LE SSERAFIM’s Kim Chaewon x m!reader, word count: 1010
for @mysonesecret's "A Thousand Words" challenge.
A/N: i was hoping to finish my other existing drafts before i posted this, but alas.
read on fanprose:
in chaewon's life, you're merely a tourist. — by miggy
It’d probably happened somewhere between your fourth drink and the second volleyball game with her friends. You’re still not quite sure. Whatever it was, you’d said the wrong thing, and Kim Chaewon’s face had hardened into stone, and she excused herself from her own home without a word to you.
“Where are you going? Can you at least talk to me?” You follow a few steps behind her, your paths tracing the shoreline.
Chaewon marches on, feet digging into the wet sand on the surf of the beach. The sound of your voice only spurs her on, picking up the pace to widen the distance between you.
“Chaewon, come on,” you plead with her. “My flight’s in the morning. Do you really want to end it like this?”
At that, she stops abruptly, and you catch yourself just short of toppling into her tiny frame. Hands balled into tight fists, the skirt of her white dress billowing in the breeze, her shoulders hunch, tensed like a string ready to snap.
A beat, and then she whirls around, facing you.
“Why the hell not?” she spits accusingly. Her eyes are rimmed with red, though from hurt or anger, you can’t tell. “Why am I always the one adjusting to you? Making things more comfortable for you?”
You blink like she’s just slapped you in the face. “What?”
“You just come here, stay in my house, drop into my life, and I’m the one that’s not allowed to be angry?” She’s breathing heavily now, every word laced with venom and spilling from her lips faster than the one before, like she’s been holding them in since the day you arrived. “You come here, you charm my mom, you bond with my friends, you get to treat my life like some shiny fucking tourist attraction, and then you just get to leave. And I can’t be upset?”
“Chaewon—”
“How is that fair?”
“Chaewon,” you say, dumbly. Your hand falters halfway to her face before returning uselessly to your side. “This was my vacation. I have a life, work, responsibilities waiting for me back home. You—”
Struggling to find any of the right words, you breathe deeply, hands on your waist. Your eyes fixate on her old, worn-out sandals, and her scraped-up feet, caked in wet sand.
“I thought you knew that.”
Chaewon lets out a short, bitter laugh, face falling forwards into her hands.
“See? That’s exactly what I mean.” Her voice thickens, like she’s just come to some disappointing realization about you, and is still trying to accept it. She meets your eyes again with a sad smile. “This is all just a vacation for you. An escape. You get to drive down the coast and visit markets and dance in festivals, get drunk off your ass with my family, and whatever the hell else you want to do. But for me, this is my whole life. This town, the house, the bills, the debt: those are my responsibilities. Except I don’t get to run away from it. I don’t get an escape. But that—that’s okay. You’re right. That’s what you came here for. And I knew that.”
You’re stunned. Chaewon gives you one last smile and leaves you standing there on the surf. You watch her retreating figure for far too long, wondering how you missed it.
---
You find her behind her house later that night, sitting on the sand and hugging her knees close to her chest. She barely spares you a glance as you settle on the ground next to her, stretching your legs.
Far from any overpopulated cities, the midnight sky is filled with the twinkling lights of the constellations, and more stars than you’ve ever seen in your life. The moon hangs high, reflected over the rippling waves in front of you.
“I heard you in the kitchen the other day, you know.”
You turn to look at Chaewon, waiting expectantly.
“With my mom,” she clarifies.
You hum in understanding. “When she asked me if I’d ever live in a town like this?”
She nods, mutely. “Do you remember what you said?”
You sigh and think back, leaning on the heels of your palms and tilting your head up to the moon. “I said that I’d love to. It’s a beautiful place. It’s so peaceful, and I love the people here.”
“Mmm.” The silence stretches on, filled with the soft sounds of waves cresting on the shore, and broken again by Chaewon. “Do you remember what else she said?”
“Oh,” you trail off, heat rising quickly to your cheeks at the memory. “She, um. She said that we looked like a good match.”
She chuckles. “I wonder where she got that idea from.”
You snort, turning away as your face burns.
The night settles again, the quiet settling into something that feels too much like finality for your liking. There’s so much you wish you could say to her, but how much of it would be empty words? What can you promise her, really?
“You came here, turned my life upside down, made me—” Her voice is thin, fragile. Like at any moment, she might crumble in front of you. “You made me feel this way, made me want more from you, and you just get to go home after. You don’t have to deal with the hole it leaves.”
“You know I don’t want to leave, Chaewon,” you say like it matters, as if that knowledge would soften the blow somehow.
She turns to you, wordlessly, and just smiles at you. Her eyes glimmer.
“This won’t be the last time. I’ll come back,” you try, uselessly.
With nothing more to say, you both look out to the endless ocean ahead, and the moon and stars above. You’ve truly never seen a more beautiful sky.
“We had a good time together,” she says softly, offering you one last, fragile smile.
“Yeah.” Your lips turn up in your own sad smile. A silent apology for all the things you can’t give her. “We really did.”
---
A/N: no beta no proofreading we rawdog this like it's the beauty shrine on fanprose.
daghang salamat sa akong asawa para sa tanan niyang pagsuporta ug pagpalangga sa akoa. ti amo tanto tanto tanto, luce mia. she also made the new improved cover so thank youuuuu
hope you all enjoyed. any feedback is appreciated <33
Jeon Somi is a woman of many things, but subtle is not one you would ever even attempt to associate with her.
She’ll look offended when she hears that. Of course she will, because she’s perfectly capable of being subtle—practically part of her job description to look so inconspicuous when she’s out and about being the celebrity that she is. Never know when she’ll get asked for photos or autographs or whatever else she needs to do if she bumps into a fan or ten.
And you’ll be laughing and smiling at the bullshit that oozes out of her. Remind her the multitude of times that you’ve had to cover up for her because she needed to ‘rub one out’ before a set or delay the shoot for another half hour because she couldn’t help but get her makeup ruined.
Totally not your fault, by the way.
And you could go on and on and on about it, go take a walk through memory lane with all your shenanigans with Somi across the entire world. Name a place and she’s probably gotten you involved in some obscene scheme somewhere in the area. Busan, Paris, New York—it’s like she’s collecting some goddamn postcards everytime she’s fucked in a country.
But what you’re looking at right now, with your own two eyes ultimately sums it all up.
Because, look: Somi is hot, and she knows it. Her tits are peaking out of that one piece, fabric bulging out at the swell of her breasts just to show everyone that yes, her tits are as big as the deep cut of her swimsuit, her entire goddamn back is out for fucking free which is an entire thing to marvel at on its own and her ass, shapely, superbly slappable as it is, is swallowing up what’s left.
And she doesn’t a fuck who sees. Even flaunts it to whoever's lucky enough to pass by the pool when she's laid out on the lounger like a veritable snack. Which, you know, if you’re being completely honest, more power to her.
It’s not like you’re complaining about it. You’re more just—
“–Saying that you’re really bad at the whole secretive, subtle thing.” A shrug of your shoulders, enjoying the sweet taste of coconut at every sip. “I mean, have you seen what you’re wearing?”
“Of course I have.” Her fingers tiptoe down her thighs, running them through the edges of the blue fabric and giving it a slight tug; that snap filling the air when it hits skin. “I think it makes my ass pop out a lot more.”
And you're inclined to agree, adding the fact that her thighs are accentuating everything else she's got, and she's a walking, talking thirst trap that you try and fail to handle, twenty four seven, seven days a week.
“And my tits too.” Oh, get the fuck out of here.
“You are really not selling your case well.” You’re shaking your head with a laugh when she starts to squeeze her own tits, pushing them up and nearly making them spill out the top.
“Babe, I'm telling you, I can be very quiet.” That smug little look on her face does nothing but convince you of the fact that she really can't. “And really sneaky too.”
