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Ongoing Series
Fucked like a Queen – IU SMUT SERIES – 7 CHAPTERS (60 K WORDS) (ONGOING)
Blind Betrayal Series – 2 chapters (OC X SANA X IRENE AND OTHER MULTIPLE FUTURE IDOLS) ONGOING
The world had ended three times in the span of twenty-four hours for Lee Min-ho.
First, the firing. Second, the breakup. Third—and most humiliating—the walk of shame past his former colleagues' cubicles, carrying a cardboard box of desk trinkets while HR's security guard escorted him to the elevator like he was a white-collar criminal. Which, technically, he was just not in the legal sense.
"You slept with my girlfriend, you son of a bitch."
That was his boss—former boss—Park Sung-ho, his voice cracking with a rage that silenced the entire open-floor office. He'd found the text messages. The hotel receipts Min-ho had stupidly left in his work bag. The whole ugly truth unraveled in front of fifty people who'd known him as the "reliable junior account manager." Reliable. Right. Reliable at destroying everything he touched.
The door to his studio apartment slammed behind him. He dropped the cardboard box on the kitchen counter—a counter he hadn't cleaned in weeks—and stared at the walls. Beige. Boring. Empty. Like his future.
Three messages glowed on his phone:
Jisoo (ex-girlfriend of two years): "I can't even look at you. You're disgusting. We're done. Don't contact me."
HR Department: "Your final paycheck will be processed within 14 business days. Please return all company property by Friday."
Unknown Number: "Hey… It's Chungha. Your mom gave me your number. I heard what happened. Can we talk?"
He almost threw the phone against the wall. Almost. But something stopped him—a memory, flickering like a damaged film reel.
Three years ago. His mother's wedding to a wealthy businessman named Kim Jae-won. Min-ho was twenty-five, cynical, and convinced that his mother's third marriage was destined for failure like the first two. The ceremony was small and intimate, held at a garden resort outside Seoul. He'd worn a rented tuxedo that didn't fit quite right and nursed a whiskey sour, waiting for the inevitable awkward introductions to his new step-siblings.
And then she walked in.
Chungha. The Chungha. The soloist whose debut single had topped every chart in Asia. The dancer who had performed at the Olympics' opening ceremony. The woman whose face was on billboards, whose voice was in every café playlist, and whose music videos had billions of views.
And she was his new stepsister.
He remembered freezing mid-sip, the glass hovering uselessly near his lips. She was wearing a pale yellow dress, simple and elegant, her hair pulled back in a loose bun. No heavy makeup—just that natural, glowing confidence that made her look like she'd stepped out of a photoshoot rather than a family wedding. Her smile was polite and practiced, the kind she used for award shows and variety programs.
But when she reached his table and extended her hand, her eyes softened. Not the celebrity mask. Just… human.
"Hi," she said, her voice warm and surprisingly low. "You must be the older brother I never had. I'm Chungha. Or, I guess, just your new sister now."
He'd stammered something idiotic—he didn't even remember what. Something about being a fan. Something about not expecting her to actually be here. She'd laughed, a genuine laugh that crinkled her eyes, and said, "Trust me, I'm more nervous about meeting you than performing at the Gocheok Sky Dome."
That was the thing about Chungha. She was famous—incomprehensibly, stratospherically famous—but she never acted like it. Not with Min-ho. Not with their new family. She'd show up to Sunday dinners when her schedule allowed, always bringing expensive gifts for his mother and Jae-won and always asking about his job, his life, and his little victories. She remembered his birthday. She sent flowers when he got promoted. She was the sister he never asked for but somehow desperately needed.
They had a good relationship. Distant, due to her insane schedule—world tours, album recordings, and variety show appearances—but solid. Genuine. She'd call him at 2 AM after a concert, exhausted but buzzing with adrenaline, and he'd listen to her ramble about stage mishaps and difficult choreography. He'd send her memes. She'd send him voice messages of her singing off-key on purpose just to make him laugh.
And now, after everything he'd done, she was calling.
He called her back that night. His voice was hoarse, raw from the screaming match with Sung-ho and the hours of silent crying after Jisoo's text.
"Hey," she said softly. "I was starting to think you'd ghost me too."
"Can't ghost family," he muttered. "That's, like, against the rules."
"Barely." There was a pause. He heard muffled sounds—maybe a television, maybe a hair dryer. "Mom told me about the… situation. And your job. And, um, Jisoo."
"Of course she did." He rubbed his eyes. "She probably told you I'm a monster."
"She didn't have to," Chungha's voice sharpened. "I read the news articles, oppa. Well—the fan forums, anyway. People talk. They said you got caught sleeping with your boss's girlfriend. That you'd been doing it for months."
Silence. The kind of silence that screams louder than any accusation.
"It's true," he admitted. "Every word."
Chungha exhaled slowly. He could picture her expression—that tight, controlled look she got when she was disappointed but trying not to show it. The same look she'd given a backup dancer who'd missed a cue during rehearsal.
"I'm coming over," she said suddenly. "Stay there."
"Chungha, you don't have to—"
"Shut up. I'll be there in an hour."
She arrived in a black hoodie and baseball cap—her standard incognito uniform. No makeup, hair pulled through the back of the cap in a messy ponytail. She looked like any exhausted twenty-something, not the face of a K-pop empire.
She took one look at his apartment—the takeout containers, the empty soju bottles, the crumpled suit on the floor—and sighed.
"It smells like regret in here," she said, kicking aside a discarded sock. "And desperation. And possibly old kimchi."
"Thank you, Marie Kondo. Really appreciate the analysis."
"Don't get sarcastic with me." She sat on his stained sofa—the one he'd promised to replace for two years—and patted the cushion beside her. "Sit."
He sat like a chastised child.
"Tell me everything," she said. "From the beginning. And don't leave out the parts you're ashamed of."
He told her. The office party where he'd first flirted with Manager Kang's girlfriend—a beautiful, bored woman named Soo-jin who'd made it clear her relationship was "complicated." The secret lunches. The hotel visits during "client meetings." The way he'd convinced himself it wasn't cheating because Jisoo and he had been drifting apart anyway. The way he'd felt alive, powerful, desired—until Sung-ho's face had appeared in the doorway of that hotel room, his expression cycling through disbelief, fury, and, finally, cold, calculated hatred.
When he finished, Chungha was silent for a long moment. Then she stood up, walked to the kitchen, and poured herself a glass of water. She didn't drink it. She just held it, staring at the condensation dripping down the sides.
"You're an idiot," she said flatly.
"Okay, that's fair—"
"A complete, irredeemable idiot." She turned to face him, and he saw it—the steel beneath the softness. The same fire that made her a performer capable of commanding stadiums. "You had a girlfriend who loved you. You had a job that paid well. You had a family—a messed-up, blended, weird family, but still—and you threw all of it away because… what? Because a woman looked at you? Because you wanted to feel like a big man?"
"Chungha—"
"No." She held up a hand. "Let me finish. I've spent my entire career watching people destroy themselves for ten seconds of validation. Managers, idols, producers—all of them thinking they're invincible, that consequences are something that happens to other people. And you—" she shook her head. "You're smarter than that. You've always been smarter than that. But you chose to be stupid. You chose to be cruel."
He opened his mouth to defend himself, but nothing came out because she was right.
"I'm not going to tell you it's okay," she continued, her voice quieter now. "Because it's not. Jisoo is devastated. Sung-ho might never trust anyone again. And you—you lost everything because you couldn't keep it in your pants."
"Wow. Harsh."
"Harsh is what you need right now." She set down the glass and walked back to the sofa, sitting closer this time. Her knee brushed his—a small, sisterly gesture. "But here's the thing. You're still my brother. Stupid, selfish, cheating brother—but still family. And family doesn't abandon family, even when they deserve to be abandoned."
He looked at her. This woman, who could be anywhere in the world—could be partying with celebrities, filming commercials, or preparing for her next world tour—was here. In his dumpy apartment. Scolding him like a disappointed older sister.
"What are you saying?" he asked.
"I'm saying you're moving in with me." She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "My apartment is huge. I barely use half of it. And my roommate—Kang Mina—she's been asking me for months if I wanted to 'adopt a stray' since she's always bringing home abandoned animals." A slight smile tugged at her lips. "You're not a dog, but you're close enough."
"Kang Mina?" He blinked. "The actress? The one from Hospital Playlist and that thriller drama?"
"Yeah. She's basically a national treasure at this point. And yes, she's as gorgeous in person as she looks on screen. But if you even think about pulling any of your cheating nonsense with her—or any of her idol friends who visit—I will personally end you. And I know people. Scary people. Managers with very large security teams."
"I wouldn't—"
"I know you wouldn't. I'm just saying." She pulled out her phone. "I already cleared it with Mina. She's excited to meet you. She says she's always wanted a 'chaotic male sibling energy' in the apartment."
"This is insane," he said. "I can't move in with you. You're—you're Chungha. You have paparazzi. You have schedules. You have a life—"
"And you have nothing." She said it gently but bluntly. "No job. No girlfriend. No dignity. So let me help you. Stay for a few months. Get back on your feet. Figure out what you want to do with your life. And don't sleep with anyone else's partner while you're under my roof. That's the one rule."
He stared at her. The famous idol who'd walked into his life three years ago and somehow, miraculously, become the most stable presence in his chaotic existence.
"Okay," he whispered. "Okay. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." She stood up, pulling her hoodie back over her head. "Pack a bag. You're coming with me tonight. And bring your passport—I'm dragging you to a spa retreat this weekend. You look like death."
As she walked toward the door, she paused and looked back. Her eyes softened again—that same look from the wedding.
"Also?" she said. "I'm not doing this because I feel sorry for you. I'm doing this because I know the real you. The guy who stayed up with me on the phone for three hours when I was crying about my first dating scandal. The guy who defended me to your drunk friends when they said K-pop was 'just manufactured pop. 'The guy who showed up to every family dinner even when he had to take three trains to get there."
She smiled—a small, sad smile.
"That guy deserves a second chance. So don't make me regret giving you one."
And then she was gone, leaving him alone in his shithole apartment with a cardboard box, a shattered ego, and the faintest glimmer of hope.
Later that night, Min-ho stood in the elevator of Chungha's luxury Gangnam apartment building, clutching a single duffel bag and feeling profoundly out of place. The elevator music was classical—actual classical, not elevator muzak—and the doors opened onto a hallway that smelled like lavender and money.
Chungha led him to the door, punched in a code, and pushed it open.
"This is it," she said. "Home sweet home."
The apartment was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Han River. Minimalist furniture in shades of gray and white. A kitchen that looked like it belonged in a design magazine. And sprawled on the enormous sectional sofa, wearing oversized glasses and a hoodie that read "Namaste in Bed," was Kang Mina.
She looked up from her phone, pushed her glasses up her nose, and grinned.
"So," she said, her voice warm and teasing. "You're the famous stepbrother who ruined his life. Welcome to the chaos. I'm Mina. I make bad decisions too, but usually they involve ordering fried chicken at 2 AM, not cheating on my girlfriend."
Min-ho felt his face burn. "It's—it's nice to meet you. I'm sorry for the imposition."
"Imposition?" Mina laughed—a bright, musical sound. "Chungha's been talking about you for years. She literally has a photo of you on her nightstand. It's kind of adorable, actually."
"I'm always nice," Mina said, winking at Min-ho. "Especially to strays. Don't worry, oppa. We'll take good care of you. Just don't expect me to cook—I'm strictly a 'microwave and regret' chef."
He stood there, frozen, surrounded by two of the most beautiful, successful women in South Korea—one his stepsister, the other an actress he'd secretly crushed on during her drama marathons—and realized, with a strange mix of shame and gratitude, that he was exactly where he needed to be.
"Thank you," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "Both of you. I don't deserve this."
"You don't," Chungha agreed, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "But that's what sisters are for."
And for the first time in forty-eight hours, Min-ho smiled.
Three weeks had passed since Min-ho had moved into Chungha's apartment. Three weeks of sleeping on a ridiculously comfortable guest bed, eating Mina's questionable microwave creations, and pretending he wasn't hyper-aware of every beautiful woman who walked through those doors.
Chungha had been true to her word. She'd dragged him to a spa retreat—an absurdly luxurious place where they rubbed his face with snail mucus and made him drink something called "collagen gold elixir." He'd emerged feeling like a new man. Or at least a man who'd stopped smelling like regret and old kimchi.
She'd also been relentless about getting him out of his head. "You can't mope forever," she'd say, shoving a smoothie into his hands at 7 AM. "You need to remember that you're still a human being. A flawed, dumb, cheating human being—but still a human being."
He'd started looking for jobs. Sending out applications. Getting rejected. The usual post-apocalyptic job hunt routine. But Chungha and Mina refused to let him wallow. They'd drag him to movie nights, force him to play board games, and—on one particularly memorable evening—made him watch an entire season of some reality dating show while they provided running commentary.
"You'd be the villain on this show," Mina had declared, pointing a chopstick at him. "The one everyone hates but secretly finds hot."
"Thanks," he'd said dryly. "Really building up my self-esteem here."
"I'm not trying to build your self-esteem," Mina had shot back. "I'm trying to keep you from becoming a hermit. There's a difference."
Chungha had watched their banter with a small smile, her eyes flickering between them like she was cataloging something. Min-ho didn't think much of it at the time.
He should have.
It was a Friday night, and Chungha had emerged from her bedroom looking like she'd stepped off a magazine cover. Black leather mini-skirt. A silky crimson top that tied at the neck, showing off her collarbones and the faintest hint of cleavage. Her hair was down—long, dark, and wavy—and her makeup was flawless: smoky eyes and glossy lips that looked almost edible.
"Get dressed," she'd announced, tossing a button-up shirt at his face. "We're going out."
"Going out where?" he'd asked, catching the shirt with more confusion than grace.
"Clubbing. You need to remember what fun feels like."
"Chungha, I'm thirty years old. I haven't gone clubbing since—"
"Since you became a boring loser who cheated on his girlfriend and got fired?" She'd raised an eyebrow. "Exactly. That's why you're going. Consider it exposure therapy."
Mina had appeared from her room, already dressed in a tight black dress that hugged every curve of her athletic figure. She'd winked at him. "Don't worry, oppa. We'll protect you from the scary women. Mostly."
"I'm not worried about women," he'd muttered. "I'm worried about your security team if anyone recognizes you."
"Relax." Chungha had grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the door. "We're going to a private club. VIP only. No paparazzi. No fans. Just rich people pretending they're not rich and celebrities pretending they're normal."
"And me," he'd added. "The failure who's living off his step-sister's charity."
"You're not a failure," Chungha had said, her voice softening. "You're just... temporarily inconvenienced."
"That's a very generous way of saying 'pathetic.'"
"Tomato, tomahto."
The club was called Eclipse, and it was exactly as ridiculous as he'd expected. A converted warehouse in Gangnam, all exposed brick and neon lights and a DJ who looked like he'd been carved from marble. The music was loud enough to vibrate in his chest, a thrumming bass that seemed to sync with his heartbeat.
Chungha led him past the velvet ropes with a casual wave at the bouncer—who nodded respectfully, clearly recognizing her—and they slipped into a VIP booth near the back. The booth was semicircular, plush velvet in deep burgundy, with a table that sparkled with bottle service and a glowing ice bucket.
"Drink," Chungha commanded, pushing a glass of something amber and expensive into his hand. "And relax. You look like you're about to have a panic attack."
"I'm fine," he said, taking a sip. Whiskey. Good whiskey. "I'm just... adjusting."
"Adjust faster." She leaned back, her legs crossing slowly, the leather of her skirt catching the strobing lights. "Tonight, you're not the guy who got fired. You're not the guy who cheated. You're just... a guy. Okay?"
He nodded, taking another sip. The whiskey burned pleasantly on the way down, loosening something tight in his chest.
Mina had already found a group of friends near the dance floor—a cluster of beautiful people who were laughing and grinding to the beat. She waved at them, her smile bright and infectious, before disappearing into the crowd.
"She's going to be a disaster tomorrow," Chungha said fondly. "She always is."
"Doesn't she have a shoot on Monday?"
"She'll survive. She's Kang Mina. She can film a commercial hungover with one eye closed." Chungha laughed, a warm sound that cut through the noise. "She's done it before."
Min-ho watched the dance floor for a while, the sea of bodies moving in hypnotic rhythm. The lights painted everything in shifting colors—blue, pink, gold—and for a moment, he almost forgot about the wreckage of his life.
Almost.
And then Chungha nudged him, her eyes bright with mischief. "Stay here. I'm going to get us another round. And maybe find someone to introduce you to."
"Introduce me to—" he started, but she was already gone, weaving through the crowd with the practiced ease of a woman who'd spent years navigating chaos.
He sat alone in the booth, nursing his whiskey, trying not to feel like a discarded accessory.
Twenty minutes later, Chungha returned. But she wasn't alone.
Walking beside her was the most stunning woman Min-ho had ever seen in his life.
She was tall—taller than Chungha—with a figure that made his brain short-circuit. Long, toned legs that seemed to go on forever, showcased by tiny denim shorts that barely covered the curve of her ass. Her top was tight, a cropped white tank that strained against a chest that was... impressive. Generous. The kind of chest that made you forget your own name.
But it was her hair that really hit him. Blonde. Platinum. Signature. It fell in waves past her shoulders, catching the neon lights like spun gold. Her face was delicate but sharp—high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes that sparkled with mischief and something deeper.
Jeon Somi.
He knew her. Everyone knew her. The soloist who'd conquered the charts, the variety show queen, the woman who'd made "XOXO" an international earworm. She was nineteen years old—or maybe twenty? The timeline blurred—but she looked like she'd walked out of every man's dream and every woman's envy.
And she was walking toward him.
"Somi," Chungha said, her voice casual as if introducing him to a neighbor. "This is my stepbrother. The one I told you about."
Somi's eyes met Min-ho's, and she smiled—a slow, knowing smile that made something flip in his stomach. "Ah," she said, her voice playful. "The legendary stepbrother. Chungha talks about you all the time."
"She does?" he managed, his voice cracking slightly.
"Don't flatter yourself," Chungha said, rolling her eyes. "Mostly she complains about you." But there was warmth in her voice, a teasing edge that softened the words.
Somi slid into the booth beside him—close enough that he could smell her perfume, something floral and sweet with a hint of vanilla. Her thigh brushed against his, and he felt a jolt of electricity shoot through his entire body.
"So," she said, turning to face him fully, her eyes scanning his face with blatant curiosity. "Chungha says you've been through a rough patch. Something about a job and a girlfriend and a lot of bad decisions."
"Chungha has a big mouth," Min-ho said, shooting a glare at his stepsister.
"I'm not wrong," Chungha said, shrugging. "You made bad decisions. I'm just giving Somi the cliff notes version."
Somi laughed—a bright, musical sound that echoed in the booth. "Don't worry," she said, leaning closer. "I've made bad decisions too. It's part of being human."
"Some of us make more than others," he muttered.
"Some of us make more interesting ones," she countered, her eyes glinting.
Chungha looked between them, a small smile playing on her lips. "I'm going to grab that drink," she said, standing. "You two... get to know each other."
And then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd with a wave that felt suspiciously intentional.
Min-ho was alone with Jeon Somi.
For a moment, they just sat there, the music pounding around them like a heartbeat. Her thigh was still pressed against his, and he was acutely aware of every point of contact—her knee, her shoulder, the brush of her hair against his arm.
"So," he said, trying to sound casual. "What does Chungha actually say about me? The real version, not the sanitized one."
Somi tilted her head, her eyes narrowing playfully. "She says you're an idiot who made a huge mistake. But she also says you're a good person. Loyal. Kind. The kind of guy who takes care of people, even when you don't have to."
He blinked. "She said all that?"
"She might have left out the 'idiot' part." Somi grinned, showing perfect teeth. "I added that myself."
He laughed—a genuine laugh, the first one in weeks. "Fair enough."
And then they started talking.
It was easy. Natural. She asked about his job—his former job—and he told her about the corporate grind, the absurdity of office politics, the soul-crushing monotony of spreadsheets and meetings. She listened, genuinely listened, asking questions that showed she was actually paying attention.
In return, she told him about her life. The grueling trainee days, the pressure of debuting at sixteen, the constant scrutiny of being a public figure. She talked about the loneliness of fame, the way people saw her as an image rather than a person.
"It's exhausting," she said, her voice dropping. "Everyone expects you to be perfect. And you can't ever, ever make a mistake. Because if you do, they'll tear you apart."
"Sounds familiar," he said quietly.
She met his eyes, and something passed between them—a shared understanding, a recognition of the weight they both carried.
"Chungha said you got caught cheating," she said, her voice careful. "Is that true?"
He tensed, the old shame flooding back. "Yeah," he admitted. "It's true."
"And you feel guilty about it?"
"Every single day."
She was quiet for a moment, studying him. Then she reached out and placed her hand on his arm—a light touch, but it felt like a spark.
"Good," she said simply. "That means you're not a bad person. You're just a person who did a bad thing. There's a difference."
He stared at her. "How do you know that?"
She smiled, softer this time. "Because I've done bad things too. We all have. But we don't have to be defined by them."
The conversation shifted after that—lighter, more playful. She teased him about his ancient phone, which he'd been too broke to upgrade. He teased her about her ridiculous collection of designer sneakers. They argued about the best K-dramas (she was wrong; Crash Landing On You was objectively better than Goblin) and debated the merits of different soju flavors.
Her laughter was intoxicating. She had a way of making him feel like the most interesting person in the room, her eyes fixed on his as if nothing else existed.
And somewhere along the way, the air between them changed.
It started small. A lingering glance. A brush of fingers when they reached for the same bottle. Her thigh shifted closer to his, the warmth of her body seeping through his jeans.
The alcohol helped—they'd polished off half a bottle of whiskey between them—but it wasn't just the drinks. It was the way she bit her lip when he made a joke. The way her eyes flickered to his mouth when he spoke. The way her breath hitched when he leaned in to hear her over the music.
"I'm glad Chungha brought you here," she said, her voice barely audible above the bass.
"Me too," he said, and he meant it.
She looked at him, and in her eyes, he saw something that made his heart race. Not just interest. Not just attraction. Something deeper, more dangerous.
And then Chungha's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, frowned, and held up her fingers. "I have to take this," she shouted over the music. "My manager. It's urgent. I'll be right back!"
She disappeared into the crowd, and suddenly it was just the two of them again. But this time, there was no buffer. No third person to diffuse the tension building between them.
Somi shifted, her knee brushing his more deliberately. "Looks like it's just us," she said, her voice low and husky.
"Looks like it," he echoed, his throat dry.
She leaned in, her lips inches from his ear. "You know," she murmured, her breath warm against his skin. "I've always had a thing for older guys. Especially ones who've been through shit."
He swallowed hard. "Is that so?"
"Mmm." She pulled back, her eyes meeting his. There was no shyness in her gaze. No hesitation. Just pure, unfiltered desire.
"Chungha's going to kill me," he said, though he made no move to pull away.
"Probably," Somi agreed. "But she's not here right now."
And then she closed the distance.
The kiss was electric. Her lips were soft and warm, tasting faintly of the strawberry soju she'd been drinking. Min-ho responded instinctively, his hand moving to the back of her head, fingers threading through her platinum hair.
She sighed against his mouth, a sound that sent heat shooting through his entire body. Her hands came up to grip his shoulders, her nails digging in slightly as she pulled him closer.
The booth was dark, hidden from the prying eyes of the crowd, and he was acutely aware of how alone they were. How private. How dangerous.
But he didn't care.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing her lower lip, and she opened for him without hesitation. The taste of her was intoxicating—sweet and sharp and utterly addictive. His other hand found her waist, pulling her against him, feeling the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her tank top.
She moaned—a soft, breathy sound—and it was like a spark to gasoline.
His lips left hers, trailing down her jaw to her neck. She tilted her head back, exposing the pale column of her throat, and he pressed a kiss to the spot just below her ear. She shivered, her fingers tightening in his shirt.
"Oppa," she breathed, the honorific rolling off her tongue like honey.
He pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were half-lidded, her lips swollen and red, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She was gorgeous. Stunning. Absolutely fucking breathtaking.
"You're dangerous," he said, his voice rough.
"So are you," she replied, pulling him back in.
This time, the kiss was hungrier. More desperate. His hands roamed her body, tracing the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the swell of her hips. She responded in kind, her hands sliding under his shirt, her fingers tracing fire across his skin.
They were inching closer and closer, the heat between them building to an unbearable peak. Her legs parted slightly, and he shifted, settling between them, feeling the warmth of her core against his thigh.
The kiss deepened, and Min-ho felt the world around them dissolve into nothing but sensation. The thrum of the club's bass became a distant heartbeat, the neon lights bleeding into soft shadows that danced across Somi's golden skin. She was warm beneath him, her body curving into his as if she'd been made to fit against him.
He lowered her gently onto the plush leather of the sofa, his body covering hers, the weight of him pressing her into the cushions. She gasped against his mouth—a soft, breathy sound that sent a jolt of electricity straight to his core. Her legs parted instinctively, and he settled between them, the heat of her core seeping through the thin fabric of his jeans.
She smelled incredible. Floral and expensive, like jasmine and vanilla and something sweeter beneath—something uniquely her. The scent enveloped him, intoxicating, making his head spin even more than the whiskey they'd shared. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply, and she tilted her head back to give him more access, a low moan escaping her lips.
"Min-ho," she breathed, her voice husky and trembling. His name on her tongue sounded like a prayer.
He kissed the sensitive spot just below her ear, feeling her pulse flutter wildly against his lips. Her skin was smooth and hot, burning beneath his touch like she'd been waiting for this—waiting for him. He trailed his lips down the column of her throat, tasting the faint saltiness of her skin, and she arched into him, her fingers tangling in his hair.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured against her collarbone, his voice rough with desire. "So fucking beautiful."
She laughed breathlessly, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Keep talking like that, and I'm never letting you go."
"Good," he said, his lips curving into a smirk against her skin. "Because I don't want to go anywhere."
His hand moved from her waist, sliding up her side with agonizing slowness. Her skin was silk beneath his fingertips, warm and supple, and he could feel the rapid beat of her heart through her ribcage. She shivered at his touch, her breath catching in her throat, and he felt a surge of power—the knowledge that he was the one making her feel this way, the one drawing these sounds from her lips.
His fingers traced the curve of her breast through the thin fabric of her tank top, and she gasped, her back arching off the sofa. He could feel the heat of her skin even through the cotton, the firm swell of her breast perfectly filling his palm. She was generous and full, and he couldn't stop himself from squeezing gently, testing the weight of her.
"Fuck," she whispered, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Min-ho... please..."
"Please, what?" he teased, his voice low and dark. "Tell me what you want, Somi."
She looked up at him, her eyes dark with desire, her lips swollen and red. "I want you to touch me. Really touched me. Don't tease."
He grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Where's the fun in that?"
His fingers found the hem of her tank top, and he pushed it up slowly, exposing inch after inch of golden skin. Her stomach was toned, the muscles rippling beneath his touch as he traced the outline of her navel. She squirmed beneath him, her hips grinding against his, and he could feel the heat of her arousal even through their clothes.
When he reached the curve of her breasts, he paused, his fingers hovering just above the fabric of her lacy bralette. She was watching him through hooded eyes, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her chest heaving with anticipation.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So desperate for me. So beautiful like this."
"Says the guy who's hard as a rock," she shot back, though her voice was breathless and shaky. "Stop talking and touch me."
He laughed, a low, husky sound. "Bossy."
But he obeyed.
His fingers slipped beneath the lace of her bralette, and he finally felt the weight of her bare breast in his palm. She was soft and warm, her skin like velvet beneath his calloused fingers. Her nipple was already stiff, a hard pebble against his thumb, and he circled it slowly, teasingly, watching her face contort with pleasure.
She moaned, a long, drawn-out sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her chest. Her hips bucked against his, and he could feel the heat of her core pressing against his thigh, damp and wanting.
"You like that?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, don't stop—"
He didn't. He continued his slow assault on her senses, his fingers rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching gently, then soothing the sting with a soft caress. She was writhing beneath him now, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails leaving crescent moons in his skin.
He leaned down and captured her mouth again, swallowing her moans as his hand continued its exploration. His other hand found her other breast, cupping it through the fabric, squeezing and kneading until she was a trembling mess beneath him.
The kiss deepened and became more desperate. She tasted like strawberry soju and desire, and he couldn't get enough. His tongue tangled with hers, and she responded eagerly, her hips grinding against his in a rhythm that drove him insane.
He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the way her skin flushed beneath his touch. She was so responsive, every gasp and moan spurring him on, making him want to give her more, take her higher.
Min-ho broke the kiss with a gasp, his lips trailing down her jaw, her chin, and the delicate column of her throat. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his mouth, a frantic rhythm that matched his own. Her skin was like honeyed silk, warm and fragrant, and he couldn't get enough.
"You taste incredible," he murmured against her collarbone, his voice thick with desire. "Like heaven. Like everything I've ever wanted."
Somi arched beneath him, a soft whimper escaping her lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. "Don't stop," she breathed. "Please, Min-ho. Don't you dare stop."
He had no intention of stopping. His lips traced a path down to the swell of her breasts, and he pulled aside the lace of her bralette, exposing more of her golden skin. Her breasts were magnificent—full and round, with dusky pink nipples that were already tight and aching for his touch. He couldn't resist lowering his head and pressing a kiss to the valley between them, feeling the heat of her skin against his lips.
"Fuck," she gasped, her back arching off the sofa. "Yes. Right there."
He smiled against her skin, a smug, satisfied grin. "You like that, baby? You like when I kiss you here?"
"Yes," she whimpered. "Yes, I love it. Please, more. Give me more."
He obliged, his lips trailing down the curve of her breast, his tongue darting out to taste the sensitive skin. She was salty and sweet, like the ocean and honey combined, and he couldn't stop himself from taking more. His hand cupped her other breast, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, feeling it mold perfectly to his palm.
"You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice reverent. "Every inch of you. I want to taste all of it."
His fingers found her nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger, and she cried out, her hips bucking against his. He could feel the heat of her core through his jeans, the dampness of her arousal soaking through the fabric. It drove him insane, knowing how much she wanted him, how wet she was for him.
"You're so wet," he said, his voice a low growl. "I can feel it. You're soaking through your panties, aren't you?"
She nodded frantically, her eyes squeezed shut. "Yes. Fuck, yes. You're making me so wet, Min-ho. I've never been this wet in my life."
"Good," he said, his lips curling into a predatory smile. "That's exactly how I want you."
He lowered his head again, this time taking her nipple into his mouth. She screamed—actually screamed—as his tongue swirled around the sensitive peak, her fingers tightening in his hair. He sucked gently, then harder, and she was a writhing mess beneath him, her hips grinding against his, seeking friction.
"Oh my God," she moaned. "That feels... that feels so good. Don't stop. Please, don't stop."
He didn't. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, and she was practically sobbing with pleasure. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and dip, memorizing the way she felt beneath his fingers.
And then he pulled back, looking down at her. She was a vision—flushed and breathless, her hair a wild halo around her face, her lips swollen and red. Her eyes met his, dark with desire, and she smiled—a lazy, satisfied smile that made his heart race.
"God, you're beautiful," he said. "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
"Flatterer," she teased, though her voice was breathless. "But I like it."
He grinned, then lowered his head again, this time trailing kisses down her stomach. Her abs were toned and defined, the muscles rippling beneath his lips as he traced the lines of her six-pack. He remembered watching her workout videos online—the way she'd sweat and grunt and push herself to the limit. She'd prided herself on her fitness and on her body, and now he had the privilege of tasting every inch of it.
"Your abs," he murmured against her skin. "I've seen your workout videos. You're incredible, you know that? All those crunches, all that discipline. And now I get to taste the results."
She laughed, a breathless sound. "You're such a dork. But you're also... oh, fuck. That's good. That's really good."
His tongue traced the lines of her abs, dipping into the valleys between each muscle. She shivered beneath him, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. He could feel how sensitive she was—every touch sent a tremor through her body, every kiss made her gasp.
"Your abs are so fucking sexy," he murmured. "So firm. So perfect. I could spend hours here."
"Please," she whimpered. "Please, Min-ho. Don't tease me. I need you."
"Shh," he soothed, pressing a kiss to her navel. "I'm taking my time with you. You deserve to be worshipped, Somi. Every inch of you."
His tongue dipped into her navel, swirling around the delicate indentation, and she gasped, her hips bucking against his face. He could taste the faint saltiness of her skin and the sweetness of her arousal, and it drove him wild.
"Fuck," she moaned. "Your tongue. Your tongue is so good. Don't stop. Please, don't stop."
He didn't. He trailed his tongue lower, following the line of her abs down to the waistband of her shorts. She was trembling now, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, the dampness of her arousal soaking through the denim.
"Somi," he said, his voice dark and commanding. "Look at me."
She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. Her pupils were blown wide with desire, her lips parted and panting. "What?" she breathed.
"I want you to tell me what you want," he said. "I want you to say it. Out loud."
She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. "I want you to touch me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want you to make me come. Please."
He smiled—a slow, wicked smile. "Good girl."
His fingers found the button of her shorts, and he unfastened it with practiced ease. She lifted her hips, helping him slide them down her legs, and he tossed them aside. Her panties were white and delicate lace, soaked through with her arousal. The sight of her, so wet and ready for him, made him groan.
"Look at you," he said, his voice rough. "So wet for me. So desperate."
"I'm not desperate," she protested, though her voice was shaky. "I'm just... eager."
"Eager," he repeated, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "I like that word. It suits you."
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down slowly, savoring every inch of skin he revealed. She was bare beneath, her core glistening with moisture, and he couldn't stop himself from leaning down and pressing a kiss to her inner thigh.
She gasped, her legs falling open wider, an invitation he eagerly accepted. His tongue traced a path up her thigh, closer and closer to her core, and she was trembling now, her fingers clutching the cushions beneath her.
"Min-ho," she gasped. "Please. Please, I need you."
"Not yet," he murmured. "I'm not done tasting you."
His tongue found her center, and she screamed—a raw, primal sound that echoed through the private room. She tasted like honey and desire, sweet and intoxicating, and he couldn't get enough. His tongue lapped at her folds, circling her clit with devastating precision, and she was writhing beneath him, her hips bucking against his face.
Min-ho's tongue was a relentless instrument of pleasure, tracing every fold and crevice of Somi's dripping core. She tasted like ambrosia—sweet, tangy, and utterly addictive. Her thighs tightened around his head, clamping down as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, grinding his face against her wet heat.
"Oh my God—fuck—Min-ho!" she cried out, her voice breaking into a series of desperate moans. "Your tongue—I can't—I'm gonna—"
But she didn't finish the sentence. Her words dissolved into a wordless scream as her first orgasm ripped through her, her hips bucking wildly against his mouth. He lapped at her greedily, drinking every drop of her release, savoring the way she trembled and convulsed beneath him.
When her spasms finally subsided, she lay panting, her chest heaving, her skin slick with sweat. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, and she looked at him with something like wonder.
"That was..." she started, then laughed breathlessly. "That was insane. You're insane."
He grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, tasting her on his lips. "I'm not done with you yet."
But she shook her head, a wicked glint returning to her eyes. "No. My turn."
She pushed him gently, and he lay back on the plush leather sofa, watching her with a mixture of anticipation and lust. She moved with feline grace, shifting her body so she was straddling his waist, her dripping pussy pressing against the bulge in his jeans. The heat of her core seeped through the fabric, and he groaned, his hips instinctively bucking up to meet her.
"Someone's eager," she teased, her voice low and husky. She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "You've been so good to me. Now let me return the favor."
She kissed her way down his chest, her tongue tracing the lines of his pectoral muscles, her teeth nipping at his nipples. He hissed, his hands finding her hair, threading through the platinum strands. She was a goddess—a platinum-haired deity who was currently worshiping his body with a reverence that made his head spin.
But she didn't stop there. She continued her descent, her lips trailing down his stomach, pausing to swirl her tongue around his navel. He shivered, his abs clenching, and she laughed softly—a sound that was equal parts sweet and devilish.
"Patience," she murmured. "I told you. I'm going to take my time with you."
Her fingers found the waistband of his jeans, and she unfastened the button with deliberate slowness. The zipper descended with a metallic rasp, and she tugged the fabric down his hips. His boxer briefs were tented obscenely, the outline of his erection straining against the cotton.
"God," she breathed, her eyes widening. "You're huge."
He smirked, though his voice was strained. "You haven't even seen it yet."
She bit her lip, a predatory glint in her eyes. "Then let's fix that."
She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down, and his cock sprang free—long, thick, and aching. It stood proud and erect, the head glistening with a bead of precum, veins pulsing along the shaft. It was almost comically large, and Somi's eyes went wide with a mixture of shock and delight.
"Holy shit," she whispered. "Okay. Okay, that's... impressive."
"Impressive?" he repeated, his voice strained. "That's all you've got?"
She laughed, a breathless sound. "No. That's not all I've got."
She wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, and he groaned, his hips bucking into her grip. Her hand was small and delicate, her fingers barely able to encircle his girth. She stroked him slowly, experimentally, her thumb swirling around the sensitive head, spreading the precum like a lubricant.
"Fuck," he gasped. "Somi... your hand..."
"Shh," she soothed, her eyes meeting his. "I'm just getting started."
She leaned down, her breath warm against his cock, and he tensed, his entire body coiled with anticipation. And then her tongue darted out, lapping at the bead of precum that had gathered at his tip. She hummed, as if tasting something delicious, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
"You taste so good," she murmured against his skin. "I could do this all night."
"Please," he managed. "Please, just—"
But she was already taking him into her mouth.
The heat of her mouth engulfed him, and he gasped, his hands fisting in her hair. She took him deep—deeper than he'd expected—her lips sliding down his shaft until she had taken almost half of him. Her tongue swirled around him, working in tandem with the suction, and he was seeing stars.
"Jesus Christ," he groaned. "Somi—"
She pulled back, her lips releasing him with a wet pop, and looked up at him with those dark, mischievous eyes. "You like that?"
"I love it," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "But don't stop. Please, don't stop."
She smiled, a slow, wicked smile, and then she was taking him again, this time even deeper. Her head bobbed up and down in a rhythm that was both relentless and rhythmic, her tongue working magic along his shaft. He could feel her throat constricting around him, and he realized she was deep-throating him—taking him all the way down to the base.
"Oh, fuck," he groaned. "Oh, fuck, Somi—"
She pulled back, gasping for breath, her lips red and swollen. "You taste so good," she said, her voice raspy. "I want more."
And she took him again, her hand stroking what her mouth couldn't reach, her fingers working in tandem with her lips. He was lost—completely, utterly lost—the pleasure building in his core like a tidal wave.
But then she stopped.
He looked down at her, a question in his eyes, and she grinned. "Turn around," she said, her voice husky. "I want to taste you while you taste me."
He blinked, trying to process her words. And then he understood. She wanted to sixty-nine.
He shifted, turning around so his head was between her legs while she was positioned above his cock. His face was inches from her dripping pussy, and he could smell her arousal, musky and sweet. He groaned, his tongue darting out to taste her again.
"Oh, God, yes," she moaned, her hips grinding against his face. "Eat me, Min-ho. Eat my pussy."
He obliged without hesitation, his tongue plunging into her wet folds, drinking her in. She tasted even better than before, her juices coating his lips and chin, and he couldn't get enough. He licked and sucked and nibbled, his hands gripping her thighs, pulling her closer.
At the same time, she took him back into her mouth, her lips wrapping around his cock with practiced ease. She bobbed her head, taking him deep, her throat relaxing to accommodate his girth. The sensation was incredible—her mouth hot and wet, her tongue swirling around his shaft while he ate her pussy like a man starved.
They were in perfect sync, each of them driving the other closer to the edge. He could feel her orgasm building—the way her thighs trembled, the way her hips ground against his face with increasing urgency. And he pushed her over the edge, his tongue flicking against her clit with relentless precision.
She came with a scream, her body convulsing above him, her juices flooding his mouth. He drank her down, lapping at her like a man dying of thirst, and she continued to suck his cock, her rhythm faltering as the waves of pleasure crashed through her.
But she didn't stop. Even as her body trembled with the aftershocks of her orgasm, she continued to work him, her mouth and hands driving him insane.
He pulled away from her pussy just long enough to speak. "Somi—I'm close—I'm gonna—"
But she pulled back too, her lips releasing him with a wet pop. "Not yet," she said, her voice hoarse but firm. "I want to taste you first."
She turned around, positioning herself so she was straddling his chest, her dripping pussy hovering over his face. And then she lowered herself, her pussy pressing against his lips, and he was drowning in her again.
At the same time, she wrapped her lips around his cock and resumed her assault. She was determined—relentless—her head bobbing up and down as she took him deeper and deeper. He could feel the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat, could feel her gagging slightly as she fought to take all of him.
"Yes," he groaned against her pussy. "Yes, baby, take it all. Take it all—"
And she did. She deep-throated him completely, her nose pressing against his pelvis, her throat constricting around his shaft. He could feel her saliva dripping down his balls, and he groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily.
But he was focused on her—on making her cum again. His tongue worked her clit, his fingers slipping inside her, curling to hit that spot that made her scream. She was a mess above him, her body trembling, her moans muffled by his cock.
She came again—a gushing orgasm that soaked his face, her juices pouring over his lips and chin. He drank her down, savoring every drop, but she didn't stop. She continued to suck him, her determination matching his own.
He could feel his orgasm building again—that familiar pressure in his balls, the tingling sensation at the base of his spine. He was close, so close, but she refused to let him cum.
"Not yet," she said, pulling away just as he was about to tip over the edge. "I'm not done with you."
She shifted, releasing his cock from her mouth, and he groaned in frustration. But then she was kissing her way down his shaft, her lips trailing to his heavy, swollen balls. She took one into her mouth, sucking gently, and he gasped, his hips jerking.
"Yes," he groaned. "Yes, baby, suck them. Suck my balls."
She obliged, taking each one into her mouth in turn, her tongue swirling around them while her hand stroked his cock. She was a master—a goddess—her every touch driving him insane.
She alternated between sucking his balls and deep-throating him, her rhythm relentless. She was determined to make him cum, but he was equally determined to hold out—to savor every moment of this unbelievable encounter.
But she was too good. Her mouth was too hot, too wet, too perfect. He could feel his control slipping, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.
"Somi," he gasped. "Somi, I'm gonna cum—I'm gonna—"
And then she deep-throated him again—completely, fully—and he lost it.
His orgasm erupted with a force that left him breathless, his cum shooting down her throat in thick, hot spurts. She swallowed greedily, milking him for every drop, her throat constricting around him as she took everything he had to give.
When he finally stopped shaking, she pulled away, licking her lips with a satisfied smile. "That was... incredible," she said, her voice hoarse but full of admiration.
He laughed, breathless and dazed. "You're incredible. I've never—I've never had anyone do that to me before."
"Then I'm glad I was your first," she said, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. He could taste himself on her tongue—a strange, intimate taste that only heightened the intensity of the moment.
But she wasn't done. She shifted, turning around so she was facing him again, her legs straddling his waist. His cock was still half-hard, and she reached down, guiding it to her entrance.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough. "We don't have to—"
"Shut up," she said, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "I want to feel you inside me."
And then she sank onto him.
The sensation was indescribable—her pussy hot and tight, enveloping him in a wet, velvet grip. He gasped, his hands gripping her hips, and she threw her head back with a moan of pure pleasure.
"Oh, fuck," she breathed. "You're so big. You're so fucking big—"
He watched her, mesmerized, as she began to move—her hips rising and falling in a rhythm that was both ancient and primal. Her breasts bounced with each motion, her platinum hair cascading around her shoulders like a halo.
"You're so beautiful," he said, his voice awestruck. "So fucking beautiful—"
"Less talking," she gasped. "More—fucking—"
Min-ho's world narrowed to a single, incandescent point of sensation. The heat of Somi's body, the slick, tight vice of her pussy enveloping him, the rhythmic sway of her hips—it was all-consuming, a maelstrom of pleasure that threatened to pull him under. He lay beneath her, his hands gripping her thighs, his gaze locked on the vision above him: Jeon Somi, platinum-haired goddess, riding him like a woman possessed.
Her tits—those magnificent, full, perfect breasts—were right there. They bounced with each of her movements, a hypnotic pendulum of flesh that drew his eyes like a moth to a flame. The silky crimson top she'd been wearing had been discarded somewhere in the heat of their passion, leaving her bare from the waist up. Her skin was golden, glowing under the dim, pulsating lights of the private club's VIP booth, and her nipples were dark, stiff peaks that ached for his touch.
But he couldn't touch them. Not yet. His hands were busy gripping her hips, guiding her rhythm, feeling the incredible friction of his cock sliding in and out of her soaking wet cunt. She was so tight—so impossibly tight—her inner walls gripping him like a velvet fist, squeezing and releasing with each of her movements.
But her breasts demanded his attention. They were right there, swaying inches from his face, their full, heavy weight defying gravity with every bounce. He could see the veins faintly traced beneath the surface of her skin, the way the muscles of her chest contracted with each of her movements. She was so beautiful, so utterly, breathtakingly beautiful, that he couldn't help himself.
He reached up, his fingers closing around one of her breasts, and she gasped, her hips stuttering for a moment before resuming their rhythm. Her skin was warm and silky beneath his touch, the flesh firm yet pliant, molding perfectly to his palm. He squeezed gently, feeling the weight of her, the heat of her, and she moaned, her head falling back as she rode him faster.
"Yes," she breathed. "Touch them. Squeeze them. I love it when you touch my tits."
He didn't need to be told twice. He cupped both of her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples, and she cried out, her hips grinding against him with renewed intensity. Her nipples were rock-hard, sensitive little pearls that responded to his every touch, and he couldn't resist leaning up and taking one into his mouth.
The taste of her was intoxicating—sweet and salty, with a hint of the strawberry soju they'd been drinking earlier. He swirled his tongue around the stiff peak, suckling gently, and she screamed, her fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer.
"Oh, fuck!" she cried. "Yes! Bite them, Min-ho! Bite my nipples!"
He obliged, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, and she shuddered, her pussy clenching around him like a fist. He could feel her orgasm building—the way her inner walls fluttered, the way her breath came in short, desperate gasps. He bit down harder, and she screamed again, her hips bucking wildly as she came apart on top of him.
But he didn't stop. He continued to suck and bite and lick her tits while his cock pistoned inside her, driving her through the waves of her orgasm and into the next. Her body was a symphony of pleasure, every nerve ending alight, every muscle tensing and releasing in a rhythm that matched his own.
She leaned forward, her tits pressing against his face, and he buried his face in the soft, yielding flesh. They were like pillows—soft yet firm, warm and fragrant- and he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of her. She smelled like jasmine and vanilla and sex, a heady combination that drove him wild.
"Min-ho," she moaned, her voice breathless and trembling. "Min-ho, I love the way your face feels between my tits. You're so greedy. So hungry for them."
"Can't help it," he murmured, his voice muffled by her flesh. "They're perfect. You're perfect. Every inch of you."
She laughed—a shaky, breathless sound—and ground her hips against him harder. He could feel the head of his cock hitting something deep inside her, a spot that made her gasp and arch her back.
"Oh, God," she whimpered. "You're so deep. You're so fucking deep inside me. I can feel you in my stomach."
He groaned, his hands gripping her ass, his fingers digging into the firm, round flesh. "You feel so good," he said, his voice strained. "So tight. So wet. I've never—never felt anything like you."
She smiled—a wicked, knowing smile—and leaned down to kiss him. Her lips were soft and hungry, her tongue darting into his mouth as she continued to ride him. The kiss was desperate, passionate, a raw expression of the pleasure that was building between them.
And then she pulled back, her eyes meeting his, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. "I want to hear you," she said. "I want to hear you tell me how much you love being inside me. I want to hear you say it."
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I love it," he admitted, his voice raw. "I love being inside you. Your pussy is so tight, so wet—it's like it was made for me."
"Go on," she encouraged, her hips never stopping. "Tell me more."
"I can feel every inch of you," he continued, his voice growing bolder. "Every fold, every ridge. You're so deep, Somi. I can feel myself hitting your cervix. I can feel you trying to take all of me."
Her breath caught, a little hitch in her rhythm. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, you're so big. The biggest I've ever had. I can feel you stretching me. I can feel you in places I didn't even know existed."
He groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily. "Fuck. That's so hot. Tell me more."
She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "I can feel you in my stomach," she breathed. "I can feel you pushing against my insides. You're so thick, Min-ho. So thick and hard and perfect."
His hands moved from her hips to her breasts, cupping them, squeezing them, his thumbs flicking her nipples. She gasped, her rhythm faltering, and he took advantage, thrusting up into her with renewed force.
"Yes!" she cried. "Yes, fuck me! Fuck me hard!"
And he did. He fucked her with a ferocity that surprised them both, his hips slamming into hers, his cock driving deep into her tight, wet cunt. She was bouncing on top of him, her tits flying in his face, and he buried his face in them again, his tongue laving her nipples, his teeth grazing the sensitive peaks.
But he wanted more. He wanted to taste every inch of her, to explore every curve and valley of her gorgeous body. He shifted his position, his hands moving to her waist, and he lifted her slightly before thrusting up into her from below.
She screamed—a raw, primal sound—as he hit a new angle, a new depth that made her see stars.
"Oh, fuck!" she cried. "Yes! Right there! Fuck me right there!"
He obliged, his hips slamming into her with increased urgency. He could feel her orgasm building again, the way her pussy tightened around him, the way her breath came in short, desperate gasps. He could feel his own climax building, the pressure in his balls reaching a fever pitch.
"Somi," he gasped. "I'm close. I'm so close—"
"Not yet," she said, her voice dark and commanding. "I want to come one more time. I want to come with you inside me."
She leaned back, her hands on his chest, and began to ride him even faster. Her tits bounced in his face, a glorious, hypnotic motion that drove him insane. He reached up and grabbed them, squeezing them, kneading them, feeling their weight in his palms.
"Yes," she moaned. "Yes, hold them. Squeeze them. I love the way you feel between my tits."
He buried his face in them again, his tongue tracing circles around her nipples, his teeth grazing the sensitive peaks. She was crying out, her hips bucking wildly, and he could feel her pussy clenching around him like a fist.
And then she came.
Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, her body convulsing above him, her pussy milking his cock with violent contractions. She screamed his name, her tits pressing into his face, and he fucked her through it, his cock driving deeper and deeper into her spasming cunt.
.
Her climax crashed through her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing above him, her pussy clamping down on his cock with a vice-like grip. Min-ho groaned, his hands still gripping her tits, feeling the frantic pulse of her orgasm ripple through her flesh. She screamed his name, a raw, primal sound that echoed off the velvet walls of the VIP booth, and he thrust up into her, driving his cock deeper, fucking her through the waves of her pleasure.
But as her spasms began to subside and her breathing started to slow, Min-ho felt a new hunger stir within him. He wanted more. He wanted to take her differently, to see her from a different angle, to watch her face contort with pleasure as he took her from behind. The thought alone made his cock throb inside her still-quivering pussy.
"Somi," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Get on your hands and knees."
She blinked, her eyes still hazy with the aftershocks of her orgasm. "What?"
"You heard me." He gripped her hips, lifting her off his cock with a wet, sucking sound that made them both gasp. "I want to fuck you from behind. I want to see that gorgeous ass of yours while I'm buried inside you."
A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. She was still flushed, still breathing heavily, but there was a glint in her eyes that told him she was more than ready for round two. "Bossy," she teased, but she was already moving, shifting off him and turning around.
She positioned herself on her hands and knees on the plush velvet sofa, her platinum hair cascading over her shoulders, her back arching instinctively to present her ass to him. It was a glorious sight—her spine curving into a perfect dip, her round, firm ass lifted high, her pussy glistening with their combined juices, her folds swollen and pink from their earlier exertions.
Min-ho's mouth went dry. He knelt behind her, his hands finding the curve of her hips, his thumbs tracing the soft, warm skin of her ass cheeks. They were perfect—full and round, firm yet pliable, the kind of ass that made a man want to worship it. He squeezed them gently, feeling the flesh yield beneath his fingers, and she moaned, pushing back against his hands.
"You like that?" he murmured, his voice husky. "You like it when I touch your ass?"
"Yes," she breathed. "God, yes. Touch it more. Squeeze it. I love the way your hands feel on my ass."
He obliged, his hands roaming over the curves of her cheeks, squeezing and kneading them, watching the flesh jiggle and bounce with each touch. She was so responsive, her hips grinding back against him, her moans growing louder and more desperate. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, could smell the intoxicating scent of her arousal mixing with the stale whiskey and perfume in the air.
But he couldn't wait any longer. His cock was aching, throbbing with the need to be inside her again. He positioned himself behind her, the head of his cock pressing against her slick, wet folds. She was so ready for him—so wet and open—that the tip slipped in easily, and they both gasped.
"Fuck," he groaned. "You're so wet. So ready for me."
"I'm always ready for you," she said, her voice breathless. "Now stop talking and fuck me."
He grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes. "With pleasure."
And then he thrust forward, burying himself deep inside her in one smooth, powerful motion.
She screamed—a raw, guttural sound that was half pain, half ecstasy. Her pussy was so tight, so hot, and he was so thick that he could feel every inch of her stretching around him. Her inner walls fluttered and clenched, trying to accommodate his girth, and he paused for a moment, letting her adjust to the feeling of him.
"Fuck, Min-ho," she gasped. "You're so deep. So fucking deep. I can feel you in my stomach again."
He leaned forward, his chest pressing against her back, his lips brushing her ear. "That's because I'm all the way inside you, baby. I'm hitting places no one else has ever reached before."
She whimpered, her fingers digging into the velvet cushions. "Yes. Yes, you are. I can feel you in my soul. Fuck me. Please, just fuck me."
He didn't need to be told twice.
He pulled back slowly, savoring the sensation of her pussy dragging along his shaft, and then thrust forward again, harder this time. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed through the booth, a wet, rhythmic percussion that drove them both insane. He set a steady pace, his hips pistoning in and out, his hands gripping her ass, his thumbs spreading her cheeks to watch his cock disappear inside her.
And then he saw it.
There was a mirror on the wall opposite them—a long, ornate mirror that reflected the entire booth in shimmering detail. And in that mirror, he could see Somi's face. Her expression was one of pure, unadulterated pleasure—her eyes half-lidded, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed with heat. He could see the sweat beading on her forehead, the way her platinum hair was starting to stick to her temples. She looked so beautiful, so utterly wrecked, that his heart clenched in his chest.
But he wanted more. He wanted to see her face as he fucked her, to watch every twist and contortion of her features as he drove her to the edge.
"Look at yourself," he commanded, his voice dark and commanding. "Look in the mirror."
Her eyes flickered open, meeting his gaze in the reflection. She was breathing heavily, her chest heaving with each thrust, and he could see the way her nipples were still hard, still aching from his touch.
"I want you to watch yourself while I fuck you," he continued. "I want you to see how beautiful you look when you're taking my cock."
She moaned, her eyes fixed on the mirror, watching his body move behind her. "Yes," she breathed. "Yes, I want to watch. I want to see you fucking me."
He increased his pace, his hips slamming into hers with renewed force. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed through the booth, mixing with her moans and his grunts. He could see her reflection in the mirror—could see the way her eyes fluttered, the way her lips formed silent words of pleasure.
"Look at you," he growled. "Look at how wet you are. I can see it dripping down your thighs. You're so fucking beautiful like this."
She whimpered, her eyes locked on the mirror. "I'm so wet for you," she gasped. "I'm always wet for you. No one has ever made me this wet before."
He reached forward, his hand tangling in her platinum hair, and he pulled her head back, forcing her face to stay angled toward the mirror. Her neck arched, her spine curving, and he could see the muscles in her back flex and tighten with each thrust.
"I want to see your face," he said, his voice low and possessive. "I want to see every expression you make while I'm inside you."
Her eyes met his in the mirror, dark and hazy with desire. "Then fuck me harder," she whispered. "Fuck me so hard that I can't think straight. Make me forget my own name."
He obliged without hesitation.
He pulled his cock almost all the way out, leaving only the tip inside her, and then slammed back into her with a force that made her scream. His hips drove into hers with relentless precision, his cock plunging deep into her core, hitting that spot deep inside her that made her see stars. She was trembling now, her arms threatening to give out, her face a mask of pure ecstasy.
"Look at yourself," he commanded, his voice a harsh whisper. "Look at how much you love this. Look at how much you love being fucked by me."
She obeyed, her eyes fixed on the mirror, watching the way his body moved behind her, the way his cock disappeared inside her with each thrust. She was flushed and sweaty, her hair a wild, tangled mess, her lips red and swollen. But there was a fire in her eyes that he hadn't seen before—a raw, primal hunger that matched his own.
"I love it," she gasped. "I love it so much. I can't get enough of you, Min-ho. I want you to fuck me forever."
He increased his pace, his hips moving faster, harder, his cock driving into her with a ferocity that bordered on madness. Her ass was bouncing with each thrust, the firm, round flesh jiggling with every impact, and he couldn't resist reaching forward and giving it a sharp slap.
She yelped, her eyes widening in the mirror, and he slapped her other cheek, watching the red mark bloom across her skin. She cried out, but it was a sound of pure pleasure, her hips grinding back against him even harder.
"You like that?" he growled, his hand coming down on her ass again. "You like it when I spank you?"
"Yes," she moaned. "Yes, I love it. Spank me again. Harder."
He obliged, his hand raining down on her ass with a series of sharp, stinging slaps. She cried out with each one, her pussy clenching around his cock, her moans growing louder and more desperate. He could feel her orgasm building again, the way her inner walls fluttered and tightened around him.
But he wasn't done with her yet.
He pulled her hair again, forcing her head back, making her arch her spine even more. Her breasts were swinging below her, heavy and full, and he could see the sweat rolling down her nipples, glistening in the dim light. A bead of sweat dripped from her breast to the velvet sofa, leaving a dark spot on the fabric.
"You're so beautiful," he said, his voice reverent. "Look at you. All sweaty and flushed. You look like a goddess."
She whimpered, her eyes locked on his in the mirror. "I feel like a goddess," she breathed. "You make me feel like a goddess."
He drove his cock into her even harder, his hips slapping against her ass with a force that made her entire body shudder. She was crying out now, her moans mixing with the wet sounds of their bodies, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
And then he saw it—the moment she started to lose control. Her arms began to shake, her elbows wobbling as she struggled to hold herself up. Her face was twisting with pleasure, her eyes rolling back, her lips forming silent screams.
"Look at yourself," he commanded, his voice dark and commanding. "Look at how you're falling apart for me."
Her eyes focused on the mirror, and she watched herself slowly crumble. Her arms gave out first, her face falling forward, and she was suddenly pressed against the sofa, her body shaking with the force of his thrusts. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He reached forward, his hand tangling in her hair again, and he yanked her head back, forcing her to look at her reflection.
"Eyes on the mirror," he ordered. "I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see what you do to me."
Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, but she managed to keep them fixed on the mirror. He could see the way her mouth was hanging open, the way her tongue was lolling slightly, the way her cheeks were flushed with a deep, rosy pink. She was a vision of pure debauchery, and he was utterly addicted to her.
"Please," she gasped. "Please, Min-ho. I'm so close. Please make me cum."
"Not yet," he said, his voice dark and commanding. "I'm not done with you."
He increased his pace, his hips slamming into hers with a ferocity that made the whole booth shake. She was screaming now, her voice raw and desperate, her body trembling with the effort of holding herself up. But she was determined—she didn't want to fall, didn't want to miss a single moment of what he was doing to her.
But her arms gave out again, and this time, they didn't recover. Her face hit the sofa with a soft thud, her body collapsing beneath her, and he was suddenly on top of her, his chest pressing against her back, his cock still buried deep inside her.
He didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He continued to thrust into her, his hips moving in a frantic rhythm, driving his cock deeper and deeper into her spasming cunt. She was so wet, so tight, so perfect—and he was so close to the edge that he could taste it.
"Turn over," he commanded, his voice rough. "I want to see your face when I cum."
She managed to turn beneath him, her body shifting, and suddenly he was on top of her, his weight pressing her into the cushions. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, and their lips met in a desperate, hungry kiss.
The kiss was messy and uncoordinated, their mouths clashing, their teeth scraping, their tongues dancing. She tasted of strawberry soju and sweat and pure, unadulterated desire, and he couldn't get enough of her. He deepened the kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth, and she whimpered, her hips grinding against him.
"Fuck me," she breathed against his lips. "Fuck me, Min-ho. I want to feel you cum inside me. I want to feel you fill me up."
He didn't need to be told twice.
He resumed his pace, his hips slamming into hers with renewed urgency. His cock was so deep inside her that he could feel her cervix, could feel the tight ring of muscle that marked the entrance to her womb. He could feel her inner walls fluttering around him, the first tremors of her impending orgasm gripping him.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "I want to see your eyes when you cum."
Her eyes met his, dark and hazy with desire, and he saw it—the moment she tipped over the edge. Her pupils dilated, her lips parted, and a raw, guttural scream tore from her throat as her orgasm crashed through her.
Her pussy clamped down on his cock like a vice, her inner walls convulsing around him, milking him with a ferocity that made his vision go white. And that was all it took. With a final, desperate thrust, his own orgasm erupted, his cum shooting into her in thick, hot spurts.
He could feel it filling her—could feel his seed painting her inner walls, flooding her womb with his thick, potent cum. Her pussy was overflowing with it, the excess spilling out around his cock, dripping down to the velvet sofa beneath them.
"God, yes," she gasped. "I can feel it. I can feel you filling me up. It's so warm. So fucking warm."
He collapsed on top of her, his body pressing her into the cushions, his cock still buried deep inside her. They were both panting, both drenched in sweat, both utterly spent. But neither of them moved. Neither of them wanted to break the spell.
After a long moment, Min-ho propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at her. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, her hair a wild mess. But she was smiling—a lazy, satisfied smile that made his heart skip a beat.
"That was incredible," she breathed. "I don't think I've ever come that hard in my life."
He laughed, a breathless sound. "I don't think I've ever fucked anyone that hard in my life."
"Then we're even." She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "We should do that again. And again. And again."
He grinned, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips. "I'm not going anywhere."
"And neither am I," she said, her voice warm and full of promise.
They lay there in the silence of the booth, their bodies tangled together, their breathing slowly returning to normal. The music from the club filtered through the velvet walls, a distant heartbeat that seemed to pulse in time with their own.
But eventually, reality began to creep back in. The world outside the booth—the world of schedules and managers and paparazzi—was waiting for them. But for now, in this moment, they were just two people who had found something unexpected in each other.
"We should probably get dressed," Somi said finally, her voice reluctant. "Before someone walks in on us."
Min-ho sighed, but he knew she was right. He pulled out of her with a wet, sucking sound, and they both winced at the loss of contact. His cum was still dripping from her pussy, a thick, white stream that soaked into the velvet cushions.
"Sorry about the sofa," he said, gesturing to the mess.
She laughed, a bright, musical sound. "Don't worry. I'll tip the staff extra. They've probably seen worse."
They scrambled to find their clothes, dressing in a haze of laughter and stolen glances. When they were finally presentable—or at least as presentable as two people who had just had the most mind-blowing sex of their lives could be—they emerged from the booth.
The weeks that followed the night at Eclipse were a blur of stolen glances, secret texts, and increasingly desperate hookups. Min-ho had never experienced anything like it. He'd gone from being a broke, unemployed, cheating loser to the secret lover of Jeon Somi—one of the most desired women in Asia—and he hadn't even had to work for it. She pursued him with a ferocity that left him breathless and bewildered.
It started the morning after the club. Min-ho had woken up in Chungha's guest room, his body aching in ways he hadn't felt since his early twenties, and found a text from an unknown number:
"Hope you're not too sore. I definitely am. But in a good way. 😉 Can we do that again? Like, tonight? —S"
He'd stared at the screen for a full minute, convinced it was a dream. But the ache in his lower back and the faint scratch marks on his shoulders confirmed it was real. He'd responded with a simple "Tonight. Where?"
And thus began the most intense, secretive, and mind-blowingly erotic period of his life.
Somi was insatiable. She texted him constantly—dirty messages during her rehearsals, photos of her in various states of undress from her dressing room, and voice memos of her moaning his name when she was alone in her hotel room. She was obsessed with his cock, and she wasn't shy about admitting it.
"I can't stop thinking about it," she'd sent him one afternoon, accompanied by a photo of her hand wrapped around a cucumber with a winking emoji. "It's like my brain has been rewired. All I can think about is how you feel inside me. I'm supposed to be learning choreography right now, but all I can picture is your face between my legs."
He'd nearly dropped his phone in the middle of a coffee shop. His life had become a surreal fantasy. Here was a woman who had millions of fans, who could have any man she wanted, and she was begging him for sex. It was incomprehensible. It was also the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.
Their first official hookup after the club was three days later. Somi had a rare free evening—her schedule had cleared unexpectedly when a variety show appearance was postponed—and she'd texted him with barely concealed desperation:
"I'm free tonight. My place. 8 PM. Don't be late. And bring that cock. I've been thinking about it nonstop."
He'd arrived at her apartment in Hannam-dong, a sleek, minimalist penthouse that overlooked the entire city. She'd opened the door in nothing but a silk robe that barely covered her ass, her platinum hair wet from the shower, her skin still glistening with moisture. She'd pulled him inside without a word, pushed him against the wall, and dropped to her knees before he could even say hello.
"Fuck, I've missed this," she'd breathed, already fumbling with his belt. "I've been thinking about your cock every single day. Every single hour. It's driving me insane."
"Somi—" he'd started, but she'd already freed his cock from his jeans and taken him into her mouth.
That night, they'd fucked three times. Once against the wall, once on her kitchen counter, and once in her bed, where she'd ridden him until she came so hard she passed out for a few seconds. When she'd woken up, she'd laughed and said, "I think I died and went to heaven. Your cock is my religion now."
Min-ho had lain there, his body spent, his mind reeling, and thought, This is insane. This is absolutely insane. And I love every second of it.
The arrangement quickly settled into a pattern. Somi would text him when she had a gap in her schedule—sometimes as short as an hour between rehearsals and recordings—and he'd drop everything to meet her. She'd fuck him in dressing rooms, in practice studios, in the back of her manager's car while the driver waited outside. She was fearless, reckless, and utterly addicted to him.
"I don't know what you've done to me," she'd confessed one night, lying in his arms after a particularly intense session. "I've never been like this with anyone. I can't get enough of you. It's like you've cast a spell on my pussy."
"Maybe it's just the chemistry," he'd offered, trying to sound modest.
"Chemistry?" She'd laughed, a sharp, disbelieving sound. "Min-ho, I've had chemistry before. This isn't chemistry. This is a fucking obsession. I dream about your cock. I wake up wet, thinking about it. I can't focus on anything else. My manager literally asked me today if I was okay because I kept zoning out during rehearsal."
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her I was tired from lack of sleep." She'd grinned, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Technically true. I was up all night thinking about you."
He'd kissed her then, partly because he wanted to and partly because he didn't know what else to say. The truth was, he was just as obsessed as she was. He'd never felt so desired, so worshipped. And the best part? He didn't have to take responsibility for any of it. She didn't want a boyfriend. She didn't want a relationship. She just wanted his cock, and he was more than happy to oblige.
"This is perfect," he'd said one afternoon, watching her dress after a quickie in her practice room. "We're friends with benefits. No strings. No drama. Just..."
"Just sex," she'd finished, pulling her top over her head. "Amazing, mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex. And I love it. I love that you don't try to make it more than it is. I love that you just give me what I need and don't ask for anything else."
"I mean, you're Jeon Somi," he'd said, shrugging. "You could have anyone. Why would I try to trap you into something you don't want?"
She'd paused, her eyes studying him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. "That's exactly why I like you," she'd said finally. "You don't see me as a prize to be won. You just see me as... me."
"I see you as the woman who's currently obsessed with my dick," he'd joked, and she'd laughed, the tension breaking.
The encounters became more creative as time went on. Somi had a wild imagination and an insatiable appetite for new experiences. She'd text him with increasingly elaborate requests:
"I want you to fuck me in my dressing room while my stylist is in the next room. I want to see if I can keep quiet."
"Bring a blindfold tonight. And handcuffs. I want to be completely helpless while you use me."
"I have a fan meeting tomorrow, but I want to have your cum dripping down my legs while I'm signing autographs. Can you make that happen?"
He'd obliged every request, his own desires growing alongside hers. He loved the power he had over her—the way she'd beg, the way she'd moan, the way she'd come undone beneath his touch. She was a goddess in public, but in private, she was his. His to fuck, his to use, his to worship.
One night, after a particularly intense session where he'd bent her over her vanity table and fucked her while she watched herself in the mirror, they'd collapsed onto her bed, both of them drenched in sweat.
"Min-ho," she'd said, her voice soft and serious. "I need to tell you something."
He'd tensed, his mind racing. Was she going to end it? Was she developing feelings? The thought filled him with a strange mix of relief and disappointment.
"What is it?" he'd asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.
She'd turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face. "I think... I think you might be the best fuck I've ever had."
He'd blinked, then burst out laughing. "That's it? That's what you needed to tell me?"
"I'm serious!" She'd hit his chest, pouting. "I've been with a lot of guys, Min-ho. A lot. But none of them made me feel the way you do. You make me feel alive. You make me feel like I'm not just an idol, not just an image—I'm a woman. A woman who wants to be fucked until she can't walk."
He'd pulled her closer, kissing her forehead. "You are a woman. And you're an incredible one. But you also don't have to worry about me turning this into something it's not. I know what we are. I know what you need."
She'd relaxed against him, her body molding to his. "That's why I love this," she'd murmured. "No pressure. No expectations. Just... us."
