely surrendered; her head hung low, her hands gripping the cold floor while her massive tits swung violently with every thrust, bouncing against the concrete in a chaotic and exciting movement.
"Fuck, you're so tight!" the soldier shouted, his voice broken by arousal. "I feel how you're sucking me in!"
Eunbi couldn't articulate coherent words; she only emitted wet moans and erratic gasps. She felt every inch of the member hitting her internal walls, a hot friction that was taking her to the edge of the abyss. But the most visceral part was the sensation of the other men around her. While the first soldier hammered her from behind, the others didn't just watch.
Two soldiers positioned themselves at her sides, grabbing her tits with brute force, squeezing and molding them while she screamed from the pleasure. Another man knelt in front of her, forcing her to look at him while he licked her lips and whispered dirty words in her ear, describing exactly what was happening behind her.
"Look how that ass rattles..." one of them muttered, observing Eunbi's white skin turning red from the constant impact of the collision (clap).
Sweat began to rain over them; the mix of fluids and heat created a lubricating layer that made the bodies slide against each other. The veins in the neck of the soldier penetrating her were dilated to the max, his muscles tense as steel cables while he pushed with desperate violence. Eunbi felt her world reduce to that sound of colliding flesh and the massive pressure filling her belly.
The tension reached a critical point. The rhythm became so fast that the clap turned into a continuous hum of skin against skin. Eunbi felt an electric shock run through her nerves, a violent muscular contraction that made her arch her back to the limit. She was about to break, and the man behind her was too. The hangar was no longer a place of discipline; it was a nest of throbbing flesh, sweat, and animal lust where the only language was the noise of raw sex.
The sound of the impact was deafening in the hangar; every thrust from the soldier translated into a dry, violent clap that resonated against the metal walls, an animal rhythm that synced with the desperate gasps of the men surrounding her. But while the cock hammered her from behind, the visual center of attention remained her tits.
Because of the position—leaning on her hands and knees—gravity caused her breasts to hang heavily toward the floor. With every brutal blow she received in the ass, her tits jumped with obscene violence, bouncing up and down like two mountains of white flesh that knew no rest. The movement was hypnotic; the mass of her chest swayed from left to right, bouncing against her own torso and swinging with a real weight that made the observing soldiers lose their minds.
The two men flanking her were no longer content with caressing her; they had moved to a phase of brute possession. Their hands, large and calloused, sank into Eunbi's flesh with aggressive force. One of them grabbed one of her tits and squeezed it so powerfully that the flesh overflowed between his fingers, distorting the roundness of the breast as he pulled it downward. The other did the same with the other, kneading them like clay, sinking fingers into the softness of her white skin until leaving red marks that contrasted violently with her pale tone.
Eunbi let out a gut-wrenching scream, but it wasn't pain; it was the scream of a woman being consumed by the purest and most degrading desire. She turned her head toward the men crushing her chest and, with eyes clouded by lust and mouth open, began to speak dirty, her voice sounding hoarse, wet, and completely broken.
"Yes... fuck! Keep doing that!" she shouted, while a particularly strong thrust made her arch her back. "Mash my tits! Squeeze them until it hurts, you animals! I love feeling your filthy hands distorting my chest while this idiot breaks my ass from behind... keep going, don't stop!"
Her words acted like gasoline on a fire. The soldier penetrating her let out a roar and increased the speed, making the claps so fast they became a continuous hum of flesh hitting flesh. Eunbi felt her body was a war zone; the constant rub of sweaty skin, the massive pressure in her chest, and the burning friction inside her were taking her to the limit.
"Look at my tits!" she exclaimed, panting violently as she saw her own breasts bouncing frantically with every blow. "Look how they jump for you! Don't you want to feel them? Come and lick my nipples while you fuck me! I want to feel all your tongues on my tits right now!"
At the command, another soldier lunged forward and wrapped one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking with voracious force. Eunbi let out a sharp moan that turned into a scream when she felt the pull of the nipple coordinated with the deep impact of the cock in her belly. The contrast was brutal: the vacuum of the suction on her chest and the massive pressure in her sex.
"Yes... like that... fuck!" she gasped, saliva running from the corner of her lips. "Take me all! Don't leave a single inch of my skin unmarked. I want to wake up tomorrow and feel that every one of you left their mark on my body. Harder, dammit! Push me harder against the floor while you bite my tits!"
The hangar was saturated. The smell of sex was so dense it could be tasted; a mix of vaginal fluids, pre-cum, and masculine sweat. The soldiers were out of their minds, their faces distorted by a hunger that no longer had a brake. The veins in their necks were dilated to the max and their breaths were short, erratic gasps.
Eunbi was at the epicenter of the chaos, feeling her body become an instrument of collective pleasure. Her tits continued to oscillate violently, jumping under the hands and mouths of the men, while the rhythm of penetration reached a point of no return. Every clap was now a promise that the final explosion was only seconds away, and Eunbi, with her raw language and her bouncing breasts, pushed them all toward the abyss.
The hangar had become an echo chamber for the crudest lust; the sound of the clap, clap, clap was so rhythmic and violent it seemed like industrial machinery running at maximum power. Eunbi was in a state of absolute ecstasy, her face pressed against the cold cement while her body was shaken by thrusts that threatened to disassemble her. But the most striking part remained her tits: they were two white and heavy masses that, due to the speed of the rhythm, no longer just bounced but swayed in a chaotic frenzy, hitting her own torso and jumping up and down with visceral force.
The soldiers flanking her were out of control. There were no more caresses; only possessive and brutal grips. One of them had both hands buried in her breasts, squeezing them with such fury that the flesh overflowed between his fingers, molding her tits into grotesque and exciting shapes while shaking them to the rhythm of the thrusts. The other soldier had pressed himself against her, licking the sweat from her back and biting her shoulders, while his hands slid down to squeeze her ass, coordinating the pressure with every blow the man behind her delivered.
Eunbi let out a scream that tore through the air, a wet and prolonged sound that ended in a hoarse gasp. With eyes bloodshot from pleasure and mouth open, she began to spit dirty words, her voice sounding as if it were being torn apart by excitation itself.
"Yes... fuck! Feel how I open up for you!" she screamed, while an especially deep thrust made her arch her back and let out a sharp moan. "Look at my tits, you filthy pigs! Look how they jump while you break me inside! They're so big you can't stop looking at them, right?! Tell me you want to lick every drop of sweat from my nipples right now!"
The man penetrating her let out a guttural roar, the veins in his neck dilating to the limit and his face distorted by effort. His hands clamped onto Eunbi's hips, leaving deep red marks on the white skin, while he accelerated the rhythm to an inhuman speed. The sound of the impact (clap) became a continuous hum; there was no longer any space between one blow and another.
"I'm going to cum... fuck, I'm going to cum in you!" the soldier roared, his voice sounding like a wounded animal.
Eunbi felt the internal pressure reaching the breaking point. Her vaginal muscles contracted violently around the member, sucking it with desperate force. In that moment, Eunbi turned her head toward the men crushing her chest and let out one last command loaded with degrading lust.
"Now! Make my head explode! Fill me with everything! I want to feel your hot milk on my skin, on my tits, on my face! Don't hold anything back, you animals, empty yourselves inside and all over me!"
That was the final trigger. The soldier behind her let out a visceral scream and sank in to the root one last time, tensing every muscle of his body while firing thick, hot jets deep into Eunbi's belly. At the same time, the other soldiers, who had been on the edge of the abyss, collapsed in a collective orgasm.
The hangar filled with violent gasps and broken moans as white, viscous milk began to rain over Eunbi. Some fired against her back, others over her cheeks, but most focused on her tits. Hot jets impacted the white, taut skin of her breasts, sliding down the massive curves and filling the deep valley between them, creating an obscene contrast between the whiteness of her flesh and the viscosity of the masculine fluid.
Eunbi collapsed onto the floor, trembling violently, lungs burning and body covered in a shimmering layer of sweat and semen. Her tits continued to sway slightly from inertia, now stained and glistening under the hangar lights. She lay there, panting, feeling the weight of the men collapsing around her, exhausted and empty, while silence slowly returned to the place, broken only by the sound of erratic breathing and the dripping of fluids on the cold concrete.
The silence that fell over the hangar was so abrupt it felt painful, as if someone had cut the power with a single blow. No trace remained of the frenetic rhythm or the animal screams; there was only the heavy, erratic sound of dozens of lungs fighting to recover oxygen. The air remained thick, saturated by that metallic smell of sex, sweat, and fluids that had become the very atmosphere of the place.
Eunbi remained slumped on the cold cement for several minutes, her face resting on an arm and her eyes fixed on an oil stain on the floor. Her body trembled in residual spasms—small electric jolts running down her spine. She felt the weight of her own exhaustion, but also a dark and visceral satisfaction. She was completely naked, exposed and marked; she felt the viscosity of the semen cooling slowly on her skin, creating a sticky film that clung to her curves.
The most evident part were her tits. Those massive breasts, which had been the center of the storm, now rested against the floor, flattened by their own weight. They were glistening, covered in thick white streaks that slid down the sides and accumulated in the deep valley between them. Some drops still slid slowly toward her nipples, which remained erect and sensitive to the brush of the cold hangar air. Eunbi let out a long, wet sigh, feeling the adrenaline fade and give way to a strange melancholy—that post-orgasmic void that feels like a hole in the chest.
Around her, the soldiers were shadows of what they had been ten minutes ago. There was no more aggression or hunger; only defeat remained. They sat or lay on the floor, gazes lost and breathing heavy. Some stared at their own hands, surprised by the brutality with which they had touched that body, while others simply closed their eyes, overwhelmed by the sensory discharge that had just broken their psyche. Military discipline had died in that hangar; they had been reduced to their most primal state, and now, the return to reality was a blunt blow.
"Fuck..." one of them whispered, his voice completely empty, almost without air. "What the hell just happened?"
No one answered. Silence was the only possible response. It was a silence charged with a dull guilt and infinite admiration. They had been possessed by her as much as they had tried to possess her.
Slowly, Eunbi began to pull herself up. The sound of her skin peeling away from the damp cement produced a visceral noise that made several soldiers look up at her. She sat back on her heels, letting her tits sway softly with the movement, scattering the drops of semen still clinging to them. There was no trace of shame in her gaze; on the contrary, she observed them with a predatory calm, like someone looking over a battlefield after winning the war.
She brought a finger to the corner of her lips, picked up a remnant of saliva and fluid, and licked it slowly while maintaining eye contact with the youngest recruit, who was still trembling in a corner. The boy couldn't hold her gaze; he lowered his head, feeling small, forever marked by that encounter.
"Looks like you've recovered your morale," Eunbi said, her voice returning to silk, though now with a hint of satisfied exhaustion. "I hope this 'gift' is enough for you to endure the rest of your service without going crazy."
She stood up with a slow elegance, allowing the fluids to slide down her thighs and fall to the floor in thick drops. She was in no rush to cover herself; she enjoyed the way the men looked at her—a mix of residual hunger and almost religious respect. She knew she was leaving, but she left behind something far more permanent than physical pleasure: she had left them a psychological scar. From that moment on, every time those men closed their eyes or felt the rub of their uniforms, they would remember the weight of her tits, the smell of vanilla mixed with sex, and the feeling of having been completely dominated by one woman.
Eunbi walked toward where her dress lay, picking it up from the floor with a nonchalant gesture. As she slid the garment over her body, hiding the stained and shimmering skin, she cast one last look at the group of defeated men. A small smile played on her red lips before she turned and walked toward the exit, leaving behind a hangar that smelled of sin and a lust they would never again experience with the same intensity.
The sun shone through the window to Karina and Josh's bedroom, glowing a bright orange in the Saturday afternoon light. It was going to be another hot day, judging by the warmth the sun was creating and that meant another hot night.
Of course, it wasn't just the heat that was going to make it a hot night, Karina thought as she was looking through her closet trying to find something to wear. Tonight Josh was having his poker night and Ben was coming over to play. Not only the game she thought with a small smile on he face, her boyfriend's friend would be taking a lot of special care of her.
It had only been a few days since their lustful encounter on the bed next to Josh. Even just the thought of it now made her want to cum. It had been so hot.
She thought about getting her vibrator out and releasing some of the built up lust that was clawing at her inside, until she remembered that she had threw it away as it no longer satisfied her needs. She had gone way past the point where sex was just all action. She had to have risk and erotic situations now to give her the biggest orgasms she could. Every time she had cheated on Josh, she had had a bigger and bigger orgasm. The more risky and naughty, the hotter the fucking and the wilder the climax. She was addicted now. It wasn't that Josh was a bad lover, she thought to herself as she picked up and discarded a pink sports bra, he was amazing at sex and the best boyfriend she could ask for. He just couldn't give her the erotic illicit action she needed. He loved to be risky too, but even the riskiest sex they had ever had couldn't beat the orgasms she had received lately.
She was looking forward to the fucking that Ben would give her tonight while everyone else was playing poker. She loved the stories of husbands or boyfriends betting their women in poker games and losing them so their friends could fuck them. She fantasized about Ben winning her that night and either taking her to their bedroom and fucking her while Josh knew what was happening down stairs, or Ben just fucking her right in front of her boyfriend.
The thoughts made her loins tingle even more. It wasn't like she was horny from not having sex lately, not this time; she was just addicted to the hot sex now. It had become almost like a drug for her. The more she had it and the more she pushed the illicit boundaries further, the more she needed it and the more illicit things became. For instance, Josh's boss loved fucking her, and although she didn't like the old man and was far from attracted to him, she couldn't resist it because of how hot it was.
“Sorry, we can’t approve your two-day vacation leave.” The HR officer said, dropping a folder with my rejected leave application.
“Thanks…” I sighed. I looked around, but there was nothing to look at. Just a desk full of piled-up requests and reports.
What a life, I used to wish for a stable job after graduating, but not like this! It’s stable, so stable that it has never been reduced once.
I just want a decent vacation or a day off from work. But it seems impossible since these stocked-up works kept creeping up on me. In my home? Clients, bosses, and even my team manager kept calling me. Of course, I made mistakes as a person, but every mistake I make is like a million dollars lost for them.
Am I that important in the office? No.
Is my job important to me, so I kept working at this damn company? Yes. I graduated from a not-so-known university, knowing the requirements for a decent job like this here in Seoul, getting this job is a jackpot. And of course, the pay’s good, almost thrice as much as the other companies.
“Good job today.” Our team leader said. All of my co-workers stood up, but I remained seated.
“Finish it today.” He tapped my shoulder and left.
“Yes, sir,” I answered, as if I had another choice. The lights go off, except for the one at my workplace. Nice, another night of lonely overtime.
“I just want a vacation.” I sighed, then proceeded to finish what I had to finish before it finishes me off, so I had to finish it. Fuck, I’m so tired, that’s it.
Another three hour overtime when I get it done. This isn’t something new to me, but it’s something I wish to have a rest from doing. My arms plopped down as my feet kept walking. It’s already eight in the evening, and the streets of Seoul are just waking up. People walk on the streets in their fashionable outfits, some are already drunk, and some are even filming their cute dances.
“Good for them.” I’m envious of them. I want to have fun too.
“Sir, would you like to buy some antique stuff from our church? All money will be given to our partner foundations. Every single one is for only 5,000 won.” A young girl, who looks like she is four years old, asked me. Tugging the hem of my coat like I’m her dad, while her other hand gestures five.
“Sorry, I don’t want to.” Enough of these things, my mom stuffed my apartment with a variety of our heirlooms already. I don’t have any space for that.
“Just one, mister.” She insisted.
“O-okay.” I had to buy some if this cute girl kept tugging at my coat.
“I’ll get this one.” I picked a bronze cutlery set. Come to think of it, it looks new and unused, maybe I can resell it. Jackpot for 5,000 won.
“Okay, here.” I pulled 5,000 won from my pocket.
“30,000 won more.” She asked for more.
“Huh!? What? Wait, I thought it’s 5,000 won only?” I heard it correctly; there’s no way I heard it wrong.
“Yes, I said every single one. That’s a set, mister, seven pcs of spoons and pork. That's 35,000 won total.”
“It's a fork.”
“Yes, fork.” She explains, even pointing at the set that I picked.
“Wait, it’s not what I thought!” I complained. This kid is trying to scam me. I’ll never let her do that to me.
…
…
I entered the passcode of my apartment, holding the set of cutlery that they forced me to buy. That kid scammed me! She cried like a baby, and it caught the attention of other adults who approached us and were concerned about what was happening.
“That kid!” I entered and closed the door behind me.
“What will I even do with this? I paid 35,000 won for this? I doubt I’ll get 35,000 won even if I sell this!” I stomped my feet on my way to my storage room.
I opened it, but I forgot something important. It’s already full.
“This shou- uoogghhh! Awwww! What the hell!” Various things flooded me, spilling out of the room the moment I opened it. It’s all because of this damn cutlery set.
“Uuoogh– shit.” When I tried to stand up, a weird-looking jar cut me. There’s even blood stuck to it.
“What the hell is this?” I picked it up and wiped it clean. My blood dispersed, did it stain?
“Shit, it just spread—”
“Hyo-hyo-hyo-”
I heard a faint laugh, then a burst of strong wind blew me. It smells weird and rusty. I felt goosebumps all over my body. Even my pubic hair stood up. I felt something other than that, like scarier vibes. As if someone is watching me.
“Finally, fresh air… is he my master? hyo-hyo-hyo-”
“Damn, what is that? It feels weird, and it smells weird.” I smelled the jar, “It smells like piss.”
“My mast– hey!! What piss!? That’s my house! hyo-”
“What the fuck? Is this my grandma’s chamber pot?” I threw it back into the pile of other antique things.
“IT’S NOT PISS HYO- IT’S JUST RUST AND SOME– is it really because of piss? Did someone pissed on my house? Hey! Don’t throw my house hyo-!”
I picked up those antiques, one by one, and tossed them back into the room. It took a while before I finally got it done. I left some outside, including that piss-smelling jar.
“Should I just throw it?”
“NO! YOU SHOULD NOT! YOU'LL BE CURSE FOREVER HYO- HYooOoughh– ehem.”
“Wait, can he not hear me?”
“What the hell?”
“Hello???????”
“Shit, is this because I got sealed for a very long time? It’ll take a whole damn long time before I fully replenish my energy! But, master~ you can wish anytime you want~~~”
“Right, he can’t hear me hyo-hyo-hyo-”
“I should eat and sleep.” I cooked a very simple meal, ramyeon with egg and kimchi. Nice meal, since it’s my concept of a decent meal. No one cares, though.
“It’s boring hyo-hyo-hyo-”
“What the?” I tidied up, but I definitely heard something before going to my bedroom.
“Oh? Ohhhhh!~ Did the master hear me? Hyo-hyo-hyo- a little bit more time and the master will meet me.”
…
“All I could do was wish for it.” I talked about my rejected vacation. I have already settled into my bed.
“Ohhhhh~ Master’s ready for his first wish~ careful master, your wish is limited~ hyo-hyo-”
“I wish I had a vacation in Thailand, two days are enough.” I’m lying in my bed as I stare at the ceiling for a moment. All I could do was hope, but since my leave application was rejected, it was now hopeless. I sighed, then slowly closed my eyes.
“Thigh-land? My master’s a naughty boy hyo-hyo-hyo!~” — — —
My thoughts drift on a dream, unaware of what was happening. I smile crazily at my sleep as my body floats in the air. Then in an instant, my body was swallowed by a bright, glittering hole, warping it to another dimension.
“Enjoy your vacation, master hyo-hyo-hyo~ kgghh- oughh! ough! Being a genie isn’t easy. I was forced to laugh comically, and it always choked me up. Enjoy those thighs for two days, master hyo-hyo-hyo~” — — —
*****
Ocean waves, bright blue sky, and a bright sun. I slowly opened my eyes and was surprised at what my eyes perceived.
“What the–? Wow.” I was supposed to be shocked and confused, but the beauty of the island overrides that feeling. Now I’m amazed at how pretty it is.
I was definitely lying on my bed as I remember, now I’m lying on the beach. I stood up, brushing the sand off me, and I analyzed what the hell is happening?
“I was really on my bed, and now I’m here? What the hell is happening!? Is this a dream? A prank? If this is a prank, then it’s not funny! I have a very important tomorrow!” I screamed to the endless beach, ocean, and coconut trees. There’s no response, not even the slightest reaction from anywhere.
Twit. Twit.
“Goodness– that scared me. COME BACK HERE, AND I’LL COOK YOU, FUCKING BIRD!” The bird flew away. There’s a bird; I’m definitely still on earth. I think I must have gone crazy, thinking that I’ve even been transported to another planet.
…
“Wait, if I’m stuck here… it means no work? No boss who yells at you? No coworkers who’ll command you? Yeah!” It might be a blessing, the vacation that I have ever wanted.
;;;
“No food, no drinks, and no beer. This isn’t a vacation, it’s a fucking torture!” My happiness instantly drops when reality hits me.
“Oh my God, I just wanted to have a vacation– kghh– oughhh!” I kicked the white sand beach, but the air suddenly blew so much that it backfired. The sand hit my face and even got into my mouth.
“Shit! My eyes! Fuck!” and some even got to my eyes.
I regained my focus after several minutes of analyzing, suffering, and coughing. I looked around and started walking. It’s all endless. There's a never-ending ocean, unlimited white sands, and a bunch of coconut trees. I wonder how the fuck I will survive if I only have coconuts.
“I'm even scared of heights.” I frowned that even coconuts seemed impossible for me.
I walked and walked and walked, sometimes running since there were flying coconut leaves. Until I found a beach cabin.
“Finally!” I raised both of my hands and jumped with joy. I ran, desperate for help and habitat since the sun was scorching hot.
“At last, shade. Water, I need water.” I went in slowly, looking for signs of life. There might be, no, there must be someone in here. It’s packed with all the necessities to live, there’s water, fruits on the table, there’s a fridge, and girls?
“Holy shi— sorry!”
“Hello, master, we’ve been waiting for you. Welcome to thigh land.” All of them were in sync and bowed their heads.
“Thailand? Wait, I’m in Thailand?” I thought this place was familiar. It has a south east asian vibe.
“No, it’s not Thailand. It’s thigh-land.” The girl said with her eyes smiling like her pretty smile. Oh god, she’s cute. But, huh?
“Huh? Thigh… land? What thigh— oh fuck.” I gulped.
I just noticed that these girls were in the skimpiest shorts a woman can wear. They’re thick, smooth, and meaty. They’re visuals, no joke, too. What the hell is this Thigh-land?
An hour passed, an hour full of nervousness and sweating. I am seated in the dining area, bouncing my knee as a pair of four eyes kept staring at me. I kept avoiding their eyes, but every time I did that, it landed on their thighs. Shit, their thighs were so nice.
“W-why are you standing there like a mannequin?” I asked them, curious as to why they’re just staring at me with weird smiles on their faces.
“We’re waiting for your orders.” The girl with the puppy looked answered on the farthest side.
“First of all, why are we here?” I asked them the very important question that I had been asking since I woke up on the beach,
“We’re… we don’t know, all we know is that we’re here to serve you and follow your orders.” The pale, white, pretty girl said.
“What is this? Really. What’s your name?” I should address them by their names.
“I’m Yujin.” The girl who just answered me seconds ago introduced herself. She’s pretty, tall, and top-thigher, if you know what I mean. I stared at her for a second before moving on.
“And you?” I asked the girl on Yujin’s left.
“I’m Arin.” She looks stunning, the perfect chiseled face structure with a banging body. The same with Yujin, she’s top-thigher. I stared at her for a second too before moving to the girl on her left, wearing an addictive smile.
“You?”
“I’m Jiheon, nice to meet you.” She introduced herself. I’m glad to meat her as well, as in meat, meaty thighs.
“And?” Asking the last girl.
“Call me Ryujin.” Some memory kicked in for me upon hearing it, as if I had already heard it from a clothing brand ad, but that’s not what is important right now. She’s as pretty as them and banger as them.
“O-okay.” They’re all insanely hot.
Yujin’s a bang bang, twice bang for that banger body. Arin’s someone that I would love to spend my day nonstop with. Jiheon’s smile feels like she was hiding something like a love bomb. And Ryujin’s chic and swaggy facade looks like she’s a mafia in disguise.
“Then all of you, sit.” It’s kind of uncomfortable since I’m the man, but I’m the one who’s seated.
“No, we don’t dare to sit at the same level as you,” Ryujin said, gesturing to the chair that I sat on.
“It’s just a normal chair, though. Why did you keep addressing me like I’m superior to you?” It’s freaking me out, for real. All my life, I've been the inferior one.
“Because you are, we’re here to follow your orders,” Arin answered.
“Then, please sit on my lap,” I said, joking to them to ease my tension.
“Yes.” All of them took a step forward.
“Whoa! I’m just joking! Okay?” Damn, they’ll really do it? What kind of situation is this?
“O-okay,” Ryujin said.
“He’s just joking, should we laugh?” Yujin asked the other girls.
“Hah–” Arin and Jiheon were about to laugh.
“Please no,” I said, and all of them closed their mouths and fixed their posture, standing once again.
“But please, sit.” I plead with them. They looked at one another.
“If you insist, but we won’t dare to be on the same level as you,” Jiheon explained, then they kneel.
“H-huh?” I’m confused as hell, but they should get up. This is not to treat a woman.
“We can’t be the same level as you, but we can go lower.” Yujin looked up at me as I stood up and pulled them up. They looked confused.
“Stand up! What the hell is really happening!?” Is this reality? Or just a dream? It should be a dream.
“Slap me,” I asked Yujin, then Yujin stretched her hands, ready to strike me.
“W-Wait! Not you, her.” I stopped Yujin; she’s too tall, and she looks strong. I might be dead if this is real. Then I point at Ryujin.
“Just a light tap— AAAWW!!!!” Ryujin didn’t even let me finish and slapped the hell out of my face. It echoed through the whole beach cabin, which is not supposed to since it’s open. That’s strong, fuck, I thought my jaws misaligned for a moment.
“One more?” Ryujin asked me. Please no.
“How about the other side?” Jiheon suggested.
“Should I do it? Since he asked me first.” Yujin stepped up.
“He looks like someone who likes to be beaten up?” Arin said, and she’s completely wrong. “How about we kick him?” Arin added. Oh hell no.
“Wait!! Wait! Enough, please!” I already proved it is real and not a dream since it stings too much. Are they torturers?
“Please, leave me alone for a moment.” I politely ask them to leave; they’re freaking me out.
“Then, please enjoy your stay.” They said and bowed their way out.
“What stay? This is prison awww– shit. Ryujin’s strength is no joke. I should have asked Jiheon instead—” It is still stinging.
PAAAAK!
“Shit, what’s that noise?” The loud noise rattled me. It’s just seconds ago when they left me, and there was an uproar again. I peeked at the window to see where that noise came from.
“Woooh~ Jiheon smashed a coconut in one blow~” The girls are cheering for Jiheon, who just smashed a coconut open.
“I think… Ryujin’s a good choice.” I closed the window, shakily.
…
…
“So, what now?” I have nothing to do. I already searched through the beach cabin, looking for any hint of reality. I looked for cameras, if it’s a prank, but there’s nothing. I looked for a clue if it’s a game, but there’s nothing.
“Hyo-hyo-hyo- What a nap~ oh? HYO-HYO-HYO~! Why’s master's cheeks are swollen~.”
“It’s boring too, I wish I had my playing cards in here.” I sighed, even though my playing cards are here, it’s still boring. There are also other people, but I don’t want to talk with those crazy girls.
“Hyo-hyo~ master used his last wish! Here you go~.”
“I should— huh? Is that my— WHAT THE FUCK!? They're my cards!” I picked up my cards from the table, which was not there earlier.
“WHAT THE FUCK? This wasn’t here earlier? Shit! Now, I’m scared. I want to go home now.” I got goosebumps all over my body; it’s creeping me out. Not a single thing makes sense since I woke up!
“I wish to go home… I WANT TO GO HOME NOW!” I yelled in desperation.
“No~ You’ve used all your wishes now~ hyo-hyo~.”
“WAAAHHHH! W-WHO’S THERE?” Shit! Now someone just talked, I heard it. Loud and clear, someone’s here.
“Oh~ master, can you hear me now? Hyo-hyo~” That voice sounds creepy.
“W-what!? That master thing again!? Show yourself!” I stood up and went to the kitchen.
“There should be here– wait! No knife? T-then this! Show yourself!” I looked for a knife to intimidate it, but there was no knife. There should be! Movies work that way! Now, I’m pointing a fork at the air.
“Easy master, calm down hyo-hyo~” That voice sounds near, no, it’s so close as if it’s just mere inches from me. I kept turning around, pointing the fork in every direction.
“What easy? Do you think it’s easy to calm down when you hear someone speak out of nowhere! And with that hyo hyo laugh! It’s irritating!” I kept turning and turning, but there were no signs of anyone, just its voice.
“Hey! Do you think I want to laugh that way! We’re designed to laugh differently from another genie! Hyo-hyo-hyo~ shit, I did it again.” What it said just freaks me more than I already was.
“What? W-what genie!?” I just heard the most absurd thing for the day.
“Yes~ master~ I’m the genie from the jar~ your blood wakes me up hyo-hyo-hyo-” It laughed maniacally.
“My grandma’s chamber pot? That one which smelled like piss?” I remember that thing.
“Yes, that… IT’S NOT A CHAMBER POT! IT’S MY HOUSE! AND IT WASN’T PISS, IT’S RUST!” Shit, it sounds mad. Then, I heard a thunderclap, roaring in the skies.
“AHHHHHH! Shit! What the?” It scared me. It’s sunny outside, there’s no way lightning just struck. I peeked at the window; it was still sunny. And I also saw the girls playing as if nothing had happened. Now, I’m embarrassed. I just screamed like a girl while the real girls were just playing outside.
“Anyway~ master, just enjoy your vacation~ hyo-hyo-hyo- you wished for it, remember?”
“When did I wish for that?” I’m trying to remember when I did it.
“Before you sleep~ hyo-hyo-”
“Really? Oh shit, I did. But, I said Thailand! Not thigh-land! What I wanted was to eat some Tom Yum Goong and Pla Pao seaside.” I explained to this mysterious, hidden, smelly genie. Well, I thought it smelled like a jar.
“I messed up, somehow.”
“THEN FIX IT!” My patience wears thin. Though I can’t do anything about it.
“Okay, Tom Yoon Gung and Pla Pao.” I heard a snap. Then instantly, the tables filled with it. With extra fruits and drinks.
“You know what, Master? Just enjoy hyo-hyo-hyo~”
“Do I have a choice? Fine. But, are you really a genie?” I still have doubts in my mind, but after seeing ridiculous things kept from happening, it must be real.
“Are you an idiot?”
“I should not have asked that if I already knew the answer, and hey, you forgot your laugh.” I’ll smack it when it appears, but speaking of appearance.
“Oh? Hyo-hyo-hyoughh! Ough! Fuck I choked again.”
“You have a body, do you?” I want to know so I can beat it up once I see it.
“Correction, sexy body hyo-hyo-hyo-”
“You’re a girl?” Do genies have gender?
“Technically, if humans consider someone with long hair, tits, and a vagina as a woman. Yes, I am! Hyo-hyo-hyo~”
“Wait! I thought genies are genderless, how come?” It just added another question to my mind; it was already piled up, on the verge of spilling, and I might lose my mind.
“I’m differenthhhaaaaw~ I’m drowsy~ I’ll sleep again master~ I should replenish my energy so you can meet me. I’ll let my pet be on guard for you hyo-hyo-hyo~.”
“W-what pet? How the fuck genies have a pet?” What kind of genie is she? I’m close to losing my mind. Is this how crazy people interpret the world?
“The-haaww~ the bird earlier, it even said you screamed like a girl hyo-hyo-hyoooahhh~ I’ll sleep now, master.”
“I see.”
“That bird.”
“I’ll fucking cook your damn pet.”
*****
“Bring me watermelon, orange, mango, and pineapple juices. Be sure to make it not so sweet.” I lay in a sun lounge, enjoying my so-called vacation.
“Yes, master. How sweet do you want it to be?” Yujin wrote down what I just ordered.
“It’s up to you.” I don’t care how sweet it is, but not too much.
“Then, I’ll do it perfectly for your taste buds.” She bowed and excused herself.
“Thanks, Yujin. A little bit more power on the fan, please, Ryujin?” I said to Ryujin, who is on my side, waving a fan at me.
“Yes, master.” She did.
“Thank yo– uoghhh! Pwah! Pweh! No, that’s too much! The sands are blowing at me, too. A little, please, yes, just like that.” She did too much, and it takes a little more tuning until she gets it right. What power did she have?
“Here’s your grapes, master.” Arin bought my grapes, which I asked her about a while ago.
“Thank yo—- kghhh! Uoggh! I-I’ll feed myself, thanks.” But I never asked her to feed me. She shoved it right to my mouth, even putting her fingers inside.
“Okay, master. Just ask us what you want, and we’ll give it to you.” Arin said, bowing. Ryujin, on my side, nodded as well as she kept waving the fan.
“Then suck my dick.” No, I should not think of that.
“By the way, where’s Jiheon?” I asked Ryujin on my side.
“She’s cooking our lunch.” She answered, wearing her usual smile.
“Huh? Why don’t you ask the genie for it? W-wait! You’re aware of the genie, right?” I forgot to ask them about that. Maybe they were like me, people wished for something, and that genie messed them up.
“Jiheon's an incredible cook! And… Genie? Ah! Unnie? Yes, we’re aware of her.” She said she called her unnie; they must be close. So, all of this was because of that fucked up genie!
“Hyo-hyo-hyo~ snoreeee” It also pissed me off hearing her snore!
“Master, here’s your juices.” Yujin placed the drinks on the table near me.
“Thanks, Yujin. Hmmm~ it’s so good! Just the right amount of sweetness, just what I like.” It tastes so good, for a moment, I realized they’re somehow good at what I asked them to do.
“Thanks, master.” Yujin smiled. I slurped the watermelon juice, and it tasted so good. “I sipped it to test the sweetness, but don’t worry, master, I spit it back, so don’t think about running out of it. We have plenty.”
“Slurppp~ slur—” Did I hear it right? S-she spit it back. I stopped myself from drinking it and put it down.
I take back what I just said regarding they’re good at what they were doing. They’re doing a bit too much. This is a curse, this is torture, this is— thighs.
“What master?” Yujin asked me. The moment I turned my head sideways, my eyes fell upon her thick thighs, which leveled on my eyes. I feel a sudden heat that I should not feel; it’s inhuman. Are they even human?
*****
Those two days of vacation passed like a blur. The four of them acted like servants for me. They served me drinks, food, and even played cards with me when I was bored. The vacation part wasn’t the best part of these past days; it’s their bodies.
I kept stealing glances at their hips, their thighs, and sometimes at their chests. Their thighs might really be their assets, but there’s still a handful of chest that I can grab onto.
Speaking of grab, I accidentally grabbed Yujin’s ass one time when I was trying to catch a card that the wind blew off the ground. It felt full on top of her shorts. For a few seconds, my hand felt like a real vacation.
