Part II (Because Tumblr is being a bitch and doesn't let me post 19k words in one post)
@kwilquib Thanks for the inspiration.
(Karina X Giselle X Winter X Ningning X Irene X Seulgi X Wendy X Joy Yeri X Male Reader) Wordcount: 19161 words
The conference room is bright, wide, and filled with the hum of staff shuffling papers and the occasional polite laugh. Long tables form a rectangle, microphones are placed evenly along the edges. Your script sits open in front of you, a cup of coffee steaming to the side.
You exhale slowly. A chance to reset your brain after the morning’s chaos.
Then someone slides into the seat beside you. Yeri.
The two of you met the day you dropped off Giselle and Karina and ran into Joy. Your schedule was about confirming all of the cast members and a quick interview with the lead actors.
Now her hair perfectly frames her face. Her eyes are sharp but warm. A black see through sweater is draped over her shoulders, black tube top and bra underneath. She drops her script dramatically onto the table.
“Looks like we’re stuck together for the next six months.”
She says with a grin.
You chuckle.
“Second leads, huh?”
“Hey.”
She nudges your arm.
“Sometimes the second leads are the ones people actually fall for.”
You smirk.
“You mean the tragic ones.”
She shrugs, flipping to the first page.
“Or the ones who get all the good kissing scenes.”
You blink.
Yeri glances sideways, catching your expression. She smirks wider.
“You read the script, right?”
She teases you.
You have. And she’s right. Your storyline together is messy and intimate. A long relationship of friends with benefits that shifts into something more than just physical attraction…something emotional…something neither character is ready for.
Yeri taps her nails on the table.
“Chemistry’s important. If we don’t vibe, the whole subplot falls apart.”
You lean back in your chair.
“And do we vibe?”
She gives you a smooth, playful smile.
“We will.”
The director calls for everyone’s attention and everyone opens their scripts. The leads start reading first, a tense, emotional scene, but Yeri leans in occasionally to whisper small jokes, small comments and small thoughts.
She’s sharp, funny and quick. Effortlessly confident, which makes it hard not to like her.
Then it’s your turn.
Page 17.
The moment where your and Yeri’s characters set the tone for their entire arc. A quiet bar scene. A conversation about loneliness. A moment of vulnerability…followed by a dangerous decision.
You clear your throat and read your line.
“We keep pretending we don’t need anyone. But every time we end up together…
it feels like a lie.”
Yeri breathes out and reads hers.
“Then maybe we should stop lying.”
She delivers it well, soft, intimate, almost trembling.
The room feels smaller. For a heartbeat, it feels like Giselle is across from you. Like Joy is behind you. Like Irene is whispering at your shoulder.
You shake it off.
The director nods.
“Good. Strong emotional undercurrent. Let’s go again.”
Yeri stifles a smile and whispers without looking at you.
“Told you we’d vibe.”
You inhale slowly. Yeri reminds you of Seulgi, Joy, Wendy and Irene. That reminds you of your dream. And that reminds you of breakfast this morning. And that, in turn, reminds you of Giselle again.
Yeri shifts in her chair. Her knee brushes yours. Just barely and probably not an accident. Your pulse jumps as she doesn’t move away.
The script reading drags into the late afternoon. Emotion, tension, comedy, heartbreak, every beat of the drama gets touched on. You and Yeri fall into rhythm easily, your lines layering over each other with a natural push and pull the director clearly loves.
By the time the final scene is read, everyone is mentally exhausted.
The director finally stands.
“Good work today, everyone. Let’s call it here. Next reading is next week.”
Chairs scrape and papers shuffle. People stretch, grab bags and chat quietly as they start leaving the room.
You don’t move. You stay seated, head lowering as your phone buzzes. A message from Karina. And the moment you open it…Your breath catches.
It’s a picture of her standing in front of the mirror, the buttons of her jeans undone and the waistband pulled down to show off the soft fabric of her panties. The same cunning smirk on her lips from this morning.
You can’t help it. Your cock twitches. Usually something like this does turn you on, but definitely not to this extent. You bite the inside of your cheek and type back.
“I’m gonna pull those pants down, bend you over and make you watch yourself while I make you regret teasing me.”
Your thumb hovers and you hesitate. Then you hit send. A flush crawls up your neck.
You’re imagining it, her pants and panties pooled around her ankles, her moaning your name, your hands gripping her waist-
You exhale sharply. Then you feel it. Someone watching you. You turn your head. Yeri is still in her seat. She’s angled toward you, one elbow propped on the table, chin resting lightly in her hand. And her expression…A slow, mischievous smile spreads across her lips.
She definitely saw. Not just the picture. Your message.
She raises a brow.
“Cute.”
She murmurs and your pulse spikes.
“I…didn’t realize you were still here.”
She rolls her eyes playfully.
“You were staring at your phone like it was about to explode. Hard not to notice.”
You open your mouth to explain, but she cuts in softly.
“So…”
She taps her script with one finger. Her smile deepens.
“Do you want to rehearse the car scene?”
Your stomach drops. The car scene. In the very first episode. Where your characters end up having drunk sex in the backseat of your character’s car.
Yeri holds your gaze.
“That scene’s all about chemistry.”
She adds casually.
“But we don’t have to rehearse it if you’re… busy.”
Her eyes drop, for just a second, to your lap. Then back to your face.
Your mouth goes dry. Every part of you remembers Karina’s picture. Giselle’s sweatpants. The dream. Joy dancing. Seulgi arching. Wendy begging to be bred.
You swallow. Yeri waits. Her knee almost touches yours again. Her smile almost seems sinful.
“So?”
She bites her lip.
“Do you want to practice that scene… or not?”
You shift in your chair, pulse hammering.
“I, uh… I have a girlfriend.”
Yeri snorts softly, eyes glimmering with a mix of humor and cynicism.
“You must be new to this side of the industry. ‘Girlfriend’ is just the title for the person you sleep with most often.”
You open your mouth, unsure how to answer, when she leans forward, elbows on the table. Her sweater falls open, and the collar of her top dips just enough to frame the gentle swell of cleavage. Your words catch in your throat.
“See?”
Yeri murmurs.
“Completely normal.”
Her hand slides under the table, settling on your thigh before you can react. She traces upward, fingers closing around the thick outline beneath your slacks, giving the shaft a slow, measured squeeze.
Fire roars through your veins. Every rational thought stutters. This is just rehearsal, she says. Is it? The rightness, wrongness, and danger all blur together under her coaxing grip. You swallow hard. You can’t lose NNN. The fear of actual orgasm, of failing the bet, cuts through the haze. There’s one way out: fake it before she takes things too far.
You clear your throat.
“Okay.”
You hear yourself say, barely above a whisper, as her stroking grows firmer.