Queue the eyebrow wags, that shit eating grin that always spell trouble with a capital T, and she's sitting up straight to look at you.
“If you want to–” Now she's egging you on, jutting her chest out at you as if you need any more encouragement to go along with this game of hers. “I can show you how good I am at both right now?”
She's crossing her legs, tilting her head just the way she knows would hook you in. Braided ponytail resting on one side of her chest, stray strands falling down her face—she has it down to a science when it comes to luring you in.
You're putting your drink down and raising your sunglasses up—Not because it was the polite thing to do when a pretty lady asks you a question.
It's to let her know you're staring right at her tits when you say, “And how, pray tell–” You tear away from her chest to look up at her grinning face. “Would you go about doing that?”
“Well, I heard the bathroom's pretty big,” she starts, playing around with her braid, staring past you for a moment. She stands up, taking a towel with her as she starts her walk.
“And I can be really quiet when I'm on my knees.”
Now that, you're sure, is another concept you'll never associate with her.
That's not to say she isn't trying to be quiet, your cock in her mouth and all, her gags echoing off the walls certainly don't help.
Especially when you're thrusting your hips and making an absolute mess out of her face; tears already starting to run down her cheeks, hand tight on that braid to tug away at your leisure, spit already drooling down in droves over her chin.
You can tell she loves every second of it, those eyes of hers looking up at you with that elated glint in them that you’d think she planned all of this (oh, you bet your ass she did). Hands behind her back, tilting her head back just right for you to slide in deep, groin to nose until she’s gasping for air.
She’s got you right where she wants you, and you have her right where you want her to be, because apparently all Jeon Somi needs to understand the word subtlety is your cock and a room to fuck her in.
And you’re never really given a chance to say no when it comes to her, considering the benefits that she can offer when you agree.
Especially when you hear her gag on your length, and she’s trying to keep some form of decorum fighting back the need to pull you out of her sweet lips to take a breath. She’ll power through it, take it all on the nose and give you a grin while you’re sliding your cock back into her throat.
A proper trooper, she is.
“And here I thought–” You’re almost tempted to pull out of her lips, give her the chance to answer you when you’re questioning how silent she really is when she’s slobbering all over your dick. So when she’s tugging the string holding her one piece up to expose her breasts, and you’re looking at them as if it’s your first time seeing a pair of tits as big as hers. “You can keep quiet.”
You reach down to palm one, feeling the weight of them in your hand; letting the soft pillows give under your fingers as you squeeze, the hard nub of hers rubbing against your palm. And she’s moaning all over your cock, these small vibrations adding to the already addictive sensation of her hot, wet mouth.
Somi makes a move to pull away, finally getting her hands on you to jerk you off. “I thought I was doing a good job,” she says, licking her lips off any spittle, taking it into her mouth before letting a glob fall down onto your tip. “I’m just making sure you’re all nice and wet before you fuck me–” Her lips pout, eyes taking a quick glance around the bathroom, stroking you lazily. “Anywhere, really. Take your pick.”
The choices aren’t much, even with how fancy of a bathroom this was. Every single one has its own appeal—watch her face contort in pleasure when you have her fucked against the bathroom counter, or her tits shoved in your face as she rides you in one of the stalls, maybe even have her chest pressed against the shower wall when you fuck her against it.
All these options presented before you, and you settle with the simplest one. No reason for it, really, except for maybe the fact that you really, desperately need to fuck a load into her, and every second wasted is one that’s not your cock inside of her.
“On your hands and knees for me, please?” The glee in her face as she sends you a devious grin, leaning in to give your head a quick kiss before doing what you’ve told. Stroking yourself as she bends over, the angle of her back arching looking so unspeakable fine that her ass sticks out all the more, and you’re muttering a little ‘fuck me’ under your breath watching it all happen in front of you.
“Like this?” Her head turns back, smirk on her lips, eyebrow raised, ass wagging left and right. You spot that little damp spot right where her pretty little cunt is, and you’re kneeling down behind her, thumbing the stain and running circles over it.
“Just like that, baby,” you murmur, snaking up to pull the swimsuit to the side, her pussy glistening and the thought of having a taste is tempting you so damn badly. Shame you’ll have to postpone it back in the hotel room, though the heat enveloping the tip of your cock as you inch your way inside her walls is doing wonders to you nonetheless. “God, so wet already?”
She’s completely in her element, the satisfaction in her sighs as you bottom out, sticking her ass out even as you’re balls deep in her already. “Been wet since we got here,” she admits, hand reaching back to pull the edges of her swimsuit even more, stretching the fabric over the valley of her ass. “And I’ve been–fuck, right there–been horny since we got down to the lobby.”
Your hand is sliding its way up her ass, following that defined line of her spine, enjoying the way she’s shivering under your touch, up until you reach the back of her neck, fingers reaching up to her braid and giving it a quick tug. She makes this surprised gasp when her head gets pulled back at every deep thrust, letting out a sultry giggle. “So rough today.”
“Can you blame me?” Your palm lands on her ass, that beautiful sound that resonates around the bathroom, fingers digging into the mark you left. “You’ve been teasing me with your ass all day.” Give her another slap on the ass, and you’re ramping up your pace with her.
This teasing hum slips out of her lips, and you just know if she could turn her head back at you she’d have that diabolical little shit eating smirk all over her face. “Don’t be scared, babe,” she purrs, all breathy and moaning and good Lord you’re not going to last long when she starts spouting shit like–“Everyone can look, but no one gets to fuck this ass but you.”
And, really, what else can you do but plow her harder?
Your grip around her hair tightens, cursing at how her cunt tightens up around you, tugging her up so her back is pressing up against your chest, and the view of her tits bouncing at each stroke you is immaculate. Your hands move to wrap around her, one to grope a breast, another to feel her abs flex as she takes you.
Your lips latch onto her neck, sucking and nipping at the wet skin, lapping up the sweat and thinking that you’re utterly fucking gone for this woman’s body—tits, ass, cunt and all. You bite down hard on the one spot that has her screaming, her hands gripping your wrists as you follow it with a suck.
Leaving her with that red mark, pumping her full of cock while you pinch a nipple, whispering filth in her ear; and she’s drinking it all up, grin on her face as you spout just what you’ll be doing to her once you get back to your room, giggling at the air being blown into her ear.
“Fuck, I’d let you do that in the elevator,” she replies after one of your fantasies—whichever one it was—gets spoken out, and you’re grunting out a chuckle. “Give the security guard watching the camera a good show and all–”
Somi’s as fucked in the head as you are, and that’s one of the reasons why you’ve stayed with her all these years.
Who wouldn’t, when it’s Somi you’re talking about?
You’re growling her name out, your hips erratic, chasing that high that’s coming closer and closer and closer that you’re not hearing her begs of wanting it too, pleading with you that she’s as close as you are, her pussy gripping snug, as if she’s already milking the cum out of you.
Yet you want her to come apart first, want to feel her convulse around your cock, wail in your ears, grip your wrists hard enough to bruise and fuck me it’s already happening, her juices coating your shaft, drops of it falling down on the tiles. She’s shaking all over, and you’re only adding more pleasure damage to her brain, fucking her over her orgasm that it’s getting her to tear up.
Fuck her till she’s cumming again, letting her go and getting her back down to the ground, pressing your entire weight against her until she’s all mush and putty in your hands. Somi’s still begging you curses and pleases, wanting more and more and please fucking cum you son of a bitch, I need it, the greedy girl that she is, her walls pulsing around you hot, dripping girlcum until you’re pulling out of her, cock throbbing and in need to—
“Shit–” You’re jerking cum all over her ass, staining white on flesh, blue fabric growing darker. Streaks shoot up to paint her back, and it is beautiful. Thick, white lines cover all over, heavy blobs of them landing on her ass that you can’t help but give one last smack, slapping your cock on her asscheeks when you’ve run dry.
