무화

꽃이 없다

[muhuashi]

Backstage with Liz (Smut)

trigger warning: dub-con-ish

2k words.

It’s late night. You’re spooning Liz while thrusting into her. She moans. You come. She half-heartedly shrug you off. You don’t make an effort to hold on. She gets up without a glance and goes clean herself up, hand between her thighs to keep your cum from leaking and making a mess. You roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling. 

You’ve been with Liz for nearly two years. The initial spark has long died off, settling into a monotonous rhythm. Both of you are incredibly busy, but follow the same schedule. You’re IVE’s audio director and she’s the main vocalist. Your day has more parts with her in it than not. Proximity has a way of killing romance, though. She’s no longer your fantasy, merely your partner.

Liz settles back into bed. She’s put on a t-shirt——her own, not one of yours, not those that she used to steal because she claimed the oversize is much more “comfy.” Suddenly, you’re uncomfortably aware of your nakedness. 

“We’re losing it, aren’t we.” Liz’s voice finally halts the suffocating cadence of out-of-sync breaths. “I mean, it doesn’t fell the same anymore.” You know exactly what she’s talking about. It’s the sex. You still recall the mind-blowing sensation from your first time with her, the ecstasy that channelled through your spine and hummed past every single nerve. You transcended. Now, sex is not much different from jerking off. It’s a routine, a chore. 

“Maybe we should try something different.” She says. “Something unexpected.”

Something sparks in your mind. “You know what, I have an idea.” You say.

“What?”

“Well telling you defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?”

————————————

“There’s been a sudden change. Your performance is rescheduled to start half an hour earlier. On air in thirty minutes. I’ll have to get your mic set up right now.” You say as you walk into the make-up room, locking the door behind you. Inside, Liz sits alone. 

She just nods without looking up. It’s an established routine that you cheer for her before performances. Nowadays, it’s mostly just the two of you doing your own things in a shared space, saying meaningless remarks from time to time to keep the silence from becoming deafening. At first, you two had to beg the other staff and members to leave you alone, but now It’s just a tradition continued solely because it would be awkward if you both suddenly started having better things to do.

You smirk. “Of course. I have to come in personally because someone has a tendency to drop mics in the middle of performances.”

“Yeah, fuck you.” 

“Well, that’s why I’m here.” You walk up behind her seat in front of a mirror and gently put the head-set microphone on for her. “I’ll have to braid the mic into your hair. You know, to prevent it from dropping during intense choreographies.” She nods without looking up from her phone. You lace her soft hair into the mic’s headband, firmly securing it. 

“Okay, now is the IEM’s.” You connect the wires and plug the pods into Liz’z ears. You tune the output channel so that it’s connected to the live performance right now. Taeyeon, one of Liz’s favorite singers, performs her new single. Listening to live performances through the backstage soundcheck system is a completely different experience. Liz gives you a grateful nod. 

“Stand up.” You say as you wave the body-pack in the mirror, signaling that you need to strap in to her lower back. She straightens herself. You kneel down behind her, securing the pack into the pouch built into her mini skirt. 

As you rise, you place a naughty hand on Liz’s thigh, trailing her soft skin as you go. She’s still staring at her phone, ignoring everything that you’re doing, seemingly consumed in Taeyeon’s music. You circle her buttocks, massaging her plumpness. She still doesn’t react. Finally, you slip into her panties and pinch her clit. She glares at you through the mirror, but doesn’t say anything. You take that as a yes and push on.

You massage her folds. She squirms under your touch. You feel her wetness seeping and inserts your fingers. You’re hugging her from behind, fingers deep inside her. Her thighs clamp down on you, shuddering. Yet in the mirror, she’s still feigning nonchalance. Two can play this game. Your fingers pump in and out of her. You could feel her pleasure building. She’s dropped her phone. Her hand reaches down and pushes on yours, holding you at her entrance. Finally, she lets out a gasp… only to hear it echo back in her IEMs——wait what!?

Taeyeon’s performance has just finished and is now being interviewed. Right on cue with Liz’s gasp, the conversation halted. She’s processing what happened. Her mic is connected to the live feed, and her gasp was just broadcasted? Your fingers are still inside her. The shock amplifies her senses. She’s shaking, from the shame of her situation and the pleasure from her  groin. She turns around and stares at you in horror, only to see you drop your pants and completely ignore her gaze. 

Suddenly, you retract your slick fingers. She convulses from the sudden denial. She smacks you, pushing you away. But every inch she tries to part from you is immediately closed back in by her body. Her body betrays her, the impending climax forces herself onto your length, her muscle memory remembering the pleasure it brings and her desperate need for it right now. 

In one motion, you bottom into her. She shoves her hand over her mouth to force down a moan. Her other hand reaches to the mic. She grasps it in shaky hands and pulls, only to yank against her own hair. You’ve braided the mic in very firmly, completely tangling it into her. The only way she could pull it off is if the took half her scalp with it. 