“We can… rehearse the scene. But quick.”
Yeri’s smile widens, satisfied, predatory, but pleased.
“Perfect. I can’t wait to get this dick in me after every single shoot.”
She punctuates the promise with another squeeze before drawing her hand away, licking a trace of mischief from her lower lip.
Your pulse won’t settle. Your mind races, searching for a believable way to “finish” early.
If you pull it off, maybe you can walk away with your resolve, and the bet, still intact.
The rehearsal room empties, and Yeri rises, script under one arm.
“Car scene.”
She reminds you.
“My place? Or yours? I’ve got a roomy SUV.”
Your mouth goes dry, aware of what’s gonna happen next. But You’re not cheating on Karina. Not really. After she let you sleep with Yena, Minju and Chaewon you doubt she’ll have anything against Yeri.
Yeri waits with an arched brow and faint smile, then reaches out, looping a finger in your belt as if tugging you into her orbit.
Everything in you shouts danger. But if you can bluff just once…
“Your SUV.”
You manage, forcing the words out.
“We’ll run the lines a few times… keep it professional-”
Yeri hums a soft laugh.
“Professional. Sure.”
She releases your belt, turns, and starts for the exit with a sway in her step.
You follow, mind already spinning through possible ways of faking your orgasm.
You crawl into the back seat of Yeri’s SUV. She climbs in right after you, pulling the door shut. In the dim light of the parking garage, she straddles your lap, her knees bracketing your thighs. The leather creaks softly as she settles. The scent of her perfume mixes with the lingering trace of that new car smell.
Your mouths find each other fast. Hungry, open-mouthed kisses that sting your lips and steal your breath. Your hands roam instinctively, sliding up the curve of her ribs, tracing the waistband of her skirt, finally cupping her breasts through the black fabric. Yeri moans into your mouth and rolls her hips, grinding along the length straining inside your pants.
She breaks the kiss to trail her lips across your cheek, your jaw, down to your collarbone. Her breath feels molten, every slow lick makes you shiver. You squeeze her ass with both hands, firm handfuls, thumbs kneading the flesh. Yeri laughs, then rises just enough to reach between your bodies.
Metal clicks as she unbuckles your belt.
“Knew I could trust Wendy unnie’s instinct.”
She murmurs, fingers working past the waistband.
“She told me after your radio show that you had to be packing.”
Her excitement is palpable when she slips her hand inside. She wraps her fingers around you, stroking once, twice. The heat of her palm makes your head spin and your hips jerk. She presses tiny kisses along your neck, voice a breathy tease against your skin. “Mmm… she was right.”
Every stroke tightens the knot in your gut. You try to keep focus, remember the bet, remember you can’t finish, but Yeri’s rhythm is measured to test resolve. She adjusts her grip, thumb circling the head, sliding back down the thick base, her hips rocking in sync with her hand.
You dig your fingers into her ass again, half to keep hold of something, half to keep her close. The car’s confined space amplifies every breath, every rustle of clothes. The windows fog a little.
Yeri nips your earlobe.
“Just remember… first episode, my character does more than this in your lap.”
She squeezes your cock once, deliberately slow.
“Think we’ll need a few rehearsals.”
Your pulse slams. You’ve got seconds before the situation tips past control. With a shaky breath you grab her wrist, not harshly, but firm.
“We still have lines to rehearse.”
You manage to press out.
She grins, clearly reading the need in your eyes, and withdraws her hand, though not before one final teasing stroke.
“Lines it is. For now.”
You both focus on the dialogue. Her character teases your character about always running from real feelings, yours fires back that no one wants to be the first to admit they’re lonely. You speak half the scene like that, words flowing even though her body is pressed to yours, making every beat doubly charged.
Then you reach the stage direction that says she leans in and kisses him. Yeri’s eyes flick to yours, glinting with mischief and lust. She slips her script onto the seat and cups your face in both hands. The kiss starts as written, brief, but passionate. But then she slides her tongue in like it’s second nature, rolling her hips tiny degrees so her heat rubs straight across your clothed length.
Your head swims, you keep your hands on her waist, clinging to the scene’s rhythm.
Lines resume, both of you breathing quicker now, a hesitant confession of attraction…then the next direction.
“She unbuttons her blouse.”
Yeri smirks.
“No blouse to unbutton.”
Instead, she tugs her black top down, the fabric slipping to her waist. Only the simple black bra remains. Her breasts are slightly lifted…and right at your eye level. The interior lights of the SUV catch the curves.
You can’t stop the comparison. Karina’s feel a little bigger in your palms, with more cleavage. Yeri’s are perkier and somehow heavier looking.
She tips her head, catching the pause.
“Script says you undo my bra.”
She reminds, almost sing-song.
You inhale shakily, raise your hands to her back, fingers skimming her warm skin. The clasp gives after a second click. She pulls the straps forward off her shoulders herself, letting the bra fall onto the seat next to her. Her breasts settle naturally, a flush blooming high across them.
For an instant you wonder how the director plans to shoot all this without getting the drama banned. Exterior night filters, strategic angles, quick cuts…but right now, none of that helps your pounding pulse.
Yeri holds your gaze.
“Still your line.”
Her daring voice is barely above a whisper.
You compose yourself, recite the script’s next words, something about trying to find comfort and making mistakes, and your hands hover at her sides. She issues a slight nod, an unspoken encouragement. Touch.
You finally place both palms along the outer curve of each breast, thumbs brushing soft skin. Yeri’s breath hitches, hips rolling once against your lap. You feel your earlier arousal pulse back to full strength beneath her. She answers her cue with the scripted reply, choked now, because she’s very much in character, but also clearly feeling the scene.
“Then let’s stop pretending this is wrong.”
Her line ends, but her body language adds a silent question.
Do we keep rehearsing…the PG version? Or do we slip into our own edit?
Your thoughts split. Karina, the bet, one wrong move. You blow a slow breath, trying to stay just inside safe boundaries.
The car is silent except for two hearts beating too hard. Yeri finally breaks the tension, clearing her throat.
“We should… mark where the camera cuts.”
You nod, thankful for the out.
“Yeah. Definitely.”
Her smirk returns. She knows exactly how close she got. She pulls her top back up, tucks the bra away, and closes her script.
“Next rehearsal.”
She says with a light voice but her eyes promise mischief.
“You owe me a round of sex.”
You swallow, nodding once.
“Next rehearsal.”
She climbs off your lap with a grace that makes your jeans feel twice as tight, opens the door, and steps into the parking garage’s cool air.
You let your head drop against the headrest of your car, jaw clenched, and groan quietly.
