A/N: Halfway into the Bro Zuha's second set! Last one should be soon, barring any surprise BFHs.
Fanprose link here.
Enjoy.
Like, seriously, if there is one thing you don’t get about Kazuha, is that she does things without letting you know sometimes.
You’ve learned to get used to it, really. You’ve stopped wondering how in god’s green earth this happened, or why the universe decided to send it to your end of the world.
The Chaewon incident that started this whole thing coming to mind, which you weren’t opposed to at all, considering the events that occurred afterwards. A few more surprises here and there with her closest friends with the other, the more recent one being Kazuha coming home, drunk off her ass along with the girls.
That was a rather interesting Friday night, you’ll say. Your body has never felt so sore in your entire life the next few days after.
Extremely worth it, for all intents and purposes however.
But, to your point, she doesn’t let you know about things that you would very much like to know beforehand. Like today, for example, when you come home from what you thought was going to be an ordinary Wednesday until—
“Hi!”
“Jesus–” This was not what you were expecting when you came home from work. Luggage bags left in your hallway, a woman that is most certainly not Kazuha sitting on your couch, sipping on one of your yogurt milk drinks as she waves at you. Which makes you question where Kazuha is. “Uh, hello?”
“You must be Kazuha's boyfriend.” The woman continues sipping on her drink, the loud slurps coming from the straw pausing as she smiles prettily at you. “She said you'd be here around this time, so I thought of saying hi.”
“Right.” You are, for all intents and purposes, extremely skeptical of this woman. Don’t know who she is, where she came from, why there’s so much of her shit scattered in your hallway. She’s just here, for reasons you have zero idea of.
You walk to the kitchen counter, placing down your backpack before turning towards her. “Sorry, who are you?”
“Oh!” She practically jumps out of the couch, and skips straight towards you with a grin on her face. “Name’s Rei. Naoi Rei.” She outstretches a hand.
You take her hand and shake it gently, tell her your name and be answered with a cute little nod that you swear is not making you cringe on the inside or make your heart race from how adorable it was.
“So you are Zuha’s boyfriend!” she repeats, and before you could come up with a reply for it, the front door swings open once again.
“Looks like you two are getting along.” Kazuha's striding in, a shopping bag in one hand, and a small handbag in another. She stands next to you, smiling and leaning in to give you a peck on the lips before she hands the bag to Rei. “Here's some extra pillows you can use.”
Rei gasps, and you're confused on whether this woman's a walking adorable little thing or not because every action she does looks way, way too cute to be normal.
“Thank you so much, I'll pay you back before I leave,” Rei says, pulling out a pair of pillows from the bag, the paper falling down the ground.
“Don't worry about it,” Kazuha replies, placing her bag next to your pack, and you watch as Rei squeezes one of the cushions between her arm, picking up the bag on the ground and walking back to the couch with another thanks.
Which leaves you with Kazuha. You turn to her, blinking slowly and giving her a pointed look. Your hands gesture towards Rei, who's gotten in her own world on the couch, setting up her makeshift bed on it. “So.”
“So,” Kazuha repeats, eyes following your hands. “That's Rei.”
“That is Rei, yes.” Your palms rest on your hips. “Why is Rei here with a bunch of luggage, exactly?”
“She’s asked if she can crash for a few days,” she explains, leaning her elbow on the kitchen counter. “Traveled all the way from Japan for some music festival this weekend.” Said Rei would be gone by Wednesday next week, Kazuha swears. “She won’t cause us any trouble, trust me.”
You turn your gaze back to Rei, legs up in the air while she’s hugging one of the pillows and scrolling down her phone. You can faintly hear the sounds quickly shifting from one topic to another as her thumb swipes up every so often. “And when you say trouble–” Queue your finger air quotes. “You mean she’s not going to be involved in one of your plans?”
Kazuha only smiles at you, hand rising up to pat your cheek fondly. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” There’s that familiar twinkle in your eye that you spot—one that you’re not sure whether to be excited or wary of what she’s cooking up—before she walks away.
Sighing and shaking your head, you take another look at Rei. Still busy with her phone, paying you no mind and not causing any trouble, just like Kazuha said.
You can’t help but add a ‘yet’, though.
—
Trouble, you’ve realized, decided to come in small batches over the course of the next few days.
Nothing that would get you arrested or caught in an indecent way, no. For the most part, it was you doing your usual routine with the added intrusion that Rei is living in your living room. And it causes a few odd encounters with her every now and again.
Like when Kazuha decided to jump you the following Thursday when you got home, kissing you right there in the doorway just as you opened the door to your apartment. And while it was an unexpected surprise that you would normally, wholeheartedly welcome with open arms, seeing Rei pretend that you and Kazuha are not sucking each other’s faces off wasn’t weird at all.
At least, not for Kazuha. It was odd as all hell for you when you realized that Rei was looking pretty earnestly until she got caught.
Or on Friday, where you swear to all manners of religion out there that you heard moaning outside your bedroom door when you woke up in the middle of the night because the bathroom was calling you. Suffice to say it was a quick run to and from the bathroom to avoid interrupting Rei’s potential ‘her’ time.
And you won’t lie, needing to be quiet in your own home because a guest was touching yourself was incredibly awkward, considering that’s not something anyone would ever stumble upon. Even more so when you were left alone on Saturday, when Rei was out at her festival, Kazuha coming along with her when Rei said her friend wouldn’t be able to make it.
“It’d be a great way for us to really catch up!” You remember Rei telling Kazuha before they left this morning. And for the most part, you kinda agree with her. The three of you never really seem to have a good time to sit down and hang out, outside of the two of them since they seemed rather close. You in particular, given that you’re mostly out on the weekdays that Rei started living in your apartment.
And as much as they wanted you to come with, the extortionist pricing to get tickets this late made all three of you exclaim profanities so loud that you were afraid of finally getting a noise complaint.
Aside from the rather relaxing afternoon you had cleaning up your home while watching the weekend motorsport race in an attempt to get rid of any lingering thoughts about Rei touching herself on your couch—one that you sat on for quite a while after doing the chores (you need to clean this couch soon)—and making some dinner for yourself after getting a text from Kazuha that they’ll be coming home late, you decided to call it early tonight and catch up with the two in the morning.
Which gets completely derailed when you wake up in the wee hours of Sunday, where you are awoken from the sounds that are coming from your living room. It causes you to groggily get out of bed, the intimate familiarity of your home allowing you to walk on autopilot even without fully opening your eyes.
Or have your senses wake up until you flick the light on to find Kazuha and Rei making out by the kitchen counter, the former practically shoving her tongue down the latter.
You blink like an owl. Slowly, peculiarly, until the scene before you registers in your mind and you start looking like a deer in headlights. Then your brain finally catches up to what you’re seeing and—
“Well, good morning to you girls too.” Dragging a palm across your face, you decide to head over to grab a cup and fill it up with water. “Did you have fun earlier?”
Rei lets out a blissful hum, letting out a gasp as Kazuha leaves her lips to kiss down her neck. “Great,” she gasps, holding onto Kazuha’s locks. Rei lets out an even loud gasp when she gets hoisted up onto the counter by Kazuha, and even you were raising eyebrows at how assertive Kazuha is being tonight.
Or today, you’re not sure yourself.
You take a good, long drink of your cup, downing it all in one go, a quiet, refreshed noise coming out of your lips before putting it down. You have half a mind to walk up and join in on whatever debauchery Kazuha’s planned, and another to go back to bed and let them have their fun, considering they’ve already started without you.
Kazuha might not even know you’re here, what with her buried completely in Rei’s chest, her hands pulling the jacket she has on away before her fingers begin to pull Rei’s top up to expose her chest and holy shit Rei being even more stacked than you thought was not in your bingo card.
Not that you were looking, of course. You were simply appreciating the times her cleavage was in display. Totally not looking down whenever you had the chance, no.
Your bro will never let you live it down. But then again, anyone would be happy to have their faces shoved full of tits, especially ones as big as Rei’s.
Kazuha included.
Speaking of, she’s finally gotten her head out of Rei’s tits and turns to you with a grin. “Hey.” Is all she says, like this is another Sunday for her (and for the most part, this was a normal Sunday before you two were a thing, the player that your girlfriend was. Still is.) “Had a good day doing nothing today?”
“I cleaned, thank you very much,” you answer, walking up next to her, arm wrapping around her waist and leaning in to give her a kiss on the cheek, like this is another Sunday for you. “I’m guessing this is how Rei is paying you back for staying?”
“Oh this was for the pillows I got her,” Kazuha says, taking your free hand and placing it on Rei’s bra-covered breast, and even with the fabric in the way you can feel how soft and large they are in your hand. Rei encourages you further, pushing her chest out for the both of you and your fingers can’t stop themselves from squeezing. “Now she’s paying us back with her pillows.”
“They are some very nice pillows,” you mutter, engrossed in the soft flesh.
Kazuha chuckles, a hand coming down to cup the bulge growing in your shorts, fondling you through your clothing. Her lips come close; kisses starting from your neck, journeying her way up to your cheek all the way until she can nibble your earlobe, cooing a question that you’ll ever answer. “Better than Kkura’s?”
Whether it be because you don’t want to hurt Rei’s feelings (especially cause you’re getting a feel of her tits), Sakura’s feelings when Kazuha eventually tells her (cause you know Sakura’s going to come barging in your apartment one night when she learns about it), or your own physical being, you can’t be sure. What you are sure of is that all three can be an option, but you’re too busy fondling Rei’s breasts to give Kazuha an answer anyway.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Kazuha sing-songs, tugging your shorts down to your ankles. “Rei, be a dear and help me out here, why don’t you?”
“On it!” Rei’s hands come to the waistband of your boxers, and they end up right above your shorts. Your cock twitching and leaking and Christ her hands feel amazing stroking you so gently it makes you moan.
It makes Kazuha giggle; a sound that makes you fall deeper into this whole rabbit hole of fucking yet another one of her friends. “Excited now, are we bro?” And it’s like she’s reading your mind, even when she’s on her knees and looking at you with those doe eyes. Knowing that you’re just as turned on as she is, that you’ll be sharing Rei between the both of you.
That, or it could be the other way around and she’s sharing you with her friends.
“Well, don’t worry too much,” Kazuha continues, inching closer to your cock. “Let Rei and I take care of you for the night, hmm?” Her tongue gives a quick lick at your tip, making your thighs clench.
“Let me guess–” you exhale, glancing back to Rei. “Is this your thanks for letting you stay?”
“Nope!” she says, her entire face lighting up. She leans in and gives your cheek a quick peck then drops off the counter to follow Kazuha on her knees. “I’m doing this cause I’m so fucking wet right now.” Rei gives that same quick kiss to your tip, holding you by the base all while Kazuha watches by her side.
“Rei’s a little bit of a horndog,” Kazuha adds, nudging Rei lightly. Rei only nods in agreement, her tongue coming out to lick your shaft; from the tip going down to the base of your cock, she leaves no surface safe from her pretty pink muscle that’s eager to get you ready. “And she is very adventurous.”
“I can tell.” Just by the way Rei is worshipping your balls, taking each one in her mouth and rolling them with her tongue, sucking and licking away at them so goddamn well it makes you lean back onto the counter to brace yourself for when Kazuha inescapably joins in. “Christ, Zuha, you’re making me think you’ve fucked all your friends.”
“Not all of them,” Kazuha snaps back, a smirk on her lips. She gets closer to your dick, hot breath tickling you, and the air you need in your lungs gets exponentially bigger the moment her own tongue comes out to have her fun. “I’m thinking we should double team someone one of these days, though.”
Jesus, this woman truly is after your own heart. Even the mere thought of Kazuha wearing a strap, pinning Rei down and getting to stuff her in both holes sounded insane. And here she is, telling you that she’s ready and willing to go; might not even need to be Rei at all.
“Hot,” Rei comments, like her mouth isn’t preoccupied with your balls. “Can that be me? Please let it be me.”
The shit eating grin on Kazuha’s face when she hears that, paired with her eyebrows wiggling at you causes a shaky laugh to spill out of your lips. Knowing that it really, actually, might be Rei that’s going to get stuffed by the both of you in the near future makes you throb harder, pulsing around Kazuha’s hand.
Something you’ll anticipate for later, when the time comes. Right now you need to focus on not cumming too early when both Kazuha takes your cock in her mouth, tongue swirling around your cockhead just as Rei manages to take both your balls in hers. It makes you grip the counter tighter, hissing a curse and looking up at the ceiling just so the view won’t make you explode in record time.
Not that it matters, you’re only delaying the inevitable when it comes to Kazuha.
“Z-Zuha–” you stutter, a hand coming to rest on her hair, running your fingers through her locks when she takes you deep. Mouth locked firmly around your length, she sucks eagerly, cheeks hollowing out as she bobs. Up and down and up and down and down and down until her nose almost reaches your crotch. Letting out a gag before she comes up for air, stroking your spit covered cock and looks up at you with a smile.
“Problem?” The tilt of her head partnered with the grin playing her face is fucking you up seven ways to Sunday, and your fingers curled up in her hair tightens in response. Combined with the fact that Rei’s never let up on your balls, and it’s a constant barrage of pleasure that you do not have the strength to win against.
“I–fuck–” It’s embarrassing to admit, having to lose so quickly against these two, but waking up and having your dick sucked wasn't exactly what you were expecting to happen. “I’m not gonna last long.”
Rei pauses, coming up and finally giving you a moment's rest, and she is a mess. Droll running down her chin that she doesn’t bother wiping off, only slurping what she can in her mouth as she grins at you two. “Can I do the thing please?”
You turn to Kazuha. “What thing?”
“Course you can, Rei.” Kazuha gives Rei a kiss on the cheek.
“Yes!” Rei leaves one last kiss on your cock, her tongue making out with the tip and the surprise almost makes you kick your feet up.
“Holy shit–”
She doesn't stay for long, kissing you cock one last time before she stands up. Before you can know it Kazuha is pulling you away from the counter, getting you to stand upright.
“Dude, what is she talking about?” You hold on to Kazuha's shoulders, the clothes around your ankles being a pain to move forward.
Kazuha only grins and gives you a wink. “When I said Rei was adventurous–” You can feel Rei behind you now, her hands on your shoulders, face peeking out from behind to kiss you dangerously close to your lips but pulls away to smooch you on the cheek. “She’s really adventurous.”
Rei must know what'll happen if she decides to have a taste of your lips.
Clothes rustling behind you pique your curiosity, making you want to turn around to see Rei's breasts out of that damn bra. Wanting to feel the weight of them in your palms, pinch and play with her nipples, give them a nice, good squeeze—
A squeaky, girly noise comes out of you, shivers up your spine, your skin tingling all over the place, body locking up; it happens all at once, overloading your senses and almost making you double over if not for Kazuha holding you upright. You don’t know how to react, your body running on instinct at the burst of pleasure that’s hit you, all because of a wet intrusion poking in your taint.
“What the fuck, Rei–” The letters that constitute pronouncing her name slowly become gibberish in favor of a long, drawn out moan, your hands grabbing Kazuha’s head in an attempt to find solace. Even if you must look so fucked stupid in front of her, that smile Kazuha gives you is somehow both endearing and problematic at the same time.
“Relax,” Kazuha says, and that one word—that one, simple word—is enough to let you know that there is, in fact, a problem. “Just let go when you need to, alright?”
And when Kazuha starts to double down on the assault of pleasure being inflicted on you, you just know that you’re not going to last much longer. You’re almost hyperventilating at how potent the feeling is, the tingling becoming a numbing sensation over your body from it all.
The sensation of Rei licking around your pucker, circling it with her tongue before she does a few pokes to test your reaction. Kazuha’s head a blur from how fast her head is bobbing, blowing you so eagerly. Rei digging her fingers in your ass once her tongue plunges in to rim you. Kazuha’s gaze never losing its focus away from you, her lips suctioned at your tip, tongue circling around, flicking the slit of your cockhead while her hands stroke you.
You’re seeing stars. Blots of white start blocking your vision, the hold you have on Kazuha’s head getting firmer to hold yourself together. It’s useless trying to fight back against it, not when these two are tongue fucking you on both sides. You try to warn either of them that the inevitable is happening, but all that comes out is garbled mutterings of a man gone mad.
It just happened, is what you eventually tell the both. When your eyes roll back and your cock erupts straight into Kazuha’s waiting mouth, filling up with cum at each pulse. The hum that vibrates around your cock along with the tongue slowly licking around your taint coaxes more and more of your load to come out, and it all seems neverending.
Rei comes out from behind, leaving your backside to kneel next to your leg. A finger feathers around your taint, even as she stares at Kazuha prolongs your load. And Kazuha manages to stay attached to your cock, jerking you off to gain more of your spunk, swallowing what she can even as it starts to spill out of her lips. The wonder in Rei’s eyes as she watches, the perverse anticipation in her lips—and all you can do is moan and let it all happen.
“There you go,” Rei mutters, her thighs pushing together. “Give her all that cum. Give her everything so I can have some for myself.”
Kazuha’s lips leave your shaft and you’re crumbling to the floor, feeling like you just ran a marathon and back from the experience. Rei makes sure that you don’t hurt yourself, getting your back against the counter before she gets pulled in for a kiss by Kazuha.
Cum gets swapped between their lips, lips savouring the taste, their tongues sliding together and sharing what Kazuha has milked from you. Some spill down, some stick to their lips, most get swallowed from both. It’s all so messy, and they don’t care at all.
Somehow, someway, your cock comes to life from the view. You don’t understand how, and you’re genuinely scared to find out what happens when you figure out that your body is overruling your sense of survival for more of this.
They part, Kazuha turning to you as Rei licks up any leftover cum that’s fallen down to the former’s chest. “You look like you enjoyed that.”
“I look like I’m a fucking corpse,” you reply, causing Kazuha and Rei to giggle. “What the hell was even that?”
“Just a little thank you for cleaning up the apartment while we were off partying.” Kazuha closes the distance between you two, coming to your left. She cups your cheek, and her lips meet yours.
Arms wrap around her waist to pull her close, and you relax. Letting yourself get swept away by Kazuha’s soft lips for a moment, whispering such a rare phrase to you in between all of the kisses that it makes you smile. You say it back, just when you feel a wet pressure around your length.
It makes you flinch in surprise, pulling you away from the moment, from Kazuha. You look down, and Rei’s in between your legs, cock popping off her lips.
“So about that double team,” Rei starts, slowly stroking you. It was enough to ease you back into hardness. She’s careful with you, making sure that the pleasure doesn’t become pain from overstimulating you. “Can that be my payment for staying here for the week?”
I've been watching her for weeks now. Jiyu. The petite one from that five-member group. Always so fucking pretty in her stage outfits, but today she's dressed even better for my taste. That matching brown and pink set hugs her curves tight, those thigh-high leg warmers making her legs look endless. The hot pink trim catches my eye every time she moves. She's got a scrunchie on her wrist like some innocent little thing.
She leaves the Starship building alone. Bad move. Really bad move.
I follow at a distance, keeping to the shadows of the Seoul afternoon. She's got earbuds in, bouncing slightly to whatever bubblegum pop she's listening to. Doesn't notice me at all. That's fine. I like it when they don't notice until it's too late.
She heads to the mall. Perfect. Crowds, blind spots, underground parking. I've got all the time in the world.
I stay three to four people behind her as she wanders through the cosmetics floor. She stops at a lipstick display, leans in to look at shades. Her shorts ride up just slightly when she bends. I can see the curve of her ass, the way the fabric stretches. My cock twitches in my jeans.
She moves on to a café, orders some iced drink. Sits alone at a small table near the window. I take a seat two tables away, pretending to scroll through my phone. She glances at me once, then looks away. Doesn't register the threat. Stupid little idol. They think they're untouchable because they have fans.
I watch her sip her drink. Her lips are glossy. I imagine wrapping my hand around her throat, watching those lips part for air. Soon enough.
She finishes her drink, stands, and heads toward the restrooms. This is my chance. The hallway to the women's restroom is narrow, with a cleaning closet at the end. I follow, casual, until she pushes the door open. Then I wait.
She comes out five minutes later, wiping her hands on her shorts. I step into her path. She looks up, startled.
"Excuse me," she says, voice polite, trying to move around me.
I don't move. "You're Jiyu, right? From that group?"
Her eyes widen. "Um, yes? Do you want an autograph or—"
"I want a lot more than that."
I grab her wrist. She gasps, drops her phone. Before she can scream, I shove her into the cleaning closet, slam the door shut behind us. It's dark, cramped, smells of bleach and mop water. She's pressed against the wall, trembling.
"Please—please don't—"
I cover her mouth with my hand. "Shut the fuck up. You scream, I break your neck. Understand?"
Tears well in her eyes. She nods slowly.
I don't waste time. My hand slides down from her mouth to her throat, squeezing just enough to make her gasp. My other hand grabs her tit through that striped top. She's small, but there's enough there for me to grip. I squeeze hard, kneading the soft flesh.
She whimpers. Her hands push at my chest weakly.
"Don't," she whispers. "Please, I'll do anything—"
"You'll do anything I want," I correct her. "Now shut up."
I push her top up, exposing her bra. It's pale pink, lacy. I rip it down, and her nipples pop out, small and dark. I pinch one between my thumb and forefinger, twist hard. She cries out, but I clamp my hand over her mouth again, muffling the sound.
"That hurt?" I sneer. "Good."
I keep twisting, pulling, rolling her nipple between my fingers until it's swollen and red. She's shaking, tears streaming down her cheeks. I slap her tit, watching it jiggle. Then the other one. Her whimpers are music.
I drop to my knees, bite her nipple through the fabric of her bra. She jerks, tries to push my head away. I grab her wrists, pin them above her head with one hand, and bite harder, drawing a small gasp.
"Such sensitive little nipples for a slutty idol," I mutter, licking them both before pulling her bra back up. I'll play with them more later.
I stand, grab her jaw, force her head back. Her lips are trembling. I smash my mouth against hers, hard and bruising. She tries to keep her mouth closed, but I pinch her nose. She has to breathe, opens up, and I shove my tongue in. She tastes like that iced drink, sweet and fruity. I force my tongue deep, exploring her mouth, biting her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. She moans in pain.
I pull back, then shove two fingers into her mouth. She gags. "Suck," I order. She hesitates. I press my fingers deeper, hitting the back of her throat. She gags again, but starts sucking, her tongue moving awkwardly around my digits.
"That's it," I growl. "Get used to having something in that throat."
I pump my fingers in and out of her mouth, drool spilling down her chin. She's choking, eyes watering, but she doesn't dare stop. I keep going until I'm satisfied, then pull my fingers out, slimy with her spit. I wipe them on her hair.
"Now, time for a nap," I say.
I wrap both hands around her throat, thumbs pressing into her windpipe. She grabs my wrists, nails digging in, trying to pry me off. I squeeze harder. Her eyes bulge, her face turning red, then purple. She kicks, thrashes, but I'm too strong. I watch her struggle, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"Shhh," I whisper. "Just relax."
Her movements get weaker, slower. Her eyes roll back. Her body goes limp. I hold for another ten seconds to make sure, then release her. She collapses against me, unconscious.
I catch her, hoist her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She's light, maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. Easy.
I radio my contact in the parking garage. "Got the package. Bring the van to the west exit."
Forty minutes later, we're in a soundproofed room I rented under a fake name. Concrete walls, a single mattress on the floor, chains bolted to the walls. I lay Jiyu on the mattress, still out cold. I take my time undressing her, peeling off that striped top, those tight shorts. Her body is perfect—smooth skin, small but perky tits, a neatly trimmed patch of hair between her thighs. I spread her legs, look at her pussy. Tight little hole. I finger it, feeling the warmth.
She stirs as I touch her clit. Her eyes flutter open, confused, then fill with terror as she realizes where she is, what's happening.
"Please—no—no, please—"
I slap her across the face, hard. Her head snaps to the side. "I told you to shut up."
I pull out the handcuffs, click them around her wrists, then chain them to a ring on the wall above her head. She's spread-eagle now, arms stretched up, legs I cuff to rings on the floor. Completely vulnerable.
She's crying openly, snot and tears mixing. "Why are you doing this? I didn't do anything—"
I crouch beside her, grab her chin. "Don't need a reason, bitch. Now I'm going to use that tight little body of yours for what it's meant for."
I start with slapping. Hard open-handed blows to her face, her tits, her thighs. Each slap leaves a red mark. She screams, begging between hits. I love the sound. I slap her pussy, making her jolt. Her clit is swollen and sensitive. I pinch it, rub it roughly, not to please her but to hurt.
I lean down, bite her nipple again, this time drawing blood. She howls. I suck the blood off, tasting copper. "Sweet."
I move down, spread her ass cheeks. Her asshole is tight, pink, untouched. I spit on it, rub it in with my thumb, pressing just enough to make her squirm.
"You're going to take my cock here," I tell her, pointing at her ass. "And you're going to take it like a good little whore."
"No—no—not there—"
I ignore her. I stand, unbuckle my belt, drop my jeans. My cock springs out, thick, dark, already hard. Nine inches, girthy. She sees it, her eyes widening in horror.
"You can't—it won't fit—"
"It'll fit. I'll make it fit."
I line myself up at her asshole, no lube but my own spit. She's screaming, thrashing against the chains. I slap her ass hard, leaving a handprint. "Hold still."
I push. The head breaches her tight ring. She screams, a raw, guttural sound. I push deeper, inch by inch, feeling her asshole stretch around my cock. She's sobbing, begging me to stop. I don't.
I bottom out, my balls slapping against her pussy. I pause, letting her adjust, but only for a moment. Then I start fucking her ass, slow and deep at first, then faster, harder. Each thrust pulls a scream from her throat.
"Fuck, you're tight," I groan. "Best ass I've had in months."
I grab her hips, slam into her, watching my cock disappear into her asshole. The sight is intoxicating. I reach around, grab her throat from behind, squeeze as I fuck her. She's choking, trying to breathe, but I don't let up.
I keep going until I feel the pressure build. I pull out, stroke myself, and shoot a massive load all over her ass, some dripping into her crack, some onto the mattress. She's crying, shaking.
"That's round one," I say.
I flip her onto her back, pull her legs up to her chest, pressing my full weight onto her. My chest crushes hers, my hips align with her pussy. I'm still hard.
"You're going to take it in the front now," I say, and without warning, I slam my cock into her cunt. She's dry, tight, and she screams as I force my way in. There's a slight resistance, then a pop as I breach her hymen.
Her eyes go wide. "You—you took my—"
"Your virginity? Yeah, I know. Lucky me."
I start pounding into her in the mating press, my weight pinning her down, my balls slapping against her ass with each thrust. She can't move, can't escape. Her breasts bounce with every impact. I lean down, bite her neck hard enough to leave a mark.
I fuck her like this for what feels like hours—deep, punishing thrusts that have her crying and moaning in pain. Her pussy starts to lubricate from the abuse, making it easier for me to slide in and out.
I feel the build again, but I don't want to cum yet. I pull out, flip her over onto her stomach, and enter her ass again. The pile driver.
I get her into the pile driver position—her ass up, her face down, head on the mattress. I stand over her, guide my cock into her ass from above, gravity helping me drive deep. She's just a hole for me to use. I hold her hips, fuck her hard from that angle, watching my cock slide in and out of her ravaged asshole.
After a dozen strokes, I switch to prone bone—laying on top of her, my weight pressing her into the mattress. I wrap an arm around her throat, pull her head back, and fuck her ass from behind, whispering in her ear.
"You're nothing but my little cum dump now. You understand?"
She's too broken to respond. Just gasps and moans.
I keep fucking her, and when I'm close, I stay inside her ass, letting my cum pump deep into her guts. I feel her body convulse as I fill her up. Then I pull out, watch a stream of my cum leak from her asshole.
I unlock the cuffs from the floor but keep her hands bound. I pull her to her feet, but her legs are weak, shaking. I grab her by the hair, spin her to face the wall. Bend her over.
"Hands on the wall. Don't move."
I kick her legs apart. Her ass is still dripping my cum. I line up again, this time at her pussy from behind, and shove in. She screams.
I fuck her standing, my hands gripping her hips, pulling her back onto my cock. Her tits bounce. I reach around, pinch her nipples, twist them. She cries.
"No more—please—I can't—"
"You can, and you will."
I keep going, then pick her up by her thighs, wrapping her legs around my waist. Carry sex. I'm strong enough to hold her easily. She has to wrap her arms around my neck or fall. Her bound hands cling to me.
I bounce her on my cock, fucking her in the air, her back hitting the wall. She's limp, barely conscious. I keep thrusting, my pace brutal. I'm close again.
"Cum with me," I growl, though I know she can't. I bite her shoulder, pump my load deep into her pussy this time, filling her cunt. She lets out a weak sob.
I drop her onto the mattress. She curls up, trembling.
I'm not done. I spread her out again, chain her arms and legs to the four corners. Spread eagle, fully exposed. Her body is covered in marks—handprints, bite marks, bruises. Her ass and pussy are leaking my cum. Her face is swollen from crying.
I take a photo with my phone. "For the collection."
Then I climb on top of her, position myself over her mouth. My cock is still coated in a mix of my cum and her juices. I tap it against her lips.
"Open up. You know what to do."
She hesitates. I slap her face. She opens her mouth, and I shove my cock in, deepthroating her until she gags. I hold her head, fuck her face, using her throat like a fleshlight. She's choking, tears streaming, but I don't care.
I feel the pressure building for the final time. I pull out just enough to shoot my load all over her face—her eyes, her nose, her lips covered in thick ropes of cum. She sputters, gasps.
"Swallow," I command.
She doesn't. So I scoop some off her cheek and shove it into her mouth, forcing her to swallow. She gags again but eventually takes it.
I sit back, admire my work. Her body is broken, used, covered in my marks and my cum. She's barely conscious, mumbling in Korean.
I gather my things, wipe down the cuffs, leave her there chained to the bed. She'll be found eventually. Or not. Doesn't matter to me.
I put my clothes back on, adjust my cock still half-hard. That was a good session. Best I've had in weeks.
"Thanks for the fun, idol," I say as I walk out the door, leaving her alone in the dark.
Pre-story notes: As I have said in a previous post, I just finished playing/watching The Thaumaturge, AND I STILL DIDN'T LIKE THE WAY IT ENDED! UGHHH!
Anyways, here's a small piece I made after finishing all of that! A small inspiration from the game itself. Enjoy!
Wattpad link here
AFF link here
Another day, another restless night gone by as you wake up from your slumber. Your hands tremble as you rub your face, the lingering scent of burnt sage sticking to your skin. The ritual circle from last night’s failed attempt still stains the wooden floor, blackened and cracked like a wound.
NingNing wasn’t just any demon—she was the kind that didn’t claw her way into your nightmares but slithered into your waking thoughts. People called her the Siren of Melancholy, though she never sang. She didn’t need to.
Her presence alone was a slow, creeping weight, pressing down until the chest caved in. Lost souls found her in their darkest moments, mistaking her cold embrace for comfort, her whispers for reason. They followed her into the dark, believing—hoping—she would make the pain stop. She never did.
You finally faced her the night before, but the sheer power and ferocity that she unleashed was unlike anything you'd ever encountered. NingNing's form shifted between shadow and smoke, her laughter—if you could call it that—a hollow, echoing sound that scraped against your bones.
Your spells barely grazed her, and when you tried to bind her, the chains dissolved like sugar in water. Exhausted, you collapsed in the circle, watching as she melted back into the darkness, leaving only the faint scent of damp earth and something bittersweet behind.
You thought, desperate times only meant desperate measures, and it meant another trip to the notorious and mysterious mystic, Pastor Feelip.
He was all sorts of wrong, wrapped in silk robes and piety—that’s what they whispered about the said Pastor. Women left his chamber with their eyes glazed, lips slightly parted, murmuring praises to some unnamed god while their fingers absently traced the fresh marks along their thighs.
The temple elders pretended not to notice, but the market stalls buzzed with the kind of stories that made old women clutch their beads tighter: how he’d coaxed the widow Katarina to her knees with scripture, how the merchant’s daughter had returned from confession with her hair undone and her wrists bound in red twine.
Yet despite all the murmurs, the man was the only one with the guidance to tame such a beast like NingNing.
And with that, you made your way out towards his chapel of sorts, a run-down barely functioning hut that stood on its last legs with vines wrapped all around it. The air outside was thick with incense and something muskier, clinging to the back of your throat like a promise you weren’t sure you wanted kept.
Inside, Pastor Feelip lounged on a threadbare divan, his fingers tracing lazy circles in the air as smoke curled from a pipe clenched between his teeth. His eyes—dark, amused—locked onto yours the moment you stepped inside.
"Ah," he murmured, voice like gravel wrapped in silk.
"I see you have returned, Shaman. Your eyes tell me you've been through something rough..." He exhaled a slow stream of smoke, the scent of something vaguely narcotic clinging to the air. His robe slid open just enough to reveal the edge of a jagged scar—a mark you recognized.
"What is it this time, Shaman? What kind of beast eludes your bonds?" He leaned forward, the pipe dangling between his fingers as his gaze pinned you like a moth to corkboard.
"Have you heard of NingNing, Pastor? The demon of sorrows? The one who claims the living through their most fragile moments?" you ask, watching his expression.
He paused, something you said clearly took the man aback. But his eyes told some level of recognition upon the creature.
"I have never of a NingNing before. But the sheer mention of the one who claims the living in their highest torment reminds of someone close to home. Yizhuo is what we call her. A woman in utter despair, who fed on the sorrows of the living." His voice dropped to a whisper, fingers tightening around the pipe.
"Take me to her. Guide me in the nether realm." He stated, knowing full well what he meant and how he was going to do it.
And with little doubt, you get on your knees to pray. The man slowly makes his way to your front and gently places his hand on your head.
"Close your eyes and heed my voice..." He whispered, his other hand gesturing the sign of the cross before gently pushing your forehead downwards—eyes shut.
The prayer he began was unlike anything you'd heard before—half whispered hymn, half choked moan—and as the syllables dripped from his lips, the air turned thick like molasses. The scent of damp earth and that bittersweet musk from NingNing’s presence flooded your senses, mingling with the spice of Pastor Feelip’s sweat.
And when you opened your eyes, you were there once more, that same black sky and red mystic plain you and NingNing dueled in your failed attempt in taming the beast.
You see her once again, face-to-face, as if she was ready for battle once more. Her face, her soothing yet false comfort—her face—the image of sorrow.
"Such sadness..." The pastor suddenly spoke, standing beside you as you both examined the feminine humanoid in despair.
Her arms, her seemingly harmless yet destructive arms reached out in search of comfort, in solace of pain—her false love that lingered deep inside your own sorrows.
"Fighting her is useless," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear.
"Can you not see the torment she's in? Can you not feel the hunger in her touch?" His voice was low, urgent, his fingers pressing into your shoulder as NingNing's fingers brushed the air just inches from your face.
"She doesn't want to fight you. She wants you to *understand*." The Pastor's hand slid down your arm, his grip tightening as NingNing's hollow eyes locked onto yours.
Her fingers trembled—not with malice, but with something worse: longing. The kind that gnawed at the edges of sanity, the kind that made widows weep into empty beds. The pastor exhaled sharply, his lips grazing your ear.
"Give in... Make her feel the comfort she craves," The Pastor urged, his voice fraying at the edges.
Her fingers hovered just above your collarbone now, her touch like winter air—cold, but not biting. Her lips parted, releasing a sigh that carried the scent of funeral lilies and the iron tang of old blood. You shuddered, but the Pastor's grip held you steady.
"She's starved," he whispered. "Feed her."
And that was when your lips combined. You kiss the demon's mouth, expecting her to taste like bile, vermin, blood, anything you could think of that was close to the devil. But to your surprise, NingNing's lips tasted like honey and cinnamon—like the sweetest tea your mother once brewed as a sick child.
The scent of funeral lilies clung to her skin, but underneath it, you caught something warm, almost alive. Her breath hitched against yours, her fingers curling into the fabric of your robes like she was afraid you'd vanish.
Your hands start to touch the creature's physique, expecting nothing but air in her spiritual form. Yet NingNing's body responds to your touch—soft, yielding flesh beneath her ghostly silhouette, like silk draped over feverish skin. The pastor's voice fades into the red-hued void, his presence dissolving into the background as NingNing presses closer, her hips rolling against yours with a rhythm that isn't quite human. Her sighs morph into low, shuddering moans, each one laced with the weight of centuries of loneliness.
You find yourself slowly clinging on to her, her ass, in whatever shape or form, filling your hands as you squeezed and kneaded her flesh—her sorrowful moans echoing through the void. Each press of her body against yours sent tremors through you, not of fear, but of something darker—desire laced with the ache of shared despair.
Her nails raked down your back, not to wound, but to anchor herself as she arched into you, her breath coming in ragged gasps against your lips. The scent of funeral lilies grew thicker, mingling with the salt of sweat and the musk of something primal.
"Oh god... Oh-Ohhh..."
You cowered in fear when she detaches her lips, her mouth slightly open to reveal the sharp canines of her teeth, the kind that resembled serpents where her long and elongated tongue slithered out and licked her own lips—her drool thick and dripping, coating her chin in a glistening sheen.
You watch her slowly get down, sinking herself down into the realm of getting down to her knees. Her reptilian-like eyes stay glued against yours as she discarded your pants down in one go, your flaccid yet semi-erect cock springing out and slapping against your abdomen—NingNing’s lips curling into something between a smirk and a snarl. Her tongue—longer than any human’s, slick with saliva—slithered out, the tip flicking against your tip before dragging slowly down the length of you, leaving a cold, wet trail in its wake. You shuddered, not just from the sensation, but from the way her hollow eyes burned into yours, like she was memorizing every twitch of your expression.
"Ahh!!!"
And that's when she swallowed you whole. Her mouth—unnaturally wide—engulfed your length in one swift motion, her throat fluttering around you like a living, pulsing vice. The heat was unbearable as if it was hell itself, her tongue coiling around you in sinuous waves as she hummed, the vibration traveling straight to your core. Her drool dripped thick and hot down your thighs, mingling with the sweat already gathering there.
Your fingers tangled in her hair—or what passed for it—gripping tight as she bobbed her head with a rhythm that was close violent. Her hollow eyes never left yours, pupils dilated wide, black pools reflecting your own unraveling. Feelip’s voice echoed faintly in the distance, murmuring something about surrender, but his words dissolved into static as NingNing’s fangs grazed your skin.
She pulled back just enough to let you see the slick mess she’d made of you, her tongue lapping at the underside of your dick like she was savoring your taste.
Then before you could utter a breath, she sank down again, deeper this time, her throat constricting in waves that made your eyes blur. A moan, if you could even call it that, tore from her lips—half sob, half growl—vibrating through your body.
The way her maw wrapped around your cock felt like she was sucking the life out of you—not just your pleasure, but the very essence of your sorrows. Her throat pulsed rhythmically, each swallow dragging you deeper into a wet, shuddering oblivion. Her claws dug into your thighs, not to restrain, but to pull you closer, urging you to fuck her face with abandon.
And so you do, gripping whatever material she had on her hair, your fingers digging into her scalp as you began thrusting into her throat—hard, unforgiving, the kind of brutal rhythm that made your knees shake. The demoness gagged, her throat convulsing, yet she didn’t pull away; her hollow eyes watered, yet she kept them locked onto yours, like she wanted to drown in this as much as you did.
Her drool spilled past her lips, dripping in thick strands onto the red plain beneath you. Each snap of your hips punched a wet, choked sound from her, the vibrations of her moans traveling up your cock like live wires.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!"
You start to feel that heavy tingling sensation, that sign that you were about to combust—but NingNing knew. Of course she did! Just as your hips stuttered, her fingers dug into the meat of your thighs, her throat clamping down like a vice as she swallowed you whole, her tongue writhing beneath your shaft in ways no human could.
The orgasm ripped through you like a blade, your vision whiting out as she drank you down in greed, choking gulps, her hollow eyes rolling back in something close to ecstasy. She stuck her mouth into you like she wanted to take every litre and every drop of your essence into her, like your soul was wine for her to sip.
When she finally pulled back, her lips were slick with spit and seed, her tongue flicking out to catch the last stray drops.
You thought that was it. That should've been it! You were spent from that one orgasm alone, the biggest you thought came out of your dick. But when she traced patterns on your groin, her voice uttered words in a language you did not understand as she casted a spell on you.
And before you knew it, your crotch burst into life, albeit painfully. Your spent cock comes back to life slowly… You felt the sheer liquid re-filling your dick like it was a balloon, veins throbbing as NingNing licked her lips in anticipation. You gasped at the sensation—not pleasure, but raw, overwhelming pressure—as she dragged her clawed fingertips down your stomach.
And in an instant, she vanished into thin air, the black empty void leaving you confused—but not for long.
You turned around only to find her laying on a *bed* of sorts, clouds of red mists surrounding the object as she laid her legs wide open—her *pussy* dripping wet, juices coating her thighs in thick rivulets. Her fingers traced lazy circles around her clit, her hollow eyes never leaving yours as she beckoned you forward with a curl of her elongated tongue.
Her arm reached out in a plea, seeking her solace, seeking her comfort, seeking for you... Her lips parted, not in a snarl this time, but in a silent gasp as she arched her back, presenting herself to you—not as a demon to conquer, but as a creature starving for connection.
And that is when you loom over her and slide yourself inside her—albeit reluctantly—the creature's inner walls enveloping you in a tight, pulsing grip. Her insides felt unnaturally warm, slick with something thicker than human arousal, clinging to your cock like she's trying to fuse you into her.
She arches beneath you, her breath stuttering into a series of choked moans, her fingers raking across your back in desperate, uneven strokes. Every thrust drags a broken sound from her—not pleasure, not pain, but something raw and ancient.
"Is this what you want? Is this what you desire?" You whisper as your hands trace the contours of NingNing's waist, fingertips skimming the dip of her hips with a tenderness that belies the heat of the moment.
Her skin, though spectral, yields beneath your touch like silk over warm water, and she shudders—not in fear, but in quiet astonishment. The demon of sorrows arches into your palms as if starved for gentleness, her breath hitching when your thumbs brush the underside of her breasts, slow and deliberate. For a creature forged from despair, her whimper is startlingly human.
She does not respond with words, just nods and ghastly moans that fill the void like hymns. Her fingers intertwine with yours, pressing your palms against the dip of her waist as if anchoring herself to this moment—to you.
Her thighs tremble around your hips, not with the cold bite of the nether realm, but with the feverish heat of something alive, something desperate. Each shallow thrust draws a whimper from her lips, her head tipping back to expose the delicate column of her throat, where shadows pulse beneath her skin like a second heartbeat.
You up the pace and angle your hips just right, watching her eyes widen as you hit a spot deep inside her that makes her spine bow off the bed. Her moans turn ragged, nails scoring crescents into your shoulders, but it's the way her body clenches around you—like she's trying to pull you deeper than flesh should allow—that undoes you.
"Take it! Take it!" You tell her as you fuck her like it was the last act.
You feel her tighten around you, her inner ethereal walls fluttering as if trying to milk every last drop from you. Her breath comes in ragged gasps, her lips parted in silent screams as her hips buck against yours with desperate urgency.
The air thickens with the scent of her arousal—like wilted roses dipped in honey—and the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the void. Her claws dig into your back, drawing beads of blood that she licks away with a shudder, savoring the taste of your desperation mingling with hers.
Her moans crescendo into a wail as her body seizes, her cunt pulsing like a living thing, sucking you deeper as if to fuse your bones with hers. You feel her climax ripple through her in waves, her thighs trembling against your hips, her tears hot against your chest.
But she doesn’t stop—she *can’t*. Her hips roll with a frenzied need, her hands clawing at your back, urging you to chase your own release inside her. Her voice cracks as she whispers words in a tongue older than time, syllables that slither under your skin and coil around your spine, pulling you inexorably toward the edge.
And when you finally burst inside her—deeper than you thought possible—she locks her legs around your waist, holding you there as if afraid you'll vanish the moment you pull out. Her fingers rake down your back, her breath hitching as she feels you twitch inside her, spilling everything you have left. She clenches around you hard, milking every last drop, her hollow eyes wide with something almost like wonder—as if she’d forgotten what it felt like to be full.
"Now! Claim her now!"
And that was when the pastor's voice called out to you! You take out your book of demons and claim the demoness into her new prison—her cries fading into silence as the pages glow with her name etched in black ink. The scent of funeral lilies lingers, but her warmth is gone—trapped now in parchment and ink. Your hands shake as you clutch the book, the weight of it heavier than before, as if NingNing's sorrows have seeped into the very fibers.
You close your eyes, the sharp pain in your head claiming your consciousness—but not before you hear NingNing's final whisper, a sound like rustling pages and distant rain.
The world tilts, your knees buckling as the weight of exhaustion and the remnants of her touch drag you down into the dark. The last thing you feel is the cold press of the book against your chest, its pulse slow and steady, like a heartbeat not your own.
*Epilogue
"You took your time, Shaman..."
The first thing you hear upon waking up was the sound of Pastor Feelip's voice—hoarse and raspy as he smoked his pipe—his words curling into the air like incense smoke. Your throat was dry, your clothes damp with sweat that had long since turned cold against your skin.
The smell of funeral lilies lingered faintly on your fingertips, but the bed beneath you was unmistakably real—rough cotton sheets, the scratch of straw stuffing poking through the mattress. You blinked up at the peeling plaster ceiling, your muscles aching as if you'd fought a battle in your sleep.
"You got her, Shaman. Her name is right here, draped in cold blood..." The man pointed out, opening a page in your book where NingNing's name pulsed like a fresh wound.
The ink was still wet, glistening black and viscous—smelling faintly of damp earth and bitter honey. You reached out to touch it, recoiling when the letters twitched under your fingertip, as if something beneath the page stirred. Feelip chuckled, low and knowing, tapping the pipe against his teeth.
"She's yours now—but be careful. Even trapped, she's hungry." He added.
"I will, Pastor. Thank you once more." You couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt—or was it pity?—as you traced NingNing's name in the book, feeling the faintest pulse beneath the ink, like a moth trapped behind glass.
The weight of her sorrow lingered in your fingertips, sticky as resin. You closed the tome with a snap that echoed too loudly in the cramped hut, the sound final.
"Anytime, Shaman. I'm always at your service. May God be with you…”
Word Count: 11.4k
Genre: Poly, Romance, Fluff with Smut
The first hour of the drive was quiet. Not peaceful quiet. Company-mandated quiet.
There was a difference.
Jihyo had said assigned silence until the first checkpoint, and somehow, by sheer force of Park Jihyo existing, everyone had obeyed.
Mostly.
Ryujin had obeyed in spirit, which meant she had not spoken but had communicated several criminal thoughts through facial expressions alone.
Yuna had lasted eleven minutes before silently writing activity notes in her vacation notebook with the intensity of a woman planning a government program.
Lia had watched her do it, sighed once, and taken the pen away twice.
Chaeryeong had spent most of the drive making sure the snack bags were evenly distributed, which became less about logistics and more about survival once Momo’s van pulled beside ours at the first stop and Momo looked through the tinted window with terrifying food awareness.
Yeji sat beside me. Her hand had found mine ten minutes after we left the parking level. No one commented. That was how I knew they were tired. Or plotting. Possibly both… definitely both.
By the second hour, the silence order had dissolved into low conversation.
By the third, Ryujin had fallen asleep with sunglasses still on, which somehow made her look more suspicious.
By the fourth, Yuna had renamed the retreat six times.
By the fifth, Lia had threatened to throw the notebook out of the window if the phrase “Hostile Wellness” appeared one more time.
“It’s not a title anymore,” Yuna protested from the back.
“It is on the page.”
“It’s a concept.”
“It’s a felony with spa access,” Lia said.
Ryujin, without opening her eyes, raised one hand “I vote felony with spa access.”
“No one asked you,” Yeji said.
“I live here emotionally.”
“You live everywhere emotionally,” Chaeryeong murmured.
Ryujin opened one eye “That was sharp.”
Chaeryeong immediately looked down “Sorry.”
“No, keep going. I like vacation Chaeryeong.”
Chaeryeong hid behind a snack bag. I looked toward Yeji. She was trying not to smile. I noticed. Of course I noticed. She noticed me noticing “Don’t,” she said.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to say you look happy.”
Her expression softened before she could stop it. Then she looked out the window “I am.”
That stayed with me longer than it should have.
Outside, the city had thinned into long roads, guarded turns, and stretches of coast that looked too clean to be casual. Eventually, the vans turned away from the public highway and onto a private access road lined with tall trees and security posts so discreet they looked decorative until you noticed the cameras. Yuna leaned forward “Are we arriving or being abducted luxuriously?”
“Both can be true,” Ryujin said.
Lia looked out the window “This is… really private.”
Chaeryeong shifted closer to the glass “There are no other cars.”
“Good,” I said.
Yeji looked at me “That sounded expensive.”
“Privacy usually does.”
“That did not make me feel better.”
“It was not meant to.”
The first gate opened before our vans fully stopped. Then the second. Then a third, hidden behind a curve of palm trees and stone walls. By the time the resort finally appeared, even Ryujin sat up properly. The place did not look like a hotel. It looked like someone had taken a private beach, erased the rest of the world from around it, and built a quiet kingdom along the water.
White villas sat apart from each other along the coastline, spaced far enough that no balcony looked directly into another. A private road curved through landscaped gardens toward a central pavilion of glass, wood, and stone. Beyond it, the beach stretched out in pale sand and blue water, empty except for staff preparing shaded lounges beneath the trees.
No crowds, visible guests, camera flashes, distant fans, or noise— except the ocean.
For a moment, no one spoke. Then Ryujin whispered “Okay. This is rich-rich”. Yuna pressed both hands to the window “This is not a retreat. This is where villains recover after losing the first movie”. Chaeryeong’s mouth opened slightly “Is this all for us?”
“For two weeks,” I said. The van went quiet. Yeji turned toward me slowly “Ben”. I looked out the window “Yes?”
“How expensive is this?”
“That depends on how you define expensive.”
Lia closed her eyes “Bad answer.”
Yuna pointed at me “That is a tax bracket answer.”
The van stopped near the private reception pavilion. The doors opened. Warm air, salt wind, and sunlight spilled in. TWICE’s van had arrived just ahead of us, and they stepped out one by one into the brightness.
Nayeon took off her sunglasses and stared.
Sana clasped both hands in front of her chest.
Dahyun looked around like she was searching for the hidden production crew.
Jeongyeon crossed her arms, suspicious.
Momo looked toward the dining pavilion first.
Tzuyu looked at the beach quietly.
Chaeyoung smiled to herself.
Jihyo stepped out last, already assessing the entire venue like a leader who did not believe in relaxing until the building had earned her trust.
Mina stood beside her, calm as ever.
That was unfair because this was partly her fault. John got out of the van looking like a man who had survived a long drive only to be financially attacked by architecture. He looked at the resort. Then at me. Then at Mina “No.”
I frowned “What now?”
“This is not a wellness retreat.”
Mina looked at him “It has wellness facilities.”
“This is a private country with towels.”
Nayeon walked closer, eyes still moving across the resort “So… nobody else is here?” A staff member approached at a respectful distance but did not stare. That helped. A little.
Sana’s smile softened, but her eyes stayed careful “No guests?”
“No public bookings,” Mina said.
The group turned toward her. Mina adjusted the strap of her bag “This resort does not operate through normal channels. There are no public listings, no standard reservations, no casual walk-ins, no press access, and no guest overlap unless approved in advance.”
Dahyun lowered the invisible microphone she had almost raised “That sounds illegal.”
“It is not,” Mina said.
I added, “It is just expensive.”
John looked at me “That is not a defense.”
“It is often the explanation.”
Jeongyeon looked toward the beach “And staff?”
“Vetted,” I said. “Rotations locked. Phones restricted on working areas. Social posting prohibited by contract. Security handles perimeter access. Internal routes are separated.”
Jihyo’s eyes narrowed “That was too detailed.”
“Privacy requires detail.”
Yeji stepped closer to me. Her voice dropped just enough “Ben.”
I looked at her “What?”
“Invoice.”
I immediately looked away “No.”
Jihyo turned toward Mina “Invoice.”
Mina looked at Jihyo, then at me. Then calmly opened her phone “Mina,” I said. She ignored me. John exhaled “I knew it.” Yeji held out her hand “Show me.”
“It is already paid,” I said.
“That is not what I asked.”
“Technically, Mina paid half.”
Mina nodded “Split evenly.”
Jihyo took the phone first. She looked at the screen. Her face did not move. That was worse than screaming. Nayeon leaned over her shoulder. Then froze. Sana looked. Her smile dropped. Dahyun looked. Her imaginary microphone slowly lowered to her side. John saw the number and made a sound like someone had unplugged him from life support. Yeji took the phone last. She stared. Then stared longer. Then looked at me “Benjie.”
I stood straighter “Yes?”
“This is the price of every seat in an arena concert.”
Ryujin’s mouth dropped open.
Yuna turned toward the resort “We are sleeping inside a sold-out concert?”
Chaeryeong whispered, “For two weeks?”
Momo looked concerned “Is food included?”
Everyone turned toward her. She blinked “What?”
I nodded “Yes. Food is included.”
Chaeryeong visibly relaxed.
Mina added, “Food, staff, security, medical standby, private venue access, route control, and emergency contingencies.”
Jihyo handed the phone back to Mina slowly “Emergency contingencies?”
“Standard,” Mina said.
John pointed at her “For who?”
“For people like us,” Mina said.
He stared “That did not help.”
Yeji looked at me “There are staff bonuses on here.”
“Yes.”
“Why are there staff bonuses?”
“So they remain happy.”
Jihyo closed her eyes “You bribed the resort staff into emotional loyalty.”
“I prefer incentivized discretion.”
“That is bribery with better lighting,” John said.
Mina looked at him “It improves retention.”
John looked physically pained “Why do both of you have the same money disease?”
I frowned “It is not a disease.”
Yeji looked at me I corrected myself “It is a condition.”
“That is worse,” Lia said.
Yuna looked around the resort again, this time with a different kind of awe “So we can really… relax?”
The question softened the air. Because beneath the jokes, there it was. The thing none of them wanted to ask too loudly. Can we stop watching ourselves? Can we stop checking the corners? Can we laugh too loud? Can we walk outside without calculating exits? Can we exist without being consumed?
The ocean moved quietly beyond the pavilion. I looked at Yuna first. Then at Lia. Chaeryeong. Ryujin. Yeji. Then at TWICE “Yes,” I said. “That is the point.” Mina’s voice came softer beside me “For two weeks, this place is yours. Not publicly. Not symbolically. Functionally.” Jihyo looked at her. Mina continued “No press. No guests. No overlap. No staff access beyond assigned areas. If anyone tries to breach the perimeter, security sees them before they see you.” That helped more than the luxury did.
I saw it happen. Not all at once. Not completely. But enough. Nayeon’s shoulders dropped. Sana looked toward the beach like she was letting herself believe in it. Dahyun tucked her phone deeper into her bag without being told. Jeongyeon exhaled. Tzuyu smiled faintly. Ryujin pulled off her sunglasses. Yuna lowered her notebook. Lia looked at the water and said nothing. Chaeryeong held the snack bag a little tighter, but her face softened. Yeji stood beside me. Like the room inside her had finally opened a window.
A resort manager approached and bowed “Welcome. Your villas are ready.” John muttered, “Of course there are villas.”
“There are multiple groups,” Mina said.
“I understand the concept. I’m reacting to the price.”
The staff led us down a private stone path toward the villa cluster. The resort opened wider as we walked. Private pool. Beach access. Outdoor dining pavilion. Spa building. Training room. Cinema lounge. Garden paths. A kitchen large enough that Chaeryeong made a small noise under her breath. Momo heard it. Momo looked at the kitchen. Then at Chaeryeong. Something like alliance passed between them.
Jihyo noticed and immediately looked concerned “Do we need kitchen rules?”
“Yes,” John said.
Momo blinked and Chaeryeong looked down “Maybe.”
The room assignments became a separate diplomatic event.
Jihyo wanted structure. Nayeon wanted chaos. Sana wanted “organic bonding.” John said the word organic had become dangerous. Mina provided a villa map. Yuna immediately tried to improve it with activity zones. Lia took the pen away again. Eventually, the arrangement settled into something survivable. TWICE had one large villa wing closest to the garden path. ITZY had the connected wing facing the beach. John had a separate manager’s suite near the central office, which he claimed was for operational oversight.
Nayeon called it cowardice. Jihyo called it practical. Mina had a quiet villa near the end of the path with the best view and enough distance to make John suspicious. I had a room in ITZY’s wing. That alone should not have been a problem. Naturally, it became one. Ryujin looked at the room list. Then at Yeji and then at me. Slowly. “You two are sharing?” Yeji’s face changed by one degree. Leader mode tried to save her. It failed “For logistics,” she said.
Yuna leaned in “Logistics.” Lia closed her eyes “Do not.” Chaeryeong looked down, already smiling. Nayeon appeared behind Ryujin with terrifying timing “Honeymoon logistics?”
Yeji turned pink “No.” Sana appeared beside Nayeon “Wife privileges?”
“No.”
Dahyun lifted one finger “Room assignment confirms ongoing title dispute.” Jihyo pointed at her “No reporting.” Dahyun lowered her hand. I took the key card from the staff member.
“There are enough rooms for everyone to be comfortable. Yeji and I can switch if needed.” Yeji looked at me. The room went quiet. She took the key card from my hand “No.” Everyone froze. Yeji held the card, face warm but voice steady “It’s fine.” Nayeon smiled. Ryujin’s eyebrows rose. Yuna covered her mouth. Lia looked away to hide a smile. I looked at Yeji. She did not look back immediately. That was how I knew she knew exactly what she had done.
Jihyo, mercifully, clapped once. “Unpack first. Meeting in the dining pavilion in one hour. No wandering alone until security finishes the final perimeter confirmation.” Ryujin raised her hand “What if wandering is emotionally necessary?”
“Then wander with witnesses.”
Yuna raised her notebook “What if I need to inspect activity zones?”
“Later.”
Momo raised a hand “Food?”
Chaeryeong lifted her bag “I can help check the kitchen.”
Jihyo looked between them, then sighed “Thirty minutes. Supervised.”
Momo smiled. Chaeryeong looked like she had been given a sacred mission. The group scattered in pieces. Laughter down one path. Bags rolling over stone. Staff moving quietly around us. The ocean following everything. For the first time, the noise did not feel trapped in a room. It had somewhere to go.
Yeji walked beside me toward our assigned villa. Neither of us spoke at first. The path curved past low greenery and opened toward a private terrace facing the water. Our room sat at the edge of the ITZY wing, close enough to everyone to be reachable, far enough to feel separate.
Yeji unlocked the door. The room opened into warm light. Wide bed. Soft curtains. Private balcony. Ocean view. A couch near the window. A bathroom too large to be reasonable. Fresh flowers on the table. Our luggage already placed neatly near the closet. And silence. Actual silence.
The door clicked shut behind us. For the first time since morning, there was no one else. No paperwork. No John suffering in the corner. No Ryujin listening through the walls. No Nayeon weaponizing the word ‘wife’ from ten feet away. Just the room. The ocean. Our bags by the door, and Yeji standing very still in front of me.
I looked around “Not bad,” I said. “Does my wife approve?” I meant it as a joke. Mostly. Yeji turned around slowly. The look on her face made every surviving thought in my head stop moving “Say that again.” I blinked “What?” Her eyes stayed on mine as she stepped closer. Close enough that I felt the shift in the air before I felt her hand against my shirt “You keep doing that,” she said softly “Doing what?”
“Calling me that”. My throat went dry “Jokingly.” Yeji’s mouth curved. Not quite a smile or a warning. Something worse. Something private “Do you know how hard it was for me not to pounce on you every time you called me your wife in front of everyone?”
The room went quiet. Or maybe I did. Because Yeji had stepped fully into my space now, one hand resting against my chest, close enough to feel the temporary ink beneath the fabric “And then you had the nerve,” she whispered, “to put my name here.”
I looked down at her hand. Then back at her “You chose the font.”
“I know.”
“You chose the hearts.”
Her fingers curled into my shirt “I know.”
“Yeji.”
Her eyes lifted to mine, steady and bright and dangerous “You kept making me blush in front of everyone,” she said. “So now you can deal with me without an audience”. I swallowed. “Is this leader mode?”
“No.” She stepped closer “This is me, making good use of wife privileges.”
The silence of the room didn't just feel like a lack of noise. It felt like a vacuum, pulling the air out of my lungs until the only thing left to breathe was the scent of Yeji—something like vanilla, salt, and a sudden, electric heat.
She didn't give me a chance to answer. She didn't give me a chance to joke. Yeji stepped forward, her movements devoid of the hesitation that usually governed her public persona. She didn't just enter my space; she annexed it. Her hand, which had been resting on my chest, suddenly tightened, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt with a strength that bordered on desperation.
"You think you're so clever," she whispered, her voice dropping an octave, vibrating against my skin. "All those little comments. All those looks. Do you have any idea what it does to me? To have to stand there, the leader of the group, pretending I'm not vibrating out of my skin because you're treating me like I belong to you?"
I opened my mouth to say something—probably a joke about how she seemed to be enjoying it—but the words died in my throat. Yeji’s eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide, swallowing the iris. There was a hunger there that I had only ever seen in flashes, hidden behind the professionalism and the poise. Now, it was a wildfire.
"I spent the whole drive thinking about this," she murmured, her breath hot against my lips. "Thinking about a place where I didn't have to be the one holding everything together. Where I could just... take."
Then she kissed me.
It wasn't a gentle invitation. It was a collision. Her lips slammed into mine with a ferocity that knocked me back a half-step, her tongue immediately forcing its way past my teeth to claim my mouth. She tasted like the mint she’d been chewing and a deep, visceral need. We exchanged saliva in a messy, desperate rhythm, the sound of our mouths meeting—a wet, slapping noise—filling the quiet room.
Yeji’s hands didn't stay still. While her mouth worked mine, her fingers flew to the buttons of my shirt. She didn't unbutton them so much as she ripped them, a couple of small plastic discs pinging off the wall as she tore the fabric open to get to my skin. I groaned into her mouth, my hands finding her waist, pulling her flush against me. She was relentless, her nipples peaking through her clothes, pressing into my chest.
"Clothes," she breathed, breaking the kiss for a split second, her voice a jagged edge. "Get them off. Now."
She didn't wait for me to comply. She pushed me backward, her kisses migrating to my jaw, then my neck, biting down on the sensitive cord of muscle there. I stumbled back, my heels catching on the edge of the luggage, but she used the momentum to keep me moving. We drifted across the room in a chaotic dance of limbs and friction. Yeji was a whirlwind, her hands diving into my waistband, shoving my trousers down with a frantic energy.
I managed to kick my shoes off, one of them hitting the nightstand with a thud, while she worked on my underwear. She didn't just slide them off; she peeled them away, her eyes never leaving mine for more than a second. When I was finally standing there, completely naked and shivering despite the warmth of the room, Yeji stepped back.
She didn't look away. She looked at me—really looked at me—from the line of my shoulders down to the heavy, pulsing length of my cock, which was already leaking a bead of pre-cum.
"Finally," she whispered.
With a sudden, forceful shove, she pushed me down onto the bed. I hit the mattress with a soft huff, the white linens cool against my back. Yeji stood over me, her silhouette framed by the golden light filtering through the curtains. Slowly, with a deliberate, erotic precision, she began to strip.
She reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it blindly toward the corner of the room. Her breasts were perfect, small and firm with aroused nipples. I reached up, my fingers itching to touch her, but she stepped back, a small, commanding smile playing on her lips.
"Wait," she commanded.
She slid her trousers down, the fabric whispering against her skin. She stepped out of them, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lace panties that left nothing to the imagination. The sight of her—the curve of her hips, the softness of her belly, the way her thighs trembled slightly—made my blood roar in my ears. She reached back, hooking her fingers into the lace and sliding the fabric down her legs.
She stood there for a heartbeat, completely nude, her skin glowing in the afternoon light. She looked like a goddess, but the expression on her face was entirely human. She looked hungry.
Before I could even reach for her, before I could utter a single word of praise, Yeji climbed onto the bed. She didn't crawl; she prowled. She moved over me, her knees flanking my hips, and then, with a sudden shift in weight, she pivoted.
She lowered herself directly onto my face.
The air left me in a rush as the wet, hot folds of her pussy pressed firmly against my mouth and nose. The scent hit me instantly—musk, arousal, and that singular, intoxicating Yeji-smell. I could feel the heat radiating from her, the slickness of her juices already soaking into my skin.
She gasped, her voice strained as she shifted her weight, sliding down my body until her face was positioned perfectly between my legs. "I've wanted this since the moment we left the city." The world narrowed down to the sensation of her. I pressed my tongue upward, finding her clit, swirling around the tiny, engorged bud of pleasure. Yeji let out a loud, guttural moan that vibrated through my entire skull. At the same time, her mouth closed around me.
She didn't just suck; she worshipped. Her tongue wrapped around the head of my cock, swirling in a tight, rhythmic circle before she slid her mouth down the shaft. The suction was intense, a vacuum of heat and saliva that made my toes curl. I could hear the wet, shlicking sounds of her tongue working against my skin, the squelch of saliva as she took as much of me as she could handle.
I responded by burying my face deeper into her. I used my tongue to part her lips, delving deep into the creaminess of her center. She tasted sweet and salty, a flood of arousal that coated my tongue. I flicked my tongue rapidly against her clit while sucking on the soft flesh of her inner thighs.
Yeji’s breathing became a series of erratic, high-pitched whimpers. She was shaking, her hands gripping my thighs so hard her nails dug into my skin. The rhythm intensified. Her mouth was a furnace, her tongue dancing over the frenulum, while I worked my way deeper into her, my tongue mimicking the thrusts she would eventually want.
"Ben... Ben, I'm... I'm close," she wailed, the sound muffled by my lap.
She shifted suddenly, pulling away from my cock and sliding back up. She didn't move off my face; instead, she sat directly on it, her weight pressing her pussy firmly against my mouth, sealing us together. She arched her back, her chest thrusting toward the ceiling, her head falling back as the first wave of orgasm hit her.
I could feel her muscles contracting against my lips, the rhythmic pulsing of her walls as she came. A flood of hot, thick juices drenched my face, the taste of her climax filling my mouth. Yeji screamed—a raw, unfiltered sound of release that echoed through the room.
The sight and feel of her coming on my face, the sheer vulnerability and power of it, snapped something inside me. The tension that had been building for months, the longing, the frustration—it all converged into a single point of explosion.
I bucked upward, my hips surging with a violent force. I came with a power that felt like a physical blow, my cum spraying upward in thick, hot jets. Because of the angle, the force sent the white fluid flying, splashing across Yeji’s stomach and chest, and spraying directly across her face.
She gasped, her eyes snapping open as the warm liquid hit her cheeks and forehead. We stayed like that for a moment, locked together, breathing in sync, the room smelling of sex and salt.
Yeji didn't move for a long time. Then, slowly, she shifted, sliding off my face and rolling onto her side. She looked at me, her eyes hazy and pupils still wide. She raised a hand, her thumb wiping a streak of my cum from her cheek.
She didn't wipe it away in disgust. She looked at the white fluid on her thumb, then slowly brought it to her lips and licked it clean, her eyes locked on mine with a predatory intensity.
"Stay still," she whispered.
She moved with a purpose now, her movements slower but more deliberate. She guided my cock, which was already beginning to stir again, toward the entrance of her pussy. She didn't just slide on; she teased the head against her folds, rubbing the slickness of her own juices and my cum across her lips.
"It's time for the wife to give her husband what he deserves," she murmured, her voice a low, sultry purr.
She lowered herself slowly, the friction causing a wet, squelching sound that echoed in the quiet room. I felt my head disappear into her, the tightness of her walls gripping me like a vice. Yeji let out a long, shaky breath, her eyes closing as she settled fully onto me, her cervix meeting the head of my cock.
"Oh god," she whimpered. "You're so... you're so deep."
She began to move, her hips rotating in a slow, grinding circle. I reached up, my hands finding the swell of her breasts, squeezing them as she rose and fell. The sound of our bodies meeting—the slap of her ass against my thighs—became the only rhythm in the world.
Yeji was vocal, her moans turning into passionate, loving declarations.
"I love you," she gasped, her voice breaking. "I love you so much, Ben. I've wanted this... I've wanted you inside me for so long."
She increased the pace, her movements becoming more urgent. She wasn't just riding me; she was claiming me. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against my chest, her sweat mingling with mine. I could feel her internal muscles clamping down on me with every downward thrust, drawing me deeper into her heat.
As she approached her second climax, she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned down and captured my lips in a kiss that felt like a seal of ownership. She put both of her hands on my face, framing my jaw, her fingers digging into my cheeks, refusing to let go. She held me there, her gaze locked on mine, as the orgasm ripped through her.
I felt her walls spasm violently, squeezing the life out of me. My own hand slid down, gripping the curve of her ass, pulling her down hard against me, while my other hand stayed at the back of her head, holding her close. We rode out the wave together, the intimacy of the moment far outweighing the physical pleasure.
When she finally collapsed against me, her breathing ragged and her skin flushed a deep pink, she stayed there for a long time. She felt soft, spent, and completely satisfied.
"I'm... I'm done," she whispered into my neck, her voice trailing off into a contented sigh. "I think... I think the wife has made the husband happy. Maybe we should... go meet the others for dinner."
I felt a shift in my own chest. Watching her like this—undone, vulnerable, and utterly devoted—flipped a switch in me. The softness was gone, replaced by a sudden, towering hunger. I didn't want to stop. I wanted more. I wanted to see her break again.
"Not so fast," I whispered, my voice sounding deeper, even to my own ears.
Yeji blinked, looking up at me with a confused smile. "What?"
"You used the wife card to get your way," I said, my hand sliding from her ass to her waist, gripping her firmly. "Now it's time for the husband card. The wife deserves more pampering after all that hard work she's done."
Before she could protest, I gripped her hips and flipped her over. She let out a small, surprised yelp as I moved her onto her hands and knees. I didn't stop there. I guided her further, pressing her chest down into the mattress while keeping her hips high, her legs spread wide.
I entered her from behind, but I didn't just slide in. I angled my body, lifting one of her legs up and over my hip, creating a steep, deep incline. This was a variation of the *Indrani* position from the Kama Sutra, designed for maximum depth and contact.
As I thrust forward, I felt myself hit her G-spot—the sensitive area that had become hyper-responsive after her previous orgasms.
Yeji’s reaction was instantaneous. She let out a scream that was barely human, her back arching violently.
"Ben! Oh my god, Ben!"
The pleasure was too much. She began to shake, her movements mirroring the overstimulation Ryujin often described. Every thrust felt like an electric shock, a wave of intensity that threatened to drown her. She was moaning loudly now, the sounds raw and desperate, her fingers clawing at the sheets.
"Too much... it's too much!" she wailed, but she pushed her hips back against me, demanding more.
I didn't let up. I hammered into her, the sound of our bodies colliding filling the room with a rhythmic, visceral thud. I could feel her internal walls fluttering, pulsing around me in a frantic attempt to absorb the pleasure. She was hovering on the edge of a third, massive climax, her voice reduced to fragmented whimpers.
"Please... please, Ben... give it to me... all of it!"
I felt the pressure building in my gut, a tidal wave that I could no longer hold back. With one final, deep surge, I buried myself as far as I could go, pinning her against the mattress.
I came inside her with a force that made my entire body shudder. I could feel the hot, thick pulses of my seed filling her, the warmth spreading through her core. Yeji let out a final, long moan, her head falling forward as she collapsed into the bed, her body still twitching from the intensity of the release.
We lay there in the wreckage of the room, the curtains fluttering in the breeze, the ocean calling from the balcony. The silence returned, but it was different now. It wasn't a vacuum; it was a sanctuary.
Yeji shifted, rolling over to look at me. Her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen, and her eyes were filled with a softness that made my heart ache. She looked embarrassed for a fleeting second, remembering how aggressive she had been, but then she smiled—a real, genuine smile—and pulled me close.
"I think," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "I really like these wife privileges."
For a second, I forgot how to answer. Not because I did not have a joke. I had several. All of them terrible. All of them dangerous.
But Yeji was looking at me with her hair ruined, her lips swollen, her skin still warm against mine, and that tiny embarrassed smile caught between pride and disbelief. The kind of smile she only gave when she had surprised herself first.
So for once, I did the smarter thing. I kissed her. Softly this time. No urgency. Just my mouth against hers, slow enough that she melted into it instead of trying to win. Her hand slid up my chest, fingers brushing over the place where her name was still hidden beneath my shirt somewhere on the floor, and she laughed quietly against my lips.
“What?” I asked. Her cheeks colored “I’m thinking.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is.”
I smiled “About?”
She hid her face against my neck “No.”
“Yeji.”
“No.”
“Wife privileges?”
Her hand hit my chest weakly.
“Don’t ruin it.”
“I’m not ruining it. I’m appreciating the policy.”
“There is no policy.”
“There are clearly benefits.”
She groaned into my skin “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
Her silence lasted too long. Then, very quietly, she said, “No. I don’t.” That did something to me. More than the teasing. More than the way she had said wife earlier like it belonged in her mouth. More than the tattoo. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her closer until she was lying half on top of me, her cheek against my chest, one leg tangled between mine. The room had gone still again, but this time it did not feel empty. It felt protected.
Outside, the ocean moved beyond the balcony.
Inside, Yeji traced idle shapes against my skin. For a while, neither of us spoke. That was new. Not because we had nothing to say. Because for once, nothing needed defending. Her breathing slowed first. Then mine followed. I pressed a kiss into her hair, and she made a small sound like she wanted to complain but did not have the strength to commit to it. “You okay?” I asked. She nodded against me.
Then, after a pause, she lifted her head “You?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes narrowed “That was too fast.”
“I’m very okay.”
“Ben.”
I smiled “I am happy.”
That softened her. She looked down, embarrassed again, but this time she did not hide. “Me too.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear “You were very scary.” Her eyes flicked back to mine. “You deserved it.”
“I did.”
“You kept calling me your wife.”
“I did.”
“In front of everyone.”
“I did.”
“And then you put my name on your chest.”
“You chose the hearts.”
Her mouth twitched “They were artistically necessary.”
“Of course.”
“And private.”
“Apparently not, since John betrayed me with documentary evidence.”
Yeji covered her face “I still cannot believe he showed everyone.”
“I can. John is a wounded animal. He wanted collateral.”
She laughed. Soft and happy. Then she kissed me again. That one lasted longer. It started gentle, but Yeji had a way of making even softness feel like a decision. Her fingers found my jaw, holding me there as if I might escape, even though both of us knew I had nowhere else I wanted to be.