But it wasn't entirely pressure-free. There was one person who couldn't know about their arrangement: Chungha. Somi had been adamant about that from the beginning.
"She's my friend," Somi had said, her voice serious. "And she's your stepsister. If she found out we were doing this, she'd kill me. Or you. Or both of us. And honestly, I don't want to deal with the drama."
"Agreed," Min-ho had said, and he'd meant it. Chungha had been so supportive, so trusting. She'd welcomed him into her home, helped him get back on his feet, and believed in him when no one else did. If she found out he was secretly fucking one of her closest friends, it would destroy everything.
So they were careful. They never met at Chungha's apartment. They used encrypted messaging apps. They invented fake schedules and plausible alibis. It was like being a spy, except the mission was getting laid.
One afternoon, about a month into their arrangement, Min-ho received a text from Somi that made his cock twitch in anticipation:
"I have a three-hour break between schedules. My manager is going to a meeting. The apartment is empty. Come over. Now. I need you inside me."
He'd practically sprinted across Gangnam, his heart pounding with excitement. When he arrived at her penthouse, she was waiting for him in the doorway, wearing nothing but high heels and a sly smile.
"Finally," she'd said, pulling him inside. "I was starting to think you'd chickened out."
"Chickened out?" He'd laughed, already unbuckling his belt. "Somi, I'd crawl through broken glass to fuck you."
She'd grinned, a predatory glint in her eyes. "Good. Because I have plans for you today."
She led him to her bedroom, where she'd set up an elaborate scene: silk scarves tied to the bedposts, a blindfold on the pillow, and a variety of toys laid out on the nightstand. His mouth went dry.
"What do you have in mind?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"I want you to tie me up," she said, her voice low and husky. "I want you to blindfold me. And then I want you to do whatever you want to me. Use me. Fuck me. Make me yours."
He didn't need to be told twice.
He tied her wrists to the bedposts with the silk scarves, making sure the knots were secure but not too tight. He blindfolded her, plunging her into darkness, and then he stepped back, taking in the sight of her: Jeon Somi, platinum-haired goddess, completely at his mercy.
"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation. "Please, Min-ho. I need you. I need your cock."
"Not yet," he said, his voice dark and commanding. "I'm going to take my time with you. I'm going to make you beg for it."
He started slowly, his hands roaming her body, tracing every curve and valley. She shivered at his touch, her breath catching in her throat. He kissed his way down her neck, her collarbone, and her breasts, stopping to swirl his tongue around each nipple until she was writhing beneath him.
"Please," she begged. "Please, I can't take it anymore. I need you inside me."
He ignored her pleas, continuing his slow assault on her senses. His fingers found her pussy, already wet and ready for him, and he teased her, circling her clit with agonizing slowness.
"Fuck," she gasped. "Fuck, Min-ho. Please. Just fuck me."
"Say it," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "Tell me what you want."
"I want your cock," she sobbed. "I want you to fuck me until I can't think. I want to feel you deep inside me. I want you to fill me up."
He grinned, a wicked, predatory grin. "Good girl."
And then he thrust into her, burying himself deep inside her in one smooth motion.
She screamed, her back arching off the bed, her pussy clamping down on him like a fist. He began to move, his hips slamming into hers with a relentless rhythm. He could feel her orgasm building, the way her inner walls fluttered around him, the way her breath came in short, desperate gasps.
"Look at you," he growled, even though she couldn't see him. "All tied up and helpless. Completely at my mercy. You love this, don't you?"
"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, I love it. I love it when you use me. I love it when you take control."
He increased his pace, driving his cock deeper into her. She was screaming now, her body trembling, her pussy milking him with each thrust. And then she came—a violent, convulsing orgasm that left her breathless.
But he didn't stop. He continued to fuck her, driving her through the waves of her pleasure and into the next. She was a mess beneath him, her body shaking, her moans growing louder and more desperate.
"Please," she begged. "Please, Min-ho. Please—"
"Please, what?" he demanded, his voice dark and commanding.
"Please cum inside me," she sobbed. "Please fill me up. I want to feel your cum dripping out of me."
He obliged, his own orgasm crashing through him like a tidal wave. He came inside her, his cum shooting into her in thick, hot spurts. He could feel her pussy milking him, draining every drop, and he continued to thrust into her until he was completely spent.
When he finally collapsed on top of her, both of them panting and drenched in sweat, she laughed—a breathless, disbelieving sound.
"You're incredible," she said, her voice hoarse. "I don't know how you do it."
"Practice," he joked, and she laughed again.
He untied her wrists and removed the blindfold, and she looked up at him with eyes full of wonder and satisfaction. "I think I'm addicted to you," she said, her voice soft. "Is that a problem?"
"It's only a problem if you want it to be," he said, kissing her forehead. "I'm happy with what we have. No strings, no drama, just... this."
She smiled, a soft, genuine smile. "Good. Because I'm not ready to give this up. Not anytime soon."
And neither was he.
************
Living with Chungha and Kang Mina was a constant exercise in self-control. Min-ho had grown accustomed to the surreal nature of his new life—the luxury apartment, the celebrity roommates, the secret affair with Somi that made him feel like the luckiest man alive. But nothing could have prepared him for the accidental glimpses of Kang Mina's body.
It started innocently enough. Min-ho had been living in Chungha's apartment for about two months. He'd settled into a routine: job hunting during the day, helping with household chores, and trying to stay out of the way of his famous roommates. Chungha was busy with her world tour preparations, often gone for days at a time. Mina, on the other hand, had a more erratic schedule—sometimes filming until dawn, sometimes lounging around the apartment in her pajamas for days on end.
One morning, Min-ho woke up early, unable to sleep. He padded to the kitchen in his boxers and a t-shirt, hoping to make coffee before anyone else woke up. The apartment was silent, the Han River glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the pale morning light.
He was halfway through brewing his coffee when he heard it—the soft padding of footsteps from the hallway. He turned, expecting to see Chungha, who sometimes woke up early for dance practice.
It wasn't Chungha.
Kang Mina walked into the kitchen completely naked.
Min-ho's brain short-circuited. The coffee mug slipped from his fingers, crashing to the marble floor with a shatter that echoed through the silent apartment. But he barely heard it. His eyes were frozen on the vision before him.
Mina was walking with the casual ease of someone who'd lived alone for years—completely comfortable in her own skin, utterly unaware that there was now a man in the apartment who could see every inch of her. Her hair was messy, a dark tumble around her shoulders. Her face was bare of makeup, still soft with sleep. And her body...
Her body was a masterpiece.
Min-ho had seen Mina in clothes countless times—the elegant dresses she wore to events, the casual hoodies she lounged in, the tight workout gear she wore for her daily runs. But nothing had prepared him for the reality of her naked form.
Her breasts were magnificent. Huge, heavy, and full, they swung with each step she took, their weight apparent in the way they moved. They were larger than Somi's—significantly so—with a fullness that seemed almost impossible. Her nipples were large and dark, standing out against the pale cream of her skin. They were the kind of breasts that demanded attention, that made a man's mouth water just looking at them.
Her waist was slim, curving into hips that flared into generous, rounded curves. Her legs were long and toned, her thigh muscles defined by years of dance and exercise. A neat triangle of dark hair sat at the apex of her thighs, drawing his gaze inexorably downward.
He was frozen, his mouth hanging open, his brain completely unable to process what he was seeing. He'd seen plenty of naked women before—Somi had made sure of that—but this was different. This was Kang Mina, national treasure, one of the most admired actresses in Korea, standing in front of him in all her natural, unadorned glory.
And she hadn't noticed him yet.
She yawned, stretching her arms above her head, and her breasts rose with the motion, their weight pressing upward, the nipples pointing directly at him. Min-ho felt his cock twitch involuntarily, a surge of heat rushing through his body.
Then she turned, and their eyes met.
For a moment, they both froze. Mina's eyes widened, her cheeks flushing a deep, embarrassed pink. And then she shrieked—a high, startled sound that made Min-ho's ears ring.
"What the—Min-ho!" She grabbed a dish towel from the counter, holding it against her chest in a futile attempt at modesty. The towel barely covered her breasts, doing nothing to hide the generous curves beneath. "What are you doing?!"
"I—I was making coffee!" he stammered, his voice cracking like a teenager's. "I didn't know you were—I mean, I thought—"
"I thought you were asleep!" she shot back, her face reddening even further. "I'm used to it being just me and Chungha! I always walk around naked in the morning!"
"Noted!" He spun around, his face burning, trying to unsee the image of her glorious, naked body. But it was seared into his brain—the heavy bounce of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the dark triangle between her thighs. "I'll—I'll just go back to my room!"
"Yes! Do that!" she yelled, and he heard her footsteps retreating down the hall.
He stood there for a long moment, his heart pounding, his body reacting in ways he couldn't control. He'd seen Kang Mina naked. The thought was overwhelming, intoxicating.
He went back to his room and spent the next hour trying to calm down.
The second incident happened three days later.
Min-ho had gone for a run—one of the healthy habits Chungha had forced him to adopt—and was returning to the apartment, drenched in sweat. He'd forgotten his key, so he knocked, hoping someone was home.
Chungha was at a recording session, but Mina's car was in the garage. He knocked again, and the door swung open.
Mina stood there, wrapped in a towel that barely covered her assets. Her hair was wet, dripping onto her shoulders, and her skin was still flushed from a shower. The towel was short—barely reaching mid-thigh—and it was tucked precariously at her chest, leaving a generous expanse of cleavage exposed.
"Oh," she said, her eyes widening. "You're back."
"Yeah," he said, his voice embarrassingly rough. "I forgot my key."
She stepped aside to let him in, and he tried very hard not to stare at the curve of her breasts as she moved. The towel shifted slightly, and he caught a glimpse of the side of one of her breasts—the soft, pale skin, the hint of a dark areola. His mouth went dry.
"Sorry about the other day," she said as he walked past her. "I really didn't know you were in the kitchen."
"Don't apologize," he said, his voice hoarse. "It was my fault. I should have announced myself."
"I mean, I should probably start wearing clothes in the morning," she said with a self-deprecating laugh. "Old habits die hard."
He turned to face her, and his eyes immediately dropped to her chest. He couldn't help it—the towel had slipped slightly, revealing even more of her generous cleavage. Her breasts were so full, so heavy, that the towel seemed to be struggling to contain them.
"It's fine," he said, forcing his eyes back up to her face. "Really. I'm not complaining."
She laughed again, a warm, musical sound, and for a moment, the tension between them seemed to ease. "I'll try to be more careful," she said. "But you should know, I'm a chronic nudist. Chungha's the only one who's ever seen me without clothes, and even she gets an earful when she walks in on me."
"I'll try to remember that," he said, his voice thick.
She smiled, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Or maybe you won't. I'm not sure which is worse."
And then she turned and walked away, her towel swaying with each step, and Min-ho was left staring at the curve of her ass, his heart pounding in his chest.
The third incident was the most explicit.
Min-ho had taken to using the apartment's home gym in the early evenings, when both Chungha and Mina were usually at work. It was a small room with a treadmill, a set of weights, and a yoga mat—perfect for his modest workout routine.
One evening, he was in the middle of a set of push-ups when the door swung open. He looked up, and his breath caught in his throat.
Mina stood in the doorway, completely naked.
This time, there was no towel, no robe—nothing. She was bare from head to toe, her glorious body fully on display. She was holding a bottle of water, clearly intending to grab it from the mini-fridge in the corner, and she hadn't expected anyone to be in the room.
"Fuck," she muttered, her eyes wide. "I forgot you worked out in here."
Min-ho couldn't speak. His eyes were glued to her body—the heavy weight of her breasts, the generous curve of her hips, the dark triangle between her thighs. Her nipples were erect, pebbled from the cool air of the gym, and they seemed to point directly at him.
She must have noticed his expression—the sheer, dumbstruck awe on his face—because she laughed. It was a soft, amused sound, and she made no move to cover herself.
"Stop staring," she said, though her voice was teasing. "It's just a body."
"Just a body," he repeated, his voice a strangled whisper. "Mina, your body is—"
He stopped himself, realizing he was about to say something incredibly inappropriate. But she raised an eyebrow, a challenging glint in her eyes.
"My body is what?" she prompted.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "It's... It's stunning. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It's just—I've never seen anything like it."
His eyes dropped to her breasts again. They were magnificent—larger than Somi's, fuller, heavier. They swayed slightly as she shifted her weight, and he could see the pale blue veins tracing beneath the surface of her skin. He imagined cupping them, feeling their weight in his hands, and his cock stirred against his sweatpants.
She stepped closer to him, and he could smell her—the faint scent of her shampoo, the natural musk of her skin. Her breasts were inches from his face, their glorious weight almost within reach.
"You want to touch them, don't you?" she asked, her voice a low whisper. "You've been staring at them for weeks. Every time you catch a glimpse, your eyes go straight to my chest."
He couldn't deny it. "Mina, I—"
"Shh." She put a finger to his lips, silencing him. "I'm not mad. I'm actually kind of flattered. A man who's been with Somi, a woman with a body most girls would kill for, and I'm the one who catches your eye?"
"Your body is incredible," he breathed, the words escaping before he could stop them. "I've never seen anything like it."
She smiled, a slow, wicked smile that made his heart race. "Do you want to see more?"
Before he could answer, she reached for his hand and guided it to her breast. The feel of her flesh was electric—soft and warm and impossibly heavy in his palm. He gasped, his fingers instinctively curling around the generous curve, and she sighed, her eyes fluttering closed.
"Good," she murmured. "That's good."
He squeezed gently, testing the weight of her, and she moaned, a soft, breathy sound that made his cock throb. Her nipple was hard against his palm, and he circled it with his thumb, watching her face contort with pleasure.
"Fuck," she breathed. "That's really good."
"Your breasts are so big," he said, his voice a reverent whisper. "So full. I've never felt anything like them."
She laughed, a breathless sound. "I know. It's a curse sometimes. My back hurts constantly. But I've learned to love them. And I love how they look on camera."
He couldn't help himself. He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the side of her breast, tasting her skin—sweet and salty and utterly intoxicating. She gasped, her hand tangling in his hair, and he took her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently.
"God, yes," she moaned. "That feels amazing."
But then she pulled away, her breath ragged, her eyes dark with desire. "Not today," she said, her voice strained. "I promised myself I wouldn't—not like this. We need to be careful."
She stepped back, and he felt the loss of her warmth like a physical blow. She was smiling—that same wicked, knowing smile—and she winked at him before turning and walking out of the room.
Min-ho stood there in the gym, his body aching with desire, his mind reeling. He'd just touched Kang Mina's breasts. He'd tasted her skin. And she'd walked away without another word.
He was in serious trouble.
The fourth incident was a deliberate one.
Min-ho had been at Somi's apartment when she'd gotten a frantic call from her manager—an emergency schedule change that required her presence immediately. She'd kissed him goodbye, promising to text him later, and he'd headed back to Chungha's apartment, his mood sour.
He'd opened the door to find Mina lounging on the sofa in a tiny tank top and a pair of shorts so short they might as well have been underwear. She was reading a script, her legs crossed, and she looked up with a sly smile.
"Rough day?" she asked.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and Min-ho tried to keep his eyes off her body. But it was impossible. Her tank top was so low-cut that it barely covered the upper swell of her breasts, and he could see the deep cleavage that seemed to go on forever.
"Mina," he said, his voice hoarse. "I need to ask you something."
She turned to him, her eyes curious. "What is it?"
"The other day in the gym," he said, his heart pounding. "Why did you stop?"
She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. "Because I wanted to," she said finally. "Because I'm not the kind of girl who just gives in to the first urge. I wanted to see if you'd come after me."
He blinked. "Come after you?"
She nodded, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face. "I wanted to see if you wanted it badly enough to pursue me. To seduce me."
He stared at her, his mind racing. "And if I do?"
She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "Then I'd be very, very happy."
Before he could respond, she was kissing him—a deep, passionate kiss that left him breathless. Her tongue tangled with his, her hands threading through his hair, and he felt his body respond with a ferocity that surprised him.
But this time, she didn't pull away. She reached down, grabbed the hem of her tank top, and pulled it over her head.
Her breasts were magnificent—huge, heavy, and swaying free. Her nipples were dark and erect, begging for his touch. He reached up and cupped them, feeling their glorious weight in his hands, and she moaned, her head falling back.
"I've wanted this," she breathed, her voice shaky. "I've wanted you to touch me since the first time you saw me in the kitchen."
"You're incredible," he murmured, his thumbs circling her nipples. "Absolutely incredible."
But this time, there was no pulling away. There was only the heat of their bodies, the taste of their kisses, and the promise of more to come.
Min-ho's hands were full of Kang Mina's breasts. They overflowed his palms, spilling through his fingers like warm, heavy silk. The sheer weight of them was intoxicating—each one easily the size of a small melon, firm yet impossibly soft, the kind of flesh that begged to be squeezed, kneaded, worshipped.
He couldn't stop himself. He lowered his head, his lips parting, and took one of her dark, erect nipples into his mouth.
The taste of her was electric. She was salty and sweet, her skin warm from the heat of the apartment, and her nipple stiffened further against his tongue as he suckled gently. She gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair, her hips pressing forward involuntarily.
"Oh, fuck," she breathed. "Yes. That's it. Suck them. Suck my tits."
He obliged, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak, lapping at her with a hunger that surprised even him. He pulled harder, drawing more of her breast into his mouth, feeling the heavy weight of her flesh against his lips. Her nipple was like a hard little pearl, and he rolled it against his tongue, tasting every inch of her.
His other hand cupped her other breast, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. It overflowed his palm, spilling between his fingers, and he groaned against her skin. They were so much larger than Somi's—fuller, heavier, more substantial. He could feel the veins beneath the surface, the delicate texture of her areolae, and the way her flesh yielded to his touch.
Mina moaned, a long, throaty sound that made his cock throb. Her thighs pressed together, grinding against each other as waves of pleasure shot through her. She was so sensitive, so responsive—every flick of his tongue, every gentle bite, sent shudders through her body.
"More," she begged, her voice a desperate whisper. "Please, Min-ho. More. Suck them harder. I need more."
He didn't need to be told twice. He sucked harder, drawing more of her breast into his mouth, his tongue laving her nipple with increasing fervor. He alternated between gentle licks and hard suction, watching her face contort with pleasure, her eyes fluttering closed, her lips parted in a silent scream.
Her thighs ground together again, and he could see the muscles in her legs tensing, the way her hips bucked involuntarily. She was so wet, so ready for him, and the knowledge drove him wild.
He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention. His tongue traced circles around her nipple, lapping at it again and again, making sure she felt every stroke. He sucked hard, drawing the sensitive peak deep into his mouth, and she cried out, her fingers tightening in his hair.
"Yes!" she gasped. "Yes, yes, yes! That feels so good! Your tongue is incredible!"
He smiled against her skin, a wicked, satisfied grin. He continued his assault, his tongue lapping at her nipples in a relentless rhythm, his hands kneading her heavy breasts, feeling them mold perfectly to his touch. She was a moaning, writhing mess beneath him, her thighs grinding together, her hips bucking with each flick of his tongue.
"Look at you," he murmured against her skin, his voice a low growl. "So sensitive. So beautiful. I could do this all night."
"Please," she sobbed. "Please, don't stop. I'm so close. I'm so close—"
He didn't stop. He continued to suck and lick and lap at her nipples, driving her higher and higher. Her thighs were grinding together frantically now, her hips bucking against nothing, and he could feel the heat radiating from her core.
And then she came. Her orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing, her back arching off the sofa. She cried out his name, a raw, primal sound, and he continued to suck her nipples through the waves of her pleasure, drawing out every last tremor.
When she finally collapsed, panting and trembling, he pulled back, looking down at her with a satisfied smirk. Her breasts were glistening with his saliva, her nipples dark and swollen, her chest heaving with each breath.
"That was..." she started, her voice hoarse. "That was incredible."
He grinned, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips. "We're just getting started."
Min-ho's lips were still tingling from the taste of Mina's skin, her nipples still glistening with his saliva, when she pushed him back gently onto the sofa. Her eyes were dark with desire, her chest still heaving from her orgasm, but there was a new hunger in her gaze—a predatory glint that made his cock twitch in anticipation.
"My turn," she murmured, her voice low and husky. "You've been so good to me. Now let me return the favor."
She slid off the sofa, her body moving with fluid grace, and knelt on the floor in front of him. The position was intimate, submissive, and utterly intoxicating. Her face was level with his lap, her dark eyes locked on his, and he could feel the heat radiating from her body even through the thin fabric of his shorts.
Her slender hands found his thighs, trailing up slowly, deliberately, sending shivers cascading through his entire body. Her fingertips grazed the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, and he gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily.
"Fuck, Mina," he breathed. "Your hands..."
"Shh," she soothed, a wicked smile curving her lips. "I'm just getting started."
Her hands continued their slow ascent, her nails scraping lightly against his skin—not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a trail of fire in their wake. She reached the waistband of his shorts, her fingers teasing the elastic, and he trembled beneath her touch. He was wearing nothing underneath, and she seemed to sense it, her smile widening as she felt the heat of his arousal through the thin fabric.
"You're not wearing anything," she observed, her voice a purr of satisfaction. "That's convenient."
"I was hoping you wouldn't mind," he managed, his voice strained.
"Mind?" She laughed, a breathless sound. "Min-ho, I'm absolutely thrilled."
Her hands hooked into the waistband of his shorts, and she began to tug them down—slowly, agonizingly slowly. The fabric slid over his hips and his thighs, and then his cock sprang free, thick and heavy and already glistening with a bead of precum at the tip.
Mina's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She stared at his erection, her lips parting, her pupils dilating with raw, unfiltered desire. It was the biggest she'd ever seen—long and thick, with veins pulsing along the shaft, the head swollen and dark with arousal. A drop of precum spilled from the tip, trailing down the length like a glistening tear.
"Oh my God," she whispered, her voice reverent. "Min-ho, it's... It's enormous."
He smirked, though his voice was strained. "You like what you see?"
"I love what I see," she breathed, her hand reaching out to touch him. Her fingers traced the length of his shaft, her nails grazing the sensitive skin with featherlight pressure. He groaned, his hips bucking into her touch, and she smiled, a satisfied, predatory smile.
"So responsive," she murmured. "I love that."
She wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, her slender hand barely able to encircle his girth. She squeezed gently, testing the weight of him, and he gasped, his head falling back against the sofa. Her grip was firm but teasing, her fingers stroking him with agonizing slowness, and he could feel every nerve ending in his body firing at once.
"Your hands are incredible," he groaned. "Fuck, Mina, don't stop."
"Don't worry," she said, her voice a low purr. "I'm not stopping anytime soon."
She tugged down on his cock, pulling it toward her, and then released it—and it sprang back up, hard and proud, the head bouncing with the motion. She gasped, her eyes widening, and he could see the way her thighs pressed together, the way her hips shifted as she felt the wetness between her legs.
"It's so hard," she breathed. "So thick. I can't believe how big you are."
"You like it?" he asked, his voice a husky growl.
"I love it," she confessed, her fingers tracing the length of his shaft again. "I've been so busy with work, I haven't had a cock in months. And now I get to see this? It's like the universe is rewarding me."
She leaned closer, her breath warm against his skin, and he could feel the heat of her mouth inches from his shaft. Her tongue darted out, lapping at the bead of precum that had gathered at his tip, and he groaned, his hips bucking instinctively.
"You taste so good," she murmured, her voice reverent. "So salty and sweet. I could drink you all night."
"Please," he begged, his voice hoarse. "Please, Mina. I need more."
She smiled, a wicked, knowing smile, and then she took him into her mouth. The heat of her mouth was incredible—warm and wet, her tongue swirling around his shaft, her lips pressing against his skin. She took him deep, deeper than he'd expected, her throat relaxing to accommodate his girth.
"Oh, fuck," he gasped. "Oh, fuck, Mina—"
She pulled back, her lips releasing him with a wet pop, and looked up at him with dark, hungry eyes. "You like that?"
"I love it," he confessed, his voice raw. "Please, don't stop."
She didn't. She took him into her mouth again, her head bobbing up and down in a rhythm that was both rhythmic and relentless. Her hand stroked what her mouth couldn't reach, her fingers working in tandem with her lips, and he was lost—completely, utterly lost in the pleasure of her touch.
But she wasn't done teasing him. She pulled back again, her lips trailing wet kisses down his shaft, her tongue lapping at his balls. She took one into her mouth, sucking gently, and he gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily.
"Yes," he groaned. "Yes, suck them. Suck my balls."
She obliged, her mouth working his balls while her hand continued to stroke his cock. She was a master—a goddess—her every touch driving him insane. She alternated between sucking his balls and deep-throating him, her rhythm relentless, her determination unwavering.
And through it all, her thighs were pressing together, her hips bucking against nothing, her pussy growing wetter with each passing moment. She was as desperate for release as he was, and the knowledge drove him wild.
Min-ho lay there, his body trembling, his cock still glistening with Mina's saliva, when he felt a new hunger stir within him. He looked down at her, kneeling between his legs, her dark eyes locked on his, her lips still swollen from their earlier exertions. Her breasts were magnificent—huge, heavy, and swaying with each breath she took. The sight of them made his cock throb with a desperate, primal need.
"Mina," he said, his voice a low growl. "Come here."
She looked up at him, a question in her eyes, and he reached down, his fingers finding her nipples. They were still hard, still aching from his earlier attention, and he tugged gently, pulling her closer. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath that was equal parts surprise and pleasure, and she crawled forward, her breasts swaying with each movement.
"I want to feel them," he said, his voice rough with desire. "I want to feel your tits wrapped around my cock."
A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. "You want a boobjob?"
"I want your boobs," he confirmed, his voice a husky growl. "I want to feel them squeezing me. I want to watch my cock slide between them."
She laughed, a breathless, excited sound. "You're so greedy. I love it."
She shifted, positioning herself over him, her knees straddling his hips. Her breasts hung heavy and full, inches from his aching cock, and he could feel the heat radiating from her skin. She reached down, wrapping her fingers around his shaft, and guided it between her breasts.
The sensation was incredible. Her flesh was warm and soft, her breasts like two enormous pillows of silk, and they enveloped his cock completely. He gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily, and she grinned, a predatory glint in her eyes.
"Like that?" she murmured.
"Fuck, yes," he groaned. "That's perfect."
But it wasn't enough. He wanted more. He reached up, his hands finding her shoulders, and he pulled her closer, pressing her breasts more tightly around his shaft. She gasped, her eyes widening, and he could feel her nipples grazing his skin, hard and sensitive.
"Squeeze them," he commanded, his voice dark and commanding. "Squeeze your tits around my cock."
She obeyed, her hands cupping her breasts, pressing them together around his shaft. The pressure was incredible—her flesh molding to his cock, enveloping him in a warm, soft embrace. He groaned, his hips thrusting up into her grip, and she smiled, her eyes dark with desire.
"You like that, don't you?" she breathed. "You like having your cock between my tits."
"I love it," he confessed, his voice strained. "Your tits are so big, so soft. I can feel every inch of them."
She laughed, a breathless sound, and began to move. Her breasts slid up and down his shaft, the friction of her skin driving him insane. She was so warm, so soft, and her nipples grazed his skin with each movement, sending jolts of electricity through his body.
But the friction was too much. He was so hard, so sensitive, that the dry glide of her skin wasn't enough. He needed more lubrication.
"Spit on them," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "Spit on your tits. I need you to make them wet."
She raised an eyebrow, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Bossy."
But she obeyed. She leaned forward, her lips parting, and she spat onto her own cleavage. A thick, glistening string of saliva dripped down the valley between her breasts, pooling in the crevice where his cock was buried. She repeated the action, adding more lubrication, and then she pressed her breasts together again, her hands squeezing them around his shaft.
The sensation was electric. Her saliva was warm and slick, coating his cock and her breasts, reducing the friction to a smooth, slippery glide. He groaned, his hips thrusting up into her grip, and she began to move, her breasts sliding up and down his shaft with a rhythm that was both rhythmic and relentless.
"Fuck, Mina," he gasped. "That feels incredible. Your tits are amazing."
"I know," she said, her voice a breathless purr. "I've been told I give the best boobjobs. My tits are perfect for it."
And she was right. Her breasts were so large, so full, that they enveloped his cock completely, her flesh molding to him like a second skin. He could feel every inch of her—the warmth of her skin, the softness of her flesh, the hard points of her nipples grazing his shaft with each movement.
She leaned down, her lips hovering over the tip of his cock, which peeked through the top of her cleavage with each upward stroke. Her tongue darted out, lapping at the head, and he groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily.
"Fuck," he gasped. "Yes. Lick it. Lick the tip."
She obliged, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head each time it emerged from between her breasts. Her saliva mixed with her spit, lubricating him further, and he could feel the pressure building in his balls and the familiar tingling sensation at the base of his spine.
"I'm close," he warned, his voice strained. "I'm so close, Mina."
"Not yet," she said, her voice dark and commanding. "I'm not done with you. I want to feel you cum all over my tits."
She increased her pace, her breasts sliding up and down his shaft with renewed urgency. Her hands squeezed them together, her fingers gripping her own flesh, and she leaned down, her lips wrapping around the head of his cock each time it emerged.
The sensation was indescribable. Her breasts were so soft, so warm, and her mouth was so hot, so wet. The combination was driving him insane, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He could feel his orgasm building, the pressure in his balls reaching a fever pitch.
"Mina," he gasped. "Mina, I'm going to cum—"
"Let it go," she whispered, her voice a seductive purr. "Cum on my tits, Min-ho. Cover them with your cum."
And he did. His orgasm erupted with a force that left him breathless, his cum shooting up between her breasts in thick, hot spurts. It splattered across her cleavage, coating her skin and his cock, dripping down the valley between her breasts.
But she didn't stop. She continued to move, her breasts sliding up and down his shaft, milking him for every drop. Her tongue lapped at the head of his cock, tasting his release, and she moaned, her eyes fluttering closed with pleasure.
When he finally stopped shaking, she pulled back, her breasts glistening with his cum. She looked down at herself, a satisfied smile on her face, and she traced her fingers through the mess, gathering his seed on her fingertips.
"Look at that," she murmured, her voice reverent. "You came so much. You really enjoyed that."
He laughed, breathless and dazed. "I've never had a boobjob like that. Your tits are incredible."
She grinned, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. "I told you. I'm the best."
He pulled her closer, his hands finding her breasts, feeling their weight in his palms. They were slick with his cum and her saliva, warm and soft and utterly perfect. He squeezed them gently, and she moaned, her hips pressing against his.
"I need you," she breathed, her voice desperate. "I need you inside me. I need to feel that thick cock stretching me open."
His cock twitched at her words, already beginning to stir again. "Then take me," he said, his voice a low growl. "I'm yours."
Min-ho's hands were still wrapped around Mina's magnificent breasts, his cock already stirring back to life between them, when a sharp sound cut through the haze of their passion. The unmistakable click of the front door's lock. The soft creak of the hinges. Footsteps—deliberate, familiar footsteps—echoing through the entrance hall.
"Fuck," Mina breathed, her eyes going wide with panic. "Chungha. She's back early."
Min-ho's blood ran cold. He scrambled to his feet, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit—"
"Grab your clothes!" Mina hissed, already snatching her tank top from the floor. "Behind the wall—quick!"
They dove behind the large decorative partition that separated the living area from the hallway, their bodies pressed together in the narrow space. Min-ho's heart was pounding so loudly he was sure Chungha could hear it. Mina was trembling against him, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as she clutched her clothes to her chest.
They peeked around the edge of the partition, and their worst fears were confirmed. Chungha walked into the living room, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion, her hair slightly disheveled from a long day of schedules. She was dressed in a casual hoodie and jeans, her face bare of makeup, and she looked utterly drained.
She dropped her bag on the floor, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed onto the sofa. The very sofa where, minutes earlier, Min-ho had been buried between Mina's breasts, his cum still glistening on her skin. The sofa where Mina had been riding him, her body arching with pleasure. The sofa where they had just been making love with reckless abandon.
Chungha sighed, leaning her head back against the cushions. She rubbed her temples, her eyes closed, clearly unaware that her two roommates were pressed together behind the partition, barely three meters away.
Min-ho and Mina exchanged a look of pure, panicked terror. They were both still half-naked—Mina's tank top was bunched around her waist, her breasts still bare, his cum still drying on her skin. Min-ho's shorts were around his ankles, his cock still half-hard and pressing against Mina's thigh.
And then Mina did something that made his breath catch in his throat.
She giggled. Softly, barely audible, but a giggle nonetheless. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and she whispered, "This is so wrong. I love it."
"Are you insane?" he hissed back, his voice barely a whisper. "She's right there!"
"I know." Mina's grin was wicked, her eyes dark with desire. "That's what makes it so hot."
Before he could respond, she shifted her weight, pressing her ass back against him. His cock, still slick with her saliva and his own cum, nestled perfectly between her cheeks. The warmth of her skin, the softness of her flesh, sent a jolt of electricity through his entire body.
"Mina," he warned, his voice strained. "We can't—"
"Shh," she breathed, her eyes locked on his. "Just stay still. Don't make a sound."
But she wasn't staying still. She was moving. Her hips swayed slowly, deliberately, her ass grinding against his cock in a rhythm that was both subtle and devastating. She was rubbing herself against him, her cheeks parting slightly with each movement, and he could feel the heat of her skin, the slickness of her arousal, the desperate need that pulsed through her body.
He felt his cock hardening again, responding to her touch despite every rational thought screaming at him to stop. It was wrong. It was reckless. It was absolutely insane. And it was the hottest thing he had ever experienced.
Mina's breath hitched as she felt him growing harder against her. She bit her lip, her eyes fluttering closed, and she pressed back against him more firmly. She could feel every inch of him, the thick length of his cock pillowed between her cheeks, and it took every ounce of her self-control not to moan out loud.
"Fuck," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I want it. I want your cock right here. Right now."
"Mina," he groaned, his voice strangled. "She'll hear us."
"Then you'll have to keep me quiet," she said, her eyes meeting his with a challenge. "Can you do that?"
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I—"
But she was already moving, shifting her position, bending forward slightly so that her upper body was exposed beyond the edge of the partition. Her breasts—those magnificent, heavy, perfect breasts—were visible now, swaying with each movement. Her waist, her hips, her glorious ass—all of it was on display, hidden from Chungha's view only by the angle of the partition.
He could see Chungha on the sofa, still sitting there, oblivious. She was scrolling through her phone now, her expression bored and tired. She had no idea that her roommate was bent over, presenting her body to him like an offering.
Mina reached back, her fingers finding his cock, and she guided it to her entrance. Her pussy was slick and wet, her arousal evident, and he could feel the heat radiating from her core.
"Do it," she breathed, her voice a desperate whisper. "Fuck me, Min-ho. Right here. Right now. Don't make a sound."
He couldn't resist. He pressed forward, the head of his cock slipping into her wet folds, and she gasped—a sharp, choked sound that she immediately stifled with her hand. Her body trembled, her inner walls clenching around him, and he could feel every inch of her, the tight, velvet heat of her pussy enveloping him.
He pushed deeper, inch by agonizing inch, and she bit down on her fist to keep from screaming. He was so thick, so large, and she could feel him stretching her, filling her in a way that made her vision blur. Her pussy was so tight and so sensitive, and his cock was so big that it seemed to reach places inside her that had never been touched before.
Her back arched, her spine curving as she took him deeper. She could feel the head of his cock pressing against her cervix, the thick shaft pulsing with each heartbeat, and she was struggling to keep her composure. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire, every cell screaming for release.
Chungha, still scrolling through her phone, let out a soft yawn and shifted on the sofa. Mina froze, her eyes wide with panic, and Min-ho stopped moving, his cock buried deep inside her. They both held their breath, waiting for the moment of discovery.
But Chungha just sighed and leaned back, her eyes closing. She was so tired, so oblivious, that she didn't notice the subtle sounds of their passion—the soft rustle of clothing, the quiet gasp of pleasure, the barely stifled moans.
Mina relaxed, her body shuddering with relief, and she looked back at Min-ho with a wicked grin. "We're not going to get caught," she whispered. "Now fuck me. Slowly. Quietly."
He obliged, his hips beginning to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each thrust was careful, controlled, and designed to maximize pleasure while minimizing noise. He could feel her pussy clenching around him, the tight walls gripping his shaft with each withdrawal, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to pound into her with reckless abandon.
But the risk of discovery only heightened the pleasure. Every sound, every movement, every breath was a potential threat—and that danger made everything more intense. He could feel her body responding to him, her hips grinding back against his with increasing urgency.
Chungha shifted again, and Mina froze, her breath caught in her throat. But Chungha just turned on her side, curling up on the sofa, and let out a long, weary sigh. She was so exhausted that she was falling asleep, right there in the living room, while her roommate was being fucked less than three meters away.
Mina bit her lip, her eyes fluttering closed as another wave of pleasure washed over her. She could feel Min-ho's cock deep inside her, thick and hard and perfect, and it was all she could do to keep from crying out. Her body was trembling, her inner walls clenching around him with each movement, and she was so close to the edge that she could taste it.
But she couldn't let go. Not yet. Not until Chungha was gone.
She reached back, her fingers finding Min-ho's hip, and she squeezed gently, a silent signal. "Faster," she breathed, her voice barely audible. "I'm so close. Please."
He obeyed, his hips moving faster, his cock driving deeper into her. The rhythm was still controlled, still quiet, but there was a new urgency to his movements that made her gasp. She could feel the pressure building. The pleasure spiraled higher and higher, and she knew she was about to lose control.
Min-ho could feel Mina's body trembling against him, her inner walls clenching around his cock with each slow, deliberate thrust. The danger of discovery was intoxicating, heightening every sensation, making every nerve ending in his body sing with pleasure. He watched Chungha on the sofa, her eyes closed, her breathing growing slow and even as she drifted toward sleep.
And then an idea formed in his mind—a reckless, insane, utterly thrilling idea.
He leaned forward, his lips brushing Mina's ear, his voice a low whisper. "I want to walk you out. Right now. While I'm still inside you."
Mina's eyes went wide, her breath catching in her throat. "You're insane," she breathed. "She's right there—"
"I know." His hips pressed forward, burying himself deeper inside her, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan. "That's what makes it so hot. Trust me."
She hesitated for only a moment, her eyes searching his face. Then a slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. "You're going to get us caught."
"I won't." He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. "Just walk with me. Slowly. Quietly."
She nodded, her breath coming in shallow gasps, and he began to move—not thrusting, but stepping forward, guiding her with his body. His cock was still buried deep inside her, and each step sent a jolt of pleasure through both of them. She bit her fist, her eyes squeezed shut, as she struggled to keep from crying out.
They emerged from behind the partition, their bodies pressed together, his cock sliding deeper with each step. The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the evening light filtering through the windows, and Chungha was still on the sofa, her breathing slow and even, completely oblivious.
Mina's hands were trembling, her body shaking with the effort of staying quiet. She could feel him inside her, thick and hard, and each step made her pussy clench around him, desperate for more. She took another step, and then another, and suddenly they were halfway across the room, Chungha's sleeping form just meters away.
"Fuck," Mina breathed, her voice barely audible. "This is so wrong."
"I know," he whispered back, his voice a dark growl. "But you love it."
She couldn't deny it. The thrill of almost being caught, the danger of discovery, the sheer audacity of what they were doing—it was driving her insane. She could feel her orgasm building, the pressure coiling in her core, and she knew she was about to lose control.
He stopped walking, his hips pressing forward, burying himself as deep as possible. She gasped, her hands gripping the edge of the sofa—Chungha's sofa—as he began to thrust. Slowly, deliberately, each movement was designed to drive her wild without waking her sleeping roommate.
His hands roamed her body, finding her breasts through the thin fabric of her tank top. He squeezed them, feeling their heavy weight in his palms, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan. Her nipples were hard, aching for his touch, and he rolled them between his thumb and forefinger, pinching gently.
"Your tits are so incredible," he murmured against her ear, his voice a low growl. "So big. So full. I could play with them all day."
She whimpered, her hips grinding back against him. "Please," she breathed. "Please, Min-ho. Don't stop."
He didn't. His hands continued their exploration, one hand kneading her breast while the other slid down her stomach, finding her clit. He circled it with his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure, and she gasped, her body arching against him.
"You're so wet," he observed, his voice a dark whisper. "I can feel you dripping down my cock. You love this, don't you? You love the danger of almost getting caught."
"Yes," she admitted, her voice a desperate whimper. "Yes, I love it. I love being fucked while she's right there. I love knowing that she could wake up at any moment and see us."
He grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Then let's give her a show."
He pulled out of her, and she whimpered at the loss. But before she could protest, he was turning her around, his hands guiding her to face the sofa. Her hands pressed against the cushion, her body bent over, and he thrust into her from behind.
The angle was perfect, his cock sliding deep inside her, hitting that spot that made her see stars. She bit her fist, her eyes squeezed shut, as he began to move. Slow, deliberate thrusts that drove her wild, each one pushing her closer and closer to the edge.
His hands found her ass, squeezing the firm, round flesh. He could feel her muscles clenching with each thrust, her body responding to him in ways that made his head spin. He slapped her ass gently, watching the flesh jiggle with the impact, and she gasped, her pussy clenching around him.
"You like that?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "You like it when I spank you?"
"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, I love it. Do it again."
He obliged, his hand coming down on her ass with a sharp slap. She cried out, a soft, choked sound, and he could feel her pussy tighten around him. He spanked her again, and again, each impact sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.
His other hand found her hair, tangling in the dark strands. He pulled gently, forcing her head back, and she arched her spine, her body curving into a perfect arch. He could see her reflection in the window, her face flushed with pleasure, her lips parted in a silent scream.
"Look at yourself," he commanded, his voice dark and commanding. "Look at how beautiful you are when you're being fucked."
She obeyed, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the window. She could see his body behind her, his hips slamming into hers, his hands gripping her ass. She could see her own face, flushed and desperate, her eyes dark with desire. And she could see Chungha on the sofa, still asleep, completely oblivious to the scene unfolding just meters away.
"Oh, fuck," Mina gasped, her voice a desperate whisper. "I'm so close. I'm so close, Min-ho."
"Not yet," he said, his voice a low growl. "I'm not done with you."
He pulled out of her, and she whimpered at the loss. But before she could protest, he was turning her around, lifting her onto the edge of the sofa. She was facing him now, her legs wrapped around his waist, and he thrust into her, burying himself deep inside her.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, and she kissed him—a desperate, hungry kiss that tasted of salt and desire. He fucked her with a ferocity that surprised them both, his hips slamming into hers, his cock driving deep into her core.
His hands found her breasts again, squeezing them, kneading them, feeling their weight in his palms. He could feel her nipples hard against his skin, and he leaned down, taking one into his mouth. She gasped, her body arching against him, and he sucked gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak.
"Your tits are so perfect," he murmured against her skin. "So big. So soft. I could suck them all night."
"Please," she begged, her voice a desperate whimper. "Please, Min-ho. Don't stop. I'm so close."
He didn't. He continued to suck and lick her breasts while his hips drove into her, his cock sliding deep inside her. His hand found her clit again, circling it with his thumb, and she cried out, her body trembling with the effort of staying quiet.
He could feel her orgasm building, the way her pussy tightened around him, the way her breath came in short, desperate gasps. And then she came—a violent, convulsing orgasm that ripped through her body, her pussy clamping down on his cock like a vice. She bit her shoulder, muffling her scream, as waves of pleasure crashed through her.
But he didn't stop. He continued to thrust, driving her through her orgasm and into the next. She was a trembling, gasping mess, her body shaking with each wave of pleasure, and he could feel her inner walls milking his cock with desperate contractions.
"Fuck, Mina," he groaned, his voice strained. "I'm close. I'm so close."
"Not yet," she said, her voice a desperate whisper. "I want to cum again. I want to cum with you inside me."
He obliged, his hips moving faster, his cock driving deeper into her. He could feel her pussy tightening around him, her inner walls fluttering with each thrust. And then she came again—a raw, primal scream that she barely managed to stifle with her hand.
Her orgasm triggered his own. With a final, desperate thrust, he came inside her, his cum shooting into her in thick, hot spurts. He could feel her pussy milking him, her inner walls convulsing around him as she continued to come.
When he finally stopped shaking, he collapsed against her, both of them panting and drenched in sweat. Her legs were still wrapped around him, her arms still around his neck, and she was trembling, her body shaking with the aftershocks of her orgasm.
"Fuck," she breathed, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I can't believe you just did that."
He grinned, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "You loved it."
She laughed—a breathless, disbelieving sound. "I did. I absolutely loved it."
But then her eyes went wide, her gaze fixed over his shoulder. "Min-ho," she breathed. "Look."
He turned, his heart pounding, and saw Chungha stirring on the sofa. She was mumbling something in her sleep, her eyes still closed, but she was shifting, her body moving toward the edge of the sofa.
"Shit," he whispered, pulling out of Mina with a wet, sucking sound. He scrambled to grab his shorts, pulling them on as quickly as possible. Mina was already pulling her tank top over her head, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
They were barely dressed when Chungha's eyes fluttered open. She blinked, groggy and confused, and looked around the room. Her gaze landed on Mina, who was sitting on the sofa, and Min-ho, who was standing awkwardly nearby.
"What are you two doing?" Chungha asked, her voice slurred with sleep.
Min-ho's heart was pounding, but Mina was a born actress. She smiled, a perfectly casual expression on her face, and said, "We were just watching a movie. You fell asleep."
Chungha blinked, rubbing her eyes. "Oh. Sorry. I'm just so tired."
"Don't worry about it," Mina said, her voice warm. "Go back to sleep. We'll keep it quiet."
Chungha nodded, her eyes already closing again. "Thanks. I'm just going to—" She didn't finish the sentence. She was already asleep again, her breathing slow and even.
Min-ho let out a long, shuddering breath. "That was too close."
Mina laughed, a soft, musical sound. "Close? That was the hottest thing I've ever done." She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "I want to do it again."
He grinned, pulling her close. "So do I."
And they did. Over the next hour, they fucked in every position they could think of—against the wall, on the floor, bent over the coffee table. Each time, they pushed the boundaries, getting closer and closer to where Chungha was sleeping.
Min-ho's hands never stopped exploring Mina's body. He played with her breasts constantly, squeezing them, kneading them, feeling their heavy weight in his palms. He would lean down and take her nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting them until she was gasping with pleasure. His fingers found her clit again and again, circling it with just the right pressure, driving her to the edge of orgasm and then pulling back.
He spanked her ass repeatedly, watching the flesh jiggle with each impact, feeling her pussy tighten around him with each slap. He pulled her hair, forcing her head back, watching her face contort with pleasure in the reflection of the window. He whispered dirty things in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was, how much he loved her body, how much he wanted to fill her with his cum.
And each time, she came—gushing, violent orgasms that left her trembling and breathless. Her pussy was so wet, so slick, that his cock slid in and out of her with ease, her inner walls milking him with desperate contractions.
He could feel his own orgasm building again, the pressure in his balls reaching a fever pitch. He knew he was about to cum, but he didn't want to stop. He wanted to keep fucking her, to keep playing with her body, to keep driving her wild.
"Mina," he gasped, his voice strained. "I'm close. I'm so close."
"Then cum," she breathed, her voice a desperate whisper. "Cum inside me, Min-ho. Fill me up."
He obliged, his orgasm erupting with a force that left him breathless. He could feel her pussy milking him, her inner walls convulsing around him as she came again—a violent, gushing orgasm that soaked his cock.
When he finally stopped shaking, he collapsed against her, both of them panting and drenched in sweat. She was smiling, a lazy, satisfied smile that made his heart skip a beat.
"I think I'm addicted to you," she murmured, her voice soft and sleepy. "Is that a problem?"
"It's only a problem if you want it to be," he said, kissing her forehead. "I'm happy with what we have. No strings, no drama, just... this."
She smiled, a soft, genuine smile. "Good. Because I'm not ready to give this up. Not anytime soon."
And they lay there in the darkness, their bodies tangled together, the thrill of their secret encounter still coursing through their veins. They knew it was reckless. They knew it was dangerous. But neither of them could bring themselves to stop.
Min-ho's hands continued to roam Mina's body, unable to keep still even in the aftermath of their passion. He traced the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts. She sighed contentedly, her body molding to his, and he felt a surge of possessiveness that surprised him.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a whisper. "Every inch of you."
She smiled, her eyes still closed. "You're not so bad yourself."
He laughed, a soft, breathless sound. "I'm serious. I've never met anyone like you."
"Flatterer," she teased, but there was warmth in her voice.
They lay there in comfortable silence for a while, their bodies still tangled together. Min-ho could feel her heartbeat against his chest, slow and steady, and he felt a sense of peace that he hadn't felt in months.
But the peace was short-lived. Mina shifted, her hips grinding against his, and he felt his cock stir again. She was insatiable, and he was more than happy to oblige.
"Again?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
"Again," she confirmed, her eyes dark with desire. "I want to feel you inside me one more time. And this time, I want to ride you."
He grinned, rolling onto his back, and she climbed on top of him. Her breasts swayed with each movement, heavy and full, and he reached up, his hands finding them. He squeezed them gently, and she moaned, her head falling back.
"Your tits are so perfect," he murmured, his voice reverent. "I could play with them all day."
"Then play with them," she breathed, her voice a desperate whisper. "While I ride you."
She sank onto him, her pussy enveloping his cock in a wet, velvet grip. He gasped, his hands gripping her hips, and she began to move. Her hips rose and fell in a rhythm that was both ancient and primal, her breasts bouncing with each motion.
He reached up, his hands finding her breasts again, and he squeezed them, kneading them, feeling their weight in his palms. He leaned up, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, and she gasped, her hips grinding against him with renewed intensity.
"Yes," she moaned. "Yes, Min-ho. Suck them. Suck my tits."
He obliged, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak, his teeth grazing the hard nub. She cried out, her pussy clenching around him, and he could feel her orgasm building, the way her inner walls fluttered around him.
His hands slid down her body, finding her ass. He squeezed the firm, round flesh, feeling it yield beneath his fingers. He spanked her gently, and she gasped, her hips bucking against him.
"You like that?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, I love it. Spank me again."
He obliged, his hand coming down on her ass with a sharp slap. She cried out, her pussy tightening around him, and he spanked her again, and again, each impact driving her wild.
His other hand found her hair, tangling in the dark strands. He pulled gently, forcing her head back, and she arched her spine, her body curving into a perfect arch. He could see her reflection in the window, her face flushed with pleasure, her lips parted in a silent scream.
"Look at yourself," he commanded, his voice dark and commanding. "Look at how beautiful you are when you're riding me."
She obeyed, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the window. She could see his body beneath her, his hands gripping her ass, his cock sliding in and out of her. She could see her own face, flushed and desperate, her eyes dark with desire.
"Oh, fuck," she gasped, her voice a desperate whisper. "I'm so close. I'm so close, Min-ho."
"Then cum," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "Cum for me, Mina. I want to feel you come on my cock."
She did. Her orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing, her pussy clamping down on his cock like a vice. She screamed, a raw, primal sound that she barely managed to stifle with her hand. Her juices gushed around him, soaking his thighs, and he continued to thrust up into her, driving her through the waves of her pleasure.
But he wasn't done with her yet. He flipped her over, his body covering hers, and he thrust into her again. His hands found her breasts, squeezing them, kneading them, feeling their weight in his palms. He leaned down, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, and she gasped, her body arching against him.
"Your tits are incredible," he murmured against her skin. "So big. So soft. I could suck them all night."
"Please," she begged, her voice a desperate whimper. "Please, Min-ho. Don't stop. I'm so close."
He didn't. He continued to suck and lick her breasts while his hips drove into her, his cock sliding deep inside her. His hand found her clit, circling it with his thumb, and she cried out, her body trembling with the effort of staying quiet.
He could feel her orgasm building again, the way her pussy tightened around him, the way her breath came in short, desperate gasps. And then she came—a violent, convulsing orgasm that ripped through her body, her pussy clamping down on his cock like a vice.
Her orgasm triggered his own. With a final, desperate thrust, he came inside her, his cum shooting into her in thick, hot spurts. He could feel her pussy milking him, her inner walls convulsing around him as she continued to come.
When he finally stopped shaking, he collapsed against her, both of them panting and drenched in sweat. Her body was trembling, her skin slick with sweat, and he could feel her heart pounding against his chest.
"That was incredible," she breathed, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I don't think I've ever come that hard in my life."
He grinned, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Neither have I."
She laughed, a breathless, disbelieving sound. "We're going to get caught."
"Probably," he admitted. "But it'll be worth it."
She smiled, a soft, genuine smile. "Yeah. It will be."
And they lay there in the darkness, their bodies tangled together, the thrill of their secret encounter still coursing through their veins. They knew it was reckless. They knew it was dangerous. But neither of them could bring themselves to stop.
Min-ho's hands continued to roam Mina's body, unable to keep still even in the aftermath of their passion. He traced the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts. She sighed contentedly, her body molding to his, and he felt a surge of possessiveness that surprised him.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a soft whisper. "Every inch of you."
She smiled, her eyes still closed. "You're not so bad yourself."
He laughed, a soft, breathless sound. "I'm serious. I've never met anyone like you."
"Flatterer," she teased, but there was warmth in her voice.
They lay there in comfortable silence for a while, their bodies still tangled together. Min-ho could feel her heartbeat against his chest, slow and steady, and he felt a sense of peace that he hadn't felt in months.
But even as they lay there, he knew it wouldn't last. The world outside would intrude soon enough—the schedules, the responsibilities, the need to keep their secret hidden. But for now, in this moment, they were just two people who had found something unexpected in each other.
The world had ended three times in the span of twenty-four hours for Lee Min-ho.
First, the firing. Second, the breakup. Third—and most humiliating—the walk of shame past his former colleagues' cubicles, carrying a cardboard box of desk trinkets while HR's security guard escorted him to the elevator like he was a white-collar criminal. Which, technically, he was just not in the legal sense.
"You slept with my girlfriend, you son of a bitch."
That was his boss—former boss—Park Sung-ho, his voice cracking with a rage that silenced the entire open-floor office. He'd found the text messages. The hotel receipts Min-ho had stupidly left in his work bag. The whole ugly truth unraveled in front of fifty people who'd known him as the "reliable junior account manager." Reliable. Right. Reliable at destroying everything he touched.
The door to his studio apartment slammed behind him. He dropped the cardboard box on the kitchen counter—a counter he hadn't cleaned in weeks—and stared at the walls. Beige. Boring. Empty. Like his future.
Three messages glowed on his phone:
Jisoo (ex-girlfriend of two years): "I can't even look at you. You're disgusting. We're done. Don't contact me."
HR Department: "Your final paycheck will be processed within 14 business days. Please return all company property by Friday."
Unknown Number: "Hey… It's Chungha. Your mom gave me your number. I heard what happened. Can we talk?"
He almost threw the phone against the wall. Almost. But something stopped him—a memory, flickering like a damaged film reel.
Three years ago. His mother's wedding to a wealthy businessman named Kim Jae-won. Min-ho was twenty-five, cynical, and convinced that his mother's third marriage was destined for failure like the first two. The ceremony was small and intimate, held at a garden resort outside Seoul. He'd worn a rented tuxedo that didn't fit quite right and nursed a whiskey sour, waiting for the inevitable awkward introductions to his new step-siblings.
And then she walked in.
Chungha. The Chungha. The soloist whose debut single had topped every chart in Asia. The dancer who had performed at the Olympics' opening ceremony. The woman whose face was on billboards, whose voice was in every café playlist, and whose music videos had billions of views.
And she was his new stepsister.
He remembered freezing mid-sip, the glass hovering uselessly near his lips. She was wearing a pale yellow dress, simple and elegant, her hair pulled back in a loose bun. No heavy makeup—just that natural, glowing confidence that made her look like she'd stepped out of a photoshoot rather than a family wedding. Her smile was polite and practiced, the kind she used for award shows and variety programs.
But when she reached his table and extended her hand, her eyes softened. Not the celebrity mask. Just… human.
"Hi," she said, her voice warm and surprisingly low. "You must be the older brother I never had. I'm Chungha. Or, I guess, just your new sister now."
He'd stammered something idiotic—he didn't even remember what. Something about being a fan. Something about not expecting her to actually be here. She'd laughed, a genuine laugh that crinkled her eyes, and said, "Trust me, I'm more nervous about meeting you than performing at the Gocheok Sky Dome."
That was the thing about Chungha. She was famous—incomprehensibly, stratospherically famous—but she never acted like it. Not with Min-ho. Not with their new family. She'd show up to Sunday dinners when her schedule allowed, always bringing expensive gifts for his mother and Jae-won and always asking about his job, his life, and his little victories. She remembered his birthday. She sent flowers when he got promoted. She was the sister he never asked for but somehow desperately needed.
They had a good relationship. Distant, due to her insane schedule—world tours, album recordings, and variety show appearances—but solid. Genuine. She'd call him at 2 AM after a concert, exhausted but buzzing with adrenaline, and he'd listen to her ramble about stage mishaps and difficult choreography. He'd send her memes. She'd send him voice messages of her singing off-key on purpose just to make him laugh.
And now, after everything he'd done, she was calling.
He called her back that night. His voice was hoarse, raw from the screaming match with Sung-ho and the hours of silent crying after Jisoo's text.
"Hey," she said softly. "I was starting to think you'd ghost me too."
"Can't ghost family," he muttered. "That's, like, against the rules."
"Barely." There was a pause. He heard muffled sounds—maybe a television, maybe a hair dryer. "Mom told me about the… situation. And your job. And, um, Jisoo."
"Of course she did." He rubbed his eyes. "She probably told you I'm a monster."
"She didn't have to," Chungha's voice sharpened. "I read the news articles, oppa. Well—the fan forums, anyway. People talk. They said you got caught sleeping with your boss's girlfriend. That you'd been doing it for months."
Silence. The kind of silence that screams louder than any accusation.
"It's true," he admitted. "Every word."
Chungha exhaled slowly. He could picture her expression—that tight, controlled look she got when she was disappointed but trying not to show it. The same look she'd given a backup dancer who'd missed a cue during rehearsal.
"I'm coming over," she said suddenly. "Stay there."
"Chungha, you don't have to—"
"Shut up. I'll be there in an hour."
She arrived in a black hoodie and baseball cap—her standard incognito uniform. No makeup, hair pulled through the back of the cap in a messy ponytail. She looked like any exhausted twenty-something, not the face of a K-pop empire.
She took one look at his apartment—the takeout containers, the empty soju bottles, the crumpled suit on the floor—and sighed.
"It smells like regret in here," she said, kicking aside a discarded sock. "And desperation. And possibly old kimchi."
"Thank you, Marie Kondo. Really appreciate the analysis."
"Don't get sarcastic with me." She sat on his stained sofa—the one he'd promised to replace for two years—and patted the cushion beside her. "Sit."
He sat like a chastised child.
"Tell me everything," she said. "From the beginning. And don't leave out the parts you're ashamed of."
He told her. The office party where he'd first flirted with Manager Kang's girlfriend—a beautiful, bored woman named Soo-jin who'd made it clear her relationship was "complicated." The secret lunches. The hotel visits during "client meetings." The way he'd convinced himself it wasn't cheating because Jisoo and he had been drifting apart anyway. The way he'd felt alive, powerful, desired—until Sung-ho's face had appeared in the doorway of that hotel room, his expression cycling through disbelief, fury, and, finally, cold, calculated hatred.
When he finished, Chungha was silent for a long moment. Then she stood up, walked to the kitchen, and poured herself a glass of water. She didn't drink it. She just held it, staring at the condensation dripping down the sides.
"You're an idiot," she said flatly.
"Okay, that's fair—"
"A complete, irredeemable idiot." She turned to face him, and he saw it—the steel beneath the softness. The same fire that made her a performer capable of commanding stadiums. "You had a girlfriend who loved you. You had a job that paid well. You had a family—a messed-up, blended, weird family, but still—and you threw all of it away because… what? Because a woman looked at you? Because you wanted to feel like a big man?"
"Chungha—"
"No." She held up a hand. "Let me finish. I've spent my entire career watching people destroy themselves for ten seconds of validation. Managers, idols, producers—all of them thinking they're invincible, that consequences are something that happens to other people. And you—" she shook her head. "You're smarter than that. You've always been smarter than that. But you chose to be stupid. You chose to be cruel."
He opened his mouth to defend himself, but nothing came out because she was right.
"I'm not going to tell you it's okay," she continued, her voice quieter now. "Because it's not. Jisoo is devastated. Sung-ho might never trust anyone again. And you—you lost everything because you couldn't keep it in your pants."
"Wow. Harsh."
"Harsh is what you need right now." She set down the glass and walked back to the sofa, sitting closer this time. Her knee brushed his—a small, sisterly gesture. "But here's the thing. You're still my brother. Stupid, selfish, cheating brother—but still family. And family doesn't abandon family, even when they deserve to be abandoned."
He looked at her. This woman, who could be anywhere in the world—could be partying with celebrities, filming commercials, or preparing for her next world tour—was here. In his dumpy apartment. Scolding him like a disappointed older sister.
"What are you saying?" he asked.
"I'm saying you're moving in with me." She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "My apartment is huge. I barely use half of it. And my roommate—Kang Mina—she's been asking me for months if I wanted to 'adopt a stray' since she's always bringing home abandoned animals." A slight smile tugged at her lips. "You're not a dog, but you're close enough."
"Kang Mina?" He blinked. "The actress? The one from Hospital Playlist and that thriller drama?"
"Yeah. She's basically a national treasure at this point. And yes, she's as gorgeous in person as she looks on screen. But if you even think about pulling any of your cheating nonsense with her—or any of her idol friends who visit—I will personally end you. And I know people. Scary people. Managers with very large security teams."
"I wouldn't—"
"I know you wouldn't. I'm just saying." She pulled out her phone. "I already cleared it with Mina. She's excited to meet you. She says she's always wanted a 'chaotic male sibling energy' in the apartment."
"This is insane," he said. "I can't move in with you. You're—you're Chungha. You have paparazzi. You have schedules. You have a life—"
"And you have nothing." She said it gently but bluntly. "No job. No girlfriend. No dignity. So let me help you. Stay for a few months. Get back on your feet. Figure out what you want to do with your life. And don't sleep with anyone else's partner while you're under my roof. That's the one rule."
He stared at her. The famous idol who'd walked into his life three years ago and somehow, miraculously, become the most stable presence in his chaotic existence.
"Okay," he whispered. "Okay. Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." She stood up, pulling her hoodie back over her head. "Pack a bag. You're coming with me tonight. And bring your passport—I'm dragging you to a spa retreat this weekend. You look like death."
As she walked toward the door, she paused and looked back. Her eyes softened again—that same look from the wedding.
"Also?" she said. "I'm not doing this because I feel sorry for you. I'm doing this because I know the real you. The guy who stayed up with me on the phone for three hours when I was crying about my first dating scandal. The guy who defended me to your drunk friends when they said K-pop was 'just manufactured pop. 'The guy who showed up to every family dinner even when he had to take three trains to get there."
She smiled—a small, sad smile.
"That guy deserves a second chance. So don't make me regret giving you one."
And then she was gone, leaving him alone in his shithole apartment with a cardboard box, a shattered ego, and the faintest glimmer of hope.
Later that night, Min-ho stood in the elevator of Chungha's luxury Gangnam apartment building, clutching a single duffel bag and feeling profoundly out of place. The elevator music was classical—actual classical, not elevator muzak—and the doors opened onto a hallway that smelled like lavender and money.
Chungha led him to the door, punched in a code, and pushed it open.
"This is it," she said. "Home sweet home."
The apartment was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Han River. Minimalist furniture in shades of gray and white. A kitchen that looked like it belonged in a design magazine. And sprawled on the enormous sectional sofa, wearing oversized glasses and a hoodie that read "Namaste in Bed," was Kang Mina.
She looked up from her phone, pushed her glasses up her nose, and grinned.
"So," she said, her voice warm and teasing. "You're the famous stepbrother who ruined his life. Welcome to the chaos. I'm Mina. I make bad decisions too, but usually they involve ordering fried chicken at 2 AM, not cheating on my girlfriend."
Min-ho felt his face burn. "It's—it's nice to meet you. I'm sorry for the imposition."
"Imposition?" Mina laughed—a bright, musical sound. "Chungha's been talking about you for years. She literally has a photo of you on her nightstand. It's kind of adorable, actually."
"I'm always nice," Mina said, winking at Min-ho. "Especially to strays. Don't worry, oppa. We'll take good care of you. Just don't expect me to cook—I'm strictly a 'microwave and regret' chef."
He stood there, frozen, surrounded by two of the most beautiful, successful women in South Korea—one his stepsister, the other an actress he'd secretly crushed on during her drama marathons—and realized, with a strange mix of shame and gratitude, that he was exactly where he needed to be.
"Thank you," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "Both of you. I don't deserve this."
"You don't," Chungha agreed, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "But that's what sisters are for."
And for the first time in forty-eight hours, Min-ho smiled.
Three weeks had passed since Min-ho had moved into Chungha's apartment. Three weeks of sleeping on a ridiculously comfortable guest bed, eating Mina's questionable microwave creations, and pretending he wasn't hyper-aware of every beautiful woman who walked through those doors.
Chungha had been true to her word. She'd dragged him to a spa retreat—an absurdly luxurious place where they rubbed his face with snail mucus and made him drink something called "collagen gold elixir." He'd emerged feeling like a new man. Or at least a man who'd stopped smelling like regret and old kimchi.
She'd also been relentless about getting him out of his head. "You can't mope forever," she'd say, shoving a smoothie into his hands at 7 AM. "You need to remember that you're still a human being. A flawed, dumb, cheating human being—but still a human being."
He'd started looking for jobs. Sending out applications. Getting rejected. The usual post-apocalyptic job hunt routine. But Chungha and Mina refused to let him wallow. They'd drag him to movie nights, force him to play board games, and—on one particularly memorable evening—made him watch an entire season of some reality dating show while they provided running commentary.
"You'd be the villain on this show," Mina had declared, pointing a chopstick at him. "The one everyone hates but secretly finds hot."
"Thanks," he'd said dryly. "Really building up my self-esteem here."
"I'm not trying to build your self-esteem," Mina had shot back. "I'm trying to keep you from becoming a hermit. There's a difference."
Chungha had watched their banter with a small smile, her eyes flickering between them like she was cataloging something. Min-ho didn't think much of it at the time.
He should have.
It was a Friday night, and Chungha had emerged from her bedroom looking like she'd stepped off a magazine cover. Black leather mini-skirt. A silky crimson top that tied at the neck, showing off her collarbones and the faintest hint of cleavage. Her hair was down—long, dark, and wavy—and her makeup was flawless: smoky eyes and glossy lips that looked almost edible.
"Get dressed," she'd announced, tossing a button-up shirt at his face. "We're going out."
"Going out where?" he'd asked, catching the shirt with more confusion than grace.
"Clubbing. You need to remember what fun feels like."
"Chungha, I'm thirty years old. I haven't gone clubbing since—"
"Since you became a boring loser who cheated on his girlfriend and got fired?" She'd raised an eyebrow. "Exactly. That's why you're going. Consider it exposure therapy."
Mina had appeared from her room, already dressed in a tight black dress that hugged every curve of her athletic figure. She'd winked at him. "Don't worry, oppa. We'll protect you from the scary women. Mostly."
"I'm not worried about women," he'd muttered. "I'm worried about your security team if anyone recognizes you."
"Relax." Chungha had grabbed his arm, pulling him toward the door. "We're going to a private club. VIP only. No paparazzi. No fans. Just rich people pretending they're not rich and celebrities pretending they're normal."
"And me," he'd added. "The failure who's living off his step-sister's charity."
"You're not a failure," Chungha had said, her voice softening. "You're just... temporarily inconvenienced."
"That's a very generous way of saying 'pathetic.'"
"Tomato, tomahto."
The club was called Eclipse, and it was exactly as ridiculous as he'd expected. A converted warehouse in Gangnam, all exposed brick and neon lights and a DJ who looked like he'd been carved from marble. The music was loud enough to vibrate in his chest, a thrumming bass that seemed to sync with his heartbeat.
Chungha led him past the velvet ropes with a casual wave at the bouncer—who nodded respectfully, clearly recognizing her—and they slipped into a VIP booth near the back. The booth was semicircular, plush velvet in deep burgundy, with a table that sparkled with bottle service and a glowing ice bucket.
"Drink," Chungha commanded, pushing a glass of something amber and expensive into his hand. "And relax. You look like you're about to have a panic attack."
"I'm fine," he said, taking a sip. Whiskey. Good whiskey. "I'm just... adjusting."
"Adjust faster." She leaned back, her legs crossing slowly, the leather of her skirt catching the strobing lights. "Tonight, you're not the guy who got fired. You're not the guy who cheated. You're just... a guy. Okay?"
He nodded, taking another sip. The whiskey burned pleasantly on the way down, loosening something tight in his chest.
Mina had already found a group of friends near the dance floor—a cluster of beautiful people who were laughing and grinding to the beat. She waved at them, her smile bright and infectious, before disappearing into the crowd.
"She's going to be a disaster tomorrow," Chungha said fondly. "She always is."
"Doesn't she have a shoot on Monday?"
"She'll survive. She's Kang Mina. She can film a commercial hungover with one eye closed." Chungha laughed, a warm sound that cut through the noise. "She's done it before."
Min-ho watched the dance floor for a while, the sea of bodies moving in hypnotic rhythm. The lights painted everything in shifting colors—blue, pink, gold—and for a moment, he almost forgot about the wreckage of his life.
Almost.
And then Chungha nudged him, her eyes bright with mischief. "Stay here. I'm going to get us another round. And maybe find someone to introduce you to."