“Master?” Yujin looked puzzled, and the other girls looked confused as well. I hurriedly took my hands off her butt when I remembered how strong these girls were. I don’t want them to smash my nuts as they did on the coconut during my first day.
But one thing is for sure. Every time I look at their bodies, the hornier I get.
“It’s fine to be horny, master hyo-hyo-hyo~.”
“You’re awake? How come you slept that long? I have never heard you speak since the last time. All I can hear is your damn snore!” I can’t wait to beat her up. I’m at the beach side, alone. The girls are at the Cabin, resting. The sun had already set.
“Sworry~ Hear that? I’m still sleepy hyo-hyo-hyo~.”
“I don’t care. When will I come back? Tomorrow? Since it’s the last day.” No matter how lewd I am, I still wanted to come back. Though I miss being with them. It’s still a very unique experience, surrounded by beauties and their hot bodies.
“Uhhh…”
“What?”
“You can’t.”
…
“HUHHHHHH!? WHY!? HEY! ANSWER ME!” I screamed in the endless ocean.
“Master, rela—”
“Don’t tell me to relax! Where are you!?” I looked around, picking up a loose stick at the beach. Ready to whack her.
“I’m still weak hyo-hyo-hyo~ You’ll see me soon~”
“Really? I can’t wait!” I can’t wait to beat her up for scamming me.
“Master, wait~ Don’t worry~ Hyo~”
“What? I should! I’ve been gone for two days! No communication, and no news from my family and me! Even though I was alone, I still had my family waiting for me! You know what? I’m in doubt when I saw those girls! You plan to keep me in here and serve other people you scam and lock here! Am I right!!? Answer me!” I snapped.
“Master~ you should be a rapper, not an office worker hyo-hyo-hyo~.”
“You! Come out! You don’t want, huh!? Then!” I started swinging the stick left and right. If I hit something, that’s her. But, none.
“How is it?~ Hyo~”
“Haaa… haaa… fuck.” I pant, I just wasted my energy.
“I said, relax. Let me explain hyo-hyo~ Don’t worry about your family, time has already stopped from the real world, we’re isolated here. The sun rising and setting down? It’s all because of me, I can manipulate weather and the time whenever I want to~ hyo-hyo-hyo~.”
“Really?” I keep catching my breath.
“Yes~ and those girls~ they’re my sisters, kind of. Take it as an adopting method, they lost their purpose from reality, and the highest being gave them to me~.”
“Now, there’s even higher than you. I don’t know anymore! I just wanted to go back!” I really wanted to go home that badly.
“You don’t like thighs? hyo-hyo~”
“I like them— hey! Stop changing the topic!” For a second, I thought it’s actually nice to live here, having their thighs as my pillow, as my breakfast and dinner.
“Hyo-hyo-hyo~ You haven't even tasted them yet.”
“Wha– taste? Hey! I wanted to go home. But why are you saying I can’t go back?” I should go back before this damn genie corrupts my mind.
“It’s… a technical error. Apparently, I can move you here since you wished for it. However, I can’t bring you back since you can’t wish for it now. hyo-hyo~”
“W-what? Wait, I get it, somehow. But I forgot to ask about it. How many wishes do I have?” I got blinded by the fun and forgot the most important part.
“You got two wishes! hyo-hyo-hyo~”
“What? Why only two? It’s usually three wishes!” I knew it, this genie is a fraud.
“Well, if you won’t ask my name, then I’ll tell you. My name is Genie-dul! I’m Korean, you know, and dul means two! hyo-hyo-hyo~”
“W-w-wha—” I’m speechless at this nonsense since it doesn’t make sense! “T-then if only two, I haven’t used up my second wish, am I right?” I don’t remember using my second wish.
“You wish you could play cards, right? Hyo-hyo-hyo~”
“That— fuck! Shit! So that’s why it suddenly appeared! Hey! I didn’t really wish for that!” I’m fucked up.
“Hyo-hyo-hyo~ it has been granted!”
I looked depressed and hopeless when the genie suddenly spoke again.
“But… I can still bring you home~.”
“H-how!? Tell me!” I saw hope.
“But I have to tell you that you have to do something, you know, some kind of mission hyo-hyo-hyo~.”
“This genie, fine. Tell me.” I see, this is the scamming part where she would take advantage of me.
“You have to complete five missions! Hyo-hyo~”
“What missions?” I heard a snap once again, then a golden piece of paper appeared. It’s like a checklist. I read it, and the missions are uniquely intriguing.
“These missions are for a day only… w-what the hell is this!!? A-are you kidding me!?” My initial reaction upon seeing the list. It’s absurdly unique.
“Woooh~ hyo-hyo-hyo~”
“They’ll kill me if they choke me, do you have any idea how strong those girls are!?” The first mission, I had to make one of the girls squirt while they choked me with her thigh
“How do I do this, hit their tonsils with what– wait! Did you check on my dick when you made this!?” The second mission, I had to cum inside one of their mouths, but I had to do it deep and knock their tonsils multiple times.
“Shit, it will be my first time on that hole.” The third mission, anal sex with any of the girls, and I had to cum inside it.
“Pussy— Yeah, I doubt you'll do a normal mission.” On the fourth mission, I had to have vaginal sex with all of them and end it with creampies.
“W-wait— this one.” The fifth mission, nothing? It’s crossed out and unrecognizable.
“You think I’ll do this? HELL NO!! JUST BRING ME HOME!” This is insane, and I refuse to believe it.
“I already told you how to go back home~ Just do it, master, ~ hyo-hyo~.”
“IT’S ALL EROTIC!!! It’s too much!” I said, but I can feel a little hotness inside me. Shit, I don’t want to think about having sex with them; it might affect my answers.
“I already told you~ my name is genie-dul~”
“H-huh?” I don’t get it.
“Genie-dul… genital~ HYO-HYO-HYO~”
“HUuuHHHHhhHHH!?” No, it doesn’t make sense, it sounds alike. What kind of genie is she!?
“S-shit. T-then you said it’s a pact, a pact is a treaty, right? What’s the consequence if I fail to do this for a day?” I need to hear it.
“Then, you’ll become their slave. The girl's servant, hyo-hyo-hyo~ So think about it, stay here and enjoy or risk it to go back, but you have to be their servant if you fail~ hyo-hyo-hyo~.”
“Fuck.” I want to go home, I really want to. These girls are convincingly good, but no one matches the warmth of my family.
“Before I answer, why is the fifth mission crossed out?” I’ll have to be careful with it since it’s hidden; it might cost my life.
“I actually messed up. I wrote there to have them peg you with baby coconuts.”
“T-t-t-this fucker!” I’m mad. She’s serious that time, there’s no silly tone, and not even her annoying laugh.
“Eyyy~ come on now, master~ I removed it, see? And actually, the fifth mission is not that hard if you did the fourth mission smoothly~ don’t worry hyo-hyo-hyo~.”
“F-Fine, I-I’ll do it.” I really want to go home, so I should take the risk.
Then the golden list of missions glows, it’s blinding, it’s shining, the sky’s suddenly filled with dark clouds and lightning. It looks like the ten commandments are being made one more time, the paper levitated and started shining like a damn star. It scared me.
Then it dropped down like a piece of paper, as it should be.
“What the fuck was that?”
“Just to make it cool! hyo-hyo-hyo~”
“Sighed, h-huh? W-wait! Genie, are the girls aware of it?”
“Snooooreee~”
“S-she slept? Did she use her remaining energy for that useless effect?” I’m going nuts!
“We’re aware of it, master.”
“Oh, God! Please! Don’t startle me like that!” It shook me, they’re behind me. I bet everyone will react the same way as I did. There’s a lot of supernatural happening, who wouldn’t be surprised every time?
“Sorry about that, but we’re aware of it,” Jiheon said. They stand up in the way they introduce themselves anywhere.
“Then, master. Tomorrow morning, you’ll have to complete your mission.” Arin said.
“For the whole day tomorrow, we’ll help you go home,” Ryujin assured me.
“Master, you can use us, whenever, wherever, however you want,” Yujin said.
“We’ll help you no matter what, master.” They said simultaneously.
…
“T-then, I’m in your care.” I bowed, but when I straightened up. My boner poked.
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?”
Part of my BLACKED Baddies shorts, see my masterlist for more chapters.
1.2k words.
Karina's eyes widened at the sight of an African refugees massive BBC. With a shaky hand she reached out to grab it, feeling the strong pulse throbbing against her palm. Her mouth fell open when she began to stroke, watching it flop in her hands a bit, realizing he wasn't even fully hard.
Karina gasped, drooling as she stroked with both hands. She felt the carpet against her knees, and the touch of his ebony thighs around her torso. She leaned forward, pressing her pursed lips to the head to give it a tender kiss.
Her tongue pressed forward, tasting her first black cock, inhaling the musk that filled her nose. Her right eye twitched and she felt the thoughts within her head melting into a a warm wave of bliss rolling down her spine.
Hawk tuah! Karina spit on that thang and covered it in a layer of glistening sheen that her hands stroked into the dark African meat. Her lips wrapped around the head, eagerly parting to let it slide across her wet tongue and into the back of her throat.
GLUCK! GLUCK! AAH! GLUCK! She started to blow him between loud gasps for air. She could only fit half into her mouth, stroking him desperately with both hands covered in her own spit. The bull groaned, placing both hands on her head to hold her in place, preventing her from lifting off of his BBC.
His hips thrusted upward, jamming his big black cock into the back of her throat with force. Karina let out a muffled scream, but the bull kept going, grunting as he used her throat like a fleshlight for his own pleasure.
Her hands slapped at his thighs and abs, begging him to stop, but only motivated him to keep going. "I'm here to fuck all the women!" he groaned, pushing Karina down on his cock until she was gagging violently, her eyes rolling back until they were nearly solid white.
He gave her cheek a slap, then released her and watched Karina gasp for air, her chest heaving as she sat back against the coffee table behind her. Her throat stung as she panted, wiping the spit from her chin that had soaked into her black REFUGEES WELCOME shirt with a black fist in the middle of the Korean flag.
The bull stood up and grabbed her hair in his hand, motioning for her to follow him. "No!" he said when she tried to stand up, "I'll walk you like the slut you are."
Karina crawled on all fours beside him, following with her heavy tits sagging down against the fabric of her shirt. Her pale, naked ass in the air swayed side-to-side as he led her across the room, passing by other bulls who were hammering black cock into screaming Korean women.
The sliding door of the patio opened and Karina felt the hard concrete against her palms and knees as he led her to a beach chair and pointed for her to get on it. Karina climbed up and felt his hands on her waist, flipping her onto her back.
"Let me have those big ass titties," he said, pushing the shirt up to reveal her braless, pale, fat tits. He slapped his wet BBC between them and Karina moaned deeply, feeling the power and heft of his black cock as it thumped against her soft skin.
"Mmm, fuck my big Korean tits!" Karina blurted out, lifting her hands to the sides of her chest to press them together around the ebony pole between them.
Karina watched a pair of hands coil around the bulls sides, and then the face of Giselle smiling down at her. "That's it, fuck those big tits," Giselle said to him in a soft, encouraging voice. "They're what you came here for, aren't they? Big asian tits and tight little Korean pussies to breed."
The bull groaned, his hips thrusting back and forth between Karina's fleshy melons engulfing his dark cock. She felt the head poking at her neck with every thrust, peeking out from under the top of her shirt and occasionally trying to slip under her choker necklace.
Karina's head spun with lust, her toes curling the moment that Giselle lowered her face to her pussy to start licking it. Karina let out a long, low moan of satisfaction, closing her eyes and arching her back.
Giselle shoved a couple fingers in without warning, working them back and forth inside Karina, her thumb working circles on her sensitive clit to drive her mad. Karina breathed deeply in sharp breaths, her thighs beginning to shake, chest turning red.
The bull reached down with both hands and wrapped them around her neck, his thumbs pressing the head of his black cock against her throat as he fucked her busty chest. Karina's eyes rolled, but the grip on her squishy boobs never relaxed, and she kept them pressed hard around the BBC pumping between them.
Karina let out a moan, kicking her foot as Giselle shoved her tongue into her cunt, drilling into it with her fingers and nuzzling her nose right up against the clit. It was too much for Karina, her head was swimming, and she felt like she would pass out from the pleasure.
The bull pressed down harder and Karina felt his weight on her throat, choking her until her cheeks turned a rosy red hue. She wanted to grab at his wrists, but she kept her hands around her tits, refusing to let go until he told her to.
The bull groaned as his BBC slipped under the choker, pinning his head in place as he began to spurt a series of hot ropes across Karina's chin and neck. She felt the pulsing his shaft, the flowing hot ropes of cum shooting up her chin before running down her neck and into her dark hair.
He gave her a few more pumps, then pulled his BBC back and slapped it wetly against each breast before leaving her and Giselle. "I'm gonna..." Karina panted, pinching her nipples and twisting them, pulling her sagging breasts upward with a scream.
Karina began to squirt all over Giselle's face, coating her lips and tongue, and Giselle ate it up hungrily while continuing to lick and finger until Karina fell limp with rolling eyes.
Giselle crawled up Karina's body, hovering over her with cum dripping from her lips and chin, glistening brightly. She lowered her head to lick the cum from Karina's neck, lapping it up and ending with a soft bite into her flesh.
She dragged her tongue along Karina's throat, up her chin, and then to her lips, sliding into her mouth to deposit the bull's load. Karina's eyes rolled in circles, she moaned deeply, a hand reaching up to pull Giselle in deeper.
They swapped the load back and forth with sloppy open-mouthed kisses, their tongues twisting together, pushing against each other, lips meeting until the cum had all been swallowed.
Giselle pulled back and caressed Karina's cheek, looking deep into her eyes. They kissed one last time, and Giselle grabbed a handful of Karina's left tit to squeeze as she did so.
The night was still young and the black breeding party had just started, there were more men inside waiting for their welcome to Korea, and the two of them were more than happy to give it to them.
"Let's get these big black cocks," Giselle grinned, taking Karina by the hand to lead her back to the party.
By the time the elevator chimed, the Top Floor had never looked cleaner. Which was impressively suspicious. Because six emotionally compromised adults had tried to prepare a luxury floor for the arrival of nine senior idols, one exhausted manager, and whatever psychological weapon Park Jihyo had decided to bring with her.
The result was less “prepared” and more “crime scene sanitized by guilty people.” Ryujin had hidden anything she personally considered embarrassing. Unfortunately, Ryujin’s definition of embarrassing was deeply unreliable. Yuna had spent twenty minutes asking if certain things counted as evidence. Lia had told her that if she had to ask, the answer was yes. Chaeryeong had focused on food, because apparently she was the only person here with survival instincts. Yeji had tried to keep everyone calm. I had tried to help, nobody believed me.
“You are pacing,” Lia said from the kitchen island.
“I am assessing the room.”
“You have assessed the room nine times.”
“Then the room should feel grateful.”
Ryujin leaned against the counter with a bottle of water in hand “You know, for someone who owns this entire floor, you look like a man waiting for his landlord to inspect the apartment.”
“TWICE is coming here.”
“Yes.”
“All of TWICE.”
“Yes.”
“And you think that is normal.”
Ryujin took a sip of water “No. I think it is funny.” Yuna appeared from the hallway holding a throw pillow “Where do we put this?” I looked at it “On the couch.” She looked down, then back at me “But what if Sana unnie touches it and somehow knows?”
“Knows what?”
“I don’t know. That’s the danger.”
Lia closed her eyes “Please put the pillow down.” Yuna placed it on the couch very carefully, as if the fabric had legal consequences. Chaeryeong walked in with another tray of snacks “Do you think this is enough?” I looked at the table. There were already enough snacks to sustain a small diplomatic summit “Yes.” Chaeryeong frowned “But Momo sunbaenim is coming.” I paused “Good point, get double— no triple the amount.” Chaeryeong immediately turned back toward the kitchen. Ryujin pointed after her “See? That’s leadership.” Yeji looked toward the elevator doors “She’s not wrong.” I rubbed my forehead “Outstanding. We are preparing for TWICE like a siege.”
The elevator chimed again. This time, the doors opened and the siege arrived.
Jihyo stepped out first. She entered like a person who had already read the room, judged the room, and decided she could manage the room before her second foot crossed the threshold.
John followed behind her carrying a folder, looking like a man who had been warned about danger and still walked into it for love, employment, or stupidity. Possibly all three.
Mina came next. Calm. Elegant. Quiet. Her eyes moved across the Top Floor once, then again. Not like someone admiring luxury. Like someone evaluating asset value, security lines, privacy vulnerabilities, and whether the lighting choices were tasteful enough to survive wealth. That honestly made me uncomfortable.
Then came Nayeon. Smiling. Which meant one thing… incoming damage.
Sana appeared behind her, already looking around with delighted curiosity.
Jeongyeon followed with the dry expression of someone expecting nonsense and being disappointed only by how quickly it began.
Momo entered and immediately looked toward the food.
Chaeyoung’s eyes widened as she took in the lounge.
Dahyun looked like she was already preparing commentary.
Tzuyu stepped in last, quiet and composed, then looked through the glass wall toward the city view.
For a moment, everyone simply stood there TWICE looking at the Top Floor. ITZY looking at TWICE. John looking like he wanted hazard pay. Me looking for exits in a floor I owned. Then Nayeon smiled wider “So this is where you’ve been hiding them.” I sighed “Good afternoon to you too.”
Sana moved past her with sparkling eyes “This is so pretty.” Dahyun looked around slowly “Pretty? This is not pretty. This is expensive with emotional intent.” Ryujin pointed at her.
“I like her.”
“I like me too,” Dahyun replied immediately.
Yuna leaned toward Lia and whispered, “I fear her.”
“You should,” Lia whispered back.
Jihyo looked at the lounge, then the kitchen, then the hallway “The entire place is bigger than I expected.” John snorted. “You expected modesty from Ben? I looked at him “You live with TWICE.”
“That is unrelated.” Mina finally spoke “It’s well-designed.” Everyone turned toward her. Her tone was calm, almost neutral but somehow, it felt like passing an exam. I nodded once “Thank you.”
Ryujin leaned toward Yuna “Rich people just communicated in furniture language.” Yuna whispered back, “I think that was intimacy.”
“It was not,” I said. Mina sipped from the bottled water Chaeryeong had handed her without anyone noticing “It was not.” Ryujin pointed between us “That’s what rich people would say.” John rubbed both hands over his face “We have been here for THIRTY seconds.” Momo, meanwhile, had reached the snacks. Chaeryeong appeared beside her almost instantly “I made more, just in case.” Momo looked at her. Then at the food. Then back at her “You are very thoughtful.” Chaeryeong turned pink.
Ryujin whispered, “Chaeryeong has secured Momo.”
“Good,” Lia said. “That may save us later.”
Yeji stepped forward, leader smile firmly in place “Welcome to the Top Floor.”
Jihyo smiled at her “Thank you for having us.” Nayeon’s eyes moved from Yeji to me. Then back to Yeji. Then to my hand, which Yeji was not holding. Her smile sharpened “So this is a wellness space?”
“Yes,” Yeji said carefully. Nayeon looked around “With private rooms?” Yeji’s expression did not change. Ryujin choked on her water. Yuna immediately stared at the ceiling. Lia closed her eyes. I looked at John. John looked at me. We both understood that the first shot had been fired. Jihyo turned toward Nayeon.
“Nayeon.”
“What? I’m asking about the facilities.”
Jeongyeon crossed her arms “You are asking about the facilities like a criminal.”
Dahyun lifted one finger “For accuracy, some criminals have more subtlety.”
Nayeon looked delighted “I missed this.”
“You were with them this morning,” John muttered.
“And I missed this version.”
Sana looped an arm through Nayeon’s “Can we have a tour?”
The question sounded innocent. It was not. But refusing would be worse so I glanced at Yeji. Yeji looked back at me.
Her expression said, You caused this.
Mine said, I know.
So we gave TWICE the tour. The lounge went first. Then the kitchen. Then the gym. Then the recovery room. Then the massage room, which Ryujin tried very hard to walk past too quickly. Unfortunately, Sana noticed “Oh?” she said. Ryujin froze. Yuna made a tiny delighted sound. Lia muttered, “Here we go.” Sana looked from Ryujin to me. Then smiled “Useful room?” Ryujin turned toward her with impressive speed “For recovery.”
“Of course.”
“Physical recovery.”
“Of course.”
Nayeon leaned in from behind Sana “Why are we saying of course like that?”
“Because Ryujin is lying badly,” Dahyun said.
Ryujin pointed at her “You are dangerous.”
Dahyun smiled “So I have been told.”
Yeji cleared her throat “This room is mainly for stretching, therapy, and post-practice recovery.” Jihyo looked at the equipment “Actually, this is impressive.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Mina looked at the room. Then at me. “Imported?”
“Mostly.”
“Custom?”
“Some.”
“Hmm, you have good taste.”
Ryujin whispered to Yuna, “They’re doing it again.”
Yuna nodded solemnly “Furniture language.”
Mina glanced at both of them. They immediately stopped whispering.
John leaned toward me “I enjoy when other people experience Mina’s quiet intimidation.”
“It is not intimidation,” Mina said from across the room.
John closed his eyes “See?”
The tour continued. The more TWICE saw, the more the jokes sharpened. The private dining area became “Ben’s idol bunker”. The lounge became “the world’s most expensive emotional support room”. The city-facing balcony became “where rich people stare dramatically after making bad decisions” I did not deny that one.
Then Nayeon saw the private suite hallway. She stopped. Looked at the hallway. Looked at Yeji, then at me. Her entire face lit up.
“Oh.”
“No,” I said immediately.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
She turned to Jihyo “He built Yeji a honeymoon suite.”
Yeji’s face went red instantly “I— That’s not—”
Ryujin appeared behind her “It is emotionally a honeymoon suite.”
Yuna nodded “With witnesses.”
Lia sighed “Why are we adding witnesses?”
Dahyun placed a hand over her heart “For the documentary.”
“No documentary,” Jihyo said.
Chaeyoung looked around “Honestly, this whole place does feel like a secret married-life set.” Yeji made a small helpless sound. I stared at the wall. John patted my shoulder “Congratulations.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Mina looked toward Yeji, then me. Her expression remained unreadable. But her voice was soft “It suits you.” That quieted the hallway more than the jokes had. Yeji looked at Mina. Then nodded “Thank you.”
For half a second, the room breathed. Then Sana smiled “Still honeymoon suite.” Yeji covered her face. The tour ended in the main lounge. Everyone settled into scattered seats across couches, armchairs, and stools. TWICE took over the space with a kind of terrifying ease. ITZY looked both overwhelmed and fascinated. Jihyo waited until everyone had drinks. Then she placed her cup down.
The sound was soft. But it changed the room. I noticed first. Then Yeji, John, and Mina. Jihyo looked across the room “This visit is not only social.” There it was. I leaned back slightly. John avoided my eyes. Ryujin looked between us “Oh no.” Yuna straightened, Lia’s expression sharpened, Chaeryeong went still. Jihyo continued “If TWICE and ITZY are going to be involved in the retreat Ben proposed, then everyone in this room needs to understand the risk of being honest.”
I frowned “Jihyo.” she looked at me “You called me.”
“I called for advice.”
“And received structure.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“It is better.”
John muttered, “She has you there.”
I glared at him, the Jihyo lifted the folder John had been holding. My blood went cold.
“No…”
Ryujin’s eyes widened “What is that?”
“Paperwork,” John said gravely.
Yuna gasped “Ben predicted her.”
“I feared her,” I corrected.
Jihyo opened the folder “These are NDAs.”
The air shifted. Not badly, but seriously. ITZY looked at the papers. Then at TWICE. Then at me. Yeji’s posture went still. She knew enough to understand why.
Lia was already watching the wording from where she sat. Chaeryeong’s hands folded in her lap. Yuna’s playfulness dimmed. Ryujin leaned forward, quieter now. Jihyo noticed the change and softened her voice “This is not to silence you.” She looked at each of them “It is so everyone can speak honestly without endangering anyone else”. That mattered and the room held onto it.
Jihyo continued “TWICE knows the general shape of what has been happening with Ben and ITZY. Ben and Yeji know the general shape of what has been happening with John and TWICE. But general shapes are not enough if both groups are about to share space privately for a week or more.” Yuna glanced at me. Lia glanced at Yeji. Chaeryeong looked down at the papers.
Ryujin exhaled “So this is mutual.”
“Yes,” Jihyo said.
Nayeon leaned back, less teasing now “We are not here to expose you.”
Sana nodded “Or judge you.”
Jeongyeon added, “We are here because secrets are dangerous when people keep tripping over them.”
Dahyun lifted her hand slightly “And because Jihyo said we were coming.”
Jihyo looked at her. Dahyun smiled “Respectfully.”
Mina spoke quietly from her chair “Protection first. Explanation after.”
That settled the room more than anything else. Yeji reached for the first copy. She did not rush. She’s already done this before to understand, then signed. Simple. Steady, leader first.
Ryujin watched her. Then picked up a pen “This covers emotional crimes too?” John looked at her “What?”
“Just asking.”
Jihyo did not blink “Unfortunately, no.”
“Shame.” Ryujin signed.
Yuna took hers next. She scanned the page, lips pressed together in concentration. Then signed with more care than her jokes would have suggested.
Lia read hers fully. Twice. Then she looked up. “This protects both sides equally?” Jihyo nodded “It does.” Lia signed.
Chaeryeong held hers the longest. Not because she was resisting, but because she was careful. She looked at Jihyo. “If someone becomes uncomfortable later?” Jihyo’s face softened “Then they can say so. The NDA protects information. It does not force participation.” Chaeryeong nodded. Then signed.
The pens sounded louder than it should have when everyone finally set them down.
Jihyo gathered the papers. John placed them back in the folder and suddenly, the room felt different. Not safer exactly. Just more honest. Jihyo looked toward me briefly. I did not like that look. It was the look of a woman about to push the next domino. She turned back to ITZY “Now we can speak properly.”
Nayeon sat up. Sana’s hand found Jihyo’s arm for a second.
Jeongyeon leaned back, watching ITZY carefully.
Momo stopped eating.
Dahyun’s expression settled.
Chaeyoung looked thoughtful.
Tzuyu’s gaze moved toward John.
Mina held her tea with both hands.
Jihyo spoke first.
“TWICE has an arrangement with John.” No one interrupted. That alone said everything. Jihyo continued. “It started messy. Not because anyone wanted to hurt each other, but because care became complicated before any of us had language for it.”
My eyes shifted toward Yeji. She was listening closely. So were the others. Jihyo glanced at John. He did not look away “There are boundaries,” she said. “There is consent. There is rotation. There are rules we built because without them, someone would eventually feel forgotten, or guilty, or responsible for too much.”
Ryujin’s eyebrows lifted “Rotation?”
Nayeon smiled faintly “There it is.”
Ryujin looked at her “So you have a schedule?”
John closed his eyes.
Ryujin leaned forward “Like an actual romantic calendar?”
Dahyun coughed into her hand.
Yuna whispered, “She means horny calendar, we told her to be polite.”
“Yuna,” Yeji said weakly.
“What? She did.”
Jihyo sighed, but her mouth twitched “In less… Ryujin terms, yes. We have a system.” Lia’s question came quietly “And everyone agreed?”
“Yes,” Jihyo said with no hesitation “That is the only reason it works.” Chaeryeong looked toward John “How do you handle it?” John exhaled “Badly at first.” Nayeon snorted “Still badly sometimes.” John pointed at her “Thank you for the support.”
“You’re welcome.” Jihyo continued before they could spiral “John does not belong to a schedule. The schedule exists so none of us hurt each other by accident.” That landed. Especially with Yeji and me. Yuna leaned forward “So nobody feels left out?” The question was too soft to be a joke. Nayeon’s smile gentled “Sometimes feelings still happen.” Sana nodded “But it helps when nobody has to guess where they stand.” Tzuyu spoke quietly. “And when no one is punished for needing reassurance.”
The room went still. Yuna looked down. Ryujin stopped moving. Lia’s fingers tightened around her cup. Chaeryeong looked at the floor. Yeji’s hand shifted beside mine. Jihyo looked at ITZY with the calm of someone who knew exactly where the sentence had landed “That is why I wanted this conversation before the retreat,” she said. “Not because you need to copy us.” Her eyes moved to Ryujin. Then to Yuna. Then to Lia. Then to Chaeryeong. Then to Yeji. And finally, to me “Do not copy us just because we survived our version.”
“Build what fits you.”
“But build it honestly.”
That sentence settled into the room like a rule nobody had to write down. Ryujin leaned back. “So TWICE built rules first,” she looked at all of us “And we built emotional chaos first.” Dahyun nodded. “That is a very accurate meeting summary.” Lia sighed “Unfortunately.”
Yuna glanced to both me and Yeji “So we are not broken.” The sentence was almost too quiet. Jihyo looked at her “No. God no.” Mina spoke next “You are unfinished.”
Yuna blinked. Mina’s expression remained calm. “There is a difference.”
For some reason, that hit harder. Yuna nodded slowly. Chaeryeong looked at Mina too. So did Lia. Ben and Mina communicating in wealth language had been strange. But Mina communicating in quiet precision was worse. It landed cleanly.
Jihyo let the silence stay for a while. Then John, because he was John, ruined it with mercy. “For the record, the rotation system also prevents Nayeon from starting coups.” Nayeon gasped “Excuse you?” Jeongyeon looked at ITZY “He’s not wrong.” Sana nodded “Sometimes coups are romantic.” Dahyun lifted a hand “Depends on the branding.” Tzuyu nodded seriously “Some coups need better scheduling.” John stared at all of them “This is exactly why we needed rules.”
Ryujin smiled “I respect this group deeply.”
“I fear them,” Lia said.
“Both,” Chaeryeong whispered.
The room laughed. Not because everything was simple now. Because for the first time, the impossible thing had been said out loud and nobody had shattered. That mattered. Then Jihyo turned the conversation toward the retreat “We still need to make this approvable.” Everyone groaned at the same time. Jihyo ignored it. “Publicly, this becomes a senior-junior wellness retreat. TWICE and ITZY. Recovery, mentorship, bonding, privacy.” Dahyun lifted a hand “Can the official name be less boring?”
“No.”
“Cruel.”
John leaned forward “It gives JYP a clean reason to approve schedule movement.”
“And it prevents speculation,” Lia said.
“Exactly,” Jihyo replied.
I nodded “I’ll cover the retreat.” The room went silent. Not because they were surprised. Because everyone had been waiting for me to say something financially irresponsible. Jihyo looked at me like she had expected it. John looked tired because he had expected it too. Yeji looked like she wanted to argue but knew the argument would be pointless. Mina, however, simply lifted her tea “Half…” I looked at her “Excuse me?”
“Half,” Mina repeated calmly. “You cover ITZY. I cover TWICE.”
“That is unnecessary.”
“So is most of what you do.”
The room went quiet. Ryujin slowly leaned toward Yuna.
“Are rich people allowed to talk to each other like that?”
Yuna whispered back, “I think this is flirting in tax brackets.”
“It is not flirting,” I said.
Mina sipped her tea “It is accounting and logistics.”
John rubbed both hands over his face “I hate when wealthy people argue. It sounds like two countries negotiating borders.”
Nayeon leaned forward with interest “Wait. Is this how rich people fight?”
Dahyun nodded thoughtfully “It’s quieter than expected.”
“Usually we pay people to fight to the death for us as we watch” I added in as a joke.
Mina cut me off “Shush, we don’t discuss that outside the walls, Ben.”
And honestly, I don’t know what scares me more, Mina making a joke or if that wasn’t a joke at all. I wasn’t going to poke that bear ever again, though. Chaeyoung looked at me, then Mina.
“Are we witnessing the beginning of a secret takeover of JYPE?”
Mina blinked “Secret?”
I frowned “Takeover?”
John pointed at both of us “That response was somehow worse.”
Ryujin slowly sat up “Hold on. You both objected to different parts.”
Yuna’s eyes widened “Oh my God.”
Lia closed her eyes “Please do not encourage this.”
Ryujin ignored her completely “Mina unnie objected to it being secret. Ben objected to it being called a takeover.”
Dahyun gasped softly “That means they’ve considered a non-secret non-takeover.”
I stared at her.
“That is not what that means.”
Mina took a calm sip of tea “A takeover implies disruption.”
The room went silent. John’s head slowly turned toward her. Mina continued, serene. “Poor management creates disruption. Good management creates continuity.” I looked at her. “That is true.” John stood halfway from his seat “No.” I frowned “What?”
“You agreed too fast.”
“Because she is correct.”
Mina nodded once “Under better management, costs would be cleaner, staff retention would improve, artist wellness would have actual infrastructure, and food quality would apparently become a measurable morale factor.” Momo nodded seriously “It would.” Chaeryeong whispered, “It really would.” I leaned back, considering it despite myself “Scheduling inefficiencies would need work too.” Jihyo slowly turned toward me “Ben.”
“What?”
Mina looked at me. “Security structure as well.”
“Obviously.”
“Privacy leaks.”
“First quarter priority.”
“Artist recovery spaces.”
“Non-negotiable.”
The room went so quiet that even Ryujin looked concerned. John pointed between us with both hands “This is what I mean. This is terrifying. You two are planning corporate reform like normal people discuss lunch.” Yuna leaned toward Ryujin “This is flirting in tax brackets again.”
“It is not flirting,” I said.
Mina said, “It is governance.”
John looked physically unwell “That is worse.”
Nayeon raised her hand “As a future beneficiary of improved snack policy, I support the polite coup.”
“It is not a coup,” Mina said.
I added, “It would be an acquisition of operational influence.”
Jihyo closed her eyes “You are both making it worse.”
Dahyun looked delighted “Can the documentary be called Hostile Wellness?”
“No documentary,” Jihyo and I said at the same time.
Chaeyoung pointed at us “That sounded like management alignment.”
John stood fully “Nope. Private meeting. Now. Before the two economic superpowers draft a five-year plan on a napkin.” The room exploded. Jihyo stood as well, already composed “Ben. Yeji. John. Mina. With me.” Ryujin raised her hand “Why not me?” Mina looked at her “Because this part involves money.” Ryujin lowered her hand immediately “Valid.” Yuna raised her hand “What about me?” Jihyo smiled “You would make it worse.” Yuna nodded “Also valid.”
Lia leaned back “I will stay here and monitor the damage.” Dahyun smiled at her “That implies you can stop it.” Lia looked at TWICE. Then at ITZY. Then sighed “I cannot.” Yeji squeezed my hand once before standing. Her touch said what her face did not… survive.
We moved into the smaller conference room near the back of the Top Floor. The door closed behind us. The private meeting was exactly as exhausting as I expected, maybe worse. Jihyo laid out the cover story. John handled scheduling optics. Mina handled privacy logistics with terrifying calm. Yeji explained why ITZY needed the space in a way that made the whole room go quiet. Not because she dramatized it. Because she did not “They can keep working,” Yeji said. “We all can. That doesn’t mean we’re okay.” That one sentence made Jihyo stop writing. John looked down. Mina’s expression softened by half a degree. I looked at Yeji. And for a moment, I remembered again why she was the one I came home to. Then the meeting became numbers.