I kissed her back until she sighed into my mouth. Until her shoulders loosened. Until the leader finally stopped standing guard behind her eyes. When she pulled away, she stayed close enough for our noses to brush.
“For the record,” she whispered, “I am still your girlfriend.”
“I know.”
“Not wife.”
“I know.”
She stared at me. I stared back. Then she added, quieter, “Yet.”
The word barely existed. But I heard it. My heart stopped so violently that it should have triggered the resort’s medical standby. Yeji realized what she had said and immediately tried to roll away. I caught her “Nope.”
“Ben.”
“No. Come back.”
“I said nothing.”
“You said theology.”
“I said one word.”
“One devastating word.”
She buried her face against my shoulder “I hate this room.”
“This room has done nothing wrong.”
“This room has heard too much.”
“The walls signed an NDA.”
She laughed again, and I felt it against my chest. For a while, that was all we did. Cuddle. Kiss. Talk in fragments. Pretend we were not both trying to memorize what it felt like to be this quiet together. Eventually, Yeji’s hand drifted lower and found my wrist. She turned it slightly, checking the time.
Then went still.
I felt it before I understood it “What?” She lifted my wrist closer. Then her head snapped up “Ben.”
“What?”
“We’re late.”
I blinked “For what?”
“Dinner.”
The word landed like a siren. We both moved at once. Badly. Yeji sat up too fast, winced, then pointed at me before I could comment “Do not.”
“I said nothing.”
“You thought something.”
“That is not illegal.”
“It will be if you smile.”
I did not smile. Technically. She scrambled toward the edge of the bed, then stopped when she looked around the room. The room looked like it had lost an argument. Clothes on the floor. One of my shirt buttons near the curtain. A pillow halfway off the mattress. The blankets destroyed beyond reasonable explanation. Yeji stared. Then slowly looked back at me.
“We need to get clothed.”
“We need to be at dinner.”
“We need all three.”
She closed her eyes.
“We are doomed.”
“Probably.”
“Benjie.”
I got up. She grabbed a pillow and threw it at me. We managed to shower, dress, and make the room look less like a crime scene in record time. Not clean, but survivable. Yeji fixed her hair in the mirror with the focus of someone preparing for a comeback stage instead of dinner with women who already knew too much. I buttoned a fresh shirt all the way up because I had learned at least one lesson in the past twenty-four hours.
Yeji noticed.
“Good.”
“I can behave.”
“No, you can be managed.”
“That sounds like wife work.”
She pointed the hairbrush at me “Do not start.” I smiled. She tried not to, she failed. We were twenty-three minutes late. Which was not ideal. But also not catastrophic. Until we reached the dining pavilion and the entire table went silent. That was catastrophic. Every head turned. ITZY. TWICE. John. Jihyo. Mina.
Even Momo stopped eating.
That, more than anything, told me we were in danger. Yeji straightened beside me. Damaged, but functional “Sorry we’re late.”
No one spoke.
Then Ryujin leaned back in her chair and smiled. Slowly “Oh?”
“No,” Yeji said immediately. Ryujin’s smile widened.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
Yuna looked between us, eyes bright with the kind of joy only danger could produce “You both look very… rested.” Lia closed her eyes “Yuna.”
“What? I said rested.” Nayeon leaned forward, chin in her hand “Rested is generous.” Sana smiled sweetly “Glowing?” Yeji’s face turned pink “We lost track of time.” John stared at me “You lost track of dinner?”
“Apparently.”
“You?”
“I was busy.”
The table inhaled as one organism. Yeji’s head whipped toward me.
“Ben.”
“What? With unpacking.”
Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone “Breaking news: local couple claims unpacking after arriving twenty-three minutes late to dinner.”
“I did not claim couple,” Yeji said.
Mina looked at her plate “You did not deny unpacking.”
Yeji turned toward Mina, betrayed “Mina.”
“It is a factual gap.”
Ryujin pointed at the two empty seats “Sit down before this gets worse.”
“That sounds merciful,” I said.
Ryujin smiled “It is not.”
We sat. Unfortunately, sitting did not help. Because the silence kept smiling at us. Chaeryeong, who had clearly been trying very hard not to participate, looked at Yeji with gentle concern “Unnie, are you okay?” Yeji froze. The table froze with her. I looked at my water. Cowardly, but necessary. Yeji cleared her throat “Yes.”
Ryujin’s eyes sharpened “Physically?”
“Ryujin,” Lia warned.
Yuna leaned forward “Private resort does not mean subtle resort.”
Yeji closed her eyes. I stopped breathing. Jihyo slowly lowered her utensils “What does that mean?” Lia looked at Yuna “Do not.” Yuna looked at her “They were not quiet.”
The table detonated.
Yeji covered her face. I stared into the middle distance and accepted death. Nayeon slammed both hands on the table “I knew it.” Sana gasped like she had just witnessed romance itself walk into the room. Dahyun’s imaginary microphone returned instantly “Breaking news: honeymoon logistics confirmed by acoustic evidence.”
“It was not honeymoon logistics,” Yeji said through her hands. Ryujin leaned toward her “Unnie.”
“No.”
“You screamed.”
“Ryujin!”
Momo blinked. Then looked at John “Is that what we heard?” John choked on his drink. Jihyo closed her eyes “Do not answer that.” Nayeon turned to John anyway “Manager-nim.”
“No.”
“You never did that when we arrived somewhere.”
“I am begging you not to compare arrival protocols.”
Sana tilted her head “Why not?”
“Because that phrase already sounds illegal.”
Jeongyeon crossed her arms “Ben arrives at a resort and immediately treats his wife properly.”
Yeji’s face went fully red “I am not his wife.”
Tzuyu looked at her calmly “But the room heard otherwise.”
The table exploded again. I covered my mouth. Not because I was embarrassed— because if I laughed, Yeji would kill me. Lia, somehow, tried to restore dignity “Maybe we should let them eat.”
“Thank you,” Yeji said weakly.
Lia nodded, then added, “They probably need energy.”
Yeji stared at her. Lia took a sip of water, expression perfectly calm “Traitor,” Yeji whispered. Ryujin looked delighted “Vacation Lia is dangerous.” Yuna nodded “She has timing.” Nayeon pointed at John “See? Even Lia understands the standard.” John looked betrayed by the entire world “I drove for hours. I handled logistics. I survived Ben. I deserve peace.” Jihyo looked at him “You also streamed his tattoo video to everyone.” John paused and then nodded “I deserved that part.”
Dahyun lifted her imaginary microphone again “TWICE files formal complaint: lack of honeymoon-grade welcome treatment.” John pointed at her “No filing.” Sana smiled “Just verbal complaint.” Momo raised her hand slightly “Can dinner still continue during the complaint?” Chaeryeong immediately nodded “Yes.”
“Good,” Momo said, and returned to eating. Mina looked toward me “Was the room satisfactory?” Yeji made a strangled sound. John put his head in his hands. I stared at Mina “The room was excellent.” Mina nodded “Good.” Nayeon grinned “Apparently.” Yeji grabbed her glass of water and drank like it was the only thing keeping her alive. I leaned closer to her, lowering my voice “You okay?”
She did not look at me “No.”
“Do you want me to stop them?”
“You cannot stop them.”
“That is true.”
Her eyes flicked toward me. Then down to my shirt. Still buttoned. Still hiding everything. Her voice dropped “If you show even one letter at this table, I will push you into the ocean.” I smiled faintly “Yes, my dear wife.”
She kicked my ankle under the table. Hard. I deserved it. Unfortunately, Nayeon saw “She kicked him.” Sana gasped “Domestic.”
Dahyun lifted the microphone “Breaking news: wife disciplines husband at dinner after honeymoon scandal.” Yeji pointed at Dahyun “No more breaking news.” Dahyun lowered her hand “For now.” Jihyo finally clapped once “Enough. Let them eat.” The authority in her voice worked… Mostly.
People returned to their plates, but the table stayed lighter now. The kind of laughter that did not need to be loud to keep circling back. Yuna kept smiling into her food. Ryujin kept glancing at Yeji like she had discovered a new favorite weakness. Lia looked too pleased with herself for someone who had pretended to be the voice of reason all morning. TWICE, meanwhile, continued punishing John in smaller ways.
Nayeon asked if he needed “arrival training.”
Sana suggested a retreat workshop.
Dahyun offered to document improvement.
Jeongyeon said he could start with eye contact and work his way up.
Momo said dinner first.
Tzuyu quietly added that expectations had now been established.
John looked at me across the table “I hate you.” I lifted my glass “You should have taken notes.” The TWICE side erupted. John pointed at me “You are the problem.”
Yeji, still pink, still embarrassed, still glowing in a way everyone could see, reached under the table and found my hand. No one saw that part. Or if they did, they were kind enough not to say anything. For once.
Yeji’s fingers threaded through mine. I looked at her and she did not look back. But her thumb brushed once over my knuckles. A private answer in the middle of a public execution. The first dinner of the retreat continued around us. Too full of people who knew too much and somehow, for the first time since we arrived, it felt exactly like what we had come here for.
It wasn’t peace, not yet. But release. A place where embarrassment could become laughter. Where privacy did not mean silence. Where Yeji could be late to dinner, red-faced and furious, and still have her hand in mine beneath the table.
Across from us, Ryujin leaned toward Yuna and whispered something. Yuna’s eyes widened. Lia immediately said, “No.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Ryujin replied.
“You were about to.”
Chaeryeong smiled into her plate. Momo reached for another serving. Nayeon started bothering John again. Jihyo pretended not to enjoy it. Mina quietly checked the dessert options. And Yeji, my not-wife girlfriend, the leader with wife privileges, squeezed my hand once more. I smiled into my glass. Dinner was late and the vacation, apparently, had started properly.
Dinner lasted longer than it should have. Not because anyone was still hungry. Momo was, obviously, but that was a separate condition.
Dinner lasted because nobody wanted to be the first one to admit they were tired. The first night of the retreat had settled over us slowly, warm and salt-heavy, with the ocean breathing somewhere beyond the lights of the dining pavilion. The staff had cleared most of the plates. Dessert had appeared without anyone asking. Mina had approved the plating with one quiet nod, which somehow made the chef look more relieved than when Jihyo thanked him.
Eventually, the table broke apart into smaller pieces. Not groups exactly. More like currents.
Momo and Chaeryeong drifted toward the kitchen with a seriousness that suggested diplomatic negotiations over breakfast. Yuna cornered Dahyun and Sana with her activity notebook, which immediately made Lia stand up with a sigh and follow them like a woman trying to prevent a recreational felony. Ryujin and Nayeon had started whispering again, and John noticed too late. “No,” he said from across the table.
Ryujin looked offended “We have said nothing.”
“That is usually when the damage starts.”
Nayeon smiled “Manager-nim, you wound me.”
“I am trying to prevent being wounded.”
Jihyo stood, folder tucked beneath one arm, and looked toward Yeji “Can I borrow you for a minute?” Yeji looked up from beside me “For logistics?”
“For logistics,” Jihyo said. Sana appeared behind Jihyo, smiling too brightly “And wife privileges.” Yeji’s face went red immediately “No.” Nayeon lifted one hand “Emotional logistics.” Dahyun raised her imaginary microphone “Breaking news: senior leaders convene to discuss honeymoon noise policy.” Jihyo pointed at her without looking “No.” Dahyun lowered her hand “For now.”
Yeji turned toward me, still pink, still trying very hard to look like this was a normal dinner and not a public trial “I’ll be back.”
“I’ll survive.”
Ryujin snorted “Barely.” Yeji gave her a look, then leaned closer to me just enough for only me to hear “Behave.” I smiled “You first.” Her eyes narrowed. The wife voice almost came out. Then she seemed to remember where we were and only shook her head, but her fingers brushed mine under the table before she let go.
It was small, private, more importantly— enough.
Then TWICE took her. Not aggressively. Worse, playfully. Nayeon hooked an arm through hers. Sana took the other side. Jihyo walked ahead like this was an actual strategy meeting and not Yeji being escorted to a tribunal. Mina followed behind them, calm as ever, and said something about the morning schedule. Yeji glanced back once. Not worried. Not possessive. Just checking. I gave her a small nod. She rolled her eyes like I had done something annoying. Then smiled before turning away. That smile stayed with me after she disappeared down the garden path with them.
For a while, I remained at the table. John sat across from me, watching TWICE drag Yeji away “That,” he said, “is how it starts.”
“What?”
“First they ask for logistics. Then they ask for feelings. Then somehow you are apologizing for things you did in a hypothetical future.” I looked at him “You speak from experience?” He stared into his drink “I speak from survival.”
Across the pavilion, Ryujin laughed too loudly at something Nayeon said from a distance despite not even being part of that conversation anymore. Yuna was arguing that “optional midnight bonding” was different from “mandatory midnight bonding.” Lia had taken the notebook and was holding it above her head while Yuna tried to reach for it.
Chaeryeong returned from the kitchen with Momo beside her, both looking strangely satisfied. The first night was loosening. The kind of loosening that came from realizing nobody had tried to take a picture of them for hours.
Nobody had shouted their names from beyond a barricade. Nobody had watched them eat through a screen. I stood before the feeling could get too large. John noticed “Where are you going?”
“For air.”
He narrowed his eyes “No cigarettes.”
I looked at him “Yeji said the same thing.”
“Good. I like being alive.”
“I’m not smoking.”
“Good.”
“If I was, I wouldn’t tell you.”
“Bad.”
I left before he could continue. The path beyond the pavilion curved toward the beach. Lights were hidden low among the stones, soft enough not to ruin the night sky. The resort was quiet in a way the Top Floor never could be. The Top Floor had silence, sometimes. But it was city silence. Elevator silence. Glass-wall silence. Money pretending to be peace.
This was different. This was ocean and darkness and distance. I stopped near the edge of the sand, where the stone path gave way beneath my shoes. The wind moved warm against my face. For the first time that day, I did not immediately think about logistics.
Then a voice behind me said, “You really didn’t smoke.”
I turned. Lia stood a few steps away, holding two cups. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, her expression quiet in the way it became when she had decided to say something before she was ready. I smiled faintly.
“Were you checking?”
“Yes.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I brought tea as a cover story.”
“That is more suspicious than just checking.”
She looked down at the cups. Then back at me “It’s good tea.” I accepted one “Thank you.” She moved beside me, leaving enough space that it did not feel accidental, but close enough that it did not feel distant either. For a while, we watched the water.
The sound of the others drifted faintly from the pavilion behind us. Laughter. A muffled shout from Yuna. Jihyo’s voice cutting through something with leader precision. Yeji laughing after that, small and embarrassed and happy.
Lia heard it too. Her eyes softened “She sounds different here.”
“Yeji?”
Lia nodded “Lighter.”
I looked toward the lights “She deserves to be.”
“She does.”
The words were simple. But the way Lia said them was not. I looked at her. She was still watching the water, both hands wrapped around her cup. “And you?” I asked.
Her mouth curved faintly “I knew you would ask that.”
“Should I not?”
“No.”
She took a breath “You should.”
The wind moved between us. Lia looked down into her tea like it might offer instructions.
“I thought coming here would make things quieter,” she said.
“Has it?”
“A little.” Then she smiled, but it was tired “Also no.”
I waited. That was something I had learned with Lia. If you filled the silence too quickly, she would let you. She would nod, soften, make room for everyone else’s words. But if you waited, sometimes she gave you something real.
She did this time “I have feelings for you,” she said quietly.
I did not move. Not because I was surprised. Because I knew this sentence had cost her more than she wanted anyone to see. Lia’s fingers tightened around the cup “I know that’s not new. Not exactly. I think I’ve known for a while. I think everyone else probably knew before I wanted them to.”
A small laugh escaped her. Embarrassed and soft “But knowing and doing something about it are not the same.”
“No,” I said. “They’re not.” Her eyes lifted to mine. That was the dangerous part. Not the confession. The looking. Lia could hide in careful words if she wanted to. But her eyes had always been worse at lying “I don’t want to be left behind,” she whispered. My chest tightened “Lia.”
“I know no one is doing that to me.” she shook her head gently, stopping me before I could reassure her too fast.
“I know. That’s not what I mean.”
She looked back toward the pavilion. Toward the people laughing under warm lights. Toward the life that had somehow become too complicated to name simply “I just mean… everyone is moving. In their own way. Yeji knows where she stands. Ryujin acts like fear is something she can flirt with until it gives up. Yuna is scared and still jumps anyway.”
Her voice softened “And Chaeryeong…” She paused. I watched her. Lia did not finish that thought. Instead, she looked at me again “I’m not like them.”
“You don’t have to be.”
“I know.”
But again, her voice trembled enough to reveal the problem. Knowing was not believing. Not fully. Lia set her tea down on the low stone wall beside us. Then she stepped closer. Not much. Enough that I noticed. Enough that she noticed me noticing. Her breath caught, and for one second, I thought she might step back. She did not.
“Can I try something?” she asked. My voice came out lower than I expected. “Yes.”
She searched my face “You don’t know what it is.”
“I trust you.”
That almost broke her.
I saw it in the way her eyes softened too quickly, in the way her lips parted around a breath she did not release. Then Lia reached for me. Her hand touched my arm first.
Careful. Testing. Then slid down to my wrist, like she needed something smaller than my face to hold onto before she could be brave enough for the rest. I stayed still. Lia stepped closer again. Then she kissed me.
It was not like Yeji. Not collision. Not fire finally finding air. Lia’s kiss was quiet. Deliberate. A question asked with trembling courage. Her lips touched mine softly, then pressed a little firmer when I did not pull away. Her fingers tightened around my wrist. For one second, she seemed to freeze inside the decision she had made.
Then I kissed her back. Carefully. Slow enough that she could stop me. Soft enough that she could stay. Lia made a tiny sound against my mouth. Not surprise, it was relief.
That sound nearly undid me more than anything else could have. Her other hand lifted, hovering near my chest. For a moment, she almost touched me there. Almost pulled herself closer. Almost crossed from kiss into something larger.
Then she stopped.
Her fingers curled in the air before they reached me. Not away. Just short of more. I felt the hesitation like a held breath between us. So I kept still. Careful “Lia.” Her eyes opened. Soft. Startled. Like she already knew what I had seen.
“You don’t have to force yourself.”
Her hand lowered slightly “I know.”
But her voice said she was trying to. Not because she did not want this. Because she did. Because wanting it made her feel like she had to keep proving she was ready for all of it at once. I covered the hand holding my wrist with mine. Not to keep her there. Only to let her feel that she could let go without losing anything.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Lia looked at me for a long moment. The ocean moved behind her. The pavilion laughter carried faintly through the trees. Then she exhaled, almost laughing. Almost breaking.
“That’s the problem.”
I smiled faintly “Is it?”
Her eyes dropped to my mouth again. Then back to mine.
“No,” she whispered. “Not anymore.”
But she did not move further. And I did not ask her to. For tonight, this was enough. Her choice. Her kiss. Her stopping point. And the first time she did not run from wanting more. Lia leaned forward after a moment and rested her forehead lightly against my shoulder. It was so gentle that it almost hurt “Is this okay?” she asked.
I looked down at her “With me?”
“With Yeji.”
The question was quiet. Important. I turned my head toward the pavilion lights. Yeji was still somewhere beyond them, probably being emotionally tortured by Nayeon and Sana while Jihyo pretended not to enjoy it.
I smiled softly “She knows you matter to me.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It is.”
Lia lifted her head. I met her eyes “And if you need to hear the other part, I will talk to her. Properly. Not because this was wrong. Because you deserve not to carry uncertainty by yourself.”
Lia’s face changed. Not fully relieved. But steadier.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
She nodded. Then, after a second, she leaned in and kissed me again. Shorter this time. Still soft. But less afraid.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were pink “That’s enough for tonight.”
I smiled “Okay.”
“Don’t sound proud of me.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I am a little.”
She groaned and looked away “That is embarrassing.”
“It is also true.”
Lia picked up her tea again, but her hand was steadier now. We stood there for another minute, shoulder to shoulder, watching the water. Just letting the first step be exactly what it was.
From the pavilion, Yuna’s voice suddenly rose “Lia?” Lia closed her eyes “I am going to throw that notebook into the ocean.” I laughed “She found you.”
“She always finds me when she needs supervision.”
“Do you want to go back?”
Lia looked at the water. Then at me. Then she smiled, small and tired and real “In a minute.” So we took one more minute. The retreat continued behind us. But out here, beneath the night air, Lia had crossed the smallest line in the quietest way. And somehow, that made it feel larger than if she had run.
By the time I returned to the villa, the resort had gone quiet in pieces. Not asleep. Not fully. Somewhere beyond the garden path, I could still hear faint laughter from the pavilion. Yuna’s voice rose once, immediately followed by Lia saying something that sounded like a warning. Ryujin laughed after that. Then the ocean swallowed the rest.
Our room was dim when I stepped inside.
Only the balcony light was on.
Yeji sat outside with one knee drawn up beneath her, wearing one of my shirts like she had every right to steal from my suitcase. Her hair was loose now, brushed soft over one shoulder. The night wind moved through it gently.
She did not turn around immediately. That was how I knew she knew. Not everything. But enough. I closed the door behind me. Yeji looked over her shoulder.
“Hi.”
Her voice was soft. Not suspicious. Not angry. Just awake.
“Hi.” I said back.
I walked toward the balcony, slower than I needed to. Yeji watched me the whole way.
“You were gone for a while.”
“I know.”
She turned back toward the ocean. I sat beside her, leaving a careful space between us at first. Yeji noticed. Of course she did. After everything that had happened today, she still noticed the smallest distance.
“Ben.”
I looked at her. Her expression was calm, but her eyes were too clear for me to pretend badly.
“What happened?”
I exhaled.
“Lia kissed me.”
Yeji did not move. The ocean filled the silence for a few seconds. Then she nodded once. Small. Controlled.
“Okay.”
I waited. Because okay did not mean finished. It meant she was making room for the rest.
“She found me by the beach,” I said. “I went out for air after dinner. No cigarette.”
Yeji glanced at me.
“Good.”
“I thought you would ask.”
“I was going to.”
That almost made me smile. Almost.
“She said she has feelings for me.”
Yeji’s face softened by a degree.
“She said it?”
“Yes.”
“That must have been hard for her.”
“It was.”
Yeji looked down at her hands.
“Did she force herself?”
That question hit me harder than jealousy would have. Because of course that was the first thing Yeji asked. Not whether Lia touched me. Not whether I kissed her back. Not whether she should be upset. Whether Lia had pushed herself past what she could handle.
“No,” I said quietly. “But she almost tried to.”
Yeji’s eyes lifted to mine.
“She kissed me first,” I continued. “I kissed her back. Carefully. She reached for more, then stopped herself.”
Yeji listened without interrupting.
“I told her she didn’t have to force herself.”
Her shoulders loosened. Just slightly.
“That was the right thing to say.”
“I hoped it was.”
“It was.”
The certainty in her voice settled something in me. I leaned back against the balcony chair and stared out at the dark water.
“She asked if it was okay with you.”
Yeji looked at me. I turned back to her.
“I told her I would talk to you properly. Not because it was wrong, but because she deserves not to carry uncertainty by herself.”
For a while, Yeji said nothing. Then she reached across the small space between us and took my hand. Her fingers slid between mine, warm and steady.
“Thank you for telling me.”
I looked down at our hands.
“I always will.”
“I know.”
Her thumb moved once over my knuckles.
“But I still appreciate it.”
That somehow hurt more than being scolded. Yeji looked at the ocean again.
“I’m not angry.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
I looked at her. She smiled faintly, but it was tired.
“I wanted to know,” I admitted. “Not because I thought you would be cruel. I know you wouldn’t. But because this is… a lot.”
“It is.”
“And it keeps getting bigger.”
“Yes.”
“And somehow I keep standing in the middle of all of you, trying not to ruin something I don’t even fully understand yet.”
Yeji’s grip tightened.
“You’re not standing in the middle alone.”
I looked at her. She looked back. In that way that still felt too undeserved to name carelessly.
“You came back and told me,” she said. “That matters.”
“I will always come back and tell you.”
“I need that.”
“I know.”
“No.” Her voice dropped softer. “I need you to know I need that. Not because I don’t trust you. Not because I think Lia did anything wrong. But because silence makes stories when people are scared.”
That line stayed in the air between us.
“Then no silence.”
“No silence,” she repeated.
I lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. Yeji watched me do it, expression softening despite herself.
“She has been standing at the edge for a while,” she said.
“Lia?”
Yeji nodded.
“I think she knows what she feels. She just doesn’t know how to move without feeling like one step means she has to take all of them.”
“That’s what it felt like.”
“Then don’t pull her over.”
“I won’t.”
“Let her step.”
“I will.”
Yeji turned her face toward the water again.
“She deserves that.”
“She does.”
“And if she stops, let her stop.”
“I did.”
“I know.”
Her voice gentled “That is why I’m not angry.”
I looked at her for a long moment. Then something in me broke open quietly. The kind of feeling that arrived without asking and sat directly in the center of my chest.
“You know,” I said, “every time I think I understand how much I love you, you make it worse.”
Yeji blinked. Her cheeks colored “Ben.”
“I mean it.”
She looked down, but I did not let myself stop. Not this time.
“I don’t know how to explain this without sounding insane.”
“That has never stopped you before.”
I smiled faintly “Fair.”
Her thumb brushed my hand again. So I tried. “Everything around us is complicated. Everyone matters. I care about them. I don’t want to lie about that. I don’t want to diminish it because that would be unfair to them, and it would be unfair to you too.” Yeji stayed quiet. Listening. “But my heart keeps finding you first.” Her breath caught. I looked at her properly. “No matter how loud the room gets. No matter who needs me. No matter what happens with anyone else. I come back to you in my head before I even know I’m doing it.”
Yeji’s eyes softened. “You’re the place I return to,” I said. “Not because you demand it. Not because you hold it over anyone. Because you keep choosing me even when you could make this harder. You keep choosing honesty over jealousy. You keep choosing kindness toward them when it would be easier to make everything smaller so it hurts less.”
Her eyes shone now. She looked away quickly, but I saw it. I always saw her. “That does not make me perfect,” she whispered. “I don’t need perfect. I need you.”
She turned back to me. The words had landed. I could see it in the way her face changed, embarrassment and tenderness fighting for space. “I love them in the ways this life has made possible,” I said quietly. “But I love you like home.”
Yeji’s mouth trembled slightly “Do not say things like that if you don’t want me to cry.”
“I can stop.”
“No.”
I smiled “No?”
She shook her head once “No.”
So I leaned closer “I love you, Yeji.”
Her eyes closed for a second. Like she needed to hold the words somewhere safe before answering. Then she opened them and looked at me “I love you too.”
Simple. Barely above a whisper. Enough to undo me. I cupped her cheek. She leaned into my hand without hesitation. For a moment, neither of us moved. Then she said, very softly:
“I’m still your girlfriend.”
“I know.”
“Not your wife.”
“I know.”
Her eyes narrowed faintly “But…”
I waited. Her cheeks turned pink again “But if you keep being honest with me like this, I might keep letting you get away with calling me that.” I smiled slowly “That sounds like a policy.”
“It is not a policy.”
“Wife privileges?”
She groaned “Do not ruin the emotional moment.”
“I would never.”
“You are actively doing it.”
“I love you.”
She tried to glare. Failed immediately. Then she leaned forward and kissed me. Loving in a way that made the rest of the night quiet around us.
I kissed her back with both hands careful at her waist, not pulling too hard, not asking for more. Just holding her there. Letting the kiss be what it needed to be after everything else the day had carried.
When she pulled away, her forehead rested against mine.
“I’m glad you came back,” she whispered.
“I always will.”
Her eyes stayed closed “Good.”
“Because my wife would be annoyed if I didn’t?”
Her eyes opened. She stared at me. Then, despite herself, she smiled “Yes,” she said. “Very annoyed.” I laughed quietly. She kissed me again before I could make it worse.
Eventually, we went back inside.
The room was still softly lit, the bed still imperfect from earlier, the ocean still moving beyond the balcony doors. Yeji turned off the light while I pulled the blanket back. She climbed in first, then immediately reached for me like the conversation had left her too tender to pretend she did not need contact.
I joined her.
She settled against my chest, one arm across my waist, her leg tucked between mine. I wrapped myself around her and pressed a kiss into her hair. For a while, she traced lazy circles against my side. Then her hand drifted to my chest. To the place beneath the fabric where her name still rested in temporary ink.
She did not say anything. She only left her hand there. I covered it with mine. Yeji exhaled softly “Tomorrow,” she murmured, half-asleep already, “no chaos.”
I closed my eyes “Of course.”
A pause. Then, from somewhere deep in her fading consciousness
“That sounded fake.”
“It was a little fake.”
Her tired laugh warmed my chest.
“Good night, Benjie.”
“Good night, Yeji.”
She shifted closer. Still mine. Still herself. Still choosing me. And for the first time since the retreat began, the silence did not feel like something waiting to be broken.
ᘏᘏ thirsty bunn thursdays
male reader x choerry (artms/loona) ※ more of my works on fanprose
“Daddy—daddy—daddy~”
She’s on her back, knees apart, ankles around your waist, eyes already wet. The bedside lamp catches the small gold cherry pendant you gifted her this morning. She’s wearing nothing else.
“Yes, baby?” You’re inside her, and your cock coated in her needy slick, and you’re not moving.
“Please move, daddy.” Her hips lift. “It’s my birthday, please don’t tease me too much.”
“I know it is, baby.”
“Then move~” She pulls you closer with her ankles. “Please, daddy, please. I’ve been a good girl all year.”
“Have you? Have you really, Choi Yerim? Or do you want me to remind you what you did over at Heejin’s house when we visited last month?”
“Eeeeeh. It was just a quickie. I’m sure Heejin didn’t mind. I’ve been good enough, daddy.”
“Good enough?” You start to move, slow. You sink in deep, and her mouth opens in that round shape you chase. “Good enough for what? Heejin heard all your moaning and screaming back then, I’m sure of it.”
“I’m sure she enjoyed it as well, daddy. Come on~ It’s my birthday. I’ve been good enough for you to cum inside me multiple times today and breed me, daddy~”
“Ok. Is that your wish?”
“Well… That was wish number one.”
“Then let’s get it done. Seems you have multiple wishes for your birthday.”
You continue your assault on her tight cunt. The pendant slides across her sternum. You feel her clench around you on the second stroke.
“Don’t stop—please, please, don’t stop.”
You don’t stop. Actually, you go faster. You set a rhythm, and the sensation awakened something in her. When she’s really deep into pleasure, she starts talking during sex the way other people pray.
“Oh god. Oh god, oppa. You’re going so deep. I’m nearly cumming, oppa. Oppa—I’m… Daddy… I’m—”
“Already?”
“It’s my birthday.”
“I know, baby, and I’m going to make you cum over—” One stroke. “—and over—” Another. “—and over until you can’t handle it anymore.”
Her eyes roll back. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck! Daddy! Choerry’s cumming. Choerry’s co— oh god, fill me up, fill me up daddy, please daddy, please—”
She moaned hard, screamed actually; she cums hard around you. Her thighs clamping and her back arching and her hands grabbing at the sheets. You’re not done, but she’s already begging through the orgasm: inside me, please daddy, inside me, it’s my special day, give it all to me daddy, breed me, and you decide tonight’s rules are her rules. You bury yourself to the hilt and come inside her on your first climax.
She makes a sound when she feels your seed spilling inside her that you’re going to remember for the rest of your life.
“Mhmmm. Oh my god, oppa.” Her hands come up to her own stomach. “I felt all of that. Gosh, I want more of it; that was so addicting, oppa. This might be my best birthday ever.”
“We haven’t even really started, baby.”
“That’s what I like to hear, daddy~” Her face changes. She’s grinning now. Her makeup is already running. “Oppa, please don’t pull out yet. Let it stay there for now.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good because I want you to breed me again after this.”
“Yerim…”
“What?” She’s looking up at you with the wettest eyes you’ve seen. “It’s my birthday wish, remember?”
“Alright.”
“For my birthday.” She lifts her own knees to her chest, slow. The bottom of her stomach is already glistening. “Knees-to-chest. Make me feel it everywhere daddy. Yerimmie wants to see her belly move with you inside her.”
That does it. You feel yourself harden inside her again before she finishes that thought.
You stay buried. You push her knees the rest of the way, her ankles by her ears, her body folded under you. The angle is criminal. The first stroke from this position makes her eyes go completely white.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuuuck.” Her moans sound like chants.
You start moving, and you can feel yourself in a different part of her now, deeper than you can be in any other position. She looks down at her own stomach and her face changes once more.
“Oppa, Oppa, look. Look at me.”
You look. Her stomach is moving with every stroke. Actually moving, the shape of you visible through her abdomen, sliding up and down with the rhythm. Her hand presses there. Her own palm bulges out as you push in.
“Oh god, daddy. You’re so huge inside me. You’re actually ripping me apart. I love it.” She’s crying now. Tears of joy streaming out of her. “Breed me, daddy. Spill your seed inside me some more. Daddy. Daddy. Daddy~ Birthday girl needs to get bred.”
You fuck her harder. She’s not making coherent words anymore. The bulge in her stomach moves with you, and her hand stays there feeling it, and her other hand has found your forearm, and she’s holding on like you might disappear.
“Oppa, I’m there again, daddy, daddy, fill me up, fill me up, pleaseee, fill your wife up, give it to me, give it to me, please please please please—”
“Where do you want it again, baby?”
“Inside. Inside, please, only inside—”
“Where again, Yerim?”
“In my fucking womb, daddy. In my fucking womb. Give it to your wife. Breed me. Knock me up, daddy. It’s my birthday. Fill me up and breed this birthday girl. Please please please—”
You cum inside her so hard your vision blurs. She cums around you at the same time, her hands clamping on her own stomach, feeling you pulse, and the sound she makes is half-scream, half-prayer, and full-ecstasy, and you’re completely sure for the second time tonight that you will never love anyone else.
“Oppa.”
“Yes, baby?”
“That was so fucking good.” Tears running into her hair. “This is the best birthday ever, oppa. You’re so good to me.”
“I’m glad.”
You start to pull out, and she clamps her thighs around you.
“Nope. Don’t. Not yet. Stay inside, daddy. I want to feel both loads sitting in there.”
“Choerry. Baby.”
“Just for a minute. Please. Then I want to ride you next.” She smiles. “This is another wish of mine for my birthday.”
You roll. She comes with you, never letting you slip out, knees finding the mattress on either side of your hips, hands flat on your chest. Her hair falls forward. Her stomach still has the slight curve of two loads inside her.
She rocks forward. Slow at first.
“Look at me, my hubby.”
You look. The lamp catches her sweat and the pendant that swings against her chest.
“Are you watching?”
“I’m watching, my wife.”
“I want you to see this. I want you to see your wife taking care of her husband. Her only one true lifetime wish.” She rolls her hips, and her eyes flutter, and she grins through it.
She starts to ride. Her thighs flex. Her tits bounce. The bulge in her stomach lifts and falls with every drop. You put your hands on her hips, and she puts her hands over yours.
“No need, daddy,” she breathes. “Use me freely tonight, hubby. I do all the work tonight. You just stay there and fill me up when I ask.”
“Yerimmie.”
“Choerry’s working. Choerry’s working hard for her present, daddy.”
She rides you in increasing tempo, “You’re so fucking deep, daddy. So, deep. Fuck. I love your cock, daddy. I love it. I love feeling it inside me. I love feeling all your cum still inside me. This is the best birthday ever. I want round four. No. Round five. No. I want more, daddy. I want to pass out with your dick still inside me.”
And you start feeling yourself nearing again, for the third time, and she sees it on your face, and her grin widens.
“Mhmm. Third one.”
“Choerry—”
“Third one’s coming, hubby.” She drops harder. “Give it to me. Right where the other two are. I want them all mixing inside me. I want to leak when I walk to the bathroom tomorrow morning. I want you to look at me when I do and remember it was you who put it there.”
You cum for the third time, and she sits down on you and stays there, hips grinding small, milking you further than you can muster. Her hand goes to her stomach again. Her eyes find yours.
“Best birthday ever.” She leans down, the pendant brushing your chest; then her body goes heavy on you, slow, peaceful. She passes out with a huge smile on her face. You kiss her temple before you follow her.
“I love you, Choi Yerim.”
comment an idol you'd want featured on thirsty bunn thursdays and I'll feature them in the next installment. thirsty bunn thursdays are now also on fanprose.
A simple SinB fic for SinB day, and today she's very needy.
Length 2.3K
SinB x Mreader
SinB sat at home, wondering what to do. She had nothing planned, and while she could go out, she didn't particularly want to. As she turned over in bed, she looked at her nightstand. On the little table were her toys, various dildos and vibrators, shamelessly sitting there. SinB debated using them, but there was little desire to do so. A toy was good and all, but right now SinB felt like it wouldn't be enough; she wanted the real thing.
The young woman huffed. She reached over and grabbed her phone. She flicked through pictures and opened apps, going through everything in her boredom. Then she saw something that caught her eye. It was a cock, a long and thick one. She wasn't shocked; on the internet, people got around to posting things they definitely shouldn't have, and they'd be banned for it. Still looking at it, it piqued her interest. Then she read the caption, which was asking for someone to fuck in their area. Better yet, it was close to SinB; she recognized the address. SinB made another account; she wouldn't be caught using her own to direct message someone. She took a deep breath and began typing out a message. She saw what she liked and wanted it. SinB might not have known what kind of girl you were into, but she figured with a cock like that, someone submissive might seem better. SinB could play any role, so it didn't matter that much. Once the message was sent, she took a deep breath. Hopefully, she would get a message back soon. In a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment, she got an immediate response. She was a little shocked to hear back so quickly, but it was all for the better. She had an itch that needed scratching.
You and SinB chatted, exchanging quick pleasantries before getting down to business.
“So you’re looking to fuck?”
“Yeah, I really need a big fat cock right now.”
“I’m going to need to see a photo,” you text. SinB furrowed her brow; she didn’t exactly want to show her face.
“Is a body shot okay?”
“That’ll work, but I want it nude.”
“Fair enough,” she thought to herself. This was for the purposes of fucking, and they’d see each other later. SinB stood out of bed and walked over to the floor-length mirror. It was a good thing she was already naked—a small perk of sleeping in the nude. SinB gives a quick peace sign before snapping the picture. She looked it over quickly, making sure her face wasn’t visible and nothing of note was in the background. Once she was sure, she sent it over to you. “I’ll be wearing a mask during this. As much as I need you to fuck me up with your cock, I don’t need anyone to know what I’m doing.”
“Fine by me, but I’m going to need one more picture, from the back this time.” SinB rolled her eyes at the request. At this point, she thought she was in for a penny, in for a pound. She turned around and snapped a picture of her backside. The picture was sent, and then the two of you began discussing details. “Can I come over now?” She asked. The response was an immediate yes. Finally securing a fuckbuddy. SinB started to get dressed. The young woman didn’t bother to wear panties or a bra. They wouldn’t be of any use anyway.
Dressed, SinB went on her way to your home. She did have to make a quick return to grab a mask. In her haste, she had nearly forgotten to put one on. She was right, the place was nearby. The moment she stepped into your home, you commanded her to strip down. Considering you were already naked, she had no problem with it. The young woman’s eyes were glued to your stiff cock. You hadn’t lied about what you were packing, and for that, she was thankful. She was also thankful you happened to pop up on her feed. You lead the young woman to your bedroom and take a seat on the bed. “Crawl for me, let me see what I bagged.”
SinB was glad that what lay before her matched the pictures she had seen. She smiled behind her mask and dropped to her knees. She crawled toward you, keeping her back arched and hips swaying. She would be happy to service you. She wrapped her hand around your length, her thumb tracing one of your veins. She moved along your shaft, watching your cock intently. She was getting wetter just looking at it. A handjob wasn’t going to be enough. “Go on and suck it. I see that look in your eyes.”
SinB smirked. She knew she had a terrible poker face when it came to sex. SinB inched closer to you. She pulled the bottom of her mask and stuck her tongue out, the slick tip appearing to you, dripping saliva onto the tip of your cock. She moved lower, concealing your length as she wrapped her lips around it. It's like a disappearing act with the mask involved. Your cock disappearing into the young woman’s moist and warm mouth. You groan, enjoying the experienced mouth of your new fuck buddy. She moves along your shaft, reaching the base with a little effort. It turns you on the way she chokes on your cock, the small gags, and the teary eyes as she forces herself to stay near the base.
You remember her opening messages and take advantage of this opportunity. You place your hands on the sides of SinB’s head and start thrusting your hips, fucking her face with increasing pace. SinB relaxed her jaw, letting you do as you pleased. There was something about having a cock being rammed down her throat that turned her on. Her hand went between her legs, finding her sopping cunt. She rubbed her clit, going in small circles. SinB’s moans were muffled at times, but you could tell she was trying to speak. What she said didn’t matter because you both knew she wanted this. The young woman placed her hand on your thigh, gripping it tightly as she got closer to cumming. “You love being facefucked, don’t you, you little slut.”
“I love it. I love big fucking cocks,” SinB tried to say. It was all but impossible with your cock still ramming the back of her throat. Her eyes shot open for a brief moment as you held her to your crotch. Then they slowly fell, half-lidded as your thickcum poured down her throat. You pulled out a bit, letting the young woman enjoy the taste as it filled her mouth. You might not have been able to see it, but SinB’s cheeks were hollowed out as she sucked as hard as she could, wanting every last drop. Even once your orgasm has ended, SinB keeps sucking, bobbing her head a few more times before leaving it with a pop.
The young woman makes sure to adjust her mask, keeping it over the lower half of her face. Her eyes never leave your cock, though, even after cumming, you were still hard.“Fuck, you really know how to treat a guy’s cock right. Why don’t you climb on up and ride this thing?”
SinB climbs onto you. She squats above your cock, her hand wrapping around your slick shaft as she aligns her aching cunt with you. “I’ve needed this all day.”
“Then go on, ride this fucking dick like your life depends on it.” You bring your hand to SinB’s ass, making her suppress a moan. She giggles before lowering herself. The young woman cranes her neck, eyes shutting as she relishes the sensation of your cock stretching her entrance. The head was splitting her apart, and as she took more into her warm folds, SinB’s voice trickled out. This was just what she had been craving. She took your cock deep into her needy cunt, stretching it to its limits. SinB let out a loud groan. She was absolutely stuffed. You were pressing against her womb. The young woman pushed on her knees to lift herself. It was difficult, though; her walls were clamping onto your cock, refusing to let it go easily.
“C’mon slut, bounce on this dick,” you tell her, spanking her ass. SinB drops onto your cock one more time. The vice grip she has on you feels incredible, along with the warmth of her core. The pace she was moving at, though, left a lot to be desired. “I’ll do it myself,” you tell the young woman, grabbing onto her waist. You begin to bounce SinB on your cock, with a little force, you can easily slide her along your length, her slick walls still desperate for your cock. SinB grips your arms, moaning constantly. You watch her small tits bounce along with her, her soft flesh jiggling.
You begin to thrust into her, adding to the pleasure she feels. “Fuck, fuck,” SinB grunts. She places her hands on your chest, supporting herself as you drive yourself into her. “I-I can’t–cumming!” SinB cries out, her walls clamping down on your shaft. As SinB cums on your cock you slip your hands under her legs and around her back. You slowly rise to your feet, keeping yourself connected to the young woman. You walk over to the windows, pressing her against it as you ram your length into her womb. SinB cries out. She presses her hands against the glass; her feet are by her head as you fold her in half. The only support she has is your hands on her ass. She feels your nails digging into her flesh, and your rough thrusts bring her to the edge of another orgasm.
“Is this what you wanted?”
“Yes! Yes! It’s exactly what I wanted, what I needed.” SinB shouts, more moans spilling from her lips with every thrust, the sound filling the room along with the clapping of your bodies.
“Yeah, tell me all about it.”
“Toys can’t even compare to the real thing. A real fucking cock doesn’t stretch me out and fuck me until I can’t feel my legs.” SinB’s head rests against the glass, her core tightens as her orgasm approaches, and as much as she tries to hold it back, it becomes impossible.
“A toy can’t cum inside you either,” you remark, burying yourself inside her fertile cunt. SinB lets out a low groan as your cum is pumped into her body. You feel her walls flexing around your cock, dragging every drop of cum out of you. “Such a tight cunt, I bet you want more, don’t you?”
“Please, please, fill my slutty pussy with more cum,” She mumbles. You bring SinB over to the bed, turning her onto her stomach and raising her ass into the air. You bring your hand down on her ass once more; the few strikes you’ve given her already have her skin turning a bright red. “More,” SinB groans, shaking her ass for you. You smirk as the young woman asks for more punishment. You bring your hands down on her cheeks, watching her ass recoil. You deliver more strikes, alternating which cheek gets hit. SinB keeps her face to the mattress and ass raised high, each hit had her biting her bottom lip, pleasure building from each stinging hit.
She took a deep breath when the spanking finally ended. Then she cried out as you pierce her with your length. You hold onto her waist with one hand as the other grabs her hair. You pull her head back as you drive your cock back into her. SinB has drool dripping from the corners of her mouth, soaking her mask as you drive her crazy. Each thrust makes her lurch forward. When you pull her back, you match it with a thrust, making sure each time you ram into her womb.
“Oh, fuck, fuck,” SinB mumbles, her body tingling all over. She could only focus on the sensation of your slick cock sliding in and out of her, pushing your cum out of her cunt to make room for more. As your cock began to throb, SinB tried pushing her ass back against you. She had little strength, though at the moment, she was nothing more than a toy for you to use, and she had no problem with that. The itch that had been bothering her was finally gone, and on top of that, she found someone who could be a great fuck buddy. The moment you buried yourself inside her, SinB reached another peak, her vision blurring as you came inside her again. Your searing cum poured into her womb again. If she wasn’t on the pill, she was certain you would get her pregnant with the amount you were pumping into her. Even with your cock inside her, it began to flow out of her abused cunt. Her pussy is left gaping as you pull out and spurt the last of your cum onto her back. SinB lets out a shuddered sigh. She felt content. You take a seat beside SinB, looking at your work.
After some time, SinB regains enough energy. “That was amazing.”
“Yeah, now why don’t you take a little walk of shame, go back home with my cum on your back?”
“Okay,” SinB said with a giggle. SinB slowly got up, her legs wobbly as she dressed herself. The amount of cum you poured into her left the crotch of her pants wet, and her backless shirt made it quite obvious what she had done. “How about I come back in a couple of days?”
“Deal.” With that, your little tryst with SinB was over. She walked out and began the walk back to her home, hair sticking to her forehead, and large splotches of cum on her back. She would consider today a success. She didn’t even care if people noticed her right now.
Part of my BLACKED Baddies shorts, see my masterlist for more chapters.
1.2k words.
Karina's eyes widened at the sight of an African refugees massive BBC. With a shaky hand she reached out to grab it, feeling the strong pulse throbbing against her palm. Her mouth fell open when she began to stroke, watching it flop in her hands a bit, realizing he wasn't even fully hard.
Karina gasped, drooling as she stroked with both hands. She felt the carpet against her knees, and the touch of his ebony thighs around her torso. She leaned forward, pressing her pursed lips to the head to give it a tender kiss.
Her tongue pressed forward, tasting her first black cock, inhaling the musk that filled her nose. Her right eye twitched and she felt the thoughts within her head melting into a a warm wave of bliss rolling down her spine.
Hawk tuah! Karina spit on that thang and covered it in a layer of glistening sheen that her hands stroked into the dark African meat. Her lips wrapped around the head, eagerly parting to let it slide across her wet tongue and into the back of her throat.
GLUCK! GLUCK! AAH! GLUCK! She started to blow him between loud gasps for air. She could only fit half into her mouth, stroking him desperately with both hands covered in her own spit. The bull groaned, placing both hands on her head to hold her in place, preventing her from lifting off of his BBC.
His hips thrusted upward, jamming his big black cock into the back of her throat with force. Karina let out a muffled scream, but the bull kept going, grunting as he used her throat like a fleshlight for his own pleasure.
Her hands slapped at his thighs and abs, begging him to stop, but only motivated him to keep going. "I'm here to fuck all the women!" he groaned, pushing Karina down on his cock until she was gagging violently, her eyes rolling back until they were nearly solid white.
He gave her cheek a slap, then released her and watched Karina gasp for air, her chest heaving as she sat back against the coffee table behind her. Her throat stung as she panted, wiping the spit from her chin that had soaked into her black REFUGEES WELCOME shirt with a black fist in the middle of the Korean flag.
The bull stood up and grabbed her hair in his hand, motioning for her to follow him. "No!" he said when she tried to stand up, "I'll walk you like the slut you are."
Karina crawled on all fours beside him, following with her heavy tits sagging down against the fabric of her shirt. Her pale, naked ass in the air swayed side-to-side as he led her across the room, passing by other bulls who were hammering black cock into screaming Korean women.
The sliding door of the patio opened and Karina felt the hard concrete against her palms and knees as he led her to a beach chair and pointed for her to get on it. Karina climbed up and felt his hands on her waist, flipping her onto her back.
"Let me have those big ass titties," he said, pushing the shirt up to reveal her braless, pale, fat tits. He slapped his wet BBC between them and Karina moaned deeply, feeling the power and heft of his black cock as it thumped against her soft skin.
"Mmm, fuck my big Korean tits!" Karina blurted out, lifting her hands to the sides of her chest to press them together around the ebony pole between them.
Karina watched a pair of hands coil around the bulls sides, and then the face of Giselle smiling down at her. "That's it, fuck those big tits," Giselle said to him in a soft, encouraging voice. "They're what you came here for, aren't they? Big asian tits and tight little Korean pussies to breed."
The bull groaned, his hips thrusting back and forth between Karina's fleshy melons engulfing his dark cock. She felt the head poking at her neck with every thrust, peeking out from under the top of her shirt and occasionally trying to slip under her choker necklace.
Karina's head spun with lust, her toes curling the moment that Giselle lowered her face to her pussy to start licking it. Karina let out a long, low moan of satisfaction, closing her eyes and arching her back.
Giselle shoved a couple fingers in without warning, working them back and forth inside Karina, her thumb working circles on her sensitive clit to drive her mad. Karina breathed deeply in sharp breaths, her thighs beginning to shake, chest turning red.
The bull reached down with both hands and wrapped them around her neck, his thumbs pressing the head of his black cock against her throat as he fucked her busty chest. Karina's eyes rolled, but the grip on her squishy boobs never relaxed, and she kept them pressed hard around the BBC pumping between them.
Karina let out a moan, kicking her foot as Giselle shoved her tongue into her cunt, drilling into it with her fingers and nuzzling her nose right up against the clit. It was too much for Karina, her head was swimming, and she felt like she would pass out from the pleasure.
The bull pressed down harder and Karina felt his weight on her throat, choking her until her cheeks turned a rosy red hue. She wanted to grab at his wrists, but she kept her hands around her tits, refusing to let go until he told her to.
The bull groaned as his BBC slipped under the choker, pinning his head in place as he began to spurt a series of hot ropes across Karina's chin and neck. She felt the pulsing his shaft, the flowing hot ropes of cum shooting up her chin before running down her neck and into her dark hair.
He gave her a few more pumps, then pulled his BBC back and slapped it wetly against each breast before leaving her and Giselle. "I'm gonna..." Karina panted, pinching her nipples and twisting them, pulling her sagging breasts upward with a scream.
Karina began to squirt all over Giselle's face, coating her lips and tongue, and Giselle ate it up hungrily while continuing to lick and finger until Karina fell limp with rolling eyes.
Giselle crawled up Karina's body, hovering over her with cum dripping from her lips and chin, glistening brightly. She lowered her head to lick the cum from Karina's neck, lapping it up and ending with a soft bite into her flesh.
She dragged her tongue along Karina's throat, up her chin, and then to her lips, sliding into her mouth to deposit the bull's load. Karina's eyes rolled in circles, she moaned deeply, a hand reaching up to pull Giselle in deeper.
They swapped the load back and forth with sloppy open-mouthed kisses, their tongues twisting together, pushing against each other, lips meeting until the cum had all been swallowed.
Giselle pulled back and caressed Karina's cheek, looking deep into her eyes. They kissed one last time, and Giselle grabbed a handful of Karina's left tit to squeeze as she did so.
The night was still young and the black breeding party had just started, there were more men inside waiting for their welcome to Korea, and the two of them were more than happy to give it to them.
"Let's get these big black cocks," Giselle grinned, taking Karina by the hand to lead her back to the party.
A few years ago, my wife found a cyst growing in the folds of her vagina lips that she was too afraid to go to the doctor for. It kept growing larger because she was too embarrassed to go and have it checked out. When I finally forced her to go to the doctor, it had grown enough that it needed to be surgically removed. It has been two years since the surgery, and she still claims that it hurts. So much so that we rarely have sex anymore. When we do, she says it hurts, and I feel guilty when I ask. I turned inward and hid my emotions and disappointment that our marriage had taken such a turn. She'd never really enjoyed sex, but she says she gave in so I wouldn't feel neglected. Other times, she'd lay a pretty heavy guilt trip on me and leverage it to get something out of it.
I had grown sullen and depressed, and my wife would tear into me about it, saying, how did I think she felt? Over time, our eighteen-year-old daughter had taken notice of our arguments. She approached me one afternoon while her mother was at work. She'd asked me how I was doing. When I told her that things were rough since she got hurt, I tried to sound positive and said that we'd get through it. That's when my daughter, Iroha, told me that she thought mom was faking so she wouldn't have to have sex. When I asked her what gave her that idea, she told me that she'd caught Mom masturbating and that she keeps a dildo in the bottom drawer of her nightstand. I immediately went to look, and sure enough, there was a ten-inch dildo under her nightie and body lotions.
I was at a loss for words. I was heartbroken. My wife had been lying to me because she didn't want to have sex with me. Anger, rage, and betrayal all flooded my mind and quickly led to thoughts of leaving her. Iroha sat on the edge of the bed next to me, telling me that she didn't want to be from a divorced home. She said that she'd be willing to help out. That she'd do anything to keep us together. She hugged me from the side, pressing her large breasts into my shoulder. She snorted when I asked what she thought she could do to save our marriage. She sank to her knees at my feet, looking up into my eyes, saying, "I'll do anything to keep you from leaving us, Dad."
I surveyed a canyon of cleavage as I looked down, watching my little girl staring up at me with pleading puppy dog eyes. She slid her hands up my thighs to the zipper of my pants. I sat in utter shock, frozen as she unzipped my pants. Iroha slipped her hand in the opening of my boxers to fish my penis out of my pants. She blushed at its size when she finally freed my trouser snake.
My cock is a modest eight inches and was likely the biggest that she'd ever seen. "Let me help you, Daddy," she whispered as she took my cock between her lips, sucking me erect. Her head bobbed as she swirled her tongue down the length of my shaft. My little girl sucked my cock until I released my seed into her mouth. I could hear her gulp as she swallowed my cum. It had been so long that there must have been a gallon of it.
Once she finished swallowing every last drop, she rose to her feet, wiping her lips. I stood there wobbly kneed, uncertain whether to thank her or not. When I opened my mouth to speak, she stopped me, saying that she was glad to do it as long as it kept me from leaving the family. She hugged me and said, "Let me know when you need me to help you again," as she left the room. I was left dumbfounded. Iroha had just sucked my cock to keep me from divorcing her mother. I was stunned and aroused at the same time. Iroha let me know that she was available for sex when I needed her.
My cock was swinging in the breeze as I followed her down the hallway to her room. I walked into her room just as she sat on the foot of her bed. I don't remember doing it, but I had shed the rest of my clothes by the time I had gotten to her room. I never dreamed I'd ever be thanking my daughter for a blow job, but here I was. I thanked her and asked her what she meant. "I mean, I don't want to be from a broken home," she said. "And if that means that I have to take over for Mom, then I will. If she's going to be selfish, then I will fuck you. I will do anything to keep you happy."
Hearing my little girl say that she'd fuck me sent a tingle through my balls, and I started to get hard again. I was standing right in front of her, and she grinned when my pecker stared her in the face. She smiled as she stood and slipped her shirt over her head. She then stripped off the rest of her clothing and stood fully nude in front of me. She was absolutely gorgeous, all five feet of her. Her golden hair was tied in pigtails with little bows. Her slender body looked like an anime character with her life-preserver sized tits. She took my hand and pulled it into her clean-shaven vagina, pushing my finger between her wet puffy pussy lips. I leaned in and kissed her as my fingers penetrated her vagina. Our lips parted at the same time, and our tongues danced in each other's mouths while I slid my finger in and out of her slippery slit.
I swept Iroha off her feet, carried her around to the side, and placed her on the bed, climbing in next to her. I leaned over her, kissing her softly, thanking her for being such a loving and giving daughter. I asked her if she was sure she wanted to do this. "I'm not a little girl anymore, Daddy," she said, bringing her lips to mine, kissing me, and driving her tongue back into my mouth. "Dad, I'm not leaving for college in the fall unless I know you and Mom aren't going to split up," she said adamantly. "Otherwise, I will attend locally."
I cupped her breast, sucking the nipple as I slid my fingers back into her warmth. My thumb grazed her clit, eliciting a faint moan. I did it again and again, softly rubbing circles on her clitoris. I fingered her until she came. I wanted to pleasure my daughter as she had just done for me. I spread her legs and positioned myself between her thighs, kissing her glistening pussy lips. I slid my tongue between the folds of her labia, dipping it into her drooling hole, fucking her with my tongue. I raised her knees, laying her legs over my shoulders as I licked her to another orgasm. My little girl wrapped her legs around my head and began to hump my face. She grabbed my head, pulling it harder to her cunt as she drove her tight little twat into my mouth. She gasped as a powerful climax hit her like a ton of bricks. Her hips bucked and undulated until her climax ebbed. I tried to slip my fingers back into her pussy, but she pushed my hand away, saying, "No, Daddy. I want your cock in me. Get on your back."
I fell off the bed when I tried to lie next to her. I laughed, telling her that maybe it was time we got her a bigger bed. My baby girl crawled off the bed so I could lie down. She straddled me, dangling her breasts over my face. I grabbed her titties, pressing my face into her boobs, kissing and sucking them. Iroha slid her slipping slit on my cock, guiding its tip into her dripping hole. Her mouth gaped wide as she lowered herself onto my rigid member. She exhaled, "Ahhh fuuuck," escaped her lips as my cock bottomed out inside her pussy. I pointed her nipples together and sucked them in unison, flicking them with my tongue as she began to ride my cock. God, she was tight. Her twat gripped my cock like a python with its prey. It didn't take long before she was squealing with delight. Wave after wave of orgasm washed over her as she continued to hump her hips on my dick. My baby girl grabbed the headboard as she pounded herself faster on my cock. I could feel her twat pulsing on my shaft as she was building to another colossal climax. Her cunt muscles gripped my shaft tightly as she climaxed, pushing me over the edge. "Baby, I'm going to cum!" I gasped.
"Go ahead, Daddy. Cum in me. Cum in my cunt," she hissed in ecstasy.
I grabbed her hips, thrusting my cock as deep as I could into her tantalizing tight twat. She came as soon as my steamy seed streamed into her cunt. "God, I'm cumming!" I groaned.
"Me too, Daddy. Me too!" she shrieked.
She started bucking her hips front and back, grinding the tip of my cock against her cervix as I filled her with my warm goo. She pulled a bit too hard on the headboard, breaking it. A loud CRACK echoed in the room as it snapped, hitting me on the head. The two of us continued humping each other, desperately trying to extend our ecstasy. Just as Iroha fell onto my chest in exhaustion, the head of the bed fell to the floor. "Jesus, Dad. What a way to make our first fuck memorable," she laughed as she tried to get up.
"Well, shit! How are we going to explain that to Mom?" she asked.
"Let's go and get you a new bed before mom gets home," I said. "Call it a thank you for fucking my brains out."
"That's what I was going to say," Iroha said as she wiped my cum out of her dripping hole.
"Oh, Sweetie. I'm sorry, I didn't even think about using a condom," I apologized.
"Dad, I've been on the pill since I was sixteen. Remember?" she asked.
We decided to go get my truck to work today from the plant where my wife works. She was working twelve-hour shifts, and I thought I would exchange vehicles and park the car in the same spot. Hopefully, she'd figure out what we did. As we were leaving the lot after exchanging vehicles, we saw my wife getting into a male coworker's car. We watched as her head quickly disappeared below the dashboard. Iroha and I sat in utter shock as the man reclined the driver's seat. Every once in a while, we would see the top of my wife's head bob up and down. Iroha fumed, calling her mother a fucking slutty bitch.
I drove closer to where they were parked and shut the truck off. We watched as my wife's head bobbed faster in the guy's lap. Iroha and I got out of the truck, leaving the doors open so as not to alert them of our presence. I realized that my wife was sucking her married supervisor's cock during their lunch break. She'd pulled her shirt up and undid her bra so the guy could play with her tit while she blew him. I don't know why, but I grabbed my phone and started recording just before Iroha knocked on the window, yelling, "You cheating slut. Fuck you, Mom, for wrecking our family!"
My wife's head came up just as the guy started blowing his wad. Streams of cum shot up, splashing off of her face. Her mouth dropped open in shock at being discovered with another guy's dick in her mouth. The guy's last spurt of cum landed on her on her lips as she screamed that she was sorry. The screams of my wife and daughter attracted the attention of other employees who were on break, and a number of employees approached to see what the commotion was about. Luckily, none of them pulled out their cell phones like I had. My wife scrambled to cover herself, slipping in the process, and smashed the guy in the nuts as she fell forward. He screamed in pain as my wife pushed down with that hand to raise herself off of him. She scrambled out of the car with her tits still out while the guy lay there doubled over in agony. "Oh my god!" my wife gasped as the CEO and the head of HR walked up. Both my wife and the dude she was blowing burst into tears when the CEO told them not to bother punching out. You're both fired! A couple of people in the back of the crowd clapped.
"Don't bother coming home," I told my wife as she pleaded with me.
"Where am I supposed to go?" she wailed. "He's married."
"He won't be when this goes viral!" I said, still recording.
"Pleeease noo," my wife cried after Iroha and I as we got back into the truck to leave.
I gave Iroha the keys to the car, telling her to drive it home and leave my wife stranded. I called my daughter, asking her to have my toolbox out when I got home. I was going to stop at the hardware store by our house and pick up new door locks for the house. My phone started ringing as soon as I hung up with Iroha. My wife was calling me, so I swiped to reject the call and sent it to voicemail. She called twice more than I sped to the hardware store. I answered the last call when my thumb accidentally bumped the answer tab on the steering wheel. I could hear my wife wailing over the phone. She must have inadvertently redialed me, as she was arguing with the guys about giving her a ride home. The guy told her to fuck off. He had his own problems having to explain to his wife why he got fired. I hung up as I pulled into the parking lot of the hardware store.
I grabbed two new knobs and deadbolt kits and quickly headed home. I wanted to change the locks before my wife had a chance to get home. I pulled into the garage and closed the door behind me. My darling daughter had used my screw gun and already had the front door deadbolt and door knob removed by the time I got home. She went to remove the locks from the back door while I installed the new locks. The whole time we were working to change the locks, our phones rang. First mine, then the house phone, and finally my daughters. I disconnected the house phone and then blocked my wife's number on my cell. Iroha listened to a couple of messages from her mom before she, too, blocked her mom's number.
After we finished, we put the tools away. I went upstairs to our bedroom and packed up a bunch of my wife's clothes into plastic garbage bags. Iroha tossed her mother's toiletries into a bag as well. We threw them on the front porch with a note saying, "I reported all of your credit cards stolen except the Visa. Don't bother knocking. Just take your shit and go!"
The icing on the cake was when Iroha came running out of the house with her mom's dildo and placed it on the stack of trash bags. As we went back inside, Iroha reminded me about the external keypad for opening the garage door. I went and ripped it from the door frame. "Fuck that bitch!" Iroha said in a Russian accent, like the movie we had watched earlier in the week.
About an hour later, we heard a car door slam. We peeked out the closed blinds and watched my wife and the guy load her bags into his car and leave. I sank back onto the couch, relieved that she didn't make a scene for our neighbors. I read through some of the text messages that my wife left before I blocked her number. They were pitiful, begging me not to post them anywhere and stating that I had already cost both of them their jobs. I showed it to Iroha, asking her what she thought I should do? "Wait until she pulls something, then post it," she said.
Iroha snuggled next to me, pulling my arm around her and wrapping her arms around me. She laid her head on my shoulder and squeezed me tightly. When I hugged her back, my hand accidentally cupped her breast. I gave it a squeeze.
"Thank you for today, Honey. I wouldn't have been able to control myself if it hadn't been for what you did for me today," I said, massaging her tit.
She slid her hand to my groin, giving my dick a squeeze, saying, "My offer still stands. You are going to need me more than ever now. Huh?"
"Baby, you shouldn't have to do that for me." I kissed her on the top of her head.
"I'd be doing it for the both of us. What you did to me today was amazing, and I want more. In fact, I don't ever want you to stop doing it with me," she said, stroking my penis erect.
Iroha lowered her head to my lap as she fished my cock out of my pants. Her pigtailed head started bobbing in my lap, and the image of my wife's head flashed through my mind. Iroha's pigtails bounced every time her head took another stroke. She sucked me until I was fully erect. That's when my little girl stood and asked, "Are you ready for me, Daddy?" as she stripped out of her clothes.
I shimmied out of my pants and pulled my shirt over my head. Iroha straddled my lap and pulled my face to her breasts. She held my head as she lowered her onto my cock. I suckled her nipples as my little girl bounced her twat on my dick. She pulled my face to hers, kissing me passionately as we fucked. Our tongues twirled and danced in each other's mouths. Iroha sucked on the tip of my tongue, swirling it with hers like she had been doing on my cock.
I thrust my cock into her, matching her every stroke, causing her to have the beginning tingle of an orgasm. She leaned back as she humped my cock, allowing me to resume sucking her nipples. Iroha wrapped her arms around my head, squeezing my face to her nipple as she came. She swirled and pivoted her pelvis as she ground her cervix on my rigid shaft. I clenched to keep myself from blowing my wad too soon. I even had to grab her hips to keep her from moving lest I lose my load. I held her still until the sensation waned.
Iroha climbed off my lap, turning her back to me. She sat on my lap, wiggling her hips as she tried to get the tip of my cock back into her slippery slit. She placed her feet on the cushion next to my knees as she leaned back against my chest. She began slamming her cunt onto my cock with long, steady strokes. The echos of our bodies clapping together filled the house. I grabbed her titties, squeezing them and pinching her nipples, cascading her into another climax. For a split second, I wondered where she'd learned this.
Her thrust became more sporadic and uncoordinated when she reached back and placed her hands on my shoulder so she could take longer thrusts. She took too long of a stroke on my shaft, causing it to slip out of her tight twat. On her downward thrust, my slickened snake slammed into her starfish. She let out a shriek but kept hammering herself on my cock. I reached around her and slipped two fingers into her cunt, fingering her til she came again. A warm gush of fluid coated my fingers as she climaxed.
In all the excitement, I couldn't hold back, and I blasted a load of cum up her pooper. I continued to thrust my cock into her until I emptied my nuts deep in her dumper. I kept fingering her twat until she couldn't take it anymore, and she pushed my hand away. I grabbed my shirt and tucked it between her ass cheeks as she slid off my cock. I took her hand and led her to the bathroom. I started the shower so we could wash off. I was a bit surprised when Iroha stepped into the shower with me. She took the bar of soap and began to wash my chest, washing her way down to my pubes. Her soapy hands stroked my cock and balls, scrubbing them of any remnant of our anal fuck fest. She smirked at me, asking if she'd done a good job. I nodded in the affirmative. "Good. Now you do me," she said, handing me the soap.
I lathered up my hands and let them wander over her luscious young body. I squeezed her breasts with my soapy, making them slip through my fingers. She giggled as I played with them like a little boy with a new toy. I knelt in front of her, letting my hands trail down her abdomen and finally to her pussy. I lathered up my hands again to wash her bald pussy, slipping my fingers through the folds of her vagina. I hesitated when my fingers neared her pussy hole. She nodded when I peered up at her. I slipped my fingers into her hole, washing it clean of from earlier in the day. She spun around, saying, "Don't forget the backside."
I slid my soapy fingers through her ass cheeks, washing her crack and sphincter. I noticed a bit of blood when I removed my hand.
"It's okay, Dad. It's normal for me after anal,"
"What do you mean, normal?" I asked.
"Dad. I'm a good Catholic girl. I know about the loophole," she giggled.
"Is that why you kept going when it slipped in?"
"Um, hum," she nodded. "I like anal sometimes."
I rinsed the suds off of her body and grabbed a bath towel to wrap her in. She, too, grabbed a towel and dried me off, spending a bit too long on my cock.
We wrapped ourselves in the towels and headed down the hallway to our bedrooms. She paused at her door before entering. "Where am I going to sleep tonight?" she said coyly as she looked through her bedroom door at her busted bed. "You broke my bed, fucking me earlier."
"Wait. I didn't break your bed. You were the one who yanked it apart." I jokingly replied.
"Yeah. Cuz your cock was giving me such a great fuck," she laughed as she took my hand and led me into my bedroom.
We crawled into bed and lay naked in each other's arms as we drifted to sleep.
The GPS had led you through winding, tree-lined roads for the last twenty minutes, each turn taking you deeper into a neighborhood that didn't feel like Seoul anymore. The mansions here didn't even try to blend in, they announced themselves with wrought-iron gates and stone walls, with security cameras that tracked your car's movement like predator eyes.
Your hands were slick against the steering wheel.
Senior Park had called this morning, his voice crackling through the phone with that particular brand of amusement he reserved for special assignments. "New client. Young. Recently married." A pause. "You've seen her face before."
You'd seen her face everywhere. Billboard in Gangnam. Subway advertisement for soju. The thumbnail of every third video on your YouTube feed. Karina. Yu Ji-min. The face of AESPA, the woman whose wedding had crashed three different entertainment news sites, whose husband, some shipping magnate's son had apparently decided that a wife was something you acquired, not something you maintained.
"That's the job," Senior Park had said. "She called us. Not the other way around. Remember that."
And now here you were, sitting in your Hyundai at the security gate of a house that looked more like a modern art museum, trying to remember how to breathe normally.
The gate buzzed before you could press the intercom.
A woman's voice, softer than you'd expected. "Come in. The front door is around the fountain."
The gate swung open.
The walk from your car to the front door took exactly forty-three steps. You counted them. Anything to keep your mind from spinning out. The fountain in the driveway was one of those minimalist things, a black stone slab with water sheeting down the sides. Classy. Expensive. The kind of thing you could stare at and feel nothing about.
Your professional training ran through your head like a checklist Senior Park had drilled into you months ago. Posture. Eye contact. Don't stare. Let her set the pace. The first meeting is always about making them comfortable enough to admit what they want.
But none of the training had mentioned what to do when Karina opened the door.
She wasn't wearing makeup. That was the first thing you noticed, not what you'd expected. Every image you'd ever seen of her was polished to a high gloss, stage-ready, camera-ready. The woman standing in the doorway had her dark hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few strands escaping at the temples. She wore an oversized gray sweater that hung off one shoulder, black leggings, bare feet on the marble floor.
And her face. Jesus Christ, her face.
The bone structure that launched a thousand fan edits. Lips that were slightly chapped, slightly parted. Eyes that held yours with something between curiosity and exhaustion.
"Come in," she said, stepping aside. "Take off your shoes."
You did. Brain on autopilot. The foyer was all white marble and indirect lighting, a staircase curving up into shadow. The house smelled like fresh laundry and something floral… lilies, maybe. A bouquet sat on a console table near the door, still wrapped in cellophane, the card unopened.
"I'm…" you started. "I know who you are." She was already walking toward what looked like a living room. "The agency sent me your file. Do you want something to drink?"
The living room was vast and somehow still felt empty. A sectional sofa big enough for twelve people. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a garden you couldn't see in the dark. No photographs on the walls. No magazines on the coffee table. It looked like a showroom, like no one actually lived here. "Water would be great," you managed.
Karina gestured toward the sofa. "Sit." She disappeared through an archway. You heard water running, the clink of glass. Your heart was doing something ridiculous in your chest—not racing exactly, more like it was trying to relocate to your throat.
The file Senior Park had given you was thin. Married eight months. Husband's name was Lee Joon-ho, heir to Lee Shipping & Logistics. According to the tabloids, he'd been spotted at clubs in Gangnam with actresses whose names you didn't recognize, while Karina attended industry events alone. The word "lonely" appeared in a lot of the articles, usually paired with photos of her looking wistful at award shows. "Here."
She was back, holding two glasses. One water, one something amber. Whiskey, maybe. Your eyes tracked the movement of her bare arm as she set the water down on the coffee table between you. "You're nervous," she said, settling onto the opposite end of the sectional. Not a question.
"A little."
"Why?"
Because you're Karina. Because every man in this country has fantasized about you. Because I'm sitting in your mansion and you're wearing that sweater and I don't know what I'm supposed to do with my hands. "New clients are always nerve-wracking," you said instead. "For both of us."
Something flickered in her expression. Amusement, maybe. Or skepticism. She took a sip of her drink—whiskey, definitely—and let her head rest against the back of the sofa. The movement exposed the long line of her throat, the delicate architecture of her collarbones where the sweater had slipped. "How long have you been doing this?"
"A year."
"And before that?" You hesitated. The training said honesty was valuable, but only in measured doses. "I was a personal trainer. Senior Park recruited me. Said I had the right… temperament."
"Temperament." She said the word like she was tasting it. "Is that what they call it?" The silence stretched. Outside, wind rattled something against the glass—a branch, probably. The house was so quiet you could hear the refrigerator humming from two rooms away.
"Why did you call the agency?" you asked. Karina's gaze slid toward you. "Aren't you supposed to know the answer to that?"
"I'd rather hear it from you." Another sip of whiskey. Her throat moved as she swallowed. "The agency brief didn't tell you?"
"It said you were recently married. It said your husband travels frequently for work."
"Travels." A short laugh, not especially warm. "Is that what they're calling it now?"
You didn't answer. Sometimes silence was the best tool you had. Karina set her glass down on the coffee table with a little more force than necessary. The sound echoed in the cavernous room. "He doesn't travel. He's in Seoul. He just doesn't come home." She was looking at the windows now, at her own reflection in the dark glass. "Three months. I've seen him three times in three months, and each time it was for less than an hour. Photo opportunities, mostly. His PR team coordinates them."
"That sounds lonely." Her jaw tightened. "Don't."
"Don't what?" "Don't do the sympathetic thing. I'm not paying for sympathy."
