At the filming site of "Time to Twice: Death Note", after an entire day of fierce game, the members of TWICE put away their makeup and asked their managers if they could get off work.
Every time a variety show is filmed, there is a punishment for the loser of the day's game, which is to become the staff's cumdump after the filming is over to thank them for their efforts.
Unfortunately, Chaeyoung is the toilet today. She was planning to date her boyfriend Zion. T after getting off work, but it seems she must first fulfill her responsibilities as a cum dump and avoid being discovered by her boyfriend.
"Ah... Chaeyoung, you performed great today~ But because you lost, you have to stay!" Tzuyu winked at Chaeyoung mischievously.
"Yes, yes...I know." Chaeyoung lowered her head, with a bit of embarrassment on her face.
The other members of TWICE looked at each other and smiled, then left the set and went home to rest. Chaeyoung was left alone in the empty waiting room.
Chaeyoung took out her phone and checked the time - her boyfriend would be arriving to pick her up for dinner in half an hour. But now she must fulfill the punishment task of being the loser, becoming the staff's toilet, using her body to thank the staff for their hard work.
Chaeyoung took a deep breath, stood up slowly, and put on a pair of black stockings to make her legs look longer.
"Dong, dong, dong -" there was a knock on the door, and it was the staff who came in.
Chaeyoung immediately knelt down on the ground obediently, raised her head, and said with a smile: " Hello staff, I am Chaeyoung, today's cumdump. Which part of me do you want to use?"
The head of the staff looked at Chaeyoung and said with a smile: " Chaeyoung is dressed very beautifully today, but since you are our slut, please take off your clothes. "
Chaeyoung nodded slightly. In an instant, Chaeyoung was naked in front of everyone, wearing nothing but black stockings.
"Wow, this black stocking suits you so well!" The staff members exclaimed and gathered around, caressing Chaeyoung's beautiful legs in black stockings, and gently pressing her delicate private parts from time to time.
" Well ... thank you for your compliments ... I… I will do my best to meet your needs ... Please feel free to enjoy my body ..." Chaeyoung said softly with a blushing face, holding herself in her hands Breasts, letting the staff's fingers roam around her body.
At this moment, Chaeyoung's cell phone suddenly vibrated, and the caller ID was her boyfriend.
"Eh-" Chaeyoung screamed, quickly turned off the vibrate mode, and then held her phone tightly. She is currently serving the staff. If her boyfriend knows that she has done such a shameful thing on the set of a variety show, he will definitely be angry!
"What's wrong, Chaeyoung? What's the matter?" The staff noticed Chaeyoung's reaction and asked with concern.
Chaeyoung shook her head and said: " No, it's okay ... someone just called me ... I-I won't let other things affect your enjoyment ... Please continue to enjoy my body ..."
After Chaeyoung finished speaking, she relaxed and returned to her role as a slut. One of the staff members took off his pants and pointed his erect penis directly at Chaeyoung. Chaeyoung crawled over knowingly, took the thick penis in her mouth, and began to swallow it up and down. At the same time, another staff member kneaded the two breast peaks on Chaeyoung's chest, making them change into various shapes.
"Ah... it feels so comfortable... Chaeyoung's little mouth is so good... it makes me almost cum..."
Chaeyoung's mouth was full and she couldn't answer at all. She just sucked the cock in her mouth harder, her tongue lingering between the sensitive crown and glans. At the same time, she did not forget to twist her waist and rub the genitals of another staff member with her labia.
"Chaeyoung, you're wet down there...can't you wait to be fucked?"
Chaeyoung heard the movements behind her and hurriedly increased the speed of her little hands, hoping to help the man in front of her reach climax, and then let the man behind her love her. Unfortunately, she miscalculated. As the man in front of her roared, streams of hot liquid poured directly into her throat, forcing her to slow down to avoid suffocation.
" Ahem...oooo..." Chaeyoung finally swallowed the white semen in her mouth. Before she could take a breath, the cock from behind was inserted into her heart mercilessly.
"Ah——!!" Chaeyoung raised her head and screamed, the nectar couldn't stop flowing out, wetting the black silk on her inner thighs. When the man in front of her saw this, his penis that had just softened after ejaculation became hard again. He held Chaeyoung's hair and forced her to take his penis into her mouth again.
At this time, another men took off his pants, rubbed his erect penis against her anus.
"Uh...wu...don't, it can't work there..." Chaeyoung let out a broken plea, but in exchange for the man behind her, he thrust more fiercely, and every impact pushed the cock deeper into her mouth.
The two men looked at each other and at the same time forcefully inserted their genitals into Chaeyoung's two holes and started crazy piston movements.
All three holes in Chaeyoung's body were filled, and the huge pleasure almost pushed her to the edge of collapse. She could only barely stay awake, licking the cock in her mouth and back one after another, and holding two penises in her hand to move up and down.
"Ah... Chaeyoung's mouth and ass are so comfortable... We are going to cum inside you..."
"I can't help it anymore...get ready to catch my cum!"
Chaeyoung heard the man's warning and tried hard to avoid it, but the man in front held her head down, and the man behind pushed her in hard, completely blocking her escape route. So, in the next second, three streams of hot liquid spurted out at the same time, filling Chaeyoung's mouth, vagina and ass.
"Gulu...Gulu..." Chaeyoung weakly swallowed the smelly white cum in her mouth, but a large amount still overflowed from her mouth and flowed to her chin and neck. The semen of the latter two people was poured directly into her body, and her belly quickly swelled.
"Chaeyoung's belly has grown a lot, no wonder it leaks~" the men onlookers joked, some took out their cocks and masturbated, while others couldn't wait to join the gangbang.
"Chaeyoung, have you rested? We still have many staffs who want to fuck you~"
"Yes... I have rested... Please continue to enjoy my body..." Chaeyoung lay on the ground, raising her butt high, as if she was ready for them to take advantage of.
Upon seeing this, the staff immediately swarmed over. Some held Chaeyoung's waist and penetrated her body again, while others penetrated her ass. Some stood in front and let her lick their genitals. Some people grabbed her hands and used them up and down ...
Chaeyoung was completely occupied, every available hole was filled to the brim. Her whole body was shaking like convulsions, but she was still trying her best to please everyone who penetrated her.
"Ah... Chaeyoung's pussy is so tight and hot... I'm going to cum..."
"Chaeyoung, it feels so good...I want to cum in your mouth too..."
"Me too...I want to cum in Chaeyoung's ass...fill her up..."
The staff's urgings came one after another, and soon several more people ejaculated into Chaeyoung's body. Her belly became more and more distended, as if she were pregnant. But this is far from over. A new man takes over the old position and continues to violate every inch of Chaeyoung's skin.
" Oh ... so many ... too many ... I really can't bear it ..." Chaeyoung cried and begged for mercy, but the staff did not let her go, but punished her harder for lying.
"You little bitch, you obviously like to be gang-banged, don't you? Look at the water from your pussy flowing everywhere!" The man mocked, and then he thrust hard again.
"Ahhhh——!!"
Chaeyoung screamed and reached her climax, but what followed was an even more violent attack. The staff seemed to be stimulated and attacked more fiercely than before.
"It seems that our little tiger is being fucked very well~ Then let us cum a little more and fill your belly with our seeds!"
"Yes, you are so beautiful, and your figure is so sexy, we just can't help but want to take possession of you!"
The staff used all kinds of insulting words and behaviors towards Chaeyoung curiously. They not only wanted to conquer her physically, but also completely destroyed her mentally.
"Don't...don't cum anymore...I really can't bear it..." Chaeyoung begged, but she was only greeted with more violations and humiliation.
" Can't stand it? I think you are dissatisfied with your desires! Look, the water below you keep flowing, just like a bitch! " After saying that, the man behind her slapped Chaeyoung hard, on her snow-white buttocks, leaving red palm prints on it.
"Woof woof..." Chaeyoung was so slapped that she lost all her senses and subconsciously started barking like a dog. The man behind her excitedly increased his strength and fucked her like a real bitch.
Seeing this, other staff members followed suit. They kneaded Chaeyoung's breasts and nipples, turning her into a real "cow"; others grabbed her ankles, folded her into a V shape, and inserted her from above. Her vagina makes her look more like a pussy than a human being.
"Ahh... woof woof..."
Under this extreme humiliation and torture, Chaeyoung's consciousness gradually blurred, but the flow of juice under her body never stopped. She could no longer tell whether it was physical pleasure or psychological humiliation that was dominant. She only knew that she was unknowingly indulged in this group sex feast.
"It seems that our Miss Chaeyoung has accepted her identity~" the men teased, speeding up their thrusts.
" Woof woof ... woof woof ... Master ... please enjoy my body ... I am your exclusive doggy ..." Chaeyoung murmured, looking at one stick after another with blurred eyes. A penis moving in and out of one's own mouth.
Her voice had become hoarse and broken, but the resignation and desire in her tone became more and more obvious. The staff were greatly encouraged after hearing this, and the intensity of the attack became a little stronger.
"Miss Chaeyoung is such a naughty bitch, we must make you pregnant with our seed!"
"That's right, let's burst Chaeyoung's belly completely so that she will always remember this day!"
After Chaeyoung heard this, instead of feeling scared, she became excited. She began to suck the cock in her mouth harder, and her hands worked harder on the other ones, for fear that someone would reach climax before someone ejaculated inside her.
For a moment, the room was filled with the moans and heavy breathing of men and Chaeyoung, and the lewd scene was like hell. However, for Chaeyoung at this moment, this is paradise in her heart.
At this moment, Chaeyoung suddenly felt the person behind her speed up, and then a stream of heat shot into her body. Then the second and third one reached climax one after another, spreading their own seeds into Chaeyoung's body.
" Ah ... it's so deep ..." Chaeyoung closed her eyes and enjoyed the aftermath of her orgasm. She couldn't even tell who the semen belonged to.
"Okay, it's time to change." The man in front pulled out his penis, and the other man immediately took his place. The man who had ejaculated behind Chaeyoung just now stepped aside and played with Chaeyoung's breasts and private parts with the others.
Chaeyoung felt that her vagina and anus were filled with different cocks again, but by this time she was already used to this extreme feeling of fullness. She took the initiative to raise her breasts to meet the man's touch, and her slender legs were wrapped around the waist of the man who was fucking her, squirming like a snake.
"Good child, we will take good care of you." The staff gently stroked Chaeyoung's hair, as if comforting a well-behaved pet.
" Woof woof ... thank you, master ..." Chaeyoung showed a grateful expression, with only the desire for cock in her eyes. She was completely immersed in this crazy gang rape feast and forgot about the date with her boyfriend and even herself. She now has only one identity - the exclusive doggy sex slave of the production staffs.
Chaeyoung's moans kept echoing in the studio. Her body was covered with large and small hickeys and fingerprints. Her nipples stood high, and her labia were opened by being fucked, revealing a muddy inside. However, there was no pain in her expression, only extreme comfort and satisfaction.
" Ah ... Masters ... Chaeyoung wants more ..." Chaeyoung moaned, actively twisting her buttocks to match the man's thrusts. Her belly was already swollen and filled with semen from different men. But this was far from enough to satisfy her thirst for sex.
"Our little bitch has a big appetite~" the man teased, increasing the force, hitting Chaeyoung's womb with every blow.
" Woof woof ... yes ... Chaeyoung wants more ... Masters, please give it to me ..." Chaeyoung said incoherently, her mind already overwhelmed by sexual desire.
In this way, Chaeyoung kept climaxing under the men's repeated fuck. Under Chaeyoung's tireless demands, every staff member on the set cummed at least two or three times. Until the last stick of incense burned out, the staff on the set were so tired that they lay on the ground panting, unable to erect anymore.
"Please ... I still want..." Although Chaeyoung's whole body was sore from being fucked, her sexual desire has not diminished at all, and she is still looking for a cock that can still erect. She crawled in front of each man and worked hard to peel off their loose foreskin with her hands or mouth, trying to find one or two fairly hard cocks to continue serving.
"Masters...give me a little more..." Chaeyoung crawled towards the nearest man, trying to swallow his weak lower body. But no matter how hard she tried, the man couldn't get any harder.
It's a pity that these staff members have been completely drained by Chaeyoung. No matter how she teases them, their cocks can only barely lift their heads and soon become soft again.
"Woof woof...please, masters...give me a little more...I still want..." Chaeyoung raised her butt and spun around in front of the men, but she only received a burst of ridicule.
"What should I do... it won't work anymore... I haven't been fed yet..." Chaeyoung muttered aggrievedly, looking at the male staff who were still young and fit, and holding the men's genitals up and down with her small hands, trying to inject some life into them.
" I can't do it anymore ... You can find someone else ..." One of them said helplessly. It seemed that he could no longer meet Chaeyoung's needs.
Chaeyoung kept twisting her body, serving each cock with her mouth and hands, trying to tease them to get hard again. However, no matter how hard she tried, those limp cock could not be brought back to life.
" Chaeyoung, we are really tired. Can we play with you next time? " Another person also said.
Facing everyone's rejection, Chaeyoung seemed a little disappointed. But she didn't stop there. Instead, she crawled up to the male staff who were not yet involved and looked at them expectantly.
"Then...can you...?" she asked carefully.
"Sorry, I can't do it either." The man sighed, "We really can't keep up with your pace."
Just like that, Chaeyoung glanced at everyone present one by one, and got the same answer.
"What should I do...I still want..." Chaeyoung looked down sadly at her private parts, which were still muddy, and cum seemed to be flowing out from there. She longed for a new cock to enter it and fill the void within it.
In the end, Chaeyoung was left playing with the weak cocks around her. She seemed completely immersed in her fantasy and had forgotten everything about the outside world.
‘LG Twins! LG Twins!’ The cheer from the stadium is too loud, which can be clearly heard even in the toilet. Sana was invited to attend the match today for the ceremonial first pitch today. However, as soon as the match starts, she secretly goes to the changing room of LG Twins. The jersey she wears is cut specifically to show her waist, the jeans are extra tight to highlight her huge ass.
Sana takes a deep breath, pretending to be calm and opens the door. ‘Is anyone here?’ Sure enough, there is a man waiting here, a director from LG Twins, who sends the invitation to JYP.
"Come on, Sana, let's get started." The man raises the corners of his mouth and shows an evil smile. "What...start?" Sana asked knowingly.
"Of course, I want to enjoy your soft and fragrant body." The man grabs Sana's wrist, pushes her down on the bench without any explanation, then leans down and kisses Sana's lips...
Sana knows that the current situation could not be reversed, so she simply stops resisting and lays down on the bench obediently, raising her neck slightly to receive the man's passionate kiss.
While kissing Sana, the man stretches out his hand to knead the two bulges on Sana's chest. The other hand slips into Sana's jeans and wanders around the top of her thigh.
"Hmm..." Sana couldn't help but hum softly as she feels the stimulation coming from the sensitive parts of her body.
The man's actions become more and more unscrupulous. He pulls away Sana's jersey, bites and sucks on Sana's fair and smooth skin, leaving wet marks. At the same time, his fingers also penetrated Sana's underwear, pressing and teasing Sana's most private parts.
"Ah...ha..." Sana couldn't help but twist her body and her breathing becomes rapid.
"Sana is so sensitive, already emotional right from the beginning." The man raises his head and smiles proudly.
Sana deliberately put on a flirtatious expression, licked her lips and said, "Yes, when I see a strong man like you, I can't help but get wet down there."
"Really? Then I'm going to take good care of that 'little devil' below you." The man pulls down Sana's underwear with great interest and directly swirls the tip of his tongue on her clitoris.
"Oh...ah...no..." Sana was so stimulated that her whole body was numb, but she still keep saying seductive words in her mouth: "Harder...eat me until I am clean...um."
After hearing this, the man really increasedhis strength. His tongue flexibly rolls and licks Sana's core. Occasionally, he would insert the entire length into Sana's vaginal opening and thrust it a few times.
"Ah... it's so deep... I'm going to cum..." Sana screams, and a large amount of semen spurts out from the her clit, pouring into the man's mouth.
"Miss Sana is having some much water, I'm almost drowning." The man says and swallows all of Sana's juice, and once again takes Sana's lower body and sucks wildly.
"No... I… cum... ah -" Sana screams and spurts out spurts of orgasmic semen, all which lands on the man's naked upper body.
"Finally, I thought you were going to gag me." The man licks his lips, then stands up and unzips his pants.
After Sana sees his size clearly, she immediately covers her mouth and widened her eyes - this man's penis is too big and hard, and it seems that her pussy would be red and swollen from being penetrated.
"Don't be afraid, I will enter slowly later." The man pats Sana's head comfortingly, then turns Sana over and kneels her down on the bench.
"Let's start from the back first." The man holds his huge penis against the entrance of Sana's wet pussy, and slowly but powerfully pushed inside.
Sana couldn't help but gasp as she frld the man's hot penis gradually penetrate into her body. "It's so big...you're going to fill me up..." Sana looks back at the man, her eyes blurred and unexplained.
"You're so tight, just like a virgin." The man enjoys the way Sana's cavity walls clamps around his penis, and he couldn't help but growl in pleasure.
Sana shakes her hips and bumps back in time with the man's rhythm. "Ah...go deeper...insert it all the way inside..." Sana is completely immersed in lust, moaning wildly.
"As you wish." The man suddenly straightens his waist, and the entire length of his penis is being inserted into Sana's pussy.
"Oh!!!" Sana screams as she climbs into another orgasm, nectar leaking from the joint and soaking the bench. The man grabs Sana's waist and fucks her without stopping. He penetrates as deep as possible with every thrust, and his huge cock moves in and out of Sana's pussy like a piston, making a slurping sound.
"It feels so good... Harder... Penetrate me... Ah——" Sana is completely lost in the sea of pleasure, just wanting more and more. The man is also so happy that he growls again and again. He pinches Sana's breasts and rubs them with one hand, and penetrates Sana's anus with the other hand, torturing Sana in three ways.
"Oh oh oh...” Sana feels a tingling sensation coming from her anus. Her anal canal was pried open and expanded by the man's fingers, and her tight muscles contracted instinctively, which makes the man feel even more happy.
"The hole in the back of you is also good at sucking " The man laughs.
Sana blushes with embarrassment, but her brain is soon occupied by the pleasure in both holes, and she could only scream loudly.
"Hurry...don't stop...it's coming...ahhhhh-" Sana collapses to the ground after a fierce climax, but the man does not let her go, but accelerates the fucking.
"Oh...I am going to be broken...how can you last so long..." Sana begs in a daze, but couldn't stop herself from catering to the man.
The man stops and looks at Sana with a half-smile: "Don't you like it very much? Why do you want me to stop again?"
"No...I want you..." Sana doesn't know how to express her desire, so she blushes and lowers her head.
"What do you want from me?" The man approachs step by step, licking Sana's ear.
"I want you to...insert me inside...fuck me hard..." Sana yells out these words without any hesitation, just hoping that the man could satisfy her desires.
"As you wish." The man chuckles and startes again. His cock and finger advanced deep into Sana's body at the same time, as if they were about to penetrate Sana.
"Ahhhh - it's so deep... it's about to burst... but... please don't stop..." Sana cries out as her nipples were pinched hard by the man, and a finger was inserted deeply into her anus. The sensitive points on both front and back were extremely stimulated, causing her to reach another climax very quickly.
"Ahhh... I'm going to die..." Sana rolles her eyes, a large amount of transparent juice gushes out from the place of intercourse, making the man's crotch muddy.
However, the man has no intention of stopping at all. He increases the speed of thrusting and says viciously: "You haven't been fucked enough by me yet."
Sana barely struggles to support her upper body, looks at the man and begs for mercy: "I really can't do it anymore... I'm about to be penetrated down there... You..."
The man suddenly leans down and bites Sana's lips, kissing her roughly. At the same time, the movements of his lower body become faster and harder. His huge penis is rubbing in and out of Sana's body, as if he is trying to turn Sana's vagina completely out.
"Um...slow down...I'm going to suffocate..." Sana is almost choked by the kiss, but she couldn't help but respond to the man's manipulation.
The man let go of Sana's lips, raises her chin and stares into her eyes: "You said you want me to slow down, do you want me to stop or do you want me to fuck you slower?"
Sana is stunned for a moment, and then she understands what the man meant, and her face turns red: "Just fuck me more slowly... I can bear it..."
"Very good." The man smiles with satisfaction. He indeed slows down the speed, but the intensity of the fucking increased a lot, and each thrust is as deep as possible.
"Oh...so deep...so comfortable..." Sana moans unconsciously, the nectar gurgling out and forming a clear spring on the man's thigh.
The man is even more proud when he sees this. He grabs Sana's waist and sprints hard. His thick penis quickly moves in and out of Sana's body, making a "slapping" sound.
"You are such a little devil, this pussy is just full of water." The man jokes.
Sana is ashamed, but also excited by the man's vulgar words. She couldn't help but twist her hips to meet the man's manipulation, and at the same time gently rubs her clit with her fingers, hoping to get more pleasure.
"Ahh... faster... I'm cumming..." Sana screams loudly. She feels that her orgasm is approaching, and she is only one step away from reaching the peak of bliss.
The man seems to be aware of Sana's state. He no longer holds back, but thrust with all his strength. His thick penis moves in and out of Sana's body quickly, making a "Gurgling" sound.
"Are you cumming? I'm going to make you feel so good." The man smiles evilly and suddenly accelerates his speed and sprints vigorously, crushing Sana's G-spot with every stroke.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" Sana screams as she climaxed. Her whole body convulses, and a large amount of nectar squirts out, spraying all over the man.
The man's face is sprayed with Sana's juice, but he didn't feel disgusted at all. Instead, he looks excited. "You're so horny, you squirted like this." The man teases Sana, stroking her smooth back and gently slapping her buttocks.
Sana's cheeks are so red that they are about to bleed. She never thought that she would reach such an orgasm under the gaze of a stranger. But she also feels unprecedented satisfaction and pleasure, as if her entire body was filled.
"Do you still want it? I can continue to serve you." The man whispers in Sana's ear, his voice full of temptation.
Sana shakes her head, but nods immediately. She didn't know how to answer this question. She knows her job is to satisfy the man, and desire makes her unable to resist the man's invitation.
When the man sees this, he doesn't ask any questions. He picks up Sana and turns her around into a missionary position, then kneels between her legs.
"This time I will make you completely happy." The man says as he straightens his back and inserts his penis into Sana's slippery pussy. "Oh..." Sana let out a sigh of relief. She raises her head and closes her eyes, letting the pleasure engulf her.
The man starts a new round of fucking. His movements are more powerful and rougher than before. Each thrust penetrates to the deepest point, crushing Sana's G-spot hard. At the same time, he keeps changing his rhythm, sometimes slowly, and sometimes he sprintes straight to the cervix.
"Do you like this position? I feel your vagina is sucking me tightly." The man teases while fucking.
Sana blushes with embarrassment. She knows that she must look very lustful now, but she doesn't care about it anymore and just screams loudly along with the rhythm of the man's fucking.
Sana is completely lost in the ecstasy of sex. She only knows how to follow the man's fucking and desperately wants him to penetrate deeper and faster.
"Oh... it's going to break... you inserted it too deep..." Sana cried, she could clearly feel the man's thick and long penis moving in and out of her body, and every time it was inserted as deep as possible...
The man doesn't care about this. He grabs Sana's waist and accelerates the speed. His huge penis quickly slams into Sana's body, making a "slap" sound. "I just want to see you crying and begging for mercy." The man growls, and his breathing gradually becomes heavier.
Sana couldn't bear it any longer, and she cries loudly with tears streaming down her face: "I'm cumming... Hurry up... faster..." The man fucks her more violently as if he is allowed to do so. His penis rushes wildly inside Sana, reaching the deepest point every time. Sana's womb was being hit again and again, and the pleasure sweeps over her like a tide, and soon she reaches another climax.
"Ah——!" Sana screames and bites the man's shoulder. Her whole body convulses, and a large amount of nectar squirt out again, covering the man's body.
The man is aroused by Sana's sudden attack. He growls and accelerates the speed of thrusting. His penis is rubbing rapidly inside Sana's body, and he is about to reach climax. As soon as Sana recovers from the afterglow of her climax, she was pushed up to a higher mountain by the man's wild fucking again.
Sana could clearly feel the man's thick penis thrusting deeper and deeper into her body, reaching her most sensitive sex center. She couldn't help but scream: "Don't...I’m going to break..."
However, the man ignores her cries. He grabs Sana's breasts and squeezes them hard. At the same time, he speeds up and fucks her hard. "I'm going to cum, are you ready?" the man grows, his voice a little hoarse.
Sana's reason has long since disappeared, and she just wants to pursue more and stronger pleasure. So she leaves a deep tooth mark on the man's shoulder, and at the same time twistes her hips to cooperate with the man's manipulation. "Cum in me...give it all to me..." Sana screames loudly. She could feel the man's thick penis swelling inside her body, as if it is about to spurt out in the next moment.
Sure enough, the man suddenly increased his speed, thrusting his long and thick penis rapidly inside Sana's body, hitting the G-spot hard with every thrust. Sana's senses were completely amplified at this time, and every groan and every gasp of the man turned into overwhelming pleasure and hit her.
"Oh——!" The man yells. He holds Sana's waist and penetrates deeply. His thick penis is completely immersed in Sana's body. Then a stream of hot semen shoots out and pours into Sana's womb.
Sana is also stimulated by the burning heat and reaches another climax. Her whole body is convulsing, and only broken moans are left in her mouth.
The man slowly pulls out his still erect penis, and a large amount of white turbid liquid flows out of Sana's slightly open clit, staining the bench underneath her.
Sana is a little dazed in the afterglow of orgasm, but when the man's penis is pulled out, she immediately wakes up. Sana looks at the penis that is still erected and covered with her own bodily fluids, and feels a strong desire for possession. She couldn't help but stick out her tongue and lick it gently, and then takes the entire glans in her mouth.
"Well... what a slut..." The man chuckles, but does not stop Sana's movement. He reaches out and strokes the back of Sana's head, guiding her to start cleaning up the results of his recent victory.
Sana moans seductively while licking every inch of her sex with her tongue. This scene is so erotic that the man couldn't help but sigh.
At the same time, the man does not let go of his attack on Sana. He continues to knead Sana's red and swollen breasts, and occasionally pinches the cherry at the top, causing Sana to gasp repeatedly.
"Ah... don't..." Sana still has half of his penis in her mouth, and the sounds from her mouth naturally turns into indistinct moans. But this sound is supremely beautiful music to a man's ears.
The man increases his intensity, rubbing Sana's breasts vigorously with his palms, and his penis moves back and forth into Sana's mouth, pushing into the depth of her throat from time to time. Sana feels like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered, with every part of her body being controlled by men. But she doesn't hate this feeling.
Sana's mouth is completely filled with the cock, but it was not enough to satisfy her. She swallows the huge thing harder, trying to take it all into her mouth.
When the man sees this, he doesn't stop her. He holds the back of Sana's head and thrusts his penis straight into Sana's mouth until it reaches the depths of her throat. Sana's saliva mixes with the previous body fluids, forming patches of foam between the entrance and exit of the genitals.
"Oh...it feels so good...your little mouth is really good at sucking..." The man couldn't help but growl, Sana's deep throat gives him great pleasure. Sana's mouth is narrow, moist, and hot, and Sana's tongue is very good at licking. All of this makes the man go crazy. So, the man no longer cares about Sana's feelings. He grabs Sana's hair and thrust his penis into her mouth quickly. His thick penis rubs in Sana's throat, and he soon reaches another climax.
"I'm going to cum... Just take it..." The man growls. When his penis is inserted to the deepest, he cums a large amount of hot semen, all pours into Sana's esophagus.
Sana choked and coughed from the sudden ejaculation, but she still managed to swallow most of it. She is not able to breathe until the man pulled out his genitals.
There is white liquid hanging from the corner of Sana's mouth, and there is a hint of longing in her eyes as she looks at the man.
Sana's eyes tell the man that she wanted to be creampied. But time is limited, and their game must end before others come back.
So the man leans down, bites one of Sana's earlobes, and whispers: "Wait for me, I will love you very much until midnight... According to the contract, you are my fuck toy until 12…"
After hearing the man's words, Sana's eyes immediately filled with water. The two spends a crazy afternoon in the locker room. When the whistle is blowed, the men is already dressed and ready to leave. Sana beside him is a little distracted. Although she is dressed as she came, the slightly bulging shape of her abdomen indicates some unusual condition.
On the way, the man asks Sana in a low voice: "Are you still feeling comfortable with my semen?" Sana nods shyly. Her womb is still filled with the man's semen, and she could feel the warm swaying in her body when she walks.
The man smiles. He pats Sana's butt and whispers, "There will be something better later... We will continue when we get to the hotel." Sana couldn't help but shivers when she hears it, but she doesn't refuse. It’s just another job.
At the forest not far from the "POP" MV shooting location...
"Ah... oh... um... um... I... I'm about to die... oppa is too... Hard, so...deep...cumming again...ahhhhhh..." A woman's obscene sounds kept coming from the woods. It was obvious that this woman was enjoying a climax. The fat body of a middle-aged man in his forties or fifties is pressing down on a snow-white body from behind and thrusting desperately into it. A burst of "pah, pah, pah, pah" made people imagine. Take a closer look at the woman who screamed lewdly. It's Twice's Nayeon and the middle-aged man is the MV director of her solo song ‘POP’.
"Little slut, you feel so good just by inserting it casually. You are going to heaven soon." The director said with a lewd smile and began to thrust slowly and steadily. Each time, he deliberately thrust into Nayeon's pussy, making her feel more and more excited. It was so numb that half of her soul flew away.
"It feels so good... ah... ah... it feels so good... ah... oppa is good at fucking... ah... it feels so good to fuck Nayeon... ah... ah... Nayeon is almost fucked to death by... oppa ..." Nayeon let out a sweet moan while being fucked, screaming, she was so happy that she couldn't help herself.
"Fuck! I've noticed a long time ago that you Twice are all sluts. You look like you need someone to fuck you! Let me fuck you to death today, you stinky bitch." After hearing Nayeon's lewd screams, the director suddenly buckled down hard. Holding Nayeon's waist, he thrust hard and fast, moving like an electric motor, and the long and thick penis pressed hard against her womb, making Nayeon roll her eyes in pleasure and utter nonsense. She was talking gibberish, her lower body was dripping with water, and she was about to be fucked to death as she said.
"Ah, ah ah~~~~ I can't do it anymore... It feels so good... I'm going to go... Haaaaa I am cumming ah~~~~ "
“Fuck you to death! I'll fuck you to death!" The director grinned and didn’t reduce the pace of fucking Nayeon's pussy. He kept the same force and thrust harder, repeatedly thrusting his cock in and out from Nayeon’s pussy and out bringing higher frequency slapping sounds from his crotch and Nayeon's reddish buttocks.
"Ah... ah... it's reaching... it's reaching the womb... oh... um... it's going to go through... I’m going to break ... ugh..." The director's sexual desire and energy were unexpectedly strong.
His cock kept pushing in and out of Nayeon's pussy, constantly bringing out the transparent juice from Nayeon's pink pussy.
Waves of electric shock-like pleasure swept over her, making Nayeon curl up with her toes, her lower limbs twitching, and her pussy clamping on its own, like a greedy little mouth sucking the cock that was rushing inside her body. Nayeon's body kept producing nectar, and her legs were wet. She was worse than the most despicable prostitute. Every time the director thrust, there would be a lustful damp sound. In addition, Nayeon's pair of beautiful breasts were constantly played with by the director. The director is indeed a veteran of sex, when he plays with Nayeon's breasts with both hands, the force and focus are different, sometimes light and sometimes heavy. Sometimes the sensitive right nipple is rubbed by rough thumbs, and sometimes the left nipple is gently pinched and pulled. , the pleasure makes Nayeon couldn't help but raise her head and enjoy his erotic play with her body.
Under the director's crazy thrusting, Nayeon made soft and ecstatic sounds from time to time and pitifully moaned, her white and delicate body trembled and twisted. The man fucked her fiercely, "Puff, Puff", squeezing the pink lips into the vagina every time he inserted it, and then turning the lips out when pulling out. The juice around the vagina had been dried into a thick white mucus.
"You know how to moan, and you know how to suck, fuck! It feels so good! Little bitch! Moan louder... you really know how to shake your waist... shake it hard... oh... oh... it feels so good... fuck you... You need someone to fuck you huh...it's so tight...fuck you to death...fuck you to death..." The director suddenly accelerated his thrusting speed, pressed his whole body on Nayeon’s body, stuck out his tongue, and kept licking her face like a pervert.
"Ah~~~~~~~~~~I can't do it, Oppa~~~~~I can't do it. I can't do it~~~~~~~~I'm cumming. I'm cumming out." Nayeon's delicate body trembled, trying to grab something with both hands as if trying to move forward to escape the impact of the cock.
Seeing Nayeon's avoidance, the director immediately wrapped his hands tightly around Nayeon's slender waist, his face flushed red during the climax. He continued to bombard her already muddy vagina like heavy artillery.
"Ahh...ahhhhhh...I am going...crazy...ahhhhh...uhhhhh...let Nayeon go...Ahh." Nayeon's moans sounded like crying. The sound of flesh hitting together alternately with the sound of flesh hitting the ground.