Schedule movement. Staff compensation. Security shifts. Media cover. Travel routes. Possible venues. Medical access. Emergency exits. Vehicle swaps. Privacy clauses. JYP objections. JYP counter-objections. JYP emotional grievance fees.
That last one was John’s idea. Jihyo told him not to call it that. Mina suggested “disruption compensation.” John said that sounded less fun. I agreed with Mina. John called me a traitor. It was productive. Unfortunately. By the time the private meeting ended, my brain felt like it had been folded into a spreadsheet.
Vacation logistics. JYP approval. Schedule compensation. Security rotation. Privacy clauses. Mina and I politely arguing over money while John looked like he wanted to walk into the sea.
It should have been the dangerous part of the afternoon. It was not.
The dangerous part was the silence that greeted us when we stepped back into the main lounge. Not true silence. Way worse. The kind of silence that followed laughter too quickly. John stopped beside me. His eyes moved across the room. Nayeon was smiling. Ryujin was smiling. Yuna was sitting with her knees pulled up on the sofa, looking entirely too proud of herself. Sana looked delighted. Dahyun looked like she had just witnessed the greatest variety show segment of her career. Lia was staring into the middle distance like she had survived information she did not ask for. Chaeryeong looked like someone had gently handed her a grenade and called it friendship.
John inhaled slowly “They talked.”
“Obviously.”
“About us?”
I looked at Ryujin. Ryujin smiled wider. I looked at Nayeon. Nayeon smiled wider than that. “We’re dead,” I said. John nodded “Historically, yes.”
Jihyo stepped in behind us, took one look at the room, and immediately closed her eyes “What did you do?” Nayeon pointed at herself innocently “Why are you looking at me?”
“Because I know you.”
“That is profiling.”
“That is experience.”
Ryujin leaned back on the couch, arms folded behind her head “In our defense, nobody told us we were not allowed to compare notes.” Lia turned toward her “We absolutely did not need to compare notes. Sana lifted a hand “I disagree. This was very educational.” Chaeryeong’s voice came faintly from the edge of the sofa “I learned things I did not know could be discussed during daylight.” Yuna nodded solemnly “I also learned things.” I looked at her “You contributed things.” Yuna blinked at me with perfect innocence “It only happened yesterday. I still have fresh perspective.” Yeji made a small sound beside me. Mina, calm as ever, looked from Yuna to Ryujin to Nayeon. Then she took one careful sip of tea “I see we left the wrong people unsupervised.” John pointed at her “Thank you.” Nayeon gasped “Excuse me. We were bonding.”
“You were exchanging classified trauma,” John said.
“Classified?” Ryujin repeated. “We signed the NDA.”
Yuna immediately pointed at her “She’s right.”
Dahyun nodded with frightening seriousness “Legally, the gossip was protected.”
I stared at the ceiling “Fantastic. Wonderful. The law betrayed us.”
Nayeon crossed one leg over the other, looking far too pleased “Honestly, Ben, you should be proud. ITZY speaks very highly of your dedication.” Ryujin nodded “Very dedicated.” Yuna nodded too “Extremely committed.” Lia covered her face. Chaeryeong whispered, “Why are we like this?” Sana leaned toward her. “You get used to it.”
“No, she won’t,” Mina said quietly.
John looked at Nayeon “What did you tell them?”
Nayeon smiled “Only what was relevant.”
“That means everything.”
“Not everything.”
Jihyo opened one eye “Nayeon.”
Nayeon sighed dramatically “Fine. Some highlights.”
John took one step back “No.”
Ryujin’s eyes lit up “Oh, highlights is a good word.”
That was when I noticed the couch cushions. One had been flipped forward. Another had been pushed against the armrest. A third was somehow on the floor. I looked at Ryujin. She smiled.
“No.”
“What?” she asked sweetly.
“You demonstrated.”
Ryujin’s smile widened “I clarified.”
Lia made a pained sound “She clarified too much.”
Chaeryeong nodded faintly, still staring at the floor “I understand angles now.”
I closed my eyes “Outstanding.”
Yuna lifted one hand “For the record, my contribution was tasteful.”
Yeji turned toward her “Yuna.”
“It was! I told it like a story.”
Ryujin snorted “She narrated it like a coming-of-age drama with suspiciously detailed pacing.”
Yuna looked offended “It was my first time. I’m allowed to have narrative structure.”
Sana clasped her hands together “It was actually very moving.” Dahyun nodded “And then immediately not moving.” Nayeon leaned toward John “TWICE also provided balance.” John stared at her “What does that mean?”
“It means we shared too.”
His face went blank “All of you?”
Jeongyeon shrugged “It seemed fair.”
Momo nodded “They had questions.”
Tzuyu added calmly, “Some of them were practical.”
John looked at Jihyo.
Jihyo did not meet his eyes.
John’s jaw dropped “You too?”
Jihyo cleared her throat “I couldn’t control damage I wasn’t there for.”
Nayeon nodded solemnly “Leader duties.”
John looked like he had just been betrayed by democracy.
Ryujin’s eyes sparkled “Oh, highlights is definitely the right word.”
I pointed at her “You.”
Ryujin pointed at herself.
“Me?”
“You are so doing aegyo TikToks with JYP.”
The room exploded. Ryujin’s mouth dropped open, Yuna screamed into a pillow, Dahyun slapped the arm of the couch, Sana nearly fell sideways into Momo, Lia looked horrified and amused at the same time, Chaeryeong covered her mouth with both hands, Yeji turned to me with wide eyes “Ben.”
“What? She knew the risk.” Ryujin stood halfway from the couch. “That is a cruel and unjust punishment.”
“It is character development.”
“It is psychological warfare.”
“It is content.”
John, however, did not laugh. He turned toward me slowly, horror spreading across his face like I had just introduced a new category of violence into the world “Wait.” I looked at him “What?”
“You can assign idol punishment content?”
“No”. Ryujin pointed at me “He absolutely can.” John’s eyes widened “Jihyo.” Jihyo did not look at him “Do not drag me into this.” John turned to Nayeon “Nayeon.” Nayeon smiled sweetly “Yes, manager-nim?”
“You are not getting ideas.” Her smile changed. Not brighter. Worse, it was sharper “Oh?” she said, tilting her head. “Does that mean you’ll punish me later tonight for being a bad girl?” The room froze.
I felt my soul leave my body in solidarity with John’s. John stopped breathing. Jihyo’s eyes snapped open. Mina looked into her tea like it had personally disappointed her. Chaeryeong made a tiny sound. Lia whispered, “Oh my God.” Ryujin slowly sat back down, reverent. Yuna looked like she had just found a new religion. Nayeon only shrugged, perfectly shameless “What?” she said. “They signed the NDAs. I don’t have to perform anymore.”
John covered his face with both hands “I miss five minutes ago.”
“No, you don’t,” Nayeon said.
“I do.”
“You love me.”
“That is unrelated to my suffering.”
Jihyo pointed at Nayeon without looking at her “You are why we need paperwork.”
Nayeon smiled “And yet everyone always thanks me later.”
Dahyun raised a finger “She has a point.”
“No, she does not,” John and I said at the same time.
That made the room laugh harder. The laughter should have made everything lighter. It did. For a while. But as the room kept moving around me, as TWICE and ITZY laughed together like the impossible had somehow become social, I felt something quiet inside me tighten.
First it was my space. Then it was ITZY’s shelter. Then it became Yeji’s sanctuary. Then Ryujin’s trouble. Then Lia’s waiting room. Then Yuna’s doorway. Then Chaeryeong’s quiet truth.
Now TWICE was here. John was here. Jihyo had paperwork. Mina had the audacity to match my money. Nayeon had no shame. And everyone was laughing like this was survivable. Maybe it was and maybe that was the problem. I stepped away before I realized I had moved. Not dramatically. Not enough for the room to stop. Just one step after the other. Past the lounge. Past the hallway. Toward the open balcony where the city air came colder through the glass door.
The noise faded behind me. For the first time all day, no one followed immediately. Good. I needed the silence. I stepped outside and closed the door behind me. The air hit my face sharp enough to feel real. For a while, I only stood there. Then I reached into my pocket. The cigarette was not supposed to be there. Which was a lie. Old habits did not disappear just because life became expensive and complicated. They waited like bad friends.
I lit it with my back to the city and took one slow drag. The smoke burned in a way I had not missed and missed anyway. I exhaled toward the skyline.
“Didn’t know you still did that.”
I did not turn around.
John closed the balcony door behind him. He stood beside me, hands in his pockets, looking out at the city. For a while, he said nothing. That was how I knew he was worried.
John made jokes when he was annoyed. He made insults when he was scared. Silence meant he was trying to be careful.
“I don’t,” I said.
He glanced at the cigarette “Convincing.”
I looked down at it “Today is an exception.”
“Today has been an exception since you slept with Yeji.”
I snorted “Don’t get meta with me, jackass.”
“I am emotionally exhausted. I’ll get whatever the hell I want.”
We stood in the cold for a few seconds. Behind the glass, the room glowed warm. The girls moved like silhouettes through the light. TWICE and ITZY. Two impossible systems orbiting two very tired men. John followed my gaze.
“Do you regret it?”
I knew what he meant. Not the cigarette. Not the money. Not the vacation. All of it.
Me and ITZY, Yeji, Ryujin, Yuna, Lia’s careful truth, Chaeryeong’s quiet waiting, Waterbomb, The Top Floor, The phone call, The door I had opened.
I took another drag, slower this time “No.”
John looked at me.
I exhaled “It is insane.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“It is complicated.”
“Still not the question.”
“It might ruin me.”
“That one is closer.”
I smiled faintly. Then looked back through the glass. Yeji was laughing at something Sana had said. Yuna was leaning toward Dahyun. Ryujin and Nayeon looked like a national security threat. Lia was speaking quietly with Jeongyeon. Chaeryeong was offering Momo more food. Mina sat near Jihyo, calmer than a meditating monk.
And somehow, in the middle of all of it, the Top Floor looked less like containment. More like proof.
“No,” I said finally. “I don’t regret it.”
John’s shoulder relaxed by half an inch.
I noticed. Of course I noticed. He always hated that.
“Crazy as it is,” I continued, “I’m thankful.”
John immediately grimaced “Disgusting.”
I looked at him “What?”
“Male emotional honesty in private. Horrible. Vile. We need to move on.”
I laughed once “There he is.”
John cleared his throat “Speaking of moving on, I’ve been thinking about something important.”
“If this is another emotional grievance fee—”
“TWICE recreational fund.”
I stared at him. The cigarette paused halfway to my mouth “What?”
“TWICE recreational fund.”
“No.”
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I heard enough.”
“ITZY has one.”
“ITZY has one because it’s out my own pocket.”
“Exactly. Precedent.”
“You are literally the manager of Mina— she’s wealthier than me.”
“For now.”
My eyes narrowed, his instinct was always on point. “There it is.”
I looked away.
“What?”
“That little rich-person prophecy you have.”
“I do not have a prophecy.”
“You absolutely do. Every time someone mentions Mina being richer, you sound like a villain waiting for compound interest.”
“That is unfair.”
“Because it is accurate.”
I sighed “It would take time.”
John stared at me “Oh my God.”
“What?”
“You’ve calculated it.”
“I have not.”
“You absolutely have.”
“It’s a rough estimate.”
John threw both hands up.
“I knew it.”
I took another drag, trying not to smile “It would take longer now.”
“Because of market conditions?”
“Because Ryujin and Yuna have apparently made it their personal mission to financially ruin me.”
John looked through the glass at them. Ryujin was laughing so hard she had fallen sideways into the couch. Yuna looked far too pleased about something. John nodded slowly.
“They’ll do it.”
“They can try.”
“Proud of them.”
“Traitor.”
He grinned. The city stretched below us. The cigarette burned shorter between my fingers. John’s smile faded slightly “You know Yeji will notice.”
“I know.”
“You going to lie?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Are you going to tell Jihyo about Nayeon?”
John’s face immediately tightened “That is unrelated.”
“She asked to be punished.”
He closed his eyes “I heard.”
“In front of everyone.”
“I was there.”
I laughed under my breath. For a moment, the balcony was just cold air, smoke, city lights, and the strange relief of standing next to the only person who had known me before all of this became impossible.
Then the door slid open. Yeji stepped outside. Her eyes moved from John to me. Then to the cigarette. She did not scold me. That was worse. John immediately straightened.
“I was supervising.”
Yeji looked at him.
“Were you?”
“No.”
“Thank you for your honesty.”
John nodded once.
“I will go be useless inside.”
He opened the door, slipped past her, then paused just long enough to mutter to me “Good luck, emotionally married man.” I flipped him off without looking and he vanished inside.
Yeji closed the door behind him. For a moment, she only stood there with me. The city wind moved softly through her hair. Her expression was not angry. Not disappointed. Just quiet.
That was harder. I looked at the cigarette. Then put it out against the ashtray near the railing before she said anything. Yeji watched the motion.
“Was it that bad?”
I leaned against the balcony rail “No.”
She stepped closer “That means yes.”
“It means crowded.”
Her gaze softened “Too much?”
I looked through the glass again.
At everyone inside.
At the impossible warmth of the room.
“Not bad too much,” I said. “Just… real too much.”
Yeji followed my gaze. She understood. Of course she did. Her hand found mine. Cold fingers sliding between mine without hesitation. In full view of the room “Come back inside,” she said. I looked down at her hand. Then at her.
“You know they can see.”
Yeji’s cheeks colored faintly. But she did not let go.
“I know.”
That answer did something to me.
“Yeji.”
She stepped closer. Not hiding behind the balcony wall. Not looking over her shoulder. Not checking if ITZY could see. Or TWICE or John or Jihyo.
She only looked at me “I said I’m not pretending anymore.” The warmth in my chest hurt. Behind the glass, I saw movement. People noticing. Heads turning. The room becoming still. Yeji noticed too. She still did not let go.
Then, with the entire impossible room watching, she rose slightly on her toes and kissed me. Not sudden. Not accidental. Not stolen in the middle of chaos.
Deliberate, soft, and certain. The kind of kiss that did not ask the room for permission. The kind that made a private truth public without turning it into a performance. When she pulled back, her face was red. But her hand stayed in mine.
I smiled “Public now?”
She looked embarrassed.
Then stubborn “Public enough.”
I laughed quietly and that made her smile. Then her eyes moved toward the ashtray. The smile faded by half an inch. Not gone, just sharpened.
“Also,” she said softly, “that is the last time I kiss you after you smoke.”
I blinked. Behind the glass, I could feel the entire room watching us fail to be subtle.
“You waited until after the kiss to say that?”
“Yes.”
“That feels strategically unfair.”
“It was.”
I looked at her. Yeji did not look angry. That was what made it land harder. She looked worried. Steady. Mine.
“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t scare me,” she said. The city wind moved between us. I looked toward the ashtray. Then back at her “I’ll try.”
Her fingers tightened around mine “Try how?” I exhaled slowly “I’ll try to quit.” Her eyes searched my face. I added, quieter, “At least… not around you. Not around ITZY. Not where any of you have to watch me use it to survive the room.”
Yeji studied me for a long moment. Long enough that I felt fourteen different versions of myself being judged. Then she nodded once.
“For now.”
“For now?”
“For now,” she repeated. “Because eventually I’m going to ask for more.”
I smiled faintly.
“Of course you are.”
Her cheeks colored again, but her voice stayed firm.
“Be a good boy.”
I closed my eyes.
“You cannot weaponize that after an anti-smoking ultimatum.”
“I just did.”
Behind the glass, Ryujin visibly reacted despite not hearing a word. That somehow made it worse. I squeezed Yeji’s hand.
“I’ll try,” I said again. “Promise.”
This time, she accepted it. Not because it was enough forever. Because it was honest enough for now. We stepped back inside together. The room was silent. Not shocked like before. Not scandalized. Just caught.
Like everyone had witnessed something they already knew, but had never seen that clearly. Jihyo looked at Yeji first, then at me. Something in her expression softened “There it is,” she said quietly. Nobody asked what she meant.
Nayeon, unfortunately, recovered first. She turned slowly toward John. “See?” John froze “No.” Nayeon pointed toward Yeji and me “That was romantic.” John stared at her “I was gone for five minutes.”
Sana leaned forward “Manager-nim, where is our dramatic eye contact?”
John looked betrayed “Sana.”
Dahyun lifted an imaginary microphone “Breaking news: TWICE files formal complaint regarding lack of cinematic boyfriend moments.”
John pointed at her “You are supposed to be on my side.”
“I am reporting fairly.”
Momo tilted her head “John-oppa is romantic sometimes.”
John looked relieved “Thank you.”
Momo continued “When he remembers.”
The room exploded. John turned slowly toward her. “Momo.” Jeongyeon crossed her arms “He shows love through damage control and panic.” Chaeyoung nodded “And snacks.” Mina, still calm, added “And calendar reminders.”
John stared at her. “Mina.”
She blinked “What? It is true.”
Tzuyu looked at me and Yeji, then at John “Ben looks like a romance drama.”
John’s eyes narrowed.
Tzuyu continued calmly “John looks like a man surviving a group project.”
I made the mistake of laughing.
John turned toward me “This is your fault.”
I lifted my free hand “I said nothing.”
“You stood there romantically.”
“I was being emotionally supported.”
“Exactly. Publicly. Recklessly. With eye contact.”
Nayeon pointed at John “So learn from him.”
“I refuse to be mentored by a man who just smoked outside because eleven women compared bedroom notes.”
I nodded “Fair.”
Yeji’s hand tightened around mine. Not warning. Laughing silently. Jihyo looked at John “You could still be more romantic.” John’s face fell “You too?” Jihyo smiled “Especially me.”
Nayeon clapped once “Leader has spoken.”
Sana nodded “We need cinematic boyfriend moments.”
Dahyun raised her hand “I would like mine under the rain.”
Chaeyoung added, “And better lighting.”
Momo said, “And food.”
Jeongyeon looked at her “That’s just dinner.”
Momo nodded “Romantic dinner.”
Mina looked at John “I would accept quiet submissiveness.”
John stared at her “That sounds attainable.”
Nayeon leaned in “Did you just say 'yes' to dominatrix?” John’s mouth opened then closed. Then he pointed at Ben “You see what you caused?”
I looked at him. Then at Yeji. Then at the room full of women now laughing across two impossible worlds. TWICE and ITZY. John and Ben. Jihyo with her paperwork. Mina with her half of the world. Yeji holding my hand where everyone could see. I exhaled slowly. For once, I did not feel like running from the noise. “Well,” I said, “at least now we know the retreat will be peaceful.”
Everyone looked at me. Then they all started laughing. Not because it was true. Because it absolutely was not.
Dinner happened because Chaeryeong and Momo had formed an alliance. No one said it out loud. No one needed to. By the time the sun lowered behind the city, the Top Floor no longer looked like a secret meeting space. It looked like a private dining room that had somehow been conquered by fourteen female idols, two managers, and then one financial superpower currently helping Chaeryeong decide whether the plating looked balanced.
Mina was very serious about symmetry. Chaeryeong was very serious about feeding people. Momo was very serious about the food. Together, they were terrifying. The rest of the room had slowly loosened. TWICE had stopped acting like guests. ITZY had stopped acting like hosts. John had stopped pretending he had any authority left.
I had given up on dignity somewhere between Nayeon asking if the retreat had honeymoon packages and Ryujin explaining that all wellness retreats should include “stress relief benefits.” Jihyo had told both of them to stop. Neither stopped.
Then I made the mistake of leaving the room to change. It should not have mattered. Formal managerial attire had started to feel suffocating after the meeting, the note-comparison disaster, the balcony cigarette, Yeji’s kiss, and the fact that Park Jihyo had essentially turned my recovery plan into a multinational idol event. So I changed into something simple.
Black fitted shirt. Dark trousers. Watch. No jacket. Comfortable enough to breathe. Presentable enough that JYP could appear on the elevator without me looking like I had completely abandoned professional standards.
Apparently, that was not the effect it had.
When I stepped back into the lounge, conversations died in waves. First ITZY. Then TWICE. Then John. Even Momo paused mid-bite. I stopped walking “What?” Ryujin slowly lowered her chopsticks “Oh.”
“No.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Yuna leaned forward with wide eyes “Manager-nim.”
“That tone is now illegal.”
“You look like you’re here to collect protection money.”
Lia covered her mouth.
Chaeryeong blinked at me from beside the dining table, eyes dropping briefly to the tattooed lines visible along my arms. Then back up “Respectfully,” she said, “Yuna is not completely wrong.”
Nayeon tilted her head. “I thought he was a secretly insane rich manager.”
Dahyun lifted a hand “Correction. Without the formal clothes, he is giving secretly insane rich mafia manager.”
Sana smiled brightly “But handsome.”
Jeongyeon crossed her arms “That does not make it better.”
Chaeyoung squinted at my arms “How many tattoos do you have?”
“Enough.”
“That is a suspicious number.”
Tzuyu looked at me calmly “You look like someone parents warn their children about.”
John pointed at her “That one is accurate.”
Mina, from the table, only looked at me once “The shirt is well-fitted.”
Everyone turned toward her. Mina blinked “What?”
Ryujin whispered, “Furniture language evolved into shirt language.”
Yuna nodded “Rich people are escalating.”
I looked at Jihyo. She was studying the exposed ink around my wrists and forearms with a thoughtful frown “I only saw some of the ones on the wrist last time.”
“That was the point of sleeves.”
Nayeon leaned toward Jihyo “He hides his tattoos at work?”
Jihyo looked at her “He is a manager.”
Nayeon looked back at me “He looks like a final boss.”
Dahyun nodded “Final Boss: Wellness Retreat Funding Phase.”
John sighed “I hate that I can visualize the title card.”
Yeji had not said anything. That was the problem. She was staring at my arm. Not the old ink. Not the ones she already knew. One specific spot near my inner forearm, still fresh enough that the edges had not fully settled. Her expression changed. Small. Dangerous.
My body immediately recognized the threat. Not fear… worse. Girlfriend hostility.
“Benjie.”
The room went silent.
Ryujin’s head snapped toward me.
Yuna’s eyes widened.
Lia whispered, “Oh no.”
John leaned back “She used the cute name. You’re dead.”
I looked at Yeji carefully “Yes, babe?”
Her eyes lifted to mine “When did you get that?”
I looked down at the tattoo. Then back at her “Recently.”
“That is not a date.”
“It is a category.”
“Benjie.”
I closed my eyes. The second answer was worse.
“After Waterbomb.”
The room went still again. Not comedic this time. Not yet.
Yeji’s jaw tightened “You got a tattoo after Waterbomb and didn’t tell me?”
“It was impulsive.”
“That is not helping.”
“I know.”
“First, you threaten that fan like a mafia boss. Then you scare everyone in ITZY half to death. Then you financially flashbang our company’s founder with a cheque worth more than most executives see in a year. Then I find out you started smoking again.”
Her voice rose with every sentence. Not loud enough to be screaming. It was worse. Controlled. Precise. Full of unyielding fury.
“And now,” she said, pointing at my arm, “I find out you got another tattoo without telling me?”
Ryujin whispered, “Wife voice.”
John nodded “Oh, absolutely a wife voice.”
Yeji immediately turned pink “I am not—”
Nayeon pointed at her “That was a wife voice.”
Sana nodded “Very wife.”
Jeongyeon added, “Concerned wife.”
Dahyun lifted an imaginary microphone “Breaking news: Hwang Yeji discovers husband has poor impulse control.”
“I am not his wife,” Yeji said, face burning.
Yuna smiled “Not yet.”
The room detonated.
Yeji looked like she wanted to throw a napkin at her I cleared my throat “In my defense—” Yeji turned back to me “You do not have one.”
“Correct, I do not.”
Lia nodded “Growth.”
I looked at Yeji and tried the only strategy I had left. A terrible one “I can make it up to you.”
Her eyes narrowed “How?”
“I’ll get your portrait tattooed next.”
Silence. Immediate. Catastrophic.
John slowly turned toward me “Why would you say that?”
Ryujin looked like she had seen heaven open.
Yuna gasped.
Lia closed her eyes.
Chaeryeong made a tiny sound.
Nayeon slapped the table “Oh, he’s insane-insane.”
Sana clasped her hands “That is romantic.”
Jeongyeon looked at her “That is not romantic. That is evidence.”
Dahyun nodded “Depending on the artist, it is either love or a future court exhibit.”
Chaeyoung leaned forward “Portrait tattoos are risky long term.”
Tzuyu nodded calmly “They can age strangely on skin.”
Momo looked thoughtful “Maybe not the face.”
Yeji stared at me. Then slowly pointed one finger “No.”
“It was a suggestion.”
“It was a bad suggestion.”
“You haven’t seen the design.”
“I don’t need to see the design.”
Ryujin leaned forward, delighted “You have discussed this before?”
Yeji looked betrayed by the universe “Unfortunately.”
I smiled faintly “In my defense, it was romantic then too.”
“It was a bad pitch after we slept together for the first time,” Yeji said, voice dangerously controlled. “It is a bad pitch now. And it will still be a bad pitch after the wedding.”
The room died. Completely. Even John stopped breathing. Yeji realized what she had said one second too late. Her face changed “Oh.”
Nayeon whispered, “AFTER?”
Sana whispered, “She mentioned a wedding.”
Dahyun slowly raised her imaginary microphone.
Jihyo grabbed her wrist without looking “No.”
Ryujin looked like she had just discovered a sacred text “Unnie.”
Yuna clasped both hands over her mouth “She said after the wedding.”
Lia looked at Yeji with gentle devastation “That was very specific.”
Chaeryeong nodded faintly “Very specific.”
Yeji covered her face “I meant hypothetically.”
John pointed at her “No, you said wedding with continuity.”
“I did not say continuity.”
“You referenced the first time.”
Everyone turned to him.
John paused “I mean emotionally.”
I stared at him “That was suspiciously meta.”
“I am under stress.”
Mina took a sip of water “Regardless, a portrait remains impractical.”
“Thank you,” Yeji said through her hands.
Mina continued, “A name would age better.”
I stared at her “Mina.”
“What? It is true.”
Ryujin sat up like a demon had possessed her “Property of Hwang Yeji.”
Yeji made a strangled sound.
Yuna nearly fell out of her chair laughing.
Lia whispered, “Please don’t.”
Dahyun snapped her fingers “Yeji’s Dog.”
The room exploded again.
I looked at her “Absolutely not.”
Ryujin pointed at me “Don’t lie. You would enjoy it.”
“That is defamatory.”
Yuna grinned “You literally admitted you might bark if treats are involved.”
TWICE froze. Nayeon turned slowly toward John “You never told us that.”
John looked at me “I hate learning things with them.”
Jihyo put a hand over her face “Why is there always more?”
Sana smiled at Yeji “So the leash is real?”
Yeji turned even redder “It is a joke.”
Lia sipped her drink “It began as a joke.”
Chaeryeong, very quietly, added “It has evidence now.”
Yeji looked at her “Chaer.”
Chaeryeong immediately looked down “Sorry.” But she was smiling.
Ryujin leaned back triumphantly “Property of Hwang Yeji is the best option.”
“No,” Yeji said.
“Yeji’s Dog?”
“No.”
“Princess’s Dog?”
“No.”
“Good Boy?”
I looked at Ryujin. “Do not test me. I will make you solo debut and have JYP feature in your title track. I don't care how much it will cost me to make it happen.”
The room froze. Completely.
Ryujin stared at me “...You wouldn't.”
“I would.”
“Ben,” Lia said softly, horrified, “that's not a threat. That's psychological warfare.”
Yuna folded in half laughing.
Chaeryeong covered her mouth.
Nayeon slapped the table again. “Oh my god.”
Sana looked genuinely concerned. “Can he do that?”
“No,” Jihyo said immediately, then paused “Probably.”
“Unnie,” Ryujin whispered, looking betrayed, “whose side are you on?”
“Not yours.”
John pointed at me. “That is the most specific threat I have ever heard.”
Mina nodded thoughtfully “The JYP feature is what makes it cruel.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“That was not a compliment.”
Ryujin narrowed her eyes at me “You are a villain.”
“You started this.”
“She did,” Yeji said without hesitation.
Ryujin gasped. “Unnie!”
“You know what you did.”
The room laughed again.
Yeji pinched the bridge of her nose. “Can we please return to the tattoo conversation before he starts funding music videos out of spite?”
Ryujin immediately pointed at her. “See? Even she thinks you'd do it.”
“I wasn’t bluffing,” I said.
“Terrifying.”
Yuna grinned. “Anyway, back to the important issue. Good Boy?”
“No,” Yeji said immediately.
Nayeon tapped her chin, far too invested now. “What about something elegant? Like ‘Belongs to Yeji.’”
Yuna pointed at me. “That sounded like you were considering it.”
“It did not sound like that.”
John crossed his arms “You made your wife mad.”
Yeji whipped toward him “John.”
“What? You did wife voice.”
Nayeon nodded “He did make his wife mad.”
Sana looked at me “You should apologize to your wife.”
Jeongyeon added, “Before she finds out about another tattoo.”
Momo nodded “Wives notice things.”
Chaeyoung looked at Yeji “Your wife instincts are strong.”
Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone again. “Domestic dispute resolved through tattoo governance.”
Tzuyu looked at me calmly “You should listen to your wife.”
Yeji buried her face in both hands “I am not his wife.”
Ryujin leaned toward Yuna “Yet.”
Yuna nodded “Yet.”
I looked at Yeji. She was embarrassed. Annoyed. Worried. Trying not to smile. Trying not to be touched by any of it. Trying not to show that everyone calling her my wife had landed somewhere she was not ready to admit out loud.
So I walked to her. The room quieted by instinct. Yeji lowered her hands just enough to look at me. I leaned down and kissed her. When I pulled back, I kept my voice low. “I love you.”
Her anger did not vanish. That would have been too easy. But it softened. Her shoulders dropped. Her eyes warmed.
“You are not kissing your way out of this.”
“I know.”
“The ‘I love you’ won’t help.”
“I know,” I gave her another peck in the lips regardless “I love you”
“—John, take notes” Tzuyu was giving commentary from behind.
“I love you too,” Yeji finally calmed down a bit “but you are not getting my portrait tattooed. Not now. Not after the wedding. Not after three weddings.”
The room erupted. I smiled “Three weddings?” Yeji froze. Her face went red again. “I meant—” Ryujin slapped the table “She’s negotiating ceremonies now.” Yuna pointed at her “She said three.” Nayeon looked delighted “That is legally and emotionally significant.” Lia closed her eyes “We are never escaping the paperwork theme.”
John leaned toward me “Congratulations. Your wife is negotiating wedding volume.”
Yeji turned toward him “Stop calling me that.”
John smiled “No.”
Before anyone could make it worse, my phone buzzed on the table. Once. Then again. A voice message. I looked down at the screen. Tattoo artist. The timing was so bad that it became impossible.
Ryujin noticed first “What is that?”
“Nothing.”
Yuna leaned over “It says Frankie the Tattoo Artist.”
The room went silent. Yeji slowly turned toward me
“Benjie.”
I stared at the phone “I can explain.”
John laughed once “No, you cannot.”
Ryujin grabbed the phone before I could stop her.
“Ryujin, don’t you dare.”
She hit play.
A man’s voice filled the room.
“Ben, confirming your next schedule. Still got you down for the chest piece. Just making sure you’re really serious about that corny-ass couple tattoo. You really want ‘Ben + Yeji’ on your chest? I mean, it’s your money, boss, but I’m asking one more time before we stencil that disaster.”
The voice message ended.
No one moved. No one breathed. Yeji stared at me. TWICE stared at me. ITZY stared at me. John looked like he had just watched me step willingly into traffic.
Then Ryujin screamed. Yuna followed. Nayeon stood from her chair. Sana grabbed Jihyo’s arm. Dahyun dropped her imaginary microphone.
Chaeyoung whispered, “Chest piece?”
Momo said, “That is very committed.”
Tzuyu looked at Yeji “He is serious.”
Mina took a sip of water “Corny, but serious.”
Jihyo stared at me “You planned this before tonight?”
I looked at the phone. Then at Yeji. Then at the room. There was no path out. So I stopped looking for one “Yes.”
Yeji’s voice came out small “Ben”. I stepped closer to her and slid one arm around her waist. In front of everyone. Because apparently subtlety had died several minutes ago and I had finally decided to stop attending the funeral “I’m not cancelling it.”
The room exploded again.
Yeji’s hands went to my chest like she meant to push me away, but she did not. She only stared at me, stunned.
“You are insane.”
“Probably.”
“Ben.”
“It’s temporary.”
The room froze again.
Yeji blinked “Temporary?”
“For now.”
The silence became dangerous. Ryujin slowly turned toward me “Oh, he’s worse than insane.” Yuna’s eyes widened “He planned the emotional damage.” Lia closed her eyes “Of course he did.” John pointed at me “That is not clarification. That is psychological warfare.”
I ignored all of them and kept looking at Yeji “I wanted to see how it looked first.”
Yeji stared “First?”
“Before it becomes permanent.”
“Permanent?”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually?”
I nodded, completely committed now because retreat had stopped being an option three sentences ago. “Next to the wedding date.”
The room died. Completely. Even Nayeon stopped breathing. Yeji’s face went blank. Then red. Then blank again.
I continued, because apparently I had chosen death “And the other couple tattoos.”
John whispered, “No.”
Sana whispered, “Yes.”
Dahyun slowly raised her imaginary microphone again.
Jihyo caught her wrist without looking “No.”
Yeji’s fingers tightened against my shirt “Wedding date?”
“Hypothetically.”
“That did not sound hypothetical.”
“It sounded planned,” Lia said softly.
“It sounded scheduled,” Ryujin added.
Yuna pointed at me “He absolutely has a folder.”
Mina looked at me “Do you?”
I hesitated.
John screamed “THIS FUCKING PSYCHOPATH HAS AN ACTUAL FOLDER.”
“I have concepts.”
“That is a folder,” Mina said calmly.
Nayeon pointed at John “Take notes.”
John recoiled “No.”
Sana nodded quickly “Take notes.”
Jeongyeon crossed her arms “You could at least have concepts.”
John looked betrayed “Not you too.”
Momo tilted her head “Would all nine of us fit?”
John’s soul left his body.
Tzuyu looked thoughtful “It depends on placement.”
Mina added, “Spacing would be difficult.”
John stared at her “Mina.”
“What? It would.”
Ryujin raised both hands “If John gets nine names, Ben has to get all five ITZY names too.”
I looked at her “Absolutely not.”
“For equality.”
Yuna nodded “And symmetry.”
Mina looked thoughtful “Symmetry matters.”
Ryujin was still staring at me like I had personally invented a new disease.
“So let me understand this,” she said slowly “You were not actually getting it permanently.”
“Not yet.”
“But you were going to let everyone think you were.”
“For context.”
Lia looked at me “That is not what context means.”
“It was emotional research.”
Chaeryeong blinked “On Yeji unnie?”
I looked at her. Then at Yeji. Then back at Chaeryeong.
“Not my best wording.”
“No,” Jihyo said. “It was not.”
Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone again.
“Breaking news: local man conducts unauthorized wife study. Results catastrophic.”
Yeji turned red “I am not his wife.”