You cannot believe you just got out of that situation with Yeri. As much as some desperate part of you regrets not letting it go further, feeling her tits in your hands, her body riding you, that dangerous promise in her eyes, you're honestly relieved it didn’t get to the point where you could’ve blown your NNN streak.
Still…you can’t get the image of Yeri’s bare breasts out of your head.
For a moment, you let yourself imagine both her and Karina together. Karina’s bigger, deeper chest next to Yeri’s perky curves, the two of them pressing in close, using their bodies to finish you off.
You shiver, the heat pulsing low and heavy. No. Not now. Not here. Not until December.
You breathe out, finally bringing yourself back to reality.
You start the engine, put the car in reverse, and are just about to pull out when your phone buzzes in the cupholder.
You glance down, half expecting Karina, maybe even Yeri.
It’s Ningning.
“Come over.”
You sigh, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
The last thing you want right now is to get dragged into their stupid fight, especially between her and Giselle. Not after that dream, not after breakfast with Karina, and especially not after everything that almost happened with Yeri.
You thumb a quick reply.
“I’m tired. Not tonight.”
A few seconds later, another buzz.
“This is a booty call, dumbass.”
You freeze.
“Excuse me?”
She answers instantly.
“I’m stressed, I need to blow off steam. Come over.”
You blink and then stare at the screen.
Is she serious? Does she think you’re crazy?
“Are you crazy? I’m Karina’s boyfriend, not yours.”
Her reply comes fast.
“Karina told me I can have you whenever I want.”
You doubt it.
But…you remember how bad Ningning’s mood was last time you saw her.
And maybe if you do help her out, she’ll finally resolve her issues with Giselle.
Maybe that means Giselle will stop unconsciously teasing you every morning. And every night.
But there’s a problem. How are you supposed to help Ningning “relieve stress” if you can’t cum?
Simple.
Same trick as with Yeri. Just fake it.
You text her back.
“I’ll be at your dorm in 20 minutes.”
“Door’ll be open.”
You close your eyes and sigh, letting the engine idle a moment longer. Your heart pounds for all the wrong reasons: dread, desire, the bone deep exhaustion of trying to resist everyone’s temptations while the month is barely halfway over.
You stand in front of Aespa’s dorm door for a long moment, heart thumping. You take a deep breath and push inside.
Just as she said, it’s unlocked. You flick on the lights.
“Hello? Ningning?”
No answer.
You sigh in annoyance. The apartment is too quiet, and the last thing you want is to get pulled into more drama. You drop your bag by the entrance and step into the living room, about to call her name again-
The door to Ningning’s bedroom opens. You turn, and then you freeze.
She stands in the doorway, right hand braced against the frame, hips tilted, one knee slightly forward. Her dress is a slinky, brownish mesh that clings to her curves and shows off her body underneath. You can make out the contours of her body, but not the details. Just hints of skin here and there. A delicate necklace gleams at her collarbone, and her hair falls in loose waves, catching the warm light and shining like silk.
Your throat goes dry. Horniness punches you in the gut. A physical ache that makes you forget your annoyance for just a second.
But then the rest hits. Her attitude, her drama with Giselle that’s made you tiptoe around your own place for days, the smug way she just leans in the doorway as if you should be grateful to even see her like this.
“Took you long enough.”
Ningning’s voice is flat, her eyebrow raised.
Your horniness spikes, but so does your irritation. You sigh, letting some of the tension show.
“At least offer me something to drink first.”
She rolls her eyes, her irritation matching yours. You wonder why she even called you over. She probably could’ve any guy she wants.
“What do you want?”
“Alcohol.”
“All I have is wine.”
“Wine is alcohol.”
She just tsks, brushing past you on her way to the kitchen.
You inhale as she passes, her scent is sharp, feminine, almost intoxicating. You watch her hips and ass sway inside the mesh dress, and for a moment all your plans to “just get this over with” waver.
She’s too gorgeous.
Ningning grabs a glass from the cupboard, every motion showing off the length of her legs and the sway of her hips. You scan the living room, mind racing. You don’t want to just play along. Not after everything she’s said to Giselle. Not after dragging you here just for this.
A thick black marker lies on the coffee table. An idea forms in your mind. If Ningning wants to play games… If she called Giselle a slut, only to turn around and booty call you…You’ll make sure she remembers it.
You sit down on the couch, waiting as she pours the wine. She turns, bringing the glass to you, and you meet her gaze, ready to teach her a lesson she won’t forget.
You lift the wine glass and take a slow, unhurried sip. Ningning stands in front of you, silent and irritated, but that makes her look even more gorgeous.
The mesh dress clings to her body, her silhouette outlined by the soft light of the dorm.
She doesn’t speak, but her eyes burn. She’s getting impatient. Quickly.
You take another sip. Her jaw tightens. You finish half the glass.
She crosses her arms, right under her chest, pushing her breasts up just slightly. She still doesn’t say anything, but her foot taps once against the floor. She’s holding herself back from lashing out.
You take the final sip and slowly set the glass down on the coffee table, letting it clink softly.
Ningning’s nostrils flare. Her fingers tap on her arm, faster, more agitated.
You lean back against the couch, fold your arms loosely in your lap and let your eyes roam down her body with confident calmness.
Her waist. Her hips. Her thighs through the mesh. Her collarbone. The small cleavage.
You say nothing, but not just because you want to anger her even more. She’s so gorgeous, you can’t help but stare at her.
Ningning lasts all of four seconds before she explodes.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
She snaps, stepping forward.
“Why are you just letting me stand here like some idiot? Say something! Do something!”
You keep your face blank. She throws her hands out.
“What? Am I not pretty enough? Or are you stupid?”
Your eyebrow lifts.
“Alright.”
You say quietly.
“Show off a little.”
Ningning freezes for half a second, surprised you actually gave the command she wanted. Then her shoulders relax and something flashes across her face. Relief, annoyance, hunger, all tangled together.
She exhales through her nose, lifts her chin, and mutters.
“Finally.”
She takes one slow step back, giving herself more space in front of you.
Then she starts.
She plants a hand on her hip first, shifting her weight to one leg. It makes her hip flare in a way that the mesh catches perfectly, the light outlining the curve of her waist. She doesn’t smile. If anything, she looks irritated that she even has to prove herself. But she still turns. Her back faces you now, and you get a full view of the sheer fabric stretched over her ass. The dress is so thin it shows the shape of her cheeks whenever she moves.
She slides a hand down her side, fingertips brushing the outline of her thigh where you catch the hem of her beige shorts underneath. She bends her knee slightly, letting her ass push out an inch more, like she’s presenting it without looking like she’s presenting it.
A tiny huff leaves her lips. She hates that she’s doing this. But she loves that you’re watching.