You collapse next to her, leaving a kiss on her cheek as she gives you a satisfied smile, the both of you breathing deep, relaxing in the afterglow. Somi reaches out to cup your cheek, fingers running through your hair.
“Told you I can be quiet,” she says, and that gets you to laugh.
“Your screaming might’ve gotten hotel security running over here.” Now Somi’s joining in.
“Good thing I brought a towel. What would they think seeing your cum over my back?”
“That you got dicked down in the public bathroom.” A light slap on your cheek makes you smile.
“Well, duh.” She’s rolling her eyes. “But I prefer not to have to explain that.”
Somi’s getting up on shaky legs, and you’re right there with her, cleaning the cum off her back with the towel, heading back out to the pool like nothing happened.
Subtlety is still most definitely not one of her strong points, but she is definitely sneaky.
4.1k words | smut, bratty hyunseo, kinda public sex, breeding
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"I suppose they’ll give you a real break now before training starts up again, right, son? Now that the postseason is over, I mean."
You looked up from your plate at Sofia’s father, who was eating calmly at the head of the table. It was a rather young man. No more than 50 years old.
After three years together, having dinner with your in-laws hadn't caused you any irrational panic for a long time. Even so, whenever the man asked about your career, a cold shiver would run down your neck. You didn't even know why; it wasn't as if your stats as a closer were bad.
Maybe it was because his daughter was always insufferable with her jokes about your "good arm action" and "hip movement."
"They’re giving us a three-week window, sir," you replied, setting your chopsticks down on the rest for a moment. "After that I have to report to spring training."
Sofia’s father nodded.
"That’s good. A pitcher needs to clear his head for a while so he doesn't burn out. Especially closers. If you don't take care of that arm your career won't last long."
Beside you, his sweet, innocent daughter (total bullshit) was eating like an angel. A stranger might have seen her there and thought, 'Oh, what a well-mannered girl; she must be the perfect daughter!'
But you knew exactly the kind of demon she could be when she put her mind to it. That night, however, she seemed determined to behave herself.
Or so it seemed.
She set down her chopsticks with perfect delicacy, an elegance befitting the silver spoon she’d been born with.
"That’s only if he manages to switch off," she remarked with a faint smile. "Sometimes all he does is sit there watching videos of his pitches over and over again."
"It’s an occupational hazard," you defended yourself. "You have to analyze your own mistakes."
Sofia’s mother chuckled.
"Don't tease him so much, Hyunseo," she said kindly. Hyunseo—her real name. The name only her parents used. "He just works very hard. Right, Bryan?"
"Of course, ma'am," you smiled diplomatically and took a sip of your water.
"The thing is, sometimes he gets way too obsessed with technique!" Sofia added, her voice soft and playful. "He says the key to a good pitch isn't the arm but the hips, and he spends hooooours in the living room practicing!"
You set your glass back on the table with a slightly harder tap than usual.
There she went again.
"Well... yes, it’s a matter of physics," you said, keeping your tone neutral. "If you don't use your lower body correctly you'll ruin your shoulder."
"Absolutely true," her father nodded, without a hint of suspicion. "The power comes from the lower torso and the legs. It's like volleyball to a point."
"Oh, right… the legs, how could I forget about the legs?" Sofia chuckled and gave you a small, sly smile as she looked at you. "Yeah, he really brags about that. You have amazing stamina in your legs, don't you, my love?"
You clenched your fist under the table.
"You've never heard me complain, have you?" you replied, holding her gaze.
"Oh darling, you make a loooot of faces, and you also complain," her gaze dropped to your lips for an instant. "That amounts to the same thing."
You decided to drop the subject there. Playing along would be a huge mistake on your part, so you simply ignored her.
A grave mistake.
Just as the conversation at the table shifted—and at a moment when she knew she’d catch you completely off guard—you felt Sofia’s knee press against yours beneath the tablecloth.
Now, it might have seemed trivial, but with Sofia nothing was accidental.
Everything that little brat did had a reason behind it.
You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye, hoping it had been an accidental bump, but she didn't even flinch; she kept eating with impeccable composure while her mother asked her about university.
You shifted your leg slightly to break contact. It was useless. Sofia readjusted in her seat and sought you out again, her thigh pressing against yours.
She was determined to play her little game. Bad news.
You kept your back straight. It was best to just enjoy the dinner in silence. Speak only when necessary, since anything that came out of your mouth could be used against you.
Just fuel for the brat.
You heard a faint click under the table. A muffled sound against the rug. You didn't even have time to process it before you felt the sole of her bare foot resting against your calf over your pants.
"Sweetheart, why don't you have a little more?" her mother said, passing her some slices of meat. "You've barely eaten."
"Oh, I'm saving room for dessert, mommy; there's no need," Sofia replied with her unbearable little smile.
Her toes pressed against the inside of your ankle.
"Are you sure? The meat is delicious!"
Sofia’s toes then curled and slid up to squeeze your calf.
She sighed.
"I’m afraid I already filled up on meat before coming here. It was delicious, too, by the way."
You choked on your sip of water. You had to cough into a napkin.
"Are you alright, dear?" her mother asked, looking at you with genuine concern from across the table.
"Perfectly fine," you nodded, wiping your chin with the same napkin.
You glared at Sofia. She responded by extending her leg slightly to rub the sole of her foot against the side of your other calf, forcing you to spread your legs.
You leaned close to her ear.
"What the hell are you doing..." you hissed.
You were completely ignored. You had to shift in your seat and look away.
"Hm! I almost forgot," Sofia’s mother said, setting down her cutlery. "How is living together going? You two are behaving yourselves, aren't you?"
You and Sofia exchanged a brief glance. You let her take the lead, as you always did. She might be a brat, but you remained deeply devoted to her. A problem, on many occasions.
"Everything is going wonderfully, Mommy," Sofia replied, looking at her parents. "He’s so helpful with everything at home. I really couldn't have picked anyone better."
Sofia let her hand drop from the edge of the table to beneath the tablecloth. Casually, she rested it on your thigh.
You took a deep breath and simply smiled, nodding.
"That’s wonderful to hear, sweetheart," her mother said, beaming. Sofia looked more like her than her father. "I have to admit I was a bit worried when you told me. I mean, you’re both barely twenty-one!"
"Oh, nonsense," the father grumbled. "I came to this country when I was twenty and managed just fine on my own. Working twelve-hour days, too! I’m sure they’ll know how to handle life."
"You only say that because your mother cooked for you every day!" the mother teased, nudging him with her elbow before turning to you. "But seriously, I’m glad to see you two have your heads on straight. A lot of young people make bad choices at your age."
Sofía’s fingers slowly moved up to the top of your thigh, hidden beneath the tablecloth.
"We’re trying to take things one step at a time, ma'am," you said, keeping your voice as steady as you could. "My parents have been a big help as well."
Instead of getting straight to the point, the little devil traced the inner seam of your trousers with her fingertips, moving up and down, inch by inch. Tension began to build in your muscles.
"Mhm, that’s right, how are they doing?" the father asked, his mouth half-full of salad. "I thought I saw your dad near Petco Park a few days ago."
"Oh, right, he was probably meeting with the franchise executives," you replied. "And they’re doing well; mom... cough."
You choked on your own saliva. Sofía’s fingers closed around your bulge, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure.
"Again?" the mother raised her eyebrows. "Honey, are you sure you aren't allergic to anything we're eating?"
You shook your head quickly.
"Not at all," you hastened to say. "I just got a little tickle in my throat. Like I was saying, my mom..."
Sofia began a slow, deliberate pumping motion, massaging you until you were hard beneath your trousers. You pursed your lips.
"My mom is still getting her boutique set up," you continued. "And Dad hasn't stopped traveling around the country lately. Last time he was in... in u-uh..."