Nayeon pointed at her immediately “You keep saying that like a woman who wants the title officially formatted.”
Yeji’s mouth opened. No sound came out, she looked at me like she wanted to melt into the floor and drag me with her.
“You are unbelievable.”
“I was aiming for memorable.”
“It would have been memorable for the wrong reasons.”
John pointed at Yeji “That means she imagined it.”
Yeji turned on him “Do not involve yourself.”
“I am already involved. Your boyfriend is ruining expectations for all of us.”
Nayeon nodded gravely “He is.”
Sana looked at John “Where is our playlist?”
John stared at her “Our what?”
“Our romantic reveal playlist.”
“I am not revealing anything.”
Dahyun raised her hand “Technically, that is part of the complaint.”
The room made a collective sound of approval.
John pointed at her “That was personal.”
“You could benefit from a strategy deck, best buddy”
I looked at John “You want help with that?”
He turned on me “You stay out of this, Chest Tattoo Romeo.”
Ryujin gasped “That is his new title.”
Yuna nodded “Final Boss: Chest Tattoo Romeo.”
Chaeryeong, who had been quiet for a while, looked at me with genuine curiosity. “Would the temporary tattoo actually say Ben plus Yeji?” I nodded. “That was the draft.” She frowned. “Wouldn’t Yeji plus Ben look better?”
The room went still.
I looked at her. Yeji looked at her. Mina’s eyes sharpened with immediate interest. Chaeryeong froze “What?”
Mina set her cup down “She is right.”
John threw his head back “No.”
Mina continued. “Visually, Yeji’s name first balances better depending on placement.”
I looked down, considering it “That depends on the font weight.”
Mina nodded “And spacing.”
Nayeon leaned back, enjoying herself far too much. “Honestly, I respect the insanity. A temporary couple tattoo before the real one after marriage? That is commitment with a trial period.” Sana nodded “Romantic beta testing.” Jeongyeon looked pained “Please don’t call love that.” Dahyun smiled “Too late. Love 2.0 launches after wedding.”
“Metaphorically.” Ryujin smiled. “Ben didn’t say no any of it.” Yeji lowered her hands just enough to glare at her “Ryujin.”
“What? I am supporting your household.”
“Our what?”
The room inhaled. Yeji realized too late that she had said our.
Yeji tried to glare at me. Failed. Then looked away, cheeks burning. And because I had apparently developed a severe allergy to self-preservation, I leaned closer and murmured “For the record, I would put your name first.” Yeji froze.
The room went silent again.
Ryujin whispered, “Fatality.”
Yuna whispered, “That was so smooth I hate him.”
Nayeon turned to John “Write that down.”
John snapped “I am not writing down tattoo flirting.”
Mina looked at him “You should. It was effective.”
Yeji’s fingers tightened against my shirt. She looked up at me, still embarrassed, still mad, still very much losing the fight against her own smile.
“You are not getting anything permanent before we talk about it.”
“Agreed.”
“And no portrait.”
“Ever?”
“Ever.”
“Even after the wedding?”
“Especially after the wedding.”
The room made a noise.
Yeji looked at me, helpless and red and smiling despite herself “You are impossible.” I smiled back “And yet.” She looked away. But she leaned into me a little more. Just enough to lose. Just enough to consider it a win.
By the time dinner finally began to dissolve into goodbyes, the Top Floor looked less like a luxury residence and more like a battlefield that had been won through food, gossip, paperwork, and emotional blackmail. Plates had been cleared.
Momo had praised Chaeryeong’s cooking enough times that Chaeryeong looked like she was trying not to float.
Ryujin and Nayeon had formed a partnership that worried every manager in the room.
Yuna had somehow gotten Sana and Dahyun to promise they would help her “professionally evaluate” the retreat once it happened.
Lia looked tired, but steadier.
Chaeryeong looked overwhelmed, but not unhappy.
TWICE gathered near the elevator in clusters, still talking over one another as if leaving was merely a suggestion. Jihyo checked the folder one more time.
John looked at it like it had personally ruined his day.
Then Nayeon turned back toward me “So.” I immediately disliked her tone “No.”
“You don’t know what I’m asking.”
“I know the category.”
“That is becoming your favorite sentence,” Lia murmured.
Nayeon smiled “Are you really going through with the temporary tattoo?”
The room froze.
Not because anyone had forgotten. Because apparently everyone had been waiting for someone brave or shameless enough to bring it back. Yeji’s hand tightened around mine.
I looked at her. She looked back. Still red, pretending she was not invested. “Yes,” I said. The room erupted. Ryujin shouted first “I knew it. He’s committed to the emotional damage.”
Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone. “Breaking news: temporary tattoo confirmed; wife still denying wife status.”
“I am not his wife,” Yeji said automatically. “Yet,” Sana said sweetly. Yeji’s face went red again. I squeezed her hand once “And Yeji’s coming with me.”
That somehow made it worse.
Nayeon gasped “She’s choosing placement?” Yeji turned toward me. “I am?”
“You said you were.”
“I said several things under emotional distress.”
Yeji looked at me, cheeks still pink “I am not choosing anything ridiculous.”
“Agreed, and no portrait.”
“Agreed.”
John suddenly pointed at me “Wait. No.” I looked at him. “What now?”
“You are not taking Yeji to some random tattoo artist after all of this.”
“It’s not random.”
“You are bringing an idol to a tattoo appointment.”
“A temporary tattoo appointment.”
“That does not make the identity issue disappear.”
Jihyo looked at me “He has a point.” Nayeon leaned toward Sana “John said something responsible.” Sana nodded “We should document it.” John ignored them “How do you know this guy won’t leak anything?”
The room quieted slightly. Not from fear. From curiosity. I shrugged “He’s loyal.” John stared at me “That is not an explanation.”
“It is the most important part.”
“Ben.”
I sighed “He knows better.”
Ryujin’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, that sounds threatening.”
“It is not threatening.”
Yuna smiled “It sounded expensive.”
“That is closer,” Mina said quietly.
Mina looked at me “You paid him well?”
“Yes.”
John exhaled “Okay. Fine. That is better.”
“And I ruined someone who did not.”
The room stopped. John slowly turned his head back toward me “What?” I looked around.
“In his old shop, he had an investment broker client who refused to pay him properly after a full sleeve. Tried to use status and connections to make the bill disappear.” No one spoke. I continued “The artist complained about it while finishing one of mine. I asked for the name.”
John closed his eyes “Ben.”
“I had pocket change.” Mina’s gaze sharpened slightly. Jihyo lowered the folder. Nayeon whispered, “Pocket change?” I shrugged “So I bought the company.”
Silence. Absolute. Then everyone spoke at once.
“You what?” Yeji said.
“Oh my God,” Lia whispered.
Ryujin stood up halfway “Boss behavior.”
Yuna’s mouth dropped open “You bought a company because someone didn’t pay for a tattoo?”
Chaeryeong looked horrified “That is… very intense customer service.”
Sana clasped her hands “That is scary but loyal.”
Jeongyeon stared at me “That is not normal loyalty.”
Momo frowned “Did the artist get paid?”
“Yes.”
Momo nodded “Good.”
Tzuyu looked at me calmly “Did you fire the person?”
“It was the first thing I did.”
Tzuyu nodded once “Then he learned.”
John pointed both hands at me “You bought the biggest investment bank in Korea and called it pocket change?” I looked at him. “I did not say biggest.”
“You implied something horrifying.”
“I said company.”
“You said investment broker.”
“That does not mean biggest.”
Mina took a slow sip of water “It was one of the bigger ones.”
John turned toward her “You knew?”
Mina looked at him calmly “Ben is not the only one with resources.”
The room paused. It was the first remotely smug thing Mina had said all night. John stared at Mina “Was that a flex?” Mina blinked once “No.” Mina took another sip of water “If it helps, I only checked because it was unusual.”
Jihyo looked at me with the expression of someone adding five more clauses to the JYP pitch in her head “You bought an investment firm to fire one man?”
“I also restructured it.”
John threw his hands up “There it is.”
I looked at him “What?”
“You cannot say ‘also restructured it’ like you rearranged furniture.”
Mina tilted her head “Was it poorly managed?”
“Yes.”
“Then restructuring was appropriate.”
John pointed at her without looking away from me “You are not helping.”
Ryujin slowly turned to Yeji “Unnie, your boyfriend is terrifying.”
Yeji was still staring at me. “I know.”
Yuna leaned closer “And you love him.”
Yeji did not deny it fast enough.
Nayeon smiled “She really does.”
Yeji covered her face “I am trying to be angry.”
Lia looked at me “Was the tattoo artist at least grateful?”
“He has never leaked anything.”
“That is not the same as grateful.”
“He sends me holiday discounts.”
Chaeyoung blinked “You buy companies for him and he gives you discounts?”
“I told him not to.”
Dahyun nodded solemnly “That is friendship.”
John stared at the ceiling “I am going to develop a medical condition from knowing you.”
Jihyo finally exhaled and tucked the folder under her arm “We are going before I start thinking of more clauses.” TWICE finally began moving toward the elevator for real this time. There were more hugs. More warnings. More jokes about the tattoo. More comments about Yeji being the only person capable of keeping me from accidentally buying another company before breakfast.
“Actually,” Yeji said, pointing at me before anyone could step into the elevator, “stop buying companies, restaurants, buildings, or entire establishments because someone inconveniences you.” I looked offended. “I do not do that.” The entire room stared at me.
“You absolutely do,” Jihyo said.
“Frequently,” Mina added.
“Historically,” John said.
Yeji folded her arms “No more buying things out of spite.”
“Out of loyalty,” I corrected.
“Out of spite.”
“Sometimes both.”
“Benjie.”
I sighed dramatically “Fine.”
She narrowed her eyes “That sounded fake.”
“It was a little fake.”
“Ben.”
I looked at her “What am I supposed to do if a restaurant makes you wait forty-five minutes for your food?”
The room immediately erupted.
“No,” John shouted.
“Absolutely not,” Jihyo added.
Ryujin doubled over laughing.
“He already has a contingency plan.”
Yuna pointed at me.
“He’s thought about this before.”
“I have not.”
“You answered too fast,” Lia said.
Yeji stared at me “You are not buying a restaurant because my food is late.”
“What if you're hungry?”
“Ben.”
“What if you're sad?”
“Ben.”
“What if they forget your order twice?”
“BEN.”
I held up both hands “Okay, okay.”
Nayeon was laughing so hard she had to lean against the elevator wall “This is the most billionaire boyfriend conversation I've ever heard.” Sana clasped her hands “He just wants her fed.”
“That is somehow sweet and terrifying,” Chaeryeong said. Momo nodded “As long as the food arrives eventually.” Tzuyu looked at me thoughtfully “If they forget three times?”
“Do not encourage him,” Yeji said immediately.
“I was curious.”
John pointed at Yeji “See? This is why you're the only safeguard we have.” Yeji groaned. “I should not have this responsibility.”
“You accepted it when you started dating him,” Ryujin said.
“I did not sign anything.”
Mina tilted her head “There may be paperwork somewhere.”
“Mina,” John said weakly.
Nayeon pointed at Yeji one last time. “Good luck preventing hostile restaurant acquisitions.” Yeji covered her face “I hate all of you.”
“You love us,” Sana sang. Then the elevator doors began to close. Nayeon stuck her hand out suddenly, stopping them “Wait.” Everyone froze. Yeji looked up warily “What?” Nayeon smiled “Make him put your name first.”
Yeji covered her face, I smiled, John pointed at me from inside the elevator “Do not smile. You are the problem.”
“I am aware.”
“You are not aware enough.”
The elevator doors began to close again. Sana waved “Good luck, almost-wife.” Yeji made a strangled sound. Dahyun’s voice slipped through before the doors shut “Breaking news: tomorrow’s JYP pitch now includes tattoo liability.” Then they were gone.
The Top Floor fell quiet. Not empty. Never empty anymore. Just quieter. Yeji stood beside me, arms folded, cheeks still pink “You are exhausting.”
“I love you too.”
“That was not what I said.”
“It was implied.”
She tried to glare. Failed. Then reached for my hand anyway. I looked at her. She looked back. Still mad. Still mine in the ways she allowed herself to be.
“Temporary,” she said.
“Temporary.”
“And I choose placement.”
“You choose placement.”
“And font.”
“And font.”
Chaeryeong’s voice came softer, amused despite herself “Do we still need more food tomorrow?” I looked around the Top Floor. I looked at Yeji. She narrowed her eyes. “Do not look excited.” I smiled.
There is a kind of silence in this house that isn't peace; it’s a waiting game. A dense, almost liquid silence that clings to my skin like dirty oil every time he is in the same room. I am in the kitchen right now, pretending to be interested in the cup of tea I’m holding between my hands, but my fingers are trembling just enough for the water to ripple on the surface. It isn't cold; it’s that static electricity running down the back of my neck every time I feel Mr. Park’s presence behind me.
I can feel him. I don’t need to turn around to know exactly where he is standing. I can smell him: that scent of sandalwood and cold tobacco that, a long time ago, seemed elegant, but now provokes a visceral nausea—a knot in my throat that prevents me from swallowing. My body has its own memory, a treacherous memory that reacts before my mind can process the danger. I feel the hairs on my arms stand up and a slow shiver descend my spine, sliding down like a drop of ice until it anchors itself at the base of my pelvis.
"You seem distracted today, Chaeyeon," his voice reaches me as a low purr, a vibration that seems to cut through the air and hit me directly in my pores.
I feel a violent lurch in my chest; my heart begins to hammer against my ribs with a dull force—a bum-bum... bum-bum that echoes in my ears and drowns out any other sound. I grip the cup tighter, feeling the heat of the porcelain, but the warmth is insufficient to fight the cold invading my feet. I don’t dare look at him. I know that if I do, I’ll find those dark eyes scanning my body, stripping me layer by layer, searching for any trace of the weakness he himself planted in me.
Suddenly, I feel his hand on my shoulder. It is a light touch, almost accidental, but to me, it’s as if a red-hot brand touched my skin. The brush of his fingers against the fabric of my blouse causes my nipples to harden instantly, projecting themselves with a painful tension against the clothes. I hate my body for this; I hate that it reacts with this nervous, suffocating arousal toward the man who has turned me into his toy. I feel dirty, as if there were an invisible stain spreading from my chest to my ass—a mark of ownership that only he can see.
He leans in a bit more, just enough for the heat of his breath to brush the curve of my ear. He says nothing else, but that silence is the cruelest tool of all. It is a reminder of everything we keep quiet, of the nightly agreements and the humiliation I accept day after day so that the rest of the world keeps believing I am the perfect daughter.
"What are you thinking about, dear?" he whispers, and his voice vibrates on my skin like a forbidden caress.
I close my eyes tight. In that instant, the sound of the kitchen vanishes. The scent of tea merges with the rancid smell of that hotel, and the warm afternoon light is replaced by the suffocating dimness of a memory I cannot erase. I feel the floor disappear beneath my feet and find myself sucked backward, back to the exact moment where my life fractured.
I feel the wetness on my thighs again, the pressure of strange bodies against mine, and that electric fear that paralyzed me for the first time. I go back to the beginning. Back to the first time I understood that my body no longer belonged to me, but was instead the price of a secret that was consuming me alive.
The cold early-morning air hit my face as soon as I closed the taxi door, but it wasn't enough to put out the fire I still felt beneath my skin. I walked toward the entrance of the house feeling like an intruder in my own life, my steps clumsy and my breathing heavy. I felt dirty; I smelled of tobacco, other people's perfumes, and that raw, animal scent of shared sex that seemed to have leaked into my pores. But as I moved through the dark hallway, an electric and treacherous sensation began to run down my spine, making me tremble—not from fear, but from a residual desire that felt suffocating.
I entered the house in silence, avoiding any noise that might alert my mother or my stepfather. But the silence only served to amplify what was happening inside my body. Every time I took a step, I felt the rub of my thighs and the friction of the clothes against my skin, and that simple contact was like an electric shock.
My tits were hypersensitive, almost painful. My nipples were so erect and tense that every time the fabric of my blouse brushed the tips, I let out a short, muffled gasp. It was an unbearable sensation: I hated myself for having sold my body, but at the same time, the memory of those hands squeezing my tits hard, molding them to their whim while I moaned, made a liquid heat begin to flow down my belly. I felt like a hypocrite; I told myself I was disgusted, but my body kept vibrating on the frequency of pleasure.
I reached my room and closed the door with my heart hammering against my ribs: bum-bum... bum-bum. I leaned against the cold wood and closed my eyes, and that was when the image of the threesome returned with violent clarity. I remembered the weight of the bodies on top of me, the feeling of being open and exposed, and the way my ass felt right now: hot, throbbing with a dull heaviness that reminded me I had been possessed without mercy. I could still feel the viscous trail between my legs, that residual wetness that made me feel marked, as if the seal of those men were still stuck to my pussy.
I put my hand in my pocket and touched the bills. The paper money was dry and cold, but touching it sent a wave of forbidden excitement through my entire body. It was the adrenaline of risk, the euphoria of having done something so degrading and having been paid for it. I felt dirty, yes, but it was a dirtiness that ignited my nerves.
I let myself slide down the door until I was sitting on the floor, legs open and breathing erratic. I brought a hand to my neck, touching the skin where someone had left a wet, strong kiss. Touching that mark, I let out a moan that echoed in the empty walls of my room. God, it was so disgusting to think that I had become an object, but at the same time, the idea of being desired with such voracity—of being the center of that carnal chaos—produced an electric shock that left me breathless.
I stayed there in the dim light, fighting against myself. I hated the submission, but I loved the feeling of power that came from knowing I could seduce and charge for it. My body was a battlefield where disgust and lust fought violently. As I stared at the dark ceiling, I felt my pussy pulsing with a dull urgency, claiming more of what had just happened. I was broken, I was stained, but I was more alive and aroused than ever in my life.
I didn't know that this same arousal, this secret hunger for the forbidden, would be the leash Mr. Park would use to drag me into the abyss. In that moment, I could only feel the heat of my own legs and the echo of the moans still resonating in my head like a sinful song.
The following days were a slow and delicious torture. I moved through the house like a ghost, inhabiting a body that still felt electric. Every morning, the act of dressing was a ritual of self-torture; I slid garments over my skin and felt how the fabric rubbed against my tits, which remained sensitive, almost inflamed, from the games of the trio. Sometimes I would stare at my own reflection in the bathroom mirror, observing the curve of my ass and wondering if anyone else could see the invisible mark that act had left on me. I felt powerful, charged with a forbidden energy that made my steps slower, my hips heavier, while I kept the stack of bills like an amulet of filth under my mattress.
But then, the atmosphere of the house began to change. The air became dense, almost viscous, and I started to feel that I was no longer alone in my secret.
It was a Tuesday afternoon when I felt the first prick of reality. I was in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water, when I heard Mr. Park's footsteps approaching. It wasn't the usual walk of a stepfather; it was a paused, deliberate rhythm—the step of someone who knows exactly where his prey is. I froze, glass half-full, feeling the back of my neck prickle violently.
"You smell different today, Chaeyeon," his voice arrived as a glacial whisper right behind my ear.
The impact was physical. I felt an electric shock shoot down my spine and end in an involuntary spasm between my legs. I turned slowly, heart hammering against my ribs: bum-bum... bum-bum. He was inches away from me, leaning against the counter, looking at me with dark eyes that didn't see the "good girl," but instead scanned my body with an obscene slowness. His pupils were dilated, fixed on the movement of my throat as I swallowed with difficulty.
"What do you mean?" I managed to articulate, though my voice sounded broken, a thread of sound that betrayed my panic.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he moved one millimeter closer, invading my personal space until I could smell the sandalwood and cold tobacco mixing with my own scent. He cast a fleeting glance downward, toward my tits which were rising and falling agitatedly under the blouse, and then returned to my eyes with a smile that didn't reach his pupils.
"You smell like that cheap soap from the downtown hotels," he commented with a terrifying calmness. "That aroma of chlorine and damp sheets... it’s curious how it clings to the skin, isn't it? Especially when one gives themselves over with such... passion."
I felt the floor disappear beneath my feet. The world became blurred and a dull buzzing filled my ears. The mention of the hotel wasn't a guess; it was a sentence. I ran out of air, feeling my larynx close as panic flooded my nervous system. But the most disgusting part was my body's reaction: in the face of pure terror and the humiliation of being discovered, I felt my pussy pulsing with a violent urgency. The adrenaline of fear mixed with residual arousal, creating a toxic cocktail that left me trembling on the spot.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," I lied, though I knew it was useless. My voice was a pathetic whisper.
Mr. Park let out a dry chuckle and slowly walked away, but before leaving the kitchen, he brushed his hand against my hip—a fleeting touch that made my legs buckle.
"There's no need to lie, dear. I prefer it when you're honest about your... appetites," he whispered, and the sound of his footsteps receding left a suffocating void in the room.
I stayed there, leaning against the counter, legs open and breathing broken. I was terrified, yes, but I also felt an electric spark running through my thighs. I felt naked, exposed, as if Mr. Park had ripped off my clothes with just his words and left me there, exhibiting my tits and ass to his judgment. Paranoia installed itself in me like a parasite: now I knew that every time I passed him, he was imagining how I was in that hotel, how I moaned, and how my skin felt.
I was no longer the hunter of the secret; I was the prey. And worst of all was knowing that while fear consumed me, a dark part of me was starting to wish he would finish closing the trap.
When I heard my name echo from the hallway, I felt the air thicken, becoming almost solid around my lungs. "Chaeyeon, come to the study for a moment." Mr. Park's voice wasn't a request; it was a command wrapped in velvet, a low frequency that made every hair on my body stand up. My first reaction was pure panic; I felt an electric shock shoot down my spine, leaving my legs trembling and my mind blank. I knew this moment would come. Since that day at the hotel, I felt as if I were walking on thin glass, and now, finally, I heard it shattering beneath my feet.
I walked toward the office with slow, heavy steps, as if dragging an invisible chain tied to my neck. As I moved through the hallway, my internal monologue was a chaos of voices: "Don't go in," "Run now while you can," "What if he already told Mom?". But beyond the fear, there was a dull anguish thinking about Chaeryeong. We knew we had crossed a line together; we shared that stain, that secret that bound us in a dark and desperate complicity. Thinking that he could use this to separate us or destroy us both caused a visceral nausea.
Upon opening the door, the scent of sandalwood and cold tobacco hit my face with suffocating force. The study was in dim light; the closed blinds let through only a few threads of white light that cut the room into strips, as if I were already entering a cell. I saw Mr. Park leaning against his oak desk, observing me with a predatory calm that made me feel small, insignificant, almost transparent.
And then, the sound happened that finally broke me. Click.
The lock closed. That small metallic noise resonated in my ears like the fall of a guillotine. I froze in the middle of the room, arms pressed to my body and pupils dilated by animal terror. The silence that followed was dense, interrupted only by the erratic rhythm of my own breathing: short inhalations... forced pauses... exhalations that sounded like contained sobs.
He didn't move immediately. He took his time to look at me—a slow and obscene scan that started at my feet and climbed slowly up my legs, pausing on the curve of my ass before moving toward my chest. I felt his eyes stripping me, tearing away my clothes with a single gaze. He knew exactly what he was seeing: not the perfect daughter, but the girl who had enjoyed carnal chaos alongside her sister.
"You look so scared, Chaeyeon," he whispered, starting to walk toward me with calculated slowness. "It’s fascinating how your body reacts when you know you no longer have anywhere to hide."
He stopped right behind me, invading my personal space until I could feel the heat of his chest against my back. He didn't touch me, but the pressure of his presence was so strong that I felt my knees give way. He forced me to remain trapped between him and the edge of the desk, leaving me with no exit.
"Let's talk about that little trip you two took," he continued, leaning in so his warm breath brushed my ear. "That hotel... those white sheets that got so dirty. I wonder if your sister feels the same urgency as you right now to keep the silence."
The indirect mention of us was like a lash. I felt the world spin and my heart hit my ribs with brute force: bum-bum... bum-bum. But then the worst happened: while horror consumed me, I felt an electric shock of forbidden arousal running through my pelvis. My pussy pulsed violently against the fabric of my pants; the humiliation of knowing he had seen us both, that he knew exactly how we moaned and how we surrendered, triggered a treacherous somatic response. I hated myself for this; I hated that fear and degradation ignited a fire in my gut that I couldn't put out.
"You're trembling," he murmured, and this time he did touch me. He slid a hand around my waist, squeezing the flesh of my hip with possessive force. "And you're wet, aren't you? I love that your body is so honest, even though your mouth wants to pretend innocence."
I closed my eyes tight, letting out a broken gasp. I was totally annihilated. There was no longer any room for negotiation. Mr. Park didn't just possess the secret of that trio; now he possessed my nerves and my physical reactions. I felt like a porcelain doll that he had just broken to see how it looked inside.
"Now," he decreed, his voice becoming a glacial mandate, "let's see how obedient a girl can be when she has so much to lose."
I stayed there, trapped between the cold wood of the desk and the suffocating heat of Mr. Park’s body. My breathing was a disaster; short gasps that made my chest rise and fall with an erratic speed, hitting the fabric of my blouse. I could feel his gaze nailed to me, not as a caress, but as a scalpel opening me up, analyzing every corner of my fear. The silence of the study was so dense I could hear the dull throb of my own heart hammering in my ears: bum-bum... bum-bum.
"Take off your clothes," he ordered. His voice wasn't a shout; it was a glacial whisper, an administrative and dry instruction that left me frozen.
The world seemed to stop for an instant. My mind screamed in protest—a visceral reaction of rejection that made me shrink into myself. This can't be happening, I thought, while a wave of panic ran down my spine. But then I remembered Chaeryeong’s gaze, the shared secret and the possibility of him letting it all out. That idea acted as an anchor; the fear for my sister was stronger than the disgust for myself.
With fingers trembling violently, I brought my hands to the buttons of my blouse. The first button resisted; my nails slipped on the fabric due to the cold sweat that had begun to bead on my palms. I let out a muffled moan—a mix of frustration and terror—while feeling Mr. Park's gaze fixed on my hands. He said nothing, but his silence was an unbearable pressure forcing me to hurry.
Finally, the button gave way. Then the second. And the third.
As the fabric opened, the cold air of the study hit my skin, provoking a shiver that made me arch my back. I slid the blouse off my shoulders and let it fall to the floor with a dull sound—almost imperceptible, but to me, it sounded like the fall of a guillotine. I stood there in only my bra, exposing my arms and stomach to the raw light of the blinds. I felt the air burning me, but what burned more was knowing he was enjoying every second of my humiliation.
"Slower, Chaeyeon," he murmured, his voice vibrating against my neck. "I want to see how you strip away everything. I want to see the expression on your face when you realize you no longer have anything to hide."
I turned slightly, heart galloping in my throat, and reached for the back closure of my bra. The click of the hook releasing was the loudest sound in the room. When I let the garment drop, my tits were exposed to the glacial air of the office. They were small, firm, and pale under the white light; I felt my nipples harden instantly from the cold and fear, projecting forward like two pink, tense pearls. I felt grotesque and vulnerable, an animal stripped naked before its hunter.
But the worst was yet to come. My hands moved down to the waist of my pants. The touch of my own fingers against my skin provoked an electric shiver that ended in a sting of wetness between my legs. I hated myself. I hated that while terror consumed me, my pussy reacted with a treacherous lubrication before the authority of the man.
I slid the pants down with torturous slowness. The fabric stuck to my thighs because of the cold sweat, creating a friction that made me gasp. When the garment hit the floor, I was left in only a small strip of lace that barely covered the essentials. I stood sideways in front of the study mirror, forced by his gaze to observe my own body.
I saw my ass—round and massive, extending in a white and voluptuous curve that contrasted violently with the fragility of my waist. It was a fleshy, firm ass that swayed slightly as I trembled. I felt like an object, a piece of meat displayed in a showcase. I knew Mr. Park was devouring that image with his eyes, savoring the roundness of my cheeks and the tension of my skin.
"Now, the last garment," he decreed, his voice becoming a dark mandate. "I want to see you totally open. Right now."
I stood there, naked of everything except a thread of fabric, with hardened tits and an exposed ass, feeling the air of the study wrap around me like a cold shroud. I was broken, stripped of all dignity, and as I looked at Mr. Park, I knew the real hell had just begun.
The silence that followed my stripping was heavier than the clothes I had just dropped on the floor. I stood there, trembling in the center of the study, skin prickling and nipples so tense I felt any touch would make me scream. The cold air of the office hit my tits and stomach, but I could only feel the heat radiating from Mr. Park’s body. He didn't move immediately; he stayed watching me with a predatory calm, enjoying the image of my total vulnerability while I felt myself shrink under his scrutiny.
Then, he took the first step.
It wasn't a hug or a soft caress. It was an invasion. I felt his hand close around my hip with brute force that left me breathless. His fingers sank into my flesh, squeezing the curve of my waist with a possessiveness that made me let out a broken gasp. The thermal contrast was violent: his palm was burning, almost searing my skin which was cold and damp from the sweat of panic.
"Look at you..." he whispered, coming so close that his hot breath clashed against my neck. "So scared, so broken. But your body doesn't lie, does it, Chaeyeon?"
Without warning, he slid his other hand up, trapping one of my tits in a brusque and possessive grip. He forced me to arch my back, and I felt how he squeezed my tit against his palm, molding it with an aggressiveness that made me let out a moan oscillating between pain and a forbidden arousal. His fingers squeezed my nipple hard, twisting it slightly, provoking an electric shock that shot down my spine to anchor itself at the base of my pelvis.
"I wonder if you moaned like this in that hotel," he murmured, his voice becoming a dirty purr. "I wonder if you liked feeling like a whore while you collected the money."
The word "whore" resonated in my ears like a lash, but the humiliation acted as a trigger. I felt my pussy pulse violently against the thin strip of lace of my underwear; lubrication began to flow, thick and hot, betraying me before the man who was degrading me. I hated myself for this; I hated that fear and shame were igniting a fire in my gut that I couldn't put out.
Suddenly, he turned me with a sharp movement, forcing me to be backed up against him. I felt the hard rub of his belt and the pressure of his erection against my ass—a solid, hot mass that made my legs tremble. Mr. Park didn't waste time; he brought his hands down to my cheeks and delivered a dry blow, a loud slap that resonated in the silence of the study.
"Ah!" I let out a muffled scream, feeling the skin of my ass burn instantly.
The impact left me breathless, but the pain was immediately followed by a wave of dark, visceral pleasure. I felt his hands grip my cheeks hard, sinking into the fleshy part of my rear, squeezing it as if he wanted to leave permanent marks on me. I felt like an animal, an object of pleasure without will, while he forced me to lean over the desk, exposing my ass completely to the air and his gaze.
"Look what an ass you have, Chaeyeon," he whispered, his voice now charged with animal lust. "An ass made to be used. I wonder how much longer you can pretend to be the good girl while I have you like this—open and ready for me."
I felt his hand descend, sliding along the curve of my thigh until reaching the edge of the lace. His fingers brushed the wet fold of my intimacy—a fleeting but electric touch that made me arch my back and let out a long, broken moan. The touch was dirty, deliberate; he was testing my moisture, ensuring I was as ready as he desired.
In that moment, the world was reduced to that contact: the pressure of his body against my back, the burn of my slapped ass, and the suffocating feeling of knowing there was no turning back. I was totally surrendered to the predator's game, and while my tears fell silently onto the wood of the desk, my body screamed for the culmination of that torment.
I was there, bent over the oak desk, arms trembling as they held my own weight and my face sunken into the cold wood. I felt the pressure of Mr. Park’s body pressed against my back—a mass of suffocating heat that made me feel as if the air had run out. Then, I felt his fingers hook the thin lace strap of my underwear. There was no subtlety; he pulled it with a dry, abrupt movement that made me let out a muffled whimper.
The sound of fabric sliding down my thighs was the prelude to the void. Suddenly, I felt the glacial air of the office hit my pussy, leaving me totally exposed, open and vulnerable. I shrank instinctively, trying to close my legs, but he gripped my thighs with brute force, forcing me to keep them open, exhibiting my intimacy to the air and his judgment.
"Look how you tremble," he whispered, and I could feel his dark chuckle against my neck. "You're so wet I can almost smell you from here. I wonder if you'd get this turned on for any stranger who paid you, or if it's only because you know that now you belong to me."
Before I could respond, I felt his hot breath brushing the sensitive skin of my thighs. And then, it happened. The first contact of his tongue against my clitoris was like a high-voltage electric shock that ripped through my entire body. I let out a muffled scream into the wood of the desk, arching my back violently. It wasn't a tender caress; it was an aggressive, wet and deliberate lick.
Slurp... glup...
The sound of his tongue working in my intimacy filled the silence of the study—a viscous and obscene noise that made me feel like the filthiest creature in the world. Mr. Park wasn't seeking my pleasure; he was seeking to mark me. His lips sucked my skin hard, leaving marks that I knew would take days to fade. Every time his tongue pressed into the center of my pleasure, I felt my will disintegrate.
"You are such an obedient whore, Chaeyeon," he murmured between laps, his voice sounding wet and raspy. "I imagine you love feeling like this, don't you? Knowing your stepfather has you bent over his desk while he licks your pussy as if you were an animal in heat."
The words were psychological whips, but my body reacted with an obscene betrayal. Despite the disgust and humiliation, I felt my nipples harden against the wood and lubrication flow in hot waves, soaking everything where his tongue worked. I was in a state of total hyperesthesia; every movement of his mouth provoked involuntary spasms in my thighs. I felt fragmented: my mind screamed that this was an aberration, but my pussy pulsed with animal urgency, claiming the culmination of that torment.
Suddenly, he pulled away abruptly. The sudden vacuum left me panting, feeling incomplete and exposed. I heard the sound of his pants' zipper going down—a metallic zip that sounded like a final sentence.
"You've had enough pampering," he decreed, his voice becoming glacial and dominant. "Now let's see how much you can take."
I felt him grip my hips with a force that left imprints on my skin. Without any preamble, without any lubrication other than the moisture of fear and desire, he pushed his erection against the entrance of my pussy. The first impact was dry and violent.
"Ahhh!" I screamed, sinking my fingers into the wood of the desk as he buried himself in me in a single thrust, filling me completely.
The initial pain was acute—a massive pressure that seemed to want to split me in two—but it was immediately followed by a sensation of suffocating fullness. The rhythm that followed was animal; there was no tenderness, only physical power and possessiveness.
Clap... clap... clap...
The sound of his balls hitting my ass resonated in the room like an obscene percussion. Each thrust pushed me harder against the desk, making my tits bounce against the wood and my head shake violently. I felt how he possessed me with blind fury, using my body as a vessel for his lust and power.
"Tell me who your owner is, whore," he growed in my ear, while his hands squeezed my cheeks so hard I felt the flesh deform. "Tell me while I break you from the inside!"
I couldn't articulate words; I only let out broken moans and desperate gasps. I was lost in a whirlwind of fluids, wet sounds, and a sensation of total annihilation. I felt like an object—a thing that existed only to be used—and as the climax approached, I felt my identity vanish, merging with the will of the man who was destroying me.