"Ah ah... ah... oppa, I... feel so comfortable... so comfortable... ah ah... harder... fuck me... fuck me..." Nayeon's alluring body was pressed down to the tree by the director. She was pressed under his body, and her face showed a thrilling and charming look. The director was sweating profusely, shaking out a huge amount of hot sweat in the pumping. His breathing gradually became faster, and the movements of his lower body gradually accelerated, and he no longer deliberately controlled the intensity of the impact.
"O... Oppa, I... I really can't do it anymore... oh... oppa... oppa, please spare me... oh... oh... I have to wear it! I have to wear it... ah... oh... Oh... I'm going to die... Wu... Um... oppa... I'm going to die... I'm going to die... Ah... Ah... Uh-huh... I'm cumming... I'm cumming again... Oh... nearly cumming... uh uh..." The director continued to fuck her wet and soft pussy, which was so sore that Nayeon couldn’t bear it anymore and began to breathe unevenly. When Nayeon was about to climax, the director pulled out his cock and stopped inserting it. He only rubbed it slowly in a circular motion at Nayeon's clit.
Nayeon suddenly felt that her pussy had lost the sense of satisfaction, and she hurriedly shouted: "Eh... Huh? No... no... um... what..." Nayeon realized that the words she was about to say would be extremely lewd, so she only said a few words to protest.
"Huh? Little Nayeon, You don't want what? So you don't want me to continue to fuck you? Then forget it ..." The director tried to pull his cock out of Nayeon's pussy, but Nayeon almost reached orgasm, she couldn't bear it anymore. She couldn't care how lustful her words would be: "Ah...oppa...don't pull out...don't pull out...hurry up...fuck me...I can't stand it anymore..."
"Hahaha, little slut, I really don’t know how JYP has taught you such a slutty female idol! What do you want, where do you want it to be inserted? You need to be clear! Otherwise, I wouldn’t know.”
At this time, Nayeon could no longer care about shame, and she shouted loudly: “O...oppa, I want your... your big cock...insert...into Na… Nayeon’s little cunt... ah...". After hearing Nayeon's begging for mercy, the director thrust his cock in again, causing Nayeon to start moaning again: "Ah...ah...ah...um...ah...ah...oh... So...so full...um...".
A few minutes later, the director held Nayeon's body and sprinted for a while. The glans had swelled to the limit. With a squeak, he quickly pulled out of Nayeon's tender pussy, pulled her body over to face him, and groan in a hoarse voice: "Open up your mouth" Nayeon opened her small cherry mouth blankly, but the director immediately filled it.
"Ugh! Ugh!" Every time the director's cock pulsed in Nayeon's soft mouth, a stream of semen would spurt out. The thick and long cock penetrated straight into the throat, and the semen spurted out was poured directly into Nayeon's esophagus. But even like this, Nayeon's narrow mouth couldn't swallow all the cum, and it kept leaking from the corners of her mouth.
"Humph!" Nayeon groaned as she collapsed on the ground, and two streams of milky white semen slowly flowed down from her small nose, smelling like snot.
"Ahem, cough, cough." Nayeon's body twisted uneasily, but her little head was held down by the director obsessively. The cock was still pulsing, and the glans were still spitting out the essence of life.
"Huh~~" The director let out a sigh of relief, lowered his head and pulled out the penis that was gradually softening, only to find that Nayeon had lost consciousness. Semen kept spitting out from the corner of her mouth, and two lines of milky white were gushing out from both nostrils. It felt like the whole head was filled, and the mouth above and below were spitting out liquid at the same time.
After a short rest, Nayeon first swallowed the semen in her mouth, then stretched out her fingers to dip the slippery semen flowing out of her cheeks and nose into her delicate lips and stretched out her pink little tongue. Licking it clean, she kept reaching out to collect the puddles of semen toward her lips. When she flicked her pink tongue, the semen disappeared from Nayeon's mouth, leaving only a thin layer. The layer covered Nayeon’s chin and cheeks.
"Oppa, it's so delicious, but just too few." Nayeon licked the semen from the corner of her mouth with her tongue and said with a smile. Seeing this scene, the director suddenly felt that his soft cock became hard again, so he pounced forward again and pressed on Nayeon's body again. As Director pressed on her again, Nayeon was quickly penetrated by his cock again, and she let out an "uh" sound. The two began to fuck again, and the sound of sex indicated that they would not be silent for a while.
Due to a sudden illness, Jeongyeon’s body underwent a dramatic change—her weight skyrocketed, and her figure became unrecognizable. For an idol whose career depends on her appearance, this was a crushing blow.
Her once slender and graceful body became bloated and clumsy. The chubby woman staring back at her in the mirror felt like a complete stranger, filling Jeongyeon with shame and alienation. She avoided mirrors, refused to go out, and hid at home, wallowing in self-pity.
As a public figure, Jeongyeon dreaded fans discovering her transformation, terrified of their ridicule and rejection. Her agency worked tirelessly to conceal the issue, fearing it would tarnish the group’s image.
Under this dual pressure, Jeongyeon’s psyche began to warp. She became obsessed with perverse erotic novels, finding fleeting pleasure in their pages.
When night fell, Jeongyeon would sneak into public restrooms, locking herself in the innermost stall. Stripping off her clothes, she faced the grimy walls and began to masturbate.
Her mind was consumed by the wild plots of those stories: rape, domination, humiliation… The thought of these sent heat coursing through her body. She yearned to be ravaged, to be toyed with until her mind unraveled, like the heroines in her novels.
“Mmm… give me more… harder…” Jeongyeon moaned softly with her eyes closed, her fingers moving rapidly between her legs. She deliberately made louder noises, fantasizing about someone bursting in, stripping away her dignity and boundaries.
After what felt like an eternity, Jeongyeon reached climax. She collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down her face. This perverse pleasure left her feeling hollow and sorrowful, yet she was powerless to stop.
9:46 PM
While the other members of TWICE were preparing for their comeback, Jeongyeon was left alone in the dorm again. While watching erotic novels before going to bed, the power suddenly went out due to a faulty circuit breaker. With no other option, Jeongyeon called her manager for help. The manager and his assistant, who were out dining, promised to come over after hearing about the blackout.
The manager and assistant arrived soon and told Jeongyeon to wait while the assistant went to fetch tools and a new circuit breaker. As they waited, the manager struck up a conversation with Jeongyeon.
Soon, the assistant returned with the tools. In the dark dorm, the manager had Jeongyeon hold a flashlight while he worked on replacing the circuit breaker, with the assistant observing nearby.
At that moment, Jeongyeon noticed the manager and assistant staring at her with lecherous eyes. An inexplicable wave of desire surged within her, making it hard to control herself. Feeling overheated, she handed the flashlight to the assistant and stumbled into the bathroom in the dark. The manager continued working on the breaker, while the assistant smirked mischievously.
In the bathroom, Jeongyeon, overwhelmed by desire, even she had just masturbated crazy in a public toilet, clamped her thighs together, bent over the toilet lid, and supported herself with one hand while the other reached down, frantically rubbing her clitoris. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, but her body’s intense reaction was uncontrollable.
“Why? Why this sudden, overwhelming lust? Why? I can’t take it anymore!” Jeongyeon thought as she pleasured herself, her hips facing the bathroom door. Suddenly, the lights came back on, and she felt a hand on her buttocks. Startled, she stopped but remained bent over, too nervous to look back.
The manager, caressing her round buttocks, said, “Jeongyeon, are you that lonely? Masturbating in the bathroom when there are men in the dorm? TWICE’s girls are so naughty.” The assistant, seeing Jeongyeon in such a compromising position, was stunned but quickly became aroused.
Blushing and too shy to turn around, but being horny at the same time, Jeongyeon whispered, “Oppa, you can’t do this… we’re colleagues.”
“Haha, it’s because we’re colleagues that we should help relieve your loneliness. We’re just being helpful!” the manager said shamelessly, reaching around to unhook her bra. Jeongyeon let out a reluctant “ah.”
The manager pulled down her pajama pants and underwear, leaving her in just her top, her pale, round buttocks fully exposed to the two men.
“So beautiful,” the manager muttered. Both men eagerly groped her soft, white buttocks, occasionally squeezing the flesh.
“Oppa, don’t… don’t bully me like this… it’s not right…” Jeongyeon squirmed slightly, as if trying to evade their hands, but to the two men, it seemed like she was enticing them further.
“Bro, her skin is so smooth, so soft. I wonder how it feels to fuck her,” the assistant said. Jeongyeon buried her face in the toilet lid, too ashamed to face them, but her position made it all too easy for them to molest her. The assistant slipped his hand under her top, roughly kneading her breasts, shaping them into various forms and tugging at her nipples. The manager knelt down, licking her vagina, which was already wet with arousal. His teasing made her labia glisten, her pink folds irresistibly tempting.
“Ah… mm… ah… you can’t… you can’t do this…” Jeongyeon moaned, her remaining shred of rationality making a final stand. The assistant, still groping her breasts, kissed her ears and lifted her shoulders to kiss her face. Jeongyeon’s face was flushed with desire, driving the assistant to kiss her neck, cheeks, and lips passionately. Jeongyeon, moaning, reciprocated, extending her tongue to meet his kisses.
The manager moved his tongue to the area between her anus and vagina, his fingers relentlessly stimulating her clitoris. He licked around her wet anus, probing it with his tongue.
“Ah… ah… don’t… don’t lick there…” Jeongyeon was incoherent, her mind already surrendering to the assault of the two men.
The manager, licking her anus, stood up and said, “, I’ll let you go first. I’ll play with her tits.” Feeling the absence of the manager’s tongue, Jeongyeon felt a strange sense of loss. The assistant dropped his pants, positioned himself behind her, and thrust his erect cock into her vagina.
“Ah… ah…” Jeongyeon felt a rush of fulfillment, accepting the assistant’s assault.
“So good, Jeongyeon. I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long but never had the chance. You’re always so glamorous on stage, I didn’t dare speak much. Turns out you’re such a slut, seducing us to rape you when the others aren’t around,” the assistant said as he thrust.
He watched his cock slide in and out of her vagina, stretching her opening wide, the visual stimulation intense. His cock glistened with her juices. Her pink vagina opened and closed with each thrust.
“Fuck… fuck my pussy… it feels so good… so big… I can’t take it… mm… ah… ah…” The manager sat on the toilet lid, Jeongyeon’s head resting between his legs. He lifted her face, urging her to suck him. With a trace of rationality left, Jeongyeon was overwhelmed by the sight of his cock. Under his coercion, she took half of it into her mouth. The manager enjoyed her blowjob, grabbing her breasts and teasing her nipples.
The assistant, holding her waist, began thrusting rapidly, continuing for about 20 minutes. Jeongyeon’s legs weakened, her body leaning heavily on the manager. His cock went deeper into her mouth, causing her to gag and choke from the intensity.
The assistant’s thighs slapped against her buttocks, reddening them with each impact. Choking on the manager’s cock and overwhelmed by the assistant’s thrusts, Jeongyeon struggled, but the assistant kept pounding her vagina. As he came, she collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.
The assistant, sweating from the exertion, felt exhilarated watching Jeongyeon collapse. The manager stood, lifted her, washed her face, and stripped off her remaining clothes, leaving her completely naked.
He sat her on the toilet lid, placed her legs on his shoulders, and thrust his thick cock into her vagina. The size caused her pain, and she grimaced, clutching his waist as he pounded her. He moved slowly, grinding against her, mixing her juices with the assistant’s semen, and rubbed her clitoris.
Jeongyeon moaned, “Ah… ah… it feels so good… Oppa, you’re fucking me so good…”
The manager said, “Hold her arms. I’ll show you something exciting.”
The assistant grabbed her arms, pulling them from the manager’s waist. The manager sped up, flipping her labia with each thrust. Jeongyeon, never having experienced such a large cock, screamed, “Ah… ah…” The assistant rapidly rubbed her clitoris, overwhelming her with pleasure.
“Ah… ah… Oppa, stop… you can’t fuck me like this… I’ll break… ah…” Jeongyeon trembled, unable to resist the two men. As the manager thrust and the assistant teased her clitoris, she suddenly urinated, spraying onto the manager. Shocked but thrilled, he realized he had reduced a beloved idol to such a state.
Jeongyeon arched her back, screaming, “Ah… ah… don’t…” before climaxing. Her body was covered in urine, sweat, and juices, experiencing unprecedented stimulation.
Exhausted, her arms hung limply as the manager continued fucking her vagina. The assistant placed his cock at her mouth, and she obediently opened it, letting him thrust inside.
In TWICE’s dorm, the manager and assistant took turns—one fucking her vagina, the other her mouth. The assistant deliberately thrust deeply, aroused by her submissive demeanor.
Five minutes later, the assistant shoved his cock fully into her mouth, causing her to struggle and gag, tears and snot streaming down her face. The manager kept pounding her vagina, pulling out and thrusting back in, making her body tremble. Seeing her pained yet aroused expression, the assistant came in her throat.
After cumming, the assistant felt no fatigue, still stroking her body. The manager continued raping her for another half hour before shooting his load deep inside her.
In over an hour, both men had cummed in her mouth and vagina. Exhausted, Jeongyeon sat limply on the toilet, semen dripping from her vagina, too ashamed to look at them.
The manager, crouching to admire her dripping vagina, said excitedly, “Good thing I was prepared and captured this moment.” A camera on the counter had recorded everything.
The assistant, playing with her vagina, said, “Jeongyeon, want more? We’ve helped you relieve your urges.”
Jeongyeon, head bowed, said nothing, her breasts heaving. The assistant’s fingers teased her vagina, slipping inside.
“…Mm…” Jeongyeon moaned instinctively.
The assistant kissed her, speeding up his fingers. Under his teasing, she moaned erotically again.
“…Ah… ah… no more, Oppa… I’m exhausted… ah… mm… ah…” After a few minutes, she climaxed again, urinating high into the air, to the manager’s delight.
3:30 AM
Jeongyeon lay on the bed’s edge, the manager holding her legs, thrusting steadily into her vagina. She was giving the assistant a blowjob, her head hanging off the bed, aligning her throat for deep penetration. The assistant’s cock went fully inside, his pubic hair covering her face, her throat bulging as she swallowed.
Her deep throating pleased the assistant. After a few seconds, he pulled out.
“Cough… cough…” Jeongyeon choked, grabbing his cock to stop him, saying seductively, “Oppa, you’ll kill me!”
The assistant chuckled, groping her breasts, saying, “How could I? I love you too much! Who else would we play with? Come on, keep going.” He thrust back into her mouth.
Jeongyeon obediently continued. After a night of relentless assault, the men’s rhythm was perfect. Soon, her body writhed, gripping the sheets, legs alternating between closing and spreading, toes curling, breathing heavily.
The men exchanged a knowing smile and sped up. Seconds later, Jeongyeon trembled violently, legs clamping around the manager’s waist, her body arching in a sensual curve.
After two minutes of climax, she relaxed. The men stepped back, their erect cocks twitching. Jeongyeon lay smiling, her limbs twitching slightly.
Ten minutes later, she slowly got up. The assistant hugged her from behind, asking, “How was it? Good?”
Leaning weakly against him, she brushed her hair aside and shyly said, “Damn Oppa… you’ll kill me eventually.”
The manager pinched her chin, saying, “Slut, we haven’t even cum yet. What now?”
Jeongyeon glanced at him, her voice dripping with seduction, “Then let this little slut serve you well!” She stood and kissed the manager passionately.
“Bro, mind if I go first?” the assistant asked.
“Go ahead. She almost sucked me dry earlier,” the manager replied. The assistant kissed Jeongyeon, thrusting into her vagina and pumping away.
Watching them, the manager hugged her from behind, saying, “I’ll take the back door, slut.”
“Mm… mmm…” Jeongyeon, lost in the kiss, mumbled in agreement. The manager spit on his hand, rubbed his softening cock, and pressed it against her anus, saying, “Here it comes,” before thrusting in.
“Mmm… mmm…” Jeongyeon moaned muffledly, her mouth occupied.
“So tight…” the manager gasped.
“Yeah, her front’s tight too. Still like a virgin after all this. She’s perfect!” the assistant said, pulling away from her mouth.
“Ah… Oppa… you bad guys… you’ve played with every part of me…” Jeongyeon panted, her voice intoxicatingly seductive.
“Idols are just different. So much better than regular sluts,” the manager said, groping her breast.
“Yeah… it’s like fucking a corpse with them…” the assistant said, thrusting hard.
“You… pervy Oppas…” Jeongyeon gasped.
Sandwiched between them, she moaned, “Oppa… faster… I’m coming… so good… you’re killing me… ah…” She trembled violently, climaxing again.
The men didn’t stop, continuing to fondle her breasts and body while fucking her vagina and anus in sync.
The wet sounds grew louder. Jeongyeon trembled again, clearly thrilled by the prolonged assault, cooperating fully.
After about 15 minutes, with Jeongyeon climaxing again, she hugged the assistant tightly, unable to make a sound, her hands gripping his back, knuckles white, feet arched, toes curled.
The men, reaching their limit, panted heavily, thrusting faster.
“Oh…” The manager roared, pressing against her buttocks, his scrotum contracting as he came in her anus.
“I’m cumming… ah…” The assistant hugged her tightly, thrusting deep, shooting his load into her vagina.
“You’re fucking me to death…” Jeongyeon screamed hysterically, her body tensing before going limp, fainting.
My body has recently entered puberty, my hormones are surging, and I have strong sexual urges every day. As the only woman in the family, My mum, Tzuyu naturally became the object of my desire. Although our mother-son relationship is close, I still feel a little embarrassed to ask my mother to take care of my physical needs.
But every time I have an erection, Tzuyu will still considerately help me solve the problem. She would gently hold my penis with her soft hands and move it up and down slowly and rhythmically until I ejaculated on her hand. Tzuyu's technique is very skillful and she can give me the ultimate pleasure every time.
"Mom, I'm hard again..." I called softly in the room. Soon, the door opened and Tzuyu walked in with a glass of hot milk.
She sat next to me gently, stretched out her little hand and groped in my crotch for a while, and found the erect bulge without any error. I immediately felt a numbing current spread from my lower body to my whole body, and I almost screamed with pleasure.
"It's so good, Mom, you really know how to play..." I moaned, enjoying the pleasure brought by Tzuyu's nimble fingers.
A shy blush appeared on Tzuyu's face, but she still served me wholeheartedly. Soon, I sprayed a large stream of thick white turbidity into her delicate palm, letting out a low growl of satisfaction.
Tzuyu took out a few tissues to wipe the liquid on her hands, with a doting smile on her face: "If you need it in the future, remember to tell mom~"
Since I got Tzuyu's "help", I have become more and more eager for her body, and the frequency of erections is as high as several times a day. Although Tzuyu was initially worried about whether my body could handle it, she could not refuse my requests.
Gradually, Tzuyu completely let go of her bottom line at my request. At first she would serve me in her underwear, but soon she couldn't resist my begging. She stripped naked and knelt in front of me, using her naked breasts and thighs to rub me to orgasm one after another.
Tzuyu's soft skin slid across my crotch, arousing waves of pleasure. I couldn't help but knead her round and erect nipples. Tzuyu groaned, but she focused more on swallowing my cock. Soon I reached climax with a long cry, and poured all the white fluid into Tzuyu's little mouth.
"Mom, you are so powerful...I will not be willing to cum until I cum in your mouth..." I gasped, watching the way Tzuyu's throat squirmed.
Tzuyu wiped away the spilled residue from the corner of her mouth and gently stroked my chest: "Good boy, of course mommy will give you the best things~ Just tell me where you want to ejaculate in the future."
"Hmm... I want to cum underneath you..." I couldn't help but fantasize, looking at Tzuyu's pink petals glowing with water, just waiting for me to come.
Tzuyu was shocked after hearing this, and then blushed: "How is this possible! We are mother and son..."
"But mom, you can even let me penetrate your mouth..." I said aggrievedly, and inserted my fingers into Tzuyu's vagina, feeling the moisture and tightness inside.
Tzuyu bit her lip, obviously there was a war in her heart.
Tzuyu was silent for a moment, and finally made up her mind: "Baby, I know you are in full swing right now, but I really can't accept letting you go in there... That's mommy's final bottom line."
I was eclipsed, but Tzuyu immediately added: "But apart from there, mom can let you play anywhere else... just like now..."
After saying that, Tzuyu moved her body and opened her two plump thighs in an M shape, with the pink petals clearly visible. My eyes lit up, and I immediately leaned down and hugged Tzuyu's thigh and started sucking hard.
Tzuyu screamed, her slender fingers embedded deeply into the sheets, letting me use the tip of my tongue to wreak havoc on her sensitive clitoris. Soon, the sparkling love juice flowed out from Tzuyu's lower body and wet my lips and tongue.
"Ahhh... good son... you lick mommy so well... go a little deeper... yes... right there..." Tzuyu kept moaning, my lips and tongue were in her private parts Lingering, bringing wave after wave of climax.
When Tzuyu's screams gradually subsided, I raised my head and saw that Tzuyu's pussy was already covered in mud. I eagerly held my cock and pressed it between Tzuyu's thighs.
Tzuyu seemed to understand my intention and hurriedly stopped me: "Wait...you can’t put it in!"
"Don't worry, I'll only fuck your thighs." I replied with a smirk, then straightened my waist and pushed my penis deep into Tzuyu's soft thigh flesh.
"Oh——" I gasped, this feeling was more refreshing than I imagined. Tzuyu's thighs are white and tender, with a delicate and smooth skin surface, but the inner muscles are elastic, wrapping my body tightly. With every thrust, Tzuyu would moan softly, the sound that sounded like pain but not painful was sultry.
"Baby...slow down...mom's leg is going to be broken..." Tzuyu begged, but I didn't care, and speeded up my movements, only focusing on my own pleasure.
Seeing that the she could not stop me, Tzuyu simply gave up resistance and concentrated on clamping the roots of her thighs. I immediately felt an unprecedented sense of oppression. Tzuyu 's thigh flesh was like a living thing, tightly wrapping my penis in it. With every thrust, I screamed out in pleasure and almost burst out between Tzuyu's thighs.
At the same time, my glans was rubbing against Tzuyu's labia again and again. The two petals were already wet with my semen, and now they were like two thick flesh lips adsorbed on my front, making me even more excited.
"Ah - Mom, you are really good at playing..." I yelled in a daze, while Tzuyu was trembling with my impact. More honey flowed out of her vagina and wetted our intercourse parts.
The feeling of being wrapped in her clit made me crazy. I grabbed Tzuyu's ankles and pulled her legs further apart. Tzuyu understood, she let out a sweet cry and clamped her thighs tightly, trapping my whole body inside. All my weight was focusing on the clone. I was so happy that I raised my head and let out a long sigh.
Tzuyu's thighs were like a tight paradise, tightly wrapping my penis, and every inch of the texture was rubbing against the most sensitive parts. The position of my glans was just stuck between Tzuyu's slightly open petals. Every time I straightened my waist, it rubbed against her most private entrance.
"Mom, you are really good at playing... If you keep going like this, I will cum all over your legs..." I tried my best to hold myself up so as not to be squeezed too tightly by Tzuyu's thighs and cause me to climax directly.
But Tzuyu smiled proudly as if she had been praised: "Isn't that exactly what you want? Good boy, keep fucking mom's thighs..."
After saying that, Tzuyu tightened her thighs again, and my penis was trapped in them and there was no way to escape. Tzuyu's petals kept squeezing my glans, and my tips soon secreted precum, which mixed with Tzuyu's honey, making our intercourse smoother.
"Oh - I'm going to die... Mom, your clit sucks me so much... deeper... I want to fuck them all in..." I thrust wildly, attacking again and again. The whole tips was swallowed by Tzuyu 's clit.
Tzuyu also followed my movements and swung her waist, cooperating with me to fuck her thighs. Her juice flowed non-stop, soaking the sheets.
I was so stimulated by Tzuyu's soft thighs that I lost my mind. I raised my waist and pushed deeper again and again. My glans kept rubbing against Tzuyu's clitoris and sex center, eliciting sweet moans from her.
Tzuyu's thighs seemed to have a life of their own, tightly clinging to my body. Whenever I pulled out, Tzuyu would relax a little, and then she would tighten when I thrust in. The contrast brought me so much pleasure that I was soon on the verge of ejaculation.
"Mom... I'm about to cum... loosen up a little..." I gasped and begged for mercy, but Tzuyu smiled coquettishly and squeezed her thighs tighter: "Cum... cum all over Mom. On the legs..."
I fucked Tzuyu's thighs like crazy. Every time my glans connected with Tzuyu's petals, a deadly wave of pleasure swept through my body. I don't even need to actually penetrate Tzuyu's pussy, just relying on this position can give me supreme pleasure.
Tzuyu felt the cock between her thighs begin to twitch, and she immediately understood that I was about to cum. Instead of relaxing, she clamped her thighs tighter, vowing to squeeze me dry until every drop was left.
"Baby son... don't mommy's thighs feel so good... you are just a little bit close to being able to penetrate mommy's real hole... Do you want to try it?" Tzuyu teased me wildly, then such obscene language directly pushed me to bliss.
My sanity finally completely collapsed at this moment. I grabbed Tzuyu's buttocks and thrust hard. Every time I thrust in, My tips was fully swallowed by her clit. Tzuyu 's labia were stretched to the maximum by my penis, and the pink petals almost turned white under the rapid friction.
"Ah... I'm going to cum... Mom, you're so good at sucking... I'm going to... Oh - I'm going to cum... Mommy, I'm going to cum -" I stiffened and yelled At the climax, Tzuyu's thighs clamped down on me, and my penis exploded in her thighs. White hot water spurted out from the eyes, all of which ejaculated on Tzuyu's body.
"Mommy...I cum for you..." I was exhausted and fell on Tzuyu's body. Tzuyu felt my orgasm and tightened her grip even more, making my ejaculation last longer. She stroked my sweaty back, and at the same time teased me verbally: "Baby... you fuck me so much that I'm so satisfied... cum more... fill mommy's legs..."
These words directly hit my vitality. I was so happy that my whole body was shaking, and the amount of ejaculation was far greater than usual. Tzuyu 's thighs were soon covered with my semen, and some even seeped into her petals.
Tzuyu laughed and let me cum all over her thighs and belly. She wiped some of the white turbidity with her fingers and put it in her mouth, savoring my taste.
"Baby son, mommy drank your milk, it's so delicious~" Tzuyu said, looking at me with seductive eyes. My penis that had not yet faded became hard again under her sight. It seemed that there were more good shows to be performed tonight...
I looked at Tzuyu, her expression was both intoxicated and proud, as if everything that just happened was just a trivial game. A ridiculous idea came to my mind, so I raised my penis again and pressed it against Tzuyu's thigh.
Tzuyu's eyes widened in surprise, and I couldn't wait to start thrusting. The penis I had just ejaculated was still very sensitive, and Tzuyu's thighs were so beautiful, I was quickly aroused again.
"Baby...you still want to come?" Tzuyu was a little flattered, and then she smiled very charmingly: "Then mom will play with you to the end..."
Tzuyu tightened her thighs again, and we seemed to be in an endless obscene game.
I grabbed Tzuyu's waist and thrust hard, as if I wanted to crush her under my penis. Tzuyu was knocked forward and backward by my offensive, and her breasts kept shaking in front of her chest. Her clit was also crushed by me again and again, causing more honey to flow out.
"Ah...baby...you are too cruel...Mom can't bear it anymore..." Tzuyu gasped and grabbed my arms with both hands for support. However, her legs tightened tighter and tighter, as if she wanted to completely confine my penis between her legs.
My scalp was numb from the stimulation of Tzuyu's tight legs, and a trace of precum leaked out of my tips again. I knew I was on the verge of losing control and could only sprint harder to reach climax as quickly as possible.
"Mommy, I'm almost there... Your legs squeeze me so much..." I groaned, my waist twitched a few times for the last time, and then my penis twitched, and I ejaculated a thick white fluid.
Tzuyu felt my ejaculation and actually increased the strength of her legs, as if she wanted to squeeze out the last drop of my essence. I roared, reaching an unprecedented peak of bliss, and my whole body went limp, except for my clone, which was still as hard as iron and embedded between Tzuyu's legs.
We stayed in this position, Tzuyu gently stroking my hair with a doting smile on her lips. Her legs were already covered with my bodily fluids, and the white turbidity mixed with her own vaginal fluids formed an extremely lustful picture.
Tzuyu held my face and kissed my lips. The tip of her tongue slipped into my mouth and swam around like a little snake. "Good baby... Mom is very satisfied... Your performance is even better than before..." Tzuyu licked the saliva from the corner of my mouth, her tone full of doting.
I kissed Tzuyu back and wrapped my arms around her neck. My fingers searched her back and soon found her anus. I pressed it as if to be a prank, causing Tzuyu to exclaim.
"You bad boy! Don't touch there..." Tzuyu was ashamed and angry, but the next second she was blocked by another passionate kiss from me.
I grabbed Tzuyu's hips and turned her over to face me. Tzuyu lay down knowingly and opened her legs wide, revealing the petals inside that were red from my fucking. There was a hunger in her eyes, expecting me to take her again. She seems forget about she is not allowing me to enter her.
I held my penis and pressed it against Tzuyu's entrance. Under Tzuyu 's gaze, he slowly pushed in, feeling the tightness and moisture in her cavity. It’s the first time I entered my mum, and the heat and tight nearly get me cum instantly.
"Hmm...slow down...it's too thick..." Tzuyu bit her lip and moaned, looking at me with surrender written all over her eyes.
I leaned down and kissed Tzuyu, my penis going deeper into her body. It wasn't until I was completely submerged that I raised my head and saw that Tzuyu had closed her eyes in confusion.
"Baby... move..." Tzuyu invited enthusiastically. I couldn't bear it anymore and immediately started to play with her pussy aggressively.
My penis quickly shuttled in and out of Tzuyu 's honey hole, reaching the deepest point every time. Tzuyu 's whole body trembled due to my impact, and her heart kept secreting new nectar.
"Hmm... baby... go deeper... I'm going to be penetrated by you..." Tzuyu moaned wildly, hooking her legs around my waist and rocking her hips back and forth in line with my progress.
I was so aroused by Tzuyu's wild performance that I lost my mind and fucked her pussy even harder. Tzuyu 's body was warm and wet, tightly wrapping around my body. A large amount of clear mucus leaked from the place where our genitals met, soaking the sheets underneath her.
"Mom...you know how to suck...I'm going to cum..." I gasped and growled. After hearing this, Tzuyu accelerated her hips, and her pussy kept squirming, as if she wants to squeeze me dry.
"Then cum... cum all for mommy..." Tzuyu 's eyes were confused, and her lips were soaked with her own body fluids. I couldn't bear it anymore, so I suddenly increased my speed, and with one final hard blow, my penis was buried deeply inside Tzuyu, and at the same time, white turbidity surged out, completely filling her cervix.
Tzuyu felt my ejaculation, her whole body stiffened, and then she shuddered like a spasm. She screamed loudly, reaching the highest peak of lust. The two of us climbed to the top together, the aftermath of our climax lingering for a long time.
After the climax, I held Tzuyu in my arms and lay on the bed with her. Tzuyu 's fingers still stayed on my back garden, as if exploring some novel territory.
"Baby... you are such a genius... you bring mommy unexpected surprises every time..." Tzuyu whispered in my ear, and I felt a sense of pride well up after hearing it.
I kissed Tzuyu's neck and stretched my hands to her breasts. Soon, Tzuyu's nipples stood erect in the palm of my hand. My fingers twisted the two sensitive protrusions from time to time, causing Tzuyu to gasp softly.
"Baby... don't... Mom was about to die just now... Let mom take a rest now..." Tzuyu begged, but I knew she was not satisfied yet.
I turned over and pressed on Tzuyu, with my once more erect penis pressed against her entrance. Tzuyu was taken aback, but quickly faced me resignedly.
"Then let mommy see... what else my little boy is capable of..." Tzuyu smiled seductively. I couldn't hold it in any longer and penetrated her hard.
We started another round of passionate sex and fell asleep late at night.
Since that affair with Tzuyu at home, the erotic relationship between us has become increasingly widespread. Whenever my father was not at home, Tzuyu would always find various excuses to pull me to her room, and then she could not wait to unbutton my pants, and use her charming little mouth and hands to push me to the peak of bliss.
Even when my father was at home, Tzuyu would take the opportunity to tease me, such as secretly touching my inner thighs with her hands, or blowing and whispering in my ear to make me hard. Whenever this happens, I can't help but push Tzuyu down on the bed and cum everything for her.
Gradually, I found that my body was increasingly unable to bear Tzuyu's enthusiasm. I often felt pain in my back and lacked physical strength.
Tzuyu didn't seem to be aware of my physical troubles. Whenever she had a chance, she would grab me and ask me to help her reach climax. Several times I woke up in the middle of the night and found myself covered in Tzuyu's bodily fluids, and the sheets were in a mess.
But every time I face Tzuyu's temptation, I can't refuse her, because her body is the strongest aphrodisiac to me. A look from her could turn me on, a whisper from her could arouse my lust. I fell deeply into this twisted lust. I knew it was an immoral relationship, but I couldn't extricate myself, and I can give everything for her.