Liz glares at you, completely pissed. If not for the hand over her mouth restraining her, she would be hurling every known obscenity at you right now. Her eyes red, her cheeks flushed, she’s overflowing with rage, shame, and pleasure at the same time. Her free hand is flailing at you wildly, yet unable to deliver any substantial blows courtesy to her awkward position. 

Her legs are shaking. You loop your arm across her waist to prevent her from collapsing. Liz is biting her palm. Every sound she makes is amplified through her IEMs. She could clearly hear every little whimper, every moan, every squeal——noises that seem to be streamed to the live stream, to the thousands of people watching. Perhaps even her idol Taeyeon is hearing her, wondering why a pornstar is backstage. Every devastating possibly runs through her mind, yet her judgment is completely fogged by the primal urge for pleasure. 

Through the mirror, she desperately mouth at you: “Ka…ku…kumquat!” It took every ounce of her self restraint to not shout it out. You could quite literally hear her internal shrieking echoing through your ears. That’s her safe word, reminiscent of the earlier, freakier days of your relationship. For the first time, You lock gazes with her through the mirror. You perk your head, putting a palm next to your ear and mouth back: “What? I can’t hear you. Did you say ‘cum’? You want to cum?” All while speeding up your pounding rhythm. 

Liz gives you a look of absolute exasperation. All that internal pressure she can’t release vocally seems to have poured out as sweat. Liz has always been a profuse sweater but now she’s completely drenched. Sweat streams down her brows, tracing her delicate facial features, dripping down her chin and pooling on the make-up table. 

Wet strands of hair flail with every pounding motion, whipping drizzles onto the mirror, the walls, and everywhere else. Her armpits are soaked, turning the light blue neckline of her strapless dress dark nay blue. Her beautiful back, the parts that aren’t covered by the drenched fabric, gleam with pearly beads of sweat. So are her buttocks, where slick trails flow across her tight, pink hole and down to her flooding folds, mixing into the concoction of body fluids. 

The room is filled with her scent: sweet, salty, intoxicating. You see her butthole clench, feel her insides convulsing. She’s about to come. You grab her waist, lock her towards your body as you bottom into her one last time. She climaxes. Her back arches. She spasms. Electricity changes through her as she squirts, gush after gush. You shove your hand over her nose and mouth, forcing down her scream. The muffled sound wave rattles through her body. 

————————————

You come as well. Your cock pulses inside her, shooting ropes and painting her insides. Your fluids mingle with hers, merging into streams that flood her thighs. She’s still shaking, still riding her high. You finally unplug her mic. She cries. Tears stream down her cheeks. She turns around and embrace you, holding you tightly. You hug back, feeling the heat of the afterglow. She’s sobbing on your shoulder, her legs wrap tightly around you, clinging to you like a koala. You gently pat her back, soothing her——until suddenly, she regains enough consciousness to recall that she’s supposed to be completely, absolutely, unequivocally, fucking pissed at you. 

Behind the mist of tears, her eyes flash with rage. The next moment, she slaps you. Hard. Then she shoves you to the ground. Her knees crush your chest and her hands choke you down. You gasp for air. She spits into your gaping mouth and lands more slaps. 

“What the fuck was that?” She whisper-shouts, still unaccustomed to making sounds. “Do you want to get me killed?”

You’re lying on the cold, hard floor, and your face is stinging, but you can’t contain yourself anymore. You burst out laughing, shocking Liz. Her eyes glower. “Are you actually insane?” Still whisper-shouting, still traumatized by having her voice broadcasted. Before she murders you on the spot, you quickly grab the body-pack. You show her that the “Taeyeon Live Show” was just a recording you replayed through her IEMs, and the mic was just set up to amplify the mic’s signal back. It was not broadcasted at all. It was a prank. 

You see the relief wash over her. She put her palm over her face and burst out crying again, but between sobs, she’s laughing. She punches you on your shoulder, finally collapsing back onto you. “You asshole.” She mutters to your ear. “I haven’t came like that in ages…” Sniff… “Worth it.” Sniff… “I’m going to make you pay, though.” You shrug.

She suddenly remembers something else. Something important. “WAIT, DOESN’T MY SHOW START RIGHT NOW?” She’s absolutely not ready for the stage. In fact she would look more presentable had she been dropped in a pool instead. Her makeup is completely ruined: mascara and glitter and all sorts of powder streak down her face. Her hair is all tangled up. Her dress is completely drenched, and she’s covered in all sorts of body fluids. 

“Well… I also made up the reschedule thing. But that means you’ve only got thirty minutes to get ready so…” Before Liz can punch you again, you rush out of the room to get the makeup unnies. On the way, you think to yourself——Worth it.