A firmer squeeze on your bulge. You gave Sofia's wrist a sharp grab, but that didn't stop her hand from massaging.
"Dominican Republic."
Sofia's father snorted.
"Quite the hustle; it's a good thing I don't even have to leave San Diego!" her father said.
"Then you're certainly lucky, Mr. Lee," you said with a nervous chuckle, uncomfortable with how hard you were beneath Sofia's hand.
"And your old man is too," he noted. "Not everyone has the privilege of traveling so much, even if it is for work."
"I guess so..."
You gritted your teeth. Sofia was flexing her fingers over and over. Way too good. The tip of your erection was rubbing against the fabric of your boxers.
You had to lean close to her ear again while she sipped her juice with her left hand.
"Sofia, I'm serious, stop," you hissed, pulling her hand away from your bulge.
As if your words had gone in one ear and out the other, her hand returned to your bulge.
But she wasn't satisfied with just that. With natural agility, she quickly undid your trousers—using just a couple of fingers—and lowered your zipper.
Before you could stop her, she unhesitatingly slipped her hand inside your boxers.
"You fucking..." you growled under your breath.
You straightened up in your seat, breathing through your mouth as discreetly as you could.
"Sofia, darling, are you two going to the country house this weekend?" her mother asked. "Just so I know whether to let your aunt know or not."
"Oh, we haven't decided yet, mommy," Sofia replied, her fingers wrapped firmly around your cock beneath your boxers. "I'll let you know by Friday morning at the latest."
Sofia slid her thumb over the head of your cock, spreading a few drops of pre-cum before rubbing her palm along its length. Her cool fingers made you shudder. You throbbed against her hand.
You gripped your own thigh and gritted your teeth. It was a hell of a challenge to stifle your gasp.
"Just don't leave it until the last minute, okay? You know what your aunt's temper is like."
"I promise we won't," Sofia said with total nonchalance. "It's going to be a busy week, though, especially with so many cardio sessions at home..." she gave your balls a squeeze after saying that.
"Oh, you work out at home?" her father asked. "That takes some serious willpower."
"All the time!" Sofia pulled your cock right out of your boxers, moving only her hand over it while keeping her arm perfectly still. "I have to say he inspired me to join in. The only downside is that we sweat sooooo much."
The salad on your plate suddenly seemed fascinating. You forced yourself to take a spoonful and focus on the taste; the only way to keep from focusing too much on the fact that your cock was out and Sofía was jerking you off at a steady rhythm.
"Well, of course you're going to sweat!" her father replied, pointing his fork at her. "What, do you think that just because you're a pretty girl you don't sweat?"
Sofía let out a little giggle.
"I thought that's how it worked!"
Sofía and her parents burst out laughing. Sofía took the moment to lean close to your ear.
"I need your damn seed in my womb soooo bad..." she moved her hand slightly faster over your cock. The tablecloth on your side of the table fluttered a bit, but it still remained hidden from her parents. "Don't make me wait too long."
You gave the side of your chair a light rap with your knuckles. To your right, San Diego Bay and its constant stream of boats provided a good, temporary distraction while you chewed.
"Let's see how long that enthusiasm lasts," the father said after the laughter died down. "Everyone starts out bursting with energy and then they get lazy."
"Nah, I don't think that'll happen to him," Sofía said, gently shaking her head. "He loves going all out and ending up totally exhausted..." she stopped moving her hand and squeezed your cock with her fingers. "Even if his legs end up shaking. Just like mine do!"
You hurriedly swallowed another mouthful of salad, feeling your throat burn as Sofía's hand, now warm and slick with your pre-cum, moved up and down in a delicious rhythm.
"I mean I'd train until my legs shook too if I had to compete for a spot against Mason Miller!" the father chuckled. "How do you handle that kind of pressure?"
"U-uh, well..." You looked straight ahead, but not directly at her father.
Suddenly, Sofía let go of your cock and pushed her chair back.
"Oh no! My earring..." she said, kneeling on the rug. "I was holding it to put it back in and I dropped it..."
A bead of cold sweat trickled down the back of your neck.
Panic.
You rested a forearm on the table and leaned forward slightly. A hunched posture would make it easier to endure what you knew was coming.
"Oh honey, and the rug is kind of shaggy," her mother lamented. "I’d help you look but I’m not about to get my dress dirty."
"Don't worry, Mom, it shouldn't be too hard," Sofía replied, ducking under the tablecloth. "Maybe it’ll catch the light from my phone's flashlight."
Sure enough, you felt her turn on her phone's flashlight under the table so as not to arouse suspicion. Smart girl.
"So, son?" Sofía's father looked at you.
"I try not to dwell on it too much, sir," you said, stirring your salad. "Hard work always pays off, sooner or... mmghh..."
Sofía had taken you into her mouth.
"Or later," you finished, your left fist clenched.
Mr. Lee nodded slowly. Luckily, neither of them was looking at you; both were focused on their food.
"That’s the right mindset; no one’s role is set in stone unless you’re some monster like Ohtani. You need to make the most of this upcoming spring training."
Beneath the tablecloth, Sofia’s head moved in a smooth, steady rhythm, sliding her slick lips as silently as she could along a good portion of your length. Her tongue played against your frenulum with every pump. You curled your toes inside your shoes.
With one hand, she gripped you firmly at the base, while the other gave your inner thigh a gentle squeeze, nails dug into your trousers, a warning not to move even a millimeter.
"I—I couldn't agree more," you managed to say.
"Didn't he look a bit shaky against the Dodgers over the weekend?" he asked. "He loaded the bases and nearly blew the game."
Sofia’s tongue flicked against the underside of your shaft every time her mouth slid downward.
Your entire quadriceps trembled as she took you all the way in, the head of your cock grazing the back of her throat.
"Nnhgh..." you groaned under your breath, gritting your teeth. "Whoa, I just got a calf cramp. Uh... yeah, he really overused his four-seamer that night."
Sofia held you deep in her throat for a few more agonizing seconds before sliding your cock out. She moved to your balls, licking them in circles while stroking near the head.
"Bad call against a lineup as dangerous as the Dodgers'."
"Y-yeah, yeah, exactly," you nodded, distracted.
"I finally found it!" Sofia announced from under the table.
Your girlfriend tucked your cock back into your boxers, adjusted your fly, and emerged from under the tablecloth. She looked impeccable. Not a trace of saliva on her lips or chin. Her hair was still perfectly styled; her cardigan and skirt were undisturbed.
The painful throbbing of your cock beneath your trousers made you close your eyes. You couldn't take it anymore.
"I need to use the bathroom," you announced, standing up. "Excuse me."
"Oh, wait for me, honey," Sofia stood up too. "They changed the toilet; I have to show you how to flush it before you make a mess."
"Sure."
"Try not to take too long, dear," Sofia's mother said. "I was just about to bring out the bungeoppang."
"Mmm, bungeoppang!" Sofia clapped briefly, smiling. "No way am I missing that. We'll be right back!"
Sofia grabbed your hand and dragged you away from the dining room and into the hallway.
"I'm going to tear you in half," you said once you were a safe distance from her parents.
"So aggressive," Sofia teased, quickening her pace toward the bathroom. She glanced back at you over her shoulder. "Just put a baby inside me first, will you? Would be a waste of energy."
She hurriedly opened the door and pulled you inside. The sound of the latch sliding shut echoed off the tiled walls.
You immediately grabbed her by the neck and shoved her against the wall. Her back slammed into the tiles.
"Have you completely lost your fucking mind?" you hissed, pulling down your trousers and boxers with your left hand. "Those are your fucking parents out there, you crazy bitch."
Sofia cradled your balls with the hand she had just spat on. She smeared saliva upward along your shaft with deliberate strokes, then tilted her head.
"...Aaaaand?"