You shifted on the sofa, turning to face her more directly. "What are you paying for?"
The question landed differently than you'd intended. Karina's eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment the mask slipped—the idol mask, the one she wore in every interview and variety show appearance. Underneath it was something rawer. Something hungry and furious and so tired of pretending. "I want to feel something," she said. "Something that isn't…" She gestured vaguely at the house around her. "This."
"This?"
"Empty." The word came out smaller than the others. She picked up her whiskey again, took a longer drink. "Everything in my life is scheduled and managed and presented to the public in exactly the right light. My marriage. My career. My face." Another drink. "I wake up in this house and I feel like I'm already a ghost. Like I'm haunting my own life." You watched her fingers tighten around the glass. The knuckles went pale.
"So when you ask what I'm paying for," she continued, "I'm paying for something real. Something that isn't polite. Something that doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass." The air in the room had changed. Thicker, somehow. Charged with something you couldn't name.
"Have you done this before?" you asked. "With anyone from the agency?"
"No."
"And you understand how this works? The boundaries, the rules—"
"I understand." She cut you off with a look that was almost defiant. "I read everything. I know about the safeword protocols. I know I can stop anything at any time. I know this isn't…" She paused, searching for the word. "Conventional."
"It's not," you agreed. "Which is why I need to ask you something, and I need you to be honest with me."
Karina raised an eyebrow, and for a second you caught a glimpse of the stage persona, the one who commanded thousands with a single glance. "Ask."
"Are you sure you want this?" The question hung between you. Outside, the wind picked up again, and somewhere in the house a door creaked—settling, probably, or the air pressure shifting. Karina didn't look away from your face.
"Do you want me to prove it?" she asked.
"I want you to tell me." She was quiet for a long moment. Then she set her glass down again, stood up from the sofa, and walked toward you. Her bare feet made almost no sound on the marble floor. The sweater slipped further off her shoulder as she moved, revealing the strap of something black and lacy underneath. When she stopped, she was standing directly in front of you, close enough that you could smell her perfume—something light, citrus and white flowers—and underneath it, the clean scent of her skin. "I've been thinking about this for three weeks," she said. "Ever since I found the agency's number in a forum I wasn't supposed to be reading. Ever since I realized that the only person who's touched me in eight months is my makeup artist." Her voice was steady, but there was a tremor underneath it. "So yes. I'm sure. I want this."
She held out her hand. "I want you to make me feel something. I don't care if it hurts. I don't care if it's ugly. I want to stop being Karina for a few hours and just be… a body. A woman. Whatever is left of me when all of this"—she waved at the house, at the empty walls, at the unopened flowers—"isn't here anymore." Your pulse was a drumbeat in your ears. Her hand was still extended, palm up, waiting.
"Tell me your safeword," you said.
"Red."
"And if you can't speak?"
"Three taps. Anywhere you can feel them." You'd said the same words to half a dozen clients before her, but something about the way Karina recited them back—steady, rehearsed, like she'd practiced them in front of a mirror—made your chest tighten.
"Okay," you said. And you took her hand. Her skin was warm. Soft, the way you'd imagined, but there was strength in her grip too—the hand of someone who'd spent years in dance studios, who'd trained her body to do exactly what she wanted it to. She didn't flinch when you stood up, which brought you close enough that you could see the individual lashes framing her eyes, the tiny mole near her left eyebrow, the way her lips had parted slightly.
"Before we do anything," you said, "I need you to understand something."
"What?"
"This isn't about your husband. This isn't about revenge or filling a void or proving something to yourself." You kept your voice low, even. "This is about what you want. Right now. In this room. Nothing else exists." Karina's eyes searched your face. Whatever she was looking for, she must have found it, because something in her expression shifted—a loosening, a letting-go.
"Nothing else exists," she repeated.
"Good girl." The words slipped out before you could stop them, but the effect was immediate. Karina's breath caught. Her pupils dilated, just slightly. The hand in yours tightened its grip.
"That's what you want?" you asked. "To be good?"
"I want…" She swallowed. "I want to stop thinking. I want someone else to be in charge. Just for a while." You lifted your free hand and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. The movement was gentle, almost reverent, and it made no sense with the things you were about to do—but that was the point, wasn't it? The contrast. The collision of tender and brutal that would short-circuit her brain and give her exactly what she was asking for.
"Your bedroom," you said. "Take me there."
She led you up the curved staircase, her hand still in yours. The upstairs hallway was lined with doors, all of them closed except one at the far end. Soft light spilled out of it, and as you got closer you could see the corner of a bed—a huge bed, king-sized at least, with white sheets and too many pillows. The master bedroom. Karina's bedroom.
The room that her husband had probably not set foot in for months. She paused at the threshold, and for a moment you thought she might hesitate. Might change her mind. Might realize what she was about to do and decide it was too much, too fast, too far outside the carefully constructed image of Yu Ji-min, beloved idol, perfect wife.
Instead, she turned to face you. "What do you want me to do first?" The question was genuine. Not a test. She was waiting for you to take the reins, willing to hand over control before you'd even started.
"First," you said, stepping into the bedroom and pulling her gently after you, "I want you to take off that sweater." Karina's hands moved to the hem of the gray wool. The fabric lifted, revealing the black lace you'd glimpsed earlier—a bralette, delicate and expensive-looking, the kind of thing you wore when you wanted to feel beautiful even if no one else would see it. The sweater came over her head and dropped to the floor.
Her skin was luminous in the low light. Pale and smooth, with the kind of muscle definition that came from years of dancing—toned arms, a flat stomach that tensed as she breathed, the curve of her ribs just visible beneath the skin. "Now the leggings." She hooked her thumbs into the waistband and pushed them down, bending at the waist. The movement was efficient, not seductive, but it didn't matter—the sight of her body unfolding as she straightened up, the black lace of her underwear matching the bralette, the long lines of her legs.
You circled her slowly. She stood very still, the way she'd probably been trained to stand for fittings and stage checks, but there was a tremor in her thighs that she couldn't quite control. Anticipation. Maybe fear. Probably both. "Lie down on the bed," you said. "On your back."
Karina did as she was told. The mattress barely dipped under her weight—memory foam, probably, the kind that cost more than your monthly rent. She arranged herself in the center of the white expanse, arms at her sides, looking up at the ceiling. "Close your eyes." Her lashes swept down against her cheeks. The room was silent except for her breathing, which had gone shallow and quick. You stood at the foot of the bed and watched her. The rise and fall of her chest. The way her fingers curled against the sheets. The faint flush spreading from her neck to her collarbones.
"How do you feel?" you asked. "Exposed."
"Good." You moved to the side of the bed and sat down on the edge, close enough that your hip nearly touched hers. Karina's breathing hitched at the proximity.
"Do you know what I'm going to do to you?"
A pause. "No." "I'm going to use you." The words came out rougher than you'd intended. "I'm going to take everything you're willing to give me, and I'm going to make you feel every second of it. Your body belongs to me tonight. Do you understand?"
Her voice was barely a whisper. "Yes."
"And you want that?"
"God, yes."
"Look at me." Her eyes opened. They were glassy already, the pupils blown wide. The composed idol from five minutes ago was already starting to dissolve, replaced by something more vulnerable and infinitely more real. "Your husband," you said. "Does he ever look at you like this?"
Karina flinched—a tiny movement, but you caught it. "No."
"Does he touch you?"
"No."
"Does he make you feel anything at all?" A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, tracking down her temple and into her hair. "No." You leaned closer. "Then forget him. Forget all of it. Right now, there's only me and you and what your body can take. Nothing else. No Karina. No Yu Ji-min. Just a woman who needs to be fucked like she matters."
The tears were coming faster now, but she wasn't sobbing—just leaking, silently, the release of pressure that had been building for months.
"Please," she said. "Please."
"Please what?"
"Make me forget." You stood up and began unbuttoning your shirt. Karina watched you through blurred vision, her chest rising and falling with breaths she couldn't seem to control. The black lace of her bralette had shifted, revealing the upper curve of her breasts, the skin there flushed and warm.
"Last chance to change your mind," you said, pulling your shirt off and letting it fall. Her eyes traveled over your chest, your arms, the line of your stomach. When she spoke, her voice was steadier than it had been.
"I'm not changing my mind."
"Good." You unbuckled your belt and pulled it free from the loops with a single smooth motion. The leather whispered against the fabric of your pants. "Because I'm just getting started." The belt was still in your hand. Karina watched it loop between your fingers, the leather dark against your palm. Her tears had left shiny tracks down her temples, disappearing into the hairline, and her breathing had gone shallow again—not from crying now, but from something else. Something that made her thighs press together on the white sheets.
“Sit up,” you said. She pushed herself upright, the bralette shifting as she moved. One strap slipped off her shoulder. She didn’t fix it. You folded the belt in half and ran your thumb along the smooth side. “You said you wanted to stop being Karina for a few hours.”
“Yes.”
“Then I’m going to take away your sight.” Her lips parted. A micro-flinch—not fear, not exactly. More like the body’s instinctive response to a cliff edge. The moment before the jump. “The blindfold,” you continued, “stays on until I take it off. If it becomes too much, you use the taps. Three of them. Anywhere you can reach me.”
“I know the rules.”
“I know you do.” You stepped closer, until your knees touched the edge of the mattress. “But I want to hear you say it. What happens if you need to stop?”
“Three taps.” Her voice was steadier now. “On you. Anywhere.”
“And what’s your word?”
“Red.”
“Good.” You reached down and brushed your knuckles along her jawline. The contact was feather-light, almost accidental. “Lift your hair.” She gathered the dark strands and held them up, exposing the nape of her neck. The movement arched her back slightly, pushed her chest forward. The black lace strained against her breasts. You brought the belt around her head. The leather was cool, supple from use. You positioned it across her eyes, careful not to catch her hair in the buckle, and pulled it snug against her temples. Not tight enough to hurt. Tight enough that she wouldn’t see anything but darkness.
“How does that feel?”
Karina exhaled. “Dark.”
“Can you see anything?”
“No.”
“Good.” You fastened the belt at the back of her head and let your fingers trail down the side of her neck as you withdrew. Her pulse hammered against your fingertips. “Now lie back down.” She lowered herself onto the mattress. The movement was different now—less controlled, more tentative. Without her sight, every shift of her body became a negotiation with the unknown. Her hands found the sheets and gripped them. You stood at the edge of the bed and looked at her. The idol that half of Korea fantasized about. The face on every billboard. Reduced to a blindfolded woman in black lace, her chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid cycles, her lips slick where she’d licked them.
“Spread your legs.” Karina’s thighs parted. The movement was slow, almost reluctant—but she did it. The matching black panties were cut high on her hips, the fabric thin enough that you could see the suggestion of her underneath. A dark shadow. A slight dampness already bleeding through.
“Wider.” She obeyed. Her knees fell open, exposing the full length of her. The panties pulled taut across her cunt. The outline of her lips. The little seam where they parted.
You didn’t touch her there. Not yet. Instead you climbed onto the bed, positioning yourself beside her. The mattress dipped under your weight, and Karina’s body shifted toward you instinctively—gravity pulling her toward the heat of your skin. “You’re going to use your mouth now,” you said. “And while you do, I’m going to play with these.” Your fingers found the strap of her bralette. You pulled it down. Then the other strap. The lace caught on her nipples for a moment—already peaked, already hard—before you tugged it free and let the fabric pool around her waist.
Karina’s breasts were full and pale, the nipples a dusty rose color that darkened at the tips. They stiffened further in the open air, and she made a small sound—something between a gasp and a whimper. “You like that.”
“Yes,” she breathed.
“You like being blindfolded. You like not knowing what’s coming next.”
“I… yes.” You traced a circle around her right nipple with your fingertip. The skin puckered. Karina’s back lifted off the mattress.
“Don’t move,” you said. “Stay still and let me touch you.” She forced herself down. The effort was visible—her abdominal muscles tensed, her hands fisting in the sheets. You circled the nipple again, closer this time, and then you took it between your thumb and forefinger and squeezed. The sound she made was not a moan. It was a broken exhale, a noise that started in her chest and caught in her throat. Her hips bucked once—an involuntary spasm—and then she forced them still. “That’s it,” you murmured. “Let your body react. Don’t fight it.”
You rolled the nipple between your fingers, working it slowly. The texture was fascinating—the way it tightened and pebbled under your touch, the way the areola crinkled around it. Karina’s breathing had gone ragged. A flush was spreading down her chest, past her collarbones, toward the swell of her breasts. “Does your husband ever touch you like this?”
“No—” The word came out strangled.
“Does he know what your body does when someone pays attention to it?”
“He doesn’t… he never…”
“He never what?”
“He never touches me.” The confession was barely a whisper. “He never—ah—” You’d switched to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. Roll. Squeeze. A gentle twist that made her gasp and arch before she remembered she was supposed to stay still.
“Then he’s a fool,” you said. “Because your body is extraordinary.” You leaned down and took her nipple into your mouth. Karina cried out. The sound was sharp and sudden, echoing in the vast bedroom. Your tongue laved across the tight bud, traced circles around the areola, and then you sucked—a long, pulling pressure that made her whole body go rigid.
“Oh—oh god—” Her hands came up, flailing in the dark, and found your shoulders. Her nails dug in. You didn’t tell her to stop. Instead you sucked harder, pulling the nipple deep into your mouth while your other hand continued working its twin—rolling, pinching, tugging in counterpoint to the rhythm of your tongue. She was making sounds now that had no words in them. Just vowels. Just broken, desperate vowels that rose and fell with the movement of your mouth. You released her nipple with a wet pop.
“Hands down,” you said. “We’re not done.” Karina’s fingers uncurled from your shoulders. She lowered her arms back to the bed. Her chest was heaving, both nipples now slick and swollen, darker than they’d been before. The blindfold had shifted slightly—just a millimeter—but she hadn’t tried to remove it. “Good girl. Now.” You unfastened your pants and pushed them down. Your boxers followed. “I want you to sit up. I want you on your knees. Can you do that?”
She nodded. The belt bobbed with the movement. Getting her upright was an exercise in trust. She couldn’t see the edge of the bed, couldn’t gauge the distance. You guided her by the shoulders—first into a sitting position, then turning her so her legs hung off the side of the mattress. “On your knees,” you said. “On the floor.” Karina slid off the bed. Her knees hit the hardwood with a soft thud. The position put her face level with your hips, and even though she couldn’t see you, she must have sensed your proximity, because her breath quickened. “You’re going to use your mouth now,” you said. “The way you’ve been thinking about since you first called the agency. The way you’ve imagined in this empty bed at night while your husband was god knows where.”
Her lips parted. Her tongue darted out, wetting them. “But you don’t get to use your hands. Not yet. Just your mouth. And while you work, I’m going to keep playing with your nipples. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” You guided yourself toward her mouth. The head of your cock brushed her lower lip—just a touch, just enough for her to feel the heat. Karina’s whole body shuddered. “Open.” She did. Her jaw dropped, and you pushed forward, sliding the tip past her lips. The inside of her mouth was hot. Wet. Her tongue met the underside of your shaft, tentative at first, then bolder—flattening against you, tracing the ridge of the head. You groaned. The sound was involuntary. “That’s it. Take more.”
She did. Her lips stretched around your girth, and you watched her jaw work as she accommodated the intrusion. There was no hesitation now—the blindfold had freed her from something. From the performance. From the expectation. From Karina Yu, the idol, and all the ways that identity constrained her. The woman kneeling on the floor was just a woman. A woman who wanted to suck cock. You reached down and found her nipples again. Both of them this time, one in each hand, rolling them between your thumbs and forefingers as she began to move.
Karina moaned around your shaft. The vibration traveled through you, up your spine, into the base of your skull. “Mmm—”
She pulled back, let her tongue swirl around the head, then pushed forward again—deeper this time. Her throat flexed. A gag reflex triggered, and she choked, but she didn’t pull away. She held herself there, breathing through her nose, letting her throat adjust to the intrusion. “Fuck,” you breathed. “You’ve done this before.” She couldn’t answer—her mouth was full—but the way she moved said everything. This wasn’t practice. This was muscle memory. Somewhere in her past, before the fame and the management and the carefully curated image, there had been a girl who knew exactly what to do with her mouth. You pinched her nipples harder. She whimpered. Bobbed her head. The wet sounds of her mouth filled the room—the slick slide of lips on skin, the soft suction when she pulled back, the obscene little pop when she reached the tip and let go for just a moment before diving back down.
“Look at you.” Your voice had gone rough. “The most famous woman in Korea. On her knees. Blindfolded. Choking on a stranger’s cock.” Karina’s response was a moan that vibrated through your entire shaft. She sucked harder. Faster. Her tongue worked the underside of your cock with the kind of precision that spoke to experience—flicking against the frenulum, tracing the vein that ran along the length, pressing flat and wide when she reached the base. You tugged her nipples in rhythm with her bobbing. Pull when she went down. Release when she came up. The coordination turned her body into an instrument—you played her nipples, and she played you with her mouth. Saliva dripped down her chin. It pooled in the hollow of her throat, ran in thin rivulets toward her collarbones. She was messy now. Undone. The composed idol from an hour ago was dissolving into something rawer and infinitely more beautiful.
“Deeper,” you said. “Take it deeper.” She pushed forward. Her throat constricted around the head of your cock—a tight, hot pressure that made your vision swim. She gagged again, harder this time, and you felt her throat spasm around you. “Stay there.” She held. Her shoulders trembled. A tear leaked from beneath the blindfold—not from crying, but from the physical reflex of her throat trying to expel the intrusion. The tear tracked down her cheek and mixed with the saliva on her chin. You released her nipples and cupped her face instead. Your thumbs traced the stretched line of her lips, the bulge of your cock visible through her cheek.
“You’re perfect like this,” you murmured. “Blind. Choking. Desperate. This is what you needed, isn’t it? To be used. To be nothing but a mouth.” Karina made a sound—half moan, half sob—and nodded as much as she could with your cock buried in her throat. You pulled back. Let her breathe. A thick strand of saliva connected her bottom lip to the tip of your cock.
“Don’t swallow yet,” you said. “Let it drip.” She obeyed. The saliva pooled and spilled, running down her chin and onto her chest. It made her skin glisten in the low light.
“Now use your hands. Both of them. Show me how you touch yourself when you think about this.” Her hands came up immediately—eager, almost frantic. One wrapped around the base of your shaft while the other cupped your balls. Her fingers were cool against the heat of your skin. She squeezed gently, testing the weight, and then her mouth was back on you—lips stretched wide, tongue working, throat opening. The blindfold was soaked now. Tears and sweat had darkened the leather around her eyes. You reached down and found her nipples again. Plucked them. Rolled them. Pinched them until she keened around your cock, the sound high and desperate. “You love this. You love being on your knees for a stranger. You love not being in control.”
“Mmmhmm—” The affirmation vibrated through your shaft.
“Say it. Pull off and say it.” She let you go with a gasp. Her lips were swollen, the color darkened to a deep rose. “I love it. I love being on my knees. I love—” She swallowed, her throat working. “I love not being in control.”
“Why?”
“Because…” Her blindfolded face tilted up toward your voice. “Because for once I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to be perfect. I don’t have to be Karina. I can just be… this.”
“A mouth.”
“Yes.”
“A set of holes.”
She shuddered. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
“I’m a mouth.” Her voice cracked. “I’m a set of holes. I’m just—I’m just a body that wants to be used.” You stroked her cheek. “Good girl. Now open up.” She did. Her jaw dropped, tongue extended—a gesture of pure, shameless submission. You guided yourself back into her mouth and this time you didn’t let her set the pace. You fucked her throat with slow, deliberate thrusts, watching her lips stretch around you, watching her chest heave as she struggled to breathe through her nose.
Your hands never left her nipples. They were dark now, engorged, slick with the saliva that had dripped down from her chin. You twisted them in opposite directions and Karina screamed around your cock—a muffled, desperate sound that was swallowed by the column of flesh filling her throat. “Again.” Twist. Scream. Her thighs squeezed together, and through the thin black panties you could see her cunt clenching on nothing.
“You’re getting wet from this. From choking on a stranger’s cock while he twists your nipples.” She couldn’t answer. Could only whimper and bob her head and take it. You pulled her off again. She gasped, coughed, and then immediately tried to lean forward—to get you back in her mouth. You held her by the hair. “Not yet. I want to look at you.” Karina knelt there, chest heaving, lips swollen and slick, chin dripping. The blindfold was a dark slash across her face. Her nipples jutted out from the flushed mounds of her breasts, hard and dark and wet. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” you said. “And I mean that. Not Karina the idol. Not the image. This. Right here. A woman who finally stopped pretending.”
Her lips trembled. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Please let me finish. Please let me taste you. Please—I need—I need to feel you—”
“You need to feel me come down your throat.”
“Yes.” The word was a sob. “Yes. Please. Use my mouth. Use my throat. I don’t care if I can’t breathe. I just want to feel it. I want to taste it. Please.” You guided her back onto your cock. She took you deeper than before—no hesitation, no slow build. She swallowed you whole, her nose pressing against your abdomen, her throat working around the intrusion like it was made for this. Made for you. Your hands found her nipples one last time. You pinched them hard—the hardest yet—and held the pressure as she sucked. Karina’s whole body convulsed. Her thighs pressed together so tightly that the muscles in her legs stood out in sharp relief. A muffled, keening sound escaped from somewhere deep in her throat. She was close. Even without touching her cunt, even without any stimulation below the waist—she was close. The nipple play and the blindfold and the degradation had wound her up to a breaking point.
You felt your own climax building. A tightening at the base of your spine. A coiling pressure that radiated outward. “I’m going to come,” you said. “And you’re going to swallow every drop. Do you understand?” Karina’s response was to suck harder. Her tongue worked the underside of your shaft, pressing and stroking in time with her bobbing. Her hand cupped your balls and squeezed—gently, then harder—and that was it. The orgasm hit like a punch to the spine. You groaned—a deep, guttural sound—and your hands tightened on her nipples as the first pulse of cum shot into her mouth. She swallowed. You felt her throat work around the head of your cock, milking you, drawing out every pulse. The second shot. The third. She took them all, her lips sealed tight around your shaft, not letting a single drop escape.
“Fuck. Fuck, Karina—” She pulled back just enough to let the last pulse land on her tongue. Then she closed her mouth and swallowed again, her throat moving in a long, deliberate gulp. When she finally released you, she sat back on her heels. Her chest was still heaving. Her nipples were dark and swollen. Her chin glistened. A single drop of cum had escaped the corner of her mouth and was tracking slowly down toward her jaw. You reached down and wiped it away with your thumb. Then you pressed your thumb to her lips. She sucked it clean.
“Thank you,” she whispered. You crouched down in front of her. The blindfold was ruined—soaked through with tears and sweat, the leather darkened to near-black. You reached behind her head and unbuckled it. The belt fell away.
Karina blinked. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, the pupils so dilated that her irises were barely visible. Tear tracks striped her cheeks. Her lips—swollen, bruised-looking, the lipstick she hadn’t been wearing long since replaced by a deeper, more honest color. She looked wrecked. She looked free. “How do you feel?” you asked.
A long pause. Then a smile—small, fragile, but real. “Like I’m still here. Like I’m actually… in my body. For the first time in months.” You brushed the hair away from her face. “We’re not done.” Karina’s smile widened, just a fraction. “I know.” “Lie back down on the bed. On your stomach this time.” She rose on unsteady legs and climbed onto the mattress. The black panties were soaked through now—a dark, wet patch that spread from the gusset all the way to the waistband. She arranged herself face-down on the white sheets, her arms stretched above her head, her legs slightly apart.
The position made her ass look incredible. Round and full, the cheeks peeking out from beneath the lace.
You climbed onto the bed behind her. Your cock was still half-hard, already stirring again at the sight of her. “I’m going to take these off now,” you said, hooking your fingers into the waistband of her panties. “And then I’m going to find out just how wet choking on a stranger’s cock made you.”
Karina’s voice was muffled by the pillow. “Yes. Please. Touch me.” You pulled the panties down. And stopped breathing. The panties slid down the curve of her ass, the black lace peeling away from skin that glistened with moisture. The gusset left a shining trail across the backs of her thighs—a snail's track of arousal that caught the bedroom's low light. You stopped breathing.
Karina's cunt was laid bare before you, the lips puffy and flushed a deep rose, parted just enough to reveal the darker, wetter flesh within. Her arousal had coated everything—the inner thighs, the neat strip of dark hair above her mound, the puckered swirl of her asshole that winked at you as she shifted on the mattress. The scent hit you next: salt and musk and something sweeter underneath, the raw perfume of a woman who'd been sucking cock while her nipples were tortured and had loved every second of it.
"Fuck," you breathed. Karina's response was muffled by the pillow. "What? What is it?"
"You're dripping. You're actually—" You ran one finger along the seam of her cunt, not pushing in, just gathering the slick that had pooled there. The touch made her whole body jolt. "You're soaked. All the way down your thighs."
"I know." Her voice cracked. "I could feel it. While I was—while you were in my mouth—I could feel myself getting wetter and I couldn't do anything about it."
"Did you want to?"
"Yes. God, yes. I wanted to touch myself so badly. But you told me not to move. So I just… leaked." You brought your slick-coated finger to your mouth and tasted her. Salty. Slightly bitter. Clean. The flavor bloomed on your tongue, and something in your chest tightened—not just lust, though there was plenty of that, but something closer to awe. The most famous woman in Korea was face-down on her marital bed, her cunt drooling onto the sheets, waiting for a stranger to decide what to do with her.
"Please," Karina whispered. "Please touch me. I've been waiting. I've been so patient. Please."
"How long has it been since someone touched you here?"
"Eight months. Since before the wedding. He never—Joon-ho never—" She choked on the name. "He never wanted to. Even before we got married. He said it was… messy. He said he preferred—"
"Preferred what?"
"His hand. His own hand. While I lay next to him pretending to be asleep." The confession hung in the air. You looked at the perfect curve of her ass, the trembling muscles of her thighs, the slick heat of her cunt that some man had decided wasn't worth his time. "His loss," you said. "Don't move." You positioned yourself behind her, kneeling between her spread legs. The position gave you a view of everything—the long line of her spine, the flare of her hips, the dark cleft of her ass, and at the center of it all, her cunt. Swollen. Wet. Waiting.
"Two fingers," you said. "I'm going to put two fingers inside you. And you're going to scream into that pillow." Karina grabbed the pillow and pulled it to her face. You pushed your middle finger into her first.
The heat was staggering. Tight—god, she was tight—but so wet that your finger slid in to the second knuckle without resistance. Her inner walls clenched around the intrusion, a rippling squeeze that traveled from base to tip. Karina's back arched. A strangled sound escaped the pillow.
"One," you said. "Here comes the second."
Your index finger joined the first. The stretch made her gasp—a sharp intake of air that she cut off by biting the pillow. You pushed both fingers deep, curling them upward, searching for the rough patch of tissue that would make her see stars.
You found it.
Karina screamed.
The sound was muffled by the pillow but still loud enough to echo in the vast bedroom. Her hips bucked backward, driving your fingers deeper. Her cunt clamped down with a force that made your knuckles ache.
"There it is," you murmured. "That's what you needed, isn't it? Someone to find it. Someone to touch it. Someone who isn't afraid of a little mess."
"Don't stop—please don't stop—"
You didn't stop. You fucked her with your fingers in slow, deep strokes, curling them against that spot every time you bottomed out. The wet sounds were obscene—a slick, squelching rhythm that filled the room. Her juices coated your hand, dripped down your wrist, pooled on the sheets beneath her.
"Listen to yourself," you said. "Listen to how wet you are. You sound like a—"
"Like a whore." The word came out muffled but clear. "Say it. I want you to say it."
"You sound like a whore. A dripping, desperate whore who's been neglected for eight months and finally has someone's fingers in her cunt."
Karina moaned—a long, wavering sound that rose in pitch as you increased your pace. Her fingers clawed at the sheets. Her ass lifted higher, presenting herself more openly, and you watched her cunt stretch around your fingers, the lips clinging to your knuckles every time you pulled back.
"More," she gasped. "More. I need more. I need—"
"You need what?"
"I need to come. Please. Please let me come. I've been so good. I swallowed everything. I didn't spill a drop. Please."
You slowed your fingers. Stopped them entirely, buried to the hilt inside her.
Karina whimpered. "No—no, why did you stop—"
"Because I want to hear you beg properly." You leaned down, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "You're not Karina right now. You're not an idol. You're just a wet hole that wants to be filled. So beg like one."
A shudder ran through her body. Her voice, when it came, was smaller than before—stripped of the polish, stripped of everything except raw, naked need.
"Please fuck me with your fingers. Please make me come. I've been empty for so long. I've been so empty and so lonely and the only thing that's made me feel anything in months is your cock in my throat and your fingers on my nipples and now I need—I need you to let me finish. I need to feel something break inside me. Please. I'm begging you. I'm begging like the desperate slut I am. Please."
"Good girl."
You resumed fucking her with your fingers. Faster this time. Harder. The curl against her G-spot became a pounding rhythm, and Karina's whole body began to shake. Her thighs quivered. Her ass clenched and unclenched. The pillow was soaked with saliva and tears.
"I'm close—I'm so close—"
You pulled your fingers out.
"No!" The word was a howl. Her cunt gaped for a moment, empty and clenching on nothing, and then she collapsed forward onto the mattress. "Why? Why did you—I was right there—"
"Turn over."
She rolled onto her back. Her face was a wreck—eyes wild and glassy, cheeks blotchy with tears, lips still swollen from the blowjob. Her chest heaved. Her nipples stood out like dark berries against the pale swell of her breasts.
"Spread your legs."
She did. Her cunt was even more obscene from this angle—the lips engorged and spread, the inner flesh a slick, vivid pink, the hood of her clitoris pulled back to reveal the pearl beneath. Everything glistened.
"Touch yourself."
Karina's hand flew to her cunt. Her fingers found her clit and began rubbing in tight, frantic circles. Her other hand grabbed her breast, squeezing, pinching the nipple.
"That's it. Show me how you make yourself come when you're alone in this empty house."
"It's always you," she panted. "Not you—not you specifically—but someone. Someone who isn't him. Someone who wants me. I imagine—I imagine being taken. Being used. Being ruined." Her circles grew faster. "I imagine a stranger's cock. A stranger's hands. I imagine being bent over and fucked until I can't walk. Until I can't think. Until I forget my own name."
"And does your husband ever make you come?"
"Never. Not once. Not even—not even when we—ah—"
"Don't stop. Keep rubbing."
Her fingers were a blur on her clit. Her hips lifted off the mattress. The muscles in her stomach stood out in sharp definition. She was close again—you could see it in the flush spreading across her chest, the way her mouth fell open, the frantic, jerky movements of her hand.
"Please," she gasped. "Please let me—"
"Stop."
Her hand froze. A sound came out of her that wasn't human—a guttural, animal keen of pure frustration. Her clit twitched visibly, denied its release. Her cunt spasmed, squeezing around nothing, gushing a fresh surge of fluid that soaked the sheets.
"Fuck!" She slammed her fist against the mattress. "Fuck, fuck, fuck—"
You grabbed her wrist and pinned it above her head. "Look at me."
Karina's eyes met yours. They were wet and desperate and furious and grateful all at once.
"You said you wanted to be ruined. Ruined doesn't mean easy. Ruined doesn't mean I let you come the moment you ask nicely. Ruined means I take you apart piece by piece until there's nothing left but the animal underneath. Do you understand?"
"Yes." The word was barely a whisper.
"Do you still want this?"
"God, yes. Yes. Ruin me. Please. I want to be ruined."
You released her wrist. "Then get on your hands and knees. I want to see all of you."
Karina scrambled into position. The movement was ungraceful, uncoordinated—the idol's dancer precision abandoned in favor of pure, sloppy need. She presented herself on all fours, her back arched, her ass lifted high. The position opened her completely—her cunt a dark, wet gash between her thighs, her asshole a tight pink knot, everything glistening with the evidence of her arousal.
"Spread your ass cheeks."
Her hands reached back. Her fingers dug into the full flesh of her buttocks and pulled them apart, exposing herself more completely. The vulnerability of the gesture made your cock throb.
"Wider."
She stretched herself open until the pink of her cunt gaped slightly, until you could see the dark entrance of her body, the place where her wetness pooled and dripped in a slow, viscous thread onto the sheets.
"Please," she breathed. "Please ruin my pussy. I need your cock. I need it inside me. I've needed it since you walked through my door. Since before that. Since I first saw your picture in the agency file. Please. Fuck me. Fuck me like you hate me. Fuck me like I'm nothing."
You positioned yourself behind her.
Your cock was fully hard again—thick and veined, the head an angry purple, a bead of precum already forming at the slit. You gripped the base and ran the tip along her slit, coating yourself in her slick. The contact made her shudder.
"Is this what you want?"
"Yes—"
You pushed the head against her entrance. The heat of her cunt kissed the tip of your cock.
"Say it again. Louder."
"YES. Fuck me. Please fuck me. Ruin my pussy. I want to feel you in my womb. I want to feel you for days. I want to walk into my next schedule and still feel where you've been. Please—"
You thrust forward.
One motion. No gradual entry. No easing her open. You buried yourself to the hilt in a single, brutal stroke, and Karina's plea dissolved into a scream that had no words in it.
Her cunt was impossibly tight. The wet heat of her gripped every inch of you—a clenching, rippling pressure that traveled from base to tip. You felt the head of your cock butt against her cervix, felt the resistant give of that deepest barrier, and then you pushed past it.
Karina's scream pitched higher.
"Oh fuck—oh fuck, you're so deep—you're in my—"
"Your womb. I know."
You stayed there for a moment, buried to the root, letting her body adjust to the intrusion. Her inner walls fluttered around your shaft—spasms of sensation that were half pleasure, half shock. Her fingers were still digging into her ass cheeks, holding herself open, and you could see exactly where your bodies joined. The stretched ring of her cunt. The way her lips clung to the base of your cock. The shine of her fluids on your skin.
"You're taking all of it," you said. "Every inch. You feel that? Feel how deep I am?"
"Yes—yes, I feel it—I feel you in my stomach—"
"Good."
You pulled back. The drag of her walls against your shaft made your vision swim. Then you slammed forward again, harder than before, and Karina's head dropped between her shoulders, her whole body rocking forward from the force.
"AH—"
"Again."
Another thrust. Harder. The sound of your bodies colliding was a wet slap that echoed off the bedroom walls. Her ass rippled with the impact. Her breasts swung beneath her.
"You wanted to be ruined," you growled, gripping her hips. "So I'm going to ruin you. I'm going to fuck this tight little cunt until you can't remember your own name. Until you can't remember his name. Until the only thing in your head is my cock and how deep it is and how hard I'm using you."
"Yes—yes—fuck—harder—"
You gave her harder.
The rhythm you set was brutal—deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against her cervix with every thrust. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the room. Your balls slapped against her clit. Sweat dripped from your forehead onto her back, tracing rivulets down her spine.
Karina was making sounds that didn't belong to any language. Guttural moans. High-pitched whines. Broken syllables that might have been words if she'd had enough control to form them. Her fingers had released her ass cheeks and were now fisting in the sheets, knuckles white, arms trembling.
"Look at you. The most famous idol in Korea. On her hands and knees. Getting her pussy destroyed by a stranger. Moaning like an animal. This is what you needed, isn't it? Not the fame. Not the money. Not the perfect husband and the perfect house. This. Just this. Just a cock in your cunt and someone who knows how to use it."
"YES—YES, THIS—THIS IS WHAT I—OH FUCK—"
You reached around her body and found her clit. The bundle of nerves was swollen and slick, hard as a pebble under your fingertip. You pressed down and circled—not gently, not teasingly, but with the same brutal intensity as your thrusts.
Karina's whole body convulsed.
The orgasm hit her like a wave breaking against rocks. Her cunt clamped down on your cock with a force that almost hurt—a rhythmic, pulsing squeeze that traveled in waves from her core outward. Her back arched impossibly. Her head flew up, mouth open in a silent scream, eyes rolled back so far that only the whites were visible.
Then the sound came. A wail. A keening, animal cry that started low in her chest and rose to fill the room. Her arms gave out. She collapsed forward onto the mattress, but you followed her down, never stopping, never slowing, fucking her through the orgasm with the same relentless pace.
"Thaaaat's it—don't stop—don't stop—don't—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can take it. You wanted to be ruined. You're going to take every thrust until I'm done with you."
"It's too much—it's—oh god—OH GOD—"
A second orgasm crashed over her before the first had fully subsided. This one was stronger—violent, almost. Her cunt gushed around your cock, soaking your thighs, soaking the sheets. Her screams dissolved into sobs. Her body shook with a force that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than muscle, somewhere primal.
"Please—please—I can't—I can't take any more—"
"One more. Give me one more."
"I can't—I can't—"
"You can. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? Feel how full you are? That's what you needed. Not his empty house. Not his empty promises. This. A cock that fills you up. A body that knows how to use yours. Come for me again, Karina. Come on this cock like the desperate whore you told me you are."
Her response was unintelligible. A stream of syllables that might have been Korean, might have been English, might have been neither. A confession. A prayer. A surrender.
You drove into her harder—deeper, if that was even possible—and pressed your thumb against her clit. The stimulation was merciless. Her cunt seized around you. Her sobs pitched higher.
And then she shattered.
This orgasm was different from the others. Quieter. Deeper. Her body went rigid for a long, suspended moment—every muscle locked, every breath held. Then the release came, and it came with a flood. Her cunt gushed around your shaft—not just wetness this time, but a clear, copious fluid that sprayed against your thighs and soaked into the mattress beneath her.
Karina's voice broke on a single word: "Fuuuuck—"
Her body went limp. Completely limp. She collapsed into the wet sheets, her chest heaving, her limbs twitching with aftershocks. Her cunt still pulsed weakly around your cock—little flutters of sensation that traveled up your shaft.
You slowed your thrusts. Eased to a stop. Buried yourself deep inside her one last time and held there, feeling the heat of her body, the slick grip of her cunt, the violent thudding of her heart that you could feel through the walls of her core.
The room was silent except for her breathing—ragged, broken gasps that gradually slowed to something approaching normal.
"Are you still with me?" you asked.
A long pause. Then, muffled by the mattress: "I don't know. I think so. I think… I think that was…"
"That was what?"
"That was the first time. The first time anyone's ever—" She swallowed. The movement traveled through her whole body. "The first time anyone's ever made me come. Not just during sex. Ever."
You pulled out slowly. Her cunt made a wet, sucking sound as you withdrew—reluctant, almost, as if her body didn't want to let you go. A gush of fluid followed, clear and viscous, pooling on the already-soaked sheets.
Karina whimpered at the emptiness.
"Turn over," you said. "Look at me."
It took her a moment to find the strength. When she finally rolled onto her back, the sight of her made your chest tighten.
She was wrecked. Absolutely wrecked. Her face was blotchy with tears, her eyes swollen and glassy. Her lips—still puffy from the blowjob—were parted, a thin trail of drool connecting the corner of her mouth to her chin. Her nipples were dark and angry-looking, surrounded by faint marks where your fingers had been. Her thighs were slick with her own fluids. Her cunt gaped slightly, the lips engorged and spread, still pulsing with aftershocks.
She had never looked more beautiful.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I know. I want to." Her voice was hoarse—fucked raw, used up. "I've been numb for so long. I didn't even realize how numb until… until you made me feel all of this. The pain. The pleasure. The—the shame. The humiliation. I felt all of it. I'm still feeling it."
"And right now? How do you feel?"
Karina's eyes found yours. The glassiness was fading, replaced by something clearer. Something almost peaceful.
"Full," she said. "And sore. And wet. And tired. And…" A pause. "Alive. I feel alive."
You reached down and brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair away from her forehead. The gesture was gentle—a stark contrast to everything you'd just done to her body.
"Good," you said. "Because we're still not finished."
Her eyes widened. Then, slowly, a smile spread across her wrecked face—small and fragile and utterly genuine.
"I know," she said. "I was counting on it."
The shower was a rainfall fixture, wide enough for two, the water coming down in a steady, warm curtain. Steam fogged the glass enclosure. You stood behind Karina, cupping water in your palms and letting it run down her back. The rivulets tracked the geography you'd already memorized—the dip of her spine, the flare of her hips, the twin dimples just above the swell of her ass.
She leaned against the marble wall, forehead pressed to the cool stone.
"I can't feel my legs," she mumbled.
"That's normal."
"Is it?" A laugh, breathy and exhausted. "Good to know."
You reached for the body wash—something expensive, sandalwood and bergamot—and worked it into a lather between your hands. When you touched her shoulders, Karina sighed. The sound was different from the ones that had filled the bedroom an hour ago. Softer. Quieter. The sigh of a body that had been wrung dry and was finally allowed to rest.
Your hands moved down her back in slow circles. Over the faint red marks your fingers had left on her hips. Across the small of her back where sweat had pooled and dried. Down to the curve of her ass, where you kneaded the muscle with careful pressure.
"You're going to be sore tomorrow," you said.
"Good." Her voice was muffled against the marble. "I want to be sore. I want to remember."
"Remember what?"
She turned around. Water sluiced down her front, plastering her hair to her neck and shoulders. The mascara she hadn't been wearing was long gone, but her eyes were still rimmed with red, still slightly swollen. The marks on her nipples had darkened. Her lips—still puffy, still that deep bruised rose—curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"That I'm a real person. That someone wanted me. That for a few hours, I wasn't just a photograph."
You cupped her face. Your thumbs traced her cheekbones. "You were never just a photograph."
"You know what I mean."
"I do." You leaned down and kissed her forehead. Then the bridge of her nose. Then each eyelid, feather-light, the way you'd close a book you weren't finished reading. "But you need to hear it anyway. You're not what he made you feel. You were never what he made you feel."
Karina's breath shuddered out. Fresh tears mixed with the shower water—silent ones this time, not the wrenching sobs from before. She didn't answer. Didn't need to. You held her there in the steam until the water started to cool.
Later, wrapped in a robe that probably cost more than your monthly car payment, Karina walked you to the front door.
The foyer was different now. Less cavernous. The unopened flowers still sat on the console table, but something about them had shifted—they looked less like an accusation and more like a relic. A fossil from a life she was leaving behind.
She pressed a small folded paper into your palm.
"My real number," she said. "Not the one the agency has. Not the one my manager screens." Her fingers lingered on your wrist. "Call me. Or text me. I don't care which. Just… don't disappear."
You unfolded the paper. The handwriting was neat, precise—idol training, probably, years of signing autographs until every stroke was perfect. Ten digits. No name. She didn't need one.
"I won't disappear," you said.
"You say that now."
"I mean it." You caught her hand and lifted it to your lips. Kissed her knuckles. Then the inside of her wrist, where the skin was thin and the pulse still fluttered. "You survived eight months of being invisible in your own house. The least I can do is answer a text."
She laughed—a real one this time, short and surprised. "That's a low bar."
"I'm a simple man."
Karina pulled her hand back, but slowly, the way you set down something fragile. "Go. Before I ask you to stay."
You didn't say goodbye. The training had taught you better than that. Goodbye implied an ending, and endings were the one thing clients like Karina didn't need more of. Instead you stepped out into the cool night air, the paper clutched in your hand, and let the door click shut behind you.
Three weeks passed.
Senior Park called on a Tuesday.
"New client," he said, the way he always did—like he was offering you a gift and daring you to guess what was inside. "Young. Married. The usual story."
"The usual story" had become a kind of shorthand between you. Rich husband. Neglected wife. A mansion full of expensive things and no warmth. You'd heard it so many times now that the details blurred together—only the faces changed, and even those were starting to feel familiar. Actresses. Idols. The wives of men who'd acquired beauty like a stock portfolio and then forgotten to check on it.
"Who is it?" you asked.
A pause. Park was savoring this.
"Jang Wonyoung."
The name hit you like a bucket of cold water.
"Wonyoung? From IVE?"
"The one and only." You could hear the grin in his voice. "Married at twenty-eight. To Kim Seok-joong. The producer. You know him?"
Everyone knew him. Kim Seok-joong had produced half the hits on the charts for the last five years—a genius behind the mixing board, a tyrant in the studio, and, according to every rumor mill in the industry, a man who treated marriage vows like a suggestion. The tabloids had run photos of him leaving clubs with trainees young enough to be his daughters. Wonyoung's name always appeared in the same articles, usually paired with words like "humiliated" and "trapped."
"She called us directly," Park continued. "Apparently she heard about us through a mutual acquaintance. Someone who spoke very highly of your work."
You thought of Karina. Of the paper still folded in your wallet.
"Mutual acquaintance?"
"I don't ask. I don't want to know. I just make the arrangements." The rustle of paper on his end. "She's in Hannam-dong. The penthouse. Tomorrow night, nine o'clock. Don't be late."
The line went dead.
Hannam-dong at night was a different kind of wealth than the gated mansions of the suburbs. Here the money went vertical—glass towers that stabbed into the sky, each floor a monument to someone's ambition. The penthouse elevator required a code, which Senior Park had texted you an hour earlier along with a single line: She's nervous. Go slow.
The elevator ascended in silence. No muzak. No mirrored walls. Just brushed steel and the soft hum of hydraulics. You watched the floor numbers climb and tried not to think about the fact that Jang Wonyoung was waiting at the top of this building. Jang Wonyoung, who'd debuted at fourteen and been famous before she could legally drive. Jang Wonyoung, whose face had sold a million magazines. Jang Wonyoung, who'd married a man twice her age and apparently regretted it before the ink on the certificate was dry.
The doors opened onto a private foyer.
The penthouse was smaller than Karina's mansion—everything in Seoul was smaller than Karina's mansion—but it made up for it in verticality. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Han River, the city lights reflected in the water like scattered coins. The furniture was minimalist: a low white sofa, a glass coffee table, a single orchid in a concrete pot. No photographs. No personal touches. It looked less like a home and more like a hotel suite where someone had been staying for too long.
Wonyoung stood at the window with her back to you.
She was taller than you'd expected. Taller than she looked on stage, where the camera angles and the choreography and the other members had a way of shrinking her. In person, barefoot on the marble floor, she was statuesque—long legs, a narrow waist, the kind of proportions that designers fought to dress. She wore an ivory silk robe that fell to her ankles, her dark hair loose and straight, still damp at the ends as if she'd just showered.
"It's a nice view," you said.
She didn't turn around. "I used to think so."
Her voice was different from Karina's. Lower. Flatter. Where Karina's words had crackled with suppressed fury, Wonyoung's came out like the air leaking from a tire—slow, deflated, resigned.
You stepped further into the room. "Senior Park said you wanted to meet me."
"Meet you." A short laugh. "That's a polite way of putting it."
"I can leave."
"Can you?" Now she turned. The sight of her face hit you like a physical force—the kind of beauty that felt almost aggressive, all sharp angles and full lips and eyes that were too big for her face. But there was something hollow behind them. Something that had been scooped out and never filled back in. "You can leave. You can stay. You can do whatever you want. I'm just… here."
"How long have you been 'just here'?"
Wonyoung crossed her arms over her chest. The robe was silk, thin enough that you could see the outline of her body beneath it—the curve of her breasts, the flat plane of her stomach, the long lines of her thighs. She wasn't trying to be seductive. She wasn't trying to be anything. That was the most unsettling part.
"A year," she said. "Maybe longer. I stopped counting."
"A year of what?"
"Of waiting. Of pretending. Of showing up to award shows on his arm while everyone in the audience knows he fucked one of his backup dancers the night before." Her jaw tightened. "Do you know what that's like? To smile for cameras while your husband's mistress is standing ten feet away, adjusting her earpiece?"
You didn't answer. You'd learned with Karina that sometimes the best response was no response—just the space to let the words hang in the air until they lost their poison.
Wonyoung uncrossed her arms. Let them fall to her sides. "I'm not looking for sympathy."
"Then what are you looking for?"
"The same thing everyone who calls your agency is looking for." She met your eyes, and for a moment the hollowness flickered—replaced by something harder. Something almost defiant. "I want to feel like I exist. Like I'm not just… a decoration. A trophy. Something he acquired and then forgot about."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-nine."
"And how old is he?"
A pause. "Fifty-two."
You let the number sit there. Fifty-two. Older than her father, probably. Old enough to know better. Old enough to treat a twenty-eight-year-old bride like a collectible—desirable right up until the moment the paperwork was signed, and then irrelevant.
"What does he say when you confront him?" you asked.
Wonyoung's laugh was empty. "He doesn't. He just… leaves. Goes to the studio. Comes back three days later smelling like someone else's perfume. And I'm supposed to pretend I don't notice. I'm supposed to be grateful. He made my career, after all. Half my songs were his. Half my image. Half my life." Her voice cracked on the last word. "I was nineteen when I met him. I didn't know anything. I thought it was love."
"What do you think it was now?"
"Ownership." The word came out flat. "He didn't want a wife. He wanted a muse. Something beautiful to inspire him. And now he's inspired by someone else, and I'm just… here. In this penthouse. With this view. Waiting for him to come home and pretending I don't know where he's been."
You moved closer. Not close enough to touch—not yet—but close enough that she had to tilt her head slightly to keep meeting your eyes.
"What do you want from tonight?"
Wonyoung held your gaze. The defiance was back, stronger now, warring with the exhaustion. "I want to stop waiting. I want to be touched by someone who actually wants to touch me. I want…" She swallowed. "I want to feel like a woman instead of a photograph. Does that make sense?"
"Perfect sense."
"And you can do that? You can… give me that?"
"I can give you whatever you're willing to take." You held out your hand, palm up, the same way you had with Karina three weeks ago. "But I need to hear you say it. I need to know you're sure."
Wonyoung looked at your hand. The hesitation was visible—the same hesitation every client had, the moment before they crossed the line from thinking about it to doing it. The moment where the life they'd been living warred with the life they wanted.
Then she took it.
"I'm sure," she said. "I've been sure for six months. I just didn't know who to call."
"Your safeword?"
"Red."
"And if you can't speak?"
"Three taps. Anywhere you can feel them."
Her palm was cool against yours. Her fingers were long and slender—pianist's fingers, though you knew she didn't play. The silk of her robe brushed against your wrist.
"Before we start," you said, "I want you to know something."
"What?"
"This isn't about your husband. This isn't about revenge. This isn't about making him feel what you've been feeling." You squeezed her hand gently. "This is about you. Right now. In this room. Nothing else exists. Do you understand?"
Wonyoung's lips parted. For a moment she looked younger—not twenty-nine, but nineteen again, standing in a studio somewhere and believing that the famous producer who'd noticed her was offering her the world.
"I understand," she said.
"Good. Now take off the robe."
She released your hand. Her fingers went to the sash at her waist, the silk loosening with a whisper. The robe slipped off her shoulders. Pooled at her feet.
Underneath she wore nothing at all.
Her body was long and lean, with the kind of proportions that seemed almost impossible outside of a magazine spread. Small, high breasts with nipples the color of pale tea. A waist that nipped in dramatically before flaring into hips that had launched a thousand fan cams. Long legs, smooth and toned, the muscles of a dancer visible beneath the skin. A dark triangle of hair at the junction of her thighs, neatly trimmed.
But what struck you most wasn't the beauty. It was the stillness. Karina had been trembling with suppressed energy, her body practically vibrating with need. Wonyoung stood completely motionless, her arms at her sides, her expression unreadable. She looked like a statue—beautiful and cold and utterly detached from the body she occupied.
"You're very beautiful," you said.
"I know." Not arrogant. Just… factual. "People tell me that a lot."
"Do you believe them?"
A flicker of something—surprise, maybe, or confusion. "What?"
"Do you believe them? When they tell you you're beautiful. Do you feel beautiful?"
Wonyoung's brow furrowed. "I don't… I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do." You circled her slowly, the way you'd circle a sculpture in a gallery. "You've been told you're beautiful your whole life. It's on every magazine cover. Every comment section. Every introduction. But when you look in the mirror, what do you see?"
Her voice was quieter now. "I see what everyone else sees."
"That's not what I asked."
You stopped behind her. The view from here was just as striking—the sweep of her back, the curve of her ass, the way her hair fell in a dark curtain between her shoulder blades. She hadn't turned to follow you. She was still facing the window, still looking at the river and the lights.
"I asked what you see," you continued. "Not what they see. Not what the cameras see. What you see."
The silence stretched. Outside, a boat moved across the Han River, its lights reflecting in the dark water.
"Nothing," Wonyoung said finally. "I see nothing. I see a body that exists to be looked at. A face that exists to be photographed. When I look in the mirror, I don't see a person. I see…" She trailed off.
"A product."
"Yes." The word was barely audible. "A product. Something that was packaged and sold before I understood what I was agreeing to."
You stepped closer. Close enough that the heat of your body registered against her bare back. Close enough that if she leaned back even an inch, she'd be touching you.
"That ends tonight," you said. "Tonight, you're not a product. You're not a photograph. You're not what your husband neglected or what the cameras captured. You're a woman. Just a woman. And I'm going to make you feel like one."
Wonyoung's breathing had changed. Shallower. Faster. Her shoulders rose and fell in the window's reflection.
"How?" she asked.
"First, I'm going to touch you. Not the way a photographer touches you. Not the way a stylist touches you. I'm going to touch you the way a man touches a woman he wants." You raised your hand and let it hover just above her shoulder—not making contact, but close enough that she could feel the heat of your palm. "And you're going to stand right here and let yourself feel it. All of it. Every sensation. Do you understand?"
Her voice was a whisper. "Yes."
"Good."
You let your hand settle on her shoulder.
The contact was light—just your palm against her skin, your fingers curving over the ridge of her collarbone. But Wonyoung's reaction was immediate. Her breath stuttered. Her spine stiffened. The muscles beneath your hand went rigid, then slowly, gradually, began to soften.
"When's the last time someone touched you?" you asked.
"I don't…" She swallowed. "I don't remember."
"Months?"
"Longer. Before the wedding, maybe. He was… interested then. Before he had me. After that…" She shook her head.
You moved your hand down her arm. Slowly. Deliberately. Letting your fingers trace the curve of her bicep, the dip of her elbow, the smooth skin of her forearm. Goosebumps rose in the wake of your touch.
"Close your eyes," you said.
She did. Her lashes swept down against her cheeks, dark against the pale skin.
"Now I want you to focus on what you're feeling. Not what you're thinking. Not what you're worried about. Just the physical sensation. My hand on your skin. The heat of my body behind you. The cool air on the rest of you. Can you do that?"
"I can try."
"Don't try. Just do."
You brought your other hand to her waist. The silk of the robe had been thin, but her bare skin was thinner—softer, warmer, alive in a way the fabric never could be. You felt the slight give of flesh over muscle, the delicate architecture of her ribs. Wonyoung's lips parted. A tremor ran through her.
"Good," you murmured. "That's it. Stay present. Stay here."
Your hands moved together now—one sliding up to cup her breast, the other tracing the curve of her hip. The contact was gentle, almost reverent. You weren't trying to arouse her yet. You were trying to wake her up. To remind her body that it was capable of sensation beyond the clinical touches of stylists and makeup artists and the indifferent hands of a husband who'd long since stopped seeing her as anything but an acquisition.
Her breast was small and firm, fitting perfectly in your palm. The nipple was already tightening—an involuntary response, the body's language for yes, this, more. You circled it with your thumb, not quite touching the peak, letting the anticipation build.
"Oh," she breathed. Just that. Just the single syllable, but it was the most human sound she'd made since you'd arrived.
"You feel that?"
"Yes."
"What does it feel like?"
"Warm. It feels… warm. And tingly. Like—like pins and needles, but soft."
"That's your body waking up." You brushed your thumb across her nipple, finally making contact. The peak was hard now, pebbled and tight. Wonyoung's breath caught. Her hips shifted—an instinctive movement, barely conscious. "That's your body remembering what it feels like to be touched."
"Don't stop," she whispered.
"I'm not stopping. I'm just getting started."
You turned her around to face you. Her eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted, a flush spreading across her chest. The cool, detached statue from five minutes ago was already beginning to thaw.
"Open your eyes," you said.
She did. The hollowness was still there, but it had receded slightly—pushed back by something warmer. Something hungrier.
"Lie down on the bed," you said. "On your back. I'm going to touch every inch of you, and you're going to stay present for all of it. No disappearing. No retreating into your head. You're going to feel everything. Do you understand?"
Wonyoung's voice was steadier now. "Yes."
"Good. Then let's begin."
She walked toward the bedroom—the same statuesque stride, but looser now, less guarded. The ivory robe stayed in a puddle on the floor behind her, already forgotten.
You followed her. The penthouse bedroom was all windows on one side, the city lights glittering below like a mirror image of the stars. A king-sized bed dominated the center of the room. White sheets. Too many pillows. The same story, different setting.
Wonyoung lay down in the center of the mattress. Arranged herself with her arms at her sides, her hair spread across the pillow, her legs slightly apart. The position was almost clinical—like she was posing for a photograph. Muscle memory.
"Relax your arms," you said. "Above your head."
She lifted them. The movement pulled her breasts higher, flattened her stomach.
"Close your eyes."
Her lashes swept down.
You knelt on the bed beside her. In the silence, you could hear her breathing—quicker than before, but still controlled. Still holding onto something. You would need to break through that control. Not with force. With patience. With attention. With the kind of touch she'd been starved of for years.
"Now," you said, letting your hand hover over her stomach. "Let's find out what Jang Wonyoung feels like when she stops being a photograph and starts being a woman."
Your palm settled on her skin.
And Wonyoung began to tremble.
Your palm settled on Wonyoung's stomach.
The trembling started small—a flutter of muscle beneath warm skin—then spread outward, rippling through her thighs, her belly, the flat plane of her chest. She kept her eyes closed, arms still arranged above her head in that posing-for-a-photograph way that had become second nature.
"You're shaking," you said.
"I know." Her voice was thinner now. "I can't seem to stop."
"Don't stop. Let it happen."
Your hand moved in a slow circle, tracing the faint definition of her abdominal muscles. The skin here was softer than you'd expected—yielding, warm, the kind of softness that came from being young and healthy and well-cared-for in every way except the one that mattered. Wonyoung's breath stuttered when your palm grazed the bottom of her ribcage.
"What are you feeling?"
"Your hand." A pause. "It's… warmer than I expected."
"What else?"
"I don't know. It's been so long since—" She swallowed. The movement traveled down her throat, a subtle ripple. "Since anyone touched me without an agenda. My stylists touch me to adjust my clothes. Photographers touch me to fix my hair. Seok-joong…" The name came out like a curse. "He doesn't touch me at all."
You traced the lower curve of her breast. Not the nipple—not yet—just the swell where her chest began to rise. The skin was impossibly smooth, pale as cream in the city light streaming through the windows.
"When's the last time you touched yourself?"
Wonyoung's eyes opened. The question had surprised her. "What?"
"You heard me."
"I don't…" Her brow furrowed. "I don't do that."
"You don't masturbate?"
The word made her flinch. A tiny recoil, barely visible, but you caught it. "That's not something I—I mean, I've never really—"
"Never?" You kept your hand where it was, still and warm against the curve of her breast. "You've never made yourself come?"
Wonyoung closed her eyes again. A flush was spreading from her chest up her neck, blooming across her collarbones like spilled wine. "Once. Maybe twice. A long time ago. Before I debuted. Before everything got so…" She trailed off.
"So controlled."
"Yes."
"Show me."
Her eyes flew open. "What?"
"Sit up." You withdrew your hand and sat back on your heels. "I want to watch you touch yourself. I want to see how Jang Wonyoung pleasures her own body when no one else is looking."
The hesitation was visible—a war playing out behind her eyes. The trained idol, the curated image, the woman who'd spent her entire adult life being looked at without ever being touched. Then something shifted. A crack in the facade. Her lips parted.
"Okay," she whispered.
She sat up slowly. The movement was graceful despite her trembling—dancer's muscle memory, the body knowing what to do even when the mind was unmoored. She propped herself against the headboard, the white sheets pooling around her hips. Her breasts were small and high on her chest, the nipples still tight from your earlier attention.
"Lie back," you said. "Spread your legs. Let me see all of you."
Wonyoung arranged herself against the pillows. Her thighs parted with visible reluctance—not resistance, but the shyness of a woman who'd been taught that her body was a commodity, not a source of pleasure. The dark triangle of hair between her legs was neatly trimmed, the lips beneath barely visible in the dim light.
"Touch your breasts first," you said. "The way you like it."
Her hands lifted. The movement was hesitant, almost clinical, like she was examining herself rather than pleasuring herself. Her fingers brushed her nipples and she gasped—a sharp, surprised sound.
"That's it. They're sensitive, aren't they?"
"Yes—I didn't know—no one's ever—"
"No one's ever played with your nipples?"
"No." The word came out strangled. Her fingers circled the tight peaks, tracing the areolae with tentative strokes. "Seok-joong said breasts were for—ah—for looking at. Not for—"
"Not for touching."
"Not for touching."
You watched her hands grow bolder. The circles became pinches—gentle at first, then harder, the way you'd done earlier. Her back arched slightly. Her mouth fell open.
"Good girl. Now move one hand lower. Touch yourself between your legs."
Wonyoung's right hand slid down her stomach. The trembling was worse now—her whole body vibrating with a tension that had nothing to do with cold and everything to do with the forbidden nature of what she was doing. Her fingers reached the dark curls and stopped.
"I don't know if I can—"
"You can. Part your lips for me. Show me your cunt."
The vulgar word made her gasp. But her fingers obeyed—they slid through the trimmed hair, parted the outer lips, exposed the pink flesh within. Even from where you knelt, you could see the gleam of moisture. The way her inner lips clung together, then separated with a wet, sticky sound.
"You're wet," you said. "You're wet and you haven't even touched your clit yet."
"Is that—is that normal?"
"It's more than normal. It's beautiful. You're beautiful." You leaned closer. "Now find your clit. The little pearl at the top. Touch it."
Wonyoung's middle finger found the swollen bud. The contact made her whole body jerk. A sound escaped her—half moan, half whimper—and her thighs snapped shut around her hand.
"Keep them open. I want to watch."
"I can't—it's too—"
"You can. Open your legs, Wonyoung. Let me see what your body does when you stop being a photograph."
She forced her thighs apart. The effort was visible—muscles trembling, breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. Her finger began to circle her clit in slow, tentative strokes. The hood pulled back with each pass, revealing the slick pearl beneath. Her other hand stayed on her breast, pinching and rolling the nipple in counterpoint.
"There," she breathed. "Oh—there—that feels—"
"What does it feel like?"
"Tight. Hot. Like—like something's building. Like I need to—" Her circling grew faster. "Like I need to—"
"You need to come."
"Yes." The word was a sob. "Yes. I need to come. Please. I've never—not with anyone watching—not with anyone—"
"Come for me, Wonyoung. Let go. I've got you."
Her body seized. Her back arched off the mattress, her head thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream. The hand between her legs moved frantically—rubbing, pressing, chasing the climax that was crashing over her. A keening sound escaped her throat, high and desperate.
Then she collapsed.
Her chest heaved. Her thighs quivered. The hand on her breast fell away, and the other remained pressed against her cunt—not moving now, just holding, as if she couldn't bear to let go of the sensation.
"That was your first orgasm with an audience," you said.
Wonyoung's laugh was breathless, almost giddy. "That was my first orgasm. Period. I don't think the other times—I don't think they were real. Not like that."
"Not like that."
"No." She opened her eyes and looked at you. The hollowness was gone—replaced by something brighter, something almost hungry. "I want more. I want—" She swallowed. "I want you inside me. But I want to be in control. Just this once. I want to decide."
You raised an eyebrow. "You want to ride me."
"Yes." The word came out stronger now. "I've spent my whole life being positioned. Being told where to stand and how to pose and what to wear. I want—just this once—I want to be the one who decides. Does that make sense?"
"It makes perfect sense."
You stood up from the bed and unbuckled your pants. Wonyoung watched with open curiosity—the way her eyes tracked the movement of your hands, the way her lips parted when you pushed your boxers down and your cock sprang free. She'd seen it earlier, of course, but now she looked at it differently. Like she was sizing it up. Like she was planning.
"It's thicker than I thought," she murmured.
"Is that a problem?"
"No." A small smile played at the corner of her mouth. "It's just… I've never seen one this close before. Not like this. Seok-joong and I—the few times we—it was always in the dark. Always over quickly. He never let me look."
"Look all you want."
She did. Her gaze traveled the length of your shaft—the vein that pulsed along the underside, the ridge of the head, the way the skin pulled tight when you were fully hard. Her tongue darted out and wet her lips.
"Lie down," she said. "On your back."
You obeyed. The sheets were cool against your shoulders. Wonyoung rose on her knees and swung one long leg over your hips, straddling you. The position put her cunt directly above your cock—you could see the pink of her inner lips, still slick from her orgasm, still parted and ready. A drop of her arousal fell onto your stomach.
"Like this?" she asked.
"Reverse."
"What?"
"Turn around. Face my feet. Reverse cowgirl."
Wonyoung blinked. Then understanding dawned, and with it came something you hadn't seen on her face before—a flicker of genuine excitement. "I've seen this position. In… things I've watched. When I was alone."
"Then you know how it works."
She turned around. The movement was awkward—she had to lift one leg, then the other, bracing herself with a hand on your thigh—but the awkwardness was part of the appeal. She wasn't performing. She wasn't posing. She was just a woman figuring out how to take what she wanted.
When she settled into position, facing away from you, the view was spectacular. The long sweep of her back. The curve of her ass, round and firm. The dark cleft between her cheeks, and below that, her cunt—still wet, still open, positioned directly above your cock.
"Reach back," you said. "Take hold of me."
Her hand fumbled behind her. Fingers brushed your shaft, then your balls, then closed around the base. Her grip was tentative—too light, too careful—but she guided the head to her entrance anyway. The contact made her gasp.
"Oh god. You're so—I can feel how big you are just from this—"
"Take your time. You're in control."
Wonyoung lowered herself an inch. The head of your cock pressed against her opening, parting the slick lips. The heat of her was incredible—wet and tight and pulsing with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She stopped there, breathing hard, her thighs trembling on either side of your hips.
"I don't know if I can—"
"You can. Slowly. Just a little at a time."
She sank down another inch. The head slipped inside her, and Wonyoung cried out—a sharp, startled sound that was half pain and half pleasure. Her inner walls clenched around you, a rippling squeeze that traveled from tip to base.
"Fuck—fuck, you're stretching me—"
"You're doing so well. Take what you need."
Another inch. Then another. Her cunt was impossibly tight—tighter than Karina's, tighter than anyone you'd been with in recent memory. The walls gripped you like a fist, hot and slick and pulsing. Wonyoung's breathing had gone ragged. Her head dropped forward. Her hands braced on your thighs, nails digging in.
"I'm only halfway—oh god—I'm only halfway and I already feel so full—"
"Keep going. You wanted control. Take it."
She took it. Her hips dropped the rest of the way, and your cock buried itself to the hilt inside her. Wonyoung screamed. The sound was raw and uncontrolled—nothing like the polished idol voice, nothing like the careful, measured tones she'd used earlier. This was pure animal. Pure sensation.
"Oh fuck—oh fuck—you're in my stomach—I can feel you in my stomach—"
"Good. Now move."
She lifted her hips. The drag of her walls against your shaft made your vision swim. When she dropped back down, the impact sent a visible ripple through her ass. The cheeks jiggled with the force of it.
"Yes—" She did it again. Faster. "Yes—this is—this is what I wanted—this is what I needed—"
"Tell me what it feels like."
"Full. So full. Like—like I'm being split open. Like I'm being—ah—like I'm being claimed." She was moving faster now, finding a rhythm, her hips rolling in a way that spoke to years of dance training. The muscles in her back flexed and released with each stroke. "But I'm the one claiming you. I'm the one—I'm the one in control—"
"That's right. You're in control. Take your pleasure, Wonyoung. Take all of it."
Her pace quickened. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the bedroom—a slick, rhythmic slap every time she bottomed out. Your cock was coated in her arousal, glistening in the city light. She reached back with one hand and grabbed your chest—not for balance, but for leverage, pulling herself harder onto you with each stroke.
"Touch my—touch my breasts—please—I need—"
You reached up and cupped her breasts from behind. The position was awkward but the effect was immediate—Wonyoung's rhythm faltered, then resumed faster than before. You pinched her nipples and she sobbed.
"Yes—yes—harder—"
You twisted. She keened. Her hips became a blur—up and down, up and down, fucking herself on your cock with a desperation that bordered on violence. Her head was thrown back now, her dark hair cascading down her spine, her whole body sheened with sweat.
"I'm close—I'm getting close again—I can feel it building—"
"Look at you. Jang Wonyoung. The nation's sweetheart. Riding a stranger's cock in her marital bed. Moaning like an animal. Dripping down my thighs."
"Yes—yes—I'm dripping—I'm making a mess—Seok-joong would hate this—he'd hate how wet I am—he'd hate how—how much I love it—"
"How much do you love it?"
"So much—so fucking much—I love being full—I love being stretched—I love being in control—I love that you're letting me—" Her voice cracked. "I love that you're letting me take what I need—"
The tears started then.
They came without warning—a sudden spill from her eyes, tracking down her cheeks and dripping onto your thighs. Her rhythm faltered. Her breathing hitched and broke into sobs.
"I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I don't know why I'm—"
"Don't stop." You squeezed her breasts gently. "Don't apologize. Keep moving. Let it out."
"I can't—I can't stop crying—" But her hips kept moving. Slower now, but still moving. "It's just—it's been so long—I've been so alone—"
"I know."
"No one touches me. No one looks at me. No one wants me. I'm just—I'm just a thing he bought and forgot about—"
"You're not a thing. You're a woman. A beautiful, passionate woman who deserves to be touched and wanted and pleasured. Keep moving. Let yourself feel it."
The sobs grew louder. Her hips moved faster, chasing the release that was building despite—or maybe because of—the tears. Her hand tightened on your chest, nails digging crescents into your skin.
"I want to come—please—please let me come—"
"It's yours. Take it. Come on my cock, Wonyoung. Come while you're crying. Come while you're in control. Show me what you look like when you let go."
She shattered.
The orgasm hit her like a wave—a convulsive, full-body spasm that made her back arch and her thighs clamp around your hips. Her cunt seized around your shaft, a rhythmic pulsing that milked you from base to tip. The scream that tore from her throat was wordless and raw, echoing off the penthouse windows.
And then she squirted.
The fluid gushed around your cock—a hot, copious flood that soaked your thighs and the sheets beneath you. Wonyoung's hips kept moving through it, grinding down onto you, drawing out every pulse of her climax. The squelching sounds were obscene. Her sobs mingled with moans.
"Oh god—oh god, I'm still—it's still going—I can't stop—"
"Don't stop. Take everything."
She rode the orgasm until her thighs gave out. Then she collapsed backward, her spine landing against your chest, her head falling back onto your shoulder. Her cunt was still spasming weakly around your cock. Her chest heaved. Her face was a wreck—tears and sweat and smeared mascara that she hadn't been wearing.
You wrapped your arms around her waist and held her.
The silence stretched. Outside, the Han River glittered in the darkness, indifferent to everything happening in this penthouse. Wonyoung's breathing gradually slowed. The tremors in her thighs subsided.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"You don't have to thank me."
"I know. I want to." She turned her head, her cheek pressed against your chest. "No one's ever… I've never cried during sex before. I've never cried at all. Not since the wedding. I thought I'd forgotten how."
"Tears are just your body's way of releasing what you've been holding too long."
She laughed—a small, wet sound. "You sound like a therapist."
"I've had practice."
Silence again. Then, quieter: "Will you stay? Not—not for more sex. Just… stay. Until I fall asleep. I don't want to be alone tonight."
You pressed a kiss to her damp temple. "I'll stay."
Wonyoung sighed. The sound was different from before—not resignation, but relief. The relief of a woman who'd finally let go of something she'd been carrying for years.
"Good," she murmured. "That's good."
She closed her eyes. In the penthouse bedroom, with the city lights glittering below and your cock still half-hard inside her, Jang Wonyoung finally stopped trembling.
You held her until her breathing evened out. Until her body went slack against yours. Until the tears on her cheeks dried to salt and the wetness between her thighs cooled on your skin.
Tomorrow, you'd leave. Tomorrow, she'd go back to being Jang Wonyoung, idol-turned-trophy-wife, and you'd go back to whatever Senior Park had lined up next.
But tonight, she wasn't a photograph. Tonight, she was just a woman who'd remembered how to feel.
And that, you'd learned, was worth more than any paycheck the agency could offer.
Waking came in stages.
First, the soft gray light of early morning pressing against your eyelids. The penthouse windows had no curtains—Wonyoung liked to wake with the sun, you'd learn later—and the Han River was a sheet of hammered silver outside the glass.
Second, the weight. Or rather, the absence of it. Sometime in the night she'd shifted off your chest, and now the mattress beside you was warm but empty.
Third, the sensation.
Wet. Hot. A rhythmic pressure that started at the base of your cock and traveled upward in slow, deliberate pulls. Your hips stirred before your mind caught up—an instinctive response, the body recognizing pleasure before the brain had finished booting up.
You opened your eyes.
Wonyoung was between your legs.
Her dark hair spilled across your thighs in a tangled mess, still sleep-mussed from the night before. The sheet had slipped off her shoulders, leaving her bare—the long sweep of her spine, the curve of her ass, the soles of her feet crossed at the ankle behind her. She'd positioned herself on her stomach, propped on her elbows, and her mouth was wrapped around your cock.
She was still learning. The technique was messier than Karina's had been—more enthusiasm than skill, more eagerness than precision. Her tongue moved in uncertain patterns, tracing the ridge of the head, then the vein underneath, then back again as if she couldn't decide which part she wanted to taste most. Saliva pooled at the corners of her lips and dripped down your shaft, slicking her fingers where they curled around the base.
But what she lacked in experience, she made up for in something else. Something rarer.
She was happy.
You could see it in the way her cheeks bunched—the muscles straining to smile even with her lips stretched wide. In the little hums that vibrated through your shaft every time she took you deeper. In the way her hips wiggled slightly, a tiny dance of satisfaction, like a cat kneading a favorite blanket.
You chuckled. The sound was rough with sleep.
Wonyoung's eyes flicked up to meet yours. They were clearer than they'd been last night—the hollowness replaced by something bright and mischievous. She didn't stop sucking. If anything, she redoubled her efforts, her head bobbing faster, her tongue working the underside of your shaft with renewed determination.
"What a cheeky girl," you murmured.
Your hand found her head. Your fingers threaded through the dark tangles of her hair, not pulling, not directing—just holding. Just letting her feel the weight of your palm against her scalp. Wonyoung's eyes fluttered closed. The hum she made this time was different—softer, more satisfied. A sound of pure contentment.