"Introduce me to—" he started, but she was already gone, weaving through the crowd with the practiced ease of a woman who'd spent years navigating chaos.
He sat alone in the booth, nursing his whiskey, trying not to feel like a discarded accessory.
Twenty minutes later, Chungha returned. But she wasn't alone.
Walking beside her was the most stunning woman Min-ho had ever seen in his life.
She was tall—taller than Chungha—with a figure that made his brain short-circuit. Long, toned legs that seemed to go on forever, showcased by tiny denim shorts that barely covered the curve of her ass. Her top was tight, a cropped white tank that strained against a chest that was... impressive. Generous. The kind of chest that made you forget your own name.
But it was her hair that really hit him. Blonde. Platinum. Signature. It fell in waves past her shoulders, catching the neon lights like spun gold. Her face was delicate but sharp—high cheekbones, full lips, and eyes that sparkled with mischief and something deeper.
Jeon Somi.
He knew her. Everyone knew her. The soloist who'd conquered the charts, the variety show queen, the woman who'd made "XOXO" an international earworm. She was nineteen years old—or maybe twenty? The timeline blurred—but she looked like she'd walked out of every man's dream and every woman's envy.
And she was walking toward him.
"Somi," Chungha said, her voice casual as if introducing him to a neighbor. "This is my stepbrother. The one I told you about."
Somi's eyes met Min-ho's, and she smiled—a slow, knowing smile that made something flip in his stomach. "Ah," she said, her voice playful. "The legendary stepbrother. Chungha talks about you all the time."
"She does?" he managed, his voice cracking slightly.
"Don't flatter yourself," Chungha said, rolling her eyes. "Mostly she complains about you." But there was warmth in her voice, a teasing edge that softened the words.
Somi slid into the booth beside him—close enough that he could smell her perfume, something floral and sweet with a hint of vanilla. Her thigh brushed against his, and he felt a jolt of electricity shoot through his entire body.
"So," she said, turning to face him fully, her eyes scanning his face with blatant curiosity. "Chungha says you've been through a rough patch. Something about a job and a girlfriend and a lot of bad decisions."
"Chungha has a big mouth," Min-ho said, shooting a glare at his stepsister.
"I'm not wrong," Chungha said, shrugging. "You made bad decisions. I'm just giving Somi the cliff notes version."
Somi laughed—a bright, musical sound that echoed in the booth. "Don't worry," she said, leaning closer. "I've made bad decisions too. It's part of being human."
"Some of us make more than others," he muttered.
"Some of us make more interesting ones," she countered, her eyes glinting.
Chungha looked between them, a small smile playing on her lips. "I'm going to grab that drink," she said, standing. "You two... get to know each other."
And then she was gone, disappearing into the crowd with a wave that felt suspiciously intentional.
Min-ho was alone with Jeon Somi.
For a moment, they just sat there, the music pounding around them like a heartbeat. Her thigh was still pressed against his, and he was acutely aware of every point of contact—her knee, her shoulder, the brush of her hair against his arm.
"So," he said, trying to sound casual. "What does Chungha actually say about me? The real version, not the sanitized one."
Somi tilted her head, her eyes narrowing playfully. "She says you're an idiot who made a huge mistake. But she also says you're a good person. Loyal. Kind. The kind of guy who takes care of people, even when you don't have to."
He blinked. "She said all that?"
"She might have left out the 'idiot' part." Somi grinned, showing perfect teeth. "I added that myself."
He laughed—a genuine laugh, the first one in weeks. "Fair enough."
And then they started talking.
It was easy. Natural. She asked about his job—his former job—and he told her about the corporate grind, the absurdity of office politics, the soul-crushing monotony of spreadsheets and meetings. She listened, genuinely listened, asking questions that showed she was actually paying attention.
In return, she told him about her life. The grueling trainee days, the pressure of debuting at sixteen, the constant scrutiny of being a public figure. She talked about the loneliness of fame, the way people saw her as an image rather than a person.
"It's exhausting," she said, her voice dropping. "Everyone expects you to be perfect. And you can't ever, ever make a mistake. Because if you do, they'll tear you apart."
"Sounds familiar," he said quietly.
She met his eyes, and something passed between them—a shared understanding, a recognition of the weight they both carried.
"Chungha said you got caught cheating," she said, her voice careful. "Is that true?"
He tensed, the old shame flooding back. "Yeah," he admitted. "It's true."
"And you feel guilty about it?"
"Every single day."
She was quiet for a moment, studying him. Then she reached out and placed her hand on his arm—a light touch, but it felt like a spark.
"Good," she said simply. "That means you're not a bad person. You're just a person who did a bad thing. There's a difference."
He stared at her. "How do you know that?"
She smiled, softer this time. "Because I've done bad things too. We all have. But we don't have to be defined by them."
The conversation shifted after that—lighter, more playful. She teased him about his ancient phone, which he'd been too broke to upgrade. He teased her about her ridiculous collection of designer sneakers. They argued about the best K-dramas (she was wrong; Crash Landing On You was objectively better than Goblin) and debated the merits of different soju flavors.
Her laughter was intoxicating. She had a way of making him feel like the most interesting person in the room, her eyes fixed on his as if nothing else existed.
And somewhere along the way, the air between them changed.
It started small. A lingering glance. A brush of fingers when they reached for the same bottle. Her thigh shifted closer to his, the warmth of her body seeping through his jeans.
The alcohol helped—they'd polished off half a bottle of whiskey between them—but it wasn't just the drinks. It was the way she bit her lip when he made a joke. The way her eyes flickered to his mouth when he spoke. The way her breath hitched when he leaned in to hear her over the music.
"I'm glad Chungha brought you here," she said, her voice barely audible above the bass.
"Me too," he said, and he meant it.
She looked at him, and in her eyes, he saw something that made his heart race. Not just interest. Not just attraction. Something deeper, more dangerous.
And then Chungha's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, frowned, and held up her fingers. "I have to take this," she shouted over the music. "My manager. It's urgent. I'll be right back!"
She disappeared into the crowd, and suddenly it was just the two of them again. But this time, there was no buffer. No third person to diffuse the tension building between them.
Somi shifted, her knee brushing his more deliberately. "Looks like it's just us," she said, her voice low and husky.
"Looks like it," he echoed, his throat dry.
She leaned in, her lips inches from his ear. "You know," she murmured, her breath warm against his skin. "I've always had a thing for older guys. Especially ones who've been through shit."
He swallowed hard. "Is that so?"
"Mmm." She pulled back, her eyes meeting his. There was no shyness in her gaze. No hesitation. Just pure, unfiltered desire.
"Chungha's going to kill me," he said, though he made no move to pull away.
"Probably," Somi agreed. "But she's not here right now."
And then she closed the distance.
The kiss was electric. Her lips were soft and warm, tasting faintly of the strawberry soju she'd been drinking. Min-ho responded instinctively, his hand moving to the back of her head, fingers threading through her platinum hair.
She sighed against his mouth, a sound that sent heat shooting through his entire body. Her hands came up to grip his shoulders, her nails digging in slightly as she pulled him closer.
The booth was dark, hidden from the prying eyes of the crowd, and he was acutely aware of how alone they were. How private. How dangerous.
But he didn't care.
He deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing her lower lip, and she opened for him without hesitation. The taste of her was intoxicating—sweet and sharp and utterly addictive. His other hand found her waist, pulling her against him, feeling the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her tank top.
She moaned—a soft, breathy sound—and it was like a spark to gasoline.
His lips left hers, trailing down her jaw to her neck. She tilted her head back, exposing the pale column of her throat, and he pressed a kiss to the spot just below her ear. She shivered, her fingers tightening in his shirt.
"Oppa," she breathed, the honorific rolling off her tongue like honey.
He pulled back just enough to look at her. Her eyes were half-lidded, her lips swollen and red, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She was gorgeous. Stunning. Absolutely fucking breathtaking.
"You're dangerous," he said, his voice rough.
"So are you," she replied, pulling him back in.
This time, the kiss was hungrier. More desperate. His hands roamed her body, tracing the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the swell of her hips. She responded in kind, her hands sliding under his shirt, her fingers tracing fire across his skin.
They were inching closer and closer, the heat between them building to an unbearable peak. Her legs parted slightly, and he shifted, settling between them, feeling the warmth of her core against his thigh.
The kiss deepened, and Min-ho felt the world around them dissolve into nothing but sensation. The thrum of the club's bass became a distant heartbeat, the neon lights bleeding into soft shadows that danced across Somi's golden skin. She was warm beneath him, her body curving into his as if she'd been made to fit against him.
He lowered her gently onto the plush leather of the sofa, his body covering hers, the weight of him pressing her into the cushions. She gasped against his mouth—a soft, breathy sound that sent a jolt of electricity straight to his core. Her legs parted instinctively, and he settled between them, the heat of her core seeping through the thin fabric of his jeans.
She smelled incredible. Floral and expensive, like jasmine and vanilla and something sweeter beneath—something uniquely her. The scent enveloped him, intoxicating, making his head spin even more than the whiskey they'd shared. He buried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling deeply, and she tilted her head back to give him more access, a low moan escaping her lips.
"Min-ho," she breathed, her voice husky and trembling. His name on her tongue sounded like a prayer.
He kissed the sensitive spot just below her ear, feeling her pulse flutter wildly against his lips. Her skin was smooth and hot, burning beneath his touch like she'd been waiting for this—waiting for him. He trailed his lips down the column of her throat, tasting the faint saltiness of her skin, and she arched into him, her fingers tangling in his hair.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured against her collarbone, his voice rough with desire. "So fucking beautiful."
She laughed breathlessly, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Keep talking like that, and I'm never letting you go."
"Good," he said, his lips curving into a smirk against her skin. "Because I don't want to go anywhere."
His hand moved from her waist, sliding up her side with agonizing slowness. Her skin was silk beneath his fingertips, warm and supple, and he could feel the rapid beat of her heart through her ribcage. She shivered at his touch, her breath catching in her throat, and he felt a surge of power—the knowledge that he was the one making her feel this way, the one drawing these sounds from her lips.
His fingers traced the curve of her breast through the thin fabric of her tank top, and she gasped, her back arching off the sofa. He could feel the heat of her skin even through the cotton, the firm swell of her breast perfectly filling his palm. She was generous and full, and he couldn't stop himself from squeezing gently, testing the weight of her.
"Fuck," she whispered, her nails digging into his shoulders. "Min-ho... please..."
"Please, what?" he teased, his voice low and dark. "Tell me what you want, Somi."
She looked up at him, her eyes dark with desire, her lips swollen and red. "I want you to touch me. Really touched me. Don't tease."
He grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Where's the fun in that?"
His fingers found the hem of her tank top, and he pushed it up slowly, exposing inch after inch of golden skin. Her stomach was toned, the muscles rippling beneath his touch as he traced the outline of her navel. She squirmed beneath him, her hips grinding against his, and he could feel the heat of her arousal even through their clothes.
When he reached the curve of her breasts, he paused, his fingers hovering just above the fabric of her lacy bralette. She was watching him through hooded eyes, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her chest heaving with anticipation.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So desperate for me. So beautiful like this."
"Says the guy who's hard as a rock," she shot back, though her voice was breathless and shaky. "Stop talking and touch me."
He laughed, a low, husky sound. "Bossy."
But he obeyed.
His fingers slipped beneath the lace of her bralette, and he finally felt the weight of her bare breast in his palm. She was soft and warm, her skin like velvet beneath his calloused fingers. Her nipple was already stiff, a hard pebble against his thumb, and he circled it slowly, teasingly, watching her face contort with pleasure.
She moaned, a long, drawn-out sound that seemed to come from somewhere deep in her chest. Her hips bucked against his, and he could feel the heat of her core pressing against his thigh, damp and wanting.
"You like that?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, don't stop—"
He didn't. He continued his slow assault on her senses, his fingers rolling her nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching gently, then soothing the sting with a soft caress. She was writhing beneath him now, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails leaving crescent moons in his skin.
He leaned down and captured her mouth again, swallowing her moans as his hand continued its exploration. His other hand found her other breast, cupping it through the fabric, squeezing and kneading until she was a trembling mess beneath him.
The kiss deepened and became more desperate. She tasted like strawberry soju and desire, and he couldn't get enough. His tongue tangled with hers, and she responded eagerly, her hips grinding against his in a rhythm that drove him insane.
He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the way her skin flushed beneath his touch. She was so responsive, every gasp and moan spurring him on, making him want to give her more, take her higher.
Min-ho broke the kiss with a gasp, his lips trailing down her jaw, her chin, and the delicate column of her throat. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his mouth, a frantic rhythm that matched his own. Her skin was like honeyed silk, warm and fragrant, and he couldn't get enough.
"You taste incredible," he murmured against her collarbone, his voice thick with desire. "Like heaven. Like everything I've ever wanted."
Somi arched beneath him, a soft whimper escaping her lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. "Don't stop," she breathed. "Please, Min-ho. Don't you dare stop."
He had no intention of stopping. His lips traced a path down to the swell of her breasts, and he pulled aside the lace of her bralette, exposing more of her golden skin. Her breasts were magnificent—full and round, with dusky pink nipples that were already tight and aching for his touch. He couldn't resist lowering his head and pressing a kiss to the valley between them, feeling the heat of her skin against his lips.
"Fuck," she gasped, her back arching off the sofa. "Yes. Right there."
He smiled against her skin, a smug, satisfied grin. "You like that, baby? You like when I kiss you here?"
"Yes," she whimpered. "Yes, I love it. Please, more. Give me more."
He obliged, his lips trailing down the curve of her breast, his tongue darting out to taste the sensitive skin. She was salty and sweet, like the ocean and honey combined, and he couldn't stop himself from taking more. His hand cupped her other breast, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh, feeling it mold perfectly to his palm.
"You're so fucking perfect," he murmured, his voice reverent. "Every inch of you. I want to taste all of it."
His fingers found her nipple, rolling it between thumb and forefinger, and she cried out, her hips bucking against his. He could feel the heat of her core through his jeans, the dampness of her arousal soaking through the fabric. It drove him insane, knowing how much she wanted him, how wet she was for him.
"You're so wet," he said, his voice a low growl. "I can feel it. You're soaking through your panties, aren't you?"
She nodded frantically, her eyes squeezed shut. "Yes. Fuck, yes. You're making me so wet, Min-ho. I've never been this wet in my life."
"Good," he said, his lips curling into a predatory smile. "That's exactly how I want you."
He lowered his head again, this time taking her nipple into his mouth. She screamed—actually screamed—as his tongue swirled around the sensitive peak, her fingers tightening in his hair. He sucked gently, then harder, and she was a writhing mess beneath him, her hips grinding against his, seeking friction.
"Oh my God," she moaned. "That feels... that feels so good. Don't stop. Please, don't stop."
He didn't. He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention, and she was practically sobbing with pleasure. His hands roamed her body, exploring every curve and dip, memorizing the way she felt beneath his fingers.
And then he pulled back, looking down at her. She was a vision—flushed and breathless, her hair a wild halo around her face, her lips swollen and red. Her eyes met his, dark with desire, and she smiled—a lazy, satisfied smile that made his heart race.
"God, you're beautiful," he said. "The most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
"Flatterer," she teased, though her voice was breathless. "But I like it."
He grinned, then lowered his head again, this time trailing kisses down her stomach. Her abs were toned and defined, the muscles rippling beneath his lips as he traced the lines of her six-pack. He remembered watching her workout videos online—the way she'd sweat and grunt and push herself to the limit. She'd prided herself on her fitness and on her body, and now he had the privilege of tasting every inch of it.
"Your abs," he murmured against her skin. "I've seen your workout videos. You're incredible, you know that? All those crunches, all that discipline. And now I get to taste the results."
She laughed, a breathless sound. "You're such a dork. But you're also... oh, fuck. That's good. That's really good."
His tongue traced the lines of her abs, dipping into the valleys between each muscle. She shivered beneath him, her hands gripping his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. He could feel how sensitive she was—every touch sent a tremor through her body, every kiss made her gasp.
"Your abs are so fucking sexy," he murmured. "So firm. So perfect. I could spend hours here."
"Please," she whimpered. "Please, Min-ho. Don't tease me. I need you."
"Shh," he soothed, pressing a kiss to her navel. "I'm taking my time with you. You deserve to be worshipped, Somi. Every inch of you."
His tongue dipped into her navel, swirling around the delicate indentation, and she gasped, her hips bucking against his face. He could taste the faint saltiness of her skin and the sweetness of her arousal, and it drove him wild.
"Fuck," she moaned. "Your tongue. Your tongue is so good. Don't stop. Please, don't stop."
He didn't. He trailed his tongue lower, following the line of her abs down to the waistband of her shorts. She was trembling now, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, the dampness of her arousal soaking through the denim.
"Somi," he said, his voice dark and commanding. "Look at me."
She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. Her pupils were blown wide with desire, her lips parted and panting. "What?" she breathed.
"I want you to tell me what you want," he said. "I want you to say it. Out loud."
She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing. "I want you to touch me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want you to make me come. Please."
He smiled—a slow, wicked smile. "Good girl."
His fingers found the button of her shorts, and he unfastened it with practiced ease. She lifted her hips, helping him slide them down her legs, and he tossed them aside. Her panties were white and delicate lace, soaked through with her arousal. The sight of her, so wet and ready for him, made him groan.
"Look at you," he said, his voice rough. "So wet for me. So desperate."
"I'm not desperate," she protested, though her voice was shaky. "I'm just... eager."
"Eager," he repeated, a low chuckle escaping his lips. "I like that word. It suits you."
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her panties, pulling them down slowly, savoring every inch of skin he revealed. She was bare beneath, her core glistening with moisture, and he couldn't stop himself from leaning down and pressing a kiss to her inner thigh.
She gasped, her legs falling open wider, an invitation he eagerly accepted. His tongue traced a path up her thigh, closer and closer to her core, and she was trembling now, her fingers clutching the cushions beneath her.
"Min-ho," she gasped. "Please. Please, I need you."
"Not yet," he murmured. "I'm not done tasting you."
His tongue found her center, and she screamed—a raw, primal sound that echoed through the private room. She tasted like honey and desire, sweet and intoxicating, and he couldn't get enough. His tongue lapped at her folds, circling her clit with devastating precision, and she was writhing beneath him, her hips bucking against his face.
Min-ho's tongue was a relentless instrument of pleasure, tracing every fold and crevice of Somi's dripping core. She tasted like ambrosia—sweet, tangy, and utterly addictive. Her thighs tightened around his head, clamping down as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, grinding his face against her wet heat.
"Oh my God—fuck—Min-ho!" she cried out, her voice breaking into a series of desperate moans. "Your tongue—I can't—I'm gonna—"
But she didn't finish the sentence. Her words dissolved into a wordless scream as her first orgasm ripped through her, her hips bucking wildly against his mouth. He lapped at her greedily, drinking every drop of her release, savoring the way she trembled and convulsed beneath him.
When her spasms finally subsided, she lay panting, her chest heaving, her skin slick with sweat. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, and she looked at him with something like wonder.
"That was..." she started, then laughed breathlessly. "That was insane. You're insane."
He grinned, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, tasting her on his lips. "I'm not done with you yet."
But she shook her head, a wicked glint returning to her eyes. "No. My turn."
She pushed him gently, and he lay back on the plush leather sofa, watching her with a mixture of anticipation and lust. She moved with feline grace, shifting her body so she was straddling his waist, her dripping pussy pressing against the bulge in his jeans. The heat of her core seeped through the fabric, and he groaned, his hips instinctively bucking up to meet her.
"Someone's eager," she teased, her voice low and husky. She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "You've been so good to me. Now let me return the favor."
She kissed her way down his chest, her tongue tracing the lines of his pectoral muscles, her teeth nipping at his nipples. He hissed, his hands finding her hair, threading through the platinum strands. She was a goddess—a platinum-haired deity who was currently worshiping his body with a reverence that made his head spin.
But she didn't stop there. She continued her descent, her lips trailing down his stomach, pausing to swirl her tongue around his navel. He shivered, his abs clenching, and she laughed softly—a sound that was equal parts sweet and devilish.
"Patience," she murmured. "I told you. I'm going to take my time with you."
Her fingers found the waistband of his jeans, and she unfastened the button with deliberate slowness. The zipper descended with a metallic rasp, and she tugged the fabric down his hips. His boxer briefs were tented obscenely, the outline of his erection straining against the cotton.
"God," she breathed, her eyes widening. "You're huge."
He smirked, though his voice was strained. "You haven't even seen it yet."
She bit her lip, a predatory glint in her eyes. "Then let's fix that."
She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers and pulled them down, and his cock sprang free—long, thick, and aching. It stood proud and erect, the head glistening with a bead of precum, veins pulsing along the shaft. It was almost comically large, and Somi's eyes went wide with a mixture of shock and delight.
"Holy shit," she whispered. "Okay. Okay, that's... impressive."
"Impressive?" he repeated, his voice strained. "That's all you've got?"
She laughed, a breathless sound. "No. That's not all I've got."
She wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, and he groaned, his hips bucking into her grip. Her hand was small and delicate, her fingers barely able to encircle his girth. She stroked him slowly, experimentally, her thumb swirling around the sensitive head, spreading the precum like a lubricant.
"Fuck," he gasped. "Somi... your hand..."
"Shh," she soothed, her eyes meeting his. "I'm just getting started."
She leaned down, her breath warm against his cock, and he tensed, his entire body coiled with anticipation. And then her tongue darted out, lapping at the bead of precum that had gathered at his tip. She hummed, as if tasting something delicious, and his eyes rolled back in his head.
"You taste so good," she murmured against his skin. "I could do this all night."
"Please," he managed. "Please, just—"
But she was already taking him into her mouth.
The heat of her mouth engulfed him, and he gasped, his hands fisting in her hair. She took him deep—deeper than he'd expected—her lips sliding down his shaft until she had taken almost half of him. Her tongue swirled around him, working in tandem with the suction, and he was seeing stars.
"Jesus Christ," he groaned. "Somi—"
She pulled back, her lips releasing him with a wet pop, and looked up at him with those dark, mischievous eyes. "You like that?"
"I love it," he admitted, his voice hoarse. "But don't stop. Please, don't stop."
She smiled, a slow, wicked smile, and then she was taking him again, this time even deeper. Her head bobbed up and down in a rhythm that was both relentless and rhythmic, her tongue working magic along his shaft. He could feel her throat constricting around him, and he realized she was deep-throating him—taking him all the way down to the base.
"Oh, fuck," he groaned. "Oh, fuck, Somi—"
She pulled back, gasping for breath, her lips red and swollen. "You taste so good," she said, her voice raspy. "I want more."
And she took him again, her hand stroking what her mouth couldn't reach, her fingers working in tandem with her lips. He was lost—completely, utterly lost—the pleasure building in his core like a tidal wave.
But then she stopped.
He looked down at her, a question in his eyes, and she grinned. "Turn around," she said, her voice husky. "I want to taste you while you taste me."
He blinked, trying to process her words. And then he understood. She wanted to sixty-nine.
He shifted, turning around so his head was between her legs while she was positioned above his cock. His face was inches from her dripping pussy, and he could smell her arousal, musky and sweet. He groaned, his tongue darting out to taste her again.
"Oh, God, yes," she moaned, her hips grinding against his face. "Eat me, Min-ho. Eat my pussy."
He obliged without hesitation, his tongue plunging into her wet folds, drinking her in. She tasted even better than before, her juices coating his lips and chin, and he couldn't get enough. He licked and sucked and nibbled, his hands gripping her thighs, pulling her closer.
At the same time, she took him back into her mouth, her lips wrapping around his cock with practiced ease. She bobbed her head, taking him deep, her throat relaxing to accommodate his girth. The sensation was incredible—her mouth hot and wet, her tongue swirling around his shaft while he ate her pussy like a man starved.
They were in perfect sync, each of them driving the other closer to the edge. He could feel her orgasm building—the way her thighs trembled, the way her hips ground against his face with increasing urgency. And he pushed her over the edge, his tongue flicking against her clit with relentless precision.
She came with a scream, her body convulsing above him, her juices flooding his mouth. He drank her down, lapping at her like a man dying of thirst, and she continued to suck his cock, her rhythm faltering as the waves of pleasure crashed through her.
But she didn't stop. Even as her body trembled with the aftershocks of her orgasm, she continued to work him, her mouth and hands driving him insane.
He pulled away from her pussy just long enough to speak. "Somi—I'm close—I'm gonna—"
But she pulled back too, her lips releasing him with a wet pop. "Not yet," she said, her voice hoarse but firm. "I want to taste you first."
She turned around, positioning herself so she was straddling his chest, her dripping pussy hovering over his face. And then she lowered herself, her pussy pressing against his lips, and he was drowning in her again.
At the same time, she wrapped her lips around his cock and resumed her assault. She was determined—relentless—her head bobbing up and down as she took him deeper and deeper. He could feel the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat, could feel her gagging slightly as she fought to take all of him.
"Yes," he groaned against her pussy. "Yes, baby, take it all. Take it all—"
And she did. She deep-throated him completely, her nose pressing against his pelvis, her throat constricting around his shaft. He could feel her saliva dripping down his balls, and he groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily.
But he was focused on her—on making her cum again. His tongue worked her clit, his fingers slipping inside her, curling to hit that spot that made her scream. She was a mess above him, her body trembling, her moans muffled by his cock.
She came again—a gushing orgasm that soaked his face, her juices pouring over his lips and chin. He drank her down, savoring every drop, but she didn't stop. She continued to suck him, her determination matching his own.
He could feel his orgasm building again—that familiar pressure in his balls, the tingling sensation at the base of his spine. He was close, so close, but she refused to let him cum.
"Not yet," she said, pulling away just as he was about to tip over the edge. "I'm not done with you."
She shifted, releasing his cock from her mouth, and he groaned in frustration. But then she was kissing her way down his shaft, her lips trailing to his heavy, swollen balls. She took one into her mouth, sucking gently, and he gasped, his hips jerking.
"Yes," he groaned. "Yes, baby, suck them. Suck my balls."
She obliged, taking each one into her mouth in turn, her tongue swirling around them while her hand stroked his cock. She was a master—a goddess—her every touch driving him insane.
She alternated between sucking his balls and deep-throating him, her rhythm relentless. She was determined to make him cum, but he was equally determined to hold out—to savor every moment of this unbelievable encounter.
But she was too good. Her mouth was too hot, too wet, too perfect. He could feel his control slipping, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.
"Somi," he gasped. "Somi, I'm gonna cum—I'm gonna—"
And then she deep-throated him again—completely, fully—and he lost it.
His orgasm erupted with a force that left him breathless, his cum shooting down her throat in thick, hot spurts. She swallowed greedily, milking him for every drop, her throat constricting around him as she took everything he had to give.
When he finally stopped shaking, she pulled away, licking her lips with a satisfied smile. "That was... incredible," she said, her voice hoarse but full of admiration.
He laughed, breathless and dazed. "You're incredible. I've never—I've never had anyone do that to me before."
"Then I'm glad I was your first," she said, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. He could taste himself on her tongue—a strange, intimate taste that only heightened the intensity of the moment.
But she wasn't done. She shifted, turning around so she was facing him again, her legs straddling his waist. His cock was still half-hard, and she reached down, guiding it to her entrance.
"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice rough. "We don't have to—"
"Shut up," she said, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "I want to feel you inside me."
And then she sank onto him.
The sensation was indescribable—her pussy hot and tight, enveloping him in a wet, velvet grip. He gasped, his hands gripping her hips, and she threw her head back with a moan of pure pleasure.
"Oh, fuck," she breathed. "You're so big. You're so fucking big—"
He watched her, mesmerized, as she began to move—her hips rising and falling in a rhythm that was both ancient and primal. Her breasts bounced with each motion, her platinum hair cascading around her shoulders like a halo.
"You're so beautiful," he said, his voice awestruck. "So fucking beautiful—"
"Less talking," she gasped. "More—fucking—"
Min-ho's world narrowed to a single, incandescent point of sensation. The heat of Somi's body, the slick, tight vice of her pussy enveloping him, the rhythmic sway of her hips—it was all-consuming, a maelstrom of pleasure that threatened to pull him under. He lay beneath her, his hands gripping her thighs, his gaze locked on the vision above him: Jeon Somi, platinum-haired goddess, riding him like a woman possessed.
Her tits—those magnificent, full, perfect breasts—were right there. They bounced with each of her movements, a hypnotic pendulum of flesh that drew his eyes like a moth to a flame. The silky crimson top she'd been wearing had been discarded somewhere in the heat of their passion, leaving her bare from the waist up. Her skin was golden, glowing under the dim, pulsating lights of the private club's VIP booth, and her nipples were dark, stiff peaks that ached for his touch.
But he couldn't touch them. Not yet. His hands were busy gripping her hips, guiding her rhythm, feeling the incredible friction of his cock sliding in and out of her soaking wet cunt. She was so tight—so impossibly tight—her inner walls gripping him like a velvet fist, squeezing and releasing with each of her movements.
But her breasts demanded his attention. They were right there, swaying inches from his face, their full, heavy weight defying gravity with every bounce. He could see the veins faintly traced beneath the surface of her skin, the way the muscles of her chest contracted with each of her movements. She was so beautiful, so utterly, breathtakingly beautiful, that he couldn't help himself.
He reached up, his fingers closing around one of her breasts, and she gasped, her hips stuttering for a moment before resuming their rhythm. Her skin was warm and silky beneath his touch, the flesh firm yet pliant, molding perfectly to his palm. He squeezed gently, feeling the weight of her, the heat of her, and she moaned, her head falling back as she rode him faster.
"Yes," she breathed. "Touch them. Squeeze them. I love it when you touch my tits."
He didn't need to be told twice. He cupped both of her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples, and she cried out, her hips grinding against him with renewed intensity. Her nipples were rock-hard, sensitive little pearls that responded to his every touch, and he couldn't resist leaning up and taking one into his mouth.
The taste of her was intoxicating—sweet and salty, with a hint of the strawberry soju they'd been drinking earlier. He swirled his tongue around the stiff peak, suckling gently, and she screamed, her fingers tangling in his hair and pulling him closer.
"Oh, fuck!" she cried. "Yes! Bite them, Min-ho! Bite my nipples!"
He obliged, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak, and she shuddered, her pussy clenching around him like a fist. He could feel her orgasm building—the way her inner walls fluttered, the way her breath came in short, desperate gasps. He bit down harder, and she screamed again, her hips bucking wildly as she came apart on top of him.
But he didn't stop. He continued to suck and bite and lick her tits while his cock pistoned inside her, driving her through the waves of her orgasm and into the next. Her body was a symphony of pleasure, every nerve ending alight, every muscle tensing and releasing in a rhythm that matched his own.
She leaned forward, her tits pressing against his face, and he buried his face in the soft, yielding flesh. They were like pillows—soft yet firm, warm and fragrant- and he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the scent of her. She smelled like jasmine and vanilla and sex, a heady combination that drove him wild.
"Min-ho," she moaned, her voice breathless and trembling. "Min-ho, I love the way your face feels between my tits. You're so greedy. So hungry for them."
"Can't help it," he murmured, his voice muffled by her flesh. "They're perfect. You're perfect. Every inch of you."
She laughed—a shaky, breathless sound—and ground her hips against him harder. He could feel the head of his cock hitting something deep inside her, a spot that made her gasp and arch her back.
"Oh, God," she whimpered. "You're so deep. You're so fucking deep inside me. I can feel you in my stomach."
He groaned, his hands gripping her ass, his fingers digging into the firm, round flesh. "You feel so good," he said, his voice strained. "So tight. So wet. I've never—never felt anything like you."
She smiled—a wicked, knowing smile—and leaned down to kiss him. Her lips were soft and hungry, her tongue darting into his mouth as she continued to ride him. The kiss was desperate, passionate, a raw expression of the pleasure that was building between them.
And then she pulled back, her eyes meeting his, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. "I want to hear you," she said. "I want to hear you tell me how much you love being inside me. I want to hear you say it."
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I love it," he admitted, his voice raw. "I love being inside you. Your pussy is so tight, so wet—it's like it was made for me."
"Go on," she encouraged, her hips never stopping. "Tell me more."
"I can feel every inch of you," he continued, his voice growing bolder. "Every fold, every ridge. You're so deep, Somi. I can feel myself hitting your cervix. I can feel you trying to take all of me."
Her breath caught, a little hitch in her rhythm. "Yes," she whispered. "Yes, you're so big. The biggest I've ever had. I can feel you stretching me. I can feel you in places I didn't even know existed."
He groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily. "Fuck. That's so hot. Tell me more."
She leaned down, her lips brushing his ear. "I can feel you in my stomach," she breathed. "I can feel you pushing against my insides. You're so thick, Min-ho. So thick and hard and perfect."
His hands moved from her hips to her breasts, cupping them, squeezing them, his thumbs flicking her nipples. She gasped, her rhythm faltering, and he took advantage, thrusting up into her with renewed force.
"Yes!" she cried. "Yes, fuck me! Fuck me hard!"
And he did. He fucked her with a ferocity that surprised them both, his hips slamming into hers, his cock driving deep into her tight, wet cunt. She was bouncing on top of him, her tits flying in his face, and he buried his face in them again, his tongue laving her nipples, his teeth grazing the sensitive peaks.
But he wanted more. He wanted to taste every inch of her, to explore every curve and valley of her gorgeous body. He shifted his position, his hands moving to her waist, and he lifted her slightly before thrusting up into her from below.
She screamed—a raw, primal sound—as he hit a new angle, a new depth that made her see stars.
"Oh, fuck!" she cried. "Yes! Right there! Fuck me right there!"
He obliged, his hips slamming into her with increased urgency. He could feel her orgasm building again, the way her pussy tightened around him, the way her breath came in short, desperate gasps. He could feel his own climax building, the pressure in his balls reaching a fever pitch.
"Somi," he gasped. "I'm close. I'm so close—"
"Not yet," she said, her voice dark and commanding. "I want to come one more time. I want to come with you inside me."
She leaned back, her hands on his chest, and began to ride him even faster. Her tits bounced in his face, a glorious, hypnotic motion that drove him insane. He reached up and grabbed them, squeezing them, kneading them, feeling their weight in his palms.
"Yes," she moaned. "Yes, hold them. Squeeze them. I love the way you feel between my tits."
He buried his face in them again, his tongue tracing circles around her nipples, his teeth grazing the sensitive peaks. She was crying out, her hips bucking wildly, and he could feel her pussy clenching around him like a fist.
And then she came.
Her orgasm hit her like a freight train, her body convulsing above him, her pussy milking his cock with violent contractions. She screamed his name, her tits pressing into his face, and he fucked her through it, his cock driving deeper and deeper into her spasming cunt.
.
Her climax crashed through her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing above him, her pussy clamping down on his cock with a vice-like grip. Min-ho groaned, his hands still gripping her tits, feeling the frantic pulse of her orgasm ripple through her flesh. She screamed his name, a raw, primal sound that echoed off the velvet walls of the VIP booth, and he thrust up into her, driving his cock deeper, fucking her through the waves of her pleasure.
But as her spasms began to subside and her breathing started to slow, Min-ho felt a new hunger stir within him. He wanted more. He wanted to take her differently, to see her from a different angle, to watch her face contort with pleasure as he took her from behind. The thought alone made his cock throb inside her still-quivering pussy.
"Somi," he said, his voice low and commanding. "Get on your hands and knees."
She blinked, her eyes still hazy with the aftershocks of her orgasm. "What?"
"You heard me." He gripped her hips, lifting her off his cock with a wet, sucking sound that made them both gasp. "I want to fuck you from behind. I want to see that gorgeous ass of yours while I'm buried inside you."
A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. She was still flushed, still breathing heavily, but there was a glint in her eyes that told him she was more than ready for round two. "Bossy," she teased, but she was already moving, shifting off him and turning around.
She positioned herself on her hands and knees on the plush velvet sofa, her platinum hair cascading over her shoulders, her back arching instinctively to present her ass to him. It was a glorious sight—her spine curving into a perfect dip, her round, firm ass lifted high, her pussy glistening with their combined juices, her folds swollen and pink from their earlier exertions.
Min-ho's mouth went dry. He knelt behind her, his hands finding the curve of her hips, his thumbs tracing the soft, warm skin of her ass cheeks. They were perfect—full and round, firm yet pliable, the kind of ass that made a man want to worship it. He squeezed them gently, feeling the flesh yield beneath his fingers, and she moaned, pushing back against his hands.
"You like that?" he murmured, his voice husky. "You like it when I touch your ass?"
"Yes," she breathed. "God, yes. Touch it more. Squeeze it. I love the way your hands feel on my ass."
He obliged, his hands roaming over the curves of her cheeks, squeezing and kneading them, watching the flesh jiggle and bounce with each touch. She was so responsive, her hips grinding back against him, her moans growing louder and more desperate. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, could smell the intoxicating scent of her arousal mixing with the stale whiskey and perfume in the air.
But he couldn't wait any longer. His cock was aching, throbbing with the need to be inside her again. He positioned himself behind her, the head of his cock pressing against her slick, wet folds. She was so ready for him—so wet and open—that the tip slipped in easily, and they both gasped.
"Fuck," he groaned. "You're so wet. So ready for me."
"I'm always ready for you," she said, her voice breathless. "Now stop talking and fuck me."
He grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes. "With pleasure."
And then he thrust forward, burying himself deep inside her in one smooth, powerful motion.
She screamed—a raw, guttural sound that was half pain, half ecstasy. Her pussy was so tight, so hot, and he was so thick that he could feel every inch of her stretching around him. Her inner walls fluttered and clenched, trying to accommodate his girth, and he paused for a moment, letting her adjust to the feeling of him.
"Fuck, Min-ho," she gasped. "You're so deep. So fucking deep. I can feel you in my stomach again."
He leaned forward, his chest pressing against her back, his lips brushing her ear. "That's because I'm all the way inside you, baby. I'm hitting places no one else has ever reached before."
She whimpered, her fingers digging into the velvet cushions. "Yes. Yes, you are. I can feel you in my soul. Fuck me. Please, just fuck me."
He didn't need to be told twice.
He pulled back slowly, savoring the sensation of her pussy dragging along his shaft, and then thrust forward again, harder this time. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed through the booth, a wet, rhythmic percussion that drove them both insane. He set a steady pace, his hips pistoning in and out, his hands gripping her ass, his thumbs spreading her cheeks to watch his cock disappear inside her.
And then he saw it.
There was a mirror on the wall opposite them—a long, ornate mirror that reflected the entire booth in shimmering detail. And in that mirror, he could see Somi's face. Her expression was one of pure, unadulterated pleasure—her eyes half-lidded, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed with heat. He could see the sweat beading on her forehead, the way her platinum hair was starting to stick to her temples. She looked so beautiful, so utterly wrecked, that his heart clenched in his chest.
But he wanted more. He wanted to see her face as he fucked her, to watch every twist and contortion of her features as he drove her to the edge.
"Look at yourself," he commanded, his voice dark and commanding. "Look in the mirror."
Her eyes flickered open, meeting his gaze in the reflection. She was breathing heavily, her chest heaving with each thrust, and he could see the way her nipples were still hard, still aching from his touch.
"I want you to watch yourself while I fuck you," he continued. "I want you to see how beautiful you look when you're taking my cock."
She moaned, her eyes fixed on the mirror, watching his body move behind her. "Yes," she breathed. "Yes, I want to watch. I want to see you fucking me."
He increased his pace, his hips slamming into hers with renewed force. The sound of their bodies slapping together echoed through the booth, mixing with her moans and his grunts. He could see her reflection in the mirror—could see the way her eyes fluttered, the way her lips formed silent words of pleasure.
"Look at you," he growled. "Look at how wet you are. I can see it dripping down your thighs. You're so fucking beautiful like this."
She whimpered, her eyes locked on the mirror. "I'm so wet for you," she gasped. "I'm always wet for you. No one has ever made me this wet before."
He reached forward, his hand tangling in her platinum hair, and he pulled her head back, forcing her face to stay angled toward the mirror. Her neck arched, her spine curving, and he could see the muscles in her back flex and tighten with each thrust.
"I want to see your face," he said, his voice low and possessive. "I want to see every expression you make while I'm inside you."
Her eyes met his in the mirror, dark and hazy with desire. "Then fuck me harder," she whispered. "Fuck me so hard that I can't think straight. Make me forget my own name."
He obliged without hesitation.
He pulled his cock almost all the way out, leaving only the tip inside her, and then slammed back into her with a force that made her scream. His hips drove into hers with relentless precision, his cock plunging deep into her core, hitting that spot deep inside her that made her see stars. She was trembling now, her arms threatening to give out, her face a mask of pure ecstasy.
"Look at yourself," he commanded, his voice a harsh whisper. "Look at how much you love this. Look at how much you love being fucked by me."
She obeyed, her eyes fixed on the mirror, watching the way his body moved behind her, the way his cock disappeared inside her with each thrust. She was flushed and sweaty, her hair a wild, tangled mess, her lips red and swollen. But there was a fire in her eyes that he hadn't seen before—a raw, primal hunger that matched his own.
"I love it," she gasped. "I love it so much. I can't get enough of you, Min-ho. I want you to fuck me forever."
He increased his pace, his hips moving faster, harder, his cock driving into her with a ferocity that bordered on madness. Her ass was bouncing with each thrust, the firm, round flesh jiggling with every impact, and he couldn't resist reaching forward and giving it a sharp slap.
She yelped, her eyes widening in the mirror, and he slapped her other cheek, watching the red mark bloom across her skin. She cried out, but it was a sound of pure pleasure, her hips grinding back against him even harder.
"You like that?" he growled, his hand coming down on her ass again. "You like it when I spank you?"
"Yes," she moaned. "Yes, I love it. Spank me again. Harder."
He obliged, his hand raining down on her ass with a series of sharp, stinging slaps. She cried out with each one, her pussy clenching around his cock, her moans growing louder and more desperate. He could feel her orgasm building again, the way her inner walls fluttered and tightened around him.
But he wasn't done with her yet.
He pulled her hair again, forcing her head back, making her arch her spine even more. Her breasts were swinging below her, heavy and full, and he could see the sweat rolling down her nipples, glistening in the dim light. A bead of sweat dripped from her breast to the velvet sofa, leaving a dark spot on the fabric.
"You're so beautiful," he said, his voice reverent. "Look at you. All sweaty and flushed. You look like a goddess."
She whimpered, her eyes locked on his in the mirror. "I feel like a goddess," she breathed. "You make me feel like a goddess."
He drove his cock into her even harder, his hips slapping against her ass with a force that made her entire body shudder. She was crying out now, her moans mixing with the wet sounds of their bodies, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated pleasure.
And then he saw it—the moment she started to lose control. Her arms began to shake, her elbows wobbling as she struggled to hold herself up. Her face was twisting with pleasure, her eyes rolling back, her lips forming silent screams.
"Look at yourself," he commanded, his voice dark and commanding. "Look at how you're falling apart for me."
Her eyes focused on the mirror, and she watched herself slowly crumble. Her arms gave out first, her face falling forward, and she was suddenly pressed against the sofa, her body shaking with the force of his thrusts. But he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He reached forward, his hand tangling in her hair again, and he yanked her head back, forcing her to look at her reflection.
"Eyes on the mirror," he ordered. "I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see what you do to me."
Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, but she managed to keep them fixed on the mirror. He could see the way her mouth was hanging open, the way her tongue was lolling slightly, the way her cheeks were flushed with a deep, rosy pink. She was a vision of pure debauchery, and he was utterly addicted to her.
"Please," she gasped. "Please, Min-ho. I'm so close. Please make me cum."
"Not yet," he said, his voice dark and commanding. "I'm not done with you."
He increased his pace, his hips slamming into hers with a ferocity that made the whole booth shake. She was screaming now, her voice raw and desperate, her body trembling with the effort of holding herself up. But she was determined—she didn't want to fall, didn't want to miss a single moment of what he was doing to her.
But her arms gave out again, and this time, they didn't recover. Her face hit the sofa with a soft thud, her body collapsing beneath her, and he was suddenly on top of her, his chest pressing against her back, his cock still buried deep inside her.
He didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He continued to thrust into her, his hips moving in a frantic rhythm, driving his cock deeper and deeper into her spasming cunt. She was so wet, so tight, so perfect—and he was so close to the edge that he could taste it.
"Turn over," he commanded, his voice rough. "I want to see your face when I cum."
She managed to turn beneath him, her body shifting, and suddenly he was on top of her, his weight pressing her into the cushions. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms around his neck, and their lips met in a desperate, hungry kiss.
The kiss was messy and uncoordinated, their mouths clashing, their teeth scraping, their tongues dancing. She tasted of strawberry soju and sweat and pure, unadulterated desire, and he couldn't get enough of her. He deepened the kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth, and she whimpered, her hips grinding against him.
"Fuck me," she breathed against his lips. "Fuck me, Min-ho. I want to feel you cum inside me. I want to feel you fill me up."
He didn't need to be told twice.
He resumed his pace, his hips slamming into hers with renewed urgency. His cock was so deep inside her that he could feel her cervix, could feel the tight ring of muscle that marked the entrance to her womb. He could feel her inner walls fluttering around him, the first tremors of her impending orgasm gripping him.
"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "I want to see your eyes when you cum."
Her eyes met his, dark and hazy with desire, and he saw it—the moment she tipped over the edge. Her pupils dilated, her lips parted, and a raw, guttural scream tore from her throat as her orgasm crashed through her.
Her pussy clamped down on his cock like a vice, her inner walls convulsing around him, milking him with a ferocity that made his vision go white. And that was all it took. With a final, desperate thrust, his own orgasm erupted, his cum shooting into her in thick, hot spurts.
He could feel it filling her—could feel his seed painting her inner walls, flooding her womb with his thick, potent cum. Her pussy was overflowing with it, the excess spilling out around his cock, dripping down to the velvet sofa beneath them.
"God, yes," she gasped. "I can feel it. I can feel you filling me up. It's so warm. So fucking warm."
He collapsed on top of her, his body pressing her into the cushions, his cock still buried deep inside her. They were both panting, both drenched in sweat, both utterly spent. But neither of them moved. Neither of them wanted to break the spell.
After a long moment, Min-ho propped himself up on his elbows, looking down at her. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen, her hair a wild mess. But she was smiling—a lazy, satisfied smile that made his heart skip a beat.
"That was incredible," she breathed. "I don't think I've ever come that hard in my life."
He laughed, a breathless sound. "I don't think I've ever fucked anyone that hard in my life."
"Then we're even." She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "We should do that again. And again. And again."
He grinned, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips. "I'm not going anywhere."
"And neither am I," she said, her voice warm and full of promise.
They lay there in the silence of the booth, their bodies tangled together, their breathing slowly returning to normal. The music from the club filtered through the velvet walls, a distant heartbeat that seemed to pulse in time with their own.
But eventually, reality began to creep back in. The world outside the booth—the world of schedules and managers and paparazzi—was waiting for them. But for now, in this moment, they were just two people who had found something unexpected in each other.
"We should probably get dressed," Somi said finally, her voice reluctant. "Before someone walks in on us."
Min-ho sighed, but he knew she was right. He pulled out of her with a wet, sucking sound, and they both winced at the loss of contact. His cum was still dripping from her pussy, a thick, white stream that soaked into the velvet cushions.
"Sorry about the sofa," he said, gesturing to the mess.
She laughed, a bright, musical sound. "Don't worry. I'll tip the staff extra. They've probably seen worse."
They scrambled to find their clothes, dressing in a haze of laughter and stolen glances. When they were finally presentable—or at least as presentable as two people who had just had the most mind-blowing sex of their lives could be—they emerged from the booth.
The weeks that followed the night at Eclipse were a blur of stolen glances, secret texts, and increasingly desperate hookups. Min-ho had never experienced anything like it. He'd gone from being a broke, unemployed, cheating loser to the secret lover of Jeon Somi—one of the most desired women in Asia—and he hadn't even had to work for it. She pursued him with a ferocity that left him breathless and bewildered.
It started the morning after the club. Min-ho had woken up in Chungha's guest room, his body aching in ways he hadn't felt since his early twenties, and found a text from an unknown number:
"Hope you're not too sore. I definitely am. But in a good way. 😉 Can we do that again? Like, tonight? —S"
He'd stared at the screen for a full minute, convinced it was a dream. But the ache in his lower back and the faint scratch marks on his shoulders confirmed it was real. He'd responded with a simple "Tonight. Where?"
And thus began the most intense, secretive, and mind-blowingly erotic period of his life.
Somi was insatiable. She texted him constantly—dirty messages during her rehearsals, photos of her in various states of undress from her dressing room, and voice memos of her moaning his name when she was alone in her hotel room. She was obsessed with his cock, and she wasn't shy about admitting it.
"I can't stop thinking about it," she'd sent him one afternoon, accompanied by a photo of her hand wrapped around a cucumber with a winking emoji. "It's like my brain has been rewired. All I can think about is how you feel inside me. I'm supposed to be learning choreography right now, but all I can picture is your face between my legs."
He'd nearly dropped his phone in the middle of a coffee shop. His life had become a surreal fantasy. Here was a woman who had millions of fans, who could have any man she wanted, and she was begging him for sex. It was incomprehensible. It was also the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.
Their first official hookup after the club was three days later. Somi had a rare free evening—her schedule had cleared unexpectedly when a variety show appearance was postponed—and she'd texted him with barely concealed desperation:
"I'm free tonight. My place. 8 PM. Don't be late. And bring that cock. I've been thinking about it nonstop."
He'd arrived at her apartment in Hannam-dong, a sleek, minimalist penthouse that overlooked the entire city. She'd opened the door in nothing but a silk robe that barely covered her ass, her platinum hair wet from the shower, her skin still glistening with moisture. She'd pulled him inside without a word, pushed him against the wall, and dropped to her knees before he could even say hello.
"Fuck, I've missed this," she'd breathed, already fumbling with his belt. "I've been thinking about your cock every single day. Every single hour. It's driving me insane."
"Somi—" he'd started, but she'd already freed his cock from his jeans and taken him into her mouth.
That night, they'd fucked three times. Once against the wall, once on her kitchen counter, and once in her bed, where she'd ridden him until she came so hard she passed out for a few seconds. When she'd woken up, she'd laughed and said, "I think I died and went to heaven. Your cock is my religion now."
Min-ho had lain there, his body spent, his mind reeling, and thought, This is insane. This is absolutely insane. And I love every second of it.
The arrangement quickly settled into a pattern. Somi would text him when she had a gap in her schedule—sometimes as short as an hour between rehearsals and recordings—and he'd drop everything to meet her. She'd fuck him in dressing rooms, in practice studios, in the back of her manager's car while the driver waited outside. She was fearless, reckless, and utterly addicted to him.
"I don't know what you've done to me," she'd confessed one night, lying in his arms after a particularly intense session. "I've never been like this with anyone. I can't get enough of you. It's like you've cast a spell on my pussy."
"Maybe it's just the chemistry," he'd offered, trying to sound modest.
"Chemistry?" She'd laughed, a sharp, disbelieving sound. "Min-ho, I've had chemistry before. This isn't chemistry. This is a fucking obsession. I dream about your cock. I wake up wet, thinking about it. I can't focus on anything else. My manager literally asked me today if I was okay because I kept zoning out during rehearsal."
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her I was tired from lack of sleep." She'd grinned, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Technically true. I was up all night thinking about you."
He'd kissed her then, partly because he wanted to and partly because he didn't know what else to say. The truth was, he was just as obsessed as she was. He'd never felt so desired, so worshipped. And the best part? He didn't have to take responsibility for any of it. She didn't want a boyfriend. She didn't want a relationship. She just wanted his cock, and he was more than happy to oblige.
"This is perfect," he'd said one afternoon, watching her dress after a quickie in her practice room. "We're friends with benefits. No strings. No drama. Just..."
"Just sex," she'd finished, pulling her top over her head. "Amazing, mind-blowing, earth-shattering sex. And I love it. I love that you don't try to make it more than it is. I love that you just give me what I need and don't ask for anything else."
"I mean, you're Jeon Somi," he'd said, shrugging. "You could have anyone. Why would I try to trap you into something you don't want?"
She'd paused, her eyes studying him with an intensity that made him uncomfortable. "That's exactly why I like you," she'd said finally. "You don't see me as a prize to be won. You just see me as... me."
"I see you as the woman who's currently obsessed with my dick," he'd joked, and she'd laughed, the tension breaking.
The encounters became more creative as time went on. Somi had a wild imagination and an insatiable appetite for new experiences. She'd text him with increasingly elaborate requests:
"I want you to fuck me in my dressing room while my stylist is in the next room. I want to see if I can keep quiet."
"Bring a blindfold tonight. And handcuffs. I want to be completely helpless while you use me."
"I have a fan meeting tomorrow, but I want to have your cum dripping down my legs while I'm signing autographs. Can you make that happen?"
He'd obliged every request, his own desires growing alongside hers. He loved the power he had over her—the way she'd beg, the way she'd moan, the way she'd come undone beneath his touch. She was a goddess in public, but in private, she was his. His to fuck, his to use, his to worship.
One night, after a particularly intense session where he'd bent her over her vanity table and fucked her while she watched herself in the mirror, they'd collapsed onto her bed, both of them drenched in sweat.
"Min-ho," she'd said, her voice soft and serious. "I need to tell you something."
He'd tensed, his mind racing. Was she going to end it? Was she developing feelings? The thought filled him with a strange mix of relief and disappointment.
"What is it?" he'd asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.
She'd turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face. "I think... I think you might be the best fuck I've ever had."
He'd blinked, then burst out laughing. "That's it? That's what you needed to tell me?"
"I'm serious!" She'd hit his chest, pouting. "I've been with a lot of guys, Min-ho. A lot. But none of them made me feel the way you do. You make me feel alive. You make me feel like I'm not just an idol, not just an image—I'm a woman. A woman who wants to be fucked until she can't walk."
He'd pulled her closer, kissing her forehead. "You are a woman. And you're an incredible one. But you also don't have to worry about me turning this into something it's not. I know what we are. I know what you need."
She'd relaxed against him, her body molding to his. "That's why I love this," she'd murmured. "No pressure. No expectations. Just... us."
But it wasn't entirely pressure-free. There was one person who couldn't know about their arrangement: Chungha. Somi had been adamant about that from the beginning.
"She's my friend," Somi had said, her voice serious. "And she's your stepsister. If she found out we were doing this, she'd kill me. Or you. Or both of us. And honestly, I don't want to deal with the drama."
"Agreed," Min-ho had said, and he'd meant it. Chungha had been so supportive, so trusting. She'd welcomed him into her home, helped him get back on his feet, and believed in him when no one else did. If she found out he was secretly fucking one of her closest friends, it would destroy everything.
So they were careful. They never met at Chungha's apartment. They used encrypted messaging apps. They invented fake schedules and plausible alibis. It was like being a spy, except the mission was getting laid.
One afternoon, about a month into their arrangement, Min-ho received a text from Somi that made his cock twitch in anticipation:
"I have a three-hour break between schedules. My manager is going to a meeting. The apartment is empty. Come over. Now. I need you inside me."
He'd practically sprinted across Gangnam, his heart pounding with excitement. When he arrived at her penthouse, she was waiting for him in the doorway, wearing nothing but high heels and a sly smile.
"Finally," she'd said, pulling him inside. "I was starting to think you'd chickened out."
"Chickened out?" He'd laughed, already unbuckling his belt. "Somi, I'd crawl through broken glass to fuck you."
She'd grinned, a predatory glint in her eyes. "Good. Because I have plans for you today."
She led him to her bedroom, where she'd set up an elaborate scene: silk scarves tied to the bedposts, a blindfold on the pillow, and a variety of toys laid out on the nightstand. His mouth went dry.
"What do you have in mind?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"I want you to tie me up," she said, her voice low and husky. "I want you to blindfold me. And then I want you to do whatever you want to me. Use me. Fuck me. Make me yours."
He didn't need to be told twice.
He tied her wrists to the bedposts with the silk scarves, making sure the knots were secure but not too tight. He blindfolded her, plunging her into darkness, and then he stepped back, taking in the sight of her: Jeon Somi, platinum-haired goddess, completely at his mercy.
"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling with anticipation. "Please, Min-ho. I need you. I need your cock."
"Not yet," he said, his voice dark and commanding. "I'm going to take my time with you. I'm going to make you beg for it."
He started slowly, his hands roaming her body, tracing every curve and valley. She shivered at his touch, her breath catching in her throat. He kissed his way down her neck, her collarbone, and her breasts, stopping to swirl his tongue around each nipple until she was writhing beneath him.
"Please," she begged. "Please, I can't take it anymore. I need you inside me."
He ignored her pleas, continuing his slow assault on her senses. His fingers found her pussy, already wet and ready for him, and he teased her, circling her clit with agonizing slowness.
"Fuck," she gasped. "Fuck, Min-ho. Please. Just fuck me."
"Say it," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "Tell me what you want."
"I want your cock," she sobbed. "I want you to fuck me until I can't think. I want to feel you deep inside me. I want you to fill me up."
He grinned, a wicked, predatory grin. "Good girl."
And then he thrust into her, burying himself deep inside her in one smooth motion.
She screamed, her back arching off the bed, her pussy clamping down on him like a fist. He began to move, his hips slamming into hers with a relentless rhythm. He could feel her orgasm building, the way her inner walls fluttered around him, the way her breath came in short, desperate gasps.
"Look at you," he growled, even though she couldn't see him. "All tied up and helpless. Completely at my mercy. You love this, don't you?"
"Yes," she gasped. "Yes, I love it. I love it when you use me. I love it when you take control."
He increased his pace, driving his cock deeper into her. She was screaming now, her body trembling, her pussy milking him with each thrust. And then she came—a violent, convulsing orgasm that left her breathless.
But he didn't stop. He continued to fuck her, driving her through the waves of her pleasure and into the next. She was a mess beneath him, her body shaking, her moans growing louder and more desperate.
"Please," she begged. "Please, Min-ho. Please—"
"Please, what?" he demanded, his voice dark and commanding.
"Please cum inside me," she sobbed. "Please fill me up. I want to feel your cum dripping out of me."
He obliged, his own orgasm crashing through him like a tidal wave. He came inside her, his cum shooting into her in thick, hot spurts. He could feel her pussy milking him, draining every drop, and he continued to thrust into her until he was completely spent.
When he finally collapsed on top of her, both of them panting and drenched in sweat, she laughed—a breathless, disbelieving sound.
"You're incredible," she said, her voice hoarse. "I don't know how you do it."
"Practice," he joked, and she laughed again.
He untied her wrists and removed the blindfold, and she looked up at him with eyes full of wonder and satisfaction. "I think I'm addicted to you," she said, her voice soft. "Is that a problem?"
"It's only a problem if you want it to be," he said, kissing her forehead. "I'm happy with what we have. No strings, no drama, just... this."
She smiled, a soft, genuine smile. "Good. Because I'm not ready to give this up. Not anytime soon."
And neither was he.
************
Living with Chungha and Kang Mina was a constant exercise in self-control. Min-ho had grown accustomed to the surreal nature of his new life—the luxury apartment, the celebrity roommates, the secret affair with Somi that made him feel like the luckiest man alive. But nothing could have prepared him for the accidental glimpses of Kang Mina's body.
It started innocently enough. Min-ho had been living in Chungha's apartment for about two months. He'd settled into a routine: job hunting during the day, helping with household chores, and trying to stay out of the way of his famous roommates. Chungha was busy with her world tour preparations, often gone for days at a time. Mina, on the other hand, had a more erratic schedule—sometimes filming until dawn, sometimes lounging around the apartment in her pajamas for days on end.
One morning, Min-ho woke up early, unable to sleep. He padded to the kitchen in his boxers and a t-shirt, hoping to make coffee before anyone else woke up. The apartment was silent, the Han River glittering through the floor-to-ceiling windows in the pale morning light.
He was halfway through brewing his coffee when he heard it—the soft padding of footsteps from the hallway. He turned, expecting to see Chungha, who sometimes woke up early for dance practice.
It wasn't Chungha.
Kang Mina walked into the kitchen completely naked.
Min-ho's brain short-circuited. The coffee mug slipped from his fingers, crashing to the marble floor with a shatter that echoed through the silent apartment. But he barely heard it. His eyes were frozen on the vision before him.
Mina was walking with the casual ease of someone who'd lived alone for years—completely comfortable in her own skin, utterly unaware that there was now a man in the apartment who could see every inch of her. Her hair was messy, a dark tumble around her shoulders. Her face was bare of makeup, still soft with sleep. And her body...
Her body was a masterpiece.
Min-ho had seen Mina in clothes countless times—the elegant dresses she wore to events, the casual hoodies she lounged in, the tight workout gear she wore for her daily runs. But nothing had prepared him for the reality of her naked form.
Her breasts were magnificent. Huge, heavy, and full, they swung with each step she took, their weight apparent in the way they moved. They were larger than Somi's—significantly so—with a fullness that seemed almost impossible. Her nipples were large and dark, standing out against the pale cream of her skin. They were the kind of breasts that demanded attention, that made a man's mouth water just looking at them.
Her waist was slim, curving into hips that flared into generous, rounded curves. Her legs were long and toned, her thigh muscles defined by years of dance and exercise. A neat triangle of dark hair sat at the apex of her thighs, drawing his gaze inexorably downward.
He was frozen, his mouth hanging open, his brain completely unable to process what he was seeing. He'd seen plenty of naked women before—Somi had made sure of that—but this was different. This was Kang Mina, national treasure, one of the most admired actresses in Korea, standing in front of him in all her natural, unadorned glory.
And she hadn't noticed him yet.
She yawned, stretching her arms above her head, and her breasts rose with the motion, their weight pressing upward, the nipples pointing directly at him. Min-ho felt his cock twitch involuntarily, a surge of heat rushing through his body.
Then she turned, and their eyes met.
For a moment, they both froze. Mina's eyes widened, her cheeks flushing a deep, embarrassed pink. And then she shrieked—a high, startled sound that made Min-ho's ears ring.
"What the—Min-ho!" She grabbed a dish towel from the counter, holding it against her chest in a futile attempt at modesty. The towel barely covered her breasts, doing nothing to hide the generous curves beneath. "What are you doing?!"
"I—I was making coffee!" he stammered, his voice cracking like a teenager's. "I didn't know you were—I mean, I thought—"
"I thought you were asleep!" she shot back, her face reddening even further. "I'm used to it being just me and Chungha! I always walk around naked in the morning!"
"Noted!" He spun around, his face burning, trying to unsee the image of her glorious, naked body. But it was seared into his brain—the heavy bounce of her breasts, the curve of her hips, the dark triangle between her thighs. "I'll—I'll just go back to my room!"
"Yes! Do that!" she yelled, and he heard her footsteps retreating down the hall.
He stood there for a long moment, his heart pounding, his body reacting in ways he couldn't control. He'd seen Kang Mina naked. The thought was overwhelming, intoxicating.
He went back to his room and spent the next hour trying to calm down.
The second incident happened three days later.
Min-ho had gone for a run—one of the healthy habits Chungha had forced him to adopt—and was returning to the apartment, drenched in sweat. He'd forgotten his key, so he knocked, hoping someone was home.
Chungha was at a recording session, but Mina's car was in the garage. He knocked again, and the door swung open.
Mina stood there, wrapped in a towel that barely covered her assets. Her hair was wet, dripping onto her shoulders, and her skin was still flushed from a shower. The towel was short—barely reaching mid-thigh—and it was tucked precariously at her chest, leaving a generous expanse of cleavage exposed.
"Oh," she said, her eyes widening. "You're back."
"Yeah," he said, his voice embarrassingly rough. "I forgot my key."
She stepped aside to let him in, and he tried very hard not to stare at the curve of her breasts as she moved. The towel shifted slightly, and he caught a glimpse of the side of one of her breasts—the soft, pale skin, the hint of a dark areola. His mouth went dry.
"Sorry about the other day," she said as he walked past her. "I really didn't know you were in the kitchen."
"Don't apologize," he said, his voice hoarse. "It was my fault. I should have announced myself."
"I mean, I should probably start wearing clothes in the morning," she said with a self-deprecating laugh. "Old habits die hard."
He turned to face her, and his eyes immediately dropped to her chest. He couldn't help it—the towel had slipped slightly, revealing even more of her generous cleavage. Her breasts were so full, so heavy, that the towel seemed to be struggling to contain them.
"It's fine," he said, forcing his eyes back up to her face. "Really. I'm not complaining."
She laughed again, a warm, musical sound, and for a moment, the tension between them seemed to ease. "I'll try to be more careful," she said. "But you should know, I'm a chronic nudist. Chungha's the only one who's ever seen me without clothes, and even she gets an earful when she walks in on me."
"I'll try to remember that," he said, his voice thick.
She smiled, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Or maybe you won't. I'm not sure which is worse."
And then she turned and walked away, her towel swaying with each step, and Min-ho was left staring at the curve of her ass, his heart pounding in his chest.
The third incident was the most explicit.
Min-ho had taken to using the apartment's home gym in the early evenings, when both Chungha and Mina were usually at work. It was a small room with a treadmill, a set of weights, and a yoga mat—perfect for his modest workout routine.
One evening, he was in the middle of a set of push-ups when the door swung open. He looked up, and his breath caught in his throat.
Mina stood in the doorway, completely naked.
This time, there was no towel, no robe—nothing. She was bare from head to toe, her glorious body fully on display. She was holding a bottle of water, clearly intending to grab it from the mini-fridge in the corner, and she hadn't expected anyone to be in the room.
"Fuck," she muttered, her eyes wide. "I forgot you worked out in here."
Min-ho couldn't speak. His eyes were glued to her body—the heavy weight of her breasts, the generous curve of her hips, the dark triangle between her thighs. Her nipples were erect, pebbled from the cool air of the gym, and they seemed to point directly at him.
She must have noticed his expression—the sheer, dumbstruck awe on his face—because she laughed. It was a soft, amused sound, and she made no move to cover herself.
"Stop staring," she said, though her voice was teasing. "It's just a body."
"Just a body," he repeated, his voice a strangled whisper. "Mina, your body is—"
He stopped himself, realizing he was about to say something incredibly inappropriate. But she raised an eyebrow, a challenging glint in her eyes.
"My body is what?" she prompted.
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "It's... It's stunning. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It's just—I've never seen anything like it."
His eyes dropped to her breasts again. They were magnificent—larger than Somi's, fuller, heavier. They swayed slightly as she shifted her weight, and he could see the pale blue veins tracing beneath the surface of her skin. He imagined cupping them, feeling their weight in his hands, and his cock stirred against his sweatpants.
She stepped closer to him, and he could smell her—the faint scent of her shampoo, the natural musk of her skin. Her breasts were inches from his face, their glorious weight almost within reach.
"You want to touch them, don't you?" she asked, her voice a low whisper. "You've been staring at them for weeks. Every time you catch a glimpse, your eyes go straight to my chest."
He couldn't deny it. "Mina, I—"
"Shh." She put a finger to his lips, silencing him. "I'm not mad. I'm actually kind of flattered. A man who's been with Somi, a woman with a body most girls would kill for, and I'm the one who catches your eye?"
"Your body is incredible," he breathed, the words escaping before he could stop them. "I've never seen anything like it."
She smiled, a slow, wicked smile that made his heart race. "Do you want to see more?"
Before he could answer, she reached for his hand and guided it to her breast. The feel of her flesh was electric—soft and warm and impossibly heavy in his palm. He gasped, his fingers instinctively curling around the generous curve, and she sighed, her eyes fluttering closed.
"Good," she murmured. "That's good."
He squeezed gently, testing the weight of her, and she moaned, a soft, breathy sound that made his cock throb. Her nipple was hard against his palm, and he circled it with his thumb, watching her face contort with pleasure.
"Fuck," she breathed. "That's really good."
"Your breasts are so big," he said, his voice a reverent whisper. "So full. I've never felt anything like them."
She laughed, a breathless sound. "I know. It's a curse sometimes. My back hurts constantly. But I've learned to love them. And I love how they look on camera."
He couldn't help himself. He lowered his head and pressed a kiss to the side of her breast, tasting her skin—sweet and salty and utterly intoxicating. She gasped, her hand tangling in his hair, and he took her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently.
"God, yes," she moaned. "That feels amazing."
But then she pulled away, her breath ragged, her eyes dark with desire. "Not today," she said, her voice strained. "I promised myself I wouldn't—not like this. We need to be careful."
She stepped back, and he felt the loss of her warmth like a physical blow. She was smiling—that same wicked, knowing smile—and she winked at him before turning and walking out of the room.
Min-ho stood there in the gym, his body aching with desire, his mind reeling. He'd just touched Kang Mina's breasts. He'd tasted her skin. And she'd walked away without another word.
He was in serious trouble.
The fourth incident was a deliberate one.
Min-ho had been at Somi's apartment when she'd gotten a frantic call from her manager—an emergency schedule change that required her presence immediately. She'd kissed him goodbye, promising to text him later, and he'd headed back to Chungha's apartment, his mood sour.
He'd opened the door to find Mina lounging on the sofa in a tiny tank top and a pair of shorts so short they might as well have been underwear. She was reading a script, her legs crossed, and she looked up with a sly smile.
"Rough day?" she asked.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and Min-ho tried to keep his eyes off her body. But it was impossible. Her tank top was so low-cut that it barely covered the upper swell of her breasts, and he could see the deep cleavage that seemed to go on forever.
"Mina," he said, his voice hoarse. "I need to ask you something."
She turned to him, her eyes curious. "What is it?"
"The other day in the gym," he said, his heart pounding. "Why did you stop?"
She studied him for a moment, her expression unreadable. "Because I wanted to," she said finally. "Because I'm not the kind of girl who just gives in to the first urge. I wanted to see if you'd come after me."
He blinked. "Come after you?"