She twists back around, facing you again. The mesh hugs her breasts perfectly, concealing color, but not shape. Every shift makes the fabric move with her, showing the faint bounce as she adjusts her stance.
Ningning lifts her arms up and rests her hands on her head as if she’s doing a photoshoot. The motion pulls the mesh tighter over her chest, making her breasts lift visibly. She holds the pose long enough to catch your eyes dropping. Her lips twitch, like she’s fighting the urge to smirk.
She drops her arms and places her palms on her thighs, slowly dragging them up to her hips, then her waist. She slides her hands around her body, touching herself exactly where she knows you’re looking. When they reach her ribs, she gives a small, annoyed exhale.
“This better be enough.”
Then she turns again, this time fully. She looks over her shoulder at you, eyes sharp, waiting for approval.
Her back curves in a smooth line from her neck to her tailbone. The mesh dress dips lower than you realized, exposing her entire back from her shoulder blades down to the small of her spine. The bare skin has you slightly rub your folded hands over your crotch.
She shifts one foot back, pushing her ass out even more, giving you the clearest view she can without fully undressing.
Her voice snaps through the quiet dorm.
“Well? That enough for you?”
You don’t reply. You just stare. And the power of your silence makes her breath hitch. Barely, but enough that you catch it.
You finally tap your thigh.
“Come here.”
She walks over, annoyed but obedient, and the moment she’s close enough, you grab her wrist and pull her down onto your lap. The sudden force makes her gasp as she settles with her back against your chest.
Her bare back, silky and smooth, presses right against you. It’s been driving you insane from the moment she walked past you to get you the glass of wine. You gather her hair, lifting it gently and draping it over her shoulder so it falls down her front, clearing the entire canvas of her back. Your arms wrap around her waist, thumbs brushing her hips.
Then you lean forward. Your lips touch her spine. Ningning gasps. You kiss again. And again. Slow, warm kisses trailing from the base of her neck down the line of her spine. Her breath stutters. Her body melts back into you. A moan slips out, small and surprised, unwilling to admit how much she likes it.
You keep going, kissing, exploring, letting your lips dance over every inch of her exposed skin. Her back arches slightly. A whine leaves her throat. She hates how submissive it sounds. But she can’t stop it. You kiss lower, just at the center of her back, and then you drag your tongue up. A long, slow lick up her spine. Ningning shivers violently. Goosebumps erupt across her skin. Her breath catches in the back of her throat.
“Oh-fuck-”
She whispers without meaning to, pressing her thighs together.
You let Ningning grind against you with slow, steady rolls of her hips that press her heat firmly onto the length straining beneath your jeans. Your palms stay planted on her waist. The restraint is pure tension. Every shift of her hips makes you throb, yet you force yourself to remain calm as her breathing grows uneven. You can feel the tiny tremors running through her thighs.
Finally, she huffs, visibly frustrated.
“Touch me.”
“Ask nicely.”
She lets out a small, irritated exhale, but the effort to keep a cool façade cracks under her own arousal. If it weren’t for the thick, hard shape she’s grinding against, she might have shoved you away. Instead, she draws a slow breath and softens her tone.
“Please… touch me.”
You lean forward, chest pressing to her back, lips brushing the curve of her bare shoulder. She trembles at the contact. Your hands slide upward, fingertips tracing along her ribs, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse beneath the mesh. You let your palms glide over the sides of her breasts, teasing the edges before finally cupping them fully through the thin fabric of her bra.
Ningning’s head tips back against your shoulder, a low moan slipping free as you knead, thumb, and squeeze. Her dress rustles softly under your hands. The mesh stretches as you squeeze harder.
“Rougher.”
She whispers and you oblige. Your fingers tighten and your palms mold her more firmly. The added pressure drags another sound from her throat. This one is less controlled. A sharp gasp that breaks into a breathy moan. She arches, pushing herself further into your grip. Your mouth drifts to her neck, planting kisses along the warm skin, each press syncing with the firmer knead of your hands.
Her grinding intensifies into shorter, faster motions that stash more heat between her body and yours. You can feel every small quiver as she chases friction. Her shorts are damp through the thin fabric of the dress. And with each rougher squeeze, each kiss at her throat, her moans grow louder.
You stay just on the edge, barely able to hold on yourself, your hands firm, lips grazing, letting her grind, letting her rise toward the high she’s chasing without losing yourself to it… yet.
Ningning’s moans turn impatient, her hips grinding faster, seeking friction and relief.
“More.”
Her voice almost sounds pleading. You don’t move your hand. You keep her pressed to your chest, your mouth close to her ear.
“Use your words, Ningning. Ask for something specific.”
She stiffens, the muscles in her thighs quivering with tension. You can feel her fighting her own pride and arousal. She swallows hard and then her voice comes out in a breathy whisper.
“…Touch my pussy.”
You smirk, dragging your lips along her jaw.
“Why?”
She gasps, frustration spiking at both your audacity and the insistent press of your cock against her ass.
“I… I don’t know, just do it-”
You nip her shoulder, teeth catching skin. A soft, teasing bite that makes her shudder.
“That’s not a good enough reason.”
You murmur, lips warm against her skin.
She trembles, the fog in her head thickening with each second you keep her on edge.
“Please.”
She manages, voice barely more than a whine now.
“Touch my pussy… Make me cum.”
You press your palm more firmly against her breast, squeezing hard, making her gasp again.
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes.”
She hisses, desperate, but angry.
“Please-just touch me and make me cum.”
You answer with your mouth, lips grazing her shoulder. Then your teeth gently clamp onto the thin strap of her mesh dress. You drag it slowly off her naked shoulder, letting the dress slip lower until the mesh falls off her bra entirely, exposing the upper curves of her breasts to the air. You give them a couple more hard squeezes, relishing the way she arches and squirms under your touch. One hand lingers, kneading her tits, while the other slides down, over her ribs, tracing the outline of her stomach over the thin mesh.
“Say it again.”
You growl, fingers pausing at her waist, right above the hem of her dress.
She shakes, her voice desperate and ragged.
“Touch my pussy-please-make me cum-”
You finally give her what she needs. Your hand slips under the hem of her dress, gliding over bare, heated skin. You dip beneath the waistband of her shorts, no panties in the way, and your fingers find her already slick and hot pussy.
The first brush against her clit has Ningning gasping. Her whole body shudders in your lap as she presses herself harder against your hand and your cock, hungry for more. Your fingers tease slowly, barely grazing where Ningning craves contact most, while your free hand continues to cup and knead her breasts, thumb circling over the fabric. You press soft kisses along the slope of her neck, down to the curve of her shoulder, feeling the shiver that moves through her every time your lips land.