She pulled back until just the tip remained in her mouth. Her tongue circled the head—once, twice, a slow figure-eight that made your breath catch. Then she pushed forward again, taking you deeper than before, and you felt the head of your cock bump the back of her throat.
She gagged. Coughed. Pulled back with a wet, gasping laugh.
"Too much?" you asked.
"Not enough." Her voice was hoarse—fucked raw from the night before, from the screaming and the crying and now this. "I wanted to… I woke up and you were still here and I just wanted to…"
"To what?"
"To taste you. Before you left." She rested her cheek against your thigh, her breath warm on your damp skin. "Is that weird?"
"No." You stroked her hair. "It's not weird."
"I've never done that before. The morning thing. I've never woken up next to someone and thought… I want to make them feel good. Just because." Her fingers traced idle patterns on your hip. "I've never woken up next to anyone, actually. Seok-joong never stayed the night. Even when we were engaged. He said he couldn't sleep in unfamiliar beds."
"His own bed was unfamiliar?"
Wonyoung's laugh was bitter. "I was the unfamiliar part."
You sat up. The movement dislodged her from your thigh, and she rose with you—sitting back on her heels, her hair a wild curtain around her shoulders, her lips swollen and slick. The morning light caught the angles of her face, the sharp cheekbones and the full mouth, and for a moment she looked exactly like the magazine covers. The nation's sweetheart. The girl who'd debuted at fourteen and never stopped smiling for cameras.
But the smile she gave you now was different. Smaller. Realer. A smile that belonged to her and no one else.
"Come here," you said.
She came. You gathered her in your arms and lifted her—bridal style, her long legs draped over one arm, her head cradled against your shoulder. She was lighter than you'd expected. All those years of dieting for comebacks, probably. All those years of being told she needed to be smaller, thinner, more perfect.
"The shower," you said. "We're both a mess."
"Your fault." But she was grinning as she said it.
"Entirely."
The bathroom was all white marble and chrome fixtures, with a rainfall showerhead even larger than Karina's. You set Wonyoung down on the heated tile floor—her bare feet made a soft sound against the stone—and reached into the glass enclosure to turn on the water. Steam began to fill the room almost immediately.
She stepped into the shower first. You followed.
The water was hot but not scalding, beating down on your shoulders and back in a steady rhythm. Wonyoung tilted her face up into the spray, letting it run over her closed eyelids and down her throat. The mascara she hadn't been wearing was still absent, and without it she looked younger. Not twenty-nine. Not the weary trophy wife from last night. Just a woman in the morning, clean and bare and unguarded.
You reached for the body wash—something floral, jasmine maybe—and worked it into a lather between your palms.
"Turn around," you said.
She did. You started with her shoulders, the same way you had with Karina. The same ritual. The same aftercare. The same reminder that what happened in the bedroom wasn't just about sex—it was about being seen. Being handled. Being treated like a body that mattered.
Wonyoung sighed as your hands moved down her back. "You do this for all your clients?"
"The shower?"
"The… gentleness. The talking. The staying until morning."
"Most of them." You worked the soap into the dip of her spine, the curve of her hips. "The ones who need it."
"And how do you know which ones need it?"
You turned her around to face you. Water sluiced down between you, washing away the suds. Her eyes were level with your collarbone; she had to tilt her head back to meet your gaze.
"Because they're the ones who cry," you said. "And you cried."
Wonyoung's expression flickered—something passing through it too fast to name. Then she reached up and took the body wash from the shelf behind you. Poured some into her own palm. Worked it into a lather.
"Your turn," she said.
Her hands on your chest were tentative at first—the same hesitance from last night, the same uncertainty about what she was allowed to do. But as she grew bolder, her touch firmed. Her palms traced the lines of your pectorals, the ridges of your abdomen, the V of your hips. She was washing you, but she was also learning you. Mapping the geography of a body that wasn't hers.
"You're different from what I expected," she said.
"Different how?"
"I don't know. Less… transactional." She rinsed her hands under the spray. "When I called the agency, I thought it would be like ordering room service. Something mechanical. Something I could pretend didn't happen afterward. But this is…"
"This is?"
She looked up at you. The water had plastered her hair to her skull, darkened it to near-black. Droplets clung to her lashes.
"Real," she said. "This feels real."
You cupped her face in your hands. Your thumbs traced the sharp line of her cheekbones, the soft skin beneath her eyes. She leaned into the touch—pressed her cheek against your palm like a cat seeking warmth.
"It is real," you said. "Whatever happens in this room, whatever you feel—it's real. The pleasure is real. The tears are real. You're not pretending anymore. You're not performing. You're just… here."
"Just here." She tested the words. "I like that. I've never been 'just here' anywhere. There's always been a camera. Or a manager. Or a husband who wanted me to be somewhere else."
"Not here."
"Not here." She rose on her toes. Her lips brushed yours—soft, tentative, a question more than a statement. "Thank you."
"You already thanked me."
"I know. I want to do it again. Properly." She kissed you again, deeper this time. Her lips parted, and her tongue traced the seam of your mouth—asking permission, not demanding it. You opened for her, and she made a small sound, something between a sigh and a hum, as her tongue met yours.
The kiss was different from the ones last night. Last night had been hungry. Desperate. A woman starving for contact and finally given permission to eat. This kiss was slower. Sweeter. A kiss of gratitude rather than need.
Her arms wrapped around your neck. Your hands found her waist. The water beat down on both of you, and the steam rose around you like a curtain, and for a long moment there was nothing in the world but this—the heat and the wet and the soft pressure of her mouth on yours.
When she finally pulled back, her lips were pinker than before. Kiss-swollen. The color had risen in her cheeks.
"I put my number in your phone," she said.
"You what?"
"While you were sleeping. Earlier. Before I…" She gestured vaguely downward, toward the general vicinity of your crotch. "I wanted to make sure you had it. In case you wanted to call. In case you wanted to…"
"To what?"
"To see me again. Not as a client. Not through the agency. Just… me." Her voice had gone smaller. The confidence from moments ago was fading, replaced by the same vulnerability you'd seen last night. "Is that allowed? Is that something you do?"
You considered the question. The agency had rules about this—Senior Park was very clear about keeping things professional, about not blurring the lines between service and relationship. But Senior Park wasn't here. And Wonyoung was looking at you with those too-big eyes, the ones that had been empty last night and were now full of something fragile and hopeful.
"It's allowed," you said. "But I should warn you—I'm not a boyfriend. I'm not going to be. Whatever this is, it's not going to become something else."
"I know." She didn't look disappointed. If anything, she looked relieved. "I don't want a boyfriend. I don't want another man who owns me. I just want… someone who sees me. Someone who touches me like I'm real. Someone who'll answer when I call." A pause. "Will you answer?"
"Every time."
She kissed you again—quick and fierce, a press of lips that was more gratitude than passion. Then she stepped back, out of the spray, and reached for a towel.
"You should go," she said. "Before I ask you to stay again."
The elevator ride down was quiet. No muzak. No mirrored walls. Just brushed steel and the soft hum of hydraulics and the memory of Wonyoung's voice: Please… call me again.
You checked your phone in the lobby. There it was, in your contacts, added sometime in the early morning hours while you were still asleep: Wonyoung ♡. The heart was a nice touch. A little cheeky. A little hopeful.
You smiled despite yourself.
Three days passed.
Senior Park called on a Friday.
"New client," he said, the same way he always did—that particular lilt in his voice that meant he was enjoying himself. "Actress. Very famous. Very married. Although her marriage is…" A pause. "Complicated."
"Complicated how?"
"You'll see. She's been asking for you specifically. Apparently your reputation is spreading."
"Who is it?"
"Moon Ga Young."
The name made you stop walking. You were on the street in Gangnam, the afternoon sun beating down on your neck, and for a moment you just stood there with the phone pressed to your ear.
"Moon Ga Young? The actress?"
"The one and only. Star of True Beauty. The Interest of Love. Half a dozen other dramas I've never watched but my wife loves." The rustle of papers on his end. "She's staying at the Signiel. Suite 2704. Tonight, eight o'clock."
"Wait." You stepped into the shade of a building, out of the flow of pedestrian traffic. "Moon Ga Young is married? I didn't know that."
"Neither did anyone else. She kept it quiet. Very quiet. No press, no announcement, no wedding photos in the tabloids." Park's voice had gone sly. "The husband is some finance executive. American. Works in New York. They've been married for two years, and in those two years, he's been in Seoul for a total of six weeks. You do the math."
Six weeks out of a hundred and four. You did the math.
"Same story," you said.
"Same story, different window. The view from the Signiel is nicer, though. She's booked the suite for the whole weekend. Says she wants to take her time." Another pause. "She also said—and I quote—'Tell him I'm not fragile. Tell him I don't need the gentle version.' End quote."
You raised an eyebrow. "She said that?"
"Word for word. I think you're in for an interesting night."
The line went dead.
The Signiel Seoul occupied the 76th through 101st floors of the Lotte World Tower. It was the kind of hotel where the lobby was on the 79th floor and the elevator ride up made your ears pop. The kind of hotel where the staff wore suits that cost more than your monthly rent and the vases in the hallways were probably worth more than your car.
Suite 2704 was at the end of a quiet corridor. The door was a slab of dark wood with a brass number, and when you knocked, the sound was swallowed by the thick carpet.
"Come in. It's open."
The voice was lower than you'd expected. Smokier. The kind of voice that belonged in a noir film, all shadows and secrets.
You pushed the door open.
The suite was magnificent. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the Seoul skyline, the city lights glittering below like a spill of diamonds. The furniture was modern and understated—a low gray sofa, a glass coffee table, an abstract painting that was probably worth more than everything you owned. The bedroom was visible through an open doorway, the bed enormous and white and untouched.
And there, on the balcony, stood Moon Ga Young.
She was smaller in person than she appeared on screen. The camera had a way of adding presence, of making actors seem larger than life. In reality, she was petite—barely over five feet, with delicate wrists and a narrow frame that made her look almost breakable. Her hair was long and dark, falling past her shoulders in loose waves. Her face was the same one you'd seen in a dozen dramas—the wide eyes, the full lips, the delicate bone structure that made her look younger than her thirty-something years.
But the robe she was wearing was anything but delicate.
It was silk, pale champagne in color, and almost entirely transparent. The fabric clung to her body like a whisper, revealing the outline of her breasts, the curve of her waist, the dark triangle between her thighs. She wore nothing beneath it. The robe was held closed by a single sash, loosely tied, and as she turned to face you, the front gaped open slightly—just enough to confirm that yes, she was completely naked under there.
In one hand, she held a flute of champagne. The liquid was pale gold, the bubbles rising in lazy spirals.
"You're punctual," she said. "I like that."
"Senior Park said you didn't want the gentle version."
"Did he?" A smile played at the corner of her mouth. "I said I didn't need it. There's a difference." She raised the champagne flute to her lips and took a sip. Her eyes never left yours. "Would you like a drink? There's a bottle on the minibar. It's not cheap—I made sure of that."
"I'm working."
"So am I. Or at least, I'm about to be." The smile widened. "One drink won't hurt. Consider it part of the negotiation."
You crossed to the minibar. The champagne was vintage, the label one you recognized from a previous client's penthouse. You poured yourself a glass—not because you wanted it, but because refusing would mean ceding the rhythm of the encounter to her. And Ga Young, you were already beginning to understand, was someone who was used to setting the rhythm.
She joined you at the sofa. The robe gaped further as she sat, revealing the pale curve of one breast. She didn't bother to adjust it.
"So," she said, settling back against the cushions. "You're the man who made Karina cry."
You paused with the glass halfway to your lips. "She told you?"
"She told someone, who told someone, who told me. The idol world is small. Smaller than you'd think." Ga Young swirled her champagne. "The rumor is that you were… thorough. That you gave her exactly what she needed. That you didn't treat her like glass."
"I don't treat anyone like glass."
"No. I don't imagine you do." She leaned forward, setting her glass on the coffee table. The movement made the robe fall open completely, exposing the full length of her body. She didn't seem to notice. Or if she noticed, she didn't care. "Here's the thing. I've been married for two years. In those two years, I've had sex exactly four times. All of them on our wedding night. After that, my husband decided he preferred New York to Seoul. He calls me once a week, usually from his office, usually while he's doing something else. Reading emails. Checking stocks. He's never once asked me how I'm feeling."
"Does he know you're here?"
"He knows I'm at a hotel. He doesn't know why." Ga Young's smile was sharp. "He probably thinks I'm having a spa weekend. That's what he'd do, if he thought about it at all. 'Ga Young's having a spa weekend. How nice for her.'" The mimicry was cruel and precise. "He doesn't know me well enough to suspect anything else."
"And what are you looking for tonight?"
She leaned back. The robe fell open completely now, pooling on the cushions around her. She was leaner than Karina, leaner than Wonyoung—the body of a woman who'd spent years in front of cameras, who'd been told she needed to be thinner, always thinner. Her breasts were small, the nipples a pale pink. Her stomach was flat. The hair between her thighs was dark and neatly trimmed.
"I'm not looking for therapy," she said. "I'm not looking for someone to hold me while I cry. I'm not looking for validation or reassurance or any of the things your other clients probably need." She uncrossed her legs and crossed them again. The movement was deliberate. Performative. "I'm looking for a good fuck. That's it. That's all. I want to be fucked so hard I forget my own name. I want to walk bowlegged tomorrow. I want to feel like a woman instead of a mannequin. Can you do that?"
You set your champagne glass down next to hers. "Safeword?"
"Red."
"Tap-out?"
"Three taps. Anywhere." She cocked her head. "You're very professional. I like that too."
"Part of the service."
"Then let's get started." She stood up. The robe stayed on the sofa, a champagne-colored puddle of silk. "The bedroom's through there. I want you to use every inch of that bed. I want you to use every inch of me. And I want you to stop treating me like I'm going to break." She walked toward the bedroom, her bare feet silent on the thick carpet. At the doorway, she paused and looked back over her shoulder. "I'm not going to break. I promise."
The bedroom was all windows on one side, the city lights spread out below like a circuit board. The bed was king-sized, the sheets white, the pillows arranged in a perfect geometric pattern. Ga Young climbed onto the mattress and positioned herself in the center—on her back, her arms above her head, her legs slightly apart. The pose was deliberate. A parody of submission. The same way she'd done everything so far—with a wink, with a smirk, with the implicit understanding that she was playing a role.
"The last time I had sex," she said, "was my wedding night. He was drunk. I was nervous. It lasted maybe six minutes. He fell asleep immediately afterward, and when I woke up the next morning, he was already on a plane to New York." She looked at the ceiling. "I didn't have an orgasm. I've never had an orgasm with another person. Not once. I'm thirty-four years old, and I've been faking it since I was twenty."
You unbuttoned your shirt. "You don't have to fake anything tonight."
"I know. That's why you're here." She watched you undress with open appraisal, her eyes tracking the movement of your hands. "I've done my research. I know about the agency. I know about Senior Park. I know about the other women you've been with. The idols. The heiresses. The wives. I know you're discreet. I know you're skilled. I know you're exactly what I need."
"Which is?"
She met your eyes. The smirk was gone. For the first time since you'd walked through the door, her expression was completely serious.
"Someone who isn't afraid of me," she said. "Everyone's afraid of me. My husband's afraid of me. My managers are afraid of me. The directors I work with are afraid of me. I'm Moon Ga Young. I'm the nation's sweetheart. I'm the girl next door who's been in a dozen dramas and never had a scandal." Her voice was flat. "People think I'm delicate. They think I'm fragile. They think I need to be protected. No one's ever looked at me and thought—she wants to be destroyed."
"Do you?"
"Yes." The word was barely a whisper. "God, yes. I want to be destroyed. I want to be ruined. I want someone to look at me and see what I really am, not what the cameras see. Not what my husband sees. Not what the public sees." She swallowed. "I want to feel something real. Even if it's pain. Even if it's rough. Especially if it's rough."
You finished undressing. Your clothes made a pile on the floor—shirt, pants, boxers. Your cock was already half-hard, responding to the challenge in her voice, the directness of her gaze. Ga Young looked at you and didn't flinch.
"Good," she said. "Now come here. I've been waiting two years for this. I'm not waiting any longer."
Moon Ga Young watched you undress with the eyes of a woman who'd spent two decades being looked at and had finally decided to do some looking of her own.
"On your knees."
The command landed in the space between you. Her lips curved—not quite a smile, more a recognition. This was what she'd asked for. This was what she'd been waiting two years to receive.
She slid off the bed. The movement was liquid, all those years of dance training and red carpet practice translating into something that looked effortless. Her knees met the carpet with a soft thud. The city lights through the window painted her bare skin in shades of amber and gold.
"Hands behind your back."
She complied. The position made her small breasts lift, the nipples still pale pink and tight. Her eyes stayed on yours. Defiant. Hungry. The smirk was still there, but it had thinned—become something sharper, more expectant.
You picked up the champagne-colored robe from where it had fallen on the sofa. The silk was cool and slippery in your hands. You pulled the sash free with one sharp tug, and the fabric whispered against itself as it came loose.
"Wrists."
Ga Young's smirk flickered. "You're going to tie me up?"
"I'm going to do a lot of things." You crouched behind her, looping the silk around her wrists. Not too tight—you knew the difference between restraint and injury—but snug enough that she'd feel the pull every time she moved. "You said you wanted to be destroyed. Destruction requires surrender. You can't be in control and be ruined at the same time."
"I know." Her voice was quieter now. The bravado was still there, but something else was bleeding through. Something that sounded almost like relief. "I know. That's the point."
You tied the knot. Tested it with two fingers. "Too tight?"
"No."
"Good."
You stood and walked around to face her. From this angle, with her wrists bound behind her back and her knees pressed into the carpet, she looked smaller than before. More vulnerable. The nation's sweetheart, stripped of her armor, kneeling naked in a hotel suite with her pulse visible in her throat.
"Open your mouth."
Ga Young's lips parted. Her tongue was pink, wet, waiting. You took hold of your cock—fully hard now, thick and veined, the head already slick with the first bead of precum—and guided it toward her waiting mouth.
"Wider."
She stretched her jaw. The corners of her lips went taut. You pressed the head against her tongue, and she made a sound—something between a hum and a whimper—as the taste of you filled her mouth.
"Good girl. Now take it. All of it."
You pushed forward.
The first few inches slid in easily. Her tongue moved beneath your shaft—uncertain at first, then finding its rhythm, tracing the ridge of the head, the sensitive spot just beneath. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked. The suction was strong, practiced, the muscle memory of a woman who'd done this before even if it had been years.
Then you pushed deeper.
The head of your cock hit the back of her throat, and Ga Young gagged. The sound was wet and sudden—a choked, spluttering cough that made her whole body convulse. Her bound wrists strained against the silk. Her eyes watered. A thick string of saliva dripped from the corner of her mouth and landed on her chest.
"Don't fight it. Relax your throat."
She tried. You could feel her trying—the way her muscles fluttered around your shaft, the way she forced herself to breathe through her nose. But the gag reflex was strong, and when you pushed another inch deeper, she convulsed again.
"Fuck—" The word came out muffled, garbled around your cock.
You pulled back. Let her gasp. A bridge of saliva connected your shaft to her bottom lip, stretching, then breaking.
"I can't—" She coughed again. "I can't take it all. It's too thick—"
"You can." You grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back. Her throat was exposed now—a long, pale column, the skin delicate and unmarked. "You said you wanted to be ruined. Ruined means taking cock down your throat until you can't breathe. Ruined means gagging and choking and still pushing deeper. Do you understand?"
Ga Young's eyes met yours. They were wet now, the first tears clinging to her lashes. But behind them, something was blazing. Something that looked almost like joy.
"Yes."
"Then open your mouth."
She did. You pushed inside again, and this time you didn't stop. Your cock slid past her tongue, past the soft palate, into the tight grip of her throat. Ga Young's whole body seized. A guttural, choking sound vibrated through your shaft. Her bound hands clawed at the air behind her back. Her throat muscles clamped down around you—spasming, fighting, then slowly, gradually, yielding.
"There you go. Take it. Take all of it."
Your hips met her face. Your cock was buried to the hilt in her throat, and Ga Young's nose was pressed against your pubic bone. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't speak. Could only gag and choke and let the tears stream down her cheeks while you held her there, impaled on your length.
You held the position for a count of five. Then ten. Her face was turning red. Her body was writhing—not fighting, not trying to escape, but writhing with the sheer overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled.
You pulled back.
Ga Young gasped. The inhale was ragged and desperate, followed by a coughing fit that made her whole body shake. Saliva dripped from her chin. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy, her carefully arranged hair a tangled mess.
"More," she rasped. "Give me more."
You slapped her.
The crack of your palm against her cheek echoed through the suite. Ga Young's head snapped to the side. A red mark bloomed on her pale skin—the shape of your hand, stark and undeniable.
"Did I tell you to speak?"
She shook her head. The defiance was still there, but it was muted now—submerged beneath something deeper. Something that looked almost like peace.
"Then don't speak. Your mouth has one purpose right now. Do you understand?"
She nodded. Her cheek was still red. The tears had multiplied, tracking mascara-less lines down her face.
"Good. Now show me you understand."
She opened her mouth. Leaned forward. Took your cock between her lips with a hunger that bordered on worship. This time, when you pushed into her throat, she didn't gag. She swallowed around you—a deliberate, rhythmic clenching that traveled from her throat to the base of your shaft. The sensation was electric. Your vision swam.
"That's it. That's my good little throat-whore."
She moaned. The vibration traveled through her throat and into your cock, and the pleasure was so intense that your hips bucked involuntarily. You grabbed her head with both hands—fingers tangled in her hair, thumbs pressed against her temples—and began to fuck her face in earnest.
The rhythm was brutal. Deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against the back of her throat with every thrust. The wet sounds were obscene—squelching, choking, gagging, the slap of your balls against her chin. Ga Young's bound hands clenched and unclenched behind her back. Her body swayed with the force of your thrusts. Her eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming freely, but she never pulled away. Never tapped out. Never gave any signal that she wanted this to stop.
"You love this. You love being used like a toy. Tell me you love it."
She couldn't speak—not with your cock buried in her throat—but she moaned again. The sound was desperate. Affirmative. Broken.
"Then take it. Take every inch. I'm going to come down your throat, and you're going to swallow every drop. Do you understand?"
Another moan. Higher-pitched. Almost frantic.
You fucked her throat faster. The tension was building—a coiling pressure at the base of your spine that spread outward, downward, gathering force with every stroke. Ga Young's throat muscles were fluttering around you now, spasming in rhythm with her muffled moans. Her body was trembling. Her bound hands had gone limp behind her back, all the fight drained out of her.
"I'm close—fuck, I'm close—"
You slammed into her throat one last time and held there. Buried to the hilt. Her nose crushed against your pelvis. Her throat working desperately around your shaft, trying to swallow, trying to breathe, trying to do everything at once.
The orgasm hit you like a freight train.
The first pulse of cum shot directly down her throat—thick, hot, copious. You felt her swallow reflexively, the muscles of her esophagus contracting around your shaft. The second pulse followed immediately, and the third, and the fourth, each one painting her throat white with your seed. You kept your grip on her head, holding her in place, making sure she couldn't pull away until every last drop was drained.
"Swallow. All of it."
She did. You felt her throat constrict again and again, gulping down your cum with an eagerness that bordered on desperation. When you finally pulled back, a thick string of saliva and semen connected your cock to her bottom lip. Ga Young's mouth hung open. Her tongue was coated white. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused, staring at something only she could see.
She swallowed once more. Licked her lips. The taste of you was still on her tongue, and she savored it—closing her eyes, letting out a small, satisfied hum.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The words were hoarse. Fucked-raw. Barely audible. But the gratitude in them was real.
"We're not done."
Ga Young's eyes opened. The smirk was back—smaller now, more fragile, but still there. "I know."
You untied her wrists. The silk sash left faint red marks on her skin—nothing that would bruise, nothing that would last, but enough to remind her tomorrow of what had happened tonight. She rubbed her wrists absently. Then she looked up at you, and the question in her eyes was clear: What now?
"Against the wall."
She rose. Her legs were unsteady—the long minutes of kneeling had left her knees red, her thighs trembling. She crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window and pressed her palms against the glass. The city lights glittered below, indifferent to the scene unfolding above them. Her reflection stared back at her—naked, disheveled, marked.
"Spread your legs."
She did. The position opened her completely—the long line of her spine, the curve of her ass, the dark cleft between her cheeks. Her cunt was visible from this angle, the lips swollen and glistening. She was wet. Had been wet since the moment you'd pushed into her throat, probably. Maybe since the moment you'd walked through the door.
You stepped behind her. Your left hand found her throat—not squeezing, not yet, just resting there, a reminder of who was in control. Your right hand slid down her back, over the curve of her ass, between her cheeks. You spread her open, exposing the tight pink knot of her asshole, the darker, wetter flesh of her cunt below.
"Look at you. Moon Ga Young. The nation's sweetheart. Bent over against a hotel window with her cunt dripping and her throat full of cum. What would your fans think?"
"I don't care." Her voice was raw, almost defiant. "I don't care what they think. I don't care what anyone thinks. Just fuck me. Please. Fuck me like you mean it."
You tightened your grip on her throat. Not enough to cut off air—just enough to make her feel the pressure. Just enough to remind her that you could.
"Beg."
"Please." The word came out strangled. "Please fuck me. I've been waiting two years. Two years of empty beds and empty phone calls and pretending I'm fine when I'm dying inside. Please. I need this. I need you. I need your cock inside me. I need to feel something real. Please—"
You thrust into her cunt in one brutal motion.
Ga Young screamed.
The sound was raw and animal—nothing like the polished, controlled voice she used in interviews. This was a scream torn from somewhere deep inside her, a scream that had been building for two years and finally found its release. Her cunt was tight—tighter than you'd expected, the walls clenching around your shaft with a force that made your breath catch. She was soaked, though, and the slick heat of her made the brutal entry possible.
"Oh fuck—oh fuck—you're so deep—"
You didn't give her time to adjust. You pulled back and slammed forward again, harder than before. The impact made her palms squeak against the glass. Her breasts pressed against the window, leaving smears of sweat on the pristine surface. Your left hand stayed on her throat, your right hand gripping her hip, and you fucked her with a rhythm that was punishing.
"This is what you wanted. This is what you begged for. To be fucked like an animal. To be used like a toy. To be ruined."
"Yes—yes—harder—"
You gave her harder. The wet sounds of her cunt filled the suite—squelching, slapping, the rhythmic thud of your hips meeting her ass. You could see her reflection in the window—her mouth open, her eyes half-closed, her cheeks flushed and tear-streaked. The idol image was gone. Completely obliterated. What was left was just a woman, raw and desperate, taking cock like she'd been starving for it.
You tightened your grip on her throat. Squeezed. Not enough to cut off her air entirely, but enough to make her lightheaded. Enough to make the edges of her vision go dark. Ga Young's eyes rolled back. Her mouth opened wider. A strangled sound escaped her—half moan, half gasp.
"That's it. Feel that? Feel how deep I am? Feel how full you are? This is what you needed. Not the fame. Not the money. Not the perfect husband who never touches you. This. Just this. Just a cock in your cunt and someone who knows how to use it."
"YES—YES—THIS IS—"
You released her throat. She gasped—a huge, ragged inhale that made her whole body shudder. Then you grabbed her hips with both hands and fucked her even harder. The pace was brutal now—piston-like, relentless, each thrust driving her against the window with a force that made the glass vibrate. Her ass rippled with every impact. Her breasts bounced. Her reflection stared back at her with wild eyes and a slack mouth, and she looked at herself like she didn't recognize what she was seeing.
"Look at yourself. Look at what you've become. You're not an actress right now. You're not a wife. You're just a wet hole. A set of holes. A body that exists to be fucked. Do you see her?"
"I see her—" Ga Young's voice was broken, sobbing. "I see her—I see myself—"
"And what do you see?"
"A whore." The word came out on a sob. "A desperate, dripping whore who's been neglected for two years and finally has a cock inside her. I see a whore. I see a whore. I see—"
You felt her cunt seize around you. The orgasm was sudden and violent—a convulsive, full-body spasm that made her back arch and her legs give out. You caught her before she collapsed, pinning her against the window with your body, and kept fucking her through it. The clenching of her walls was rhythmic, almost painful in its intensity, milking your shaft from base to tip.
"That's it—that's it—come on my cock—come while you're watching yourself—"
"I'm coming—I'm coming—oh god, I'm—"
She squirted. The fluid gushed around your cock, soaking your thighs, splashing against the window, dripping down the glass in long, obscene rivulets. Ga Young's scream was wordless, primal, a sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than her throat. Her body convulsed in your arms. Her cunt pulsed and fluttered around your shaft, and the sensation was so intense that you felt your own orgasm building—a tightening pressure at the base of your spine.
But you weren't done.
You pulled out of her. Ga Young whimpered at the emptiness. Her cunt gaped for a moment, then clenched around nothing, gushing another pulse of fluid onto the carpet. You turned her around—roughly, hands on her shoulders, spinning her like a doll—and pushed her back against the window. Her shoulder blades hit the glass. Her eyes were wild, unfocused, still hazy from the orgasm.
"Hold onto me."
Her arms wrapped around your neck. Her legs wrapped around your waist. You gripped her thighs and lifted her, positioning her cunt above your cock, and thrust inside her in one smooth motion.
Ga Young's head fell back against the glass. "Oh ffffuuuuck—"
"You wanted to be ruined. I'm not finished ruining you."
You fucked her against the window. The position was different—deeper, somehow, the angle letting you hit spots inside her that you hadn't reached before. Ga Young's moans were continuous now, a stream of broken syllables and guttural sounds that didn't belong to any language. Her nails dug into your shoulders. Her heels pressed into the small of your back. Her cunt was a mess—slick and swollen and pulsing, still gushing intermittently with the aftershocks of her orgasm.
"Harder—please—harder—"
You slammed into her. The window rattled. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered that there were probably people in the building across the street, people with binoculars, people who might be watching. Let them watch. Let them see what Moon Ga Young looked like when she was being fucked properly. Let them see the nation's sweetheart with her legs wrapped around a stranger, her cunt dripping down his thighs, her mouth open in a scream that had no end.
"Look at me."
She forced her eyes to focus. They were glassy, tear-filled, but they met yours.
"You're going to come again. You're going to come on this cock while I'm choking you. And you're going to watch yourself in the reflection while you do it. Do you understand?"
"Yes—yes—"
Your left hand found her throat again. Squeezed. Harder this time. Ga Young's face began to flush. Her lips parted. Her eyes rolled back. But she didn't tap out. Didn't signal. Didn't do anything except moan—a thin, wheezing sound that vibrated against your palm.
"That's it. Let go. Let yourself fall."
You fucked her harder. The rhythm was punishing—deep, driving strokes that bottomed out against her cervix with every thrust. Your right hand found her clit, the swollen bundle of nerves slick and hard under your fingertip. You pressed down. Circled. Ga Young's body convulsed.
Her orgasm hit like an explosion.
This one was different from the first—quieter, deeper, more devastating. Her cunt clamped down on your cock with a force that almost hurt. Her whole body went rigid, every muscle locked, every breath held. Then the release came, and it came with a flood. Her cunt gushed around your shaft—not just wetness this time, but a clear, copious fluid that sprayed against your thighs and soaked the carpet beneath you.
"Fuuuuuuuck—"
Her voice broke on the word. Her body went limp. Completely limp. She collapsed against you, her head falling onto your shoulder, her arms sliding from your neck. Her cunt was still pulsing weakly around your cock—little flutters of sensation that traveled up your shaft.
You released her throat. She gasped—a huge, ragged inhale—and then she started to laugh.
It wasn't a happy laugh. It wasn't bitter, either. It was the laugh of a woman who'd been holding something inside for years and had finally, finally let it out. The laugh turned into sobs, and the sobs turned into silence, and through all of it you held her against the window, your cock still buried inside her, your hands gentle on her back.
She kept saying it. Over and over. Like a prayer. Like a confession. Like the only words she had left.
You carried her to the bed. Laid her down on the white sheets. Her body was marked—red impressions of your fingers on her throat, faint bruises already forming on her hips, her cunt swollen and gaping and still leaking onto the mattress. She looked up at you with eyes that were clearer than they'd been all night.
"Stay," she said. "Please. Just until I fall asleep."
You climbed into the bed beside her. Pulled the sheets over both of you. Ga Young curled against your chest, her face pressed into the hollow of your throat, her breath warm on your skin.
"I haven't felt this alive in years," she murmured. "I haven't felt anything in years."
"Feel it now."
She did. Her breathing slowed. Her body relaxed. The tension that had been coiled in her muscles since the moment you'd walked through the door finally, fully released.
Outside the window, the city glittered on, indifferent and eternal. Inside the suite, Moon Ga Young closed her eyes, and for the first time in two years, she slept without dreaming of being somewhere else.
The morning light through the Signiel's floor-to-ceiling windows was the color of honey. It pooled on the white sheets, caught the edge of the champagne flute still sitting on the coffee table, painted Ga Young's bare shoulder in shades of gold.
She was still asleep.
Her breathing was slow and even, her face half-buried in the pillow, her dark hair fanned across the cotton like spilled ink. The marks from last night were already fading—the faint impressions on her throat, the bruises on her hips. In sleep, she looked younger. Softer. The sharp, sardonic edge that had defined her when you'd walked through the door had melted away, replaced by something unguarded.
You slid out of bed carefully. The sheets whispered against your skin. Ga Young stirred but didn't wake—just shifted, her hand reaching out to the empty space where you'd been, her fingers curling around nothing.
You dressed in silence. Shirt. Pants. Belt. The routine was automatic, muscle memory from a dozen similar mornings. The suite was quiet except for the distant hum of the HVAC system and the soft shush of traffic eighty floors below. Your shoes were by the sofa where you'd kicked them off. You bent to pick them up.
"Where are you going?"
The voice was sleep-roughened but still unmistakably hers—that smoky, noir-film cadence that made everything sound like a secret. You turned.
Ga Young was sitting up in bed. The sheet had fallen to her waist. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes still puffy from sleep and last night's tears. She looked nothing like the polished actress from the dramas. She looked like a woman who'd been thoroughly fucked and had slept better than she had in years.
"Home," you said. "You were asleep. I didn't want to wake you."
She laughed. The sound was low and warm and entirely unselfconscious. "Nuh uh." She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, crossing the room toward you with the sheet still trailing behind her like a train. "I'm still your client. The weekend, remember? You're not going anywhere."
She reached you and wrapped her arms around your waist from behind. Her cheek pressed against your spine. Her bare breasts flattened against your back, and the warmth of her body seeped through your shirt. She smelled like sex and sleep and the faint floral remnants of whatever expensive soap the Signiel stocked in its bathrooms.
"Ga Young—"
"Shh." Her arms tightened. "You're not leaving. Not yet. Not until I say so."
The suite door clicked open.
You heard it before you saw it—the soft sound of the electronic lock disengaging, followed by the whoosh of the door swinging on its hinges. Two voices drifted in from the hallway, mid-laugh, the kind of easy, familiar laughter that came from years of friendship.
"—and then he said, 'That's not a prop, that's my actual—'" The voice cut off.
Karina stood in the doorway.
Wonyoung was right behind her.
They were both carrying shopping bags—the discreet, expensive kind that came from boutiques in Cheongdam-dong, the logos embossed in subtle gold foil. They were both wearing black outerwear—Karina in a long trench coat, Wonyoung in a cropped leather jacket—and they were both staring at you with expressions that shifted from surprise to recognition to something else entirely.
Something hungrier.
"Unnie!" Ga Young's voice was delighted. She released you and stepped around, completely unbothered by her nudity, the sheet slipping from her shoulders and pooling on the floor. "You're early. I thought you weren't coming until noon."
Karina's eyes flicked from you to Ga Young and back again. A slow smile spread across her face. "We wanted to surprise you." She stepped into the suite, and Wonyoung followed, closing the door behind her. "But it looks like you're the one with the surprise."
"Wait." You looked at Ga Young. Then at Karina. Then at Wonyoung. "You three know each other?"
"We're best friends." Wonyoung's voice was light, almost teasing. She set her shopping bag down on the console table by the door. "We've been best friends for years. Since trainee days. Did you really think it was a coincidence that we all ended up calling the same agency?"
"We talk," Karina said. She was still smiling, but there was something sharper beneath it—a blade hidden in silk. "We talk about everything. The husbands. The loneliness. The emptiness." She paused. "The men we hire to make us feel alive again."
Ga Young had retrieved her robe from the floor—the champagne-colored silk, still wrinkled from last night—and was tying it loosely around her waist. "When I heard that Karina unnie had found someone who actually made her come, I had to see for myself. And then Wonyoungie called me the next morning, practically glowing, and I knew." She turned to you, her eyes bright. "I knew I had to book you. And I knew I had to make it a weekend."
"A weekend?"
"Senior Park didn't tell you?" Karina's trench coat was already unbelted. She shrugged it off her shoulders, and it slid to the floor in a whisper of black fabric. Beneath it, she was wearing lingerie—not the practical black lace from your first encounter, but something deliberately chosen. A deep burgundy set, the color of aged wine, the bra cupping her breasts in a way that made them look fuller, the panties high-cut and sheer. "This booking is for all three of us. The whole weekend. Friday to Sunday."
Wonyoung was unzipping her leather jacket. Her movements were slower than Karina's, more deliberate, but no less confident. The jacket came off, and beneath it was a pale lavender set—the color soft against her skin, the fabric delicate, almost bridal. The contrast between the innocent lingerie and the knowing look in her eyes was intentional. You could see it in the way she tilted her head, the way she watched you watching her.
"Three clients," she said. "Three women who need to be reminded what it feels like to be touched." She stepped closer. "Three women who've been talking about you for weeks."
On the coffee table, you noticed for the first time a folded piece of paper. It was propped against the champagne bottle, your name written on the front in Senior Park's precise, old-fashioned handwriting. You crossed to it and picked it up.
Your client for this weekend is the three of them. They've been planning this for a month. Don't disappoint them. — SP
You swallowed.
The sound was audible in the quiet suite. Ga Young heard it and laughed—that same low, warm laugh from before. "Nervous? The man who made me come twice against a window is nervous?"
"Not nervous." You folded the note and tucked it into your pocket. "Just… recalibrating."
"Recalibrate faster." Karina had crossed the room to stand beside Ga Young. The two of them together were a study in contrasts—Karina's burgundy against Ga Young's champagne, the idol's sharp, aggressive beauty against the actress's delicate, knowing allure. "We've been waiting a long time for this. All three of us. We've been planning it ever since Wonyoungie called me the morning after your session."
"I didn't just call her." Wonyoung had moved to your other side, bracketing you between the three of them. Her lavender lingerie made her skin look luminous, the pale tea-colored nipples visible through the sheer fabric. "I told her everything. Everything you did. Everything you said. Every way you made me feel." Her voice dropped, became something softer, more intimate. "And she told me what you did with her. And then Ga Young unnie said she wanted to find out for herself, and we decided—why not all three of us? Why not a weekend?"
"Because none of us has ever had this." Ga Young's hand found your shoulder. Her fingers traced the line of your collarbone through your shirt. "None of us has ever had a man who knew what he was doing. Who cared about making us feel good. Who looked at us like we were women instead of objects." She paused. "We wanted to share you. Just for a weekend. Just to remember what it feels like."
"To be alive," Karina said.
"To be wanted," Wonyoung added.
"To be fucked properly," Ga Young finished.
The three of them were close now. Close enough that you could smell them—Karina's perfume, something floral and expensive; Wonyoung's shampoo, jasmine and vanilla; Ga Young's skin, still warm from sleep, still carrying the faint musk of last night's sex. They were looking at you with the same expression. The same hunger. The same desperate, aching need that you'd seen in each of them individually but never all at once.
"Take off your shirt," Karina said.
The command was soft but firm. The same voice she'd used when she'd first welcomed you to her mansion, but stripped of the nervousness now. This was a woman who'd spent three weeks waiting for this moment. This was a woman who knew exactly what she wanted.
You unbuttoned your shirt. Slowly. Deliberately. The three of them watched every movement—the slide of each button through its hole, the parting of the fabric, the reveal of your chest. When you shrugged the shirt off your shoulders, Wonyoung made a small sound—a quiet, involuntary hum of appreciation.
"His body is different in the daylight," she murmured. "I couldn't see it properly last time. It was dark. I was…" She swallowed. "I was distracted."
"You were crying," Ga Young said. Not unkindly. Just matter-of-fact. "You told me you cried."
"I did. I cried a lot." Wonyoung's eyes met yours. "But I also came. Twice. The first real orgasms of my life."
"Mine too." Karina's voice was quieter now. "The first real ones. The only real ones."
Ga Young's hand slid from your shoulder to your chest. Her palm was warm against your skin. "And I came twice last night. The first time I've ever come with a partner. The first time I've ever come without faking it." Her fingers traced the line of your pectoral, down to your abdomen. "So you see, we have a lot to thank you for. And a lot more we want to experience."
"Together," Karina said.
"Together," Wonyoung echoed.
The word hung in the air between you. Together. Three women who'd spent years being neglected, being ignored, being treated like accessories to their husbands' careers. Three women who'd found each other in the loneliness and decided to do something about it. Three women who were looking at you now with the same expression—expectant, hungry, alive.
"Are you going to be able to handle all three of us?" Ga Young's voice was teasing, but there was a genuine question beneath the playfulness. "We're not going to be gentle with you. We've been planning this for a month. We have… ideas."
"Three days," Karina said. "Three women. One man." She stepped closer, close enough that her breasts—still encased in that burgundy lace—brushed against your arm. "Think you can keep up?"
"Senior Park seemed to think so." You looked at the note still folded in your pocket. "He wouldn't have booked me if he didn't."
"Senior Park is a smart man." Wonyoung had moved behind you. Her hands found your shoulders, her fingers pressing into the muscle, kneading gently. "He told us you were the best. He told us you could handle anything. He told us you wouldn't break."
"I won't break."
"Good." Ga Young's hand was still on your chest, her thumb tracing idle circles over your sternum. "Because we're not going to break you. We're going to use you. All three of us. However we want. Whenever we want. For the whole weekend." She looked up at you, and her eyes were dark and serious despite the smile playing at the corner of her lips. "Is that understood?"
"Understood."
"Good boy." She patted your chest and stepped back. "Then let's get started. The bedroom's big enough for all four of us. I checked."
She turned and walked toward the bedroom, the champagne robe trailing behind her like a whisper. Karina followed, her hips swaying with that dancer's grace she'd never lost despite years away from the stage. Wonyoung released your shoulders and moved around you, her lavender lingerie pale against the gray walls of the suite, and when she reached the bedroom doorway, she looked back over her shoulder.
"Are you coming?"
The question was simple. The answer was simpler.
You followed them into the bedroom.
The bed was still rumpled from the night before—the sheets twisted, the pillows scattered, the faint impressions of Ga Young's body still visible on the mattress. The morning light was stronger here, flooding through the windows, making everything look clean and bright and new. The three women arranged themselves on the bed with the ease of long practice—Ga Young in the center, propped against the headboard; Karina on her left, sitting cross-legged with her burgundy lingerie stark against the white sheets; Wonyoung on her right, her long legs stretched out in front of her, her lavender set a soft contrast to the sharper colors around her.
They looked at you. Waiting.
"Clothes off," Ga Young said. "All of them. We want to see what we're working with."
You unbuckled your belt. The sound was loud in the quiet room. Three pairs of eyes tracked the movement of your hands—the slide of leather through the buckle, the pop of the button, the hiss of the zipper. Your pants fell to the floor. Your boxers followed.
Your cock was already half-hard. Responding to the attention, the anticipation, the sheer overwhelming presence of three beautiful women watching you undress. Ga Young's eyes flicked down, then up again. The corner of her mouth twitched.
"He's bigger than I remembered," Karina murmured.
"He's thicker than I remembered," Wonyoung added.
"And he knows how to use it." Ga Young's voice was satisfied. "He used it in my throat last night. And in my cunt. And against the window." She gestured at the glass, still faintly smeared from where her body had pressed against it. "I left a mark."
"So did I." Wonyoung's voice was soft, almost wistful. "At my penthouse. On the sheets. I haven't washed them yet. I keep thinking I should, but I can't bring myself to do it."
"I know what you mean." Karina's eyes met yours. "I still have the sheets from my first time with him. They're in the back of my closet. Joon-ho never goes in there. He never goes anywhere in that house except his study and his bedroom." She paused. "He has his own bedroom. We've always had separate bedrooms. He said it was better for his sleep."
"Seok-joong has his own apartment." Wonyoung's voice was flat. "He lives there with his current girlfriend. A trainee. She's nineteen."
"My husband has his own continent." Ga Young's laugh was bitter. "He's been to Seoul for six weeks in two years. Six weeks. He's probably slept with half of Manhattan in that time."
The three of them were quiet for a moment. The morning light poured through the windows, and the city glittered below, and the three women on the bed were looking at each other with an expression that was part grief and part fury and part something else—something that looked almost like hope.
Then Ga Young shook her head. "No. No more talking about husbands. That's not what this weekend is for." She looked at you, and the fire was back in her eyes. "This weekend is for us. For pleasure. For release. For everything we've been denied." She patted the mattress beside her. "Come here. It's time to earn your paycheck."
You climbed onto the bed.
The mattress dipped beneath your weight. The three women shifted to accommodate you—Ga Young making room in the center, Karina and Wonyoung flanking her on either side. You ended up face-to-face with Ga Young, close enough to see the faint lines around her eyes, the small scar on her chin from some childhood accident, the way her pupils were already dilating with anticipation.
"Kiss me," she said. "Kiss me, and then kiss them. We've been waiting. We've all been waiting."
You kissed her.
It was different from last night's kisses. Last night had been about dominance—the rough press of lips, the battle for control, the assertion of power. This kiss was slower. More deliberate. A kiss of greeting rather than conquest. Ga Young's lips parted beneath yours, and her tongue met yours with a soft, exploratory touch. She tasted like sleep and champagne and something indefinably her.
When you pulled back, she was smiling. "Now Karina."
You turned. Karina was watching you with dark eyes, her burgundy lingerie stretched tight across her breasts, her breathing already uneven. She didn't wait for you to lean in. She closed the distance herself, her hands coming up to frame your face, her kiss hungry and urgent and full of three weeks of waiting.
"It's been too long," she whispered against your mouth. "Three weeks. Three weeks of thinking about you. Three weeks of touching myself and pretending it was your hands."
"And now?"
"Now I don't have to pretend." She kissed you again—quick and fierce—then pulled back. "Wonyoung's turn."
Wonyoung was the shyest of the three. She'd been hesitant last night, tentative in the penthouse, uncertain about what she was allowed to do. But now she leaned in with more confidence, her lips brushing yours with a gentleness that was almost teasing. Her hand found your chest, her palm flat against your sternum, feeling your heartbeat.
"I've been thinking about you too," she murmured. "Every night. Every morning. I've been thinking about what you did to me. What you made me feel." She kissed you again—longer this time, deeper. "I want to feel it again. All of it. Everything."
"You will."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
She smiled. The expression transformed her face—made her look younger, lighter, more like the idol she'd been before the marriage and the neglect and the loneliness. "Good. Then let's get started. Ga Young unnie's been waiting the longest. She should get the first turn."
"Agreed." Karina was already shifting on the bed, repositioning herself to give Ga Young more room. "We've got three days. We can take our time."
"Three days," Ga Young echoed. She was lying back against the pillows now, her champagne robe falling open, her body bare and waiting. "Three days, three women, one man." She looked up at you, and her smile was sharp and hungry and full of promise. "Let's see what you're made of."
SYNOPSIS : I woke to my girl, Yooyeon, next to me while she was still a sleep. I realized it was Saturday, the start of our small 2 day vacation. Which made me recall what she said before, that if I ever caught her being lazy on her off day I could do anything I wanted. That's just how determine she was to achieve, and for me, I been having that ass on my mind.
MASTERLIST
1.6K WORDS
(P.S. Think of this as a tribute to, what I fear, this world has lost. Which is the beautiful ass of Kim Yooyeon, with her weight lost also there goes the perfect idol. The world has truly lost a gem🙏)
With a great opportunity to feed my carving for my girlfriends ass, I dove under the blankets. As I lifted the bottom of her shirt exposing the waistband of her pajamas pants. Knowing what's on the other side of this thin breathable material, made me excitedly slide my fingers behind the waistband, and careful slide her pants & panties down. As it exposed her stomach which I couldn't help but kiss it & throw in a few licks, while my hands were sliding her bottoms off. Once my hands took her bottoms off, I made my way down between her legs opening them very slowly;
Hoping not wake her up because if she does, she wouldn't let me enjoy. Since Yooyeon is the type to like to be in control but can act like she isn't; Gaslighting me for her own amusement & entertainment.
As I got her legs open, I got a strong scent of Yooyeon's musk. With it hitting my nose, I could feel my dick throbbing; While I started with kissing her inner thighs, so I went from smelling to tasting her musk as I made my way to her center. I kissed her clit and gave it a tongue flick, to show it acknowledgement but today is all about her ass. With the kiss, her legs adjusted making think she was awake. So I peeped my head out of the blankets to check.
ME : " hey bae, you awake?"
She didn't have the slightest response, so I took that as her body flinching. I went back to exploring her holes as I traced them with the tip of my tongue; While I made my way down to her asshole which held the strongest scent of her musk. Introducing her asshole to my tongue, as I moved it circular motions tracing outline of her rim, dipping in & out of the wrinkles on her tight muscle ring. Loosening it up for my tongue to spread it open, as I push it through having her muscle ring grip it. Which gave me enough room to also introduce a finger as I was working it in & out of her ass, having her asshole gape enough to replace my tongue with two more fingers. Making it three fingers in & out of her as, having it make wet gaping sounds as air went in & out while I was lick the stretched out rim. In the middle of this I felt her hands slowly make their way to the back of my head, trying hold it in place as her legs were slowly rising up. This made me realize she was awake this entire time. So I popped up out of the blankets sending them off of the bed, exposing her naked body to morning sun light. Seeing every beautiful inch of her body light up as I lean a little closer, making my dick line up perfectly with her gaping asshole with a rectum that has been primed to get filled.
ME : "So you been awake the entire time huh?"
All she did was look at me with puppy eyes and nod. This made just going in for a passionate morning kiss that turned into a make out. I finally pulled back to see Yooyeon's face.
ME : "Why are you smiling?"
YOOYEON : "Well I was too lazy to wash up after a long day, so I change into my pajamas and jumped into bed! I'm just impressed with myself! Because even though yesterday, I fell asleep in my own sweat and it's first thing in the morning! But my most nasty dirtiest place still taste good!!!"
ME : " OH! You a dirty nasty slut!!"
Yooyeon responded to that by pulling me in close, and whispering in my ear with a deep, seductive, commanding tone.
YOOYEON: "Don't act like a pervert like you doesn't like my nasty holes!!! I know you been craving this ass, I seen how you been staring at it these couple of days!!! So how about filling my ass with that big pervert cock of yours!!! After all I can feel how the tip is throbbing right on my asshole!!! How it wants to spread open my shit hole so badly!!! So if I'm a dirty nasty slut, what does that make you, who loves it?"
Hearing this put a smile on my face, as she pulled her head back with a sassy look on her face. Which quickly turn into a face that was corrupted by the guilty pleasure of suddenly getting her asshole spread open, and her ass filled with cock. As her mouth drops open with eyes widened like I took her breath away, with a single thrust of my hips. While I lowered my face just enough to have the tips of our nose touching.
ME : " That makes me the luckiest man in the world!!! To have such a beautiful, smart, dirt slut as my girlfriend!!!"
I was trying to fight the need to cum, and I guess Yooyeon saw that on my face. As her giggling caught my attention.
YOOYEON : " What is it too much for you? All that time spend wanting to fuck my ass! And yet you'll going to leave the cake half eaten! Is okay, go ahead cum in my ass already! It was fun while it lasted, because I guess it's too much for a little boy like you! I don't blame you, this ass would be too much for anybody!!"
As she had a big smirk on her face, while she smiled at me with her eyes. This facial expression had me frustrated, she was practically having a face that said "he, he, he, he"
ME : " Shut up slut!!! I don't know why you're so smug. I'm the one fucking you in the ass!!! Turn around I don't want to see that smug look!!!"
With that the frustration I was feeling made it easier not to cum, as I flipped her on to her stomach.
YOOYEON : "Somebody is mad! They can't handle my nasty little dirty shit hole? It's about to drain you dry isn't!? you nasty pervert cum inside something so dirty, especially when I have such nice tight clean shaven pussy!"
Now I was facing her ass, while I was fucking & spanking. Which had her burying her face into the pillow biting it, while gripping the sheets. Making it easy for her to muffle her moans, as I was thrusting into her ass feeling her warm tight rectum welcoming me in. Gripping my dick as if it didn't want me to leave it empty when I pulled out.
ME : "Yeah, that's what I thought what happened to the dirty overly smug slut? That was talking all big? Look at you! You are nothing more than anal bitch with the fattest ass I have see on idol..... it's do annoying why you have to act like a stuck up princess?"
She supported herself on my dick, and used for turning around as she pulled me into her. With Yooyeon having a serious facial expression, she looked directly into my eyes and spoke to me in a serious direct no bs tone.
YOOYEON : " Because you are mine! This dick is mine!!! You understand me??? You are nothing but mine!!! I can & will do anything I want to do to you..."
As she moved her mouth next to my ear, and whispered in a heavy deep tone.
YOOYEON : " And you are going to love it!!! Love every single touch, every breath that you feel on your body, every drop of my saliva that hits you!!!"
She paused to give one long lick to my cheek, and went back to my ear with the same tone; But this time it had a hint of happiness.
YOOYEON : " Because there's nothing you can do about it!!!"
Followed by her pushing me off, having me laying on my back; Next to her as she straddle me while slowly taking in my dick into her ass, causing her to fill up the room a dragged out moan that ended with a whimper. As she hanged her head while she was out breath; she gather her strength up and started to slam her hips down. To tease me more, she leaned back, opening her legs wide giving me a clear view of her pussy & asshole that was getting stretched out.
YOOYEON : "So go ahead and cum in this nasty dirty hole! Because that's all you can do!! You don't get this tight smooth pussy!!!"
As she reached down eagle spreading her pussy lips, making her throbbing clit pop out. With that I had enough, so in hopes of trying to take some control; I reached down getting two strong handfuls of her ass, and started to thrust upwards as I used my hold on her ass; To help her slam her ass down even harder while I picked up the pace of my thrusting. Which made the room get filled with the sound of sweaty, wet, gaping asshole being filled combine with Yooyeon's moaning. As she finally broke again, had her upper lean into me with her mouth next to my ear; While she kept slamming her ass down with my help, and trying to talk through her moans.
YOOYEON : "Oh!...my god...this dick...is amazing...I'm about... to cum... from getting...my ass fucked...this dick...is making me addicted... I don't want ... to leave... forget being... an ...idol... I wanna.... be yours...I'm sorry... I'm a slutty woman!!!"
It didn't take long before I filled her ass with my cum, which made her squirt all over me; As she collapse into me tired, sleepy, and out breath she softly whisper in my ear.
YOOYEON : "I love you!!! Please don't leave me for being a busy slutty woman"
A once-famous journalist, Lee Jinho, was sitting in his study. His glory days might be over, but his influence was among the top. There, he was reminiscing about his peak, listening to an audio journal he created back when he was still active.
(Audio only)
Jinho: “I almost screwed up. Last week was a surprise when our Minister of Foreign Affairs, Chohyun, visited me at my residence. He said he wanted to talk about an event, and he wanted me to be a part of it.
“Apparently, US Assistant Secretary of State for Educational and Cultural Affairs, Lemuel Haynes, will make an official visit to South Korea, and Kim Chohyun-nim is handling the welcoming.
“The country wants to keep our relationship with the US strong, including the cultural aspect. K-pop has become an important export commodity. Today, K-pop keeps growing in the US thanks to acts like BTS, BLACKPINK, and many others. We don’t want to just keep the momentum, but we want to push more.
“So, it’s important to make a good impression on this man, Lemuel. He can help us smooth the K-pop wave in the US.
“The thing is... I’m not helping on the surface, but more behind the scenes, outside the official event.
“Our Minister of Foreign Affairs knows our guest well, and he plans to give him a real taste of K-pop.
“And what I mean by real taste is... sex favor. He wants K-pop idols who can sleep with him, humoring him on his bed.
“Surprisingly, he knows my track record, and that was why he came to me. Because I have an established connection with idols and many celebrities in our country. By connection, yeah, dirt and stuff. He knows I’m the expert in making female idols strip their clothes and shake their pussies.
“I can’t refuse because if I do, he will put me in jail because of what he knows. He promises me full support if I help him.
“Since last time was a surprise visit, I was unable to record anything. Dealing with politics is dangerous. Having no security measure is a no no. So, today, I secretly recorded this meeting. Just in case I will get backstabbed or thrown under the bus, I will have this record to protect me.
“So, here we go, case number 203, entry number 1.”
(Fast Forward)
(Knocking sounds)
(Door clicked)
Jinho: “Ah! Chohyun-nim! Finally.”
Chohyun: “I’m not late, am I?”
Jinho: “Not at all. I’m the one who just came too early.”
(Chohyun chuckled)
Chohyun: “You and your lip service. Seriously, I apologize if I’m late.”
Jinho: “You’re such a busy person. It’s understandable. Please come in.
“Anyway, I hope you like the place I chose.”
(Door closed)
Chohyun: “I like the interior, it's awesome. Regal and gold. I feel like I’m in Europe. But, I know you chose this hotel not because of the interior, right?”
Jinho: “Of course not. Based on my experience, this hotel is the best at keeping secrets. They will not write our name in the booking system. They will write different names if we pay them more.”
Chohyun: “See? I’m not mistaken in choosing you. Still, booking this presidential suite must cost you hefty pennies for a journalist's paycheck. Don’t worry, I will reimburse you.”
Jinho: “Thank you, Minister.”
Chohyun: “So, how about our ‘menu’?”
Jinho: “They have waited on the next door, Sir.”
Chohyun: “Since I’m busy, let’s get into it immediately. Call them.”
Jinho: “Right away.”
(Phone beeping)
Jinho: “Call them in.”
Chohyun: “How do you choose them anyway?”
Jinho: “Well, I follow your guidelines and I try as best I can. If you want to serve Mr. Haynes our delicacy, we need to give him a variation.”
Chohyun: “Oh! Tell me about it.”
Jinho: “We will serve him three types of ‘dish’. First, busty idols. You know, big tits. Second, we’ll give him petite idols—shorts, thin, innocent-looking. And third, we have model-like flowers—tall and grown-up.”
Chohyun: “I see.”
Jinho: “I have chosen 9 final candidates for you to choose from each ‘dish’.”
Chohyun: “Anyway, do you get one of the BLACKPINK members?”
Jinho: “Unfortunately. Not everyone can be bought. I don’t have dirt on them. They are very strict on info.”
Chohyun: “Too bad. I like our most famous idol to serve our guest. But I understand. Some people are idealists.”
(Door clack)
Bodyguard: “Your ladies, Sir.”
????: “Excuse me. N-nice to meet you, Sir.”
(Women murmur)
Chohyun: “Oh, pretty. They are all pretty. Come in, come in. Don’t be shy.”
(Door closed)
Jinho: “You can line up there. Nice.
“Alright, ladies, I introduce you, our Minister of Foreign Affairs, Kim Chohyun.”
Women's voices: “Good afternoon, Sir.”
Chohyun: “Geurae, geurae.”
Jinho: “So far, you seem satisfied, Sir. You can’t stop smiling.”
(Chohyun chuckled)
Chohyun: “I do. I never knew we had a lot of pretty idols. Also, I like your choices.”
Jinho: “Thank you, Sir.”
Chohyun: “What are you waiting for? Introduce yourself.”
Eunbi: “I’m Kwon Eunbi.”
Nancy: “I’m Nancy McDonnie.”
Chohyun: “Are you mixed race?”
Nancy: “Yes, Sir.”
Chohyun: “Interesting. Next.”
Karina: “My name is Yoo Jimin.”
Chohyun: “Oh! I recognize her.”
Jinho: “Who? Karina—I mean, Jimin?”
Chohyun: “Yes, yes. My granddaughter idolized her.”
Haerin: “Annyonghaseyo. My name is K-Kang Haerin.”
Chohyun: “Don’t be nervous. Please, relax. Next.”
Wonyoung: “It’s Jang Wonyoung.”
Jinho: “You must know her, too.”
Chohyun: “I do, I do. I know Wonyoung.”
Seolhyun: “My name is Kim Seolhyun.”
Nana: “I’m Im Jinah.”
Nara: “Annyonghaseyo, I’m Kwon Nara.”
Yuna: “My name is Shin Yuna.”
(Silence)
Chohyun: “Everyone is pretty.”
Jinho: “We have quite a wide range of ages here. The younger is 19. Maybe amateur in bed, but isn’t that the charm?
The oldest is 34. Of course, they are seasoned.”
Chohyun: “I believe you.
“So, ladies, I believe you know what you are signed for?”
Nana: “Yes, Sir.”
Eunbi: “I-I do.”
Chohyun: “You will accompany an important guest. You will accompany the US Assistant Secretary of State for Educational and Cultural Affairs. You will sleep with a black man. And I heard his dick is quite big.
“Of course, if it’s work and Mr. Haynes is happy with what we serve, I will reward you. I promise I will help you and your agency to smooth your career.”
Karina: “Yes, Sir.”
Chohyun: “Good. You look determined. But I don’t see the same determination from some of you.”
Jinho: “Some want this opportunity and come here by their own choice, Sir. Some are forced here by their agency, who want a connection with you.”
Chohyun: “I see. That will be troublesome.
“You. You clearly are forced by your label to come here.”
Haerin: “I-I’m sorry, Sir.”
Chohyun: “Sorry? Why sorry? It’s me who is sorry. If you want to bail, now it’s the time.”
Haerin: “N-no, Sir. I-I will stay.”
Chohyun: “So, you are ready to take a big black cock into your pussy?”
(Haerin sobbing)
Haerin: “Yes, Sir.”
Chohyun: “What’s your name again?”
Haerin: “K-kang Haerin.”
Chohyun: “How old are you?”
Haerin: “19, Sir.”
Jinho: “She is from HYBE, Sir.”
Chohyun: “HYBE? Oh! That Bang Sihyuk bastard. You are connected to them, Jinho-ssi?”
Jinho: “Not exactly. But they once gave me an incentive in the form of... beautiful ladies. (Read Case #191)”
Chohyun: “That’s typical of them. That Bang Sihyuk always wants to get chummy with me.
“Alright, let’s continue. Where were we? Ah, yes. I promise I will help you with your career in this country. Including if you have a scandal, depending on how bad it is, I will help you. I hope that is a good incentive for now.
“I bet Jinho had told you. Unfortunately, I can’t bring all of you to his bed. Only three.”
Jinho: “I have explained the details to them, Sir. You can progress.”
Chohyun: “Good. Good. So, they know that this is an audition.
“Alright. We will begin.”
(Door opens)
(A lot of footsteps)
(Wonyoung gasps)
(Door closed)
Jinho: “These are the black men we paid. They have signed an NDA. So, don’t worry. They will not blackmail you into sleeping with them.
“As you see, they are black men. We choose them. They have a similar length and size to our guest’s dick. We have one for each of you. We’ll see how you take their dicks.
“Since our minister is busy, let’s get straight to it. Now, take off your clothes, all of you.”
(Rustles)
(Belts droppings)
(Unzipping)
(Thuds)
Chohyun: “You ladies all surely have good bodies. Even the petite ones are gorgeous.”
Jinho: “Feast your eyes, Chohyun-nim. This our country's delicacies.
“Wanna try to touch them?”
Chohyun: “Don’t need. Let’s begin.”
Jinho: “You heard him, Ladies. Get to your partner. One black man per lady.
“We want to see how you seduce your partner.”
(Giggles)
Chohyun: “Everything looks good. But I’m not an expert. What do you think, Jinho-ssi?”
Jinho: “You see, Sir, some of these ladies know how to seduce.
“Look at Karina. She only uses her eyes. She locks gaze with her target, and as his gaze is glued to her eyes, Karina points to her biggest assets, her tits, with her eyes, pointing him where to look.”
Chohyun: “I see.
“But, how about that girl. What’s her name again?”
Jinho: “Nancy.”
Chohyun: “Doesn’t she look awkward? Yet, the man looks attracted.”
Jinho: “Some men like being the predator, the superior. You see, when you seduce a girl, but that girl becomes too shy to even look at you, it just makes you more excited to chase her. Nancy is a bit inexperienced, so her awkwardness is natural. That man sees her awkwardness as cute.”
Chohyun: “Do you think it’s going to work with Mr. Haynes?”
Jinho: “I don’t know. You know him better, Sir. But consider that having women with the same exact trait might be boring.”
Chohyun: “Hmmm... Noted.”
(Kiss sounds)
(Moans)
Chohyun: “Oh~ She is so into it.”
Jinho: “Seolhyun is an expert, Sir.”
Chohyun: “I like her tanned skin.”
Jinho: “Me too.”
Chohyun: “We only told them to seduce, but we see everyone start kissing and touching.”
Jinho: “They want to impress you, Sir. Also, if the seduction progresses smoothly, what comes next is intimate touching or kissing. It’s coming naturally.”
Chohyun: “But, her kiss doesn’t look natural.”
Jinho: “Oh, Wonyoung-ssi? She is not that experienced.”
Chohyun: “Oh, you know? Did you fuck her? Just as expected.”
Jinho: “She is pretty, but she doesn’t know how to seduce properly. When the other start touching and kissing, Wonyoung just follows. That’s why it doesn’t look natural.”
Chohyun: “I see. But watching her small lips being devoured by those thick black lips is surely arousing.”
Jinho: “I know what you mean.”
Chohyun: “Her figure looks so small. She looks like a kid compared to that black man. It almost looks like a pedophile scene.”
Jinho: “That’s the charm. Should we progress, Sir?”
Chohyun: “Sure.”
Jinho: “Let’s move on. Ladies, now I want you to get on your knees and suck your partner's dick. Show me how you blow.”
(Grunting)
(Males moan)
(Whines)
Chohyun: “Haha, her mouth is too small for the size.”
Jinho: “Stop whining, Wonyoung-ssi. Put that thing into your mouth.”
Wonyoung: “Y-yes.”
(Wonyoung whines)
(Choked sound)
Jinho: “Good. Show us your determination. Suck that black dick harder.”
(Popping sounds)
(Wonyoung coughs)
Wonyoung: “Y-yes.”
Chohyun: “Please, no whining. Mr. Haynes doesn’t like to deal with it.”
Jinho: “You heard him. No crying. No whining.”
Eunbi: “Yes, Sir.”
Chohyun: “Oh, she is good with her tongue. Her grip on his shaft is firm.”
Jinho: “She is dominating her partner, Sir.”
Chohyun: “Being dominated, huh? I like that. Will it not be better if we put the dominating ones?”
Jinho: “Trust me, Sir. Rather than putting one type of slut, it will be much more tasty with variation.”
Chohyun: “Alright. I’ll trust you.
“What a pair. Look at that, Jinho-ssi. That black dick slides nicely between her tits. I can see the veins on them. The contrast between her fair skin and his black dick looks arousing.”
Eunbi: “Are you only going to watch, Sir? Why don’t you join us? I have spare attractions if you want to put your junior.”
Jinho: “Whoa, whoa. We’re here for the guest, Eunbi-ssi. Not to seduce the minister.”
Chohyun: “Hahaha, I like her attitude. Maybe later, Eunbi-ssi.”
(Yuna choked)
(Slurping)
Chohyun: “Even though she looks fragile, she sucks like a beast.”
Jinho: “Jinyoung-hyung trains her good.”
Chohyun: “Did Park Jinyoung fuck her own artists?”
Jinho: “Not all of them. Just some who are too ambitious. Like this one.”
(Yuna gasps)
Yuna: “So fucking hard. Feeling your fat dick throbbing inside my throat scares the hell out of me.”
Chohyun: “She lost it.”
Jinho: “Indeed.”
(Fast forward)
Jinho: “Alright. Now, ladies, I want you to go all four—doggy. And, gentlemen, put your black cocks into their pussies. Let them taste it.”
(Groans)
(Whimps)
(Moans)
(Nara giggles)
Nara: “So fucking big. O-oHHh~ Don’t be shy. Go all the way in. Uhmff!! Ffuckk!”
Chohyun: “She makes good expressions.”
(Nara moans joyfully)
Jinho: “I can say... She is genuine. She just loves dick.”
Jinho: “Is it too big for you? Even your partner pities you because he stops moving his hip. Do you want to drop out, Haerin-ssi?”
Haerin: “Please, don’t drop me. I-I can do better.”
Jinho: “Then move that ass. And you! Don’t stop pounding her. If you stop, she is eliminated.”
Haerin’s partner: “Y-yes, Sir.”
Haerin: “K-KKaahh! AHhh AHHH!!”
Jinho: “Smile, Haerin-ssi, smile. Our guest doesn’t like a whiny girl.
(Haerin muffled groans)
“Good. Keep it like that.”
(Fast forward)
Nancy: “So fucking big!”
(Nancy grunts)
Chohyun: “Her expression is so good.”
Nancy: “Thank you, Sir.”
Chohyun: “Your body is reacting well, too. Oh, gosh, you look like a pornstar.”
Nancy: “That’s *GROAN* because I love black dick, Sir. HAhh AHhh~ I have families in the US, and every time I—OuUHH~ Every time I visit, I visit one of my black friends and have fun with his dick. UgHH~ This is up to my alley.”
Chohyun: “I can see that.”
(Fast Forward)
Jinho: “Alright. Now I want to see you, ladies, to take the wheel. Go on top of your partner and give him a ride.”
Nana: “OuuHH!”
Jinho: “What? Too big for your crampy pussy, Im Jinah-ssi?”
Nana: “Ahk~ You bet.”
Jinho: “Come on, I thought you were more—“
Nana: “What? Slutty? A big dick is a big dick, Jinho-ssi. Uhkk~ I can’t feel my legs.”
Jinho: “Don’t give up. You know, you are one of my favorites, right?”
Nana: “I’m trying. I’m moving my ass. OuHHH!”
Jinho: “Yeah. That’s it. You’ve got this.”
(Nana groans painfully)
(Seolhyun giggles)
(Karina moans)
(Haerin cries)
(Wonyoung whining)
(Fast forward)
Wonyoung: “It’s hurt. It’s too painful, Jinho-ssi. I feel my vagina is being split open.”
Jinho: “You’ll get used to it. Don’t stop moving your ass.”
(Fast forward)
Chohyun: “Everything alright?”
(Karina moan)
Karina’s partner: “I think so. HAhhh Ahh. This bitch is sick.”
Chohyun: “It seems you are being dominated. The way she moves her hip is insane tho. Look, she doesn’t even care that I’m here.”
Karina: “You can’t help but touch my tits, right, babe? Touch them.
“Good. Stop being a pussy. Fondle me harder. Yes~ OuuHHH~ Good boy.”
(Clapping sounds)
Karina: “Yes! Yes! Yes! OuuHH!! Yes!”
Jinho: “The way her tits are flapping is godly.”
(Fast forward)
Jinho: “Let’s test your endurance. Ladies, lie down. Missionary. Gentleman, you may fuck your partner up to her limit.”
Jinho: “Are you okay, Yuna-ssi? You look like you will faint any moment. Are you hitting your limit? Did you just pretend back there?”
Yuna: “No. No, Sir. I-I love black dick. T-this is nothing.”
Eunbi: “Ohh~ My head! It feels spinning.”
Jinho: “Oh, come on. Girls, you need to last longer.
“Gentlemen, put more effort!”
(Wonyoung whines)
Wonyoung: “Keeuhh! Mom! Dad! AHhhh AHHH!!”
Nara: “Oh fuck! OoUUHH!! FUck!! HAhhh AHH! So fucking intense!”
(Lot of gasps)
(Loud screams)
(Fast forward)
Jinho: “Thank you for your participation. Chohyun-nim and I will take your performance in this trial as a reference. We will call you when we have our decision.
“You can rest. Our minister has booked a special venue for you to relax. Please eat well and take care of your body.”
(Rustles)
(Zips)
(Chatterings)
Wonyoung: “I can’t stand. My legs are so numb.”
Nara: “Are you okay? Let me help you?”
Karina: “Look at how much he cummed! It can stop spilling from my vagina.”
Nana: “Your partner messed you pretty hard. Look at these cum on your face.”
Haerin: “Ugh, his cum stuck in my nostril.”
Nancy: “I drink cum too much. I feel nauseous.”
Seolhyun: “Jinho-ssi, what do you think? Do you think I have a chance?”
Jinho: “The final decision is up to Chohyun-nim.”
Seolhyun: “But he listens to you.”
Jinho: “In my opinion, it’s between you and Nara. But, I think she has more edge.”
Seolhyun: “Please help me. I need this connection for my career. I’m going to treat you good.”
Jinho: “Seolhyun-ssi, touching my dick will not help you. I have fucked you a lot. It’s not that exciting anymore.”
Eunbi: “How about me?”
Jinho: “Now what?”
Eunbi: “I did good, right?”
Jinho: “So did Nancy and Karina.”
Eunbi: “Oh, come on. My tits are bigger than theirs. You’ve felt them.”
Yuna: “Where is the minister?”
Jinho: “He is accepting an urgent call.”
Seolhyun: “You don’t look worried.”
Yuna: “I mean, my rivals (Haerin and Wonyoung) are crybabies. I got this in the bag.
“All those nights I was forced to sleep with that old Park Jinyoung finally bore fruit.”
Eunbi: “Good for you.”
Yuna: “You sound jealous.”
Jinho: “Ladies, please, no fight. Once again, I’m not the one who makes the final decision. Please rest. Thank you for your time. We’ll call you.”
(Fast Forward)
Chohyun: “It’s unfortunate that you were not chosen to accompany Mr. Haynes. Please don’t be angry at me.”
Haerin: “Of course not. Thank you for inviting me again, tonight.”
Chohyun: “You too, Eunbi-ssi.”
Eunbi: “It’s disheartening that I can’t give my country my service, but I’m glad I’m here with you tonight, Minister. You too, Jinho-ssi.”
Jinho: “Well, it seems like you two caught our minister’s eyes.”
Chohyun: “Just enjoy this, Jinho-ssi. Take this as a reward for your hard work.
“Now, ladies, you two may take off your clothes.”
Haerin: “Y-yes, Minister.”
(Rustling)
Chohyun: “What a rack. You see, Eunbi-ssi, you and Haerin look like a pair of mother and daughter.