"Baby... Mommy wants you again... Come and help mommy vent her lust..." Tzuyu's voice was charming and sweet, and my penis instantly became engorged with blood and stood straight up.
"Mom...I've ejaculated several times today...my body just can't take it anymore..." I begged with a wry smile, but my hands began to caress Tzuyu's breasts involuntarily.
"Then let mom see how powerful my little baby is..." Tzuyu smiled and opened her legs, revealing her already wet private parts.
My reason completely collapsed at this moment, and only animal desires dominated all my actions. I rushed forward and got entangled with Tzuyu,
"Baby...come on...Mom is about to climax again..." Tzuyu twisted her waist, kneading her breasts with one hand, and thrusting into my backcourt with the other.
"Mom...wait a minute...I just cum..." I gasped and begged, but Tzuyu ignored my pleas and just urged me to penetrate her pussy again.
I could only reluctantly follow the instructions and enter Tzuyu's body again. The two of us are entangled together, as if there is only each other left in the world, and everything else has nothing to do with us.
Y/N: So finally I have sometime to translate a fic, I have trimmed down some parts so it would not be too lenghty. Incest fic with Mommy Dahyun, and even make her pregrant, enjoy!
Dahyun is a single mother. Her husband passed away from illness many years ago, leaving her and her young son to rely on each other.
Since her husband passed away, Dahyun has been missing him every day. However, to raise her son to adulthood, she has to work tirelessly to earn money to support the family. In the dead of night, Dahyun often tosses and turns in bed, unable to fall asleep, and her physical desires rise accordingly. But she doesn't dare casually find a man to satisfy her physical needs, fearing it might cast a shadow and impact her son's growth.
At times like this, Dahyun can only rely on her own hands to relieve her physical needs. She would quietly turn off the room lights, take off her underwear, gently rub the two rosy spots on her chest with her hands, then reach down to the already muddy little hole, inserting and withdrawing her fingers until she reached climax.
But such self-satisfaction always leaves one feeling empty and lost; Dahyun longs for a real embrace to lean on. She has never been able to take that step out of consideration for her son.
However, what Dahyun did not expect was that unbeknownst to her, her son was secretly developing unusual feelings for her. Whenever she was alone in her room "entertaining herself," there was always a pair of burning eyes outside the door, closely watching her every move.
The voyeur was none other than her son—me. Ever since Dad passed away, I have been secretly watching over everything about Mom. I watched as my mother gradually became thinner, knowing that she was very lonely. One time, I accidentally stumbled upon my mother in the act of masturbation, awakening something within me. From then on, I often hid outside the door when my mother was unaware, secretly watching her private actions, and even masturbated while watching.
Dahyun was completely unaware of this and continued to live her ordinary life every day. But she didn't know that the embrace she longed for day and night was right beside her.
As time went by, my desire for my mother grew increasingly rampant. I was not satisfied with just peeking from outside the door; instead, I started stealing my mother's underwear to comfort myself.
Whenever my mother was not home, I would sneak into her room and open the wardrobe to look for her worn clothes. I would pick up her wore but unwashed bra, inhale the lingering scent deeply, and then put it on my erect penis to rub against it.; Or take a pair of silk panties that mom wore but haven't been washed yet, wrap them around my cock, and jerk off like crazy. Imagining that this is Mom's little hole swallowing my cock, I always quickly reached climax.
Sometimes when Mom is at home, I pretend to accidentally drop something on the floor, taking the opportunity to quickly glance at Mom's legs while bending down to pick it up, sneaking a peek at the color and style of Mom's underwear. If she is putting on a new pair of underwear, I will specifically choose that one to use the next time I steal underwear.
In addition to stealing underwear, I also started secretly filming videos of my mother masturbating with my phone. One time, I heard strange sounds coming from my mother's room. I quietly opened the door and saw Dahyun lying on the bed with her legs spread apart, one hand kneading her breasts and the other moving rapidly in her vagina. That scene made my blood boil, and I immediately took out my phone and started recording my mother's private parts. In the video, it is clearly visible that Mom's pink labia are being spread open, fingers going in and out, the sound of water is continuous, and her expression gradually becomes more and more lustful.
From then on, whenever Mom was alone, I would take the opportunity to secretly film her naked. I have already collected countless videos of my mother during her orgasms, which I can watch and masturbate anytime, anywhere.
Dahyun was completely unaware of all this and continued to live her monotonous life day after day. She never imagined that her closest son would develop such perverse desires towards her.
I could no longer bear the desire that had been suppressed in my heart for many years. One day during dinner, I suddenly said to Dahyun, "Mom, I have something to tell you."
Dahyun looked at me with some surprise, thinking I had gotten into trouble at school again. "Y/N, what's wrong? Did the teacher make you stand in the corner again?"
"No, Mom. I want to tell you that my feelings for you... are a bit complicated."
Dahyun paused for a moment, then smiled and said, "What do kids know about love? The most important thing for you right now is to study hard."
"Not at all!" I suddenly became agitated, stood up, and took off my pants, revealing a thick, erect penis. "My feelings for you, Mom, are not just simple affection! I know you've been lonely all these years, just like I have! Every time you're alone in your room, I stand outside, staring at your body, wanting to possess you, to touch you, to give you true pleasure!"
Dahyun stared at me in disbelief; my words had completely shattered her worldview. She never expected her son to have such taboo feelings for her. "Y/N! What are you talking about? I'm your mother, how can you have such thoughts about me?!"
"But I can't help it, Mom! Every night, I think about your masturbation and watch videos of you to climax. I know it's wrong, but I just can't control myself!" I gripped my penis and moved it up and down, my eyes fixed on Dahyun's body. "Mom, I know you're lonely too. Why can't we satisfy each other? “I will make you experience unprecedented pleasure..."
"Enough!" Dahyun angrily interrupted me, turned around, rushed back to her room, and locked the door. She lay on the bed, crying uncontrollably, feeling deeply guilty for having ignored her son's emotional changes all these years. At the same time, she felt deeply fearful and uneasy about her son's thoughts.
The next morning, Dahyun woke up early as usual to prepare breakfast for me. I came downstairs to the dining room, and as soon as I sat down, I pulled one of Dahyun's hands and placed it on my lap.
"Mom, please reconsider what I said last night.” I know this sounds crazy, but for so many years I've been suppressing my feelings for you, and now I really can't stand it anymore. As long as you are willing to give me a chance, I will make you feel an unprecedented pleasure..."
Dahyun was so scared she almost jumped up, hurriedly pulling her hand away. "Y/N! What are you doing? I'm your biological mother! How can we do such a thing!"
"Mom, listen to me..." I reached out and gently pulled Dahyun closer to me, then hugged her tightly. "I know this is hard to accept, but don't you really want to experience it? “You’ve been through so much alone all these years; I can't bear to see you continue living in such loneliness. Believe me, you will find true happiness with me..."
Dahyun struggled desperately but couldn't escape my embrace. She looked at her son in terror, this child she had loved and cared for since I was little, now harbouring such wicked thoughts towards her.
"Y/N, wake up! We are mother and son, doing such things is against moral ethics! Even if you don't understand these principles now because you are still young, you will regret what you did today when you grow up!"
"No, Mom. I am already an adult now, I can take responsibility for my actions. And you should indulge yourself once, experience the true pleasure of sex..."
I said this as I began to kiss Dahyun's cheeks and neck, my hands restlessly roaming over her body. Dahyun only felt a wave of dizziness, her whole body weakly collapsing into her son's embrace.
"Don't... Y/N... let go of me... I'm your mother... we can't do this..."
"Shh..." I once again took Dahyun's hand and placed it on my throbbing member. "Mom, look, my cock has become so big. It's craving your comfort. Do you know how much I crave your body? Every time I watch you in the bathroom, I can't help but imagine how beautiful and captivating your naked body is. Why don't we give in to our inner desires and try a taboo relationship just this once?
Dahyun felt her son's palm as hot as a branding iron, tightly gripping her small hand and sliding it along my shaft. My penis is so huge that it almost swallows her entire hand. She never thought her son would develop such a huge thing; it was simply beyond her comprehension.
As her palm rubbed, a surge of heat quickly surged into Dahyun's brain, causing her to involuntarily let out a soft gasp. She hadn't tasted the pleasures of the flesh in a long time, and her lower body was gradually becoming moist.
“Oh my... my son's manhood... so thick and strong... if only it could come inside... how pleasurable it would be...”
Dahyun's cheeks flushed, her reason gradually being eroded by her body's desires. Although she still felt resistance in her heart, she couldn't stop herself from fantasizing and desiring her son's penis. This kind of taboo thought made her feel incredibly ashamed, yet it also brought an inexplicable excitement.
"Mom, I'm waiting for your answer... Are you really not willing to give me a chance to satisfy your needs? I will make you experience unprecedented pleasure... trust me..."
Her son's whispers echoed in her ears, and Dahyun's body trembled suddenly. She knew she had already been captivated by her son's words. Reason told her she shouldn't agree to such a request, but desire kept tempting her.
Dahyun is still struggling with whether to give in to her son's desires, with reason and desire waging a fierce battle in her heart. Her son's penis was simply too sexy and alluring; its hot, firm touch made it hard for her to resist. But as a mother, how could she do something so morally wrong?
I was unaware of the conflict in my mother's heart; I was only focused on enjoying the sensual scene before me. I vigorously kneaded Dahyun's round breasts and erected nipples, feeling their elasticity and softness in my hands. I then turned to knead Dahyun's full, perky buttocks, my fingers sliding between the two fleshy cheeks.
“Ah... so comfortable... Mom's body is truly perfect... I can finally possess you... I'm going to thoroughly enjoy your body...”
I was extremely excited, and my actions became bolder and bolder. However, I overlooked a fact—I was just a newly adult young man who had no idea how to control my strength. My rough touches and pinches left Dahyun's body marked with red, making her cry out in pain.
"Ah... Y/N... be gentler... you're hurting me..."
Dahyun twisted her body trying to escape, only to find herself in an even deeper predicament. Her son's rough caresses, though somewhat painful, were also igniting her desires. She unconsciously began to stroke my penis with her hand, the thick and powerful sensation igniting her desire.
“Ah... I can't take it anymore... I want more... I want my son's cock...”
Dahyun's rationality had long been thrown out the window; she was immersed in the ultimate pleasure brought by her son.
I was brought to the peak of pleasure by Dahyun's sudden actions, almost reaching climax immediately. I stopped moving, and took a deep breath to calm myself down.
"Mom... have you finally decided to give in to my desires?"
Dahyun lowered her head in shame, unable to meet her son's questioning gaze. "I... I don't know... I shouldn't have agreed... but I... I just couldn't control myself... Your cock is just too sexy and alluring... it's hard for me to resist..."
I was overjoyed, grabbing Dahyun and kissing her deeply on the lips. "Mom... I knew you would also be entranced by my cock... Let's start today... Let me take good care of you..." After saying this, I couldn't wait to tear off Dahyun's clothes, revealing her snow-white body. I eagerly licked and kissed the two rosy points on Dahyun's chest, then continued down, biting her lower abdomen and thighs.
“Ah... son... slow down... don't be so impatient...”
Dahyun gently pushed my shoulder, trying to stop my overly rough attack. However, I seemed completely lost in Dahyun's beautiful body, ignoring her resistance. I forcefully spread Dahyun's thighs, revealing her most secret garden.
“Mom... I can't wait any longer... I want to possess you right now...”
I pressed my cock against Dahyun's clits, preparing to insert it. Dahyun suddenly woke up and grabbed my wrist.
"Wait... I... I can't do this... this is just too wrong..."
"Mom... please... just let me have you this once... just this once... I promise I won't bring it up again in the future..."
I rubbed my penis against Dahyun's labia, trying to make her give up her last resistance.
Dahyun had already turned into a puddle under her son's onslaught, her reason no longer able to hold out. "Alright... just this once... you must never bring it up again..."
Hearing Dahyun's consent, I was overjoyed as if I had struck a treasure, I quickly spread Dahyun's thighs and thrust into her hardly.
"Ah!!" Dahyun moaned loudly, her son's huge cock penetrated directly to the deepest point, and her vagina was completely filled. "Y/N...be gentle...it's too big for me..."
"Mom...it feels so good...you're so tight inside...I'm going to move..."
I said and began to thrust hard, my thick cock tumbling inside Dahyun's body. Dahyun was knocked wildly by me, and she lost all reason for a moment. She could only instinctively follow the rhythm and move her waist to suit me.
"Hmm...ah...Y/N...so powerful...you penetrate so deeply...I'm about to be fucked by you..."
Dahyun's eyes were blurred, and she kept moaning incoherently. She had never thought that incest with her son would bring such intense pleasure as if her whole body was about to melt.
I was even more excited when I heard my mother's moans, and my movements became more and more wild.
I listened to my mother's moans, becoming even more excited, my movements growing wilder.
"Ah... Mom... it feels so good... you're so tight inside... I can't take it anymore..."
My breathing became heavier, and my pace quickened. I no longer cared about any techniques of shallow or deep thrusts, only thinking about fiercely possessing Dahyun's body.
Dahyun quickly intervened, "Y/N... slow down... if you go too fast, you'll cum quickly... we finally have this opportunity... you need to try to prolong it..."
However, how could I, who was experiencing sex for the first time, possibly hold back? I was already too deeply enchanted by Dahyun's body and just wanted to reach the climax as soon as possible. I increased the intensity of my thrusts, each one hitting deep inside Dahyun.
"Ah... Mom... I can't take it anymore... I'm going to cum..."
My cock throbbed inside Dahyun, releasing thick streams of semen that filled her vagina for the first time.
"Oh... Y/N... why did you finish so quickly..."
Dahyun helplessly watched as her son pulled out his softening member, a stream of white semen flowing from her open entrance.
"I'm sorry, Mom... I'm just too excited... It's too exciting to do this with you for the first time... I will try to keep longer next time..."
I lowered my head in shame. I originally thought I was well prepared, but I didn't expect to be conquered so easily by Dahyun's alluring body.
"It doesn't matter... This time we finally got what we wanted... You don't have to worry too much about time... We will have many opportunities in the future..."
Seeing that I was a little disappointed, Dahyun couldn't help but feel pity. She sat up, holding my cock with one hand, and wrapped her other hand around my neck and pulled me towards her.
"Good boy... don't be discouraged... we still have time... let mommy teach you now..."
Dahyun took my softened cock into her mouth and sucked it carefully. I felt a familiar feeling of pleasure return and couldn't help but let out a comfortable cry.
"Mom...your mouth feels so comfortable...I'm getting hard again..."
Dahyun glanced up at me with a look of satisfaction in her eyes. She sped up her swallowing speed, sometimes swiping the crown with the tip of her tongue.
"Hmm... um... right there... a little deeper... yes... it feels so good..."
My cock became engorged and swollen again under Dahyun's service, even thicker and more powerful than before.
"Mom...I'm going to insert it..."
I pulled out my cock from Dahyun's mouth, eagerly spread her legs and inserted it again. Dahyun's vagina was filled with my huge penis at once, and the pleasure immediately overwhelmed her.
"Ah...it's too big...Y/N...slow down..."
However, I have been blinded by desire at this moment. How can I care about slow progress? I thrust in and out widely, hitting the deepest part of Dahyun hard with every thrust.
"Mom...I finally have you again...It feels so good inside you...I want to fuck you to death...
Dahyun was fascinated by her son's almost violent offensive, but she knew that she could not let me go on like this, otherwise, I would soon end early again. So Dahyun tapped my shoulder to signal me to stop.
"Y/N... you are too impatient... we still have a long time to enjoy... now you just insert it into me like this... let mommy teach you some new tricks..."
Dahyun stretched out her hand to knead her breasts, her eyes drifting to me: "Look at my hands... caress my nipples like this... They are very sensitive... you can lick, bite and suck... but You must be gentle...otherwise it will hurt..."
I followed Dahyun's instructions and leaned down to kiss her breasts gently. I teased the pink nipples with the tip of my tongue, pursed my lips lightly, sometimes sucked and sometimes licked.
"Yes...that's it...then you have to thrust your cock inside me in small strokes...don't use too much force...this way it can last longer..."
I did as I was told, and my cock squirmed inside Dahyun like a snake, each squeeze bringing a new level of pleasure.
"Ah...Y/N...you are so good...just like this...slowly enjoy your mother's body..."
Dahyun closed her eyes and concentrated on feeling the pleasure brought by her son. My lips and tongue moved around her body, like a slippery little snake; while my cock pumped rhythmically inside her body, like a posing enchantress. The combination of the two brought her unprecedented bliss.
Dahyun felt my tongue getting farther and farther away from her nipples, as if I was exploring other parts of himself. She knew it was a good start, but it wasn't enough.
"Here... try playing with my breasts with your hands... just like what I did before... but with gentle pressure... I can get hurt easily..."
Dahyun takes my hand and guides me to move around her breasts. My warm palms gently pressed her breasts, and then used my fingers to draw circles around the nipples.
"Um...yeah...a little harder...and squeeze it between your thumb and forefinger..."
I did as I was told, and Dahyun's nipples quickly hardened in my hands. I seemed to find it very novel, caressing Dahyun's breasts in different ways, sometimes squeezing and sometimes rubbing.
"Ah...you learn so fast...it's so comfortable...now put your hands on my waist...grab my hips..."
Dahyun taught me how to grasp her ass cheeks and then ordered me to thrust in and out of her.
"Now feel free to do whatever you want... Just remember not to use too much force... Let Mom guide you for the rest..."
After I got the right to express myself freely, I was immediately excited. I kneaded Dahyun's breasts into various shapes and dug my fingers deeply into them; at the same time, I thrust deeply into Dahyun's body, and each thrust hit her deepest part.
"Mom...your body is so sexy...I want to possess you forever...never stop..."
Dahyun couldn't help but smile after hearing this. This young child finally truly understood the wonder of sex.
I attacked every inch of Dahyun's skin tirelessly, and her pleasure gradually accumulated to its peak. Suddenly, an electric feeling rose from her spine and spread throughout her body.
"Ah——! I'm about to cum...!"
Dahyun hugged my back tightly, her whole body trembling. I also felt the vibration in Dahyun's body and knew that I had brought her an unparalleled climax.
"Mom... Your insides are tightening like spasms... Your orgasm is so wonderful... I'm about to cum too..."
Dahyun immediately stopped him after hearing this: "No...Y/N...we have more new tricks to try...change your position...let mom kneel in front of you like a doggy...then you start from Come in from behind...that kind of perspective will make you feel particularly exciting..."
Dahyun turned around and kneeled with a blushing face, raising her butt high and waiting for me to enter.
"Y/N... come on... fuck mom hard... like a pussy..."
Junhao was immediately excited and penetrated Dahyun from behind with his still-hard cock.
"Ah...this perspective is so exciting...Mom, your body is so sexy...I want to fuck you..."
I thrust violently, making Dahyun's ass crack with each thrust.
Dahyun thought that the doggy-style perspective would make me more excited, but she didn’t expect that her son’s favourite thing was her buttocks. When I lay on her back and kept thrusting, Dahyun felt extremely ashamed.
"Ah...Y/N...don't slap my butt so hard...it hurts..."
Dahyun begged, but I couldn't stop at all. I galloped across the grassland like a wild horse, slamming into Dahyun's ass again and again.
"Mom...your ass is so sexy...I just like to see it swaying in front of my eyes...listening to the slapping sound is so exciting..."
My hands kept slapping Dahyun's butt, leaving a red mark. Dahyun's face turned red with embarrassment, but she had to admit that this method really made me more excited.
"Y/N...Mom knows you like this...but please be gentle...it will really hurt..."
Dahyun twisted and tried to avoid my slap but was firmly held by me again. I increased the speed, thrusting as deep as possible with each stroke, and slapped Dahyun's ass hard.
"Ahhhh——! I can't help it...you're too fierce...I can't stand it anymore...please be gentle..."
Dahyun couldn't help but scream, her sanity had been completely destroyed by my crazy behaviour. She could only let her son do whatever he wanted behind her and hoped that the storm would pass as soon as possible.
Dahyun's words only aroused my animal nature. I roared like a beast and kept thrusting behind Dahyun. Dahyun could only keep begging for mercy, but her begging became my best aphrodisiac.
"Ah... don't... you're too big... I really can't stand it anymore... please stop..."
Dahyun cried, her body shaking. I, however, acted as if I couldn't understand the human words, and instead intensified my efforts, thrusting harder and deeper into Dahyun every time.
"Mom...you are so sexy...I love the sound of your cries...you should lie down in front of me like a dog...let me fuck as the way I like..."
I said and slapped Dahyun's butt hard again, leaving a red stain. Dahyun let out a cry of pain, but she also felt an unprecedented pleasure.
"Ah... no... don't... but I feel so good... this feeling is so weird..."
Dahyun was so ashamed that she never thought that one day she would be fucked like a bitch by her son, and she felt extremely excited. I also felt the tightening and throbbing inside Dahyun, knowing that she was about to climax again.
"Ah... I'm going again... Y/N... please be gentle..."
Dahyun cried out, her body arching involuntarily. Her vagina spasmed violently, wrapping my cock tightly.
Dahyun's vagina bit down on my cock, making me immediately on the verge of ejaculation.
"Mom... Your pussy is about to pinch me off... I'm going to cum inside... Let me cum inside you... give birth to my baby..."
I roared softly as I made the final sprint. My words made Dahyun even more ashamed, but she was already blinded by sexual desire and could not think about ethical issues.
"Hmm...Y/N...come on...cum inside mom...let mom give birth to a baby for you..."
Dahyun agreed softly. She never thought that one day she would be eager to be creampied by her son, and she even agreed to give birth to a child for him. But at this moment, she just wants me to be released in her body, so that she can reach a higher level of bliss.
Hearing that my mother agreed to give birth to me, I was so excited that I finally reached the peak after dozens of frantic thrusts.
"Ahhhh——! I am cumming! All of it inside you! Make you pregnant!"
I let out a low growl of satisfaction and cummed all my seed deep into Dahyun's womb. Dahyun was also stimulated to orgasm again and again by the scalding heat. Her vagina contracted violently, tightly wrapping her son's cock, as if she wanted to squeeze out every drop of semen inside.
"Oh...god...so much...I'm really going to get pregnant..."
Dahyun said absently that she no longer cared about the consequences and now only wanted to enjoy this ultimate pleasure.
Since the accident, the relationship between Dahyun and me has become closer and closer. At first, Dahyun still had some concerns, fearing that my body would if I ejaculated too many times a day. But she soon discovered that her son's energy was too amazing.
On the first morning after that day, when Dahyun got up, she saw me standing naked in front of the bed. The giant thing under my crotch was already erect and covered with bright morning dew.
"Mom...you wake up...I want you again..."
I smiled and climbed onto the bed, spread Dahyun's thighs with ease, and thrust myself into them.
"Ah...you're here again...didn't it just end..."
Dahyun was a little helpless, but she quickly indulged in the pleasure. Although my speed was not fast, I penetrated deeply every time, and Dahyun soon had a second orgasm.
"Mom...I love you...you are my little evil...I can't get enough..."
I murmured, speeding up and thrusting inside Dahyun again.
This is a portrayal of the mother and son's life day after day. Dahyun was a little resistant at first, but was soon impressed by my love words and skills. Now as long as I am horny, Dahyun will open the door to welcome my invasion. She uses her body to teach me the secrets of sex, and I use my cock to repay Dahyun's generosity.
Sex between us takes up most of their lives. Dahyun's vagina has become my exclusive toy, waiting for my use at any time.
I soon moved into Dahyun's room to stay overnight, and we had sex all the time. When cooking in the kitchen, Dahyun would suddenly lift her skirt to expose her wet pussy, allowing me to penetrate her directly from behind; when taking a bath, Dahyun would kneel in the bathtub and give me a blow job until I couldn't help but erupt in her mouth. So far; when eating dinner, Dahyun accidentally touched my leg, I would grab Dahyun's hand and guide it to my crotch, and then push Dahyun down on the sofa; when watching TV, Dahyun would sit on my lap and move by herself, until my mood comes, we changes to the normal position. The lives of us have been completely filled with sex. No matter when and where, as long as one of us is sexually excited, the other party will cater to it.
No matter where we are, as long as one of them proposes to "fuck until mommy gets pregnant" the two of us will be particularly excited. I will also ejaculate more and thicker semen, filling Dahyun's vagina to the brim.
The tacit understanding between mother and son is also getting better and better. Dahyun knows where my most sensitive parts are, and how to stimulate me to reach climax faster; she also knows how to control her body posture and rhythm, so that she can reach multiple orgasms and prolong my ejaculation time.
Once, Dahyun deliberately rode her hips on the bed and played with my scrotum, which made me only last five minutes before exploding inside her. Another time, Dahyun adopted the method of "nine shallow and one deep", slowly guiding me to rush inside the body, allowing Junhao to enjoy the sex for an entire hour.
Dahyun has mastered these techniques to such an extent that she knows how to drive me into ecstasy and madness. Dahyun is already familiar with where my sensitive points are. As long as she wants, she can make me stay in her pussy for a long time. But seeing I struggling to cum inside her body, she would always soften her heart and let me wreak havoc in her deepest parts.
Dahyun soon became pregnant with my child as I creampied her as frequently as a stallion. Faced with this unexpected result, Dahyun was a little overwhelmed - she had to admit the fact that she and her son were incest and faced social condemnation. But just when she was hesitant, my idea once again made her indulge in physical desires.
"Mom, since you are already pregnant with my child, let's take this opportunity to play some new tricks! I can fuck you and suck your milk at the same time!"
I suggested with a smile, while untying Dahyun's clothes, burying my head on her breasts and nibbling.
"Ah...you little...you are so full of tricks..."
Dahyun hummed softly, stretched out her hand to hold my head, and took the initiative to put her breast into my mouth.
"Mommy's milk must be so sweet...I'm going to suck you dry...and keep fucking you...until our child is born..."
I said vaguely, sucking harder with my lips and tongue.
Under the temptation of my big cock, Dahyun was quickly overcome by desire. She no longer thinks about her child's future, nor does she care about the outside world's opinions. The only thing she wants now is to have intense sex with her son until she faints.
So, with a burst of rapid breathing, Dahyun held my head tightly and allowed me to explore between her breasts. I slipped my fingers into Dahyun's vagina, stirring inside, preparing for the next wild sex.
Under my strong request, Dahyun resigned from the company on the grounds of concentrating on childbirth. In fact, her purpose in doing this was just to give me more time and space to fuck his mother.
Due to the changes in hormone levels during pregnancy, Dahyun's sexual desire is stronger than before, and she is becoming more and more addicted to my big cock. Except when going to the toilet, my penis always remained inside her.
Whether in the dining room or living room or even on the balcony and bathroom, every corner of the home left traces of our intense intercourse. The gurgling juices and milky white semen mixed together, soaking most of the room.
Dahyun lay on the dining table with her butt raised high, allowing me to thrust violently from behind. Her top had been torn off, and her round breasts were exposed to the air, swaying with the impact from behind.
"Hmm... it's too deep... My boy ... you are always so rough... you're going to break mommy..."
Dahyun bit the corner of her lip, reached up to her chest with one hand to rub the erect nipples, and reached down with the other hand to rub the engorged clits.
"Mom, don't you like being fucked bad by me? You said you want our child to be filled with my big cock until he is born..."
I growled, speeding up my sprint.
My penis moved in and out of Dahyun's vagina like a tamping machine. Every time I inserted it, a large amount of nectar would flow out down the top of her thighs. Dahyun's delicate labia has long been red and swollen from being fucked, but she still tirelessly swallows my huge cock.
"Yes...let's let our baby feel...how it forms in mom's pussy...ahh...going to cum..."
Dahyun raised her head, her eyes blurred, and a wanton moan escaped from her mouth.
My movements became more and more fierce. I grabbed Dahyun's waist, pressed her against the table and thrust her hard, and every time I penetrated her to the deepest point. Dahyun's body began to convulse, and a warm juice surged out of her body, soaking my lower body.
"Ha...it's so hot...Mommy's climax...I'm almost there too ..."
I gritted my teeth, and after the last few deep thrusts, I also cummed a large amount of semen, filling Dahyun's womb.
Dahyun lay weakly on the table, her legs trembling, and the clothes underneath her were completely soaked with water and semen. I pulled out my cock which is still hard, it was covered in the mixture that belonged to both of us.
"You're so beautiful...Mom...I can never get enough of you..."
I leaned down and kissed Dahyun's sweaty back.
Dahyun chuckled, turned around and kissed me back.
"Me too...my son...you are the one who really makes me happy.”
Momo has a mature female body that makes me mouth-watering, her big round breasts, firm buttocks and plump thighs all make my heart flutter.
As soon as I saw Momo, my young rod became hard as a rock. When I got home, I couldn't help but masturbate to Momo's body many times to quench my thirst.
During my youth, Momo became the object of my most obsessive masturbation. Her physical charms were like an aphrodisiac that I couldn't resist. I knew every detail of her body by heart, and I could even visualize her naked body according to my fantasies.
Her pink labia and the tips of her breasts must be very colorful, there must be a place of ecstasy between her legs, and the aroma of her whole body is enough to make people go crazy for her ... These thoughts often make my blood boil and keep me up at night.
My infatuation with Momo is growing, but it's getting deeper and deeper. Whenever Heechul calls and invites me to his house, I will be there as soon as possible.
Today I came to Momo's house again, but unfortunately, Heechul happened to be out of town and Momo was the only one home.
“It's a shame, but since you're here, why don't you stay for dinner?” Momo warmly invited me.
I was delighted, this was just what I wanted. It would be my dream to have dinner alone with Momo. "Really? That would be great! Thank you for the invitation." I said hurriedly, unable to hide my joy.
Momo took me to the dining table and started to make dinner. She was wearing loose loungewear, and her breasts stood up high, with two pink protrusions peeking out. I looked at her breasts greedily, my eyes lingering on those two pink spots.
The table was filled with colorful and delicious food, but I didn't know what to eat, all I could think of was how to get Momo into my arms to kiss and lick her.
After dinner, Momo offered to clean the kitchen, and I volunteered to help with the dishes. We stood at the sink, Momo bending over the faucet to rinse the dishes, her soft loungewear clinging to her body, emphasizing the curves of her figure.
I couldn't help but breathe heavily, and the part in my pants was stirring. If I could push Momo down in front of the kitchen cabinet right now, spread her legs and penetrate her hard… Just imagining that image made me so excited that I could hardly contain myself.
I couldn't hold back any longer, so I hurriedly washed the dishes and ran straight to the restroom with the excuse. The moment I closed the door, I couldn't wait to free my lower body.
At a glance, the laundry basket contained Momo's freshly removed clothes, the most prominent of which was the black lace bra and panties that she had worn. My heart was pounding so hard that I could hardly breathe, this was the treasure I had been longing for!
Carefully picking up Momo's underwear, I pressed my nose close and inhaled the rich fragrance. Oh my god, is this the smell of Momo's private parts? Such a strong scent, it made me feel like I was melting inside.
Then I turned to Momo's bra and rubbed one of the thin pieces of fabric over the tip of my nose. I could still feel Momo's soft and creamy skin through the thin material, and I was so turned on that my soul was trembling.
Back to the black panties that I craved the most, imprinted with traces of Momo's bodily fluids, emitted a faintly fishy-sweet scent. I hooked my finger onto the small piece of fabric and licked it gently on my tongue, the flavor made my rod swell to the extreme, bouncing up and down uncontrollably.
After tasting Momo's lingerie, I began to frantically stroke my swollen cock. With my right hand, I stroked the root of my dick, and with my left hand, I cupped and stroked the sensitive crown of my dick. Momo's naked body was all I could think about, and I was fantasizing about her riding on top of me.
"Momo... I want to penetrate... I want to fuck you... I'm going to penetrate your pussy with my cock..." I murmured, as if that would satisfy my desire.
Momo's pussy must have been hot and wet, wrapped tightly around my cock. She'd keep wiggling her ass to satisfy me, and she'd even let out a tantalizing gasp, asking me to fuck her even harder. This sight brought me closer and closer to orgasm, and my movements became faster and harder.
Finally, after a series of intense strokes, I shot my thick semen onto Momo's panties, the sticky white cum instantly soaked through the black fabric, glistening lustfully in the light. I was so immersed in this intense sexual pleasure that I almost lost consciousness ...... Until Momo's voice came from outside the door. “What are you doing in there, why don't you come out for so long?”
Hearing Momo calling me from outside, I realized how bold and unhinged my behavior was. I hurriedly grabbed the black panties that were covered with my turbidity and tried to put them back into the laundry basket. But my action was too big and Momo heard the sound of clothes rubbing together and she opened the door to check the situation.
She opened the door to see what was going on. I was at a loss for words, throwing Momo's panties back into the hamper in a frenzy, fearing that she might notice something strange. “Why are you taking so long to wash your hands?"
I was trying to find an excuse, "Nothing... My stomach just not feeling so well. Auntie Momo, what do you want to see me about?"
"It's raining outside, I'm afraid you'll have to wait until the rain stops before you can go home, right? Do you want to stay over?" Momo said with concern.
Anticipation rose in my heart, but I was worried that Momo would find out what was going on. I could only pretend to be embarrassed, and declined, "But that's not a good idea... What if it disturbs your rest?"