She nodded, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her face. "I wanted to see if you wanted it badly enough to pursue me. To seduce me."
He stared at her, his mind racing. "And if I do?"
She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "Then I'd be very, very happy."
Before he could respond, she was kissing him—a deep, passionate kiss that left him breathless. Her tongue tangled with his, her hands threading through his hair, and he felt his body respond with a ferocity that surprised him.
But this time, she didn't pull away. She reached down, grabbed the hem of her tank top, and pulled it over her head.
Her breasts were magnificent—huge, heavy, and swaying free. Her nipples were dark and erect, begging for his touch. He reached up and cupped them, feeling their glorious weight in his hands, and she moaned, her head falling back.
"I've wanted this," she breathed, her voice shaky. "I've wanted you to touch me since the first time you saw me in the kitchen."
"You're incredible," he murmured, his thumbs circling her nipples. "Absolutely incredible."
But this time, there was no pulling away. There was only the heat of their bodies, the taste of their kisses, and the promise of more to come.
Min-ho's hands were full of Kang Mina's breasts. They overflowed his palms, spilling through his fingers like warm, heavy silk. The sheer weight of them was intoxicating—each one easily the size of a small melon, firm yet impossibly soft, the kind of flesh that begged to be squeezed, kneaded, worshipped.
He couldn't stop himself. He lowered his head, his lips parting, and took one of her dark, erect nipples into his mouth.
The taste of her was electric. She was salty and sweet, her skin warm from the heat of the apartment, and her nipple stiffened further against his tongue as he suckled gently. She gasped, her fingers tangling in his hair, her hips pressing forward involuntarily.
"Oh, fuck," she breathed. "Yes. That's it. Suck them. Suck my tits."
He obliged, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak, lapping at her with a hunger that surprised even him. He pulled harder, drawing more of her breast into his mouth, feeling the heavy weight of her flesh against his lips. Her nipple was like a hard little pearl, and he rolled it against his tongue, tasting every inch of her.
His other hand cupped her other breast, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh. It overflowed his palm, spilling between his fingers, and he groaned against her skin. They were so much larger than Somi's—fuller, heavier, more substantial. He could feel the veins beneath the surface, the delicate texture of her areolae, and the way her flesh yielded to his touch.
Mina moaned, a long, throaty sound that made his cock throb. Her thighs pressed together, grinding against each other as waves of pleasure shot through her. She was so sensitive, so responsive—every flick of his tongue, every gentle bite, sent shudders through her body.
"More," she begged, her voice a desperate whisper. "Please, Min-ho. More. Suck them harder. I need more."
He didn't need to be told twice. He sucked harder, drawing more of her breast into his mouth, his tongue laving her nipple with increasing fervor. He alternated between gentle licks and hard suction, watching her face contort with pleasure, her eyes fluttering closed, her lips parted in a silent scream.
Her thighs ground together again, and he could see the muscles in her legs tensing, the way her hips bucked involuntarily. She was so wet, so ready for him, and the knowledge drove him wild.
He switched to the other breast, giving it the same attention. His tongue traced circles around her nipple, lapping at it again and again, making sure she felt every stroke. He sucked hard, drawing the sensitive peak deep into his mouth, and she cried out, her fingers tightening in his hair.
"Yes!" she gasped. "Yes, yes, yes! That feels so good! Your tongue is incredible!"
He smiled against her skin, a wicked, satisfied grin. He continued his assault, his tongue lapping at her nipples in a relentless rhythm, his hands kneading her heavy breasts, feeling them mold perfectly to his touch. She was a moaning, writhing mess beneath him, her thighs grinding together, her hips bucking with each flick of his tongue.
"Look at you," he murmured against her skin, his voice a low growl. "So sensitive. So beautiful. I could do this all night."
"Please," she sobbed. "Please, don't stop. I'm so close. I'm so close—"
He didn't stop. He continued to suck and lick and lap at her nipples, driving her higher and higher. Her thighs were grinding together frantically now, her hips bucking against nothing, and he could feel the heat radiating from her core.
And then she came. Her orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing, her back arching off the sofa. She cried out his name, a raw, primal sound, and he continued to suck her nipples through the waves of her pleasure, drawing out every last tremor.
When she finally collapsed, panting and trembling, he pulled back, looking down at her with a satisfied smirk. Her breasts were glistening with his saliva, her nipples dark and swollen, her chest heaving with each breath.
"That was..." she started, her voice hoarse. "That was incredible."
He grinned, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips. "We're just getting started."
Min-ho's lips were still tingling from the taste of Mina's skin, her nipples still glistening with his saliva, when she pushed him back gently onto the sofa. Her eyes were dark with desire, her chest still heaving from her orgasm, but there was a new hunger in her gaze—a predatory glint that made his cock twitch in anticipation.
"My turn," she murmured, her voice low and husky. "You've been so good to me. Now let me return the favor."
She slid off the sofa, her body moving with fluid grace, and knelt on the floor in front of him. The position was intimate, submissive, and utterly intoxicating. Her face was level with his lap, her dark eyes locked on his, and he could feel the heat radiating from her body even through the thin fabric of his shorts.
Her slender hands found his thighs, trailing up slowly, deliberately, sending shivers cascading through his entire body. Her fingertips grazed the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, and he gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily.
"Fuck, Mina," he breathed. "Your hands..."
"Shh," she soothed, a wicked smile curving her lips. "I'm just getting started."
Her hands continued their slow ascent, her nails scraping lightly against his skin—not enough to hurt, but enough to leave a trail of fire in their wake. She reached the waistband of his shorts, her fingers teasing the elastic, and he trembled beneath her touch. He was wearing nothing underneath, and she seemed to sense it, her smile widening as she felt the heat of his arousal through the thin fabric.
"You're not wearing anything," she observed, her voice a purr of satisfaction. "That's convenient."
"I was hoping you wouldn't mind," he managed, his voice strained.
"Mind?" She laughed, a breathless sound. "Min-ho, I'm absolutely thrilled."
Her hands hooked into the waistband of his shorts, and she began to tug them down—slowly, agonizingly slowly. The fabric slid over his hips and his thighs, and then his cock sprang free, thick and heavy and already glistening with a bead of precum at the tip.
Mina's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She stared at his erection, her lips parting, her pupils dilating with raw, unfiltered desire. It was the biggest she'd ever seen—long and thick, with veins pulsing along the shaft, the head swollen and dark with arousal. A drop of precum spilled from the tip, trailing down the length like a glistening tear.
"Oh my God," she whispered, her voice reverent. "Min-ho, it's... It's enormous."
He smirked, though his voice was strained. "You like what you see?"
"I love what I see," she breathed, her hand reaching out to touch him. Her fingers traced the length of his shaft, her nails grazing the sensitive skin with featherlight pressure. He groaned, his hips bucking into her touch, and she smiled, a satisfied, predatory smile.
"So responsive," she murmured. "I love that."
She wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock, her slender hand barely able to encircle his girth. She squeezed gently, testing the weight of him, and he gasped, his head falling back against the sofa. Her grip was firm but teasing, her fingers stroking him with agonizing slowness, and he could feel every nerve ending in his body firing at once.
"Your hands are incredible," he groaned. "Fuck, Mina, don't stop."
"Don't worry," she said, her voice a low purr. "I'm not stopping anytime soon."
She tugged down on his cock, pulling it toward her, and then released it—and it sprang back up, hard and proud, the head bouncing with the motion. She gasped, her eyes widening, and he could see the way her thighs pressed together, the way her hips shifted as she felt the wetness between her legs.
"It's so hard," she breathed. "So thick. I can't believe how big you are."
"You like it?" he asked, his voice a husky growl.
"I love it," she confessed, her fingers tracing the length of his shaft again. "I've been so busy with work, I haven't had a cock in months. And now I get to see this? It's like the universe is rewarding me."
She leaned closer, her breath warm against his skin, and he could feel the heat of her mouth inches from his shaft. Her tongue darted out, lapping at the bead of precum that had gathered at his tip, and he groaned, his hips bucking instinctively.
"You taste so good," she murmured, her voice reverent. "So salty and sweet. I could drink you all night."
"Please," he begged, his voice hoarse. "Please, Mina. I need more."
She smiled, a wicked, knowing smile, and then she took him into her mouth. The heat of her mouth was incredible—warm and wet, her tongue swirling around his shaft, her lips pressing against his skin. She took him deep, deeper than he'd expected, her throat relaxing to accommodate his girth.
"Oh, fuck," he gasped. "Oh, fuck, Mina—"
She pulled back, her lips releasing him with a wet pop, and looked up at him with dark, hungry eyes. "You like that?"
"I love it," he confessed, his voice raw. "Please, don't stop."
She didn't. She took him into her mouth again, her head bobbing up and down in a rhythm that was both rhythmic and relentless. Her hand stroked what her mouth couldn't reach, her fingers working in tandem with her lips, and he was lost—completely, utterly lost in the pleasure of her touch.
But she wasn't done teasing him. She pulled back again, her lips trailing wet kisses down his shaft, her tongue lapping at his balls. She took one into her mouth, sucking gently, and he gasped, his hips jerking involuntarily.
"Yes," he groaned. "Yes, suck them. Suck my balls."
She obliged, her mouth working his balls while her hand continued to stroke his cock. She was a master—a goddess—her every touch driving him insane. She alternated between sucking his balls and deep-throating him, her rhythm relentless, her determination unwavering.
And through it all, her thighs were pressing together, her hips bucking against nothing, her pussy growing wetter with each passing moment. She was as desperate for release as he was, and the knowledge drove him wild.
Min-ho lay there, his body trembling, his cock still glistening with Mina's saliva, when he felt a new hunger stir within him. He looked down at her, kneeling between his legs, her dark eyes locked on his, her lips still swollen from their earlier exertions. Her breasts were magnificent—huge, heavy, and swaying with each breath she took. The sight of them made his cock throb with a desperate, primal need.
"Mina," he said, his voice a low growl. "Come here."
She looked up at him, a question in her eyes, and he reached down, his fingers finding her nipples. They were still hard, still aching from his earlier attention, and he tugged gently, pulling her closer. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath that was equal parts surprise and pleasure, and she crawled forward, her breasts swaying with each movement.
"I want to feel them," he said, his voice rough with desire. "I want to feel your tits wrapped around my cock."
A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. "You want a boobjob?"
"I want your boobs," he confirmed, his voice a husky growl. "I want to feel them squeezing me. I want to watch my cock slide between them."
She laughed, a breathless, excited sound. "You're so greedy. I love it."
She shifted, positioning herself over him, her knees straddling his hips. Her breasts hung heavy and full, inches from his aching cock, and he could feel the heat radiating from her skin. She reached down, wrapping her fingers around his shaft, and guided it between her breasts.
The sensation was incredible. Her flesh was warm and soft, her breasts like two enormous pillows of silk, and they enveloped his cock completely. He gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily, and she grinned, a predatory glint in her eyes.
"Like that?" she murmured.
"Fuck, yes," he groaned. "That's perfect."
But it wasn't enough. He wanted more. He reached up, his hands finding her shoulders, and he pulled her closer, pressing her breasts more tightly around his shaft. She gasped, her eyes widening, and he could feel her nipples grazing his skin, hard and sensitive.
"Squeeze them," he commanded, his voice dark and commanding. "Squeeze your tits around my cock."
She obeyed, her hands cupping her breasts, pressing them together around his shaft. The pressure was incredible—her flesh molding to his cock, enveloping him in a warm, soft embrace. He groaned, his hips thrusting up into her grip, and she smiled, her eyes dark with desire.
"You like that, don't you?" she breathed. "You like having your cock between my tits."
"I love it," he confessed, his voice strained. "Your tits are so big, so soft. I can feel every inch of them."
She laughed, a breathless sound, and began to move. Her breasts slid up and down his shaft, the friction of her skin driving him insane. She was so warm, so soft, and her nipples grazed his skin with each movement, sending jolts of electricity through his body.
But the friction was too much. He was so hard, so sensitive, that the dry glide of her skin wasn't enough. He needed more lubrication.
"Spit on them," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "Spit on your tits. I need you to make them wet."
She raised an eyebrow, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Bossy."
But she obeyed. She leaned forward, her lips parting, and she spat onto her own cleavage. A thick, glistening string of saliva dripped down the valley between her breasts, pooling in the crevice where his cock was buried. She repeated the action, adding more lubrication, and then she pressed her breasts together again, her hands squeezing them around his shaft.
The sensation was electric. Her saliva was warm and slick, coating his cock and her breasts, reducing the friction to a smooth, slippery glide. He groaned, his hips thrusting up into her grip, and she began to move, her breasts sliding up and down his shaft with a rhythm that was both rhythmic and relentless.
"Fuck, Mina," he gasped. "That feels incredible. Your tits are amazing."
"I know," she said, her voice a breathless purr. "I've been told I give the best boobjobs. My tits are perfect for it."
And she was right. Her breasts were so large, so full, that they enveloped his cock completely, her flesh molding to him like a second skin. He could feel every inch of her—the warmth of her skin, the softness of her flesh, the hard points of her nipples grazing his shaft with each movement.
She leaned down, her lips hovering over the tip of his cock, which peeked through the top of her cleavage with each upward stroke. Her tongue darted out, lapping at the head, and he groaned, his hips bucking involuntarily.
"Fuck," he gasped. "Yes. Lick it. Lick the tip."
She obliged, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head each time it emerged from between her breasts. Her saliva mixed with her spit, lubricating him further, and he could feel the pressure building in his balls and the familiar tingling sensation at the base of his spine.
"I'm close," he warned, his voice strained. "I'm so close, Mina."
"Not yet," she said, her voice dark and commanding. "I'm not done with you. I want to feel you cum all over my tits."
She increased her pace, her breasts sliding up and down his shaft with renewed urgency. Her hands squeezed them together, her fingers gripping her own flesh, and she leaned down, her lips wrapping around the head of his cock each time it emerged.
The sensation was indescribable. Her breasts were so soft, so warm, and her mouth was so hot, so wet. The combination was driving him insane, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. He could feel his orgasm building, the pressure in his balls reaching a fever pitch.
"Mina," he gasped. "Mina, I'm going to cum—"
"Let it go," she whispered, her voice a seductive purr. "Cum on my tits, Min-ho. Cover them with your cum."
And he did. His orgasm erupted with a force that left him breathless, his cum shooting up between her breasts in thick, hot spurts. It splattered across her cleavage, coating her skin and his cock, dripping down the valley between her breasts.
But she didn't stop. She continued to move, her breasts sliding up and down his shaft, milking him for every drop. Her tongue lapped at the head of his cock, tasting his release, and she moaned, her eyes fluttering closed with pleasure.
When he finally stopped shaking, she pulled back, her breasts glistening with his cum. She looked down at herself, a satisfied smile on her face, and she traced her fingers through the mess, gathering his seed on her fingertips.
"Look at that," she murmured, her voice reverent. "You came so much. You really enjoyed that."
He laughed, breathless and dazed. "I've never had a boobjob like that. Your tits are incredible."
She grinned, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips. "I told you. I'm the best."
He pulled her closer, his hands finding her breasts, feeling their weight in his palms. They were slick with his cum and her saliva, warm and soft and utterly perfect. He squeezed them gently, and she moaned, her hips pressing against his.
"I need you," she breathed, her voice desperate. "I need you inside me. I need to feel that thick cock stretching me open."
His cock twitched at her words, already beginning to stir again. "Then take me," he said, his voice a low growl. "I'm yours."
Min-ho's hands were still wrapped around Mina's magnificent breasts, his cock already stirring back to life between them, when a sharp sound cut through the haze of their passion. The unmistakable click of the front door's lock. The soft creak of the hinges. Footsteps—deliberate, familiar footsteps—echoing through the entrance hall.
"Fuck," Mina breathed, her eyes going wide with panic. "Chungha. She's back early."
Min-ho's blood ran cold. He scrambled to his feet, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit—"
"Grab your clothes!" Mina hissed, already snatching her tank top from the floor. "Behind the wall—quick!"
They dove behind the large decorative partition that separated the living area from the hallway, their bodies pressed together in the narrow space. Min-ho's heart was pounding so loudly he was sure Chungha could hear it. Mina was trembling against him, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps as she clutched her clothes to her chest.
They peeked around the edge of the partition, and their worst fears were confirmed. Chungha walked into the living room, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion, her hair slightly disheveled from a long day of schedules. She was dressed in a casual hoodie and jeans, her face bare of makeup, and she looked utterly drained.
She dropped her bag on the floor, kicked off her shoes, and collapsed onto the sofa. The very sofa where, minutes earlier, Min-ho had been buried between Mina's breasts, his cum still glistening on her skin. The sofa where Mina had been riding him, her body arching with pleasure. The sofa where they had just been making love with reckless abandon.
Chungha sighed, leaning her head back against the cushions. She rubbed her temples, her eyes closed, clearly unaware that her two roommates were pressed together behind the partition, barely three meters away.
Min-ho and Mina exchanged a look of pure, panicked terror. They were both still half-naked—Mina's tank top was bunched around her waist, her breasts still bare, his cum still drying on her skin. Min-ho's shorts were around his ankles, his cock still half-hard and pressing against Mina's thigh.
And then Mina did something that made his breath catch in his throat.
She giggled. Softly, barely audible, but a giggle nonetheless. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and she whispered, "This is so wrong. I love it."
"Are you insane?" he hissed back, his voice barely a whisper. "She's right there!"
"I know." Mina's grin was wicked, her eyes dark with desire. "That's what makes it so hot."
Before he could respond, she shifted her weight, pressing her ass back against him. His cock, still slick with her saliva and his own cum, nestled perfectly between her cheeks. The warmth of her skin, the softness of her flesh, sent a jolt of electricity through his entire body.
"Mina," he warned, his voice strained. "We can't—"
"Shh," she breathed, her eyes locked on his. "Just stay still. Don't make a sound."
But she wasn't staying still. She was moving. Her hips swayed slowly, deliberately, her ass grinding against his cock in a rhythm that was both subtle and devastating. She was rubbing herself against him, her cheeks parting slightly with each movement, and he could feel the heat of her skin, the slickness of her arousal, the desperate need that pulsed through her body.
He felt his cock hardening again, responding to her touch despite every rational thought screaming at him to stop. It was wrong. It was reckless. It was absolutely insane. And it was the hottest thing he had ever experienced.
Mina's breath hitched as she felt him growing harder against her. She bit her lip, her eyes fluttering closed, and she pressed back against him more firmly. She could feel every inch of him, the thick length of his cock pillowed between her cheeks, and it took every ounce of her self-control not to moan out loud.
"Fuck," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I want it. I want your cock right here. Right now."
"Mina," he groaned, his voice strangled. "She'll hear us."
"Then you'll have to keep me quiet," she said, her eyes meeting his with a challenge. "Can you do that?"
He swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I—"
But she was already moving, shifting her position, bending forward slightly so that her upper body was exposed beyond the edge of the partition. Her breasts—those magnificent, heavy, perfect breasts—were visible now, swaying with each movement. Her waist, her hips, her glorious ass—all of it was on display, hidden from Chungha's view only by the angle of the partition.
He could see Chungha on the sofa, still sitting there, oblivious. She was scrolling through her phone now, her expression bored and tired. She had no idea that her roommate was bent over, presenting her body to him like an offering.
Mina reached back, her fingers finding his cock, and she guided it to her entrance. Her pussy was slick and wet, her arousal evident, and he could feel the heat radiating from her core.
"Do it," she breathed, her voice a desperate whisper. "Fuck me, Min-ho. Right here. Right now. Don't make a sound."
He couldn't resist. He pressed forward, the head of his cock slipping into her wet folds, and she gasped—a sharp, choked sound that she immediately stifled with her hand. Her body trembled, her inner walls clenching around him, and he could feel every inch of her, the tight, velvet heat of her pussy enveloping him.
He pushed deeper, inch by agonizing inch, and she bit down on her fist to keep from screaming. He was so thick, so large, and she could feel him stretching her, filling her in a way that made her vision blur. Her pussy was so tight and so sensitive, and his cock was so big that it seemed to reach places inside her that had never been touched before.
Her back arched, her spine curving as she took him deeper. She could feel the head of his cock pressing against her cervix, the thick shaft pulsing with each heartbeat, and she was struggling to keep her composure. Every nerve ending in her body was on fire, every cell screaming for release.
Chungha, still scrolling through her phone, let out a soft yawn and shifted on the sofa. Mina froze, her eyes wide with panic, and Min-ho stopped moving, his cock buried deep inside her. They both held their breath, waiting for the moment of discovery.
But Chungha just sighed and leaned back, her eyes closing. She was so tired, so oblivious, that she didn't notice the subtle sounds of their passion—the soft rustle of clothing, the quiet gasp of pleasure, the barely stifled moans.
Mina relaxed, her body shuddering with relief, and she looked back at Min-ho with a wicked grin. "We're not going to get caught," she whispered. "Now fuck me. Slowly. Quietly."
He obliged, his hips beginning to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each thrust was careful, controlled, and designed to maximize pleasure while minimizing noise. He could feel her pussy clenching around him, the tight walls gripping his shaft with each withdrawal, and it took every ounce of his self-control not to pound into her with reckless abandon.
But the risk of discovery only heightened the pleasure. Every sound, every movement, every breath was a potential threat—and that danger made everything more intense. He could feel her body responding to him, her hips grinding back against his with increasing urgency.
Chungha shifted again, and Mina froze, her breath caught in her throat. But Chungha just turned on her side, curling up on the sofa, and let out a long, weary sigh. She was so exhausted that she was falling asleep, right there in the living room, while her roommate was being fucked less than three meters away.
Mina bit her lip, her eyes fluttering closed as another wave of pleasure washed over her. She could feel Min-ho's cock deep inside her, thick and hard and perfect, and it was all she could do to keep from crying out. Her body was trembling, her inner walls clenching around him with each movement, and she was so close to the edge that she could taste it.
But she couldn't let go. Not yet. Not until Chungha was gone.
She reached back, her fingers finding Min-ho's hip, and she squeezed gently, a silent signal. "Faster," she breathed, her voice barely audible. "I'm so close. Please."
He obeyed, his hips moving faster, his cock driving deeper into her. The rhythm was still controlled, still quiet, but there was a new urgency to his movements that made her gasp. She could feel the pressure building. The pleasure spiraled higher and higher, and she knew she was about to lose control.
Min-ho could feel Mina's body trembling against him, her inner walls clenching around his cock with each slow, deliberate thrust. The danger of discovery was intoxicating, heightening every sensation, making every nerve ending in his body sing with pleasure. He watched Chungha on the sofa, her eyes closed, her breathing growing slow and even as she drifted toward sleep.
And then an idea formed in his mind—a reckless, insane, utterly thrilling idea.
He leaned forward, his lips brushing Mina's ear, his voice a low whisper. "I want to walk you out. Right now. While I'm still inside you."
Mina's eyes went wide, her breath catching in her throat. "You're insane," she breathed. "She's right there—"
"I know." His hips pressed forward, burying himself deeper inside her, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan. "That's what makes it so hot. Trust me."
She hesitated for only a moment, her eyes searching his face. Then a slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. "You're going to get us caught."
"I won't." He gripped her hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh. "Just walk with me. Slowly. Quietly."
She nodded, her breath coming in shallow gasps, and he began to move—not thrusting, but stepping forward, guiding her with his body. His cock was still buried deep inside her, and each step sent a jolt of pleasure through both of them. She bit her fist, her eyes squeezed shut, as she struggled to keep from crying out.
They emerged from behind the partition, their bodies pressed together, his cock sliding deeper with each step. The living room was bathed in the soft glow of the evening light filtering through the windows, and Chungha was still on the sofa, her breathing slow and even, completely oblivious.
Mina's hands were trembling, her body shaking with the effort of staying quiet. She could feel him inside her, thick and hard, and each step made her pussy clench around him, desperate for more. She took another step, and then another, and suddenly they were halfway across the room, Chungha's sleeping form just meters away.
"Fuck," Mina breathed, her voice barely audible. "This is so wrong."
"I know," he whispered back, his voice a dark growl. "But you love it."
She couldn't deny it. The thrill of almost being caught, the danger of discovery, the sheer audacity of what they were doing—it was driving her insane. She could feel her orgasm building, the pressure coiling in her core, and she knew she was about to lose control.
He stopped walking, his hips pressing forward, burying himself as deep as possible. She gasped, her hands gripping the edge of the sofa—Chungha's sofa—as he began to thrust. Slowly, deliberately, each movement was designed to drive her wild without waking her sleeping roommate.
His hands roamed her body, finding her breasts through the thin fabric of her tank top. He squeezed them, feeling their heavy weight in his palms, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan. Her nipples were hard, aching for his touch, and he rolled them between his thumb and forefinger, pinching gently.
"Your tits are so incredible," he murmured against her ear, his voice a low growl. "So big. So full. I could play with them all day."
She whimpered, her hips grinding back against him. "Please," she breathed. "Please, Min-ho. Don't stop."
He didn't. His hands continued their exploration, one hand kneading her breast while the other slid down her stomach, finding her clit. He circled it with his thumb, applying just the right amount of pressure, and she gasped, her body arching against him.
"You're so wet," he observed, his voice a dark whisper. "I can feel you dripping down my cock. You love this, don't you? You love the danger of almost getting caught."
"Yes," she admitted, her voice a desperate whimper. "Yes, I love it. I love being fucked while she's right there. I love knowing that she could wake up at any moment and see us."
He grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Then let's give her a show."
He pulled out of her, and she whimpered at the loss. But before she could protest, he was turning her around, his hands guiding her to face the sofa. Her hands pressed against the cushion, her body bent over, and he thrust into her from behind.
The angle was perfect, his cock sliding deep inside her, hitting that spot that made her see stars. She bit her fist, her eyes squeezed shut, as he began to move. Slow, deliberate thrusts that drove her wild, each one pushing her closer and closer to the edge.
His hands found her ass, squeezing the firm, round flesh. He could feel her muscles clenching with each thrust, her body responding to him in ways that made his head spin. He slapped her ass gently, watching the flesh jiggle with the impact, and she gasped, her pussy clenching around him.
"You like that?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "You like it when I spank you?"
"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, I love it. Do it again."
He obliged, his hand coming down on her ass with a sharp slap. She cried out, a soft, choked sound, and he could feel her pussy tighten around him. He spanked her again, and again, each impact sending shockwaves of pleasure through her body.
His other hand found her hair, tangling in the dark strands. He pulled gently, forcing her head back, and she arched her spine, her body curving into a perfect arch. He could see her reflection in the window, her face flushed with pleasure, her lips parted in a silent scream.
"Look at yourself," he commanded, his voice dark and commanding. "Look at how beautiful you are when you're being fucked."
She obeyed, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the window. She could see his body behind her, his hips slamming into hers, his hands gripping her ass. She could see her own face, flushed and desperate, her eyes dark with desire. And she could see Chungha on the sofa, still asleep, completely oblivious to the scene unfolding just meters away.
"Oh, fuck," Mina gasped, her voice a desperate whisper. "I'm so close. I'm so close, Min-ho."
"Not yet," he said, his voice a low growl. "I'm not done with you."
He pulled out of her, and she whimpered at the loss. But before she could protest, he was turning her around, lifting her onto the edge of the sofa. She was facing him now, her legs wrapped around his waist, and he thrust into her, burying himself deep inside her.
Her arms wrapped around his neck, her fingers tangling in his hair, and she kissed him—a desperate, hungry kiss that tasted of salt and desire. He fucked her with a ferocity that surprised them both, his hips slamming into hers, his cock driving deep into her core.
His hands found her breasts again, squeezing them, kneading them, feeling their weight in his palms. He could feel her nipples hard against his skin, and he leaned down, taking one into his mouth. She gasped, her body arching against him, and he sucked gently, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak.
"Your tits are so perfect," he murmured against her skin. "So big. So soft. I could suck them all night."
"Please," she begged, her voice a desperate whimper. "Please, Min-ho. Don't stop. I'm so close."
He didn't. He continued to suck and lick her breasts while his hips drove into her, his cock sliding deep inside her. His hand found her clit again, circling it with his thumb, and she cried out, her body trembling with the effort of staying quiet.
He could feel her orgasm building, the way her pussy tightened around him, the way her breath came in short, desperate gasps. And then she came—a violent, convulsing orgasm that ripped through her body, her pussy clamping down on his cock like a vice. She bit her shoulder, muffling her scream, as waves of pleasure crashed through her.
But he didn't stop. He continued to thrust, driving her through her orgasm and into the next. She was a trembling, gasping mess, her body shaking with each wave of pleasure, and he could feel her inner walls milking his cock with desperate contractions.
"Fuck, Mina," he groaned, his voice strained. "I'm close. I'm so close."
"Not yet," she said, her voice a desperate whisper. "I want to cum again. I want to cum with you inside me."
He obliged, his hips moving faster, his cock driving deeper into her. He could feel her pussy tightening around him, her inner walls fluttering with each thrust. And then she came again—a raw, primal scream that she barely managed to stifle with her hand.
Her orgasm triggered his own. With a final, desperate thrust, he came inside her, his cum shooting into her in thick, hot spurts. He could feel her pussy milking him, her inner walls convulsing around him as she continued to come.
When he finally stopped shaking, he collapsed against her, both of them panting and drenched in sweat. Her legs were still wrapped around him, her arms still around his neck, and she was trembling, her body shaking with the aftershocks of her orgasm.
"Fuck," she breathed, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I can't believe you just did that."
He grinned, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "You loved it."
She laughed—a breathless, disbelieving sound. "I did. I absolutely loved it."
But then her eyes went wide, her gaze fixed over his shoulder. "Min-ho," she breathed. "Look."
He turned, his heart pounding, and saw Chungha stirring on the sofa. She was mumbling something in her sleep, her eyes still closed, but she was shifting, her body moving toward the edge of the sofa.
"Shit," he whispered, pulling out of Mina with a wet, sucking sound. He scrambled to grab his shorts, pulling them on as quickly as possible. Mina was already pulling her tank top over her head, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
They were barely dressed when Chungha's eyes fluttered open. She blinked, groggy and confused, and looked around the room. Her gaze landed on Mina, who was sitting on the sofa, and Min-ho, who was standing awkwardly nearby.
"What are you two doing?" Chungha asked, her voice slurred with sleep.
Min-ho's heart was pounding, but Mina was a born actress. She smiled, a perfectly casual expression on her face, and said, "We were just watching a movie. You fell asleep."
Chungha blinked, rubbing her eyes. "Oh. Sorry. I'm just so tired."
"Don't worry about it," Mina said, her voice warm. "Go back to sleep. We'll keep it quiet."
Chungha nodded, her eyes already closing again. "Thanks. I'm just going to—" She didn't finish the sentence. She was already asleep again, her breathing slow and even.
Min-ho let out a long, shuddering breath. "That was too close."
Mina laughed, a soft, musical sound. "Close? That was the hottest thing I've ever done." She leaned closer, her lips brushing his ear. "I want to do it again."
He grinned, pulling her close. "So do I."
And they did. Over the next hour, they fucked in every position they could think of—against the wall, on the floor, bent over the coffee table. Each time, they pushed the boundaries, getting closer and closer to where Chungha was sleeping.
Min-ho's hands never stopped exploring Mina's body. He played with her breasts constantly, squeezing them, kneading them, feeling their heavy weight in his palms. He would lean down and take her nipples into his mouth, sucking and biting them until she was gasping with pleasure. His fingers found her clit again and again, circling it with just the right pressure, driving her to the edge of orgasm and then pulling back.
He spanked her ass repeatedly, watching the flesh jiggle with each impact, feeling her pussy tighten around him with each slap. He pulled her hair, forcing her head back, watching her face contort with pleasure in the reflection of the window. He whispered dirty things in her ear, telling her how beautiful she was, how much he loved her body, how much he wanted to fill her with his cum.
And each time, she came—gushing, violent orgasms that left her trembling and breathless. Her pussy was so wet, so slick, that his cock slid in and out of her with ease, her inner walls milking him with desperate contractions.
He could feel his own orgasm building again, the pressure in his balls reaching a fever pitch. He knew he was about to cum, but he didn't want to stop. He wanted to keep fucking her, to keep playing with her body, to keep driving her wild.
"Mina," he gasped, his voice strained. "I'm close. I'm so close."
"Then cum," she breathed, her voice a desperate whisper. "Cum inside me, Min-ho. Fill me up."
He obliged, his orgasm erupting with a force that left him breathless. He could feel her pussy milking him, her inner walls convulsing around him as she came again—a violent, gushing orgasm that soaked his cock.
When he finally stopped shaking, he collapsed against her, both of them panting and drenched in sweat. She was smiling, a lazy, satisfied smile that made his heart skip a beat.
"I think I'm addicted to you," she murmured, her voice soft and sleepy. "Is that a problem?"
"It's only a problem if you want it to be," he said, kissing her forehead. "I'm happy with what we have. No strings, no drama, just... this."
She smiled, a soft, genuine smile. "Good. Because I'm not ready to give this up. Not anytime soon."
And they lay there in the darkness, their bodies tangled together, the thrill of their secret encounter still coursing through their veins. They knew it was reckless. They knew it was dangerous. But neither of them could bring themselves to stop.
Min-ho's hands continued to roam Mina's body, unable to keep still even in the aftermath of their passion. He traced the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts. She sighed contentedly, her body molding to his, and he felt a surge of possessiveness that surprised him.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a whisper. "Every inch of you."
She smiled, her eyes still closed. "You're not so bad yourself."
He laughed, a soft, breathless sound. "I'm serious. I've never met anyone like you."
"Flatterer," she teased, but there was warmth in her voice.
They lay there in comfortable silence for a while, their bodies still tangled together. Min-ho could feel her heartbeat against his chest, slow and steady, and he felt a sense of peace that he hadn't felt in months.
But the peace was short-lived. Mina shifted, her hips grinding against his, and he felt his cock stir again. She was insatiable, and he was more than happy to oblige.
"Again?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
"Again," she confirmed, her eyes dark with desire. "I want to feel you inside me one more time. And this time, I want to ride you."
He grinned, rolling onto his back, and she climbed on top of him. Her breasts swayed with each movement, heavy and full, and he reached up, his hands finding them. He squeezed them gently, and she moaned, her head falling back.
"Your tits are so perfect," he murmured, his voice reverent. "I could play with them all day."
"Then play with them," she breathed, her voice a desperate whisper. "While I ride you."
She sank onto him, her pussy enveloping his cock in a wet, velvet grip. He gasped, his hands gripping her hips, and she began to move. Her hips rose and fell in a rhythm that was both ancient and primal, her breasts bouncing with each motion.
He reached up, his hands finding her breasts again, and he squeezed them, kneading them, feeling their weight in his palms. He leaned up, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, and she gasped, her hips grinding against him with renewed intensity.
"Yes," she moaned. "Yes, Min-ho. Suck them. Suck my tits."
He obliged, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak, his teeth grazing the hard nub. She cried out, her pussy clenching around him, and he could feel her orgasm building, the way her inner walls fluttered around him.
His hands slid down her body, finding her ass. He squeezed the firm, round flesh, feeling it yield beneath his fingers. He spanked her gently, and she gasped, her hips bucking against him.
"You like that?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, I love it. Spank me again."
He obliged, his hand coming down on her ass with a sharp slap. She cried out, her pussy tightening around him, and he spanked her again, and again, each impact driving her wild.
His other hand found her hair, tangling in the dark strands. He pulled gently, forcing her head back, and she arched her spine, her body curving into a perfect arch. He could see her reflection in the window, her face flushed with pleasure, her lips parted in a silent scream.
"Look at yourself," he commanded, his voice dark and commanding. "Look at how beautiful you are when you're riding me."
She obeyed, her eyes fixed on her reflection in the window. She could see his body beneath her, his hands gripping her ass, his cock sliding in and out of her. She could see her own face, flushed and desperate, her eyes dark with desire.
"Oh, fuck," she gasped, her voice a desperate whisper. "I'm so close. I'm so close, Min-ho."
"Then cum," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "Cum for me, Mina. I want to feel you come on my cock."
She did. Her orgasm ripped through her, her body convulsing, her pussy clamping down on his cock like a vice. She screamed, a raw, primal sound that she barely managed to stifle with her hand. Her juices gushed around him, soaking his thighs, and he continued to thrust up into her, driving her through the waves of her pleasure.
But he wasn't done with her yet. He flipped her over, his body covering hers, and he thrust into her again. His hands found her breasts, squeezing them, kneading them, feeling their weight in his palms. He leaned down, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, and she gasped, her body arching against him.
"Your tits are incredible," he murmured against her skin. "So big. So soft. I could suck them all night."
"Please," she begged, her voice a desperate whimper. "Please, Min-ho. Don't stop. I'm so close."
He didn't. He continued to suck and lick her breasts while his hips drove into her, his cock sliding deep inside her. His hand found her clit, circling it with his thumb, and she cried out, her body trembling with the effort of staying quiet.
He could feel her orgasm building again, the way her pussy tightened around him, the way her breath came in short, desperate gasps. And then she came—a violent, convulsing orgasm that ripped through her body, her pussy clamping down on his cock like a vice.
Her orgasm triggered his own. With a final, desperate thrust, he came inside her, his cum shooting into her in thick, hot spurts. He could feel her pussy milking him, her inner walls convulsing around him as she continued to come.
When he finally stopped shaking, he collapsed against her, both of them panting and drenched in sweat. Her body was trembling, her skin slick with sweat, and he could feel her heart pounding against his chest.
"That was incredible," she breathed, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I don't think I've ever come that hard in my life."
He grinned, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Neither have I."
She laughed, a breathless, disbelieving sound. "We're going to get caught."
"Probably," he admitted. "But it'll be worth it."
She smiled, a soft, genuine smile. "Yeah. It will be."
And they lay there in the darkness, their bodies tangled together, the thrill of their secret encounter still coursing through their veins. They knew it was reckless. They knew it was dangerous. But neither of them could bring themselves to stop.
Min-ho's hands continued to roam Mina's body, unable to keep still even in the aftermath of their passion. He traced the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts. She sighed contentedly, her body molding to his, and he felt a surge of possessiveness that surprised him.
"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice a soft whisper. "Every inch of you."
She smiled, her eyes still closed. "You're not so bad yourself."
He laughed, a soft, breathless sound. "I'm serious. I've never met anyone like you."
"Flatterer," she teased, but there was warmth in her voice.
They lay there in comfortable silence for a while, their bodies still tangled together. Min-ho could feel her heartbeat against his chest, slow and steady, and he felt a sense of peace that he hadn't felt in months.
But even as they lay there, he knew it wouldn't last. The world outside would intrude soon enough—the schedules, the responsibilities, the need to keep their secret hidden. But for now, in this moment, they were just two people who had found something unexpected in each other.
Tags: Creampie, blackmail, blowjob, corruption, incest. big cock
The summer Leeseo turned twenty, the annual family vacation took on a new texture—one she could feel before they even packed the car. Her mother’s sister, Aunt Miso, had married Junsang when Leeseo was twelve. Back then, he was just the uncle who laughed too loudly and gave slightly too long hugs. But Leeseo had always been observant.
Now, twenty. Legally an adult in every country that mattered. She had celebrated with friends at a noraebang, wearing a cropped camisole and low-rise jeans that showed the sharp lines of her hipbones. Junsang had shown up uninvited to drop off a “birthday gift”—a silk scarf, too intimate—and his pupils had dilated the moment she opened the door. His eyes changed. No longer the furtive, guilty glances of a predator hiding from himself. Now they were patient. Calculating. Hungry in a way that acknowledged she could see him seeing her.
Uncle Junsang noticed the changes to her body immediately. He'd had the hots for his lovely niece for years... ever since she'd gone through puberty. Since then, he has always been 'accidentally' touching her when walking by or hugging her a little too long and too tightly. He always had a weird, longing expression on his face when he looked at her. He gave her the creeps every time he visited, especially when she caught him trying to sneak a look down her shirt when she bent over or "accidentally" rubbed his crotch against her butt when he thought nobody would notice.
In the past—because of her youthful naivety—she never understood why he did what he did but came to realize just how creepy and perverted he was as she grew older. Still, when he was around, she never passed up an opportunity to tease him, to cruelly make him think he was about to see her bare charms, only to snatch the opportunity away and dance off laughing. She secretly rejected the tingle and fluttery butterflies in the stomach she got when she caught him leering at her or when he "accidentally" touched her.
Junsang was a typical perv. He was a short, overweight man with greasy, gray hair, carelessly combed over his bald head. He was an old man. At 69, a man his age should not stare at any teenage girl, let alone fixate on his own niece. Though Leeseo thought his inappropriate behavior towards her was obvious, somehow her parents and the rest of her family didn't have a clue about Uncle Junsang's perverted tendencies. She never hid the fact that she thought he was absolutely disgusting, though for some reason she seemed to spend a lot of time with him when he was around, which is why her family was oblivious to his inappropriate behavior.
Yeji trembled in Cho's grasp, her body still tingling from the last waves of pleasure as she rhythmically bounced on his big, old cock. The storm outside continued to rage, thunder rumbling in the distance as rain pelted against the windows, sealing them in their own little world of sin. She should have been exhausted and should have come to her senses, but instead, she found herself aching for more.
Cho's thick fingers trailed up her exposed back, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he devoured her with his lecherous gaze. His smirk was insatiable, knowing the fact that she was his now, even if just for the night.
"Mmm... look at you, sexy..." Cho purred, gripping Yeji's soft, toned waist and guiding her movements, and she rose and descended on his impressive length. "You're so fucking tight around me. That little boyfriend of yours never fucked you this good, huh?" His voice was smug, dripping with arrogance.
Yeji panted, her cheeks flushed, trying to reclaim some ounce of dignity. "Cho... I..."
A firm slap cracked against her ass, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure up her spine.
"Keep telling me what I want to hear. You've already admitted how much better I am. Why stop now?" Cho smirked, his gold tooth flashing under the dim lighting. "Now say it. Tell me whose cock you really crave now."
The air in the narrow corridor was stagnant, thick with the scent of old carpet cleaner and the faint, sweet residue of the dozen different perfumes worn by the nine women who lived behind the door at the end of the hall.
Choi Hyuk stood motionless, his back pressed against the cold plaster, his breath held captive in his lungs. He had been walking past the shared dressing room—a converted lounge on the third floor of their private practice facility—when the voices had stopped him. Not the content of the voices, not at first. Just the fact that they were raised sharply, overlapping. Argumentative.
The door was not fully closed. A three-inch gap, maybe less, yawned between the heavy wooden frame and the latch. Light spilled out, golden and warm, cutting a bright slash across the dark carpet at Hyuk's feet. From where he stood, pressed into the shadows, he could see slivers of the room inside: a slice of a floor-length mirror, the edge of a plush sofa, and a discarded pair of heeled boots lying on their sides. And bodies. Movement. The shifting, curving shapes of women.
His first instinct was to leave. To continue his rounds, to pretend he had heard nothing. Choi Hyuk was the senior manager—the one who handled logistics, scheduling, the thousand mundane details that kept the machine running. Kiho was the other manager. The junior. The one the members always seemed to request. The one with the easy smile and the casual touches that lingered a moment too long. Hyuk had known for weeks what was happening. He had seen it. Kiho had made sure of that.
But this was different. This was not Kiho forcing Hyuk to watch through a hidden camera feed or a carelessly left door ajar. This was the women themselves. Unaware. Unfiltered. Arguing like children over a favorite toy.
He should leave. He stayed.
"That's bullshit, Jihyo, and you know it."
Momo's voice was unmistakable—that slightly nasal, Japanese-accented Korean that became higher and faster when she was agitated. She was agitated now. Hyuk shifted his weight, leaning closer to the gap, his eye finding the narrow field of view. He could see Momo clearly: she was standing in front of the mirror, her back to the door, wearing only a black lace bra and a pair of tiny cotton shorts that rode up the generous curve of her ass. Her hair—dark, long, recently dyed a deep chestnut—hung loose down her back, swaying as she gestured emphatically with a hairbrush.
"He doesn't fuck you the most. He can't fuck you the most. You have leader shit to do. Schedules. Meetings. You're not even in the dorm half the time."
Jihyo's reflection caught Hyuk's eye. She was sitting on the edge of the sofa, her body turned slightly away from the door, but the mirror gave him everything. She wore a matching set of lingerie—sage green, silk, the kind of thing that cost more than his monthly rent. Her breasts strained against the delicate cups, heavy and full, spilling slightly at the sides. Her thighs were pressed together, but even in the low light, Hyuk could see the damp spot blooming on the pale green fabric between her legs.
Jihyo laughed. It was not a kind laugh. "You think I don't make time? Momo, babe, I make time. I'm the leader. That means I know how to prioritize." She stretched her arms above her head, a deliberately leisurely motion that made her breasts lift, the silk cups shifting almost revealing. "And Kiho is my top priority."
"That's not what he said last week."
The third voice was quieter. Softer. But it cut through the room like a blade. Tzuyu.
Hyuk's breath caught.
Tzuyu was standing by the window, her tall, impossibly proportioned body silhouetted against the dark glass. She was fully undressed—completely, utterly naked—and she made no move to cover herself. Her skin seemed to glow, pale and smooth, unmarked except for the faint bruise on her inner thigh, high up, almost hidden by the shadow between her legs. Her breasts were perfect—high, round, tipped with pale pink nipples that were visibly hard, even from this distance. Her waist was so narrow it looked like a man could span it with two hands. Her hips flared wide, framing the dark triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs.
She was not looking at Jihyo or Momo. She was looking at herself in the mirror, her head tilted, her expression thoughtful. One hand rested on her hip. The other hung at her side, fingers curled loosely.
"He said I was his favorite," Tzuyu continued, her voice still soft, still calm. "Last week. After the photoshoot. When he bent me over the vanity in the makeup room."
Momo whirled around, the hairbrush flying from her hand. It clattered against the floor, but no one looked at it. "He said that to me. He said, 'Momo, you're the one I think about when I'm not here.' Those exact words. 'You're the one I think about.'"
Jihyo stood up. The silk of her lingerie whispered against her skin. Her eyes were hard, her jaw set. "He said, 'Jihyo, you feel like you were made for me.' He said it while he was inside me. While I was coming around his cock. You don't get more favorite than that."
"He came inside me three times in one night," Momo shot back. Her voice was rising again. She crossed her arms under her breasts, pushing them up, the black lace digging into her soft flesh. "Three times. And he stayed inside me between each one. He didn't even pull out. He said he wanted to keep me full."
Tzuyu turned from the window.
The motion was slow, deliberate, and almost predatory. Her naked body moved with a grace that belied her height, her muscles shifting beneath her skin. She walked toward the center of the room, toward Jihyo and Momo, and Hyuk could see everything—the sway of her hips, the gentle bounce of her breasts, the way her thighs brushed together with each step.
"Quantity isn't quality, Momo," Tzuyu said. She stopped directly in front of the older woman, looking down at her from her superior height. "He can come inside you a hundred times, but if he's thinking about someone else while he's doing it, what does it matter?"
Momo's face flushed. Her lips parted, then closed.
Jihyo smirked. "She has a point."
"He thinks about me," Tzuyu continued. She reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—a simple, feminine gesture that somehow seemed obscene coming from her naked body. "He told me. He said, 'Tzuyu, when I'm fucking the others, I close my eyes and see your face.' He said I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. And he's seen all of you. He's fucked all of you. And still, he said I was the most beautiful."
"That doesn't mean he loves fucking you the most," Jihyo said. Her voice had lost some of its confidence. A crack had appeared.
Tzuyu smiled. It was a small smile, barely there, but it transformed her face from beautiful to devastating. "He doesn't have to love fucking me the most. He just has to love fucking me best. And we both know—" She looked down at her own body, at the impossible curves and the flawless skin. "—that I'm the one he fucks best."
Momo made a sound—half laugh and half snarl. "You're the youngest. You're the most inexperienced. You probably just lie there and take it while he does all the work."
"Is that what you tell yourself at night, Momo? When you're touching yourself, are you thinking about him inside Sana? Or Nayeon? Or Mina? Do you pretend that I'm the one who doesn't know what she's doing?" Tzuyu stepped closer. Her breasts were inches from Momo's face. "Because I know what he likes. I know exactly where he likes to be touched. I know how fast he likes to be ridden. I know the sounds he makes when he's close—the little catch in his breath, the way his hips stutter right before he comes. Do you know those things?"
Yeji trembled in Cho's grasp, her body still tingling from the last waves of pleasure as she rhythmically bounced on his big, old cock. The storm outside continued to rage, thunder rumbling in the distance as rain pelted against the windows, sealing them in their own little world of sin. She should have been exhausted and should have come to her senses, but instead, she found herself aching for more.
Cho's thick fingers trailed up her exposed back, leaving goosebumps in their wake as he devoured her with his lecherous gaze. His smirk was insatiable, knowing the fact that she was his now, even if just for the night.
"Mmm... look at you, sexy..." Cho purred, gripping Yeji's soft, toned waist and guiding her movements, and she rose and descended on his impressive length. "You're so fucking tight around me. That little boyfriend of yours never fucked you this good, huh?" His voice was smug, dripping with arrogance.
Yeji panted, her cheeks flushed, trying to reclaim some ounce of dignity. "Cho... I..."
A firm slap cracked against her ass, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure up her spine.
"Keep telling me what I want to hear. You've already admitted how much better I am. Why stop now?" Cho smirked, his gold tooth flashing under the dim lighting. "Now say it. Tell me whose cock you really crave now."
The air in the narrow corridor was stagnant, thick with the scent of old carpet cleaner and the faint, sweet residue of the dozen different perfumes worn by the nine women who lived behind the door at the end of the hall.
Choi Hyuk stood motionless, his back pressed against the cold plaster, his breath held captive in his lungs. He had been walking past the shared dressing room—a converted lounge on the third floor of their private practice facility—when the voices had stopped him. Not the content of the voices, not at first. Just the fact that they were raised sharply, overlapping. Argumentative.
The door was not fully closed. A three-inch gap, maybe less, yawned between the heavy wooden frame and the latch. Light spilled out, golden and warm, cutting a bright slash across the dark carpet at Hyuk's feet. From where he stood, pressed into the shadows, he could see slivers of the room inside: a slice of a floor-length mirror, the edge of a plush sofa, and a discarded pair of heeled boots lying on their sides. And bodies. Movement. The shifting, curving shapes of women.
His first instinct was to leave. To continue his rounds, to pretend he had heard nothing. Choi Hyuk was the senior manager—the one who handled logistics, scheduling, the thousand mundane details that kept the machine running. Kiho was the other manager. The junior. The one the members always seemed to request. The one with the easy smile and the casual touches that lingered a moment too long. Hyuk had known for weeks what was happening. He had seen it. Kiho had made sure of that.
But this was different. This was not Kiho forcing Hyuk to watch through a hidden camera feed or a carelessly left door ajar. This was the women themselves. Unaware. Unfiltered. Arguing like children over a favorite toy.
He should leave. He stayed.
"That's bullshit, Jihyo, and you know it."
Momo's voice was unmistakable—that slightly nasal, Japanese-accented Korean that became higher and faster when she was agitated. She was agitated now. Hyuk shifted his weight, leaning closer to the gap, his eye finding the narrow field of view. He could see Momo clearly: she was standing in front of the mirror, her back to the door, wearing only a black lace bra and a pair of tiny cotton shorts that rode up the generous curve of her ass. Her hair—dark, long, recently dyed a deep chestnut—hung loose down her back, swaying as she gestured emphatically with a hairbrush.
"He doesn't fuck you the most. He can't fuck you the most. You have leader shit to do. Schedules. Meetings. You're not even in the dorm half the time."
Jihyo's reflection caught Hyuk's eye. She was sitting on the edge of the sofa, her body turned slightly away from the door, but the mirror gave him everything. She wore a matching set of lingerie—sage green, silk, the kind of thing that cost more than his monthly rent. Her breasts strained against the delicate cups, heavy and full, spilling slightly at the sides. Her thighs were pressed together, but even in the low light, Hyuk could see the damp spot blooming on the pale green fabric between her legs.
Jihyo laughed. It was not a kind laugh. "You think I don't make time? Momo, babe, I make time. I'm the leader. That means I know how to prioritize." She stretched her arms above her head, a deliberately leisurely motion that made her breasts lift, the silk cups shifting almost revealing. "And Kiho is my top priority."
"That's not what he said last week."
The third voice was quieter. Softer. But it cut through the room like a blade. Tzuyu.
Hyuk's breath caught.
Tzuyu was standing by the window, her tall, impossibly proportioned body silhouetted against the dark glass. She was fully undressed—completely, utterly naked—and she made no move to cover herself. Her skin seemed to glow, pale and smooth, unmarked except for the faint bruise on her inner thigh, high up, almost hidden by the shadow between her legs. Her breasts were perfect—high, round, tipped with pale pink nipples that were visibly hard, even from this distance. Her waist was so narrow it looked like a man could span it with two hands. Her hips flared wide, framing the dark triangle of hair at the apex of her thighs.
She was not looking at Jihyo or Momo. She was looking at herself in the mirror, her head tilted, her expression thoughtful. One hand rested on her hip. The other hung at her side, fingers curled loosely.
"He said I was his favorite," Tzuyu continued, her voice still soft, still calm. "Last week. After the photoshoot. When he bent me over the vanity in the makeup room."
Momo whirled around, the hairbrush flying from her hand. It clattered against the floor, but no one looked at it. "He said that to me. He said, 'Momo, you're the one I think about when I'm not here.' Those exact words. 'You're the one I think about.'"
Jihyo stood up. The silk of her lingerie whispered against her skin. Her eyes were hard, her jaw set. "He said, 'Jihyo, you feel like you were made for me.' He said it while he was inside me. While I was coming around his cock. You don't get more favorite than that."
"He came inside me three times in one night," Momo shot back. Her voice was rising again. She crossed her arms under her breasts, pushing them up, the black lace digging into her soft flesh. "Three times. And he stayed inside me between each one. He didn't even pull out. He said he wanted to keep me full."
Tzuyu turned from the window.
The motion was slow, deliberate, and almost predatory. Her naked body moved with a grace that belied her height, her muscles shifting beneath her skin. She walked toward the center of the room, toward Jihyo and Momo, and Hyuk could see everything—the sway of her hips, the gentle bounce of her breasts, the way her thighs brushed together with each step.
"Quantity isn't quality, Momo," Tzuyu said. She stopped directly in front of the older woman, looking down at her from her superior height. "He can come inside you a hundred times, but if he's thinking about someone else while he's doing it, what does it matter?"
Momo's face flushed. Her lips parted, then closed.
Jihyo smirked. "She has a point."
"He thinks about me," Tzuyu continued. She reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—a simple, feminine gesture that somehow seemed obscene coming from her naked body. "He told me. He said, 'Tzuyu, when I'm fucking the others, I close my eyes and see your face.' He said I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. And he's seen all of you. He's fucked all of you. And still, he said I was the most beautiful."
"That doesn't mean he loves fucking you the most," Jihyo said. Her voice had lost some of its confidence. A crack had appeared.
Tzuyu smiled. It was a small smile, barely there, but it transformed her face from beautiful to devastating. "He doesn't have to love fucking me the most. He just has to love fucking me best. And we both know—" She looked down at her own body, at the impossible curves and the flawless skin. "—that I'm the one he fucks best."
Momo made a sound—half laugh and half snarl. "You're the youngest. You're the most inexperienced. You probably just lie there and take it while he does all the work."
"Is that what you tell yourself at night, Momo? When you're touching yourself, are you thinking about him inside Sana? Or Nayeon? Or Mina? Do you pretend that I'm the one who doesn't know what she's doing?" Tzuyu stepped closer. Her breasts were inches from Momo's face. "Because I know what he likes. I know exactly where he likes to be touched. I know how fast he likes to be ridden. I know the sounds he makes when he's close—the little catch in his breath, the way his hips stutter right before he comes. Do you know those things?"
Minwoo never thought in a hundred years that his older brother Chaehyun would land someone like Park Jihyo.
Not just any girl. Not some cute office worker or college sweetheart.
Park fucking Jihyo. Twice’s leader. The woman whose voice had been blasting through his earbuds during late-night gym sessions for years. The same Jihyo whose stage presence could make stadiums full of grown men scream like teenagers. Jihyo, whose thighs—God, those thighs—had their own fan accounts, whose hourglass figure had trended worldwide more times than he could count, and whose smile was weaponized sex appeal wrapped in sunshine.
And now she was standing in his family’s living room, barefoot on the hardwood floor his mom had just polished that morning, wearing nothing but a thin white T-shirt and tiny black cotton shorts that looked painted on.
Minwoo’s brain flatlined.
He’d walked in from the kitchen carrying a tray of fruit his mom had forced him to cut, expecting the usual weekend family chaos—his dad yelling at the TV, his little sister scrolling TikTok, and Chaehyun probably bragging about some new car part he’d installed.
Instead, he walked straight into a fever dream.
Jihyo turned when she heard his footsteps.
Her long dark hair was loose, slightly messy from whatever playful wrestling she and Chaehyun had been doing on the couch five minutes earlier. The white T-shirt was thin—way too thin—and stretched tight across her full, heavy breasts. No bra. He could see the faint outline of her nipples pressing against the cotton every time she breathed. The shirt rode up just enough to show a sliver of toned midriff, the kind of flat, defined stomach that came from years of grueling choreography and core workouts.
And those shorts.
Jesus Christ, those shorts.
They were barely more than boy shorts, hugging the generous curve of her hips, digging slightly into the soft flesh of her thick, sculpted thighs. The material was so snug it outlined every dip and swell—inner thighs that looked plush enough to bruise under a hard grip and outer thighs carved from endless squats and dance practice. When she shifted her weight, the fabric pulled even tighter, creating a perfect camel toe that made Minwoo’s mouth go dry in under two seconds.
He froze mid-step.
The tray wobbled. A grape rolled off and bounced across the floor.
Jihyo smiled—bright, sweet, and completely innocent—and bent slightly to pick it up.
Her ass flexed under the shorts. Round. Full. The kind of ass that made leggings manufacturers rich and grown men stupid. The shorts rode up higher as she bent, exposing more of those creamy thighs and the faint tan lines from whatever bikini bottoms she wore on secret beach trips with Chaehyun.
Minwoo’s cock jerked hard in his sweatpants.
Instant. Painful. No warning.
He could feel it thickening, lengthening, pressing insistently against the soft cotton, the head already leaking a wet spot; he prayed no one would notice. His balls tightened as someone had just yanked them. Heat flooded his groin so fast he almost groaned out loud.
She straightened, held a grape between delicate fingers, and popped it into her mouth.
Her lips closed around it. Cheeks hollowed for a split second.
Minwoo’s vision tunneled.
He could picture it too clearly—those same full lips wrapped around something much thicker. Sliding down. Tongue swirling. Throat working. The same innocent smile she gave fans on Bubble Live is now smeared with spit and precum while she looks up at him with those big doe eyes.
Chaehyun laughed from the couch, completely oblivious.
“Yo, Minwoo, you good? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Jihyo giggled—softly, melodically—and walked over to him, hips swaying naturally.
“Here, let me help with the tray,” she said, voice warm and friendly, like she wasn’t currently the center of every filthy fantasy he’d ever had.
She reached for the tray.
Her breasts brushed his forearm—soft, warm, heavy—even through the shirt. No bra meant he felt everything. The faint drag of her nipple across his skin sent electricity straight to his already aching cock.
He nearly dropped the tray again.
“Thanks,” he managed, his voice hoarse.
She tilted her head, smiling up at him.
Up close, she smelled like vanilla body cream and something faintly floral—probably whatever expensive perfume Twice’s sponsors sent her. Her skin was flawless, poreless, and glowing under the living room lights. A tiny beauty mark sat just below her left eye. Her lashes were long and dark, even without makeup.
And those thighs.
God, standing this close, he could see the faint muscle definition when she shifted. The way the shorts dug in created the softest, sexiest little roll of flesh at the top of her thighs. He wanted to grab them. Spread them. Bury his face between them until she was shaking and screaming his name instead of his brother’s.
Chaehyun called from the couch, “Babe, come sit. Minwoo’s just being dramatic.”
Jihyo laughed again—that bright, addictive sound—and turned, giving Minwoo a perfect view of her ass as she walked away.
Each step made her cheeks bounce slightly under the tight fabric. The shorts wedged higher with every movement, outlining the perfect heart shape of her backside. When she sat down next to Chaehyun, she crossed one leg over the other.
The motion made her thigh flex: muscle and soft flesh in perfect harmony.
Minwoo stood there like an idiot, tray still in his hands, cock so hard it hurt to breathe.
Jihyo had moved in quietly after dating Chaehyun for a year—she said it was easier with her schedule, easier to avoid paparazzi, and easier to just be normal for once. She cooked breakfast in tiny silk camisoles. Did yoga in the living room, wearing nothing but leggings and a sports bra that left very little to the imagination. Took showers so long the bathroom mirror stayed fogged for twenty minutes afterward, and Minwoo had caught himself standing outside the door once, listening to the water hit her body, imagining every droplet sliding down those curves.
Minwoo had barely unpacked his duffel bag in the dorms before the semester break hit like a gift from the universe. Four whole weeks. No lectures, no group projects, no pretending he gave a shit about macroeconomics. Just one thing on his mind the entire train ride home: Jihyo.
He hadn’t lived under the same roof as her for almost two years now.
College had forced him out—dorm life, a part-time job at a café, and the usual broke-student grind. He’d missed the chaos of family dinners, missed the way his mom fussed over everyone, and missed the low-key thrill of hearing Jihyo’s laughter echo through the house at odd hours.
But mostly, he’d missed her.
Not in any innocent, brotherly way.
He’d missed the way she padded around the kitchen in oversized hoodies that still managed to hug her curves. Missed catching glimpses of her stretching in the living room after vocal practice, sports bra clinging to sweat-damp skin, those legendary thighs flexing with every deep lunge. Missed the nights when Chaehyun was out late, and she’d sit on the couch in tiny sleep shorts, legs tucked under her, scrolling her phone while humming Twice songs under her breath—completely unaware (or maybe very aware) that Minwoo was stealing glances from the hallway, cock half-hard just from the sight of her bare thighs pressed together.
Back then, she’d been new to the house. Polite. Sweet. Always asking if he wanted snacks, always thanking him when he carried her heavy stage bags up the stairs after late-night schedules. She’d treated him like a little brother.
And he’d jerked off in his room afterward, thinking about bending her over the kitchen island while she called him “oppa” in that breathy voice she used on variety shows.
Now he was twenty-two. Taller. Broader from inconsistent gym sessions fueled mostly by spite and sexual frustration. And he was finally home.
The front door clicked open at 7:14 p.m.
The smell of kimchi jjigae hit him first—his mom’s signature, simmering on the stove. Laughter floated from the living room. His dad’s booming voice is arguing with a sports commentator on TV—Chaehyun’s lower chuckle.
And then her voice—bright, melodic, unmistakable.
“Minwoo-ya! Is that you?”
He dropped his bag in the entryway without thinking.
Jihyo appeared around the corner, barefoot, wearing loose gray sweatpants that still managed to cling to her hips and a cropped black tank top that ended just above her navel. Her midriff was on full display—toned, smooth, with a faint line of definition running down the center from endless core work. Her hair was up in a messy bun, a few strands falling around her face. No makeup. Just naturally flushed cheeks and those full, pouty lips curved into a genuine smile.
She looked softer than on stage. More real. More fuckable.
Minwoo’s throat went dry.
“Hey, noona,” he managed, voice rougher than he intended.
She bounced forward—actually bounced, tits jiggling under the thin tank—and threw her arms around him in a quick hug.
Her breasts pressed firmly against his chest. Soft. Warm. No bra again. He could feel the faint outline of her nipples through the fabric, brushing his shirt as she squeezed him.
“Welcome home!” she chirped, pulling back but keeping her hands on his upper arms, squeezing like she was checking if he’d grown. “You got taller again? Or buffer? Look at these shoulders.”
Her fingers dug in playfully.
Minwoo prayed she couldn’t feel how fast his heart was hammering—or worse, how his cock was already stirring in his jeans at the simple contact.
“Yeah… gym,” he lied. The gym had seen him maybe six times this semester. Most of his “gains” came from carrying heavy boxes at the café and pure, pent-up horniness.
Chaehyun wandered in from the living room, beer in hand, grinning.
“Little bro’s back. Don’t let Jihyo feed you too much. She’s been stress-baking again.”
Jihyo swatted Chaehyun’s arm. “Yah, I only baked because your mom said she missed my red bean buns.”
She turned back to Minwoo, eyes sparkling. “I made extra. For you.”
The way she said “for you” shouldn’t have sounded like an invitation.
But it did.
His cock twitched.
He forced a smile. “Thanks, noona. Smells amazing.”
Dinner was torture.
Jihyo sat directly across from him.
Minwoo sat there at the dinner table, trying to act normal, but his eyes kept betraying him. Every few seconds, they'd dart across to Jihyo, zeroing in on those perfect, full breasts straining against her cropped black tank top. No bra meant every little movement made them jiggle—soft, hypnotic bounces that sent heat pooling straight to his groin. When she reached for the kimchi jar, her arm lifted just enough to make her tits shift and wobble, nipples poking faintly through the thin fabric like they were teasing him on purpose. And when she laughed—head thrown back slightly, that bright, melodic sound filling the room—her whole chest shook with it, the jiggle more pronounced, making the tank top ride up another inch to expose more of her toned midriff. He could see the faint sheen of sweat on her skin from the warm kitchen, making her glow under the overhead light. His cock throbbed in his jeans, already half-hard from the hug earlier, and he shifted uncomfortably, hoping no one noticed how he was staring like a starving man.
The whole family was seated now, the table loaded with steaming bowls of kimchi jjigae, rice, banchan, and grilled meat. Chaehyun plopped down to Jihyo's left, his arm casually draping over the back of her chair as he owned her—which he did, technically. Their dad, Hongshik, settled in to her right, his broad frame making the chair creak as he grinned and started dishing out portions. Mom sat next to Minwoo, across from Dad, fussing over the napkins and making sure everyone had enough. The conversation flowed easily—Dad bragging about his latest fishing trip, Mom asking about Minwoo's college classes, and Chaehyun cracking jokes about Twice's latest comeback and how Jihyo had been practicing dance moves in the living room at 2 a.m. Jihyo laughed along, her voice light and flirty, leaning into Chaehyun now and then so her shoulder brushed his. But Minwoo's mind was elsewhere, replaying the way her breasts had pressed against him during that hug, imagining how they'd feel in his hands—soft, heavy, nipples hardening under his thumbs.
They talked and laughed about everything—old family stories, Jihyo's funny fan encounters, and even teasing Minwoo about whether he'd found a girlfriend yet. "With a sister-in-law like Jihyo, you've got big shoes to fill," Chaehyun said with a wink, making everyone chuckle. Jihyo blushed playfully, her tits jiggling again with the motion, and Minwoo forced a laugh while his cock twitched harder. He was so distracted that he barely tasted the food, his eyes flicking down to her cleavage every time she leaned forward.
Then it happened—his chopsticks slipped from his fingers mid-bite, clattering to the floor under the table. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, cheeks heating as he bent down to grab them. The tablecloth draped just enough to hide him from above, but from this angle, he had a perfect, shadowy view under the table. And there they were—Jihyo's legs, crossed casually in those loose gray sweatpants. But loose didn't mean much on her; the fabric still clung to her thick, sculpted thighs, outlining the plush curves where her legs met her hips. The pants were soft cotton, riding up slightly from sitting, exposing a few inches of bare calf—smooth, toned skin that begged to be touched. He froze for a second, admiring the view like a pervert. Those thighs—famous for a reason—looked even sexier up close, the material dipping into the soft valley between them, hinting at the warmth hidden higher up. He could imagine spreading them apart, burying his face between them, and tasting her through the fabric before yanking it aside.
As he reached for the chopsticks, still staring shamelessly, a hand suddenly appeared on her left thigh—from the side, sliding in slowly and deliberately. Big, rough fingers splayed out over the sweatpants, caressing the curve of her thigh with a possessiveness that made Minwoo's stomach twist. The hand rubbed up and down, thumb digging in just enough to make the fabric bunch, tracing the inner seam like it was mapping her out. At first, Jihyo's legs tensed—her thighs clamping together slightly, muscles flexing under the touch. Minwoo could see it all: her bare feet curling against the floor, toes flexing in surprise. She froze, her body going rigid for a heartbeat, and he imagined her face above the table—maybe a quick hitch in her breath, a subtle shift in her posture while the family kept talking.
But then, like she was used to it, her thighs relaxed. Completely. She uncrossed her legs slowly, spreading them wider under the table—inviting, almost begging for more. The hand took the cue immediately, fingers sliding higher, rubbing firmer now, kneading the soft flesh of her inner thigh through the pants. Minwoo gritted his teeth, jealousy burning hot in his chest. Lucky bastard, he thought, picturing Chaehyun's smug grin above the table. Getting to touch those thighs whenever he wants. Feeling her spread for him like a good little slut while we're all sitting here eating dinner.
But something felt off. He blinked, staring harder in the dim light under the table. The hand—it was coming from the right side. Jihyo's right thigh. And Chaehyun was on her left. Minwoo double-checked, heart pounding now—yeah, Chaehyun's legs were angled left, away from her. That hand... those thick fingers, the faint age spots on the knuckles, the wedding ring glinting dully... that wasn't his brother's hand.
It was his dad's.
Hongshik's hand. Their father's hand. Sliding possessively over Jihyo's thigh as if it belonged there.