Silence returned to the study abruptly, a silence so heavy it could almost be felt physically on my shoulders. Mr. Park withdrew from me with the same brusqueness with which he had possessed me, leaving me there, collapsed over the desk, trembling and empty. I felt the draft of cold air hit my sweaty skin, provoking a violent shiver that ran down my back and made me let out a broken sigh.
I stayed motionless for several minutes, face sunken in the cold wood and hair stuck to my forehead by sweat. I could feel the residual moisture sliding slowly down my thighs—a viscous trail that reminded me every second that I had just been used as an object. My pussy throbbed with a dull heaviness, irritated and sensitive; I felt the pressure of the semen cooling inside me, a physical mark of my submission that made me feel anchored to the floor by pure shame.
I heard the metallic sound of his pants' zipper going up—a dry zip that marked the return to normality. The man who was now in front of me was no longer the animal beast who had destroyed me moments ago; he was once again Mr. Park, the impeccable and cordial stepfather. That transition was more terrifying than the act itself: the ease with which he could move from brute lust to the coldness of a controller.
"Clean up this mess," he decreed, his voice regaining that neutral and authoritative tone. "I don't want a single trace of what happened here when you leave this room."
I forced myself to move. My muscles were numb, my legs trembling so much I almost fell while trying to stand up. As I searched for my clothes on the floor, I felt Mr. Park's gaze nailed to my ass, observing the red skin marked by his hands. I felt fragmented; I looked at my own hands and didn't recognize them. My body was still there, pulsing and hot, but my mind had retreated to a distant and dark place to avoid feeling the weight of the humiliation.
When I finished dressing, with clumsy fingers and clouded eyes, I stood in front of the study mirror. I saw myself and felt a visceral nausea. My tits were still sensitive, my lips were swollen, and my pupils were dilated from the emotional shock. I looked like the same person as always, but I knew something had broken irremediably inside me. I was no longer the girl who returned home with money in her pocket and a spark of excitement; now I was someone who belonged to the man standing behind me.
"Listen carefully, Chaeyeon," he said, approaching and placing a hand on my shoulder, squeezing the flesh with possessive firmness. "What happened today is the new order of this house. You know what you have to do so that your secret remains a secret."
I felt a knot tighten in my throat. The fear for myself was unbearable, but then the image of Chaeryeong emerged. I remembered her laughter, her apparent innocence, and the bond that united us. An obsessive idea began to take root in my mind: if I accepted this, if I became Mr. Park’s pressure valve, perhaps he would leave my sister alone. Perhaps I could buy this man's silence with my own flesh.
"If you are an obedient girl... if you do everything I ask without protest," he continued, his voice becoming a glacial whisper in my ear, "your sister will never have to go through this. She can keep smiling and believing she is pure, while you and I take care of the filth."
That promise was the final nail in my coffin. Martyrdom felt like the only dignified way out. I closed my eyes and nodded slightly, accepting the invisible pact. In that moment, Mr. Park had not only taken my body; he had taken my will and transformed it into a shield to protect Chaeryeong.
I left the office with my heart beating slow and heavy, feeling the wet trail between my legs like a chain tying me to the man I had just left behind. As I walked down the hallway toward my room, I knew my life had been divided in two: the facade I would show the world and my sister, and the visceral darkness I would now share exclusively with Mr. Park. I was broken, I was stained, but as long as Chaeryeong was safe, I was willing to let him consume me inch by inch.
Late at night, when ITZY’s Chaeryeong hums her favourite indie track on a Han River bench, the last thing she expects is for the handsome stranger lying on the other side to sing the next line — because it’s his song. Now she’s convinced that this self‑taught producer with a second‑hand studio and a habit of buying hazelnut chocolate “just in case” is exactly what her solo debut needs… but the real missing piece might be her own scaredy‑cat heart.
The Han River at night was a study in quiet contradiction. The distant, glittering spine of Seoul’s skyline pulsed with silent energy, while the water below absorbed it all, reflecting only fragments of light in slow, dark ripples. The breeze carried the faint, damp scent of the river and the distant murmur of a city that never quite slept, but here on the walkway, it was just the soft lap of water against concrete and the occasional sigh of the wind.
On a double-sided bench facing the water, June lay flat on his back, a black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes. The worn leather of his jacket creaked softly against the wooden slats. In his head, a melody looped, fractured, and stubbornly refused to resolve. Broken Dreams. The track was almost there—the chord progression in the bridge ached perfectly, but the second verse’s lyrics felt like someone else’s memory. He hummed a fragment, the sound barely leaving his lips, a low, frustrated vibration in his chest. ‘The space between what is and what could be…’ No. Wrong. He let the thought dissolve into the night air.
On the opposite side of the high-backed bench, Chaeryeong slowed to a walk, her breath forming little clouds in the cool air. Her earbuds dangled, unused; the playlist in her head was on a relentless, single-song repeat. The oversized hoodie swallowed her frame, and her ponytail was a messy testament to a jog that had started with determination and ended with distraction. She patted the pocket of her jacket, her fingers finding the familiar crinkle of foil. Pulling out a half-eaten bar of milk chocolate, she broke off a piece and let it melt on her tongue, the sweetness a small, grounding comfort. She spotted the empty bench—the river-facing side—and with a quiet groan of relief, flopped down, unaware of the occupied other half.
For a moment, there was just the river and two separate silences.
Chaeryeong scrolled mindlessly through Instagram, the blue light painting her face. The chocolate and the familiar, haunting melody in her head loosened something. Softly, almost unconsciously, she began to hum. It was the chorus of Unrequited Feelings, a little off-key, the notes bending with a wistful emotion her technically perfect vocal training would never allow in a studio. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear as she hummed, her thoughts drifting to the SoundCloud page she’d bookmarked, to the raw ache in the singer’s voice that spoke directly to her own secret, romantic heart.
On the other side, the melody drifted over the bench back. June, still deep in his creative fog, his eyes closed under the cap, heard it. It wasn’t his own humming—this was lighter, sweeter, inflected with a feeling he’d written but hadn’t quite heard back until now. Without a single conscious thought, still chasing the ghost of the song in his mind, his voice lifted, singing the next line aloud. It was low, melodic, and startlingly close. “Is it a memory, or just a dream I keep…”
The effect was immediate and explosive.
Chaeryeong shrieked—a genuine, piercing yelp of terror. She launched off the bench as if propelled, her phone clattering onto the walkway. The chocolate bar flew from her hand, a dark arc against the night. Both hands flew up in a defensive, instinctive pose. “Aish! What the—!” she gasped, her heart hammering against her ribs. A ghost? A serial killer? Her scaredy-cat brain short-circuited, leaving only pure, adrenaline-fueled panic.
June jolted upright as if electrocuted. His cap tumbled off, revealing tousled dark hair and wide, startled eyes. He saw a woman—beautiful, terrified, staring at him like he’d risen from the river itself. His system flooded with mortification.
“Oh god—” he blurted, scrambling to his feet, hands up in surrender. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to—I was just—the song, I heard the song and my brain just… sang along. I swear I’m not a creep. That was so creepy. I’m so sorry.” The words tumbled out in a warm, frantic, deeply apologetic ramble.
Chaeryeong, panting, one hand pressed to her racing heart, slowly registered the rambling. Not a ghost. A person. A flustered person. Her eyes adjusted, taking him in: the leather jacket, the handsome, sharp lines of his face now etched with genuine panic, the cap lying forgotten on the ground. Fear ebbed, replaced by a hot wave of embarrassment, which then cooled into dawning, incredulous curiosity. Her fingers, moving on autopilot, flew to her hair, tucking and untucking the same escaped strand.
“You…” she managed, her voice shaky. “You just sang that song.”
He nodded, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah. I’m—it’s my song. I wrote it. I’m June. I make music. In my apartment. Not usually scaring people on benches, I promise.” He gave a helpless, awkward shrug.
His song.
The words connected in her brain with the sound of his voice—the same voice from her headphones, the one that had made her cry into her pillow. Her eyes, already wide, went impossibly larger. All remaining embarrassment was vaporized by sheer, starstruck shock.
“Wait.” She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Your song? ‘Unrequited Feelings’? That’s your song?”
He nodded again, confused by the intensity of her reaction. “Yeah…?”
The floodgates burst. Chaeryeong’s hands flew to her cheeks. “No way. No way,” she breathed, her voice pitching higher with unrestrained excitement. “I found your SoundCloud a week ago. I’ve listened to all four songs on repeat. ‘Meridian’ made me cry—like, actually cry into my pillow. I’m obsessed.” She caught herself, realizing how she sounded, and groaned, hiding her face for a second before peeking through her fingers. “Oh my god, I sound like a stalker now. I’m not a stalker. I’m just a fan. A big fan.” She was rambling, her cheeks burning, her hair now thoroughly disheveled from her nervous fingers.
June stared, utterly stunned. The fear, the apology, the entire bizarre situation melted away, leaving only a profound, disbelieving warmth. A shy, lopsided smile broke across his face. “You… you actually listen to my stuff? That’s… that’s crazy.”
Trying to claw back some semblance of dignity, Chaeryeong straightened her posture. She smoothed her hoodie and extended a hand formally, slipping into the polite, public-facing persona that was second nature. “I’m—”
“Chaeryeong,” he said quietly, his voice softening. He took her hand, his grip warm. “From ITZY. I know.”
She froze mid-handshake. Then a low, despairing groan escaped her as she used her free hand to cover her eyes. “So you saw me scream like a banshee and curse. Very idol-like. So professional.”
He laughed then—a genuine, warm, surprised sound that seemed to startle even him. It was a nice laugh. “Honestly, I’d scream too if a voice started singing behind me in the dark. Valid reaction. Ten out of ten.”
The tension snapped. Chaeryeong dropped her hand from her face, revealing a reluctant, then genuine, smile. She finally looked at him—really looked. The rugged handsomeness, the intelligent eyes still holding a trace of bewilderment, the way the leather jacket seemed like a part of him. A tiny, silent beat passed where they both just saw each other.
“So,” she said, gesturing to the bench. A silent truce. They sat back down, this time on the same side, a careful, respectful foot of space between them. The fallen chocolate bar lay a few feet away, a sad, forgotten casualty.
Now seated, a different kind of nervousness took hold of Chaeryeong. This was no longer about fangirling. This was about a dream. She took a steadying breath, tapping into a core of professional determination she rarely showed outside the practice room.
“I’m working on my solo debut album,” she began, her voice more measured. “I’ve been… searching. For a sound. Something emotionally raw, R&B-tinged, something that feels real, not just produced.” She turned to face him, her eyes earnest in the dim light. “It sounds exactly like your music. The feeling in it.” She hesitated, the question feeling huge in the quiet night. “Would you want to work with me? Produce one of the songs maybe?”
June’s reaction was immediate and visceral. He looked as if she’d gently shoved him. Flattery washed over him, followed by a tidal wave of disbelief. He rubbed the back of his neck, once, twice, three times—a quick, nervous tic.
“I’ve never done anything professional,” he said, the words rushing out. “I’m self-taught. My studio is literally second-hand gear I found online, crammed into my apartment. I don’t know the first thing about the industry, about budgets, about… any of it. I’d probably mess it up for you.”
Chaeryeong listened, then leaned forward, her gaze fierce. The hidden savage spark, the one her members knew well, flickered to life. “How do you make your songs, then? The ones that made me cry.”
He blinked. “Alone. In that apartment. With those second-hand things.”
“That,” she said, her voice firm, “is exactly what I want. That raw, honest sound. Not the polished industry machine.” She paused, a new idea forming. “Where do you live?”
A little dazed, he pointed across the river toward a small, modest two-story building nestled among taller complexes. A single warm light glowed in an upper window. “Right there. The one with the flickering balcony light. That’s my apartment. The studio.”
Chaeryeong stood up, brushing invisible lint from her joggers. A grin played on her lips—teasing, mischievous, full of a daring she hadn’t felt in months. “Great,” she said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She turned to jog away but stopped short. Her eyes landed on the discarded chocolate bar, now slightly melted and smeared on the concrete edge of the walkway. A pang of genuine loss hit her. Her chocolate.
She walked over, bent down, and picked it up delicately with two fingers, holding it aloft like a forensic investigator. “My chocolate,” she announced mournfully. Then she looked back at June, who was still frozen on the bench, watching her every move with captivated confusion.
Her expression shifted into a playful, faux-serious pout. “You owe me a replacement. And not just any chocolate. The good kind. The one with hazelnut filling.” She wagged the sad, ruined bar at him for emphasis. “Bring it tomorrow. With coffee. As your new producer-client tax.”
June just stared, utterly dumbfounded, his mouth slightly open. The whirlwind of the last ten minutes—the scare, the recognition, the monumental offer, and now a chocolate ransom—left him speechless.
Seemingly satisfied, Chaeryeong tucked the melted chocolate back into her jacket pocket with a resigned sigh. She shot him one last smile—a complex blend of starry-eyed fangirl and confident future collaborator—then turned and began to jog back down the path, her figure gradually dissolving into the shadows.
June remained frozen. The bench felt colder without her presence. He replayed it all: the humming, the scream, her wide, excited eyes, the direct question that still echoed in his ears. A breathless, disbelieving laugh finally escaped him. He ran a hand through his hair again and muttered to the empty night, “What… just happened?”
As he stood to collect his cap, a small, cinematic detail caught the distant light: a single, smeared fingerprint of melted chocolate on the wooden slat where she had sat. He stared at it for a second, then picked up his cap, brushing off a tiny, old chocolate stain of his own near the brim. Slinging his jacket tighter, he began the short walk home, a new, unplanned melody—light, curious, and sweet—already humming softly in his chest, keeping perfect time with his quickening heartbeat.
***
The morning sun filtered through the dusty window of his ground-floor apartment, painting stripes of gold across a floor littered with coiled cables. June had been awake since five, wiping down monitors, rearranging foam panels that didn’t need rearranging, and brewing a pot of coffee so strong it could probably stand up on its own. He’d also made a specific trip to the convenience store. The hazelnut chocolates sat in the center of his small kitchen table, a silent, hopeful testament.
A knock, soft but definite, echoed at exactly ten.
He opened the door, and the breath left his lungs in a quiet, surprised rush.
Chaeryeong stood in the hallway, backlit by the morning light from a distant window. She was a vision of effortless, off-duty chic that felt leagues away from the scared, hoodie-clad jogger of the night before. A black tube top hugged her frame, paired with relaxed, high-waisted plaid trousers that pooled slightly over sleek sneakers. An oversized, cream cardigan was slung off one shoulder, revealing a collarbone and the thin strap beneath. A statement Chanel hobo bag was hooked on her elbow. Her hair was in a low, loose ponytail, but soft, face-framing layers had been carefully styled to escape, and her makeup was minimal, just a hint of gloss and mascara that made her eyes seem even larger. In one hand, she held a sleek acoustic guitar case; in the other, a stylish canvas tote.
For a second, they just stared. Her fingers, free of bags, instinctively went to tuck a strand behind her ear.
“You came,” June finally said, his voice a mix of wonder and relief. A beat passed where he just blinked, as if confirming she was real. “I— part of me really, honestly thought you wouldn’t show up. Like, I half-expected to open the door and just find… a gust of wind and a hallucination I’d conjured from too much coffee and wishful thinking.”
A slow, teasing smile spread across Chaeryeong’s lips. She tilted her head. “I said I’d come. I’m a woman of my word.” She lifted the tote bag meaningfully. “Plus…” Her eyes sparkled with mock severity. “You still owe me chocolate. A whole replacement bar. With hazelnut filling. I specified. Very clearly. In the dark. While holding a melted tragedy. I have a photographic memory for chocolate-related debts.”
June laughed, the sound warm and a little breathless. His hand went to the back of his neck, rubbing once, twice, three times before he stepped aside to let her in. “I actually— I bought hazelnut ones this morning. Just in case.” He grimaced, suddenly self-conscious. “Is that pathetic? It feels a little pathetic. Over-eager, at least.”
Chaeryeong stepped past him, her perfume—something subtle and floral, like night-blooming jasmine—washing over him. She glanced around the small, tidy living area before turning that smile back on him. “It’s not pathetic. It’s optimistic. There’s a difference.” She held his gaze, her tone softening just a fraction. “I like optimistic.”
She then reached into her tote and pulled out a small, elegant box of premium Belgian chocolates, the kind with gold foil lining. She held it out to him. “And because I also believe in backup chocolate. Consider it a… studio-warming gift.”
He took the box, his fingers brushing hers. He stared at it, the expensive weight of it in his palm feeling disproportionately significant. “You didn’t have to…”
“I wanted to,” she said simply, cutting off his protest. She looked around again, her curiosity genuine. “So… do I get the tour? Starting with the source of the coffee smell, preferably. My caffeine dependency is waving a white flag.”
He led her to the tiny kitchen nook, barely more than a counter, a sink, and a two-burner stove. The pot was still warm. “How do you take it?” he asked, already reaching for a mug.
“With enough sugar to make a pastry jealous,” she declared, leaning against the counter. “Like… three spoons. Maybe four. Don’t judge me. My members judge me enough for it.”
“I’m a black coffee guy,” he said, pouring the dark brew. “So I’m definitely judging. Silently. In my head.” He found a sugar bowl and began scooping, his movements meticulous. “Three… and a fourth for the pastry’s wounded pride.”
She giggled, the sound bright and spontaneous. He thought it sounded like a melody he’d want to sample—a glockenspiel run, maybe, or a wind chime.
He handed her the mug. As he prepared his own black coffee, she opened the box of chocolates he’d bought, placing two on the counter between them. “New rule,” she announced, her tone faux-official. “Every studio session starts with chocolate. It’s a creative stimulant. Scientifically proven.” She paused for effect. “By me.”
He picked up his piece solemnly. “I accept the rule. Do we… toast?”
She raised her chocolate. He raised his. They clinked the little squares together instead of the coffee cups. She giggled again, and this time he couldn’t help the full, unreserved smile that broke across his face.
“What?” she asked, catching his expression, a faint blush on her cheeks.
“Nothing,” he said, quickly looking into his coffee. “Your sugar-to-coffee ratio is just… impressively committed. I respect it.”
“Good,” she said, taking a bite. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second. “Oh, these are the good ones. You’re forgiven for the bench-scare.”
“Whew,” he fake-wiped his brow. “My eternal soul rests easier.”
After coffee, he led her to a door beside the kitchen. “The upstair is the living space and the bedroom. And, this is where the magic happen.” he said, a rare thread of pride and nervousness in his voice. “Prepare for organized chaos.” He pushed the door open.
The studio was small, perhaps the size of a walk-in closet, but every inch was lived-in. Mismatched squares of acoustic foam in grey and blue covered parts of the walls, with a few peeling at the corners. A slightly battered MIDI keyboard sat on a wobbly stand, next to a pair of second-hand studio monitors that had seen better days. Cables ran in neat, color-coded coils along the floor, pinned in place with gaffer tape. The centerpiece was a vintage-looking condenser mic on a boom stand. The only sources of light were a single desk lamp with a green glass shade and a string of fairy lights haphazardly draped over the one window, which looked out onto a tiny, tangled patch of garden outside. The air smelled faintly of old wood, ozone from electronics, and the ever-present coffee. A worn, but incredibly soft-looking olive-green sofa took up one wall, piled with a faded quilt and a few throw pillows.
Chaeryeong didn’t offer polite praise. She stepped in slowly, as if entering a chapel. Her eyes traveled over every detail. She moved to the keyboard first, pressing a single key. The note rang out, slightly dull on the middle C.
“This place has a soul,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. She turned, her expression awed. “JYP’s studios are… technically perfect. State-of-the-art everything. But they feel like a hospital sometimes. Sterile. This…” She gestured around the room, a slow sweep of her hand. “This feels like music already lives here. Like it’s been waiting in the walls.”
June rubbed the back of his neck. “Most of it I got piece by piece since I was fifteen. Saved up lunch money, did odd jobs. Hunted second-hand forums for months for those monitors. They have a buzz in the left speaker if the humidity’s wrong. And the keyboard, well, you heard middle C…”
Chaeryeong turned to him, her gaze intense and serious, cutting off his self-deprecation. “But you built it yourself. From nothing.” She took a step toward him, her voice firm. “That’s not a ‘but.’ That’s the whole point. This is… amazing, June. Truly.”
Her sincerity was a physical thing, disarming him completely. He just nodded, his throat feeling suspiciously tight. To fill the silence, she pointed to the vintage mic. “What’s the story with this? It looks like it has stories.”
The tension broke. A fond smile touched his lips. “Flea market find. About four years ago. The guy selling it thought it was just a broken old prop. Got it for ten bucks. Had to re-solder the wiring, but… it’s my favorite thing in here. It picks up every breath, every little click in the throat.”
“It’s perfect,” she said, and she meant it.
They settled in—her on the sofa, him in the rolling chair by the desk. She sipped her sugary coffee, watching him over the rim. The initial awe settled into a comfortable, curious quiet.
“Can I ask you something?” she said after a moment.
“Sure.”
“If you’ve been doing this since you were a teenager… why only four songs on SoundCloud? I’ve been wondering since I found your page. You have this whole world in here.” She gestured around the room. “There must be hundreds of fragments, ideas. Why only those four?”
June leaned back in his chair, the old leather creaking. He looked at the ceiling, choosing his words. “Music was… always a diary, I guess. A private one. I never thought of it as a career, something to put out there. It was how I survived being a weird, quiet teenager. How I processed things I didn’t have words for.” He brought his gaze back to her. “Those four songs are the first ones I didn’t completely hate the next morning. The first ones that felt… finished, even if they aren’t technically perfect.” He gave a small, self-deprecating smile. “I’m a bit of a perfectionist. The kind who writes a whole song and then deletes the project file in a fit of frustration.”
Chaeryeong nodded slowly, her fingers playing with the end of her ponytail. “So you hide behind ‘hobbyist’ so you don’t have to risk failing. You call it perfectionism, but it’s really fear dressed up in really nice, introspective clothing.”
June blinked, then let out a short, surprised laugh. “That’s… an incredibly accurate and slightly terrifying callout. Do you have a degree in psychology or just a really perceptive vibe?”
A grin, sharp and a little savage, flashed across her face. “I know the type. I’m an idol, remember? Half my trainee life was trying to be perfect—the perfect note, the perfect move, the perfect smile. The other half was pretending I wasn’t absolutely terrified that I’d never be enough. I cried in practice rooms more times than I can count, just deleting takes of myself because my ad-lib wasn’t ‘genuine’ enough.” She met his eyes, a shared understanding passing between them. “So I recognize a fellow scared perfectionist. We’re a specific breed.”
Their eyes held. She tucked the same strand of hair behind both ears, a nervous flutter. He looked down at his hands, smiling faintly. “Well. Guess we’re both a bit of a mess, then.”
“A mess with good taste in music,” she countered, her tone lightening.
“Deal.”
The mood shifted from confessional to collaborative. She pulled the sleek hard drive from her bag—black, with a few cute ITZY stickers and a handwritten label in neat hangul that read “Ryeong’s Solo Dream.” He plugged it in, and his screen filled with folders. Voice memos labeled things like Hotel Melody 3am and Shower Idea. GarageBand demos with simple piano chords. Text files full of lyrical fragments.
For the next hour, she walked him through them. Her voice changed with each file—confident when explaining a chord choice, quietly vulnerable when playing a voice memo of her singing a raw, unprocessed melody in what sounded like a stairwell.
“This one,” she said, pointing to a simple piano loop, “I want it to feel like your song ‘Meridian.’ Emotional, honest, like you’re overhearing someone’s diary entry. That’s why I… I jumped on the opportunity yesterday. It wasn’t just fangirling.” She looked at him, her eyes earnest. “I’ve been searching for this sound, this feeling, for months. And then I found you on a random 2 a.m. SoundCloud deep dive. It felt like… I don’t know. A sign. Or a lifeline.”
June listened, his musician’s mind absorbing the textures of her ideas, but his heart was caught by the raw hope in her voice. When the last demo finished, the room was quiet save for the faint hum of the computer.
“These demos are beautiful, Chaeryeong,” he said, his voice low and serious. He turned to face her fully. “You’re not just an idol. You’re an artist. A real one. I mean that.”
Her blush was instantaneous, a deep rose spreading from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. She looked away, her fingers frantically twisting a lock of hair. “You don’t have to say that. They’re just scraps.”
“I’m not saying it to be nice. Listen to this melody here—” He clicked a file, and a haunting, wordless vocal run filled the small space. “—that’s not manufactured. That’s not a producer’s trick. That’s you. That’s the thing you’re searching for. It’s already in you.”
She slowly brought her eyes back to his. The vulnerability in them was breathtaking. “Thank you,” she whispered. It was the first time someone from outside her group, outside the industry bubble, had seen that hidden, artistic core and named it real.
“So,” he said, clearing his own tight throat. “Do we polish one of these? Or do we start something new? From scratch. Today.”
A spark of excitement lit her face. “New. Something that belongs to this room.”
She picked up her acoustic guitar, unzipping the case with reverence. “Fair warning,” she said, a little sheepish as she settled it on her lap. “I’m not an expert. I just use it to find melodies. I’ll mess up chords. A lot.”
“Mess-ups are where the best songs come from,” he said, rolling his chair to the keyboard. “Show me what you’ve got.”
She played a tentative, melancholy chord progression—D minor, B-flat major, F major, C major—looping it slowly. It sounded like late nights and unresolved feelings. Without a word, June layered a soft, warm pad sound underneath it, a bed of synth that made the simple chords feel expansive and cinematic.
They began to hum, almost at the same time. Her melody was light, searching, floating above the chords. His was lower, a counter-melody that anchored hers, giving it direction. They’d hum a phrase, stop, try another.
“What about lyrics here?” she asked, pointing to a spot in the structure they were building. “Something about… unspoken words? The weight of things you don’t say?”
June made a face, his nose scrunching. “A little on the nose, don’t you think? ‘Unspoken words’ is in, like, every other ballad.”
She gasped in mock offense. “Excuse you! It’s a classic for a reason!”
“It’s a cliché for a reason,” he fired back, grinning. “What about… ‘the echo in the space between us’?”
She considered it, humming the line with the melody. “Hmm. Less direct. More… atmospheric. I like it.” Then she teased, “See? You’re not just a pretty voice and a scary bench presence.”
He threw a crumpled Post-it note at her. She ducked, laughing.
The song took shape over the next two hours. They named it “Amber Hours,” for that golden, fleeting time between night and dawn when secrets feel safe to whisper. They recorded a rough guide vocal, Chaeryeong standing at the vintage mic, eyes closed, singing the words they’d woven together. Her voice, without any production, was raw, clear, and trembled slightly with emotion on the high notes. He hit record and let the tape roll, capturing every breath.
When the final note faded, he stopped the recording. He played it back, and they listened in the dark room, the fairy lights twinkling like distant stars.
The last chord hung in the air. June, who had closed his eyes, didn’t open them. “That’s the one,” he breathed.
Beside him on the sofa, Chaeryeong let out a slow, shuddering breath. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice thick. “It is.”
A heavy, charged silence settled between them. It was more than just creative satisfaction. It was the intimacy of having built something beautiful together, of having seen into each other’s process. The professional line blurred, vibrated, and for one heartbeat, felt nonexistent. He could feel the warmth of her arm just inches from his on the sofa cushion.
She cleared her throat, the sound loud in the quiet. “We should… probably break. I have a schedule later.”
“Right. Yeah,” he said, snapping back to reality, rolling his chair to the computer to save the project file a little too forcefully.
She packed her guitar with deliberate slowness. She left the hard drive with him. “For inspiration,” she said. At the door to the studio, she turned. “Same time tomorrow evening? I’m free after six.”
June leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, trying to look casual. “I’ll have coffee and extra suger ready. And maybe a backup chocolate for your backup chocolate. A chocolate-ception.”
Chaeryeong smiled, a softer, more private smile than she had given all day. “Good. Don’t think I won’t show up this time, either.” She slipped past him, through the living room, and to the front door. He followed, a step behind.
She opened the door, stepped out into the hallway, then glanced back over her shoulder. That smile again. Then she was gone, the click of her sneakers fading down the hall.
June closed the door. He stood there for a full minute, his forehead resting against the cool wood. Then, a slow smile spread across his face as he walked back to the studio. He didn’t turn on the lights. He just sat at the keyboard in the glow of the fairy lights and the monitor, and began to hum the melody of “Amber Hours,” adding a new, tentative harmony beneath it.
***
The first week blurred into the second in a haze of chord charts, lyric sheets, and an ever-growing pile of empty coffee cups and chocolate wrappers. The professional collaboration remained the anchor, but around it, a new ecosystem began to grow.
---
She arrived one evening looking utterly hollowed out, dark circles under her eyes visible even through her light makeup. “Two-hour photo shoot, then three hours of vocal coaching for the group comeback,” she mumbled, collapsing onto the studio sofa like a marionette with its strings cut. “My brain is soup.”
Wordlessly, June disappeared and returned with a mug of hot chocolate—not coffee—and the soft quilt from the back of the sofa. He draped it over her. “Just rest for ten minutes. The song can wait.”
They were supposed to be working on the second verse. But as she sipped the sweet drink, her eyelids grew heavy. He, thinking she was still listening, started playing soft, aimless piano chords on the keyboard, not “Amber Hours,” just meandering, peaceful progressions.
In that liminal space between waking and sleep, Chaeryeong began to hum. It was a fragile, improvised melody, a wandering thread of sound that wove perfectly through his chords. It was melancholic and sweet, a lullaby for no one. He stopped playing, his breath catching. Moving silently, he reached over and hit record on his interface, capturing the next minute of her sleepy, unconscious composition.
She woke with a jolt an hour later, disoriented. “Did I… fall asleep? Oh, no, I’m so sorry, that’s so unprofessional—”
“Shh,” he said, a finger to his lips. He played back the recording.
Her own voice, soft and dreamy, filled the room. Her eyes widened in horror, then slowly shifted to wonder as the melody unfolded. “Did I really…? That’s so embarrassing. I was basically snoring a tune.”
“You wrote that half-asleep,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “Imagine what you can do when you’re fully awake. Chaeryeong… this is our bridge. This is the missing emotional turn for ‘Amber Hours.’ It’s perfect.”
What she didn’t know, what he would never tell her, was that halfway through her humming, a long strand of hair had fallen across her face. In the dim light, without thinking, he had reached over and gently, so gently it was barely a touch, tucked it behind her ear. He’d pulled his hand back as if burned, a strange, tender guilt flooding him. It felt like a violation of her trust, even as it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
Now, they listened to the lullaby-bridge together on the monitors, the professional reason for the recording pushing the personal moment aside. “It’s actually… kind of perfect,” she whispered, hugging a pillow to her chest.
He nodded, his eyes still on the waveform on the screen. “You’re kind of perfect.” The words left his mouth before his brain could catch them. He froze, then stammered, “At melodies, I mean. For this song. Specifically.” His ears turned a brilliant shade of pink.
Chaeryeong stared at her hands, her own cheeks flaming. “Right,” she murmured. “For the song.”
---
A few days later, they hit a wall. The second verse of “Amber Hours” refused to coalesce. After an hour of fruitless tinkering, Chaeryeong slammed her notebook shut.
“Nope. Creative block. Chocolate Emergency Level Red.” She stood, decisive. “We’re going on a field trip.”
She dragged him to the nearby convenience store. He watched, amused, as she filled a basket with an absurd variety of chocolates: milk, dark, mint, orange, one with popping candy. He quietly added a bag of shrimp chips to the pile.
Walking back with their haul, she nudged him. “Let’s go to the bench.”
He hesitated. The bench was where this had started, where the lines were undefined. “Yeah. Okay.”
They sat on the same side now, the river a shimmering sheet in the evening light. They tore into the snacks, passing things back and forth.
“Tell me something embarrassing,” she said, mouth full of chocolate. “Worse than singing from the shadows.”
He laughed, thinking. “High school talent show. I tried to sing this big, emotional ballad. Got to the key change, my voice cracked so loud the microphone feedback squealed. The entire auditorium went silent, then this one kid in the front row just started… slow-clapping. It was the most humiliating ten seconds of my life.”
Chaeryeong cackled, almost choking on a shrimp chip. “Oh, no! That’s amazing. My turn. Last year, during a year-end show, my mic pack came undone during the hardest part of the choreography. It flew off, hit the stage, and my voice just cut out while I was mid-spin. I had to finish the routine in complete silence, pretending nothing happened, while Yeji unnie was singing her heart out next to me. I wanted to melt into the floor.”
They laughed until their sides hurt, the sound carrying over the water. When their laughter subsided, she grew quiet.
“This bench is dangerous,” she said softly, looking at the water. “Every time we sit here, I end up sharing things I’ve never told anyone. You’re a bad influence.”
June leaned back, looking at her profile. “Same. I think it’s cursed. Or blessed. I’m not sure.” He took a breath. “I haven’t talked this much… about anything real… to anyone in years.”
The weight of the admission settled between them. This is becoming something. What is this?
Chaeryeong broke the tension by picking up a piece of chocolate and tossing it at his head. He caught it against his chest, grinning. The moment passed, but the echo remained.
---
She was struggling with a difficult F-barre chord transition, her fingers fumbling on the neck of her guitar. “Aish, it just won’t— my hand cramps.”
“Here, your index finger is too flat,” he said, scooting closer on the sofa. Without thinking, he reached over, his calloused fingers gently positioning hers on the fretboard, applying the correct pressure. “You need to roll it slightly, like this.”
His hand was warm and solid over hers. Her breath hitched, a tiny, audible sound in the quiet room. He heard it, felt the jolt that went through her, and immediately pulled his hand back as if shocked.
“Sorry— I shouldn’t have—“
“No, it’s— it helped,” she said quickly, her voice a pitch higher. She stared at the guitar, not seeing it. To cut the electric tension crackling in the air, she blurted, “Okay, new rule! If you teach me guitar, I get to teach you how not to be a recluse. Deal?”
He laughed, a nervous release. “What does that entail?”
“It entails you showing me a secret spot. Right now. Somewhere you’ve never shown anyone.”
He considered her, then sighed in mock defeat. “Fine. But it’s not that impressive.”
He led her up a narrow, unused staircase in his building, to a door that stuck. He shoved it open, revealing a tiny, forgotten rooftop. It was just a concrete square with a low wall, but it had a stunning, unobstructed view of the Han River and the bridges lit up like necklaces in the dusk.
Chaeryeong’s gasp was genuine. “June… this is incredible.”
“I come up here when the studio feels too small,” he admitted, leaning on the wall beside her.
They watched the sunset bleed from orange to deep purple in comfortable silence. She told him about her dream: a solo stage where she didn’t feel like ‘ITZY’s Chaeryeong,’ but just herself, her voice filling the silence. He told her his: to be walking down a street and hear a stranger humming a melody he’d written, unknowingly carrying a piece of him with them.
When it was time to go, she turned too quickly. Her hand brushed his forearm, a fleeting, accidental touch. Neither pulled away immediately. The contact lingered for a half-second too long before she tucked her hand safely into her cardigan pocket. They walked back down in a silence that felt charged, alive with everything they weren’t saying.
---
A sudden, violent downpour trapped her at his apartment. They abandoned the studio and made ramen in his tiny kitchen, sitting on the counter because there was only one chair. While he stirred the pot, she snooped through his open laptop, pulling up his music library.