"It's okay, my husband is away on a business trip anyway and Heechul just texted me he is not coming back today, so I'm the only one at home. Don't worry, you can stay and sleep here." Momo smiled and patted me on the shoulder, signaling me not to worry anymore.
Now I was really relieved, Momo said that I should stay and sleep here, does that mean that I will have the whole night to be alone with her? My mind was already thinking about what I would do to her on the bed.
Momo insisted that I stay the night, and I was happy to do so, though I put on a grudging face. After we cleaned up the house together, Momo suggested that we go to the couch and watch some TV to relax.
“Yeah, I was just about to come over and talk to you.” I said as I followed Momo into the living room and sat down next to her.
Momo was only wearing a flimsy loungewear, the two snowy peaks in front of her chest were slightly undulating with her breathing, and the shape of her pink nipples could be seen vaguely. I couldn't take my eyes off her breasts, and my mind began to fantasize about those erotic scenes again.
Momo noticed my gaze and a hint of embarrassment flashed across her face, but she quickly adjusted and continued to chat with me as if nothing had happened. Even so, I was so captured by the seductive scent of her body that I couldn't concentrate on what she was saying.
My attention was focused on Momo's bouncing peaks, and I wanted to reach out and knead them, to feel their softness and elasticity; or to kiss them, to suck the red spots into my mouth. I was on the verge of losing my mind, and I couldn't hold back the urge to jump on Momo and kiss and caress her.
Luckily Momo didn't notice my perverted thoughts, we just chatted casually while I just admired her charming and sexy body. Soon I realized that I was already hard and had to adjust my sitting position frequently to try to hide it. The feeling of repression was just too much.
Momo and I chatted on the sofa for a long time before she finally got up and suggested going back to her room to rest. This was the moment I was waiting for. I nodded my head in agreement, eager to find a place to continue my "activities".
“Then I'll go back to the bedroom and take a shower first, you can organize your things and get ready for bed.” Momo said as she walked towards the stairs, her plump hips swaying from side to side as she walked, it was extremely seductive.
As I watched Momo's silhouette disappear on the second floor, I immediately ran to the kitchen and took out Momo's freshly washed underwear, intending to go to the restroom to give vent to my desire once more. However, just as I was about to take action, Momo's voice called out to me from downstairs:
"Wait a minute! Which room are you going to sleep in? Do you want to sleep with Auntie Momo?"
I didn't react at first and asked, "Isn't you sleeping by yourself? Why do you want me to share the room with you?"
“Haha, because there might be thunder at night, Auntie Momo is afraid of the dark and thunder, so I want you to stay with Auntie Momo and chat with me.” Momo said with a smile.
My brain stopped running for a few seconds. Oh my god! That's an invitation to go to her room and do whatever she wants! My heart started to pound, and I blushed. But on the surface, I had to put on a difficult face and say no: "It's... It's not good, is it? "
"No, you can sleep with Auntie Momo at ease." Momo said as she walked over to me and took my hand, and without a second thought, she took me to her bedroom .......
Momo pulled me into her bedroom, the room was filled with a faint aroma of lavender, and the quilt on the bed had already been lifted up to a corner waiting for me to fall asleep. I sat on the edge of the bed, not knowing how to look, on the one hand, I was overjoyed to be able to spend the night with Momo, but on the other hand, I was nervous that I would be discovered.
Momo seems to see my hesitation, smiled and comforted me: "Do not be too formal, just like usual at home. I'm going to take a shower and change my clothes first."
After she said that, she turned and left the bedroom, leaving behind a room filled with scents that lingered in my thoughts. About twenty minutes later, Momo entered, draped in a pink satin dress that mirrored the one in the photo. The sleeveless, low-back design clung to her form, the fabric shimmering as it hugged her curves, with a deep V-neck plunging to reveal a generous expanse of smooth, tender skin. Her rounded, full breasts were accentuated enticingly by the dress’s fit, while the short hemline rose high on her thighs, exposing the delicate line where fabric met skin. With every slight movement, I could see the underwear inside and the snow-white curves of the legs.
Seeing Momo dressed like this, my lower body immediately reacted physiologically and quickly became engorged with blood and stood up. I hurriedly turned my back to Momo, trying to cover up the embarrassment. But just sniffing the fragrance of Momo's body and imagining her half-naked body, my rod was already so excited that it hurts. I can't control my strong desire to possess her.
Momo seemed to notice the abnormality in my body and laughed softly, "What's wrong with you? Are you not feeling well?"
I was so shocked that I almost jumped up. It turned out to be Momo who walked behind me, gently wrapped her hands around my waist, and pressed a pair of plump and elastic breasts tightly against my back.
"Aunt Momo, why are you...? I'm fine, I'm just a bit hot..." I was stunned by the sudden embrace, and for a moment I didn't know what to say.
"Really? But you look so flushed." Momo's voice was soft and sweet as she breathed in my ear, her flirtatious tone making my heart pound.
I felt Momo's body getting closer and closer, and those two soft and elastic objects were rubbing my back gently with her breath, stimulating my whole body to be tingling. I couldn't help but let out a low gasp, and my rod became even harder.
"Aunt Momo, I... I didn't mean that... I, I just..." I didn't know how to explain the current situation, so I had to stammer.
"It's okay, I just want to know if you don't mind Auntie Momo holding you to sleep? You look like comfortable~" Momo deliberately slowed down her speech and smiled warmly. One of her hands was still rubbing my abdomen, occasionally skimming over my crotch, causing me to shiver.
This demon! This is clearly deliberately provoking me, to see if I can lose control so easily. I couldn't help but grit my teeth, but I didn't dare to show it, for fear of being found out what I was really up to. I could only maintain a calm expression, trying to resist the urge to grab and rub Momo's breasts.
I gradually could not restrain my inner impulses, slowly turned around to face Momo, hands also smoothly surrounded her slender waist, Momo sensed my change, then increased the force to hold me tightly into the embrace.
Her breasts were pressed against my body through the thin fabric, undulating and rubbing against me as she breathed. The feeling was so erotic that my heart rate shot up and my body temperature rose. I looked down at Momo, only a few centimeters between us, and the sound of each other's breathing was clearly audible. Momo's black hair fell on my shoulders, and the fire burning in the bottom of her eyes seemed to be about to set me on fire as well.
My sanity is gradually collapsing, the fire of desire inside my body is burning. I stretched my neck and tentatively put my lips on Momo's, feeling the heat of her lips and the seduction of her slightly open lips. Surprisingly, Momo didn't stop me but instead cooperated by probing her soft tongue into my mouth and entwining it fiercely with mine.
"Mmm... Aunt Momo..."
“Don't talk...” Momo gasped and stopped my next words, deepening the kiss. Her arms wrapped around me a little tighter, and my whole body was locked around her as if she was trying to devour me. We are letting each other's juices flow in exchange.
Our tongues were intertwined like two greedy vipers, twisting and biting each other. I greedily sucked the sweet juices from Momo's mouth, wanting to swallow them whole. We kissed louder and louder, saliva spilling out of the corners of our mouths and wetting the messy marks on our faces. My body was trembling with passion, and my penis was throbbing with excitement as it was pressed against her soft belly.
Momo suddenly let go of my lips and looked up at me. Then she leaned down and kissed me again while her long fingers peeled off her thin robe. I saw two pink and rounded buds suddenly exposed in the air, they were like two cherry blossoms in full bloom, delicately colored. I couldn't help but move forward and took a bite of one of the stamen-like buds, sucking greedily.
“Ah...” Momo let out a delicate sigh, and then twisted her waist, so that her lower body and my erect penis rubbed more closely together. At the same time, she crossed her legs on both sides of me, preventing me from escaping her control. I felt that my desire was about to be aroused to the limit by her, and my penis involuntarily twitched a few times, and a hot stream of water dripped out along the column ......
"Aunt Momo... I, I can't help it..." I murmured in her ear, but Momo just accelerated the swaying of her body, leaving me to struggle underneath her.
After hearing my words, Momo did change her position. She gently pushed me away from her and lay down on her side, and I followed suit, crouching on one side of her shoulders and neck. As I continued to lick the red cherry that was already covered in saliva, I watched her start to undo my pants. Soon, my pants were off, and my hot cock popped out, Momo's hand wrapped around it and stroked it up and down.
“Hiss...” I couldn't help but suck in a breath, it was too good. Her technique was skillful and gentle, from time to time, she used her fingertips to gently scrape across the coronary groove, giving me a tingling and unbearable stimulation. Soon there was a stream of cloudy white mucus overflowing from the tips, and when she saw it, she was even more excited, she increased her speed and vigorously stroked it.
I couldn't stand this extreme pleasure and hurriedly grabbed her wrist to stop. However, this action made her even more excited, and she even held my palm and clasped her fingers together, not giving me a chance to get out of her control. I had no choice but to let her set fire to all parts of my sensitive body, feeling like I was about to lose control and surrender at any moment.
Just as I was on the verge of collapse, Momo suddenly let go of my hand, raised one of her thighs across my belly, and then held my sinewy member, letting it fall into her body little by little.
I was already on the verge of orgasm, and with the hot, wet squeeze of Momo's pussy, I finally reached my peak the moment she entered. I gripped the bed sheet tightly and ejaculated stream after stream of thick cum against her depths.
"Uhh... Ah... Why did you cum so fast..." Momo lets out a sigh of satisfaction, but also in a slightly surprised tone. She slowly withdrew from me, looking at my glans hung with freshly gushed goo and what seemed to be more ready seed.
“You're still a virgin, aren't you?” Momo asked. I froze for a moment, not knowing how to answer. Her expression became very complicated, like she was a little distressed but with a hint of amusement." I knew it... You just did that with my underwear in the bathroom... What a perverted child... "
She paused, a feminine smile on her face, "My husband hasn't touched me in a long time either... It's a good idea to grab a young boy like you to take care of my needs," she said, crawling back underneath me, swallowing my parting in one bite, and starting a new round of teasing.
"Whoo.... ...Aunt Momo... Wait..." I was surprised by her sudden attack, and I almost lost my sanity, "What do you mean by that...? What do you mean..."
Before I could get an answer to my question, Momo had already used her extraordinary lip and tongue skills again. Her flexible and soft tongue licked around my erection, and occasionally she went deeper into my mouth and kissed the mouth of the bell. I could only feel the urges in my lower body getting stronger and stronger, and soon I was back in the groove.
"Auntie Momo... I want you..." I eagerly begged for pleasure, and Momo willingly lay down on the bed, spreading her legs, presenting her wet and pink petals in front of my eyes.
My breath caught in my throat, and my reasoning collapsed as I gripped my pestle and mortar tightly in both hands and leaned in towards Momo's private parts. The head of my cock rubbed against her swollen, sensitive clitoris, eliciting convulsions and low gasps.
"But... I don't have a condom..." I knew I should have pulled back before it was too late, but my body's desire had already won out over my reasoning.
"It's okay... You can cum in... Auntie Momo won't get pregnant here...I am safe today." Momo called out softly, cupping my face in her hands and staring at me with longing eyes. I couldn't resist this invitation, and slowly inserted my rod into Momo's already muddy pussy...
"Ah... ...Aunt Momo... I'm cumming..." I gritted my teeth and pushed in deeply, only to feel the warmth and tightness inside, wrapping my shaft layer by layer. Momo's whole body was trembling, and her mouth also let out a joyful and delicate chant.
“Uh...” I hummed out softly, Aunt Momo's pussy wasn't as tight as it should have been, but the abundance of water made me feel incredibly warm and melted. I couldn't help but speed up my pumping, and with each stroke I could clearly feel the head of my tortoise tracing the folds of her body, bringing unspeakable tingling and pleasure.
"So big... So hard... You're so powerful for such a small boy... It's even bigger than my husband's..." Momo gasped softly, her hips twisting to meet my thrusts. Her words made me feel a tinge of pride and made the connection between our war even tighter. I grabbed Momo's slim waist and thrust harder, Momo let out intermittent, soft moans that were like an aphrodisiac in my ears.
I moved my hands to Momo's long thighs, spreading them even wider, and then leaned down and pressed Momo's torso. The sensation of our skin sent shivers down my spine, and at the same time I rammed into Momo's deepest parts with increased force. The sound of clashing flesh was especially loud in the quiet night, Momo was gradually captured by my attack, her eyes were misty as she intertwined her fingers with mine.
My lips were roaming on one side of Momo's breasts, greedily savoring the light milky scent she gave off. Momo, on the other hand, always turned her head sideways and let out a heavy breathing sound, my double attack seemed to bring her great pleasure. The sheet under my crotch was already wet with Momo's continuous flow of nectar, and my rod would always be wrapped in a ripple of tidal waves as it traveled through it.
"Hmm... Y/N... Faster... Mmmm..." Momo couldn't stop urging me on, while her legs were wide open to meet my more intense thrusts. Her breasts are also bouncing up and down under my violent movements, and the two red cherries are rolling on my chest, bringing some tingling." Got it..." I sped up the frequency of my thrusts and felt Momo's body jerk at one point, a few short gasps following. She seemed to be a little disoriented by the top of my movements, frowning and biting her lower lip, even her toes curled up tightly.
I quickly stopped my movements and looked at Momo with concern, fearing that I might hurt her, but she quickly shook her head, a satisfied look on her face, "No... Y/N... You go on... Auntie Momo likes it..." As she said that, Momo opened her arms and took me into her arms, letting me lie between her breasts as if I were a child. Encouraged, I immediately went into another round of attack, filling the room with the sounds of pounding flesh and my proud Momo's moans. ......
Just as I increased my thrusts, Momo's expression suddenly became painful. Immediately afterward, her lower body clamped and a warm stream of water gushed out from the depths, drowning my entire penis in it. I immediately raised my body and pulled out my penis, and at the same time, a transparent jet of water shot out from Momo's honey pot, not only wetting my lower body, but even landing a few drops on my body." This... Is this... An orgasm...?" I watched in confusion as this happened, only to feel Auntie Momo's lower body spewing nectar like an open faucet. Momo's body didn't relax until more than ten seconds later, and her two soft breasts were swaying slightly with her trembling breath. Momo's cheeks were flushed, and she looked like she was enjoying the extreme pleasure she had just experienced.
After a while, Momo slowly stood up, pressed me down on the bed, and then gently stroked my already swollen part a few times. She then lowered herself to the ground, opened her red lips and swallowed the entire shaft, Momo's face was extremely charming, like an obsessed woman trying to please her lover. As the warm, moist walls of her mouth rubbed against the penis, there was a watery sound, and a stream of clear mucus overflowed from the tip of the penis, connecting it to Momo's red lips. Moving from my pussy to Momo's mouth, two very different sensations intertwined, causing me approaching orgasm, and I had to grit my teeth and restrain myself." Auntie Momo... I'm going to..." I mumbled, and Momo took hold of my cock, then left my wet tip and leaned in for a deep kiss. We were like a couple in love, kissing each other like crazy.
At this time Momo held my penis and rubbed it outside her petals a few times, then slowly sank down until the whole rod disappeared all the way into her tight private parts.
"Good... So big..." Another praise escaped from her mouth, Momo's walls seemed to have become even tighter due to the intense orgasm she had just had, almost completely wrapping up my penis without leaving a single gap.
"Me too... It's very comfortable, Auntie Momo..." Momo's face was still flushed. Then she started to push her waist, moving her lower body back and forth on my cock. My rod was stirring back and forth inside her hot and wet honey tunnel, rubbing against her sensitive inner walls.
Momo shook her long hair in delight, the sensation of being filled with a cock was too good to be true. I could not help but get even more excited as I looked at her happy face from my supine position. It was unbelievable to be able to fuck such a gorgeous wife and have her voluntarily gallivanting on top of me. I grabbed Momo's huge peaks with both hands and kneaded them, her gasps became more and more ragged, and her private tunnel was tightening without her realizing it. A kind of magical attraction was constantly reaching my penis from inside her body.
After about five minutes of this position, Momo suddenly lay on top of me, her long legs changed to a kneeling position, and she tightly wrapped them around my waist.
Momo then pressed her red lips onto mine, her soft and slippery tongue sliding in and out of my mouth. At the same time, she began to thrust vigorously, each time pressing the center of her womb hard against my cock.
The sound of flesh hitting flesh was loud and clear, Momo had no intention of slowing down at all, like a pile driver she was thrusting fiercely in and out, and my prick gradually developed a tingling sensation.
"Auntie Momo... I'm about to cum..." I couldn't help but beg for mercy, but Momo didn't budge, instead she sped up the frequency. Each heavy drop brought a sharp shock of pleasure to my penis, bringing me to the brink of an explosion.
"Auntie Momo... ...Auntie Momo... I want to...!" After a few minutes of rapid strokes, I finally reached the ultimate moment when my penis exploded with thick essence. At the same time, Momo's womb bites down on my tip, pouring down warm cum. Momo locked me in the deepest part of the canal, the hot liquid instantly filled the entire canal, the sensitive walls of the flesh felt an unprecedented burning pleasure . Momo was panting on top of me, her huge breasts squeezing my chest and trembling, and the only sound left in the room was the breathing of the two of us.
Momo stood up, straightened her appearance and left the room slowly. She went in the direction of the restroom and didn't come back for a long time. I got tired of waiting, so I rolled out of bed and went to the restroom to look for her. The lights in the hall were dim, and only the bathroom light was on. I cautiously walked over.
I saw Momo standing in front of the mirror with her head down washing her face. I followed her figure and noticed that Momo's private part between her legs was slightly red and swollen, with some white mucus coming out of it.
I think that should be the marks left by me before, I smiled in understanding. Momo was shocked and looked up at me through the mirror.
"Y/N? Do you want to go to the toilet too?" Momo asked. "Yes... I want to go to the...' toilet'." As I said that, I had already taken hold of my dick and slowly pushed it into Momo's vagina.
"Hmm... So quick... Again... Mmm..." Through the reflection of the mirror, I could see Momo's blush quickly creeping up on her cheeks again, and her pair of full breasts trembled slightly as she breathed.
I gripped Momo's hips with both hands and moved them forward and backward in time with Momo's rhythm, and Momo immediately lifted her ass up to make it easier for me to pump.
The sound of my body hitting Momo’s became louder and louder. The sight of my cock entering Momo's pussy was too exciting, plus the love juices that Momo's lower body was constantly secreting made my cock become slippery and shiny.
"Y/N... Hmm... Auntie Momo still has to work tomorrow... Uh..." Momo spoke intermittently, and from the mirror, I could see that her expression was already immersed in lust, making it difficult for her to extricate herself, her eyes were streaming, her cheeks were crimson, and her ample breasts were undulating restlessly. All of this was firmly controlled by my penis.
“I'll pick up the pace then, Auntie Momo...” As I said that, I sank my fingers deep into Momo’s ass cheeks and began to thrust with all my might. There was a lot of intense “popping” sounds, and a few of them even reached the womb opening, causing Momo to gasp a few times. Accompanied by the “plopping” sound of water, there are constantly spilling out from the place of coitus " No... I can't make that sound again..." Momo hurriedly covered her mouth, desperately trying to restrain the winks that were spilling out from her throat.
The standing doggy position brought a very different feeling from the previous position, while looking at Momo's desperate expression in the mirror and her breasts swaying back and forth, at the same time, feeling my cock expanding a bit more. "Uhh... Ah... It's too deep... Y/N..." Momo's body trembled a few times, she knew that I had broken through the cervix and entered the deepest part, she couldn't help but gasp out. In the mirror, she seemed to see the same sight, and more ecstasy and longing welled up under her eyes. "Mmm... Y/N's cock is too powerful... Auntie Momo can't stand it anymore..." Momo twisted her waist impatiently, trying to get more pleasure. But my fingers had already clamped down on her waistline, preventing any possibility of escape. Momo's belly bulged slightly, as if she was harboring a tiny life. I couldn't help but increase my pressure, each stroke was a powerful one, pushing the head of the turtle to its deepest point, Momo's mind was almost on the verge of losing control, her nails were embedded in her palms, tears were coming out of her eyes, but she couldn't stop her mouth from letting out petulant whimpers and gasps.
As my cock moved in and out of Momo's vagina, a stream of tingling electricity gradually accumulated in my mind. I pinched Momo's waist and used all my strength to send my penis to the deepest part. “Aunt Momo!” After a roar, my tips burst into the uterus, countless hot white cum shot into Momo's most private place. Momo's body lightly trembled for a moment, then gasped violently.
After about a minute, I reluctantly withdrew my cock. After three good sex sessions, Momo's lower body had already been filled with my essence, so even at this point I couldn't stop ejaculating, and a large amount of milky white color still flowed out from Momo's open pussy, I rubbed my rod on Momo's ass a few times to clean up the remaining cum on my tips.
Momo was lying on her stomach by the sink, her legs trembling, her rounded buttocks high in the air, a picture that rekindled the desire in my body. My penis, which had not yet softened, immediately rose up again and was ready to go.
“Aunt Momo, I want you again...” Without waiting for Momo's response, I leaned over and fell on top of her, wrapping my hands around her armpits and kneading the soft flesh of her breasts. At the same time, my rod once again broke through the door and pounded into Momo's body. "Hmm... Not so fast... We should take a break... Ah..." Momo tried to protest, but her words were soon replaced by a series of gasps. I accelerated the speed of my thrusts, going deeper and deeper, soon pushing Momo's sanity into a bottomless abyss.
Since that day, Momo and I have been in an instant relationship. Whenever I came to my best friend's house after school, we would always have sex in the bathroom, then step out of the shower together, smile at each other, kiss and hug, and then go into the bedroom and close the door to continue our “workout”. I believe that even the closest friends could never have imagined that one day his best friend would be with their mom, right? After all, who could have imagined such a scene - a young handsome high school student kneeling in front of his best friend's mother, licking her stamen; or this mature and colorful middle-aged woman sitting on her son's best friend's lap, writhing her voluptuous body
"Mom... I'm back!" I quietly opened the door after coming home from school, careful not to disturb my mother. Unlike my strict father, my mother Nayeon doted on me, her only son, and would agree to any request I made.
"Is that my son back? Wait a moment, Mommy will be right there," Nayeon's gentle voice came through the bedroom door, stirring a restless itch in my heart as I recalled the forbidden relationship between us.
It started when I was in college, driven by an inferiority complex about being a virgin, which made me crave sexual experiences. After much persistence, Nayeon finally agreed to my outrageous request, and we began our illicit affair right under my father’s nose, multiple times.
"Come in, son," the bedroom door opened, and Nayeon stood there completely naked, her soft, pink body irresistibly tempting in the glow of the setting sun.
"Mom..." The sight of Nayeon’s bare form instantly triggered a reaction in my lower body. She smiled at me, reached out to hook her arms around my neck, and pulled me into the bedroom.
The room was filled with a sweet, cloying scent. The bedsheets were in disarray, still stained with the traces of bodily fluids from our last encounter.
"My dear son, Mommy really loves you so much," Nayeon purred, pushing me onto the bed and leaning down to kiss my lips.
Nayeon’s lips were soft and moist, her sweet breath flooding my senses, making me dizzy with desire. I returned her kiss, my tongue slipping into her mouth, entwining with hers.
"Ah~ You’re so good, son..." Nayeon let out a soft moan as her slender fingers reached into my underwear, gently grasping my already-hard member.
"Mom, I love you too..." I said, my hands finding her full breasts, kneading them.
Nayeon’s body was soft and pliable like jelly, her nipples hardening and reddening under the friction of my palms. "Mmm... Mommy wants it..." she panted, kneeling between my legs, guiding my burning desire to her entrance and slowly taking it in.
"Ah—!" As Nayeon sank down fully, we both let out satisfied sighs. I was completely lost in her tender embrace, letting her sway her body, enveloping my member as she moved up and down.
The room gradually filled with the lascivious sounds of wetness and flesh slapping against flesh. On the marital bed she shared with my father, Nayeon and I unleashed our mutual desires without restraint.
Amid her seductive moans and gasps, our passionate and wild coupling continued. My fingers explored her rear entrance, thrusting in and out in rhythm with her movements.
"Ahh... Son, you’re so good at this... It feels amazing..." Nayeon tilted her head back, her long hair flying, her expression utterly intoxicated.
Seeing her so uninhibited before me fueled the dark desires within me. "Mom, I want to see you look even more depraved..." I whispered, nibbling her earlobe.
"Mmm... Alright... but..." Nayeon shyly covered her mouth, as if she couldn’t believe she was agreeing to my request.
I spread her legs wide, positioning her to kneel on the bed, and entered her from behind, my hands roughly kneading her breasts.
"Mmhh—!" Nayeon let out a high-pitched moan, her body trembling violently.
I began thrusting powerfully, each movement striking her sensitive spots. "Mom, scream for me! Say you love your son’s cock!"
"Ahh... So deep... I love... my son’s big cock... It feels so good..." Nayeon cried out without reservation, fulfilling my desires.
Her words drove me to thrust even harder, each penetration nearly piercing her cervix. Her moans grew louder, eventually turning into a series of incoherent gasps and sobs.
The erotic atmosphere in the bedroom intensified. Nayeon lowered herself, grabbing my wrists and pinning them to the pillows, her long legs straddling my thighs as she rocked her hips back and forth, her honeyed core engulfing my desire.
"Mmm... Ahh... It feels so good... Your big cock makes Mommy’s pussy feel amazing..." Nayeon threw her head back, her body swaying in a frenzy, her full breasts bouncing with each motion, her enticing nipples tracing arcs in the air.
I propped myself up, matching her rhythm, driving my member deeper into her, parting her layered folds to reach her deepest core.
"Mom... I’m close..." The tight, hot grip of Nayeon’s passage sent tingles up my spine, a numbing sensation creeping up my back.
"Shoot it... Give it all to Mommy..." Nayeon quickened her movements, her soft walls clinging to my member as if to drain me completely.
Under such stimulation, my rationality collapsed. A thick stream of cum erupted, flooding her deepest depths. "Ahhh—!"
After the climax, we lay entwined on the bed, our sweaty bodies pressed together. "Thank you, son... Mommy has never been this happy," Nayeon said contentedly, wrapping her arms around my neck and planting a soft kiss on the corner of my lips.
"Me too, Mom. Having you makes me so happy," I buried my face in her chest, feeling her heartbeat and warmth, overwhelmed with gratitude and adoration for this woman.
In that moment, the bedroom held only the image of us smiling at each other, bathed in the golden glow of the setting sun filtering through the window, as if it were blessing our intimate mother-son play.
"Son, it’s about time. You should go do your homework," Nayeon said, lightly patting my butt to signal me to get off her.
Reluctantly, I withdrew from her body. Nayeon immediately leaned down, carefully licking my still semi-hard member, consuming every drop of the remaining fluids.
"Mom..." I sighed, watching her eagerly clean my cock, reigniting the fire of desire within me.
"Good boy, go on. Don’t make your parents worry, okay?" Nayeon looked up with a smile, then slowly began tidying her clothes.
"I know, Mom," I said, suppressing the urge to pull her back into my arms and leaving the bedroom.
But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t erase the scene from my mind. Nayeon was just too captivating—her every gesture and word effortlessly stoked the flames in my heart.
If I didn’t finish my homework in time, who knows how Nayeon would tease me when I got back home...
I hurried to the study, focusing intently on my assignments. Yet, despite my efforts, my thoughts kept drifting back to the bedroom.
By the time I finished all my homework, it was completely dark outside. I walked to the living room, where Nayeon was preparing dinner. Seeing me, she waved me over to eat.
"How was your day, son?" Nayeon brought over two bowls of steaming noodles, smiling warmly.
"It was great, Mom. I did everything you asked," I answered honestly, knowing full well what she meant.
Nayeon lowered her eyes shyly and nodded lightly. "Good boy. Eat up, or the noodles will get cold."
After dinner, we returned to the bedroom for another round of even more intense intimacy.
The next morning, I was awakened by an unusual sensation below. Lifting my head, I saw Nayeon kneeling between my legs, stroking my cock while delicately licking its sensitive tip with her small tongue.
"Mom... what are you doing..." I asked, though I already knew, a mix of panic and excitement washing over me.
Nayeon looked up with a shy smile. "Didn’t you say you had a part-time job today? Mommy’s just waking you up."
With that, she lowered her head, taking my cock into her mouth and bobbing up and down. "Ah—!" An overwhelming wave of pleasure hit me, nearly making me release in her mouth.
"Son, focus. Don’t let work slip," Nayeon said, her voice muffled as she continued.
"But Mom... this makes it really hard to focus..."
I tried to concentrate on her words, but the pleasure was too intense, overtaking my senses. I grabbed her hair, thrusting my hips, using her mouth like a sex toy.
"Ah... mm... son..." Nayeon let out a pained moan but didn’t resist, instead sucking even harder, driving my rationality into oblivion.
Her mouth felt like a perfect sexual organ, its slick walls enveloping my desire, bringing unparalleled pleasure. My lazy thrusts grew more aggressive, each one slamming deep into her throat, as if I wanted to stuff everything inside.
"Ah—!" With a roar, I thrust one final time deep into her throat, releasing a torrent of cum that filled her mouth. Nayeon relaxed her throat, letting me pour everything out.
As I slowly withdrew my pulsing member, I watched her obediently swallow every drop I’d released, an indescribable sense of satisfaction washing over me.
"Son, let’s put work aside for now. You’ve made Mommy impatient..." Nayeon climbed onto me, her seductive movements reigniting my desire as my still-hard cock pressed against her wet entrance.
Her allure set me ablaze. Glancing at the clock, I saw there was still plenty of time before work. Without hesitation, I lifted her round hips, guiding her entrance to take in my still-rigid cock.
"Mmm... ah... son... you’re so good..." Nayeon sank down fully, our bodies perfectly joined once more. She moved up and down, her full breasts bouncing with each motion.
"Mom... you feel so good inside..." I tilted my head back, savoring the exquisite pleasure she brought. Her tight, juicy passage stimulated me with every thrust. I gripped her supple buttocks, helping her move faster.
"Ah... baby... maybe we should hold back a bit today... I’m worried you’ll be late..." Nayeon said, but her movements didn’t slow, growing even wilder, as if she wanted to drain me completely.
"Don’t worry, Mom..." I gritted my teeth, matching her rhythm while steadying my breathing. "Even if I’m late, the boss won’t mind..."
As a housewife, Nayeon kept active with regular exercise, making her adept at cowgirl position. Her toned abdominal muscles moved rhythmically, perfectly stroking every part of my cock.
Her breasts bounced wildly with her motions, mesmerizing me. I reached out, kneading her reddened nipples, which hardened like ripe berries under my touch.
"Ah... baby... that feels so good..." Nayeon arched her neck, her lips parted, her expression intoxicated. Her voice, husky with desire, was irresistibly seductive.
I let go of her breasts, gripping her waist to help her move faster. Encouraged, she leaned down, kissing me passionately.
Our tongues intertwined as I thrust upward to match her movements. Caught off guard by my increased intensity, Nayeon lost herself, forgetting her original intent was just to wake me.
We were lost in each other’s bodies, work forgotten. Straddling my thighs, our bodies perfectly connected, her relentless moans filled the air with every deep thrust.
"Baby... I’m close... why haven’t you cum yet..." Nayeon’s movements grew clumsy, sweat beading on her forehead, her exhaustion evident, yet she still tried to please me.
I patted her back soothingly. "You’re doing so well, Mom... I’ll cum soon... just hold on..."
Adjusting my position, I lifted her hips and thrust upward with force. Overwhelmed, she clutched my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin.
"Ah... ah... I can’t..." Nayeon cried out, her juices flooding out, soaking my abdomen. I soon reached climax, roaring as I released inside her again.
We collapsed onto the bed, panting. After a while, Nayeon looked up at me, a shy smile on her lips.
"Baby... are you really late now..."
Seeing my anxious rush to get ready for work, Nayeon flashed a sly smile. She leaned closer, circling my nipple with her finger before teasing it with her delicate tongue.
"Baby, if you’re in such a hurry... why not ask for a day off?" she teased, her tongue flicking over my sensitive spot, reigniting my desire.
"That’s... probably not a good idea... what if the boss says no..." I said, but my hand instinctively guided hers to my reawakening cock.
"Don’t worry, baby. If you ask... the boss will definitely approve..." Nayeon giggled, intensifying her strokes, drawing my focus entirely to the pleasure.
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my phone and dialed my boss. Nayeon watched my nervous expression with amusement, her fingers gliding over my cock.
"Boss, I’m sorry... I need to take a day off... yeah, I’m not feeling well..." I stammered, the sensations below nearly driving me mad.
As I spoke, Nayeon suddenly took my cock into her mouth, servicing it with fervent licks.
"Ah—!" I let out a yelp, nearly losing control. I quickly covered the phone, shooting her a look to stop her dangerous play.
But Nayeon, intent on seeing me flustered, didn’t stop. Instead, she quickened her pace, eroding my rationality.
"Baby, I know you’re struggling..." she said, looking up with playful, lustful eyes. "Since you’ve got the day off... let yourself go..."
I clutched the phone, stifling moans. Her tongue work was irresistible, and I surrendered to her whims.
"Boss, I need to go to the hospital now... I’ll make up the sick leave... thank you..." I rushed through the call, then grabbed Nayeon’s hair, urging her to quicken her pace.