Minwoo's world tilted. Shock hit him like a punch to the gut, freezing him in place under the table. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. No fucking way. His mind reeled, unwilling to process it, denial surging up hot and bitter. This couldn't be happening. Not his dad—the same guy who lectured them about respect and family values, who went to church every Sunday, who still called Jihyo "daughter-in-law" with that proud smile. Touching her like that? Under the table, right in front of everyone? While Mom sat across, clueless, passing the rice?
But it was happening. Right in front of his eyes. The hand didn't stop—emboldened now, fingers creeping higher, rubbing slow circles on her inner thigh, inches from her crotch. Minwoo could see the fabric tent slightly as the hand pressed in, kneading deeper, and Jihyo's thighs trembled—subtle quivers that made her legs shake just a little. She was enjoying it. Fuck, she's actually enjoying it. Her thighs spread even wider, one knee brushing against Hongshik's leg under the table, giving him full access. The hand took advantage, sliding up to the crease where her thigh met her hip, thumb brushing dangerously close to her pussy through the sweatpants. Minwoo's cock—traitor that it was—throbbed harder at the sight, a twisted mix of rage and arousal flooding him. He wanted to scream, to yank the tablecloth up and expose it all, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. The kinkiness of it—the forbidden, dirty secret unfolding while the family laughed above—made his balls ache.
Did she know? Did Jihyo mistake his father's hand for Chaehyun's? Why else would she allow the old man to grope her like that, spreading her thighs like a needy whore? She had to think it was her boyfriend—some playful under-the-table teasing. But even as Minwoo thought it, doubt crept in. The way she relaxed so quickly, the way her thighs parted without hesitation... it felt too familiar. Too practiced. Like this wasn't the first time. His stomach churned with unwillingness, a sour knot of betrayal twisting inside him. He couldn't believe this—his idol sister-in-law, the perfect Park Jihyo, letting his dad feel her up while Chaehyun sat right there, oblivious. While he watched, hard as a rock, hating every second but unable to stop staring as the hand rubbed higher, making her tremble again.
Minwoo stayed bent under the table longer than he needed to, fingers numb around the fallen chopsticks, heart slamming so hard he could feel it in his throat. The scene unfolding inches from his face was impossible and obscene, and yet it was happening in real time—his own father’s thick, weathered hand buried deep between Jihyo’s spread thighs, hidden only by the loose gray sweatpants and the tablecloth’s shadow.
He forced himself to straighten slowly, movements mechanical, face blank as he sat back up and placed the chopsticks on his napkin like nothing had happened. Above the table, everything looked perfectly normal.
Jihyo was smiling sweetly at something Chaehyun had just said, nodding along, her voice light and melodic as she replied. “Really? That’s hilarious, oppa.” Her tone was the same bright idol voice she used in lives and interviews—innocent, bubbly, and untouchable.
But Minwoo could see the cracks.
Her shoulders were subtly hunched forward, like she was trying to keep her upper body composed while her lower half was being dismantled. Every few seconds, a tiny shiver ran through her—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. Her full lips parted on a silent breath, then pressed together again. She bit the lower one—hard—teeth sinking into the plump flesh until it turned white and then released with a soft, wet pop. The gesture was small, almost cute, but Minwoo knew exactly what it meant: she was fighting not to moan.
Chaehyun’s arm was still casually slung around the back of her chair, fingers playing idly with the ends of her hair while he rambled on about some funny story from work. Completely oblivious. His other hand rested on the table, gesturing as he talked. Nowhere near her lap.
Across from Minwoo, Hongshik looked bored—chin propped on one hand, eyes half-lidded as he stared at his bowl like the jjigae had personally offended him. To everyone else, he was just an uninterested old man waiting for dessert.
But Minwoo knew better now.
He watched his father’s right arm disappear under the table again, elbow barely moving; the motion was so practiced and subtle it could have been him reaching for his napkin. Except that Minwoo could see the faint flex of forearm muscles under the rolled-up sleeve and the slow, deliberate rhythm of his wrist. Hongshik’s fingers were working inside those sweatpants—rubbing, circling, pressing—exactly where Jihyo’s body was betraying her the most.
Jihyo’s chopsticks trembled in her grip. She clutched them so tightly the wood creaked. A soft, involuntary gasp slipped past her lips—barely audible, disguised as a surprised laugh at Chaehyun’s joke—but Minwoo heard the edge of pleasure in it. Her eyelids fluttered. She bit her lip again, harder this time, trying to trap the next sound before it escaped.
Their eyes met for a split second.
Hongshik glanced sideways at her—casual, almost lazy—and Jihyo looked back. The look they exchanged was electric, loaded, and filthy. No words. Just raw understanding. Her pupils were blown wide, and her cheeks flushed a deep pink that had nothing to do with the warm kitchen. She bit her lip once more—deliberately this time, seductively—and her thighs shifted wider under the table. Inviting. Begging.
Minwoo’s stomach twisted with a sick cocktail of shock, jealousy, and unwanted arousal. His cock—already traitorously hard from watching her tits jiggle earlier—was throbbing painfully now, trapped against his zipper. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t look away.
Hongshik’s hand moved again—higher, deeper. Minwoo couldn’t see exactly what his fingers were doing anymore, but he could see the effect. Jihyo’s body jerked once—subtle, hidden by the table—then again. Her breath hitched audibly this time. A tiny, needy whimper escaped before she could swallow it, disguised as a cough. She pressed her thighs together around his father’s wrist, trapping his hand there, grinding subtly against it.
Then Hongshik did something—curled his fingers, pressed harder, rubbed faster—and Jihyo broke.
She leaned back in her chair suddenly, spine arching, head falling back against the headrest. Eyes squeezed shut. Mouth falling open in a silent, ecstatic O. Her chest heaved—those perfect, heavy breasts rising and falling rapidly under the cropped tank, nipples visibly stiff and poking through the fabric like bullets. A full-body shudder rolled through her—shoulders, arms, and thighs—her chopsticks clattering softly against the edge of her bowl. Another soft, broken gasp slipped out, this one impossible to hide.
Chaehyun turned to her immediately, concerned. “You okay, babe?”
Jihyo forced her eyes open, lashes fluttering. She managed a shaky smile, her voice breathy and wrecked. “Y-yeah… just… the stew is really spicy today.” She fanned her face weakly with one hand. “Whew.”
Mom laughed. “I told you I added extra gochujang! You always say you like it hot.”
Chaehyun chuckled and rubbed her back comfortingly—completely unaware that his girlfriend was still trembling from his father’s fingers buried inside her pants.
Hongshik, meanwhile, slowly withdrew his hand—calm, unhurried—wiping his fingers discreetly on a napkin as he’d just finished eating. He picked up his spoon again and took a casual bite of rice, expression blank.
But Minwoo had seen everything.
The way Jihyo’s thighs had trembled and clenched around his dad’s wrist.
The way her body had arched like she was coming undone.
The way she hadn’t pulled away—hadn’t even tried to stop him.
The way she’d looked at Hongshik with pure, pleading lust right before she threw her head back in pleasure.
This wasn’t a mistake.
She hadn’t confused his father’s hand for Chaehyun’s.
She knew exactly whose fingers had been stroking her clit, fingering her pussy under the dinner table while her boyfriend, his mom, and his little brother sat inches away.
And from the practiced ease of it all—the subtle signals, the silent eye contact, the way her body responded like it had been trained—this wasn’t the first time.
Questions exploded in Minwoo’s mind, each one dirtier and more twisted than the last.
How long had this been going on?
How many times had his dad fingered Jihyo under this very table while the family ate?
Did Chaehyun really not know? Or was he just that blind?
Did Jihyo sneak into Dad’s room at night when Chaehyun was asleep?
Did she ride his father’s cock in the guest bathroom while everyone was downstairs?
Did she moan “appa” instead of “oppa” when she came?
Minwoo’s hands shook under the table. His cock was so hard it hurt—leaking steadily into his boxers, a shameful wet spot spreading. He hated how turned on he was. Hated that the sight of his perfect, untouchable sister-in-law getting secretly finger-fucked by his own father was making him throb like this.
But he couldn’t stop watching.
Jihyo took a shaky sip of water, lips trembling around the rim of the glass.
Hongshik calmly asked Mom to pass the kimchi.
Chaehyun kept talking and laughing, none the wiser.
And Minwoo sat there—silent, stunned, painfully aroused—knowing the perfect idol image the world worshipped was nothing but a carefully constructed lie.
Underneath the table, in his own house, Park Jihyo was someone else’s dirty little secret.
And now Minwoo was the only one who knew.
*****************
Dinner ended in the usual blur of clattering dishes and overlapping goodnights. Mom started clearing plates with her cheerful efficiency, Chaehyun stretched and yawned dramatically while complaining about how full he was, and Jihyo—sweet, perfect Jihyo—suddenly stood up a little too quickly.
“I’ll… um, go change into something more comfortable,” she said, her voice still light but edged with something breathy that only Minwoo seemed to catch. She flashed her trademark idol smile—bright, practiced, flawless—then turned and hurried toward the stairs without waiting for anyone to respond.
Minwoo watched her go.
The gray sweatpants clung to her thick thighs with every hurried step; the soft cotton darkened noticeably at the crotch. A wet, unmistakable stain bloomed right between her legs—darker gray turning almost black where her arousal had soaked through. The fabric stuck to her skin there, outlining the plump shape of her pussy lips in obscene detail as she climbed. Each step made her ass cheeks flex and jiggle under the material, but Minwoo’s eyes were locked lower—on that spreading damp patch that proved exactly how much she’d enjoyed what happened under the table.
His goddess. Park Jihyo. Twice’s leader. The woman was worshipped by millions of fans for her strength, her voice, and her untouchable beauty. Dripping wet from his own father’s fingers.
Minwoo’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
He could still picture it: her thighs parting willingly, hips subtly rocking to meet Hongshik’s thick, calloused digits as they slid inside her soaked folds. The way her body had shuddered and arched when he’d curled them just right, hitting that spot that made her bite her lip and throw her head back in silent ecstasy. She hadn’t flinched away. Hadn’t whispered “stop.” She’d spread wider. Invited him deeper. Let the old man finger-fuck her right there while the family laughed and ate like nothing was happening.
It should have been him.
Not his grumpy, balding, fifty-something father with the perpetual scowl and the beer belly hidden under loose shirts. Not the man who still called her “daughter-in-law” in that overly formal tone during family photos. Minwoo stared across the table at Hongshik, who was now calmly sipping the last of his tea like he hadn’t just had his hand buried knuckle-deep in idol pussy five minutes ago.
How the hell had he done it?
How had this ordinary, unimpressive old man seduced someone like Jihyo? She could have anyone—actors, idols, CEOs, or fans who threw money at her feet. Yet she’d let Hongshik grope her under the dinner table and let him make her come (or at least edge her to the brink) while her boyfriend sat inches away. The memory of her trembling thighs, the way she’d clenched around his wrist, the soft, broken gasp she’d failed to hide—it replayed in Minwoo’s head on loop. She’d been into it. Desperate for it. Her body language screamed consent, craving, and familiarity.
It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t a one-time mistake.
This was routine.
The thought made Minwoo’s stomach churn with jealousy so sharp it hurt, but his cock—still traitorously hard—throbbed harder at the same time. He hated how turned on he was. Hated picturing Jihyo on her knees in front of his dad instead of him. Hated imagining her moaning “appa” in that breathy idol voice while Hongshik’s thick fingers stretched her open.
A few minutes later, Hongshik pushed back from the table with a low grunt.
“Long day,” he muttered, his voice gruff and disinterested as always. “Gonna head up and rest.”
Mom nodded absently. “Don’t forget to take your blood pressure pill, yeobo.”
Chaehyun waved without looking up from his phone. “Night, Dad.”
Hongshik didn’t reply. He just stood, stretched once—joints popping—and headed for the stairs.
Minwoo watched him go.
Every heavy step up the wooden staircase felt like a countdown. He knew—knew with sick certainty—where his father was really going.
Not to his own bedroom.
To Jihyo.
She is up there right now. Probably already peeling off those soaked sweatpants, the wet cotton clinging to her swollen pussy lips as she tugged them down her thick thighs. Maybe she was standing in front of the full-length mirror in Chaehyun’s room, fingers trailing over the slick mess his dad had left between her legs. Maybe she was biting her lip again, remembering how good those rough fingers had felt, how they’d rubbed her clit in slow, firm circles until she almost came right there at the family table.
And now the old man was climbing the stairs to finish what he started.
Minwoo’s hands curled into fists under the table.
He pictured it too clearly: Hongshik slipped into the bedroom while Chaehyun was still downstairs scrolling Twitter. Jihyo turned toward him with that same needy look she’d given him under the table—eyes dark, lips parted, thighs already trembling. Maybe she’d drop to her knees without a word, tugging down his dad’s pants to worship the cock that had no right being anywhere near her perfect mouth. Maybe she’d bend over the bed, ass up, spreading herself open and whispering, “Please, Appa… deeper this time.”
The images burned into Minwoo’s brain.
His cock leaked steadily into his boxers, the wet spot growing cold against his skin.
He should feel disgust. Rage. Betrayal on behalf of his brother.
Instead, he felt… hungry.
He wanted to follow them. Wanted to crack the door open just enough to watch. Wanted to see exactly how far Jihyo would let the old man go—how many filthy things she’d do behind Chaehyun’s back while the house slept.
He stayed seated, staring at the empty staircase, listening to the faint creak of floorboards overhead.
Somewhere up there, his perfect sister-in-law was waiting.
And his father was about to claim what should have been his.
*****
Minwoo’s heart hammered so loud he was sure someone downstairs would hear it. He moved like a shadow up the stairs, bare feet silent on the worn wooden steps he’d known since childhood. Every creak felt like a gunshot, but the TV noise from the living room—his mom’s drama serial and Chaehyun’s occasional laugh—covered him.
The hallway at the top was dim, lit only by the soft glow spilling from under the doors. Chaehyun’s room—their room now—was at the far end. The door wasn’t closed all the way. A thin vertical line of warm yellow light sliced through the darkness, and through that crack, Minwoo could already see movement.
He froze at the top of the stairs, breathing shallow.
Hongshik was there.
His father stood just outside the doorframe, his broad back filling most of the opening. He glanced left, then right—a quick, practiced scan of the empty hallway—before pushing the door open another few inches and stepping inside without a sound.
Minwoo didn’t think. He just moved.
Feet flying over the carpet, he closed the distance in seconds, heart in his throat, cock already straining painfully against his jeans again. He reached the doorway just as Hongshik disappeared inside. Minwoo pressed himself flat against the wall beside the frame, then leaned in—slowly, carefully—until one eye could see through the narrow gap.
The sight hit him like a fist to the gut.
Jihyo stood in the middle of the room, back to the door, facing the full-length mirror propped against the wall. The overhead light was off; only the soft bedside lamp glowed, painting her skin in warm gold. She’d already peeled off the cropped black tank top. It lay crumpled on the floor beside her feet. Her bare back was flawless—smooth, toned from years of choreography, with faint tan lines from a bikini top crossing her shoulders like secret invitations.
Her hands were at her hips now, thumbs hooked into the waistband of the gray sweatpants.
She dragged them down slowly—agonizingly slowly—like she knew someone was watching.
The soaked crotch peeled away from her skin with a faint, wet sound. The dark gray fabric had clung obscenely to her pussy lips, outlining every swollen fold. As the pants slid past the fullest part of her ass, the material finally released with a soft snap against her thighs.
Minwoo’s breath caught.
Her ass was perfect—round, firm, impossibly full. The kind of ass that made shorts ride up and leggings look painted on. Two deep dimples sat at the base of her spine, right above the swell. A tiny red thong—barely more than a string—disappeared between her cheeks, the front triangle completely drenched. The thin cotton was dark and clinging, molded to her puffy outer lips like a second skin. A glistening trail of arousal had already trickled down the inside of one thick thigh, shining wet under the lamplight.
She bent forward slightly to step out of the pants, her ass pushing out toward the door—toward them. The thong string pulled taut, digging into her flesh, outlining the tight pucker hidden between those glorious cheeks. Her pussy lips shifted under the soaked fabric as she moved, swollen and puffy from the earlier fingering, begging to be touched again.
Minwoo’s breath caught in his throat as he pressed his eye tighter to the narrow crack in the door.
Inside the softly lit bedroom, Hongshik stepped right up behind Jihyo like he owned every inch of her.
His big, rough hands slid around her bare waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest in one smooth, possessive motion. Jihyo didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp in shock. Instead, her body melted instantly—spine arching, thick ass pushing back to meet him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Minwoo could see it clearly in the mirror’s reflection: the thick bulge in his father’s slacks pressing hard between those perfect, round cheeks. The gray sweatpants were already down around her ankles, kicked aside. All she had left was that tiny, soaked red thong—clinging wetly to her swollen pussy lips, the thin string disappearing deep between her ass cheeks. Hongshik’s cock—obviously rock-hard—rubbed right up the center of her crack through his pants, slow and deliberate, dry-humping the plush flesh like he was claiming territory.
And Jihyo liked it.
She leaned back heavier against him, rolling her hips in a slow, filthy grind. Her thick ass cheeks flexed and squeezed around the ridge of his bulge, trapping it, teasing it. A soft, breathy laugh slipped from her lips as she tilted her head just enough to look back at him over her shoulder.
“Naughty old man,” she purred, voice low and teasing, dripping with that idol sweetness twisted into something downright pornographic. “Fingering me under the dinner table like that… making me soak through my pants in front of everyone… and now you just barge into my room as you own it?”
Hongshik chuckled—deep, rough, smug. The sound vibrated against her neck as he leaned in and dragged his lips along the sensitive skin just below her ear.
“Can’t help it, baby girl,” he rasped, his voice gravelly with lust. “This body… fuck. Look at you. Can’t resist even for a second.”
He thrust forward hard—his hips snapping so his clothed cock jammed deeper between her ass cheeks. Jihyo gasped sharply, mouth falling open, eyes fluttering half-shut in pleasure. Her knees dipped for a second before she caught herself, grinding back even harder, her ass cheeks spreading wider around his bulge like she was trying to swallow it through the fabric.
Hongshik’s mouth latched onto the side of her neck—sucking hard, teeth grazing, leaving a fresh red mark right where her pulse hammered. He inhaled deeply, nose buried in her hair, breathing her in like a drug.
“God, that perfume… smells so fucking good on you,” he growled against her skin. “Makes me want to eat you alive.”
Minwoo’s teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached. Jealousy burned white-hot in his chest, twisting with raw, shameful arousal. How the hell was this happening? His own father—grumpy, boring, fifty-something Hongshik—had Jihyo, Park fucking Jihyo, grinding her soaked thong-covered pussy back against him like a needy slut. The woman whose thighs and tits had launched a million fan edits, whose stage presence made arenas scream, was right now letting the old man hump her ass and mark her neck while she moaned like she couldn’t get enough.
Jihyo let her head fall back onto Hongshik’s broad shoulder, long dark hair spilling over his shirt. Her bare tits—full, heavy, perfect—jiggled with every slow roll of her hips. In the mirror, Minwoo could see everything: the way her dark pink nipples stood stiff and aching, begging to be touched. The faint sheen of sweat was already glistening between her breasts. The soft curve of her toned stomach rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths.
Hongshik’s big hands roamed up her bare torso, palms sliding over the smooth, defined ridges of her abs—abs that thousands of fans drooled over in crop-top stages and gym selfies. He rubbed slow, possessive circles, fingers digging in just enough to make her skin dimple. One hand drifted higher, cupping the underside of one breast, thumb brushing teasingly close to her nipple without quite touching it.
“You’re so fucking tight here,” he murmured against her neck, fingers flexing over her abs like he was memorizing every line. “All that dancing… makes these abs so hard… but this ass…” He gave one cheek a hard squeeze, making it jiggle. “…this ass is soft as hell. Perfect for grabbing. Perfect for fucking.”
Jihyo whimpered—soft, needy, desperate. Her hips rolled faster now, grinding her soaked thong right along the length of his clothed cock. The wet fabric made obscene little slick sounds every time she dragged herself over him. Minwoo could see the dark patch on her thong growing bigger, fresh arousal seeping through, dripping down the inside of one thick thigh.
She reached back with one hand, fingers threading into Hongshik’s hair again, holding his mouth against her neck while the other hand braced on the mirror. Her reflection stared straight ahead—eyes glassy, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep pink—as she rode back against his father’s bulge like she was already close.
Hongshik thrust again—harder this time—making her tits bounce wildly in the mirror. He pinched one nipple between rough fingers, rolling it slowly, tugging just enough to make her gasp and arch.
“Gonna make you come again, baby,” he growled low. “Just like under the table. Gonna make this pretty pussy soak my fingers while your boyfriend’s downstairs playing on his phone.”
Jihyo’s only answer was a broken moan—head lolling further back on his shoulder, body trembling, thighs shaking as she ground faster, chasing the friction of his cock against her dripping slit.
Minwoo stood frozen in the hallway, hand pressed hard against the front of his jeans, squeezing his throbbing length through the denim. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look away.
His goddess was falling apart for the wrong man.
And the worst part?
He was so fucking hard he could barely think straight.
Minwoo’s fingers dug into the doorframe so hard his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mirror’s reflection—every filthy detail crystal clear, lit by the soft bedside lamp like some private porn set just for him.
Hongshik’s big hands slid higher from Jihyo’s toned abs, cupping the heavy undersides of her bare tits from behind. He lifted them slowly, weighing the soft, fleshy mounds in his palms like they were priceless treasures. Jihyo’s breasts were even more perfect up close—full, round, defying gravity despite their size, and with pale skin flushed pink from arousal. Her dark nipples stood out, stiff and swollen, already begging for attention.
She tilted her head back against his shoulder again, that signature sweet-sexy Jihyo smile curving her full lips as she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. Her mouth parted just a fraction—soft, glossy lips opening in silent invitation.
That was all the invitation Hongshik needed.
He leaned down and claimed her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle.
It was raw. Hungry. Filthy.
His lips crashed over hers, sucking hard on her lower lip before his tongue plunged inside, tangling with hers in a wet, aggressive dance. Jihyo moaned straight into his mouth—soft, needy, the sound muffled but unmistakable. Minwoo could see everything: the way her tongue curled eagerly around his father’s and the slick slide of spit as they devoured each other. Thick strands of saliva escaped the corners of her mouth, trickling slowly down her chin, dripping onto the swell of her tits, and leaving shiny trails over her skin.
Hongshik’s hands never stopped working on her breasts. He kneaded them roughly—squeezing the soft flesh until it spilled between his thick fingers, then trapping her hard nipples between thumb and forefinger. He pinched. Rolled. Tugged. Each little twist made Jihyo’s body twitch violently—her hips jerking back against his bulge, thighs pressing together as fresh wetness soaked the front of her tiny thong even more.
Minwoo gulped hard, throat dry, cock throbbing so painfully against his zipper he thought he might come in his pants just from watching. The view was fucking obscene. His goddess—Park Jihyo, the woman who commanded stadiums with a single hip sway—was being kissed into complete submission by his grumpy old father. Hongshik ate at her mouth like he was starving, sucking her tongue deep, licking into every corner, while his rough palms mauled those perfect tits. Her nipples looked painfully hard—dark pink peaks pinched and pulled between his calloused fingers, glistening with the faint sheen of sweat and spit that had dripped down from her chin.
Jihyo’s knees buckled again. Her legs trembled, thighs quivering as another wave of pleasure rolled through her. She reached back blindly, small hands stretching up to clutch at Hongshik’s neck, fingers threading into his short, graying hair, holding him against her like she never wanted the kiss to end.
She moaned louder into his mouth now—sweet, broken little sounds that vibrated through the quiet room. “Mmmph… ahh…” The noises were muffled by his lips, but Minwoo heard every one. Each whimper made her tits jiggle in Hongshik’s hands, nipples trapped and tortured, sending visible shivers racing down her toned stomach.
Hongshik broke the kiss just long enough to growl against her swollen lips.
“Fuck, these tits… so heavy, so perfect,” he rasped, giving them another hard squeeze that made her gasp. “Been thinking about them all through dinner. Wanted to rip that little top off and suck on these nipples right at the table.”
Jihyo’s only response was a shaky laugh that turned into another moan as he pinched both nipples at once—hard—rolling them between his fingers until her back arched sharply off his chest.
“Yes… Appa… harder…” she whispered, voice wrecked and breathy, the honorific slipping out like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Minwoo’s stomach flipped.
Appa.
She was calling his father "appa" while he played with her tits and ground his cock against her ass.
The jealousy burned hotter, twisting with sick arousal until Minwoo could barely breathe. His hand moved on its own—pressing harder against the front of his jeans, rubbing the aching length through the denim just to take the edge off. Pre-cum soaked through the fabric in thick pulses; he could feel the wet spot spreading.
In the mirror, Jihyo’s reflection looked completely lost—eyes glassy, cheeks flushed deep red, lips swollen and shiny with spit. Her bare tits bounced with every rough squeeze, nipples trapped and throbbing between Hongshik’s fingers. She kept grinding back against him, thick-ass cheeks flexing around his bulge, thong string pulled so tight it dug into her flesh.
Hongshik kissed her again—deeper, dirtier—tongue-fucking her mouth while his hands kept tormenting her nipples. One palm slid down her stomach again, fingers tracing the defined lines of her abs before dipping lower, hooking into the front of her thong.
Jihyo whimpered into the kiss, hips bucking forward instinctively.
Minwoo watched—transfixed, jealous, and painfully hard—as his father slowly tugged the soaked fabric aside, exposing her dripping pussy to the cool air.
He knew what came next.
And he couldn’t make himself leave.
Hongshik’s rough hands gripped Jihyo’s hips tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above her thong string. With one slow, deliberate spin, he turned her around to face him fully.
Minwoo’s breath stopped.
There she was—Park Jihyo, Twice’s untouchable leader, sex icon of K-pop, the woman whose every hip thrust in fancams had sent millions of fans scrambling for tissues—standing completely bare from the waist up in the soft bedroom light.
Her big, beautiful, heavy tits bounced free as she completed the turn. Full, round, and impossibly perky despite their size, they swayed heavily with the motion, pale skin glowing, dark pink nipples stiff and pointing straight ahead like they were begging to be sucked. The faint bounce sent ripples through the soft flesh, making it jiggle side to side before settling into that perfect, natural teardrop shape that had launched a thousand thirsty comments and endless edits.
Minwoo gulped so hard his throat clicked audibly.
This was the body that made grown men lose their minds. The same tits that strained against tight stage outfits during “Feel Special” performances, that bounced hypnotically in “Alcohol-Free” dance practices, and that had entire fan accounts dedicated to zooming in on every jiggle. Millions fapped to those fancams—pausing, rewinding, and coming hard to the way her breasts moved when she hit a sharp choreo point. And now they were right here—bare, flushed, nipples hard and aching—in front of his own father.
He wanted to shove past the door. Wanted to be the one standing there instead of Hongshik. He wanted to cup those heavy mounds in his own hands, feel their weight spill over his palms, squeeze until she gasped, then lean down and suck one stiff nipple deep into his mouth—tongue swirling, teeth grazing—until she was moaning his name, thighs shaking, pussy dripping down her legs.
But he couldn’t move.
Jihyo smiled up at Hongshik—sweet, filthy, utterly seductive. That famous idol smile twisted into something pornographic, eyes half-lidded and sparkling with mischief. She arched her back just a little, pushing her tits forward proudly, offering them up like a gift.
“Look at them, appa,” she purred, her voice low and teasing. “You like?”
Without waiting for an answer, she gave a playful little shake—shoulders rolling so her big breasts bounced and jiggled side to side. The heavy flesh slapped softly together, nipples tracing little circles in the air before settling again. Another shake—harder this time—making them wobble wildly, the motion so obscene it looked straight out of a high-budget AV scene.
Hongshik’s eyes darkened instantly—pupils blown, jaw slack with raw lust. His breathing turned rough, nostrils flaring like he could smell how wet she was from across the room. His cock strained visibly against his slacks, thick and angry, tenting the fabric so hard Minwoo could see the outline of the head.
Jihyo laughed softly—breathless and delighted—watching the hunger bloom across his face.
“You’re so easy, old man,” she teased, reaching up to cup her own tits, lifting them higher, squeezing them together until deep cleavage formed and her nipples almost touched. “Just one look at these, and you’re drooling. Bet you’ve been hard since dinner, huh? Thinking about sucking on them while everyone else ate jjigae.”
Hongshik growled low in his throat, hands shooting out to replace hers. He grabbed both breasts roughly—palms engulfing as much as he could, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh. He kneaded them hard, thumbs flicking back and forth over her nipples, making them pebble even tighter.
“Fuck yes,” he rasped, his voice thick. “Been staring at these tits all night. Wanted to pull that little tank top down and bury my face in it right at the table. Make you moan while your boyfriend talked about his day.”
Jihyo whimpered, knees buckling slightly as he pinched both nipples at once—hard twists that made her gasp and arch into his touch. Her thong was a soaked ruin now; Minwoo could see fresh wetness trickling down the inside of her thick thighs, glistening trails that caught the lamplight. She was leaking like a broken faucet—pussy clenching on nothing, clit throbbing visibly under the drenched cotton.
She loved it.
Loved seeing the raw, animal thirst in his eyes. Loved knowing this grumpy old man—her boyfriend’s father—was losing his mind over her body. The power of it made her even wetter; she could feel another gush soak through the thong, dripping onto the carpet between her feet.
“Poor Appa,” she cooed, voice dripping honey and sin. “So hungry for these big tits. Want to suck them? Bite them? Fuck them?”
Hongshik answered by leaning down and latching onto one nipple—mouth wide, sucking hard, tongue lashing the stiff peak while his hand mauled the other breast. Jihyo’s head fell back, mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, fingers tangling in his hair to hold him there.
Her hips rolled forward instinctively, grinding her soaked thong against the bulge in his pants, chasing friction while he devoured her tit like a starving man.
Minwoo stood paralyzed in the hallway, hand shoved down the front of his jeans now, gripping his leaking cock through his boxers. He stroked once—slow, desperate—pre-cum slicking his palm as he watched the woman of his dirtiest fantasies get worshiped by the wrong man.
Jealousy burned.
Arousal drowned it.
He couldn’t look away.
Not when Jihyo’s free hand slid down her own stomach, fingers dipping under her thong to rub slow circles over her swollen clit while Hongshik sucked and bit her nipple.
Not when she moaned louder—sweet, filthy sounds that echoed in the quiet room.
Not when she looked straight into the mirror—almost like she knew someone was watching—and smiled that wicked, satisfied smile while her body trembled on the edge.
She was dripping for the old man.
And Minwoo was dripping for her.
Hongshik’s grin turned downright feral—wide, predatory, eyes gleaming with pure, unfiltered lust as he stared down at her bare, heaving tits.
He yanked her forward by the waist, thick fingers digging into her soft hips hard enough to leave faint red marks. Jihyo gasped—sharp, needy—then melted against him instantly, arms flying around his neck in a tight, desperate hug. Her laugh bubbled out—breathless, delighted, and filthy—as she felt his hunger radiating off him in waves.
Those massive, heavy boobs crushed against his chest, soft flesh spilling over the rough fabric of his shirt. Her rock-hard nipples dragged across the material with every tiny shift, scraping deliciously, sending electric jolts straight to her dripping clit. She moaned low and broken right into his ear, hips twitching forward so her soaked thong pressed against the thick ridge of his cock.
“Fuck… appa…” she whimpered, her voice wrecked and sweet at the same time.
Hongshik’s big hand slid up, cupping her chin firmly, tilting her beautiful face up to his. His thumb traced the plump curve of her lower lip—slow, teasing—watching her eyes glaze over in a daze. Her mouth fell open automatically, tongue peeking out just a little, begging without words.
“Good girl,” he growled, his voice gravelly and thick.
His thumb slipped inside her mouth. Jihyo closed her lips around it instantly, sucking hard, her tongue swirling like she was starving for any part of him. Saliva coated his digit as she bobbed her head shallowly, moaning around it like it was his cock instead.
All the while, his other hand trailed down—slow, deliberate—fingers dragging over the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips until he reached that legendary ass.
He cupped both cheeks at once—rough palms engulfing the toned, plump flesh that had broken the internet a thousand times over. Millions jerked off to these exact curves in tight stage shorts and dance practice leggings, fantasizing about grabbing them, spanking them, and burying their faces between them. And now an old man’s hands were kneading them like dough—squeezing hard, spreading them apart, thumbs dipping into the crease where the thong string disappeared.
Jihyo moaned louder—raw, shameless—her hips rolling back into his grip, pushing her ass deeper into his palms. The motion made her soaked thong slide against her swollen pussy lips, clit throbbing with every grind. Fresh wetness trickled down her inner thighs, shiny trails catching the lamplight.
“These cheeks…” Hongshik rasped against her ear, squeezing harder, making the flesh spill between his fingers. “Been dreaming about this fat ass since the day you moved in. So fucking soft… so fucking perfect… gonna mark it up later. Leave my handprints all over it while you ride me.”
Jihyo’s knees buckled again. She clung tighter to his neck, tits mashed against his chest, nipples scraping torturously with every breath. Her tongue swirled faster around his thumb, sucking like a desperate little slut, drool leaking from the corners of her mouth and dripping onto her collarbone.
She pulled off his thumb with a wet pop, looking up at him with glassy, pleading eyes.
“Then do it, Appa,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Grab it harder… spank it… fuck it… make it yours…”
Hongshik growled deep in his throat, one hand leaving her ass to fist her hair at the nape, yanking her head back so her throat arched beautifully.
The other hand delivered a sharp, possessive slap to her right cheek—loud enough to echo in the quiet room.
Jihyo yelped, then moaned—long, filthy, dripping with pleasure—as the sting bloomed into heat.
Her pussy clenched hard, another gush soaking through the thong, dripping onto the carpet between her spread feet.
Minwoo watched from the crack in the door—hand shoved down his pants now, stroking his leaking cock in slow, desperate pulls—jealousy and arousal twisting him into knots.
His goddess was being manhandled, worshipped, and claimed by the wrong man.
And she was loving every filthy second of it.
Hongshik’s hands never stopped roaming—rough palms sliding over her bare skin, one still kneading the heavy swell of her tit while the other gripped her ass cheek hard enough to make the flesh bulge between his fingers. Jihyo was pressed flush against him, her soaked thong the only scrap of fabric left, grinding slowly and needily against the thick bulge in his pants like she couldn’t help herself.
He pulled back just enough to look down at her flushed face, his thumb brushing a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead. His voice came out low, gravelly, almost casual—like he wasn’t currently groping the hottest idol in Korea in his son’s bedroom.
“So… you and my boy,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers. “How’s that going these days? Still playing the perfect couple downstairs?”
Jihyo’s lips curved into a slow, wicked smile. She let out a soft, breathy laugh—half moan, half tease—as she rolled her hips again, dragging her dripping pussy along the ridge of his clothed cock.
“Really, Appa?” she purred, voice dripping honey and sin. “I’m standing here completely naked… bare tits pressed against your chest… My pussy is so wet it’s dripping down my thighs… and now you want to talk about your son?”
She arched her back deliberately, pushing her heavy breasts harder into him so her stiff nipples scraped against his shirt. A fresh shiver ran through her body, making her moan low in her throat.
Hongshik chuckled—dark, smug—and slid one big hand down the front of her body. His thick fingers traced the edge of her thong, then dipped lower, running slowly along her soaked pussy lips over the thin, drenched fabric. He didn’t push inside yet—just stroked up and down her slit in lazy, teasing glides, pressing just enough to make her swollen clit throb under the cotton.
Jihyo gasped sharply, knees buckling as her hips jerked forward into his touch. Her hands clutched at his shoulders for balance, nails digging in.
“Fuck… Appa…” she whimpered, eyes fluttering.
“Answer me, baby girl,” he growled, fingers circling her clit once—slow, firm—making her whole body twitch. “You still fucking my son? Still letting him think he’s the only one who gets this perfect little cunt?”
Jihyo’s head fell forward against his chest for a second, panting, before she lifted her gaze again—eyes glassy, lips parted, completely wrecked.
“I would’ve broken up with him months ago,” she confessed in a shaky whisper, her voice trembling with need. “If… if I could bear to leave you.”
Hongshik’s fingers paused—then pressed harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over her clit through the thong. Jihyo’s thighs shook, another gush of wetness soaking his hand.
She kept talking—words spilling out between gasps and moans—like she couldn’t hold them back anymore.
“I haven’t… ahh… fucked him in months,” she admitted, hips rocking desperately against his fingers. “My body… it doesn’t feel anything for him anymore. Nothing. He touches me, and… it’s just… empty. Soft. Boring.”
She looked up at him with pure, filthy honesty, eyes shining.
“But you…” Her voice cracked as he slipped two fingers under the thong edge, finally brushing bare, slick folds. “You touch me, and I drip. You finger me under the table, and I almost come in front of everyone. You grab my tits, slap my ass, call me your dirty little girl… and I can’t stop shaking.”
Hongshik growled low, pleased, and possessive. He pushed one thick finger inside her—slow, deep—curling it against her front wall while his thumb kept rubbing her clit.
Jihyo’s mouth fell open in a silent scream, her back arching so hard her bare tits bounced against him.
“That’s right,” he rasped against her ear, pumping his finger in and out in slow, filthy strokes. “This pussy belongs to me now. Not his. Mine. Been stretching it, filling it, making it gush for months while he jerks off thinking you’re still his good girl.”
Jihyo nodded frantically, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around his finger like it never wanted to let go.
“Yes… yours… only yours, Appa…” she whimpered, grinding down onto his hand. “He doesn’t make me feel… anything… like this. Only you… fuck… only you make me this wet… this needy…”
Hongshik added a second finger—stretching her open wider—thrusting deeper while his thumb circled her clit faster.
“Then say it,” he ordered, his voice rough. “Tell me who this cunt belongs to.”
Jihyo’s eyes rolled back, her body shuddering violently as she teetered on the edge.
“You… it’s yours… all yours… appa’s dirty little pussy… ahh—fuck—please don’t stop…”
Minwoo stood frozen in the hallway, hand wrapped tight around his leaking cock through his jeans, stroking in time with his father’s fingers pumping in and out of hers.
Jealousy burned hotter than ever.
But so did the sick, twisted heat pooling in his balls.
He couldn’t look away.
Couldn’t stop.
And Jihyo—his perfect, untouchable goddess—was moaning louder now, thighs shaking, ready to come all over the old man’s hand while confessing everything.
Hongshik’s tongue dragged slowly and wetly up the side of Jihyo’s exposed neck, tracing the pulsing vein like he was savoring every inch. She tilted her head back farther—offering more—her throat arched beautifully, long hair spilling over his shoulder as she surrendered completely. Her fingers dug harder into his back, nails scraping through his shirt, clinging like she’d fall apart if she let go.
He licked again—a broad, filthy stripe from her collarbone to just below her ear—then sucked lightly on the sensitive spot that made her whole body jerk. Jihyo’s breath hitched, turning into a long, trembling moan that vibrated against his mouth.
“Tell me, baby girl,” he murmured between slow, teasing licks, his voice low and rough. “What does this pretty body miss when I’m not touching it? Who’s the only one who can make it feel good?”
Jihyo’s hips rolled forward instinctively, grinding her soaked thong against the thick ridge of his cock. Her bare tits pressed harder into his chest, stiff nipples scraping torturously with every breath. She tried to speak, but another long lick along her neck turned the words into a broken whimper.
“Only… ahh… only you, Appa…” she gasped, voice wrecked and needy. “Your tongue… fuck… your tongue on my neck, on my tits, between my legs… it makes me drip so much…”
Hongshik chuckled darkly against her skin, teeth grazing her pulse point just enough to make her gasp again.
“And my cock?” he prompted, thrusting his hips forward so the hard length rubbed right along her slit through their clothes. “Who fucks this needy little pussy the way it needs to be fucked?”
Jihyo’s knees buckled. She clutched him tighter, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around nothing as another gush of wetness soaked through her thong and trickled down her inner thigh.
“Only your cock…” she moaned, words slurring with pleasure. “Only your thick, old cock can stretch me… fill me… make me come so hard I can’t see straight… your son’s… ahh… his doesn’t do anything… doesn’t make me shake… doesn’t make me beg…”
She threw her head back even farther, offering her throat completely as Hongshik sucked a fresh bruise into the soft skin.
“Only you… only appa’s cock can make me feel like this… like a bitch in heat… dripping and desperate… please… please fuck me…”
Minwoo stood frozen in the hallway shadow, one hand shoved down the front of his jeans, gripping his leaking cock so hard it hurt. His other hand pressed flat against the wall to keep from collapsing.
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Park Jihyo—the sweet, powerful, untouchable leader of Twice, the woman whose smile melted arenas, whose body had trended worldwide for years—was confessing in broken moans that she hadn’t fucked his brother in months. That Chaehyun’s touch did nothing for her anymore. That only his father’s tongue, only his father’s cock, could make her body come alive.
Minwoo’s mind reeled.
His old man—grumpy, balding, ordinary Hongshik—had somehow turned the sexiest idol in Korea into a whimpering, dripping mess who begged for his dick like it was oxygen. He’d trained her. Molded her. Taken Chaehyun’s girlfriend and reshaped her into this needy, cock-hungry bitch in heat who spread her legs under the dinner table, soaked her thong for his fingers, and now stood half-naked in his son’s bedroom moaning about how only Appa’s cock could satisfy her.
The jealousy was suffocating—sharp, burning, twisting in Minwoo’s gut like a knife. It should have been him. He was young and fit, the same age as her fans who threw money at fancams. He’d jerked off to her for years—picturing her riding him, moaning his name, and her tits bouncing while she screamed for more.
But she was here—bare tits heaving, thong drenched, neck covered in hickeys from his father’s mouth—begging the old man to fuck her senseless.
And the worst part?
Minwoo was harder than he’d ever been in his life.
His cock throbbed painfully in his fist, pre-cum slicking his palm with every slow, helpless stroke. Hearing Jihyo confess—voice cracking with need—that only Hongshik could make her feel pleasure, that his brother’s dick was nothing compared to his father’s… it was humiliating. Enraging.
But it was also the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed.
She was completely broken for him—trained to crave the old man’s rough hands, his thick fingers, and his experienced tongue. She’d become exactly what Hongshik wanted: a dripping, obedient slut who got off on being claimed by someone she shouldn’t want.
Minwoo’s strokes sped up—quiet, desperate—his eyes glued to the mirror reflection of Jihyo’s arched back, her heavy tits bouncing with every grind, her thighs shaking as Hongshik kept licking her neck and teasing her soaked pussy over the thong.
He hated his father in that moment.
But he couldn’t stop watching.
Couldn’t stop stroking.
Couldn’t stop imagining it was his tongue on her neck, his cock making her moan like that.
And deep down—twisted, shameful—he wondered if she’d ever look at him the way she looked at the old man right now.
Like he was the only one who could make her come undone.
Hongshik’s hands tightened on Jihyo’s hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above the string of her thong. With a slow, deliberate tug, he pulled her backward toward the small vanity table against the wall—the one usually cluttered with her makeup and perfume bottles.
“Back up, baby girl,” he rasped, his voice thick with command. “Lean on the table for Appa."
Jihyo obeyed instantly, letting him guide her until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of the wooden surface. She braced her palms behind her, leaning back slowly, arching her spine so her upper body tilted toward him. The motion thrust her heavy, bare tits forward like an offering—big, round, perfect mounds heaving with every shallow breath. Her dark pink nipples—already swollen and painfully stiff—jutted out proudly, begging to be touched, to be hurt, to be worshipped.
Minwoo’s breath caught in his throat. A soft, involuntary gasp slipped past his lips before he could stop it.
God, those tits.
They were everything the fancams and tight stage outfits had promised—and more. Full, heavy, defying gravity with that natural teardrop shape, idols paid surgeons millions to imitate it. The way they jiggled with each quick inhale made his mouth water. Perfect creamy skin, faint blue veins visible under the surface, nipples standing erect like little pink bullets, flushed darker from all the pinching and twisting earlier. Every tiny breath she took sent another ripple through the soft flesh—gentle bounces that made them sway side to side before settling again.
He wanted to bury his face between them. Wanted to suck one nipple deep into his mouth until she screamed. He wanted to slap them, watch them bounce, and mark them with his teeth so everyone—especially his brother—would know they’d been claimed.
But the old man was already there.
Hongshik stepped between her spread thighs, crowding her against the table. His eyes were locked on her chest like a starving man staring at a feast. A slow, filthy grin spread across his face as he watched her tits rise and fall.
“Look at these perfect fucking tits,” he murmured, his voice rough with awe and hunger. “So big… so heavy… been dying to play with them properly all night.”
He reached up with both hands, cupping the undersides first—lifting them, weighing them, thumbs brushing just below the areolas. Jihyo’s back arched harder, pushing them deeper into his palms with a soft whimper.
Then he flicked.
The pad of his right index finger snapped against her left nipple—a quick, sharp, upward flick that made the stiff peak bounce.
Jihyo gasped—sharply, needily—her whole body jerking.
He did it again. And again. Alternating between nipples, flicking them up and down like he was playing a tiny instrument tuned only to her pleasure. Each little snap sent a visible jolt through her—her tits jiggling wildly, nipples throbbing harder, turning an even deeper shade of pink.
“Ah—fuck—appa—” she moaned, voice cracking. Her thighs rubbed together frantically, slick sounds audible even from the doorway as her soaked thong slid against her swollen pussy lips.
Hongshik never let go. His fingers kept tormenting—flick, pinch, roll, flick again—keeping her right on the razor’s edge. Jihyo’s head fell back, long hair cascading over the table surface, mouth open in a constant stream of broken moans and whimpers.
“Please… please… more…”
She stared up at him with pure, glassy lust—eyes dark, pupils blown, and lips swollen from earlier kisses. That famous idol smile twisted into something filthy and desperate, like she was begging him to ruin her completely.
Minwoo’s cock throbbed so hard it hurt. He stroked faster through his jeans—quietly, frantically—pre-cum soaking his boxers in thick pulses. Watching her like this—spread out on the table, tits bouncing with every flick, thighs rubbing desperately—was almost too much. She looked like pure sex: sweaty skin glistening, chest flushed red, nipples throbbing under his father’s cruel fingers, and pussy dripping so much he could see the dark wet spot on the thong growing bigger by the second.
Hongshik leaned in closer, one hand still flicking her nipples while the other trailed down her toned stomach, circling her navel teasingly before stopping just above her mound.
“You’re dripping like a faucet, aren’t you?” he growled, voice smug. “Can smell how wet you are from here. This little cunt’s crying for Appa’s cock while your boyfriend’s downstairs watching TV.”
Jihyo nodded frantically, biting her lower lip so hard it turned white.
“Yes… yes… so wet… for you… only for you…”
He switched tactics—fingers now circling her nipples in slow, torturous spirals, tracing the puffy areolas without ever quite touching the peaks. Goosebumps erupted across her chest, down her arms, and over her stomach. Her whole body shuddered violently, thighs clenching and rubbing faster, slick sounds growing louder as her arousal leaked steadily.
She was a mess—sweating, flushed, heaving, her eyes locked on Hongshik with pure worship. Every circle around her nipples made her twitch harder, made her moan louder, made her grind her soaked thong against nothing in desperate search of friction.
Hongshik watched her fall apart with patient, sadistic pleasure—never rushing, never giving her what she really needed. He kept her on edge, kept her high on the razor’s edge of orgasm, letting the pleasure build until she was trembling uncontrollably.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dark and pleased. “My perfect little idol slut… shaking and leaking just from having your nipples played with. Gonna come like this? Gonna soak your thong and drip all over the table without me even touching your pussy?”
Jihyo’s answer was a broken sob—half moan, half plea.
“Please… appa… I need… need more…”
But he didn’t give it.
He just kept circling, flicking, and pinching—slow and relentless—watching her body betray her completely.
Minwoo couldn’t take it anymore. His hand moved faster inside his jeans, stroking his aching cock in time with her desperate moans. Jealousy burned, arousal drowned him, and all he could do was watch as the sexiest woman alive—his brother’s girlfriend, his lifelong fantasy—was edged to insanity by his own father’s patient, cruel hands.
And she loved every filthy second of it.
**********
CHAPTER 2
Jihyo was gone—completely, utterly gone. The fierce, confident Twice leader who commanded stages and charmed millions had melted into a trembling, needy puddle of lust right there on the kitchen table. Her famous body—toned from endless dance practice, curves sculpted by years of discipline—was now soft and pliant under Hongshik’s rough, experienced hands. Sweat glistened on her collarbones, between her heavy breasts, and down the flat plane of her stomach. Her thong was ruined; the black lace darkened and clung obscenely to her swollen pussy lips, the wet fabric outlining every fold. A thin trail of her arousal had already leaked past the edge, dripping slowly onto the polished wood beneath her ass.
She stared up at Hongshik with glassy, worshipful eyes—pupils blown so wide the iris was almost invisible. Her swollen lips parted on shallow, desperate pants. That iconic Twice smile—bright, playful, and perfect for CFs and fancams—was twisted now into something filthy: open-mouthed, trembling, and begging without words.
Hongshik’s large, calloused hands never left her chest. He cupped the undersides of her big, soft tits, lifting them, squeezing them together until deep cleavage formed, then letting them spill over his palms. He bounced them once—hard—watching the heavy flesh jiggle and ripple. Jihyo’s back arched off the table with a sharp, broken moan that echoed off the kitchen tiles.
“Fuck… Appa…” she whimpered, her voice cracking.
He did it again—lifted, squeezed, released—making her breasts bounce lewdly. Each jiggle sent a fresh jolt straight to her clit. Her hips rolled helplessly, grinding her soaked thong against nothing, chasing friction that wasn’t there.
“Look at these perfect tits,” Hongshik growled, his voice thick with possession. He slapped the side of one breast lightly—enough to make it wobble and sting sweetly—then caught the nipple between his knuckles and tugged upward. Jihyo’s moan turned into a high, keening whine. “So big, so soft… they bounce so pretty when I play with them. Does my son ever make them dance like this?”
Jihyo’s head thrashed side to side on the table, long dark hair sticking to her sweaty cheeks. “N-no… Minwoo… he just… grabs… quick… never… never like this…” Her voice was wrecked, breathy, and almost childlike in its desperation. “He doesn’t… doesn’t take time… to appreciate…”
Hongshik’s grin was feral.
“Poor baby,” he mocked gently, thumbs circling her areolas now—slow, torturous spirals that avoided the aching peaks. Goosebumps erupted across her chest and down her arms. “He doesn’t know how to worship these gorgeous tits the way they deserve. Doesn’t know how sensitive they are… how much you love having them teased until you’re crying.”
Jihyo nodded frantically, tears of overstimulation gathering in the corners of her eyes. “Yes… yes… please… Appa… more…”
He rewarded her by finally capturing both nipples between his fingers—pinching, rolling, and tugging in perfect rhythm. Her whole body jolted like she’d been shocked. A fresh gush of wetness soaked through her thong; she could feel it trickling down her ass crack, pooling beneath her.
That was when her slender hands—shaking, desperate—reached for him.
She ran her palms up his thick forearms, tracing the corded muscle, then higher to his broad chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. She clawed at him like she needed to anchor herself to something solid while pleasure tore her apart. Her nails scraped down his sides, then back up, greedy, worshipping.
Hongshik groaned low in his throat at the touch.
“Fuck… that’s it, baby. Touch your Appa. Feel how hard you make me.”
Jihyo’s legs—long, toned, dancer’s legs—moved on instinct. She hooked them around his thick thighs, ankles locking at the small of his back. With a needy little whimper, she pulled him closer, forcing his hips flush against hers. The hard ridge of his cock—still trapped in his pants—pressed right against her soaked thong, the heat of him searing through the thin layers.
She tilted her head up, lips brushing the shell of his ear, her voice a trembling, bitten-off whisper:
“He… he doesn’t take time… like you do… Appa… he just… fucks… quick… never… never looks at me… like you look… never touches me… like you touch…”
Hongshik’s control frayed at the edges.
He growled—deep and animal—at her throat.
“Then let Appa show you how a real man appreciates a body like yours.”
He attacked her tits again—with his mouth this time. He latched onto her left nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking the tip rapidly while his hand mauled the right—squeezing, kneading, slapping lightly so the flesh jiggled. Jihyo’s back bowed off the table, a raw, broken cry tearing from her throat.
“Yes—yes—Appa—suck them—please—”
Her legs tightened around him, heels digging into his ass, pulling him impossibly closer. The friction of his clothed cock grinding against her thong-clad pussy was maddening—too much fabric, not enough pressure, but still enough to make her clit throb with every roll of his hips.
Hongshik switched nipples—biting the right one gently, then soothing it with slow, wet circles of his tongue. His hand kept playing with the left—pinching, tugging, rolling—keeping both peaks hypersensitive, swollen, and dark red.
Jihyo was babbling now—high, frantic, filthy.
“Appa… your mouth… so good… better than him… so much better… please… don’t stop… make them bounce again… make me feel… owned…”
Hongshik lifted his head just long enough to growl against her lips.
“You are owned, baby. These tits? This pussy? This whole perfect idol body? Mine now.”
He slapped both breasts at once—sharp, stinging slaps that made them jiggle wildly—and Jihyo came undone.
Her eyes rolled back, mouth falling open in a silent scream as the orgasm ripped through her without any touch to her pussy. Her hips bucked violently against his, grinding her soaked thong against the hard length of his cock, chasing the friction. Pleasure exploded behind her eyes—white-hot, blinding—coursing from her abused nipples straight to her clit, making her inner walls flutter and clench around nothing. A fresh gush of slick soaked through her thong, dripping down to wet the table beneath her ass.
Hongshik watched her shatter with dark, possessive pride.
“That’s it… come for Appa… just from having your big tits played with… such a needy little slut…”
Jihyo’s body kept shaking through the aftershocks—legs locked tight around him, hands clawing at his back, and tears of overwhelmed pleasure slipping down her temples.
When she finally sagged, panting, Hongshik leaned down and claimed her mouth in a brutal, possessive kiss—tongue invading, claiming every corner, and tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her submission.
Jihyo kissed back desperately—tongue tangling with his, moaning into his mouth, her legs still wrapped around him as if she never wanted to let go.
Minwoo’s hand moved faster inside his jeans—jealousy, arousal, and humiliation twisting together until he couldn’t tell them apart.
Minwoo pressed his eye to the narrow crack in the doorframe, his heart hammering so loud he was sure it would give him away. The kitchen light spilled out in a warm golden stripe across the hallway floor, and through that sliver, he saw everything.
Jihyo—the Jihyo, Twice’s powerhouse main vocalist, the woman who commanded stadiums of thousands with a single note—was completely lost in his father.
She was kissing Hongshik like she was starving for him.
Her full, glossy lips were locked to his in a deep, filthy open-mouthed kiss, tongues visibly sliding together, wet and hungry. Her slender fingers were buried in his father’s thick gray hair, nails scraping at his scalp as she pulled him even closer, tilting her head to deepen the angle, moaning softly into his mouth with every slow, greedy pull. The sound was low, throaty, and desperate—nothing like the polished, stage-ready voice the world knew. This was raw, private, and ruined.
Hongshik’s big hands roamed her body with shameless ownership.
One palm slid up the outside of her bare thigh, fingers splaying wide to feel the smooth, warm skin. A light sheen of sweat glistened on her toned legs, catching the overhead light every time he stroked higher. He squeezed the soft flesh just below the curve of her ass, then dragged his hand inward, tracing the sensitive inner thigh with deliberate slowness. Jihyo’s legs parted wider on instinct, knees falling open on the kitchen table, offering herself without a word.
Minwoo’s cock jerked painfully in his jeans. He could see the dark wet spot on her black thong growing larger, the lace clinging transparently to her swollen pussy lips. A thin string of arousal stretched and snapped as her thighs shifted.
Hongshik broke the kiss just long enough to growl against her jaw.
One of his hands stayed on her neck—long fingers wrapping around her throat in a firm, possessive grip, not choking but just holding and controlling. The other hand trailed up between her spread thighs, knuckles brushing the soaked center of her thong. He pressed two fingers against the drenched fabric, rubbing slow, firm circles right over her clit.
Jihyo’s head fell back with a sharp gasp, throat exposed under his grip, long dark hair spilling over the edge of the table like ink. Her mouth dropped open, eyes squeezed shut, and a soft, broken moan slipped out.
“Ah… Appa…”
The word was barely a breath, but it hit Minwoo like a punch to the gut.
His father’s thumb hooked the edge of her thong and tugged it aside, exposing her completely. Jihyo’s pussy was flushed dark pink, lips puffy and glistening, and clit swollen and peeking out from its hood. A fresh bead of slick welled up and slid down toward her ass.
Hongshik groaned low in his throat.
“Look at this pretty little cunt… dripping for an old man while your boyfriend’s right downstairs.”
He dragged two thick fingers through her folds—slow and deliberate—coating them in her wetness before circling her entrance. Jihyo’s hips rolled up to meet him, a needy little whine escaping her.
“Please… touch me… inside…”
Hongshik pushed in—two fingers at once—stretching her slowly, curling upward to rub that spot deep inside that made her whole body jerk.
Jihyo’s back arched off the table, tits bouncing, nipples visibly hard. Her hands flew back to his hair, pulling him down so she could kiss him again—messy, desperate, and moaning directly into his mouth as he fingered her with steady, deep strokes. Minwoo’s hand was inside his jeans before he could think, stroking his aching cock in frantic, quiet jerks. Pre-cum soaked through his boxers in thick pulses. Jealousy burned hot in his chest, but the arousal was stronger—watching the goddess Jihyo, the woman he’d jerked off to for years, reduced to a whimpering, dripping mess by his own father’s hands.
She looked like pure sin: thighs spread wide, sweat shining on her skin, pussy clenching around Hongshik’s fingers, moaning brokenly into his mouth while he owned her completely.
Minwoo couldn’t tear his eyes away, even though every second burned like acid in his chest.
Jihyo—the Jihyo, the goddess who owned stadiums and who made grown men cry with one high note—was writhing under his father’s hands like she’d been born for this exact moment.
Her slender fingers were everywhere on Hongshik—greedy, desperate, worshipping. She dragged her nails lightly down his thick forearms, tracing the corded veins, then slid her palms up under his shirt to feel the hard planes of his stomach and the coarse gray hair scattered across his chest. She moaned softly into his mouth every time her fingertips found new skin, like touching him was its own kind of orgasm.
Hongshik leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of her ear, voice low and filthy.
“You’re dripping like this, baby… what would your fans think if they knew?” He paused, letting the words sink in, letting her feel the shame twist with the pleasure. “Their perfect goddess, their role model, leaking all over a kitchen table for an old man three times her age. An old man who’s not even her boyfriend. Just some gray-haired bastard who knows how to play with her slutty little body.”
Jihyo’s reaction was instant and obscene.
Her sexy pink lips—already swollen from kissing—parted on a sharp gasp. She bit down hard on the lower one, teeth sinking in until the flesh turned white, eyes glazing over with fresh, glassy lust. Hongshik’s words didn’t shame her—they ignited her. Her pupils blew wide, dark, and hungry, and a fresh gush of slick leaked out of her pussy, soaking the ruined thong even more. Minwoo could see it—the dark wet spot spreading, the thin string of arousal stretching and snapping as her hips rolled helplessly.
That was the thing that broke her hardest—not just the way Hongshik fucked her senseless, not just the stretch of his thick fingers or the cruel way he toyed with her nipples.
It was who he was.
An old man. Her boyfriend’s father. Thrice her age. Gray hair, rough hands, the kind of body that had seen decades more life than hers—and yet here she was, Twice’s Jihyo, global idol, dripping like a bitch in heat because he was touching her.
The taboo of it—the wrongness—made her pussy clench so hard Minwoo could almost hear it from the doorway. More slick dribbled out, sliding down the crack of her ass, pooling on the table beneath her, and then dripping in slow, obscene drops to the hardwood floor. Plip. Plip. Plip.
She groaned—low, animal, filthy—and lunged forward.
Her mouth found his neck like a starving thing.
She licked him first—long, slow, wet stripes up the side of his throat, tasting the salt of his skin, the faint musk of cologne, and older-man sweat. She moaned against him, the sound vibrating through his flesh, her tongue dragging over his Adam’s apple, circling the pulse point, sucking lightly until a faint red mark bloomed under her lips.
Hongshik groaned deep in his chest, his hand tightening on her throat just enough to make her whimper.
“That’s it, baby… taste your Appa. Show me how much you love being a dirty little idol whore for an old cock.”
Jihyo’s hands flew to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons in her eagerness. She popped them open one by one—too frantic to be neat—until the fabric parted and she could press her palms flat against his bare chest. She moaned again at the contact—coarse gray hair under her fingers, solid muscle beneath, and warm skin that smelled like man and sin.
She kissed lower, open-mouthed and sloppy, licking a trail down the center of his chest, nipping at his collarbone, and sucking a bruise just above his nipple. Her tongue swirled around the flat disc, teasing it to a hard peak before she moved to the other side, giving it the same filthy attention.
All the while her hips kept rolling—slow, desperate grinds against nothing, chasing friction, her soaked thong rubbing uselessly against her clit. The puddle beneath her ass grew bigger, slick trails running down the table legs now, dripping steadily to the floor.
Hongshik’s free hand slid up her thigh again, fingers dipping between her legs to trace her dripping slit through the thong.
“So fucking wet for me,” he growled. “This cunt’s crying because an old man’s touching it. You love that, don’t you? Love knowing you’re betraying your pretty boyfriend for gray dick.”
Jihyo’s answer was a broken, needy sob against his chest.
“Yes… yes… love it… love being bad… for you… only for you…”
She sucked harder on his skin, leaving a dark hickey just over his heart, claiming him the way he was claiming her.
Minwoo’s hand moved faster inside his jeans—jealousy and lust twisting into something poisonous and addictive. He watched the goddess he’d worshipped from afar turn into a shameless, dripping slut for his own father, and all he could do was stroke himself in the shadows, pre-cum soaking his fingers, breath ragged, knowing he’d never be able to unsee this.
And Jihyo—perfect, untouchable Jihyo—was too far gone to care.
Jihyo leaned down over him like a woman possessed, her heavy tits dragging across Hongshik’s chest, nipples scraping against his coarse gray hair as she lowered her mouth to his skin. Her tongue flicked out—hot, wet, greedy—and caught one flat, dark nipple. She circled it slowly at first, teasing the pebbled flesh with feather-light licks, then flattened her tongue and dragged it in one long, filthy stripe from the center outward. Hongshik groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his ribcage straight into her lips.
She sucked the nipple into her mouth—hard—hollowing her cheeks, tongue flicking the tip rapidly while her other hand found his left nipple and pinched it between thumb and forefinger. She rolled it, tugged it, and twisted it just enough to make his hips jerk up off the table. His cock—still trapped in his boxers—throbbed violently against her thigh, thick and hot and impossibly hard, the sheer size of it pressing insistently into her soft flesh like it was trying to brand her.
Jihyo moaned around his nipple, the vibration humming through him. She could feel every pulse of that monster dick—long, girthy, and veined, a beast she never imagined she’d worship. She’d dated before—nice boys, sweet boys, boys with average cocks that fit neatly in her hand and finished quickly. But this? This was a culture shock. Korean men weren’t supposed to be this big, were they? Not like this—thick as her wrist, long enough to bump her cervix on the first thrust, and veiny enough that she could feel every ridge dragging inside her even now, just from memory.
The first night he’d fucked her—really fucked her—she hadn’t been able to walk straight the next morning. Her legs had shaken, her pussy was sore and swollen, her inner thighs were bruised from his grip, and every step had reminded her of how deep he’d been and how thoroughly he’d ruined her. She’d limped through rehearsal, trying to hide the wince, thighs rubbing together and making her clit throb with aftershocks. And every time since then—every stolen night, every quickie in the bathroom, every slow, filthy session on this very table—she’d come harder than she ever had with anyone else.
The memories flooded her now as her eager hands slid down his body.
She traced the hard ridges of his abs, nails scraping lightly through the trail of graying hair that led downward. Her mouth followed—kissing, licking, and sucking little marks into his skin as she worked her way south. She dragged her tongue through the coarse hair just above his boxers, tasting salt and musk and man, moaning at the raw, animal scent of him. Hongshik’s cock jerked under the fabric, the head outlined perfectly against the thin cotton, a huge, obscene tent that made her mouth water.
She could see the wet patch blooming at the tip—thick, clear pre-cum soaking through, darkening the gray material until it clung transparently to the fat mushroom head. A bead of it welled up, seeping through the weave, glistening in the kitchen light.
Jihyo whimpered.
She flattened her palm over the bulge—feeling the heat, the pulse, and the sheer size of him—and gave one slow, firm stroke from base to tip. Hongshik hissed through his teeth, hips bucking up into her hand.
“Fuck, baby… touch it… feel how hard you make Appa…”
Her fingers found the slit through the fabric—circling, rubbing, and smearing the leaking pre-cum in slow, slippery loops. The wet patch grew bigger, the cotton turning almost sheer, outlining every vein, every ridge. She pressed her thumb right against the tip and rubbed in tight circles, milking more pre-cum out until it oozed steadily, soaking her fingertip.
She licked her lips, eyes glassy with lust.
She needed it in her mouth. Needed to taste him and needed to choke on that thick, veiny monster until tears ran down her cheeks and her throat burned.
But first, she dragged her tongue lower, painting a wet stripe across the front of his boxers, tasting the salty pre-cum through the fabric. Hongshik groaned louder this time, hand fisting in her hair, not guiding yet—just holding, letting her worship.
Jihyo moaned against his cock—vibrations humming through the cotton straight to his shaft.
She was dripping now—her own pussy clenching around nothing, slick sliding down her thighs, pooling beneath her ass on the table. The thought of sucking him while she was this wet, this desperate, while her boyfriend was probably still downstairs playing video games… It made her clit throb so hard she nearly came untouched.
She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down just enough to free the head, fat, flushed, purple, and slit; weeping steadily. She leaned in and flicked her tongue over it once—quick, kittenish—tasting the salty-bitter pre-cum, moaning at the flavor.
Hongshik’s grip tightened in her hair.
“That’s my good girl… taste your Appa… show me how much you love this old cock…”
Jihyo’s eyes fluttered shut, lips parting on a shaky breath.
She was already lost.
And she hadn’t even taken him in her mouth yet.
One manicured hand pressed flat against Hongshik’s broad chest, pushing him backward with surprising strength. He let her—grinning like a wolf who’d already won—step back until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed in the next room. The hallway door had been left cracked open just enough for Minwoo to see everything, and now the scene shifted into full view.
Jihyo followed him like a predator stalking prey, hips swaying, heavy tits bouncing softly with each step. When Hongshik sat heavily on the mattress, she stopped right in front of him—close enough that her knees brushed his.
She smiled.
Not the bright, camera-ready Twice smiled the world knew.
This one was darker. Hungrier. Lips swollen, eyes half-lidded and glassy with lust, corners tilted in filthy promise. She looked like sin wearing a goddess’s face.
Then she turned.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Giving Hongshik—and unknowingly Minwoo—a full, devastating view of her back.
Her long black hair cascaded down her spine like ink poured over porcelain. The elegant curve of her shoulders led down to the dramatic dip of her waist, then flared into the lush, heart-shaped swell of her ass—round, firm, still flushed from earlier slaps. But it was lower than Minwoo's, breath strangled in his throat.
From this angle, he could see everything.
Her bare tits hung heavy and perfect in profile—full, teardrop-shaped, nipples dark red and still glistening from Hongshik’s mouth. Her stomach was flat and toned, a faint sheen of sweat making the skin glow. And between her creamy thighs…
Her pussy.
Neatly shaved, completely bare, lips puffy and flushed a deep, aroused pink. They were swollen, parted slightly from how wet she was, the inner folds shining slick. A thick, slow trickle of her arousal slid down the inside of one thigh, glistening like liquid diamond under the bedroom lamp. Another drop followed, then another—dripping steadily, obscenely, marking her as already ruined.
Minwoo’s cock jerked so violently in his boxers that he nearly came untouched.
Jihyo bent forward at the waist—slowly, pornographically, her back arched like a bow. Her tits swung forward, nipples brushing the air. Her ass lifted, cheeks parting just enough to show the tight pucker between them and the dripping slit below. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her thong—the black lace already soaked, dark, and clinging transparently to her pussy—and tugged it down.
Inch.
By torturous inches.
The fabric peeled away from her swollen lips with a wet, sticky sound. A long string of her arousal stretched between the thong and her clit, then snapped, swinging down to join the trail already leaking down her inner thighs. She dragged the panties slowly over her toned thighs, past her knees, and down her calves, stepping out of them one delicate foot at a time. The ruined lace dangled from her finger like a trophy.
She straightened, turned, and tossed them.
Hongshik caught the thong midair with a low chuckle. He brought it straight to his nose and inhaled deeply—eyes closing in pure, animal pleasure as he breathed in the thick, heady musk of her arousal. The scent was so strong that Minwoo could almost smell it from the doorway: sweet, tangy, feminine, and overwhelming.
Jihyo watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, biting her swollen lower lip.
She was completely naked now.
No clothes. No shame. No pretense.
Just Jihyo—Twice’s Jihyo—standing naked in her boyfriend’s childhood bedroom, soaked and ready for his father’s cock.
Minwoo’s hand moved faster inside his jeans—frantic, desperate—pre-cum soaking through the fabric in thick, pulsing waves. His cock throbbed so hard it hurt, but he couldn’t stop watching.
And Jihyo—perfect, untouchable Jihyo—was already turning back toward Hongshik, crawling onto the bed on all fours, ass high, pussy glistening, ready to give herself completely to the old man who’d ruined her for anyone else.