"Well...!" you started to say, but the words stalled in your brain, short-circuited by the way those pretty eyes were looking at you. "Oh my god!"
You had no choice but to kiss her. A dirty, heavy kiss. Possessive. You plunged your tongue into her mouth while your hand moved up to her cardigan. With a single clumsy tug, the garment fell open to the sides, revealing a cute navy blue bra that accentuated the shape of her breasts.
Sofia tangled her hands in your hair, gasping into the kiss. She arched her back against the wall, pressing her chest tight against yours. Her lips danced against yours with equal ferocity.
"Mmm, put it inside, daddy~" she said mid-kiss. "I'm fucking dripping... it would slide in so, so easily."
In the blink of an eye, you’d lifted her skirt and pushed her white cotton panties to the side. Sofia gasped as the tip of your cock grazed up and down between her silky, wet folds.
And just like that, standing face-to-face, with her legs barely spread, you aligned yourself and thrust inside her.
Sofia moaned.
"Thaaat's it~" she giggled.
Her supple walls yielded easily to your shaft. You slid every inch inside, letting out a growl as her folds met the base of your cock, surrounded by tender, tight flesh.
"See?" Sofía clung to the back of your neck, her other hand on your chest. "So easy, daddy. Am I not soaking wet?"
"Shut your fucking mouth," you growled, moving your hips. "You've done enough already."
You started fucking her with short, heavy pumps, slamming her pelvis against the tiles with every thrust while keeping a firm grip on her waist. It was the first time you’d fucked her like this, so the angle wasn't entirely comfortable. Still, you adjusted quickly, knees slightly bent, driving into her with upward thrusts.
"Oh, come on... you can't ask me that when you're the one fucking me this good," she panted.
You grabbed her thigh with one hand, lifting it a couple of inches to open up the angle and get even deeper. Every thrust tore a growl from your throat; her pussy burned so deliciously around you that, for a second, you even forgot why you were angry with her.
"You're huge inside me, daddy," the brat purred, her fingers curling into your t-shirt. "Fuck me harder. No one's going to hear."
Sofía moaned when you grabbed her jaw with your hand.
"If we get caught I'm fucking leaving you today, I don’t care how much you cry," you warned her.
A mocking little laugh.
"You? leave me? Stop kidding yourself," Sofía slid her hand under your t-shirt and caressed your abdomen. "You ain’t gonna find anyone better than me. In fact, you won't even find a better pussy. So I'd say I've got ya on a leash, daddy."
The damn audacity.
She wasn't lying.
And yet, your blood boiled. With a sharp tug, you pulled her away from the wall, turned her around so her back was to you, and pushed her against the sink. Sofía let you bend her over the polished marble, her hands gripping the edges and her face inches from the mirror.
You thrust deep inside her. One hand went to her waist, keeping her skirt hiked up so you could watch her ass jiggle with every impact. Not wanting her to make too much of a mess, you placed your other hand on her neck, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror.
"Nnngh, fuck..." Sofía stammered, gasping for air through her mouth, her face contorted by the grip of your fingers near her chin. "So good..."
She soon surrendered to the pleasure. Every deep, violent thrust made her let out a soft moan, her eyes rolling back. You were slamming right against her cervix, and wet sounds muffled your grunts.
Sofía’s walls tightened around you as she climaxed.
You quickly covered her mouth. She stifled her moans against your palm, pressing her own hand over yours. Her legs trembled, her whole lower body shaking. She squealed and squealed, while you didn't let up on the rhythm, making her pussy emit loud, wet sounds.
Sofía pulled your hand away from her mouth and looked at you in the mirror, her pupils dilated.
"Fill me up daddy..." she purred. "I need that hot, thick seed in my womb... every drop. All of it inside, pleeeease!"
With that, she blew a fuse that was already on the verge of snapping. An electric jolt shot through your body. You gripped her hips. Three final, brutal, deep thrusts, and you exploded with a primal growl.
"Nnnnghh!!"
You immediately buried your face in the back of Sofía’s neck, gripping the flesh of her hips tightly. Inside her, your cock throbbed wildly as it pumped jet after jet against her cervix, filling it with a generous load that made her sigh.
You remained motionless for a few eternal seconds, feeling the final spasms rippling deep inside her before you slowly went soft.
Sofía’s breathing was ragged and heavy, fogging up the glass in front of her face.
"Fuck... I feel so full," she gasped. "I’ve got your seed inside me daddy… aaaaaall of it."
You pulled out slowly, that wet, lustful sound breaking the bathroom silence. A thick trickle of semen immediately ran down her inner thigh.
You released your grip on her neck. Sofía slumped slightly against the marble, letting out a long sigh of pure satisfaction as she caught her breath.
"Don't fuck with me for the rest of the goddamn night," you warned, pulling up your boxers and trousers.
"I promise daddy," Sofía said in a small, adorable voice.
You quickly wiped the edge of the sink with a wad of toilet paper and handed it to Sofía so she could clean up the mess before it stained her skirt.
She adjusted her panties, gave her skirt a quick smoothing tug, and buttoned up her three-button cardigan, looking impeccable in a matter of ten seconds. Then she ran her fingers through her hair to tame any stray strands and gave you an angelic, completely guilt-free smile.
"It was crystal clear how to flush the toilet, right?"
You rolled your eyes and opened the bathroom door after checking that your T-shirt wasn't wrinkled. The scent of freshly baked Korean sweet bread was already wafting through the hallway.
When you returned to the dining room, Sofía's parents already had the plates set out on the table.
"Whoa, just in time!" Sofía's mother announced.
"I told you we wouldn't be long, Mommy~"
Sofía took the lead and went to sit down. You pretended not to notice how she nearly fell on the way over because of her shaky legs.
After you joined her, she glanced at you sideways and winked. She brushed her leg against yours again beneath the tablecloth.
So, let's dive right into things—you're fucking the hell out of Yeji's face.
Getting her teary-eyed, sloppy with it; manhandling her by the hair, stretching out her jaw, feeling her throat gag while you work yourself in and out of the most divine set of lips; sliding deep until her drool's lacquering your balls and it's all too much.
She just looks up at you: would be grinning if your cock wasn't keeping her mouth busy, would be laughing if you weren't choking every squeal back into her, but it's her eyes doing the real work—sharp, wicked; lit with the most depraved fucking intentions.
You've only really known her for a week, but you get her message loud and clear:
“That all you got?”
Like she's winning. Like she's not the one between your legs, poolside, half-submerged, a natural on her knees. One-piece swimsuit hugging nice and snug, fingers digging into your thighs, tears streaming clean down naked cheeks, gasping for air.
You tug her head back, lips gliding off you until your shaft's slipping out—there's a thick strand that follows, saliva bridging her swollen lips to your cockhead, catching the underwater lights, shiny sheen in the dark.
Her chest heaves, nylon pulls tight across her tits; she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, it's purely for show—she clearly has little problem getting a bit messy.
And yeah—there's the grin.
You try to slap it off her face with your cock.
“Too much for you?” Yeji asks; and it's probably the first complete sentence you've heard from her pretty mouth.
—
All you've got is half an hour ago: you, stepping out of your suite—Yeji, stepping out of hers. Your temporary next-door neighbour, wrapped in a hotel towel with two thin straps tied at the back of her neck, barely hanging on. A flick of the wrist, that's all it would take.
Would be the closest you'd been to her—except for your adjoining balconies, side-by-side, where you're pretty goddamn certain she'd timed herself to your smoke breaks.
Night after night, leaning over the railing to catch a buzz from her side, a breath through the gap; little choked-off whimpers starting up the same second as your lighter and climbing, shameless and pornographic, until the cigarette had burned down to your fingers.
But face-to-face? She stared you down, dead-to-rights, and let the towel drop.