She understood, wrapping her lips tightly around my cock, sucking hard. Her tongue teased the tip, spinning circles until I reached climax.
Gasping, I released a surge of cum into her mouth. She swallowed every drop, then caressed my cock lovingly.
I pulled her up, kissing her fiercely. Our lips locked, saliva spilling from her mouth, leaving wet marks on the sheets.
After the kiss, I cupped her cheeks, gazing into her ocean-blue eyes.
"Mom... that was intense... you nearly killed me..." I teased, my tone brimming with genuine affection.
Nayeon laughed, averting her gaze, her hand resting on my chest. "So, do you still want to go to work...?"
"Of course not..." I shook my head, pulling her into my arms. "I want to stay home with you... until we’re both exhausted..."
"You naughty boy..." Nayeon pouted, looking like a wronged wife. "I guess I have no choice but to keep you company... since I’m your mom..."
"Yes, yes, my dearest mom..." I coaxed, blowing softly in her ear.
Her body shivered, her ears turning a cute pink. "Don’t get cocky... you’ll pay for it later..."
"Oh? I’m looking forward to it..." I raised an eyebrow, a mischievous grin spreading across my face.
I flipped her over, pinning her beneath me, and began nibbling at her neck.
"Baby..." Nayeon let out a pained moan but soon melted under my touch.
I trailed my tongue down her smooth skin, exploring her sensual curves. My hand slipped between her legs, rubbing her soft petals.
"Mmm... ah..." Nayeon moaned, her breathing quickening.
Feeling her slick, wet core, I quickened my fingers, sliding one inside and thrusting.
"Ah—! Baby... slow down..." Nayeon pleaded, but her flowing juices betrayed her desperate need for my touch.
Ignoring her, I focused on stretching her passage, soon slipping in three fingers, her walls tightening around them.
"Mmm... too deep... baby..." Nayeon arched her head back, her eyes half-closed with seductive allure. Her hand reached for my semi-hard cock, stroking it.
"Ah... you’re just as bad..." I struggled under her counterattack, slowing my fingers to avoid climaxing too soon in her hand.
"Baby... this is too much..." Nayeon panted, her fingers gliding over my cock, sending waves of pleasure. "But I can’t help it... seeing you makes me lose control..."
"Same here..." I shrugged, speeding up my fingers inside her. "Nayeon... I’m going to cum in your hand..."
"Do it... all over my hand..." she said seductively, her other hand joining to caress my balls.
Under her dual assault, I soon climaxed, my thick cum shooting onto her hand and arm.
"Ha... ah..." I panted, sweat beading on my forehead.
Nayeon lifted her hand, inhaling the scent of my seed, her eyes drunk with pleasure, as if savoring a delicacy.
"Baby... I want to eat it..." She swayed her arm, bringing the cum-stained skin to her lips.
"Nayeon..." Watching her lick up my seed, I felt a mix of conquest and guilt.
She quickly cleaned every drop from her hand, then leaned down to lick my still-sensitive cock.
"Mmm..." I moaned under her skilled tongue, my desire reigniting.
"Mom... I’m going in..." I grabbed her hair, guiding her mouth back onto my cock.
She complied, enveloping it with her lips and tongue, making it harden again. I held her waist, aligning her with my entrance.
"Baby... be gentle..." Nayeon gasped but eagerly met my thrust.
My cock slid smoothly into her, her walls gripping me tightly, delivering supreme pleasure.
"Ah... so good..." Nayeon tilted her head back, eyes closed, savoring my possession. "Baby... harder... I want more..."
I quickened my thrusts, each one reaching her deepest core. Her moans grew louder, her legs wrapping tighter around my waist, urging me to ravage her more.
"Nayeon... Mom..." I growled, grabbing her hips and sinking fully into her.
She cried out, her moans turning sultry. "Baby... you’re so deep..."
I buried my face in her neck, my tongue tracing her collarbone, leaving a trail of glistening saliva on her pale skin.
"Baby... you fill me so much..." Nayeon’s eyes were hazy, her fingers digging into my back, leaving red marks.
"I’ll take good care of you..." I whispered in her ear, quickening my pace, each thrust hitting her deepest spot.
Her moans turned to cries, her legs tightening, nails sinking into my flesh. Knowing she was close, I pounded harder.
"Baby... I can’t take it..." Nayeon screamed, her walls clamping down, as if to swallow my cock whole.
I buried myself deep, climaxing as she did, my hot cum flooding her core, pushing her into another orgasm.
"Ah..." Nayeon’s head fell back, her eyes unfocused.
I held her shoulders, relishing the sensation of cumming inside her. Her body trembled, her passage impossibly tight, as if draining me dry.
After a while, I withdrew, watching thick cum drip from her core, tracing a lascivious arc onto the marble floor.
"Mom... you’re driving me insane..." I shook my head, kissing her forehead softly.
Nayeon opened her eyes, her gaze dim and dazed. She hooked her arms around my neck, pulling me close.
"Then do it again... baby..." she murmured, her eyes glistening with desire.
Looking at her, a strange emotion stirred within me. I knew this was wrong, but I couldn’t resist her.
"As you wish..." I said, entering her again, ready for another storm of passion.
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."
"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.
Super possessive CEO Karina x male college reader please!
THE EXECUTIVE PRIVILEGE
AESPA Karina X Male Reader
11K Words Counted
—
The glass doors of SYNK Holdings slid open with a hiss that sounded suspiciously like money.
Y/n adjusted the collar of his dress shirt, which felt a little too tight around the neck. Beside him, Ningning was frantically smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt, and their group mate, Ren, looked like he was about to pass out.
"I still don't understand how you managed to get an interview with the Yoo Jimin," Ningning whispered, clutching her notepad like a shield. "She eats small businesses for breakfast. We’re just college students doing a final project on corporate leadership."
"I sent an email," Y/n said simply, clutching his own list of questions. "I guess her secretary liked the polite font I used."
"Or she misclicked," Ren muttered.
They were escorted up forty floors in an elevator that moved so smoothly it felt like they were floating. When the doors opened, the air was colder, crisper, and smelled faintly of expensive perfume and ozone.
Kim Minjeong—or Winter, as the badge on her blazer read—greeted them with a sharp nod. She was the CEO's executive assistant and looked terrifyingly efficient.
"Miss Yoo has fifteen minutes," Winter said, checking a watch that probably cost more than Y/n’s entire college tuition. "Don't waste them. Go in."
Y/n took a deep breath, stepped forward, and pushed open the heavy mahogany doors.
The office was massive. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the Seoul skyline, but the room was dominated by a sleek, black desk. Behind it sat Yoo Jimin.
She was typing furiously on her laptop, wearing a sharp black blazer that accentuated her icy demeanor. She didn't look up immediately.
"Sit," she commanded, her voice smooth and cool.
Y/n swallowed hard. "Good afternoon, Miss Yoo. Thank you for—"
Jimin stopped typing. She looked up.
The air in the room seemed to vanish.
Jimin had prepared herself for a group of annoying, snot-nosed students begging for quotes for a thesis paper. She had her rejection speech ready. She had her "I'm busy" glare perfected.
But then she saw Y/n.
The afternoon sun was hitting him just right, illuminating the soft curve of his jawline, the way his dark hair fell slightly over his eyes, and the polite, nervous smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He was, objectively and subjectively, the most beautiful thing to ever walk into her office.
Oh, Jimin thought, her heart skipping a beat for the first time in five fiscal years. Oh, no.
"Miss Yoo?" Y/n asked gently, tilting his head.
Jimin blinked. She realized she had been staring at him with her mouth slightly open for a solid ten seconds. She quickly snapped it shut and cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure.
"Yes," she said, though her voice came out a little higher than usual. "The interview. Proceed."
They sat down. Y/n took the lead, clicking his pen. He looked serious, focused. It made him look even better.
"Regarding SYNK Holdings' recent acquisition of the Tech-AI startup," Y/n began, reading from his notes, "our group was wondering what your primary strategy was for integrating their culture with your own. Was it a focus on efficiency or asset retention?"
Jimin stared at him. She wasn't listening to the words. She was looking at the way his hand gripped the pen. She wondered if his hands were warm. She wondered if he liked Italian food. She wondered what he would look like sitting in the passenger seat of her Porsche.
"Miss Yoo?" Y/n prompted again.
Jimin jolted. "Right. Strategy." She panicked. Her brain, usually a supercomputer of business tactics, was currently displaying a screensaver of Y/n’s face. "Well... you see... efficiency is like... a cloud."
Ningning and Ren exchanged a confused look. Y/n nodded slowly, pen poised over the paper. "A... cloud?"
"Yes," Jimin said, committing to the nonsense. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, staring directly into Y/n’s eyes. "It floats. But sometimes it rains. And when it rains, the assets get wet. So, you have to... hold the umbrella. Personally."
The room went silent.
Winter, who was standing by the door holding a tablet, let out a tiny, choked cough.
"I see," Y/n said politely, writing down 'Assets = Wet' on his notepad. "That’s a very... metaphorical approach. Very poetic."
"I am a very poetic CEO," Jimin lied. She had fired a man last week for using the wrong font size.
"Okay," Y/n continued, trying to salvage the grade. "Moving on. How do you handle high-pressure competition in the global market?"
"I look at them," Jimin said, her voice dropping an octave, her gaze intense as she locked eyes with Y/n. "And if I see something I want... I just take it. I don't let anyone else have it. I make sure it stays mine."
The atmosphere in the room suddenly shifted from 'corporate interview' to 'predatory wildlife documentary.'
Ren looked terrified. Ningning looked like she was trying not to laugh. Y/n, bless his heart, just thought she was very passionate about market shares.
The fifteen minutes flew by. Mostly because Y/n would ask a question, and Jimin would spend thirty seconds admiring his eyelashes before giving an answer that sounded like it came from a fortune cookie written by a hallucinogenic robot.
Finally, Y/n closed his notebook.
"Thank you so much for your time, Miss Yoo. This will be great for our project." He stood up, and his friends followed suit.
Jimin felt a sudden spike of panic. He’s leaving.
If he leaves, he goes back to college. If he goes back to college, other people will see him. Girls will talk to him. Guys will talk to him. He might disappear into the sea of people and she’d just be the CEO he interviewed once.
"Wait," Y/n said, pausing. "Actually, I had one personal question. Unrelated to the project."
Jimin straightened up. "Yes? Ask anything." Ask for my number. Ask for my hand in marriage.
"My friends and I are graduating next semester," Y/n said, rubbing the back of his neck shyly. "We were wondering... what is the criteria for getting an internship here? I know it's incredibly competitive, but—"
"You're hired," Jimin blurted out.
Y/n blinked. "Pardon?"
"Hired," Jimin repeated, standing up. She slammed her hand on the desk for emphasis. "All of you. Next semester? No, start Monday. Or tomorrow. Whatever works with your schedule."
"But..." Y/n looked bewildered. "Don't we need to submit a portfolio? Or go through HR?"
"I am the CEO," Jimin said, walking around the desk. She stopped right in front of Y/n. She was wearing heels, which put her eyes level with his. She could smell his cologne—something cheap and soapy, but on him, it smelled like heaven. "My criteria is very strict. And you passed."
"We passed?" Ren squeaked. "I didn't even say anything."
"You have excellent... silence skills," Jimin dismissed him without looking away from Y/n.
She reached out and plucked the cheap ballpoint pen from Y/n’s hand. "You'll need better supplies if you're working for me. You’ll be in the Executive Department."
"All of us?" Y/n asked, eyes wide.
"No," Jimin said smoothly. "Just you. Your friends can go to... I don't know, Accounting? The basement?" She waved a hand vaguely. "Winter will sort them out."
Winter sighed audibly from the doorway. "I will prepare the contracts."
Y/n looked stunned. A flush crept up his neck, and Jimin felt a dangerous urge to bite him.
"Thank you, Miss Yoo," Y/n said, bowing slightly. "I won't let you down. I'm a hard worker."
Jimin smiled. It wasn't her usual shark-like business smile. It was a terrifyingly possessive, satisfied smirk.
"I know," she purred. "I look forward to overseeing your... development. Closely."
As Y/n and his shocked friends were ushered out by a weary-looking Winter, Jimin walked to the glass window to watch them leave the building.
She pulled her phone out and dialed Winter.
"Change the dress code policy," Jimin said into the phone, watching Y/n walk out onto the sidewalk far below.
"To what, Ma'am?" Winter asked tiredly.
"He needs to wear suits," Jimin said darkly. "Fitted ones. And cancel my meetings for next Monday morning. I need to personally orient the new intern."
"You have a board meeting with Samsung."
"Cancel it," Jimin said, pressing her hand against the glass as she watched Y/n disappear into the crowd. "I have a more important acquisition to manage."
—
The ride back to campus was a blur of adrenaline and confusion. It wasn't until the trio was safely seated at their usual wobbly table in the university cafeteria—surrounded by the smell of stale coffee and cheap fried chicken—that the reality of what just happened finally hit them.
Ren slammed his forehead onto the table with a groan. "I thought I was going to shit myself. I literally thought I was going to shit my pants in a distinctively non-corporate way."
Ningning, however, was vibrating with a different kind of energy. She ripped open a bag of chips and pointed a manicured finger at Y/n.
"Okay, what the fuck was that?"
Y/n blinked, pulling his heavy textbooks out of his bag. "What was what? The interview? It went well."
"Went well?" Ningning scoffed, a chip crumb flying out of her mouth. "Y/n, are you actually blind, or do you just enjoy gaslighting us? That woman didn't interview you. She was five seconds away from climbing over that mahogany desk and mounting you right there in front of the skyline."
"Jesus, Ning," Y/n muttered, feeling his face heat up. "Keep your voice down. She was just being... encouraging."
Ren lifted his head, looking traumatized. "Encouraging? Bro, she asked me zero questions. She looked at me like I was a stain on the carpet. But you? She stared at your mouth for like, forty solid seconds while you were talking about market integration."
"She was listening intently!" Y/n defended, though his voice lacked conviction. "She’s a CEO. They make intense eye contact. It’s an intimidation tactic."
"Intimidation?" Ningning cackled. "Bitch, she looked like a starving wolf looking at a particularly juicy lamb chop. When you asked about the internship, she didn't even check our grades! She just said 'hired' because she didn't want you to walk out that door and vanish."
Y/n shook his head, opening a soda can. "You guys are reading too much into it. She’s probably just desperate for interns. Maybe they’re understaffed."
"Understaffed?" Ningning looked at him like he was the stupidest person on Earth. "It’s SYNK Holdings. They have a waitlist of Harvard graduates begging to scrub their toilets."
She whipped out her phone and started typing furiously. "You clearly don't know who Yoo Jimin actually is. You think she's some nice, 'poetic' lady because she fed you that bullshit about clouds and umbrellas?"
"It was a metaphor," Y/n mumbled, taking a sip of soda.
"It was bullshit she made up because her brain short-circuited looking at your face," Ren corrected.
Ningning shoved her phone into Y/n’s face. "Read this. Read her Wiki. Read the Forbes article."
Y/n squinted at the screen.
Yoo Jimin (Karina)
CEO, SYNK Holdings
Known as: "The Serpent of Seoul", "The Guillotine"
Summary: Taking over the conglomerate at age 24, Yoo Jimin is known for her ruthless, cold-blooded business tactics. In 2023, she hostile-takeovered a rival tech firm in three days, resulting in the mass firing of the entire executive board. She is notoriously private, intolerant of incompetence, and was once rumored to have fired a VP because he chewed gum during a briefing.
Y/n scrolled down.
Quote from Business Insider: "Working for Yoo Jimin is like walking a tightrope over a pit of vipers. She demands absolute perfection. She does not smile. She does not forgive."
Y/n swallowed hard. He looked at the photo in the article. It was a candid shot of Jimin leaving a courthouse. She looked terrifying—sunglasses on, jaw set, radiating an aura that said 'I will buy your family and evict them for sport.'
"Okay," Y/n admitted, pushing the phone away. "She looks a little... intense here."
"A little?" Ningning grabbed the phone back. "She’s a fucking tyrant, Y/n! 'The Guillotine'? And you're telling me that this woman, who fires people for chewing gum, just giggled at you and gave you a job because you have nice eyes?"
"She didn't giggle," Y/n argued weakly.
"She smirked!" Ren cried out. "It was a predatory smirk! It was the smile of a woman who just secured the bag, and the bag is you."
Y/n ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Look, maybe the articles are exaggerated. She seemed... lonely? Maybe she just appreciated that we treated her like a normal person."
"You treated her like a normal person," Ningning corrected. "I was too busy trying not to piss myself, and Ren went mute. You offered her water and treated her like she wasn't God. And that is exactly why you're fucked."
"I'm not fucked," Y/n insisted. "I got a great internship. With triple the pay we expected. In the Executive Office."
"Yeah," Ningning said darkly, popping another chip. "The Executive Office. Also known as 'Yoo Jimin’s Personal Harem'. You’re going to be her personal assistant, Y/n. Do you know what that means?"
"It means I take notes and get coffee."
"It means you're going to be locked in a room with a possessive billionaire who probably wants to wear your skin as a suit," Ningning said. "Or, more likely, she wants to buy you a penthouse and keep you there like a trophy husband."
Ren nodded solemnly. "I give it a week before she buys the university just to fire the professors giving you homework so you can spend more time with her."
"You guys are insane," Y/n laughed, standing up to throw away his trash. "She's just a professional woman who saw potential in a hardworking student. That's it. No crush, no obsession. Just business."
He walked toward the trash cans, missing the look Ningning and Ren exchanged.
"He's dead meat," Ren whispered.
"Oh, absolutely," Ningning agreed, scrolling through more photos of Jimin looking lethal in designer suits. "But hey, if he marries her, maybe he can pay off my student loans."
Just then, Y/n’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out.
Unknown Number:
Make sure you eat a proper dinner. Instant ramen is bad for your health. I’ll see you Monday. - YJ
Y/n stared at the screen. How the hell did she get his personal cell number? It wasn't on his resume.
"Who is it?" Ningning called out.
Y/n quickly shoved the phone back into his pocket, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Nothing!" Y/n yelled back, his voice cracking slightly. "Just... spam!"
He sat back down, trying to look casual, but the image of the Ice Queen CEO hunting down his private number—and caring about his dinner—was starting to make Ningning's theory sound a lot less crazy and a lot more terrifying.
—
Monday morning arrived with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
Y/n stood outside the imposing glass facade of SYNK Holdings, adjusting his tie for the fiftieth time. He had spent most of his weekend savings on a new suit—it wasn't designer, but it was a sharp navy blue that fit him well enough.
Beside him, Ren looked like he was about to vomit on his loafers. Ningning was aggressively chewing gum to calm her nerves, ignoring the "No Gum" policy she had read about in the terrifying articles.
"Remember," Ningning whispered, spitting the gum into a tissue as they approached the revolving doors. "Don't look the staff in the eye. They smell fear. And if you see Her, play dead."
"We work for her, Ning. We can't play dead," Y/n hissed back.
They pushed through the doors into the lobby. It was a cathedral of capitalism—marble floors, vaulted ceilings, and an army of employees moving with military precision. The air was thick with stress and caffeine.
Usually, interns were herded into a cramped conference room on the 4th floor by a grumpy HR rep, given a handbook, and told not to fuck up.
But today, the atmosphere was different.
As Y/n, Ningning, and Ren huddled near the reception desk, a hush fell over the lobby. The rhythmic clicking of high heels echoed off the marble, sharp and authoritative.
Employees parted like the Red Sea. Heads bowed. Conversations died instantly.
Walking toward them was Yoo Jimin.
She looked devastating. She was wearing a tailored white suit that probably cost more than Y/n's entire bloodline, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders in perfect waves. Behind her trailed Winter, looking exhausted but impeccable, holding a tablet like a weapon.
The strangest part wasn't her appearance, though. It was her expression.
Usually, the staff saw the "CEO Face"—a look of cold indifference bordering on disdain. Today, however, Jimin’s eyes were bright, almost eager. There was a faint flush on her cheeks.
The receptionist nearly fell out of her chair. The security guard adjusted his belt nervously. Why is the CEO in the lobby? Why is she smiling? Is someone getting fired? Are we all getting fired?
Jimin bee-lined straight for the trio of college students.
"Good morning," she said, her voice carrying through the silent lobby.
Ren let out a high-pitched squeak. Ningning froze.
Y/n, feeling the weight of a hundred stares on his back, bowed politely. "Good morning, Miss Yoo. We're ready for orientation."
Jimin stopped in front of him, ignoring everyone else in the building. Her eyes swept over him, starting from his polished shoes, up the navy suit, lingering on his tie, and finally landing on his face.
"You changed your hair," she noted softly.
Y/n blinked, self-consciously touching his slightly trimmed bangs. "Uh, yes. Just a trim. For the first day."
"It looks good," Jimin said, a small, genuine smile tugging at her lips. "Very professional. The blue suits you."
A collective gasp rippled through the nearby employees. Did the Ice Queen just compliment an intern?
Winter stepped forward, clearing her throat loudly. "Ma'am. The schedule."
"Right," Jimin said, snapping out of her Y/n-induced trance. She turned to Ren and Ningning, her smile instantly dropping about ten degrees to a standard 'polite corporate' expression.
"You two," she said, gesturing vaguely at them. "You'll be with Winter. She has your assignments prepared."
"Thank you, Ma'am!" Ren and Ningning chorused, bowing so low they nearly headbutted the floor.
"Winter," Jimin commanded, not looking back at her assistant. "Take them to the 12th floor. Marketing and Data Entry. Make sure they have... whatever interns need. Snacks. Badges. Go."
Winter nodded sharply. "Come with me," she said to Ren and Ningning. She gave Y/n a look that screamed 'God save your soul' before marching the two terrified friends toward the elevators.
Y/n made a move to follow them. "Okay, I'll just go with—"
"Not you," Jimin said.
Her hand shot out, wrapping around Y/n’s wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong, her fingers cool against his skin.
Y/n froze. "Miss Yoo?"
"You're not in Data Entry," Jimin said, stepping closer. The lobby was dead silent now. Everyone was watching. She didn't care. "You're with me. Executive Office."
"Right, the... personal assistant role," Y/n stammered, conscious of her hand still holding his wrist. "Shouldn't I go through HR first? For the ID badge and the paperwork?"
"I have your badge," Jimin said. She reached into her blazer pocket and pulled out a sleek, black ID card with a gold lanyard. It wasn't the standard white intern badge. It was an Executive Clearance badge.
She stepped into his personal space, raising her hands to loop the lanyard around his neck. Y/n held his breath, smelling her perfume—something expensive, floral, and dangerous. Her knuckles brushed his chest as she adjusted the card.
"There," she murmured, smoothing the lapel of his jacket unnecessarily. "Much better."
She didn't step back. She was close enough that he could count her eyelashes.
"Uh, Miss Yoo?" Y/n whispered, his face burning. "People are watching."
"Let them watch," Jimin said, her voice dropping to a low purr that sent a shiver down his spine. "They need to know who you belong to."
"What?"
"Who you report to," she corrected smoothly, finally stepping back but keeping a proprietary hand on his lower back. "Come. We have a lot of work to do."
She guided him toward the private executive elevator—the one no one else was allowed to touch. As the gold doors slid shut, cutting them off from the gawking employees, the lobby exploded into whispers.
Inside the elevator, the silence was heavy.
"So," Y/n said, trying to break the tension as the numbers climbed rapidly toward the 50th floor. "What exactly will I be doing today? Filing? coffee runs?"
Jimin leaned back against the mirrored wall, crossing her arms. She looked him up and down again, like a dragon inspecting its favorite piece of gold.
"No coffee runs," she said. "I have machines for that. And Winter does the filing."
"Then... what is my job?"
The elevator dinged at the top floor. The doors opened to reveal her penthouse office.
Jimin walked out, beckoning him to follow.
"Your job," she said, walking over to her massive desk and sitting on the edge of it, crossing her legs, "is to be here. By my side. I have a lot of... stress. I need a calming presence. Someone to keep me grounded."
She patted the empty chair right next to her desk. Not a guest chair. A second, smaller desk that had been moved directly beside hers. It was so close their elbows would touch.
"Sit," she ordered.
Y/n sat. He looked at the desk. There was a brand new laptop, a pile of organized notebooks, and—bizarrely—a plate of expensive macaroons and a glass of iced americano.
"Eat," Jimin said, watching him intently. "You looked pale in the lobby."
"I... thank you," Y/n said, taking a macaroon. He took a bite. It was delicious.
"Good?" she asked.
"Very good."
Jimin smiled, that terrifyingly satisfied smile again. She spun her chair around so she was facing him, completely ignoring the mountain of paperwork waiting for her.
"Excellent," she said, propping her chin on her hand. "Now, tell me everything about your weekend. Don't leave out any details. Who did you see? Where did you go? Did anyone try to talk to you?"
Y/n chewed slowly, realizing with a dawning sense of horror that Ningning was right.
This wasn't an internship.
He was a pet.
"I... studied?" Y/n ventured.
"Good," Jimin nodded approvingly. "Studying is safe. No girls?"
"No girls."
"Good boy," she murmured, almost to herself.
She reached over and wiped a tiny crumb from the corner of his mouth with her thumb. The touch was electric. Y/n froze, his heart hammering against his ribs.
"Now," Jimin said, turning to her computer but keeping one hand resting on Y/n’s arm, anchoring him there. "Let's review the quarterly projections. And if you try to leave this room for anything other than the bathroom, I will have the building locked down. Understood?"
"Understood," Y/n squeaked.
"Perfect," Jimin beamed. "I think we're going to get along famously, Y/n."
—
The hours ticked by in the Executive Office, not that Y/n could tell. Time seemed to warp inside the bubble of the 50th floor.
For the first two hours, Y/n attempted to be a diligent intern. He opened the spreadsheets Winter had emailed him (titled "Busy Work 1" and "Busy Work 2"). He organized his pens. He sat with his back straight.
Jimin, meanwhile, was doing absolutely no work.
She was ostensibly reviewing a contract, but she hadn’t scrolled down on the PDF in forty-five minutes. Instead, she was engaging in her new favorite hobby: watching Y/n breathe.
"Y/n," she said suddenly. The silence in the room had been heavy, but comfortable.
Y/n jumped, his fingers freezing over the keyboard. "Yes, Miss Yoo? Do you need the Q3 reports?"
"No," Jimin said, spinning her chair slightly to face him. She tapped her manicured fingernail against the mahogany desk. "Your chair."
"My... chair?"
"It’s too far away," she stated flatly.
Y/n looked down. There was maybe six inches of space between his chair and the edge of her desk. "I'm pretty close, Ma'am. If I get any closer, I'll be inside your desk."
"Exactly," Jimin hummed. She stood up, walked around to his side, and grabbed the back of his chair. With surprising strength, she yanked it—with him still in it—until his armrest was practically wedged against her hip.
She sat back down, satisfied. "Better. Now I can see your screen."
"You... want to check my data entry?"
"Sure," she lied. "Show me."
Y/n leaned forward to point at a column on his laptop. As he did, his shoulder brushed against hers. He pulled back instinctively to apologize, but Jimin just leaned into the touch, her shoulder pressing firmly against his arm. She was like a cat seeking heat.
"Explain this row," she commanded softly, though her eyes weren't on the screen. They were tracing the line of his neck.
"Um, these are the... logistics expenses," Y/n stammered, his heart rate picking up. The scent of her perfume—vanilla and something sharp like cold steel—was overwhelming this close. "We, uh... we spent 15% more on shipping."
"Fascinating," she whispered, leaning closer until her cheek was inches from his ear. "Keep talking. I like your voice. It’s soothing."
Y/n swallowed hard. "Miss Yoo, I really think—"
Suddenly, the office door burst open.
"CEO Yoo, we have a crisis in the—"
A middle-aged man in a grey suit, clearly a high-ranking director, froze in the doorway. He stared at the scene: The ruthless "Guillotine" of Seoul, practically draped over a terrified intern, staring at a spreadsheet of shipping costs like it was the Mona Lisa.
Jimin’s entire demeanor shifted in a nanosecond. The softness in her eyes vanished, replaced by glacial irritation. She didn't move away from Y/n, but she turned her head to glare at the intruder.
"Director Han," she said, her voice dropping to sub-zero temperatures. "Did you lose the ability to knock? Or do you have a death wish?"
The man turned pale. "I—I apologize, Ma'am. It's just the merger with Kakao, the stocks dropped by 0.2% and—"
"Get out," Jimin snapped. "Handle it. If you can't fix a 0.2% drop without holding my hand, why am I paying you?"
"But—"
"I am in the middle of a critical training session," she hissed, placing a protective hand on Y/n's shoulder. "Leave. Now."
The Director scrambled out, shutting the door behind him.
The silence returned. Jimin let out a long, annoyed sigh, her shoulders slumping. She turned back to Y/n, her face instantly softening into a pout that looked ridiculous on a billionaire CEO.
"They are so annoying," she whined, resting her chin on Y/n's shoulder. "Always 'stocks this' and 'bankruptcy that'. Boring."
Y/n blinked, his brain short-circuiting at the physical contact. Is the CEO of a multi-billion dollar conglomerate whining to me?
"Uh... isn't that your job?" Y/n asked carefully.
"Technically," she muttered, closing her eyes. "But today my job is you."
She opened one eye, looking up at him through her lashes. "Did I scare you? When I yelled at him?"
"A little," Y/n admitted. "You were... intense."
Jimin lifted her head, looking suddenly worried. "Too intense? You don't like it?"
"No!" Y/n said quickly, not wanting to upset her. "No, it was... impressive. authoritative. You really commanded the room."
Jimin’s face lit up. A flush of pink dusted her cheeks. She looked down, playing with the cuff of her blazer shyly. "You think I'm authoritative? You like that?"
"I... sure?"
"Good," she breathed, looking ridiculously pleased with herself. "I can be very authoritative. Or I can be nice. Whatever you prefer."
"Nice is good," Y/n said weakly.
"Then I will be nice," she declared. She checked her watch. "It's 12:00 PM. Lunch."
"I brought a sandwich," Y/n said, reaching for his bag.
Jimin grabbed his hand. " absolutely not. You are not eating soggy bread in my presence. It’s an insult to me."
She pressed a button on her intercom. "Winter. Lunch. The Japanese set from the place I like. Two orders. Now."
Twenty minutes later, Y/n was staring at a bento box that probably cost more than his rent. There was wagyu beef, uni, sashimi that looked like jewels, and gold flakes on the rice.
"Miss Yoo, I can't eat this," Y/n said, eyes wide. "This is too much."
"Call me Jimin," she said, picking up a piece of tuna with her chopsticks. "At least when we're alone."
"I can't do that."
"Do it," she ordered, but her voice was playful. "Or I'll fire Director Han."
"Okay... Jimin," Y/n tested the name. It felt forbidden.
Jimin shivered visibly. She covered her mouth with her hand, looking away. "Fuck," she muttered under her breath. "Say it again."
"Jimin?"
She let out a shaky breath, her ears turning bright red. "Okay, that's... that's potent. We need to space that out. Eat your beef."
They ate in relative silence, but the atmosphere had shifted. It was warmer. Fluffier.
Jimin wasn't eating much. She was too busy watching Y/n eat. Every time he took a bite and looked happy, she looked like she had just won the lottery.
"Is it good?" she asked for the tenth time.
"It's amazing," Y/n smiled, genuinely relaxing. The food was incredible, and despite her terrifying reputation, she was currently looking at him with big, puppy-dog eyes. "Here, you should try the eel. You haven't touched yours."
Without thinking, Y/n picked up a piece of eel with his chopsticks and held it out toward her.
It was a bold move. A dangerously casual move.
Jimin froze. She stared at the chopsticks, then at Y/n’s face.
"Oh, sorry," Y/n panicked, realizing what he was doing. "I shouldn't—"
Before he could pull back, Jimin leaned forward and took the bite. Her lips brushed the tips of his chopsticks. She chewed slowly, her eyes locked on his, dark and dilated.
She swallowed. "Delicious," she whispered.
Y/n felt his face burning. He quickly looked down at his rice.
"You have rice on your face," Jimin said softly.
"Where?" Y/n went to wipe his cheek.
"No, here."
Jimin reached out. But instead of using her thumb, she leaned across the small space between them. She cupped his jaw with one hand to hold him steady, and planted a soft, feather-light kiss on the corner of his mouth.
She pulled back, licking her lips. "Got it."
Y/n stopped breathing. His brain flatlined.
Jimin sat back in her chair, looking incredibly smug, but her hands were trembling slightly. She was bold, yes, but she was also terrified he’d push her away.
"Was that... appropriate for the workplace?" Y/n squeaked, his voice an octave higher.
"I write the HR policy," Jimin said, her voice shaking just a little. "I say it's allowed."
She turned her chair toward the massive window, the sunlight bathing her in a golden glow. She looked tired suddenly, the adrenaline of the morning fading.
"Y/n?"
"Yes... Jimin?"
"Come here."
She patted the armrest of her oversized leather chair.
Y/n hesitated, then stood up and walked over. "Yes?"
"I'm tired," she murmured. "Running a company is exhausting. Everyone wants something from me. They want money, they want decisions, they want my power."
She looked up at him, her eyes vulnerable and wet. The 'Iron Lady' mask was completely gone.