A gasp of pure, undiluted delight echoed in the small space. “Oh my god. Oh my god. June. You have the entire ‘Boys Over Flowers’ OST? And… is this a playlist titled ‘2008 Emo Feels’? With Dashboard Confessional?”
June spun around, his face draining of color. “I can explain— no, I can’t. It’s a tragedy. A relic of my teenage years. I forgot it was on there—”
She was beaming, pointing at the screen. “This is the greatest discovery of my career. Greater than finding your SoundCloud! This is gold!”
“It’s mortifying is what it is,” he groaned, burying his face in his hands.
Twenty minutes later, they were singing a terribly off-key, passionate duet of “Paradise” by T-Max, shouting the dramatic lyrics over the sound of the rain, laughing so hard they had to hold onto the counter for support.
When the rain slowed to a drizzle, she was shivering in her thin cardigan. He wordlessly fetched a worn, grey hoodie from his room. It swallowed her whole, the sleeves extending past her fingertips. She hugged herself, enveloped in the faint scent of laundry detergent and him.
“I’ll return it next time,” she said, peeking up at him from within the oversized hood.
She never did.
---
Chaeryeong arrived early, a mission in her heart. She’d procured a ridiculous ghost mask from a variety show gag gift basket. Hiding behind the studio door, she waited, her heart pounding with mischievous glee.
The door opened. June walked in, balancing two mugs of coffee. She leaped out with a loud “BOO!”
He yelped, a genuinely undignified sound. Coffee sloshed over the rim of the mugs, splattering his t-shirt. He stared at her, at the grotesque mask, then at the stain spreading on his chest.
Chaeryeong ripped the mask off, her face alight with triumphant, savage joy. She doubled over, laughter shaking her frame. “Your face! Oh, payback is sweet!”
“You—” he sputtered, setting the mugs down with a clatter. He grabbed a nearby sponge from the desk, damp from wiping down the keyboard. “You think that’s funny?”
Her eyes widened. “Don’t you dare—”
He did. A brief, shrieking, giggling chase ensued around the small studio until he cornered her by the sofa. He didn’t use the sponge. Instead, they both collapsed onto the cushions, breathless and laughing.
At some point in the tangled heap of limbs, she realized her head was tucked against his shoulder, his arm was behind her back, and her laughter had died in her throat. The silence was sudden and deep. She could feel the steady thump of his heart through his damp shirt. Neither moved.
She swallowed. “We should… probably work now,” she whispered, the words barely audible.
He nodded, his chin brushing her hair. “Yeah.”
Neither moved for another ten seconds. Then, slowly, as if pulling against a magnetic force, she sat up. He cleared his throat and busied himself with the computer, clicking random files. The air was thick, sweet, and unbearably tense.
---
Chaeryeong’s phone buzzed on the mixing desk, the screen lighting up with a picture of Yuna making a duck face. Without thinking, Chaeryeong hit ‘answer.’
“Unnie!” Yuna’s bright, bubbly voice filled the studio. “Where are you? That’s not the dorm. That’s definitely not a JYP studio.” Yuna’s pixelated face squinted, then her eyes went round. “Are those fairy lights? Oh my god, are you at his place?”
Chaeryeong fumbled, lowering the volume. “Yuna, I’m working. I told you. The solo album. The indie producer I found.”
“Right, right. The mysterious producer,” Yuna said, her tone dripping with playful suspicion. “The one you’ve been spending every free second with for weeks. You know the unnies and I barely see you anymore. Yeji-unnie was asking if you’d moved out.”
“I haven’t moved out!” Chaeryeong hissed, her ears turning red. “I’m just… focused. The album is really coming together—”
At that exact moment, June walked into frame, holding a fresh mug of coffee for her. “Here, I added the fourth sugar— oh.” He froze, realizing she was on a video call. He was now fully visible on Yuna’s screen: messy hair, simple tee, holding a pink mug.
Yuna’s eyes went huge. A beat of dead silence. Then, a slow, mischievous grin spread across her face. “Oh. Oh. Unnie.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper that was still loud enough for the entire room to hear. “I would totally believe this was just professional and you’re super focused on music… if the producer weren’t that hot.”
“YUNA!” Chaeryeong shrieked, her entire face combusting. “He can hear you! Oh my god—” In her flustered panic, she swatted at the phone, knocking it off the desk. Yuna’s cackling laughter echoed from the floor.
June, standing frozen like a statue, slowly turned and pretended to be intensely interested in tuning an already-tuned guitar, the back of his neck a deep, telltale pink.
Chaeryeong scrambled for the phone, grabbing it and hissing into the screen. “I’m hanging up. We’re discussing this never.”
“Bring him to the dorm!” Yuna yelled, her grin taking up the whole screen. “I want to meet Hot Producer Oppa!”
Click. Chaeryeong threw the phone onto the sofa as if it were on fire and buried her face in her hands with a long, despairing groan.
June cleared his throat. The silence was profoundly, utterly awkward. “So…” he managed. “Coffee?”
Her muffled voice came from behind her hands. “Yes. Please. And maybe a memory wipe. Or a hole in the floor to swallow me.”
---
The denial was a dance they both mastered.
She noticed a tiny, old chocolate smear on the edge of his mixing desk and teased him for being a “closet chocolate holic.” The next day, she left a new bar of the expensive stuff with a sticky note: “For emergencies. — Ryeong.”
He saved a sunset photo she’d sent from their rooftop to his phone. It became his wallpaper. He’d quickly flip his phone face-down whenever she reached for hers nearby.
Her hair-playing became an Olympic sport. Any direct gaze from him, any moment that felt too heavy, and her fingers would fly to her ponytail, tucking, twisting, braiding invisible strands.
He opened a new project file and wrote lyrics that were unmistakable: “Eyes that hold every unspoken word / A melody I found but never heard.” He stared at it for a full minute, then deleted the entire file. Five minutes later, he dug through his digital trash bin to recover it, cursing himself under his breath.
After the Yuna call, they couldn’t look at each other for a full hour without one of them blushing. She found his flustered avoidance unnervingly, secretly cute. He found her embarrassed pout utterly devastating.
The final evening of the fourth week. The studio was warm, bathed in the green glow of the desk lamp and the gold of the fairy lights. “Amber Hours” played through the monitors for what felt like the hundredth time. It was 95% complete. The verses glowed with intimate detail, the chorus ached with soaring release, and the bridge—her accidental lullaby—was a moment of heartbreaking, fragile beauty.
But the final crescendo, the last eight bars that should have delivered the song’s emotional payload, fell flat. They’d tried three different instrumental builds. A driving drum loop. A swell of strings. A distorted guitar riff. Each felt wrong, like a lie tacked onto a truth.
They sat side-by-side on the sofa, a single pair of headphones split between them, her left ear, his right. The final attempt faded to silence. Chaeryeong slowly pulled out her earbud, a frown of deep frustration on her face. “It’s almost there. It’s right there. But there’s… a ghost of something. A thing we’re not saying.” She glanced at him. “Musically, I mean.”
June set his earbud down on the desk. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, running his hands through his hair. “I know. It’s like the song is holding back. It’s built up all this feeling and then… politely excuses itself.” He looked at her, his eyes reflecting the tiny lights. “Like we’re holding back.”
A loaded pause stretched between them, filled only by the hum of the computer fan.
Chaeryeong’s voice was barely a whisper. “Maybe the song needs us to… trust it more. Trust what it’s trying to be.” She swallowed. “Trust each other.” She didn’t clarify the scope of that trust. The music, or the thing humming louder between them with every session.
June held her gaze, the air in the room growing thick and still. “Then we’ll find it,” he said, his voice low and certain. “The missing piece. Together. Next session.”
She nodded, the motion slow, as if moving through water. She stood, suddenly needing space from the proximity, from the unspoken answer that hovered in the silence. She gathered her bag, her movements slightly rushed. “Same time next week. We’ll crack it.”
He walked her to the door, the familiar ritual now laden with new weight. She stepped out into the cool hallway, then turned back. She looked at him—really looked—her lips parted as if to say something else. She bit the thought back, and all that came out was a soft, “Goodnight, June.”
“Goodnight, Chaeryeong.”
The door clicked shut. Inside, June leaned his back against it, eyes closed. He listened to the faint sound of her footsteps disappearing. In the quiet of his apartment, he whispered to the empty room, “What are we missing?”
The answer was a melody he was too afraid to sing, a lyric waiting in the space between every look and every almost-touch.
Outside, Chaeryeong paused under a streetlamp, several paces from his building. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the frantic, hopeful drum of her heart against her palm. She looked back at the window where the fairy lights still glimmered, then turned and walked into the night.
The song—and the unnamed, trembling thing between them—remained an unfinished, aching bridge, waiting for one of them to find the courage to play the final, resolving chord.
***
ITZY Dorm – Saturday
The dorm living room was quiet, a rare pocket of stillness between schedules. Chaeryeong sat curled on the couch, a bowl of expensive assorted chocolates—a gift from a fan—balanced in her lap. Her phone screen glowed in her hands, illuminating her face in the dim afternoon light. On the screen was a file: Amber Hours_Guide Vocal_Ryeong.wav. Her thumb hovered over the play button. She didn’t press it. She just stared.
Her mind wasn’t on the song’s technical issue, the missing piece of the bridge. It was a relentless reel of specific, sensory memories: the shocking warmth of his hand over hers on the guitar fretboard, the calluses on his fingers rough against her skin. The sound of their off-key, rain-drowned duet, his laughter mingling with hers. The low, vulnerable rasp of his voice in the dark studio, saying, “You’re the first person who’s ever really seen me.” The words had settled in her bones, a constant, humming truth.
The click of the door broke her trance. Ryujin padded in, heading for the kitchen. She stopped, backtracked, and peered at Chaeryeong. Her eyes flicked from Chaeryeong’s blank face to the full bowl of chocolates, then back.
“Whoa,” Ryujin said, her voice laced with playful, genuine concern. “Hold on. Time out. Did the Chocolate Holic just… ignore chocolate? An unopened, untouched, gourmet assortment? Should I call a doctor? Do we need a medical team? Because this is unprecedented. This is a code-red, system-failure-level event.”
Chaeryeong startled, the phone nearly slipping from her hands. “What? No, I was just—” she fumbled, grabbing a chocolate at random and popping it into her mouth too quickly. The rich hazelnut cream tasted like dust. “I was just thinking.”
“Thinking,” Ryujin repeated, one eyebrow arching high. She leaned against the doorway, crossing her arms. “Sure. And I’m just casually observing that you’ve been ‘thinking’ in that exact spot, with that exact expression, for forty-five minutes. About the song?” Her tone made it clear she wasn’t buying it.
“The song is… complex,” Chaeryeong mumbled, her eyes dropping back to her phone.
“Mhm.” Ryujin pushed off the doorframe, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “Well, don’t think too hard. You’ll short-circuit your cute little brain.” She muttered under her breath as she walked away, “Thinking. Yeah, right.”
Later, Lia found her. The drama was playing on the TV, a flashy historical romance, but Chaeryeong’s eyes were unfocused. Under her breath, almost inaudibly, she was humming the unresolved melody of the missing bridge, a looping, aching phrase that went nowhere. Lia didn’t say a word. She simply picked up the soft fleece blanket from the armchair, unfolded it, and draped it gently over Chaeryeong’s shoulders. She gave her shoulder a soft squeeze, caught Chaeryeong’s briefly startled gaze, and smiled a small, deeply knowing smile before gliding out of the room.
Chaeryeong sank deeper into the couch, the blanket a feeble shield. On screen, the drama’s protagonists, having survived countless battles, finally found a moment alone in a moonlit garden. The music swelled. The hero cupped the heroine’s face, his thumb stroking her cheek. They leaned in—
Chaeryeong’s hand flew to her own lips, her fingers absently tracing them. She wasn’t seeing the actors. She was seeing June’s face, exhausted and open in the studio lamplight. The way he’d look at her sometimes, a question held in the silence between words. What would it feel like if he—
She caught herself with a jolt, a hot flush crawling up her neck. “Ugh, get a grip,” she hissed to the empty room. In a frantic, punitive motion, she grabbed three chocolates from the bowl and shoved them all into her mouth at once, chewing with grim determination as the saccharine sweetness overwhelmed her senses.
Sunday Evening
Chaeryeong was buried in his hoodie. The oversized grey fabric swallowed her, the cuffs stretched past her fingertips. She was on her bed, laptop open to her meticulously organized solo album vision board—mood images, color palettes, lyric snippets. She wasn’t seeing any of it. She was hugging a pillow to her chest, her face half-buried in it, breathing in the faint, lingering scent that clung to the hoodie’s collar: a mix of studio dust, clean laundry, and something uniquely, undeniably him.
The door flew open without a knock.
Yuna barreled in with the force of a tropical storm, followed by Yeji, who closed the door with a calm, definitive click. This was not a casual visit. This was an intervention, and the leaders had arrived.
“Okay. Enough,” Yuna declared, flopping onto the bed so dramatically the mattress bounced. She pointed an accusatory finger. “Unnie, you’ve been walking around this dorm like a ghost who lost her unfinished business. And you’re wearing that hoodie again. It’s Sunday. You wore it Saturday. And I’m pretty sure you slept in it Friday night. The math is mathing, and the math says you’re down bad.”
Chaeryeong clutched the pillow tighter, a defensive barricade. “It’s comfortable. It’s just a hoodie. It’s… it’s soft.”
Yeji sat gracefully on the edge of the bed, her presence a steady counterpoint to Yuna’s whirlwind. Her voice was gentle but unyielding. “Ryeong-ah. You’ve been absent even when you’re here. You missed your turn during Mario Kart yesterday. You never miss Mario Kart. You live for destroying Ryujin on Rainbow Road.”
“You let Ryujin-unnie win,” Yuna interjected, horror-stricken. “Ryujin. The one you’ve been trying to annihilate in that game since debut. She did a victory lap around the dorm. She was singing her own theme song. It was humiliating to witness.”
Chaeryeong’s hand flew to her hair, twisting a nonexistent strand. Her eyes darted anywhere but at them. “I’m just… stuck. The song. ‘Amber Hours.’ The final bridge. We can’t figure out what’s missing and it’s been weeks and I keep hearing it in my head but the piece won’t come—it’s like a word on the tip of my tongue, and it’s driving me crazy—”
Yuna cut in, not unkindly but with blunt finality. “Unnie. Respectfully. It’s not the song that’s stuck. It’s you. You like him. Like, like him like him.”
Chaeryeong froze. The air left her lungs in a soft whoosh. All the practiced denials evaporated. She just stared at Yuna, her eyes wide and guilty.
“He’s my producer,” she whispered, the protest weak even to her own ears. “We work together. That’s… that’s what it is. Professional.”
Yeji reached over and took Chaeryeong’s fidgeting hands, stilling them in her own warm grasp. “That’s what you tell yourself. But I’ve seen you after schedules. You don’t come straight home anymore. You go to that little studio by the river. You come back at 2 a.m. smelling like someone else’s coffee and… and quiet happiness. And you smile. Different from your stage smile. Different from your ‘I just ate good chocolate’ smile. It’s… softer. Like you’ve got a secret you’re treasuring.”
“It’s the ‘I’m falling for someone and I’m terrified’ smile,” Yuna supplied, nodding sagely. “I’m the maknae, not blind. I know things. I watch dramas. This is classic drama behavior.”
The carefully constructed dam inside Chaeryeong began to crack. Her chin trembled. “What if I…” Her voice dropped to a threadbare whisper, confessing her deepest fear to the safe darkness of her own lap. “What if I tell him and it ruins everything? The song isn’t even finished. We’ve been building it for weeks. It’s… it’s the best thing I’ve ever been part of. If I mess this up, I lose the album and I lose him. Both. At once.”
Yeji’s grip on her hands tightened. “And what if you don’t tell him? You stay scared forever. The song stays unfinished, a ghost between you. And you lose him anyway, slowly, because you were too afraid to try for something real. Which one sounds worse?”
“Unnie, you’re literally the group’s scaredy cat,” Yuna said, her voice softening into encouragement. “You scream at spiders. You jumped three feet when the toaster popped yesterday. But you also survived Sixteen. You debuted. You’re a total savage when you need to be—I’ve seen you destroy Yeji-unnie’s ego with one perfectly timed sentence. This is one of those ‘need to be’ moments. This is your Rainbow Road. Don’t let Ryujin win this one, too.”
Chaeryeong looked from Yuna’s earnest face to Yeji’s steady, supportive gaze. A long, shaky exhale escaped her, and with it, the first hot tear spilled over. Then another. “I like him,” she choked out, the admission a relief and a terror. “I really, really like him. It’s not just the music. It’s… him. The way he rubs the back of his neck when he’s nervous—exactly three times, every time. The way he bought hazelnut chocolate ‘just in case’ before I even showed up that first morning. The way he listened to my stupid, messy demos and called me an artist, not an idol, an artist, and he meant it, I could tell he meant it. The way he didn’t laugh when I screamed on the bench, he just… understood. The way he tucks hair behind my—” She stopped, catching herself, wiping her cheeks with the hoodie’s sleeve. “I’ve never felt this. About anyone. And it’s terrifying.”
Yuna scooted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Then go get him. Finish the song. Finish the feelings. Stop hiding in this hoodie that definitely smells like him, by the way, I can tell from here.”
Chaeryeong took a shuddering breath, the chaos in her mind clearing into a single, sharp point of resolve. She looked at Yeji, her eyes still wet but focused. “Unnie… can you talk to manager-nim? Can I have tomorrow off? Just one day. No lessons, no rehearsals. I need to—I have to go there. Early.”
Yeji was already pulling out her phone, a small, proud smile on her lips. “I’ll handle it. You handle your heart.”
“And bring Hot Producer to the dorm officially sometime,” Yuna added, her playful grin returning. “I want to interrogate him properly. Over dinner. With wine. His wine. He’s paying. Those are my terms.”
Chaeryeong laughed, a wet, hiccupping sound, and nodded. After they left, the room settled into a deep quiet. She sat alone for a long moment, the weight of her confession still humming in the air. She brought the hoodie’s collar to her nose, inhaled his fading scent, and whispered to the silent room, her voice firm, “Tomorrow. No more scaredy cat.”
June’s Studio – Saturday to Sunday Night
Time lost all meaning in the green-gold cave of the studio. Daylight through the high window bled into orange dusk, which faded to black, then grudgingly gave way to grey dawn, and the cycle repeated. June hadn’t left the chair, not really. He’d stumble to the bathroom, to the kitchen for more brutal, black coffee, and return, his body moving on autopilot.
The evidence of his siege was everywhere. Empty coffee mugs formed a precarious tower on the desk. The bag of hazelnut chocolates she’d left behind was now just a crumpled wrapper. And scattered around him like fallen leaves were dozens of notebook pages, each a battlefield of scribbled, crossed-out, and violently circled lyrics.
Fragments, all about her:
* “Eyes that hold every unspoken word / A melody I found but never heard.”
* “Hands that find melodies in the dark / Tracing constellations where you leave your mark.”
* “Hair that falls like a midnight sigh / And I just want to be the one who tucks it back, and tries…”
He’d crumple a page, hurl it at the wall with a grunt of frustration, only to get up moments later, retrieve it, and smooth it out with desperate care, as if destroying the words might destroy the feeling itself.
His own voice, hoarse from disuse and caffeine, was his only conversation. “It’s not a production problem,” he argued aloud to the blinking cursor on the screen. “The frequencies are fine. The arrangement works. The structure is solid. It’s… me. I’m the missing piece. I can’t finish it because I don’t want this to end, and I’m too terrified to say why. Because if I say why, and she doesn’t… then it ends anyway.”
Around 3 a.m., on Sunday night bleeding into Monday morning, his mind finally broke. The overthinking engine ran out of fuel. Exhaustion became a kind of clarity. He sat at the keyboard, closed his eyes, and let his hands fall onto the keys. No plan, no theory, just feeling.
His fingers found a progression—not complex, but profound. A series of lifted, questioning chords that climbed, hesitated, and then resolved not with a triumphant major bang, but with a soft, sustained minor-add-nine, a sound that was both hopeful and aching, a musical question that finally allowed itself a gentle, tentative answer. It sounded like golden light through dusty windows. It sounded like her.
His eyes flew open. He stared at his own hands as if they belonged to a stranger. “That’s it,” he whispered, the sound raw in the silent room. “That’s the bridge. That’s… that’s her.”
A frantic energy seized him. He scrambled, firing up the recording software, laying down the piano track with trembling fingers. He added a soft, warm bassline that held the hope, leaving wide, open spaces for her voice to fill. He wrote the final lyrics in a white-hot rush, the words pouring out unfiltered: “So let the amber hours stretch / Beyond the fading edge of night / I’ll be the one who stays, who catches every light / That falls from you, from you who finally saw me right.”
His hands were shaking so badly he had to stop typing and just breathe for a minute. When he finally clicked ‘Save’ on the file labeled Amber Hours – FINAL MIX v1, the clock on his screen read 7:03 a.m. Monday. He hadn’t slept in over thirty-six hours. He slumped back in his chair, staring at the screen, feeling not exhaustion but a profound, trembling relief. The song was finished. The truth was in it. Now he just had to wait for her.
Monday Morning
He was still slumped there, head buzzing with caffeine and sleep deprivation, eyes glued to the finished waveform on the screen, when a knock echoed through the quiet apartment. Sharp, clear, insistent.
He blinked. It was too early for the mail. Too early for anyone. A slow, irrational hope sparked in his chest. He stumbled to the door, his movements stiff from hours in the chair.
He opened it.
Chaeryeong stood on the other side, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She was wearing his grey hoodie—the one she’d never returned—paired with simple light grey sweatpants. Her hair was down, the untied, slightly messy look he’d come to recognize as her “off-duty” state. Minimal makeup. She looked simultaneously determined and utterly terrified, like someone standing at the edge of a high dive, toes curled over the brink.
“Chaeryeong?” he said, his voice rough and gravelly from lack of sleep. “It’s—it’s early. Like, 7 a.m. early. You usually come in the evening. Is everything okay? Are you okay?” His brain, still fogged with fatigue, defaulted to concern.
She opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed, and then forced the words out in a rushed, jumbled stream. “I needed to—I came because I—there’s something I have to tell you. About the song. About—about us. I’ve been thinking all weekend, and my members staged an actual intervention, and I couldn’t sleep, and I just—I need to say it before I lose my nerve—”
But his face, previously lined with exhaustion, suddenly lit up with a manic, excited energy. He wasn’t hearing her confession; he was bursting with his own. Before she could finish, he reached out and grabbed her hand, his grip firm and urgent.
“Wait—wait,” he said, cutting her off. “I finished it. The song. ‘Amber Hours.’ I was up all weekend. I haven’t slept. I think I’ve had seven coffees. But I finally figured out what was missing. You have to hear it. Right now. Before anything else.”
Chaeryeong blinked, completely derailed. Her carefully rehearsed speech evaporated. “You—you finished it? The bridge? The thing we couldn’t—”
“I finished it,” he said, his eyes blazing with a tired, triumphant joy. “Come on.” He tugged her hand, already pulling her toward the studio, and she let him, her confession temporarily swallowed by overwhelming curiosity and the sight of his exhausted, hopeful face.
He pulled her into the warm, familiar chaos of the studio, guided her not to the usual chair but to the worn sofa, and hit play on the main monitor before she could even sit down properly.
The track filled the room. It started with the verses they’d built together—the intimate, detailed snapshots of golden-hour light and quiet yearning. Then her own voice, soft and dreamy, floated in for the lullaby bridge she’d hummed half-asleep, the melody he’d preserved like a sacred artifact. And then… the new part. The final bridge she’d never heard.
His piano, aching and hopeful, played the progression he’d found at 3 a.m. It wasn’t flashy; it was heartfelt, a series of chords that felt like a heart slowly opening. Then his voice, rough but tender, singing the lyrics he’d written in the dark: “So let the amber hours stretch / Beyond the fading edge of night / I’ll be the one who stays, who catches every light / That falls from you, from you who finally saw me right…” The music swelled softly, not with orchestral grandeur, but with a warm bed of synth and a soft, sustained chord that felt like a long, peaceful exhale. Then it gently faded back into the final chorus, now feeling complete, resolved.
They listened in complete silence, side by side on the sofa. Chaeryeong’s hand drifted unconsciously to her chest, as if trying to hold the feeling inside. Her eyes grew wide, then glassy, shimmering with unshed tears. It was perfect. It was them.
The song ended. The studio was quiet again, save for the hum of the computer.
June turned to her slowly. His earlier excitement had melted into a vulnerable, nervous hope. His voice was barely above a whisper. “So… how is it? Is it—does it work? I changed the bridge completely. I wrote it at like 4 a.m. so if it’s terrible, just tell me, I can rework it—”
Chaeryeong didn’t answer with words.
Instead, she reached out, her fingers finding the soft cotton of his t-shirt. She grabbed a fistful of fabric and pulled him toward her, bridging the small space between them on the sofa, and kissed him.
The kiss was impulsive, heated, a dam breaking after weeks of pressure. It wasn’t gentle or exploratory; it was a direct, desperate transfer of all the feeling she’d been carrying. June made a surprised sound against her lips—a soft, muffled “mmph”—then his hands found her waist, anchoring her, and he was kissing her back instinctively, his body responding before his mind could catch up.
But then Chaeryeong’s brain, always a few steps behind her heart, caught up. She broke the kiss with a sharp gasp, but didn’t pull away—their faces remained inches apart, her hands still fisted in his shirt. She started mumbling rapidly, words tumbling over each other in a panic.
“Oh god—I’m sorry—the song was just so beautiful and I was already emotional and I came here to tell you something important and then you played that and the bridge was perfect and I just—I didn’t mean to just grab you like that, that was so unprofessional, we should talk about the song first, I had a whole speech planned, I practiced it in the mirror three times—”
June cupped her face with both hands, his palms warm against her cheeks, stopping her spiral mid-word. “Ryeong. Stop.”
She stopped. Her lips were still parted, her eyes wide and worried. He looked at her—really looked, his tired eyes searching hers, seeing the fear, the hope, the love all tangled together—and then he leaned in and kissed her again.
This time, he was the one initiating. It was slow, deliberate, a deep and tender question and an answer at once. When he pulled back, his voice was rough with emotion. “I’ve been wanting to do that for three weeks. Maybe four. Since the bench. Please don’t apologize for it. Don’t ever apologize for that.”
They kissed again, deeper this time, and the world narrowed to the soft press of lips, the shared breath, the feel of his hands sliding from her waist to her back. He stumbled backward onto the sofa, pulling her with him, and she climbed onto his lap naturally, knees bracketing his hips, settling against him with a sigh that was half-relief, half-desire.
Between kisses, their withheld confessions tumbled out in fragments—not in one long, formal speech, but broken up by breathless pauses and the desperate need to reconnect physically.
Chaeryeong, against his lips: “The song wasn’t the only reason I kept coming back.”
June, kissing the corner of her mouth, then her jaw: “I know. I hoped. Every time you walked through that door I hoped. I was terrified I was wrong.”
Chaeryeong, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes, her hands on his shoulders: “My members staged an intervention. Last night. Yuna called you ‘Hot Producer’ and Yeji told me to stop being a scaredy cat. Those were her exact words.”
June laughed, a real, bright sound, and dropped his forehead against hers. “I like your members. Remind me to send them chocolates. The most expensive ones I can find.”
“I came here to confess, to finally stop being a scaredy cat,” Chaeryeong whispered, her nose brushing his. “But this… this is far better.”
She kissed him again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him—coffee and sleep and want. Her hips shifted unconsciously against his lap, a small, experimental rock. A soft, involuntary sound escaped her—a tiny moan swallowed by his mouth. He groaned in response, his hands tightening on her back.
They broke for air, both panting, eyes dark and wide with newfound hunger. Her lips were slightly swollen, his hair was a complete wreck from her fingers. Her playful savagery emerged through the haze of nerves and desire.
“So…” Chaeryeong said, her voice unsteady but with a hint of familiar teasing. “You mentioned it once. The first day. ‘Living space and bedroom. Very mysterious.’ Is it… is it finally time for the tour upstairs?”
June laughed, dazed and happy. “You remember that? That was weeks ago. The chocolate and scream day.”
“I remember everything you’ve said to me,” she said softly, her gaze unwavering. “Every single thing.”
He kissed her again, a deep, claiming kiss that left them both breathless. Then he gripped her thighs firmly and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist with a squeak of surprise that melted into laughter. He carried her through the studio door, into the narrow, dim stairwell, and they kept kissing as he navigated the steps—clumsy, giddy, nearly tripping on the top step when she nibbled his earlobe. They stumbled into the hallway wall, both dissolving into breathless, helpless giggles.
Chaeryeong, deadpan against his shoulder: “Romantic. Very smooth. I feel so carried.”
“I’m an indie producer,” June said, grinning as he adjusted his grip on her. “We don’t do smooth. We do heartfelt chaos. It’s in the job description.”
He pushed open his bedroom door with his shoulder—a small, simple room with an unmade bed, a bookshelf overflowing with vinyl records and books, morning light filtering through thin, plain curtains. He laid her down on the mattress gently, as if she were something precious and fragile. He hovered above her, one hand braced beside her head, and just looked at her for a long moment—her hair spread out on his pillow, wearing his hoodie over her own clothes in his bed, her eyes bright with nerves and want and a trust that made his heart ache.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, not as a smooth line, but as a quiet, awed revelation. “I’ve thought it since the bench. Every single time I saw you. I was just too scared to say it out loud.”
She reached up, touched his jaw, her fingers tracing the line of it. He leaned into her palm, his eyes closing briefly, savoring the contact.
He lowered himself, kissing her again—softer now, slower, savoring. His hand found the hem of the hoodie, fingers playing with the fabric, a silent question. She answered by pulling back just enough to grip the hem herself, and in a bold, decisive motion, she pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. Underneath was a simple, pretty bra—light pink, delicate, entirely her.
His breath caught audibly. He just looked at her—not with hunger alone, but with adoration, wonder, and a deep aching tenderness that made her suddenly self-conscious. Her arms instinctively moved to cover herself, crossing over her chest.
“What?” she asked, her voice suddenly small. “Why are you looking at me like that? You’re staring. Again.”
He shook his head slowly, his expression reverent. “Like… I can’t believe you’re real. Like I’ve been writing songs about someone my whole life and she just… appeared on a bench at midnight and started humming my song and screaming at me. And now she’s here. In my bed. Wearing my hoodie. Looking at me like I matter. I’m staring because I’m terrified I’ll blink and you’ll disappear.”
Her bravado crumbled completely. The nerves rushed back in a wave. Her fingers curled into the sheets beside her, and she couldn’t meet his eyes. He noticed the shift immediately. He pulled back, his hands withdrawing to safe, neutral territory on the bed.
“Hey. Ryeong. Look at me.” His voice was gentle but firm. She did, reluctantly. “We can stop. Right now. If you’re not ready, if this is too fast, we stop. No song is worth you feeling pressured. No album. Nothing. You’re worth more than all of it. Okay?”
Chaeryeong shook her head quickly. “No—that’s not—I want this. I really, really want this. I’ve been thinking about it… for weeks. About you. About… this. It’s just…” She took a deep breath, her voice dropping to a whisper barely audible in the quiet room. “I’ve never done this before. With anyone. I’m—it’s my first time. And I’m nervous. And I don’t want to be bad at it. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”
A visible wave of relief washed over his face—not because his desire dampened, but because the fear of misunderstanding dissolved. “Oh. Oh, Ryeong.” He took her face in his hands again, thumbs brushing her cheeks. “You could never disappoint me. Never. This isn’t a performance. There’s no score. No stage. No cameras. It’s just… us. Just you and me, figuring it out together. That’s all it has to be.”
“Really?” she asked, her eyes glistening. “You’re not just saying that?”
“Really,” he vowed. “I like you. Not ‘idol Chaeryeong.’ Not ‘client Chaeryeong.’ You. The woman who screams at benches and hoards chocolate and writes melodies in her sleep. The woman who jumped out at me in a ghost mask and laughed so hard she couldn’t breathe. I like that woman. A lot. An embarrassing, wrote-lyrics-and-fished-them-out-of-the-trash, didn’t-sleep-for-two-days amount.”
Chaeryeong laughed, a wet, relieved sound. “That’s a very specific amount.”
“I’m a very specific person.”
She exhaled, a long breath that seemed to release the last of the tension from her shoulders. “Okay. Okay. I… I’m ready. I trust you.”
He looked down at her, his expression solemn, almost a vow. “I’ll take care of you. I promise.”
He removed his own t-shirt, revealing a torso that was lean, not heavily muscular but defined. She reached up and touched his chest with curious, tentative fingers, tracing the line of his collarbone, the dip between his pectorals. He shivered under her touch.
He lowered himself on top of her, careful not to put his full weight on her, and resumed kissing her—slow, thorough kisses that moved from her lips to her cheek, to the tip of her nose, to her closed eyelids, to her forehead. Each kiss was punctuated by a murmured, fragmented compliment.
“You’re so soft here,” he whispered, kissing the hollow of her throat.
“Your voice does something to me,” he said against her skin as he reached her collarbone.
Her breath hitched. “Good something or bad something?”
He nuzzled the spot, playful. “Dangerous something.” She arched slightly, a silent plea.
When he reached her chest, his hand paused at the clasp of her bra. He looked up, his eyes asking a clear, patient question. She gave a tiny, decisive nod.
He unclasped it with careful fingers, drawing the straps down her shoulders slowly. He cupped her breasts—soft, a perfect fit for his palms—and pressed a reverent kiss to the valley between them. “Beautiful,” he murmured into her skin. “Everything about you.”
When his mouth finally closed over one erect nipple, his tongue circling gently, and his eyes flicked up to meet hers, she released a moan so soft and involuntary it was almost a sigh. He groaned in response, the sound vibrating against her skin. He spent long, devoted minutes there, alternating between her breasts, lavishing attention with his lips and tongue until her breathing was ragged and her hands were fisted in his hair, not pushing him away but holding him close.
He kissed a path down her stomach, over her navel, to the waistband of her sweatpants. He looked up one more time—his eyes always asking silent permission. She lifted her hips in answer, helping him slide the sweatpants and her matching, simple panties off in one smooth, slow motion.
He paused at the sight of her—glistening, pink and perfect, with a small neat patch of hair above. His expression was awed, reverent. “You’re staring again,” she said, shy, her thighs trembling slightly.
“I’m appreciating,” he replied, his voice husky with emotion. “There’s a difference.”
He gently parted her thighs, pressing a soft kiss to the inside of each one before finally lowering his mouth to her center. He started at her clit—gentle, exploratory, reading her every gasp and flinch—then delved deeper, drinking her in like he’d been dying of thirst. Her moans grew in frequency and pitch, soft little cries that spurred him on. He added two fingers, curling them gently inside her, and the combined sensation pushed her over the edge with startling speed. She grabbed his hair, held him there, and came with a silent cry and a full-body shudder that seemed to surprise even her. He didn’t stop—he gentled his movements, working her through the intense waves until she tugged his hair lightly from over-sensitivity.