Gave you a full look at her—that sinful silhouette flooding fantasies into your frontal cortex—shit like getting those long smooth legs over your shoulders; your teeth in the swell of her perky high tits; thumbs digging into the plane of her ridged abs to span that ridiculously tiny waist; just tearing that monochrome chequered swimsuit off her and using her, like every inch of her, head-to-toe, is demanding you take her right fucking now—lips, hips, eyes screaming sex, screaming fuck me, screaming—why am I not already impaled on your big, fat cock?
Putting to shame every single image you'd conjured to accompany the self-fucked schlick-schlick-schlick she'd been piping through your window; until she tired of your slack-jawed, dumbfounded, goon-brained stare, tilted her chin towards the elevator and asked—“Going up?”
(Got your hands on her before the doors shut, looped your tongue around hers and wrenched it out of her mouth, pinned her spine to the handrail—determined to find where to touch to convince her that next time she should just jump balcony-to-balcony, seventy-something storeys up, and hand the heavy burden of making her cum her brains out to someone who doesn't need their batteries replaced.)
—
To now: top floor, infinity pool, suite access only, dark and empty this late past midnight.
You'd have followed her off the roof if she'd tipped her chin at the edge. Basically what she's asking you to do now, busy tonguing the question into the underside of your cock.
“Jesus—fuck—Yeji—” you groan, ripped from your throat, music to her ears.
“You know me?” She hums, lips vibrating along your shaft, curving wider—kinda thing that really fucks you up: lidded eyes, sloppy spit-soaked smile wrapped around the girth of you. Cheeks going hollow, seeing if you can find something to fill them with.
“Looked you up,” slips from you, because, yeah, she's so obviously someone—just how she carries herself, type of girl with a gravity, someone worth idolising. “It didn't take long.”
“Shame,” she says. “I kinda liked the idea of us being perfect strangers.”
“We basically are,” you try, rescuing the thought before it turns to mush with the rest of your brain when her tongue draws a wide stripe from behind your balls, up and over, performs an obscene manoeuvre at the head. “You still don't know my name.”
“True.” She comes up; presses a kiss to your tip, tongue flickering over the beads that seep out, savouring your flavour. “Though something tells me you'll have me screaming it in—oh, five minutes?”
“Two,” you answer, and you're detached, sliding into the water next to her, both hands to her waist, fingertips pressed into that flat stomach (you'll make it bulge soon enough). Ignoring that raised eyebrow, the smirk, the oh, please lead the way, handsome stranger.
A split-second eye-to-eye is all you get for now—so take it: chin tipped up, flawless features soaked and moon-lit. Lashes flecked and clumped, cheekbones that'll scar you, a mouth so soft on a face this wrecked—just stops you dead.
(Yeji from your research, from next door, from now—out from the photographs and fantasies and it's a total catastrophe, more than enough to pull you under and hold you there until it's all you have to breathe.)
That's the taste you get; drink it in then hoist her up, spin her, get her squealing for the first time. Pulling her half out of the pool to brace against the vanishing glass—where it all just stops: water trickling quietly over the lip, the whole city strewn out beneath.
You run a hand over a cheek, unhurried, proprietary. That generous handful, cut to measure—porcelain, pristine, peachy-fucking-keen.
“So. How would you like to be fucked tonight?”
Doesn't even bother turning; throws it out into the air. “Haven't you been listening? I gave you six nights of notes—put them to use.”
Fair enough. “Spread your legs. Hands out.”
You fold her over, palms to the infinity edge; she goes with it easy, gets prone like she's done it in her head a thousand times already. Flawless fuckdoll, posable and pliable, all the perverse shit only the most perfect girls can stir; and there it is—the entire problem, presented.
That tight, firm ass.
You could weep. But things are already wet enough.
Got her hitched up and arched, cheeks pulled taut; gleaming, calling you, siren's song under the starlight. A clean deep line running down the curve of her, and lower and lower and lower. One touch and you know you'll find her drenched. Ripe and open. Fated since that first late check-in.
You need both hands, spreading her open with your thumbs, feeling her flex whole against your palm, watching her clench under the attention.
Taking a sec. A pretty girl's asshole always deserves a level of reverence. It's only good manners.
She clocks the hesitation. Turns her head, ganders over her shoulder. Rolls into your grip—slow. “Knew it.”
Yeah, there's no denying it—you're already pulling the swimsuit over to the side, testing the stretch, peeling it over her right cheek to get a proper view. “Guilty. Not like you've made it easy for me.”
“And yet it still took you this long,” she says—but so what, you've always been one to wait until the water's warm before dipping a toe in. “Just how much are you—”
“An ass guy? Well, for the right one—” You dip low, let the water raise her hips higher, wade in to press her knees to the wall so you can bless the chlorine and salt and skin with a long, lingering kiss. “Incurable. Terminal.”
“So it's a pre-existing condition,” she says, cause, duh, she loves playing the tease, being the centre of attention; her whole occupation. “Since when?”
“It's a whole chronic thing. Flares up seasonally.”
“Seasonally.” Ecstatic; plays with it around her tongue. “Like around the holidays?”
“Something like that. Or I guess, whenever an ass like yours comes around.”
“Charmer,” and it all gets lost in a gasp when you map that unholy crack splitting her in two—from where she's pinkest, sopping, waiting God knows how long, up to the spot she's braced for—and she jolts, frantic and filthy; a whine you push clean through and out her throat.
“Says the girl that's been shoving it in my face ever since I got here.” Just holding her—shivering against your lips, buzzing beneath your tongue—nose buried deep in the undeniably tightest hole that's haunted your entire stay.
She mumbles, then laughs, already breathless; throws your line back at you: “Guess I'm guilty, too.”
(And Yeji's really been your fucking doom—bent over a gym fountain a second too long; ducking into a sauna with a towel desperately hanging on; letting her panties ride up at the buffet line—sending you a wink back, like yeah, you're welcome, catch you at the next loop of amenities.
Gifting you just enough of a taste to put you on edge, type of shit a guy like you can barely handle; forcing you to do the only thing you really could—go back to your room and run the images filthy through every possible scenario while listening to her on the other side.
Fantasies, from top to bottom: following her into the gym showers, fucking her against the tiles with the water still running. Stripping her in the empty cedar heat and sucking the sweat between her toes, right out her pits, drinking what collects along her spine. Bending her over the breakfast bar, scattering the little jam jars, spreading her open right there over the pastries while she's gripping the countertops and telling you to hurry, hurry, hurry—
Well. You've got your buffet now.)
“At least I know you're not boring.” Yeji coos; another slow suggestion, grinding against your nose, down to your chin. “Won't just lay me down, fuck me nice, tuck me in, right?”
“That's not really on the menu.”
“No? What is?”
You laugh between her cheeks, low and mean into her puckered hole; like nice is even an option, like there's another version of all this: drinks at the bar, dinner downstairs, you making a mockery of smart-casual, her in some sheer cocktail dress.
Nah. Fuck that—it'd still end with her in a toilet stall the moment she turned and bent over, silk pulled taut, giving you the slope and the shape and the tuck of her cheeks at the tops of those long legs.
So you settle with: “I think it's pretty fucking obvious, Yeji.”
“Thought so.”
It's holy work; gaping her open with just your mouth. Tentative, then thorough—tongue flat and dragging, then the tip pushed up and in, working spit into that tight ring until it softens and gives. Getting your mouth filthy with it—chin slick, slobbering, chlorine tang giving way until it's just her, Yeji, keening, rocking back onto your lips.
Trying to fuck your face proper, letting you—practically begging you—devour her best you can, until the sun's up and the chemicals in this pool aren't nearly enough to wash off what you've done to her.
She cries out; wails, guttural and nonsensical but you get the gist. The last of her dignity leaving her—ass higher, chasing the thing girls like her are supposed to pretend they're too composed to want; some rough stranger to rearrange their stomachs, fuck them truly brainless.