She arches into you, hips lifting, silently asking. At first you only give her the lightest strokes. A slow glide along her inner thighs, a gentle brush over her clit that has her gasping and tilting her head back. The longer you draw it out, the more restless she becomes, fingers digging into your thigh.
“Touch me properly.”
“Not enough just to ask.”
You murmur against her skin.
“Beg for it.”
A beat of hesitation, her pride flaring, then a groan of surrender mixes with a whispered,
“Please… I need it. Make me cum.”
That’s all you need. You ease your hand lower and slide a single finger gently inside her cunt. Ningning’s breath catches. She presses her hips down, welcoming the slow rhythm you begin. With each motion, your palm glides over her clit in a faint, steady brush, sparking small jolts of pleasure that make her thighs tense around your hand.
Ningning’s breath hitches as your single finger glides in and out of her, coaxing her body to tremble around the gentle intrusion. The wet sounds are undeniable, slick and rhythmic, punctuating every small circle of your palm across her clit. She twists her head, lips brushing your jaw, her voice breaking into a plea.
“More-please-”
You slow just enough to keep her wanting, then murmur against her ear.
“Use your words. Tell me exactly what you want.”
She mewls, hips rolling helplessly.
“Put another finger in-stretch me-please, I need it.”
“Greedy, aren’t we?”
You tease but comply. You curl a second finger into her cunt, feeling her walls clench around the new thickness. A startled moan escapes her lips as she adjusts to the deeper stretch. You set a firmer rhythm, sliding both fingers out nearly to the tip, then pushing them back in with more purpose. The squelch grows louder, mixing with her rising moans.
Your free hand keeps its possessive hold on her breast, thumb flicking over a hardened nipple through beige cotton. You nuzzle her neck, your lips brushing the sensitive spot just below her ear. Each kiss sends a shiver down her spine. Each thrust of your fingers pushes her that much closer to her incoming high. Her breathing quickens, shallow gasps that grow higher in pitch. She’s balancing on the edge, thighs squeezing against your hand, her hips jerking with each thrust. Pleasure rolls through her in heavy waves, yet there’s a tremor of uncertainty beneath her voice.
He could stop right now-just to tease me-
The thought flashes across her mind, and a flush blooms across her chest, heat spreading outward. She bites her lip hard, half from anxiety, half from the burning thrill of surrender. The realization that you’re in control of the moment, of her body, only intensifies her need.
You sense her hesitation, but you keep the pace relentless, fingers stroking deeper, curling slightly to graze the spot that makes her shudder and groan. Your palm never leaves her clit, delivering constant friction that builds a steady tension in her belly.
“Look how you grip me. You’re soaking my hand.”
Ningning’s answer is a broken whimper. Each movement now sends jolts through her, her mind clouding with a singular urgency. Her hips stutter, breath catching.
“You’re close. Aren’t you?”
She nods frantically, a helpless sound spilling from her throat.
You kiss the curve of her shoulder again, teeth grazing briefly, then suck lightly on the warm skin. Your fingers maintain their relentless rhythm, thrusting, curling, coaxing, as her moans escalate, climbing higher, trembling with the imminent promise of her climax.
The room is filled with the wet, rhythmic sound of your hand moving inside her, her soft cries turning sharper and more desperate. She feels every nerve ending fire, her thoughts dissolving under the pleasure boiling toward eruption.
You feel Ningning’s entire body coil tight in your lap, her back arched, her thighs trembling, her pussy pulsing desperately around your fingers.
She’s right there. One more stroke, one more curl, one more brush of your palm against her clit and she’ll explode. Both of you know it. Her breath stutters into a broken moan.
“…and-”
You drag the word out, low and cruel, right against her ear.
Her whole body shivers with anticipation.
“…stop.”
Your hand freezes.
The fingers buried inside her go completely still. Your other hand, the one gripping her breast, stops squeezing and simply holds her.
Ningning lets out a strained gasp, the kind that comes from pleasure teetering on a knife’s edge. For a split second, she actually thinks she might cum anyway, that her body will snap without permission, that she’ll climax from the ghost of the sensation alone…But she doesn’t.
She is trapped right on the edge. She can’t get further. Just one more thrust…Just one more squeeze…And then the slope tilts.
Her orgasm slips away.
Ningning’s tight little cunt squeezes desperately around your unmoving fingers, trying to pull them in deeper, trying to find friction that isn’t there. She arches her back hard, breasts pushing up into your still hand as if begging you to squeeze again.
“No-no, please-don’t stop-please-”
Her voice breaks into a whine and then another. She’s begging without dignity, without thought, just with pure need. But the pleasure that had been building like a boiling pot suddenly empties out of her body in a painful, unsatisfying collapse. She shakes, gasping, mewling helplessly as the release she’d been right on top of evaporates into nothing.
By the time she comes back down, she’s panting, sweaty, trembling and furious, but far too fogged by pleasure to form a proper thought.
You finally speak.
“Give me the marker.”
She hesitates, breath still quivering.
Her brain can’t hold onto the sentence.
“Wh… what?”
“The marker.”
You repeat quietly.
“On the coffee table.”
Understanding hits her sluggishly, like it has to wade through heat and fog to reach the surface. She blinks, eyes darting to the table.
The marker.
Slowly, like someone moving underwater, she leans forward to grab it. Your hand is still inside her. Her movement makes her pussy tighten and sink down onto your fingers in a deeper angle.
Her gasp is sharp and breathless.
Your fingers sink deeper automatically, your knuckles brushing places she didn’t expect you to reach. The motion steals her breath, makes her pussy flutter wildly around you. She manages to grab the marker with trembling fingers and pulls herself upright again, hand shaking as she gives it to you, completely unaware and too dazed to consider why you want it.
You take it slowly.
Ningning swallows hard, still panting, still dripping around your frozen fingers. Her mind is a foggy mess. She can’t comprehend your next step.
You hold Ningning on your lap, her breathing shaky, her body trembling from both denial and anticipation. Her bare back rises and falls against your chest, still glistening with the sweat and flush of her almost orgasm. Your hand, sticky with her arousal, never leaves her cunt. You twirl the marker in your other hand, letting the silence stretch just long enough for her to feel its weight.
“What are you?”
You ask quietly.
She blinks, the question not registering in her pleasure fogged mind.
You don’t squeeze her breast. This time you give it a light, sharp slap. Not enough to hurt, but enough to send a sting racing through her chest.
She gasps, back arching, eyes opening wide. The sting is like cold water, clearing her head just a little.
“What are you?”
You repeat, your voice a little firmer.
She stares ahead, still dazed, but manages to mumble.
“…Whatever you want me to be.”
You slap her breast again. The sound is louder this time, echoing through the quiet dorm.