“I’m sorry. Don’t be mad, but you look a bit ahjumma-ish.
“Once again. No offense.”
Eunbi: “None taken, Sir. I’m glad you like a mature beauty like me.”
Chohyun: “Indeed.”
(Match sound)
(Cigarette inhaled)
(Drink sip)
Chohyun: “Now, can you two start? I want to see you two kiss.”
Haerin: “Y-yes, Sir.”
Eunbi: “Don’t mess it up.”
Haerin: “I won’t.”
(Smooch)
(Eunbi humming)
Chohyun: “Magnificent.”
Jinho: “Making them roleplay as mother and daughter, then making them kiss, I don’t know, you have such a fetish, Sir.”
Chohyun: “Is it a fetish, tho? Hahaha.”
(Smooching louder)
Chohyun: “Oh, Haerin-ssi’s lips look so plump. The way Eunbi-ssi chomp them makes it look delicious.
“Haerin-ssi, can you suck Eunbi-ssi's nipple?”
Eunbi: “Don’t bite it, okay?”
Haerin: “I know.”
(Eunbi moans)
Chohyun: “Nice expression. Use your tongue more.”
Haerin: “Yes, Sir.”
Chohyun: “Eunbi-ssi, don’t be shy. Hug her.”
Eunbi: “Yes, Sir.”
Chohyun: “More intimate.”
Haerin and Eunbi: “Yes, Sir.”
(Fast forward)
(Slurps)
(Haerin moans)
Eunbi: “Look, you’re so wet down here, Haerin-ah.”
(Slurps)
Haerin: “Ohh~ Sunbae.”
Eunbi: “What? Are you embarrassed that I spread your legs in front of these gentlemen?
“I’m going to put my fingers inside you. I will make you feel good.”
(Harin grunts)
Chohyun: “Enough. Now, get on the bed.”
Haerin: “Y-yes, Sir.”
Eunbi: “Right away.”
(Rustling)
Chohyun: “What are you waiting for, Jinho-ssi? Join me.”
Jinho: “I don’t want to bother your entertainment.”
Chohyun: “What do you mean by bother? I invite two girls because of you. Come on. Don’t make me ask twice.”
Eunbi: “Come on, Jinho-ssi. Get on the bed.”
Jinho: “If you wiggle your ass to me like that, Eunbi-ssi, I can’t refuse it.”
(Rustling)
(Eunbi giggles)
Chohyun: “Should we go one-on-one or go foursome?”
Jinho: “Up to you, Sir.”
Chohyun: “Then, one-on-one. Let’s switch partners in the middle.”
Eunbi: “Good idea.”
Chohyun: “Why are you so quiet, Haerin-ssi? Do you not like to be here?”
Haerin: “No. It’s not like that.”
Chohyun: “Then, lift your ass for me.”
(Haerin gasps)
Haerin: “Y-you want to do it in the ass, Sir?”
Chohyun: “Is that a problem?”
Haerin: “N-no.”
Chohyun: “Here I go.”
Haerin: “K-KAAHH!!”
Chohyun: “Oh, so fucking tight. It’s so hard to push.”
(Haerin's painful groans)
Eunbi: “Oh~ She is crying.”
Chohyun: “Why? Is it painful? Don’t just nod. Answer me.”
Haerin: “Yes. Sir. It’s painful.”
Eunbi: “Alright, Jinho-ssi. It’s you and me again.”
(Smoochs)
(Slurping)
Jinho: “As sweet as I remember, Eunbi-ssi. You’re getting better. I bet you fucked a lot of important people.”
(Eunbi scoffs)
Eunbi: “Oh, shut up.”
Jinho: “Going to shut my mouth with your tit, huh? No complaint here.”
Eunbi: “Easy. Don’t bite me. UhmmmM~”
Jinho: “Delicious.”
Eunbi: “Now, embrace yourself. I’m going to ride your meat until you faint.”
Jinho: “Good luck with that.”
(Jinho groans)
(Eunbi groans)
(Haerin grunts)
Chohyun: “You keep crying, Haerin-ssi.”
Haerin: “I’m sorry, but it’s painful.”
Chohyun: “Don’t be sad. Tell me what you want to accompany me tonight.”
Haerin: “I-I want Newjeans, my group, to be clean from HYBE. I want to be able to—UUhKKK! I want to sing again on stage.”
Chohyun: “That will be a little tricky, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Haerin: “HAhh AHH T-thank you, Sir.”
Chohyun: “How about you, Eunbi-ssi?”
(Eunbi groans)
Eunbi: “Me, Sir? I want you to be an actor. HAhh AAHH, and I want you to support me.”
Chohyun: “Easy peasy. Now that you’ve told me your prize, you'd better give your best.”
Eunbi: “My pleasure.”
(Claps)
(Squeaks)
(Eunbi groans)
(Haerin whines)
(Chohyun gasps)
(Fast forward)
Jinho: “Case number 203, entry 10. It’s been 4 days since the visit from Mr. Haynes. I heard he was having fun with the ladies we chose.
“I was worried for nothing. I mean, if he dislikes the menu, I will be in trouble.
“This is the last entry for—“
Karina: “What are you doing? Oh, you’re recording your voice?”
Jinho: “Yeah. My habit. It’s a journal. Please, don’t make me stop you.”
Karina: “Okay.”
(Slurps)
Jinho: “Uhmm~ Watching you sucking my dick is so satisfying.
“Our Karina here is giving me a thank-you present for helping her be chosen as our ‘ambassador’.”
Karina: “Yeah, yeah. Enjoy it, Jinho-ssi.”
Jinho: “Come on, Babe. Get on top.”
Karina: “Oh, you want to be on the bottom, huh?”
Jinho: “Uh-huh. I want to watch your tits jiggling above my face.”
Karina: “Here, feast yourself.”
Jinho: “Whoa.”
Karina: “I’m putting it in. Ahk! Fuck!”
Jinho: “Why?
Karina: “My vagina is still sting.”
Jinho: “Did that man fuck that hard?”
Karina: “Yes. That Mr. Haynes. You have no idea how rough he is. I can still remember how his veiny black dick stabbed me. I thought he made a hole through my stomach.
“Me, Yuna, and Nara-unnie were having a hell.
“I can’t even get up on my bed the next morning. I can barely walk. I need to postpone some of my schedule.”
Jinho: “Alright. Stop talking and start moving that ass.”
(Karina groans)
(Bed squeaks)
Jinho: “Get down. Spread your legs.”
(Karina giggles)
Karina: “Here you go, Sir. Oh~ You put it so deep inside me.”
(Jinho moans)
(Wet claps)
Jinho: “I’m cumming! Suck it!”
(Slurping)
(Sucking)
Karina: “Ouh! What a slap. You really shot it hard on my face.
“Uhm~ Look how much you cum on my face. It’s dripping onto my tits.”
Jinho: “Stop talking. Clean my dick.”
Karina: “Yes, Sir.”
(Audio cut)
After he reached the end of his file, Jinho cleaned the cum that spilled from his dick. He felt a bit lonely that night, so he listened to one of the most memorable cases. It was memorable not because of the sex, but because he needed to deal with a political figure. One mistake and his career would be over. Thus, when he succeeded, the thrill filled him. He had slept with so many celebrities, but because of the thrill in that case, the sex felt far more amazing.
I'm not going to warn you. The first line should be enough to know what you are getting into.
Rei's pussy is a spire the way you slay it, your cock is a spire the way she
slays it. You could call it Slay The Spire 2…
But let's back up, there was a bit more before that.
The night started simply, Liz told you to BEGONE! So you went over to your best friend's house. You knocked on her door, she was half naked with her headphones on. Both excited and unexcited to see you, she dragged you in before you could think of an Escape Plan.
She pushes you to her bedroom, Lifting you up the stairs. You'd never guess what's on her computer monitor, hey at least she's on Aeonglass. She must be a Master of Strategy, where were you?
Oh yeah, the 'fucking' thing.
There wasn't any Prep Time. "You interrupted my gaming, so you will be my game." She groans, pushing you onto her comfy bed– adorned with all the Slay The Spire makeship plushies money could buy, "Understood?"
"Yes, Rei."
"It's the Reigent to you."
You are so not calling her that, she's quick to Expose her lower half in one go. Pattering over as she climbed over your face. More accurately you are Crushed Under the weight of Rei's pussy on your mouth, but that's more a blessing than a curse. You greet her instantly, letting her ride your tongue. There's No Escape from the pace she sets, fast and hard as all of her taste hits you.
"Know Thy Place!" She moans, rolling her hips, holding on to the headboard and using you for her pleasure. You aren't above showing Greed, drinking up all of her, feasting on her cunt more than just what was allowed. Perhaps that is what this is, an endless Folly.
But if this is your Folly, may you toil eternally.
You moan, she moans, the soundtrack of her game is the backdrop for all of these sounds. "Fuck! Mm, that's a good interruption, pretty glad you are here, fuck." Rei Monologues, while you Prolong your actions. Oxygen is irrelevant right now.
Though evidently, sexual action with Rei is just like the game, being turn based. Now its your turn, an Energy Surge empowers you to push her off your face. She falls into her mattress and you are Unrelenting, grabbing her thick thighs and pulling close.
She trembles as your tongue is back up against her, this time though its fully in your control. Through sheer True Grit you devour her, it's erotic, filthy and disrespectful. Her wetness gets smeared all over your lips, the corners of your mouth. If you are her game and the win-condition is an orgasm.
You will Make It So.
"Mmh!" You have to keep Rei on the bed, her legs actively trying to Defy and reach Act Three. She's the best elite combat you've ever had, she's in a Haze while you keep up your combo. Rei's whining and the games truly back, two of your fingers join in. Thrusting in and out, doing some Hand Tricks. Hitting all the right spots, sucking her clit.
It's all a Well-Laid Plan, your eyes look up at her, her mouth's agape, she's so close.
"I'm, gonna, gonna cum!" That's a Victory? The orgasm has her Glowing, gushing all over your fingers and her sheets. You Wish to be in this moment forever, but the show isn't over yet. Rei recovers in a Blur, suddenly she's back up and your pants are down.
"Let me see what you are working with." She treats your cock like the Ironclad's sword, holding it firmly. Spitting on tip and rubbing it in recklessly. "Let me Stoke it a little, get you ready for what's to come."
She does just that, making out with you as her hand pumps you, both of you Huddled Together. Rei's hand is warm, really warm. It feels like the Brightest Flame. Fuck.
Rei's shamelessly sticking her tongue as deep into your mouth as you did her hole. Her spit mixes with yours (there's a lot of it.) Sloppily making out while she gets to terms with your cock. She's The Smith the way she's made you harder than a steel beam.
Her lips pull off yours and you are Dazed. "There's so much I could do, suck your cock until you shoot it down my throat. Or I could slide it in, ride it until you pass out. Maybe I could push my thighs around it, lift up and down until you helplessly spurt all over them. Decisions, Decisions."
Rei has her mind made up, truly in Demon Form as she pushes you down. "So big, so hard." You breathe heavily as your tip is brushing against her, a Tremble while Rei rubs against you, it's bliss, hell, how quickly she's got you Enthralled.
"This cock is going deep inside me, I need it so badly." With that, Rei Follows Through, slipping down and engulfing every inch of you. She's intoxicating, like taking every Elite even though you know it's a bad idea. You just lay there and take it, she bounces and you watch your cock come out wetter than it was before.
She's quick, a Bombardment of bounces, skin slapping against each other. Rei is a very adamant woman, nothing is going to stop her from riding you like the world's going to explode. Not even an Heirloom Hammer to the face.
"You are going to see stars, generate stars, whatever, fuck." Well logic was out of the window awhile ago, you are just happen to get Bury'd deep inside of Rei. She's so horny that she can't maintain rhythm, just chasing her Ascension 10. you both knew from the moment you began you were on Borrowed Time.
And now here you are, back at the beginning. Rei's the spire and you are the spire, she's delivering her attempt to finish the game by making you finish. Her turn's not over yet, being inside her raw has truly Captured your Spirit.
Sweat shines on her deliciously smooth skin, if her hands weren't forcing you into the bed you'd lick it all clean. Ravage her body like the eager slut you are. But you are always Thinking Ahead, and when she starts to slow you say nothing. Just pick her up and throw her back onto the bed. Your sex is the true roguelike experience, pick a different build (face riding, cock riding) and still go onto the same route.
How poetic.
You pounce onto her, sliding into her cunt at the same time you are on top of her. Your dick must be enchanted with Momentum the way her moans get louder with every time you push deep, targeting the right spots. "Fuck ne harder, fuck!"
You lick all the salty sweat off her skin, it turns you on so much that you throb helplessly inside of her. But this is not where the run ends, you are far too Feral. "Oh, oh my god, okay! Fuck me, fuck me harder!" You were surprised you were even able to, Overlocking your thrusts and Doubling your Energy. Everything to make Rei feel euphoric, even if you have to Scavenge the power to keep going.
"I, your cock is so good! I can't hol-" Rei gives up, cumming her brains out as you plow her through it. impressive how you don't follow, she Claw's at your back while you pound her like a Osty. You are fucking her full, the only thing left to do is…
Your orgasm Rattles you, dumping your thick load deep inside, filing her to the brim– you are truly the Conqueror to her spire, hitting the Knockup Blow instead of the Knockout Blow. The legend, another Victory? Her walls milk more of your cum out. she's bred, happy.
But, there's four acts.
Something happens, a spark, you've been fucking on video game logic and this is no different. A few minutes and you are inside Rei's tight asshole, lube was the three keys. This is the summit, you've never been here before but your memory is crystal clear.
Normally you fight a spear, this time you are the spear, spearing inside of her. The easiest way to a girl's heart is to make her cum, so it seems like you will be finishing this final act. Rei's ass cheeks Thunderclap with every thrust, it's total Havoc. It's sort of like a multiplayer card, you pound her ass like she begs and she fingers her cum filled pussy.
Teamwork.
You continue to Heavenly Drill the another orgasm out of her, another shriek and more. No matter how many times you make her cum, you never seen to get further in winning the fight. An infinite stalemate, though her juices Splash off her fingers and into the bed, which is close enough to a victory.
"Please, treat my ass however you want! Fuck, keep going!" The entire street hears it, a Countdown is active. You can only go for so long, a final Spur to make sure this orgasm is The Bomb. "More, please, please, please, I Am Invincible I can take it!"
Helix, Heavenly, what does it matter? You are drilling her, time is drawing to an end. You are Doomed, flooding her asshole with a load of it's own, that's the true Victory. Rei completely dripping, both your cum and her sheer arousal. Converged into one.
It's complete Mind Rot when you pull out, watching it flow out all into a pile, your body is Withering. This run might be over. But you and Rei can definitely do another some other time.
"That was really… really good. You are my new fuck toy, got it?"
You’re not entirely sure. You don’t even know how this stunning woman ended up knocking on your hotel room door. The only clue you have is the text message from your friend: ‘Happy Birthday bro. Enjoy the gift :)’
“Can I see more of you?”
“Of course, dear.”
That sweet angelic voice of hers just pulls you in as you sit closer to the edge of the bed, eyes glued to the sinful performance. The slow pull of the zipper behind her, then the dress off her shoulders. When it finally falls into a crumpled mess by her feet, you’re salivating. Her figure looks great, and she looks a thousand times better when just in her bra and panties. It’s a sight to remember, you’re sure it’s going to be carved into your mind, but you want to keep a souvenir for the night.
When you pick up your phone, Sana seems to get your idea and starts posing for you. First, she leans a little closer to you and brings her arms together to accentuate her cleavage. Then more pictures where a strap of her bra is off her shoulders, then both straps. Just as you’re waiting for the inevitable complete removal of her bra, she turns away from you and flaunts her ass. She’s bending over, looking back at the camera with a seductive smile. By this point, you’re in a trance and mindlessly clicking away to gather as many photos as you can.
She sits on the bed next to you and leans in close. When you turn to face her, you find yourself face to face with her, nose almost touching hers, and the first thing you notice is how attractive her eyes truly are, followed by how good she smells. You barely realise when her hand is on your thigh and dangerously close to your bulge.
“Do you want to spend all the time taking pictures? Your friend only paid for an hour.” She then whispers directly into your ear, “I can take good care of you if you want.”
You’re nodding like an idiot, confused and overwhelmed by the circumstances you’re in, and you find your pants being unbuttoned. Autopilot has taken over your system, you’re letting Sana have her way with you. It does seem that she knows what she’s doing given that she’s smiling while kneeling between your spread legs and your erect cock in front of her. Her lips press against your cock, her tongue teases your tip. You’re tense on the bed, nervous yet excited for the moment when she opens her mouth to take you in.
The sheer hotness of her mouth all over you, the pure filth of her lips at the base of your cock in contrast with that happy glimmer in her eyes are all too much to take in. As much as you’d like to keep your eyes on Sana, you just can’t. You’re left gripping the bed sheets and tossing your head back to gather your composure.
It’s almost a new experience for you. The expert mouth bobbing up and down your cock works in perfect tandem with her hands twisting the base of your length. Time feels foreign to you. You don’t know how much time has truly passed. All you know is that you’re about to cum and trying to hold it back is just going to end up with torn bed sheets.
A quick peek down at Sana makes it tenfold worse. She’s so damn hot, especially when she’s making eye contact with you with those seductive eyes of hers. It’s like she knows how close you are. How could she not? You’re moaning without restraint. You can’t help it of course, but it seems like the louder you are, the more intense Sana gets with the blowjob.
The pleasure suddenly diminishes. “Where do you want to cum, dear?”
You struggle to choose, especially when she’s still jerking you off rapidly. “Your face. Please!”
“You might want to record this.” She winks before going back down on you.
Your hand is shaky, you can barely hold your phone up in place. You aren’t completely sure if it’s even capturing all the action. What you’re sure of is that Sana is blowing you faster than earlier and that you’re about to cum and that your other hand is guiding her head, almost pushing her deeper onto yourself as if that’s possible. Then your grip loosens, your self control vanishes.
Without warning, you cum inside her mouth. She reacts quickly to the first shot, pulling your cock out and aiming the rest of your shots on her face. The pleasure is immeasurable. It’s been too long since you’ve relieved yourself and the volume of your load surprises her as her face is painted white.
“Fuck Sana!”
You remain seated, exhausted, and appreciate the sight of Sana painted with your cum. She cleans herself up with her fingers and licks them clean while you catch your breath before she dresses back up. God how can a woman look so sexy putting clothes back on.
“It’s a pity we don’t have more time together. It seems like you need it dear.” Right before she exits the room, you hear a faint “Call me again.”
"Are you planning on going clubbing dressed like this, Mum?" my son questioned me, leaning casually against the doorframe of my bedroom. He had his hands tucked into the pockets of his school trousers, looking at me with those serene, intelligent blue eyes that always made my heart flutter. It was criminal how handsome he was turning out to be, a perfect blend of youthful innocence and a growing masculinity that I had been privy to in ways a mother never should be.
I turned to face the mirror, smoothing my hands over the tight sequined mini-dress that clung to my curves like a second skin. The fabric was scandalously short, barely covering the tops of my thighs, and the neckline plunged deep, offering a generous view of my ample cleavage. I knew I looked good. The dress hugged my waist and flared slightly over my hips, accentuating the long legs that I knew drove him crazy.
"Do you think it's too much, love?" I asked, flashing him a bright, bubbly smile that I hoped would distract him from the sheer amount of skin on display. I watched his gaze drop, trailing slowly down my body, taking in the sheer black stockings that led down to my high heels.
"Not at all," he replied, his voice keeping that tranquil, composed cadence, so at odds with the heat radiating between us. "You look beautiful, as always. But if you go out looking like that, you’ll have to fight them off with a stick."
A warm, pleasant hum buzzed in my chest at the compliment. I loved how he looked at me—not just as a mother, but as a woman he desired. It was a dangerous, addictive thrill. I turned away from the mirror and sauntered towards him, my heels clicking rhythmically on the wooden floor. The air in the room felt thick, charged with that familiar, electric tension that always seemed to spark when we were alone.
"They can look all they want," I murmured, stopping just inches from him. I reached out, flattening my palm against his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic thumping of his heart. "But they can't touch. Only you get to touch, don't you, sweetheart?"
He closed the gap between us; his arms circled my waist, pulling me against him. His face was so close to mine. I felt his breath on my neck, and it made me shiver. He kissed my neck; his lips were soft and gentle. I moaned softly and arched my back, pressing my body closer to his. I ran my fingers through his brown hair, pulling him closer to me. His hands moved down to my bum, squeezing firmly. I loved how confident he was becoming, how he took what he wanted from me.
"Only me," he whispered against my skin, his voice vibrating through me.
I couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up, mixed with a desperate gasp as his teeth grazed my collarbone. It was absurd, really. I was supposed to be heading out to Roppongi to dance and drink, to lose myself in the thumping bass and coloured lights, yet here I was, melting in the arms of a fifteen-year-old boy who was rapidly becoming the only thing that could satisfy the insatiable hunger inside me.
"Are there any chances for you to remain here or for me to come with you as your knight?" He asked, his voice muffled slightly against my skin, the vibrations of his words sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in my abdomen.
I pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, my hands resting on his shoulders. "My knight? Are you planning to fight off all the bad men with a sword, then?" I teased, though the idea was tempting. The thought of having him by my side, his possessive eyes on me all night while I danced, made my thighs clench together. "If you promise not to make a scene if someone tries to flirt with me... I want you to be there with me to have fun, not to be my guardian."
My sweet boy nodded. I instructed him on what to wear, forcing him to put on something a bit more sophisticated than his usual school attire. It felt delightfully sinful, dressing him up like my own personal doll, preparing him for a night where the lines between mother and lover would be blurred amidst the neon lights of Tokyo.
The taxi ride into Roppongi was a blur of passing streetlights and the electric anticipation humming beneath my skin. My hand rested on his thigh the entire way, my fingers tracing teasing circles higher and higher, relishing the way his breathing hitched. He stayed calm, outwardly tranquil, but I could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the predator waiting to be unleashed.
When we finally stepped out of the cab, the city assaulted our senses in a dizzying wave of sound and colour. The bass from the nearby clubs was a physical thump in my chest, vibrating through the soles of my high heels. I took his arm, pressing my body against his, revelling in the possessive glances he shot at anyone who dared to look my way. We walked past the queues, the bouncer recognising me and ushering us inside with a knowing grin.
The club was a sensory overload, a swirling vortex of neon lasers, pounding bass, and the sweet, musky scent of expensive perfume and desire. I held onto his arm tightly as we navigated the throng of bodies, feeling like the queen of the night with her handsome young prince. The heat was palpable, but nothing compared to the fire burning in my blood as I felt his protective presence beside me.
We made our way towards the VIP section, a raised platform swathed in velvet ropes and bathed in purple light. There, waving enthusiastically amidst the bottles of champagne and ice buckets, were my girls. Mina, with her feline eyes and mischievous smirk; Nayeon, glowing with that bunny-like charm; and Tzuyu, tall and elegant, looking like a runway model who had wandered in for a drink.
"Sana! Over here!" Nayeon shrieked over the music, her eyes widening as she took in my entourage. I dragged him over to the plush, crescent-shaped booth, watching their faces drop in varying degrees of shock and appreciation as they got a good look at him. He stood there, calm and composed, looking utterly delectable in the dark button-down I’d picked out for him. It was unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of the smooth skin beneath, the shirt tucked neatly into his trousers.
The booth, however, presented a minor logistical dilemma. It was designed for four, perhaps five people at a squeeze, but there were four of us, and the table was cluttered with buckets of Moët and assorted cocktails.
"Oh, bother", I pouted playfully, looking around the tight space. "It seems we're a seat short, aren't we?"
Tzuyu, ever the graceful one, started to shift towards the edge to make room, but I was already moving. I wasn't about to let my knight sit on the hard cushion outside the circle, nor did I want him pressed up against Nayeon, no matter how much I adored her.
With a mischievous glint in my eye, I turned to my son, patting my thigh invitingly. "I suppose you’ll just have to be my chair for the night, sweetheart. Unless you object to having the best view in the house?"
He didn’t miss a beat. He settled onto the plush leather seat, his legs spread slightly in that inherently masculine way, and looked up at me with a raised brow. "I think I can manage that," he murmured, his voice steady, though I caught the subtle darkening of his pupils.
I didn't hesitate. I gathered the hem of my short dress and turned, sinking onto his lap. The sensation was immediate and electric. I felt the firm muscles of his thighs beneath my bottom, and as I wiggled to get comfortable, I couldn't ignore the distinct, hardening length pressing against my backside. A flush of heat shot through me, and I bit my lip to stifle a moan. Being this full and heavy against him, in public, of all places, was a wicked thrill.
His arms instinctively wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest, grounding me amidst the dizzying atmosphere of the club. I settled back against him, revelling in the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of my dress. It was a possessive hold, one that silently claimed ownership, and I felt a heady rush of adrenaline knowing that my friends were watching every second of it.
"Well, hello there," Mina purred, leaning her elbows on the table to get a better look. Her dark, feline eyes roamed over his face with undisguised interest, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Sana, you really didn't do this handsome young man justice in your stories. He’s absolutely gorgeous."
I felt a sharp pang of jealousy in my chest, primal and fierce, but I suppressed it with a bright, bubbly laugh. I leant back, resting my head on his shoulder, and tilted my chin up to look at him. "Isn't he, though? I told you he was special. But try to control yourselves, ladies. He’s a bit shy."
"He doesn't look very shy to me," Tzuyu countered, her voice cool and sultry as she took a slow sip from her flute of champagne. Her gaze was heavy, lingering a little too long on the way his hands rested possessively on my hips, his thumb tracing idle circles against the bone. "In fact, he looks like he knows exactly what he's doing. Those eyes... they aren't innocent at all."
I felt him stiffen slightly behind me—not in fear, but in recognition. It was the hunter acknowledging he was being watched. He didn't flinch under Tzuyu's scrutiny; instead, he met her gaze evenly, that tranquil mask firmly in place, though I could feel the rapid thrum of his heart beating against my spine.
"He’s just composed," I corrected them, waving a hand dismissively, though my pulse quickened at their praise. I reached for the bucket, grabbing a bottle of Moët. "Don't scare him off, you lot. He’s used to quiet nights at home, not..." I gestured vaguely at the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor below, "this chaotic madness."
"He is far too composed for a boy his age," Nayeon chimed in, her bunny-like teeth flashing as she grinned. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his arm—a touch that lingered a second too long for my liking. "Usually, boys are tripping over their own tongues around us. You seem... unbothered, young man."
I felt the muscles in his jaw tighten against my shoulder, a subtle shift that only I would notice. He didn't pull away, but his hand on my hip gave a firm, reassuring squeeze, silently reminding me—and perhaps her—that he was exactly where he wanted to be.
"I prefer to observe," he replied smoothly, his voice cutting through the thumping bass with an ease that surprised me. He lifted his glass of champagne, his blue eyes locking with Nayeon's over the rim. "And right now, the view is quite extraordinary."
Nayeon’s cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink at his smooth retort, and she let out a surprised, delighted laugh, pulling her hand back as if she’d been burned. "Oh, he’s got a tongue on him, too! Sana, where on earth did you find this one? You’ve been hiding a diamond in the rough."
"I told you he was full of surprises," I preened, swirling the golden liquid in my glass. The possessive pride swelling in my chest was intoxicating. Seeing my friends—women who were used to men fawning over them—rendered slightly flustered by my son’s quiet confidence was a massive ego boost. I shifted my weight on his lap, grinding down slightly, and felt his breath hitch imperceptibly against my ear. I knew exactly what I was doing to him. The friction, the heat, the public nature of our seating arrangement—it was all calculated to drive him mad, and I could feel the rigid proof of it beneath my thigh.
"I like him," Mina decided, her dark eyes narrowing speculatively. She poured a fresh glass of champagne and slid it across the table towards him. "He’s got a presence. It’s... intense. You don’t see that in boys his age. Usually, it’s all pent-up aggression and awkwardness. He’s calm. Controlled."
I watched him take the glass with that same steady hand, offering Mina a nod of gratitude that was polite yet kept a distinct air of detachment. "Thank you", he said, his voice low and smooth, managing to make a simple pleasantry sound like a command. "It is... interesting to meet the women Sana speaks of so often."
"Speaks of us?" Tzuyu arched a perfectly sculpted brow, setting her glass down with a deliberate clink. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, her gaze locking onto his with predatory curiosity. "I wonder what exactly she says. Do tell!"
He took a slow sip of the champagne, his eyes never leaving Tzuyu’s. "Only that you are beautiful, lively, and... intense", he replied, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. The playfulness in his tone was so subtle; if I didn't know him so well—if I didn't feel the way his fingers were gripping my hip possessively—I might have missed it.
"Intense?" Tzuyu repeated the word rolling off her tongue like dark chocolate. She seemed to taste the subtext there, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment. Though I have a feeling you're the one who enjoys a bit of intensity, aren't you?"
I felt the vibration of his low chuckle against my back before I heard it. It was a rich, surprisingly deep sound for a boy of fifteen, and it sent a shiver of delight straight down my spine. "I suppose you could say I appreciate focus," he answered smoothly, his hand idly stroking the silk of my dress just above my hip.
"Oh, I bet you do," Mina chimed in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that she didn't bother to hide. She leaned in closer, invading our personal space just enough to be daring. "So, tell us, handsome. Does Sana boss you around at home, or are you the one in charge there? You seem very... obedient."
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, I felt the hand resting on my hip glide slowly downwards, his fingers splaying wide over the curve of my thigh, pulling me tighter against him until there was absolutely no space left between us. The movement was subtle, hidden beneath the table and the shadows of the VIP booth, but the message was clear. He was staking his claim, right in front of them.
"I think you’ll find," he said, his voice dropping an octave, silencing Mina’s playful teasing instantly, "that we have a very equal partnership. Isn't that right, Sana?"
I looked down at him, my breath catching in my throat at the dark, predatory look in his blue eyes. He wasn't the shy, tranquil boy I had dressed up an hour ago; he was something else entirely now—something dangerous and thrillingly possessive.
"Equal?" Mina repeated, her feline eyes narrowing as she picked up on the shift in the air. She tapped a manicured nail against her glass, a knowing smirk curling her lips. "Is that what we're calling it? It looked an awful lot like you were taking orders back at the door, sweetheart."
"He lets me think I'm in charge," I interjected quickly, my voice sounding breathless even to my own ears. I took a hasty sip of my champagne to hide the flush rising in my cheeks, the bubbles doing little to quell the heat pooling in my stomach. I shifted on his lap again, trying to find a position that didn't press his hardened length so directly against my bottom, but it was a futile effort. He was rock hard, and he wanted me to know it.
"He's very good at that," Tzuyu observed, her gaze still fixed on him with an intensity that usually made lesser men wither. She swirled her drink, the ice clinking softly. "Listening, observing. But smart boys know when to stay quiet and when to... speak up."
Nayeon let out a loud, unladylike snort, breaking the heavy tension that had settled over the table. She reached for the bottle of vodka, topping up her glass with a generous pour. "Oh, don't mind Tzuyu," she said, waving a dismissive hand in our direction. "She’s just salty because she hasn't found a man who can keep up with her yet. You're doing alright, kid. As long as you can keep Sana smiling, you're good in my books."
"I second that", Mina purred, her gaze softening as she took a long sip of her drink, though her eyes continued to flicker between us, clearly enjoying the show. "There is something very... alluring about a young man who knows his place. Or yours," she added with a wicked grin.
I felt the tension in his jaw ease slightly against my shoulder, the predator receding just enough to let the tranquil mask slip back into place. He was incredibly adaptable, shifting seamlessly from the dominant lover to the polite, composed son whenever the situation required. It made my head spin.
"Would you girls mind a question?" He asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the thumping bass and the steady hum of conversation.
"Anything for you, handsome," Nayeon replied instantly, leaning forward with a playful glint in her eyes, clearly enjoying the attention.
He didn't look at her, though. His gaze remained fixed on the dance floor below, watching the writhing mass of bodies with a detached, analytical interest, even as his hand continued to stroke my hip, his thumb rubbing slow, maddening circles against my skin. "Sana mentions she often comes here to... let loose. Does she attract a lot of attention when she's alone?"
The question hung in the air for a moment, heavy with implication, before the girls erupted into a chorus of laughter. It was a bright, musical sound, but underneath it, I could sense the shift in atmosphere as they exchanged knowing glances.
"Attract attention?" Mina repeated, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. "Sweetheart, Sana doesn't just attract attention; she absorbs it. When she walks onto that floor, she becomes the centre of gravity."
"It's true", Nayeon added, leaning back and draping her arm over the booth behind her, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You have to beat them off with a stick. Men, women... they all want a piece of her. She’s a firecracker, that one. Always has been."
Tzuyu hummed in agreement, her gaze drifting from the chaotic dance floor back to us, her eyes lingering on the possessive grip he had on my waist. "She's right. Sana feeds off the energy. She loves being looked at, being wanted. But she rarely goes home with anyone. Usually, she just likes to tease and leave them wanting." Tzuyu’s eyes locked onto his, a challenge glittering in their depths. "She seems to have found a solution to that problem lately, hasn't she?"
I felt the muscles beneath me bunch and tighten, a subtle reminder of the power contained in that youthful, lean frame. He didn't rise to the bait, though. Instead, he took another slow sip of his champagne, his eyes never leaving Tzuyu’s.
"It's up to her to say it," he replied with a calm voice. "I can only grant you; she knows she can rely on me."
The table went quiet at that, the bass-heavy thrum of the club seeming to swell in the sudden silence. Tzuyu held his gaze for a long, lingering moment, her analytical expression cracking just enough to reveal a flash of genuine surprise. Then, a slow, appreciative smile spread across her face.
"Smart and dangerous", Tzuyu murmured, lifting her glass in a silent toast. "I like that. You’re not just a pretty face, are you?"
"I told you", I beamed, wiggling my hips again, unable to resist the urge to torment him just a little more. I felt the heavy ridge of his erection twitch beneath me, a silent response to my movement. "He’s perfect."
His hands moved down to my thighs; his touch was light like a feather. "Objectively", he stated. "You are all gorgeous women, and I cannot fathom why there is no one at your side."
Mina let out a soft, incredulous laugh, the sound like silk rubbing together. She tipped her head back, exposing the slender line of her throat as she looked up at the ceiling lights. "Oh, darling," she sighed, bringing her gaze back down to him with a heavy, hooded look. "It’s because we eat men like you for breakfast and spit them out before lunch. Finding someone who can handle us is... a full-time occupation."
"Especially when you have high standards," Nayeon added, though her eyes softened as she looked at him. She swirled the vodka in her glass, the ice clinking rhythmically. "Most boys are either terrified of us or trying to get into our knickers within five minutes. You don't seem to be doing either. It’s... refreshing."
"I have everything I need right here," he said simply, his voice vibrating through my back where I leaned against him. The hand on my thigh gave a gentle squeeze, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just above the lace of my stockings. The friction was maddening, a slow burn that was making it increasingly difficult to maintain the bubbly, carefree façade I usually wore around them.
"I'm sure you do," Mina purred, her gaze lingering on his hand where it disappeared under the hem of her dress. The dark, knowing look in her eyes suggested she suspected exactly what those fingers were up to beneath the table. "But surely you don't intend to keep Sana all to yourself every night? That’s rather greedy, isn't it?"
"He’s young, Mina," Nayeon teased, though there was a slight edge to her voice. She leaned closer, invading his space again, her perfume—a sweet, intoxicating mix of jasmine and vanilla—clouding my senses. "He’s in the prime of his youth. He should be out having fun, making mistakes, breaking hearts. Not playing the devoted husband."
I felt a ripple of unease pass through him, a subtle stiffening of his spine against my back. The tranquil mask slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing a flash of that protective, territorial instinct I admired so much. He didn't like the implication that he was missing out, or worse, that I was holding him back.
"He isn't missing out on anything," I said quickly, perhaps a bit too sharply, keen to defend my darling boy before his tranquil veneer could crack completely. I reached up, threading my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, a soothing gesture meant to calm us both. "He’s exactly where he wants to be. Besides, who says he can't have fun with me? We have plenty of fun."
"Fun," Mina repeated, drawing the word out until it sounded positively filthy. She took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving his face. "I'm sure you do. But variety is the spice of life, isn't it, handsome? Surely your mother has told you about our... little traditions?"
The air in the booth seemed to thicken, charged with a sudden, heavy tension. I knew exactly what Mina was hinting at. Our nights out often ended in a blur of tangled limbs and shared partners, a hedonistic free-for-all that we had indulged in for years. But this was different. This was him. The very idea of sharing him, of watching Mina or Nayeon run their hands over the body that was currently pressed so intimately against mine, sparked a violent rush of jealousy that I wasn't entirely prepared for.
"Mina, calm down," Tzuyu interjected smoothly, though her eyes danced with wicked amusement as she watched the interplay. "You're going to scare the poor thing."
"Don't talk like you are not interested, Tzuyu," Mina retorted. "I saw you ogling him."
Tzuyu didn't deny it. Instead, she swirled the champagne in her glass, her eyes fixed on me with a predatory glint that made my skin prickle. "I'm just appreciating the view, darling. There's no harm in looking. Though I must admit," she paused, her gaze dropping to my lips, "I am curious to see if he tastes as good as he looks."
My son stiffened beneath me, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on my thigh. It wasn't fear; it was a territorial warning. "Hold your knickers, ladies," I told them. "Before even considering doing anything to him, you have to ask me. He is my son, and although I've never been greedy, I'm not exactly ready to share him. Especially when I know how good he is."
I felt his chest expand against my back as he took a deep breath, his tranquil mask slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of dark amusement. He didn't seem offended by their hunger; if anything, he appeared to view it as a scientific curiosity, like a specimen under a microscope that had just learnt it could bite back.
"Wouldn't be helpful to blow a bit of steam to dance?" He asked, his voice a smooth counterpoint to the rising tension at the table.
Tzuyu let out a low, appreciative hum, setting her glass down with a decisive click. "He’s got a point," she declared, standing up in one fluid, graceful motion. The hem of her slip dress rode up just enough to show miles of leg, but her eyes were fixed squarely on us. "Sitting here is all well and good, but the music is calling. I’d love to see how our young knight moves."
"I second that," Nayeon chimed, already wiggling out of the booth. She grabbed my hand, her grip firm and insistent. "Come on, Sana! Bring your boy and let's go show this floor how it's done."
I allowed Nayeon to pull me up, the sudden loss of contact making me feel oddly cold despite the stifling heat of the club. My son rose smoothly behind me, adjusting his cuffs with that infuriatingly calm demeanour, though his eyes burnt with a dark, possessive light as he glanced at the other women.
I saw him offering his hand to Mina and Tzuyu with that old-school, gentlemanly charm that seemed so incongruous with his youth, yet fit him perfectly. Mina accepted immediately, her eyes glinting with mischief, while Tzuyu simply smirked, placing her elegant fingers in her palm with an air of regal acceptance. Nayeon, ever the bundle of energy, was already dragging me towards the pulsing heart of the dance floor, weaving through the crowd with practised ease.
The transition from the plush, purple-hued sanctuary of the VIP booth to the main floor was jarring. Here, the air was thick with humidity and the scent of sweat and expensive cologne. The bass was no longer just a sound; it was a physical force, vibrating in my lungs and rattling my teeth. Strobe lights slashed through the darkness, illuminating the writhing mass of bodies in fragmented snapshots of ecstasy.
We found a small pocket of space amidst the chaos, and I immediately turned to him. The girls formed a loose circle around us, a protective yet predatory formation that isolated us from the rest of the club. Nayeon was the first to start moving, her body fluid and rhythmic, her arms raised high as she lost herself in the beat. Mina and Tzuyu followed suit, their movements more sultry, more calculated, designed to draw the eye.
"Well then, my knight," I shouted over the deafening roar of the bass, stepping into his personal space. "Show us what you've got. Don't leave me hanging!"
I didn't wait for a verbal response. I couldn't. The music was a frantic, electro-house beat that demanded movement, a primal rhythm that vibrated in my very marrow. I turned around, pressing my back against his chest, and began to move. I let my body take over, rolling my hips in slow, deliberate circles that I knew would drive him insane. My hands came up, tangling in my hair, arching my back to press my bottom firmly against the front of his trousers.
His response was immediate and electrifying. His hands, of course, settled firmly on my hips, gripping me with a confidence that made my knees weak. He didn't just stand there; he moved with me, matching the roll of my hips with a fluidity that contradicted his usual tranquil stillness. It was a dominant rhythm, a silent assertion that he was the one leading this dance, even if I was the one setting the pace.
I could feel every inch of him against my backside, hard and insistent, separated only by the thin layers of our clothes. The friction was maddening, a delicious tease that promised so much more. I leaned my head back against his shoulder, letting out a breathless laugh that was swallowed by the pounding music. I felt invincible, grinding against the most handsome man in the room, who just happened to be my son.
"Looks like our knight can move," Mina purred, appearing in front of us. She didn't stay at a distance; she closed the gap, moving with a feline grace that brought her body flush against mine. She placed her hands on my waist, her fingers brushing tantalisingly close to where his hands held me.
Mina’s presence was like a sudden wave of heat, her dark eyes locking onto mine with a mischievous glint as she pressed closer. The three of us were fused together in a rhythm that felt illicit and dangerously thrilling. My son didn't falter; if anything, his grip on my hips tightened, anchoring me against him while Mina invaded our space from the front. I was sandwiched between the two of them, caught in a crossfire of desire and tension that made my head spin.
"Having fun, knight?" Mina mouthed, her lips brushing against my ear, though her gaze was fixed pointedly over my shoulder at him. Her hands slid down to my waist, teasingly close to mine, her fingers tracing the sequins of my dress.
"He seems to be enjoying himself," I managed to gasp back, feeling the hard evidence of his enjoyment digging into my lower back. He was rolling his hips in time with the bass, a slow, dirty grind that mimicked exactly how he moved when we were alone in my bed.
"Careful, Mina," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, managing to cut through the relentless thud of the bass. His lips grazed the sensitive shell of my ear, sending a violent shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the music. "You're playing a dangerous game getting this close."
Mina didn't so much as flinch. Instead, she threw her head back and laughed, a dark, sultry sound that seemed to resonate in her chest. She pressed even closer, her body flush against mine, trapping me between her softness and his overwhelming hardness. "I like danger," she mouthed back, her eyes flicking down to his hands on my hips before meeting his gaze again. "And I think you do too."
Before the tension could snap something vital inside me, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist from the side, pulling me slightly away from the centre of our heated triangle. It was Nayeon, vibrating with an infectious, bubbly energy that cut through the heavy fog of lust.
"Come on, you two! Don't hog all the fun!" Nayeon shouted, her voice a bright bell against the deep thrum of the bass. She tugged me away with surprising strength, breaking the seal between my back and his chest. I stumbled slightly, the sudden loss of his warmth leaving me feeling bereft and dizzy, but Nayeon just laughed, spinning me around until I was facing her. "Let's show these kids how it's done, Sana!"
I threw my head back and laughed, the sound bubbling up from my chest, instantly swept up in her chaotic energy. We danced together, moving in sync like we had done a hundred times before, our bodies mirroring each other, hands roaming freely over each other's arms and waists. It was familiar and safe, a grounded anchor amidst the storm of illicit desire swirling in my head.
But I couldn't keep my eyes off him.
He stood there for a moment, a solitary pillar of calm amidst the chaotic sea of writhing bodies, his blue eyes tracking my every movement with an intensity that made my skin flush. He looked dangerous, a predator waiting patiently for his prey to return to the fold. But he wasn't alone for long.
Tzuyu, graceful and silent as a panther, slid into the space I had vacated. She didn't bounce or shimmy like Nayeon; she flowed, moving with a hypnotic, liquid grace that drew the eye instantly. She stopped right in front of him, close enough that I could see the challenging arch of her brow even from a few feet away.
I watched, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs that had nothing to do with the music, as she began to dance around him. It was a calculated seduction, a slow orbit designed to test his composure. She turned, pressing her back to his chest, mimicking the position I had just occupied, and rolled her hips in a slow, agonising grind.
A sharp, visceral pang of jealousy pierced through the haze of alcohol and bass, sharp enough to make me falter in my steps. Seeing another woman—any woman, let alone Tzuyu with her model-good looks and effortless grace—press her body against his felt like a violation. He was mine. The possessive instinct that roared to life inside me was terrifyingly primal, far beyond the protective maternal urges I was used to.
I was about to pull away from Nayeon, ready to march over there and stake my claim with my claws bared, when I saw how he reacted.
He matched her movement without crossing the line, a fluid, synchronised grind that was technically perfect yet emotionally detached. His hands rested lightly on Tzuyu’s hips, not with the hungry, proprietorial grip he used on me, but with the polite, distant restraint of a dance partner executing a choreography. He looked over her shoulder, his gaze instantly finding mine amidst the flashing lasers and swirling crowd. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk, a silent reassurance that shouted, 'I'm right here, Mum.' I’m only playing the game.
It was the look in his eyes that undid me—the calm, unwavering blue anchor that held me steady whilst the club threatened to spin out of control. He knew I was watching. He knew exactly what he was doing, stoking the fires of my jealousy just to prove a point: he could handle them, but he belonged to me.
"Earth to Sana!" Nayeon’s voice cut through my trance, accompanied by a playful shove to my shoulder. "You're staring like a lovesick puppy! If you keep looking at them like that, you might burn a hole in Tzuyu’s back."
I blinked, tearing my gaze away from the sight of Tzuyu grinding against my son, and forced a laugh that sounded slightly strangled even to my own ears. "Can you blame me?" I shot back at Nayeon, trying to regain my bubbly composure. "I have the hottest date on the floor. It’s only natural I want to keep my eyes on the prize."
Nayeon cackled, throwing her head back, her blonde hair whipping around her face. "Possessive, much? I like it. It’s fierce." She grabbed my hand, spinning me around again, but my body was resisting the momentum, yearning to be back where the heat was radiating from.
"I'm just saying, he’s quite the catch." Nayeon leaned in close, shouting over the beat. "Even if he is a bit... young for the usual crowd. He handles himself well."
The track transitioned from a frantic electro-house beat into something deeper, a sensual R&B remix that thrummed through the floorboards like a slow, steady heartbeat. The change in tempo was my cue. I peeled myself away from Nayeon, ignoring her playful pout of protest, and cut a path through the dancing crowd with single-minded determination.
I didn't walk; I stalked.
Tzuyu was still grinding against him, her movements fluid and hypnotic, but as I approached, she sensed the shift in the air. She turned her head, a knowing smirk plastered on her face, and stepped aside with the graciousness of a queen relinquishing her throne—though her eyes lingered on him with a hunger that made my blood boil.
I didn't hesitate. I stepped straight into the space she’d vacated, claiming my territory with a possessive determination that surprised even me. Pressing my back against his chest, I felt the immediate, hard contact of his body, solid and reassuring. The contrast between Tzuyu’s distant grace and the heated reality of him was stark.
"Missed me?" I purred, tilting my head back to look up at him, letting my body roll sensually to the slower, sultry rhythm of the new track.
His hands instantly found my hips, his fingers digging in with that familiar, hungry grip that had been absent when he danced with Tzuyu. "Immensely", he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "She dances well, but she doesn't feel like you."
I let out a breathless sigh, letting his words wash over me, soothing the jagged edges of my jealousy. "She certainly doesn't," I agreed, grinding my hips back against him with a deliberate, slow roll that left him in no doubt about who he belonged to. "And don't you forget it, knight."
He didn't reply with words, but the sharp intake of breath I heard against my neck and the way his hands flexed on my waist were answer enough. We moved together in the dim light, isolated in our own little bubble of lascivious intent while the club throbbed around us. The music was slower now, a heavy, sensual beat that allowed for bodies to press closer, for movements to become more suggestive, more intimate.
I was lost in the sensation of him—the hard planes of his chest against my spine, the thick ridge of his erection nestled against my bottom, and the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of our shared arousal. It was intoxicating, a heady cocktail that made me feel bold and invincible.
After a bunch of songs more, we all retreated to the booth, breathless and glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration. The alcohol had flowed freely, and the girls were positively buzzing, a chaotic tangle of limbs and laughter as we collapsed onto the plush leather. My son sat down first, looking remarkably unruffled save for the darkened intensity in his eyes, and I immediately reclaimed my place on his lap, draping my arm around his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"So", Nayeon drawled, fanning herself with a cocktail napkin, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. "Are we doing this, or what? My place is empty, and I just bought a new bottle of gin that is screaming to be opened."
I stiffened slightly, the implication hanging heavy in the air. We often ended our nights at one of our apartments, continuing the party in more intimate surroundings. But tonight, I wasn't just with the girls. I felt the muscles beneath me tense in agreement; he had no intention of becoming a plaything for the group, no matter how much they seemed to covet him.
"I won't let you play with him," I replied. "But I am going to be merciful; you can watch."
The silence that descended over the booth was absolute. For a moment, even the relentless thumping of the bass seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the sheer weight of my declaration. The three of them stared at me, their expressions a frozen tableau of shock, quickly followed by a dawning, wicked comprehension.
"Watch?" Tzuyu repeated, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. She slowly placed her glass on the table, the movement deliberate and predatory. She leaned forward, her dark eyes gleaming with a mixture of intrigue and lascivious hunger. "Do you mean...?"
"Exactly what I said," I confirmed, feeling the thrill of the forbidden course through my veins like liquid fire. I shifted slightly on his lap, relishing the way his hardness pulsed against me, a silent testament to his arousal at the prospect. "You want to see if the knight can match the fair maiden's stamina? You want to see if he's truly as good as I claim? Then you can sit back, sip your gin, and enjoy the show."
A collective shiver seemed to run through the group. Nayeon’s mouth fell open slightly before snapping shut with a click of her teeth, her eyes sparkling with unadulterated delight. Mina let out a low, appreciative hum, her gaze darkening as it bored into us, already undressing him in her mind. But it was Tzuyu’s reaction that satisfied me the most. She didn't look away; she leaned in, hungry and unblinking, accepting the challenge I had laid down.
"Bold", Tzuyu breathed, her voice barely audible over the music. "I didn't think you had it in you to share even a glimpse, Sana. But I accept. If I have to settle for watching, I intend to see everything."
Nayeon’s apartment was a sleek, modern expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows and white furniture, currently bathed in the soft, amber glow of the city lights below. The air was thick with anticipation and the sharp scent of gin as we filed in, the chaotic energy of the club having dissolved into a focused, predatory tension.
I felt my son’s hand resting firmly against the small of my back, a silent anchor in the storm. He was calm, exuding that tranquil aura that always made my heart race, but I knew him well enough to sense the coiled spring beneath his composed exterior. He was ready.
"Drinks first, I think," Nayeon announced, heading straight for the kitchen. She returned moments later with a crystal decanter and four tumblers, pouring generous measures with a shaky hand that betrayed her own excitement. "To the show," she toasted, her eyes glinting as she handed a glass to Tzuyu, then Mina.
Mina accepted hers with a languid grace, her eyes never leaving my son, who politely declined the alcohol with a soft "No, thank you. I prefer to keep a clear head for... performance."
"Smart boy," Tzuyu murmured, taking a slow sip of her drink before gesturing towards the expansive white rug in the centre of the living room. It lay before the floor-to-ceiling windows like a stage, the city lights of Tokyo sprawling out beneath it, a glittering backdrop for the depravity about to unfold. "The floor is yours. Don't disappoint us."
I felt a tremor of nervous excitement race down my spine, mixing with the champagne’s potent buzz. This was it. The ultimate exhibition. I was about to let my friends witness the most intimate, forbidden part of my life. I looked up at him, searching for any sign of hesitation, but found only that dark, bottomless ocean of blue staring back at me, filled with a quiet, burning intensity.
I took a deep breath, letting the alcohol fizz in my veins, giving me that extra push of courage I needed. I didn't wait for him to make the first move; the night had been about me taking what I wanted, and I wasn't about to stop now. I reached for the hem of my sequined dress and, with a fluid motion, pulled it up and over my head.
The air in the room was cool against my heated skin, but the looks from my friends were incinerating. I stood before them in nothing but my sheer black stockings, suspender belt, and a pair of lace panties that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. I kicked the dress aside, hearing it rustle softly on the hardwood floor.
"Ready to see what all the fuss is about?" I asked, my voice breathless and high, pitching it to carry across the room.
The three of them didn't answer with words. Instead, they settled onto the long, white sectional sofa like queens awaiting a spectacle, their drinks held loosely in their hands but their eyes fixed unblinkingly on me. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on, a heady mix of voyeuristic curiosity and raw lust.
My son, ever the composed actor in my play, stepped forward. He didn't look at them; his attention was entirely focused on me, stripping away the audience until it felt as though we were the only two people in Tokyo. He reached out, his fingers grazing the bare skin of my waist, sending a jolt of electricity through my system.
"You are breathtaking," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, meant solely for my ears despite the acoustics of the room.
He didn't wait for a response, nor did he give me time to succumb to the sudden rush of bashfulness that threatened to colour my cheeks. With a gentle but insistent pressure on my shoulders, he guided me down onto the plush white rug. The fibres were soft against my knees, a stark contrast to the hard floor of the club, and the sensation of being centred in the room—like a prize exhibit—made my blood hum with a mixture of shame and exhilaration.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the three of them shifting on the sofa. Nayeon had perched on the edge of her seat, her knuckles white as she gripped her glass, her bunny-like eyes wide and unblinking. Mina had reclined, her dark gaze hooded and heavy, trailing over my exposed skin with a slow, deliberating heat that felt like a physical touch. And Tzuyu... Tzuyu was simply watching, her chin resting in her palm, a small, satisfied smirk playing on her lips as if she were observing a particularly interesting experiment.
My son knelt before me, blocking out the city lights, his frame dominating my vision. He reached out with those long, elegant fingers and hooked them into the lace of my panties. The drag of the fabric against my thighs as he slid them down was agonisingly slow, a tease that drew a ragged gasp from my throat. When they pooled at my knees, he helped me extricate my legs, leaving me clad only in stockings and suspenders.
The cool air of the apartment kissed my heated skin, raising gooseflesh along my thighs, but the heat in his eyes was enough to burn me alive. He didn't rush. His hands, those large, capable hands that had been teasing me all night, trailed back up my legs, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs, urging them apart.
I obeyed without thought, opening myself to him, to them. The sheer debauchery of the situation hit me with a dizzying rush—I was Sana, the bubbly, vivacious friend, usually the one teasing the men, but here I was, exposed and vulnerable on my knees before my fifteen-year-old son while my best friends watched like hawks.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice a rough scrape of sound that seemed to echo in the silent room. "So eager."
I didn't care about their eyes on me anymore; all that mattered was the dark, predatory glint in his blue gaze. He leaned forward, his breath ghosting over my exposed, slick folds, and I shivered violently. The anticipation was a taut wire pulled tight inside my abdomen, ready to snap.
"Do not take your eyes off her," he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip crack. He didn't look back at the sofa to see if they obeyed, but I heard the collective intake of breath and the rustle of fabric as they shifted to get a better view. "I want you to see who she belongs to."
With a groan that sounded more like a growl, he buried his face between my thighs. The first drag of his tongue against my clit was electric, a shockwave that ripped a cry from my throat and bowed my spine. He didn't start slow; he attacked with a hunger that mirrored my own insatiable need, licking and sucking with a fervour that made my head spin.
The sensation was overwhelming, a white-hot surge of pleasure that obliterated the thought of our audience from my mind, at least for a moment. His tongue was wickedly clever, flicking and circling my clit with a precision that spoke of hours of practice—practice that I had happily provided. He knew exactly how to flatten it to maximise surface area, then curl it to tease that sensitive bundle of nerves, driving me closer to the edge with every pass.
"God, look at that," Nayeon’s voice drifted to me, sounding distant and warped, as if she were speaking underwater. "Look at how he devours her. I've never seen a man eat pussy like that."
"He certainly doesn't eat like a fifteen-year-old," Mina agreed, her tone thick with appreciation. "Sana, you lucky bitch. His technique is... impeccable."
"Impeccable?" Tzuyu’s cool, analytical voice cut through the haze of my pleasure, forcing me to blink my eyes open and focus on the three women watching us. She hadn't moved from her relaxed pose, but her eyes were dark, fixed intently on the point where my son’s mouth met my body. "It’s not just technique, Mina. It’s devotion. Look at the way he holds her thighs. He’s not just doing it for the pleasure; he’s worshipping."
She was right. Even in the throes of my rapidly unravelling control, I could feel it in the way his fingers dug into the soft flesh of my hips, anchoring me to him. He was devouring me with a single-minded intensity that went far beyond simple lust. He was proving a point to every woman in that room—*and* to himself. I was his. Completely.
He shifted his attention, dragging his tongue lower to circle my entrance, collecting the slick arousal that was practically dripping from me. The sound of his lapping was obscenely loud in the quiet room, a wet, rhythmic noise that made my face burn even as my hips bucked instinctively against his face.
He groaned against me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine and making my toes curl in the carpet. The sound was primal, a possessive rumble that seemed to say mine and mine alone. He brought a hand up, those long, slender fingers that had been resting so innocently on my thigh all night now sliding effortlessly inside me. The stretch was exquisite, a sudden, full pressure that made my breath hitch in a broken sob.
He didn't pump aimlessly; he curled his fingers upwards, finding that spongy, sensitive spot inside me with unerring accuracy, while his mouth resumed its assault on my clit. It was a double-pronged attack of sensory overload, a masterclass in pleasure that had my thighs trembling around his head. I could feel the pressure building rapidly, a tight, coiling knot in my stomach that threatened to snap at any second.
"She's close already," Tzuyu observed, her voice maddeningly calm and analytical. "Look at the way her stomach muscles are contracting. He’s found the spot, hasn't he?"
"He certainly has," I managed to gasp out, my voice sounding ragged and foreign to my own ears. I couldn't have stayed quiet if I’d tried. The dual sensation of his fingers crooking inside me, stroking that hidden place with devastating precision, and his tongue working my clit with relentless, rhythmic pressure was too much to bear. "He... oh god... he knows exactly what he's doing."
"He's relentless," Mina murmured, her voice husky with desire. I could hear the distinct sound of glass clinking against a coaster; she was shifting, unable to sit still. "Look at the control he has. Most boys would be rutting by now, but he’s taking his time. Savouring it."
My son didn't react to their commentary, save for a low, vibrating hum against my flesh that sent fresh jolts of electricity arcing through my nervous system. He was locked in, entirely focused on the task of unravelling me. He increased the pace of his fingers just slightly, a subtle adjustment that felt like turning up the dial on an electric current, while his lips sealed around my clit and sucked hard.
The dam broke. It wasn't a gentle tide but a violent, crashing wave that obliterated every thought in my head. My back bowed off the floor, a sharp, keening cry tearing from my throat as the orgasm slammed into me with the force of a freight train. My vision blurred, the expensive lights of the Tokyo skyline streaking into indistinguishable lines of colour, and for a moment, I was weightless, suspended in a void of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
He didn't stop. He rode me through it, his tongue flicking mercilessly against my over-sensitive clit while his fingers continued to curl inside me, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until I was a trembling, sobbing mess beneath him.
When he finally pulled away, the cool air rushing in to replace the heat of his mouth felt almost like a physical blow. I lay there gasping, my chest heaving, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Through the haze of my afterglow, I could hear the ragged breathing of my friends from the sofa, a collective sound of arousal that matched my own.
He rose slowly, towering over me like a colossus, his face glistening with my essence in the low light. It was an obscenely beautiful sight. He didn't immediately reach for his belt; instead, he looked down at me with that tranquil satisfaction, as if I were a canvas he had just finished painting.
"You know what to do," he urged me.
The command hung in the air, thick with authority and an unspoken challenge. My body, still humming with the residual tremors of my orgasm, moved on autopilot. I wanted to please him, to show these women—these beautiful, cynical women who thought they knew everything about pleasure—that what we had was something else entirely.
I pushed myself up from the floor, my muscles feeling like jelly, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins gave me strength. I knelt before him, reaching out with trembling fingers to the leather belt of his trousers. The buckle clinked softly in the quiet room, the sound sharp and distinct against the backdrop of heavy breathing.
I looked up at him, my eyes wide and submissive, seeking his approval. He gazed down at me, his expression unreadable but for the darkening of his blue eyes, which burned with a possessive fire. He didn't help me; he simply watched, letting me serve him, letting me put on the show he had demanded.
I undid the button with trembling fingers; the sound of the zipper sliding down seemed deafening in the hushed apartment. With a tug, I freed him, his erection springing forth to slap heavily against his abdomen. The sight of him never failed to steal my breath—thick, flushed, and angrily erect, the veins standing out in stark relief against the pale skin.
"Oh my," Nayeon whispered, the sound breaking the spell. "Sana... you weren't exaggerating. He's... magnificent."
I wrapped my hand around the base, savouring the familiar, velvety heat of him. He was steel encased in silk, throbbing in my grip. I leaned in, inhaling his scent—musk, sex, and that clean, unique smell that was purely him—before darting my tongue out to lap at the bead of precum glistening at the tip. He tasted salty and bitter, a flavour that made my mouth water and my core clench in desperate need.
I wrapped my lips around the head, sucking gently, swirling my tongue over the sensitive slit. A low hiss escaped him, his hand moving to the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, but he didn't force me down. He held me there, a grounding weight, letting me set the pace even though we both knew he was the one in control.
I took him deeper, relaxing my throat to accommodate his impressive girth, hollowing my cheeks as I bobbed my head. I could feel the eyes of my friends boring into us, their gaze a physical weight that only heightened the intensity. I wanted them to see. I wanted them to see how well I took him, how perfectly we fit together.
"Look at the enthusiasm," Tzuyu murmured, her voice thick with a rare, unguarded lust. "She really is insatiable, isn't she?"
"He's lucky to have found a match," Mina replied, her voice raspy. I heard the distinct clink of ice against glass as she took a desperate sip of her drink, as if she needed it to cool down. "Most men would have spent themselves by now. Look at him. He’s holding back."
The praise washed over me, mingling with the salty taste of him on my tongue. I redoubled my efforts, taking him deeper until the tip hit the back of my throat, suppressing the gag reflex through years of practice and sheer determination. I wanted to devour him whole, to prove that I was the only one who could handle him like this.
"Enough", he said suddenly, his voice tight with restrained effort. His hand in my hair tightened, not to hurt, but to still my movements. "I don't want to finish in your mouth. Not tonight."
The word was a command, sharp and absolute, cutting through the heavy, lust-charged air like a knife. I froze immediately, my lips still wrapped around the velvety head of his cock, my eyes darting upwards to meet his gaze. His jaw was set tight, a muscle fluttering beneath the skin, and his blue eyes were dark, swirling storms of need and dominance.
He pulled me up by my hair, not roughly, but with an insistent, guiding force that made me gasp as I was hauled to my feet. My legs felt shaky, weak from the orgasm that still hummed in my nerve endings, but he steadied me with a hand on my waist, spinning me around to face the sofa.
"Look at them," he murmured against my ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Look at your audience."
I blinked, the sudden reorientation of the room sending a fresh wave of dizziness through me. I was facing them now—the three women who had been my confidantes, my partners in crime, and now my voyeurs. Nayeon was leaning so far forward I thought she might tumble off the sofa, her eyes wide and glassy, darting between my face and the imposing figure looming behind me. Mina had abandoned all pretence of composure, her legs crossed tightly, a flush creeping down her neck. And Tzuyu... Tzuyu’s gaze was fixed on my son’s face with an almost frightening hunger.
"He really is magnificent, Sana," Tzuyu breathed, her voice barely carrying over the sound of her own ragged breathing. "I hope you appreciate what you have there."
"I do," I whimpered, the truth of it hitting me with the force of a physical blow. I appreciated every inch of him, every dark, possessive thought that crossed his mind.
I felt the heavy heat of him against my lower back, a stark reminder of what was to come. He didn't give me a moment to gather my scattered thoughts. With a firm hand between my shoulder blades, he guided me down, bending me over until my hands braced against the soft cushions of the sofa, right in front of Nayeon.
My face was inches from Nayeon’s knees. I could smell her perfume—sweet and cloying—and feel the radiant heat coming off her body. She was trembling, her eyes wide and locked onto mine, mirroring the shock and exhilaration coursing through my own system.
"Are you ready, Mum?" he asked, his voice a low, dark rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and straight into my very core.
"I was born ready, sweetheart," I breathed, arching my back to present myself to him, a wanton offering amidst the expensive decor. The position was humiliating and exhilarating all at once. I was bent double, my face inches from my best friend's lap, about to be taken by my son while the city lights watched indifferently through the glass.
I felt the blunt, heat-heavy head of his cock nudge against my entrance, slicking itself through my wetness. The anticipation was a sweet torture. Behind me, he was the picture of composure, but I could feel the tremor in his thighs where they brushed against the back of my legs. He was just as affected as I was, despite the mask.
"Look at me, Sana," Nayeon whispered, her voice trembling. She reached out, her hand hovering for a moment before she gently brushed a stray lock of hair from my face. Her eyes were swimming with a mix of shock and dark fascination. "I want to see your face when he... when he claims you."
"Then watch closely," he growled, the sound barely human, and then he drove forward.
The invasion was absolute. He didn't ease into it; he took me with a single, powerful thrust that seated him to the hilt, sheathing every inch of his hard length inside me. The force of it punched the air from my lungs, a ragged, silent scream tearing at my throat as my body stretched to accommodate him. My fingers dug into the expensive fabric of Nayeon’s sofa, knuckles turning white as I braced myself against the sudden, overwhelming fullness.
"Fuck!" I gasped, the word exploding from me as my head fell back, my eyes squeezing shut. It felt like he was splitting me open, a perfect, burning stretch that obliterated every thought in my head except for the sheer, blinding reality of him inside me.
It was a possession, pure and simple. He didn't wait for my body to adjust to the sudden, searing intrusion; he withdrew almost entirely, leaving me feeling achingly empty, before slamming back in with a force that made my teeth rattle. The sofa creaked in protest, a rhythmic accompaniment to the wet, obscene sound of our bodies colliding.
"Look at her face," he commanded, his voice a guttural growl that seemed to come from deep within his chest. One hand gripped my hip hard enough to bruise, anchoring me in place, while the other tangled in my hair, pulling my head back just enough to force my gaze upwards. "Don't look away. I want them to see who owns you."
My eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus through the haze of overwhelming sensation. Nayeon was right there, her face a mask of enraptured shock. Her lips were parted, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps that mirrored my own. She wasn't looking at him; she was looking at me, drinking in the expression of twisted ecstasy on my face as if it were the finest champagne.
"God, she's taking all of it," Mina murmured from her perch on the arm of the sofa, her voice sounding distant and warped, as if I were hearing it underwater. Her dark eyes were fixed on the point where our bodies joined, watching the ruthless, rhythmic thrusting with a clinical fascination that only heightened my shame. "Look at how she stretches around him. It’s... mesmerising."
"He’s ruining her for anyone else," Tzuyu added, her tone cool but laced with a thick, heavy heat. She hadn’t touched her drink since the performance began; her hands were resting on her knees, clenched into tight fists. "I’ve never seen anything like this. The power... it’s intoxicating."
I could feel the heat of their gazes like a physical weight, burning my skin, but the pleasure was a tidal wave that threatened to drown me completely. He was hitting a depth inside me a place that made my vision blur and my toes curl against the plush rug. The wet, slapping sound of skin against skin was obscene, echoing in the high-ceilinged room, but it was the sound of his ragged breathing, hot and heavy against my ear, that undid me.
The pressure inside me built to an unbearable crescendo, a tight coil of heat wound deep in my stomach that was ready to snap. Every thrust knocked a fresh cry from my lips, raw and unfiltered music to his ears. The stretch was exquisite, a burning fullness that made me feel possessed, owned, entirely at his mercy.
"Look at them, Mum," he gritted out, his rhythm never faltering, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the hushed room like a vulgar metronome. "We are giving them a show."
"They certainly can't say they didn't get their money's worth," I gasped out, my voice trembling with the force of his thrusts. I was vaguely aware that this night was costing Nayeon a fortune in champagne and booth fees, but the performance she was giving was worth infinitely more.
My fingers were clawing at the sofa cushion, knuckles white, as I tried to anchor myself against the onslaught of pleasure. He was pounding into me with a relentless, calculated rhythm, each stroke hitting that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids. I felt like a ragdoll in his hands, completely at his mercy, and I loved every second of it.
"She's beautiful like this," Tzuyu murmured, her voice sounding strained. She shifted closer, her eyes never leaving my face. "You've broken her, haven't you? Shattered that bubbly exterior and left her raw."
"She isn't broken," he corrected, his voice a smooth, dark velvet that cut through the ragged sounds of my breathing. He slowed his pace just fractionally, grinding his hips against my bottom in a way that made me see stars, emphasising his point. "She's free. Aren't you, Sana?"
I couldn't form words, only a high, broken whimper that spilt from my lips. He was right. In this moment, stripped of all pretence and social niceties, bent over before my closest friends with my son buried deep inside me, I had never felt more liberated. The bubbly, energetic mask I wore for the world was gone, leaving only the raw, burning need that defined us.
"Look at me," Nayeon breathed, her hand trembling as she reached out. She didn't touch me—she wouldn't dare, not without his permission—but her fingers hovered just inches from my flushed cheek, her eyes wide and glassy, reflecting the chaotic mix of shock and lust swirling in the room. "I've known you for years, Sana. I've seen you dance, I've seen you drink, I've seen you with men. But I've never seen you look like this."
"Like what?" I managed to choke out, my voice barely recognisable over the wet slap of flesh and the ragged gasps tearing from my throat. The question was a desperate attempt to maintain some shred of dignity, but it came out sounding wrecked and needy.
"Like you've finally found something real," Nayeon whispered, her eyes tracing the contours of my face as if memorising a map of ecstasy. "Like you're not pretending anymore."
It was the truth, and it cut deeper than his thrusts. I wasn't pretending to be the cool, experienced older woman nor the dutiful mother. I was just a vessel for pleasure, caught in a storm of my own making. My body was singing, every nerve ending firing in a symphony of sensation that threatened to short-circuit my brain. I could feel the sweat trickling down my spine, cooling in the air conditioning before being instantly reheated by the friction of his body against mine.
"Baby, I'm so close," I moaned. "Don't stop."
"I have no intention of stopping," he replied, his voice steady despite the ragged rhythm of his breathing. "I want to feel you fall apart around me."
His hand released my hair and snaked around my waist, finding my clit with unerring precision. The calloused pad of his thumb pressed down, circling the tight bundle of nerves in time with his thrusts. It was the final straw. The coil inside me snapped, releasing a tidal wave of pleasure that obliterated everything else.
The world didn't just shatter; it disintegrated. A white-hot supernova exploded behind my eyelids, wiping out the expensive apartment, the city lights below, and the three women watching my every move. My body seized, arching into a rigid bow as the orgasm ripped through me with the force of a tsunami. I screamed, a raw, guttural sound that was swallowed by the plush cushions of Nayeon’s sofa, my inner muscles clamping down around him like a vice, desperate to keep him inside, to milk him for everything he was worth.
"God, yes!" I sobbed, the words tumbling out incoherently as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over me, drowning me in ecstasy. My fingers tore at the fabric beneath me, my knuckles white, my entire existence narrowing down to the thick, hard length pulsing inside me and my thumb still rubbing ruthless circles against my oversensitive clit.
He didn't let up. He rode me through the storm, his thrusts becoming shallower, harder, driving into my convulsing body with a relentless precision that prolonged the agony until I was a trembling, gasping wreck. He was owning it, owning every second of my fall from grace, and the sheer power of it was intoxicating.
"Get on your back," he told me. "I don't want you to exhaust yourself on the sofa."
The command in his voice left no room for argument, though I doubt I could have formed a coherent sentence even if I’d tried. My legs were trembling violently, the aftershocks of my orgasm still rippling through my nervous system like electric shocks. He withdrew from me slowly, the sudden emptiness aching and profound, making me gasp at the loss.
He gripped my waist, steadying me as I slid down from the edge of the sofa onto the plush white rug. The fibres were soft against my overheated skin, a welcome contrast to the cool air of the room. I looked up at him, sprawled out on the floor like a sacrificial offering, my chest heaving and my skin slick with sweat. I felt utterly wrecked, exposed in the most primal way, yet as I looked into those tranquil blue eyes, I saw a reflection of myself that wasn't shameful but revered.
I manoeuvred myself onto my back, the movement slow and heavy, my limbs feeling like they were made of lead and honey. The rug beneath me was soft, caressing my shoulder blades, but it was nothing compared to the scorching heat of his gaze raking over my exposed body. I spread my legs instinctively, an open invitation, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. The city lights cast long, dancing shadows across his form as he loomed over me, a dark god against the glittering backdrop of Tokyo.
The audience on the sofa had gone eerily quiet, save for the ragged, synchronized sound of their breathing. They were leaning forward, a three-headed hydra of voyeuristic hunger, their eyes glued to the space between my thighs.
"He's... he's not done?" Nayeon whispered, her voice cracking slightly. She sounded almost frightened, but there was a feverish glint in her eyes that betrayed her arousal. "After that?"
"He has not come yet, Nayeon," I managed to pant out, a breathless, euphoric laugh bubbling in my chest as I looked up at the ceiling, the city lights spinning lazily above me."
My son ignored our words . His attention was entirely consumed by me, a heavy, palpable weight that pinned me to the floor more effectively than his body ever could. He settled between my spread thighs, the heat of his skin radiating against mine, searing me. He paused for a moment, his hands resting on either side of my head, framing my face, and simply looked at me. His blue eyes were dark, the pupils blown so wide they almost eclipsed the iris, swimming with a tumultuous mix of love, lust, and a fierce, terrifying pride.
"You look like a goddess," he murmured, the words spoken so softly they were almost lost in the quiet of the room. "My goddess."
Before I could respond—before I could preen or tease or even draw breath—he shifted his weight and sank into me. The return of his thick length inside my sensitive, convulsing channel forced a sharp cry from my lips. It was a tight fit, a stretch that burned so sweetly it bordered on pain, but I welcomed it. I needed it. I needed to be filled by him, to be completed by him, in front of the whole world if necessary.
"Is it too much, Mum?" he asked, his voice strained but still retaining that veneer of calm that he wore like armour. He held himself still, buried to the hilt, giving me a moment to adjust to the overwhelming intrusion.
"Never," I gasped, wrapping my legs around his waist, digging my heels into his lower back to pull him impossibly closer. The movement caused him to slide against that sensitive spot inside me, making us both groan. "I want all of you. Every inch."