"You're the only one who offered me water because you thought I was thirsty," she said quietly. "Not because you wanted a promotion."
She reached out and wrapped her arms around Y/n’s waist, burying her face in his stomach. It was a position of complete submission, hugging him while he stood and she sat.
"Just... stay here for a minute," she mumbled into his shirt. "Let me recharge."
Y/n stood there, stunned, feeling the warmth of the most powerful woman in the city clinging to him like a lonely child. Slowly, tentatively, he raised his hand and rested it on top of her head. Her hair was incredibly soft.
Jimin let out a long, contented sigh, her grip on him tightening.
"You're not allowed to quit," she mumbled sleepily against his abs. "I'll double your salary. I'll buy you a car. Just don't leave me alone in this big office."
Y/n gently stroked her hair. "I'm not quitting, Jimin. I need the internship credit."
"Fuck the credit," she sleepy-cursed, snuggling deeper. "I'll give you the whole damn company. Just keep petting my hair."
Y/n smiled, a genuine, soft smile. "Okay. Deal."
And as the afternoon sun warmed the office, the terrifying CEO Yoo Jimin fell asleep holding onto her intern, drooling slightly on his cheap suit, looking not like a tyrant, but like a girl who finally found her safe place.
—
The next morning, the Executive Office was buzzing with a different kind of tension.
It was Tuesday, which meant the Weekly Strategy Meeting. This was famously the most dreaded hour of the week for the department heads of SYNK Holdings. Legend had it that the Chief Financial Officer once cried after Jimin silently stared at his pie chart for two minutes without blinking.
The boardroom was a long, cavernous space with a table that looked like it could land a small aircraft. Twelve high-ranking executives sat around it, sweating in their expensive suits, clutching their tablets like life rafts.
Winter stood by the door, iPad in hand, looking bored.
Then, the doors opened.
Jimin walked in. She was wearing a slate-grey power suit that screamed authority, her hair pulled back into a severe ponytail.
But trailing behind her, clutching a notepad and looking like a lost puppy in a navy blazer, was Y/n.
"Good morning," Jimin said coolly, taking her seat at the head of the table.
"Good morning, CEO Yoo!" the executives chanted in unison, bowing their heads.
Jimin gestured to the empty chair directly to her right—the seat usually reserved for the Vice President (who was currently absent due to 'stress-induced ulcers').
"Sit here," she told Y/n.
A ripple of confusion went through the room. That was the power seat.
"Uh, Miss Yoo," the Marketing Director, a nervous woman named Ms. Choi, piped up. "That seat is for Vice President Kang. The intern usually sits in the back corner."
Jimin turned her head slowly to look at Ms. Choi. "Does Vice President Kang look like he is here?"
"N-no, Ma'am."
"Then the seat is empty," Jimin said simply. She turned to Y/n, her expression softening instantly. "Sit. The view of the screen is better here. And the chair has lumbar support."
Y/n sat down gingerly, feeling twelve pairs of eyes burning holes into his skull. "Thank you, Miss Yoo."
"Jimin," she whispered, low enough that only he and maybe the guy to his left could hear.
Y/n coughed to cover the sound. "Let's begin."
The meeting started.
Usually, these meetings were a bloodbath. Jimin would rip apart proposals, critique font choices, and generally make everyone question their career paths.
Today, however, things were... weird.
"So," the Head of Product Development began, shaking slightly as he pulled up a slide. "As you can see, the new Smart Home integration is facing a delay of two weeks due to a supply chain issue in—"
He stopped, flinching, waiting for the inevitable verbal lashing.
Jimin was staring at her own hand. More specifically, she was staring at the pen she was holding. Then she looked at Y/n’s hand, resting on the table.
She subtly slid her hand across the polished wood until her pinky finger brushed against Y/n’s.
Y/n flinched slightly but didn't pull away.
"Miss Yoo?" the Product Head asked, terrified. "About the delay?"
Jimin looked up, blinking. "Delay? Oh. Two weeks?"
"Y-yes, Ma'am. I know it's unacceptable, and I take full responsibility—"
"It's fine," Jimin said breezily. "Good things take time. Patience is a virtue."
The Product Head’s jaw dropped. The CFO choked on his water. Winter rolled her eyes so hard it looked painful.
"Patience... is a virtue?" the Product Head repeated, stunned. "Last month you told me 'patience is for people who can't afford express shipping'."
"I've had a change of perspective," Jimin said, glancing sideways at Y/n with a small, secret smile. "Some things are worth waiting for."
She casually nudged Y/n’s foot with her own under the table. Y/n looked at her, wide-eyed. She winked.
She actually winked.
The meeting continued, descending further into surrealism.
During a presentation on social media metrics, Y/n started taking notes furiously. Jimin leaned over, completely invading his personal space.
"Your handwriting is cute," she whispered, her breath hot against his ear.
The presenter, a young man from Marketing, faltered. "And... uh... engagement is up 10%?"
"Mhm," Jimin hummed, not looking at the screen. She reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Y/n’s ear. "You missed a spot in your notes. You didn't write down that I think you look very handsome in this lighting."
"Miss Yoo, please," Y/n hissed, his face turning tomato red. "They can hear you."
"Let them hear," she murmured, picking up Y/n’s water bottle, unscrewing the cap, and taking a sip before placing it back in front of him. "Indirect kiss."
The Marketing guy stopped talking. "Am I... interrupting?"
Jimin looked up, annoyed. "Yes. Continue. But speak softer. You're disturbing my intern's concentration."
The Marketing guy whispered the rest of his presentation.
Later, the topic of the annual company retreat came up.
"We were thinking of a ski resort this year," the HR Director suggested. "Or maybe a tropical location?"
"No," Jimin said immediately.
"No?"
"Skiing is dangerous," Jimin said, looking at Y/n with sudden concern. "What if someone falls and breaks a leg? Or gets cold?"
"We have insurance, Ma'am."
"I don't care about insurance," Jimin snapped. "I care about... asset safety." She reached under the table and squeezed Y/n’s knee reassuringly. Y/n jumped, nearly knocking over his notepad.
"We will go somewhere safe," Jimin decided. "Somewhere with heated floors. And a spa. And really soft beds."
She turned to Y/n. "Do you like spas?"
"I've never been to one," Y/n admitted.
"Tragic," Jimin said, shaking her head. "We’re going to a spa. Write that down. Mandatory Spa Retreat."
"Yes, Ma'am," Y/n wrote 'Spa Retreat' in his notebook.
"And put a star next to it," she added. "Because you're sharing a suite with the CEO for... security purposes."
The HR Director looked like she was having a stroke. "Ma'am, usually the executives have private rooms and the interns share bunks."
"Policy change," Jimin declared, grabbing Y/n’s hand openly on top of the table now, intertwining their fingers. "Effective immediately. The Executive Assistant Intern requires 24-hour supervision. He is... high risk."
"High risk for what?" Y/n whispered, looking at their joined hands.
"Theft," Jimin said deadpan to the room. "Someone might try to steal him."
She looked around the table, her eyes narrowing into slits as she glared at the female Director of Communications, who had smiled at Y/n earlier.
"Let me make this clear," Jimin announced, her voice turning steely. "This intern is under the direct jurisdiction of the CEO's office. If any other department tries to poach him, assign him work, or even look at him for too long... budget cuts will be swift and merciless."
She squeezed Y/n’s hand tight. "Are we clear?"
"Crystal clear, Ma'am," the table chorused, terrifyingly aware that she wasn't joking.
"Good." Jimin stood up, pulling Y/n up with her. "Meeting adjourned. Y/n and I have a very important... strategy session. In my office. With the blinds closed."
"Blinds closed?" Y/n squeaked.
"For the projector," Jimin lied smoothly, though the wicked gleam in her eye suggested otherwise. "Come along, Asset."
As she dragged him out of the room, leaving a room full of bewildered executives behind, the CFO leaned over to Winter.
"Is she... okay?" he whispered.
Winter sighed, closing her iPad. "She's in love. And she has the emotional regulation of a toddler with a black card. God help us all."
Inside the elevator, the moment the doors closed, Jimin dropped the professional facade entirely. She practically melted, leaning her forehead against Y/n’s shoulder.
"That was exhausting," she groaned. "Did I do good? Was I nice?"
Y/n laughed nervously, his heart still racing from the hand-holding. "You were... surprisingly nice. But you really didn't have to threaten them about stealing me."
Jimin looked up, her eyes dark and serious. "I meant it."
She stepped closer, boxing him against the elevator wall. She reached up and fixed his tie, her fingers lingering on his chest.
"You're mine, Y/n," she whispered, a possessive edge creeping into her voice. "I found you. I hired you. I'm keeping you."
She leaned up and kissed his cheek, hard.
"Now let's go to my office," she grinned, "I ordered us boba. And I want to watch you drink it."
Y/n sighed, resigned to his fate as the pampered captive of the scariest woman in Seoul. "Okay, Jimin. Let's go."
"That's my good boy," she purred.
—
Weeks turned into a month, and the dynamic on the 50th floor of SYNK Holdings had shifted from "unconventional" to "domestic sitcom."
To the outside world, Yoo Jimin was still the terrifying "Serpent of Seoul," a woman who could tank a competitor's stock price with a single raised eyebrow. But inside the glass walls of the Executive Office, she had devolved into a clingy, affectionate koala who seemed physically allergic to being more than three feet away from Y/n.
It started small. Moving his desk closer. Then demanding he sit in on every meeting.
Then, the touching started. A hand on his arm while she read. Resting her chin on his shoulder while he typed.
But now? Now, she had fully embraced her inner brat.
It was 5:00 PM on a Wednesday. The sun was setting, casting long orange shadows across the office. Y/n was packing up his bag, ready to head back to the dorms—or so he thought.
"Y/n," a voice whined from the massive leather chair.
Y/n sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. He turned around. "Yes, Jimin?"
Jimin was slumped in her chair, arms crossed, pouting. Not a CEO pout. A toddler-who-didn't-get-ice-cream pout.
"I can't move," she announced dramatically.
"You can't move?" Y/n asked, walking over to her. "Are you hurt? Do you need a doctor?"
"No," she grumbled, extending her legs and wiggling her toes in her Louboutins. "My legs gave up. They resigned. They said the walk to the elevator is too far and the carpet isn't soft enough."
Y/n chuckled, leaning against her desk. "So, what? You're going to sleep here?"
Jimin looked up at him with big, glistening doe eyes. She held her arms out, making grabby hands.
"Carry me."
"Jimin," Y/n laughed. "We are in a place of business. I can't just—"
"Carry. Me." She stomped her heel on the floor once. "I'm the boss. It's a direct order. Operation: Taxi Service."
Y/n shook his head, defeated by her cuteness. "Fine. Backpack or Bridal?"
"Backpack," she decided immediately. "I want to be tall."
Y/n turned around and crouched down. "Hop on, your Highness."
With a happy squeal that definitely didn't belong to a corporate tycoon, Jimin launched herself onto his back, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and her legs around his waist. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent deeply.
"Mush," she commanded into his ear.
"I am not a horse," Y/n muttered, but he adjusted his grip on her thighs and stood up. She was surprisingly light, or maybe he was just getting stronger from carrying the weight of her empire (and her body) all month.
He walked out of the office, Jimin clinging to him like a frantic sloth.
Winter was at her desk outside, typing furiously. She didn't even look up as Y/n walked past with the CEO of the company piggybacking on him.
"Have a good evening, Ma'am. Good evening, Y/n," Winter said monotonously.
"Bye Winter!" Jimin chirped happily, resting her chin on top of Y/n’s head. "We are going to get corn dogs!"
"Use the freight elevator if you want to avoid the board members," Winter advised, finally looking up with a faint, fond smile. "Director Kim is in the main lobby and he hates happiness."
"Good call. You're getting a raise," Jimin declared.
Y/n navigated the hallways. Jimin was humming a pop song, occasionally pressing kisses to his temple or biting his earlobe gently just to make him shiver.
"Jimin, stop biting me," Y/n complained, though he was smiling. "I'm going to drop you."
"You won't," she whispered smugly. "You love me. And if you drop me, I'll sue you for damages. My butt is insured for millions."
"Is it really?"
"No. But I can make it happen by tomorrow morning."
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open on the ground floor. Y/n stepped out, praying the lobby was empty.
It wasn't.
Standing near the reception desk, struggling with a stack of archive boxes, were Ren and Ningning. They looked exhausted, their intern badges crooked, hair messy.
They froze as they saw Y/n exit the elevator.
But they didn't freeze because they saw their friend. They froze because their friend was wearing a custom navy suit, looking polished and handsome, and piggybacking the terrifying CEO Yoo Jimin, who was currently nuzzling his neck and playing with his hair.
Clatter.
Ren dropped a box of files. Papers spilled everywhere.
"Oh my god," Ren whispered. "It's real. The prophecy is real."
Ningning just stared, her mouth slightly open. She looked from Y/n’s tired but happy face to Jimin’s possessive glare.
Jimin, sensing an audience, lifted her head from Y/n’s shoulder. She recognized the two terrified interns.
"Oh," she said, her voice switching instantly from 'baby' to 'boss', though she didn't climb down. "It's the friends. The noisy ones."
"Hi guys," Y/n said casually, shifting Jimin’s weight. "How's... data entry?"
"Y/n," Ningning said slowly. "Why are you wearing the CEO as a backpack?"
"Her legs broke," Y/n explained calmly.
"They went on strike," Jimin corrected, resting her chin back on Y/n’s head and staring at Ningning. "Do you have a problem with my transportation methods, Intern Ning?"
"No! No problem at all, Ma'am!" Ningning saluted, terrified but also fighting the urge to laugh hysterically. "It looks... very ergonomic."
"It is," Jimin agreed. She tightened her arms around Y/n’s neck. "He is very comfortable. And he smells like cheap laundry detergent. I love it."
"Hey," Y/n protested. "It's 'Ocean Breeze'."
"It smells like poverty," Jimin said lovingly, kissing his cheek loudly in front of them. "My favorite scent."
Ren looked like he was going to pass out. "Does... does HR know about this?"
"I am HR," Jimin deadpanned.
She checked her diamond-encrusted watch on her wrist, which was dangling in front of Y/n’s face.
"Y/n, I'm hungry," she whined, kicking her feet slightly. "Stop talking to the peasants. Feed me."
"Don't call my friends peasants, Jimin," Y/n scolded her gently, like a parent correcting a child.
"Fine," she huffed, burying her face in his neck again. "Stop talking to the valued entry-level employees. I want corn dogs. The ones with the potatoes on the outside."
"Okay, okay," Y/n sighed. He looked at his friends apologetically. "I gotta go, guys. See you in class tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Ningning said, snapping a quick photo with her phone while Y/n wasn't looking. "See you, Y/n. Good luck with... the baby."
"I heard that!" Jimin hissed, but she was too comfortable to do anything about it.
Y/n carried her through the automatic doors and out onto the busy sidewalk. Passersby stared. A few people recognized her—she was on the cover of Forbes, after all—and stopped in their tracks, jaws dropping as the Ice Queen giggled while being carried by a handsome young man.
"Everyone is looking," Y/n noted.
"Let them look," Jimin mumbled happily. "My feet don't hurt, and I have the best view."
They reached her black limousine waiting at the curb. The driver, Mr. Choi, didn't even blink. He just opened the back door.
Y/n turned so he could deposit her into the seat, but Jimin refused to let go.
"Jimin, you have to let go so we can get in," Y/n said.
"No," she pouted. "Come in with me. Just fall backwards."
"That's dangerous."
"I'll cushion you. I'm soft."
Eventually, Y/n managed to untangle her limbs and slide her into the leather seat. He climbed in beside her. Immediately, she was on him again, scrambling over the center console to sit in his lap, straddling his legs, burying her face in his chest.
"Battery low," she murmured, closing her eyes. "Recharging."
Y/n wrapped his arms around her waist securely, resting his head back against the seat. "You are extremely high maintenance, you know that?"
Jimin looked up, grinning mischievously. "But the pay is good, right?"
"The pay is excellent," Y/n admitted.
"And the boss is hot," she added, poking his nose.
"The boss is... okay."
Jimin gasped, feigning outrage. She grabbed his tie and pulled him down for a deep, searing kiss that left them both breathless.
"Say I'm hot," she whispered against his lips.
"You're hot," Y/n breathed.
"And say you're mine."
"I'm yours, Jimin."
She smiled, a brilliant, genuine smile that reached her eyes. She settled back down against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"Good," she whispered, closing her eyes as the car began to move. "Now wake me up when we get to the corn dogs. And if you try to move your arm, I'm firing Ren."
"Understood," Y/n chuckled, kissing the top of her head.
Back in the lobby, Ningning looked at the photo she had taken—Jimin clinging to Y/n like a koala, looking happier than anyone had ever seen her.
"Well," Ningning said, picking up the spilled files. "At least we know our jobs are safe."
"Why?" Ren asked, still shaking.
"Because," Ningning smirked. "If she fires us, Y/n won't give her piggyback rides anymore. We are literally protected by the power of love and laziness."
Winter walked by them on her way out, hearing the comment. She paused, adjusting her glasses.
"Actually," Winter said dryly. "You're protected because he's the first person in five years who makes her eat lunch instead of yelling at clouds. Don't mess it up."
Winter walked out the door, a small, satisfied smirk on her face. Her boss was finally happy, and all it cost was the dignity of one very handsome intern.
A fair trade, really.
—
The semester was coming to an end. The leaves in Seoul had turned from vibrant orange to dead brown, and the first snow began to dust the city streets.
For Y/n, life had become a surreal blur of exams, cheap instant coffee, and evenings spent in the most expensive penthouse in Gangnam.
It was a Friday night. Y/n was sitting on Jimin’s Italian leather sofa, which cost more than his parents’ house, reading a textbook on Macroeconomics.
Jimin was there too. She was lying on the floor—despite owning the sofa—with her head resting on the coffee table, staring at Y/n upside down. She was wearing one of Y/n’s oversized hoodies, which she had stolen weeks ago and refused to return.
"Y/n," she said, her voice echoing slightly in the massive living room.
"Yes, Jimin?" Y/n turned a page, not looking up.
"I have prepared a new contract. For next semester."
Y/n smiled. "I thought my internship was extended indefinitely? Winter said I'm on the payroll until I die."
"This is a different contract," Jimin said, rolling over and sitting up. Her face was unusually serious. A rare flush of pink dusted her cheeks.
She reached under the table and pulled out a sleek, black velvet folder. She slid it across the glass surface toward him.
"Read it. Sign it. No lawyers needed."
Y/n put his book down. He picked up the folder. It looked ominous. Had he messed up the budget reports? Was he being fired?
He opened it.
Inside was a single sheet of heavy, cream-colored paper. The header read:
PROPOSAL FOR EXCLUSIVE PARTNERSHIP & DOMESTIC MERGER
Y/n squinted. He read the first paragraph.
Parties involved: Yoo Jimin (The CEO/Owner) and Y/n (The Asset/Boyfriend).Objective: To establish a permanent, romantic, and exclusive relationship involving kissing, hand-holding, and sharing of hoodies.Clause 1: Y/n agrees to be Yoo Jimin’s boyfriend effective immediately.
Y/n stared at the paper. Then he looked at Jimin.
She was watching him with the intensity of a hawk spotting a mouse, biting her lower lip nervously.
A nervous chuckle bubbled up in Y/n’s throat. It was a defense mechanism. The idea of the Yoo Jimin—a billionaire, a goddess, a titan of industry—drafting a legal document to ask out a broke college student was just too absurd.
"Wow," Y/n laughed, closing the folder. "You really went all out for this joke, huh? Did Winter type this up? It's funny. 'Domestic Merger'. Good one, Jimin."
The silence that followed was deafening.
Jimin’s face fell. The hopeful light in her eyes vanished, replaced by a look of sheer, crushed devastation.
"A joke?" she whispered.
"Yeah," Y/n grinned, still thinking she was teasing him. "I mean, look at you. Look at me. It's a funny bit."
Jimin didn't say anything. She stood up slowly. She snatched the folder from his hands.
"I don't make jokes about acquisitions," she said, her voice trembling.
She turned on her heel and marched away, disappearing down the hallway toward her bedroom. The door slammed shut with a finality that made Y/n wince.
Click. The lock turned.
Y/n sat there, the smile sliding off his face.
"Oh," he whispered to the empty room. "Oh, shit."
—
He stood outside her bedroom door for ten minutes, knocking gently.
"Jimin? Open the door."
No answer.
"Jimin, please. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to laugh."
Silence. Then, a muffled voice from inside. "Go away. Go study your Macroeconomics. Go marry a calculator."
Y/n sighed, leaning his forehead against the wood. "Jimin, I don't want to marry a calculator. I want to talk to you."
"I am unavailable. I am in a meeting with my sadness."
Y/n knew he had to fix this. He remembered the spare key Winter had given him for "emergencies involving emotional outbursts." He dug it out of his wallet.
He unlocked the door and pushed it open.
The room was dark, lit only by the city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Jimin was sitting on the edge of her massive king-sized bed, hugging a pillow to her chest, glaring at the floor.
She looked small.
Y/n walked over and knelt in front of her. He placed his hands on her knees.
"Jimin," he said softly.
She turned her head away. "You laughed. I poured my heart into that clause about hoodie sharing."
"I know," Y/n said, his heart aching. "I'm an idiot. But Jimin... you have to understand why I laughed."
"Because I'm desperate? Because I'm clingy?" She looked at him, eyes wet.
"No," Y/n said firmly. "Because I'm terrified."
Jimin blinked. "You? Terrified? Of what? I'm the one putting myself out there."
Y/n let out a shaky breath. He gestured to the room around them. "Look at this place, Jimin. Look at who you are. You're... you're everything. You're powerful, rich, beautiful. And I'm just Y/n. I have student debt. I take the bus. I eat ramen three times a week."
He looked down at his hands resting on her silk pajamas.
"I laughed because the idea of you actually wanting me—not as an intern, not as a toy, but as a boyfriend—seemed impossible. I thought you were mocking me. I feel... insecure, Jimin. I feel like I'm not enough for you."
The room went quiet.
Jimin slowly lowered the pillow. She looked at Y/n—really looked at him—and saw the fear behind his eyes.
She reached out, her cool fingers cupping his face, tilting his head up so he had to look at her.
"You are an idiot," she said, but her voice was incredibly tender.
"I know," Y/n whispered.
"Money is just paper, Y/n," she said fiercely. "I have enough of it for ten lifetimes. I don't need a partner with a portfolio. I need someone who knows how I like my coffee. I need someone who lets me piggyback on them when I'm tired. I need someone who doesn't look at me like a walking ATM, but looks at me like... like I'm a person."
She leaned down, her forehead resting against his.
"When I'm with you, I'm not the CEO. I'm just Jimin. You give me that peace. No amount of money can buy that."
She brushed her thumb over his cheekbone.
"So, don't you dare say you're not enough. You are my most valuable asset. You're the only thing I've ever been afraid of losing."
Y/n felt a tear slip down his cheek. He covered her hand with his own.
"I love you, Jimin," he confessed, the words tumbling out. "I've loved you since the day you yelled at that director for interrupting us. I just didn't think I was allowed to."
Jimin’s eyes widened. A smile—radiant, breathtaking, and victorious—broke across her face.
"Say it again," she demanded.
"I love you."
"Good," she whispered. "Now come here."
She didn't wait. She leaned down and captured his lips in a kiss that was equal parts desperate and sweet. It wasn't the tentative peck from the office. This was deep, full of longing and relief. Y/n rose from his knees, sitting on the bed beside her, pulling her close by the waist.
Jimin made a happy, humming sound against his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck, burying her fingers in his hair. She tasted like strawberries and expensive champagne.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, Jimin didn't let go. She rested her forehead against his, her eyes closed, a content smile on her lips.
"So," she whispered. "Does this mean the contract is signed?"
Y/n laughed, a genuine, happy sound. "Yes. Clause 1 accepted. I am your boyfriend."
"Excellent," Jimin purred. She pushed him backward until he was lying on the bed, and she crawled on top of him, resting her chin on his chest.
"Now we need to discuss Clause 2," she said seriously.
"What's Clause 2?"
"Full access to your schedule. And weekends are mandatory cuddle time. Non-negotiable."
Y/n ran his fingers through her hair. "I think I can agree to that."
"Also," she added, tracing the buttons of his shirt. "I'm paying off your student loans. Don't argue. It's a signing bonus."
"Jimin, no—"
"Hush," she kissed him quickly to shut him up. "I'm the CEO. I make the rules. Just say 'Thank you, Girlfriend'."
Y/n smiled up at her, feeling lighter than he had in years. "Thank you, Girlfriend."
—
Six Months Later
Graduation day was chaotic. The campus was swarming with families, flowers, and screaming students.
Y/n stood in his cap and gown, flanked by Ren and Ningning.
"I can't believe we made it," Ren sighed. "I thought I was going to fail Stats."
"I can't believe he made it," Ningning said, pointing at Y/n. "Considering he spends 90% of his time being a trophy husband."
"I am not a trophy husband," Y/n argued, adjusting his tassel. "I work hard. I'm a Junior Associate now."
"Sure, sure," Ningning rolled her eyes. "Oh look, here comes the royal motorcade."
A sleek black limousine pulled up to the curb. The crowd parted.
Winter stepped out first, looking sharp as ever. She opened the back door.
Yoo Jimin stepped out.
She wasn't wearing business attire. She was wearing a stunning, soft pastel dress that made her look like an angel, holding a massive bouquet of blue roses. She spotted Y/n instantly.
Unlike the 'Ice Queen' of the past, she didn't wait for him to come to her. She practically ran across the grass, ignoring the whispers and the cameras.
"Y/n!" she called out.
Y/n barely had time to open his arms before she collided with him, hugging him tight enough to crack a rib.
"You graduated!" she squealed, burying her face in his neck. "My clever, handsome boy. I'm so proud of you."
"Thanks, baby," Y/n laughed, spinning her around slightly. "You're making a scene."
"I don't care," Jimin beamed, pulling back to look at him. She reached into her purse and pulled out a small velvet box.
Ren and Ningning gasped. "Is she purposing? Again?"
"No," Jimin said, opening the box to reveal a key. "I got you a present. It's the key to the penthouse. Officially. Your name is on the deed now too."
Y/n stared at the key. "Jimin... that's too much."
"It's practical," she shrugged, but her eyes were dancing with love. "Now I don't have to get up to let you in when you forget yours."
She leaned in, ignoring the entire graduating class of 2024 watching them, and kissed him soundly on the lips.
"Congratulations, Y/n," she whispered against his mouth. "Now let's go home. I ordered a feast. And I want to try that 'piggyback' thing again, but this time up the stairs."
Y/n smiled, taking her hand—the hand of the most powerful woman in Seoul, who happened to be the love of his life.
"Whatever you say, Boss."
"That's 'Babe' to you," she corrected, dragging him toward the limo.
Winter watched them go, shaking her head with a smile. She looked at Ren and Ningning.
"Get in," Winter said. "She bought the whole restaurant. You two are invited."
"Score!" Ren cheered.
As the car drove away, Y/n looked at Jimin, who was currently taking a selfie of them holding hands to post on the company's official Instagram. He realized he was the luckiest man alive.
He had the job, he had the degree, and most importantly, he had the girl.
And she was never, ever letting him go.
—
The penthouse was quiet when they finally stepped inside, the city lights glittering far below like a carpet of stars.
The feast Jimin had ordered was laid out on the dining table—caviar, lobster, champagne on ice—but neither of them looked at it.
Jimin kicked off her heels the moment the door closed, turning to Y/n with an expression that was no longer playful. It was raw, hungry, and reverent all at once.
She stepped forward, hands sliding up his chest, pushing his graduation gown off his shoulders. It pooled on the marble floor like black silk.
"Y/n," she whispered, voice low and trembling with something deeper than lust. "I need you. Right now. I've waited all day."
He cupped her face, thumb brushing her lower lip. "We have all night, Jimin."
"No," she breathed, pressing her forehead to his. "I don't want to wait anymore. I want you inside me. I want to feel you claim me the way I've already claimed you."
The words hit him like a shot of pure heat. He kissed her—hard, desperate, months of restraint snapping like a frayed wire. She moaned into his mouth, fingers fumbling with his tie, ripping it free.
They stumbled down the hallway, mouths fused, hands frantic. Jimin’s dress slid down her shoulders, pooling at her feet, leaving her in nothing but lace panties and the diamond necklace he’d given her for their three-month anniversary.
Y/n’s breath caught. She was breathtaking—pale skin glowing in the moonlight, curves he’d memorized with his eyes now begging to be touched.
"Bedroom," he rasped.
"No," she said, pushing him against the wall instead. "Here. I want you everywhere tonight."
She dropped to her knees.
Y/n’s head hit the wall with a soft thud as she unbuckled his belt, dragging his zipper down with her teeth. His cock sprang free, hard and aching, and Jimin looked up at him with those dark, possessive eyes.
"This perfect cock is mine," she whispered, and took him into her mouth.
Y/n groaned, fingers threading through her hair as she sucked him deep, tongue swirling, throat relaxing until her nose brushed his abdomen. She hummed around him, the vibration making his knees buckle.
"Fuck—Jimin—"
She pulled off with a wet pop, licking her lips. "You taste sweet."
He hauled her up, kissing her fiercely, tasting himself on her tongue. Then he spun her around, pressing her chest to the wall, hands sliding down her body to grip her hips.
"Condom?" he panted against her ear.
"Drawer in the hallway table," she gasped. "I put them everywhere. Just in case."
He laughed breathlessly, tearing open the foil with his teeth, rolling it on with shaking hands.
Jimin arched her back, pushing her ass against him. "Now, Y/n. Please."
He pushed her panties aside and slid into her in one slow, devastating thrust.
They both cried out.
She was impossibly tight, impossibly wet, clenching around him like she was trying to pull him deeper. He stilled, buried to the hilt, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades.
"God, Jimin—"
"Move," she begged, voice breaking. "Please move. Fuck me like you mean it"
He did.
Slow at first, savoring every inch, every whimper she made. Then faster, harder, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the penthouse. Jimin’s nails clawed at the wall, her moans rising in pitch.
"Harder," she sobbed. "I want to feel you tomorrow when I walk into board meetings. I want to sit in my chair and remember you fucked me against this wall."
Y/n growled, one hand sliding up to cup her breast, pinching her nipple until she keened. The other slipped between her legs, circling her clit.
"Come for me, baby," he whispered against her neck. "Let me feel you fall apart."
She shattered—crying his name, walls fluttering around him, thighs shaking so hard he had to hold her up. The sight of her coming undone pushed him over the edge; he thrust deep and spilled inside her with a broken groan.
They slid to the floor together, limbs tangled, breathing ragged.
Jimin turned in his arms, cupping his face, eyes glassy with tears—not from pain, but from overwhelming emotion.
"I love you," she whispered, voice raw. "So much it scares me."
Y/n kissed her slow and deep, tasting salt and her. "I love you more than I have words for. And I’m never leaving. Ever."
She smiled through the tears, climbing into his lap, guiding him back inside her with a soft sigh.
"Then show me again," she breathed. "Show me until the sun comes up."
They didn’t make it to the bedroom until dawn.
They made love on the hallway floor, then the kitchen counter, then the massive glass window overlooking the city—Jimin pressed against the cold pane, Y/n behind her, whispering filthy praise in her ear while the entire skyline watched.
"I'M CUMMING!!!!! FUCK!!"
By the time they finally collapsed into bed, sheets tangled, bodies marked with love bites and fingerprints, the first rays of sunrise painted them gold.
Jimin lay half on top of him, tracing lazy hearts over his chest.
"Marry me," she said suddenly, voice soft but certain.
Y/n blinked sleepily. "We’ve been dating six months."
"I don’t care," she said, lifting her head to look at him. "I’ve known since the day you offered me water in that elevator. I want forever. I want your last name. I want to wake up every morning with you inside me and fall asleep with you still there."
Y/n brushed her hair from her face, thumb stroking her cheek.
"Then yes," he whispered. "A thousand times yes."
Jimin’s smile was blinding. She kissed him—slow, deep, reverent.
"Good," she murmured against his lips. "Because I already bought the ring. And the venue. And I told Winter to clear my schedule for the next two weeks. We’re getting married in Jeju next month."
Y/n laughed, rolling them so he hovered over her, sliding back inside her with a groan.
"You’re insane," he said, kissing her neck, her jaw, her lips.
"Your insane," she corrected, wrapping her legs around his waist. "Now make love to your fiancée until we miss the flight."
And so they did.
Until the sun was high in the sky, until their voices were hoarse, until every inch of the penthouse smelled like them—until the most powerful woman in Seoul was reduced to a trembling, crying, laughing mess beneath the man who loved her exactly as she was.
Can a night get more perfect than one surrounded by everyone you need?
A week ago, Karina would’ve rolled her eyes at that line. But leaning back onto her palms in the cold sand, shielded by the black lava rock, she caught herself believing it anyway.
Seoul never actually got dark like this; it just gave up and went grey. But out here, past the resort, where the black lava rock dropped off into the ocean, the darkness wiped the horizon clean. Overhead, the Milky Way painted a violent smear of white across pitch black. For once, something actually looked better in reality than it had on the curated Instagram accounts Karina had exhaustively scrolled through when booking the trip, looking less like a postcard and more like a direct act of God.