Ningning gasps, her jaw dropping. She doesn’t know if it’s the pain or the humiliation that has her skin prickling with goosebumps. Frustration twists through her. Her brain won’t work. Her body’s running on autopilot now. She’s desperate for you, but her words are lost.
“Tell me.”
You say again, your hand lifted, threatening another slap.
She flinches, tension coiling in her body. But instead of hitting her, you pop the cap off the marker with your thumb, letting it drop to the floor with a clatter.
Ningning lets out a shaky breath, confused, aroused, helpless.
“You’ll see.”
You shift your hips, pushing your cock against her ass. At the same time, your fingers in her cunt start moving again with low, deep thrusts that make her moan out loud. The sound is a raw, desperate plea for more. She’s so wet you can hear every movement, the squelch of her pussy loud in the silence. Her back arches, body pressing into you as you kiss her shoulder, nipping gently at her skin. Every thrust brings her closer. After only a few strokes, she’s right on the edge again, whining, begging and completely at your mercy.
That’s when she feels a cold, firm touch. The tip of the marker glides along her back, just below her shoulder blade. The sensation is alien, shocking, almost ticklish, but it sends a jolt straight to her core.
She moans, body shuddering.
You press the marker down and begin to write, your fingers never stopping inside her, keeping her perched perfectly on the edge of release. She doesn’t care what you’re writing. She doesn’t care about anything except the pleasure you give her. All she wants is to cum, to finally be allowed over the edge.
You smile to yourself, your own satisfaction doubling as you scrawl one word across her flawless skin in thick, black ink.
“Dumbass”
It’s a petty, perfect revenge. One you know she’ll only see when she looks in a mirror, long after you’ve left her tired and spent.
Your hand pumps in and out of her, harder, deeper, your palm grinding against her clit. Ningning’s breath stutters, her body tightening impossibly as her muscles quake and tremble.
You lean in, lips against her ear, voice dark and triumphant.
“Come for me, dumbass.”
Ningning is a trembling, unraveling mess in your lap. Her thighs are shaking violently, her breath coming in short, shattered gulps as you finger her with a relentless rhythm. The heel of your hand brushes her clit with every thrust. Her pussy spasms around your fingers, tight and desperate, clenching so hard it almost hurts.
She’s been edged too long. Her body is past the point of control.
Her back arches like a bowstring, hands clawing at your thighs, nails digging into you through your pants. Sweat beads along her spine. Her skin is slick and burning hot under your mouth as you kiss and bite at her shoulder.
Her voice is completely gone, every sound is a broken, animalistic noise.
“A-ah-nnh-wait-don’t-please-”
Her hips jerk forward, then freeze. Her breath catches. Her entire body goes rigid.
And then…She detonates. Her orgasm slams through her like a violent electric shock.
Ningning’s mouth drops open in a silent scream before it finally rips free. A loud, fractured cry echoes off the walls. Her pussy spasms wildly around your fingers, milking them, squeezing them in tight, uncontrollable pulses.
Wave after wave tears through her. Her thighs quake uncontrollably. Her toes curl. Her stomach tightens in rolling contractions. Her chest heaves.
She grabs your arm, clinging to you as if she’ll fall apart if she lets go.
Her whole body shakes, quivering with no end in sight, tears gathering in her lashes from the intensity. She rides the orgasm out helplessly, hips twitching, cunt squeezing your fingers in rhythmic convulsions as she pours out every ounce of built up pressure.
By the time the last wave hits, she collapses back against you, completely limp, lungs heaving, moaning softly with every exhale. Her entire body feels lifeless except for her labored breathing.
You hold her, arm wrapped around her, keeping her from sliding off your lap.
The marker clatters onto the table as you toss it away casually.
Slowly, very slowly, you ease your soaked fingers out of her cunt. The withdrawal makes her whine, a tiny, broken sound full of exhaustion and overstimulation. Her pussy twitches around nothing, still clenching reflexively. Her head lolls onto your shoulder. She can’t speak and can barely breathe.
You shift underneath her and try to stand with her on your lap, but she’s too limp and heavy from the orgasm. Instead, you gently push her off, guiding her onto the couch. She lands half‑lying, half‑sitting, legs trembling, hair sticking to her neck, chest rising and falling rapidly.
Then…
SMACK.
You give her ass a sharp, sudden spank over her mesh dress.
Ningning gasps, jerking upright, eyes flying open. For the first time tonight, since you started touching her, she looks like she’s in her right mind. Her bratty attitude from earlier is completely gone, burned out by the orgasm.
You step forward.
Your crotch, your still hard cock, now hangs right at her eye level. Her gaze locks onto it instantly. Her pupils dilate. Her hand rises without thought, fingers reaching for your belt, trembling with need, instinct pulling her forward…
And you almost let her. You almost let her unbuckle your belt and let her pull your cock out and swallow it whole.
But you snap back into control. You swat her hand away. She whines and tries to follow your body with her eyes, lips parted.
You take her chin firmly between your fingers and lift her face toward yours.
“Look at me.”
Ningning obeys immediately, still breathing hard.
“I don’t believe…”
You speak slow and clear to make sure she understands you.
“That Karina told you you can fuck me whenever you want.”
Her lips part, ready to argue, but you squeeze her chin harder, pushing her cheeks together, shutting her up instantly. She whimpers, her eyes wide, lips trapped in the shape of a pout under your grip.
“I want proof.”
Her breath shakes.
“You’re going to ask her.”
You continue.
“Not ask-”
You lean down, your face inches from hers.
“-you’re going to beg my girlfriend for my cock.”
Ningning’s breath catches. Her eyes widen further. Her thighs rub together involuntarily.
“You’re going to beg Karina…”
You repeat softly.
“To let me use you.”
Ningning shakes under your hand, the humiliation and arousal twisting inside her like a fever. Her mouth moves, trying to speak, but your grip is too tight.
You lean against the hood of your black Mustang. The concrete is cold. The air smells faintly of oil and dust. But all of that fades into the background as you scroll through the screen of your phone.
It’s full of Ningning. Dozens of messages.
You scroll slowly, letting each one sink in with a smile on your face.
“Why are you ignoring me??”
“Are you stupid? Answer me.”
“You think that shit was funny?? Writing that on my back???”
“You better hope I never see you again.”
“I’m not your toy. I’m not some slut.”
“I’m never-NEVER-begging Karina. Don’t even dream.”
More messages follow. Longer ones, angrier ones, voice messages you don’t even open, all sent within minutes of each other.
She’s spiraling. You can practically hear the frustration, the pacing around, the hair pulling, the tossing and turning she must have gone through last night.
But you just keep scrolling.
Then you reach the newest thing she sent.
A picture. You stop breathing for a second. It’s Ningning standing in front of the full length mirror in her dorm. She’s turned around, back facing the mirror, her phone held up to catch the reflection.