He didn't need any further encouragement. He began to move again, a slow, deliberate grind that allowed me to feel every ridge, every vein of him. This position was different; it was more intimate, more exposing. I was completely splayed out, unable to hide a single reaction, and he was looming over me like a conqueror claiming his territory.
"A slow rhythm suits this," he murmured, more to himself than to the room. He lowered his weight onto his elbows, caging me in, bringing our faces so close that our noses brushed. The frantic, pounding pace from before was gone, replaced by a deep, rolling grind that felt impossibly intimate. In this position, I couldn't hide from him. I couldn't lose myself in the sensation; I had to feel every inch, every drag of his skin against mine, every deliberate rotation of his hips.
"Kiss me, baby", I breathed against his lips, my eyes fluttering shut. The need for connection, for that final anchor amidst the storm of sensation, was overwhelming. "Please."
He obliged me without hesitation, sealing his mouth over mine in a kiss that was slow, deep, and devastatingly tender. It was a stark contrast to the ruthless way he was fucking me, a duality that made my head spin. His tongue swept into my mouth, dominating the rhythm there just as he was dominating the rhythm between my thighs, tasting me, claiming me. The taste of him—mingled with the lingering scent of gin and perfume from the air—was intoxicating.
The intimacy of the position, the slow, deliberate drag of his hips, and the gentle sweep of his tongue were unravelling me in an entirely different way than before. This wasn't just about physical release; it was an emotional dismantling. I felt exposed, not just physically to my friends but spiritually to him. I was pouring my soul into his kiss, letting him see the raw, unfiltered need that drove me.
The kiss broke, leaving me gasping for air, my lips tingling and swollen. He didn't pull away far, just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath mingling with my own ragged exhalations. The slow, torturous rhythm of his hips never faltered, a relentless, deep grind that was stoking the fires of my arousal all over again, building something different this time—heavier, deeper.
He shifted slightly, rising up on his hands to change the angle, and the new depth made me cry out, my nails digging into the shoulders of his crisp white shirt. He hadn't even bothered to undress fully, and the sight of him—the buttons straining, the fabric dishevelled while he ruined me—only added to the illicit thrill.
"Look at them," he whispered against my lips, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my chest. He didn't break eye contact, forcing me to hold his gaze while he spoke. "Look at your friends. They are mesmerised."
I managed to tear my gaze away from his face, turning my head slightly towards the sofa. My neck felt weak, my body boneless, but the sight that greeted me sent a fresh jolt of electricity through my veins.
My friends were statues of frozen desire, their drinks forgotten in their hands. Mina was perched on the very edge of the cushion, her dark eyes wide and unblinking, fixed intently on the joining of our bodies. Nayeon had her hand pressed over her mouth, her cheeks burning a bright, feverish crimson, her bunny-like eyes shimmering with a mixture of shock and unmistakable arousal. Even Tzuyu, the cool and collected ice queen, looked unravelled. She was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, her gaze locked onto my face with a burning intensity that felt like a physical touch.
"Let's give them a proper finale," he proposed.
The word finale hung in the air like a promise, dark and sweet as molasses. He didn't give me time to wonder what he meant. With a strength that never ceased to thrill me, he gripped my waist and rolled us. The world spun—white ceiling, city lights, the shocked faces of my friends—until I was straddling him, my knees sinking into the plush rug on either side of his hips.
But he didn't let me settle astride him facing him. His hands guided my hips, turning me like a doll until my back was to his chest. It wasn't until he planted his feet flat on the floor and urged me to lean forward that I realised what he intended. This wasn't just cowgirl; this was reverse cowgirl, a position designed entirely for the benefit of our audience.
"Lean back," he commanded, his voice a low thrum against my spine. "I want them to see everything."
I obeyed instantly, bracing my hands on his thighs for leverage and arching my back until my heavy breasts were thrust towards the sofa. The angle shifted him inside me, hitting a spot so deep and sensitive that I saw stars. I was spread wide, completely on display, my slick, stretched centre inches away from the hungry gazes of Mina, Nayeon, and Tzuyu.
"God, look at that," Nayeon breathed, her voice barely a whisper. She had abandoned her drink entirely, her knuckles white as she gripped her knees. "You can see everything. I can see... I can see him inside you."
The obscenity of her words sent a jolt of pure electricity through me. I looked down at myself, at the place where we were joined, and saw what she meant. My folds were glossy and swollen, wrapped tightly around his thick shaft as it pistoned in and out of me. It was pornographic, intimate, and utterly mesmerising.
His hands gripped my hips, guiding me to move, and I didn't need to be told twice. I lifted myself, the friction of his withdrawal leaving me gasping, before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt. I set a brutal pace, riding him with a desperate, rhythmic need that was fuelled as much by the exhibitionism as by the physical pleasure. Every time I descended, the wet slap of our bodies echoed through the silent room, a vulgar metronome to the ragged breathing of our audience.
"You're taking it so deep, Sana," Mina murmured, her voice thick with arousal. She leaned in closer, her dark eyes fixed on the sight of my son's cock disappearing inside me. "Look at how you stretch around him. It's... it's art."
Art. The word floated through my hazy mind. It felt primal, beyond art, but the intensity in Mina’s gaze suggested she saw a beauty in this raw, filthy act. I looked at them, really looked at them. Nayeon was squirming, pressing her thighs together as if trying to alleviate an ache. Tzuyu’s eyes were blazing, tracking the movement of my breasts as they bounced with every thrust.
The rhythm I set was punishing, a frenetic bounce that had my thighs burning and my breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps. I was chasing something, a high that hovered just out of reach, a precipice I was desperate to throw myself off. The friction of him dragging against my inner walls was exquisite, a tight, hot coil winding tighter and tighter in my belly, but it wasn't enough. I needed more.
"Touch me," I cried out, throwing my head back against his shoulder, my damp hair sticking to my flushed skin. "Please, baby. Make me explode."
He didn't hesitate. One hand left my hip, sliding down through the slick sweat coating my stomach until his fingers found my clit. He didn't tease this time; he rubbed tight, fierce circles over the swollen nub, matching the relentless rhythm of my hips. The dual stimulation was electric, a shockwave that had my vision whitening out.
The pressure built with terrifying speed, a roaring tidal wave that obliterated every thought in my head. His fingers were a blur on my clit, ruthlessly exploiting that sensitive bundle of nerves while his cock hammered into that secret place inside me. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel the terrifyingly tight coil of pleasure winding in my abdomen, ready to snap.
"Don't hold back," he growled in my ear, his voice a dark command that cut through the haze. "Let them see what you really are."
It was too much. The visual of my friends watching, the feeling of being so incredibly full, the relentless circling of his thumb—it all converged into a single, blinding point of no return. I threw my head back, a silent scream tearing from my throat as my body seized up.
My vision shattered into a million fragments of white light. The world as I knew it ceased to exist; there was only the blinding, electric pulse originating from my core and radiating out to my extremities with the force of a supernova.
I wasn't just climaxing; I was detonating.
A guttural, animalistic cry tore from my throat, raw and unfiltered, as the dam broke. The coil inside me snapped with a violence that left me breathless, and then came the flood. It wasn't a metaphor. My body convulsed violently, arching away from his chest, and a sudden, sharp jet of fluid erupted from me, spraying out in a hot, clear arc towards the sofa.
I was vaguely aware of the shocked gasps that erupted from the sofa, followed immediately by the wet, splattering sound of my release hitting the coffee table and, judging by the startled cries from Mina and Nayeon, the front of their dresses. But I couldn't stop. The sensation was blinding, a torrential release that ripped a scream from my lungs and left me shaking uncontrollably.
The fluid sprayed in powerful, rhythmic pulses, drenching the expensive upholstery and my friends in a clear, glistening testament to the pleasure he was wringing from them. I watched through blurred, tear-filled eyes as Nayeon recoiled slightly, her hands flying up to shield her face, though her eyes remained wide and fixed on the source. Mina, ever the bold one, simply sat there, mouth agape, letting the liquid rain down on her chest, mesmerised by the sheer force of it.
But he didn't let me stop. He didn't give me a moment to come down from the high. Even as my body twitched and spasmed in the aftershocks, he kept his fingers working my clit, the stimulation almost agonising against my oversensitive flesh. His other hand held my hips down, impaling me on his length, refusing to let me retreat from the intensity.
He was relentless, a machine of singular purpose. Even as I convulsed, the aftershocks of that cataclysmic release still rippling through my limbs, he didn't pause. His hips continued to snap upwards, driving into that overly sensitive, spongy spot with an accuracy that was almost terrifying. The wet, slapping sound was louder now, obscene and squelching, fuelled by the slick warmth of my own climax.
"No... please, it's too much," I sobbed, my head lolling back against his shoulder, my body heavy and boneless in his grip. I felt like a ragdoll, entirely at his mercy, unable to do anything but take the punishing rhythm he dictated. The overstimulation was a sharp, biting pain that bled dangerously close to pleasure, blurring the lines until I didn't know where one ended and the other began.
"You can take it," he murmured against my ear, his voice a low, dark rumble that vibrated through my chest. "You're not done, Mum. Not until I have cum."
His words were a trigger. The moment he uttered that command, I felt the impossible happen. My body, which I thought had been drained dry, seemed to draw from a hidden, endless reservoir of arousal. The sensation shifted from agonising overstimulation to a rapidly climbing crescendo of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
"I can't... I'm going to... again!" I screamed, my voice cracking as the coil tightened once more, impossibly fast.
He didn't let up. He jackhammered into me, his hips snapping upwards with a speed and force that stole the breath from my lungs, while his fingers tortured my clit with ruthless precision. The friction was indescribable, a blazing heat that seared me from the inside out.
The second peak didn't just arrive; it exploded with the force of a bomb. My entire body went rigid as a board, a silent scream tearing from my throat as the pressure inside me imploded. My inner muscles clamped down around him like a vice, desperate to milk him and to pull him deeper as the universe fractured apart.
Then, the dam broke again.
It was even more violent than the first. A torrent of clear, hot fluid erupted from me, a gushing wave that surged out with unstoppable force. I heard the liquid spray through the air, a sharp, hissing sound that was immediately followed by the wet slap of it hitting the women on the sofa.
The sound was wet and heavy, a distinct splattering as the arc of fluid sprayed across the short distance to the sofa. I watched, dazed and convulsing, as Nayeon let out a high-pitched squeal, throwing her hands up in a futile attempt to shield herself, but the sheer force of it drenched her front, soaking her blouse and leaving her dripping. Tzuyu, closest to the spray, didn't flinch away; she merely squeezed her eyes shut as the liquid hit her chest and face, her mouth open slightly as if catching rain, her composure shattering entirely.
I was a broken record, screaming as my body expelled wave after wave of liquid, a humiliating, liberating deluge that ruined Nayeon's pristine rug and soaked my friends to the bone. I was painting them with pleasure, marking them as witnesses to my absolute debasement.
"God! Sana!" Mina shrieked, though her voice was thick with awe rather than anger. She was wiping her face, but her eyes were glued to the spasming juncture of my thighs, watching the liquid gush out of me around his cock. "You're... you're soaking us!"
"Look at the mess you've made, Sana," Tzuyu breathed out, her voice ragged and utterly devoid of its usual composure. She wiped a glistening trail of fluid from her cheek with the back of her hand, her dark eyes wide and fixed on me with a terrifying intensity. "You've absolutely ruined us."
I couldn't answer. I couldn't do anything but tremble and gasp, my lungs burning for air that wouldn't seem to come. My body was still twitching in the throes of the most violent orgasm of my life, my inner muscles still fluttering weakly around the thick hardness buried deep inside me.
"Turn around," he whispered. "I need to see your face while I finish."
I didn't think I had the strength to move. My limbs felt like lead, heavy and uncooperative, but the dark authority in his voice cut through the fog of my exhaustion. With a soft, whimpering sob, I managed to lift myself off him, the sudden loss of his thick length leaving me feeling achingly empty and gaping.
I turned, my movements clumsy and graceless, swinging my leg over his hips to face him. The rug beneath me was soaked, a dark, damp testament to what had just transpired, but I didn't care. All I cared about was the boy looking up at me with eyes that burnt like blue fire. He was still fully dressed, his shirt sticking to his chest in patches of sweat and his trousers open just enough to free himself. The contrast between his composed attire and my utter ruin made my heart hammer against my ribs.
"Come here," he murmured, reaching out to grip my waist. He pulled me down, positioning me so that I was straddling his thighs, his angry, flushed erection standing proud between us, slick with my essence.
I didn't need to be told twice. I braced my hands on his chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart beneath the damp cotton, and lifted my hips. I sank onto him, the stretch familiar and welcome, taking him to the hilt in one fluid motion. We both groaned at the contact, a sound of relief and desperate need.
He began to pound into me, his hips snapping with a desperate, relentless rhythm that signalled his own end was near. He abandoned the slow, torturous grind for a frantic, seeking pace, driving into me with a force that rattled my teeth. The wet, squelching sounds of our coupling were obscene, echoing in the sudden, heavy silence of the room, louder than the distant hum of the city outside.
"You've been amazing, Mum," he gritted out, his voice barely recognisable, rough with strain and raw emotion. "Absolutely perfect."
"So have you, my love," I sobbed, overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity of his passion. I collapsed against his chest, burying my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of sweat and sex that clung to him like a second skin. I held on for dear life as he used my body, chasing his release with the single-minded focus that defined him.
The world narrowed down to the friction of our bodies and the ragged sound of our breathing. He was moving with a desperate, jagged rhythm, his hips snapping upwards to meet my downward rolls, driving himself impossibly deep. I could feel the swell of him inside me, the thick veins pulsing against my sensitive walls, signalling that he was hovering right on the edge.
"Look at me," he demanded, his voice cracking slightly on the words. He gripped my chin, forcing my head up so I had to meet those burning blue eyes. "I want to see you when I cum."
I locked eyes with him, my vision swimming with tears of overstimulation and overwhelming love. His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead, matting his brown hair to his skin. He looked beautiful, feral, and entirely mine. I clenched my inner muscles around him, rippling my walls along his length, trying to pull him over the precipice with me.
"Mum, I'm cumming," he whined, his voice cracking and losing all of that cool tranquillity he wore like armour. It was the sound of the boy, not the man, breaking through in the final moments of ecstasy.
"Let go, baby," I whispered, cupping his flushed face in my hands, my thumbs stroking his damp cheeks. "Fill me up. It’s yours."
With a raw, guttural groan that seemed to be wrenched from the very depths of his soul, he obeyed. His grip on my waist became bruisingly tight, anchoring me down as he buried himself to the hilt one last time. I felt him pulse inside me, a thick, hot throb that signalled the start of his release. His whole body stiffened, his back arching off the floor, and then he was flooding me with
The sensation was intense and intimate—a deep, scorching heat that spread through my core, claiming me in a way that went far beyond the physical. Rope after rope of his cum painted my insides, marking me, filling me until I could feel the slick warmth threatening to overflow. He cried out my name, a broken, desperate sound that was the sweetest thing I had ever heard, his eyes squeezing shut as the ecstasy overwhelmed him.
"Yes, baby, that's it," I crooned, pressing soft kisses against his damp forehead as he shuddered through the final throes of his release. "Every last drop. It’s all yours."
I held him close, my fingers combing through his sweat-slicked hair, offering comfort as the waves of pleasure subsided into a heavy, satiated languor. Inside me, I could feel the warmth of his essence, a glowing reminder of what we had just shared, a tangible claim that made me feel possessed most wonderfully. His grip on my waist slowly loosened, his fingers trailing idly over my spine as his breathing slowed, the frantic thumping of his heart against my chest gradually returning to its steady, tranquil rhythm.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were our ragged breaths mingling together and the distant, rhythmic hum of the city air conditioning. It was a bubble of peace amidst the chaos of the night, a quiet afterglow that felt sacred.
The bubble of peace, however, was destined to burst. As the fog of ecstasy began to lift, replaced by the cool clarity of the apartment's air conditioning, the reality of our surroundings crashed back in. The scent of sex and expensive gin was heavy in the air, mingling with the sharp, metallic tang of utter debauchery.
I slowly lifted my head from the crook of his neck, my muscles protesting the movement. I felt wrecked in the best possible way, a delicious ache radiating from my centre out to my fingertips. But as I shifted, I became acutely aware of the silence from the sofa—a silence that wasn't peaceful, but stunned.
I turned my head, my damp hair sticking to my cheek, and looked at my friends.
My gaze travelled over the scene, and I couldn't suppress the breathless, slightly hysterical giggle that bubbled up in my chest. It was a picture of utter devastation. The pristine white aesthetic of Nayeon’s apartment had been thoroughly violated.
Nayeon sat frozen, her expensive designer blouse soaked through, turning the sheer fabric transparent where it clung to her skin. Her blonde hair was plastered to her forehead in damp tendrils, and her mascara was beginning to run, giving her a smudgy, raccoon-like appearance. Mina was in a similar state, wiping her hand across her face in a daze, looking like a cat that had been caught in a downpour. And Tzuyu... Even Tzuyu, the unshakeable ice queen, looked thoroughly unravelled. Her cheek glistened with the evidence of my climax, and her dress was spotted with damp patches; her composure drowned in a literal wave of fluid.
"Well," I gasped out, my voice hoarse and wrecked, sounding miles away from the bubbly tone I usually adopted. "I guess we really made a splash, didn't we?"
The silence stretched, taut and trembling, before Nayeon let out a high-pitched, disbelieving laugh. She looked down at her drenched blouse, then up at me, her eyes wide and sparkling with a mix of shock and sheer, unadulterated awe.
"A splash?" she choked out, wiping a stray droplet from her chin. "Sana, you didn't just make a splash. You created a monsoon season in my living room. I’m going to need a squeegee to get this out of the carpet."
Mina shook her head slowly, droplets of fluid flying from her dark hair like a wet dog shaking itself dry. She ran a hand through her damp tresses, her feline eyes glued to where I still sat atop my son, our bodies still joined in the aftermath. "I've seen a lot of things in this city," she murmured, her voice husky and filled with genuine respect. "I've seen orgies that would make a porn star blush. But I have never... never seen anything like that. That was... biblical."
Tzuyu reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table, pulling out a handful and dabbing ineffectually at the sticky trail on her cheek. She didn't look angry, though; if anything, the cool, analytical mask had slipped entirely to reveal a woman deeply, thoroughly shaken.
"Biblical" is one word for it," Tzuyu said, her voice lacking its usual smooth polish, sounding slightly breathless. She tossed the used tissues onto the growing pile of debris on her pristine table. "I think the technical term is 'female ejaculation', but 'biblical' seems more appropriate given the volume." She paused, her dark eyes fixing on my son with an expression that was half-fear, half-worship. "You really broke the dam, didn't you?"
I felt a surge of possessive pride warm my chest, even as my cheeks burned with the remnants of shame. I leaned back, allowing my son to support my weight, feeling the sticky, slick heat between us where our bodies were still connected. The reality of what we’d done—the sheer, unadulterated depravity of it—was settling in, but instead of regret, I felt a strange, light-headed euphoria.
I glanced down at him, my chest swelling with an affection that was so fierce it almost hurt. He was recovering quickly, that tranquil mask slipping back into place over the boy who had just screamed my name in ecstasy. He looked up at me, his blue eyes clear and focused, though a faint blush still dusted his cheekbones—a charming reminder of his youth.
He gently helped me dismount, the separation leaving me achingly empty and a thick, warm trickle of his release escaping me, sliding down my inner thigh in sticky rivulets. The sensation was lewd, a clear reminder of his claim, and I made no move to hide it. Let them look. Let them see exactly who I belonged to.
As I scrambled to my feet, my knees wobbling like a newborn fawn, I felt the full extent of the mess I had made. The plush white rug was a disaster zone, a dark, sodden map of our debauchery. I looked back at my friends, expecting to see disgust, or at the very least, a plea to leave.
Instead, I was met with a tableau of dazed fascination. Nayeon was still dabbing at her wet blouse with a cocktail napkin, though the effort was entirely futile; the sheer fabric was plastered to her skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. Yet, she wasn’t looking at her clothes with annoyance. Her eyes were fixed on the slick warmth trickling down my inner thigh, her expression a mix of scientific curiosity and raw arousal.
"I think I need a shower," Tzuyu announced, breaking the heavy silence. She stood up slowly, her designer dress sticking to her in awkward places, but she carried herself with a regal sort of calmness. She looked down at us—my son, who was calmly tucking himself back into his trousers with that maddeningly serene demeanour, and me, standing naked and shivering in the centre of a vast wet patch. A slow, incredulous smile spread across her face. "That was... without a doubt, the most impressive thing I have ever witnessed. And I have seen the pyramids."
"I second the shower," Mina purred, rising with a feline grace that was slightly compromised by the squelch of her heels against the wet rug. She stepped closer to us, invading my personal space to press a soft, lingering kiss to my cheek. She smelled like gin, expensive perfume, and me. "You really are a lucky woman, Sana. To find a man who can do that... let alone one who looks like him." She turned her dark gaze to him, offering him a sultry wink. "You're welcome back anytime, knight. Just... maybe bring a tarp next time."
My son offered Mina a small, polite nod, accepting her teasing with that same unflappable calm he displayed when I handed him his maths homework. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied smoothly, reaching out to adjust the strap of my bra, which had slipped down my shoulder during the festivities. "Though, I suspect Sana prefers spontaneity over plastic sheets."
"Spontaneity is good," Nayeon groaned, finally abandoning her futile attempts to salvage her blouse. She peeled the wet fabric away from her skin with a sticky thwack, looking down at the damage with a mixture of horror and amusement. "But next time, let's be spontaneous in the shower. Or a tiled room. Somewhere with drainage."
"I'll call the cleaners," Tzuyu said, already pulling her phone from her clutch, her thumb flying across the screen. She paused, looking over the rim of the device at us, a genuine, appreciative smile curving her lips. "And don't worry about the rug, Sana. It was worth the price of admission. That was... a masterpiece."
"You'd better order some food as well," Nayeon chimed in, dropping the sodden cocktail napkin onto the table with a wet splat. She stretched her arms above her head, her joints popping audibly, a testament to the tension she had held while watching us. "I’m starving. Watching a performance like that works up an appetite."
My son, who had just finished buttoning his trousers and was now smoothing down the front of his shirt, looked at Nayeon with a polite tilt of his head. "What is on tonight's menu?"
"Something greasy and entirely inappropriate for this time of night," Nayeon declared, rubbing her stomach which gave a surprisingly loud, unladylike growl. "Pizza. The kind with extra cheese and pepperoni that clogs your arteries just by looking at it. We need comfort food after that... athletic display."
"Pizza sounds adequate", my son agreed, his tone suggesting he was discussing a diplomatic treaty rather than a takeaway order. He turned to me, his eyes scanning my body with a critical, assessing gaze. "But first, Mum, you need to clean up. You’re trembling."
I looked down at myself and realised he was right. My skin was prickling with gooseflesh, the rapid cooling of my sweat and the drying fluids making me shiver violently. I felt sticky, used, and utterly magnificent. I reached out for him, needing his grounding presence, and he immediately stepped into my embrace, wrapping his arms around my naked form and sharing his body heat.
He rubbed his hands up and down my arms, generating friction to warm my chilled skin, before pressing a kiss to my forehead that was filled with a tender, protective affection. It was a stark contrast to the raw, animalistic dominance he had displayed just moments ago, but that duality was what made him so intoxicating.
"I'll take care of you," he murmured against my skin, his breath warm and steadying. "Let's get you sorted."
He didn't seem to care that I was naked and sticky and that my friends were watching our every move with bated breath. He simply scooped me up into his arms, bridal style, with an effortless strength that made my head spin. I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him—sweat, sex, and that clean, comforting smell that was uniquely his.
"A gentleman to the last," Mina purred, her voice thick with admiration as she watched him carry me towards the hallway. "Don't be too long, you two. The pizza won't wait forever."
The bathroom was a sanctuary of white marble and polished chrome, a stark contrast to the sticky, chaotic wreckage of the living room. As he set me down on the cool tiled floor, the silence enveloped us, heavy and soothing. He didn't immediately turn on the water; instead, he stood behind me, his hands resting gently on my shoulders, his warmth seeping into my chilled skin.
"You were incredible," he murmured, his voice low and reverent, echoing off the tiled walls. "I've never seen you let go like that."
I leant back into him, closing my eyes as I felt the tension drain from my muscles. "I couldn't help it," I admitted softly, a shy smile tugging at my lips despite myself. "You made me feel... things I didn't know I could feel. And knowing they were watching..." I shivered again, but this time it wasn't from the cold. "It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once."
He turned me around gently, his expression softening as he cupped my face in his hands. His blue eyes, usually so tranquil and guarded, were swimming with a depth of emotion that made my breath hitch. He looked at me not as the sultry woman who had just performed for an audience but with the tender, protective gaze of the boy I had raised.
"They were terrified of you," he corrected, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Mina and Nayeon... they've seen everything, or so they thought. But tonight, you showed them a power they couldn't comprehend." He brushed a stray damp hair away from my forehead, his touch feather-light. "And Tzuyu... she respects strength above all else. You earned her worship tonight."
I felt a flush rise to my cheeks, a strange mixture of maternal pride and feminine satisfaction warming me from the inside out. "I just wanted to make you proud," I whispered, reaching up to cover his hand with mine.
"You always make me proud, Sana," he replied, his voice steady and sincere, stripping away the last of my lingering insecurities with a single sentence. "But tonight... tonight you were the protagonist of a story they won't ever forget."
With that, he reached past me, his arm brushing against my shoulder, and turned the chrome dial of the shower. The water hissed to life, cascading from the wide rainfall head in a steamy deluge that instantly began to fog up the glass enclosure. He checked the temperature with his hand, ensuring it was perfect before guiding me inside.
The feeling of the hot water hitting my skin was transcendent. It washed away the sticky, cooling evidence of our exertions, the fluids and sweat swirling down the drain at my feet. I stood under the spray, letting it soak my hair and run over my face, feeling myself slowly return to my body after being so thoroughly shattered apart.
He joined me a moment later, the small space instantly feeling warmer and more intimate with his presence. But unlike the frantic, needy coupling of moments ago, his touch now was purely utilitarian and tender. He reached for the expensive, jasmine-scented body wash that sat in a caddy on the wall and poured a generous amount into his palm.
"Tilt your head back," he instructed softly.
I obeyed, closing my eyes as he began to lather the soap into my hair. His fingers were strong, massaging my scalp with a slow, rhythmic pressure that made me hum with contentment. It felt so domestic, so strangely normal after the depravity we had just indulged in, that it brought a lump to my throat. This was the boy who needed help with his homework, now washing my hair with the care of a lover who had worshipped every inch of me.
He took his time, working his way through the tangles with a patience that belied his youth. The scent of jasmine filled the steamy air, replacing the musk of sex and gin that had clung to us like a second skin. I stood there, eyes closed, surrendering to the sensation of his fingers moving deftly against my scalp. It was a stark, beautiful contrast to the way his hands had gripped my hips only minutes ago—bruising, demanding, and possessive. Now, they were gentle, reverent almost, treating me as though I were something fragile and precious that needed to be pieced back together.
"Rinse", he murmured, guiding me gently under the spray.
I ducked my head, letting the hot water wash away the thick lather, the suds cascading down my back and over my curves before swirling into the drain. When I straightened up, wiping the water from my eyes, he was waiting with a face cloth soaked in more soapy lather.
He moved with a deliberate, unhurried grace, starting at my shoulders and working his way down. The cloth was warm and soft, gliding over my skin in soothing circles. He washed away the sweat and the lingering scent of the club, his touch attentive and thorough. There was nothing sexual in the way his hands roamed over my body now; it was purely an act of devotion, a silent acknowledgement that he had taken me to the brink of destruction and was now carefully putting me back together.
I watched his face through the steam, the droplets of water clinging to his long eyelashes. He looked so focused, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, as if cleaning me were the most important task in the world. It made my heart ache with a fierce, overwhelming love.
"You're staring," he murmured, not looking up from where he was gently scrubbing my arm.
"Can you blame me?" I replied softly, my voice echoing slightly in the tiled enclosure. "I'm just admiring the view. You're incredibly handsome, you know that? And to think, just a little while ago you were making a mess of me with those very hands."
He paused, his hand resting on my hip, and finally looked up. A small, knowing smile curved his lips, the water running in rivulets down his handsome face. "I think we established that the mess was mostly of your making, Mum. Though I suppose I acted as the catalyst."
He moved lower, his hand guiding the cloth over my stomach, washing away the sticky residue that had dried there. The touch was soothing and hypnotic, making my eyelids grow heavy. The heat of the shower, combined with his gentle ministrations, was lulling me into a state of blissful lethargy.
"And a very effective catalyst you were," I sighed, leaning into his touch as he ran the cloth down my thigh, careful around the sensitive skin. "I feel like I've been wrung out and put back together again. I don't think I've ever come that hard in my life."
He knelt before me, the water streaming over his shoulders and dampening his shirt, which he was still wearing, the wet fabric clinging to his torso. It was a surreal image—my fully dressed son, on his knees in a shower, bathing me with the devotion of a penitent monk. He washed my legs with meticulous care, lifting one foot and then the other to clean the soles, his grip firm and sure.
"You let go of all your inhibitions," he opined, looking up at me from beneath his wet lashes. "It was beautiful to watch. The way you surrendered to the pleasure... it was honest. Raw." He pressed a kiss to my knee, a chaste, tender gesture that contrasted sharply with the debauchery we had left outside. "The girls were right to be awestruck. You were magnetic."
I felt a blush rising, not from shame, but from the sheer intensity of his gaze. Even here, under the guise of caretaking, he was stripping me bare. "You make me feel safe enough to be raw," I whispered, running my fingers through his soaking wet hair, pushing the strands back from his forehead. "I know you'll catch me when I fall."
He stood up, water cascading down his clothed form, and squeezed a little more body wash into his hand. "Then I'll always be here to catch you." He reached around me, his hands gliding over my back, washing away the tension that had settled there. His fingers found the dip of my spine and traced it down, a soothing, repetitive motion that made me want to purr like a contented cat.
"Though", he continued, his tone shifting slightly, a hint of that dry, analytical wit creeping back in, "I suspect Tzuyu is currently calculating the fluid dynamics of what just occurred. She looked like she'd witnessed a miracle or a natural disaster."
"I think she witnessed both," I laughed, the sound echoing brightly off the wet tiles, finally feeling the last of the heavy tension in my chest dissolve. "A natural disaster of the very best kind. Did you see her face? I think I actually broke Tzuyu. The unshakeable ice queen, covered in... well, me."
"It was a look of scientific wonder," he agreed, his hands moving to wash my stomach, the cloth gentle against my sensitised skin. "Mina, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to join in. She has a voracious appetite, that one; I felt her eyes on me the entire time."
"Jealous?" I teased, arching a brow at him, though a familiar sharp pang of possessiveness pricked at me nonetheless.
"Perhaps a little," he admitted with a refreshing honesty that made my heart skip a beat. He didn't avert his gaze; he held mine steadily, the water plastering his brown hair to his forehead. "But not because I wanted her. It was more... overwhelming. Like standing too close to a fire. But you..." He stepped closer, the wet fabric of his shirt pressing against my bare skin, his hands settling on my waist. "You are the one who burns me, Mum. In a way that no one else ever could."
The possessive flutter in my chest settled into a warm, glowing hum. I reached up, undoing the buttons of his sodden shirt with clumsy fingers. The fabric was heavy and clinging, and I wanted to feel his skin against mine, not the barrier of wet cotton.
"Let's get this off you," I murmured, pushing the shirt down his shoulders. He obliged, shrugging out of it and letting it fall with a wet slap to the tiled floor. "You're overdressed for a shower, knight."
He offered no resistance, simply standing there with that tranquil patience as I revealed the body beneath the soaked fabric. The sight of him never failed to steal the breath from my lungs. He was lean and sculpted; the definition of his muscles cast in shadow by the dim lighting of the shower, water coursing down the lines of his chest and stomach in rivulets that traced the paths I had mapped with my tongue and hands a hundred times before.
"Better?" he asked, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as I ran my palms over his shoulders, feeling the warm, slick skin beneath my fingertips.
"Much", I murmured, stepping closer until our bodies were flush, the water cascading over us both. The contrast was thrilling—my soft, yielding curves pressed against his hard, firm planes. "Now you look like part of the ensemble."
I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him under the spray with me, letting the water saturate us both until we were drowning in the warmth. The scent of jasmine swirled around us, heady and sweet, masking the lingering traces of sweat and sex. I rested my forehead against his, the steam wrapping us in a private little world where nothing existed but the rhythm of our breathing and the steady beat of his heart against my chest.
"Do you think they'll ever look at me the same way again?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper over the rushing water. The thought had been niggling at the back of my mind—a tiny crack in the armour of my euphoria. I had just performed the most intimate act imaginable in front of them, crossing a line that could never be uncrossed.
He pulled back slightly, framing my face with his hands, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. "They will look at you with more respect," he said firmly, his blue eyes piercing through the mist. "Before tonight, to them, you were Sana—the bubbly, beautiful friend who loves a party. Now..." He paused, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. "Now, you are a force of nature. You showed them a side of yourself that is raw and real. People either fear that or worship it. With them? I suspect it will be the latter."
The thought settled over me, warm and comforting, like the steam filling the small glass cubicle. I believed him. He saw the world with such clarity, such terrifying precision, that his analysis was rarely wrong. If he said they would worship me, then they would. It was a heady power trip, one that rivalled the physical pleasure we had just indulged in.
"Worship", I repeated, testing the weight of the word on my tongue. I looked up at him, a playful glint returning to my eyes as the water continued to cascade over us. "I suppose I could get used to that, though I prefer being worshipped by you in... more practical ways."
He huffed a soft laugh, the sound vibrating against my chest where our bodies were pressed together. "I think I’ve demonstrated my capacity for practical worship quite thoroughly tonight. But", he added, his hands sliding down my back to rest on the curve of my bottom, squeezing gently, "I am always willing to reaffirm my devotion.”
We stayed like that for a while, locked together under the steaming spray, the water running over us in a rhythmic, soothing cascade. The conversation faded into a comfortable, heavy silence, the kind that only exists when two people are entirely in sync. I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart, feeling the tension of the night finally bleed out of my muscles, leaving me loose and languid. There was no need for words now; the washing had been an act of communion, a silent promise that despite the storm we had unleashed, we were grounded, we were whole, and we were together.
Eventually, the water began to cool, signalling that it was time to face the world again. He reached out, turning off the tap with a decisive click. The sudden silence was deafening for a moment, broken only by the drip, drip, drip of the residual water from the showerhead.
He stepped out first, grabbing two thick, fluffy white towels from the heated rail. He wrapped one around his waist, covering the lean, powerful lines of his body, before holding the other open for me. I stepped into his embrace, sighing contentedly as he wrapped the towel around me, tucking the corner in securely to keep the warmth trapped against my skin. He dried me with the same gentle attention he had washed me with, patting the water from my hair and smoothing the towel over my shoulders and arms, treating me like something precious he had just polished.
"I think that's sufficient," he murmured, stepping back to admire his handiwork, though his eyes lingered on the patch of skin exposed at my chest where the towel gaped slightly. "Unless you intend to prune?"
I laughed, shaking my head. "Heaven forbid. Wrinkles are the enemy." I quickly rubbed the towel over my legs and tucked it tighter around myself, revelling in the plush softness against my skin. "Robes?"
"Indeed", he opened the linen cupboard, retrieving two thick, white waffle-kimono robes. He helped me into mine first, guiding my arms through the sleeves and tying the sash around my waist with a tenderness that made my heart flutter. Once I was covered, he shrugged into his own, the white fabric contrasting starkly with his tanned skin and damp, dark hair. We looked like spa refugees, albeit ones who had just engaged in the most debauched activity imaginable.
"Ready to face the music?" he asked, offering me his arm with a courtly grace that made me want to giggle.
"As ready as I'll ever be," I replied, looping my arm through his and resting my head briefly against his damp shoulder. "Though I suspect the music has been replaced by the sound of chewing."
We walked back down the hallway, the plush carpet muffling our footsteps. The air outside the bathroom was cooler, carrying the rich, savoury aroma of melting cheese, pepperoni, and baked dough. It was a grounding, homely scent that clashed beautifully with the lingering memory of sex and expensive perfume.
When we emerged into the living room, the scene had transformed. The harsh, erotic tension that had saturated the air earlier had dissipated, replaced by a cosy, chaotic camaraderie. The lights had been dimmed, casting a warm, amber glow over the space, and the massive wet patch on the rug—which had looked like a crime scene minutes ago—had been tactfully covered by a throw blanket.
The girls were clustered around the coffee table, which was now cluttered with open pizza boxes and fresh glasses of soda and water. They were no longer the sleek, predatory observers of earlier; they looked like a group of friends having a sleepover, albeit in designer dresses that were slightly worse for wear.
"Look who's alive!" Nayeon announced through a mouthful of cheese, waving a half-eaten slice in the air. She was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, wearing a fluffy dressing gown she had clearly conjured from her bedroom, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. "We were about to send a search party or just eat all the pepperoni."
"Rescue accepted, but unnecessary", my son replied with that dry, tranquil wit of his, offering a polite nod to the group as he guided me towards the sofa. "Though I believe the pepperoni is safe with us."
Mina, who was reclined on the chaise longue with a slice of pizza poised daintily between her fingers, smirked as we approached. Her eyes, still holding that dark, predatory glint, swept over us. "You look positively glowing, Sana. Honestly, it's unfair. Most people look like death warmed up after... that level of cardio. You look like you've just had a month at a Swiss spa."
"It's all down to the excellent aftercare service," I teased, sinking gratefully onto the soft cushions. I kept the robe tight around me, relishing the feeling of cleanliness and warmth. My body felt heavy, used in the best possible way, a delicious ache lingering in my muscles that served as a constant reminder of what had transpired.
My son sat beside me, close enough that our thighs touched beneath the fabric of our robes. The contact was grounding, a silent reminder of the shift in our reality. He didn't reach for the food immediately; instead, he poured me a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, his movements precise and economical.
"You need to rehydrate," he declared quietly, pressing the cool glass into my hand. His blue eyes scanned my face with a clinical intensity that softened into affection. "Physiologically speaking, you lost a lot of fluids tonight."
I took the glass, fighting back a blush that had nothing to do with the heat of the room. "I think we established that rather spectacularly," I murmured, taking a long sip. The water was crisp and cold, exactly what I needed. I looked over at Tzuyu, who was sitting in the armchair, her legs tucked beneath her. She was watching us with that analytical gaze of hers, swirling a glass of soda thoughtfully.
"It is a matter of simple thermodynamics and biological limits," Tzuyu replied, her voice regaining its usual silky smooth cadence, though her eyes remained fixed on me with a new, unsettling intensity. She took a slow sip of her drink, condensation dripping onto her finger. "The human bladder shouldn't be capable of that volume without spontaneous rupture. I'm half-tempted to ask for a medical analysis."
I nearly choked on my water, spluttering slightly as I set the glass down. My son immediately reached out, his hand resting firmly and comfortingly on my lower back, rubbing small, soothing circles.
"I assure you, no medical intervention was required," he claimed calmly, his tone cutting through Tzuyu’s clinical curiosity with a polite finality. "It was merely a... intense release of tension. Perfectly natural, given the circumstances."
"Natural?" Tzuyu repeated, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. She set her glass down with a soft clink, her gaze drifting from my face to his, a flicker of genuine amusement breaking through her analytical veneer. "I've studied biology, sweetheart, and what happened out there was nothing short of a statistical anomaly – a delightful, terrifying anomaly." She picked up a slice of pizza, eyeing it with a sudden voraciousness. "But I suppose we can leave the scientific inquiry for another night; I'm starving."
"Please do", I replied, my voice regaining some of its usual bubbly strength as the food and water revitalised me. "I'm not sure my ego could survive a post-coital peer review of my... performance."
"Performance?" Mina laughed, a low, throaty sound, as she shifted on the chaise, making room for Nayeon to steal a crust from her box. "Sana, darling, that wasn't a performance. That was an exorcism. You were channelling something primal." She looked at my son, her eyes softening with a genuine warmth that caught me off guard. "And you... you have very steady hands for a boy of your age. You kept her safe."
"I'm her knight," he responded her. "It's my duty and outmost pleasure to keep her safe."
The table went quiet at that, save for the rhythmic crunch of Nayeon attacking her pizza crust. It wasn't an awkward silence, but rather a heavy, contemplative one, as if the title he had claimed so casually carried a weight none of us had anticipated. Mina paused, her slice halfway to her mouth, and looked at him with a new-found softness that stripped away her usual feline sarcasm.
"Her knight," she repeated, rolling the phrase around her mouth like a fine wine. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his where it rested on his knee. It wasn't a sexual advance this time, but a gesture of genuine respect. "You really mean that, don't you? It’s not just a roleplay thing for you."
"I take my responsibilities seriously," he replied, his voice low and calm, his blue eyes meeting hers without flinching. "And Sana is the most important responsibility I have.”
"Mina has a point, you know," Nayeon mused around a mouthful of spicy pepperoni, washing it down with a generous swig of soda. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes darting between us with a speculative gleam that I knew all too well. It was the look she gave a pair of shoes she wanted to borrow, or a holiday destination she was determined to drag us all to. "You can't hoard a treasure like that forever, Sana. It’s... greedy."
I froze, my hand hovering halfway to the pizza box. The air in the room shifted instantly, the cosy camaraderie cooling into something tenser, heavier. My son’s hand on my back stilled, his fingers pressing slightly more firmly against my spine—a silent signal of support, or perhaps a warning. I looked at Nayeon, expecting to see a joke in her bunny-like smile, but her expression was deadly serious.
"Don't look at me like I'm asking for your kidney," Nayeon laughed, though her eyes remained fixed on him with a hungry curiosity. "I'm just saying... an exclusive contract is so last season. Why not open the bidding? Think of the fun we could have."
"I'm not asking for a bidding war," Mina interjected smoothly, her voice like dark velvet. She had abandoned her pizza, her focus entirely on us. "I'm asking for a loan. A... private exhibition. One on one." She glanced at Tzuyu, then back to me, her feline gaze heavy with intent. "We saw how he handles you, Sana. We felt the energy in this room. We’re curious to know if that focus... that intensity... translates. Surely you can understand the scientific curiosity?"
"And the sheer boredom," Tzuyu added dryly, though her eyes betrayed her. She wasn't bored; she was fascinated. "We’ve exhausted the dating pool in Tokyo. It’s either boys who play games or men who want to buy us. He..." She gestured towards him with her pizza crust. "He is a paradox. I want to deconstruct him."
"He's not a puzzle to be solved, Tzuyu," I said, my voice sharper than I intended, the protective flare sparking instantly in my chest. "And he's certainly not a toy to be passed around like a novelty bottle of champagne."
I looked at them—my three best friends, the women I had shared clothes, secrets, and beds with for years. They were gorgeous, successful, and accustomed to getting what they wanted. But this wasn't a designer handbag or a table at a VIP club. This was him. My son. My knight.
The silence stretched, thick and tense, broken only by the low hum of the city air conditioning. I felt the weight of their gazes, hungry and expectant, and for a moment, I felt the old Sana—the bubbly, people-pleasing pushover—trying to resurface. But then I felt his hand shift on my back, his thumb stroking my spine with a steady, grounding rhythm. He wasn't panicking. He was waiting. Trusting me.
I looked down at him, really looked at him, expecting to see a flicker of panic or perhaps a burning desire to say 'yes' to three of the most beautiful women in Tokyo. But he was perfectly composed, his profile serene in the warm light of the room. He took a casual sip of his water, his Adam's apple bobbing gently, completely unbothered by the auction taking place over his head. If anything, he seemed faintly amused by the notion that he was a prize to be won.
He wasn't just a boy I was hiding away; he was a partner who had just held my hand through a hurricane of pleasure and come out the other side holding me up. The idea of sharing that—the depth of his focus, the way he made me feel safe and wildly exposed all at once—it wasn't an act of charity. It was an act of pride. I wanted them to know exactly what I had. I wanted them to understand the quality of the man—no, the male—I was raising.
But I wasn't about to send him into the lion's den alone. The very thought of Mina's sharp nails or Tzuyu's cool, dissecting gaze on him without me there to anchor him made my stomach twist with a nausea that had nothing to do with the champagne. I wasn't jealous of the pleasure; I was terrified of the disconnect. What we had was a symbiotic thing, a feedback loop of love and lust that required us both to function.
"You want to borrow him?" I repeated, my voice dropping to a murmur as I turned the idea over in my mind. It was a dangerous thought, volatile and thrilling, like playing with matches in a dry forest. I looked from Mina’s hungry gaze to Tzuyu’s clinical dissection, and finally to Nayeon’s eager, bouncing anticipation. They wanted a taste of the fire that had nearly burned the apartment down.
I looked down at my son again. He was watching me now, his blue eyes calm and clear, devoid of fear or objection. He was waiting for my lead, trusting my judgement with a faith that made my heart ache. He knew I was the gatekeeper. He knew that I held the keys to the kingdom.
I took a deep breath, the decision settling in my chest with a heavy, final kind of click. It was madness, absolute insanity, but as I looked at their faces—faces I loved as much as my own—I realised I didn't want to deny them anymore. I wanted to share my masterpiece. But on my terms.
I reached out, taking a slice of pizza from the box and biting into it without really tasting it, using the motion to buy myself a few seconds of thinking time. The cheese was hot and stringy, a mundane comfort against the wild, chaotic thrum of my thoughts.
"You want to know if he's as good as he looks," I stated finally, wiping my mouth with a napkin and meeting Mina’s eyes directly. "You want to see if that calm, tranquil demeanour cracks when he's inside you. If his hands are as steady when they're on someone else's skin."
"Well," Nayeon drawled, grinning unrepentantly. "When you put it that bluntly... yes. We’re only human, Sana. We just witnessed a religious experience. We want to know if we can get a ticket to heaven too."
I swallowed the rich, heavy cheese, washing it down with a gulp of water to clear my throat. The silence in the room was absolute, the kind that only happens when everyone is holding their breath, waiting for a verdict. I could feel the weight of their anticipation pressing against my skin, but more importantly, I could feel the steady, grounding warmth of my son beside me. He hadn’t flinched, hadn’t tensed; he was simply there, a solid pillar of support waiting for my command.
"I suppose," I began slowly, my voice gaining strength as I articulated the wild thought taking root in my mind, "I could be persuaded to share my... assets."
A collective exhale swept through the room, followed immediately by the sharp intake of breath that signalled victory. Nayeon actually pumped her fist, a childish gesture of delight that made me laugh despite the gravity of the situation.
"But," I continued, my voice hardening just enough to cut through their celebration, "there are conditions. Non-negotiable ones."
The smiles on their faces froze, hovering between delight and apprehension. I felt my son’s hand on my back give a gentle, reassuring squeeze, a silent acknowledgment that he was with me, whatever I decided. I looked at each of them in turn—Mina’s predatory intrigue, Nayeon’s wide-eyed eagerness, Tzuyu’s cool assessment—making sure they understood exactly what they were agreeing to.
"I'm not sending him off alone like a takeaway delivery," I stated firmly, picking up another piece of pizza and using it to gesture for emphasis. "If you want to experience what he has to offer, then you get both of us. We are a package deal."
"Both of you?" Nayeon repeated, her eyes going wide as she processed the caveat. She looked from me to him, and then back again, her brain clearly working overtime to calculate the logistics. "You mean... a threesome? Or a foursome? Or...?"
"I mean where he goes, I go," I clarified, taking a deliberate bite of my pizza to let the words sink in. I chewed slowly, watching the realisation dawn on their faces. "You want his focus? You get his mother watching him give it to you. You want his body? You have to deal with me directing the traffic. We are a unit, ladies. A symbiotic entity. You don't get to isolate the variable."
The silence that followed was heavy, charged with a sudden, electric tension. I half-expected them to laugh it off, to call me a clingy mother and demand the boy on his own. But instead, I watched the wheels turn. Mina’s dark eyes narrowed, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she visualised the scenario. Tzuyu’s analytical gaze shifted from him to me, her brow furrowing slightly as if running a complex simulation in her head. And Nayeon... Nayeon looked like all her Christmases had come at once.
"Deal," Nayeon breathed, the word escaping her lips like a prayer. She didn't even blink. "Absolutely, one hundred percent, deal. God, Sana, you really know how to negotiate. That sounds... infinitely better, actually."
Mina was slower to respond, her gaze shifting from me to him with a heavy, languorous curiosity. She took a sip of her drink, her dark eyes smouldering. "A package deal," she murmured, rolling the phrase around her mouth like a decadent chocolate. "I suppose it makes sense. You two operate on a frequency the rest of us can't quite hear. Separating you might dampen the signal."
"I concur," Tzuyu added, her analytical mask slipping just enough to reveal a flash of genuine excitement. She set her glass down with a decisive click. "It adds a layer of complexity that is... intriguing. And honestly, after tonight, I wouldn't trust anyone else to curate the experience. You have the artistic vision, Sana."
"I want you to be an active participant in what we are going to do, not just the architect behind it," my son opined.
I blinked, surprised by his sudden interruption. It wasn't like him to steer the conversation, especially when I was in the middle of laying down the law. I turned to look at him, finding his blue eyes fixed on the three women with a calm, predatory intensity that made the air in the room feel five degrees colder.
He took a slow sip of his water, his throat working, before placing the glass down on the coffee table with a deliberate clink. "Sana is protective," he asserted, his voice smooth and unruffled, cutting through the hum of the air conditioner. "And she has every right to be. But if we are to proceed with this... arrangement, I require an active partner in the room, not just a chaperone."
The three women stared at him, momentarily silenced by the quiet authority in his tone. It was the voice of the boy who had just commanded the room without raising his volume, the one who had held me while I shattered.
"You see," he continued, his gaze shifting from Tzuyu to Mina, and finally landing on Nayeon. "The connection we share is what gives me the capacity to perform as I do. If you want the experience Sana described, then you must accept that my focus relies on her presence as an active participant. I want her there, touching, guiding, and being touched. We feed off each other. Take away the interaction, and you're left with just a mechanic, not an artist."
The room was so silent you could have heard a pin drop, or more accurately, the distinct sound of three women simultaneously holding their breath. My son’s words hung in the air, heavy and charged, effectively shifting the dynamic from a business transaction to a collaborative art project. He wasn't just an asset to be leased; he was the conductor, and he was demanding his first violin.
I stared at him, a fresh wave of arousal mixing with a profound sense of pride. He hadn't just defended my presence; he had defined it. He was telling them that without me, the magic didn't exist. It was a validation so potent it made my chest tight.
"I think that's a fair point," Tzuyu said finally, her voice low and thoughtful. She looked at me, her eyes stripping away the last of my reservations until I felt naked under her gaze—more naked than I had been on the floor earlier. "And, if I'm being entirely honest, a more appealing proposition. Watching is stimulating, yes, but participation..." She trailed off, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, a gesture of pure, unadulterated hunger. "Participation is immersive.”
"You've made your case, knight," Tzuyu murmured, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face as she surveyed the four of us. She stood up, the movement fluid and graceful despite the lingering exhaustion in her limbs. "And I, for one, am ready to see where this... collaborative art... leads us. But that is a discussion for tomorrow. My brain is currently fried, and my bed is calling my name."
"Seconded," Nayeon groaned, practically rolling off the sofa in her exaggerated fatigue. She stretched her arms high above her head, her joints popping audibly, before padding towards the hallway on bare feet. "I love you all dearly, but if I don't get horizontal within the next five minutes, I might actually die. Sana, you know the drill—top and tail, or squeeze in the middle. Just... no more energetic gymnastics until I've had at least eight hours of REM sleep."
Mina rose with a languid stretch, her movements like a cat uncurling in a sunbeam. She offered us a mysterious, feline smile as she followed Nayeon. "Sweet dreams, you two. Try not to dream too... loudly."
The hallway to Nayeon’s bedroom was dimly lit, guided only by the soft amber glow of recessed floor lights. We walked in a loose procession, the silence broken only by the rustle of our robes and the soft thud of bare feet on the hardwood. My son’s hand was warm and steady at the small of my back, a constant anchor that kept me grounded as the adrenaline of the night finally began to ebb, leaving a heavy, pleasant lassitude in its wake.
Nayeon’s bedroom was as bold and vibrant as her personality—a sprawling space dominated by a massive king-sized bed piled high with velvet cushions and a faux-fur throw. The walls were painted a deep, moody plum, and the air smelled faintly of the vanilla candle she always kept burning on her nightstand.
It was a sanctuary, and right now, it looked like the most inviting place on earth.
"Left or right?" Nayeon mumbled, already halfway to burrowing beneath the duvet, her blonde hair fanning out across the dark pillowcases like spilled ink. "But don't you dare kick me. I have an early photoshoot tomorrow, and if I have bruises on my shins, Sana, I'm sending you the bill."
"Centre," I decided without hesitation, patting the expanse of mattress between us. "I need to be in the middle. It's... a strategic necessity."
The girls didn't argue, merely shifting with sleepy murmurs to create a space. Mina curled up on the edge, her breathing already slowing into the deep, rhythmic pattern of sleep, while Tzuyu lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression that suggested she was still running calculations in her head. I climbed in, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the lingering heat in my skin, and immediately felt the bed dip as my son slid in beside me.
He moved with a fluid grace, settling onto his back and immediately opening his arm in a silent invitation. I didn't hesitate; I shuffled closer, moulding myself against his side with a familiarity that felt as natural as breathing. I rested my head on his chest, right over the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart, and draped one leg across his thighs, tangling our limbs together beneath the heavy duvet.
"Is this comfortable?" he murmured, the vibration of his deep voice resonating through my cheek.
"Perfect," I sighed, closing my eyes as the lingering tension in my muscles finally began to unspool. The scent of him—clean skin, soap, and that underlying musk that was uniquely his—was the most soothing lullaby I could imagine. "You're my personal radiator now, sweetheart. Don't you dare go cold on me."
"No danger of that," he replied softly, his breath ruffling the hair on the top of my head. His arm tightened around my shoulders, pulling me impossibly closer until there was no space left between us, creating a warm, protected bubble amidst the soft tangle of limbs and expensive bedding. "I believe I generate sufficient thermal energy to keep you satisfied."
I let out a quiet, sleepy giggle, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck. "You certainly do. You’re like a furnace. A very handsome, surprisingly strong furnace."
Around us, the sounds of the apartment began to settle. Nayeon’s breathing had already deepened into a soft, rhythmic snuffle, completely dead to the world. I could hear Mina shifting restlessly for a moment on the far edge before she too stilled, and even Tzuyu seemed to have abandoned her calculations, her breathing slow and steady in the dim light.
"I never want to move from this spot," I whispered into the darkness, the confession spilling out of me unbidden. The safety of his embrace, combined with the physical and emotional exhaustion of the night, had stripped away my last defences. "Tonight was... a lot. But being here, like this... it feels right."
"Sleep now, Sana," he murmured, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, a benediction in the dark. "The world will still be there when we wake up."
And with the steady thrum of his heart beneath my ear and the scent of jasmine and sleep heavy in the air, I drifted off, feeling more loved and more secure than I ever had in my life. I was his Queen, and he was my Knight.
"Are you planning on going clubbing dressed like this, Mum?" my son questioned me, leaning casually against the doorframe of my bedroom. He had his hands tucked into the pockets of his school trousers, looking at me with those serene, intelligent blue eyes that always made my heart flutter. It was criminal how handsome he was turning out to be, a perfect blend of youthful innocence and a growing masculinity that I had been privy to in ways a mother never should be.
I turned to face the mirror, smoothing my hands over the tight sequined mini-dress that clung to my curves like a second skin. The fabric was scandalously short, barely covering the tops of my thighs, and the neckline plunged deep, offering a generous view of my ample cleavage. I knew I looked good. The dress hugged my waist and flared slightly over my hips, accentuating the long legs that I knew drove him crazy.
"Do you think it's too much, love?" I asked, flashing him a bright, bubbly smile that I hoped would distract him from the sheer amount of skin on display. I watched his gaze drop, trailing slowly down my body, taking in the sheer black stockings that led down to my high heels.
"Not at all," he replied, his voice keeping that tranquil, composed cadence, so at odds with the heat radiating between us. "You look beautiful, as always. But if you go out looking like that, you’ll have to fight them off with a stick."
A warm, pleasant hum buzzed in my chest at the compliment. I loved how he looked at me—not just as a mother, but as a woman he desired. It was a dangerous, addictive thrill. I turned away from the mirror and sauntered towards him, my heels clicking rhythmically on the wooden floor. The air in the room felt thick, charged with that familiar, electric tension that always seemed to spark when we were alone.
"They can look all they want," I murmured, stopping just inches from him. I reached out, flattening my palm against his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic thumping of his heart. "But they can't touch. Only you get to touch, don't you, sweetheart?"
He closed the gap between us; his arms circled my waist, pulling me against him. His face was so close to mine. I felt his breath on my neck, and it made me shiver. He kissed my neck; his lips were soft and gentle. I moaned softly and arched my back, pressing my body closer to his. I ran my fingers through his brown hair, pulling him closer to me. His hands moved down to my bum, squeezing firmly. I loved how confident he was becoming, how he took what he wanted from me.
"Only me," he whispered against my skin, his voice vibrating through me.
I couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up, mixed with a desperate gasp as his teeth grazed my collarbone. It was absurd, really. I was supposed to be heading out to Roppongi to dance and drink, to lose myself in the thumping bass and coloured lights, yet here I was, melting in the arms of a fifteen-year-old boy who was rapidly becoming the only thing that could satisfy the insatiable hunger inside me.
"Are there any chances for you to remain here or for me to come with you as your knight?" He asked, his voice muffled slightly against my skin, the vibrations of his words sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in my abdomen.
I pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, my hands resting on his shoulders. "My knight? Are you planning to fight off all the bad men with a sword, then?" I teased, though the idea was tempting. The thought of having him by my side, his possessive eyes on me all night while I danced, made my thighs clench together. "If you promise not to make a scene if someone tries to flirt with me... I want you to be there with me to have fun, not to be my guardian."
My sweet boy nodded. I instructed him on what to wear, forcing him to put on something a bit more sophisticated than his usual school attire. It felt delightfully sinful, dressing him up like my own personal doll, preparing him for a night where the lines between mother and lover would be blurred amidst the neon lights of Tokyo.
The taxi ride into Roppongi was a blur of passing streetlights and the electric anticipation humming beneath my skin. My hand rested on his thigh the entire way, my fingers tracing teasing circles higher and higher, relishing the way his breathing hitched. He stayed calm, outwardly tranquil, but I could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the predator waiting to be unleashed.
When we finally stepped out of the cab, the city assaulted our senses in a dizzying wave of sound and colour. The bass from the nearby clubs was a physical thump in my chest, vibrating through the soles of my high heels. I took his arm, pressing my body against his, revelling in the possessive glances he shot at anyone who dared to look my way. We walked past the queues, the bouncer recognising me and ushering us inside with a knowing grin.
The club was a sensory overload, a swirling vortex of neon lasers, pounding bass, and the sweet, musky scent of expensive perfume and desire. I held onto his arm tightly as we navigated the throng of bodies, feeling like the queen of the night with her handsome young prince. The heat was palpable, but nothing compared to the fire burning in my blood as I felt his protective presence beside me.
We made our way towards the VIP section, a raised platform swathed in velvet ropes and bathed in purple light. There, waving enthusiastically amidst the bottles of champagne and ice buckets, were my girls. Mina, with her feline eyes and mischievous smirk; Nayeon, glowing with that bunny-like charm; and Tzuyu, tall and elegant, looking like a runway model who had wandered in for a drink.
"Sana! Over here!" Nayeon shrieked over the music, her eyes widening as she took in my entourage. I dragged him over to the plush, crescent-shaped booth, watching their faces drop in varying degrees of shock and appreciation as they got a good look at him. He stood there, calm and composed, looking utterly delectable in the dark button-down I’d picked out for him. It was unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of the smooth skin beneath, the shirt tucked neatly into his trousers.
The booth, however, presented a minor logistical dilemma. It was designed for four, perhaps five people at a squeeze, but there were four of us, and the table was cluttered with buckets of Moët and assorted cocktails.
"Oh, bother", I pouted playfully, looking around the tight space. "It seems we're a seat short, aren't we?"
Tzuyu, ever the graceful one, started to shift towards the edge to make room, but I was already moving. I wasn't about to let my knight sit on the hard cushion outside the circle, nor did I want him pressed up against Nayeon, no matter how much I adored her.
With a mischievous glint in my eye, I turned to my son, patting my thigh invitingly. "I suppose you’ll just have to be my chair for the night, sweetheart. Unless you object to having the best view in the house?"
He didn’t miss a beat. He settled onto the plush leather seat, his legs spread slightly in that inherently masculine way, and looked up at me with a raised brow. "I think I can manage that," he murmured, his voice steady, though I caught the subtle darkening of his pupils.
I didn't hesitate. I gathered the hem of my short dress and turned, sinking onto his lap. The sensation was immediate and electric. I felt the firm muscles of his thighs beneath my bottom, and as I wiggled to get comfortable, I couldn't ignore the distinct, hardening length pressing against my backside. A flush of heat shot through me, and I bit my lip to stifle a moan. Being this full and heavy against him, in public, of all places, was a wicked thrill.
His arms instinctively wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest, grounding me amidst the dizzying atmosphere of the club. I settled back against him, revelling in the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of my dress. It was a possessive hold, one that silently claimed ownership, and I felt a heady rush of adrenaline knowing that my friends were watching every second of it.
"Well, hello there," Mina purred, leaning her elbows on the table to get a better look. Her dark, feline eyes roamed over his face with undisguised interest, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Sana, you really didn't do this handsome young man justice in your stories. He’s absolutely gorgeous."
I felt a sharp pang of jealousy in my chest, primal and fierce, but I suppressed it with a bright, bubbly laugh. I leant back, resting my head on his shoulder, and tilted my chin up to look at him. "Isn't he, though? I told you he was special. But try to control yourselves, ladies. He’s a bit shy."
"He doesn't look very shy to me," Tzuyu countered, her voice cool and sultry as she took a slow sip from her flute of champagne. Her gaze was heavy, lingering a little too long on the way his hands rested possessively on my hips, his thumb tracing idle circles against the bone. "In fact, he looks like he knows exactly what he's doing. Those eyes... they aren't innocent at all."
I felt him stiffen slightly behind me—not in fear, but in recognition. It was the hunter acknowledging he was being watched. He didn't flinch under Tzuyu's scrutiny; instead, he met her gaze evenly, that tranquil mask firmly in place, though I could feel the rapid thrum of his heart beating against my spine.
"He’s just composed," I corrected them, waving a hand dismissively, though my pulse quickened at their praise. I reached for the bucket, grabbing a bottle of Moët. "Don't scare him off, you lot. He’s used to quiet nights at home, not..." I gestured vaguely at the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor below, "this chaotic madness."
"He is far too composed for a boy his age," Nayeon chimed in, her bunny-like teeth flashing as she grinned. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his arm—a touch that lingered a second too long for my liking. "Usually, boys are tripping over their own tongues around us. You seem... unbothered, young man."
I felt the muscles in his jaw tighten against my shoulder, a subtle shift that only I would notice. He didn't pull away, but his hand on my hip gave a firm, reassuring squeeze, silently reminding me—and perhaps her—that he was exactly where he wanted to be.
"I prefer to observe," he replied smoothly, his voice cutting through the thumping bass with an ease that surprised me. He lifted his glass of champagne, his blue eyes locking with Nayeon's over the rim. "And right now, the view is quite extraordinary."
Nayeon’s cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink at his smooth retort, and she let out a surprised, delighted laugh, pulling her hand back as if she’d been burned. "Oh, he’s got a tongue on him, too! Sana, where on earth did you find this one? You’ve been hiding a diamond in the rough."
"I told you he was full of surprises," I preened, swirling the golden liquid in my glass. The possessive pride swelling in my chest was intoxicating. Seeing my friends—women who were used to men fawning over them—rendered slightly flustered by my son’s quiet confidence was a massive ego boost. I shifted my weight on his lap, grinding down slightly, and felt his breath hitch imperceptibly against my ear. I knew exactly what I was doing to him. The friction, the heat, the public nature of our seating arrangement—it was all calculated to drive him mad, and I could feel the rigid proof of it beneath my thigh.
"I like him," Mina decided, her dark eyes narrowing speculatively. She poured a fresh glass of champagne and slid it across the table towards him. "He’s got a presence. It’s... intense. You don’t see that in boys his age. Usually, it’s all pent-up aggression and awkwardness. He’s calm. Controlled."
I watched him take the glass with that same steady hand, offering Mina a nod of gratitude that was polite yet kept a distinct air of detachment. "Thank you", he said, his voice low and smooth, managing to make a simple pleasantry sound like a command. "It is... interesting to meet the women Sana speaks of so often."
"Speaks of us?" Tzuyu arched a perfectly sculpted brow, setting her glass down with a deliberate clink. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, her gaze locking onto his with predatory curiosity. "I wonder what exactly she says. Do tell!"
He took a slow sip of the champagne, his eyes never leaving Tzuyu’s. "Only that you are beautiful, lively, and... intense", he replied, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. The playfulness in his tone was so subtle; if I didn't know him so well—if I didn't feel the way his fingers were gripping my hip possessively—I might have missed it.
"Intense?" Tzuyu repeated the word rolling off her tongue like dark chocolate. She seemed to taste the subtext there, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment. Though I have a feeling you're the one who enjoys a bit of intensity, aren't you?"
I felt the vibration of his low chuckle against my back before I heard it. It was a rich, surprisingly deep sound for a boy of fifteen, and it sent a shiver of delight straight down my spine. "I suppose you could say I appreciate focus," he answered smoothly, his hand idly stroking the silk of my dress just above my hip.
"Oh, I bet you do," Mina chimed in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that she didn't bother to hide. She leaned in closer, invading our personal space just enough to be daring. "So, tell us, handsome. Does Sana boss you around at home, or are you the one in charge there? You seem very... obedient."
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, I felt the hand resting on my hip glide slowly downwards, his fingers splaying wide over the curve of my thigh, pulling me tighter against him until there was absolutely no space left between us. The movement was subtle, hidden beneath the table and the shadows of the VIP booth, but the message was clear. He was staking his claim, right in front of them.
"I think you’ll find," he said, his voice dropping an octave, silencing Mina’s playful teasing instantly, "that we have a very equal partnership. Isn't that right, Sana?"
I looked down at him, my breath catching in my throat at the dark, predatory look in his blue eyes. He wasn't the shy, tranquil boy I had dressed up an hour ago; he was something else entirely now—something dangerous and thrillingly possessive.
"Equal?" Mina repeated, her feline eyes narrowing as she picked up on the shift in the air. She tapped a manicured nail against her glass, a knowing smirk curling her lips. "Is that what we're calling it? It looked an awful lot like you were taking orders back at the door, sweetheart."
"He lets me think I'm in charge," I interjected quickly, my voice sounding breathless even to my own ears. I took a hasty sip of my champagne to hide the flush rising in my cheeks, the bubbles doing little to quell the heat pooling in my stomach. I shifted on his lap again, trying to find a position that didn't press his hardened length so directly against my bottom, but it was a futile effort. He was rock hard, and he wanted me to know it.
"He's very good at that," Tzuyu observed, her gaze still fixed on him with an intensity that usually made lesser men wither. She swirled her drink, the ice clinking softly. "Listening, observing. But smart boys know when to stay quiet and when to... speak up."
Nayeon let out a loud, unladylike snort, breaking the heavy tension that had settled over the table. She reached for the bottle of vodka, topping up her glass with a generous pour. "Oh, don't mind Tzuyu," she said, waving a dismissive hand in our direction. "She’s just salty because she hasn't found a man who can keep up with her yet. You're doing alright, kid. As long as you can keep Sana smiling, you're good in my books."
"I second that", Mina purred, her gaze softening as she took a long sip of her drink, though her eyes continued to flicker between us, clearly enjoying the show. "There is something very... alluring about a young man who knows his place. Or yours," she added with a wicked grin.
I felt the tension in his jaw ease slightly against my shoulder, the predator receding just enough to let the tranquil mask slip back into place. He was incredibly adaptable, shifting seamlessly from the dominant lover to the polite, composed son whenever the situation required. It made my head spin.
"Would you girls mind a question?" He asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the thumping bass and the steady hum of conversation.
"Anything for you, handsome," Nayeon replied instantly, leaning forward with a playful glint in her eyes, clearly enjoying the attention.
He didn't look at her, though. His gaze remained fixed on the dance floor below, watching the writhing mass of bodies with a detached, analytical interest, even as his hand continued to stroke my hip, his thumb rubbing slow, maddening circles against my skin. "Sana mentions she often comes here to... let loose. Does she attract a lot of attention when she's alone?"
The question hung in the air for a moment, heavy with implication, before the girls erupted into a chorus of laughter. It was a bright, musical sound, but underneath it, I could sense the shift in atmosphere as they exchanged knowing glances.
"Attract attention?" Mina repeated, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. "Sweetheart, Sana doesn't just attract attention; she absorbs it. When she walks onto that floor, she becomes the centre of gravity."
"It's true", Nayeon added, leaning back and draping her arm over the booth behind her, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You have to beat them off with a stick. Men, women... they all want a piece of her. She’s a firecracker, that one. Always has been."
Tzuyu hummed in agreement, her gaze drifting from the chaotic dance floor back to us, her eyes lingering on the possessive grip he had on my waist. "She's right. Sana feeds off the energy. She loves being looked at, being wanted. But she rarely goes home with anyone. Usually, she just likes to tease and leave them wanting." Tzuyu’s eyes locked onto his, a challenge glittering in their depths. "She seems to have found a solution to that problem lately, hasn't she?"
I felt the muscles beneath me bunch and tighten, a subtle reminder of the power contained in that youthful, lean frame. He didn't rise to the bait, though. Instead, he took another slow sip of his champagne, his eyes never leaving Tzuyu’s.
"It's up to her to say it," he replied with a calm voice. "I can only grant you; she knows she can rely on me."
The table went quiet at that, the bass-heavy thrum of the club seeming to swell in the sudden silence. Tzuyu held his gaze for a long, lingering moment, her analytical expression cracking just enough to reveal a flash of genuine surprise. Then, a slow, appreciative smile spread across her face.
"Smart and dangerous", Tzuyu murmured, lifting her glass in a silent toast. "I like that. You’re not just a pretty face, are you?"
"I told you", I beamed, wiggling my hips again, unable to resist the urge to torment him just a little more. I felt the heavy ridge of his erection twitch beneath me, a silent response to my movement. "He’s perfect."
His hands moved down to my thighs; his touch was light like a feather. "Objectively", he stated. "You are all gorgeous women, and I cannot fathom why there is no one at your side."
Mina let out a soft, incredulous laugh, the sound like silk rubbing together. She tipped her head back, exposing the slender line of her throat as she looked up at the ceiling lights. "Oh, darling," she sighed, bringing her gaze back down to him with a heavy, hooded look. "It’s because we eat men like you for breakfast and spit them out before lunch. Finding someone who can handle us is... a full-time occupation."
"Especially when you have high standards," Nayeon added, though her eyes softened as she looked at him. She swirled the vodka in her glass, the ice clinking rhythmically. "Most boys are either terrified of us or trying to get into our knickers within five minutes. You don't seem to be doing either. It’s... refreshing."
"I have everything I need right here," he said simply, his voice vibrating through my back where I leaned against him. The hand on my thigh gave a gentle squeeze, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just above the lace of my stockings. The friction was maddening, a slow burn that was making it increasingly difficult to maintain the bubbly, carefree façade I usually wore around them.
"I'm sure you do," Mina purred, her gaze lingering on his hand where it disappeared under the hem of her dress. The dark, knowing look in her eyes suggested she suspected exactly what those fingers were up to beneath the table. "But surely you don't intend to keep Sana all to yourself every night? That’s rather greedy, isn't it?"
"He’s young, Mina," Nayeon teased, though there was a slight edge to her voice. She leaned closer, invading his space again, her perfume—a sweet, intoxicating mix of jasmine and vanilla—clouding my senses. "He’s in the prime of his youth. He should be out having fun, making mistakes, breaking hearts. Not playing the devoted husband."
I felt a ripple of unease pass through him, a subtle stiffening of his spine against my back. The tranquil mask slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing a flash of that protective, territorial instinct I admired so much. He didn't like the implication that he was missing out, or worse, that I was holding him back.
"He isn't missing out on anything," I said quickly, perhaps a bit too sharply, keen to defend my darling boy before his tranquil veneer could crack completely. I reached up, threading my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, a soothing gesture meant to calm us both. "He’s exactly where he wants to be. Besides, who says he can't have fun with me? We have plenty of fun."
"Fun," Mina repeated, drawing the word out until it sounded positively filthy. She took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving his face. "I'm sure you do. But variety is the spice of life, isn't it, handsome? Surely your mother has told you about our... little traditions?"
The air in the booth seemed to thicken, charged with a sudden, heavy tension. I knew exactly what Mina was hinting at. Our nights out often ended in a blur of tangled limbs and shared partners, a hedonistic free-for-all that we had indulged in for years. But this was different. This was him. The very idea of sharing him, of watching Mina or Nayeon run their hands over the body that was currently pressed so intimately against mine, sparked a violent rush of jealousy that I wasn't entirely prepared for.
"Mina, calm down," Tzuyu interjected smoothly, though her eyes danced with wicked amusement as she watched the interplay. "You're going to scare the poor thing."
"Don't talk like you are not interested, Tzuyu," Mina retorted. "I saw you ogling him."
Tzuyu didn't deny it. Instead, she swirled the champagne in her glass, her eyes fixed on me with a predatory glint that made my skin prickle. "I'm just appreciating the view, darling. There's no harm in looking. Though I must admit," she paused, her gaze dropping to my lips, "I am curious to see if he tastes as good as he looks."
My son stiffened beneath me, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on my thigh. It wasn't fear; it was a territorial warning. "Hold your knickers, ladies," I told them. "Before even considering doing anything to him, you have to ask me. He is my son, and although I've never been greedy, I'm not exactly ready to share him. Especially when I know how good he is."
I felt his chest expand against my back as he took a deep breath, his tranquil mask slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of dark amusement. He didn't seem offended by their hunger; if anything, he appeared to view it as a scientific curiosity, like a specimen under a microscope that had just learnt it could bite back.
"Wouldn't be helpful to blow a bit of steam to dance?" He asked, his voice a smooth counterpoint to the rising tension at the table.