Yesterday morning, when Yeji jumped into her DMs with paragraphs about Chaeryeong’s desperate need for an American beach fire and Lia’s promise of zero light pollution, Karina had read the texts flat on her back. Mostly because her body was still thoroughly wrecked from what Yeji and Minho had done to her the night before. She’d been too busy tracing a ring of faint, finger-shaped bruises on her left breast to care about roasting marshmallows.
But sitting in the sand now, freezing in the coastal wind while the Pacific crashed somewhere in the dark, she had to admit Lia was, in fact, totally right. The stars kept multiplying every time Karina looked up, white and shameless over the water, and her neck started to ache before she made herself look away. Annoyingly, inconveniently, she wanted to pray about it.
By the time the sun fully dropped behind the water, ITZY had essentially relocated their Seoul dormitory and dropped it directly onto the beach. They’d claimed their patch of sand long enough for their belongings to scatter into that comfortable chaos they somehow lived in every day without falling apart. On the sand sat a cracked-open cooler bleeding condensation onto a discarded million-won hoodie, half-kicked-off slides sinking near the driftwood, and Lia’s phone tripod jammed into the dirt to record the impending disaster unfolding by the unlit fire.
Karina watched as her own members wasted no time getting comfortable.
Over on the main blanket, Winter had already fished out the honey butter chips meant for later and declared them chips for right now, hugging the bag to her chest while Ningning and Giselle successfully stole bites anytime Winter looked away. Winter had her knees tucked up inside a Doraemon blanket and her cheeks puffed full of chips, chewing with solemn focus. With Winter, snacks always demanded discipline and respect.
Yeji sat off to the side with one knee drawn up to her chin, silently watching Minho fail, while Yuna tucked her legs under herself and accepted a chip from Ningning, holding it suspended in the air for a long time before finally taking a bite.
Karina glanced over and watched as the boys struggled with fond cynicism. Delegating the fire to them had been an unspoken group consensus, the sort of primitive task men were supposed to handle when they weren’t busy being horny and useless. Although right now, they were just being useless.
Out by the driftwood, Sunwoo was trapped in a miserable loop of polite intervention. He kept taking an eager half-step forward with his mouth open to help, then immediately second-guessing himself and shoving his hands violently back into his pockets out of sheer politeness. It was agonizing to watch.
Down in the sand, Minho crouched beside a questionable pyramid of sticks, repeatedly striking a lighter into the sea breeze while Minjun nodded along as if the effort looked promising.
“You look like a sad YouTuber,” Giselle called from the blanket, clutching a bottle of soju. “Like ‘Man survives one day without wifi’.”
“It’s called airflow,” Minho said, shielding the tiny spark with his palm.
“More like arson cosplay,” Lia chimed in, tapping her screen to take a video.
Minjun nudged a stick with his toe. “No, because if we just -”
“Not like that,” Sunwoo finally interjected.
Ningning popped up on her knees, chewing a stolen honey butter chip. “Wait, I know this! You put the tiny ones under the big ones.”
Winter, still bundled in the blanket, lifted one hand like a student answering in class. “Maybe the small sticks are babies. They need protection.”
Giselle stared at her. “Minjeong-ya, we’re burning them.”
Winter’s face folded into immediate distress. “Unnie, then why did you call it kindling? That sounds gentle.”
Ningning patted the top of her head while still observing Minho’s collapsing stick pyramid with unfettered amusement. “Don’t worry, unnie. They’re brave babies.”
“Oh.” Winter accepted this at once and shoved another chip into her mouth.
When Minho brought the lighter too close to his thumb again, Yeji inhaled sharply enough to be heard over the surf. She folded her arms immediately, squaring her jaw, and Karina watched the tension lock into Yeji’s shoulders.
Giselle sighed loudly over the rim of her cup. “Dude, just use lighter fluid. You’re not winning any prizes for doing things the hard way.”
“I know how to do it naturally.” Minho adjusted the smallest sticks with two careful fingers.
“Dude,” Giselle scoffed, staring at him. “The natural part is fucking failing right now.”
He clicked the lighter again, caught empty air, clicked it once more, and singed his knuckle with a sharp hiss, shaking his hand out fast.
Before he could try again, Sunwoo stepped in, nudged two bits of driftwood apart, crouched, and lit one twist of paper. The kindling finally caught and sent a bright flame crawling up through the center of the pile.
As the wood popped and caught, Chaeryeong clapped loudly, then tucked both hands under her chin in a tiny victory pose.
“See? This is why I brought him,” she beamed, claiming total victory for a fire she hadn’t touched. “You’re all very welcome.”
Sunwoo gave her an appreciative glance across the rising heat.
Chaeryeong smiled sweetly, ambled over, and snuggled into his side. “You looked cold doing all that.”
Orange light spilled across the blankets, catching Winter’s cheek when she turned to ask Ningning for her charger, and flashing off Lia’s rings as she lowered her phone. Karina sat back on her hands, digging her fingers into the cool sand, letting the fire warm her knees.
***
Phone flashlights swept the beach path, throwing long, distorted shadows down the sand dunes before Ryujin’s voice even reached them.
“I told you, this is the right one. Why would I kidnap you to the wrong fire?”
“Bro, what the fuck are you being so mysterious for then?!” Another voice cut loudly over the crashing surf. “You literally dragged me past three empty beaches!”
LE SSERAFIM’s Yunjin emerged from the dark path wearing an oversized flannel peeling off a tight brown crop top and black denim cutoffs so frayed they put the ‘short’ in shorts. Karina watched her from the sand, her aesthetic eye taking in the unapologetic power of Yunjin’s build. Legs for days, thighs with actual power to them, and good bones under all that muscle, the whole package looking like it had told standard idol thinness to fuck off the New York way. She’d always enjoyed casually swatting Winter’s ass onstage, but this was on another planet.
While the rest of the circle clutched maekju and soju bottles, or in Winter’s case - juice boxes, Yunjin bounced on the balls of her feet, carelessly swinging a massive iced americano. Stopping right where the firelight thinned out, she took in the sprawled blankets, the half-buried coolers, the dark stretch of ocean beyond, and finally lifted her cup in approval.
“Damn, okay.” Yunjin laughed. “Fuck. This is kinda cute.”
Ryujin ambled in right behind her wearing a sleeveless hoodie over torn denim shorts and sandals, both hands shoved in her pockets like she owned the fucking place. She’d clearly forgotten to turn off her phone’s flashlight, leaving one side of her hoodie glowing a bright, oblivious white from the inside out. Seeing her, Karina let out a slow, quiet breath into the sea breeze.
“JENNIFER!”
Ningning kicked her blanket off in a flurry of limbs. Chaeryeong shrieked loudly enough to make Minho flinch, nearly flinging her drink into the sand as both hands flew up.
“Wait, is that - “ Yuna scrambled up, dropping her phone in the sand.
Giselle raised her bottle. “Oh my gosh. Jennifer Huh.”
Yunjin swung her iced americano back in a lazy, sarcastic toast. “Aeri Uchinaga. Still drinking on a Tuesday.”
“It’s a vacation Tuesday, so technically it doesn’t -”
Giselle didn’t even get to finish her retort before Yunjin’s attention snapped past the firelight, her face breaking into a delighted beam as she spotted Ningning and Winter. “MY DORMIES!”
Ningning scrambled past the snacks, grabbing Winter by the hood to drag her into the fray.
“Wait, no -,” Winter protested, refusing to pull her hands out of the chip bag. She got crushed into the three-way hug anyway, letting out a startled, high-pitched yelp before abandoning the chip bag and squeezing Yunjin back tightly.
Yunjin practically bounced on her heels, managing to keep her massive iced americano perfectly level with impressive wrist control. She pulled back just far enough to grab Winter by both shoulders. “MINJEONG, YOU GOT HOT! THE WORLD IS YOUR OYSTER, BESTIE,” she screamed, loud enough that Winter’s bangs literally blew back from the force of it.
“Y’all are gorgeous, I’m tight,” Yunjin was cracking with sudden sentimentality. “I missed you guys so much!”
Yeji stayed seated, resting her chin on her knee, staring at the three-way hug. “Where are your members, Yunjin? You didn’t leave them unattended near open water, did you?”
Yunjin straightened so fast her iced americano sloshed against the lid. “Bro, don’t even. They’re dead to me. Deadass. They’re at that samgyupsal place down in Seogwipo.”
“That place is so good.” Winter nodded earnestly from inside the throng of overexcited female energy.
“Told you to go.” Ningning stole another chip.
“I sent you the Naver pin,” Giselle called over the fire.
“Okay, I GET IT.” Yunjin locked her fingers around her plastic cup. “I got spammed by the three of you about pork belly, alright?! But I’m literally on my vegetarian comeback-prep bullshit right now! Chewing on leaves! Surviving on water and vibes!”
Yeji spoke from across the fire. “Right, isn’t your comeback at the end of the month?”
“Literally the thirtieth! This is our pre-release getaway, and shit’s CRAZY right now. Actually crazy.” Yunjin rattled the ice in her cup hard enough to underline every word. “Anyway, I had to bounce because they went feral in the restaurant while I had to breathe fumes.”
“Tragic,” Ryujin muttered, dropping onto the sand beside Lia.
“Feral,” Yunjin repeated, gesturing wildly with her free hand. “Chaewon-unnie defected from leadership the moment she got off the plane. She thinks she’s five again or some shit. Giggling and making the staff take four hundred photos of her by the ocean all fucking day -”
Yuna lifted her head from the blanket, her voice devoid of its usual bounce. “Wait. Yunjin-unnie... did you seriously just, like, abandon Eunchae? Why would you do that to me?”
“Zuha has her,” Yunjin clarified, taking a massive, rattling drag of her iced americano. “Actually, knowing Zuha, Manchae’s probably drowning in a koi pond right now while Zuha maintains unbroken eye contact with some local gym bro’s biceps at the next table.”
Lia blinked slowly across the fire, taking an impossibly tiny sip of her drink. “So you did abandon them and decided to follow Ryujin into the dark instead. Valid choice.”
“Ryujin straight-up kidnapped me! We literally just landed! I’m trying to live, yo!” Yunjin threw her free hand in the air, spinning to address the circle. “Wait, how long have you guys been here? What did I miss?”
Yuna crossed her arms and collapsed back onto her blanket, sounding instantly miserable. “Literally everything. Like, you actually missed BLACKPINK at the pop-up concert. Just like me. Which is fine! I’m completely fine! My life is just a tragedy, it’s totally fine.”
“Wait, BLACKPINK was here?!” Yunjin exclaimed, ignoring her woes. “You deadass?!?”
Karina hugged her knees, laughing at the sheer volume of the intrusion. “Yeah, a few nights ago. We’ve been here almost four days. Leaving tomorrow morning.”
“We’ve got three more,” Yeji added, evidently unbothered by all the screaming.
“No way, you guys are leaving?” Yunjin stared at Karina, then whipped around to glare at Giselle. “Are you kidding? I just got here!”
Before Yunjin could demand answers, Ningning grabbed her by the wrist. “Unnie, come here. No, here. Sit here. Wait, why are you drinking coffee?”
“At night,” Lia pointed out, looking directly at the iced cup. “On a beach.”
“Yeah, and?” Yunjin challenged. “Digestion is a sacred process, okay? Some of us didn’t eat the meat and need energy! Gotta keep the fire in the belly going, you know!”
“You texted me at 2 AM asking if the resort had room service bagels.” Giselle watched her over the fire.
Yunjin whipped around, clutching her americano to her chest. “See? This is what I mean. Aggressively West Coast. Smug on contact.”
Giselle smirked. “And you came in shouting. So New York of you.”
“I AM from New York! You went to an international school in Tokyo! You’re the opposite of a California girl, Aeri!”
Ningning looked back and forth between them, utterly delighted by the chaos. Winter leaned close to her, tugging on the hem of Ningning’s sundress twice in a tiny, urgent rhythm, her brow furrowing in concern.
Yunjin dropped onto the edge of the blanket, while Ryujin landed beside her with a quiet thud, and within seconds they’d taken over the group dynamic. Yunjin loudly interrogated everybody about their drink choices, yelled at Sunwoo for laughing at her coffee, demanded to know who failed to start the fire, and claimed immediate territory over the disputed honey butter chips. She reached across the blanket to steal one, pausing just as her hand hovered over the bag, her eyes dropping immediately to the movement beside it.
Minho had just blindly passed Yeji a fresh can of Pepsi - one of the new IVE Summer Festa promos with Wonyoung’s face dominating the aluminum. Yeji took it silently, cracked it open with her thumb, tipped it against her knee, and kept listening to whatever Chaeryeong was saying.
Yunjin’s hand froze over the chips. She pulled it back, squinting at Minho over the rim of her iced americano.
“Wait,” Yunjin said, squinting aggressively through the firelight. “Who the fuck are you?”
Minho just blinked at the plastic cup aimed at his nose. “I’m Minho. Yunjin, right?”
“Yeah, but why do I know your face?” She kept squinting at him, the ice rattling as she studied him. “You look SO familiar. Are you staff?”
“I helped run the boards when you tracked Fearless,” Minho answered, giving her a polite little nod.
Yunjin’s eyes went wide. “Oh shit! Studio monitor guy! Yeah!” Yunjin brightened on the spot, then squinted harder like that only made the situation worse. “Wait. So what are you doing on a dark beach with ITZY?”
“He’s a friend,” Yeji answered, fast enough to trip over the words.
Minho let out a slow, visible exhale. “I’m Yeji’s friend.”
“From when we were trainees,” Yeji added, layering on a desperate, aggressive casualness that only made it worse.
Sitting in the sand, Karina closed her eyes. Slowly, with profound spiritual exhaustion, she tilted her head back and made direct, metaphorical eye contact with God.
When she finally brought her gaze back down to earth, Ryujin was staring at the sky like she’d found enlightenment, Chaeryeong had both hands pressed to her temples, and Giselle was taking the slowest drink Karina had ever witnessed. Around the blanket, the same verdict passed from face to face: terrible lie.
Yunjin’s hand froze over the chips. The americano dropped to her lap, forgotten for one precarious second. “Wait. Wait, wait.”
She looked at Ryujin, then at Yeji and Minho, then back to the group, dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that cleanly overpowered the Pacific Ocean. “Are they together?”
The only sound was the snapping wood. Yeji blinked, Minho stared at the sand, and Karina wondered if anyone else was praying for divine intervention or just her.
Chaeryeong scrambled onto her knees so fast the blanket hitched under half the circle. “THANK you! Finally. Okay, because if you watch the way he hands her things, it’s very - I mean, SO not casual. And yesterday morning he rescued her eggs, which unfortunately you weren’t there for, which sounds normal until you understand she was in his shirt, glued to his arm, and then at breakfast her hand kept ending up in places that were very much not friend-coded -”
“Chaeryeong,” Sunwoo interrupted mildly.
“- and there’s a look he does when she’s ignoring him which is textbook drama male lead, except he’s also carrying coolers and fixing drinks which means he’s already full-blown husband-coded -”
“Baby.”
“I have NOTES! Wait, baby, give me my PHONE -”
Chaeryeong stopped mid-reach. She lowered her hands and turned to look at the one person on the blanket who wasn’t looking at her.
“Wait!” Chaeryeong tucked one hand against her mouth. “Ryujin-unnie -”
Ryujin slouched further back on her elbows and stared at the flames. “Nope.”
“Nope?” Chaeryeong echoed.
“No trial by bonfire.” Ryujin crushed an empty chip bag into a tight ball and tossed it toward the cooler. “If Yeji wants to be weird about her trainee friend with nice forearms, she can be weird in peace.”
“I’m not being weird,” Yeji said instantly.
Ryujin let her head tip sideways. “You introduced him like a hostage statement.”
Yeji’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
“Yeddeong,” Ryujin muttered, turning back to the fire. “Fix your face.”
Yeji stared at her for too long, then looked down at her Pepsi.
Chaeryeong froze.
Yesterday morning, Ryujin had seen Yeji holding onto Minho-oppa in the kitchen and walked out before anyone finished breakfast. Clean plate, dishes dumped in the sink, posture stiff enough to instantly launch a side plot in Chaeryeong’s head.
Then that massive living room fight later that night never actually made sense anyway. Ryujin had tried to make Yeji rate Minho like some cheap hookup the way they always used to, called him a golden retriever, and pushed until Yeji pulled rank just to shut it down. Then she had lost her mind over it, backing Yeji into a corner to force her to admit he was her boyfriend. But Chaeryeong knew Ryujin didn’t even do boyfriends. She hadn’t been jealous over the guy. She seemed more devastated that Yeji refused to play their old game anymore.
There was a massive hole in the plot. Whoever wrote their scripts was taking the whole ‘show, not tell’ thing a little TOO far. Because right now, Chaeryeong could really use a lot of telling.
Instead, Yeji was sitting in the firelight with that same soft mouth, and Ryujin just... stayed.
Chaeryeong sank back onto the blanket and blinked. “I missed an episode.”
Yunjin dragged her iced americano closer to her chest like she needed it for protection. “Girl, I missed the whole season.”
Ningning let out a scandalised shriek, and Winter made a soft ‘ohhhhh‘ of comprehension despite grasping almost none of the actual context. The noise bounced around the circle, everyone talking over each other. In the blur, Karina caught Yuna laughing. The sound hit a note too sharp. Her mouth was thrown wide, but her eyes were already darting away before anyone could meet them.
Through the chaos, Yeji finally looked away from the fire. She shifted her gaze down the sand to find Minho. He was already watching her. He let out a slow, visible exhale, his shoulders dropping in resignation.
Ningning chose that moment to poke the fire with a driftwood twig. The end caught at once, flaring violently. She pulled it out and held the tiny torch up in triumph.
“See? You just have to be aggressive with it.”
“You’re waving it too close to the chips!” Winter shrieked, hugging the bag tight against her chest. “If the chips burn, we’ve got nothing!”
“The chips are safe, unnie, calm down.” Ningning never shied away from any opportunity to be a menace.
The circle shifted after that, the group relaxing their postures as drinks changed hands and people readjusted their spots. Someone mentioned their flight time for tomorrow, prompting Giselle to groan loudly into the sleeve of her sweater. Winter asked the group for the fourth time where her charger had gone, openly accusing the beach itself of theft. Over by the driftwood, Sunwoo and Minjun fell into an easy, low-voiced conversation with Minho. Chaeryeong successfully stole Sunwoo’s sleeve again, pulling it over her knees, while Lia leaned back to snap a photo of Winter digging for a snack right as Yeji lunged across the blanket to rescue a tipping beer can.
***
Karina watched Yuna from across the fire.
ITZY's maknae sat bracketed by Ningning and Giselle, staring straight through the flames. She had drowned herself in an oversized hoodie pulled past her hips, the sleeves bunched tight over her knuckles, gray sweatpants swallowing the legs she usually treated like a public service. Yuna lived in crop tops, bikini bottoms, and whatever gave her legs the most mileage. Tonight she was a ghost in thick cotton.
Her phone lay blank in the sand. Every few minutes, she picked it up, stared at the black reflection, and dropped it back into the dirt like it’d been poisoned. Between checks, she tipped soju into her mouth in sharp, impatient sips, forcing the liquid down her throat like she was trying to erase the taste of something else.
Karina pushed up from her blanket and crossed to Yeji. “Your maknae’s unusually quiet,” she said, dropping down beside her friend.
“Yeah.” Yeji tracked Karina’s gaze. “She’s been off since yesterday. Told me she had a beach hookup while we were out the day before, and that it went bad.” Yeji dragged a thumbnail along the rim of her Pepsi can. Condensation wept down the aluminum, running straight through Jang Wonyoung’s printed summer-festa smile. “She shut down when I asked for details, but I saw the bruise on her chest. Right here.” Yeji tapped high on her own breast. “A dark one. She tried to hide it from me. I think whoever she brought back hurt her, and she’s too embarrassed to admit it.”
Karina watched Yuna force a wide, loud smile at whatever Ningning was saying. The muscles around her mouth worked hard, but her face sank right back into a flat stare the second Ningning looked away.
“You want me to talk to her?” Karina offered.
Yeji exhaled, her shoulders sinking. “Would you? I tried again this morning, and she just ran away. Better if it comes from someone else.”
Karina stood and navigated the minefield of blankets and kicked-off sandals, before stopping at Yuna’s shoulder. The girl was dissecting the label on her soju bottle, peeling the paper back in thin, violent strips.
Karina folded her legs and sat, pressing her shoulder against Yuna’s. The ocean wind whipped sand over their shoes. Yuna stiffened. Her thumbnail locked against a scrap of paper.
“Unnie,” Yuna chirped, pitching her voice high and loud. “What’s up?”
A massive, practiced smile snapped onto her face. It looked like hard work.
Karina let out a slow breath, slumping her shoulders to tip her head sideways and drop her cheek heavy against Yuna’s shoulder. Yuna’s breath hitched at the sudden contact, but Karina just stayed there, pressing in until the muscles holding up Yuna’s fake smile started to shake, twitching at the corners before her whole face dropped.
Yuna’s hands dropped back to the bottle, shredding the remaining label into a pile of green confetti.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to perform for me,” Karina murmured into her sleeve.
Yuna’s jaw clicked shut. She stared at the scraped glass of her bottle, her thumb pinned against the sticky glue residue.
“I’m fine, really,” Yuna said.
Karina leaned sideways, sealing the gap between their arms. Behind them, Giselle shrieked over whatever Yunjin had just claimed. The fire popped, throwing hot sap onto the sand.
Yuna dragged in a hitched, uneven breath. She bit the inside of her cheek until the skin went white. Her spine bowed inward, collapsing her tall frame, and she dropped the glass bottle into the dirt.
“I’m not -” Yuna whispered. “I’m not fine.”
Karina shifted deeper into the sand, letting her arm stay heavy against Yuna’s to block the wind.
“Keep the reason,” Karina said. “Just sit here with me.”
Yuna blinked. Thick, glassy wetness gathered along her lower lashes. She swallowed a hard knot in her throat and snapped her gaze back to the wood smoke.
“Does it get easier?” Yuna asked, the words scraping her throat. “Feeling like you... totally wrecked everything?”
Karina watched the orange sparks spiral upward into the black. “Eventually. Once you admit you’re the one who actually got cut on the glass.”
Yuna took that in with a slow nod. She pulled her knees to her chest, caging her sweatpant-covered shins with both arms, and dropped her forehead onto the soft cotton over her knees. Karina kept her shoulder pressed into Yuna’s arm while the fire burned down. They stayed side by side in the dirt, letting Yunjin’s screaming and the crashing surf handle the noise.
***
“I’ve made a decision,” Chaeryeong announced, dropping Sunwoo’s sleeve and projecting clearly over the crashing surf. “I need an actual s’more. Properly roasted.”
“Seconded!” Ningning agreed immediately from across the fire.
Winter froze, her hand buried deep in the massive canvas snack tote sitting by her knees. Her eyes went round above her puffed cheeks. She peered down into its depths and started digging, both hands tossing a box of Pepero and a stray pack of gummies onto the sand in a frantic scramble.
She stopped. She looked up at Karina, blinking sheepishly.
“Ummm. Unnie -”
Everyone looked over.
Winter pulled a crumpled, completely empty plastic bag out of the tote and held it up by the corner.
“There’s no more marshmallows...”
“How many did she eat?” Giselle asked, already knowing the answer.
“It’s not my fault,” Winter protested, clutching the empty wrapper. “You guys stole all my sour candy the other night!”
“I was helping you,” Giselle said nonchalantly, licking chip dust off her thumb. “You were hoarding. Besides, someone needs to go get more s’mores.”
“And chips,” Ningning added, casually chewing on the last piece she’d snuck from the bag.
Winter shot a cutting side-eye at Giselle across the fire.
Ningning loudly took Winter’s side, arguing that honey butter chips were a cultural imperative, while Chaeryeong betrayed that side at once purely because she wanted her s’mores fantasy to be perfect. Karina got to her feet while the argument was still rising into the night air.
“I’ll go.”
Winter brightened instantly, tugging on the hem of Karina’s dress. “Honey butter chips, unnie. Please. Only the yellow ones.”
Yuna looked up from the sand.
Karina dusted off her shorts and scooped up the empty canvas shopping tote by the straps. “Yuna-ya, come help me carry stuff, will you? We’ll take the golf cart.”
Yuna blinked, startled by the direct order, but nodded quickly and scrambled up. Karina caught her hand mid-step, lacing their fingers together with a firm grip and pulling her forward. Yuna’s shoulders hitched at the sudden contact, her hand staying stiff until she finally forced her knuckles to relax against Karina’s palm.
Ducking her chin into her hoodie, she let herself be towed up the dark beach path toward the road, leaving Yeji watching their retreat until the dunes swallowed them.
***
[YUNA’S POV]
At the top of the dune, the golf cart coughed to life on the second try. Yuna climbed into the passenger seat and tucked her knees up to her chest, the baggy gray sweatpants bunching around her ankles while the narrow road out past the resort ran dark beside the water, the cart’s single working headlight throwing a shaky, pathetic yellow path through the night.
Normally, she lived for this midnight aesthetic. Riding shotgun in the dark with her hair whipping around should’ve given immense main character energy, but tonight her brain refused to enjoy the fun part. The Levitating soundtrack from two days ago when she’d walked down to the beach thinking she was hot shit? Yeah, that was dead. Now it was just the same bruising facts spinning on loop until she wanted to unzip her own skin and climb out, leaving those perfectly manicured nails behind.
“You’ve been quiet all night,” Karina said over the rattle of the engine, keeping her eyes on the road.
“I’m fine,” Yuna shot back on pure instinct, hating how the lie came out coated in that automatic idol-trained gloss she saved for Cosmopolitan. Great, even her denial sounded media-trained. She bit her lip and stared at the dark tangerine trees whipping past while Karina kept driving in silence, giving Yuna way too much time to obsess over the glowing green numbers on the dashboard clock.
Minutes later, the GS25 sliding doors parted in a blast of freezing AC and offensive lighting. Yuna caught her reflection in the door glass and actively flinched. The overhead fluorescents were violently anti-woman, blowing out her features until she just looked exhausted and pore-heavy. The whole store was just dead-silent aisles of ramen and lighting totally optimized to ruin your self-esteem.
Karina stepped through the automatic doors a second later, the entry sensor chiming loudly in the empty store. She caught Yuna rigidly staring at the glass and immediately let her gaze slide past her to the aisles, offering the easiest out possible. “I’ll go hunt down the marshmallows,” Karina quipped, cutting right through the hum of the freezers. She nodded toward the back wall. “You grab the rest.”
They split up, leaving Yuna to speed-walk down the chip aisle, desperate to grab the honey butter chips and make this whole mini-trip strictly about sodium because carbs were safe and junk food didn’t judge you for hooking up with your leader’s terrifyingly competent non-boyfriend. Just a normal midnight snack run. Very casual. SO fine.
Blue Pepsi cans sat stacked in clean rows behind the glass, each label turned forward for the 2024 summer promo - IVE Summer Festa. The same one Yeji had been holding back on the beach. Wonyoung smiled from the aluminum at eye level, glossy and too perfect under the fridge light, her printed face repeating down the shelf until the whole fucking display looked like a fan account with a beverage license.
Yuna stopped with one hand on the door handle.
The dark bedroom came back in phone light and twisted sheets. The article she’d already read twice. The comments scrolling under her thumb while her body lay there refusing to cooperate.
Face and body-wise, she and Jang Wonyoung are the top two.
Her fingers slipped through the gap before she decided to move. She touched the can with Wonyoung’s face on it, one fingertip resting against the printed cheek.
“Nice to look at...” she whispered.
“Yuna-ya,” Karina called from the next aisle. “Did you find it?”
Yuna snatched her hand back so fast the cans clinked together. She grabbed the nearest box of plain crackers off the shelf and hugged it to her oversized hoodie.
The Wonyoung can kept smiling at her from behind the glass. Yuna grabbed two cold cans of maekju from the next row and pinned them against the crackers.
“Yep!” She answered, trying to force some bouncy, maknae-line charm into the suggestion that fell flat against the hum of the freezers. “Found crackers. Very chips-adjacent. Honestly, genius.”
She tracked down Karina leaning one shoulder against the freezer glass with her thumb glowing over her phone screen.
“Wait, what if we just - like - give Minjeong-unnie these?” Yuna asked, holding up the crackers.
It was a photo of Karina at twenty in a sheer purple stage outfit, face rounder but expression blank, that porcelain-doll stare she’d perfected in rehearsal rooms, scrubbing out every trace of the actual human until only the weaponized avatar remained.
Yuna frowned as a weird spike of annoyance hit her. “Jimin-unnie. Who is that?”
Karina’s thumb twitched like she was going to snap the phone against her thigh, but she stopped and left it face-up under the harsh store lights.
“Me. When I was twenty. Black Mamba era, the year I debuted.”
Yuna stared at the screen. “Unnie, you look so...” She couldn’t find the right word. ‘Empty’ didn’t cover the sheer amount of effort it took to look that devoid of life. “...CG.”
“I was trying so hard, you’ve got no idea,” Karina cut in, bereft of her usual smoky polish. “I thought that was everything I wanted... if I could just get that sexy look right, then I’d be happy.”
“Always thought that was the goal, you know? To train my face out of the picture until there was nothing left but the brand. I thought if I just became the perfect blank slate for SM, then people couldn’t hurt the real me.”
Yuna lowered the crackers onto the top of the freezer case, the cardboard hitting the glass with a quiet, hollow tap. Why did Karina look so vacant under all that pretty, and why did that vacancy look so horribly familiar? That was supposed to be the dream version - twenty, pretty, famous, wanted. So why did the girl in the photo look like a completely empty shell?
Karina dragged her thumb across the glass to reveal a waiting room selfie featuring heavily styled hair. “Music Bank. I think I’d been awake forty straight hours at that point. Somebody told me to fix my face right before they took this.”
She swiped again, bringing up a bulletproof smile flashing beneath Seoul streetlights. “Dispatch. Didn’t even know they were following me.” She stared at the phone. “Saw it online the next day and that’s when I realized... my face just does that now. Smiles before I even know someone’s there.”
Yuna stared hard through the glass at the girl in the picture while her own brain traitorously fired off a rapid highlight reel of her own broadcast habits. The chin tilt. The breathy laugh. The hip angle that said hot but not desperate. The pout that tested well with male fans but didn’t alienate female ones. She’d practiced all of it until her face knew the drill better than she did, and suddenly, the daily grind of being the visual felt less like a flex and more like a burden.
Karina locked the phone, shutting down the screen. "You can get very, very good at being what people think they want."
Yuna’s posture caved inward, her face flushing so hot that wearing that massive hoodie and sweats suddenly felt like the most honest choice she’d made all week. She swallowed, the movement catching awkwardly in her throat.
“Does it help?” Yuna asked timidly.
Karina laughed once under her breath. “It helps them, until they’ve taken everything they can and you don’t even remember your name anymore.”
The freezer’s hum buzzed loudly in Yuna’s ears as she reached for the crackers again, her fingers hovering over the box before gripping the cardboard and pulling it tight against her ribs.
Up at the front of the store, a NewJeans track trickled through the cheap ceiling speakers. The sad one, of course, because even after two days unhinged idol disaster, the universe never relented with its impeccable sense of comedic timing. It was the one with the girl filming the girls like they were her actual friends, then boom - surprise, bestie - your emotional support idols were a coping mechanism with great styling. Parasocial damage, director’s cut. Yuna knew the lore because nobody survived fourth gen without studying every competitor’s cinematic universe like it was the CSAT. Though, hearing that song over the ramen aisle while she was having a face-and-body crisis in a GS25 felt weirdly personal.
They carried their items up to the counter, dumping marshmallows, cracker boxes, chocolate, and Yuna’s two beers onto the counter. Yuna slapped two Melonas on top because the freezer glass had given her the shakes.
Behind the counter, the cashier kept his eyes glued to his lap. A guy in his late twenties rotting in a rumpled uniform vest, he locked his thousand-yard stare on his phone, mashing his thumbs through some mobile game.
She draped herself over the counter, leaning forward to deploy her best, most desperate variety-show pout to get his attention. “Sir. SIR?? Do you have honey butter chips too?”
Her reflection stared back from the black acrylic security screen bolted to the counter, locking Yuna in place. She’d instinctively snapped into that broadcast-approved pout, rolling her shoulder forward and widening her eyes for a guy who clearly wasn’t giving a shit about her. The cringe hit her muscles before her brain caught up. She abandoned the posture instantly, shrinking her spine down against the counter and yanking her hoodie strings tight to hide her blazing cheeks.
Karina took a step back.
“Honey butter?” he droned, as he blindly dragged the marshmallows across the scanner. “A young lady came in the other night and cleared out the whole shelf.”
“Sold out?” Yuna gripped the edge of the counter, her cute act dissolving into actual horror.
“You heard me.” The cashier hauled his gaze over his phone, squinting at the two of them under the buzzing lights. His eyes passed from Karina’s face to Yuna’s and back again. “Actually, she looked a lot like Winter from aespa. Are you two -”
“Nice of you to think that,” Karina cut him off, flashing a hollow smile. “But no.”