Makes sense to offer her something to really wrap her pink lips around; slurring it right into where she's tilted up and open and demanding, more honest than her mouth's been all night: “Want to know who I am now?”
“God—” is a good start, might as well be on the money with how you're making her feel; but she's already drifting lanes when your tongue takes another lap. “Yes, fucking—tell me what to scream—”
You give her your name. Then, a spit-slick thumb, sinking knuckle-deep into her cunt—so, so easy, she's soaked enough to take three.
“Oh-fucking-shit—” she whines, wails out; sliding herself down your tongue.
Simply getting her off: thumb curling inside that sopping slit, tongue twisting into her ass; two different rhythms that have Yeji grinding down onto one and back on the other, can't pick, doesn't have to.
Until she's clenching on both at once, flooding your lips, your hand. Cumming apart, so shameless, so noisy, letting every insomniac know who it is that's wrecking their sleep schedules vis-à-vis fucking up Yeji's tightest hole.
Yeah. It sounds so sweet wailed from Yeji's lungs.
So keen to hear it more, over and over, gonna fuck it out of her in every octave.
That has you pulling her along the side to the shallow end, the steps at the corner. Rimmed boneless, happy to be plucked and placed at your discretion—which is a step higher, heart-shaped ass just above the water, buoyant, begging to be broken.
“Where are we going,” she's mumbling, not really asking.
“Somewhere with better traction. Pool water's not the greatest lube. Won't be able to fuck you right.”
“So romantic.”
“I have my priorities.”
Priorities which amount to getting up on your feet, wet cockhead notched against her saliva-soaked hole, pressing at that insanely tight squeeze.
Fuck. It just makes you smile. It makes Yeji laugh.
“What's so funny?”
“Just—” she starts; bending as you please, happily at your mercy, as good as girls get. “One-track mind, aren't you?”
And that gets you to laugh back. Drag the head of your cock down to her cuntlips, making her shiver, before levelling it where you really want it. “Can't help who I am.”
“You could at least pretend to have other interests.”
“Could. Won't. Sorry.”
“Too late to apologise, anyway,” she curses, all fuck-tipsy, “Just gotta find a way to make up for it.”
Yeji opens for you—slow, grudging; the head of you nestled against her then past, breaching, the agonising stretch. Pale around the widest part of you. Tiny little ring, straining to take a brand-new shape.
Each push forces these exhales out of her, shoulder blades pinching together, spine dipping low, and you can hear her teeth grit as she spits—no, she's drooling into the water beneath.
Whining, whimpering through it all, repeating a mantra that gets your blood pumping, cock-to-brain: “so-stupidly-big-so-fucking-good—”
The fucking feel of it. Searing clutch beyond reason, seizing everything it can take, won't give an inch without a fight. Making you work for it.
Her tiny frame trying to decide—keep you out or drink you in—until Yeji cries out something biblical and makes her choice; taking your name, twisting it round her tongue, pulling it as wide as it'll go, until you're seated to the hilt and there's nothing left of it at all.
Mouth agape, lips hanging open. This airy gasp. Fed so fucking full.
You lose her for a moment, somewhere below her own surface, submerged in it all.
Reach down for her: “Yeji?”
“Mm—” and she surfaces, glassy eyes blinking open to find you behind her; shy school-girl crush or insatiable slut, who's to say. The same taunt calls it for the latter—”That all you got?”
You match her smile. “Think you can handle more?”
“I've been handling worse than you in my head all week.” She grins, brilliant, defiant, delirious and spoiling for more; squeezes her ass around you for good measure. “Catch up.”
Game on, starter-pistol fired—pulling almost all the way out, the sight of her clinging on, rim dragging up your shaft, trying to follow.
And then driving your cock all the way fucking home.
Good news—Yeji's got her voice back; screams skimming over the water and plummeting down the building below. You give her no space to shape it into anything but a beg; a plea, one-syllable slurs fucked apart as you set your rhythm.
Something about your cock: size, shape, ability to stretch her so fucking wide and kill any chance of sitting normally for a good while—your hips cracking into her ass hard enough to make it jump, wet swimsuit snapping against the underside of her cheek, the slap, smack of you bottoming out ringing across the empty rooftop.
Yeji happily lets it happen.
“Christ, yes—” throwing her fine ass back to meet you; every pound, piston, piledrive you fuck into her, over and over, “—use me—do anything you fucking want. Bet it's better than any fucking cigarette.”
And this is the real gift of a stranger: no rules either of you signed, no history to handle gently, nothing owed come morning.
You could do anything.
Mark her up, pull her hair, hands around her throat.
The selfish squeeze around you is all the green light you need.
Digging your fingers into the top of her swimsuit, wrenching it down. All that black and white slicking off her wet skin, setting her tiny tits free, nipples going stiff; fabric bunching uselessly at her waist.
“Fuck—” cut off from her when you gather the swimsuit-turned-reins, haul her hips flush; balls-deep in her ass until the sobs choke down into—“More.”
So needy. You bring your palm down on her cheek, a crack across the rooftop. Seeing your handprint bloom pink; a nice little souvenir, something to find in the mirror tomorrow.
“I know you can do better than that,” she needles, primed for worse. “All that eye-fucking and now you go shy on me—”
The other cheek—harder—breaking the taunt into a whiny moan.
“Getting there, but—” she recovers, something mean and vicious being prepped, something that'll deserve punishment; spat back at you with what's left of that grin, “—why are you still fucking me like you're going to see me again?”
Well.
Pulling your hips back; raising your palm high—and cracking both down faster than friction should allow, harder than you should; chasing that fucked-out-pain-pleasure hissed from her lips that means you're finally getting it right.
“Careful.” You reach, fist a wet rope of her hair, wind it once around your knuckles and pull. “You're gonna make me do some shit we both can't take back.”
“Was that supposed to be a threat?” No hesitation. “I fucking dare you.”
(And that's the thing you've had backwards all week. The whole framing, actually. You've been running this as your fixation—your fetish, your problem to drag back to the room and handle quietly, like you'd packed some shame in your suitcase.
When really she's the one who said take it before you'd laid a finger on her. This cockdrunk, corridor-gaped, irreversibly drilled idol folded over a ledge getting her ass carved out—as if you ever had a say in the matter.)
“You dare me?” You push in deep, wincing at the squeeze, the choke; the slap of your balls against her pussy and she's crying, fucking filth filling your ears. “No, babe—you'll beg me.”
Yeji's straight-up creaming for it, so messy; cunt empty yet spilling anyway, running thick down the inside of her thighs, dripping off her pussy into the water below.
Barely touching her pussy at all—this is all ass. But it's turning her inside-out, wet enough to clog the pool's gutters as surely as you're clogging Yeji's.
Landing you on a diagnosis for your apparently flighty fuck-buddy. You deliver it straight away: “Anal slut.”
That has her head whipping around, scandalised, hilarious to act like this now; like she shouldn't be updating her resume to pitch-perfect anal-cocksleeve.
“Excuse me—”
Another pound, another spank; real fucking joy in railing the comeback out of her before she can land it.
“What did you call me?”
“Don't backtrack.” Getting deep this time. Right where she's hottest, plundering your way into that needy mess, letting it all sit. “Dirty little anal slut. That's who you really are.”
“I—”
“Acting like you're here being very busy, very professional—celebrity bullshit.” You bottom out; she chokes, remembers your fucking name and tries to burst your eardrums with it. “But you were really trying to find this.” Mouth at her ear, the grip of her ass tells you she can feel every word fucked into the back of her skull. “Tell me I'm wrong.”
Nothing comes out—nothing can, apparently. The air's gone from her lungs, whatever she had to say strangled somewhere on the way up. This mouthy little anal slut so thoroughly stunned you almost feel bad for her.