She guided his face back up to hers, pulled him into a deep, messy kiss, tasting herself on his lips. The intimacy of it made her whimper against his mouth.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, she looked directly into his eyes. Her voice was soft, almost innocent—but the words were anything but. “June… I want you inside me. Please.”
His brain visibly short-circuited. He froze, staring at her like she’d just spoken a language he was still learning. Then she said it again, the same gentle, adorable tone: “June. Please fuck me.”
He groaned, dropping his forehead to hers. “You can’t—you can’t say things like that in that voice. It’s not fair. That’s the voice you use when you’re talking about chocolate. Not—that.”
She smiled, clearly enjoying his struggle, some of her playful confidence returning. “What voice?”
“The voice. The one that sounds like a lullaby. While asking for—that. It’s going to kill me.”
“A good death?” she teased, shifting her hips beneath him.
“The best. The absolute best death.”
He quickly shed his remaining clothes. She watched, her eyes curious and wanting. When he instinctively reached for the bedside drawer, she stopped him with a gentle hand on his wrist. “You don’t need it. I’m on the pill. And I want—I want to feel you. All of you. For my first time. Please.”
His eyes squeezed shut. He took a long, steadying breath. “You’re going to be the end of me. In the best possible way.”
He positioned himself above her, settling between her legs, and took himself in hand, rubbing the tip through her slick folds, coating himself in her. She squirmed impatiently. “Don’t tease,” she whined.
“Not teasing,” he said, his voice strained with control. “Preparing. You’re—you’re really tight, and I don’t want to hurt you. I won’t hurt you.”
He began to push in, achingly slow. She gasped at the stretch, the unfamiliar fullness, her hands flying to his shoulders, nails pressing lightly into his skin. He paused, letting her adjust, kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips—soft, reassuring, patient—before inching deeper, millimeter by millimeter. When he was finally fully seated, he stopped completely. They were both panting, foreheads together, connected in every possible way.
Chaeryeong’s voice trembled with wonder. “I feel so… full. You’re everywhere. Is it always like this?”
June’s response was strained but tender. “I don’t know. It’s never been like this for me. Not ever. Not even close.”
He began to move—slow, shallow thrusts that gradually deepened as her body relaxed and welcomed him, finding a rhythm that matched the way her hips started to meet his tentatively. Her second orgasm built differently—deeper, more consuming, a slow burn that tightened her core—and when it broke, she cried his name into the quiet room and he felt a sudden, hot gush around him, a flood of release that startled them both.
“Did you just—?” he asked, amazed, still moving gently within her.
“I don’t know—I don’t know what that was—” she managed, mortified and blissful all at once.
“That was incredible,” he whispered, kissing her shoulder. “You’re incredible.”
When she calmed, still trembling with aftershocks, she pushed lightly at his chest. “I want to—can I be on top? I want to try.”
He rolled them carefully, settling her above him in a cowgirl position. She moved tentatively at first, finding a rhythm, a slow rise and fall, and then her confidence built as she saw the effect on his face—his eyes dark with pleasure, his hands gentle on her hips. She rode him at her own pace, hands braced on his chest, her hair falling around her face like a curtain, utterly unguarded. He watched her like she was the sunrise after a long night.
When her rhythm faltered and she clenched tightly around him—close to another peak—he felt his own control unravel. He gripped her hips and thrust up from below, meeting her movements, fast and deep, chasing the edge with her. “Together—I’m—” he gasped, his voice breaking.
“Yes—yes—June—” she broke, her voice shattering into a wordless cry as the sensation overwhelmed her. They shattered together, a shared, explosive release that tore through them both—his hips driving up into her one last, deep time as her inner muscles clenched and fluttered around him in rhythmic pulses, milking his own climax from him in hot, urgent spurts that filled her, a searing intimacy that had them both crying out into the quiet morning air.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of ragged breathing, the hammering of two hearts against each other's skin. He collapsed back onto the mattress, pulling her down with him so she lay sprawled on top of his chest, a boneless, sweaty, spent weight. His semi-erect cock was still nestled inside her, their combined fluids a warm, damp testament on the sheet beneath them. Neither moved to separate. His arms came around her, one hand mindlessly drawing small, lazy patterns on her sweaty back—circles, then music notes, then what might be the letters of her name.
The silence was comfortable, heavy with everything that had been said and done, glowing with a new, profound quiet.
The morning light grew stronger, painting golden stripes across the rumpled sheets and their tangled legs. Chaeryeong’s ear was pressed to his chest, listening to the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat gradually slow to a steady, strong thump. His fingers never stopped their gentle tracing on her skin.
She was the one to break the quiet, her voice soft and thoughtful, muffled slightly against his skin. “The final version… it’s perfect. ‘Amber Hours.’ You really fixed it. The bridge—it was like hearing everything I’ve been feeling but couldn’t say.”
His hand stilled for a moment, then resumed its path. “It wasn’t broken,” he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest beneath her ear. “The song was just… waiting. For me to be honest. I couldn’t finish it because I was holding back. From the music, from you, from myself.”
She lifted her head slightly, just enough to rest her chin on his sternum and look at him. Her eyes were clear, soft. “How did you figure it out? What was the missing piece?”
He was quiet for a long moment, looking past her at the ceiling, gathering the words. Then his gaze dropped back to hers. “I stopped trying to fix the song and started thinking about… you. About us. The bench that first night, how you screamed and dropped your chocolate. The way you made ‘every session starts with chocolate’ a rule. The way you hum in your sleep and it becomes the best melody I’ve ever heard. The way you’re terrified of everything—ghosts, bugs, toasters—but when it comes to your music, you’re fearless.” He paused, his thumb coming up to brush a stray strand of hair from her cheek. “I wrote what I felt. About you. And it fit. Like it was always supposed to be there. Like the song was waiting for me to admit that I’m falling for you.”
The words hung in the air, simple and devastating. Falling for you.
Chaeryeong stayed silent for an even longer moment, settling her head back down on his chest, feeling the solid, real beat of his heart beneath her ear. Then she spoke again, quieter. “We should start working on the next track soon. Track two. We have a whole album to finish.”
A teasing lilt entered his tired voice. “Was this all an elaborate scheme to keep me producing your album? Seduce the indie producer so he can’t say no to track two?”
She lifted her head fully now, propping herself up on her elbows to look directly into his eyes. Her expression was suddenly dead serious—no teasing, no deflection, just raw, unveiled truth. “No. It wasn’t about the album. It was about me thinking about you for weeks—every minute, every spare thought. My feelings growing so fast and so big I couldn’t contain them inside me anymore. It was about me finally giving myself to you. Completely. Not to a producer. To you. June. The person. I’ve never done that before—given myself to anyone. But I wanted it to be you. Only you.”
They looked at each other. Both of their eyes were shining with unshed tears and raw, unguarded feeling. Neither of them spoke for a long, suspended moment. The air was thick but not uncomfortable—full, heavy with a truth finally spoken aloud, a bridge not just in a song, but between them, now irrevocably crossed. He reached up and tucked a strand of her damp hair behind her ear, his thumb lingering on the apple of her cheek, catching a single tear that escaped.
He broke the silence finally, his voice a little hoarse. “We should… get up. Get freshened up. And then start on the next track—I actually have some ideas, if you want to hear them. Maybe we could grab some lunch after. In a nice restaurant. With menus and chairs and other people. Like an official date. A real one. If you want. If that’s not too—”
Chaeryeong laughed—that bright, unguarded, bell-like sound he’d come to love. “That all sounds perfect. All of it. Except—” She shifted slightly, winced, and then grinned up at him, a playful, satisfied spark in her eyes. “—I don’t think I can walk two steps right now without falling over. You might have to carry me to the shower. And maybe to the restaurant. Possibly everywhere, for the rest of the day.”
June grinned, a wide, effortless smile that transformed his tired face. He was already shifting, carefully slipping out of her and gathering her limp, pliant body into his arms in one smooth motion. “I seem to recall carrying you up here. I’m getting good at it. It’s becoming my specialty.”
As he lifted her, she wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling into his shoulder, her voice sleepy and content. “Next track idea: ‘Stairway Fumbles.’ About a producer who almost dropped his artist on the stairs.”
“That’s a terrible title,” he chuckled, carrying her naked and glorious toward the bathroom.
“You’re right,” she sighed, feigning deep thought. “I’ll workshop it. Over chocolate.”
“I’ll buy hazelnut,” he said, nudging the bathroom door open with his foot.
“It’s a date,” she murmured, her eyes already drifting closed against his skin. “Our second one.”
He carried her into the steamy warmth soon to come, the bathroom door closing softly behind them. A moment later, the sound of water starting to run whispered through the thin walls. And then, faint but unmistakable, came the sound of one of them humming the bridge of “Amber Hours”—the new, perfect, hopeful bridge. A pause, and then the other voice joined in, harmonizing softly, effortlessly, a private duet for two.
The End
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K-pop stories of passion, possession and blurred boundaries 💦 Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/electro469 Fanprose: https://fanprose.com/user
Trigger Warning : This stories theme were contained with Step-incest, Step Mother-Son, Step Father-daughter.
Type: One shot.
[stepmother] [Stepdaughter]
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Look at doctor Sung Jinwoo, isn't he handsome and charismatic. I heard he was very popular among the doctors in the hospital, handsome and smart, the type of husband you want.
It's a pity that he just married a Japanese woman, Minatozaki Sana, His wife is so beautiful, a famous fashionista and has a large number of followers on social media. Even though she already has two children but her body shape curves hourglass, I even heard that she is a fashion model.
You know his eldest son, Sung Suho, isn't athletic and I heard he was selected as a basketball captain at his high school. Didn't his team win the gold climb thanks to his role as team captain.
Her stepdaughter is also beautiful as an angel, her name is Sullyoon, isn't it. I heard that she is the most outstanding female student in the academic field at school, always ranked first and is a representative of the science competition at her school.
That's what everyone who knows Jinwoo's family says but they don't know what it really is....
****
The cake sat in the center of the dining table, its frosting gleaming under the dimmed chandelier.
"Happy Family Anniversary" looped across the surface in elegant cursive, the letters slightly smudged where Sana's fingertip had swiped through the icing earlier—testing the sweetness, she'd claimed, though the hungry flicker in her eyes suggested something else entirely. Jinwoo adjusted his glasses, watching as Sullyoon traced the edge of the cake knife with deliberate slowness, her usual academic precision replaced by something far less clinical.
Suho leaned back in his chair, the basketball captain's jersey stretched tight across his shoulders.
"Shouldn't we cut it already?" he asked, but the way his gaze lingered on Sana's lips betrayed his impatience for something other than dessert.
Jinwoo cleared his throat, loosening his tie as the air thickened—not from the summer heat, but from the unspoken tension coiling between them.
The cake wasn't celebrating twelve years of marriage. It marked twelve months since they'd stopped pretending this was a normal family.
Sullyoon's laughter rang like wind chimes as she settled onto Jinwoo's lap, her school skirt riding up just enough to reveal the lace trim of her thigh-highs.
"Let me feed you, daddy," she murmured, pressing the forkful of cake toward his lips with an exaggerated pout.
The sweetness exploded on his tongue—vanilla layered with something darker, like the way her hips shifted ever so slightly when his fingers dug into the plush curve of her ass. Neither of them acknowledged the touch; Sullyoon merely tilted her head, strands of hair brushing his cheek as she asked.
"Delicious , right?"
Jinwoo nodded as swallowed another bite of cake, the sugar turning cloying as Sullyoon squirmed in his lap—whether from discomfort or encouragement, he couldn't tell, and the ambiguity sent a thrill down his spine. His thumb hooked under the waistband of her panties, the pad grazing warm skin.
Across the table, Sana cradled Suho's head in her lap, her manicured nails trailing idle patterns along his jawline. The basketball captain's jersey had ridden up, revealing a strip of toned abdomen as he leaned into her touch, his lips parting obediently when Sana pressed a bite of cake between them.
"Is it delicious , baby?" she murmured, thumb swiping a fleck of frosting from his lower lip.
Suho's answering groan vibrated against her thigh, his fingers tightening around the hem of her silk slip dress. The fabric slid higher, baring the smooth expanse of her legs, but neither of them glanced at Jinwoo—no hesitation, no guilt, just the quiet certainty of shared rituals.
Sullyoon exhaled sharply against Jinwoo's collar, her breath warm as she twisted to watch the scene.
"Mom's being greedy again," she whispered, nipping at his earlobe with sudden teeth. Her hand guided his deeper beneath her skirt, the lace of her panties already damp beneath his fingertips.
"She knows Suho can't resist her cakes."
The double entendre curled like smoke between them, underscored by the wet sound of Suho sucking Sana's fingers clean. Jinwoo's pulse stuttered—not from shock, but from the familiar ache of watching his family slot together in ways that should've fractured them.
After a years marriage, actually Jinwoo and Sana have no interest in each other, for one reason, not my type.
Instead, Jinwoo is more attracted to Sullyoon, Sana's daughter. Cheerful and spoiled girl.
Jinwoo remembered the first time he met Sullyoon—how her gaze had skittered away from his like a spooked deer, how her fingers had twisted the hem of her school blouse into wrinkled knots. He’d pretended not to notice the way her cheeks pinkened when he reached across the table for the salt shaker, how her breath hitched when their fingers brushed. Later, he’d lie awake replaying that accidental contact, the phantom warmth of her skin lingering on his fingertips like a brand.
Meanwhile, Sana prefers the type of young man who is full of enthusiasm, confidence and athleticism. That's what Sana found in the figure of Sung Suho.
Sana remembered the first time she met Suho—really met him—with the kind of clarity that made her fingertips tingle even now. Jinwoo had been fussing with his watch, lips pursed in that tight-lipped disapproval he reserved for tardiness, when the café door swung open with a gust of summer heat. Suho stood there, his basketball jersey clinging to his chest in damp patches, hair plastered to his forehead from whatever impulsive sprint had brought him here late.
"Sorry," he'd panted, flashing a grin so bright it should've come with a warning label. The apology was perfunctory; his eyes, though—those locked onto Sana with an intensity that made her stir her iced coffee three times too many. The straw clinked against the glass like a nervous metronome.
Jinwoo had known from the start that Sana wasn’t the kind of woman who would ever fit neatly into the role of a demure housewife—not that he’d wanted one. Likewise Sana, also doesn't like Jinwoo's rigid style.
It wasn’t disliked; it was something closer to mutual recognition, two predators circling each other without ever bothering to clash. He’d married her for convenience, a tidy arrangement that gave them both social legitimacy while leaving their real desires untouched.
The wedding had been a masterclass in plausible deniability—peonies arranged just so to obscure the way Sana's fingers lingered on Suho's bicep when they posed for family photos, the cut of Jinwoo's tuxedo jacket hiding how his palm slid beneath Sullyoon's bridesmaid dress during the first dance. The guests sighed over the blended family's picture-perfect harmony, never questioning why the newlyweds exchanged rings with more ceremony than a kiss.
Later, when the hotel suite door clicked shut behind them, Jinwoo loosened his tie with one hand while the other tugged Sullyoon into the adjoining bedroom by her sash.
"You looked beautiful today," he murmured against the shell of her ear, savoring the way her pulse fluttered under his lips like a trapped bird.
The chiffon of her dress pooled around her ankles with a whisper, and for once, the straight-A student had no clever retort—just a gasp when his teeth found the sensitive spot below her jaw.
In the suite's main bedroom, Sana perched on the edge of the king-sized bed, her wedding gown unzipped to the small of her back. Suho hovered near the minibar, cracking open a soda can with excessive force, the fizz echoing his nervous energy.
"You don't have to pretend with me," Sana said, peeling off one satin glove with her teeth.
The deliberate slowness of the gesture made Suho's throat bob—she'd practiced that move in the mirror for weeks, timing it to the exact second his resolve would fray. His basketball captain's discipline crumpled when she hooked a finger into the waistband of his slacks, pulling him closer with a laugh that vibrated against his collarbone.
"All those trophies," she mused, "and you're still scared of little old me?”
Present day.
The king-size bed creaked under their combined weight as Father and son seemed to be waiting for something that made them impatient.
The bathroom door remained stubbornly closed, the faint sound of giggles and rustling fabric slipping through the gap like a promise. Jinwoo adjusted his glasses, the lenses fogging slightly from the steam curling beneath the doorframe.
"They're taking longer than usual," Suho, remarked.
“Just wait it, Son”, The father pointed to the direction of his glasses.
The bathroom lock clicked open with theatrical slowness. Sana emerged first, her hips swaying with the practiced ease of a runway model—except no fashion week had ever featured lingerie this deliberately indecent. The pastel pink straps of her teddy clung to her curves like a second skin, the lace barely containing the swell of her breasts as she paused at the foot of the bed.
"Happy anniversary, boys," she purred, dragging a manicured nail down Suho's skin. The basketball captain's breath hitched audibly, his fingers digging into the sheets as Sana climbed onto the mattress with feline grace, her knees bracketing his hips.
Sullyoon's entrance was quieter but no less devastating. She hovered in the doorway, her white chemise translucent under the bedroom lights, the shadow of her nipples visible through the fabric as she bit her lower lip in faux shyness. Jinwoo's throat went dry. She'd worn her hair down tonight—a rare deviation from her usual schoolgirl ponytail—and the dark waves framed her face like a Renaissance painting gone deliciously wrong.
"Daddy," she murmured, padding toward him with bare feet, "Do I look hot and sexy enough for you, tonight ?" The question was a blade wrapped in silk, a reminder of all the times he'd called her his little girl while his hands taught her otherwise.
Jinwoo’s fingers twitched against Sullyoon’s thigh, the lace of her panties damp beneath his touch as if she’d been waiting for this all evening—maybe longer. Her breath hitched when his thumb slipped beneath the fabric, tracing the crease where her leg met her hip with deliberate slowness.
"You're so beautiful, princess," Jinwoo murmured against Sullyoon's jaw, his breath warm where it ghosted over the rapid flutter of her pulse.
The endearment made her squirm—not from discomfort, but from the way it coiled heat low in her belly, the contradiction of being called childish while his fingers mapped the adult curves beneath her chemise. When she opened her mouth to protest, Jinwoo swallowed the words with a kiss that started slow, almost chaste, until the tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips and she gasped into his mouth.
The aggression came not in force but in persistence—the way Jinwoo's hands slid from her hips to her waist, then higher, as if cataloging every inch of her. Sullyoon arched into the touch, her fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer, nails scraping his scalp when his thumb finally brushed the peaked hardness of her nipple through the sheer fabric. The sound she made was half whimper, half moan, swallowed by Jinwoo's mouth as he deepened the kiss, his teeth catching her lower lip in a way that sent sparks down her spine.
Looks like the shy princess has started to get bold," Suho drawled from across the room, his voice dripping with amusement as Sullyoon's fingers twisted tighter in Jinwoo's hair.
She broke the kiss just long enough to shoot him a glare sharp enough to carve glass, her chest heaving against Jinwoo's in a way that made Suho's smirk widen. Then she was surging back into Jinwoo's mouth with a hunger that left no room for hesitation—tongue tangling with his, teeth nipping at his lower lip like she wanted to devour him whole.
Sana caught Suho's chin between her fingers, tilting his face up to hers with effortless dominance.
"Let your little sister have fun with your father," she murmured, her thumb brushing over his parted lips before she dragged it downward, tracing the column of his throat.
"Let's both enjoy ourselves."
The command was velvet-wrapped steel, and Suho shuddered as she guided his head against the plush swell of her chest, the lace of her teddy scratching deliciously against his flushed cheeks. He inhaled sharply—vanilla and something darker, the scent of her skin layered with the musk of want—before Sana's fingers carded through his hair, holding him there as she arched into his mouth.
Suho's fingers trembled against the clasp of Sana's teddy—not from inexperience, but from the way her smirk dared him to fumble. The pink straps fell away with a whisper, her breasts spilling into his palms like overripe fruit, still warm from the heat between them. Moonlight caught the light flush spreading across her skin, the pink of her nipples darkening as Suho's thumbs circled them with worshipful slowness.
"Look at you," Sana breathed, arching into his touch with a roll of her hips that made the mattress creak. "My greedy little athlete."
The first lick was tentative, Suho's tongue darting out to trace the stiff peak before he sealed his mouth over it with a groan that vibrated against her flesh. Sana's fingers fisted in his hair, holding him there as he suckled with the single-minded intensity of a starving man—teeth grazing, lips pursing around the areola until her back bowed off the bed.
"Urgh... You love it, dear," she gasped, her other hand guiding his head to her neglected breast. "Your stepmother's breasts taste better than any trophy, don't they?"
Suho lifted his head just enough to pant, "Yes, Mom," before diving back in, his lips glistening with her arousal as he switched sides.
"Your tits are so soft and fluffy", that turned pain into pleasure, the angle of his tongue that made her thighs clamp around his hips.
Meanwhile Jinwoo's fingers moved with the precision of a surgeon—slow, deliberate strokes that made Sullyoon's breath stutter against his collarbone. The lace of her panties had long since been pushed aside, the fabric damp where it pressed against his wrist as he curled two fingers inside her, the heel of his palm grinding against her clit in lazy circles.
"Urgh... Daddy, your fingers are inside me..." Sullyoon gasped, her hips jerking into his touch like a marionette whose strings had been tugged too hard. Her chemise rode up around her waist, the sheer fabric clinging to her sweat-slicked skin as she arched against him.
"I like that... Oh god."
Jinwoo grinned against the flutter of her pulse, his teeth scraping the delicate skin of her shoulder blade before soothing the sting with his tongue.
"You're too wet for dad, princess," he murmured, the words hot against her ear as his thumb circled faster, the pad rubbing rough over her swollen clit.
glock glock
The wet echoed obscenely through the bedroom, syncopated with the creak of mattress springs as Sana bobbed her head with the practiced rhythm of a woman who'd rehearsed this in mirrors.
Her lips stretched obscenely around Suho's cock, the pink lace straps of her discarded teddy still draped over one shoulder like a fallen banner of surrender. Suho's fingers clenched in her hair—not pulling, just anchoring himself as his hips jerked involuntarily, the head of his cock bumping against the back of her throat before she swallowed him down again with a hum that vibrated along his length.
"Urgh... Fuck... Mom," he gasped, the honorific twisting into something filthy as her tongue curled under his shaft, "your mouth feels so awesome around my cock."
The compliment dripped from his lips like the spit slicking her chin.
Sana smiled around the thick length filling her mouth, her lips stretched taut as Suho's cock bumped against the back of her throat—not a flinch, not a gag, just the deliberate press of his swollen tip against the tight ring of muscle before she swallowed him down deeper. The sound he made was ragged, half-strangled, his fingers tightening in her hair as she hollowed her cheeks and took him to the hilt.
Sullyoon arched against the sheets with a choked gasp, her fingers twisting in Jinwoo's hair as his tongue lapped at her with the desperation of a man who'd found his only source of hydration.
"Mmph... Daddy... Daddy... Your tongue—" The words shattered into a moan when he curled it just so, the flat of his tongue dragging slow and wet from her fluttering entrance to the swollen bud at her apex.
Her thighs trembled around his ears, the musky scent of her arousal thick enough to taste—and Jinwoo did, savoring the tang on his tongue like a connoisseur of some forbidden vintage.
He'd mapped this terrain a dozen times before, could navigate the hitch in her breath when he flicked over that sensitive spot just left of center, the way her hips jerked when he sealed his lips around her clit and sucked gently.
But tonight—anniversary night—he took his time, tracing lazy circles with the tip of his tongue until her whimpers turned pleading, until the lace straps of her chemise dug into her shoulders from how hard she was pulling at them.
"Please," she gasped, her voice cracking on the syllable, "please, daddy, I need—”
Jinwoo's breath hitched—not at the words, but at the way Sullyoon's fingers trembled against his scalp, her usual eloquence reduced to fractured syllables.
He kissed that dip slowly, savoring her shudder before murmuring, "Say it again." His teeth grazed her pulse point. "Properly."
Sullyoon's hips jerked against his mouth, her thighs clamping around his head as she gasped, "I need your cock, Daddy—" The last word cracked into a moan when Jinwoo's tongue plunged inside her without warning, fucking her with shallow thrusts that left her dripping.
The mattress groaned under their combined weight as Sana rolled her hips with the precision of a dancer, each downward thrust spearing herself deeper onto Suho's cock. Moonlight caught the sweat slicking her spine, the damp strands of hair clinging to her neck as she arched back, her hands braced against Suho's thighs for leverage.
"Oh... fuck..." she gasped, the words fracturing as Suho's hips jerked upward to meet her, the slap of skin against skin punctuating each movement.
"Fuck Mommy like that, baby—your cock feels so good inside me."
Suho's hands slid up her thighs, fingers digging into the plush flesh of her hips as he guided her movements, his grip tight enough to leave bruises.
"Mom, I love inside you—" he choked out, the honorific twisting into something filthy when she clenched around him, her inner muscles fluttering like a vice. Sana's laugh was low and throaty, her nails raking down his chest as she leaned forward, her breasts swaying just above his mouth.
"Say it again," she purred, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles that made Suho's back bow off the bed. His cock twitched inside her, the thick length of him stretching her impossibly wider with each shallow thrust.
"Tell Mommy how much you love it.”
The pillow muffled Sullyoon's cries but did nothing to hide the way her fingers clawed at the sheets, the fabric twisting between her knuckles as Jinwoo's thrusts drove her forward with each snap of his hips. Her chemise had ridden up around her waist, the delicate lace straps sliding down her shoulders to pool at her elbows—a half-undressed vulnerability that made Jinwoo's grip tighten on her hips, his thumbs digging into the dimples just above her ass.
"Oh, Daddy—" she gasped, the words fracturing when he angled deeper, the swollen head of his cock grinding against that sweet spot inside her that made her vision whiten.
"So deep, daddy, your cock... So deep inside me—"
Jinwoo's chuckle was dark, roughened by lust as he leaned over her, one hand sliding up to fist in her hair and tug just enough to arch her back. The new angle made Sullyoon sob, her thighs trembling as he pistoned into her with relentless precision, each stroke measured to drag against her walls in a way that left her dripping.
"You're so tight, princess," he murmured, his breath hot against the shell of her ear as his free hand groped her bouncing breast, pinching her nipple between thumb and forefinger until she keened, "Daddy isn't bored by your pussy."
She could feel him everywhere: the stretch of him filling her, the calloused drag of his palm over her nipple, the possessive grip on her hipbones that would leave bruises by morning. But it was the way his cockhead ached against her deepest point that unraveled her, the relentless friction coiling heat low in her belly until her moans turned pleading.
"Please—" she whined, her voice breaking as Jinwoo's pace stuttered, his thrusts turning shallow just to watch her squirm. "Daddy, please—”
The headboard slammed against the wall with the force of a battering ram, each impact timed to Sana's ragged cries as Suho drove into her with the single-minded intensity of an athlete chasing victory. The mating press pinned her beneath him—her legs hooked over his shoulders, her spine arched into a perfect curve that left her completely vulnerable to his relentless thrusts. Sweat dripped from Suho's brow onto Sana's heaving chest, mingling with the smeared lipstick around her gasping mouth.
"Fuck... fuck... harder, baby," she demanded, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave crimson trails.
"Break me."
Suho obeyed with a snarl, his hips pistoning faster, the obscene slap of skin echoing through the bedroom as he bottomed out inside her with every stroke. "Feel that, Mom?" he panted, his voice rough with exertion. "How your son's perverted dick stretches you open?" The vulgarity sent a jolt through Sana—not shock, but arousal, her cunt clenching around him as if trying to milk the confession straight from his cock.
"I like it," she gasped, her head thrashing against the pillows. "I love it—the way my stepson abuses my hole like I'm some cheap slut." The words unraveled into a scream as Suho angled deeper, his balls slapping against her ass with each brutal thrust.
The kiss was slow, deliberate—Jinwoo's lips moving against Sullyoon's with the same measured precision as his hips, each thrust timed to the flick of his tongue against hers. Her moans vibrated between them, muffled but unmistakable, the syllables fracturing whenever he bottomed out inside her with that particular angle that made her toes curl.
"Yes daddy... Mmph... So God... Like that... Oh—" Sullyoon gasped, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as he withdrew almost completely, only to push back in with excruciating slowness, the swollen head of his cock pressing against her deepest point until her back arched off the bed.
Jinwoo swallowed her whimpers, his hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, tugging just enough to tilt her head back and expose the flutter of her pulse.
He licked a stripe up her throat, savoring the salt on his tongue before murmuring against her ear, "You take me so well, princess", His hips rolled forward again, deeper this time, the stretch drawing a broken cry from Sullyoon's lips.
"Like you were made for daddy's cock.”
The moon hung heavy and swollen over the bedroom window—a voyeur painted silver by its own guilty light—as Jinwoo's thrusts stuttered into ragged, uneven jerks. Sullyoon's thighs trembled against his hips, her nails scoring crescents into his shoulder blades when he buried himself to the hilt with a groan that ripped from his chest like a confession. Heat pulsed between them, thick and syrupy as his release flooded her in waves, each throb wringing a whimper from her lips.
Across the room, Suho's hips snapped forward one final time, his spine bowing like a drawn arrow before he collapsed against Sana with a sound that was half-growl, half-prayer. The wet slap of skin stilled as he emptied himself inside her, his cock twitching with each spurt that painted her walls white. Sana arched beneath him, her fingers knotting in his sweat-damp hair as she milked him through it, her inner muscles fluttering around him like a vice.
The air hung thick with musk and sweat, the only sound their ragged breathing as the four of them lay tangled in the aftermath. Jinwoo's fingers still gripped Sullyoon's hips, his thumbs pressed into the bruises he'd left earlier, watching with dark fascination as his release spilled from her in slow, viscous rivulets. It pooled between her thighs, dripping onto the rumpled sheets with obscene finality—white against the flushed pink of her skin, stark as spilled ink on parchment.
Across the bed, Sana arched her back with a lazy sigh, her fingers trailing through the mess Suho had left between her legs. "Look at this," she murmured, holding up glistening fingertips to the moonlight, the strands of cum stretching like spider silk before snapping. She turned her head to catch Jinwoo's gaze, her smirk wicked as she dragged her wet fingers across Suho's panting chest.
"Your son fills me up so well."
Jinwoo’s chuckle was low and rough, his fingers still tangled in Sullyoon’s hair as he turned his head to meet Sana’s gaze.
The moonlight caught the smug curve of his lips, the sweat-slicked sheen of his throat as he rasped, "Your daughter can’t stop milking me too."
Suho's grin was all teeth when he turned to Jinwoo, his fingers still slick with Sana's arousal as he wiped them lazily across the sheets.
"Dad," he drawled, the word dripping with mischief, "you've gotta feel Mom's pussy at least once. Bet it's tighter than Sullyoon's."
Sullyoon’s lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout, her fingers tracing idle circles on Jinwoo’s sweat-slicked chest as she flicked her gaze toward Suho.
"At least Daddy’s bigger than your tiny cock," she sing-songed, her voice dripping with saccharine malice.
Suho and Sullyoon bickering like ordinary brother and sister in argue. This situation made Jinwoo and Sana chuckle
Sana's grin curled like smoke as she rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand while the other traced idle patterns through the drying mess on Suho's abdomen. "How about you two fuck each other?" she purred, the words dripping with mischief as her gaze flicked between Sullyoon and Suho.
Jinwoo chimed in, "That's exactly what your mother said," his voice rich with amusement as he watched Suho and Sullyoon's nose wrinkle in disgust.
"Never" . Both of them were rejected.
That's how the night happened—like any other night, woven into the fabric of stories the four of them shared: bodies tangled, breaths mingling, lewd warmth pooling between sheets damp with sweat and other things.
“Um, sorry, I saved it somewhere,” Hyewon mumbles.
The car idles as you glance up at the rearview mirror, watching her scroll through her phone. You haven’t moved since dropping the manager off at the agency. At least everything is going according to plan. That’s all that matters.
“Ah, found it,” she says, leaning forward from the back seat to show you the address on her phone.
“Oh, it’s that café that’s been trending online,” you say, typing the name into your phone.
“Have you been there?” Hyewon asks, leaning back into her seat.
“No. I’ve just been seeing it around lately. Heard it’s nice with a rooftop view.”
“Ah, I see,” she murmurs as you shift the car into drive and pull onto the road, the low hum of the engine settling into the silence. You catch a glance in the rearview mirror, brief and accidental, your eyes meeting before either of you can help it, and just as quickly, both of you look away. The silence lingers a second too long, and as if to break it, she speaks again. “Is this a company SUV?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Does this car have some kind of reinforcement, like bulletproof panels and all that? Or is that just in movies?”
You let out a small chuckle and turn the corner. “We do have some. This one just has reinforced windows and darker tint.”
“Oh, I see.” Hyewon nods, glancing around the car before looking back out the window as buildings pass. “What’s the craziest thing you’ve dealt with as a bodyguard?”
You take a moment to think while she waits. “Probably the number of fights but they’re more like scuffles. They end quickly. After a while, it all starts to feel kind of meaningless.”
She laughs softly, her gaze drifting to your arm resting on the steering wheel. “You’ve got some humor in you.”
It wasn’t really a joke, but you let it pass, a quiet breath of a laugh leaving you anyway. “Thank you.”
“Also… isn’t the weather nice today?”
“It is,” you say, easing off the gas as the light turns red in front of you.
——
At the shop, it isn’t crowded, just a handful of college students hunched over laptops. As you approach the kiosk with Hyewon, she starts ordering quietly while your attention drifts, scanning the room, each table, each face, anyone who might look twice, anyone who might recognize her.
“Is that Hyewon?” the worker at the register whispers to a coworker. You catch it anyway. A few people in line glance over.
“People are starting to notice you, Hyewon,” you whisper to her. “Are you in the mood to greet fans?”
“Of course,” she smiles, swiping through the screen without hesitation.
“May you remind me of the safe words I gave you?” you ask. “Standard procedure.”
“Where’s my manager?” she replies, glancing at you with a teasing smile.
“Okay, just checking.”
For now, at least, people keep their distance, the way they usually do on a slow Tuesday.
“Do you want anything?” she asks, turning to you.
You shake your head. “No, thank you.”
“Are you sure? You should get something. The desserts here look really good.”
“Thanks, but I’m okay.”
She glances at you, a little more insistent this time. “I know you’re working, but at least get something. An Americano or whatever. It’s my treat. I don't want to feel bad."
You hesitate for a second, then give in. “Alright. A small Americano. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She taps it in and pulls out her card.
Before she can pay, you step in a little closer, just enough to block the view of any clear angle from the cameras around. It’s instinct, automatic. She notices how you did it quietly without a word.
“What a bodyguard,” Hyewon thinks, a small, private smile lingering as the order goes through. The receipt prints with a soft whir, and she tears it off, glancing at the number. “Twenty-six.”
She steps aside to wait, and you fall in just behind her, close enough without crowding. The room settles again, low voices, the clink of cups. Then someone stands. You notice it immediately. A girl approaches, stopping a few feet away, careful, almost hesitant. You take her in without staring, quick and automatic. College student, maybe. Glasses, beige jacket, nothing out of place. No tension in her shoulders, no rush in her steps.