Tzuyu let out a low, appreciative hum, setting her glass down with a decisive click. "He’s got a point," she declared, standing up in one fluid, graceful motion. The hem of her slip dress rode up just enough to show miles of leg, but her eyes were fixed squarely on us. "Sitting here is all well and good, but the music is calling. I’d love to see how our young knight moves."
"I second that," Nayeon chimed, already wiggling out of the booth. She grabbed my hand, her grip firm and insistent. "Come on, Sana! Bring your boy and let's go show this floor how it's done."
I allowed Nayeon to pull me up, the sudden loss of contact making me feel oddly cold despite the stifling heat of the club. My son rose smoothly behind me, adjusting his cuffs with that infuriatingly calm demeanour, though his eyes burnt with a dark, possessive light as he glanced at the other women.
I saw him offering his hand to Mina and Tzuyu with that old-school, gentlemanly charm that seemed so incongruous with his youth, yet fit him perfectly. Mina accepted immediately, her eyes glinting with mischief, while Tzuyu simply smirked, placing her elegant fingers in her palm with an air of regal acceptance. Nayeon, ever the bundle of energy, was already dragging me towards the pulsing heart of the dance floor, weaving through the crowd with practised ease.
The transition from the plush, purple-hued sanctuary of the VIP booth to the main floor was jarring. Here, the air was thick with humidity and the scent of sweat and expensive cologne. The bass was no longer just a sound; it was a physical force, vibrating in my lungs and rattling my teeth. Strobe lights slashed through the darkness, illuminating the writhing mass of bodies in fragmented snapshots of ecstasy.
We found a small pocket of space amidst the chaos, and I immediately turned to him. The girls formed a loose circle around us, a protective yet predatory formation that isolated us from the rest of the club. Nayeon was the first to start moving, her body fluid and rhythmic, her arms raised high as she lost herself in the beat. Mina and Tzuyu followed suit, their movements more sultry, more calculated, designed to draw the eye.
"Well then, my knight," I shouted over the deafening roar of the bass, stepping into his personal space. "Show us what you've got. Don't leave me hanging!"
I didn't wait for a verbal response. I couldn't. The music was a frantic, electro-house beat that demanded movement, a primal rhythm that vibrated in my very marrow. I turned around, pressing my back against his chest, and began to move. I let my body take over, rolling my hips in slow, deliberate circles that I knew would drive him insane. My hands came up, tangling in my hair, arching my back to press my bottom firmly against the front of his trousers.
His response was immediate and electrifying. His hands, of course, settled firmly on my hips, gripping me with a confidence that made my knees weak. He didn't just stand there; he moved with me, matching the roll of my hips with a fluidity that contradicted his usual tranquil stillness. It was a dominant rhythm, a silent assertion that he was the one leading this dance, even if I was the one setting the pace.
I could feel every inch of him against my backside, hard and insistent, separated only by the thin layers of our clothes. The friction was maddening, a delicious tease that promised so much more. I leaned my head back against his shoulder, letting out a breathless laugh that was swallowed by the pounding music. I felt invincible, grinding against the most handsome man in the room, who just happened to be my son.
"Looks like our knight can move," Mina purred, appearing in front of us. She didn't stay at a distance; she closed the gap, moving with a feline grace that brought her body flush against mine. She placed her hands on my waist, her fingers brushing tantalisingly close to where his hands held me.
Mina’s presence was like a sudden wave of heat, her dark eyes locking onto mine with a mischievous glint as she pressed closer. The three of us were fused together in a rhythm that felt illicit and dangerously thrilling. My son didn't falter; if anything, his grip on my hips tightened, anchoring me against him while Mina invaded our space from the front. I was sandwiched between the two of them, caught in a crossfire of desire and tension that made my head spin.
"Having fun, knight?" Mina mouthed, her lips brushing against my ear, though her gaze was fixed pointedly over my shoulder at him. Her hands slid down to my waist, teasingly close to mine, her fingers tracing the sequins of my dress.
"He seems to be enjoying himself," I managed to gasp back, feeling the hard evidence of his enjoyment digging into my lower back. He was rolling his hips in time with the bass, a slow, dirty grind that mimicked exactly how he moved when we were alone in my bed.
"Careful, Mina," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, managing to cut through the relentless thud of the bass. His lips grazed the sensitive shell of my ear, sending a violent shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the music. "You're playing a dangerous game getting this close."
Mina didn't so much as flinch. Instead, she threw her head back and laughed, a dark, sultry sound that seemed to resonate in her chest. She pressed even closer, her body flush against mine, trapping me between her softness and his overwhelming hardness. "I like danger," she mouthed back, her eyes flicking down to his hands on my hips before meeting his gaze again. "And I think you do too."
Before the tension could snap something vital inside me, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist from the side, pulling me slightly away from the centre of our heated triangle. It was Nayeon, vibrating with an infectious, bubbly energy that cut through the heavy fog of lust.
"Come on, you two! Don't hog all the fun!" Nayeon shouted, her voice a bright bell against the deep thrum of the bass. She tugged me away with surprising strength, breaking the seal between my back and his chest. I stumbled slightly, the sudden loss of his warmth leaving me feeling bereft and dizzy, but Nayeon just laughed, spinning me around until I was facing her. "Let's show these kids how it's done, Sana!"
I threw my head back and laughed, the sound bubbling up from my chest, instantly swept up in her chaotic energy. We danced together, moving in sync like we had done a hundred times before, our bodies mirroring each other, hands roaming freely over each other's arms and waists. It was familiar and safe, a grounded anchor amidst the storm of illicit desire swirling in my head.
But I couldn't keep my eyes off him.
He stood there for a moment, a solitary pillar of calm amidst the chaotic sea of writhing bodies, his blue eyes tracking my every movement with an intensity that made my skin flush. He looked dangerous, a predator waiting patiently for his prey to return to the fold. But he wasn't alone for long.
Tzuyu, graceful and silent as a panther, slid into the space I had vacated. She didn't bounce or shimmy like Nayeon; she flowed, moving with a hypnotic, liquid grace that drew the eye instantly. She stopped right in front of him, close enough that I could see the challenging arch of her brow even from a few feet away.
I watched, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs that had nothing to do with the music, as she began to dance around him. It was a calculated seduction, a slow orbit designed to test his composure. She turned, pressing her back to his chest, mimicking the position I had just occupied, and rolled her hips in a slow, agonising grind.
A sharp, visceral pang of jealousy pierced through the haze of alcohol and bass, sharp enough to make me falter in my steps. Seeing another woman—any woman, let alone Tzuyu with her model-good looks and effortless grace—press her body against his felt like a violation. He was mine. The possessive instinct that roared to life inside me was terrifyingly primal, far beyond the protective maternal urges I was used to.
I was about to pull away from Nayeon, ready to march over there and stake my claim with my claws bared, when I saw how he reacted.
He matched her movement without crossing the line, a fluid, synchronised grind that was technically perfect yet emotionally detached. His hands rested lightly on Tzuyu’s hips, not with the hungry, proprietorial grip he used on me, but with the polite, distant restraint of a dance partner executing a choreography. He looked over her shoulder, his gaze instantly finding mine amidst the flashing lasers and swirling crowd. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk, a silent reassurance that shouted, 'I'm right here, Mum.' I’m only playing the game.
It was the look in his eyes that undid me—the calm, unwavering blue anchor that held me steady whilst the club threatened to spin out of control. He knew I was watching. He knew exactly what he was doing, stoking the fires of my jealousy just to prove a point: he could handle them, but he belonged to me.
"Earth to Sana!" Nayeon’s voice cut through my trance, accompanied by a playful shove to my shoulder. "You're staring like a lovesick puppy! If you keep looking at them like that, you might burn a hole in Tzuyu’s back."
I blinked, tearing my gaze away from the sight of Tzuyu grinding against my son, and forced a laugh that sounded slightly strangled even to my own ears. "Can you blame me?" I shot back at Nayeon, trying to regain my bubbly composure. "I have the hottest date on the floor. It’s only natural I want to keep my eyes on the prize."
Nayeon cackled, throwing her head back, her blonde hair whipping around her face. "Possessive, much? I like it. It’s fierce." She grabbed my hand, spinning me around again, but my body was resisting the momentum, yearning to be back where the heat was radiating from.
"I'm just saying, he’s quite the catch." Nayeon leaned in close, shouting over the beat. "Even if he is a bit... young for the usual crowd. He handles himself well."
The track transitioned from a frantic electro-house beat into something deeper, a sensual R&B remix that thrummed through the floorboards like a slow, steady heartbeat. The change in tempo was my cue. I peeled myself away from Nayeon, ignoring her playful pout of protest, and cut a path through the dancing crowd with single-minded determination.
I didn't walk; I stalked.
Tzuyu was still grinding against him, her movements fluid and hypnotic, but as I approached, she sensed the shift in the air. She turned her head, a knowing smirk plastered on her face, and stepped aside with the graciousness of a queen relinquishing her throne—though her eyes lingered on him with a hunger that made my blood boil.
I didn't hesitate. I stepped straight into the space she’d vacated, claiming my territory with a possessive determination that surprised even me. Pressing my back against his chest, I felt the immediate, hard contact of his body, solid and reassuring. The contrast between Tzuyu’s distant grace and the heated reality of him was stark.
"Missed me?" I purred, tilting my head back to look up at him, letting my body roll sensually to the slower, sultry rhythm of the new track.
His hands instantly found my hips, his fingers digging in with that familiar, hungry grip that had been absent when he danced with Tzuyu. "Immensely", he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "She dances well, but she doesn't feel like you."
I let out a breathless sigh, letting his words wash over me, soothing the jagged edges of my jealousy. "She certainly doesn't," I agreed, grinding my hips back against him with a deliberate, slow roll that left him in no doubt about who he belonged to. "And don't you forget it, knight."
He didn't reply with words, but the sharp intake of breath I heard against my neck and the way his hands flexed on my waist were answer enough. We moved together in the dim light, isolated in our own little bubble of lascivious intent while the club throbbed around us. The music was slower now, a heavy, sensual beat that allowed for bodies to press closer, for movements to become more suggestive, more intimate.
I was lost in the sensation of him—the hard planes of his chest against my spine, the thick ridge of his erection nestled against my bottom, and the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of our shared arousal. It was intoxicating, a heady cocktail that made me feel bold and invincible.
After a bunch of songs more, we all retreated to the booth, breathless and glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration. The alcohol had flowed freely, and the girls were positively buzzing, a chaotic tangle of limbs and laughter as we collapsed onto the plush leather. My son sat down first, looking remarkably unruffled save for the darkened intensity in his eyes, and I immediately reclaimed my place on his lap, draping my arm around his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"So", Nayeon drawled, fanning herself with a cocktail napkin, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. "Are we doing this, or what? My place is empty, and I just bought a new bottle of gin that is screaming to be opened."
I stiffened slightly, the implication hanging heavy in the air. We often ended our nights at one of our apartments, continuing the party in more intimate surroundings. But tonight, I wasn't just with the girls. I felt the muscles beneath me tense in agreement; he had no intention of becoming a plaything for the group, no matter how much they seemed to covet him.
"I won't let you play with him," I replied. "But I am going to be merciful; you can watch."
The silence that descended over the booth was absolute. For a moment, even the relentless thumping of the bass seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the sheer weight of my declaration. The three of them stared at me, their expressions a frozen tableau of shock, quickly followed by a dawning, wicked comprehension.
"Watch?" Tzuyu repeated, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. She slowly placed her glass on the table, the movement deliberate and predatory. She leaned forward, her dark eyes gleaming with a mixture of intrigue and lascivious hunger. "Do you mean...?"
"Exactly what I said," I confirmed, feeling the thrill of the forbidden course through my veins like liquid fire. I shifted slightly on his lap, relishing the way his hardness pulsed against me, a silent testament to his arousal at the prospect. "You want to see if the knight can match the fair maiden's stamina? You want to see if he's truly as good as I claim? Then you can sit back, sip your gin, and enjoy the show."
A collective shiver seemed to run through the group. Nayeon’s mouth fell open slightly before snapping shut with a click of her teeth, her eyes sparkling with unadulterated delight. Mina let out a low, appreciative hum, her gaze darkening as it bored into us, already undressing him in her mind. But it was Tzuyu’s reaction that satisfied me the most. She didn't look away; she leaned in, hungry and unblinking, accepting the challenge I had laid down.
"Bold", Tzuyu breathed, her voice barely audible over the music. "I didn't think you had it in you to share even a glimpse, Sana. But I accept. If I have to settle for watching, I intend to see everything."
Nayeon’s apartment was a sleek, modern expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows and white furniture, currently bathed in the soft, amber glow of the city lights below. The air was thick with anticipation and the sharp scent of gin as we filed in, the chaotic energy of the club having dissolved into a focused, predatory tension.
I felt my son’s hand resting firmly against the small of my back, a silent anchor in the storm. He was calm, exuding that tranquil aura that always made my heart race, but I knew him well enough to sense the coiled spring beneath his composed exterior. He was ready.
"Drinks first, I think," Nayeon announced, heading straight for the kitchen. She returned moments later with a crystal decanter and four tumblers, pouring generous measures with a shaky hand that betrayed her own excitement. "To the show," she toasted, her eyes glinting as she handed a glass to Tzuyu, then Mina.
Mina accepted hers with a languid grace, her eyes never leaving my son, who politely declined the alcohol with a soft "No, thank you. I prefer to keep a clear head for... performance."
"Smart boy," Tzuyu murmured, taking a slow sip of her drink before gesturing towards the expansive white rug in the centre of the living room. It lay before the floor-to-ceiling windows like a stage, the city lights of Tokyo sprawling out beneath it, a glittering backdrop for the depravity about to unfold. "The floor is yours. Don't disappoint us."
I felt a tremor of nervous excitement race down my spine, mixing with the champagne’s potent buzz. This was it. The ultimate exhibition. I was about to let my friends witness the most intimate, forbidden part of my life. I looked up at him, searching for any sign of hesitation, but found only that dark, bottomless ocean of blue staring back at me, filled with a quiet, burning intensity.
I took a deep breath, letting the alcohol fizz in my veins, giving me that extra push of courage I needed. I didn't wait for him to make the first move; the night had been about me taking what I wanted, and I wasn't about to stop now. I reached for the hem of my sequined dress and, with a fluid motion, pulled it up and over my head.
The air in the room was cool against my heated skin, but the looks from my friends were incinerating. I stood before them in nothing but my sheer black stockings, suspender belt, and a pair of lace panties that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. I kicked the dress aside, hearing it rustle softly on the hardwood floor.
"Ready to see what all the fuss is about?" I asked, my voice breathless and high, pitching it to carry across the room.
The three of them didn't answer with words. Instead, they settled onto the long, white sectional sofa like queens awaiting a spectacle, their drinks held loosely in their hands but their eyes fixed unblinkingly on me. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on, a heady mix of voyeuristic curiosity and raw lust.
My son, ever the composed actor in my play, stepped forward. He didn't look at them; his attention was entirely focused on me, stripping away the audience until it felt as though we were the only two people in Tokyo. He reached out, his fingers grazing the bare skin of my waist, sending a jolt of electricity through my system.
"You are breathtaking," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, meant solely for my ears despite the acoustics of the room.
He didn't wait for a response, nor did he give me time to succumb to the sudden rush of bashfulness that threatened to colour my cheeks. With a gentle but insistent pressure on my shoulders, he guided me down onto the plush white rug. The fibres were soft against my knees, a stark contrast to the hard floor of the club, and the sensation of being centred in the room—like a prize exhibit—made my blood hum with a mixture of shame and exhilaration.
From the corner of my eye, I saw the three of them shifting on the sofa. Nayeon had perched on the edge of her seat, her knuckles white as she gripped her glass, her bunny-like eyes wide and unblinking. Mina had reclined, her dark gaze hooded and heavy, trailing over my exposed skin with a slow, deliberating heat that felt like a physical touch. And Tzuyu... Tzuyu was simply watching, her chin resting in her palm, a small, satisfied smirk playing on her lips as if she were observing a particularly interesting experiment.
My son knelt before me, blocking out the city lights, his frame dominating my vision. He reached out with those long, elegant fingers and hooked them into the lace of my panties. The drag of the fabric against my thighs as he slid them down was agonisingly slow, a tease that drew a ragged gasp from my throat. When they pooled at my knees, he helped me extricate my legs, leaving me clad only in stockings and suspenders.
The cool air of the apartment kissed my heated skin, raising gooseflesh along my thighs, but the heat in his eyes was enough to burn me alive. He didn't rush. His hands, those large, capable hands that had been teasing me all night, trailed back up my legs, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs, urging them apart.
I obeyed without thought, opening myself to him, to them. The sheer debauchery of the situation hit me with a dizzying rush—I was Sana, the bubbly, vivacious friend, usually the one teasing the men, but here I was, exposed and vulnerable on my knees before my fifteen-year-old son while my best friends watched like hawks.
"Look at you," he murmured, his voice a rough scrape of sound that seemed to echo in the silent room. "So eager."
I didn't care about their eyes on me anymore; all that mattered was the dark, predatory glint in his blue gaze. He leaned forward, his breath ghosting over my exposed, slick folds, and I shivered violently. The anticipation was a taut wire pulled tight inside my abdomen, ready to snap.
"Do not take your eyes off her," he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip crack. He didn't look back at the sofa to see if they obeyed, but I heard the collective intake of breath and the rustle of fabric as they shifted to get a better view. "I want you to see who she belongs to."
With a groan that sounded more like a growl, he buried his face between my thighs. The first drag of his tongue against my clit was electric, a shockwave that ripped a cry from my throat and bowed my spine. He didn't start slow; he attacked with a hunger that mirrored my own insatiable need, licking and sucking with a fervour that made my head spin.
The sensation was overwhelming, a white-hot surge of pleasure that obliterated the thought of our audience from my mind, at least for a moment. His tongue was wickedly clever, flicking and circling my clit with a precision that spoke of hours of practice—practice that I had happily provided. He knew exactly how to flatten it to maximise surface area, then curl it to tease that sensitive bundle of nerves, driving me closer to the edge with every pass.
"God, look at that," Nayeon’s voice drifted to me, sounding distant and warped, as if she were speaking underwater. "Look at how he devours her. I've never seen a man eat pussy like that."
"He certainly doesn't eat like a fifteen-year-old," Mina agreed, her tone thick with appreciation. "Sana, you lucky bitch. His technique is... impeccable."
"Impeccable?" Tzuyu’s cool, analytical voice cut through the haze of my pleasure, forcing me to blink my eyes open and focus on the three women watching us. She hadn't moved from her relaxed pose, but her eyes were dark, fixed intently on the point where my son’s mouth met my body. "It’s not just technique, Mina. It’s devotion. Look at the way he holds her thighs. He’s not just doing it for the pleasure; he’s worshipping."
She was right. Even in the throes of my rapidly unravelling control, I could feel it in the way his fingers dug into the soft flesh of my hips, anchoring me to him. He was devouring me with a single-minded intensity that went far beyond simple lust. He was proving a point to every woman in that room—*and* to himself. I was his. Completely.
He shifted his attention, dragging his tongue lower to circle my entrance, collecting the slick arousal that was practically dripping from me. The sound of his lapping was obscenely loud in the quiet room, a wet, rhythmic noise that made my face burn even as my hips bucked instinctively against his face.
He groaned against me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine and making my toes curl in the carpet. The sound was primal, a possessive rumble that seemed to say mine and mine alone. He brought a hand up, those long, slender fingers that had been resting so innocently on my thigh all night now sliding effortlessly inside me. The stretch was exquisite, a sudden, full pressure that made my breath hitch in a broken sob.
He didn't pump aimlessly; he curled his fingers upwards, finding that spongy, sensitive spot inside me with unerring accuracy, while his mouth resumed its assault on my clit. It was a double-pronged attack of sensory overload, a masterclass in pleasure that had my thighs trembling around his head. I could feel the pressure building rapidly, a tight, coiling knot in my stomach that threatened to snap at any second.
"She's close already," Tzuyu observed, her voice maddeningly calm and analytical. "Look at the way her stomach muscles are contracting. He’s found the spot, hasn't he?"
"He certainly has," I managed to gasp out, my voice sounding ragged and foreign to my own ears. I couldn't have stayed quiet if I’d tried. The dual sensation of his fingers crooking inside me, stroking that hidden place with devastating precision, and his tongue working my clit with relentless, rhythmic pressure was too much to bear. "He... oh god... he knows exactly what he's doing."
"He's relentless," Mina murmured, her voice husky with desire. I could hear the distinct sound of glass clinking against a coaster; she was shifting, unable to sit still. "Look at the control he has. Most boys would be rutting by now, but he’s taking his time. Savouring it."
My son didn't react to their commentary, save for a low, vibrating hum against my flesh that sent fresh jolts of electricity arcing through my nervous system. He was locked in, entirely focused on the task of unravelling me. He increased the pace of his fingers just slightly, a subtle adjustment that felt like turning up the dial on an electric current, while his lips sealed around my clit and sucked hard.
The dam broke. It wasn't a gentle tide but a violent, crashing wave that obliterated every thought in my head. My back bowed off the floor, a sharp, keening cry tearing from my throat as the orgasm slammed into me with the force of a freight train. My vision blurred, the expensive lights of the Tokyo skyline streaking into indistinguishable lines of colour, and for a moment, I was weightless, suspended in a void of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
He didn't stop. He rode me through it, his tongue flicking mercilessly against my over-sensitive clit while his fingers continued to curl inside me, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until I was a trembling, sobbing mess beneath him.
When he finally pulled away, the cool air rushing in to replace the heat of his mouth felt almost like a physical blow. I lay there gasping, my chest heaving, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Through the haze of my afterglow, I could hear the ragged breathing of my friends from the sofa, a collective sound of arousal that matched my own.
He rose slowly, towering over me like a colossus, his face glistening with my essence in the low light. It was an obscenely beautiful sight. He didn't immediately reach for his belt; instead, he looked down at me with that tranquil satisfaction, as if I were a canvas he had just finished painting.
"You know what to do," he urged me.
The command hung in the air, thick with authority and an unspoken challenge. My body, still humming with the residual tremors of my orgasm, moved on autopilot. I wanted to please him, to show these women—these beautiful, cynical women who thought they knew everything about pleasure—that what we had was something else entirely.
I pushed myself up from the floor, my muscles feeling like jelly, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins gave me strength. I knelt before him, reaching out with trembling fingers to the leather belt of his trousers. The buckle clinked softly in the quiet room, the sound sharp and distinct against the backdrop of heavy breathing.
I looked up at him, my eyes wide and submissive, seeking his approval. He gazed down at me, his expression unreadable but for the darkening of his blue eyes, which burned with a possessive fire. He didn't help me; he simply watched, letting me serve him, letting me put on the show he had demanded.
I undid the button with trembling fingers; the sound of the zipper sliding down seemed deafening in the hushed apartment. With a tug, I freed him, his erection springing forth to slap heavily against his abdomen. The sight of him never failed to steal my breath—thick, flushed, and angrily erect, the veins standing out in stark relief against the pale skin.
"Oh my," Nayeon whispered, the sound breaking the spell. "Sana... you weren't exaggerating. He's... magnificent."
I wrapped my hand around the base, savouring the familiar, velvety heat of him. He was steel encased in silk, throbbing in my grip. I leaned in, inhaling his scent—musk, sex, and that clean, unique smell that was purely him—before darting my tongue out to lap at the bead of precum glistening at the tip. He tasted salty and bitter, a flavour that made my mouth water and my core clench in desperate need.
I wrapped my lips around the head, sucking gently, swirling my tongue over the sensitive slit. A low hiss escaped him, his hand moving to the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, but he didn't force me down. He held me there, a grounding weight, letting me set the pace even though we both knew he was the one in control.
I took him deeper, relaxing my throat to accommodate his impressive girth, hollowing my cheeks as I bobbed my head. I could feel the eyes of my friends boring into us, their gaze a physical weight that only heightened the intensity. I wanted them to see. I wanted them to see how well I took him, how perfectly we fit together.
"Look at the enthusiasm," Tzuyu murmured, her voice thick with a rare, unguarded lust. "She really is insatiable, isn't she?"
"He's lucky to have found a match," Mina replied, her voice raspy. I heard the distinct clink of ice against glass as she took a desperate sip of her drink, as if she needed it to cool down. "Most men would have spent themselves by now. Look at him. He’s holding back."
The praise washed over me, mingling with the salty taste of him on my tongue. I redoubled my efforts, taking him deeper until the tip hit the back of my throat, suppressing the gag reflex through years of practice and sheer determination. I wanted to devour him whole, to prove that I was the only one who could handle him like this.
"Enough", he said suddenly, his voice tight with restrained effort. His hand in my hair tightened, not to hurt, but to still my movements. "I don't want to finish in your mouth. Not tonight."
The word was a command, sharp and absolute, cutting through the heavy, lust-charged air like a knife. I froze immediately, my lips still wrapped around the velvety head of his cock, my eyes darting upwards to meet his gaze. His jaw was set tight, a muscle fluttering beneath the skin, and his blue eyes were dark, swirling storms of need and dominance.
He pulled me up by my hair, not roughly, but with an insistent, guiding force that made me gasp as I was hauled to my feet. My legs felt shaky, weak from the orgasm that still hummed in my nerve endings, but he steadied me with a hand on my waist, spinning me around to face the sofa.
"Look at them," he murmured against my ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Look at your audience."
I blinked, the sudden reorientation of the room sending a fresh wave of dizziness through me. I was facing them now—the three women who had been my confidantes, my partners in crime, and now my voyeurs. Nayeon was leaning so far forward I thought she might tumble off the sofa, her eyes wide and glassy, darting between my face and the imposing figure looming behind me. Mina had abandoned all pretence of composure, her legs crossed tightly, a flush creeping down her neck. And Tzuyu... Tzuyu’s gaze was fixed on my son’s face with an almost frightening hunger.
"He really is magnificent, Sana," Tzuyu breathed, her voice barely carrying over the sound of her own ragged breathing. "I hope you appreciate what you have there."
"I do," I whimpered, the truth of it hitting me with the force of a physical blow. I appreciated every inch of him, every dark, possessive thought that crossed his mind.
I felt the heavy heat of him against my lower back, a stark reminder of what was to come. He didn't give me a moment to gather my scattered thoughts. With a firm hand between my shoulder blades, he guided me down, bending me over until my hands braced against the soft cushions of the sofa, right in front of Nayeon.
My face was inches from Nayeon’s knees. I could smell her perfume—sweet and cloying—and feel the radiant heat coming off her body. She was trembling, her eyes wide and locked onto mine, mirroring the shock and exhilaration coursing through my own system.
"Are you ready, Mum?" he asked, his voice a low, dark rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and straight into my very core.
"I was born ready, sweetheart," I breathed, arching my back to present myself to him, a wanton offering amidst the expensive decor. The position was humiliating and exhilarating all at once. I was bent double, my face inches from my best friend's lap, about to be taken by my son while the city lights watched indifferently through the glass.
I felt the blunt, heat-heavy head of his cock nudge against my entrance, slicking itself through my wetness. The anticipation was a sweet torture. Behind me, he was the picture of composure, but I could feel the tremor in his thighs where they brushed against the back of my legs. He was just as affected as I was, despite the mask.
"Look at me, Sana," Nayeon whispered, her voice trembling. She reached out, her hand hovering for a moment before she gently brushed a stray lock of hair from my face. Her eyes were swimming with a mix of shock and dark fascination. "I want to see your face when he... when he claims you."
"Then watch closely," he growled, the sound barely human, and then he drove forward.
The invasion was absolute. He didn't ease into it; he took me with a single, powerful thrust that seated him to the hilt, sheathing every inch of his hard length inside me. The force of it punched the air from my lungs, a ragged, silent scream tearing at my throat as my body stretched to accommodate him. My fingers dug into the expensive fabric of Nayeon’s sofa, knuckles turning white as I braced myself against the sudden, overwhelming fullness.
"Fuck!" I gasped, the word exploding from me as my head fell back, my eyes squeezing shut. It felt like he was splitting me open, a perfect, burning stretch that obliterated every thought in my head except for the sheer, blinding reality of him inside me.
It was a possession, pure and simple. He didn't wait for my body to adjust to the sudden, searing intrusion; he withdrew almost entirely, leaving me feeling achingly empty, before slamming back in with a force that made my teeth rattle. The sofa creaked in protest, a rhythmic accompaniment to the wet, obscene sound of our bodies colliding.
"Look at her face," he commanded, his voice a guttural growl that seemed to come from deep within his chest. One hand gripped my hip hard enough to bruise, anchoring me in place, while the other tangled in my hair, pulling my head back just enough to force my gaze upwards. "Don't look away. I want them to see who owns you."
My eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus through the haze of overwhelming sensation. Nayeon was right there, her face a mask of enraptured shock. Her lips were parted, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps that mirrored my own. She wasn't looking at him; she was looking at me, drinking in the expression of twisted ecstasy on my face as if it were the finest champagne.
"God, she's taking all of it," Mina murmured from her perch on the arm of the sofa, her voice sounding distant and warped, as if I were hearing it underwater. Her dark eyes were fixed on the point where our bodies joined, watching the ruthless, rhythmic thrusting with a clinical fascination that only heightened my shame. "Look at how she stretches around him. It’s... mesmerising."
"He’s ruining her for anyone else," Tzuyu added, her tone cool but laced with a thick, heavy heat. She hadn’t touched her drink since the performance began; her hands were resting on her knees, clenched into tight fists. "I’ve never seen anything like this. The power... it’s intoxicating."
I could feel the heat of their gazes like a physical weight, burning my skin, but the pleasure was a tidal wave that threatened to drown me completely. He was hitting a depth inside me a place that made my vision blur and my toes curl against the plush rug. The wet, slapping sound of skin against skin was obscene, echoing in the high-ceilinged room, but it was the sound of his ragged breathing, hot and heavy against my ear, that undid me.
The pressure inside me built to an unbearable crescendo, a tight coil of heat wound deep in my stomach that was ready to snap. Every thrust knocked a fresh cry from my lips, raw and unfiltered music to his ears. The stretch was exquisite, a burning fullness that made me feel possessed, owned, entirely at his mercy.
"Look at them, Mum," he gritted out, his rhythm never faltering, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the hushed room like a vulgar metronome. "We are giving them a show."
"They certainly can't say they didn't get their money's worth," I gasped out, my voice trembling with the force of his thrusts. I was vaguely aware that this night was costing Nayeon a fortune in champagne and booth fees, but the performance she was giving was worth infinitely more.
My fingers were clawing at the sofa cushion, knuckles white, as I tried to anchor myself against the onslaught of pleasure. He was pounding into me with a relentless, calculated rhythm, each stroke hitting that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids. I felt like a ragdoll in his hands, completely at his mercy, and I loved every second of it.
"She's beautiful like this," Tzuyu murmured, her voice sounding strained. She shifted closer, her eyes never leaving my face. "You've broken her, haven't you? Shattered that bubbly exterior and left her raw."
"She isn't broken," he corrected, his voice a smooth, dark velvet that cut through the ragged sounds of my breathing. He slowed his pace just fractionally, grinding his hips against my bottom in a way that made me see stars, emphasising his point. "She's free. Aren't you, Sana?"
I couldn't form words, only a high, broken whimper that spilt from my lips. He was right. In this moment, stripped of all pretence and social niceties, bent over before my closest friends with my son buried deep inside me, I had never felt more liberated. The bubbly, energetic mask I wore for the world was gone, leaving only the raw, burning need that defined us.
"Look at me," Nayeon breathed, her hand trembling as she reached out. She didn't touch me—she wouldn't dare, not without his permission—but her fingers hovered just inches from my flushed cheek, her eyes wide and glassy, reflecting the chaotic mix of shock and lust swirling in the room. "I've known you for years, Sana. I've seen you dance, I've seen you drink, I've seen you with men. But I've never seen you look like this."
"Like what?" I managed to choke out, my voice barely recognisable over the wet slap of flesh and the ragged gasps tearing from my throat. The question was a desperate attempt to maintain some shred of dignity, but it came out sounding wrecked and needy.
"Like you've finally found something real," Nayeon whispered, her eyes tracing the contours of my face as if memorising a map of ecstasy. "Like you're not pretending anymore."
It was the truth, and it cut deeper than his thrusts. I wasn't pretending to be the cool, experienced older woman nor the dutiful mother. I was just a vessel for pleasure, caught in a storm of my own making. My body was singing, every nerve ending firing in a symphony of sensation that threatened to short-circuit my brain. I could feel the sweat trickling down my spine, cooling in the air conditioning before being instantly reheated by the friction of his body against mine.
"Baby, I'm so close," I moaned. "Don't stop."
"I have no intention of stopping," he replied, his voice steady despite the ragged rhythm of his breathing. "I want to feel you fall apart around me."
His hand released my hair and snaked around my waist, finding my clit with unerring precision. The calloused pad of his thumb pressed down, circling the tight bundle of nerves in time with his thrusts. It was the final straw. The coil inside me snapped, releasing a tidal wave of pleasure that obliterated everything else.
The world didn't just shatter; it disintegrated. A white-hot supernova exploded behind my eyelids, wiping out the expensive apartment, the city lights below, and the three women watching my every move. My body seized, arching into a rigid bow as the orgasm ripped through me with the force of a tsunami. I screamed, a raw, guttural sound that was swallowed by the plush cushions of Nayeon’s sofa, my inner muscles clamping down around him like a vice, desperate to keep him inside, to milk him for everything he was worth.
"God, yes!" I sobbed, the words tumbling out incoherently as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over me, drowning me in ecstasy. My fingers tore at the fabric beneath me, my knuckles white, my entire existence narrowing down to the thick, hard length pulsing inside me and my thumb still rubbing ruthless circles against my oversensitive clit.
He didn't let up. He rode me through the storm, his thrusts becoming shallower, harder, driving into my convulsing body with a relentless precision that prolonged the agony until I was a trembling, gasping wreck. He was owning it, owning every second of my fall from grace, and the sheer power of it was intoxicating.
"Get on your back," he told me. "I don't want you to exhaust yourself on the sofa."
The command in his voice left no room for argument, though I doubt I could have formed a coherent sentence even if I’d tried. My legs were trembling violently, the aftershocks of my orgasm still rippling through my nervous system like electric shocks. He withdrew from me slowly, the sudden emptiness aching and profound, making me gasp at the loss.
He gripped my waist, steadying me as I slid down from the edge of the sofa onto the plush white rug. The fibres were soft against my overheated skin, a welcome contrast to the cool air of the room. I looked up at him, sprawled out on the floor like a sacrificial offering, my chest heaving and my skin slick with sweat. I felt utterly wrecked, exposed in the most primal way, yet as I looked into those tranquil blue eyes, I saw a reflection of myself that wasn't shameful but revered.
I manoeuvred myself onto my back, the movement slow and heavy, my limbs feeling like they were made of lead and honey. The rug beneath me was soft, caressing my shoulder blades, but it was nothing compared to the scorching heat of his gaze raking over my exposed body. I spread my legs instinctively, an open invitation, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. The city lights cast long, dancing shadows across his form as he loomed over me, a dark god against the glittering backdrop of Tokyo.
The audience on the sofa had gone eerily quiet, save for the ragged, synchronized sound of their breathing. They were leaning forward, a three-headed hydra of voyeuristic hunger, their eyes glued to the space between my thighs.
"He's... he's not done?" Nayeon whispered, her voice cracking slightly. She sounded almost frightened, but there was a feverish glint in her eyes that betrayed her arousal. "After that?"
"He has not come yet, Nayeon," I managed to pant out, a breathless, euphoric laugh bubbling in my chest as I looked up at the ceiling, the city lights spinning lazily above me."
My son ignored our words . His attention was entirely consumed by me, a heavy, palpable weight that pinned me to the floor more effectively than his body ever could. He settled between my spread thighs, the heat of his skin radiating against mine, searing me. He paused for a moment, his hands resting on either side of my head, framing my face, and simply looked at me. His blue eyes were dark, the pupils blown so wide they almost eclipsed the iris, swimming with a tumultuous mix of love, lust, and a fierce, terrifying pride.
"You look like a goddess," he murmured, the words spoken so softly they were almost lost in the quiet of the room. "My goddess."
Before I could respond—before I could preen or tease or even draw breath—he shifted his weight and sank into me. The return of his thick length inside my sensitive, convulsing channel forced a sharp cry from my lips. It was a tight fit, a stretch that burned so sweetly it bordered on pain, but I welcomed it. I needed it. I needed to be filled by him, to be completed by him, in front of the whole world if necessary.
"Is it too much, Mum?" he asked, his voice strained but still retaining that veneer of calm that he wore like armour. He held himself still, buried to the hilt, giving me a moment to adjust to the overwhelming intrusion.
"Never," I gasped, wrapping my legs around his waist, digging my heels into his lower back to pull him impossibly closer. The movement caused him to slide against that sensitive spot inside me, making us both groan. "I want all of you. Every inch."
He didn't need any further encouragement. He began to move again, a slow, deliberate grind that allowed me to feel every ridge, every vein of him. This position was different; it was more intimate, more exposing. I was completely splayed out, unable to hide a single reaction, and he was looming over me like a conqueror claiming his territory.
"A slow rhythm suits this," he murmured, more to himself than to the room. He lowered his weight onto his elbows, caging me in, bringing our faces so close that our noses brushed. The frantic, pounding pace from before was gone, replaced by a deep, rolling grind that felt impossibly intimate. In this position, I couldn't hide from him. I couldn't lose myself in the sensation; I had to feel every inch, every drag of his skin against mine, every deliberate rotation of his hips.
"Kiss me, baby", I breathed against his lips, my eyes fluttering shut. The need for connection, for that final anchor amidst the storm of sensation, was overwhelming. "Please."
He obliged me without hesitation, sealing his mouth over mine in a kiss that was slow, deep, and devastatingly tender. It was a stark contrast to the ruthless way he was fucking me, a duality that made my head spin. His tongue swept into my mouth, dominating the rhythm there just as he was dominating the rhythm between my thighs, tasting me, claiming me. The taste of him—mingled with the lingering scent of gin and perfume from the air—was intoxicating.
The intimacy of the position, the slow, deliberate drag of his hips, and the gentle sweep of his tongue were unravelling me in an entirely different way than before. This wasn't just about physical release; it was an emotional dismantling. I felt exposed, not just physically to my friends but spiritually to him. I was pouring my soul into his kiss, letting him see the raw, unfiltered need that drove me.
The kiss broke, leaving me gasping for air, my lips tingling and swollen. He didn't pull away far, just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath mingling with my own ragged exhalations. The slow, torturous rhythm of his hips never faltered, a relentless, deep grind that was stoking the fires of my arousal all over again, building something different this time—heavier, deeper.
He shifted slightly, rising up on his hands to change the angle, and the new depth made me cry out, my nails digging into the shoulders of his crisp white shirt. He hadn't even bothered to undress fully, and the sight of him—the buttons straining, the fabric dishevelled while he ruined me—only added to the illicit thrill.
"Look at them," he whispered against my lips, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my chest. He didn't break eye contact, forcing me to hold his gaze while he spoke. "Look at your friends. They are mesmerised."
I managed to tear my gaze away from his face, turning my head slightly towards the sofa. My neck felt weak, my body boneless, but the sight that greeted me sent a fresh jolt of electricity through my veins.
My friends were statues of frozen desire, their drinks forgotten in their hands. Mina was perched on the very edge of the cushion, her dark eyes wide and unblinking, fixed intently on the joining of our bodies. Nayeon had her hand pressed over her mouth, her cheeks burning a bright, feverish crimson, her bunny-like eyes shimmering with a mixture of shock and unmistakable arousal. Even Tzuyu, the cool and collected ice queen, looked unravelled. She was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, her gaze locked onto my face with a burning intensity that felt like a physical touch.
"Let's give them a proper finale," he proposed.
The word finale hung in the air like a promise, dark and sweet as molasses. He didn't give me time to wonder what he meant. With a strength that never ceased to thrill me, he gripped my waist and rolled us. The world spun—white ceiling, city lights, the shocked faces of my friends—until I was straddling him, my knees sinking into the plush rug on either side of his hips.
But he didn't let me settle astride him facing him. His hands guided my hips, turning me like a doll until my back was to his chest. It wasn't until he planted his feet flat on the floor and urged me to lean forward that I realised what he intended. This wasn't just cowgirl; this was reverse cowgirl, a position designed entirely for the benefit of our audience.
"Lean back," he commanded, his voice a low thrum against my spine. "I want them to see everything."
I obeyed instantly, bracing my hands on his thighs for leverage and arching my back until my heavy breasts were thrust towards the sofa. The angle shifted him inside me, hitting a spot so deep and sensitive that I saw stars. I was spread wide, completely on display, my slick, stretched centre inches away from the hungry gazes of Mina, Nayeon, and Tzuyu.
"God, look at that," Nayeon breathed, her voice barely a whisper. She had abandoned her drink entirely, her knuckles white as she gripped her knees. "You can see everything. I can see... I can see him inside you."
The obscenity of her words sent a jolt of pure electricity through me. I looked down at myself, at the place where we were joined, and saw what she meant. My folds were glossy and swollen, wrapped tightly around his thick shaft as it pistoned in and out of me. It was pornographic, intimate, and utterly mesmerising.
His hands gripped my hips, guiding me to move, and I didn't need to be told twice. I lifted myself, the friction of his withdrawal leaving me gasping, before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt. I set a brutal pace, riding him with a desperate, rhythmic need that was fuelled as much by the exhibitionism as by the physical pleasure. Every time I descended, the wet slap of our bodies echoed through the silent room, a vulgar metronome to the ragged breathing of our audience.
"You're taking it so deep, Sana," Mina murmured, her voice thick with arousal. She leaned in closer, her dark eyes fixed on the sight of my son's cock disappearing inside me. "Look at how you stretch around him. It's... it's art."
Art. The word floated through my hazy mind. It felt primal, beyond art, but the intensity in Mina’s gaze suggested she saw a beauty in this raw, filthy act. I looked at them, really looked at them. Nayeon was squirming, pressing her thighs together as if trying to alleviate an ache. Tzuyu’s eyes were blazing, tracking the movement of my breasts as they bounced with every thrust.
The rhythm I set was punishing, a frenetic bounce that had my thighs burning and my breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps. I was chasing something, a high that hovered just out of reach, a precipice I was desperate to throw myself off. The friction of him dragging against my inner walls was exquisite, a tight, hot coil winding tighter and tighter in my belly, but it wasn't enough. I needed more.
"Touch me," I cried out, throwing my head back against his shoulder, my damp hair sticking to my flushed skin. "Please, baby. Make me explode."
He didn't hesitate. One hand left my hip, sliding down through the slick sweat coating my stomach until his fingers found my clit. He didn't tease this time; he rubbed tight, fierce circles over the swollen nub, matching the relentless rhythm of my hips. The dual stimulation was electric, a shockwave that had my vision whitening out.
The pressure built with terrifying speed, a roaring tidal wave that obliterated every thought in my head. His fingers were a blur on my clit, ruthlessly exploiting that sensitive bundle of nerves while his cock hammered into that secret place inside me. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel the terrifyingly tight coil of pleasure winding in my abdomen, ready to snap.
"Don't hold back," he growled in my ear, his voice a dark command that cut through the haze. "Let them see what you really are."
It was too much. The visual of my friends watching, the feeling of being so incredibly full, the relentless circling of his thumb—it all converged into a single, blinding point of no return. I threw my head back, a silent scream tearing from my throat as my body seized up.
My vision shattered into a million fragments of white light. The world as I knew it ceased to exist; there was only the blinding, electric pulse originating from my core and radiating out to my extremities with the force of a supernova.
I wasn't just climaxing; I was detonating.
A guttural, animalistic cry tore from my throat, raw and unfiltered, as the dam broke. The coil inside me snapped with a violence that left me breathless, and then came the flood. It wasn't a metaphor. My body convulsed violently, arching away from his chest, and a sudden, sharp jet of fluid erupted from me, spraying out in a hot, clear arc towards the sofa.
I was vaguely aware of the shocked gasps that erupted from the sofa, followed immediately by the wet, splattering sound of my release hitting the coffee table and, judging by the startled cries from Mina and Nayeon, the front of their dresses. But I couldn't stop. The sensation was blinding, a torrential release that ripped a scream from my lungs and left me shaking uncontrollably.
The fluid sprayed in powerful, rhythmic pulses, drenching the expensive upholstery and my friends in a clear, glistening testament to the pleasure he was wringing from them. I watched through blurred, tear-filled eyes as Nayeon recoiled slightly, her hands flying up to shield her face, though her eyes remained wide and fixed on the source. Mina, ever the bold one, simply sat there, mouth agape, letting the liquid rain down on her chest, mesmerised by the sheer force of it.
But he didn't let me stop. He didn't give me a moment to come down from the high. Even as my body twitched and spasmed in the aftershocks, he kept his fingers working my clit, the stimulation almost agonising against my oversensitive flesh. His other hand held my hips down, impaling me on his length, refusing to let me retreat from the intensity.
He was relentless, a machine of singular purpose. Even as I convulsed, the aftershocks of that cataclysmic release still rippling through my limbs, he didn't pause. His hips continued to snap upwards, driving into that overly sensitive, spongy spot with an accuracy that was almost terrifying. The wet, slapping sound was louder now, obscene and squelching, fuelled by the slick warmth of my own climax.
"No... please, it's too much," I sobbed, my head lolling back against his shoulder, my body heavy and boneless in his grip. I felt like a ragdoll, entirely at his mercy, unable to do anything but take the punishing rhythm he dictated. The overstimulation was a sharp, biting pain that bled dangerously close to pleasure, blurring the lines until I didn't know where one ended and the other began.
"You can take it," he murmured against my ear, his voice a low, dark rumble that vibrated through my chest. "You're not done, Mum. Not until I have cum."
His words were a trigger. The moment he uttered that command, I felt the impossible happen. My body, which I thought had been drained dry, seemed to draw from a hidden, endless reservoir of arousal. The sensation shifted from agonising overstimulation to a rapidly climbing crescendo of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.
"I can't... I'm going to... again!" I screamed, my voice cracking as the coil tightened once more, impossibly fast.
He didn't let up. He jackhammered into me, his hips snapping upwards with a speed and force that stole the breath from my lungs, while his fingers tortured my clit with ruthless precision. The friction was indescribable, a blazing heat that seared me from the inside out.
The second peak didn't just arrive; it exploded with the force of a bomb. My entire body went rigid as a board, a silent scream tearing from my throat as the pressure inside me imploded. My inner muscles clamped down around him like a vice, desperate to milk him and to pull him deeper as the universe fractured apart.
Then, the dam broke again.
It was even more violent than the first. A torrent of clear, hot fluid erupted from me, a gushing wave that surged out with unstoppable force. I heard the liquid spray through the air, a sharp, hissing sound that was immediately followed by the wet slap of it hitting the women on the sofa.
The sound was wet and heavy, a distinct splattering as the arc of fluid sprayed across the short distance to the sofa. I watched, dazed and convulsing, as Nayeon let out a high-pitched squeal, throwing her hands up in a futile attempt to shield herself, but the sheer force of it drenched her front, soaking her blouse and leaving her dripping. Tzuyu, closest to the spray, didn't flinch away; she merely squeezed her eyes shut as the liquid hit her chest and face, her mouth open slightly as if catching rain, her composure shattering entirely.
I was a broken record, screaming as my body expelled wave after wave of liquid, a humiliating, liberating deluge that ruined Nayeon's pristine rug and soaked my friends to the bone. I was painting them with pleasure, marking them as witnesses to my absolute debasement.
"God! Sana!" Mina shrieked, though her voice was thick with awe rather than anger. She was wiping her face, but her eyes were glued to the spasming juncture of my thighs, watching the liquid gush out of me around his cock. "You're... you're soaking us!"
"Look at the mess you've made, Sana," Tzuyu breathed out, her voice ragged and utterly devoid of its usual composure. She wiped a glistening trail of fluid from her cheek with the back of her hand, her dark eyes wide and fixed on me with a terrifying intensity. "You've absolutely ruined us."
I couldn't answer. I couldn't do anything but tremble and gasp, my lungs burning for air that wouldn't seem to come. My body was still twitching in the throes of the most violent orgasm of my life, my inner muscles still fluttering weakly around the thick hardness buried deep inside me.
"Turn around," he whispered. "I need to see your face while I finish."
I didn't think I had the strength to move. My limbs felt like lead, heavy and uncooperative, but the dark authority in his voice cut through the fog of my exhaustion. With a soft, whimpering sob, I managed to lift myself off him, the sudden loss of his thick length leaving me feeling achingly empty and gaping.
I turned, my movements clumsy and graceless, swinging my leg over his hips to face him. The rug beneath me was soaked, a dark, damp testament to what had just transpired, but I didn't care. All I cared about was the boy looking up at me with eyes that burnt like blue fire. He was still fully dressed, his shirt sticking to his chest in patches of sweat and his trousers open just enough to free himself. The contrast between his composed attire and my utter ruin made my heart hammer against my ribs.
"Come here," he murmured, reaching out to grip my waist. He pulled me down, positioning me so that I was straddling his thighs, his angry, flushed erection standing proud between us, slick with my essence.
I didn't need to be told twice. I braced my hands on his chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart beneath the damp cotton, and lifted my hips. I sank onto him, the stretch familiar and welcome, taking him to the hilt in one fluid motion. We both groaned at the contact, a sound of relief and desperate need.
He began to pound into me, his hips snapping with a desperate, relentless rhythm that signalled his own end was near. He abandoned the slow, torturous grind for a frantic, seeking pace, driving into me with a force that rattled my teeth. The wet, squelching sounds of our coupling were obscene, echoing in the sudden, heavy silence of the room, louder than the distant hum of the city outside.
"You've been amazing, Mum," he gritted out, his voice barely recognisable, rough with strain and raw emotion. "Absolutely perfect."
"So have you, my love," I sobbed, overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity of his passion. I collapsed against his chest, burying my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of sweat and sex that clung to him like a second skin. I held on for dear life as he used my body, chasing his release with the single-minded focus that defined him.
The world narrowed down to the friction of our bodies and the ragged sound of our breathing. He was moving with a desperate, jagged rhythm, his hips snapping upwards to meet my downward rolls, driving himself impossibly deep. I could feel the swell of him inside me, the thick veins pulsing against my sensitive walls, signalling that he was hovering right on the edge.
"Look at me," he demanded, his voice cracking slightly on the words. He gripped my chin, forcing my head up so I had to meet those burning blue eyes. "I want to see you when I cum."
I locked eyes with him, my vision swimming with tears of overstimulation and overwhelming love. His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead, matting his brown hair to his skin. He looked beautiful, feral, and entirely mine. I clenched my inner muscles around him, rippling my walls along his length, trying to pull him over the precipice with me.
"Mum, I'm cumming," he whined, his voice cracking and losing all of that cool tranquillity he wore like armour. It was the sound of the boy, not the man, breaking through in the final moments of ecstasy.
"Let go, baby," I whispered, cupping his flushed face in my hands, my thumbs stroking his damp cheeks. "Fill me up. It’s yours."
With a raw, guttural groan that seemed to be wrenched from the very depths of his soul, he obeyed. His grip on my waist became bruisingly tight, anchoring me down as he buried himself to the hilt one last time. I felt him pulse inside me, a thick, hot throb that signalled the start of his release. His whole body stiffened, his back arching off the floor, and then he was flooding me with
The sensation was intense and intimate—a deep, scorching heat that spread through my core, claiming me in a way that went far beyond the physical. Rope after rope of his cum painted my insides, marking me, filling me until I could feel the slick warmth threatening to overflow. He cried out my name, a broken, desperate sound that was the sweetest thing I had ever heard, his eyes squeezing shut as the ecstasy overwhelmed him.
"Yes, baby, that's it," I crooned, pressing soft kisses against his damp forehead as he shuddered through the final throes of his release. "Every last drop. It’s all yours."
I held him close, my fingers combing through his sweat-slicked hair, offering comfort as the waves of pleasure subsided into a heavy, satiated languor. Inside me, I could feel the warmth of his essence, a glowing reminder of what we had just shared, a tangible claim that made me feel possessed most wonderfully. His grip on my waist slowly loosened, his fingers trailing idly over my spine as his breathing slowed, the frantic thumping of his heart against my chest gradually returning to its steady, tranquil rhythm.
For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were our ragged breaths mingling together and the distant, rhythmic hum of the city air conditioning. It was a bubble of peace amidst the chaos of the night, a quiet afterglow that felt sacred.
The bubble of peace, however, was destined to burst. As the fog of ecstasy began to lift, replaced by the cool clarity of the apartment's air conditioning, the reality of our surroundings crashed back in. The scent of sex and expensive gin was heavy in the air, mingling with the sharp, metallic tang of utter debauchery.
I slowly lifted my head from the crook of his neck, my muscles protesting the movement. I felt wrecked in the best possible way, a delicious ache radiating from my centre out to my fingertips. But as I shifted, I became acutely aware of the silence from the sofa—a silence that wasn't peaceful, but stunned.
I turned my head, my damp hair sticking to my cheek, and looked at my friends.
My gaze travelled over the scene, and I couldn't suppress the breathless, slightly hysterical giggle that bubbled up in my chest. It was a picture of utter devastation. The pristine white aesthetic of Nayeon’s apartment had been thoroughly violated.
Nayeon sat frozen, her expensive designer blouse soaked through, turning the sheer fabric transparent where it clung to her skin. Her blonde hair was plastered to her forehead in damp tendrils, and her mascara was beginning to run, giving her a smudgy, raccoon-like appearance. Mina was in a similar state, wiping her hand across her face in a daze, looking like a cat that had been caught in a downpour. And Tzuyu... Even Tzuyu, the unshakeable ice queen, looked thoroughly unravelled. Her cheek glistened with the evidence of my climax, and her dress was spotted with damp patches; her composure drowned in a literal wave of fluid.
"Well," I gasped out, my voice hoarse and wrecked, sounding miles away from the bubbly tone I usually adopted. "I guess we really made a splash, didn't we?"
The silence stretched, taut and trembling, before Nayeon let out a high-pitched, disbelieving laugh. She looked down at her drenched blouse, then up at me, her eyes wide and sparkling with a mix of shock and sheer, unadulterated awe.
"A splash?" she choked out, wiping a stray droplet from her chin. "Sana, you didn't just make a splash. You created a monsoon season in my living room. I’m going to need a squeegee to get this out of the carpet."
Mina shook her head slowly, droplets of fluid flying from her dark hair like a wet dog shaking itself dry. She ran a hand through her damp tresses, her feline eyes glued to where I still sat atop my son, our bodies still joined in the aftermath. "I've seen a lot of things in this city," she murmured, her voice husky and filled with genuine respect. "I've seen orgies that would make a porn star blush. But I have never... never seen anything like that. That was... biblical."
Tzuyu reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table, pulling out a handful and dabbing ineffectually at the sticky trail on her cheek. She didn't look angry, though; if anything, the cool, analytical mask had slipped entirely to reveal a woman deeply, thoroughly shaken.
"Biblical" is one word for it," Tzuyu said, her voice lacking its usual smooth polish, sounding slightly breathless. She tossed the used tissues onto the growing pile of debris on her pristine table. "I think the technical term is 'female ejaculation', but 'biblical' seems more appropriate given the volume." She paused, her dark eyes fixing on my son with an expression that was half-fear, half-worship. "You really broke the dam, didn't you?"
I felt a surge of possessive pride warm my chest, even as my cheeks burned with the remnants of shame. I leaned back, allowing my son to support my weight, feeling the sticky, slick heat between us where our bodies were still connected. The reality of what we’d done—the sheer, unadulterated depravity of it—was settling in, but instead of regret, I felt a strange, light-headed euphoria.
I glanced down at him, my chest swelling with an affection that was so fierce it almost hurt. He was recovering quickly, that tranquil mask slipping back into place over the boy who had just screamed my name in ecstasy. He looked up at me, his blue eyes clear and focused, though a faint blush still dusted his cheekbones—a charming reminder of his youth.
He gently helped me dismount, the separation leaving me achingly empty and a thick, warm trickle of his release escaping me, sliding down my inner thigh in sticky rivulets. The sensation was lewd, a clear reminder of his claim, and I made no move to hide it. Let them look. Let them see exactly who I belonged to.
As I scrambled to my feet, my knees wobbling like a newborn fawn, I felt the full extent of the mess I had made. The plush white rug was a disaster zone, a dark, sodden map of our debauchery. I looked back at my friends, expecting to see disgust, or at the very least, a plea to leave.
Instead, I was met with a tableau of dazed fascination. Nayeon was still dabbing at her wet blouse with a cocktail napkin, though the effort was entirely futile; the sheer fabric was plastered to her skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. Yet, she wasn’t looking at her clothes with annoyance. Her eyes were fixed on the slick warmth trickling down my inner thigh, her expression a mix of scientific curiosity and raw arousal.
"I think I need a shower," Tzuyu announced, breaking the heavy silence. She stood up slowly, her designer dress sticking to her in awkward places, but she carried herself with a regal sort of calmness. She looked down at us—my son, who was calmly tucking himself back into his trousers with that maddeningly serene demeanour, and me, standing naked and shivering in the centre of a vast wet patch. A slow, incredulous smile spread across her face. "That was... without a doubt, the most impressive thing I have ever witnessed. And I have seen the pyramids."
"I second the shower," Mina purred, rising with a feline grace that was slightly compromised by the squelch of her heels against the wet rug. She stepped closer to us, invading my personal space to press a soft, lingering kiss to my cheek. She smelled like gin, expensive perfume, and me. "You really are a lucky woman, Sana. To find a man who can do that... let alone one who looks like him." She turned her dark gaze to him, offering him a sultry wink. "You're welcome back anytime, knight. Just... maybe bring a tarp next time."
My son offered Mina a small, polite nod, accepting her teasing with that same unflappable calm he displayed when I handed him his maths homework. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied smoothly, reaching out to adjust the strap of my bra, which had slipped down my shoulder during the festivities. "Though, I suspect Sana prefers spontaneity over plastic sheets."
"Spontaneity is good," Nayeon groaned, finally abandoning her futile attempts to salvage her blouse. She peeled the wet fabric away from her skin with a sticky thwack, looking down at the damage with a mixture of horror and amusement. "But next time, let's be spontaneous in the shower. Or a tiled room. Somewhere with drainage."
"I'll call the cleaners," Tzuyu said, already pulling her phone from her clutch, her thumb flying across the screen. She paused, looking over the rim of the device at us, a genuine, appreciative smile curving her lips. "And don't worry about the rug, Sana. It was worth the price of admission. That was... a masterpiece."
"You'd better order some food as well," Nayeon chimed in, dropping the sodden cocktail napkin onto the table with a wet splat. She stretched her arms above her head, her joints popping audibly, a testament to the tension she had held while watching us. "I’m starving. Watching a performance like that works up an appetite."
My son, who had just finished buttoning his trousers and was now smoothing down the front of his shirt, looked at Nayeon with a polite tilt of his head. "What is on tonight's menu?"
"Something greasy and entirely inappropriate for this time of night," Nayeon declared, rubbing her stomach which gave a surprisingly loud, unladylike growl. "Pizza. The kind with extra cheese and pepperoni that clogs your arteries just by looking at it. We need comfort food after that... athletic display."
"Pizza sounds adequate", my son agreed, his tone suggesting he was discussing a diplomatic treaty rather than a takeaway order. He turned to me, his eyes scanning my body with a critical, assessing gaze. "But first, Mum, you need to clean up. You’re trembling."
I looked down at myself and realised he was right. My skin was prickling with gooseflesh, the rapid cooling of my sweat and the drying fluids making me shiver violently. I felt sticky, used, and utterly magnificent. I reached out for him, needing his grounding presence, and he immediately stepped into my embrace, wrapping his arms around my naked form and sharing his body heat.
He rubbed his hands up and down my arms, generating friction to warm my chilled skin, before pressing a kiss to my forehead that was filled with a tender, protective affection. It was a stark contrast to the raw, animalistic dominance he had displayed just moments ago, but that duality was what made him so intoxicating.
"I'll take care of you," he murmured against my skin, his breath warm and steadying. "Let's get you sorted."
He didn't seem to care that I was naked and sticky and that my friends were watching our every move with bated breath. He simply scooped me up into his arms, bridal style, with an effortless strength that made my head spin. I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him—sweat, sex, and that clean, comforting smell that was uniquely his.
"A gentleman to the last," Mina purred, her voice thick with admiration as she watched him carry me towards the hallway. "Don't be too long, you two. The pizza won't wait forever."
The bathroom was a sanctuary of white marble and polished chrome, a stark contrast to the sticky, chaotic wreckage of the living room. As he set me down on the cool tiled floor, the silence enveloped us, heavy and soothing. He didn't immediately turn on the water; instead, he stood behind me, his hands resting gently on my shoulders, his warmth seeping into my chilled skin.
"You were incredible," he murmured, his voice low and reverent, echoing off the tiled walls. "I've never seen you let go like that."
I leant back into him, closing my eyes as I felt the tension drain from my muscles. "I couldn't help it," I admitted softly, a shy smile tugging at my lips despite myself. "You made me feel... things I didn't know I could feel. And knowing they were watching..." I shivered again, but this time it wasn't from the cold. "It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once."
He turned me around gently, his expression softening as he cupped my face in his hands. His blue eyes, usually so tranquil and guarded, were swimming with a depth of emotion that made my breath hitch. He looked at me not as the sultry woman who had just performed for an audience but with the tender, protective gaze of the boy I had raised.
"They were terrified of you," he corrected, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Mina and Nayeon... they've seen everything, or so they thought. But tonight, you showed them a power they couldn't comprehend." He brushed a stray damp hair away from my forehead, his touch feather-light. "And Tzuyu... she respects strength above all else. You earned her worship tonight."
I felt a flush rise to my cheeks, a strange mixture of maternal pride and feminine satisfaction warming me from the inside out. "I just wanted to make you proud," I whispered, reaching up to cover his hand with mine.
"You always make me proud, Sana," he replied, his voice steady and sincere, stripping away the last of my lingering insecurities with a single sentence. "But tonight... tonight you were the protagonist of a story they won't ever forget."
With that, he reached past me, his arm brushing against my shoulder, and turned the chrome dial of the shower. The water hissed to life, cascading from the wide rainfall head in a steamy deluge that instantly began to fog up the glass enclosure. He checked the temperature with his hand, ensuring it was perfect before guiding me inside.
The feeling of the hot water hitting my skin was transcendent. It washed away the sticky, cooling evidence of our exertions, the fluids and sweat swirling down the drain at my feet. I stood under the spray, letting it soak my hair and run over my face, feeling myself slowly return to my body after being so thoroughly shattered apart.
He joined me a moment later, the small space instantly feeling warmer and more intimate with his presence. But unlike the frantic, needy coupling of moments ago, his touch now was purely utilitarian and tender. He reached for the expensive, jasmine-scented body wash that sat in a caddy on the wall and poured a generous amount into his palm.
"Tilt your head back," he instructed softly.
I obeyed, closing my eyes as he began to lather the soap into my hair. His fingers were strong, massaging my scalp with a slow, rhythmic pressure that made me hum with contentment. It felt so domestic, so strangely normal after the depravity we had just indulged in, that it brought a lump to my throat. This was the boy who needed help with his homework, now washing my hair with the care of a lover who had worshipped every inch of me.
He took his time, working his way through the tangles with a patience that belied his youth. The scent of jasmine filled the steamy air, replacing the musk of sex and gin that had clung to us like a second skin. I stood there, eyes closed, surrendering to the sensation of his fingers moving deftly against my scalp. It was a stark, beautiful contrast to the way his hands had gripped my hips only minutes ago—bruising, demanding, and possessive. Now, they were gentle, reverent almost, treating me as though I were something fragile and precious that needed to be pieced back together.
"Rinse", he murmured, guiding me gently under the spray.
I ducked my head, letting the hot water wash away the thick lather, the suds cascading down my back and over my curves before swirling into the drain. When I straightened up, wiping the water from my eyes, he was waiting with a face cloth soaked in more soapy lather.
He moved with a deliberate, unhurried grace, starting at my shoulders and working his way down. The cloth was warm and soft, gliding over my skin in soothing circles. He washed away the sweat and the lingering scent of the club, his touch attentive and thorough. There was nothing sexual in the way his hands roamed over my body now; it was purely an act of devotion, a silent acknowledgement that he had taken me to the brink of destruction and was now carefully putting me back together.
I watched his face through the steam, the droplets of water clinging to his long eyelashes. He looked so focused, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, as if cleaning me were the most important task in the world. It made my heart ache with a fierce, overwhelming love.
"You're staring," he murmured, not looking up from where he was gently scrubbing my arm.
"Can you blame me?" I replied softly, my voice echoing slightly in the tiled enclosure. "I'm just admiring the view. You're incredibly handsome, you know that? And to think, just a little while ago you were making a mess of me with those very hands."
He paused, his hand resting on my hip, and finally looked up. A small, knowing smile curved his lips, the water running in rivulets down his handsome face. "I think we established that the mess was mostly of your making, Mum. Though I suppose I acted as the catalyst."
He moved lower, his hand guiding the cloth over my stomach, washing away the sticky residue that had dried there. The touch was soothing and hypnotic, making my eyelids grow heavy. The heat of the shower, combined with his gentle ministrations, was lulling me into a state of blissful lethargy.
"And a very effective catalyst you were," I sighed, leaning into his touch as he ran the cloth down my thigh, careful around the sensitive skin. "I feel like I've been wrung out and put back together again. I don't think I've ever come that hard in my life."
He knelt before me, the water streaming over his shoulders and dampening his shirt, which he was still wearing, the wet fabric clinging to his torso. It was a surreal image—my fully dressed son, on his knees in a shower, bathing me with the devotion of a penitent monk. He washed my legs with meticulous care, lifting one foot and then the other to clean the soles, his grip firm and sure.
"You let go of all your inhibitions," he opined, looking up at me from beneath his wet lashes. "It was beautiful to watch. The way you surrendered to the pleasure... it was honest. Raw." He pressed a kiss to my knee, a chaste, tender gesture that contrasted sharply with the debauchery we had left outside. "The girls were right to be awestruck. You were magnetic."
I felt a blush rising, not from shame, but from the sheer intensity of his gaze. Even here, under the guise of caretaking, he was stripping me bare. "You make me feel safe enough to be raw," I whispered, running my fingers through his soaking wet hair, pushing the strands back from his forehead. "I know you'll catch me when I fall."
He stood up, water cascading down his clothed form, and squeezed a little more body wash into his hand. "Then I'll always be here to catch you." He reached around me, his hands gliding over my back, washing away the tension that had settled there. His fingers found the dip of my spine and traced it down, a soothing, repetitive motion that made me want to purr like a contented cat.
"Though", he continued, his tone shifting slightly, a hint of that dry, analytical wit creeping back in, "I suspect Tzuyu is currently calculating the fluid dynamics of what just occurred. She looked like she'd witnessed a miracle or a natural disaster."
"I think she witnessed both," I laughed, the sound echoing brightly off the wet tiles, finally feeling the last of the heavy tension in my chest dissolve. "A natural disaster of the very best kind. Did you see her face? I think I actually broke Tzuyu. The unshakeable ice queen, covered in... well, me."
"It was a look of scientific wonder," he agreed, his hands moving to wash my stomach, the cloth gentle against my sensitised skin. "Mina, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to join in. She has a voracious appetite, that one; I felt her eyes on me the entire time."
"Jealous?" I teased, arching a brow at him, though a familiar sharp pang of possessiveness pricked at me nonetheless.
"Perhaps a little," he admitted with a refreshing honesty that made my heart skip a beat. He didn't avert his gaze; he held mine steadily, the water plastering his brown hair to his forehead. "But not because I wanted her. It was more... overwhelming. Like standing too close to a fire. But you..." He stepped closer, the wet fabric of his shirt pressing against my bare skin, his hands settling on my waist. "You are the one who burns me, Mum. In a way that no one else ever could."
The possessive flutter in my chest settled into a warm, glowing hum. I reached up, undoing the buttons of his sodden shirt with clumsy fingers. The fabric was heavy and clinging, and I wanted to feel his skin against mine, not the barrier of wet cotton.
"Let's get this off you," I murmured, pushing the shirt down his shoulders. He obliged, shrugging out of it and letting it fall with a wet slap to the tiled floor. "You're overdressed for a shower, knight."
He offered no resistance, simply standing there with that tranquil patience as I revealed the body beneath the soaked fabric. The sight of him never failed to steal the breath from my lungs. He was lean and sculpted; the definition of his muscles cast in shadow by the dim lighting of the shower, water coursing down the lines of his chest and stomach in rivulets that traced the paths I had mapped with my tongue and hands a hundred times before.
"Better?" he asked, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as I ran my palms over his shoulders, feeling the warm, slick skin beneath my fingertips.
"Much", I murmured, stepping closer until our bodies were flush, the water cascading over us both. The contrast was thrilling—my soft, yielding curves pressed against his hard, firm planes. "Now you look like part of the ensemble."
I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him under the spray with me, letting the water saturate us both until we were drowning in the warmth. The scent of jasmine swirled around us, heady and sweet, masking the lingering traces of sweat and sex. I rested my forehead against his, the steam wrapping us in a private little world where nothing existed but the rhythm of our breathing and the steady beat of his heart against my chest.
"Do you think they'll ever look at me the same way again?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper over the rushing water. The thought had been niggling at the back of my mind—a tiny crack in the armour of my euphoria. I had just performed the most intimate act imaginable in front of them, crossing a line that could never be uncrossed.
He pulled back slightly, framing my face with his hands, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. "They will look at you with more respect," he said firmly, his blue eyes piercing through the mist. "Before tonight, to them, you were Sana—the bubbly, beautiful friend who loves a party. Now..." He paused, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. "Now, you are a force of nature. You showed them a side of yourself that is raw and real. People either fear that or worship it. With them? I suspect it will be the latter."
The thought settled over me, warm and comforting, like the steam filling the small glass cubicle. I believed him. He saw the world with such clarity, such terrifying precision, that his analysis was rarely wrong. If he said they would worship me, then they would. It was a heady power trip, one that rivalled the physical pleasure we had just indulged in.
"Worship", I repeated, testing the weight of the word on my tongue. I looked up at him, a playful glint returning to my eyes as the water continued to cascade over us. "I suppose I could get used to that, though I prefer being worshipped by you in... more practical ways."
He huffed a soft laugh, the sound vibrating against my chest where our bodies were pressed together. "I think I’ve demonstrated my capacity for practical worship quite thoroughly tonight. But", he added, his hands sliding down my back to rest on the curve of my bottom, squeezing gently, "I am always willing to reaffirm my devotion.”
We stayed like that for a while, locked together under the steaming spray, the water running over us in a rhythmic, soothing cascade. The conversation faded into a comfortable, heavy silence, the kind that only exists when two people are entirely in sync. I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart, feeling the tension of the night finally bleed out of my muscles, leaving me loose and languid. There was no need for words now; the washing had been an act of communion, a silent promise that despite the storm we had unleashed, we were grounded, we were whole, and we were together.
Eventually, the water began to cool, signalling that it was time to face the world again. He reached out, turning off the tap with a decisive click. The sudden silence was deafening for a moment, broken only by the drip, drip, drip of the residual water from the showerhead.
He stepped out first, grabbing two thick, fluffy white towels from the heated rail. He wrapped one around his waist, covering the lean, powerful lines of his body, before holding the other open for me. I stepped into his embrace, sighing contentedly as he wrapped the towel around me, tucking the corner in securely to keep the warmth trapped against my skin. He dried me with the same gentle attention he had washed me with, patting the water from my hair and smoothing the towel over my shoulders and arms, treating me like something precious he had just polished.
"I think that's sufficient," he murmured, stepping back to admire his handiwork, though his eyes lingered on the patch of skin exposed at my chest where the towel gaped slightly. "Unless you intend to prune?"
I laughed, shaking my head. "Heaven forbid. Wrinkles are the enemy." I quickly rubbed the towel over my legs and tucked it tighter around myself, revelling in the plush softness against my skin. "Robes?"
"Indeed", he opened the linen cupboard, retrieving two thick, white waffle-kimono robes. He helped me into mine first, guiding my arms through the sleeves and tying the sash around my waist with a tenderness that made my heart flutter. Once I was covered, he shrugged into his own, the white fabric contrasting starkly with his tanned skin and damp, dark hair. We looked like spa refugees, albeit ones who had just engaged in the most debauched activity imaginable.
"Ready to face the music?" he asked, offering me his arm with a courtly grace that made me want to giggle.
"As ready as I'll ever be," I replied, looping my arm through his and resting my head briefly against his damp shoulder. "Though I suspect the music has been replaced by the sound of chewing."
We walked back down the hallway, the plush carpet muffling our footsteps. The air outside the bathroom was cooler, carrying the rich, savoury aroma of melting cheese, pepperoni, and baked dough. It was a grounding, homely scent that clashed beautifully with the lingering memory of sex and expensive perfume.
When we emerged into the living room, the scene had transformed. The harsh, erotic tension that had saturated the air earlier had dissipated, replaced by a cosy, chaotic camaraderie. The lights had been dimmed, casting a warm, amber glow over the space, and the massive wet patch on the rug—which had looked like a crime scene minutes ago—had been tactfully covered by a throw blanket.
The girls were clustered around the coffee table, which was now cluttered with open pizza boxes and fresh glasses of soda and water. They were no longer the sleek, predatory observers of earlier; they looked like a group of friends having a sleepover, albeit in designer dresses that were slightly worse for wear.
"Look who's alive!" Nayeon announced through a mouthful of cheese, waving a half-eaten slice in the air. She was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, wearing a fluffy dressing gown she had clearly conjured from her bedroom, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. "We were about to send a search party or just eat all the pepperoni."
"Rescue accepted, but unnecessary", my son replied with that dry, tranquil wit of his, offering a polite nod to the group as he guided me towards the sofa. "Though I believe the pepperoni is safe with us."
Mina, who was reclined on the chaise longue with a slice of pizza poised daintily between her fingers, smirked as we approached. Her eyes, still holding that dark, predatory glint, swept over us. "You look positively glowing, Sana. Honestly, it's unfair. Most people look like death warmed up after... that level of cardio. You look like you've just had a month at a Swiss spa."
"It's all down to the excellent aftercare service," I teased, sinking gratefully onto the soft cushions. I kept the robe tight around me, relishing the feeling of cleanliness and warmth. My body felt heavy, used in the best possible way, a delicious ache lingering in my muscles that served as a constant reminder of what had transpired.