Almost.
Spanking her back to life. Palm to her cheeks, trying to resuscitate her—get a little juice back in her, enough to see your girl through to the end.
“Yes—” and there's the plumbing breaking, pool flooding, ready to overflow; has to recite the unholy porn-star's prayer, just to let you know: “—fuck, yes, fine, I'm your anal slut, I'm your—I don't even care. I'm your filthy little anal whore. Do it. Ruin me. Treat me like I fucking deserve—”
There she is.
You reward her (reward yourself, really) with everything—on that brutal borderline—the give and take; thick throbs in her aching asshole, pincer pulses back, a fuck-fight in the dark—marble-sculptured ass turned impressionistic watercolour; every shade of purple and red bruising and marking her skin.
“So deep—oh that's not fair, that's—I'm gonna—I'm—”
It's all going to shit—she's getting greedier and greedier with each go, messily squelching and squeezing, gonna be no other way out of this besides flooding her sphincter with enough cum hoping to slide your way out.
“Every night, making me listen, putting on a fucking show,” you tell her, intent on staking your cock into every square-inch of Yeji's rear-real-estate. “Just for this—so I'd know how you sound when you're fucked right. Now look at you.”
“Yes—God, yes, keep it, keep it exactly—”
It's a dead ringer—hearing it up close instead of through the window. Yeji on edge, about to cum, and now you get the full picture of it, the raw feel—knees giving out under her, hands that stop bracing and start clawing, ass that pushes her full weight onto you and makes it your job to see it through—
—and an urgent, stupid need hits you: can't let this happen without getting her even closer.
Reaching for the swimsuit still bunched at her hips—hopelessly stretched out and loose, ready for its last job. Hauling her up by it, hand over hand, until her back comes up and slaps against your chest. Don't even have to tug to manage it, just an honest suggestion—come up, join me, let me fix this geometry and fuck you into next year.
Bent-over becomes upright, and upright leaves her with nowhere to go but down on your cock, deeper into her ass. Gravity doing you every favour—sinking that tight body until she's feeling all of you and you're bulging right through her.
Snaking your hands free, one finds a tit—palming, groping, laying claim, thumb dragging rough over a nipple; she curves whole into it. Throat working around nothing at all, and that just won't do—two fingers under her jaw to turn her head, to find your mouth, your tongue, been waiting for her this whole time.
“You could've just said you wanted to look at me,” she manages, when your tongue slips from the corner of her mouth, lining her jaw, her neck, lost investigating her collarbone.
(Through the static of your brain; any neurons that aren't firing on Yeji grinding herself into a puddle on your cock, catching up late to the rest of her and realising it might be more than just her glorious ass.
Bare-faced. Never needed anything to start with. All she's got on is what you or the pool or the ledge put there: hair shoved wrong in a hundred different directions, lips an angry pink, eyes red and full of tears, a mark blooming under her jaw that'll have company in due time.
Just so—
So annoyingly pretty; this girl who's been crying and climaxing for twenty minutes straight cause she fucking loves being thrown around, and is still, no contest, the hottest piece of ass you've ever got your cock in.)
Giggling, laughing into your mouth; gets the idea of what's running through your head when you kiss her again—her lips plush and soft and sweet and yours anything but.
Yeah, maybe she is winning after all.
Pumping her asshole crimson; too hard, too fast, going overboard. You slip backwards, lose your footing, recover somewhere down the steps and into the water without ever slipping free. Her back still against your chest, the pool climbing warm around your bodies and taking you entirely; a forearm banded under her tits and a hand splayed low on her stomach. Weightless. Feet touching nothing at all, still speared on your cock, where else would she go.
“Come on,” she breathes, head lolling back onto your shoulder, like you even need the encouragement. “Just fucking flood my ass.”
Of course you do.
The water can't keep up. It sloshes, climbs, pours over the vanishing edge in fat silver sheets with every slam of your hips, fucking into her swollen ass; the rooftop, your whole world trying to drain itself over the side.
Just as you've found the pace she likes best—rough and mean; stuffing her dumb. Tugging her down to the root, driving up into her on the buoyancy, feeding her ass full of your cock.
“You can feel it—can't you? I'm gonna cum—you're gonna make me cum so hard—you asshole—it's all you—”
“I know. Eyes open.”
“I can't—it's too—it's so much—”
“Should've thought of that before you—fuck—”
And she cums, and it takes the fucking floor with it—dropping clean out from under your feet, nothing stopping you from crashing through each storey but the clutch of her ass.
All of her—Yeji: dancer's build, shoulders, abs, thighs, lovely-little-tits—seizing and staying seized, rigid against your chest, around your cock.
Her ass, her ass, her fucking ass—fucked wide, mercilessly milking you, godforsaken grip, crushing clutches that make you wince, bite your lip, call her things that'd go a step too far for anyone else but land as nothing but praise for this cum-starved hotel hookup.
Pulling you into the deep end with her—no run-up, straight off the springboard.
“Inside—” in pieces, one hand pawing back at your neck, “—give it to me, make me feel it, don't you dare pull out, don't you look away, please in my ass—”
As if there's any other choice.
Up into her, letting go; balls emptying, spewing sperm, cock throbbing out the last of it, heavy load fucked past her guts and packed in tight to stay.
Taking every fucking drop—each spurt landing flush. Her lip quivering, stomach fluttering under your palm, pupils blowing wider cause she just can't stop cumming.
She wants this.
Wants to be watched taking it—blissed-out face she can't help making, the proof of what you've fucked into her, every bit of it witnessed.
Winds up the best it can—Yeji cries out what's left; voice wrung hoarse to one sound, just your name, screamed like it's always been hers instead of a word your tongue branded into her cunt a handful of orgasms ago.
“Take it,” you say—but you mean keep it, because it's all hers, locked and loaded since she looked your way and turned around to make sure you got the complete picture. “All the cum you want—like a good fucking girl.”
You hold her, buried in her, plugging her ass full, smearing it around her insides, until you pull back just enough to catch it well up and spill. Thick and white, squelching out past your cock, wisps in the water before it's all washed away, obscene and glorious and gone.
—
It all goes still—the water, the rooftop, the pool around you both. The pair of you casually floating like you might have really drowned up here.
But whatever, you'll deal with it all later; you're cummed out, spent, she's orgasmed into a higher plane of existence and yet you can't stop touching her: mouth at her chin, her throat, wet along her shoulder and collarbone and it's impossible to imagine ever having your fill.
Her lips find yours, and you realise she might be in the same boat.
“I don't feel like myself anymore,” she states, matter-of-fact, dragging a hand over her own belly, incredulous. Still feeling you twitching inside her ass. Reaching her conclusion: “Perfect fucking strangers.”
You chuckle. After all that. “Still strangers?”
She goes quiet, considering it—thumb worrying at her bottom lip. “Haven't decided. Who knows if you're even half as interesting as your cock?”
“Probably not.”
“Doesn't mean I won't give you the chance to prove me wrong.” Deciding for you already. “Carry me back to my room and we'll work it out from there. Tell me things. What you do. Where you're from. How you got so good with—everything. Then I'll let you know if I'd rather keep you around a little longer.”
You shrug. “Seems a bit backwards, doesn't it?”
“Isn't that how you like it?” The grin resurfaces, sharpening on the challenge.
She hooks an arm around your neck as you lift her out of the water; turning your back on the city, legs locking around your waist on the way up.
“We'll be efficient about it,” she continues, planning it all out; the rest of your night, hopefully the rest of your stay. Her mouth finds your ear, teeth to the cartilage, tongue to the lobe. “Tell me whatever you want. We'll keep going while you talk—I've got an unused cunt you haven't ruined yet, and you already know how many times I can cum in a row.”
“Dive right in, huh?”
“Deep end.” She bites down. “Only way I know how.”