Your word is still there.
“Dumbass”
Written boldly across her flawless back.
You zoom in.
The ink is faded in places, smudged slightly, like she tried to scrub it off but couldn’t quite bring herself to finish the job.
Your gaze drifts downward. On the very edge of the frame, just barely visible, is the curve of her bare ass. No panties. No shorts. Nothing. She took this picture completely naked.
Angry or not… she still posed for you.
Your jaw flexes slightly.
And that’s when it hits you. Every angry message… Every insult… Every time she typed your name with full caps… All of it is just the slow, messy unraveling of a girl caught in her own pride, getting pushed closer and closer to the edge of humiliation she swore she’d never cross.
You scroll back up to the wall of furious texts, then back down to the naked photo.
She’s not blocking you. She’s not calling you names and disappearing. She’s not ignoring you back.
And you haven’t said a single word to her.
You lock your phone and exhale through your nose. It’s only a matter of time. Eventually, the messages will stop. Eventually, her pride will break. Eventually, she’ll stop sending threats and complaints…
…and instead send you exactly what you demanded.
A video. A video of herself, begging Karina to let you use her.
You hear footsteps echoing across the concrete, the quick, rhythmic tap of sneakers. You already know who it is. Winter called you over an hour ago, her voice sweet and oddly formal, asking if you could pick her up after some kind of “meeting” with friends and drive her back to her company.
You still don’t really know why she chose you and not her manager or her other friends. But now, as she rounds the corner, none of that matters.
All thought empties from your head.
Winter’s hair is tied back in a small ponytail, a few loose strands framing her face, most of which is hidden behind a plain black mask. But you barely see any of that. Your eyes are instantly drawn lower. Her outfit is almost comically self-contradictory. A thick, black wool sweater, clearly heavy and warm… but it ends just below her chest, leaving her entire stomach bare to the cool garage air. Her pale, smooth midriff stands out, a perfect, unbroken stretch of soft skin from ribs to hips. Both sleeves are pushed up to her elbows, exposing her forearms, making the whole thing look even more casual. Her grey sweatpants ride low on her hips, cinched only by a thin black belt.
For a split second, all you can imagine is grabbing that belt, pulling her closer, yanking those pants down, getting your hands on her waist, spreading her out on the backseat of your Mustang, and breeding her tight, exposed tummy until she’s trembling and marked inside and out.
Winter’s hand drifts to her bare stomach as she approaches. Her palm rests lightly on the skin just above her navel. It’s a casual gesture, but the way she does it makes you think she knows what she’s doing. She wants your eyes exactly where they are.
And it works.
You swallow, shifting your weight, feeling your cock stir in your pants. You try to look away, to focus on her face, her hair, her mask, but your gaze keeps dropping. The way she moves, the soft curve of her belly, the flat plane of muscle below her ribs, all of it is a direct, visual challenge.
She slows as she reaches you, finally dropping her hand. Her eyes meet yours above the edge of the mask.
“Hey.”
Her voice is slightly muffled but unmistakably sweet.
You force yourself to answer, playing it cool even as your mind swirls with all the things you’d like to do to her.
“Hey…”
Winter steps closer and gives you a quick, grateful hug. Her face presses lightly into your chest and her arms wrap briefly around your torso. Her bare stomach, soft, warm, unbelievably smooth, brushes straight across your crotch through your jeans.
For one terrifying second, you forget how to breathe.
She pulls back without noticing any of it, adjusting her mask, her eyes smiling up at you with an innocence so flawless it almost feels fake.
“I really appreciate it. Thanks for picking me up.”
You force a nod and step around her to open the passenger door.
Winter tilts her head playfully.
“Such a gentleman.”
She teases warmly as she slips inside.
You close the door, swallow hard, and walk around the hood of the car. All the while, you remind yourself to stay calm. It’s just a 20-minute drive. No big deal.
You slide into the driver’s seat, start the engine, and the soft purr of the Mustang fills the quiet garage. Winter pulls her phone out of her bag, taps through a few screens, puts it down, then turns, twisting at the waist to put her bag on the backseat.
Her entire midriff stretches and curves, showing off the line of her ribs, her waist pulling taut, her navel shifting beautifully as she bends.
You catch another hit of her perfume. Light. Sweet. Feminine. Not her usual jasmine. This one is warmer and softer.
You frown slightly. You definitely know that scent. You’re almost certain you’ve smelled it recently… on someone else.
But your brain is too scrambled to figure it out.
“Seatbelt.”
You manage.
She laughs softly and clicks it into place.
You put the car in reverse, your arm sliding onto the back of her seat, dangerously close to her exposed waist, and pull out of the space. Winter settles back, relaxed, humming quietly as she’s scrolling through her phone.
You keep your eyes on the road, mostly, trying to focus on the yellow lane markers, the curve of the exit ramp, anything except the girl sitting next to you with half her stomach out like she’s auditioning to ruin your entire month.
Winter shifts in her seat, looking at you from the corner of her eye.
“Um… is it okay if I make myself a little more comfortable?”
You grip the steering wheel tighter.
“Yeah. Sure. Go ahead.”
You expect her to adjust her seat, or maybe fix her ponytail…
But no.
Her hands drop straight to her belt. She fiddles with the buckle and then, slowly…she unhooks it.
Click.
Your heart stops. She doesn’t even hesitate. She draws the belt out of the loops and lets it fall slack across her hips.
“Sorry.”
She says, as if she didn’t just unbuckle the only thing keeping her sweatpants from sitting around her ankles.
“It was a little tight.”
“T-tight?”
You echo, almost choking.
“Mmhm,” she hums, fingers brushing her bare stomach again.
“I think I ate too much.”
Bullshit.
You saw it earlier. That belt was locked in the first hole. The tightest setting possible. She couldn’t have tightened it even if she tried. So why remove the entire thing instead of just using the next hole?
Winter shifts again, and without the belt holding anything up, the waistband of her sweats dips even lower on her hips. You try not to look. You really try.
But how could you not?
Her tummy is practically being offered to you on a silver plate. Smooth. Pale. Soft. Her navel rises and falls gently with every breath.
At one point she lifts her arms to adjust her ponytail, and the sweater rides even higher, just barely covering the underside of her chest. The movement makes her waist stretch again, her stomach taut and perfect.
She says, turning toward you…only for the motion to tug her sweats even lower. She doesn’t fix them.
You try to keep it together.
The conversation stays light, but every few sentences, your eyes drift. Just a glance. Barely a second. But enough to see. Her waist shifts with her breathing. The faint line between her ribs and hips. The small curve of her belly when she exhales. The way her sweatpants look one millimeter away from sliding off completely.