Jihyo crawled toward him on all fours like a panther in heat, every slow, deliberate movement making her heavy tits sway beneath her. The soft, full mounds dragged along Hongshik’s legs—first brushing the rough hair on his calves, then sliding up the thick muscle of his thighs. Her stiff nipples scraped against his skin with every inch she advanced, the friction sending sharp, electric tingles racing straight to her clit. Each drag of those sensitive peaks over his coarse leg hair made her gasp softly, pussy clenching hard around nothing, fresh slick leaking out to coat her inner thighs in a shiny trail.
She moaned low in her throat, the sound vibrating through her chest and into her tits as they rubbed against him again and again. The rough texture of his skin against her tender nipples was torture and heaven at once—every scrape made her ache deeper, made her pussy throb harder, and made her want to grind against something, anything, to ease the building pressure.
But she didn’t stop.
She couldn’t.
Her beautiful face—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, glassy eyes dark with pure, filthy need—finally hovered right above the obscene bulge in his boxers. His cock was so hard it had forced the waistband down just enough for the fat, flushed head to peek out over the top, glistening with a thick bead of pre-cum that slowly rolled down the veined shaft still trapped beneath the fabric. The sight made her mouth water instantly.
She leaned in closer, nose brushing the cotton, and inhaled deeply.
The scent hit her like a drug—musky, salty, thick with arousal, and with the sharp tang of pre-cum. It was the smell of him, of raw man, of the cock that had ruined her over and over again. She’d come to crave it like oxygen: that heady mix of sweat, skin, and leaking desire that clung to his boxers after every time he’d fucked her senseless. It made her head spin, made her clit pulse, and made her drip even more.
Jihyo whimpered—soft, needy, shameless—and extended her tender tongue.
She started at the base, right where the thick root of his cock strained against the cotton. Her tongue flattened, pressing hot and wet against the fabric, and she dragged it upward in one long, slow lick—tasting him through the material, tasting the salt of his skin, and the bitterness of pre-cum that had already soaked through. The wet patch spread instantly under her tongue, darkening the gray cotton, outlining the fat vein that ran along the underside of his shaft.
She moaned again, louder this time, the vibration humming straight through the fabric and into his cock. Hongshik’s hips jerked upward, a rough groan tearing from his throat.
“Fuck… baby… lick it… taste how hard you make Appa…”
Jihyo obeyed.
She lapped at him again—longer strokes now, tongue swirling over the cotton-covered length, tracing every ridge she could feel beneath. The pre-cum kept oozing, seeping through faster, until the front of his boxers was drenched, clinging transparently to the swollen head. She could see the slit clearly now—flared, weeping, begging for her mouth.
Her pussy ached so badly she could feel her own slick sliding down her thighs in steady rivulets. The emptiness inside her was unbearable; she wanted that thick, veiny monster stretching her open again, splitting her wide, filling her until she couldn’t breathe. But first…
She needed to worship it.
She needed to taste him.
She needed to choke on the cock that had turned her from Twice’s perfect main vocalist into this dripping, desperate, cock-hungry slut.
Jihyo pressed one last open-mouthed kiss to the wet fabric—lips molding around the fat head through the cotton—then looked up at Hongshik with pure, glassy lust.
Jihyo’s hands moved like they had a mind of their own—slow, greedy, trembling with need.
She slid them under the stretched waistband of Hongshik’s boxers, fingers brushing the coarse hair at the base of his cock before dipping lower. Her palms found his heavy balls first—full, warm, drawn tight against his body from how badly he wanted her. She cupped them gently at first, rolling the sensitive sack in her soft hand, feeling the weight, the heat, the way they pulsed under her touch. A low, filthy moan slipped from her throat as she squeezed just enough to make him hiss.
Then her other hand wrapped around the thick, throbbing shaft still trapped inside the cotton.
God, it was massive.
Even through the fabric, she could feel every vein, every ridge, and the way it jumped and leaked when her fingers closed around it. She stroked him slowly—base to tip—inside the boxers, her grip firm but teasing, her thumb brushing the underside where the fat vein throbbed hardest. Pre-cum pulsed out in thick, steady waves, soaking the cotton even more until the front was drenched and clinging transparently to the swollen head.
All the while, she lowered her chest.
Her big, soft tits—still flushed and swollen from earlier abuse—sandwiched his rock-hard cock right through the boxers. The heavy mounds enveloped him, nipples dragging along the wet fabric as she rocked forward, letting her breasts rub up and down his length in slow, obscene glides. The friction was maddening—her sensitive nipples scraping over the cotton, his leaking cockhead bumping against the soft undersides of her tits, smearing precum across her skin in shiny streaks.
Jihyo whimpered at the sensation, her pussy clenching hard, another thick trickle of her own slick sliding down her inner thigh.
She looked up at him—eyes glassy, pupils blown, that famous Twice smile twisted into something depraved and desperate—and dove for the tip peeking over the waistband.
Her tongue flicked out first—quick, kittenish—lapping at the fat, flushed head like it was candy. The taste of him exploded on her tongue: salty, bitter, and thick with pre-cum. She moaned loudly against his cock, the vibration humming straight through him. Hongshik’s hips jerked, a rough groan tearing from his throat.
“Fuck… baby… lick it… clean up that mess you made…”
Jihyo obeyed.
She flattened her tongue against the slit, lapping up the steady ooze of pre-cum like she was dying of thirst. Each slow drag of her tongue made more bead up, and she chased every drop—circling the flared head, dipping into the slit, sucking gently on the very tip until her lips sealed around it through the cotton. She looked up at him with every lick—eyes locked on his, dark and worshipful, moaning softly as she tasted him.
Minwoo couldn’t breathe.
He stood frozen in the hallway shadows, hand shoved down his jeans, stroking his own aching cock in frantic, silent jerks. He was pretty sure he’d cum any second just from watching—watching Jihyo, the goddess he’d jerked off to for years, reduced to this: naked, dripping, worshipping his father’s monster cock like it was the only thing that mattered.
How the hell was his old man still holding on?
Hongshik’s cock was obscenely hard—thick, veined, leaking like a faucet—and yet he hadn’t lost control. He just groaned low and rough with every lick, every suck, every slow stroke of Jihyo’s hand inside his boxers. His hand fisted in her long black hair—not guiding, just holding—letting her work, letting her degrade herself for him.
Jihyo sucked harder on the tip—lips stretching around the fat head through the soaked cotton—tongue swirling, lapping up every fresh drop of pre-cum that welled up. Her hand kept stroking him inside the boxers—slow, firm pumps from root to tip—while her tits continued to rub up and down his length, nipples scraping the wet fabric, leaving shiny trails of her own arousal mixed with his.
She was a mess—drool slipping from the corners of her mouth, pussy dripping steadily onto the floor between her spread knees, thighs shaking with how badly she needed to be filled.
And still she worshipped.
Still, she licked.
Still, she moaned like a whore in heat, completely owned by the old man’s cock.
Minwoo’s balls tightened.
He was going to cum.
And he hadn’t even touched her.
Jihyo watched, mesmerized, as Hongshik’s pre-cum kept dripping—thick, clear ropes oozing from the slit, sliding down the swollen head, then catching in the coarse gray pubes just above his waistband. The droplets pooled there in a shiny little mess, clinging to the wiry hair, glistening under the bedroom lamp like liquid sin. More came—slow, heavy pulses—each one making the dark patch on his boxers grow bigger, the fabric so soaked now it molded perfectly to every thick vein and ridge of his monster cock.
She licked her lips—slow, deliberate—tongue dragging across her swollen bottom lip, tasting the ghost of his flavor still lingering there. Her eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, that famous idol face twisted into pure, depraved hunger. She leaned in closer, heavy tits swaying beneath her, nipples brushing his thighs again, sending fresh sparks straight to her dripping cunt.
Then she extended her tongue.
Long, pink, trembling with need.
She dragged it flat across his pubes—right where the pre-cum had pooled—lapping up the salty, musky mess in one slow, filthy stroke. The taste exploded on her tongue: bitter, thick, pure man. She moaned—low, broken, shameless—feeling the warm slick coat her taste buds. Hongshik’s cock jumped violently at the contact, and the old man—watching his son’s girlfriend debase herself so completely—groaned deep in his chest.
The sight pushed him over some invisible edge.
Another thick spurt erupted from his slit—right where her tongue was waiting.
It hit her tongue in a hot, pulsing jet, oozing out in a steady, creamy flow. Jihyo moaned louder—vibrating against his pubes—as the fresh pre-cum flooded her mouth. She didn’t waste a single drop. She sealed her lips around the base of his cock through the boxers, sucking gently, tongue swirling to catch every bead that welled up. She licked and lapped like a woman starved—long, greedy strokes through the wet cotton, sucking harder when more leaked out, making sure she swallowed every thick, salty drop. Her cheeks hollowed, lips working, and filthy wet sounds filled the room as she cleaned him, worshipped him, and drank him down like it was the only thing keeping her alive.
“Fuck… baby… drink it all… every fucking drop… that’s my good little cumslut…”
Hongshik’s voice was rough and wrecked, hand fisting tighter in her hair—not forcing, just anchoring—as he watched her degrade herself for him.
From the doorway, Minwoo had the perfect, devastating angle.
Jihyo’s ass was pointed straight at him—round, firm, creamy cheeks spread just enough from her bent position to show everything. Her leaking pink pussy was fully exposed: lips puffy and dark, clit swollen and throbbing, inner folds shining with fresh slick. Every time she rocked forward to lick his father, her pussy opened a little more—clenching, fluttering, begging to be filled. A steady stream of her juices flowed out—thick, clear, dripping in long, sticky strings down her inner thighs, trailing all the way to her knees. Her toned, sexy ass cheeks flexed with each movement, muscles tightening and releasing, the soft flesh jiggling slightly when she bobbed her head.
Her heavy tits hung down beneath her, swaying with every lick, nipples brushing Hongshik’s thighs, leaving shiny trails of her own drool and his pre-cum. The sight was obscene—Jihyo, Twice’s perfect main vocalist, reduced to a dripping, cock-worshipping whore, ass in the air, pussy leaking like a broken faucet, tits swinging while she sucked and licked his father’s leaking dick through his boxers.
Minwoo couldn’t hold back.
His hand flew faster inside his jeans—frantic, desperate—stroking his aching cock in time with Jihyo’s slow, greedy licks. The jealousy burned hotter than ever, but the arousal drowned it completely. Within seconds, he came again—hard, silently—thick ropes of cum spilling into his boxers, soaking his hand, his thigh, his shame. His knees buckled slightly, vision blurring, but he couldn’t look away.
And still—impossibly—his father hadn’t come.
Hongshik’s cock stayed rock-hard, throbbing, leaking steadily into Jihyo’s eager mouth. He just groaned—low, rough, satisfied—with every lick, every suck, every slow pump of her hand inside his boxers, and every drag of her tits along his thighs. He didn’t lose control. He just watched her—gray eyes dark, possessive, proud—like he’d tamed the untamable idol and was savoring every second of her total, filthy surrender.
Jihyo moaned louder against his cock, tongue swirling faster, hands stroking harder, completely lost in worshipping the thick, veiny monster that had ruined her for anyone else.
She didn’t know Minwoo was watching.
She didn’t know her boyfriend’s brother was cumming in his pants again just from the sight of her bare, dripping body and her desperate mouth on his father’s cock.
And she didn’t care.
All she cared about was the taste flooding her tongue, the heat in her pussy, and the old man who owned her completely.
Jihyo pulled back just enough to look up at Hongshik, her lips shiny with his pre-cum, chin glistening, and eyes dark and glassy with pure, desperate lust. That famous Twice main vocalist's face—usually so polished, so perfect for cameras—was wrecked: cheeks flushed deep pink, mascara slightly smudged from earlier tears of overstimulation, and swollen lips parted on shaky breaths. She licked them slowly, tasting him again, then spoke in a voice so wrecked and needy it barely sounded like her.
“Appa…” she whispered, trembling. “I want to suck your cock… please… let me take it in my mouth… I need it… I need to taste you… all of you…”
Hongshik’s low, rumbling chuckle vibrated through his chest and straight into her core. His hand tightened in her long black hair—not pulling, just holding—tilting her head back so she had to meet his eyes.
“Greedy little idol slut,” he growled, voice thick with dark amusement. “You want Appa’s cock that bad? Then climb up here. Get on top of me. Let me see that dripping pussy right in my face while you choke on this old dick.”
Jihyo’s breath hitched—sharp, needy—and a fresh gush of slick leaked out of her, sliding down her inner thigh in a visible, shiny trail. Her eyes lit up with filthy happiness, pupils blown so wide they were almost black.
“Yes… yes, Appa…”
She moved fast—eager, clumsy with lust—crawling up his body like she couldn’t wait another second. Her heavy tits dragged along his stomach, nipples scraping through the coarse gray hair, leaving wet streaks of her own drool and his pre-cum. She straddled his chest first, then shifted higher, knees planting on either side of his shoulders until her dripping pussy hovered right above his mouth—pink, swollen, glistening lips parted and leaking steadily onto his chin.
From Minwoo’s cracked-door view, the angle was devastating.
He could see Jihyo’s beautiful face—flushed, wrecked, lips swollen and shiny—now inches from the fat, leaking head of his father’s cock still trapped under the soaked boxers. The black fabric was stretched obscenely tight, the outline of every thick vein and the flared mushroom head perfectly visible, pre-cum still oozing through in thick, steady pulses. Jihyo’s tongue was already out again—pink and wet—lapping at the tip through the cotton, slow, hungry circles that made more pre-cum well up and soak the material even darker.
And lower—fuck—Minwoo had a clear, unobstructed view of her ass pointed right at him.
Her toned, sexy ass cheeks were spread just enough from the position—round, firm, creamy skin flushed pink from earlier slaps. Between them, her leaking pink pussy was fully exposed: lips puffy and dark, clit swollen and throbbing, inner folds shining with fresh slick. Every time she rocked forward to lick his father’s cock, her pussy opened a little more—clenching, fluttering, dripping in long, sticky strings that trailed down her inner thighs. The creamy flesh of those sweet, sexy, fit thighs glistened with her arousal, the slick running in rivulets all the way to her knees, pooling on the sheets beneath her.
Minwoo’s hand was a blur inside his jeans—stroking frantically, pre-cum soaking his fingers, his balls tight and aching. He could see her jerk suddenly—hips twitching forward, a muffled moan vibrating against Hongshik’s cock—and he knew exactly why.
Hongshik’s big hands had slid up her thighs, thumbs spreading her pussy lips wide. His thick fingers traced her slick folds—slow, teasing—then one digit circled her swollen clit while another pressed against her entrance, dipping just inside. Jihyo’s whole body jolted, ass clenching, pussy clenching, and another thick gush of slick dripping down onto his waiting tongue.
She moaned louder against the boxers—vibrations humming straight through his cock—her tongue never stopping, lapping desperately at the leaking tip while her hips rocked back against his father’s mouth.
Minwoo came again—hard, silently—thick ropes spilling into his boxers, soaking his hand, his shame. His knees nearly gave out.
Jihyo’s trembling fingers finally hooked into the waistband of Hongshik’s boxers.
She tugged downward—slow, reverent, like she was unwrapping something sacred and filthy all at once. The elastic stretched, caught for a heartbeat on the thick base of his cock, then gave way.
The monster sprang free with a heavy slap—springing upward so fast the fat, flushed head nearly smacked her across the cheek.
Jihyo gasped—sharp, needy, eyes widening in that same dazed, worshipful shock she felt every single time she saw it.
There it was.
Thick. Long. Veiny. Brutal.
The shaft curved slightly upward, thick veins bulging along the length like ropes under the flushed skin, pulsing with every heartbeat. The head was swollen, mushroom-shaped, dark purple and shiny, the slit still weeping thick, clear pre-cum in slow, heavy beads that rolled down the underside and dripped onto her waiting tongue. It was obscene—bigger than any cock had any right to be, especially on a man three times her age. Korean men weren’t supposed to be built like this. But Hongshik was. And this cock—this brutal, beautiful beast—had ruined her.
Completely.
She stared at it like it was the only thing in the universe.
This was the thing that had made her unable to walk straight after their first night. Legs shaking, pussy sore and gaping, inner thighs bruised from his grip, every step a reminder of how deep he’d been, how thoroughly he’d split her open. She’d limped through dance practice the next day trying to hide the wince, thighs rubbing together and making her clit throb with aftershocks, panties soaked just from remembering.
Even on tour—when she was halfway across the world, locked in hotel rooms between schedules and concerts—she couldn’t escape it. She’d lie in bed after shows, legs spread, fingers buried in her pussy, rubbing frantic circles over her clit while she pictured this cock pounding her senseless. She’d cum hard—back arching, biting her pillow to stay quiet—whimpering his name into the dark, thighs shaking, wishing it was him stretching her instead of her own fingers.
She’d even taken a picture once—right after he’d fucked her raw on this very bed. He’d pulled out, cock still hard and glistening with her slick, and she’d grabbed her phone with shaking hands, snapped a quick, filthy shot of that thick, veiny monster before he could stop her. She kept it hidden in a locked folder, password-protected, and late at night when the ache between her legs became unbearable, she’d open it, zoom in, stare at every ridge, every vein, and finger herself until she came crying his name.
Now it was right in front of her again—real, hot, throbbing, leaking.
Jihyo gulped—loud, audible—throat working visibly.
Her hands—small, manicured, shaking—reached out and wrapped around the shaft.
She couldn’t even close her fingers all the way around the girth.
She stroked him slowly—base to tip—feeling every bulging vein under her palm, feeling him pulse and jump in her grip. More pre-cum welled up instantly, thick and pearly, dripping down the head and onto her knuckles. She moaned at the sight, low and broken.
Her beautiful face—still flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy—hovered right above the fat head.
She leaned in and sealed her mouth around the tip.
No hesitation.
She sucked—hard—cheeks hollowing as she drew the leaking slit into her mouth, tongue flicking rapidly over the opening to lap up every fresh drop of pre-cum. The taste flooded her—salty, bitter, thick, pure him—and she moaned around the head, the vibration humming straight through his cock and making his hips jerk.
Hongshik groaned—deep, rough, hand fisting tighter in her hair.
“That’s it, baby… suck Appa’s cock… take that pre-cum like the greedy little idol whore you are…”
Jihyo did.
She sucked harder—lips stretching wide around the fat mushroom head, tongue swirling, dipping into the slit, milking him for more. She bobbed shallowly, just enough to take the head and a few inches, cheeks hollowing with every pull, drool slipping from the corners of her mouth and dripping down his shaft. Her hands kept stroking the rest—slow, firm pumps—while her heavy tits swayed beneath her, nipples brushing his thighs, leaving wet trails.
From the doorway, Minwoo watched, frozen, hand still wrapped around his own cock, stroking in helpless time with her rhythm.
He could see her face perfectly—beautiful, wrecked, completely devoted—lips stretched obscenely around his father’s thick cock, tongue working the tip, and eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss every time another spurt of pre-cum hit her tongue.
He could see her ass too—pointed right at him, cheeks spread, pussy leaking in steady, shiny rivulets down her thighs.
And he could see the way her body jerked—hips twitching forward—every time Hongshik’s tongue flicked across her clit or his fingers curled inside her.
Minwoo stared—couldn’t look away if his life depended on it.
For the first time in his life, he saw his father’s cock.
And it fucking destroyed him.
Hongshik’s dick stood proud and brutal—thick as a wrist at the base, long enough that even fully hard it curved slightly upward like it knew exactly where to hit to make a woman scream. The shaft was a roadmap of bulging veins—thick, ropey cords that pulsed visibly under the flushed skin, running from the root all the way to the fat, mushroom-shaped head. That head was obscene: swollen, dark purple, shiny with pre-cum and Jihyo’s spit, the slit still weeping thick, pearly beads that rolled down the underside in slow, heavy trails. The whole thing throbbed—visibly, angrily—like it had a heartbeat of its own, demanding worship.
Minwoo felt it hit him all at once.
Dejection—sharp, cold, sinking into his gut like lead.
Shame—hot and choking, burning up his neck and cheeks because he was standing here in the hallway jerking off to his own father stealing his girlfriend.
Helplessness—bone-deep, because there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say, nothing that would change the fact that Jihyo was on her knees in front of that monster right now, moaning as she’d never moaned for him.
And worst of all—acceptance.
Because he understood now.
He understood exactly why Jihyo—Jihyo, Twice’s main vocalist, the woman millions called a goddess—had let his father finger her senseless on the kitchen table. Why she’d arched her back and spread her legs and begged for more when Hongshik’s rough hands mauled her tits. Why she’d kissed him like she was drowning and he was air.
Because that cock deserved it.
That thick, veiny, brutal beast deserved to be worshipped. Deserved to stretch her, ruin her, and own her in ways Minwoo’s dick never could.
He looked down at himself—his hand still wrapped around his own cock inside his jeans—and the comparison was cruel.
He wasn’t small. Average, maybe a little above. But next to his father?
He wasn’t even half the size.
Half the thickness.
Half the length.
Half the fucking presence.
Minwoo’s cock twitched in his grip—pathetic, leaking, nowhere near the monster that had Jihyo drooling and dripping on the bed right now. He knew—deep in his gut, in the sick twist of jealousy and arousal—that his brother wasn’t even close either. If Minwoo was average, his brother was probably smaller. No wonder Jihyo had never made those broken, filthy sounds for him. No wonder she’d never squirted like a fountain, never begged, never looked at him with that glassy, worshipful stare.
Because she’d never had this.
This thick, veiny, gray-haired beast stretched her so wide she couldn’t walk straight the next day. This cock that made her finger herself in hotel rooms on tour, staring at a secret photo she’d taken of it, cumming and crying his father’s name.
Minwoo’s hand moved faster—shameful, helpless—pre-cum soaking his fingers as he watched Jihyo lean in again, tongue flicking out to lap at the leaking slit like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.
He came again—silent, shuddering—thick ropes spilling into his boxers while his father’s cock throbbed untouched, still hard, still leaking, still owning the woman Minwoo loved.
And Minwoo—dejected, shamed, helpless—accepted it.
Because that cock deserved her.
Jihyo deserved a cock like that.
A woman built like her—thick thighs, heavy tits, that perfect hourglass waist flaring into a fat, juicy ass—was literally made to be plowed by something this brutal. Made to be split open, stretched until she screamed, and bred until she was dripping with cum and couldn’t walk straight for days. Minwoo knew it now, staring through the cracked door with his hand still wrapped around his pathetic, twitching dick. Jihyo’s body wasn’t meant for soft, quick fucks from boys her age. It was built for this—for an old, thick, veiny monster that could ruin her completely and leave her begging for more.
Hongshik’s cock throbbed right in front of her beautiful face—fat, angry, glistening with her spit and his endless pre-cum. The head was swollen and dark purple, with a slit weeping steadily, veins bulging like ropes under the flushed skin. Every heartbeat made it pulse, made it jump, and made more thick pre-cum bubble up and roll down the underside in slow, heavy trails.
Jihyo’s tongue never stopped circling.
She lapped at the fat head like it was her lifeline—slow, worshipful swirls around the ridge, dipping into the slit to scoop out every fresh bead of pre-cum that welled up. Her lips parted wider, sealing around the tip, sucking gently while her tongue flicked the underside, coaxing more out. She moaned—low, broken, vibrating against his cock—every time another thick pulse hit her tongue. She didn’t let a single drop escape. She swallowed it down greedily, tongue chasing the trails that escaped down the shaft, licking back up to the head to start all over again.
Minwoo came again.
Hard.
His cock jerked in his fist—once, twice—and thick ropes of cum spilled into his boxers, soaking his hand, his thigh, his shame. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, knees buckling, vision blurring at the edges. He couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop stroking through the aftershocks even as his own pathetic release dripped down his fingers.
And his father?
Hongshik didn’t even flinch.
He just groaned—low, rough, satisfied—hips rolling forward slightly to feed more of his leaking cock into Jihyo’s eager mouth. His hand stayed fisted in her long black hair, not forcing, just guiding—letting her worship at her own desperate pace. More pre-cum spurted out—thick, creamy pulses—right onto her waiting tongue. She moaned louder, eyes fluttering shut in bliss, swallowing every drop like it was holy nectar.
“Fuck… baby… drink it all… that’s it… take every drop Appa gives you…”
Jihyo whimpered in response—high, needy, filthy—her tongue never stopping, lips never leaving the fat head. She sucked harder, cheeks hollowing, pulling more pre-cum out of him while her heavy tits swayed beneath her, nipples brushing his thighs, leaving shiny trails of her own drool and his leaking mess.
Minwoo’s balls ached—already spent twice—but his cock stayed hard, twitching in his hand, because he couldn’t look away from the sight of Jihyo—Twice’s goddess, his brother’s girlfriend—completely owned by his father’s massive, unrelenting cock.
She was made for this.
Made to be plowed.
Made to be bred.
Jihyo opened her mouth wider—jaw aching already—and took more of Hongshik’s monster cock inside.
The fat head pushed past her lips, stretching them taut around its girth, the veiny shaft sliding over her tongue like hot velvet steel. She cushioned the thick underside with the flat of her tongue, feeling every bulging ridge drag slowly across her taste buds as inch after thick inch disappeared into her warm, wet mouth. Her cheeks hollowed, lips sealed tight, saliva pooling instantly and dripping down the corners of her mouth in shiny strings. She moaned around him—low, muffled, vibrating straight through his cock—and the sound made his hips jerk forward, feeding her another inch.
She could barely breathe.
But she didn’t care.
She wanted it deeper.
She needed it deeper.
At the same time, Hongshik’s big hands clamped around her waist—rough palms digging into the soft dip above her hips, holding her down like he owned every inch of her. He pulled her pussy harder against his face, nose buried in her slick folds, tongue spearing deep into her dripping core.
He ate her out like a starving man.
His tongue was thick, hot, and relentless—plunging inside her, curling upward to lap at her sensitive walls, tracing every fluttering ridge, every slick crease. He fucked her with it—slow, deep thrusts—then flattened it to drag in long, filthy strokes from her entrance up to her swollen clit. When he reached the little nub, he sucked it into his mouth—hard—tongue flicking the tip rapidly while his lips sealed around it, pulling, tugging, milking it until her whole body seized.
Jihyo’s hips shuddered violently—trying to buck away from the overwhelming pleasure, trying to grind down harder for more—all at once. But his iron grip on her waist kept her pinned, forced her to take every brutal lick, every deep thrust of his tongue, every suck on her clit. She could feel him invading her—hot, wet muscle stretching her open, lapping at her inner walls like he was trying to drink her dry. Her pussy clenched around his tongue, fluttering helplessly, gushing fresh slick straight onto his chin, down his throat.
She moaned louder around his cock—vibrations humming down his shaft—making him groan into her pussy, the sound rumbling through her clit like thunder.
His cock twitched hard inside her mouth—thick, angry pulses that made the veins bulge against her tongue. She felt it swell even bigger, the head bumping the back of her throat with every shallow bob of her head. Pre-cum leaked steadily now—salty, thick, coating her tongue, sliding down her throat. She swallowed around him, throat working, milking him for more, desperate to take every drop he gave her.
Hongshik growled against her cunt—voice muffled, feral.
“That’s it, baby… choke on Appa’s cock while I eat this greedy little pussy… feel how deep my tongue is inside you? Gonna make you squirt all over my face again…”
Jihyo’s hips tried to jerk again—shuddering, shaking—but his hands held her down mercilessly, forcing her to take the relentless assault. His tongue curled harder, rubbing that spot deep inside that made stars explode behind her eyes. Her thighs trembled, ass clenching, pussy spasming around his invading tongue as another wave of slick poured out.
She sucked harder on his cock—desperate, sloppy—lips stretched wide, tongue swirling around the head, cheeks hollowing as she tried to take more, more, more. Drool spilled from her mouth, running down his shaft, soaking his balls. Her heavy tits bounced beneath her with every bob of her head, nipples scraping his thighs, sending fresh sparks straight to her clit.
Minwoo watched—frozen, hand still stroking his own leaking cock—seeing his girlfriend’s perfect idol face stretched around his father’s massive dick while her dripping pussy was devoured like a feast.
She was breaking again.
Jihyo took half of that monster cock into her mouth in one slow, greedy slide.
Her lips stretched obscenely wide around the thick shaft—cheeks hollowing as she forced herself down, inch after fat, veiny inch disappearing past her glossy lips. The head bumped the back of her throat, and she paused there—frozen, eyes watering, throat fluttering around him—giving herself a desperate second to breathe, to adjust, to feel how full she already was.
Saliva poured out of her instantly—hot, messy, and unstoppable.
It spilled from the corners of her stretched mouth in thick, shiny strings, dripping down the veiny length of his cock, coating every bulging ridge, and running in rivulets over his heavy balls. The whole shaft glistened now—slick and wet and filthy—her drool mixing with his pre-cum until it looked like he’d already cum all over her pretty idol face.
She moaned around him—deep, muffled, vibrating straight through his cock—and the sound made Hongshik’s hips jerk upward, feeding her another half inch.
“Fuck… baby… look at you… drooling all over Appa’s big dick like a perfect little cocksleeve…”
Jihyo’s eyes fluttered, tears gathering at the corners from the stretch, but she didn’t pull off.
She couldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
She needed more.
She braced her hands on his thick thighs—nails digging into the hard muscle—and pushed forward again.
More cock slid into her mouth—slow, relentless—stretching her jaw wider, filling her until the fat head nudged the back of her throat again. Her tongue flattened along the underside, cushioning the pulsing vein, swirling around the ridges as she took him deeper. Saliva kept pouring—messy, obscene—drenching his balls until they shone, dripping onto the sheets below in wet little splats.
Hongshik groaned—low, rough, primal—and brought one big hand down on her ass.
Slap.
The sound cracked through the room—sharp, filthy—his palm connecting hard with the right cheek.
Jihyo’s whole body jolted.
Her ass jiggled—round, firm, creamy flesh rippling from the impact, a perfect red handprint blooming instantly on her pale skin.
She moaned—loud, broken, vibrating wildly around the thick cock stuffing her mouth.
The vibration shot straight through him—his cock twitched hard inside her throat, swelling even thicker, pre-cum spurting in hot, heavy pulses right against the back of her tongue.
She loved it.
Loved how his cock jumped and throbbed inside her mouth every time she moaned. Loved how alive it felt—hot, pulsing, leaking—completely at her mercy even though she was the one choking on it.
Another slap—harder—left cheek this time.
Crack.
Her ass jiggled again, flesh wobbling deliciously, the sting blooming into sweet heat that shot straight to her clit.
She moaned louder—muffled, wet, desperate—around his cock.
Hongshik’s dick twitched violently inside her mouth—once, twice—and another thick spurt of pre-cum flooded her tongue.
Jihyo swallowed greedily, throat working, milking him for every drop.
She pushed forward again—taking even more—lips stretched to their limit, saliva dripping in long strings from her chin onto his balls below. She could feel the head nudging her throat, the veins pulsing against her tongue, the sheer girth making her jaw ache in the best, filthiest way.
She wanted it all.
Every thick, veiny inch.
She wanted to choke on it until tears ran down her cheeks and her throat burned.
She wanted to prove she could take the cock that had ruined her—over and over and over.
And Hongshik—gray-haired, rough-handed, impossibly in control—only groaned again, hand tightening in her hair, the other slapping her jiggling ass once more.
Crack.
Jihyo moaned around him—long, broken, vibrating—and took another inch.
Deeper.
Wetter.
Filthier.
Minwoo’s world had shrunk to the narrow crack in the door and the obscene scene unfolding on the bed.
Jihyo—his Jihyo, Twice’s Jihyo, the woman he’d dreamed about for years—was giving his father a blowjob like her life depended on it.
She had half the monster cock in her mouth already—lips stretched obscenely wide, cheeks hollowed, saliva dripping in thick, shiny strings down the veiny shaft and onto his heavy balls. Her tongue was visible even from this angle—pink and wet, flattened along the underside, cushioning every ridge as she slowly worked more inside. She paused again—eyes watering, throat fluttering visibly around the thick intrusion—giving herself a second to breathe, to adjust, to feel how full her mouth was.
Hongshik groaned low and rough, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into her pussy, still hovering over his face.
Then she moved.
She started slow—achingly slow.
Her head bobbed in shallow, deliberate motions—lips sliding up to the fat head, tongue swirling around the leaking slit to lap up the fresh pre-cum that welled up, then pushing back down, taking another inch, and stretching her jaw wider. Saliva poured out with every pull—messy, wet, and filthy—coating his cock until it shone, dripping onto his balls in long, sticky strands. She moaned around him—low, vibrating moans that made his shaft twitch hard inside her mouth, with more pre-cum spurting onto her tongue.
Minwoo could see it all: the way her throat worked when she swallowed around him, the way her eyes fluttered shut in bliss every time another thick pulse hit the back of her tongue, the way her heavy tits swayed beneath her with each bob, nipples brushing his father’s thighs.
Hongshik’s response was immediate—his groan muffled against her dripping pussy as he ate her out harder. His tongue plunged deep again—curling, thrusting, lapping at her sensitive walls—while his hands clamped tighter on her waist, holding her down so she couldn’t escape the relentless assault. The vibration of his groan hummed straight through her clit, making her hips jerk, her pussy clenching, and another gush of slick dripping onto his waiting mouth.
Jihyo moaned louder around his cock—broken, desperate, vibrating wildly—and sped up.
She adjusted fast—jaw relaxing, throat opening, and greed taking over.
Her head moved faster now—bobbing deeper, taking more of that thick, veiny length with every downward slide. The wet, sloppy sounds filled the room—gluck, gluck, gluck—as she fucked her mouth on him, lips stretching to their limit, saliva pouring out in messy rivulets, soaking his balls completely. She hollowed her cheeks harder, tongue swirling around the shaft on every upstroke, sucking the fat head like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.
Hongshik groaned again—louder, rougher—his tongue thrusting deeper into her pussy in retaliation, curling hard against that spot that made her whole body seize. His lips sealed around her clit, sucking—pulling—while his tongue flicked the swollen nub rapidly. Jihyo’s hips shuddered violently, ass clenching, pussy spasming around his invading tongue, but his iron grip kept her pinned, forcing her to take every brutal lick, every deep thrust.
She moaned around his cock—high, muffled, and desperate—the vibration making him twitch harder inside her mouth. More pre-cum spurted—thick, hot pulses—flooding her tongue, sliding down her throat. She swallowed greedily, throat working, milking him for every drop while her head bobbed faster and deeper, taking almost three-quarters of that monster now.
Minwoo watched—hand flying inside his jeans—seeing his dream girl’s perfect idol face stretched around his father’s massive dick, saliva dripping, tits bouncing, and pussy dripping onto his father’s chin while she moaned like a whore in heat.
Hongshik’s groans grew louder, vibrating against her clit, pushing her closer to the edge.
Jihyo’s pace turned frantic—head bobbing wildly now, lips stretched to breaking, throat taking him deeper with every downward thrust. She was choking herself on his cock—gagging softly, tears slipping down her cheeks—but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.
She needed it.
Needed to feel that thick, veiny beast in her mouth the way it owned her pussy.
And Hongshik—still rock-hard, still leaking, still in complete control—only groaned louder, tongue fucking her harder, hands pinning her down as she shattered again.
Hongshik’s hands tightened on Jihyo’s waist like iron clamps, pinning her dripping pussy right against his hungry mouth. She was already shaking—thighs quivering, hips twitching—but he didn’t let her escape even an inch. His tongue plunged back inside her soaked cunt—thick, hot, relentless—curling deep to rub that spongy spot that made her see stars. At the same instant, two thick fingers joined his tongue, sliding into her stretched entrance with a wet squelch, stretching her wider, filling her completely.
Jihyo’s whole body seized.
A raw, muffled scream vibrated around his cock as her mouth was stuffed full—lips stretched obscenely, cheeks hollowed, drool pouring down his shaft in thick rivulets. The double invasion was brutal and perfect: his tongue thrusting and lapping at her walls, swirling over every sensitive ridge, while his fingers pumped deep—curling, scissoring, rubbing her G-spot in merciless circles. The pressure built fast—too fast—her pussy clenching and fluttering around his fingers and tongue like it was trying to pull him deeper.
She bobbed her head harder on his cock—desperate, sloppy—taking more of the thick length with every downward plunge. Saliva spilled from her lips, soaking his balls completely, dripping onto the sheets in wet little splats. She sucked harder—cheeks hollowing, tongue swirling around the bulging veins, throat working to swallow around the fat head that nudged her tonsils. Every time she took him deeper, her moans vibrated through his shaft, making his cock twitch and spurt more pre-cum straight onto her tongue.
Hongshik growled into her pussy—the sound rumbling straight through her clit like a vibrator.
He sucked her swollen nub into his mouth—hard—lips sealing tight, tongue flicking the tip rapidly while his fingers thrust faster, deeper, curling harder against her G-spot. His other hand slid up to grip one ass cheek, spreading her wider, giving his tongue better access to lap at her fluttering walls.
Jihyo shattered.
Her first squirt hit like a geyser—hot, forceful, spraying across Hongshik’s chin and cheeks in messy pulses. She screamed around his cock—muffled, wet, desperate—body convulsing, hips jerking against his hold. Her pussy clamped down on his fingers and tongue, spasming wildly, squirting again and again—clear, hot jets soaking his face, dripping down his neck, and pooling on the sheets beneath them.
She didn’t stop sucking.
Even as her body bucked and shuddered through the orgasm, her head kept bobbing—faster now, sloppier—lips stretched to their limit, throat taking him deeper with every thrust. She licked her own juices off his chin when she could reach—tongue darting out between bobs, tasting her own sweet-salty slick mixed with his pre-cum, moaning louder at the filthy combination.
Hongshik didn’t let up.
His tongue kept thrusting—fucking her through the orgasm—while his fingers curled harder, rubbing that spot relentlessly. He sucked her clit again—pulling, tugging—milking another gush from her spasming cunt. Jihyo’s second squirt was even messier—spraying across his face in forceful arcs, dripping down his cheeks, and soaking his gray hair. Her body shuddered violently—back arching, tits bouncing wildly beneath her, thighs trembling so hard they nearly gave out—but his grip held her down, forcing her to ride every wave.
She moaned—high, broken, vibrating around his cock—making him twitch and spurt more pre-cum straight down her throat. She swallowed greedily—throat working, milking him—while her own pussy kept squirting, kept clenching, kept flooding his mouth and fingers with her release.
Her third orgasm crashed through her almost immediately—no break, no mercy. Her hips jerked hard against his face, her pussy spasming so violently his fingers were squeezed tight inside her. Another hot jet of squirt sprayed across his chin, his lips, his tongue—drenching him completely. Jihyo’s muffled screams turned into wet, gurgling moans around his cock—drool and pre-cum spilling from her lips, dripping onto his balls in thick strings.
She was a shaking, squirting, babbling mess—body convulsing, pussy gushing, mouth stuffed full of cock, worshipping him even as he broke her again and again.
Hongshik groaned—deep, satisfied—tongue still lapping, fingers still thrusting, drinking every drop she gave him while his cock throbbed harder inside her throat.
And Jihyo—ruined, owned, dripping—kept sucking, kept moaning, kept squirting, completely surrendered to the man who had turned her into this perfect, filthy, squirting idol slut.
Hongshik’s thick, muscular thighs suddenly flexed—hard, unyielding—and clamped around Jihyo’s head like a vice.
In one brutal, possessive motion, he locked her in place, legs wrapping tight around her skull, heels digging into her upper back. Her beautiful face was trapped—nose buried in his coarse gray pubes, lips stretched to breaking around the base of his monster cock, the fat head lodged deep in her throat.
Jihyo’s eyes flew wide—glassy, panicked, and lust-drunk all at once. Her hands flew to his thighs, nails digging into the hard muscle, but there was no escaping. She was pinned. Owned. Stuffed full.
A choked, wet gurgle escaped her—muffled, desperate—as her throat spasmed around the thick intrusion. Saliva poured from her stretched lips in thick, messy ropes, bubbling around the base of his cock, dripping down his balls in shiny strings. Her tongue flattened helplessly against the underside, feeling every bulging vein pulse against it, every heartbeat throbbing deep in her gullet.
Hongshik groaned—low, feral, triumphant—and pushed his legs down harder.
The motion forced her head lower, forcing every last inch of that girthy beast down her throat until her nose was mashed against his pubic bone. Her throat bulged visibly—a thick, obscene outline of his cock stretching her neck from the inside, the fat head lodged so deep it distorted her elegant throat into a lewd, protruding bump.
Minwoo saw it all.
From the cracked door, he watched his brother’s girlfriend—Twice’s Jihyo, global idol, main vocalist—being face-fucked like a cheap whore. Her throat swelled with every brutal thrust, the bump sliding up and down as Hongshik used his legs to piston her head. Her eyes watered, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, mascara running in black rivulets. Drool and pre-cum bubbled from her lips, spilling over her chin, dripping onto her heavy, swaying tits below. She gagged—wet, choking sounds muffled around the cock stuffing her—but she didn’t fight.
She couldn’t.
Her hands clawed at his thighs—not to push away, but to hold on—as her body shuddered through the assault. Her pussy—still dripping from earlier—clenched and leaked fresh slick down her thighs, pooling on the sheets beneath her knees. Every time Hongshik pushed her down, forcing his cock deeper, her throat convulsed, milking him, squeezing him like a hot, wet fist.
Hongshik growled—voice rough, wrecked—hips rolling up to meet each downward pull of his legs.
“That’s it… take it all, baby… choke on Appa’s big cock… let that throat stretch for me…”
Jihyo’s gags turned into wet, gurgling moans—vibrating wildly around his shaft, making him twitch and spurt more pre-cum straight down her gullet. She swallowed reflexively—throat working visibly around the bulge—milking him, drinking him, completely surrendered. Her eyes rolled back slightly, lashes fluttering, tears streaming, but her hips kept rocking—grinding her soaked pussy against nothing, chasing friction even as her throat was ruthlessly fucked.
Minwoo’s hand flew faster inside his jeans—shameful, helpless—watching the obscene bump in her throat slide up and down, watching her choke and spit and drool all over his father’s thick cock. He could see the outline clearly—every ridge, every vein—stretching her elegant neck into something pornographic, something ruined.
Jihyo was being face-fucked—hard, deep, mercilessly—and she was loving it.
Her body shuddered—once, twice—pussy clenching hard as another small squirt leaked out, dripping onto the sheets. Her moans turned into choked, gurgling pleas around the cock stuffing her throat—muffled, broken, and worshipful.
She was breaking again.
And Minwoo—cumming silently in his pants for the third time—could only watch as his brother’s perfect girlfriend was turned into a drooling, choking, throat-stuffed mess by his own father’s massive, unrelenting cock.
Hongshik’s thighs clamped tighter around Jihyo’s head, heels digging into her back like steel bars, locking her in place with no mercy, no escape. His hips snapped upward in short, brutal thrusts—fucking her face with ruthless rhythm, the fat head of his cock bullying past her tonsils and deep into her throat over and over. The obscene bulge in her elegant neck slid up and down visibly with every plunge—stretching her throat into a lewd, protruding outline that Minwoo could see clearly from the cracked door.
Jihyo choked—wet, gurgling gags muffled around the thick shaft stuffing her mouth. Saliva bubbled from her stretched lips in thick, messy ropes, spilling down his balls in shiny rivers, dripping onto the sheets in wet splats. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, mascara running in black streaks, but her eyes stayed glassy with lust, pupils blown wide, completely surrendered. Her hands clawed at his thighs—not pushing away, but gripping, holding on for dear life as he used her throat like a tight, wet sleeve.
Hongshik groaned—a deep, animal voice wrecked with pleasure.
“Fuck… take it, baby… choke on Appa’s cock… milk me with that pretty throat…”
He thrust harder—faster—hips rolling up to bury himself to the root every time. Jihyo’s nose mashed against his pubic bone with each deep plunge, pubes tickling her nostrils. the musky scent of him was overwhelming her senses. Her throat convulsed around him—spasming, squeezing, and swallowing reflexively—milking his cock like it was trying to pull every drop out of him.
Minwoo watched—frozen, hand still wrapped around his own leaking dick—seeing his brother’s girlfriend’s throat bulge and ripple with the shape of his father’s massive cock. The sight was obscene, impossible, and devastating. Jihyo—perfect, untouchable Jihyo—was being face-fucked like a cheap whore, drool and pre-cum bubbling from her lips, tears streaming, body shuddering with every brutal thrust.
Hongshik’s groans grew louder—rougher—his thighs trembling now, muscles flexing around her head as his balls drew up tight.
“Gonna cum… fuck… gonna fill that pretty mouth… swallow it all, baby… every fucking drop…”
Jihyo moaned—high, muffled, vibrating wildly around his cock—her own pussy clenching hard, dripping fresh slick down her thighs even as her throat was ruthlessly used.
Then Hongshik thrust one last time—deep, hard, burying himself to the hilt—and came.
His cock pulsed violently inside her throat—thick, hot ropes of cum erupting straight down her gullet in powerful jets. Minwoo could see it—the moment it happened. Jihyo’s throat worked visibly—gulping, swallowing, the bulge in her neck pulsing with each thick spurt as she drank him down. She gulped again and again—desperate, greedy swallows—her throat bobbing rapidly, milking every last drop from his twitching cock. Cum overflowed anyway—thick white cream leaking from the corners of her stretched lips, dripping down her chin in messy strings, and splattering onto her swaying tits below.
Hongshik groaned—long, low, and satisfied—hips jerking with each pulse, feeding her more until he finally emptied himself completely.
Only then did he release her.
His thighs loosened, legs falling away from her head. Jihyo pulled off his cock with a wet, obscene pop—gasping, coughing, and panting—thick strands of cum and saliva connecting her swollen lips to the glistening head. She slumped sideways—weak, sweaty, and trembling—collapsing onto the bed beside him, body spread-eagled, completely spent.
Her chest heaved—breasts rising and falling rapidly, nipples still dark red and swollen, glistening with sweat and stray drops of cum. Her toned stomach quivered, abs flexing with each ragged breath. Between her creamy thighs, her pussy lips twitched visibly—puffy, dark pink, still leaking slick in slow, lazy pulses that trailed down her inner thighs and soaked the sheets beneath her ass. Sweat rolled down her body in shining rivulets—across her collarbones, between her breasts, over the soft curve of her stomach—making her skin glow under the bedroom lamp.
She coughed once—wet and hoarse—then panted, huffing for air, flushed from her hairline to her chest. Her long black hair stuck to her sweaty cheeks and neck, framing her wrecked, beautiful face.
She turned her head weakly toward Hongshik, her voice cracked and trembling with awe.
“Appa… that… that was so good…” she whispered, words slurring with exhaustion and bliss. “My orgasm… felt so fucking good… your tongue… your fingers… I squirted so much… and your cum… so thick… so delicious… I drank it all… every drop… I love your cum… love how full it makes me feel…”
She reached out a shaky hand, trailing her fingers along his still-hard cock—still twitching, still leaking the last drops—smiling dazedly, completely broken and completely owned.
Hongshik chuckled—low, dark, satisfied—reaching over to stroke her sweat-damp hair.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “You took it all so well… my perfect little idol cumslut.”
Jihyo whimpered softly—her body twitching again, her pussy lips fluttering—as another small aftershock rippled through her.
Minwoo stood frozen in the doorway—hand still wrapped around his spent cock—watching his brother’s girlfriend lie there, sweaty, weak, coughing and panting, body spread and trembling, praising his father like he was a god.
And in that moment, Minwoo knew—deep in his gut, in the sick twist of jealousy and arousal—that Jihyo was gone.
Minwoo finally peeled himself away from the cracked door, legs shaky and weak, his boxers soaked and sticky with his own shame. The hallway felt colder now, the house quieter, but his ears still rang with the wet, filthy sounds of Jihyo’s choking moans and his father’s low growls. His cock—spent three times already—twitched uselessly in his pants, raw and sensitive, but the ache in his chest was worse. He stumbled back toward his room on numb feet, each step heavy with the weight of what he’d just witnessed.
He didn’t go far.
He left his door open just a sliver—enough to hear, enough to know. He sank onto the edge of his bed, head in his hands, breathing hard. The images wouldn’t leave him: Jihyo’s throat bulging around his father’s thick cock, her tears streaming, her pussy dripping while she swallowed load after load like it was her only purpose. She’d looked so broken, so completely owned. And she’d loved it. Loved every second of being ruined by the old man who’d raised him.
The house settled into an uneasy silence. Minutes dragged—maybe ten, maybe twenty—until he heard movement again.
Soft footsteps. Bare feet on hardwood.
Jihyo emerged from the master bedroom, walking like she’d forgotten how legs worked.
She was trembling—full-body shivers that made her heavy tits jiggle with every unsteady step. Her long black hair was damp and tangled, clinging to her sweat-slicked shoulders and back. She’d clearly tried to clean up in the bathroom: her face was freshly washed, mascara smudges gone, but her skin still glowed with that post-orgasm flush—cheeks pink, chest blotchy red, nipples dark and swollen. Her thighs rubbed together as she walked, slick with her own juices and probably some of his father’s cum that had leaked out after he’d finished in her mouth. Every few steps, her knees buckled slightly, forcing her to grab the wall for support. She looked wrecked—beautifully, thoroughly wrecked—and Minwoo’s spent cock gave one last pathetic twitch at the sight.
She didn’t notice him watching from the dark doorway. She just shuffled toward the guest bathroom down the hall, weak legs shaking, one hand braced on the wall, the other pressed low on her stomach, as she could still feel the stretch of that massive cock inside her.
Minwoo’s throat tightened.
Then—movement from the master bedroom.
Hongshik slipped out quietly, shirt still unbuttoned, cock tucked back into his boxers but still half-hard, the front dark with Jihyo’s spit and his own cum. He glanced down the hallway, saw Jihyo’s shaky retreat toward the bathroom, and let a slow, satisfied smirk curl his lips. He adjusted himself once—casual, possessive—then padded barefoot toward the living room, probably to check if Minwoo was still “asleep” downstairs.
Minwoo stayed frozen in his doorway, heart pounding.
He was sure now—bone-deep certain—that this was only the beginning.
His father wasn’t done with her. Not even close.
And Jihyo—shivering, trembling, barely able to walk—was already ruined for anyone else. She’d come back from that bathroom still flushed, still leaking, and still aching, and she’d crawl right back into that bed. She’d spread her legs for that old cock again. She’d moan his father’s name again. She’d squirt and choke and beg again.
Throughout his entire stay here—at his own childhood home—Minwoo would hear it. See it. Feel it.
Every night.
Every stolen moment.
Every time Jihyo thought no one was watching.
He’d watch.
He’d listen.
And he’d hate himself for how hard it made him.
Because the goddess he loved—the woman he thought was his—had already been claimed.
Hyunjun strolled casually along the bustling outdoor set of Yuna’s new “Ice Cream” music video shoot, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the colorful, candy-themed props and vibrant backdrops.
The entire area was alive with activity—staff members hurried back and forth carrying lighting equipment, cameras, and racks of outfits, while directors shouted instructions through megaphones and makeup artists touched up the dancers’ faces between takes. The air buzzed with energy, the faint scent of sweet artificial fog and vanilla perfume mixing with the warm summer breeze.
He kept his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, trying to look like just another casual visitor—maybe a friend of one of the staff or a boyfriend waiting for his girlfriend. No one paid him much attention; he blended in well enough among the crew. But his eyes were locked on one person only.
There, in the center of a cleared practice area marked off with tape, was Yuna.
The Itzy maknae was practicing her solo dance section with a group of backup dancers, her body moving with that signature sensual precision that made her one of the most desired idols in the industry. She wore a tiny, pastel-pink dress that looked like it had been designed specifically to drive men insane. The fabric was thin, silky, and dangerously short—barely reaching mid-thigh—clinging to her hourglass figure like a second skin. The neckline plunged deep between her full, perky breasts, showing off a generous amount of soft, pale cleavage that jiggled enticingly with every sharp movement. Thin spaghetti straps held the dress up, and the hem flared just enough to tease a view of her smooth, toned thighs whenever she spun or dipped low.
Hyunjun’s gaze devoured her openly, hidden behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. He watched the way her slim waist twisted and rolled, accentuating the dramatic curve of her hips and the perfect swell of her round, firm ass. Every hip pop, every body roll, every sensual body wave made the dress ride higher up her thighs, flashing teasing glimpses of the lacy edge of her tiny panties underneath. Her long legs looked endless in the strappy heels, muscles flexing as she executed sharp, sexy choreography—popping her chest forward, arching her back to thrust her ass out, then whipping her long, silky hair around with a sultry expression that screamed pure sex.
Fuck… she looked like walking temptation.
Hyunjun swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. His cock twitched inside his jeans as he remembered exactly what that body felt like under him—naked, sweaty, writhing, and begging. He was the lucky bastard who got to fuck that sexy idol's body whenever he wanted. The secret affair had been going on for months now, hidden from almost everyone.
Everyone except the other Itzy members, who somehow knew about his relationship with Lia but had no idea he was also regularly pounding Yuna’s tight little pussy behind their leader’s back.
It had started innocently enough—or at least that’s what he told himself. Yuna had always been the flirtiest, the most playful one. She’d caught him alone in the dorm one night while Lia was in the shower, pressing her soft tits against his arm and whispering how she could hear him and Lia fucking through the walls… and how she got so wet thinking about his “big cock” stretching her unnie. One thing led to another—stolen kisses, wandering hands, and soon he was bending Yuna over the kitchen counter, stuffing her dripping cunt full while Lia hummed happily in the next room.
Now he was addicted. And so was she.
Hyunjun’s mind flashed with filthy memories as he watched Yuna practice. The way she’d sneak into his car after schedules, already soaked and needy, climbing into his lap and riding him reverse cowgirl while whispering how much bigger and thicker he was than any toy she owned. How she’d send him nudes from the practice room bathroom, spreading her pussy lips in the mirror with the caption, "Hurry and come fill this up, Oppa~." "How naughty and shameless she became the second they were alone.
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The security cabin sat at the edge of the most exclusive residential complex in all of Seoul—a place called Elysian Heights, a name that dripped with the kind of quiet, unspoken wealth that made ordinary people’s jaws drop.
Towering glass-and-steel structures rose against the skyline like crystalline monuments, each penthouse a multi-million-dollar fortress of privacy and excess.
The grounds sprawled across manicured acres: koi ponds that shimmered under hidden LED lights, infinity pools that seemed to pour into the city below, private gyms, saunas, and even a helipad for the residents who could afford to bypass traffic entirely. Security was layered like a military installation—biometric scanners, 24/7 patrols, and a network of over two hundred high-definition cameras feeding into a central command center no bigger than a modest apartment.
That command center was Manshik’s domain. He had been working here for three years now—three long, grinding, tedious years of watching monitors, logging access records, and pretending not to notice the things he wasn’t supposed to see. The cabin was small but technologically pristine: a crescent-shaped desk lined with twelve flat screens, each divided into quadrants showing different angles of the complex. A leather chair that had molded itself to his body. A mini-fridge stocked with energy drinks. And absolute solitude from midnight until dawn, when the rich and famous slept—or, more often, did things that required even more privacy than their soundproofed walls already provided.
Manshik was a thin man in his late forties, with a receding hairline and fingers stained yellow from cheap cigarettes he snuck in the back stairwell. His uniform was crisp—navy blue with a gold badge—but his eyes were anything but professional. They darted from screen to screen, hungry, searching. He had learned the rhythms of the residents over the years. Which celebrities came home drunk at 3 a.m., stumbling out of blacked-out SUVs? Which married idols snuck lovers in through the service entrance? Which ones walked naked past their floor-to-ceiling windows when they thought the smart glass was activated?
And then there was Kim Jisoo.
Manshik’s breath hitched every time he thought about her—which was constantly. Jisoo of Blackpink. The one with the doll-like face and the voice that could melt glaciers. She had purchased the penthouse on the top floor of Tower B about eighteen months ago, and Manshik had memorized her unit number, her usual schedule, and every single camera angle that gave him even a glimpse of her. He had watched her move in with her designer luggage and that shy, elegant wave she gave to the doorman. He had cataloged every outfit she wore, leaving the building: the oversized hoodies that somehow still accentuated her curves, the tiny shorts that showed off her impossibly long thighs, and the yoga pants that clung to her ass like a second skin.
The hallway outside Trainer Hyo Jung's office smelled of floor wax and old paper. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow on the concrete walls.
Wonyoung stood with her back straight, her fists clenched at her sides, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. She was still in her military uniform—crisp green fatigues, black combat boots, and her long, dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. The uniform was meant to be shapeless and modest, but on her, it clung in all the wrong places. Her hips curved against the stiff fabric. Her breasts pressed against the front of her blouse, the top button straining just slightly. She had noticed the way the other soldiers looked at her during training—the quick glances, the lingering stares. She had tried to ignore it.
But now she needed those looks to work in her favor.
Sunwoo's career was hanging by a thread. Three days ago, a camera caught him in the supply shed, talking to another trainee about the training schedule—complaining, really, about the long hours and the harsh conditions. But the camera had also caught him saying something else, something worse: a careless joke about the army's leadership, a flippant comment about the head trainer's methods. The clip had been flagged. The producers were reviewing it. If they decided to air it—or worse, if they escalated it to the military brass—Sunwoo's career would be over. Not just the show. Not just his idol group. Everything. The endorsements, the fanbase, the years of hard work. Gone.
Sunwoo had tried to talk to Trainer Hyo Jung himself. The older man had listened with a stony face, nodded once, and said, "The evidence will be reviewed according to protocol. There's nothing I can do."
But there was something he could do. Everyone knew it. The trainer had pull with the producers, with the military liaisons, and with the network executives. If he wanted to bury the clip, he could. If he wanted to spin it as a misunderstanding, he could. If he wanted to protect Sunwoo, he could.
He just didn't want to.
So now Wonyoung was here, alone, outside his office, rehearsing the words she had been practicing all night.
Please, sir. He didn't mean it. It was a mistake. We'll do extra training. We'll apologize publicly. Whatever it takes.
She raised her hand and knocked.
"Come in."
The voice was deep and rough, with the gravelly edge of a man who had spent decades shouting over gunfire and engine noise. Wonyoung pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Trainer Hyo Jung's office was small and utilitarian: a metal desk, a filing cabinet, and a window that looked out onto the parade ground. The man himself sat behind the desk, leaning back in his chair, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He was forty years old, but he looked older—his face weathered and lined, his hair cropped short and gray at the temples. His eyes were dark and sharp, the kind of eyes that missed nothing.
He didn't stand when she entered. He didn't smile. He just watched her walk across the room, his gaze moving slowly from her face to her chest to her hips and back up again.
"Miss Jang," he said. "I was wondering when you'd come."
Wonyoung stopped in front of his desk, her hands clasped behind her back, her posture rigid. "You knew I would?"
"I saw the way you looked at him during training. The way you looked at each other." He uncrossed his arms and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. "You're not just colleagues, are you? You're something more."
Wonyoung's throat tightened. She and Sunwoo had been careful—so careful. No public displays of affection. No social media interactions. Separate cars, separate hotels, separate lives on paper. But the trainer had noticed. Of course, he had.
"Please, sir," she said, keeping her voice steady. "I'm here to talk about the clip. About what Sunwoo said. It was taken out of context. He's under a lot of stress; we all are, and he just—"
"He disrespected the uniform." Hyo Jung's voice was flat and final. "He disrespected me. No context changes that."
"He'll apologize. Publicly. On camera, we'll do extra drills, extra PT, or whatever you want."
"What I want," Hyo Jung said slowly, "is for trainees to remember why they're here. This isn't a variety show. This isn't a game. This is the Republic of Korea Army, and in my training camp, we follow the rules."
Wonyoung felt her hope crumbling. "Sir, please. His career—"
"His career is not my concern."
She stood there, silent, her fists trembling at her sides. She had tried reason. She had tried pleading. She had tried every argument she could think of, and he had batted them all aside like they were nothing.
"What about money?" she asked, desperate now. "We can pay—"
"I'm not a corrupt man, Miss Jang."
"I didn't mean—"
"I know what you meant." He stood up, slowly, his chair scraping against the concrete floor. He was taller than she had realized and broader, his body hard and solid beneath his own uniform. He walked around the desk and stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell his aftershave—something sharp and masculine, like pine and smoke.
"You're very determined," he said. "I'll give you that. Most trainees would have given up by now. But you keep pushing. You keep trying. Why?"
"Because I love him."
The words came out before she could stop them. She watched his expression shift—something flickering in those dark eyes, something she couldn't name.
"Love," he repeated. "That's why you're here. That's why you're willing to humble yourself in front of a man you barely know."
"Yes."
He was quiet for a long moment. His gaze traveled over her face, her neck, and the curve of her shoulder where the fatigues pulled tight. She saw his throat move as he swallowed.
"You're very beautiful, Miss Jang."
The compliment landed like a slap. Wonyoung stepped back, her heart racing. " Sir—"
"I've watched you train. The way you move. The way your body responds to commands." He took a step closer, closing the distance she had tried to create. "You're disciplined. Focused. But there's something else underneath, isn't there? Something softer."
Tags: Creampie, blackmail, blowjob, corruption, incest. big cock
The summer Leeseo turned twenty, the annual family vacation took on a new texture—one she could feel before they even packed the car. Her mother’s sister, Aunt Miso, had married Junsang when Leeseo was twelve. Back then, he was just the uncle who laughed too loudly and gave slightly too long hugs. But Leeseo had always been observant.
Now, twenty. Legally an adult in every country that mattered. She had celebrated with friends at a noraebang, wearing a cropped camisole and low-rise jeans that showed the sharp lines of her hipbones. Junsang had shown up uninvited to drop off a “birthday gift”—a silk scarf, too intimate—and his pupils had dilated the moment she opened the door. His eyes changed. No longer the furtive, guilty glances of a predator hiding from himself. Now they were patient. Calculating. Hungry in a way that acknowledged she could see him seeing her.
Uncle Junsang noticed the changes to her body immediately. He'd had the hots for his lovely niece for years... ever since she'd gone through puberty. Since then, he has always been 'accidentally' touching her when walking by or hugging her a little too long and too tightly. He always had a weird, longing expression on his face when he looked at her. He gave her the creeps every time he visited, especially when she caught him trying to sneak a look down her shirt when she bent over or "accidentally" rubbed his crotch against her butt when he thought nobody would notice.
In the past—because of her youthful naivety—she never understood why he did what he did but came to realize just how creepy and perverted he was as she grew older. Still, when he was around, she never passed up an opportunity to tease him, to cruelly make him think he was about to see her bare charms, only to snatch the opportunity away and dance off laughing. She secretly rejected the tingle and fluttery butterflies in the stomach she got when she caught him leering at her or when he "accidentally" touched her.
Junsang was a typical perv. He was a short, overweight man with greasy, gray hair, carelessly combed over his bald head. He was an old man. At 69, a man his age should not stare at any teenage girl, let alone fixate on his own niece. Though Leeseo thought his inappropriate behavior towards her was obvious, somehow her parents and the rest of her family didn't have a clue about Uncle Junsang's perverted tendencies. She never hid the fact that she thought he was absolutely disgusting, though for some reason she seemed to spend a lot of time with him when he was around, which is why her family was oblivious to his inappropriate behavior.
Minwoo never thought in a hundred years that his older brother Chaehyun would land someone like Park Jihyo.
Not just any girl. Not some cute office worker or college sweetheart.
Park fucking Jihyo. Twice’s leader. The woman whose voice had been blasting through his earbuds during late-night gym sessions for years. The same Jihyo whose stage presence could make stadiums full of grown men scream like teenagers. Jihyo, whose thighs—God, those thighs—had their own fan accounts, whose hourglass figure had trended worldwide more times than he could count, and whose smile was weaponized sex appeal wrapped in sunshine.
And now she was standing in his family’s living room, barefoot on the hardwood floor his mom had just polished that morning, wearing nothing but a thin white T-shirt and tiny black cotton shorts that looked painted on.
Minwoo’s brain flatlined.
He’d walked in from the kitchen carrying a tray of fruit his mom had forced him to cut, expecting the usual weekend family chaos—his dad yelling at the TV, his little sister scrolling TikTok, and Chaehyun probably bragging about some new car part he’d installed.
Instead, he walked straight into a fever dream.
Jihyo turned when she heard his footsteps.
Her long dark hair was loose, slightly messy from whatever playful wrestling she and Chaehyun had been doing on the couch five minutes earlier. The white T-shirt was thin—way too thin—and stretched tight across her full, heavy breasts. No bra. He could see the faint outline of her nipples pressing against the cotton every time she breathed. The shirt rode up just enough to show a sliver of toned midriff, the kind of flat, defined stomach that came from years of grueling choreography and core workouts.
And those shorts.
Jesus Christ, those shorts.
They were barely more than boy shorts, hugging the generous curve of her hips, digging slightly into the soft flesh of her thick, sculpted thighs. The material was so snug it outlined every dip and swell—inner thighs that looked plush enough to bruise under a hard grip and outer thighs carved from endless squats and dance practice. When she shifted her weight, the fabric pulled even tighter, creating a perfect camel toe that made Minwoo’s mouth go dry in under two seconds.
He froze mid-step.
The tray wobbled. A grape rolled off and bounced across the floor.
Jihyo smiled—bright, sweet, and completely innocent—and bent slightly to pick it up.
Her ass flexed under the shorts. Round. Full. The kind of ass that made leggings manufacturers rich and grown men stupid. The shorts rode up higher as she bent, exposing more of those creamy thighs and the faint tan lines from whatever bikini bottoms she wore on secret beach trips with Chaehyun.
Minwoo’s cock jerked hard in his sweatpants.
Instant. Painful. No warning.
He could feel it thickening, lengthening, pressing insistently against the soft cotton, the head already leaking a wet spot; he prayed no one would notice. His balls tightened as someone had just yanked them. Heat flooded his groin so fast he almost groaned out loud.
She straightened, held a grape between delicate fingers, and popped it into her mouth.
Her lips closed around it. Cheeks hollowed for a split second.
Minwoo’s vision tunneled.
He could picture it too clearly—those same full lips wrapped around something much thicker. Sliding down. Tongue swirling. Throat working. The same innocent smile she gave fans on Bubble Live is now smeared with spit and precum while she looks up at him with those big doe eyes.
Chaehyun laughed from the couch, completely oblivious.
“Yo, Minwoo, you good? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Jihyo giggled—softly, melodically—and walked over to him, hips swaying naturally.
“Here, let me help with the tray,” she said, voice warm and friendly, like she wasn’t currently the center of every filthy fantasy he’d ever had.
She reached for the tray.
Her breasts brushed his forearm—soft, warm, heavy—even through the shirt. No bra meant he felt everything. The faint drag of her nipple across his skin sent electricity straight to his already aching cock.
He nearly dropped the tray again.
“Thanks,” he managed, his voice hoarse.
She tilted her head, smiling up at him.
Up close, she smelled like vanilla body cream and something faintly floral—probably whatever expensive perfume Twice’s sponsors sent her. Her skin was flawless, poreless, and glowing under the living room lights. A tiny beauty mark sat just below her left eye. Her lashes were long and dark, even without makeup.
And those thighs.
God, standing this close, he could see the faint muscle definition when she shifted. The way the shorts dug in created the softest, sexiest little roll of flesh at the top of her thighs. He wanted to grab them. Spread them. Bury his face between them until she was shaking and screaming his name instead of his brother’s.
Chaehyun called from the couch, “Babe, come sit. Minwoo’s just being dramatic.”
Jihyo laughed again—that bright, addictive sound—and turned, giving Minwoo a perfect view of her ass as she walked away.
Each step made her cheeks bounce slightly under the tight fabric. The shorts wedged higher with every movement, outlining the perfect heart shape of her backside. When she sat down next to Chaehyun, she crossed one leg over the other.
The motion made her thigh flex: muscle and soft flesh in perfect harmony.
Minwoo stood there like an idiot, tray still in his hands, cock so hard it hurt to breathe.
Jihyo had moved in quietly after dating Chaehyun for a year—she said it was easier with her schedule, easier to avoid paparazzi, and easier to just be normal for once. She cooked breakfast in tiny silk camisoles. Did yoga in the living room, wearing nothing but leggings and a sports bra that left very little to the imagination. Took showers so long the bathroom mirror stayed fogged for twenty minutes afterward, and Minwoo had caught himself standing outside the door once, listening to the water hit her body, imagining every droplet sliding down those curves.
Minwoo had barely unpacked his duffel bag in the dorms before the semester break hit like a gift from the universe. Four whole weeks. No lectures, no group projects, no pretending he gave a shit about macroeconomics. Just one thing on his mind the entire train ride home: Jihyo.
He hadn’t lived under the same roof as her for almost two years now.
College had forced him out—dorm life, a part-time job at a café, and the usual broke-student grind. He’d missed the chaos of family dinners, missed the way his mom fussed over everyone, and missed the low-key thrill of hearing Jihyo’s laughter echo through the house at odd hours.
But mostly, he’d missed her.
Not in any innocent, brotherly way.
He’d missed the way she padded around the kitchen in oversized hoodies that still managed to hug her curves. Missed catching glimpses of her stretching in the living room after vocal practice, sports bra clinging to sweat-damp skin, those legendary thighs flexing with every deep lunge. Missed the nights when Chaehyun was out late, and she’d sit on the couch in tiny sleep shorts, legs tucked under her, scrolling her phone while humming Twice songs under her breath—completely unaware (or maybe very aware) that Minwoo was stealing glances from the hallway, cock half-hard just from the sight of her bare thighs pressed together.
Back then, she’d been new to the house. Polite. Sweet. Always asking if he wanted snacks, always thanking him when he carried her heavy stage bags up the stairs after late-night schedules. She’d treated him like a little brother.
And he’d jerked off in his room afterward, thinking about bending her over the kitchen island while she called him “oppa” in that breathy voice she used on variety shows.