“Hi… can I take a quick picture with you, Hyewon?” she asks.
Hyewon glances back at you, just for a second after you give her a small nod.
The girl smiles and steps closer, the moment passing easily, a phone lifted, a quick picture taken, nothing more.
“Number twenty-six!”
Hyewon thanks the fan before stepping away, heading to the counter to pick up the tray.
“Want me to carry that?” you ask.
“No, it’s okay. I’ve got it.”
“Alright.”
You follow a step behind as she heads up the stairs, your attention split between her and the space ahead. The rooftop door swings open, and the air changes immediately, cooler, easier to breathe. You take a quick look around before she reaches a corner table and sets the tray down. You take the seat beside her without thinking and turn towards the door.
She pauses, then glances at you. “I think you’re supposed to face the other way.”
“I don’t sit with my back to a door.”
“Oh.” It comes out quieter this time from Hyewon. She doesn’t say anything else, just settles into her seat, a small pause lingering as she takes that in. From the outside, you know how it looks. A little out of place or funny, maybe even rigid. On any other day, it might feel unnecessary. But not today.
“Here’s your Americano, Oppa,” she murmurs, hoping what she just called you flew over your head. Which it did, surprisingly, out of everything.
“Thank you,” you say and reach for your coffee from her hand.
“I’m guessing you’re counting how many people are up here.”
“Yeah. Ten people. This place will likely get busy in two hours since people will be on break.”
You’re not even looking at her, your attention is set somewhere past her shoulder, on the door, the edges of the rooftop, anywhere but her. Still, you can feel it, the way her gaze lingers a second too long, studying you without trying to hide it.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
Turning to her, your eyes meet each other, “No.”
“Liar,” she giggles, covering her mouth, though the curiosity doesn’t leave her expression. She tears off a small piece of her strawberry muffin, bringing it to her lips as she watches you.
You take a sip of your coffee, letting the moment stretch just enough. “What makes you think I’m lying?”
She hums softly, chewing, taking her time before answering. “Hmm… maybe I’ll take that back.” She swallows, brushing a crumb from her thumb. A small smile forms as she tilts her head slightly. “Then what kind of woman are you into?”
You glance away for a brief second, like the answer isn’t something you keep ready. “Someone who knows how to be kind,” you say. “Not nice all the time. Just kind.” You pause, almost reconsidering whether to add more, then do anyway. “But it usually falls apart if she has a pretty smile.”
“Ah,” Hyewon leans in just a touch, her smile widening, not shy anymore but teasingly. “So you’re a sucker for a pretty smile?” She holds it there a second longer than necessary, like she knows exactly what she’s doing, like she wants you to notice.
You hesitate, enough to give it away without hiding any thoughts. “Yeah. You could say that.”
She lets the smile linger for a second, then looks down at her muffin like nothing happened. The moment shifts, quiet but not the same anymore.
“That’s cute,” Hyewon says. You glance at her as she takes another bite, brushing a few crumbs from her lips without thinking. She looks out over the rooftop for a moment, and you let your gaze linger a second too long before looking away, lifting your coffee to your lips. “Do you… usually talk this much?” she asks, turning back to you. “We didn’t talk much earlier. When I was shopping.”
“Your manager isn’t here to keep you company.”
“Then… am I talking too much?” she asks with a shy laugh.
You shake your head. “No. You’re fine.”
“Oppa,” she murmurs.
You catch it a second later, but don’t react much and only think that she’s just getting comfortable with you, “Hmm?”
“Want a taste?” she asks, holding out her muffin.
“No, but thanks for offering.”
“Are you sure? I have an extra fork.”
You shake your head again, lifting your coffee. “I’m sure.”
“Hmm, okay,” Hyewon says, drawing the muffin back towards herself. She takes another bite, slow, like she isn’t in any rush, and when your eyes meet again, she holds it for a second longer than before, a faint smile still there before she finally looks away.
You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just timing. Two people looking in the same direction at the same second. But your body doesn’t buy it. It lingers a second too long, reads into it more than it should. Hyewon doesn’t look away. Her smile stays instead of passing through. You try to shrink it into coincidence, something easy to ignore, but you’re already paying closer attention than you should be. You’ve noticed the signs before, and you’re trying not to let this turn into something you’ll actually act on.
Hyewon’s not smiling at you just because. She’s flirting with you.
——
After the coffee shop, you walk with Hyewon into her apartment building. She presses the elevator button and glances down at the shopping bags in your hands. “I’m surprised you’re not asking why I spent so much today,” she says.
“I don’t bother to,” you reply, a faint smile touching your lips.
The elevator opens and you gesture her in first. She steps inside, close enough for you to catch the faint trace of her perfume as you follow in. She presses her floor and the doors close. The air shifts, quieter and closer. Hyewon looks down and adjusts her grip on her phone while you keep your gaze forward, both of your reflections blurred together in the polished metal doors.
There’s something sitting beneath it. Something neither of you has said out loud. You don’t follow it too far. Still, the thought lingers longer than it should. You notice it anyway. The way she doesn’t quite relax. The way the silence doesn’t feel empty. Her eyes have been saying enough all day.
“Oppa,” she murmurs, softer this time as she looks up at you.
“Yes?”
She hesitates, and you can see it before she speaks. “I know your job is done once I’m inside, but… would you like to stay for a bit?”
You’re thinking as she glances at you, then looks forward before the elevator comes to a complete stop and opens. There’s hesitation in your thoughts, because for whatever reason, everything seemed to align too well.
“I can stay for a bit,” you say with a quiet chuckle.
She steps out when the doors open, and you follow behind. Your thoughts don’t settle between her and yourself, questions you don’t quite let form. Your gaze drifts at her for a second, lower than it should, before you catch it and pull it back up on how her hair sways with each step. Hyewon stops at her door and keys in the code. The lock clicks. She glances at you over her shoulder, a small smile waiting there as the door opens. “Come in.”
You pause for half a second, then step forward.
Neither of you says anything more. You don’t need to.
“Uh, sorry, it’s a bit messy,” she says shyly as you step inside.
“It doesn’t look messy at all,” you assure her while slipping your shoes off beside hers.
“Come sit,” Hyewon murmurs before quickly moving towards the living room, straightening a few things that honestly didn’t need fixing. You follow after her and sit at the end of the couch, quietly taking in the unfamiliar space around you.
“Seems cozy,” you comment.
She turns around at that and suddenly remembers the shopping bags still hanging from your hands. A shy laugh slips out as she brushes her hair back and reaches for them. “Thank you. I’ll put these in my room. Be right back.”
The apartment grows strangely quiet once she disappears into her bedroom. You hear the soft rustle of bags being set down before she comes back out a moment later and sits near you, not too close, but not far either. Your eyes meet for a brief second before both of you look away like it never happened.
“Can I hang my coat somewhere?” you ask, standing as you slip off your trench coat.
“Oh, here.” She gets up quickly and takes it from your hands. “I’ll hang it for you.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” she says softly. Her fingers brush against yours for only a moment before she walks to the closet by the front door. You glance over without meaning to, watching her hang the coat up before she casually pulls her sweater over her head, leaving only the light blue shirt underneath.
The room feels quieter after that. Not uncomfortable. Just aware of what’s happening. Your intuition is already pulling at you. Every glance lingers just enough to say what neither of you wants to say first.
When Hyewon walks back over, she brushes her hair behind her ear again before sitting beside you, closer this time. Not enough to touch, but close enough that you notice the warmth of her beside you. You catch the nervous habit immediately and decide to ease some of it before she disappears too far into her own thoughts.
“Light blue looks good on you, Hyewon,” you say with a gentle smile.
“Oh.” A soft laugh slips out of her as she looks down for a second. “Thanks.” Her eyes drift over you before she adds, quieter this time, “Your shoulders look broader without the coat.”
You let out a faint chuckle, “Is it that noticeable?”
The second the words leave her mouth, she looks like she wants to take them back. Or maybe not take them back, just hide the fact she noticed in the first place. “Uh… a little.”
Hyewon’s blushing, and you took notice. The way she avoids your eyes for a second too long. And somehow that feels more intimate than if she had looked at you directly.
“May I see your hands?” you ask softly, turning towards her.
You already know you’re crossing into something dangerous. Maybe she knows it too, but it hangs there between you anyway, heavy in the silence. Hyewon hesitates for only a second before lifting her legs onto the couch and turning fully towards you. She offers her hands shyly, slowly, like she’s giving away more than she should. You take them gently, your fingers wrapping around her wrists as your thumbs brush against her skin. Her pulse gives itself away almost immediately beneath your touch. Slowly, you guide her hands upward until they rest against your shoulders. Her fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt, hesitant at first, then holding on a little tighter.
She gulps in the quiet space between you. Her cheeks flush a deep rosy red that spreads all the way to her ears no matter how hard she tries to hide it. Hyewon tries to keep herself composed, but she can already feel the butterflies in her stomach fluttering out of control.
Then your eyes meet. Your gaze drops briefly to her pretty lips before returning to her eyes, holding it there. The air begins to feel extremely intimate. You want to take off her clothes, make her vulnerable to the point where you’ll assure her that being in your arms is the only place to be in the moment.
Her pulse is rising, and neither can she take her eyes off of you or even say a word. So you slowly lean in and close your eyes. Your hand makes its way to her thighs, and before a kiss happens, Hyewon closes her eyes too, lips parting softly as she waits for you to close the distance, but you suddenly stop. Just enough for her to feel it. Just enough for the warmth of your breath to linger against her skin without giving her the kiss she was expecting.
“May I?” you whisper softly, stopping just short of her lips as the faint scent of her perfume lingers
There’s no verbal answer. Hyewon answers by leaning in slowly instead with her breath trembling softly against your lips before they finally meet. The kiss is careful at first, almost hesitant, like neither of you fully wants to acknowledge how long this moment has been building. But restraint slips quickly. Her hand tightens against your shoulder as she kisses you deeper, and you feel yourself give in just as easily. The warmth of her pulls you closer. Every quiet breath, every shaky little pause between kisses draws you further into her, until thinking about where the line was supposed to be no longer feels possible.
You gently guide Hyewon back against the couch without breaking the kiss. She follows you willingly, fingers tightening against your shirt before one hand slips higher to cradle the side of your face like she needs something steady to hold onto. Her legs parted on instinct as she feels you getting hard between her. A soft moan leaves her when you finally pull away just enough to let her breathe. Her chest rises unevenly as she looks up at you quietly.
“You’re good at kissing,” you compliment her and take a quick gulp.
“Did you forget? I’m an actress,” Hyewon shyly chuckles and rubs her thumb on your cheeks.
Maybe you did, or maybe, you’re not thinking straight anymore by how quick the kiss turned into something you weren’t ready for.
You want more of her, greedily.
“I think you’re better than me,” she adds on, biting her lower lip. Hyewon reaches in between the two of you and unbuttons your plain, whir flannel from the top, hesitantly stopping halfway to your exposed chest. You can see the hesitation in her eyes as she looks up at you. “Do you have um… a condom?”
“I don’t,” you reply.
Hyewon hesitates, because again, this whole thing was an unplanned mess.
"Do you want to come over to my place?" you ask, giving her the option. In her mind, she doesn't want to, not because she's unsure, but because you've already gotten this far. And you won't give her a second to ask you to run to the nearest pharmacy. "Or I can go grab one quick, if that's okay."
Hyewon smiles at how thoughtful you are. She looks down and starts unbuttoning your flannel, then meets your eyes again. Those damn eyes of hers pull you in deeper the longer you stare. She's not even naked yet, and her gaze alone is enough to drag you into an infinite void. Her fingers slip beneath your collar and slowly pull the shirt off your shoulders. "I'll give you a chance."
“What chance?” you ask.
She presses her lips before speaking. “We can do it without one.”
“Are you sure?”
She lets out a soft chuckle, her palms slowly exploring your chest. Her lips press together as you watch her nervously swallow. "Yeah… I'm okay with it."
You get a good look at her eyes from above, close enough to catch every small shift in them, the sincerity, the dare, the way she's not even trying to hide either.
“Just promise to not cum in me,” she whispers. Her hands are still on your chest, legs almost locking you in. She’s been staring at you like it’s love at first sight. But love isn’t there, it’s lust that brought you two to this couch, in her own home.
Hyewon’s hands slip back under your flannel and press more insistently against your skin. Feeling her growing impatient, you sit up from her, quickly take the shirt off, and drape it over the couch. Before you can settle again, her hands are already reaching for your pants.
“I won’t. Are you taking any prescriptions?” you ask, and she cautiously gets a feel of your length through the fabric of your pants.
She nods, “Yeah.”
That’s all you needed to know. You respect her boundaries.
So you chuckle to just clear the littlest, tense air in the room, “Why are you so shy to unzip my pants?”
She chuckles along, “I don’t know.”
“Do I make you nervous?”
“Yeah, a little,” she admits.
Without a word, you grab her wrist and guide her hand to your zipper. Hyewon understands the assignment as she slowly unzips your pants. You stare at her, admiring such a beauty, yet so hungry from the look in her eyes. Once she lets go, you get off the couch and offer your hand. Hyewon takes it and stands up beside you.
“May I?” you ask, reaching her waist to take off her shirt.
“Yeah,” she whispers shyly.
So you slowly pull her shirt up, your fingers brushing against her warm skin as her torso is gradually revealed. The soft white bra comes into view, hugging her gently before you fully take the shirt off. Her breathing deepens as you toss it on top of yours on the couch.
You take the lead without waiting any longer, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of her pants as Hyewon curiously watches, slowly sliding them down her thighs and letting them drop to the floor. She can feel the subtle romance in the moment, the way your hands move with such gentle care, the focused attention you give her.
But neither of you are mistaken. This isn't love, even if the feelings are close enough to be misunderstood. Looking at each other, you guide her hands to your pants. She pulls them down and lets them drop to the floor. Now only your boxers and her bra and panties remain. You're setting the tone, slow and steady, and Hyewon is falling into it too.
"Hyewon," you whisper, gently taking her hand as you sit back on the couch. You pull her closer, clearly wanting her on top. She spreads her legs and slowly lowering herself onto your lap.
"He's so sweet," she thinks to herself, watching you reach for her nape and pull her face closer to yours, meeting each other's lips with eyes closed. You love how soft her lips are, how you can feel her back arching and her chest pressing into yours. You hold the side of her face, wanting more, taking in the sounds of your lips against each other's. There's desperation in every kiss.
You deepen the kiss, your tongue gently parting her lips as she lets out a soft, needy whimper. Hyewon's breath hitches every time your thumb brushes her cheekbone. She presses even closer, hips slowly grinding against you, shamelessly rubbing her panties along the thick, hard length of your cock straining through your boxers.
Pulling back just enough to breathe, you rest your forehead against hers, eyes still closed, savoring the shared moment. Her lashes flutter open slowly, revealing her gleaming eyes full of emotion and desire. A shy smile tugs at her lips. She can't say anything, only letting out a soft chuckle and grabbing hold of your shoulders. You move your hands lower, onto her back, her hips, the strap of her bra, anywhere to give her body some attention.
You brush your cheek against hers and trail your lips slowly down the elegant line of her neck. Hyewon turns her head to the side with a soft sigh, giving you full access as her pulse flutters wildly beneath your mouth. Your kisses are light at first, then firmer, sucking gently on the sensitive spot just below her ear. She lets out a quiet, breathy moan as one of her hands slides up to your nape and holds you there.
While your lips keep her distracted with slow, teasing kisses on her neck, your hands slide up her back until your fingers find the hook of her bra and gently undo it, letting it hang loose on her shoulders.
Hyewon pulls back from the kiss with a shy smile and slowly slides off your lap, standing between your legs as she takes off her bra, giving you a perfect view of her tits. She bends her knees, hooks her fingers into your boxers, and tugs them steadily down your hips and thighs until your hard cock springs free. After quickly tossing your boxers to the side, she climbs right back onto your lap. Reaching between your bodies, Hyewon gently wraps her hand around your cock, staring down with a smile as it throbs instantly.
You just can't take in how gorgeous she is with that smile, almost damn near naked in front of you.
She pushes her panties aside with one hand and leans forward while guiding the tip of your cock to her slick entrance with the other. After all the teasing, she finally sinks down onto you. A soft tremor passes between the two of you as your cock stretching her folds.
She bites her lower lip, briefly pausing to take a breath. Your cock throbs halfway inside her walls as a soft moan escapes Hyewon's lips. The two of you share a gaze and she grabs hold of your shoulders for balance, slowly sinking down further with a gasp until your cock fully disappears inside her. It's overwhelming her as she stays still, trying to adjust to how big you are and how her pussy is being stretched. With some effort, she slowly begins to grind on you.
"So big," she shyly murmurs, curling into you, letting out soft cries and whimpers, anything that easily slips from her lips.
"I'll be gentle," you whisper as your fingers slip beneath her panties and get a feel of the tenderness of her ass.
This is Hyewon fighting against herself. This was just the start as she gets used to your cock inside her. But you can't take in how tightly her pussy grips you, how slick she was after all that kissing, so dangerous that you'd love to cum inside her if she dared you to.
As she begins grinding harder, you hear the clear and beautiful moans she makes. You lay back against the couch and take deep breaths. She gently places her hands on your chest and continues to grind slowly, back and forth, in circles. You try to catch your breath and tilt your head back, although it feels endlessly impossible when she's this tight.
"Hyewon," you softly moan, blindly grabbing her hands on your chest, holding her there with no intention of letting go.
She can feel your heart beating beneath her palm, resting flat against your chest. It's the most raw and genuine thing as she gazes down at you. Her own chest rises and falls in shallow rhythms, syncing with yours. The window blinds in her living room are down, tilted just enough for thin lines of light to slip through.
She feels strangely exposed and vulnerable in her own home, like anyone outside could see what's going on behind those blinds. But the feeling of you inside her, this rush of warmth and adrenaline, makes Hyewon melt into you, her body trembling softly as she savors the deep, intimate fullness only you can give her.
Everything feels surreal. The way your hands gripped her wrist, desperate, like you never wanted to leave her. She pauses to catch a breath and gently guides your hands up to her tits.
“It feels good just sitting on it,” she embarrassingly confesses and feels you gently squeezing her tits.
“Yeah?” you gasp. “Show me your bedroom.”
“It’s even more messy there,” she giggles, which you can definitely feel it from being inside her.
“We can make it messier,” you tease Hyewon, gently flicking her hard nipples.
“What?” she utters, holding in a laugh and grinds on your cock to keep it as hard as possible inside her.
“Should we try on your dining table?” you murmur, teasing her again, but it’s more like you’re daring Hyewon.
She brushes her hair before deciding to get off of your cock and take off her panties, then giving you her hand. “Let’s go.”
Okay, you didn’t expect that, but you’ll take her hand as she walks you to the dining table.
Before making any decisions near the table, she leans forward and kisses you again, pulling you into a deep, hungry makeout as she reaches down to stroke your cock. You can't say a damn thing, only match her hungry lips, until Hyewon's other hand reaches back for the table and she leans against it, gently pulling you with her. She tiptoes and sits on the edge, never breaking the kiss for even a second, until she glances down and guides the tip of your cock back inside her.
She grips your shoulders tightly as you slowly push into her again. You hold her leg while your other hand braces behind her on the tabletop. Hot breath fans across your neck, a moan spilling from both of you as she takes you deeper than she ever did on the couch. Her eyes lift to meet yours, half-lidded and hazy with pleasure, struggling to stay open. Quiet whimpers escape her with every thrust. The dark strands of her hair cling to her cheeks.
Her walls flutter and squeeze around your cock with every slow, deep thrust. She’s neither telling you to slow down or be rougher, simply lost in the steady rhythm as her body rocks gently against yours. Soft, needy sounds slip from her parted lips with each thrust, her half-lidded eyes staying locked on yours in a hazy, intimate gaze.
“Oppa,” she moans out desperately as her toes curl. You slow the pace and let the two of you catch a breath, eyes still locked in the quiet moment. You reach up and gently brush the strand of hair from her cheek, tucking it behind her ear.
This subtle gesture changes something in her, more than you realize.
Her eyes soften with a new kind of warmth, the raw desire quietly deepening into something more tender. A slow, involuntary flutter runs through her walls, her body reacting before her mind can catch up. Hyewon gulps and you feel her hands find your face, pulling you in as your lips meet again.
You continue thrusting gently back and forth inside her. She pours everything into you: her heart in this fleeting moment, her body, even her sanity, all completely yours. Each roll of her hips meets yours with quiet desperation, tongue sliding against yours while her slick walls cling tightly around your cock as if Hyewon’s suggestion of you pulling out wasn’t the plan anymore.
You guide her back until she's lying flat on the table, your body hovering over hers, close enough to feel every breath she takes as your hips thrust forward, deeper and harder, one thrust after another, each one pulling a sound out of her. A desperate groan spills out, drawn out and helpless for a few seconds she can barely hang onto, until Hyewon grabs hold of your shoulders and gives you a gentle push. In an instant, you slow down, hearing how heavy her breaths have become.
Maybe it was a little too much for her.
You lean back and give her a moment, lifting her legs together to kiss her ankles and calves while slowly driving into her. She cups her own tits, whimpering with her eyes closed.
Hyewon can't bear how good your lips feel brushing against her legs, each kiss sending her heart fluttering. She can feel the depth of your passion in every touch, aching for you to fill her, to let go inside her. Yet she's torn between desire and restraint.
Her whole body suddenly stiffens, every muscle locking up as you keep pushing through. You realize it only now— she's cumming. Her slick walls clamp down around your cock in strong, pulsing waves. A raw, broken cry tears from her throat, half-sob, half-scream, her voice shaking apart. Breathless whimpers spill out uncontrollably as Hyewon arches and spreads her arms back to grip the edges of the table while her body continues to squirm around.
Your cock throbs as you hold yourself together, slowing to a few last deep strokes until she stops cumming and lets out an exhausted breath. You pull out just in time, your cock throbbing in your hand as her legs slowly part, ready to cum all over her.
She looks at you, then down at your cock while her breaths catch. Hyewon's trying to make a decision she hates to go back on. It's tormenting her the more she wants to stick to what was said.
A wave of shyness washes over her, seeing how shamelessly her legs are spread for you. She only met you today, yet it felt like you're someone she's known for years, someone she could trust. The guilt begins to linger, especially when Hyewon felt like she was the reason the two of you ended up here like this. You see her pondering, but you have no clue what's really going on in her head.
“Should I just let him?” she thinks to herself, looking right at you leaning over her, lowering yourself to give her tits a gentle kiss. Her breaths are still freshly heavy after cumming. You knew there was something Hyewon’s embarrassed about. She feels your warm kisses on her body while your cock drags against her crotch.
“Let’s go to your bed,” you murmur, gently grabbing her hand and getting up together. You smile at her after seeing how self conscious she was after cumming. “Take me to your room.”
She gives in completely, her lips curving into a soft, unconscious smile as yours proves impossible to resist. The difference in your hand sizes matters more than it needs to as she doesn't let go. Hyewon leads you toward her room, but just before you reach the door, you catch her wrist and gently press her back against the wall.
Your body follows, pinning Hyewon there with hunger. You kiss her deeply, slowly, savoring the warmth of her mouth as your hands glide over her curves, tracing her waist, and thumb brushing her hips. A quiet sigh escapes Hyewon. She melts into you, sliding her arms around your shoulders, fingers digging into your hair as she pulls you closer.
Hyewon hates herself for this. For letting you flutter her heart so effortlessly. For melting under the raw, undivided passion you pour into her. Most of all, she hates how convincingly you fuck her— like you genuinely want her, like she’s the only thing that matters. She knows this isn’t love. Deep down, she understands that, but you deserve far more than what she asked of you.
The wet tip of your cock brushes against her stomach while you keep her from talking. She’s not impatient or complaining. If anything, a quiet thrill runs through her.
You slide your hands down to the back of her thighs and gently lift her. Hyewon wraps her legs around your waist with a soft, surprised gasp, her arms tightening around your neck as you carry her into the bedroom. You lower Hyewon onto the bed with care and your body follows hers down until she’s cradled beneath you with her hair spilling across the sheets. Your lips trail along her jaw and neck as you settle between her thighs, savoring the warmth of her skin and the way her fingers tremble slightly while threading through your hair in silent surrender.
Hyewon breaks into a light chuckle as she feels your lips trailing down to her tits that left tingling feelings. “You’re so romantic.”
You smile, taking in the compliment. “Can you turn around and lay flat?” you ask, getting up from her to give Hyewon some space as she does what you asked.
A flush of embarrassment warms her cheeks as she presses her lips together, watching you grab one of the pillows and gently slide it beneath her hips. The soft lift arches her back beautifully, raising her ass towards you.
Gently kneeling over Hyewon, you slowly brush your cock between her folds, sending a jolt throughout her body as you insert your cock gently back inside. She feels half your weight pinning down her lower body and lets out a soft moan.
Greed is getting to her. The mental image of you cumming deep inside her makes Hyewon feel as it should be right to. Your cock is throbbing like you’re begging her to just give you the word. From above, you hear her soft moans, seeing her small hands gripping the bedsheets from the corner of your eyes, mouth parting and clenching each time you thrust deeper. Her eyes keep fluttering open and closing shut like taking your length is the only thing she wants.
“Cum in me. Just say it,” she thinks to herself.
The greed is winning as you gasp, stopping deep inside of her, trying to hold back from cumming. You gently lower yourself and kiss her shoulders. Hyewon can feel how hard your cock is throbbing in her, yet you’re trying to go on for another few minutes.
“Cum,” she forcibly whispers. “Just cum in me,” she lets out an exhausted breath.
You heard her, but you don't answer until after kissing the side of her neck, exhaustedly pulling back just to take in the sight of her gorgeous body laid out on the bed, panting. "You sure?"
“I’ll let you,” she utters, feeling how deep you are inside of her as you adjust your knees from sinking further into her bed.
You savor Hyewon for a few more seconds, your cock lodged deep inside her. You love how she feels, warm and slick, yet unforgivingly tight, as you gently rest a hand on her ass. Before you cum, you want to use every last second to touch her, to yearn for her body one final time before cumming. She's smiling, you catch it from the corner of your eye. You know she wants this kind of attention, to be touched, to have someone who wanted the same as her. Hyewon closes her eyes as the comfort of her bed and the weight of you on top cradle her.
You know she's exhausted after all of this, the couch, the dining table, the bedroom, all those kisses. Hyewon doesn't move an inch, savoring the way you fucked her into exhaustion.
Slowly pushing yourself to continue, you gently pull out until only the tip remains, then drive back in as your cock throbs and Hyewon lets out a louder whimper. Then once more, throbbing harder, pulling back out before sinking in slower as a quiet grunt escapes you. She knows by now how long you've been holding back.
"Hyewon," you softly murmur, panting harder as your cock begins to throb violently inside her. You let out a desperate grunt, planting both hands firmly on the bed beside her head. Your legs stiffen, hips pressing hard against her ass as you hold yourself there, unable to pull back even an inch. Your forehead drops to the back of Hyewon’s neck, lips brushing her skin as her name barely makes it out of your mouth a second time while you’re cumming in her. It feels like you're impregnating her with everything you have, and right now that doesn't feel wrong at all.
She shuts her eyes tight from how deep and hard you're cumming inside her. Hyewon lets out a quiet gasp that quickly dissolves into long, erotic moans. Your breath hitches sharply in your throat, turning into a deep groan. Hyewon loves that, the raw, broken, desperate tone of your voice when you're cumming hard inside her. It makes her clench tighter around you as if she's trying to pull even more out of you.
Your hips twitch and jerk uncontrollably, grinding forward instinctively to push your load even deeper. Another low, strained groan escapes you, the kind she craves that’s rough and helpless, completely lost in the pleasure of emptying yourself into her. Until the final pulse fades, you’re left utterly drained and chest heaving above her back. You stay inside Hyewon for a long moment and brush her hair aside, going in for a kiss along her shoulder and the nape of her neck.
“You okay?” you whisper hoarsely, voice still thick with pleasure and affection. She hums weakly in response, eyes still closed, a small, satisfied smile on her lips. You carefully lift your weight off her, just enough for your cock to slip out and get the last few drops of left over cum onto her ass. You stare at her again, from her pretty face, to her shoulders, down her gorgeous back, and to her ass that your cock is in between. “Stay still,” you force yourself to say and get off the bed.
Hyewon sees you quickly leaving the room to get something to wipe off the cum left over on her ass. In those quiet moments alone, her heart flutters even more. A warm feeling spreads through her chest as she lays still, face half-buried in the pillow, body still tingling. The way you immediately went to take care of her without hesitation, without needing to be asked makes her feel cherished. She bites her lip softly, a small, content smile forming as she listens for your returning footsteps.
Returning to the room with a warm, damp paper towel in hand, you climb back onto the bed carefully so you don’t startle her. Hyewon stays lying on her stomach and breathes softly into the pillow.
Gently, almost reverently, you press the warm towel against her skin. You start by wiping the streaks of cum that’s on her ass, cleaning her smooth cheeks with slow strokes. Then you move lower, softly parting her thighs just enough to wipe the cum dripping from her pussy. You take your time by being extra gentle as you clean every trace of your cum from her. Hyewon’s relaxed under your touch, melting deeper into the mattress, clearly enjoying the soft, caring way you’re taking care of her.
“Thank you,” she quietly murmurs to you, then saying it again in her head. Once you finish wiping her off, you quickly clean yourself and throw it in the trash bin beside her dresser before returning into the bed. You turn Hyewon over and get in between her legs, kissing her stomach, up to her tits, and until your lips find hers. It was the cherry on top that she couldn’t ask for.
You’re both overly satisfied. It’s just that you both can’t afford to stop kissing, and maybe, that’s where mistakes could happen if she stays longer in your arms. She grabs onto both your biceps with gentle pressure to feel your flexed muscles holding yourself up.
Hyewon knew your name since the beginning of today, but never has she said it until now as she quietly whispers your name once you trail your lips down to her neck. You fail to even continue kissing and only look at her. Maybe she did moan your name at some point but you didn’t catch it at all.
“Hmm?” you murmur.
“Nothing,” she shyly chuckles, staring at you, getting all shy and presses her lips.
You slowly get up and off the bed as you give out your hand to pull her up without a word. She instantly takes your hand and gets off the bed to stand in front of you.
“Is he going to kiss me again? Can he go a little longer?” she thinks to herself, meeting each other’s eyes again. Even if Hyewon’s exhausted, if that’s what you were going for, she’ll meet your lips with equal need. If you weren’t, then she’ll take it as is.
“I’ll go bring our clothes,” you tell her.
She smiles, “Okay.”
While you walk out the room, she opens her closet to put on a comfortable set of clothes. The sun is still up. It’s almost two in the afternoon as you take out your phone from your pants to check the time and see two missed calls before putting your clothes back on. You felt like time went unexpectedly slow today.
Walking back to Hyewon with her clothes in your hand, the timing was spot on as you both almost bump into each other at the door.
“Sorry,” you both say and chuckle.
“Bathroom?” you quickly ask.
“Yeah,” she shyly whispers.
You turn to the side to give her space to leave the bedroom. “Where can I put your clothes?”
“Oh, just set it on the bed. I’ll take care of it,” she replies as you gesture her to walk out first.
Hyewon steps out as you walk back in her room and she turns around, “Um, do you have to go somewhere after this?”
“I do, but I’m not in a rush.”
“I don’t want you to be late,” she says.
You collect your thoughts, not wanting to say the obvious of staying beside her for a little longer after having sex. You don’t want Hyewon to feel any kind of guilt on herself.
So you chuckle, wanting to tease her as you clear your throat. “You want me to stay, don’t you?”
“Yeah—no, no, I- I just don’t want to waste your time,” she embarrassingly chuckles after the slight panic.
The hard truth is, you should leave and not stay longer than you should. You know this.
Because she did make your heart flutter the moment you two look at each other again. Her eyes meet yours with such soft vulnerability and warmth that it hits you straight in the chest. They’re glossy, sparkling with leftover pleasure and something deeper, maybe even a little shyness now after having sex. A faint, tired smile curves her lips as she gazes up at you once more.
“It’s um… okay if you need to be somewhere,” she breaks the silence.
You feel like shit, only because those miss calls are somewhat an important matter, but you still want to at least stay for a little longer and keep her company.
So you lean against the door frame and try to take the unsaid hints she’s trying to tell you. “Be honest with me,” you softly smile.
“It’s okay if you have to leave. I’m serious,” she chuckles.
You’re overthinking this, and it was right to do so. She’s letting you go, understanding that you have to be somewhere. But she’d love for you stay for a little longer if there was time.
“Go use the bathroom, I’ll be in the living room waiting,” you say.
She shyly chuckles, holding herself back from a smile that would be definitely embarrassing. “Okay.”
As you walk back to the living room and she’s in the bathroom, you sit on the couch, remembering how it all started here with a kiss, then she undid your shirt and both of you ended up at the dining table the next, until getting into her bed. You can still vividly feel her warm touch and hear the way she moans quietly in your arms. The look in her eyes were desperate enough that you wanted to be the man she decides to not hide anything to.
The moment Hyewon walks out, she can tell there’s something more intimate in the air as you look right at her walking to you. It’s when she understood that you two could have at least be someone to each other, but she thinks she’ll only do you harm.
“May— can I uh, walk you out my door?” she says, smiling, almost in a sad way.
You stand up and follow her as she walks you to the door and grabs your coat for you.
Life gives you two a few more seconds to linger as you both settle at the door before she opens. Hyewon can only look at you putting on your coat, remembering how warm and gentle you were, the kisses that grew her even more hungry. It almost feels heartbreaking, like a fragile, invisible thread was stretching out until it breaks in half once you step out.
Hyewon opens the door, hesitantly until it opens wide. “Thanks for um… spending time with me.”
You can tell from the look on her face. There’s no regret or anything against you, but the obvious look of, “I wish you could stay a little longer.”
So you give her a smile, “Thanks for having me.”
After you step out her home, the door closes and she stands there for a moment, her hand still resting on the handle. She looks back at the living room, eyes quietly scanning, hoping for something, anything left behind that could be an excuse to open the door again.
There’s nothing left.
The house turns quiet again as Hyewon slowly walks over to the kitchen to fill a cup with water.
"I should have asked if he was hungry," she murmurs to herself, staring at nothing in particular. "Did he even eat before seeing me?"
The thought catches her off guard with how much she means it. She sets the cup down and moves before she can talk herself out of it by back to the door and pulling it open just enough to lean out into the hallway.
You weren’t there.
Down the hall, the elevator doors slide shut. On the other side of them, you lean your back against the wall, hands in your coat pockets, eyes on the floor after pressing lobby. The hum of the elevator fills the silence around you.
Hyewon closes her door slowly, the latch clicking into place without a sound. She stays there in the stillness, back against the door, eyes tracing the familiar walls of her home that somehow feel a little less hers now. The scent of you still lingers on her. The couch, the dining table, her bed, all of it holding the shape of something that came and went too quickly. She wraps her arms around herself, not from cold, but from the absence of your warmth she didn't get enough of. A small, tired smile crosses her lips.