You grip the wheel with one hand, shift gears with the other and still, your knuckles go white from how hard you’re fighting yourself.
Just ten more minutes.
But sitting next to Winter, bare stomach exposed, sweatpants sliding dangerously low, acting like she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing…It feels like ten hours. And each second melts the last bit of your resolve.
You pull into the company’s underground lot with a sharp turn, tires gliding into the parking slot. The engine hasn’t even fully settled before you’re yanking the handbrake and practically escaping the driver’s seat.
You need fresh air and distance between you and Winter. Anything to cool the heat crawling up your spine.
But as you walk around the hood toward Winter’s side, something makes you glance through the windshield.
Winter is leaning back again, reaching for her bag on the backseat. Her waist twists elegantly and her stomach stretches, muscles shifting under soft skin. Her partially bare back arches just enough…
And then you see it. A flash of red.
Her sweatpants have ridden even lower without the belt, slipping down her hips and you catch a clean glimpse of the waistband of her panties.
Your pulse slams hard against your ribs.
Before you can look away, Winter shifts again, turning to sit upright. The movement lifts her sweater even higher for a second and the curve of her underboobs shows. It’s small but perfect under the fabric, just a soft, teasing swell.
She notices.
Her eyes drop to her chest, then widen just slightly in surprise. She quickly tugs her top down, cheeks visible pink between the straps of her mask.
You open her door and extend your hand, pretending nothing happened. Winter slips her fingers into yours.
“Thank you.”
She says quietly as you help her out of the car.
Her feet touch the ground, but her hand lingers in yours one beat too long. Her eyes look up at you. Wide, a little shy, but shining with something else. You just don’t know what it is yet.
And even with her sweater pulled down, you can still see the faint outline of her red panties through the low waistband of her sweats.
You swallow, pulse hammering.
“Anytime.”
Winter smiles behind her mask. Then she pauses before turning away. She slides her mask down, revealing her lips. Soft. Pink. Slightly glossy.
Before you can react, she rises onto her tiptoes and presses a gentle kiss to your cheek.
“Thank you for driving.”
She whispers, close enough that her breath tickles your skin.
You don’t move. You don’t breathe. You just stand there, watching her turn and walk toward the elevators, her sweatpants hanging low, her waist glowing under the garage lights.
As soon as she’s a few steps away, you tilt your head back and let out a quiet, strangled groan. If you get back in the car now, you know exactly what will happen. You’ll fail NNN in under sixty seconds.
So, you force yourself to walk. Your feet move before you even think. You follow Winter. You catch up to her near the elevators. She notices immediately and looks up at you, eyes soft and curious.
“Oh? Coming with?”
“Yeah, I… need coffee.”
Winter smiles.
“Me too.”
She presses the elevator button and the two of you step inside.
You’re careful, painfully careful, not to look at her stomach or her hips again. But you fail. Of course you fail. You sneak glances every few seconds.
Winter feels them. You can tell.
Whenever your eyes drift down, she pretends to be scrolling on her phone… but her free hand always slides across her exposed tummy, fingertips brushing her skin as if she’s showing it off without saying a word.
The elevator opens to the cafeteria level. You both walk out, grab coffees, and stand together for a moment in the quiet corner near the big windows.
Winter lowers her mask completely now, holding her cup with one hand while the other taps nervously against her thigh.
“Well…Thanks again.”
She steps closer. Then she rises onto her tiptoes, again, and her lips brush your cheek. This kiss is slower and warmer. You feel it burn straight through your veins.
She pulls back, smiling fully now.
“Last goodbye.”
And before you can say anything, she turns, her ponytail swaying, her sweatpants sliding just a little lower and she walks away, hips shifting side to side, bare back twisting with each step.
You stand there with your coffee, heart pounding, fight-or-flight instincts failing completely.
NNN is becoming impossible.
You step into the hallway, coffee still warm in your hand, but your mind is nowhere near the cup. Winter’s kisses burn on your cheek. Your pulse hasn’t slowed. Your body hasn’t cooled.
You press the elevator button and drag a hand down your face, trying to pull yourself together.
The doors slide open.
And your soul leaves your body. Inside the elevator stand Irene and Seulgi.
The memory of your dream slams into you like a truck.
Irene whispering in your ear, calling you a good boy. Seulgi on all fours, her ass in your hands, begging you to use her. Irene telling you to destroy her. You doing it.
You almost flinch.
But you force your face neutral and step inside.
“Hey!”
Seulgi says warmly. Her smile is wide, genuine and friendly.
“Long time no see!”
“Hi.”
Irene says it too, but her voice is different. She almost sounds amused. Like she knows something you don’t want her to know. You can feel her eyes on you.
You clear your throat.
“Hey, you two.”
Seulgi tilts her head.
“Why are you here today? Picking up Karina?”
“Not exactly. Just… dropping someone off.”
Irene raises an eyebrow.
“Someone?”
There’s a teasing tilt under the word. She leans slightly closer, her perfume light and elegant.
You keep your gaze straight ahead.
“Winter.”
Both women look at each other for a microsecond.
“Ohhh.”
Seulgi says with a grin.
“Helping the kids out again, huh?”
Irene smiles, but it isn’t friendly.
“I’m sure she needed the help.”
You swallow.
“Nothing like that. She just needed a ride.”
“Mm.”
Irene sips her own coffee.
“Of course.”
You shift your weight.
“Anyway.”
Seulgi says, breaking the tension.
“Yeri told me about your script reading! Congrats on landing that role.”
“Thanks.”
You are grateful for the change in subject, but you also can’t help but wonder what Yeri told them. Is that the reason for Irene being so suggestive?
“I was nervous.”
“You’ll be great.”
Seulgi beams.
“You’re good on camera.”
“Very good.”
Irene adds.
Your jaw clenches.
You can’t tell if she’s teasing you because of Winter…or because she appeared in your dream…or because she has a habit of saying things that hit just a little too close.
The elevator dings.
“Garage level.”
A robotic voice announces.
The doors slide open.
Seulgi steps out first.
“Good luck with filming!”
“Break a leg.”
Irene adds, brushing past you.
You nod.
“Thanks.”
As you turn toward your car, Seulgi waves and heads toward another elevator, probably leading to a different section of the garage.
Irene pauses. Just for two seconds.
She glances over her shoulder at you, lips curling into a slow, wicked smirk. It’s not the warm idol smile she shows cameras, but something…private. Something disturbingly similar to the Irene in your dream.
“Bye.”
And she walks away.
You watch the two disappear around a corner and finally exhale.
Research and personal 3D exploration of the Sennheiser HD 25 headphones. Model, texture and light produced on Blender, colour grading done with Adobe Photoshop.
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