Now he was twenty-two. Taller. Broader from inconsistent gym sessions fueled mostly by spite and sexual frustration. And he was finally home.
The front door clicked open at 7:14 p.m.
The smell of kimchi jjigae hit him first—his mom’s signature, simmering on the stove. Laughter floated from the living room. His dad’s booming voice is arguing with a sports commentator on TV—Chaehyun’s lower chuckle.
And then her voice—bright, melodic, unmistakable.
“Minwoo-ya! Is that you?”
He dropped his bag in the entryway without thinking.
Jihyo appeared around the corner, barefoot, wearing loose gray sweatpants that still managed to cling to her hips and a cropped black tank top that ended just above her navel. Her midriff was on full display—toned, smooth, with a faint line of definition running down the center from endless core work. Her hair was up in a messy bun, a few strands falling around her face. No makeup. Just naturally flushed cheeks and those full, pouty lips curved into a genuine smile.
She looked softer than on stage. More real. More fuckable.
Minwoo’s throat went dry.
“Hey, noona,” he managed, voice rougher than he intended.
She bounced forward—actually bounced, tits jiggling under the thin tank—and threw her arms around him in a quick hug.
Her breasts pressed firmly against his chest. Soft. Warm. No bra again. He could feel the faint outline of her nipples through the fabric, brushing his shirt as she squeezed him.
“Welcome home!” she chirped, pulling back but keeping her hands on his upper arms, squeezing like she was checking if he’d grown. “You got taller again? Or buffer? Look at these shoulders.”
Her fingers dug in playfully.
Minwoo prayed she couldn’t feel how fast his heart was hammering—or worse, how his cock was already stirring in his jeans at the simple contact.
“Yeah… gym,” he lied. The gym had seen him maybe six times this semester. Most of his “gains” came from carrying heavy boxes at the café and pure, pent-up horniness.
Chaehyun wandered in from the living room, beer in hand, grinning.
“Little bro’s back. Don’t let Jihyo feed you too much. She’s been stress-baking again.”
Jihyo swatted Chaehyun’s arm. “Yah, I only baked because your mom said she missed my red bean buns.”
She turned back to Minwoo, eyes sparkling. “I made extra. For you.”
The way she said “for you” shouldn’t have sounded like an invitation.
But it did.
His cock twitched.
He forced a smile. “Thanks, noona. Smells amazing.”
Dinner was torture.
Jihyo sat directly across from him.
Minwoo sat there at the dinner table, trying to act normal, but his eyes kept betraying him. Every few seconds, they'd dart across to Jihyo, zeroing in on those perfect, full breasts straining against her cropped black tank top. No bra meant every little movement made them jiggle—soft, hypnotic bounces that sent heat pooling straight to his groin. When she reached for the kimchi jar, her arm lifted just enough to make her tits shift and wobble, nipples poking faintly through the thin fabric like they were teasing him on purpose. And when she laughed—head thrown back slightly, that bright, melodic sound filling the room—her whole chest shook with it, the jiggle more pronounced, making the tank top ride up another inch to expose more of her toned midriff. He could see the faint sheen of sweat on her skin from the warm kitchen, making her glow under the overhead light. His cock throbbed in his jeans, already half-hard from the hug earlier, and he shifted uncomfortably, hoping no one noticed how he was staring like a starving man.
The whole family was seated now, the table loaded with steaming bowls of kimchi jjigae, rice, banchan, and grilled meat. Chaehyun plopped down to Jihyo's left, his arm casually draping over the back of her chair as he owned her—which he did, technically. Their dad, Hongshik, settled in to her right, his broad frame making the chair creak as he grinned and started dishing out portions. Mom sat next to Minwoo, across from Dad, fussing over the napkins and making sure everyone had enough. The conversation flowed easily—Dad bragging about his latest fishing trip, Mom asking about Minwoo's college classes, and Chaehyun cracking jokes about Twice's latest comeback and how Jihyo had been practicing dance moves in the living room at 2 a.m. Jihyo laughed along, her voice light and flirty, leaning into Chaehyun now and then so her shoulder brushed his. But Minwoo's mind was elsewhere, replaying the way her breasts had pressed against him during that hug, imagining how they'd feel in his hands—soft, heavy, nipples hardening under his thumbs.
They talked and laughed about everything—old family stories, Jihyo's funny fan encounters, and even teasing Minwoo about whether he'd found a girlfriend yet. "With a sister-in-law like Jihyo, you've got big shoes to fill," Chaehyun said with a wink, making everyone chuckle. Jihyo blushed playfully, her tits jiggling again with the motion, and Minwoo forced a laugh while his cock twitched harder. He was so distracted that he barely tasted the food, his eyes flicking down to her cleavage every time she leaned forward.
Then it happened—his chopsticks slipped from his fingers mid-bite, clattering to the floor under the table. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, cheeks heating as he bent down to grab them. The tablecloth draped just enough to hide him from above, but from this angle, he had a perfect, shadowy view under the table. And there they were—Jihyo's legs, crossed casually in those loose gray sweatpants. But loose didn't mean much on her; the fabric still clung to her thick, sculpted thighs, outlining the plush curves where her legs met her hips. The pants were soft cotton, riding up slightly from sitting, exposing a few inches of bare calf—smooth, toned skin that begged to be touched. He froze for a second, admiring the view like a pervert. Those thighs—famous for a reason—looked even sexier up close, the material dipping into the soft valley between them, hinting at the warmth hidden higher up. He could imagine spreading them apart, burying his face between them, and tasting her through the fabric before yanking it aside.
As he reached for the chopsticks, still staring shamelessly, a hand suddenly appeared on her left thigh—from the side, sliding in slowly and deliberately. Big, rough fingers splayed out over the sweatpants, caressing the curve of her thigh with a possessiveness that made Minwoo's stomach twist. The hand rubbed up and down, thumb digging in just enough to make the fabric bunch, tracing the inner seam like it was mapping her out. At first, Jihyo's legs tensed—her thighs clamping together slightly, muscles flexing under the touch. Minwoo could see it all: her bare feet curling against the floor, toes flexing in surprise. She froze, her body going rigid for a heartbeat, and he imagined her face above the table—maybe a quick hitch in her breath, a subtle shift in her posture while the family kept talking.
But then, like she was used to it, her thighs relaxed. Completely. She uncrossed her legs slowly, spreading them wider under the table—inviting, almost begging for more. The hand took the cue immediately, fingers sliding higher, rubbing firmer now, kneading the soft flesh of her inner thigh through the pants. Minwoo gritted his teeth, jealousy burning hot in his chest. Lucky bastard, he thought, picturing Chaehyun's smug grin above the table. Getting to touch those thighs whenever he wants. Feeling her spread for him like a good little slut while we're all sitting here eating dinner.
But something felt off. He blinked, staring harder in the dim light under the table. The hand—it was coming from the right side. Jihyo's right thigh. And Chaehyun was on her left. Minwoo double-checked, heart pounding now—yeah, Chaehyun's legs were angled left, away from her. That hand... those thick fingers, the faint age spots on the knuckles, the wedding ring glinting dully... that wasn't his brother's hand.
It was his dad's.
Hongshik's hand. Their father's hand. Sliding possessively over Jihyo's thigh as if it belonged there.
Minwoo's world tilted. Shock hit him like a punch to the gut, freezing him in place under the table. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. No fucking way. His mind reeled, unwilling to process it, denial surging up hot and bitter. This couldn't be happening. Not his dad—the same guy who lectured them about respect and family values, who went to church every Sunday, who still called Jihyo "daughter-in-law" with that proud smile. Touching her like that? Under the table, right in front of everyone? While Mom sat across, clueless, passing the rice?
But it was happening. Right in front of his eyes. The hand didn't stop—emboldened now, fingers creeping higher, rubbing slow circles on her inner thigh, inches from her crotch. Minwoo could see the fabric tent slightly as the hand pressed in, kneading deeper, and Jihyo's thighs trembled—subtle quivers that made her legs shake just a little. She was enjoying it. Fuck, she's actually enjoying it. Her thighs spread even wider, one knee brushing against Hongshik's leg under the table, giving him full access. The hand took advantage, sliding up to the crease where her thigh met her hip, thumb brushing dangerously close to her pussy through the sweatpants. Minwoo's cock—traitor that it was—throbbed harder at the sight, a twisted mix of rage and arousal flooding him. He wanted to scream, to yank the tablecloth up and expose it all, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. The kinkiness of it—the forbidden, dirty secret unfolding while the family laughed above—made his balls ache.
Did she know? Did Jihyo mistake his father's hand for Chaehyun's? Why else would she allow the old man to grope her like that, spreading her thighs like a needy whore? She had to think it was her boyfriend—some playful under-the-table teasing. But even as Minwoo thought it, doubt crept in. The way she relaxed so quickly, the way her thighs parted without hesitation... it felt too familiar. Too practiced. Like this wasn't the first time. His stomach churned with unwillingness, a sour knot of betrayal twisting inside him. He couldn't believe this—his idol sister-in-law, the perfect Park Jihyo, letting his dad feel her up while Chaehyun sat right there, oblivious. While he watched, hard as a rock, hating every second but unable to stop staring as the hand rubbed higher, making her tremble again.
Minwoo stayed bent under the table longer than he needed to, fingers numb around the fallen chopsticks, heart slamming so hard he could feel it in his throat. The scene unfolding inches from his face was impossible and obscene, and yet it was happening in real time—his own father’s thick, weathered hand buried deep between Jihyo’s spread thighs, hidden only by the loose gray sweatpants and the tablecloth’s shadow.
He forced himself to straighten slowly, movements mechanical, face blank as he sat back up and placed the chopsticks on his napkin like nothing had happened. Above the table, everything looked perfectly normal.
Jihyo was smiling sweetly at something Chaehyun had just said, nodding along, her voice light and melodic as she replied. “Really? That’s hilarious, oppa.” Her tone was the same bright idol voice she used in lives and interviews—innocent, bubbly, and untouchable.
But Minwoo could see the cracks.
Her shoulders were subtly hunched forward, like she was trying to keep her upper body composed while her lower half was being dismantled. Every few seconds, a tiny shiver ran through her—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. Her full lips parted on a silent breath, then pressed together again. She bit the lower one—hard—teeth sinking into the plump flesh until it turned white and then released with a soft, wet pop. The gesture was small, almost cute, but Minwoo knew exactly what it meant: she was fighting not to moan.
Chaehyun’s arm was still casually slung around the back of her chair, fingers playing idly with the ends of her hair while he rambled on about some funny story from work. Completely oblivious. His other hand rested on the table, gesturing as he talked. Nowhere near her lap.
Across from Minwoo, Hongshik looked bored—chin propped on one hand, eyes half-lidded as he stared at his bowl like the jjigae had personally offended him. To everyone else, he was just an uninterested old man waiting for dessert.
But Minwoo knew better now.
He watched his father’s right arm disappear under the table again, elbow barely moving; the motion was so practiced and subtle it could have been him reaching for his napkin. Except that Minwoo could see the faint flex of forearm muscles under the rolled-up sleeve and the slow, deliberate rhythm of his wrist. Hongshik’s fingers were working inside those sweatpants—rubbing, circling, pressing—exactly where Jihyo’s body was betraying her the most.
Jihyo’s chopsticks trembled in her grip. She clutched them so tightly the wood creaked. A soft, involuntary gasp slipped past her lips—barely audible, disguised as a surprised laugh at Chaehyun’s joke—but Minwoo heard the edge of pleasure in it. Her eyelids fluttered. She bit her lip again, harder this time, trying to trap the next sound before it escaped.
Their eyes met for a split second.
Hongshik glanced sideways at her—casual, almost lazy—and Jihyo looked back. The look they exchanged was electric, loaded, and filthy. No words. Just raw understanding. Her pupils were blown wide, and her cheeks flushed a deep pink that had nothing to do with the warm kitchen. She bit her lip once more—deliberately this time, seductively—and her thighs shifted wider under the table. Inviting. Begging.
Minwoo’s stomach twisted with a sick cocktail of shock, jealousy, and unwanted arousal. His cock—already traitorously hard from watching her tits jiggle earlier—was throbbing painfully now, trapped against his zipper. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t look away.
Hongshik’s hand moved again—higher, deeper. Minwoo couldn’t see exactly what his fingers were doing anymore, but he could see the effect. Jihyo’s body jerked once—subtle, hidden by the table—then again. Her breath hitched audibly this time. A tiny, needy whimper escaped before she could swallow it, disguised as a cough. She pressed her thighs together around his father’s wrist, trapping his hand there, grinding subtly against it.
Then Hongshik did something—curled his fingers, pressed harder, rubbed faster—and Jihyo broke.
She leaned back in her chair suddenly, spine arching, head falling back against the headrest. Eyes squeezed shut. Mouth falling open in a silent, ecstatic O. Her chest heaved—those perfect, heavy breasts rising and falling rapidly under the cropped tank, nipples visibly stiff and poking through the fabric like bullets. A full-body shudder rolled through her—shoulders, arms, and thighs—her chopsticks clattering softly against the edge of her bowl. Another soft, broken gasp slipped out, this one impossible to hide.
Chaehyun turned to her immediately, concerned. “You okay, babe?”
Jihyo forced her eyes open, lashes fluttering. She managed a shaky smile, her voice breathy and wrecked. “Y-yeah… just… the stew is really spicy today.” She fanned her face weakly with one hand. “Whew.”
Mom laughed. “I told you I added extra gochujang! You always say you like it hot.”
Chaehyun chuckled and rubbed her back comfortingly—completely unaware that his girlfriend was still trembling from his father’s fingers buried inside her pants.
Hongshik, meanwhile, slowly withdrew his hand—calm, unhurried—wiping his fingers discreetly on a napkin as he’d just finished eating. He picked up his spoon again and took a casual bite of rice, expression blank.
But Minwoo had seen everything.
The way Jihyo’s thighs had trembled and clenched around his dad’s wrist.
The way her body had arched like she was coming undone.
The way she hadn’t pulled away—hadn’t even tried to stop him.
The way she’d looked at Hongshik with pure, pleading lust right before she threw her head back in pleasure.
This wasn’t a mistake.
She hadn’t confused his father’s hand for Chaehyun’s.
She knew exactly whose fingers had been stroking her clit, fingering her pussy under the dinner table while her boyfriend, his mom, and his little brother sat inches away.
And from the practiced ease of it all—the subtle signals, the silent eye contact, the way her body responded like it had been trained—this wasn’t the first time.
Questions exploded in Minwoo’s mind, each one dirtier and more twisted than the last.
How long had this been going on?
How many times had his dad fingered Jihyo under this very table while the family ate?
Did Chaehyun really not know? Or was he just that blind?
Did Jihyo sneak into Dad’s room at night when Chaehyun was asleep?
Did she ride his father’s cock in the guest bathroom while everyone was downstairs?
Did she moan “appa” instead of “oppa” when she came?
Minwoo’s hands shook under the table. His cock was so hard it hurt—leaking steadily into his boxers, a shameful wet spot spreading. He hated how turned on he was. Hated that the sight of his perfect, untouchable sister-in-law getting secretly finger-fucked by his own father was making him throb like this.
But he couldn’t stop watching.
Jihyo took a shaky sip of water, lips trembling around the rim of the glass.
Hongshik calmly asked Mom to pass the kimchi.
Chaehyun kept talking and laughing, none the wiser.
And Minwoo sat there—silent, stunned, painfully aroused—knowing the perfect idol image the world worshipped was nothing but a carefully constructed lie.
Underneath the table, in his own house, Park Jihyo was someone else’s dirty little secret.
And now Minwoo was the only one who knew.
*****************
Dinner ended in the usual blur of clattering dishes and overlapping goodnights. Mom started clearing plates with her cheerful efficiency, Chaehyun stretched and yawned dramatically while complaining about how full he was, and Jihyo—sweet, perfect Jihyo—suddenly stood up a little too quickly.
“I’ll… um, go change into something more comfortable,” she said, her voice still light but edged with something breathy that only Minwoo seemed to catch. She flashed her trademark idol smile—bright, practiced, flawless—then turned and hurried toward the stairs without waiting for anyone to respond.
Minwoo watched her go.
The gray sweatpants clung to her thick thighs with every hurried step; the soft cotton darkened noticeably at the crotch. A wet, unmistakable stain bloomed right between her legs—darker gray turning almost black where her arousal had soaked through. The fabric stuck to her skin there, outlining the plump shape of her pussy lips in obscene detail as she climbed. Each step made her ass cheeks flex and jiggle under the material, but Minwoo’s eyes were locked lower—on that spreading damp patch that proved exactly how much she’d enjoyed what happened under the table.
His goddess. Park Jihyo. Twice’s leader. The woman was worshipped by millions of fans for her strength, her voice, and her untouchable beauty. Dripping wet from his own father’s fingers.
Minwoo’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
He could still picture it: her thighs parting willingly, hips subtly rocking to meet Hongshik’s thick, calloused digits as they slid inside her soaked folds. The way her body had shuddered and arched when he’d curled them just right, hitting that spot that made her bite her lip and throw her head back in silent ecstasy. She hadn’t flinched away. Hadn’t whispered “stop.” She’d spread wider. Invited him deeper. Let the old man finger-fuck her right there while the family laughed and ate like nothing was happening.
It should have been him.
Not his grumpy, balding, fifty-something father with the perpetual scowl and the beer belly hidden under loose shirts. Not the man who still called her “daughter-in-law” in that overly formal tone during family photos. Minwoo stared across the table at Hongshik, who was now calmly sipping the last of his tea like he hadn’t just had his hand buried knuckle-deep in idol pussy five minutes ago.
How the hell had he done it?
How had this ordinary, unimpressive old man seduced someone like Jihyo? She could have anyone—actors, idols, CEOs, or fans who threw money at her feet. Yet she’d let Hongshik grope her under the dinner table and let him make her come (or at least edge her to the brink) while her boyfriend sat inches away. The memory of her trembling thighs, the way she’d clenched around his wrist, the soft, broken gasp she’d failed to hide—it replayed in Minwoo’s head on loop. She’d been into it. Desperate for it. Her body language screamed consent, craving, and familiarity.
It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t a one-time mistake.
This was routine.
The thought made Minwoo’s stomach churn with jealousy so sharp it hurt, but his cock—still traitorously hard—throbbed harder at the same time. He hated how turned on he was. Hated picturing Jihyo on her knees in front of his dad instead of him. Hated imagining her moaning “appa” in that breathy idol voice while Hongshik’s thick fingers stretched her open.
A few minutes later, Hongshik pushed back from the table with a low grunt.
“Long day,” he muttered, his voice gruff and disinterested as always. “Gonna head up and rest.”
Mom nodded absently. “Don’t forget to take your blood pressure pill, yeobo.”
Chaehyun waved without looking up from his phone. “Night, Dad.”
Hongshik didn’t reply. He just stood, stretched once—joints popping—and headed for the stairs.
Minwoo watched him go.
Every heavy step up the wooden staircase felt like a countdown. He knew—knew with sick certainty—where his father was really going.
Not to his own bedroom.
To Jihyo.
She is up there right now. Probably already peeling off those soaked sweatpants, the wet cotton clinging to her swollen pussy lips as she tugged them down her thick thighs. Maybe she was standing in front of the full-length mirror in Chaehyun’s room, fingers trailing over the slick mess his dad had left between her legs. Maybe she was biting her lip again, remembering how good those rough fingers had felt, how they’d rubbed her clit in slow, firm circles until she almost came right there at the family table.
And now the old man was climbing the stairs to finish what he started.
Minwoo’s hands curled into fists under the table.
He pictured it too clearly: Hongshik slipped into the bedroom while Chaehyun was still downstairs scrolling Twitter. Jihyo turned toward him with that same needy look she’d given him under the table—eyes dark, lips parted, thighs already trembling. Maybe she’d drop to her knees without a word, tugging down his dad’s pants to worship the cock that had no right being anywhere near her perfect mouth. Maybe she’d bend over the bed, ass up, spreading herself open and whispering, “Please, Appa… deeper this time.”
The images burned into Minwoo’s brain.
His cock leaked steadily into his boxers, the wet spot growing cold against his skin.
He should feel disgust. Rage. Betrayal on behalf of his brother.
Instead, he felt… hungry.
He wanted to follow them. Wanted to crack the door open just enough to watch. Wanted to see exactly how far Jihyo would let the old man go—how many filthy things she’d do behind Chaehyun’s back while the house slept.
He stayed seated, staring at the empty staircase, listening to the faint creak of floorboards overhead.
Somewhere up there, his perfect sister-in-law was waiting.
And his father was about to claim what should have been his.
*****
Minwoo’s heart hammered so loud he was sure someone downstairs would hear it. He moved like a shadow up the stairs, bare feet silent on the worn wooden steps he’d known since childhood. Every creak felt like a gunshot, but the TV noise from the living room—his mom’s drama serial and Chaehyun’s occasional laugh—covered him.
The hallway at the top was dim, lit only by the soft glow spilling from under the doors. Chaehyun’s room—their room now—was at the far end. The door wasn’t closed all the way. A thin vertical line of warm yellow light sliced through the darkness, and through that crack, Minwoo could already see movement.
He froze at the top of the stairs, breathing shallow.
Hongshik was there.
His father stood just outside the doorframe, his broad back filling most of the opening. He glanced left, then right—a quick, practiced scan of the empty hallway—before pushing the door open another few inches and stepping inside without a sound.
Minwoo didn’t think. He just moved.
Feet flying over the carpet, he closed the distance in seconds, heart in his throat, cock already straining painfully against his jeans again. He reached the doorway just as Hongshik disappeared inside. Minwoo pressed himself flat against the wall beside the frame, then leaned in—slowly, carefully—until one eye could see through the narrow gap.
The sight hit him like a fist to the gut.
Jihyo stood in the middle of the room, back to the door, facing the full-length mirror propped against the wall. The overhead light was off; only the soft bedside lamp glowed, painting her skin in warm gold. She’d already peeled off the cropped black tank top. It lay crumpled on the floor beside her feet. Her bare back was flawless—smooth, toned from years of choreography, with faint tan lines from a bikini top crossing her shoulders like secret invitations.
Her hands were at her hips now, thumbs hooked into the waistband of the gray sweatpants.
She dragged them down slowly—agonizingly slowly—like she knew someone was watching.
The soaked crotch peeled away from her skin with a faint, wet sound. The dark gray fabric had clung obscenely to her pussy lips, outlining every swollen fold. As the pants slid past the fullest part of her ass, the material finally released with a soft snap against her thighs.
Minwoo’s breath caught.
Her ass was perfect—round, firm, impossibly full. The kind of ass that made shorts ride up and leggings look painted on. Two deep dimples sat at the base of her spine, right above the swell. A tiny red thong—barely more than a string—disappeared between her cheeks, the front triangle completely drenched. The thin cotton was dark and clinging, molded to her puffy outer lips like a second skin. A glistening trail of arousal had already trickled down the inside of one thick thigh, shining wet under the lamplight.
She bent forward slightly to step out of the pants, her ass pushing out toward the door—toward them. The thong string pulled taut, digging into her flesh, outlining the tight pucker hidden between those glorious cheeks. Her pussy lips shifted under the soaked fabric as she moved, swollen and puffy from the earlier fingering, begging to be touched again.
Minwoo’s breath caught in his throat as he pressed his eye tighter to the narrow crack in the door.
Inside the softly lit bedroom, Hongshik stepped right up behind Jihyo like he owned every inch of her.
His big, rough hands slid around her bare waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest in one smooth, possessive motion. Jihyo didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp in shock. Instead, her body melted instantly—spine arching, thick ass pushing back to meet him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Minwoo could see it clearly in the mirror’s reflection: the thick bulge in his father’s slacks pressing hard between those perfect, round cheeks. The gray sweatpants were already down around her ankles, kicked aside. All she had left was that tiny, soaked red thong—clinging wetly to her swollen pussy lips, the thin string disappearing deep between her ass cheeks. Hongshik’s cock—obviously rock-hard—rubbed right up the center of her crack through his pants, slow and deliberate, dry-humping the plush flesh like he was claiming territory.
And Jihyo liked it.
She leaned back heavier against him, rolling her hips in a slow, filthy grind. Her thick ass cheeks flexed and squeezed around the ridge of his bulge, trapping it, teasing it. A soft, breathy laugh slipped from her lips as she tilted her head just enough to look back at him over her shoulder.
“Naughty old man,” she purred, voice low and teasing, dripping with that idol sweetness twisted into something downright pornographic. “Fingering me under the dinner table like that… making me soak through my pants in front of everyone… and now you just barge into my room as you own it?”
Hongshik chuckled—deep, rough, smug. The sound vibrated against her neck as he leaned in and dragged his lips along the sensitive skin just below her ear.
“Can’t help it, baby girl,” he rasped, his voice gravelly with lust. “This body… fuck. Look at you. Can’t resist even for a second.”
He thrust forward hard—his hips snapping so his clothed cock jammed deeper between her ass cheeks. Jihyo gasped sharply, mouth falling open, eyes fluttering half-shut in pleasure. Her knees dipped for a second before she caught herself, grinding back even harder, her ass cheeks spreading wider around his bulge like she was trying to swallow it through the fabric.
Hongshik’s mouth latched onto the side of her neck—sucking hard, teeth grazing, leaving a fresh red mark right where her pulse hammered. He inhaled deeply, nose buried in her hair, breathing her in like a drug.
“God, that perfume… smells so fucking good on you,” he growled against her skin. “Makes me want to eat you alive.”
Minwoo’s teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached. Jealousy burned white-hot in his chest, twisting with raw, shameful arousal. How the hell was this happening? His own father—grumpy, boring, fifty-something Hongshik—had Jihyo, Park fucking Jihyo, grinding her soaked thong-covered pussy back against him like a needy slut. The woman whose thighs and tits had launched a million fan edits, whose stage presence made arenas scream, was right now letting the old man hump her ass and mark her neck while she moaned like she couldn’t get enough.
Jihyo let her head fall back onto Hongshik’s broad shoulder, long dark hair spilling over his shirt. Her bare tits—full, heavy, perfect—jiggled with every slow roll of her hips. In the mirror, Minwoo could see everything: the way her dark pink nipples stood stiff and aching, begging to be touched. The faint sheen of sweat was already glistening between her breasts. The soft curve of her toned stomach rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths.
Hongshik’s big hands roamed up her bare torso, palms sliding over the smooth, defined ridges of her abs—abs that thousands of fans drooled over in crop-top stages and gym selfies. He rubbed slow, possessive circles, fingers digging in just enough to make her skin dimple. One hand drifted higher, cupping the underside of one breast, thumb brushing teasingly close to her nipple without quite touching it.
“You’re so fucking tight here,” he murmured against her neck, fingers flexing over her abs like he was memorizing every line. “All that dancing… makes these abs so hard… but this ass…” He gave one cheek a hard squeeze, making it jiggle. “…this ass is soft as hell. Perfect for grabbing. Perfect for fucking.”
Jihyo whimpered—soft, needy, desperate. Her hips rolled faster now, grinding her soaked thong right along the length of his clothed cock. The wet fabric made obscene little slick sounds every time she dragged herself over him. Minwoo could see the dark patch on her thong growing bigger, fresh arousal seeping through, dripping down the inside of one thick thigh.
She reached back with one hand, fingers threading into Hongshik’s hair again, holding his mouth against her neck while the other hand braced on the mirror. Her reflection stared straight ahead—eyes glassy, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep pink—as she rode back against his father’s bulge like she was already close.
Hongshik thrust again—harder this time—making her tits bounce wildly in the mirror. He pinched one nipple between rough fingers, rolling it slowly, tugging just enough to make her gasp and arch.
“Gonna make you come again, baby,” he growled low. “Just like under the table. Gonna make this pretty pussy soak my fingers while your boyfriend’s downstairs playing on his phone.”
Jihyo’s only answer was a broken moan—head lolling further back on his shoulder, body trembling, thighs shaking as she ground faster, chasing the friction of his cock against her dripping slit.
Minwoo stood frozen in the hallway, hand pressed hard against the front of his jeans, squeezing his throbbing length through the denim. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look away.
His goddess was falling apart for the wrong man.
And the worst part?
He was so fucking hard he could barely think straight.
Minwoo’s fingers dug into the doorframe so hard his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mirror’s reflection—every filthy detail crystal clear, lit by the soft bedside lamp like some private porn set just for him.
Hongshik’s big hands slid higher from Jihyo’s toned abs, cupping the heavy undersides of her bare tits from behind. He lifted them slowly, weighing the soft, fleshy mounds in his palms like they were priceless treasures. Jihyo’s breasts were even more perfect up close—full, round, defying gravity despite their size, and with pale skin flushed pink from arousal. Her dark nipples stood out, stiff and swollen, already begging for attention.
She tilted her head back against his shoulder again, that signature sweet-sexy Jihyo smile curving her full lips as she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. Her mouth parted just a fraction—soft, glossy lips opening in silent invitation.
That was all the invitation Hongshik needed.
He leaned down and claimed her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle.
It was raw. Hungry. Filthy.
His lips crashed over hers, sucking hard on her lower lip before his tongue plunged inside, tangling with hers in a wet, aggressive dance. Jihyo moaned straight into his mouth—soft, needy, the sound muffled but unmistakable. Minwoo could see everything: the way her tongue curled eagerly around his father’s and the slick slide of spit as they devoured each other. Thick strands of saliva escaped the corners of her mouth, trickling slowly down her chin, dripping onto the swell of her tits, and leaving shiny trails over her skin.
Hongshik’s hands never stopped working on her breasts. He kneaded them roughly—squeezing the soft flesh until it spilled between his thick fingers, then trapping her hard nipples between thumb and forefinger. He pinched. Rolled. Tugged. Each little twist made Jihyo’s body twitch violently—her hips jerking back against his bulge, thighs pressing together as fresh wetness soaked the front of her tiny thong even more.
Minwoo gulped hard, throat dry, cock throbbing so painfully against his zipper he thought he might come in his pants just from watching. The view was fucking obscene. His goddess—Park Jihyo, the woman who commanded stadiums with a single hip sway—was being kissed into complete submission by his grumpy old father. Hongshik ate at her mouth like he was starving, sucking her tongue deep, licking into every corner, while his rough palms mauled those perfect tits. Her nipples looked painfully hard—dark pink peaks pinched and pulled between his calloused fingers, glistening with the faint sheen of sweat and spit that had dripped down from her chin.
Jihyo’s knees buckled again. Her legs trembled, thighs quivering as another wave of pleasure rolled through her. She reached back blindly, small hands stretching up to clutch at Hongshik’s neck, fingers threading into his short, graying hair, holding him against her like she never wanted the kiss to end.
She moaned louder into his mouth now—sweet, broken little sounds that vibrated through the quiet room. “Mmmph… ahh…” The noises were muffled by his lips, but Minwoo heard every one. Each whimper made her tits jiggle in Hongshik’s hands, nipples trapped and tortured, sending visible shivers racing down her toned stomach.
Hongshik broke the kiss just long enough to growl against her swollen lips.
“Fuck, these tits… so heavy, so perfect,” he rasped, giving them another hard squeeze that made her gasp. “Been thinking about them all through dinner. Wanted to rip that little top off and suck on these nipples right at the table.”
Jihyo’s only response was a shaky laugh that turned into another moan as he pinched both nipples at once—hard—rolling them between his fingers until her back arched sharply off his chest.
“Yes… Appa… harder…” she whispered, voice wrecked and breathy, the honorific slipping out like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Minwoo’s stomach flipped.
Appa.
She was calling his father "appa" while he played with her tits and ground his cock against her ass.
The jealousy burned hotter, twisting with sick arousal until Minwoo could barely breathe. His hand moved on its own—pressing harder against the front of his jeans, rubbing the aching length through the denim just to take the edge off. Pre-cum soaked through the fabric in thick pulses; he could feel the wet spot spreading.
In the mirror, Jihyo’s reflection looked completely lost—eyes glassy, cheeks flushed deep red, lips swollen and shiny with spit. Her bare tits bounced with every rough squeeze, nipples trapped and throbbing between Hongshik’s fingers. She kept grinding back against him, thick-ass cheeks flexing around his bulge, thong string pulled so tight it dug into her flesh.
Hongshik kissed her again—deeper, dirtier—tongue-fucking her mouth while his hands kept tormenting her nipples. One palm slid down her stomach again, fingers tracing the defined lines of her abs before dipping lower, hooking into the front of her thong.
Jihyo whimpered into the kiss, hips bucking forward instinctively.
Minwoo watched—transfixed, jealous, and painfully hard—as his father slowly tugged the soaked fabric aside, exposing her dripping pussy to the cool air.
He knew what came next.
And he couldn’t make himself leave.
Hongshik’s rough hands gripped Jihyo’s hips tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above her thong string. With one slow, deliberate spin, he turned her around to face him fully.
Minwoo’s breath stopped.
There she was—Park Jihyo, Twice’s untouchable leader, sex icon of K-pop, the woman whose every hip thrust in fancams had sent millions of fans scrambling for tissues—standing completely bare from the waist up in the soft bedroom light.
Her big, beautiful, heavy tits bounced free as she completed the turn. Full, round, and impossibly perky despite their size, they swayed heavily with the motion, pale skin glowing, dark pink nipples stiff and pointing straight ahead like they were begging to be sucked. The faint bounce sent ripples through the soft flesh, making it jiggle side to side before settling into that perfect, natural teardrop shape that had launched a thousand thirsty comments and endless edits.
Minwoo gulped so hard his throat clicked audibly.
This was the body that made grown men lose their minds. The same tits that strained against tight stage outfits during “Feel Special” performances, that bounced hypnotically in “Alcohol-Free” dance practices, and that had entire fan accounts dedicated to zooming in on every jiggle. Millions fapped to those fancams—pausing, rewinding, and coming hard to the way her breasts moved when she hit a sharp choreo point. And now they were right here—bare, flushed, nipples hard and aching—in front of his own father.
He wanted to shove past the door. Wanted to be the one standing there instead of Hongshik. He wanted to cup those heavy mounds in his own hands, feel their weight spill over his palms, squeeze until she gasped, then lean down and suck one stiff nipple deep into his mouth—tongue swirling, teeth grazing—until she was moaning his name, thighs shaking, pussy dripping down her legs.
But he couldn’t move.
Jihyo smiled up at Hongshik—sweet, filthy, utterly seductive. That famous idol smile twisted into something pornographic, eyes half-lidded and sparkling with mischief. She arched her back just a little, pushing her tits forward proudly, offering them up like a gift.
“Look at them, appa,” she purred, her voice low and teasing. “You like?”
Without waiting for an answer, she gave a playful little shake—shoulders rolling so her big breasts bounced and jiggled side to side. The heavy flesh slapped softly together, nipples tracing little circles in the air before settling again. Another shake—harder this time—making them wobble wildly, the motion so obscene it looked straight out of a high-budget AV scene.
Hongshik’s eyes darkened instantly—pupils blown, jaw slack with raw lust. His breathing turned rough, nostrils flaring like he could smell how wet she was from across the room. His cock strained visibly against his slacks, thick and angry, tenting the fabric so hard Minwoo could see the outline of the head.
Jihyo laughed softly—breathless and delighted—watching the hunger bloom across his face.
“You’re so easy, old man,” she teased, reaching up to cup her own tits, lifting them higher, squeezing them together until deep cleavage formed and her nipples almost touched. “Just one look at these, and you’re drooling. Bet you’ve been hard since dinner, huh? Thinking about sucking on them while everyone else ate jjigae.”
Hongshik growled low in his throat, hands shooting out to replace hers. He grabbed both breasts roughly—palms engulfing as much as he could, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh. He kneaded them hard, thumbs flicking back and forth over her nipples, making them pebble even tighter.
“Fuck yes,” he rasped, his voice thick. “Been staring at these tits all night. Wanted to pull that little tank top down and bury my face in it right at the table. Make you moan while your boyfriend talked about his day.”
Jihyo whimpered, knees buckling slightly as he pinched both nipples at once—hard twists that made her gasp and arch into his touch. Her thong was a soaked ruin now; Minwoo could see fresh wetness trickling down the inside of her thick thighs, glistening trails that caught the lamplight. She was leaking like a broken faucet—pussy clenching on nothing, clit throbbing visibly under the drenched cotton.
She loved it.
Loved seeing the raw, animal thirst in his eyes. Loved knowing this grumpy old man—her boyfriend’s father—was losing his mind over her body. The power of it made her even wetter; she could feel another gush soak through the thong, dripping onto the carpet between her feet.
“Poor Appa,” she cooed, voice dripping honey and sin. “So hungry for these big tits. Want to suck them? Bite them? Fuck them?”
Hongshik answered by leaning down and latching onto one nipple—mouth wide, sucking hard, tongue lashing the stiff peak while his hand mauled the other breast. Jihyo’s head fell back, mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, fingers tangling in his hair to hold him there.
Her hips rolled forward instinctively, grinding her soaked thong against the bulge in his pants, chasing friction while he devoured her tit like a starving man.
Minwoo stood paralyzed in the hallway, hand shoved down the front of his jeans now, gripping his leaking cock through his boxers. He stroked once—slow, desperate—pre-cum slicking his palm as he watched the woman of his dirtiest fantasies get worshiped by the wrong man.
Jealousy burned.
Arousal drowned it.
He couldn’t look away.
Not when Jihyo’s free hand slid down her own stomach, fingers dipping under her thong to rub slow circles over her swollen clit while Hongshik sucked and bit her nipple.
Not when she moaned louder—sweet, filthy sounds that echoed in the quiet room.
Not when she looked straight into the mirror—almost like she knew someone was watching—and smiled that wicked, satisfied smile while her body trembled on the edge.
She was dripping for the old man.
And Minwoo was dripping for her.
Hongshik’s grin turned downright feral—wide, predatory, eyes gleaming with pure, unfiltered lust as he stared down at her bare, heaving tits.
He yanked her forward by the waist, thick fingers digging into her soft hips hard enough to leave faint red marks. Jihyo gasped—sharp, needy—then melted against him instantly, arms flying around his neck in a tight, desperate hug. Her laugh bubbled out—breathless, delighted, and filthy—as she felt his hunger radiating off him in waves.
Those massive, heavy boobs crushed against his chest, soft flesh spilling over the rough fabric of his shirt. Her rock-hard nipples dragged across the material with every tiny shift, scraping deliciously, sending electric jolts straight to her dripping clit. She moaned low and broken right into his ear, hips twitching forward so her soaked thong pressed against the thick ridge of his cock.
“Fuck… appa…” she whimpered, her voice wrecked and sweet at the same time.
Hongshik’s big hand slid up, cupping her chin firmly, tilting her beautiful face up to his. His thumb traced the plump curve of her lower lip—slow, teasing—watching her eyes glaze over in a daze. Her mouth fell open automatically, tongue peeking out just a little, begging without words.
“Good girl,” he growled, his voice gravelly and thick.
His thumb slipped inside her mouth. Jihyo closed her lips around it instantly, sucking hard, her tongue swirling like she was starving for any part of him. Saliva coated his digit as she bobbed her head shallowly, moaning around it like it was his cock instead.
All the while, his other hand trailed down—slow, deliberate—fingers dragging over the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips until he reached that legendary ass.
He cupped both cheeks at once—rough palms engulfing the toned, plump flesh that had broken the internet a thousand times over. Millions jerked off to these exact curves in tight stage shorts and dance practice leggings, fantasizing about grabbing them, spanking them, and burying their faces between them. And now an old man’s hands were kneading them like dough—squeezing hard, spreading them apart, thumbs dipping into the crease where the thong string disappeared.
Jihyo moaned louder—raw, shameless—her hips rolling back into his grip, pushing her ass deeper into his palms. The motion made her soaked thong slide against her swollen pussy lips, clit throbbing with every grind. Fresh wetness trickled down her inner thighs, shiny trails catching the lamplight.
“These cheeks…” Hongshik rasped against her ear, squeezing harder, making the flesh spill between his fingers. “Been dreaming about this fat ass since the day you moved in. So fucking soft… so fucking perfect… gonna mark it up later. Leave my handprints all over it while you ride me.”
Jihyo’s knees buckled again. She clung tighter to his neck, tits mashed against his chest, nipples scraping torturously with every breath. Her tongue swirled faster around his thumb, sucking like a desperate little slut, drool leaking from the corners of her mouth and dripping onto her collarbone.
She pulled off his thumb with a wet pop, looking up at him with glassy, pleading eyes.
“Then do it, Appa,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Grab it harder… spank it… fuck it… make it yours…”
Hongshik growled deep in his throat, one hand leaving her ass to fist her hair at the nape, yanking her head back so her throat arched beautifully.
The other hand delivered a sharp, possessive slap to her right cheek—loud enough to echo in the quiet room.
Jihyo yelped, then moaned—long, filthy, dripping with pleasure—as the sting bloomed into heat.
Her pussy clenched hard, another gush soaking through the thong, dripping onto the carpet between her spread feet.
Minwoo watched from the crack in the door—hand shoved down his pants now, stroking his leaking cock in slow, desperate pulls—jealousy and arousal twisting him into knots.
His goddess was being manhandled, worshipped, and claimed by the wrong man.
And she was loving every filthy second of it.
Hongshik’s hands never stopped roaming—rough palms sliding over her bare skin, one still kneading the heavy swell of her tit while the other gripped her ass cheek hard enough to make the flesh bulge between his fingers. Jihyo was pressed flush against him, her soaked thong the only scrap of fabric left, grinding slowly and needily against the thick bulge in his pants like she couldn’t help herself.
He pulled back just enough to look down at her flushed face, his thumb brushing a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead. His voice came out low, gravelly, almost casual—like he wasn’t currently groping the hottest idol in Korea in his son’s bedroom.
“So… you and my boy,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers. “How’s that going these days? Still playing the perfect couple downstairs?”
Jihyo’s lips curved into a slow, wicked smile. She let out a soft, breathy laugh—half moan, half tease—as she rolled her hips again, dragging her dripping pussy along the ridge of his clothed cock.
“Really, Appa?” she purred, voice dripping honey and sin. “I’m standing here completely naked… bare tits pressed against your chest… My pussy is so wet it’s dripping down my thighs… and now you want to talk about your son?”
She arched her back deliberately, pushing her heavy breasts harder into him so her stiff nipples scraped against his shirt. A fresh shiver ran through her body, making her moan low in her throat.
Hongshik chuckled—dark, smug—and slid one big hand down the front of her body. His thick fingers traced the edge of her thong, then dipped lower, running slowly along her soaked pussy lips over the thin, drenched fabric. He didn’t push inside yet—just stroked up and down her slit in lazy, teasing glides, pressing just enough to make her swollen clit throb under the cotton.
Jihyo gasped sharply, knees buckling as her hips jerked forward into his touch. Her hands clutched at his shoulders for balance, nails digging in.
“Fuck… Appa…” she whimpered, eyes fluttering.
“Answer me, baby girl,” he growled, fingers circling her clit once—slow, firm—making her whole body twitch. “You still fucking my son? Still letting him think he’s the only one who gets this perfect little cunt?”
Jihyo’s head fell forward against his chest for a second, panting, before she lifted her gaze again—eyes glassy, lips parted, completely wrecked.
“I would’ve broken up with him months ago,” she confessed in a shaky whisper, her voice trembling with need. “If… if I could bear to leave you.”
Hongshik’s fingers paused—then pressed harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over her clit through the thong. Jihyo’s thighs shook, another gush of wetness soaking his hand.
She kept talking—words spilling out between gasps and moans—like she couldn’t hold them back anymore.
“I haven’t… ahh… fucked him in months,” she admitted, hips rocking desperately against his fingers. “My body… it doesn’t feel anything for him anymore. Nothing. He touches me, and… it’s just… empty. Soft. Boring.”
She looked up at him with pure, filthy honesty, eyes shining.
“But you…” Her voice cracked as he slipped two fingers under the thong edge, finally brushing bare, slick folds. “You touch me, and I drip. You finger me under the table, and I almost come in front of everyone. You grab my tits, slap my ass, call me your dirty little girl… and I can’t stop shaking.”
Hongshik growled low, pleased, and possessive. He pushed one thick finger inside her—slow, deep—curling it against her front wall while his thumb kept rubbing her clit.
Jihyo’s mouth fell open in a silent scream, her back arching so hard her bare tits bounced against him.
“That’s right,” he rasped against her ear, pumping his finger in and out in slow, filthy strokes. “This pussy belongs to me now. Not his. Mine. Been stretching it, filling it, making it gush for months while he jerks off thinking you’re still his good girl.”
Jihyo nodded frantically, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around his finger like it never wanted to let go.
“Yes… yours… only yours, Appa…” she whimpered, grinding down onto his hand. “He doesn’t make me feel… anything… like this. Only you… fuck… only you make me this wet… this needy…”
Hongshik added a second finger—stretching her open wider—thrusting deeper while his thumb circled her clit faster.
“Then say it,” he ordered, his voice rough. “Tell me who this cunt belongs to.”
Jihyo’s eyes rolled back, her body shuddering violently as she teetered on the edge.
“You… it’s yours… all yours… appa’s dirty little pussy… ahh—fuck—please don’t stop…”
Minwoo stood frozen in the hallway, hand wrapped tight around his leaking cock through his jeans, stroking in time with his father’s fingers pumping in and out of hers.
Jealousy burned hotter than ever.
But so did the sick, twisted heat pooling in his balls.
He couldn’t look away.
Couldn’t stop.
And Jihyo—his perfect, untouchable goddess—was moaning louder now, thighs shaking, ready to come all over the old man’s hand while confessing everything.
Hongshik’s tongue dragged slowly and wetly up the side of Jihyo’s exposed neck, tracing the pulsing vein like he was savoring every inch. She tilted her head back farther—offering more—her throat arched beautifully, long hair spilling over his shoulder as she surrendered completely. Her fingers dug harder into his back, nails scraping through his shirt, clinging like she’d fall apart if she let go.
He licked again—a broad, filthy stripe from her collarbone to just below her ear—then sucked lightly on the sensitive spot that made her whole body jerk. Jihyo’s breath hitched, turning into a long, trembling moan that vibrated against his mouth.
“Tell me, baby girl,” he murmured between slow, teasing licks, his voice low and rough. “What does this pretty body miss when I’m not touching it? Who’s the only one who can make it feel good?”
Jihyo’s hips rolled forward instinctively, grinding her soaked thong against the thick ridge of his cock. Her bare tits pressed harder into his chest, stiff nipples scraping torturously with every breath. She tried to speak, but another long lick along her neck turned the words into a broken whimper.
“Only… ahh… only you, Appa…” she gasped, voice wrecked and needy. “Your tongue… fuck… your tongue on my neck, on my tits, between my legs… it makes me drip so much…”
Hongshik chuckled darkly against her skin, teeth grazing her pulse point just enough to make her gasp again.
“And my cock?” he prompted, thrusting his hips forward so the hard length rubbed right along her slit through their clothes. “Who fucks this needy little pussy the way it needs to be fucked?”
Jihyo’s knees buckled. She clutched him tighter, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around nothing as another gush of wetness soaked through her thong and trickled down her inner thigh.
“Only your cock…” she moaned, words slurring with pleasure. “Only your thick, old cock can stretch me… fill me… make me come so hard I can’t see straight… your son’s… ahh… his doesn’t do anything… doesn’t make me shake… doesn’t make me beg…”
She threw her head back even farther, offering her throat completely as Hongshik sucked a fresh bruise into the soft skin.
“Only you… only appa’s cock can make me feel like this… like a bitch in heat… dripping and desperate… please… please fuck me…”
Minwoo stood frozen in the hallway shadow, one hand shoved down the front of his jeans, gripping his leaking cock so hard it hurt. His other hand pressed flat against the wall to keep from collapsing.
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Park Jihyo—the sweet, powerful, untouchable leader of Twice, the woman whose smile melted arenas, whose body had trended worldwide for years—was confessing in broken moans that she hadn’t fucked his brother in months. That Chaehyun’s touch did nothing for her anymore. That only his father’s tongue, only his father’s cock, could make her body come alive.
Minwoo’s mind reeled.
His old man—grumpy, balding, ordinary Hongshik—had somehow turned the sexiest idol in Korea into a whimpering, dripping mess who begged for his dick like it was oxygen. He’d trained her. Molded her. Taken Chaehyun’s girlfriend and reshaped her into this needy, cock-hungry bitch in heat who spread her legs under the dinner table, soaked her thong for his fingers, and now stood half-naked in his son’s bedroom moaning about how only Appa’s cock could satisfy her.
The jealousy was suffocating—sharp, burning, twisting in Minwoo’s gut like a knife. It should have been him. He was young and fit, the same age as her fans who threw money at fancams. He’d jerked off to her for years—picturing her riding him, moaning his name, and her tits bouncing while she screamed for more.
But she was here—bare tits heaving, thong drenched, neck covered in hickeys from his father’s mouth—begging the old man to fuck her senseless.
And the worst part?
Minwoo was harder than he’d ever been in his life.
His cock throbbed painfully in his fist, pre-cum slicking his palm with every slow, helpless stroke. Hearing Jihyo confess—voice cracking with need—that only Hongshik could make her feel pleasure, that his brother’s dick was nothing compared to his father’s… it was humiliating. Enraging.
But it was also the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed.
She was completely broken for him—trained to crave the old man’s rough hands, his thick fingers, and his experienced tongue. She’d become exactly what Hongshik wanted: a dripping, obedient slut who got off on being claimed by someone she shouldn’t want.
Minwoo’s strokes sped up—quiet, desperate—his eyes glued to the mirror reflection of Jihyo’s arched back, her heavy tits bouncing with every grind, her thighs shaking as Hongshik kept licking her neck and teasing her soaked pussy over the thong.
He hated his father in that moment.
But he couldn’t stop watching.
Couldn’t stop stroking.
Couldn’t stop imagining it was his tongue on her neck, his cock making her moan like that.
And deep down—twisted, shameful—he wondered if she’d ever look at him the way she looked at the old man right now.
Like he was the only one who could make her come undone.
Hongshik’s hands tightened on Jihyo’s hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above the string of her thong. With a slow, deliberate tug, he pulled her backward toward the small vanity table against the wall—the one usually cluttered with her makeup and perfume bottles.
“Back up, baby girl,” he rasped, his voice thick with command. “Lean on the table for Appa."
Jihyo obeyed instantly, letting him guide her until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of the wooden surface. She braced her palms behind her, leaning back slowly, arching her spine so her upper body tilted toward him. The motion thrust her heavy, bare tits forward like an offering—big, round, perfect mounds heaving with every shallow breath. Her dark pink nipples—already swollen and painfully stiff—jutted out proudly, begging to be touched, to be hurt, to be worshipped.
Minwoo’s breath caught in his throat. A soft, involuntary gasp slipped past his lips before he could stop it.
God, those tits.
They were everything the fancams and tight stage outfits had promised—and more. Full, heavy, defying gravity with that natural teardrop shape, idols paid surgeons millions to imitate it. The way they jiggled with each quick inhale made his mouth water. Perfect creamy skin, faint blue veins visible under the surface, nipples standing erect like little pink bullets, flushed darker from all the pinching and twisting earlier. Every tiny breath she took sent another ripple through the soft flesh—gentle bounces that made them sway side to side before settling again.
He wanted to bury his face between them. Wanted to suck one nipple deep into his mouth until she screamed. He wanted to slap them, watch them bounce, and mark them with his teeth so everyone—especially his brother—would know they’d been claimed.
But the old man was already there.
Hongshik stepped between her spread thighs, crowding her against the table. His eyes were locked on her chest like a starving man staring at a feast. A slow, filthy grin spread across his face as he watched her tits rise and fall.
“Look at these perfect fucking tits,” he murmured, his voice rough with awe and hunger. “So big… so heavy… been dying to play with them properly all night.”
He reached up with both hands, cupping the undersides first—lifting them, weighing them, thumbs brushing just below the areolas. Jihyo’s back arched harder, pushing them deeper into his palms with a soft whimper.
Then he flicked.
The pad of his right index finger snapped against her left nipple—a quick, sharp, upward flick that made the stiff peak bounce.
Jihyo gasped—sharply, needily—her whole body jerking.
He did it again. And again. Alternating between nipples, flicking them up and down like he was playing a tiny instrument tuned only to her pleasure. Each little snap sent a visible jolt through her—her tits jiggling wildly, nipples throbbing harder, turning an even deeper shade of pink.
“Ah—fuck—appa—” she moaned, voice cracking. Her thighs rubbed together frantically, slick sounds audible even from the doorway as her soaked thong slid against her swollen pussy lips.
Hongshik never let go. His fingers kept tormenting—flick, pinch, roll, flick again—keeping her right on the razor’s edge. Jihyo’s head fell back, long hair cascading over the table surface, mouth open in a constant stream of broken moans and whimpers.
“Please… please… more…”
She stared up at him with pure, glassy lust—eyes dark, pupils blown, and lips swollen from earlier kisses. That famous idol smile twisted into something filthy and desperate, like she was begging him to ruin her completely.
Minwoo’s cock throbbed so hard it hurt. He stroked faster through his jeans—quietly, frantically—pre-cum soaking his boxers in thick pulses. Watching her like this—spread out on the table, tits bouncing with every flick, thighs rubbing desperately—was almost too much. She looked like pure sex: sweaty skin glistening, chest flushed red, nipples throbbing under his father’s cruel fingers, and pussy dripping so much he could see the dark wet spot on the thong growing bigger by the second.
Hongshik leaned in closer, one hand still flicking her nipples while the other trailed down her toned stomach, circling her navel teasingly before stopping just above her mound.
“You’re dripping like a faucet, aren’t you?” he growled, voice smug. “Can smell how wet you are from here. This little cunt’s crying for Appa’s cock while your boyfriend’s downstairs watching TV.”
Jihyo nodded frantically, biting her lower lip so hard it turned white.
“Yes… yes… so wet… for you… only for you…”
He switched tactics—fingers now circling her nipples in slow, torturous spirals, tracing the puffy areolas without ever quite touching the peaks. Goosebumps erupted across her chest, down her arms, and over her stomach. Her whole body shuddered violently, thighs clenching and rubbing faster, slick sounds growing louder as her arousal leaked steadily.
She was a mess—sweating, flushed, heaving, her eyes locked on Hongshik with pure worship. Every circle around her nipples made her twitch harder, made her moan louder, made her grind her soaked thong against nothing in desperate search of friction.
Hongshik watched her fall apart with patient, sadistic pleasure—never rushing, never giving her what she really needed. He kept her on edge, kept her high on the razor’s edge of orgasm, letting the pleasure build until she was trembling uncontrollably.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dark and pleased. “My perfect little idol slut… shaking and leaking just from having your nipples played with. Gonna come like this? Gonna soak your thong and drip all over the table without me even touching your pussy?”
Jihyo’s answer was a broken sob—half moan, half plea.
“Please… appa… I need… need more…”
But he didn’t give it.
He just kept circling, flicking, and pinching—slow and relentless—watching her body betray her completely.
Minwoo couldn’t take it anymore. His hand moved faster inside his jeans, stroking his aching cock in time with her desperate moans. Jealousy burned, arousal drowned him, and all he could do was watch as the sexiest woman alive—his brother’s girlfriend, his lifelong fantasy—was edged to insanity by his own father’s patient, cruel hands.
And she loved every filthy second of it.
**********
CHAPTER 2
Jihyo was gone—completely, utterly gone. The fierce, confident Twice leader who commanded stages and charmed millions had melted into a trembling, needy puddle of lust right there on the kitchen table. Her famous body—toned from endless dance practice, curves sculpted by years of discipline—was now soft and pliant under Hongshik’s rough, experienced hands. Sweat glistened on her collarbones, between her heavy breasts, and down the flat plane of her stomach. Her thong was ruined; the black lace darkened and clung obscenely to her swollen pussy lips, the wet fabric outlining every fold. A thin trail of her arousal had already leaked past the edge, dripping slowly onto the polished wood beneath her ass.
She stared up at Hongshik with glassy, worshipful eyes—pupils blown so wide the iris was almost invisible. Her swollen lips parted on shallow, desperate pants. That iconic Twice smile—bright, playful, and perfect for CFs and fancams—was twisted now into something filthy: open-mouthed, trembling, and begging without words.
Hongshik’s large, calloused hands never left her chest. He cupped the undersides of her big, soft tits, lifting them, squeezing them together until deep cleavage formed, then letting them spill over his palms. He bounced them once—hard—watching the heavy flesh jiggle and ripple. Jihyo’s back arched off the table with a sharp, broken moan that echoed off the kitchen tiles.
“Fuck… Appa…” she whimpered, her voice cracking.
He did it again—lifted, squeezed, released—making her breasts bounce lewdly. Each jiggle sent a fresh jolt straight to her clit. Her hips rolled helplessly, grinding her soaked thong against nothing, chasing friction that wasn’t there.
“Look at these perfect tits,” Hongshik growled, his voice thick with possession. He slapped the side of one breast lightly—enough to make it wobble and sting sweetly—then caught the nipple between his knuckles and tugged upward. Jihyo’s moan turned into a high, keening whine. “So big, so soft… they bounce so pretty when I play with them. Does my son ever make them dance like this?”
Jihyo’s head thrashed side to side on the table, long dark hair sticking to her sweaty cheeks. “N-no… Minwoo… he just… grabs… quick… never… never like this…” Her voice was wrecked, breathy, and almost childlike in its desperation. “He doesn’t… doesn’t take time… to appreciate…”
Hongshik’s grin was feral.
“Poor baby,” he mocked gently, thumbs circling her areolas now—slow, torturous spirals that avoided the aching peaks. Goosebumps erupted across her chest and down her arms. “He doesn’t know how to worship these gorgeous tits the way they deserve. Doesn’t know how sensitive they are… how much you love having them teased until you’re crying.”
Jihyo nodded frantically, tears of overstimulation gathering in the corners of her eyes. “Yes… yes… please… Appa… more…”
He rewarded her by finally capturing both nipples between his fingers—pinching, rolling, and tugging in perfect rhythm. Her whole body jolted like she’d been shocked. A fresh gush of wetness soaked through her thong; she could feel it trickling down her ass crack, pooling beneath her.
That was when her slender hands—shaking, desperate—reached for him.
She ran her palms up his thick forearms, tracing the corded muscle, then higher to his broad chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. She clawed at him like she needed to anchor herself to something solid while pleasure tore her apart. Her nails scraped down his sides, then back up, greedy, worshipping.
Hongshik groaned low in his throat at the touch.
“Fuck… that’s it, baby. Touch your Appa. Feel how hard you make me.”
Jihyo’s legs—long, toned, dancer’s legs—moved on instinct. She hooked them around his thick thighs, ankles locking at the small of his back. With a needy little whimper, she pulled him closer, forcing his hips flush against hers. The hard ridge of his cock—still trapped in his pants—pressed right against her soaked thong, the heat of him searing through the thin layers.
She tilted her head up, lips brushing the shell of his ear, her voice a trembling, bitten-off whisper:
“He… he doesn’t take time… like you do… Appa… he just… fucks… quick… never… never looks at me… like you look… never touches me… like you touch…”
Hongshik’s control frayed at the edges.
He growled—deep and animal—at her throat.
“Then let Appa show you how a real man appreciates a body like yours.”
He attacked her tits again—with his mouth this time. He latched onto her left nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking the tip rapidly while his hand mauled the right—squeezing, kneading, slapping lightly so the flesh jiggled. Jihyo’s back bowed off the table, a raw, broken cry tearing from her throat.
“Yes—yes—Appa—suck them—please—”
Her legs tightened around him, heels digging into his ass, pulling him impossibly closer. The friction of his clothed cock grinding against her thong-clad pussy was maddening—too much fabric, not enough pressure, but still enough to make her clit throb with every roll of his hips.
Hongshik switched nipples—biting the right one gently, then soothing it with slow, wet circles of his tongue. His hand kept playing with the left—pinching, tugging, rolling—keeping both peaks hypersensitive, swollen, and dark red.
Jihyo was babbling now—high, frantic, filthy.
“Appa… your mouth… so good… better than him… so much better… please… don’t stop… make them bounce again… make me feel… owned…”
Hongshik lifted his head just long enough to growl against her lips.
“You are owned, baby. These tits? This pussy? This whole perfect idol body? Mine now.”
He slapped both breasts at once—sharp, stinging slaps that made them jiggle wildly—and Jihyo came undone.
Her eyes rolled back, mouth falling open in a silent scream as the orgasm ripped through her without any touch to her pussy. Her hips bucked violently against his, grinding her soaked thong against the hard length of his cock, chasing the friction. Pleasure exploded behind her eyes—white-hot, blinding—coursing from her abused nipples straight to her clit, making her inner walls flutter and clench around nothing. A fresh gush of slick soaked through her thong, dripping down to wet the table beneath her ass.
Hongshik watched her shatter with dark, possessive pride.
“That’s it… come for Appa… just from having your big tits played with… such a needy little slut…”
Jihyo’s body kept shaking through the aftershocks—legs locked tight around him, hands clawing at his back, and tears of overwhelmed pleasure slipping down her temples.
When she finally sagged, panting, Hongshik leaned down and claimed her mouth in a brutal, possessive kiss—tongue invading, claiming every corner, and tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her submission.
Jihyo kissed back desperately—tongue tangling with his, moaning into his mouth, her legs still wrapped around him as if she never wanted to let go.
Minwoo’s hand moved faster inside his jeans—jealousy, arousal, and humiliation twisting together until he couldn’t tell them apart.
Minwoo pressed his eye to the narrow crack in the doorframe, his heart hammering so loud he was sure it would give him away. The kitchen light spilled out in a warm golden stripe across the hallway floor, and through that sliver, he saw everything.
Jihyo—the Jihyo, Twice’s powerhouse main vocalist, the woman who commanded stadiums of thousands with a single note—was completely lost in his father.
She was kissing Hongshik like she was starving for him.
Her full, glossy lips were locked to his in a deep, filthy open-mouthed kiss, tongues visibly sliding together, wet and hungry. Her slender fingers were buried in his father’s thick gray hair, nails scraping at his scalp as she pulled him even closer, tilting her head to deepen the angle, moaning softly into his mouth with every slow, greedy pull. The sound was low, throaty, and desperate—nothing like the polished, stage-ready voice the world knew. This was raw, private, and ruined.
Hongshik’s big hands roamed her body with shameless ownership.
One palm slid up the outside of her bare thigh, fingers splaying wide to feel the smooth, warm skin. A light sheen of sweat glistened on her toned legs, catching the overhead light every time he stroked higher. He squeezed the soft flesh just below the curve of her ass, then dragged his hand inward, tracing the sensitive inner thigh with deliberate slowness. Jihyo’s legs parted wider on instinct, knees falling open on the kitchen table, offering herself without a word.
Minwoo’s cock jerked painfully in his jeans. He could see the dark wet spot on her black thong growing larger, the lace clinging transparently to her swollen pussy lips. A thin string of arousal stretched and snapped as her thighs shifted.
Hongshik broke the kiss just long enough to growl against her jaw.
One of his hands stayed on her neck—long fingers wrapping around her throat in a firm, possessive grip, not choking but just holding and controlling. The other hand trailed up between her spread thighs, knuckles brushing the soaked center of her thong. He pressed two fingers against the drenched fabric, rubbing slow, firm circles right over her clit.
Jihyo’s head fell back with a sharp gasp, throat exposed under his grip, long dark hair spilling over the edge of the table like ink. Her mouth dropped open, eyes squeezed shut, and a soft, broken moan slipped out.
“Ah… Appa…”
The word was barely a breath, but it hit Minwoo like a punch to the gut.
His father’s thumb hooked the edge of her thong and tugged it aside, exposing her completely. Jihyo’s pussy was flushed dark pink, lips puffy and glistening, and clit swollen and peeking out from its hood. A fresh bead of slick welled up and slid down toward her ass.
Hongshik groaned low in his throat.
“Look at this pretty little cunt… dripping for an old man while your boyfriend’s right downstairs.”
He dragged two thick fingers through her folds—slow and deliberate—coating them in her wetness before circling her entrance. Jihyo’s hips rolled up to meet him, a needy little whine escaping her.
“Please… touch me… inside…”
Hongshik pushed in—two fingers at once—stretching her slowly, curling upward to rub that spot deep inside that made her whole body jerk.
Jihyo’s back arched off the table, tits bouncing, nipples visibly hard. Her hands flew back to his hair, pulling him down so she could kiss him again—messy, desperate, and moaning directly into his mouth as he fingered her with steady, deep strokes. Minwoo’s hand was inside his jeans before he could think, stroking his aching cock in frantic, quiet jerks. Pre-cum soaked through his boxers in thick pulses. Jealousy burned hot in his chest, but the arousal was stronger—watching the goddess Jihyo, the woman he’d jerked off to for years, reduced to a whimpering, dripping mess by his own father’s hands.
She looked like pure sin: thighs spread wide, sweat shining on her skin, pussy clenching around Hongshik’s fingers, moaning brokenly into his mouth while he owned her completely.
Minwoo couldn’t tear his eyes away, even though every second burned like acid in his chest.
Jihyo—the Jihyo, the goddess who owned stadiums and who made grown men cry with one high note—was writhing under his father’s hands like she’d been born for this exact moment.
Her slender fingers were everywhere on Hongshik—greedy, desperate, worshipping. She dragged her nails lightly down his thick forearms, tracing the corded veins, then slid her palms up under his shirt to feel the hard planes of his stomach and the coarse gray hair scattered across his chest. She moaned softly into his mouth every time her fingertips found new skin, like touching him was its own kind of orgasm.
Hongshik leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of her ear, voice low and filthy.
“You’re dripping like this, baby… what would your fans think if they knew?” He paused, letting the words sink in, letting her feel the shame twist with the pleasure. “Their perfect goddess, their role model, leaking all over a kitchen table for an old man three times her age. An old man who’s not even her boyfriend. Just some gray-haired bastard who knows how to play with her slutty little body.”
Jihyo’s reaction was instant and obscene.
Her sexy pink lips—already swollen from kissing—parted on a sharp gasp. She bit down hard on the lower one, teeth sinking in until the flesh turned white, eyes glazing over with fresh, glassy lust. Hongshik’s words didn’t shame her—they ignited her. Her pupils blew wide, dark, and hungry, and a fresh gush of slick leaked out of her pussy, soaking the ruined thong even more. Minwoo could see it—the dark wet spot spreading, the thin string of arousal stretching and snapping as her hips rolled helplessly.
That was the thing that broke her hardest—not just the way Hongshik fucked her senseless, not just the stretch of his thick fingers or the cruel way he toyed with her nipples.
It was who he was.
An old man. Her boyfriend’s father. Thrice her age. Gray hair, rough hands, the kind of body that had seen decades more life than hers—and yet here she was, Twice’s Jihyo, global idol, dripping like a bitch in heat because he was touching her.
The taboo of it—the wrongness—made her pussy clench so hard Minwoo could almost hear it from the doorway. More slick dribbled out, sliding down the crack of her ass, pooling on the table beneath her, and then dripping in slow, obscene drops to the hardwood floor. Plip. Plip. Plip.
She groaned—low, animal, filthy—and lunged forward.
Her mouth found his neck like a starving thing.
She licked him first—long, slow, wet stripes up the side of his throat, tasting the salt of his skin, the faint musk of cologne, and older-man sweat. She moaned against him, the sound vibrating through his flesh, her tongue dragging over his Adam’s apple, circling the pulse point, sucking lightly until a faint red mark bloomed under her lips.
Hongshik groaned deep in his chest, his hand tightening on her throat just enough to make her whimper.
“That’s it, baby… taste your Appa. Show me how much you love being a dirty little idol whore for an old cock.”
Jihyo’s hands flew to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons in her eagerness. She popped them open one by one—too frantic to be neat—until the fabric parted and she could press her palms flat against his bare chest. She moaned again at the contact—coarse gray hair under her fingers, solid muscle beneath, and warm skin that smelled like man and sin.
She kissed lower, open-mouthed and sloppy, licking a trail down the center of his chest, nipping at his collarbone, and sucking a bruise just above his nipple. Her tongue swirled around the flat disc, teasing it to a hard peak before she moved to the other side, giving it the same filthy attention.
All the while her hips kept rolling—slow, desperate grinds against nothing, chasing friction, her soaked thong rubbing uselessly against her clit. The puddle beneath her ass grew bigger, slick trails running down the table legs now, dripping steadily to the floor.
Hongshik’s free hand slid up her thigh again, fingers dipping between her legs to trace her dripping slit through the thong.
“So fucking wet for me,” he growled. “This cunt’s crying because an old man’s touching it. You love that, don’t you? Love knowing you’re betraying your pretty boyfriend for gray dick.”
Jihyo’s answer was a broken, needy sob against his chest.
“Yes… yes… love it… love being bad… for you… only for you…”
She sucked harder on his skin, leaving a dark hickey just over his heart, claiming him the way he was claiming her.
Minwoo’s hand moved faster inside his jeans—jealousy and lust twisting into something poisonous and addictive. He watched the goddess he’d worshipped from afar turn into a shameless, dripping slut for his own father, and all he could do was stroke himself in the shadows, pre-cum soaking his fingers, breath ragged, knowing he’d never be able to unsee this.
And Jihyo—perfect, untouchable Jihyo—was too far gone to care.
Jihyo leaned down over him like a woman possessed, her heavy tits dragging across Hongshik’s chest, nipples scraping against his coarse gray hair as she lowered her mouth to his skin. Her tongue flicked out—hot, wet, greedy—and caught one flat, dark nipple. She circled it slowly at first, teasing the pebbled flesh with feather-light licks, then flattened her tongue and dragged it in one long, filthy stripe from the center outward. Hongshik groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his ribcage straight into her lips.