My son sat beside me, close enough that our thighs touched beneath the fabric of our robes. The contact was grounding, a silent reminder of the shift in our reality. He didn't reach for the food immediately; instead, he poured me a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, his movements precise and economical.
"You need to rehydrate," he declared quietly, pressing the cool glass into my hand. His blue eyes scanned my face with a clinical intensity that softened into affection. "Physiologically speaking, you lost a lot of fluids tonight."
I took the glass, fighting back a blush that had nothing to do with the heat of the room. "I think we established that rather spectacularly," I murmured, taking a long sip. The water was crisp and cold, exactly what I needed. I looked over at Tzuyu, who was sitting in the armchair, her legs tucked beneath her. She was watching us with that analytical gaze of hers, swirling a glass of soda thoughtfully.
"It is a matter of simple thermodynamics and biological limits," Tzuyu replied, her voice regaining its usual silky smooth cadence, though her eyes remained fixed on me with a new, unsettling intensity. She took a slow sip of her drink, condensation dripping onto her finger. "The human bladder shouldn't be capable of that volume without spontaneous rupture. I'm half-tempted to ask for a medical analysis."
I nearly choked on my water, spluttering slightly as I set the glass down. My son immediately reached out, his hand resting firmly and comfortingly on my lower back, rubbing small, soothing circles.
"I assure you, no medical intervention was required," he claimed calmly, his tone cutting through Tzuyu’s clinical curiosity with a polite finality. "It was merely a... intense release of tension. Perfectly natural, given the circumstances."
"Natural?" Tzuyu repeated, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. She set her glass down with a soft clink, her gaze drifting from my face to his, a flicker of genuine amusement breaking through her analytical veneer. "I've studied biology, sweetheart, and what happened out there was nothing short of a statistical anomaly – a delightful, terrifying anomaly." She picked up a slice of pizza, eyeing it with a sudden voraciousness. "But I suppose we can leave the scientific inquiry for another night; I'm starving."
"Please do", I replied, my voice regaining some of its usual bubbly strength as the food and water revitalised me. "I'm not sure my ego could survive a post-coital peer review of my... performance."
"Performance?" Mina laughed, a low, throaty sound, as she shifted on the chaise, making room for Nayeon to steal a crust from her box. "Sana, darling, that wasn't a performance. That was an exorcism. You were channelling something primal." She looked at my son, her eyes softening with a genuine warmth that caught me off guard. "And you... you have very steady hands for a boy of your age. You kept her safe."
"I'm her knight," he responded her. "It's my duty and outmost pleasure to keep her safe."
The table went quiet at that, save for the rhythmic crunch of Nayeon attacking her pizza crust. It wasn't an awkward silence, but rather a heavy, contemplative one, as if the title he had claimed so casually carried a weight none of us had anticipated. Mina paused, her slice halfway to her mouth, and looked at him with a new-found softness that stripped away her usual feline sarcasm.
"Her knight," she repeated, rolling the phrase around her mouth like a fine wine. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his where it rested on his knee. It wasn't a sexual advance this time, but a gesture of genuine respect. "You really mean that, don't you? It’s not just a roleplay thing for you."
"I take my responsibilities seriously," he replied, his voice low and calm, his blue eyes meeting hers without flinching. "And Sana is the most important responsibility I have.”
"Mina has a point, you know," Nayeon mused around a mouthful of spicy pepperoni, washing it down with a generous swig of soda. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes darting between us with a speculative gleam that I knew all too well. It was the look she gave a pair of shoes she wanted to borrow, or a holiday destination she was determined to drag us all to. "You can't hoard a treasure like that forever, Sana. It’s... greedy."
I froze, my hand hovering halfway to the pizza box. The air in the room shifted instantly, the cosy camaraderie cooling into something tenser, heavier. My son’s hand on my back stilled, his fingers pressing slightly more firmly against my spine—a silent signal of support, or perhaps a warning. I looked at Nayeon, expecting to see a joke in her bunny-like smile, but her expression was deadly serious.
"Don't look at me like I'm asking for your kidney," Nayeon laughed, though her eyes remained fixed on him with a hungry curiosity. "I'm just saying... an exclusive contract is so last season. Why not open the bidding? Think of the fun we could have."
"I'm not asking for a bidding war," Mina interjected smoothly, her voice like dark velvet. She had abandoned her pizza, her focus entirely on us. "I'm asking for a loan. A... private exhibition. One on one." She glanced at Tzuyu, then back to me, her feline gaze heavy with intent. "We saw how he handles you, Sana. We felt the energy in this room. We’re curious to know if that focus... that intensity... translates. Surely you can understand the scientific curiosity?"
"And the sheer boredom," Tzuyu added dryly, though her eyes betrayed her. She wasn't bored; she was fascinated. "We’ve exhausted the dating pool in Tokyo. It’s either boys who play games or men who want to buy us. He..." She gestured towards him with her pizza crust. "He is a paradox. I want to deconstruct him."
"He's not a puzzle to be solved, Tzuyu," I said, my voice sharper than I intended, the protective flare sparking instantly in my chest. "And he's certainly not a toy to be passed around like a novelty bottle of champagne."
I looked at them—my three best friends, the women I had shared clothes, secrets, and beds with for years. They were gorgeous, successful, and accustomed to getting what they wanted. But this wasn't a designer handbag or a table at a VIP club. This was him. My son. My knight.
The silence stretched, thick and tense, broken only by the low hum of the city air conditioning. I felt the weight of their gazes, hungry and expectant, and for a moment, I felt the old Sana—the bubbly, people-pleasing pushover—trying to resurface. But then I felt his hand shift on my back, his thumb stroking my spine with a steady, grounding rhythm. He wasn't panicking. He was waiting. Trusting me.
I looked down at him, really looked at him, expecting to see a flicker of panic or perhaps a burning desire to say 'yes' to three of the most beautiful women in Tokyo. But he was perfectly composed, his profile serene in the warm light of the room. He took a casual sip of his water, his Adam's apple bobbing gently, completely unbothered by the auction taking place over his head. If anything, he seemed faintly amused by the notion that he was a prize to be won.
He wasn't just a boy I was hiding away; he was a partner who had just held my hand through a hurricane of pleasure and come out the other side holding me up. The idea of sharing that—the depth of his focus, the way he made me feel safe and wildly exposed all at once—it wasn't an act of charity. It was an act of pride. I wanted them to know exactly what I had. I wanted them to understand the quality of the man—no, the male—I was raising.
But I wasn't about to send him into the lion's den alone. The very thought of Mina's sharp nails or Tzuyu's cool, dissecting gaze on him without me there to anchor him made my stomach twist with a nausea that had nothing to do with the champagne. I wasn't jealous of the pleasure; I was terrified of the disconnect. What we had was a symbiotic thing, a feedback loop of love and lust that required us both to function.
"You want to borrow him?" I repeated, my voice dropping to a murmur as I turned the idea over in my mind. It was a dangerous thought, volatile and thrilling, like playing with matches in a dry forest. I looked from Mina’s hungry gaze to Tzuyu’s clinical dissection, and finally to Nayeon’s eager, bouncing anticipation. They wanted a taste of the fire that had nearly burned the apartment down.
I looked down at my son again. He was watching me now, his blue eyes calm and clear, devoid of fear or objection. He was waiting for my lead, trusting my judgement with a faith that made my heart ache. He knew I was the gatekeeper. He knew that I held the keys to the kingdom.
I took a deep breath, the decision settling in my chest with a heavy, final kind of click. It was madness, absolute insanity, but as I looked at their faces—faces I loved as much as my own—I realised I didn't want to deny them anymore. I wanted to share my masterpiece. But on my terms.
I reached out, taking a slice of pizza from the box and biting into it without really tasting it, using the motion to buy myself a few seconds of thinking time. The cheese was hot and stringy, a mundane comfort against the wild, chaotic thrum of my thoughts.
"You want to know if he's as good as he looks," I stated finally, wiping my mouth with a napkin and meeting Mina’s eyes directly. "You want to see if that calm, tranquil demeanour cracks when he's inside you. If his hands are as steady when they're on someone else's skin."
"Well," Nayeon drawled, grinning unrepentantly. "When you put it that bluntly... yes. We’re only human, Sana. We just witnessed a religious experience. We want to know if we can get a ticket to heaven too."
I swallowed the rich, heavy cheese, washing it down with a gulp of water to clear my throat. The silence in the room was absolute, the kind that only happens when everyone is holding their breath, waiting for a verdict. I could feel the weight of their anticipation pressing against my skin, but more importantly, I could feel the steady, grounding warmth of my son beside me. He hadn’t flinched, hadn’t tensed; he was simply there, a solid pillar of support waiting for my command.
"I suppose," I began slowly, my voice gaining strength as I articulated the wild thought taking root in my mind, "I could be persuaded to share my... assets."
A collective exhale swept through the room, followed immediately by the sharp intake of breath that signalled victory. Nayeon actually pumped her fist, a childish gesture of delight that made me laugh despite the gravity of the situation.
"But," I continued, my voice hardening just enough to cut through their celebration, "there are conditions. Non-negotiable ones."
The smiles on their faces froze, hovering between delight and apprehension. I felt my son’s hand on my back give a gentle, reassuring squeeze, a silent acknowledgment that he was with me, whatever I decided. I looked at each of them in turn—Mina’s predatory intrigue, Nayeon’s wide-eyed eagerness, Tzuyu’s cool assessment—making sure they understood exactly what they were agreeing to.
"I'm not sending him off alone like a takeaway delivery," I stated firmly, picking up another piece of pizza and using it to gesture for emphasis. "If you want to experience what he has to offer, then you get both of us. We are a package deal."
"Both of you?" Nayeon repeated, her eyes going wide as she processed the caveat. She looked from me to him, and then back again, her brain clearly working overtime to calculate the logistics. "You mean... a threesome? Or a foursome? Or...?"
"I mean where he goes, I go," I clarified, taking a deliberate bite of my pizza to let the words sink in. I chewed slowly, watching the realisation dawn on their faces. "You want his focus? You get his mother watching him give it to you. You want his body? You have to deal with me directing the traffic. We are a unit, ladies. A symbiotic entity. You don't get to isolate the variable."
The silence that followed was heavy, charged with a sudden, electric tension. I half-expected them to laugh it off, to call me a clingy mother and demand the boy on his own. But instead, I watched the wheels turn. Mina’s dark eyes narrowed, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she visualised the scenario. Tzuyu’s analytical gaze shifted from him to me, her brow furrowing slightly as if running a complex simulation in her head. And Nayeon... Nayeon looked like all her Christmases had come at once.
"Deal," Nayeon breathed, the word escaping her lips like a prayer. She didn't even blink. "Absolutely, one hundred percent, deal. God, Sana, you really know how to negotiate. That sounds... infinitely better, actually."
Mina was slower to respond, her gaze shifting from me to him with a heavy, languorous curiosity. She took a sip of her drink, her dark eyes smouldering. "A package deal," she murmured, rolling the phrase around her mouth like a decadent chocolate. "I suppose it makes sense. You two operate on a frequency the rest of us can't quite hear. Separating you might dampen the signal."
"I concur," Tzuyu added, her analytical mask slipping just enough to reveal a flash of genuine excitement. She set her glass down with a decisive click. "It adds a layer of complexity that is... intriguing. And honestly, after tonight, I wouldn't trust anyone else to curate the experience. You have the artistic vision, Sana."
"I want you to be an active participant in what we are going to do, not just the architect behind it," my son opined.
I blinked, surprised by his sudden interruption. It wasn't like him to steer the conversation, especially when I was in the middle of laying down the law. I turned to look at him, finding his blue eyes fixed on the three women with a calm, predatory intensity that made the air in the room feel five degrees colder.
He took a slow sip of his water, his throat working, before placing the glass down on the coffee table with a deliberate clink. "Sana is protective," he asserted, his voice smooth and unruffled, cutting through the hum of the air conditioner. "And she has every right to be. But if we are to proceed with this... arrangement, I require an active partner in the room, not just a chaperone."
The three women stared at him, momentarily silenced by the quiet authority in his tone. It was the voice of the boy who had just commanded the room without raising his volume, the one who had held me while I shattered.
"You see," he continued, his gaze shifting from Tzuyu to Mina, and finally landing on Nayeon. "The connection we share is what gives me the capacity to perform as I do. If you want the experience Sana described, then you must accept that my focus relies on her presence as an active participant. I want her there, touching, guiding, and being touched. We feed off each other. Take away the interaction, and you're left with just a mechanic, not an artist."
The room was so silent you could have heard a pin drop, or more accurately, the distinct sound of three women simultaneously holding their breath. My son’s words hung in the air, heavy and charged, effectively shifting the dynamic from a business transaction to a collaborative art project. He wasn't just an asset to be leased; he was the conductor, and he was demanding his first violin.
I stared at him, a fresh wave of arousal mixing with a profound sense of pride. He hadn't just defended my presence; he had defined it. He was telling them that without me, the magic didn't exist. It was a validation so potent it made my chest tight.
"I think that's a fair point," Tzuyu said finally, her voice low and thoughtful. She looked at me, her eyes stripping away the last of my reservations until I felt naked under her gaze—more naked than I had been on the floor earlier. "And, if I'm being entirely honest, a more appealing proposition. Watching is stimulating, yes, but participation..." She trailed off, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, a gesture of pure, unadulterated hunger. "Participation is immersive.”
"You've made your case, knight," Tzuyu murmured, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face as she surveyed the four of us. She stood up, the movement fluid and graceful despite the lingering exhaustion in her limbs. "And I, for one, am ready to see where this... collaborative art... leads us. But that is a discussion for tomorrow. My brain is currently fried, and my bed is calling my name."
"Seconded," Nayeon groaned, practically rolling off the sofa in her exaggerated fatigue. She stretched her arms high above her head, her joints popping audibly, before padding towards the hallway on bare feet. "I love you all dearly, but if I don't get horizontal within the next five minutes, I might actually die. Sana, you know the drill—top and tail, or squeeze in the middle. Just... no more energetic gymnastics until I've had at least eight hours of REM sleep."
Mina rose with a languid stretch, her movements like a cat uncurling in a sunbeam. She offered us a mysterious, feline smile as she followed Nayeon. "Sweet dreams, you two. Try not to dream too... loudly."
The hallway to Nayeon’s bedroom was dimly lit, guided only by the soft amber glow of recessed floor lights. We walked in a loose procession, the silence broken only by the rustle of our robes and the soft thud of bare feet on the hardwood. My son’s hand was warm and steady at the small of my back, a constant anchor that kept me grounded as the adrenaline of the night finally began to ebb, leaving a heavy, pleasant lassitude in its wake.
Nayeon’s bedroom was as bold and vibrant as her personality—a sprawling space dominated by a massive king-sized bed piled high with velvet cushions and a faux-fur throw. The walls were painted a deep, moody plum, and the air smelled faintly of the vanilla candle she always kept burning on her nightstand.
It was a sanctuary, and right now, it looked like the most inviting place on earth.
"Left or right?" Nayeon mumbled, already halfway to burrowing beneath the duvet, her blonde hair fanning out across the dark pillowcases like spilled ink. "But don't you dare kick me. I have an early photoshoot tomorrow, and if I have bruises on my shins, Sana, I'm sending you the bill."
"Centre," I decided without hesitation, patting the expanse of mattress between us. "I need to be in the middle. It's... a strategic necessity."
The girls didn't argue, merely shifting with sleepy murmurs to create a space. Mina curled up on the edge, her breathing already slowing into the deep, rhythmic pattern of sleep, while Tzuyu lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression that suggested she was still running calculations in her head. I climbed in, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the lingering heat in my skin, and immediately felt the bed dip as my son slid in beside me.
He moved with a fluid grace, settling onto his back and immediately opening his arm in a silent invitation. I didn't hesitate; I shuffled closer, moulding myself against his side with a familiarity that felt as natural as breathing. I rested my head on his chest, right over the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart, and draped one leg across his thighs, tangling our limbs together beneath the heavy duvet.
"Is this comfortable?" he murmured, the vibration of his deep voice resonating through my cheek.
"Perfect," I sighed, closing my eyes as the lingering tension in my muscles finally began to unspool. The scent of him—clean skin, soap, and that underlying musk that was uniquely his—was the most soothing lullaby I could imagine. "You're my personal radiator now, sweetheart. Don't you dare go cold on me."
"No danger of that," he replied softly, his breath ruffling the hair on the top of my head. His arm tightened around my shoulders, pulling me impossibly closer until there was no space left between us, creating a warm, protected bubble amidst the soft tangle of limbs and expensive bedding. "I believe I generate sufficient thermal energy to keep you satisfied."
I let out a quiet, sleepy giggle, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck. "You certainly do. You’re like a furnace. A very handsome, surprisingly strong furnace."
Around us, the sounds of the apartment began to settle. Nayeon’s breathing had already deepened into a soft, rhythmic snuffle, completely dead to the world. I could hear Mina shifting restlessly for a moment on the far edge before she too stilled, and even Tzuyu seemed to have abandoned her calculations, her breathing slow and steady in the dim light.
"I never want to move from this spot," I whispered into the darkness, the confession spilling out of me unbidden. The safety of his embrace, combined with the physical and emotional exhaustion of the night, had stripped away my last defences. "Tonight was... a lot. But being here, like this... it feels right."
"Sleep now, Sana," he murmured, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, a benediction in the dark. "The world will still be there when we wake up."
And with the steady thrum of his heart beneath my ear and the scent of jasmine and sleep heavy in the air, I drifted off, feeling more loved and more secure than I ever had in my life. I was his Queen, and he was my Knight.
Eunbi gave them a slow, suggestive wave of her hand, inviting them to follow her toward the camp's main hangar. It was a vast space, roofed but open on the sides, where the air seemed to stagnate and the heat became suffocating. In the center, someone had already set up industrial speakers that emitted an electric hum, waiting for the signal. The soldiers walked behind her in a sort of hypnotic procession; no one spoke, only the coordinated sound of their boots and the heavy pants of those who could no longer fake their composure.
When Eunbi reached the center of the improvised space, she stopped and looked back. Her eyes scanned the mass of men surrounding her, forming a tight circle. They were so close that she could feel the heat radiating from their bodies—a wave of human temperature mixed with collective anxiety. With a fluid motion, Eunbi signaled the sound technician, and suddenly, music with a slow, heavy beat and deep bass began to rumble through the hangar walls. The sound wasn’t just heard; it was felt; the bass hit the soldiers' chests like a drum, syncing with their racing hearts.
Eunbi closed her eyes for a second, letting the rhythm possess her, and then she began to move.
At first, the dance seemed almost normal—professional and elegant—but in the context of that place, it became visual torture. Eunbi started with soft hip movements, swaying from side to side while keeping her shoulders relaxed. But what truly captured everyone's attention was the physics of her body. Every time she turned or made a sudden move, her tits—massive and heavy—bounced violently under the fabric of the dress. The deep neckline ensured that her flesh swayed in a hypnotic rhythm; the soldiers watched as her chest heaved up and down, the fabric stretching to the breaking point and then giving way, revealing flashes of white skin in desperate bursts.
"Fuck... look at that," one of the soldiers whispered, his voice completely broken and his throat dry. "They move on their own... it looks like they're about to jump right out. I can't stop looking... goddamn it, I can't breathe."
"Look at how she moves that ass..." another replied, his gaze locked onto Eunbi's backside as she slowly sank down into a squat. "That fabric is about to rip. If she keeps doing that, someone's going to lose their fucking mind right here."
Eunbi knew exactly what she was provoking. While she danced, she maintained aggressive eye contact with different men, casting glances loaded with playful lust. She slid across the floor, arching her back and pushing her tits forward, exposing them fully to the hungry gaze of the group. The movement was visceral; every shake of her body sent a signal straight to those men's primal instincts.
Sweat began to run down the soldiers' temples, dripping down their necks and soaking the collars of their uniforms. Their pupils were dilated to the max, consuming every inch of Eunbi's figure. The air in the hangar grew heavy, saturated with the smell of desire and desperation. Many of them had their hands clenched into fists, squeezing so hard that their knuckles turned white, fighting the animal urge to leap into the center of the circle and seize that swaying body.
Eunbi ramped up the intensity. She began moving her shoulders rapidly, making the bounce of her tits more frenetic—a rhythmic, wild movement that made the dress ride up and down dangerously. She put her hands behind her head, stretching her torso and exposing the tension of her belly and the sheer mass of her chest, letting out a small moan that blended with the bass of the music.
"Do you like it?" she asked in the middle of the dance, her voice sounding breathless and wet. "Do you like watching me move for you? I can feel how you're looking at me... I can feel your hunger from here."
She stopped abruptly, standing face-to-face with the group, her breathing heavy and her chest heaving violently. Her tits continued to sway slightly from the inertia of the movement, and a sheen of sweat began to cover her neck and the valley of her cleavage. The soldiers were on the verge of collapse; the sexual tension had reached a critical point where silence was no longer possible and gasps were the only thing filling the space between the notes of the music. Eunbi looked at them with a malicious smile, knowing she had them exactly where she wanted: broken, starving, and completely under her control.
The music shifted subtly; the rhythm became slower, denser, with a bass that seemed to vibrate directly in the men's bones. The air in the hangar was no longer just hot—it was suffocating, saturated by the ragged breathing of dozens of soldiers and the sweet scent of Eunbi's perfume mixing with the smell of stale sweat. She stood still for a moment, her chest heaving violently, observing the hunger in those men's eyes. She knew they had reached the limit; the tension was a string stretched to the breaking point.
Eunbi let out a low giggle, almost a purr, and slowly brought her hands to the shoulders of the dress. She didn't do it quickly; every movement was calculated to prolong the agony. Her fingers, long and delicate, began to slide the fabric down, inch by inch. The sound of the fabric rubbing against her white skin was almost audible over the thumping bass—a soft friction that made the soldiers hold their breath in unison.
"It's too hot in here, don't you think?" she whispered, casting a glance loaded with malice. "I feel like this dress is squeezing me... I feel like it's suffocating me."
As the dress slid far enough to let one of the straps drop, a collective gasp rippled through the circle of men. The white, smooth skin of her shoulder was exposed, shimmering with a fine layer of sweat that reflected the hangar's fluorescent lights. But the most devastating part happened next: as she lowered the fabric, the support of the dress gave way slightly, causing her massive tits to sway with a real and visceral weight. The soldiers saw the massive curve of her chest partially release from the fabric, revealing an obscene amount of white flesh struggling not to jump out completely.
"Fuck!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, unable to contain himself. "Look at that... it's all coming out. Dammit, I'm going to go crazy!"
"Keep going... just take it off already..." another pleaded in a broken whisper, his gaze locked on the valley between her breasts, where sweat formed small droplets that slid slowly down the skin.
Eunbi ignored the pleas, enjoying the absolute power she held over them. She moved slightly backward, arching her back while sliding the dress further down, allowing the garment to fall to her waist in a slow, fluid motion. The dress didn't disappear entirely, but it hung precariously, leaving the upper part of her torso exposed.
What appeared under the hangar lights was a vision that made several soldiers let out a guttural sound (glup). Eunbi was wearing a tiny bikini, a piece of fabric so small it was an insult. The top was barely a strip of material attempting—unsuccessfully—to contain the massiveness of her tits. Flesh overflowed from the top, the sides, and underneath; her breasts were so large that the bikini looked like a joke, a mere suggestion of clothing that left almost everything in sight. One could see the tension of the fabric stretching to the limit, marking the aggressive roundness of her chest and hinting at the pressure of her nipples against the thin material.
Eunbi placed her hands on the sides of the bikini, squeezing the fabric slightly to lift her tits even higher, projecting them forward like two mountains of white, soft flesh. The men were in shock; some had their mouths open, others closed their eyes for a second only to snap them open again, unable to process the magnitude of what they were seeing. Shame had completely vanished, replaced by an animal and voracious hunger.
"Is this what you wanted to see?" she asked, her voice wet and provocative, while swaying her shoulders to make her tits bounce softly under the bikini. "I wonder if it's enough... or if you're still hungry."
The silence that followed was dense, charged with a sexual electricity that made the air spark. The soldiers were no longer a military formation; they were a group of desperate men, veins in their necks dilated and breathing erratic, staring at that exposed body as if it were the most forbidden feast in the world. The tension in their pants had reached an unbearable point, and Eunbi, aware of this, gave them a predatory smile before preparing for her next move.
Eunbi stayed silent for a moment, enjoying the image of the men around her; they were like hungry dogs waiting to be let off the leash. Her eyes scanned the circle, stopping at the trembling hands of some and the way others bit their lower lips to avoid letting out a scream. The dress still hung dangerously around her waist, an insignificant barrier that only served to increase the agony of those present.
With excruciating slowness, Eunbi brought her hands back to the fabric of the dress. She didn't just let it drop; she began to slide it down inch by inch, making the fabric rub against the skin of her hips with a soft sound that seemed to rumble in the hangar's silence. The soldiers were hypnotized, their gazes locked on the line where the fabric separated from her body. They could see the dress sliding slowly down the curve of her white, smooth thighs, revealing skin shimmering with sweat under the white ceiling lights.
When the garment finally hit the floor with a dull thud, leaving Eunbi completely exposed in her tiny bikini, the air in the hangar seemed to vanish instantly.
If the top was an insult, the bottom was a direct and aggressive provocation. She wore a thong that barely existed; a ridiculously thin strip of fabric that sank deeply into the crack of her ass, disappearing between her massive, round cheeks. The bikini covered nothing; it simply accentuated the obscene roundness of her hips and left almost all of her white skin bare. The string of the bikini dug into her sides, creating a small ridge in the flesh of her thighs that made the men want to sink their fingers right there.
The silence was broken by a collective sound—a mix of gasps and heavy exhales filling the space. The youngest recruit let out a muffled moan and had to lean against the wall to keep from falling; his legs shook violently and his breathing was so erratic it looked like he was having a panic attack, though what he felt was absolute sensory overload.
"Holy fucking shit...!" one of the soldiers exclaimed, his voice broken and hoarse. "Look at that ass... fuck, it's huge... it can't be real. Look how the string sinks in!"
"I'm tripping out..." another muttered, his gaze fixed on the curve of her hips, sliding down toward where the bikini barely managed to cover her most intimate area. "Fuck it all, I can't take this anymore. Someone has to touch her now, fuck, my cock is about to explode in my pants."
Eunbi, far from being intimidated by the growing aggression of the comments, let out a playful giggle and took a step back, turning slowly on her heels to face away from the group. She made a deliberate move: she arched her back, pushing her ass backward and making the thong tension even further, sinking deeply into her flesh. The rhythmic sway of her heavy, firm cheeks caused several soldiers to make a guttural sound (glup), swallowing hard as their pupils dilated until they almost covered the entire iris.
"Do you like my clothes?" she asked, looking over her shoulder with an expression loaded with lust. "I think it's a bit small... don't you? I feel like it'll rip at any moment if someone pulls it hard."
The atmosphere had shifted drastically. Military shame and respect had been incinerated by the fire of animal desire. The men were no longer in formation; some had unconsciously stepped forward, breaking the circle to get closer to her. Their faces were distorted, veins in their necks dilated from blood pressure and sweat soaking their uniforms.
Eunbi turned back toward them, her chest heaving violently, making her tits bounce under the small strip of the bikini. She placed a hand on her thigh, sliding her fingers slowly upward, approaching the edge of the bottom fabric dangerously.
"I see you're not shy anymore," she whispered, her voice now hoarser, wetter. "I see you're hungry. And I... I love it when you're hungry. I wonder who among you will be the first to stop looking and start touching."
The challenge hung in the air, dense and electric. The limit had been crossed; the psychological barrier had completely broken. The soldiers were no longer disciplined men; they were predators who had just seen their prey offer herself voluntarily, and the hunger in their eyes was so visceral it could almost be touched. The sexual tension had reached its breaking point: only one movement, one signal, was needed for carnal chaos to erupt in the middle of the hangar.
The silence that followed Eunbi's words was dense, almost solid, interrupted only by the sound of the men's ragged breathing and the electric hum of the speakers. The air was so charged with desire it seemed to vibrate. The soldiers were in a trance, their gazes locked on her, but none dared to take the first step; it was that last vestige of military discipline fighting against the animal tide pushing them forward.
Eunbi, enjoying the agony of those men, decided she had played enough with their minds. It was time to break the physical barrier.
With a predatory gaze, she scanned the circle until her eyes locked onto the youngest recruit—the one who had been trembling since the moment she stepped out of the car. The boy was pale, his lips dry and his eyes wide, totally overwhelmed by Eunbi's presence. She let out a malicious smile and extended her hand toward him, making a slow gesture for him to approach.
"You... come here," she ordered, her voice no longer just playful but imperative, loaded with a sexual authority that left no room for doubt.
The youth took clumsy steps, almost tripping over his own boots. When he reached her, the smell of vanilla and female skin hit him like a sledgehammer, leaving him breathless. Eunbi looked at him from bottom to top, analyzing the tension in his neck and the way his hands shook violently at his sides.
"You're afraid..." she whispered, moving so close that the heat of their bodies merged. "I love it when you're afraid. It means you know exactly what you have in front of you and you don't know if you can handle it."
Without giving him time to respond, Eunbi took the recruit's right hand firmly. Her fingers were soft but strong, and she guided him directly toward her own chest. There was no subtlety; Eunbi slammed the palm of the boy's hand against one of her tits, sinking it deeply into the mass of white, soft flesh that the tiny bikini barely managed to contain.
The recruit let out a muffled moan, a guttural sound from deep in his throat (glup), while his eyes dilated to the max. The impact was visceral. The sensation of warm, wet, elastic skin under his hand, combined with the massive bounce of the tit against his palm, caused a cerebral short circuit. For a second, the boy froze, fearing this was a dream or that someone would punish him for touching a woman like this.
"Don't just stand there stunned, idiot," Eunbi hissed in his ear, her voice now raw and loaded with dirty talk. "Squeeze... squeeze my tits hard. I want to feel you mash my flesh with your calloused hands. Use your hand, fuck, make me feel like you're a man and not a scared child."
The command was the trigger. The recruit, driven by an animal need he could no longer control, closed his fingers over Eunbi's chest, squeezing with desperate force. He let out a grunt as he felt the softness and firmness of that body, the way the tit overflowed between his fingers, escaping the bikini. Eunbi let out a loud gasp, arching her back and closing her eyes, enjoying the roughness of the contact.
Around them, the rest of the soldiers exploded. Seeing the recruit touching her was the signal they were waiting for. The barrier of modesty shattered into a thousand pieces. Several men stepped forward, surrounding them, with hungry gazes and erratic breathing. Some began to shout dirty words, urging the boy not to be selfish, while others simply gasped, watching as the recruit's fingers sank into Eunbi's white flesh.
"Do it harder!" one of the veterans shouted, his voice broken. "Look how her nipples are marking through that fucking fabric! Take that bikini off her now, fuck!"
Eunbi opened her eyes and looked at the group with an expression of absolute lust. She felt excited by the aggression of the environment, by the smell of masculine sweat that now completely enveloped her. With a quick movement, she reached for the knots of the bikini. First, she untied the strap of the top with a sharp tug.
The fabric snapped, instantly releasing her massive tits. The visual impact was devastating; her breasts dropped with real weight, swaying violently before settling, exposing her erect, pink nipples under the hangar lights. The men let out a collective shout—a mix of awe and animal desire. But Eunbi didn't stop there. With the same speed, she slid her fingers down and untied the thong that had been sinking into her ass.
The bikini fell to the floor like an insignificant piece of trash. Eunbi stood completely naked before them, exposed in every inch. Her massive tits, her flat belly damp with sweat, and her intimate area, fully uncovered, were on display for everyone. Silence returned for a moment, but it was an electric silence—the calm before the animals lunged at their prey.
"There's no more clothes..." Eunbi whispered, looking at the men with a predatory smile while her nipples vibrated from the cold and excitation. "I'm ready now. Now... come and get what you want."
The hangar became a pressure cooker that finally exploded. It wasn't a chaotic or disorganized attack, but a slow, heavy tide of masculine bodies closing the circle around Eunbi, suffocating any empty space. The air became dense, saturated by the smell of testosterone, stale sweat, and the growing humidity of arousal. Eunbi was in the center, naked and glorious, feeling the temperature of the place rise several degrees just from the proximity of so many men burning with desire.
The first contact was like an electric shock. Several hands, calloused and rough, lunged at her simultaneously. One soldier grabbed her tits with desperate force, sinking his fingers into the soft, heavy flesh, while another positioned himself behind her, squeezing her ass with a pressure that left instant red marks on her white skin. The contrast was brutal: Eunbi's extreme softness against the roughness of the military uniform and the hardened hands of hard labor.
"Fuck, she's so soft!" one of the men groaned, his voice sounding like it had sand in its throat. "Her tits are like pillows... look how they overflow between my fingers. I can't believe this is real!"
Eunbi let out a long, wet moan, throwing her head back as she felt the group claim her. There was no trace of fear in her; on the contrary, her pupils were dilated and her breathing erratic, enjoying the sensation of being consumed by that animal hunger. She felt the soldiers' tongues roaming her neck and shoulders, leaving trails of hot saliva that shimmered under the fluorescent lights.
"That's it..." she whispered, her voice hoarse and loaded with lust. "Use me... make me feel how much you've wanted me these past months. Don't stop now..."
Eunbi decided it was time to lower the level of the game. With a fluid movement, while feeling hands continue to knead her tits and others explore the crack of her ass, she slid downward. She let herself drop onto her knees slowly, ending up in a submissive yet dominant position, right in front of the soldier who had been the most anxious throughout the encounter.
The man was paralyzed, looking down at the most desired woman in the camp kneeling before him. Eunbi looked him straight in the eyes, a gaze loaded with dirty promises, and brought her hands to the waistband of the soldier's pants. The sound of the zipper going down was like a gunshot in the hangar's silence; a metallic noise announcing the start of true degradation.
When the soldier's cock sprang out of the pants, hard as a rock and throbbing, Eunbi let out a sigh of satisfaction. She could see the dilated veins running along the member, the tip already wet from accumulated arousal. The smell of musk and sex filled her nostrils, triggering her own lubrication. Without warning, Eunbi opened her mouth and wrapped the head of the member with a slow, sucking motion.
Glup.
The sound was wet and visceral. The soldier let out a muffled cry, arching his back and closing his eyes tight as he felt the suffocating heat of Eunbi's throat enveloping him. She was in no rush; she began to suck with rhythm, lowering her head to swallow as much as possible, making her cheeks sink and the sound of the vacuum resonate in the hangar.
Plok, glup.
Every time she descended, the sound of saliva mixing with hot skin was obscene. Eunbi used her tongue to lick the base and the frenulum, moving with an expert technique that had the man on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The soldier began to pant violently, his hands instinctively descending toward Eunbi's hair, not to push her away, but to press her head deeper against his crotch.
"Oh God... fuck!" the man moaned, his voice breaking. "It's so hot... her mouth is a fucking fire! Keep going, keep going, dammit!"
Around them, the other soldiers were in a frenzy. Some masturbated openly while observing the scene, others pressed against Eunbi, touching her tits and her ass while she remained concentrated on the oral act. The atmosphere was a chaotic mix of sounds: the hoarse pants of the men, the wet noise of Eunbi's mouth (plok), and the constant rub of sweaty skin against uniform fabric.
Eunbi looked up for a second, the cock still between her lips and a string of saliva connecting her corner of the mouth with the tip of the member. Her eyes glowed with absolute malice; she knew she had pushed them to the limit and there was no turning back. She was turning the hangar into a temple of flesh and fluids, where military discipline had completely surrendered to animal lust.
Eunbi felt the soldier reaching his limit; the man trembled violently, and his hands gripped her hair with almost painful force. Just before he exploded in her mouth, Eunbi pulled away with a slow, deliberate movement, leaving a thick string of saliva connecting her lips to the throbbing tip of the member. The soldier let out a grunt of frustration and desire, an animal sound that resonated in the tense silence of the hangar. He couldn't take it anymore; the hunger accumulated for months had transformed into a blind urgency that could only be satiated by penetration.
Without a word, the man grabbed Eunbi by the shoulders and turned her brusquely, forcing her to lean on her hands and knees on the cold floor of the hangar. The position left Eunbi's ass projected upward—a massive white curve that seemed to invite assault. The thong was gone; now only naked, wet skin remained, shimmering under the fluorescent lights.
"Enough games..." the soldier grunted, his voice sounding like a tear. "I'm going to go crazy if I don't get inside you right now."
Eunbi let out a hoarse gasp, arching her back and pushing her cheeks backward, seeking contact. She could feel the man's hot breath against her skin and the smell of sex and sweat emanating from him. The soldier wasted no more time; he positioned himself behind her, and with a firm, dry movement, guided his cock toward Eunbi's entrance.
The first thrust was slow but deep.
Eunbi let out a muffled scream—a mix of pain and extreme pleasure that filled the space. She felt how the flesh stretched to the limit to make room for the thick, hard member, a visceral sensation of fullness that made her shiver from her fingertips to the base of her spine. The soldier let out a long sigh, closing his eyes as he felt the suffocating heat and tight humidity of Eunbi's interior enveloping him completely.
When he finally entered all the way, both froze for a second, allowing their bodies to adjust to the intensity of the encounter. But the calm was short-lived. Animal instinct took command and the rhythm began to accelerate.
Clap.
The sound was dry and loud; the collision of the soldier's balls against Eunbi's ass resonated in the hangar like a gunshot.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
As the rhythm became more frenetic, the noise of flesh colliding became constant and obscene. It was a rhythmic, visceral sound that marked the beat of desire. Eunbi was completely surrendered; her head hung low, her hands gripping the cold floor while her massive tits swung violently with every thrust, bouncing against the concrete in a chaotic and exciting movement.
"Fuck, you're so tight!" the soldier shouted, his voice broken by arousal. "I feel how you're sucking me in!"
Eunbi couldn't articulate coherent words; she only emitted wet moans and erratic gasps. She felt every inch of the member hitting her internal walls, a hot friction that was taking her to the edge of the abyss. But the most visceral part was the sensation of the other men around her. While the first soldier hammered her from behind, the others didn't just watch.
Two soldiers positioned themselves at her sides, grabbing her tits with brute force, squeezing and molding them while she screamed from the pleasure. Another man knelt in front of her, forcing her to look at him while he licked her lips and whispered dirty words in her ear, describing exactly what was happening behind her.
"Look how that ass rattles..." one of them muttered, observing Eunbi's white skin turning red from the constant impact of the collision (clap).
Sweat began to rain over them; the mix of fluids and heat created a lubricating layer that made the bodies slide against each other. The veins in the neck of the soldier penetrating her were dilated to the max, his muscles tense as steel cables while he pushed with desperate violence. Eunbi felt her world reduce to that sound of colliding flesh and the massive pressure filling her belly.
The tension reached a critical point. The rhythm became so fast that the clap turned into a continuous hum of skin against skin. Eunbi felt an electric shock run through her nerves, a violent muscular contraction that made her arch her back to the limit. She was about to break, and the man behind her was too. The hangar was no longer a place of discipline; it was a nest of throbbing flesh, sweat, and animal lust where the only language was the noise of raw sex.
The sound of the impact was deafening in the hangar; every thrust from the soldier translated into a dry, violent clap that resonated against the metal walls, an animal rhythm that synced with the desperate gasps of the men surrounding her. But while the cock hammered her from behind, the visual center of attention remained her tits.
Because of the position—leaning on her hands and knees—gravity caused her breasts to hang heavily toward the floor. With every brutal blow she received in the ass, her tits jumped with obscene violence, bouncing up and down like two mountains of white flesh that knew no rest. The movement was hypnotic; the mass of her chest swayed from left to right, bouncing against her own torso and swinging with a real weight that made the observing soldiers lose their minds.
The two men flanking her were no longer content with caressing her; they had moved to a phase of brute possession. Their hands, large and calloused, sank into Eunbi's flesh with aggressive force. One of them grabbed one of her tits and squeezed it so powerfully that the flesh overflowed between his fingers, distorting the roundness of the breast as he pulled it downward. The other did the same with the other, kneading them like clay, sinking fingers into the softness of her white skin until leaving red marks that contrasted violently with her pale tone.
Eunbi let out a gut-wrenching scream, but it wasn't pain; it was the scream of a woman being consumed by the purest and most degrading desire. She turned her head toward the men crushing her chest and, with eyes clouded by lust and mouth open, began to speak dirty, her voice sounding hoarse, wet, and completely broken.
"Yes... fuck! Keep doing that!" she shouted, while a particularly strong thrust made her arch her back. "Mash my tits! Squeeze them until it hurts, you animals! I love feeling your filthy hands distorting my chest while this idiot breaks my ass from behind... keep going, don't stop!"
Her words acted like gasoline on a fire. The soldier penetrating her let out a roar and increased the speed, making the claps so fast they became a continuous hum of flesh hitting flesh. Eunbi felt her body was a war zone; the constant rub of sweaty skin, the massive pressure in her chest, and the burning friction inside her were taking her to the limit.
"Look at my tits!" she exclaimed, panting violently as she saw her own breasts bouncing frantically with every blow. "Look how they jump for you! Don't you want to feel them? Come and lick my nipples while you fuck me! I want to feel all your tongues on my tits right now!"
At the command, another soldier lunged forward and wrapped one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking with voracious force. Eunbi let out a sharp moan that turned into a scream when she felt the pull of the nipple coordinated with the deep impact of the cock in her belly. The contrast was brutal: the vacuum of the suction on her chest and the massive pressure in her sex.
"Yes... like that... fuck!" she gasped, saliva running from the corner of her lips. "Take me all! Don't leave a single inch of my skin unmarked. I want to wake up tomorrow and feel that every one of you left their mark on my body. Harder, dammit! Push me harder against the floor while you bite my tits!"
The hangar was saturated. The smell of sex was so dense it could be tasted; a mix of vaginal fluids, pre-cum, and masculine sweat. The soldiers were out of their minds, their faces distorted by a hunger that no longer had a brake. The veins in their necks were dilated to the max and their breaths were short, erratic gasps.
Eunbi was at the epicenter of the chaos, feeling her body become an instrument of collective pleasure. Her tits continued to oscillate violently, jumping under the hands and mouths of the men, while the rhythm of penetration reached a point of no return. Every clap was now a promise that the final explosion was only seconds away, and Eunbi, with her raw language and her bouncing breasts, pushed them all toward the abyss.
The hangar had become an echo chamber for the crudest lust; the sound of the clap, clap, clap was so rhythmic and violent it seemed like industrial machinery running at maximum power. Eunbi was in a state of absolute ecstasy, her face pressed against the cold cement while her body was shaken by thrusts that threatened to disassemble her. But the most striking part remained her tits: they were two white and heavy masses that, due to the speed of the rhythm, no longer just bounced but swayed in a chaotic frenzy, hitting her own torso and jumping up and down with visceral force.
The soldiers flanking her were out of control. There were no more caresses; only possessive and brutal grips. One of them had both hands buried in her breasts, squeezing them with such fury that the flesh overflowed between his fingers, molding her tits into grotesque and exciting shapes while shaking them to the rhythm of the thrusts. The other soldier had pressed himself against her, licking the sweat from her back and biting her shoulders, while his hands slid down to squeeze her ass, coordinating the pressure with every blow the man behind her delivered.
Eunbi let out a scream that tore through the air, a wet and prolonged sound that ended in a hoarse gasp. With eyes bloodshot from pleasure and mouth open, she began to spit dirty words, her voice sounding as if it were being torn apart by excitation itself.
"Yes... fuck! Feel how I open up for you!" she screamed, while an especially deep thrust made her arch her back and let out a sharp moan. "Look at my tits, you filthy pigs! Look how they jump while you break me inside! They're so big you can't stop looking at them, right?! Tell me you want to lick every drop of sweat from my nipples right now!"
The man penetrating her let out a guttural roar, the veins in his neck dilating to the limit and his face distorted by effort. His hands clamped onto Eunbi's hips, leaving deep red marks on the white skin, while he accelerated the rhythm to an inhuman speed. The sound of the impact (clap) became a continuous hum; there was no longer any space between one blow and another.
"I'm going to cum... fuck, I'm going to cum in you!" the soldier roared, his voice sounding like a wounded animal.
Eunbi felt the internal pressure reaching the breaking point. Her vaginal muscles contracted violently around the member, sucking it with desperate force. In that moment, Eunbi turned her head toward the men crushing her chest and let out one last command loaded with degrading lust.
"Now! Make my head explode! Fill me with everything! I want to feel your hot milk on my skin, on my tits, on my face! Don't hold anything back, you animals, empty yourselves inside and all over me!"
That was the final trigger. The soldier behind her let out a visceral scream and sank in to the root one last time, tensing every muscle of his body while firing thick, hot jets deep into Eunbi's belly. At the same time, the other soldiers, who had been on the edge of the abyss, collapsed in a collective orgasm.
The hangar filled with violent gasps and broken moans as white, viscous milk began to rain over Eunbi. Some fired against her back, others over her cheeks, but most focused on her tits. Hot jets impacted the white, taut skin of her breasts, sliding down the massive curves and filling the deep valley between them, creating an obscene contrast between the whiteness of her flesh and the viscosity of the masculine fluid.
Eunbi collapsed onto the floor, trembling violently, lungs burning and body covered in a shimmering layer of sweat and semen. Her tits continued to sway slightly from inertia, now stained and glistening under the hangar lights. She lay there, panting, feeling the weight of the men collapsing around her, exhausted and empty, while silence slowly returned to the place, broken only by the sound of erratic breathing and the dripping of fluids on the cold concrete.
The silence that fell over the hangar was so abrupt it felt painful, as if someone had cut the power with a single blow. No trace remained of the frenetic rhythm or the animal screams; there was only the heavy, erratic sound of dozens of lungs fighting to recover oxygen. The air remained thick, saturated by that metallic smell of sex, sweat, and fluids that had become the very atmosphere of the place.
Eunbi remained slumped on the cold cement for several minutes, her face resting on an arm and her eyes fixed on an oil stain on the floor. Her body trembled in residual spasms—small electric jolts running down her spine. She felt the weight of her own exhaustion, but also a dark and visceral satisfaction. She was completely naked, exposed and marked; she felt the viscosity of the semen cooling slowly on her skin, creating a sticky film that clung to her curves.
The most evident part were her tits. Those massive breasts, which had been the center of the storm, now rested against the floor, flattened by their own weight. They were glistening, covered in thick white streaks that slid down the sides and accumulated in the deep valley between them. Some drops still slid slowly toward her nipples, which remained erect and sensitive to the brush of the cold hangar air. Eunbi let out a long, wet sigh, feeling the adrenaline fade and give way to a strange melancholy—that post-orgasmic void that feels like a hole in the chest.
Around her, the soldiers were shadows of what they had been ten minutes ago. There was no more aggression or hunger; only defeat remained. They sat or lay on the floor, gazes lost and breathing heavy. Some stared at their own hands, surprised by the brutality with which they had touched that body, while others simply closed their eyes, overwhelmed by the sensory discharge that had just broken their psyche. Military discipline had died in that hangar; they had been reduced to their most primal state, and now, the return to reality was a blunt blow.
"Fuck..." one of them whispered, his voice completely empty, almost without air. "What the hell just happened?"
No one answered. Silence was the only possible response. It was a silence charged with a dull guilt and infinite admiration. They had been possessed by her as much as they had tried to possess her.
Slowly, Eunbi began to pull herself up. The sound of her skin peeling away from the damp cement produced a visceral noise that made several soldiers look up at her. She sat back on her heels, letting her tits sway softly with the movement, scattering the drops of semen still clinging to them. There was no trace of shame in her gaze; on the contrary, she observed them with a predatory calm, like someone looking over a battlefield after winning the war.
She brought a finger to the corner of her lips, picked up a remnant of saliva and fluid, and licked it slowly while maintaining eye contact with the youngest recruit, who was still trembling in a corner. The boy couldn't hold her gaze; he lowered his head, feeling small, forever marked by that encounter.
"Looks like you've recovered your morale," Eunbi said, her voice returning to silk, though now with a hint of satisfied exhaustion. "I hope this 'gift' is enough for you to endure the rest of your service without going crazy."
She stood up with a slow elegance, allowing the fluids to slide down her thighs and fall to the floor in thick drops. She was in no rush to cover herself; she enjoyed the way the men looked at her—a mix of residual hunger and almost religious respect. She knew she was leaving, but she left behind something far more permanent than physical pleasure: she had left them a psychological scar. From that moment on, every time those men closed their eyes or felt the rub of their uniforms, they would remember the weight of her tits, the smell of vanilla mixed with sex, and the feeling of having been completely dominated by one woman.
Eunbi walked toward where her dress lay, picking it up from the floor with a nonchalant gesture. As she slid the garment over her body, hiding the stained and shimmering skin, she cast one last look at the group of defeated men. A small smile played on her red lips before she turned and walked toward the exit, leaving behind a hangar that smelled of sin and a lust they would never again experience with the same intensity.
“Is this the right place?” You looked around and expected a lot of people studying in the hallway, but there were none, not even a hint of them.
“W-w-wait… I swear I saw it says quiz bee in the application— what the fuck is a squeeze bee!?”
You stand in front of a classroom door, and the signage says “Squeeze Bee!”
“What the fuck is this— should I back away?” You hesitated for a moment.
The place looked shady; it wasn’t as crowded as it used to be until a student entered the room. She looked smart, with her glasses and the tidiness of her uniform.
“Hmm? So, it must be really a quiz bee…” Your hesitation disappeared when she saw her enter the room
“Yep, I should go in. It’s almost time already.” You opened the door.
What you saw is another surprise for you.
“W-w-wha…”
They’re like angels, a horde of women who radiate beauty and exude elegance.
Your body stiffened, and you’re stuck on the door. The room’s arranged into six clusters. The other four were already occupied, and there’s an open cluster left for you, alone. What’s worse is that the space left was in the middle.
You walked your way into it. Dozens of eyes stared at you; well, you knew why: it’s because you’re the only guy in the room.
“What the fuck is this? Did I really join the right quiz bee?” You thought, sitting down and trying your best to ignore those gazing eyes. You even set your bag and prepare your pen.
“What are you doing?” The girl you saw earlier asked you while pointing at the pen.
“I’m preparing a pen… this is a quiz bee, right?” You’re confused about why she even asked you something so obvious.
“Yeah, this is a squeeze bee.” She tilts her head as if you’re the weird one.
“Pen in squeeze bee…” You heard a mutter.
What’s wrong with the pen? It’s a quiz. And you need it to answer.
“Ruka, we use pen too, penis.”
“Kghh- Excuse me???” You were drinking from your tumbler when you choked up upon hearing it.
You decided to leave. You stood up, and the door suddenly opened.
A woman who wore formal clothes comes in. You already knew that she’s the quizmaster. She looked mature and intelligent; you’ll definitely learn from her.
“Okay, sit down.” She walked all the way to the podium and tapped it to gain attention.
The girls sit on their respective chairs with their cluster. It feels awkward since you just noticed that every group had four members, and you’re alone.
“...”
You were still standing, and all of their eyes were on you.
“I— uhhh, I’m sorry, ma’am, but is this the right room for the—- Bam! –quiz bee?” A pile of books fell to the ground when you were speaking. The girl caused it and immediately apologized.
“Squeeze? Yes, right.” The quizmaster responds.
“What? Squeez— anyway, she still said that I’m right, better sit down and get ready. I’ll top this batch and go home with a medal on my neck—” You sat down when you heard a chain clinking,
“Ryujin bought a leash.” The tall woman is slapping her seatmate, whose name is supposed to be Ryujin.
“We’ll leash the reward back to our den.” Ryujin is swinging the leash like a lasso.
“Put that away.” The quiz master scolds Ryujin.
“Yes, ma–”
“AW!” The leash hit the head of her groupmate, who had these cute, smiling eyes.
The other group laughs at their comedic show, but you can’t help but worry. You asked yourself repeatedly, why the fuck do they need a leash for a quiz bee? Is there a practical exam? If there is, then you’re fucked up; you’re not physically ready for the practical exam.
“Okay, let’s get started— are you alone?” The quizmaster asked you.
“Y-y-yes, I didn’t know this was a group competition.” You responded, scratching the back of your head.
“Competition?”
“Did he just say competition?”
“Is this his first time? Omo, virgin.”
“No way… is he the prize?”
Their whispering is too loud; you can hear them clearly.
“What the fuck does being a virgin do with this!? And why have I become the prize!? Is this their new way of intimidating other contestants? If it is, then it’s fucking working.” You kept wiggling in your seat; it’s so uncomfortable.
“Quiet. Okay, let me introduce myself first. I’m Kim Taeyeon, your squeezemaster.” She lightly bowed. All of you clapped after it.
“...”
“Seriously, what’s with the squeeze thing?” You don’t know anymore; you just wanted to top the quiz and add it to your academic accomplishments.
“Okay, introduce yourself.” She gestured the start on her very right.
The first group is with Ryujin, the girl with the leash.
“Hello! We are the best when it comes to thighs… we are here for COMPE-THIGH-TION!” They introduced themselves in unison,
“I’m Ryujin. I’ll squeeze your face with my thighs since it’s a squeeze bee!”
“I’m Yujin; my legs are long, so you’ll enjoy my thighs more!”
“I’m Jiheon. Imagine wrapping my thighs around your neck, then you’ll look up to find my very cute face.”
“I’m Arin. I’ll let you do anything you want with my thighs. All thigh, all night!”
“What the actual fuck?” That’s it, all you can say.
They’re all pointing at you. What the fuck did you do? You don’t want thighs; that’s what you thought.
“Wow.” Quizmaster Taeyeon clapped.
“They looked like they were from thighland or something.” A girl from the other group remarked.
“Then, next group.” The quiz master gestured to the group next to them.
“Ehem.” The next group stood up— holy mother of milk.
“Let us introduce ourselves; we’re on the next level when it comes to tits! And we’re here for the COMPE-TITS-TION!” They shouted in sync. Looks like introducing themselves in cheering is a thing.
“I’m Karina! The biggest of all, I’ll squeeze you with my tits whenever, wherever, however you like!”
“I’m Eunbi, the real biggest among us! I’ll suck you in between my tits, you like that?”
“I’m Jihyo! I’ll kill you good with my tits! Squeeze it once, squeeze it TWICE! Just squeeze it!”
“I’m Yel! You can’t run, and I’ll let you burn with the heat of my tits!”
“Okay, that’s really something else; that’s absurd— why the fuck do they keep shaking their tits. It’s jiggly– no! I should focus on the quiz!” You shook your head. Those melons looked so good, especially since you felt a little summer heat for a moment.
“Hey, why are you still insisting you’re the biggest among us?”
“Because I am!”
Karina and Eunbi argued, bumpers colliding. Why the fuck are they fighting if they’re the same team?
“Wow, looked more massive than the thigh group.” Quizmaster clapped and kept praising them.
“Tch. All they had was milkers, tits are tits.” Yujin scoffed.
“And thighs are thighs.” Karina shot back, showing Yujin that she had thighs as well.
“Oh my…” You blushed and tried your best not to look at it, but it’s too good.
“Okay, next group.” The quizmaster points at you.
“...”
“...”
“...”
“Huh? Me?” Shit, right, you’re sitting in the middle of them.
“Uhhh, I’m just here for the quiz bee competition…” You said, and silence followed after it. You didn’t prepare anything, since why the fuck would you prepare an introduction like that?
“...”
“Next group.” Quizmaster instantly switched to the other group on your side.
“Hello! Girls, stand up.” They stood up and raised their top, showcasing bricks, buns, rocks— fucking abs.
“We’re the tightest among the mightiest tight! We’re here for the COMPE-TIGHT-TION!” There it goes, the unison cheering effect.
“I’m Seulgi, look at my midriff… You want to touch it?”
“I’m Saerom! Captain of the tights! I’ll let you put your face on my belly, and I’ll squeeze you with a curl-up.”
“I’m Yuna.” She stopped for a moment. You thought it was over, but she took an ice cream out and smeared a little on her belly, “Want some ice cream?”
“I’m Wonyoung, count my abs… one, two… eight.”
“What. the. Fuck.” That’s the most absurd thing you've encountered among the strangest things that happened today. But the day’s still early; there’s absolutely a bigger surprise.
“Where the fuck did that ice cream come from!? And her abs are actually eight!? Your head hurts.
“Wow, but Yuna, food’s not allowed.” The quizmaster scolds her.
Yuna smiled and suddenly went in front of you with her tiny, cute walk.
“Lick it.” She points at the ice cream on her midriff.
“...”
“HUH!?!??” You attempted to stand, but your shoulders were stopped by her slender hand. She’s fucking strong for you.
“I said lick it, Squeezemaster said foods not allowed. A point will deduct on you if you don’t finish your food.” You point at the ice cream.
“B-b-but.”
“It’s minus 10 points.” The quizmaster said.
“Wait! Why am I the one who’s getting deducted!? I’m not the one who smeared the ice cream in the first place?” You looked at the quizmaster for consideration since it’s all nonsense.
“That’s the rules.” She taps the podium
“But—”
“Omo, it’s dripping; lick it already.” Yuna kept tiny hopping in front of you.
The licking and the ice cream weren’t the only problems here. The location of the ice cream is somewhere off to the side, below her navel, and it dripped almost at the top of her skirt.
“Shit.”
You licked it from the bottom and slid your tongue upwards. It’s hella smooth, maybe because of the ice cream?
“AHHHNGg~” Yuna moaned.
“OHHHHHH!” The other girls wowed at the background as if they were watching some animals at the zoo. Well, what you did is somehow animalistic.
“Thanks!” Yuna hopped her way back to their group.
“I should have brought ice cream too and smeared it all over my thighs,” Ryujin muttered at the side.
“Let’s ask Jiheon to buy some,” Yujin responds, tapping Jiheon on her back.
“The squeezemaster said no food.” Jiheon turned them down while applying lotion to her thighs.
“...”
“Should I continue?” You asked yourself, but your body wants to stay.
“Next group— oh, the Japan team.” The squeezemaster moved on to the next group; thankfully, you avoided the point deduction.
“Konichiwa! We’re from Japan, and we’re here for the CUM-PETITION!” They’re in sync as well with a matching polite bow.
“Okay… they might be the most decent ones.” As you thought.
“I’m Kazuha, the most flexible among us. I can drink his cum, whatever position I’m in!”
“I’m Rei, cum anywhere you want, even in my heart!”
“I’m Sakura! Cum over.”
“I’m Tsuki! GingcumMincumYo!”
“No… no… they’re not descent— gingcummincu— is that Japanese!?” You face-palmed. This is definitely not a quiz bee.
“Wow, that’s something!” The quizmaster commended them.
“Ohhh, Japanese! Yamete~” Someone moaned.
“Who the fuck was that!?” You looked over, and it’s Yujin. It’s from the thigh team again. They’re the noisiest among the groups.
“Okay, last group— a mixed?” The quizmaster gestured for the last group to introduce themselves.
“No, we’re not NMIXX.” One of them spoke.
“I– uhh, hello! We don’t really have any specific strength… uhhh, but we’re monsters! We’re here for the CHOOM-PETITION!” They’re stuttering— how the fuck even they’re stuttering introduction on sync, you’re losing your already lost sanity.
“I’m Ahyeon! You can also call me Ahhngg-Yum!”
“I’m Ruka! I’ll be the next squeezemaster!”
“I’m Asa! Look at my ass— assa!”
“I’m Pharita; I’m the real Thai.” She looked mockingly at the thigh group.
“Wow… interesting!” The squeezemaster clapped again.
That’s it, all of the cum–choom–competits—thigh–tight—competitors.
“Now that we already know each other's competitors and what they are fighting for—Let’s the SQUEEZE BEE begin!”
The quiz master opened the quiz.
“Whooo!”
“Assa!”
“Let’s goooo!”
“Fucking hell.” Of course, you’re the one who said it.
“Okay, okay. For each group, please select the member to participate that you guys think fits the description very well.” The quizmaster announced the rules.
There’s already a problem for you. While others nodded, you shook your head.
You’re alone.
“M-m-ma’am, how about me?”
“Why? You want some ice cream again?” Yuna butts in.
“No!” You turned her down, though there’s a part of you want to taste the vanilla creamy— shit.
“You’re alone, so you had to participate in the quiz all by yourself.” The quizmaster cleared it for you.
“Okay, understood.” You nod.
“Ice cream?” Yuna whispered to you.
“No.” Turned her down again.
“There are a total of eight questions! So each one of you had the chance to answer twice, except the guy over there, who had to answer eight times.” The quizmaster resumed announcing the rules.
“Eight abs…” Wonyoung muttered.
`````````````````
“If everything’s clear, then let’s head for the first question. The participant to answer the question must be the tallest in the group!
COMPE-THIGH-TOR:
“Shit, disqualified already.” Ryujin slammed her desk.
“Whooo~” Yujin stood up and went in front of her group.
COMPE-TITS-TOR:
“Who? Who?” Eunbi was asking her groupmates as if she still had the chance.
“Who else? It’s Titan Yel.”
“Stop, it sounds like Titan gel.” Yel slapped Karina’s arm.
COMPE-TIGHT-TOR:
“It must be Wonyoung.” Seulgi and Saerom look unamused,
“Hmm, a few centimeters more.” Yuna tiptoeing to match Wonyoung’s height.
“Okay!” Wonyoung stood up and went in front of her group as well.
CUM-PETITOR:
“Is it Rei?” Kazuha gasped.
“How in the world?” Tsuki looks like she thought she was the tallest among them.
“You’re 170cm!? Wow… she looks tiny since she looked so cute.” Sakura praised Rei’s cuteness.
“Hehe.” Rei just giggled. Okay, that’s also cute for you.
CHOOM-PETITOR:
“Wait a minute!” They are asking for more time. They’re measuring themselves.
“Chottomate!” They’re standing side by side, their heights like an old phone signal.
“Okay.” Ruka steps in front.
“....”
There must be an error, but surprisingly, the quizmaster let her in.
“Okay! All decided, question number one!” There it goes, the first question.
They’re giggling and playing around, but you're tense and nervous. You’re taking this way too seriously.
“What do you think the kind of girl that a man likes?”
COMPE-THIGH-TOR:
“Thighs! Girls with thick thighs, of course!” Yujin slapped her thighs; it echoed through the room.
COMPE-TITS-TOR:
“Tits! Girl with big tits! Round and squishy!” Yel played with her breasts; she had already unbuttoned the top two buttons of her uniform.
COMPE-TIGHT-TOR:
“Tight pussy! A girl like me with a tight pussy! The grip of it can make them feel heaven.” Wonyoung raised her top to show her tight midriff again.
CUM-PETITOR:
“Uhhh, face? They can cum on my face anytime.” Rei’s just happy to be there; she’s way too cute to have cum on her face.
CHOOM-PETITOR:
“A girl with uhhh, primal sex skills?” Ruka’s embarrassed with her own answer, and even her own groupmates face-palmed.
“Uhhh, a girl with a personality?” You answered the question, though it’s not academically related. You just wanted to win.
“...”
“Personality is correct!” The quizmaster gave you a point.
“Yes!” You punched the air, one point in, more points to go.
The quizmaster didn’t explain why your answer was right, but what matters is that you’re right.
“It’s not thighs? Argh.” Yujin can’t hide her frustration.
“Phew, I thought I got it for a second,” Yel said.
“Hey, your answer is tits; how do you think you even got the right answer?” Wonyoung questioned Yel’s confidence.
“I didn’t hear it clearly; I thought the answer’s personali-tits.” Yel explained.
“Come to think of it, it can also be personali-tight.” Wonyoung clapped as if she had thought of something brilliant.
“Right! Personali-thigh!” Yujin joined in, showing her thighs once more.
Your hurts, but something’s throbbing. You can tell what it was… yet.
````````````````````````
“Question number two, the participant must be the prettiest!”
COMPE-THIGH-TOR:
“Okay! Move.” Arin shoved the other girls, but got blocked instead.
“It’s me again.” Yujin didn’t leave her spot.
“I guess it’s my turn.” Jiheon stood up.
“Guys, give way.” Ryujin decided by herself.
In the end, Ryujin represents the group.
COMPE-TITS-TOR:
“Is it my turn?” Eunbi’s quite a competitor this time.
“Me, me.” Karina hopped her way to their front.
Jihyo and Yel agreed, and Eunbi pouted.
COMPE-TIGHT-TOR:
“Okay, let’s flip a coin. Girls, we’re all pretty. I’m on the heads since I love dickheads.” Seulgi pulled out a coin.
“I’m on the tail. I love men's tails.” Saerom claimed the other side.
“Men's tails?” Yuna doesn't get it.
“Yes, just in front, though, their dicktail.” Saerom wiggled in pure happiness.
“Does it mean that Yuna and I were out of the choices already?” Wonyoung points at the coin.
“...”
“Right, only two sides— whatever.” Seulgi tossed it.
Heads. Seulgi went in front of them.
CUM-PETITOR:
“It’s Kazuha.” Tsuki nudged Kazuha.
“Kazuha, you better not betray us and join the thigh group,” Sakura said, keeping her eyes on Kazuha.
“Go, Kazuha-chan!” Rei cheered for Kazuha.
“Okay! I’ll boompala this round!” Kazuha went forward.
CHOOM-PETITOR:
“Asa,” Pharita pushed Asa forward.
“No, it’s Ahyeon! I’m waiting for the best ass category!” Asa stepped back and pushed Ahyeon instead.
“Haaa…” Ruka still looks defeated to butt in.
Ahyeon will represent their team.
“Is everyone ready? Okay! Question number two!”
“What part of the body do men like?”
COMPE-THIGH-TOR:
“Thighs! The answer’s thigh for sure!” Ryujin stepped forward and showed everyone her thighs.
COMPE-TITS-TOR:
“It’s tits! It's— just look at this!” Karina leveled up the game; she took her top off and showcased a black fitted lingerie top!
“Aish!” You moved your face to your side, avoiding Karina’s vulgar actions, just to find out that Seulgi had already stripped her skirt, including her underwear.
COMPE-TIGHT-TOR:
“Tight pussy! Look, who can’t resist having a taste of this tight, puffy pussy.” She even spread it open.
“Shit!” You just closed your eyes; these girls had no shame!
CUM-PETITOR:
“Uhhh, face! No man can resist a beauty sucking their dick!” Kazuha is making a chugging sound as if she’s drinking sake.
CHOOM-PETITOR:
“Uhhh— choom?” Ahyeon didn’t know the answer, and her groupmates were groaning in disappointment.
“Uhhh, a girl with a personality?” You answered the question, though it’s not academically related. You just wanted to win.
You slowly opened your eyes since it’s your time to answer.
“Uhhh— shit–” Seulgi had her pussy free for everyone while Karina kept her tits bouncing.
“Uhhh, a girl with a good heart?” You responded. You still stay with the most modest answer you can think of, even after all the insanity you’ve witnessed.
“...”
“Good heart is correct!” The quizmaster gave you another point.
“Yes!” You punched the air one more time, another point secured!
“Shit! Almost another point for us.” Karina is acting as Yel did earlier.
“H-h-huh? Why?” Ryujin’s puzzled.
“Think about it, a woman with a good heart, where is the heart? Behind these tits.” She stripped her bra.
“AISSH!” You turn sideways— wrong move; Seulgi’s pussy is there.
“What the fuck is wrong with these girls?” You looked down instead.
“Oh shit, then thigh’s too far— we lost again.” Ryujin accepted defeat.
“I knew it; I should have said he can cum to my chest instead of face.” Kazuha sounds annoyed, but she keeps making chugging sounds.
But what’s the basis of your right answer?
“... but how was my answer right?” You let the first one go, but it’s kind of suspicious that you kept getting it right.
“It’s simple. You’re the only man here.”
“...”
You’re analyzing what the quiz master just said.
“All these questions are about men, so everything you answer is right.” The quizmaster grinned.
“...”
You got it.
“What in the world is that—— I’ll leave. You’re all insane! The absurd questions! The insane group names! And outrageous shameless nudity—I even licked someone's belly!” You're ranting and about to storm out.
Bam!
The door shuts, and you hear the girls lock it.
“W-w-what are you doing!?” The thigh group and the tits group walked in front of you.
You stepped back, but there’s also someone behind you, the tight group. The Choom group and the Japanese group are on your side.
You were surrounded, 24 girls were encircling you!
“Uh-oh, you can’t leave. We can’t continue the squeeze bee if there’s no man to give us an answer.”
“W-what answer!? Oh! Don’t come near me and your heavy chest! Stay away from me!” Karina jabbed a foot.
“You should just stay put and enjoy the competition.” The quizmaster laughed.
“What do you want!? Answer? Fine! I’ll give you an answer! The answer is that all of you are insane!” You point at each one of them.
“I always think it’s a good thing being insane,” Rei smirked. You always taught she’s cute; now she’s scary cute.
“We’re used to it, people telling me I always have insane thighs.” Ryujin points at her thighs, but it wasn’t the one that caught your attention; it’s the leash beside it, her toy.
“Gulped. No, you’re crazy, you’re all out of your damn mind.” You can’t move; you’re basically trapped in the middle.
“Want some ice cream?” Yuna asked you about ice cream again.
“No! How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want a cream!” You yelled at her.
She got teary-eyed.
“Uhhh, n-no, I’m sorry about that.” Shit, you can feel the anger in their eyes since you made Yuna cry.
“F-f-fine! I want ice cream!” You told Yuna, and she smiled right away.
“But Ice cream’s outside since the squeeze master tells no food allowed.” She’s pouting, and the other girls glared at you again.
They're fighting earlier, and now they’re teaming up against you! And, why the hell did she even ask you for an ice cream if it’s outside!?
“Then, no more ice cream, okay!” You felt relieved.
“But in exchange, how about you give us cream instead?” Yuna leaned in, her face inches away from you.
You can’t step back, so you side-step instead. However, there’s very little room to work with.
“C-c-cream?” You don’t like where it’s going.
“CREAMPIE!” Now they’re united; they all said the same word at the same time.
“NO! HOW DID THE QUIZ SUDDENLY TURN TO THIS!!?” Your veins are popping out of anger and insanity.
“Okay.” The quizmaster tapped her podium once again for their attention.
“...”
“For the third question, it’s a free-for-all—”
“Free for all!? What the fuck is that? Survival of the fittest? I’ll le–”
“Quiet, man.” The quiz master glared at you. She’s the scariest among them.
“A free-for-all, it means anyone can participate, but the points will still go to their respective group.” It sounds interesting, but you’ve got a bad feeling about it.
“You are already disqualified due to your behaviour; instead, you’ll give us an answer!” The quizmaster tapped his podium as if she’s a judge. You’re disqualified; that’s the verdict.
Then what’s the point of staying? Nothing.
Can you leave? No.
You’re fucked.
“The third question! Who do you think had the best oral skills among all of you?”
“...”
Upon hearing the question, they all turned to look at you. Some drool, some smile like a villain.
Come to think of it…
“Wait.” You just noticed something.
“You’re not students… aren’t you?” You asked them about the way they act, their boldness, and their craziness.
It’s something obvious that you should’ve noticed as early as you could.
“You don’t need to know~,” Ryujin answered. She’s already crawling!
“Fuck!” You just got a deja vu upon seeing her crawl; she’s like a cat, a dangerous one.
“No… don’t come near me!” Each one of them took a step forward.
“Come on~ just let us suck your dick and tell them that I sucked the best.” You rarely interact with that Jihyo girl, but you can tell she’s insane as well- in fact, all of them!
“Hold him.”
“W-wha— HMMMP!” Saerom and Seulgi held your body from behind, and Wonyoung sealed your mouth with her lips.
You just got kissed, your first kiss.
You always dream of getting your first kiss as romantic and full of love, but you got a kiss full of hunger instead.
“HMM! HMMM!” Both of your hands were held by Eunbi on the left and Ahyeon on the right. They sucked your fingers.
“They said fingers are primarily the main instrument for the sense of touch. Tell us, do we suck good?” Ahyeon spoke in the middle of her sucking.
“Hmm, can you feel my tongue?” Eunbi twirls her tongue over your thumb.
It feels disgusting, but why are you moaning? Have you also lost your mind? The answer’s simply yes; it started the moment you saw the signage at the door.
“You don’t need this.” Yujin tore your top and kissed your chest.
“Hurry up, Jiheon, free his dick and sucked it already!” Arin keeps tapping Jiheon, who’s struggling to strip you since she’s trembling in excitement.
“I know! Don’t worry, all of us will have a turn at his lollipop!” Jiheon yanked your pants off.
The other girls who are out in action stripped off as well. Karina and Yel praised each other's tits, Kazuha asked how to join the thigh group, Rei innocently asked when her face would get sprayed with cum, and many more.
A lot is going on, but one thing you’re very aware of, you can’t do anything to stop it.
“HMMPP– pwah! AHHNG–HMMMM!” The moment Wonyoung is freed from the kiss, you feel your dick enter a wet and hot cave, then Seulgi turns your head into hers and kisses you this time.
“Aish. I should have been quicker, ahmpp. Saerom’s a little late to kiss you and bit your ear instead.
“Hmm~ Hmmm~” Jiheon is bobbing her head. She’s sucking it like crazy.
“Omo! She looks like a cake, everybody has to blow his candle. What fun!” Sakura hopped in happiness, and Asa hopped as well. The two Japanese interact like it’s just a normal day, but there’s nothing normal about it!
“Hmm~ this is the best— HMMM!!!” She kept blowing when Arin attempted to push her head away, but she was resisting.
“Hurry up and share him already!” Arin keeps pushing Jiheon.
“HMMPPP! HMMPP!” Jiheon’s teeth scrape your shaft, and all you can do is scream through Seulgi’s mouth.
Seulgi freed your lips after a minute of frenchie, and Saeorm instantly grabbed the opportunity to take her turn. You noticed Seulgi moved away and was replaced by Karina, her tits instantly resting on your shoulders.
“Rest.” She pushed your head to her breast, a fucking soft pillow for your bruised head— no, the pleasure starts to drown you.
“When will the cream come?” Yuna is sucking her own fingers, patiently waiting.
“It’s crowded over there; I can’t see what’s happening!?” Ruka is jumping just to see what’s happening.
“I knew something was wrong when I saw you participate earlier with the tallest member category!” Ryujin caught Ruka cheating.
“What’s that?” Instead of being mad, Ruka noticed Ryujin’s bag, which she was dragging.
“My toys, leash, dildo, butt plug—”
“HMMMM!” Your eyes shot wide open when you heard the plug.
“Oh! Ryujin brought toys!” Jihyo noticed it.
“Guys, grab yours! Let’s play!” Ryujin handed over her toys as if it’s just regular toys…