She sucked the nipple into her mouth—hard—hollowing her cheeks, tongue flicking the tip rapidly while her other hand found his left nipple and pinched it between thumb and forefinger. She rolled it, tugged it, and twisted it just enough to make his hips jerk up off the table. His cock—still trapped in his boxers—throbbed violently against her thigh, thick and hot and impossibly hard, the sheer size of it pressing insistently into her soft flesh like it was trying to brand her.
Jihyo moaned around his nipple, the vibration humming through him. She could feel every pulse of that monster dick—long, girthy, and veined, a beast she never imagined she’d worship. She’d dated before—nice boys, sweet boys, boys with average cocks that fit neatly in her hand and finished quickly. But this? This was a culture shock. Korean men weren’t supposed to be this big, were they? Not like this—thick as her wrist, long enough to bump her cervix on the first thrust, and veiny enough that she could feel every ridge dragging inside her even now, just from memory.
The first night he’d fucked her—really fucked her—she hadn’t been able to walk straight the next morning. Her legs had shaken, her pussy was sore and swollen, her inner thighs were bruised from his grip, and every step had reminded her of how deep he’d been and how thoroughly he’d ruined her. She’d limped through rehearsal, trying to hide the wince, thighs rubbing together and making her clit throb with aftershocks. And every time since then—every stolen night, every quickie in the bathroom, every slow, filthy session on this very table—she’d come harder than she ever had with anyone else.
The memories flooded her now as her eager hands slid down his body.
She traced the hard ridges of his abs, nails scraping lightly through the trail of graying hair that led downward. Her mouth followed—kissing, licking, and sucking little marks into his skin as she worked her way south. She dragged her tongue through the coarse hair just above his boxers, tasting salt and musk and man, moaning at the raw, animal scent of him. Hongshik’s cock jerked under the fabric, the head outlined perfectly against the thin cotton, a huge, obscene tent that made her mouth water.
She could see the wet patch blooming at the tip—thick, clear pre-cum soaking through, darkening the gray material until it clung transparently to the fat mushroom head. A bead of it welled up, seeping through the weave, glistening in the kitchen light.
Jihyo whimpered.
She flattened her palm over the bulge—feeling the heat, the pulse, and the sheer size of him—and gave one slow, firm stroke from base to tip. Hongshik hissed through his teeth, hips bucking up into her hand.
“Fuck, baby… touch it… feel how hard you make Appa…”
Her fingers found the slit through the fabric—circling, rubbing, and smearing the leaking pre-cum in slow, slippery loops. The wet patch grew bigger, the cotton turning almost sheer, outlining every vein, every ridge. She pressed her thumb right against the tip and rubbed in tight circles, milking more pre-cum out until it oozed steadily, soaking her fingertip.
She licked her lips, eyes glassy with lust.
She needed it in her mouth. Needed to taste him and needed to choke on that thick, veiny monster until tears ran down her cheeks and her throat burned.
But first, she dragged her tongue lower, painting a wet stripe across the front of his boxers, tasting the salty pre-cum through the fabric. Hongshik groaned louder this time, hand fisting in her hair, not guiding yet—just holding, letting her worship.
Jihyo moaned against his cock—vibrations humming through the cotton straight to his shaft.
She was dripping now—her own pussy clenching around nothing, slick sliding down her thighs, pooling beneath her ass on the table. The thought of sucking him while she was this wet, this desperate, while her boyfriend was probably still downstairs playing video games… It made her clit throb so hard she nearly came untouched.
She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down just enough to free the head, fat, flushed, purple, and slit; weeping steadily. She leaned in and flicked her tongue over it once—quick, kittenish—tasting the salty-bitter pre-cum, moaning at the flavor.
Hongshik’s grip tightened in her hair.
“That’s my good girl… taste your Appa… show me how much you love this old cock…”
Jihyo’s eyes fluttered shut, lips parting on a shaky breath.
She was already lost.
And she hadn’t even taken him in her mouth yet.
One manicured hand pressed flat against Hongshik’s broad chest, pushing him backward with surprising strength. He let her—grinning like a wolf who’d already won—step back until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed in the next room. The hallway door had been left cracked open just enough for Minwoo to see everything, and now the scene shifted into full view.
Jihyo followed him like a predator stalking prey, hips swaying, heavy tits bouncing softly with each step. When Hongshik sat heavily on the mattress, she stopped right in front of him—close enough that her knees brushed his.
She smiled.
Not the bright, camera-ready Twice smiled the world knew.
This one was darker. Hungrier. Lips swollen, eyes half-lidded and glassy with lust, corners tilted in filthy promise. She looked like sin wearing a goddess’s face.
Then she turned.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Giving Hongshik—and unknowingly Minwoo—a full, devastating view of her back.
Her long black hair cascaded down her spine like ink poured over porcelain. The elegant curve of her shoulders led down to the dramatic dip of her waist, then flared into the lush, heart-shaped swell of her ass—round, firm, still flushed from earlier slaps. But it was lower than Minwoo's, breath strangled in his throat.
From this angle, he could see everything.
Her bare tits hung heavy and perfect in profile—full, teardrop-shaped, nipples dark red and still glistening from Hongshik’s mouth. Her stomach was flat and toned, a faint sheen of sweat making the skin glow. And between her creamy thighs…
Her pussy.
Neatly shaved, completely bare, lips puffy and flushed a deep, aroused pink. They were swollen, parted slightly from how wet she was, the inner folds shining slick. A thick, slow trickle of her arousal slid down the inside of one thigh, glistening like liquid diamond under the bedroom lamp. Another drop followed, then another—dripping steadily, obscenely, marking her as already ruined.
Minwoo’s cock jerked so violently in his boxers that he nearly came untouched.
Jihyo bent forward at the waist—slowly, pornographically, her back arched like a bow. Her tits swung forward, nipples brushing the air. Her ass lifted, cheeks parting just enough to show the tight pucker between them and the dripping slit below. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her thong—the black lace already soaked, dark, and clinging transparently to her pussy—and tugged it down.
Inch.
By torturous inches.
The fabric peeled away from her swollen lips with a wet, sticky sound. A long string of her arousal stretched between the thong and her clit, then snapped, swinging down to join the trail already leaking down her inner thighs. She dragged the panties slowly over her toned thighs, past her knees, and down her calves, stepping out of them one delicate foot at a time. The ruined lace dangled from her finger like a trophy.
She straightened, turned, and tossed them.
Hongshik caught the thong midair with a low chuckle. He brought it straight to his nose and inhaled deeply—eyes closing in pure, animal pleasure as he breathed in the thick, heady musk of her arousal. The scent was so strong that Minwoo could almost smell it from the doorway: sweet, tangy, feminine, and overwhelming.
Jihyo watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, biting her swollen lower lip.
She was completely naked now.
No clothes. No shame. No pretense.
Just Jihyo—Twice’s Jihyo—standing naked in her boyfriend’s childhood bedroom, soaked and ready for his father’s cock.
Minwoo’s hand moved faster inside his jeans—frantic, desperate—pre-cum soaking through the fabric in thick, pulsing waves. His cock throbbed so hard it hurt, but he couldn’t stop watching.
And Jihyo—perfect, untouchable Jihyo—was already turning back toward Hongshik, crawling onto the bed on all fours, ass high, pussy glistening, ready to give herself completely to the old man who’d ruined her for anyone else.
Jihyo crawled toward him on all fours like a panther in heat, every slow, deliberate movement making her heavy tits sway beneath her. The soft, full mounds dragged along Hongshik’s legs—first brushing the rough hair on his calves, then sliding up the thick muscle of his thighs. Her stiff nipples scraped against his skin with every inch she advanced, the friction sending sharp, electric tingles racing straight to her clit. Each drag of those sensitive peaks over his coarse leg hair made her gasp softly, pussy clenching hard around nothing, fresh slick leaking out to coat her inner thighs in a shiny trail.
She moaned low in her throat, the sound vibrating through her chest and into her tits as they rubbed against him again and again. The rough texture of his skin against her tender nipples was torture and heaven at once—every scrape made her ache deeper, made her pussy throb harder, and made her want to grind against something, anything, to ease the building pressure.
But she didn’t stop.
She couldn’t.
Her beautiful face—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, glassy eyes dark with pure, filthy need—finally hovered right above the obscene bulge in his boxers. His cock was so hard it had forced the waistband down just enough for the fat, flushed head to peek out over the top, glistening with a thick bead of pre-cum that slowly rolled down the veined shaft still trapped beneath the fabric. The sight made her mouth water instantly.
She leaned in closer, nose brushing the cotton, and inhaled deeply.
The scent hit her like a drug—musky, salty, thick with arousal, and with the sharp tang of pre-cum. It was the smell of him, of raw man, of the cock that had ruined her over and over again. She’d come to crave it like oxygen: that heady mix of sweat, skin, and leaking desire that clung to his boxers after every time he’d fucked her senseless. It made her head spin, made her clit pulse, and made her drip even more.
Jihyo whimpered—soft, needy, shameless—and extended her tender tongue.
She started at the base, right where the thick root of his cock strained against the cotton. Her tongue flattened, pressing hot and wet against the fabric, and she dragged it upward in one long, slow lick—tasting him through the material, tasting the salt of his skin, and the bitterness of pre-cum that had already soaked through. The wet patch spread instantly under her tongue, darkening the gray cotton, outlining the fat vein that ran along the underside of his shaft.
She moaned again, louder this time, the vibration humming straight through the fabric and into his cock. Hongshik’s hips jerked upward, a rough groan tearing from his throat.
“Fuck… baby… lick it… taste how hard you make Appa…”
Jihyo obeyed.
She lapped at him again—longer strokes now, tongue swirling over the cotton-covered length, tracing every ridge she could feel beneath. The pre-cum kept oozing, seeping through faster, until the front of his boxers was drenched, clinging transparently to the swollen head. She could see the slit clearly now—flared, weeping, begging for her mouth.
Her pussy ached so badly she could feel her own slick sliding down her thighs in steady rivulets. The emptiness inside her was unbearable; she wanted that thick, veiny monster stretching her open again, splitting her wide, filling her until she couldn’t breathe. But first…
She needed to worship it.
She needed to taste him.
She needed to choke on the cock that had turned her from Twice’s perfect main vocalist into this dripping, desperate, cock-hungry slut.
Jihyo pressed one last open-mouthed kiss to the wet fabric—lips molding around the fat head through the cotton—then looked up at Hongshik with pure, glassy lust.
Jihyo’s hands moved like they had a mind of their own—slow, greedy, trembling with need.
She slid them under the stretched waistband of Hongshik’s boxers, fingers brushing the coarse hair at the base of his cock before dipping lower. Her palms found his heavy balls first—full, warm, drawn tight against his body from how badly he wanted her. She cupped them gently at first, rolling the sensitive sack in her soft hand, feeling the weight, the heat, the way they pulsed under her touch. A low, filthy moan slipped from her throat as she squeezed just enough to make him hiss.
Then her other hand wrapped around the thick, throbbing shaft still trapped inside the cotton.
God, it was massive.
Even through the fabric, she could feel every vein, every ridge, and the way it jumped and leaked when her fingers closed around it. She stroked him slowly—base to tip—inside the boxers, her grip firm but teasing, her thumb brushing the underside where the fat vein throbbed hardest. Pre-cum pulsed out in thick, steady waves, soaking the cotton even more until the front was drenched and clinging transparently to the swollen head.
All the while, she lowered her chest.
Her big, soft tits—still flushed and swollen from earlier abuse—sandwiched his rock-hard cock right through the boxers. The heavy mounds enveloped him, nipples dragging along the wet fabric as she rocked forward, letting her breasts rub up and down his length in slow, obscene glides. The friction was maddening—her sensitive nipples scraping over the cotton, his leaking cockhead bumping against the soft undersides of her tits, smearing precum across her skin in shiny streaks.
Jihyo whimpered at the sensation, her pussy clenching hard, another thick trickle of her own slick sliding down her inner thigh.
She looked up at him—eyes glassy, pupils blown, that famous Twice smile twisted into something depraved and desperate—and dove for the tip peeking over the waistband.
Her tongue flicked out first—quick, kittenish—lapping at the fat, flushed head like it was candy. The taste of him exploded on her tongue: salty, bitter, and thick with pre-cum. She moaned loudly against his cock, the vibration humming straight through him. Hongshik’s hips jerked, a rough groan tearing from his throat.
“Fuck… baby… lick it… clean up that mess you made…”
Jihyo obeyed.
She flattened her tongue against the slit, lapping up the steady ooze of pre-cum like she was dying of thirst. Each slow drag of her tongue made more bead up, and she chased every drop—circling the flared head, dipping into the slit, sucking gently on the very tip until her lips sealed around it through the cotton. She looked up at him with every lick—eyes locked on his, dark and worshipful, moaning softly as she tasted him.
Minwoo couldn’t breathe.
He stood frozen in the hallway shadows, hand shoved down his jeans, stroking his own aching cock in frantic, silent jerks. He was pretty sure he’d cum any second just from watching—watching Jihyo, the goddess he’d jerked off to for years, reduced to this: naked, dripping, worshipping his father’s monster cock like it was the only thing that mattered.
How the hell was his old man still holding on?
Hongshik’s cock was obscenely hard—thick, veined, leaking like a faucet—and yet he hadn’t lost control. He just groaned low and rough with every lick, every suck, every slow stroke of Jihyo’s hand inside his boxers. His hand fisted in her long black hair—not guiding, just holding—letting her work, letting her degrade herself for him.
Jihyo sucked harder on the tip—lips stretching around the fat head through the soaked cotton—tongue swirling, lapping up every fresh drop of pre-cum that welled up. Her hand kept stroking him inside the boxers—slow, firm pumps from root to tip—while her tits continued to rub up and down his length, nipples scraping the wet fabric, leaving shiny trails of her own arousal mixed with his.
She was a mess—drool slipping from the corners of her mouth, pussy dripping steadily onto the floor between her spread knees, thighs shaking with how badly she needed to be filled.
And still she worshipped.
Still, she licked.
Still, she moaned like a whore in heat, completely owned by the old man’s cock.
Minwoo’s balls tightened.
He was going to cum.
And he hadn’t even touched her.
Jihyo watched, mesmerized, as Hongshik’s pre-cum kept dripping—thick, clear ropes oozing from the slit, sliding down the swollen head, then catching in the coarse gray pubes just above his waistband. The droplets pooled there in a shiny little mess, clinging to the wiry hair, glistening under the bedroom lamp like liquid sin. More came—slow, heavy pulses—each one making the dark patch on his boxers grow bigger, the fabric so soaked now it molded perfectly to every thick vein and ridge of his monster cock.
She licked her lips—slow, deliberate—tongue dragging across her swollen bottom lip, tasting the ghost of his flavor still lingering there. Her eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, that famous idol face twisted into pure, depraved hunger. She leaned in closer, heavy tits swaying beneath her, nipples brushing his thighs again, sending fresh sparks straight to her dripping cunt.
Then she extended her tongue.
Long, pink, trembling with need.
She dragged it flat across his pubes—right where the pre-cum had pooled—lapping up the salty, musky mess in one slow, filthy stroke. The taste exploded on her tongue: bitter, thick, pure man. She moaned—low, broken, shameless—feeling the warm slick coat her taste buds. Hongshik’s cock jumped violently at the contact, and the old man—watching his son’s girlfriend debase herself so completely—groaned deep in his chest.
The sight pushed him over some invisible edge.
Another thick spurt erupted from his slit—right where her tongue was waiting.
It hit her tongue in a hot, pulsing jet, oozing out in a steady, creamy flow. Jihyo moaned louder—vibrating against his pubes—as the fresh pre-cum flooded her mouth. She didn’t waste a single drop. She sealed her lips around the base of his cock through the boxers, sucking gently, tongue swirling to catch every bead that welled up. She licked and lapped like a woman starved—long, greedy strokes through the wet cotton, sucking harder when more leaked out, making sure she swallowed every thick, salty drop. Her cheeks hollowed, lips working, and filthy wet sounds filled the room as she cleaned him, worshipped him, and drank him down like it was the only thing keeping her alive.
“Fuck… baby… drink it all… every fucking drop… that’s my good little cumslut…”
Hongshik’s voice was rough and wrecked, hand fisting tighter in her hair—not forcing, just anchoring—as he watched her degrade herself for him.
From the doorway, Minwoo had the perfect, devastating angle.
Jihyo’s ass was pointed straight at him—round, firm, creamy cheeks spread just enough from her bent position to show everything. Her leaking pink pussy was fully exposed: lips puffy and dark, clit swollen and throbbing, inner folds shining with fresh slick. Every time she rocked forward to lick his father, her pussy opened a little more—clenching, fluttering, begging to be filled. A steady stream of her juices flowed out—thick, clear, dripping in long, sticky strings down her inner thighs, trailing all the way to her knees. Her toned, sexy ass cheeks flexed with each movement, muscles tightening and releasing, the soft flesh jiggling slightly when she bobbed her head.
Her heavy tits hung down beneath her, swaying with every lick, nipples brushing Hongshik’s thighs, leaving shiny trails of her own drool and his pre-cum. The sight was obscene—Jihyo, Twice’s perfect main vocalist, reduced to a dripping, cock-worshipping whore, ass in the air, pussy leaking like a broken faucet, tits swinging while she sucked and licked his father’s leaking dick through his boxers.
Minwoo couldn’t hold back.
His hand flew faster inside his jeans—frantic, desperate—stroking his aching cock in time with Jihyo’s slow, greedy licks. The jealousy burned hotter than ever, but the arousal drowned it completely. Within seconds, he came again—hard, silently—thick ropes of cum spilling into his boxers, soaking his hand, his thigh, his shame. His knees buckled slightly, vision blurring, but he couldn’t look away.
And still—impossibly—his father hadn’t come.
Hongshik’s cock stayed rock-hard, throbbing, leaking steadily into Jihyo’s eager mouth. He just groaned—low, rough, satisfied—with every lick, every suck, every slow pump of her hand inside his boxers, and every drag of her tits along his thighs. He didn’t lose control. He just watched her—gray eyes dark, possessive, proud—like he’d tamed the untamable idol and was savoring every second of her total, filthy surrender.
Jihyo moaned louder against his cock, tongue swirling faster, hands stroking harder, completely lost in worshipping the thick, veiny monster that had ruined her for anyone else.
She didn’t know Minwoo was watching.
She didn’t know her boyfriend’s brother was cumming in his pants again just from the sight of her bare, dripping body and her desperate mouth on his father’s cock.
And she didn’t care.
All she cared about was the taste flooding her tongue, the heat in her pussy, and the old man who owned her completely.
Jihyo pulled back just enough to look up at Hongshik, her lips shiny with his pre-cum, chin glistening, and eyes dark and glassy with pure, desperate lust. That famous Twice main vocalist's face—usually so polished, so perfect for cameras—was wrecked: cheeks flushed deep pink, mascara slightly smudged from earlier tears of overstimulation, and swollen lips parted on shaky breaths. She licked them slowly, tasting him again, then spoke in a voice so wrecked and needy it barely sounded like her.
“Appa…” she whispered, trembling. “I want to suck your cock… please… let me take it in my mouth… I need it… I need to taste you… all of you…”
Hongshik’s low, rumbling chuckle vibrated through his chest and straight into her core. His hand tightened in her long black hair—not pulling, just holding—tilting her head back so she had to meet his eyes.
“Greedy little idol slut,” he growled, voice thick with dark amusement. “You want Appa’s cock that bad? Then climb up here. Get on top of me. Let me see that dripping pussy right in my face while you choke on this old dick.”
Jihyo’s breath hitched—sharp, needy—and a fresh gush of slick leaked out of her, sliding down her inner thigh in a visible, shiny trail. Her eyes lit up with filthy happiness, pupils blown so wide they were almost black.
“Yes… yes, Appa…”
She moved fast—eager, clumsy with lust—crawling up his body like she couldn’t wait another second. Her heavy tits dragged along his stomach, nipples scraping through the coarse gray hair, leaving wet streaks of her own drool and his pre-cum. She straddled his chest first, then shifted higher, knees planting on either side of his shoulders until her dripping pussy hovered right above his mouth—pink, swollen, glistening lips parted and leaking steadily onto his chin.
From Minwoo’s cracked-door view, the angle was devastating.
He could see Jihyo’s beautiful face—flushed, wrecked, lips swollen and shiny—now inches from the fat, leaking head of his father’s cock still trapped under the soaked boxers. The black fabric was stretched obscenely tight, the outline of every thick vein and the flared mushroom head perfectly visible, pre-cum still oozing through in thick, steady pulses. Jihyo’s tongue was already out again—pink and wet—lapping at the tip through the cotton, slow, hungry circles that made more pre-cum well up and soak the material even darker.
And lower—fuck—Minwoo had a clear, unobstructed view of her ass pointed right at him.
Her toned, sexy ass cheeks were spread just enough from the position—round, firm, creamy skin flushed pink from earlier slaps. Between them, her leaking pink pussy was fully exposed: lips puffy and dark, clit swollen and throbbing, inner folds shining with fresh slick. Every time she rocked forward to lick his father’s cock, her pussy opened a little more—clenching, fluttering, dripping in long, sticky strings that trailed down her inner thighs. The creamy flesh of those sweet, sexy, fit thighs glistened with her arousal, the slick running in rivulets all the way to her knees, pooling on the sheets beneath her.
Minwoo’s hand was a blur inside his jeans—stroking frantically, pre-cum soaking his fingers, his balls tight and aching. He could see her jerk suddenly—hips twitching forward, a muffled moan vibrating against Hongshik’s cock—and he knew exactly why.
Hongshik’s big hands had slid up her thighs, thumbs spreading her pussy lips wide. His thick fingers traced her slick folds—slow, teasing—then one digit circled her swollen clit while another pressed against her entrance, dipping just inside. Jihyo’s whole body jolted, ass clenching, pussy clenching, and another thick gush of slick dripping down onto his waiting tongue.
She moaned louder against the boxers—vibrations humming straight through his cock—her tongue never stopping, lapping desperately at the leaking tip while her hips rocked back against his father’s mouth.
Minwoo came again—hard, silently—thick ropes spilling into his boxers, soaking his hand, his shame. His knees nearly gave out.
Jihyo’s trembling fingers finally hooked into the waistband of Hongshik’s boxers.
She tugged downward—slow, reverent, like she was unwrapping something sacred and filthy all at once. The elastic stretched, caught for a heartbeat on the thick base of his cock, then gave way.
The monster sprang free with a heavy slap—springing upward so fast the fat, flushed head nearly smacked her across the cheek.
Jihyo gasped—sharp, needy, eyes widening in that same dazed, worshipful shock she felt every single time she saw it.
There it was.
Thick. Long. Veiny. Brutal.
The shaft curved slightly upward, thick veins bulging along the length like ropes under the flushed skin, pulsing with every heartbeat. The head was swollen, mushroom-shaped, dark purple and shiny, the slit still weeping thick, clear pre-cum in slow, heavy beads that rolled down the underside and dripped onto her waiting tongue. It was obscene—bigger than any cock had any right to be, especially on a man three times her age. Korean men weren’t supposed to be built like this. But Hongshik was. And this cock—this brutal, beautiful beast—had ruined her.
Completely.
She stared at it like it was the only thing in the universe.
This was the thing that had made her unable to walk straight after their first night. Legs shaking, pussy sore and gaping, inner thighs bruised from his grip, every step a reminder of how deep he’d been, how thoroughly he’d split her open. She’d limped through dance practice the next day trying to hide the wince, thighs rubbing together and making her clit throb with aftershocks, panties soaked just from remembering.
Even on tour—when she was halfway across the world, locked in hotel rooms between schedules and concerts—she couldn’t escape it. She’d lie in bed after shows, legs spread, fingers buried in her pussy, rubbing frantic circles over her clit while she pictured this cock pounding her senseless. She’d cum hard—back arching, biting her pillow to stay quiet—whimpering his name into the dark, thighs shaking, wishing it was him stretching her instead of her own fingers.
She’d even taken a picture once—right after he’d fucked her raw on this very bed. He’d pulled out, cock still hard and glistening with her slick, and she’d grabbed her phone with shaking hands, snapped a quick, filthy shot of that thick, veiny monster before he could stop her. She kept it hidden in a locked folder, password-protected, and late at night when the ache between her legs became unbearable, she’d open it, zoom in, stare at every ridge, every vein, and finger herself until she came crying his name.
Now it was right in front of her again—real, hot, throbbing, leaking.
Jihyo gulped—loud, audible—throat working visibly.
Her hands—small, manicured, shaking—reached out and wrapped around the shaft.
She couldn’t even close her fingers all the way around the girth.
She stroked him slowly—base to tip—feeling every bulging vein under her palm, feeling him pulse and jump in her grip. More pre-cum welled up instantly, thick and pearly, dripping down the head and onto her knuckles. She moaned at the sight, low and broken.
Her beautiful face—still flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy—hovered right above the fat head.
She leaned in and sealed her mouth around the tip.
No hesitation.
She sucked—hard—cheeks hollowing as she drew the leaking slit into her mouth, tongue flicking rapidly over the opening to lap up every fresh drop of pre-cum. The taste flooded her—salty, bitter, thick, pure him—and she moaned around the head, the vibration humming straight through his cock and making his hips jerk.
Hongshik groaned—deep, rough, hand fisting tighter in her hair.
“That’s it, baby… suck Appa’s cock… take that pre-cum like the greedy little idol whore you are…”
Jihyo did.
She sucked harder—lips stretching wide around the fat mushroom head, tongue swirling, dipping into the slit, milking him for more. She bobbed shallowly, just enough to take the head and a few inches, cheeks hollowing with every pull, drool slipping from the corners of her mouth and dripping down his shaft. Her hands kept stroking the rest—slow, firm pumps—while her heavy tits swayed beneath her, nipples brushing his thighs, leaving wet trails.
From the doorway, Minwoo watched, frozen, hand still wrapped around his own cock, stroking in helpless time with her rhythm.
He could see her face perfectly—beautiful, wrecked, completely devoted—lips stretched obscenely around his father’s thick cock, tongue working the tip, and eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss every time another spurt of pre-cum hit her tongue.
He could see her ass too—pointed right at him, cheeks spread, pussy leaking in steady, shiny rivulets down her thighs.
And he could see the way her body jerked—hips twitching forward—every time Hongshik’s tongue flicked across her clit or his fingers curled inside her.
Minwoo stared—couldn’t look away if his life depended on it.
For the first time in his life, he saw his father’s cock.
And it fucking destroyed him.
Hongshik’s dick stood proud and brutal—thick as a wrist at the base, long enough that even fully hard it curved slightly upward like it knew exactly where to hit to make a woman scream. The shaft was a roadmap of bulging veins—thick, ropey cords that pulsed visibly under the flushed skin, running from the root all the way to the fat, mushroom-shaped head. That head was obscene: swollen, dark purple, shiny with pre-cum and Jihyo’s spit, the slit still weeping thick, pearly beads that rolled down the underside in slow, heavy trails. The whole thing throbbed—visibly, angrily—like it had a heartbeat of its own, demanding worship.
Minwoo felt it hit him all at once.
Dejection—sharp, cold, sinking into his gut like lead.
Shame—hot and choking, burning up his neck and cheeks because he was standing here in the hallway jerking off to his own father stealing his girlfriend.
Helplessness—bone-deep, because there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say, nothing that would change the fact that Jihyo was on her knees in front of that monster right now, moaning as she’d never moaned for him.
And worst of all—acceptance.
Because he understood now.
He understood exactly why Jihyo—Jihyo, Twice’s main vocalist, the woman millions called a goddess—had let his father finger her senseless on the kitchen table. Why she’d arched her back and spread her legs and begged for more when Hongshik’s rough hands mauled her tits. Why she’d kissed him like she was drowning and he was air.
Because that cock deserved it.
That thick, veiny, brutal beast deserved to be worshipped. Deserved to stretch her, ruin her, and own her in ways Minwoo’s dick never could.
He looked down at himself—his hand still wrapped around his own cock inside his jeans—and the comparison was cruel.
He wasn’t small. Average, maybe a little above. But next to his father?
He wasn’t even half the size.
Half the thickness.
Half the length.
Half the fucking presence.
Minwoo’s cock twitched in his grip—pathetic, leaking, nowhere near the monster that had Jihyo drooling and dripping on the bed right now. He knew—deep in his gut, in the sick twist of jealousy and arousal—that his brother wasn’t even close either. If Minwoo was average, his brother was probably smaller. No wonder Jihyo had never made those broken, filthy sounds for him. No wonder she’d never squirted like a fountain, never begged, never looked at him with that glassy, worshipful stare.
Because she’d never had this.
This thick, veiny, gray-haired beast stretched her so wide she couldn’t walk straight the next day. This cock that made her finger herself in hotel rooms on tour, staring at a secret photo she’d taken of it, cumming and crying his father’s name.
Minwoo’s hand moved faster—shameful, helpless—pre-cum soaking his fingers as he watched Jihyo lean in again, tongue flicking out to lap at the leaking slit like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.
He came again—silent, shuddering—thick ropes spilling into his boxers while his father’s cock throbbed untouched, still hard, still leaking, still owning the woman Minwoo loved.
And Minwoo—dejected, shamed, helpless—accepted it.
Because that cock deserved her.
Jihyo deserved a cock like that.
A woman built like her—thick thighs, heavy tits, that perfect hourglass waist flaring into a fat, juicy ass—was literally made to be plowed by something this brutal. Made to be split open, stretched until she screamed, and bred until she was dripping with cum and couldn’t walk straight for days. Minwoo knew it now, staring through the cracked door with his hand still wrapped around his pathetic, twitching dick. Jihyo’s body wasn’t meant for soft, quick fucks from boys her age. It was built for this—for an old, thick, veiny monster that could ruin her completely and leave her begging for more.
Hongshik’s cock throbbed right in front of her beautiful face—fat, angry, glistening with her spit and his endless pre-cum. The head was swollen and dark purple, with a slit weeping steadily, veins bulging like ropes under the flushed skin. Every heartbeat made it pulse, made it jump, and made more thick pre-cum bubble up and roll down the underside in slow, heavy trails.
Jihyo’s tongue never stopped circling.
She lapped at the fat head like it was her lifeline—slow, worshipful swirls around the ridge, dipping into the slit to scoop out every fresh bead of pre-cum that welled up. Her lips parted wider, sealing around the tip, sucking gently while her tongue flicked the underside, coaxing more out. She moaned—low, broken, vibrating against his cock—every time another thick pulse hit her tongue. She didn’t let a single drop escape. She swallowed it down greedily, tongue chasing the trails that escaped down the shaft, licking back up to the head to start all over again.
Minwoo came again.
Hard.
His cock jerked in his fist—once, twice—and thick ropes of cum spilled into his boxers, soaking his hand, his thigh, his shame. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, knees buckling, vision blurring at the edges. He couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop stroking through the aftershocks even as his own pathetic release dripped down his fingers.
And his father?
Hongshik didn’t even flinch.
He just groaned—low, rough, satisfied—hips rolling forward slightly to feed more of his leaking cock into Jihyo’s eager mouth. His hand stayed fisted in her long black hair, not forcing, just guiding—letting her worship at her own desperate pace. More pre-cum spurted out—thick, creamy pulses—right onto her waiting tongue. She moaned louder, eyes fluttering shut in bliss, swallowing every drop like it was holy nectar.
“Fuck… baby… drink it all… that’s it… take every drop Appa gives you…”
Jihyo whimpered in response—high, needy, filthy—her tongue never stopping, lips never leaving the fat head. She sucked harder, cheeks hollowing, pulling more pre-cum out of him while her heavy tits swayed beneath her, nipples brushing his thighs, leaving shiny trails of her own drool and his leaking mess.
Minwoo’s balls ached—already spent twice—but his cock stayed hard, twitching in his hand, because he couldn’t look away from the sight of Jihyo—Twice’s goddess, his brother’s girlfriend—completely owned by his father’s massive, unrelenting cock.
She was made for this.
Made to be plowed.
Made to be bred.
Jihyo opened her mouth wider—jaw aching already—and took more of Hongshik’s monster cock inside.
The fat head pushed past her lips, stretching them taut around its girth, the veiny shaft sliding over her tongue like hot velvet steel. She cushioned the thick underside with the flat of her tongue, feeling every bulging ridge drag slowly across her taste buds as inch after thick inch disappeared into her warm, wet mouth. Her cheeks hollowed, lips sealed tight, saliva pooling instantly and dripping down the corners of her mouth in shiny strings. She moaned around him—low, muffled, vibrating straight through his cock—and the sound made his hips jerk forward, feeding her another inch.
She could barely breathe.
But she didn’t care.
She wanted it deeper.
She needed it deeper.
At the same time, Hongshik’s big hands clamped around her waist—rough palms digging into the soft dip above her hips, holding her down like he owned every inch of her. He pulled her pussy harder against his face, nose buried in her slick folds, tongue spearing deep into her dripping core.
He ate her out like a starving man.
His tongue was thick, hot, and relentless—plunging inside her, curling upward to lap at her sensitive walls, tracing every fluttering ridge, every slick crease. He fucked her with it—slow, deep thrusts—then flattened it to drag in long, filthy strokes from her entrance up to her swollen clit. When he reached the little nub, he sucked it into his mouth—hard—tongue flicking the tip rapidly while his lips sealed around it, pulling, tugging, milking it until her whole body seized.
Jihyo’s hips shuddered violently—trying to buck away from the overwhelming pleasure, trying to grind down harder for more—all at once. But his iron grip on her waist kept her pinned, forced her to take every brutal lick, every deep thrust of his tongue, every suck on her clit. She could feel him invading her—hot, wet muscle stretching her open, lapping at her inner walls like he was trying to drink her dry. Her pussy clenched around his tongue, fluttering helplessly, gushing fresh slick straight onto his chin, down his throat.
She moaned louder around his cock—vibrations humming down his shaft—making him groan into her pussy, the sound rumbling through her clit like thunder.
His cock twitched hard inside her mouth—thick, angry pulses that made the veins bulge against her tongue. She felt it swell even bigger, the head bumping the back of her throat with every shallow bob of her head. Pre-cum leaked steadily now—salty, thick, coating her tongue, sliding down her throat. She swallowed around him, throat working, milking him for more, desperate to take every drop he gave her.
Hongshik growled against her cunt—voice muffled, feral.
“That’s it, baby… choke on Appa’s cock while I eat this greedy little pussy… feel how deep my tongue is inside you? Gonna make you squirt all over my face again…”
Jihyo’s hips tried to jerk again—shuddering, shaking—but his hands held her down mercilessly, forcing her to take the relentless assault. His tongue curled harder, rubbing that spot deep inside that made stars explode behind her eyes. Her thighs trembled, ass clenching, pussy spasming around his invading tongue as another wave of slick poured out.
She sucked harder on his cock—desperate, sloppy—lips stretched wide, tongue swirling around the head, cheeks hollowing as she tried to take more, more, more. Drool spilled from her mouth, running down his shaft, soaking his balls. Her heavy tits bounced beneath her with every bob of her head, nipples scraping his thighs, sending fresh sparks straight to her clit.
Minwoo watched—frozen, hand still stroking his own leaking cock—seeing his girlfriend’s perfect idol face stretched around his father’s massive dick while her dripping pussy was devoured like a feast.
She was breaking again.
Jihyo took half of that monster cock into her mouth in one slow, greedy slide.
Her lips stretched obscenely wide around the thick shaft—cheeks hollowing as she forced herself down, inch after fat, veiny inch disappearing past her glossy lips. The head bumped the back of her throat, and she paused there—frozen, eyes watering, throat fluttering around him—giving herself a desperate second to breathe, to adjust, to feel how full she already was.
Saliva poured out of her instantly—hot, messy, and unstoppable.
It spilled from the corners of her stretched mouth in thick, shiny strings, dripping down the veiny length of his cock, coating every bulging ridge, and running in rivulets over his heavy balls. The whole shaft glistened now—slick and wet and filthy—her drool mixing with his pre-cum until it looked like he’d already cum all over her pretty idol face.
She moaned around him—deep, muffled, vibrating straight through his cock—and the sound made Hongshik’s hips jerk upward, feeding her another half inch.
“Fuck… baby… look at you… drooling all over Appa’s big dick like a perfect little cocksleeve…”
Jihyo’s eyes fluttered, tears gathering at the corners from the stretch, but she didn’t pull off.
She couldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
She needed more.
She braced her hands on his thick thighs—nails digging into the hard muscle—and pushed forward again.
More cock slid into her mouth—slow, relentless—stretching her jaw wider, filling her until the fat head nudged the back of her throat again. Her tongue flattened along the underside, cushioning the pulsing vein, swirling around the ridges as she took him deeper. Saliva kept pouring—messy, obscene—drenching his balls until they shone, dripping onto the sheets below in wet little splats.
Hongshik groaned—low, rough, primal—and brought one big hand down on her ass.
Slap.
The sound cracked through the room—sharp, filthy—his palm connecting hard with the right cheek.
Jihyo’s whole body jolted.
Her ass jiggled—round, firm, creamy flesh rippling from the impact, a perfect red handprint blooming instantly on her pale skin.
She moaned—loud, broken, vibrating wildly around the thick cock stuffing her mouth.
The vibration shot straight through him—his cock twitched hard inside her throat, swelling even thicker, pre-cum spurting in hot, heavy pulses right against the back of her tongue.
She loved it.
Loved how his cock jumped and throbbed inside her mouth every time she moaned. Loved how alive it felt—hot, pulsing, leaking—completely at her mercy even though she was the one choking on it.
Another slap—harder—left cheek this time.
Crack.
Her ass jiggled again, flesh wobbling deliciously, the sting blooming into sweet heat that shot straight to her clit.
She moaned louder—muffled, wet, desperate—around his cock.
Hongshik’s dick twitched violently inside her mouth—once, twice—and another thick spurt of pre-cum flooded her tongue.
Jihyo swallowed greedily, throat working, milking him for every drop.
She pushed forward again—taking even more—lips stretched to their limit, saliva dripping in long strings from her chin onto his balls below. She could feel the head nudging her throat, the veins pulsing against her tongue, the sheer girth making her jaw ache in the best, filthiest way.
She wanted it all.
Every thick, veiny inch.
She wanted to choke on it until tears ran down her cheeks and her throat burned.
She wanted to prove she could take the cock that had ruined her—over and over and over.
And Hongshik—gray-haired, rough-handed, impossibly in control—only groaned again, hand tightening in her hair, the other slapping her jiggling ass once more.
Crack.
Jihyo moaned around him—long, broken, vibrating—and took another inch.
Deeper.
Wetter.
Filthier.
Minwoo’s world had shrunk to the narrow crack in the door and the obscene scene unfolding on the bed.
Jihyo—his Jihyo, Twice’s Jihyo, the woman he’d dreamed about for years—was giving his father a blowjob like her life depended on it.
She had half the monster cock in her mouth already—lips stretched obscenely wide, cheeks hollowed, saliva dripping in thick, shiny strings down the veiny shaft and onto his heavy balls. Her tongue was visible even from this angle—pink and wet, flattened along the underside, cushioning every ridge as she slowly worked more inside. She paused again—eyes watering, throat fluttering visibly around the thick intrusion—giving herself a second to breathe, to adjust, to feel how full her mouth was.
Hongshik groaned low and rough, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into her pussy, still hovering over his face.
Then she moved.
She started slow—achingly slow.
Her head bobbed in shallow, deliberate motions—lips sliding up to the fat head, tongue swirling around the leaking slit to lap up the fresh pre-cum that welled up, then pushing back down, taking another inch, and stretching her jaw wider. Saliva poured out with every pull—messy, wet, and filthy—coating his cock until it shone, dripping onto his balls in long, sticky strands. She moaned around him—low, vibrating moans that made his shaft twitch hard inside her mouth, with more pre-cum spurting onto her tongue.
Minwoo could see it all: the way her throat worked when she swallowed around him, the way her eyes fluttered shut in bliss every time another thick pulse hit the back of her tongue, the way her heavy tits swayed beneath her with each bob, nipples brushing his father’s thighs.
Hongshik’s response was immediate—his groan muffled against her dripping pussy as he ate her out harder. His tongue plunged deep again—curling, thrusting, lapping at her sensitive walls—while his hands clamped tighter on her waist, holding her down so she couldn’t escape the relentless assault. The vibration of his groan hummed straight through her clit, making her hips jerk, her pussy clenching, and another gush of slick dripping onto his waiting mouth.
Jihyo moaned louder around his cock—broken, desperate, vibrating wildly—and sped up.
She adjusted fast—jaw relaxing, throat opening, and greed taking over.
Her head moved faster now—bobbing deeper, taking more of that thick, veiny length with every downward slide. The wet, sloppy sounds filled the room—gluck, gluck, gluck—as she fucked her mouth on him, lips stretching to their limit, saliva pouring out in messy rivulets, soaking his balls completely. She hollowed her cheeks harder, tongue swirling around the shaft on every upstroke, sucking the fat head like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.
Hongshik groaned again—louder, rougher—his tongue thrusting deeper into her pussy in retaliation, curling hard against that spot that made her whole body seize. His lips sealed around her clit, sucking—pulling—while his tongue flicked the swollen nub rapidly. Jihyo’s hips shuddered violently, ass clenching, pussy spasming around his invading tongue, but his iron grip kept her pinned, forcing her to take every brutal lick, every deep thrust.
She moaned around his cock—high, muffled, and desperate—the vibration making him twitch harder inside her mouth. More pre-cum spurted—thick, hot pulses—flooding her tongue, sliding down her throat. She swallowed greedily, throat working, milking him for every drop while her head bobbed faster and deeper, taking almost three-quarters of that monster now.
Minwoo watched—hand flying inside his jeans—seeing his dream girl’s perfect idol face stretched around his father’s massive dick, saliva dripping, tits bouncing, and pussy dripping onto his father’s chin while she moaned like a whore in heat.
Hongshik’s groans grew louder, vibrating against her clit, pushing her closer to the edge.
Jihyo’s pace turned frantic—head bobbing wildly now, lips stretched to breaking, throat taking him deeper with every downward thrust. She was choking herself on his cock—gagging softly, tears slipping down her cheeks—but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.
She needed it.
Needed to feel that thick, veiny beast in her mouth the way it owned her pussy.
And Hongshik—still rock-hard, still leaking, still in complete control—only groaned louder, tongue fucking her harder, hands pinning her down as she shattered again.
Hongshik’s hands tightened on Jihyo’s waist like iron clamps, pinning her dripping pussy right against his hungry mouth. She was already shaking—thighs quivering, hips twitching—but he didn’t let her escape even an inch. His tongue plunged back inside her soaked cunt—thick, hot, relentless—curling deep to rub that spongy spot that made her see stars. At the same instant, two thick fingers joined his tongue, sliding into her stretched entrance with a wet squelch, stretching her wider, filling her completely.
Jihyo’s whole body seized.
A raw, muffled scream vibrated around his cock as her mouth was stuffed full—lips stretched obscenely, cheeks hollowed, drool pouring down his shaft in thick rivulets. The double invasion was brutal and perfect: his tongue thrusting and lapping at her walls, swirling over every sensitive ridge, while his fingers pumped deep—curling, scissoring, rubbing her G-spot in merciless circles. The pressure built fast—too fast—her pussy clenching and fluttering around his fingers and tongue like it was trying to pull him deeper.
She bobbed her head harder on his cock—desperate, sloppy—taking more of the thick length with every downward plunge. Saliva spilled from her lips, soaking his balls completely, dripping onto the sheets in wet little splats. She sucked harder—cheeks hollowing, tongue swirling around the bulging veins, throat working to swallow around the fat head that nudged her tonsils. Every time she took him deeper, her moans vibrated through his shaft, making his cock twitch and spurt more pre-cum straight onto her tongue.
Hongshik growled into her pussy—the sound rumbling straight through her clit like a vibrator.
He sucked her swollen nub into his mouth—hard—lips sealing tight, tongue flicking the tip rapidly while his fingers thrust faster, deeper, curling harder against her G-spot. His other hand slid up to grip one ass cheek, spreading her wider, giving his tongue better access to lap at her fluttering walls.
Jihyo shattered.
Her first squirt hit like a geyser—hot, forceful, spraying across Hongshik’s chin and cheeks in messy pulses. She screamed around his cock—muffled, wet, desperate—body convulsing, hips jerking against his hold. Her pussy clamped down on his fingers and tongue, spasming wildly, squirting again and again—clear, hot jets soaking his face, dripping down his neck, and pooling on the sheets beneath them.
She didn’t stop sucking.
Even as her body bucked and shuddered through the orgasm, her head kept bobbing—faster now, sloppier—lips stretched to their limit, throat taking him deeper with every thrust. She licked her own juices off his chin when she could reach—tongue darting out between bobs, tasting her own sweet-salty slick mixed with his pre-cum, moaning louder at the filthy combination.
Hongshik didn’t let up.
His tongue kept thrusting—fucking her through the orgasm—while his fingers curled harder, rubbing that spot relentlessly. He sucked her clit again—pulling, tugging—milking another gush from her spasming cunt. Jihyo’s second squirt was even messier—spraying across his face in forceful arcs, dripping down his cheeks, and soaking his gray hair. Her body shuddered violently—back arching, tits bouncing wildly beneath her, thighs trembling so hard they nearly gave out—but his grip held her down, forcing her to ride every wave.
She moaned—high, broken, vibrating around his cock—making him twitch and spurt more pre-cum straight down her throat. She swallowed greedily—throat working, milking him—while her own pussy kept squirting, kept clenching, kept flooding his mouth and fingers with her release.
Her third orgasm crashed through her almost immediately—no break, no mercy. Her hips jerked hard against his face, her pussy spasming so violently his fingers were squeezed tight inside her. Another hot jet of squirt sprayed across his chin, his lips, his tongue—drenching him completely. Jihyo’s muffled screams turned into wet, gurgling moans around his cock—drool and pre-cum spilling from her lips, dripping onto his balls in thick strings.
She was a shaking, squirting, babbling mess—body convulsing, pussy gushing, mouth stuffed full of cock, worshipping him even as he broke her again and again.
Hongshik groaned—deep, satisfied—tongue still lapping, fingers still thrusting, drinking every drop she gave him while his cock throbbed harder inside her throat.
And Jihyo—ruined, owned, dripping—kept sucking, kept moaning, kept squirting, completely surrendered to the man who had turned her into this perfect, filthy, squirting idol slut.
Hongshik’s thick, muscular thighs suddenly flexed—hard, unyielding—and clamped around Jihyo’s head like a vice.
In one brutal, possessive motion, he locked her in place, legs wrapping tight around her skull, heels digging into her upper back. Her beautiful face was trapped—nose buried in his coarse gray pubes, lips stretched to breaking around the base of his monster cock, the fat head lodged deep in her throat.
Jihyo’s eyes flew wide—glassy, panicked, and lust-drunk all at once. Her hands flew to his thighs, nails digging into the hard muscle, but there was no escaping. She was pinned. Owned. Stuffed full.
A choked, wet gurgle escaped her—muffled, desperate—as her throat spasmed around the thick intrusion. Saliva poured from her stretched lips in thick, messy ropes, bubbling around the base of his cock, dripping down his balls in shiny strings. Her tongue flattened helplessly against the underside, feeling every bulging vein pulse against it, every heartbeat throbbing deep in her gullet.
Hongshik groaned—low, feral, triumphant—and pushed his legs down harder.
The motion forced her head lower, forcing every last inch of that girthy beast down her throat until her nose was mashed against his pubic bone. Her throat bulged visibly—a thick, obscene outline of his cock stretching her neck from the inside, the fat head lodged so deep it distorted her elegant throat into a lewd, protruding bump.
Minwoo saw it all.
From the cracked door, he watched his brother’s girlfriend—Twice’s Jihyo, global idol, main vocalist—being face-fucked like a cheap whore. Her throat swelled with every brutal thrust, the bump sliding up and down as Hongshik used his legs to piston her head. Her eyes watered, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, mascara running in black rivulets. Drool and pre-cum bubbled from her lips, spilling over her chin, dripping onto her heavy, swaying tits below. She gagged—wet, choking sounds muffled around the cock stuffing her—but she didn’t fight.
She couldn’t.
Her hands clawed at his thighs—not to push away, but to hold on—as her body shuddered through the assault. Her pussy—still dripping from earlier—clenched and leaked fresh slick down her thighs, pooling on the sheets beneath her knees. Every time Hongshik pushed her down, forcing his cock deeper, her throat convulsed, milking him, squeezing him like a hot, wet fist.
Hongshik growled—voice rough, wrecked—hips rolling up to meet each downward pull of his legs.
“That’s it… take it all, baby… choke on Appa’s big cock… let that throat stretch for me…”
Jihyo’s gags turned into wet, gurgling moans—vibrating wildly around his shaft, making him twitch and spurt more pre-cum straight down her gullet. She swallowed reflexively—throat working visibly around the bulge—milking him, drinking him, completely surrendered. Her eyes rolled back slightly, lashes fluttering, tears streaming, but her hips kept rocking—grinding her soaked pussy against nothing, chasing friction even as her throat was ruthlessly fucked.
Minwoo’s hand flew faster inside his jeans—shameful, helpless—watching the obscene bump in her throat slide up and down, watching her choke and spit and drool all over his father’s thick cock. He could see the outline clearly—every ridge, every vein—stretching her elegant neck into something pornographic, something ruined.
Jihyo was being face-fucked—hard, deep, mercilessly—and she was loving it.
Her body shuddered—once, twice—pussy clenching hard as another small squirt leaked out, dripping onto the sheets. Her moans turned into choked, gurgling pleas around the cock stuffing her throat—muffled, broken, and worshipful.
She was breaking again.
And Minwoo—cumming silently in his pants for the third time—could only watch as his brother’s perfect girlfriend was turned into a drooling, choking, throat-stuffed mess by his own father’s massive, unrelenting cock.
Hongshik’s thighs clamped tighter around Jihyo’s head, heels digging into her back like steel bars, locking her in place with no mercy, no escape. His hips snapped upward in short, brutal thrusts—fucking her face with ruthless rhythm, the fat head of his cock bullying past her tonsils and deep into her throat over and over. The obscene bulge in her elegant neck slid up and down visibly with every plunge—stretching her throat into a lewd, protruding outline that Minwoo could see clearly from the cracked door.
Jihyo choked—wet, gurgling gags muffled around the thick shaft stuffing her mouth. Saliva bubbled from her stretched lips in thick, messy ropes, spilling down his balls in shiny rivers, dripping onto the sheets in wet splats. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, mascara running in black streaks, but her eyes stayed glassy with lust, pupils blown wide, completely surrendered. Her hands clawed at his thighs—not pushing away, but gripping, holding on for dear life as he used her throat like a tight, wet sleeve.
Hongshik groaned—a deep, animal voice wrecked with pleasure.
“Fuck… take it, baby… choke on Appa’s cock… milk me with that pretty throat…”
He thrust harder—faster—hips rolling up to bury himself to the root every time. Jihyo’s nose mashed against his pubic bone with each deep plunge, pubes tickling her nostrils. the musky scent of him was overwhelming her senses. Her throat convulsed around him—spasming, squeezing, and swallowing reflexively—milking his cock like it was trying to pull every drop out of him.
Minwoo watched—frozen, hand still wrapped around his own leaking dick—seeing his brother’s girlfriend’s throat bulge and ripple with the shape of his father’s massive cock. The sight was obscene, impossible, and devastating. Jihyo—perfect, untouchable Jihyo—was being face-fucked like a cheap whore, drool and pre-cum bubbling from her lips, tears streaming, body shuddering with every brutal thrust.
Hongshik’s groans grew louder—rougher—his thighs trembling now, muscles flexing around her head as his balls drew up tight.
“Gonna cum… fuck… gonna fill that pretty mouth… swallow it all, baby… every fucking drop…”
Jihyo moaned—high, muffled, vibrating wildly around his cock—her own pussy clenching hard, dripping fresh slick down her thighs even as her throat was ruthlessly used.
Then Hongshik thrust one last time—deep, hard, burying himself to the hilt—and came.
His cock pulsed violently inside her throat—thick, hot ropes of cum erupting straight down her gullet in powerful jets. Minwoo could see it—the moment it happened. Jihyo’s throat worked visibly—gulping, swallowing, the bulge in her neck pulsing with each thick spurt as she drank him down. She gulped again and again—desperate, greedy swallows—her throat bobbing rapidly, milking every last drop from his twitching cock. Cum overflowed anyway—thick white cream leaking from the corners of her stretched lips, dripping down her chin in messy strings, and splattering onto her swaying tits below.
Hongshik groaned—long, low, and satisfied—hips jerking with each pulse, feeding her more until he finally emptied himself completely.
Only then did he release her.
His thighs loosened, legs falling away from her head. Jihyo pulled off his cock with a wet, obscene pop—gasping, coughing, and panting—thick strands of cum and saliva connecting her swollen lips to the glistening head. She slumped sideways—weak, sweaty, and trembling—collapsing onto the bed beside him, body spread-eagled, completely spent.
Her chest heaved—breasts rising and falling rapidly, nipples still dark red and swollen, glistening with sweat and stray drops of cum. Her toned stomach quivered, abs flexing with each ragged breath. Between her creamy thighs, her pussy lips twitched visibly—puffy, dark pink, still leaking slick in slow, lazy pulses that trailed down her inner thighs and soaked the sheets beneath her ass. Sweat rolled down her body in shining rivulets—across her collarbones, between her breasts, over the soft curve of her stomach—making her skin glow under the bedroom lamp.
She coughed once—wet and hoarse—then panted, huffing for air, flushed from her hairline to her chest. Her long black hair stuck to her sweaty cheeks and neck, framing her wrecked, beautiful face.
She turned her head weakly toward Hongshik, her voice cracked and trembling with awe.
“Appa… that… that was so good…” she whispered, words slurring with exhaustion and bliss. “My orgasm… felt so fucking good… your tongue… your fingers… I squirted so much… and your cum… so thick… so delicious… I drank it all… every drop… I love your cum… love how full it makes me feel…”
She reached out a shaky hand, trailing her fingers along his still-hard cock—still twitching, still leaking the last drops—smiling dazedly, completely broken and completely owned.
Hongshik chuckled—low, dark, satisfied—reaching over to stroke her sweat-damp hair.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “You took it all so well… my perfect little idol cumslut.”
Jihyo whimpered softly—her body twitching again, her pussy lips fluttering—as another small aftershock rippled through her.
Minwoo stood frozen in the doorway—hand still wrapped around his spent cock—watching his brother’s girlfriend lie there, sweaty, weak, coughing and panting, body spread and trembling, praising his father like he was a god.
And in that moment, Minwoo knew—deep in his gut, in the sick twist of jealousy and arousal—that Jihyo was gone.
Minwoo finally peeled himself away from the cracked door, legs shaky and weak, his boxers soaked and sticky with his own shame. The hallway felt colder now, the house quieter, but his ears still rang with the wet, filthy sounds of Jihyo’s choking moans and his father’s low growls. His cock—spent three times already—twitched uselessly in his pants, raw and sensitive, but the ache in his chest was worse. He stumbled back toward his room on numb feet, each step heavy with the weight of what he’d just witnessed.
He didn’t go far.
He left his door open just a sliver—enough to hear, enough to know. He sank onto the edge of his bed, head in his hands, breathing hard. The images wouldn’t leave him: Jihyo’s throat bulging around his father’s thick cock, her tears streaming, her pussy dripping while she swallowed load after load like it was her only purpose. She’d looked so broken, so completely owned. And she’d loved it. Loved every second of being ruined by the old man who’d raised him.
The house settled into an uneasy silence. Minutes dragged—maybe ten, maybe twenty—until he heard movement again.
Soft footsteps. Bare feet on hardwood.
Jihyo emerged from the master bedroom, walking like she’d forgotten how legs worked.
She was trembling—full-body shivers that made her heavy tits jiggle with every unsteady step. Her long black hair was damp and tangled, clinging to her sweat-slicked shoulders and back. She’d clearly tried to clean up in the bathroom: her face was freshly washed, mascara smudges gone, but her skin still glowed with that post-orgasm flush—cheeks pink, chest blotchy red, nipples dark and swollen. Her thighs rubbed together as she walked, slick with her own juices and probably some of his father’s cum that had leaked out after he’d finished in her mouth. Every few steps, her knees buckled slightly, forcing her to grab the wall for support. She looked wrecked—beautifully, thoroughly wrecked—and Minwoo’s spent cock gave one last pathetic twitch at the sight.
She didn’t notice him watching from the dark doorway. She just shuffled toward the guest bathroom down the hall, weak legs shaking, one hand braced on the wall, the other pressed low on her stomach, as she could still feel the stretch of that massive cock inside her.
Minwoo’s throat tightened.
Then—movement from the master bedroom.
Hongshik slipped out quietly, shirt still unbuttoned, cock tucked back into his boxers but still half-hard, the front dark with Jihyo’s spit and his own cum. He glanced down the hallway, saw Jihyo’s shaky retreat toward the bathroom, and let a slow, satisfied smirk curl his lips. He adjusted himself once—casual, possessive—then padded barefoot toward the living room, probably to check if Minwoo was still “asleep” downstairs.
Minwoo stayed frozen in his doorway, heart pounding.
He was sure now—bone-deep certain—that this was only the beginning.
His father wasn’t done with her. Not even close.
And Jihyo—shivering, trembling, barely able to walk—was already ruined for anyone else. She’d come back from that bathroom still flushed, still leaking, and still aching, and she’d crawl right back into that bed. She’d spread her legs for that old cock again. She’d moan his father’s name again. She’d squirt and choke and beg again.
Throughout his entire stay here—at his own childhood home—Minwoo would hear it. See it. Feel it.
Every night.
Every stolen moment.
Every time Jihyo thought no one was watching.
He’d watch.
He’d listen.
And he’d hate himself for how hard it made him.
Because the goddess he loved—the woman he thought was his—had already been claimed.
Hyunjun strolled casually along the bustling outdoor set of Yuna’s new “Ice Cream” music video shoot, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the colorful, candy-themed props and vibrant backdrops.
The entire area was alive with activity—staff members hurried back and forth carrying lighting equipment, cameras, and racks of outfits, while directors shouted instructions through megaphones and makeup artists touched up the dancers’ faces between takes. The air buzzed with energy, the faint scent of sweet artificial fog and vanilla perfume mixing with the warm summer breeze.
He kept his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans, trying to look like just another casual visitor—maybe a friend of one of the staff or a boyfriend waiting for his girlfriend. No one paid him much attention; he blended in well enough among the crew. But his eyes were locked on one person only.
There, in the center of a cleared practice area marked off with tape, was Yuna.
The Itzy maknae was practicing her solo dance section with a group of backup dancers, her body moving with that signature sensual precision that made her one of the most desired idols in the industry. She wore a tiny, pastel-pink dress that looked like it had been designed specifically to drive men insane. The fabric was thin, silky, and dangerously short—barely reaching mid-thigh—clinging to her hourglass figure like a second skin. The neckline plunged deep between her full, perky breasts, showing off a generous amount of soft, pale cleavage that jiggled enticingly with every sharp movement. Thin spaghetti straps held the dress up, and the hem flared just enough to tease a view of her smooth, toned thighs whenever she spun or dipped low.
Hyunjun’s gaze devoured her openly, hidden behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses. He watched the way her slim waist twisted and rolled, accentuating the dramatic curve of her hips and the perfect swell of her round, firm ass. Every hip pop, every body roll, every sensual body wave made the dress ride higher up her thighs, flashing teasing glimpses of the lacy edge of her tiny panties underneath. Her long legs looked endless in the strappy heels, muscles flexing as she executed sharp, sexy choreography—popping her chest forward, arching her back to thrust her ass out, then whipping her long, silky hair around with a sultry expression that screamed pure sex.
Fuck… she looked like walking temptation.
Hyunjun swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. His cock twitched inside his jeans as he remembered exactly what that body felt like under him—naked, sweaty, writhing, and begging. He was the lucky bastard who got to fuck that sexy idol's body whenever he wanted. The secret affair had been going on for months now, hidden from almost everyone.
Everyone except the other Itzy members, who somehow knew about his relationship with Lia but had no idea he was also regularly pounding Yuna’s tight little pussy behind their leader’s back.
It had started innocently enough—or at least that’s what he told himself. Yuna had always been the flirtiest, the most playful one. She’d caught him alone in the dorm one night while Lia was in the shower, pressing her soft tits against his arm and whispering how she could hear him and Lia fucking through the walls… and how she got so wet thinking about his “big cock” stretching her unnie. One thing led to another—stolen kisses, wandering hands, and soon he was bending Yuna over the kitchen counter, stuffing her dripping cunt full while Lia hummed happily in the next room.
Now he was addicted. And so was she.
Hyunjun’s mind flashed with filthy memories as he watched Yuna practice. The way she’d sneak into his car after schedules, already soaked and needy, climbing into his lap and riding him reverse cowgirl while whispering how much bigger and thicker he was than any toy she owned. How she’d send him nudes from the practice room bathroom, spreading her pussy lips in the mirror with the caption, "Hurry and come fill this up, Oppa~." "How naughty and shameless she became the second they were alone.
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I never believed in love at first sight. That kind of thing only happened in movies—the kind my dad produced, with sweeping music and soft-focus lenses and actresses who cried beautifully. Real life wasn’t like that. Real life was algebra tests and basketball practice and the weird, greasy feeling of waking up with a pimple on your chin.
Then I met Irene.
Actually, “met” isn’t the right word. I had seen her before—everyone had. Her face was on billboards in Gangnam, on the covers of magazines at every convenience store, on my phone screen whenever I scrolled through Red Velvet’s Instagram. I had saved her photos like every other guy in my class. I had even, in the dark of my room with my headphones on, jerked off to her fancams more times than I wanted to admit. She was the “original visual,” the nation’s idea of perfect beauty. I thought I knew what she looked like.
I didn’t know anything.
My dad sat me down on a rainy Tuesday evening. He was fifty, successful, and twice divorced—a film producer with a gut that strained against his expensive shirts and hair that was graying at the temples. I expected him to tell me he was investing in another doomed project or that he’d be traveling for work again.
“Son,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck the way he did when he was nervous. “I’m getting married.”
I blinked. “To whom?”
He smiled—a small, almost embarrassed smile. “You’ll see. She’s coming over for dinner.”
I shrugged. I figured it would be some desperate socialite or a second-generation heiress with too much plastic surgery and a high-pitched laugh. Dad had a type: beautiful, ambitious, and willing to put up with his obsession with work.
Then the doorbell rang.
Dad went to answer it. I stayed in the kitchen, scrolling through my phone, until I heard his voice—warmer than usual—and then another voice. A woman’s voice. Soft. Low. Familiar.
I looked up.
She was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, and the world stopped.
Bae Joo-hyun. Irene. The Irene. The leader of Red Velvet. The woman whose face had been voted the most beautiful in K-pop for three years straight. She was wearing a cream-colored cashmere sweater and black skinny jeans—simple clothes, nothing flashy—and she looked like she had stepped out of a dream. Her hair was long and dark, falling in soft waves past her shoulders. Her skin was so smooth it seemed to glow under the kitchen lights. Her eyes were dark and deep, and her lips—full, pink, perfectly shaped—curved into a small, shy smile.
“Jun,” my dad said, beaming. “This is Joo-hyun.”
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. My brain had turned to static.
Irene—Joo-hyun—bowed slightly. “Nice to meet you, Jun. Your father talks about you all the time.”
Her voice. God, her voice. It was soft and sweet, with a little breathiness at the end of each sentence, like she was sharing a secret. I had listened to her sing hundreds of times on my headphones, but hearing her speak in person—three feet away from me, looking right at me—was something else entirely.
“Hi,” I finally managed. My voice cracked. I was seventeen, a junior in high school, and my voice cracked like I was twelve. “I mean… nice to meet you too.”
She laughed. It was a soft, musical sound, and I felt it in my chest, in my stomach, in places I didn’t want to think about with my dad standing right there.
That was the beginning.
The wedding was three weeks later. Dad rented out a small chapel on the outskirts of Seoul—elegant and private, with stained glass windows and white flowers everywhere. The guest list was small: family, a few industry friends, and some of Irene’s old bandmates. The gossip columns went insane when word leaked. IRENE MARRIES SECRET PRODUCER BOYFRIEND. NATIONAL VISUAL TIES THE KNOT.
I wore a rented tuxedo. The collar itched, and the shoes were too tight, but I didn’t care. All I could do was stare at the altar.
The music started. The guests turned. And there she was.
Irene walked down the aisle in a white gown that seemed to have been designed specifically for her body. It was fitted at the top, with delicate lace sleeves that clung to her arms and a neckline that showed just the barest hint of her collarbone. The fabric hugged her narrow waist and the gentle curve of her hips before flaring into a flowing tulle skirt that brushed the floor. Her hair was pinned up in an elegant bun, with tiny white flowers woven through it. A short veil cascaded down her back, catching the light with every step.
She was radiant. She was angelic. She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and she was about to become my stepmother.
I watched her say, “I do.” I watched my dad slide the ring onto her finger. I watched them kiss—a brief, chaste press of lips—and felt a violent twist in my gut. Jealousy. Desire. Shame. All of it mixed together into something hot and ugly that I didn’t know how to name.
The reception was at a hotel downtown. I drank two glasses of champagne when no one was looking, partly to calm my nerves and partly because I wanted to feel something other than the ache in my chest. Irene danced with my dad, her body moving in slow, graceful motions that made her dress swirl around her legs. She danced with her bandmates, who were crying, hugging, and laughing. And then she walked over to me.
“Come on,” she said, grabbing my hand. “You can’t just stand in the corner all night.”
Her palm was warm and soft. I let her pull me onto the floor, my heart hammering so hard I was sure she could feel it through my fingers. She placed one hand on my shoulder and the other in mine, and we swayed to a slow ballad I didn’t recognize.
Up close, she was even more perfect. Her skin had no pores, no imperfections—just a smooth, pale glow that made me want to reach out and touch her cheek. Her eyes were dark and deep, with long lashes that cast tiny shadows on her cheekbones. Her lips were slightly parted, and I could smell her perfume—floral and sweet, with a hint of vanilla.
“You look so much like your father,” she said, looking up at me. “Same eyes.”
I nodded. I couldn’t speak. I was hyper-aware of every point of contact between us: her small hand on my shoulder, the occasional brush of her hip against my thigh, the way her breath fanned across my collarbone when she leaned in to say something.
The song ended. She patted my chest twice and stepped back. “Thank you for being so sweet today, Jun. I know this must be strange for you.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “You’re… you’re really beautiful, Irene. I mean, Joo Hyun. Congratulations.”
She smiled—that small, shy, devastating smile—and walked back to my dad.
I excused myself to go to the bathroom and locked the door. I braced my hands on the marble sink and stared at my reflection: flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, and a thin sheen of sweat on my forehead. I was hard. Painfully hard. And the more I tried to think of anything else—school, sports, anything—the worse it got.
I gave in.
I unzipped my pants, pulled out my aching cock, and closed my eyes. Irene’s face floated behind my eyelids: her smile, her eyes, the way her dress had moved around her legs. I thought about the softness of her hand, the warmth of her palm, and the floral scent of her perfume. I stroked myself fast and rough, biting my lip to keep from making noise, and came within a minute—hot, thick, shameful spurts that splattered into the sink.
I cleaned up, washed my hands, and splashed cold water on my face. When I returned to the reception, Irene was cutting the cake with my dad, everyone was cheering, and no one knew what I had just done in the bathroom.
The security cabin sat at the edge of the most exclusive residential complex in all of Seoul—a place called Elysian Heights, a name that dripped with the kind of quiet, unspoken wealth that made ordinary people’s jaws drop.
Towering glass-and-steel structures rose against the skyline like crystalline monuments, each penthouse a multi-million-dollar fortress of privacy and excess.
The grounds sprawled across manicured acres: koi ponds that shimmered under hidden LED lights, infinity pools that seemed to pour into the city below, private gyms, saunas, and even a helipad for the residents who could afford to bypass traffic entirely. Security was layered like a military installation—biometric scanners, 24/7 patrols, and a network of over two hundred high-definition cameras feeding into a central command center no bigger than a modest apartment.
That command center was Manshik’s domain. He had been working here for three years now—three long, grinding, tedious years of watching monitors, logging access records, and pretending not to notice the things he wasn’t supposed to see. The cabin was small but technologically pristine: a crescent-shaped desk lined with twelve flat screens, each divided into quadrants showing different angles of the complex. A leather chair that had molded itself to his body. A mini-fridge stocked with energy drinks. And absolute solitude from midnight until dawn, when the rich and famous slept—or, more often, did things that required even more privacy than their soundproofed walls already provided.
Manshik was a thin man in his late forties, with a receding hairline and fingers stained yellow from cheap cigarettes he snuck in the back stairwell. His uniform was crisp—navy blue with a gold badge—but his eyes were anything but professional. They darted from screen to screen, hungry, searching. He had learned the rhythms of the residents over the years. Which celebrities came home drunk at 3 a.m., stumbling out of blacked-out SUVs? Which married idols snuck lovers in through the service entrance? Which ones walked naked past their floor-to-ceiling windows when they thought the smart glass was activated?
And then there was Kim Jisoo.
Manshik’s breath hitched every time he thought about her—which was constantly. Jisoo of Blackpink. The one with the doll-like face and the voice that could melt glaciers. She had purchased the penthouse on the top floor of Tower B about eighteen months ago, and Manshik had memorized her unit number, her usual schedule, and every single camera angle that gave him even a glimpse of her. He had watched her move in with her designer luggage and that shy, elegant wave she gave to the doorman. He had cataloged every outfit she wore, leaving the building: the oversized hoodies that somehow still accentuated her curves, the tiny shorts that showed off her impossibly long thighs, and the yoga pants that clung to her ass like a second skin.