He shrugged, dragging the crackers across the scanner and dropping his eyes right back to his screen. “Whatever. You girls all look the same with the plastic surgery you get on the mainland anyway.”
Yuna dropped her forehead against the edge of the counter, breaking into a messy laugh. A copy-paste job sitting on the same mainland shelf. Karina called it thirty seconds ago and here was the universe proving her right in real time. Yuna slapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking. If she let the laugh stop, she was going to have to exist in a world where some random GS25 guy reduced her entire life to a joke. Karina’s face softened, the diamond edge melting off and leaving the cashier standing there holding a box of crackers like a malfunctioning NPC.
***
The drive back was slower.
Karina tore open one of the Melonas and passed it to Yuna before unwrapping her own, steering the cart with her knees while she peeled back the paper. The wind dropped to a steady push off the water, rattling the plastic bag between their knees while the cart’s single working headlight threw its sad yellow cone over the asphalt.
Yuna bit into the green ice, neon syrup running down to the corner of her mouth. She didn’t notice until Karina pulled a tissue from her pocket and handed it over while keeping her eyes on the road. Yuna took it and scrubbed at her face, the sticky residue smearing before it came clean.
Karina kept one hand on the wheel. Yuna held the Melona wrapper in her fist, green syrup drying sticky on her thumb, and stared at the dark tangerine groves passing on the left.
The cashier’s voice was still in her ears. You girls all look the same.
Same shelf, same idol face under a fluorescent tube. Yuna wanted to be mad about it. Instead, she kept hearing her own laugh from the store, too loud and too sharp. She’d bully herself for if it ever aired on a variety show.
“Boys are fun, aren’t they?” Karina said, her eyes on the road.
Yuna’s head snapped sideways. Karina kept her eyes on the road, mouth flat, dark hair whipping across her jaw.
“Yeah,” Yuna said, and the answer came out in the bright broadcast tone she’d used on every variety show since debut, breathy and cute with the vocal fry that tested well. She bit the inside of her cheek the second it left her mouth. Great. Even this had a rehearsal room stink on it.
“Fun,” Yuna repeated, quieter, trying to mean it this time. “Like - yeah.”
Karina glanced over. “What fun?”
The pool flashed back. Yeji’s cum still glossy on his cock the second the towel hit the tile, and Yuna’s brain locking onto it like an exclusive drop unnie had been gatekeeping. That’s why she keeps him around. Her personal premium subscription. She’d thought if she could just get him to beg for her instead - if she could make him pick her, even for thirty seconds going feral underwater in the deep end - she’d unlock the cheat code that made Yeji-unnie untouchable. She’d climbed out of that pool confident she’d secured the ultimate flex. But the thing unnie actually had with him didn’t live in his cock or his cum or getting chosen; it was the part Yuna couldn’t just serve face and fuck her way into. The way he held unnie’s face like she was a literal human being and not a 4K fancam. When she’d overheard him telling her “they’re perfect” through the wall after she’d complained about her tits being small.
“People thinking I’m hot,” Yuna finally said. “That’s the fun part. Knowing they want me.”
She’d never said it that plainly before. It sounded worse out loud than it did in her head, which was REALLY saying something because it hadn’t sounded great in her head either.
Karina nodded once, watching the road. “I used to think that too.”
“Used to?”
“Mhm.” Karina shifted the cart around a curve, the headlight sweeping across a low stone wall. “Being wanted was the best feeling I knew. For a long time.”
Yuna turned the sticky Melona wrapper between her fingers, pressing the green residue into thin lines on her skin. “So what happened?”
“I got everything I wanted.” Karina rubbed the back of her neck, her fingers digging under her dark hair. “But they only wanted Karina from the magazines. The girl who skips carbs and finds the right smile for every room.”
Karina let out a short, dry laugh. “Three nights ago. After the BLACKPINK set. Ryujin wanted to run through some Yonsei frat boys she found in the mosh pit. Dragged me along for bait.”
Yuna’s head snapped around, completely forgetting the sticky Melona wrapper. “Wait. FIVE? Unnie. You didn’t.”
“I tried.” Karina slouched forward, bracing her forearm against the steering wheel. “I literally stripped naked on their shitty leather couch, spread my legs wide open so they had a perfect view, and waited. You know what they did?”
Yuna didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
“They fucking gawked.” Karina shook her head, an ugly smile twisting her mouth. “Stood there with their jaws slacked, drooling over my tits like I was a hallucination.”
Yuna swallowed, the sweet taste of the Melona suddenly completely gone.
“I was lying there wet and desperate for someone to just fuck me hard like a normal girl,” Karina said. She steered the cart around a pothole with the heel of her hand. “Which - you know what I mean. We’re young. We’re allowed to just want good sex.”
Yuna nodded once, scraping her sticky thumb against the soft cotton over her knee. She definitely knew what she meant.
“Except half of them busted the second they pushed inside,” Karina snorted. “The rest just used me like a human fleshlight. Hammering away without giving a single shit if I actually got off.” She glanced over, her eyes catching the dashboard light. “They didn’t want me, Yuna-ya. They just wanted to stick their useless dicks in the poster so they could brag about unlocking a trophy.”
The cart rattled over an uneven patch and Yuna grabbed the oh-shit bar, her sweatpants brushing against the plastic bag.
“And the thing is,” Karina continued, “you can give them that forever. Skin, performance, the girl they showed up for. You can keep handing it out, and they’ll keep taking it, and everyone keeps calling it love.”
Yuna’s throat went dry.
“Until one day you want one single thing for yourself,” Karina finished, “and they tell you it’s a betrayal.”
The wind filled the cart. Tangerine groves blurred past. Yuna opened her mouth, then closed it again.
She thought about her own Instagram, the comments she scrolled through at 2 AM calling her the hottest fourth-gen idol alive, the DMs from industry guys opening with compliments about her waist and closing with hotel names, the fancam numbers she tracked like a stock portfolio. She’d treated all of it like proof she mattered. Karina had collected the prize and ended up writing an apology for having a life.
Yuna swallowed.
The question had been poking at her since before Jeju, since the group chat, since the BLACKPINK tickets Ryujin gave to Karina because Karina was still apparently a mess three months after a relationship that lasted five weeks. But also because Yuna was too busy fucking some random guy to return Ryujin’s calls, and later ranted about it to herself on the beach like the entitled brat she was.
“Jimin-unnie. What actually happened with him?” She asked quietly.
Karina didn’t flinch. She kept her eyes on the road and her hand steady on the wheel.
“We met in Milan,” she said carefully. “At the Prada show. He was smart and handsome, and he looked at me like I was real.” She took the cart around a bend in the road. “Rare enough that I thought it meant something.”
“Did it?”
“For about a month.” Karina adjusted her grip on the wheel. “We went on walks late at night near his apartment. He’d buy me iced coffee from the GS25 near his building, and we’d talk about dumb things, like what dramas were good and whether cats or dogs were better. Normal things.”
She went quiet long enough that Yuna thought she was done.
“Then Dispatch got it,” Karina said. “And everything became content.”
Yuna looked down at the Melona wrapper in her fist. Content. The same word she used for her Instagram grid. The same word her manager used when reviewing her fancam numbers.
“They sent a truck to my company,” Karina sighed. “With a billboard on it. Asking if I didn’t feel loved enough by my fans. Asking why I’d betrayed them.”
Yuna’s hand froze on the Melona wrapper.
“I wrote an apology,” Karina continued, her shoulders dipping as the cart rolled over cracked asphalt. “On paper. By hand. Posted it to Instagram. I told fourteen million people I was sorry for having a boyfriend.” She took the next curve. “He told his agency he wanted to focus on his drama. That was it for him. Clean exit.”
He went back to work. She wrote sorry by hand and posted it where everyone could zoom in. Same relationship, same breakup, different cost.
“Five weeks, Yuna-ya,” Karina said. “We were public for five weeks. I apologized for longer than I dated him.”
Yuna remembered her own rant from the beach, the bitter little monologue she’d delivered to her shadow about Karina moping over a guy she’d barely been with and costing Yuna her BLACKPINK tickets. Her toes curled against the cart floor.
“I had every version of what you think you want,” Karina said, her fingers tightening once on the wheel. “The face. The fame. The beautiful man. The feeling of being chosen.” The road bent left and Karina followed it. “And I still couldn’t tell you the last time any of them knew who was actually in the room with them.”
“The sex was easy. They wanted it, I gave it, everyone left happy.” Karina adjusted her grip on the wheel. “Took me a while to realize they weren’t fucking me. They were fucking the girl from the magazine. I was just the one who had to show up for it.”
Yuna sat still with green Melona syrup on her thumb and the plastic bag crinkling against her sweatpants. Karina kept her hand steady on the wheel while the dark road unspooled ahead of them.
She’d thought Karina was weak for hurting that long over something that short. Now the timing made sense. Five weeks of having someone see her, then the industry stole it away with a press release, and Karina was still walking around with the handprint.
The worst part was that Minho had wanted her. Her body made that impossible to deny, which was the whole reason she’d treated it like a win. But even then, between every wet little victory lap her brain had turned into content, his eyes kept cutting back toward the bedroom like Yeji had a hand on him from afar.
“Unnie,” Yuna said, very quietly.
“Mm?”
“I was such a bitch about the BLACKPINK tickets.”
Karina let out one breath through her nose.
“I did wonder why Head Blink wasn’t there,” she said, and one corner of her mouth lifted wryly. “You don’t seem like someone who misses BLACKPINK by accident.”
Yuna pressed her sticky thumb harder into the vinyl seat. Yeah. Funny story. Hilarious, actually. Five stars. No notes. She kept all of that inside her mouth and stared at the headlight shaking over the road.
They drove the rest of the way in the dark, the resort lights growing brighter through the trees. Yuna pressed her sticky thumb against the vinyl seat and watched Karina in the passing headlights of an oncoming car.
Karina looked beautiful, because of course she did. The annoying part was that Yuna could see the dark smudges under her eyes now too, and they made the beautiful harder to lie about.
Yuna thought she might want to learn that too. Eventually. Not tonight. Tonight she just had to carry a bag of marshmallows back to a bonfire and figure out how to fix the thing she broke without cutting herself again.
The resort gate opened. The headlights found the beach path.
“You good?” Karina asked.
Yuna wiped the green syrup off her thumb with the napkin Karina had given her earlier.
“Yeah,” she said. “Better.”
They rolled back into the firelight moments later, the plastic shopping bag resting loudly against Yuna’s sweatpants as she climbed out. Winter spotted the marshmallows from the blankets and let out a high squeal while brandishing a wooden skewer, prompting Ningning to snatch the bag from Yuna with both hands and instantly assign jobs nobody had requested.
Yeji looked up from the fire the second Karina stepped back into the circle, and when their eyes met across the sand, Karina gave a small nod that Yeji reciprocated.
Before Yuna even sat down, Ningning shoved a half-assembled s’more directly into her hand, declaring she looked like she needed chocolate before going straight back to nearly setting another marshmallow actively on fire. Karina lowered herself back onto the sand where Ningning immediately slumped against her shoulder as if she’d never left. Across the roaring fire, Ryujin threw her head back, laughing loudly at something Yunjin had just said while Yuna looked down at the chocolate melting into the cracker in her hand, letting the noise of the beach wash over her.
***
[MINHO’S POV]
By the time the second round of marshmallows got underway, the fire had burned down into that nice, competent middle stage, impressive enough to validate the effort and dangerous enough to keep Ningning interested. Sunwoo and Minjun were on the other side, half committed to a long story about a manager in Osaka who’d somehow locked himself in a hotel bathroom, while I stood behind Yeji with my thumbs pressed into the tight muscles at the base of her neck.
Finding her took no effort anymore.
She had her chin tipped forward, one knee drawn up, both hands wrapped loosely around a Pepsi can while I worked my fingers over her shoulders. Moving firelight caught the sharp edge of her cheekbone and the bridge of her nose, then slid away. Every now and then she’d smile at something Chaeryeong or Lia said, and my fingers stopped against her hoodie until I remembered to move them.
I kept swallowing the same thought over and over.
I almost lost all of this.
Yuna came out of the dark with a cold beer in each hand, and Minjun stopped talking mid-sentence.
She crossed the last stretch of sand with her eyes down, oversized hoodie swallowing her hands, gray sweatpants dragging low over her heels. I thought she was coming to give Yeji the drink until she stepped around Yeji’s shoulder, set both cans carefully in the sand by my foot, wrapped her arms around my middle, and pressed her face into the front of my zip hoodie hard enough for one rough breath to catch against the zipper.
My hands stayed useless in the cold air while everyone watched.
Yeji looked up first, her head turning beneath my arm. Her eyebrows pulled together, confused, then her face softened when Yuna’s fingers clenched in my jacket.
“Yuna-ya?” she asked. “What happened?”
Yuna shook her head once against me and turned her face until her mouth brushed my ear.
“I thought being wanted meant I was worth something,” she whispered. Her fingers tightened once in my jacket. “You saw me anyway. So stop feeling bad for being decent to me. Yeji-unnie chose you, so... don’t make her regret being brave.”
I shut my eyes. For days, I’d been carrying that pool like evidence against myself, replaying it every time I looked at Yeji or Yuna went quiet until my jaw hurt.
Yuna stood there in her huge hoodie, crying into my jacket, and told me to stop.
I lowered one hand to the back of her head, keeping my palm light and my body still, close enough to comfort her and careful enough for Yeji to see exactly what I meant.
“You’re worth plenty.” I said quietly, keeping my hand still against her hair. “You don’t have to prove it like that.”
Her shoulders hitched once, and Yeji was on her feet before anyone else moved. She stepped close, one hand landing on Yuna’s back, her attention narrowing the way it did when one of her members came offstage pale and pretending not to be hurt.
“Yuna.” Yeji’s hand moved once between Yuna’s shoulder blades. “Are you okay? Did something happen?”
Yuna lifted her face from my jacket. Her lashes were wet, cheeks blotchy, nose pink from the wind, and when she tried to smile, her mouth shook out of it.
“I messed up.” Yuna rubbed her sleeve under her nose and looked at the sand between Yeji’s feet. “And Minho-oppa helped me after. That’s all. He was... he was nice to me when I didn’t really deserve nice.”
Yeji looked at me, and I held still until her shoulders dropped. She nodded once, then pulled Yuna out of my arms and straight into hers.
Yuna went with a choked little sound, folding into Yeji so fast my hand was left hanging there. Yeji wrapped both arms around her and tucked her chin against Yuna’s temple, rocking once in the sand.
“You’re our maknae. You always deserve nice,” Yeji murmured, rubbing the back of Yuna’s hoodie with her thumb.
Karina sat near the blankets with her drink held loose between both hands, watching Yuna over the rim. When Yuna finally peeled herself off Yeji and wiped both cheeks with her sleeves, Karina gave her a small nod of approval, and Yuna’s eyes immediately found the ground again.
Yuna’s mouth trembled before she bent, picked up one of the maekju she’d brought, and pressed it into my hand.
“For you.” Yuna cleared her throat, grabbed the other bottle, and shoved it toward Yeji. “And for unnie. Because apparently I’m mature now.”
“Apparently,” Yeji said, taking it.
Minjun waited until Yuna had shuffled back toward the blankets and collapsed between Karina and Ningning before leaning over.
“Did I miss a whole redemption arc?”
I cracked open the maekju Yuna had given me. The hiss cut clean through the fire crackle.
“Yeah,” I said, watching Yeji turn the can once in her hands before she looked back at Yuna. “You really did.”
***
Behind us, Yunjin and Giselle had sought each other out again and were currently deep into their third or fourth argument of the night. Except this one had drastically pivoted to anime. Ryujin had made the fatal mistake of trying to contribute and was already looking for a way out.
“Gojo Satoru is the best character ever written in any medium,” Yunjin announced, projecting her voice over the fire. “I will die on this hill and I’ll look hot doing it.”
“He’s a thirst trap with a backstory.” Giselle tucked her hands deeper into her oversized sleeves.
Yunjin slapped her thigh in outrage. “Okay, a thirst trap can also be a genius! Why does it have to be one or the other with you, it’s exhausting.”
“Shinji Ikari. Better written. It’s not close.”
Yunjin stared at her in pure horror. “I don’t care about better written, I care about iconic. Shinji is iconic at having one breakdown in a robot.”
“That’s still writing.”
“Crying in a giant robot isn’t automatic literature, Aeri.”
Ryujin leaned in between them, committed and doomed. “Okay but Zoro would clap both of these guys, so -”
Both of them turned on her with lethal synchronization.
“How much have you actually seen?” Giselle asked.
Ryujin hesitated, sensing the trap. “Like... the first three arcs?”
Yunjin dramatically clutched her own chest. “That’s the trailer, babe.”
“You haven’t watched One Piece, you waved at it from across the room.” Giselle waved a hand to dismiss her.
Ryujin looked betrayed.
From the main blanket, Winter leaned toward Ningning again, holding her half-burnt marshmallow upright like a tiny ruined microphone. “Are they still bonding?”
“Yep.” Ningning nodded solemnly, critically examining the charcoal side of her marshmallow. “Still bonding.”
***
That was how the rest of the night went. People pairing off, arguing, and drifting back again. Chaeryeong kept stealing bites directly from Sunwoo’s s’more, claiming it was strictly quality control. Lia snapped photos across the fire, timing them for when people stopped posing. Karina laughed with her head bent, one hand over her mouth, while Yunjin switched seamlessly into English to complain. Yeji leaned close to Ryujin for a quick, quiet exchange that ended with Ryujin rolling her eyes dramatically but handing over her drink anyway.
Then Winter’s phone lit up and rang loudly from the sand, and she practically scrambled over Ningning to grab it, knees slipping in the blanket and one socked foot kicking free.
She looked at the screen, her face splitting into an instant grin. “Wait. Wait, everybody. Say hi.”
She answered the FaceTime already smiling, aiming the camera out at the fire.
“HI!” the entire beach circle yelled in unison, hands waving at the lens.
A deep voice rumbled a laugh through the phone speaker. A massive dog shoved its face briefly into the frame underneath a tattooed hand, prompting Winter to shriek in sheer delight and clap both hands over her mouth, trapping the phone between her palms for one dangerous second.
“Unnie.” Ningning rescued the bottom edge before the screen tipped toward the sand.
“Puppy,” Winter whispered back, reverent and useless as an explanation.
Within seconds, she turned the phone right back around to hoard the screen to herself, tucking her chin down and curling around it. Giselle let Winter burrow against her shoulder and lazily patted her hair, keeping her drink steady.
Yeji had drifted back to my side at some point during the call, settling into the sand close enough that her shoulder brushed my knee. I tipped my chin toward Winter, who was curled around the phone whispering at the screen.
“That dog’s huge,” I said.
“Mhm.”
“And that hand had a lot of ink on it.”
Yeji took a slow sip of her maekju. “He’s a sunbae.” She tucked her chin against her knee, the smallest curl at the corner of her mouth. “Friend of ours. He’s good to her.”
“That’s all I get?”
“That’s all anyone gets.” She bumped her shoulder against my thigh gently. “That’s how she keeps it.”
***
The fire started to burn low, the orange flames retreating back into the wood. I pulled the collar of my jacket up against the ocean chill as somebody tossed another thick piece of driftwood into the center. Propped back on one hand in the sand, I just sat and watched everybody find comfortable, tangled shapes around each other to block the wind. aespa had tucked in a little closer together, apparently bracing for their flight out tomorrow. ITZY sprawled across their blankets like they’d owned this beach for a week.
Yunjin had fully abandoned her flannel jacket, sprawling back on her elbows in the sand, and was currently delivering a loud, tipsy state-of-the-union address on the Seoul dating pool.
“I opened Tinder before the plane even got to the gate,” Yunjin announced, waving her phone at the fire. “Mapo-gu is a fucking wasteland. I needed to see if the island roster was carrying.”
“Is it that bad?” Chaeryeong asked, leaning forward over her knees.
“It’s bleak, bro,” Yunjin ranted, letting her head drop back. Her throat caught the firelight. “Do you know what comeback prep does to a bitch? I’ve been doing six hours of choreo a day on iced americanos and spite. I even fully shaved for this trip. Do you know how exhausting that is on two hours of sleep? I’m down so astronomically bad I could walk into the ocean. PLEASE get me a guy who can rail me so hard I forget my own name.”
Ryujin laughed into her beer can. “Girl, just hook up with one of your backup dancers like a normal person.”
“HUH-larious. But nah.” Yunjin slashed a hand through the air. “They get weird. The second you try to choke them with your thighs, they panic about HR. You open your legs for some Gangnam industry fuckboy and half the time he’s trying to network mid-stroke or asking about Spotify streams. I don’t want a fan, I want a menace. I want some dude who can actually fold me like a lawn chair and shut me the fuck up.”
Beside me, Yeji let out a soft snort of agreement, taking a slow sip of her drink.
“I thought a Jeju local might actually have some stamina,” Yunjin sighed, scrolling aggressively with her thumb. “Fishermen. Surfers. Dudes who don’t own a twelve-step skincare routine and can actually rearrange my guts. Give me calluses or give me death.”
"Or crypto bros," Yuna muttered darkly from inside her hoodie.
On the other blanket, Ningning stopped chewing on the end of her wooden skewer. She turned her head, very slowly, and stared dead at Giselle.
Winter caught the look. Her head snapped toward Giselle too, her eyes widening.
Giselle took a maddeningly slow sip of her drink, the ice clinking loudly in the plastic cup. She lowered it, maintaining a completely blank expression as her members zeroed in on her.
Yunjin sat up fast, sensing blood in the water. “Wait, why are you all looking at her?”
Giselle adjusted the heavy blanket over her legs. “I commit vibes.”
“Aeri.” Yunjin started. “AERI. Did you get your back blown out while I was stuck in a recording studio?”
Lia put her phone face down in the sand and crossed her arms. Even Karina went still, attention snapping in.
Giselle picked a piece of lint off her sleeve, looking thoroughly unbothered by the sudden interrogation. “Dude, if it helps your thesis, he wasn’t local. He’s a cinematographer I knew from high school. Lives in Gangnam. So your Seoul facts are off.”
“That’s a full confession,” Yunjin gasped, already way too invested. “Spill. Right now.”
Winter paused mid-chew, looking between them with wide, sincere eyes. "Wait, so how did your networking go, unnie? You never told us."
The fire popped sharply, throwing a sudden burst of bright orange sparks up into the dark space between us.
I looked across it.
Yeji was already watching me. She raised one eyebrow, her chin still propped on her knee, and waited me out. I broke eye contact first, conceding the point, and I caught the corner of her mouth twitching up into a smirk right before I faced the water.
Across the circle, Giselle took one last long drink and finally started.
“So we were at that really hyped samgyupsal place in Seogwipo, right?” she began, channeling that thoroughly pseudo-West Coast energy. “And that place was so smoky I couldn’t see a fucking thing. Anyway, we were meeting this cinematographer guy I knew from high school...”
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Author’s Note
I know this chapter is a little heavier than the title suggests, but I hope it was worth the wait. Honestly, this was probably my least favorite chapter to work on - not because it didn’t matter, but because the subject matter is dark and philosophically complex in a way that’s far from the smut and romance I actually enjoy writing most. But alongside “Nobody Like You,” this might be the most emotionally deep chapter in the series. This story wouldn’t be complete without it, and I think it stands on its own.
If you’ve made it this far into the series, there’s a good chance you’re not just here for the smut anymore. One of the unintended consequences of using bodies to tell emotional truth is that you inevitably hit the philosophical questions underneath - specifically, what it actually costs to live in that body professionally.
I wanted to explore that parasocial damage in a way that felt real and personal. Karina’s history was the best way to close off Yuna’s arc, because Yuna had to learn that being desired as a product isn’t the same thing as being seen as a person.
This chapter is heavily based on the themes from NewJeans’ “Ditto,” which, deep down, is about how parasocial love is a one-way mirror. The idol performs and gives so much of themselves, but gets nothing real back. The fan loves and supports unconditionally, but never actually connects with the person, and both end up alone.
It’s also why Karina’s line about forgetting your name is a direct nod to Spirited Away. Just like Yubaba steals Chihiro’s real name to bind her to the bathhouse, the idol industry demands the human (“Jimin”) give up her identity to the persona (“Karina”). They exist just to serve the masses, trapped in the performance until they forget who they really are.
Rather than leaving you with another long-ass note this time, I’ll assign some homework. I think this video is a really interesting deep dive on the MV that thematically inspired this chapter and the core of Yuna and Karina’s arcs. I’d love to hear your thoughts!
I also think this article is a really good read on the topic!
Enami Asa x Huh Yunjin x Jeon Somi x Lee Chaeyoung x Ning Yizhuo x Yeh Shuhua x m!reader
You've been sitting here for three or maybe four hours. You're not sure anymore. The numbers on your laptop stopped making sense a long time ago, but you're finally close to finishing your review for Tuesday's exam.
At some point over the years, this corner of the library basically became your spot. Your territory. Nobody ever comes back here. Seriously, nobody. You could probably disappear into this corner for weeks and they'd only notice sometime next winter.
The shelves are packed with dusty reference books nobody's touched since, apparently, 2011. The closest outlet had been hidden behind a filing cabinet you literally had to drag aside yourself.
It's the perfect place for the absolute silence studying requires. Completely forgotten by society.
Nothing bad could possibly happen here.
Then two hands suddenly cover your eyes from behind, and before you can react, a soft, sugary voice drifts right beside your ear, "Guess who."
...
Well.
Looks like your territory's been invaded.
You reach up, thumb brushing across her knuckles. Small hands. Smooth skin. Expensive perfume. "Gotta be the janitor," you say. "Pretty sure we're moving way too fast, though."
The hands pull back immediately. Then a tiny offended noise. Footsteps around the table.
"Ha. Ha. You're sooo funny, nerd. I like you already.”
Enami Asa steps into your line of sight and every coherent thought you had about thermodynamic equilibrium just evaporates. She's wearing all black. Cropped top, short skirt, boots that go halfway up her calves. Red lipstick that makes ignoring her full lips completely impossible. Her black hair falls straight past her shoulders and she's looking at you with this amused little tilt of her head.
You blink hard and rub your eyes.
Enami Asa: one of the most beautiful girls on campus. Right there, in the dead zone of the university library. Staring at you. What the fuck is happening?
"You know you're insanely hard to find, right?" she says, placing her backpack on the table before dropping into the chair across from you. She crosses her legs and leans back, eyes drifting over the dusty shelves. "Do you always hide out back here? I literally did two full laps around the building.”
"I was studying," you say, closing your laptop halfway. "Can I help you with something?"
She grins. Not in a nice way.
And you're not dumb. You get it. You've spent enough time here to understand how the whole social hierarchy thing works. Girls like Asa don't go looking for guys like you in some forgotten library corner unless they want something. Notes. Homework help. A study guide. Some favor they can cash in with a cute smile and forget about a few hours later.
"You can, actually," she says. "In fact, you might be the only person who can help me right now."
"That's a bold statement."
"I'm a bold girl," she says, adjusting in her seat until she's comfortable. Then she casually drops, like this is the most normal topic ever, "So there's this challenge going around on Twitter."
"X."
"Eat shit, it's literally the same app." She waves you off. "Anyway. It's trending right now. Me and my friends got into it too. Sort of a competition, I guess. NSFW stuff.”
Your pen stops moving.
"Oh…"
"Yeah." Now she's fully studying your face, looking way too entertained by the horror slowly spreading across it. "The idea's simple. You record yourself getting facefucked, upload it, get some likes, drive more people to your OF. Then gooners start ranking clips and arguing in the comments over which one's best. It's become this whole thing. Hashtags and all.”
You look left. You look right. You check behind you to make sure nobody has a camera pointed at this table. "Are you serious right now?" you ask.
"Of course I'm serious," she says, sounding almost offended. "Why the hell would I walk all the way to the ass end of this library and say that kind of shit to a guy like you if I wasn't serious?"
"I genuinely don't know. It's just... a pretty strange request."
"Don't be scared. Be flattered."
"I am neither of those things." You lean back in your chair. "Look, there are like ten thousand guys at this school. You literally have a different one on your arm every week. Go ask one of them."
Asa shakes her head. Just one slow motion. "Nah. Can't do that. We set a rule that every one of us has to find a different guy for the video." She leans back a little. "Has to be a nerd. Someone who'd normally have zero chance with any of us. That's the whole trend."
You stare at her for a few long seconds. "Damn, Asa. Really appreciate you putting me in the 'absolutely no shot' category.”
She laughs, loud enough that it echoes through the shelves and instantly makes you paranoid someone nearby heard the conversation. "Don't take it like that. Seriously. It's not even an insult. Think of it as charity." Her head tilts slightly. "Besides..." Her eyes narrow a little as she looks at you. "You've actually got something going on. Nerd glasses, messy hair… It's kinda cute."
"Amazing. Please engrave that on my grave."
"Stop being so dramatic."
"No. That's my final answer," you say immediately. "Find another victim.”
Asa gets to her feet. Then she does something that completely fries your remaining brain cells. She circles the table at an annoyingly calm pace and sits right in your lap. Just... casually. Her arm drapes over your shoulder while she gives you this ridiculous pout.
"Pleeease?" she says, all soft and sweet. "It'll take like five minutes. Nobody comes back here anyway. You've been hiding in this corner for hours and not one person walked past." She adjusts herself slightly. “I just need you to lend your cock and hold the phone. That's it."
You blink at her. "I can't believe this trend actually exists."
"Oh, it exists.” She already has her phone out. She pulls it from her skirt pocket and drops back onto your lap, scrolling lazily. “See? Hashtag RuinThePrettyFace. It blew up like four days ago.”
She holds the phone inches from your face. One clip after another. Smudged eyeliner. Sloppy expressions. Girls posing for the camera after getting absolutely wrecked. Your eyebrows climb higher with every swipe. Then she opens her own profile. Asa’s account is basically curated nude photography. Soft lighting. artsy filters. Careful angles. Nude after nude after nude.
"Because I have dignity. And you should try having some too. What you're describing is slutty."
She pulls back just enough to look you dead in the eyes. Zero shame. Zero hesitation. "But I am a slut," she says simply. "So that argument doesn't really work on me. Please," she repeats. "I'll do anything."
"Anything?”
"Anything." A pause. Then she laughs, catching herself. "Well. I can't exactly offer you sex as a reward because that's basically what's already going to happen. So that's off the table as a bargaining chip." She taps her chin, pretending to think. "Buuut you'll have my gratitude. My eternal, undying gratitude!”
"And what the fuck am I supposed to do with your gratitude?"
"I don't know, maybe shove it up your ass and stop playing hard to get?!" She hops off your lap and does a little spin in the aisle between shelves, arms out, letting you look. She stops facing you, one hand on her hip. "Look at me," she demands. "I'm hot. I'm perfect. Any guy on this campus would sell a kidney to be sitting where you're sitting right now. And you're telling me no? Be so fucking for real, dude.”
You rub your temples. "You're actually insane."
"Maybe. But I'm also not leaving until you say yes. I'll sit here all night. I'll follow you to your car. I'll show up at your next class. I will make this so much worse for you if you keep being difficult."
"That's called harassment."
"Call campus security then. Tell them Enami Asa won't stop asking you to let her suck your dick. See how much sympathy you get."
You let out a long breath through your nose. She's got you cornered and she knows it. You can see it all over her pretty face already, that smug little grin spreading because she's realized she's winning.
"Fuck me..." you mutter.
"Is that a yes?!"
You close your laptop with a soft click. Pinch the bridge of your nose beneath your glasses. Then you look up at her. At the ridiculously gorgeous girl standing between rows of dusty shelves in that little black outfit, red lips, and absolutely zero sense of shame. You make a decision that's either going to haunt you forever or randomly hit you at age eighty and make you smile. "Fine. Make it quick.”
Asa actually lights up. She bounces on her heels and claps once before she can stop herself. "Yes! Okay! Perfect!" She grins at you. "You seriously won't regret this.”
"I already regret this." She starts to lower herself to her knees right there, but you raise a hand and she freezes. "Wait," you say. "Can we at least make out a little first? Just to, you know… set the mood. I can't just go from thermodynamics to getting my dick sucked with no transition."
She stares at you for a second before rolling her eyes so hard it's honestly impressive.
"Oh my god." A sigh. "Fine. Sure. Whatever you need."
She comes back and sits on your lap again, this time facing you fully, her knees on either side of your thighs in the library chair. Your hands find her waist on pure instinct, settling on the strip of bare skin between her top and her skirt. She's warm. Unbelievably warm.
"You're unfairly hot, by the way. I'm having a hard time believing this is a real situation right now."
"I know," she says immediately, completely shameless. Her hands slide onto your shoulders. "Now enough with the compliments. Kiss me.”
You kiss her. It starts slow because you're still half convinced this is an elaborate prank and someone's going to jump out from behind the reference section with a camera. But Asa's lips are soft and she tastes like mint and whatever that expensive lipstick is made of, and your brain stops looking for the trap pretty quickly. Your hands settle on her waist, thumbs pressing into the narrow strip of bare skin above her skirt. She's tiny under your palms. You can almost feel her ribs.
She's good at this. Obviously she's good at this. Her tongue finds yours and she tilts her head just right, and there's this little sound that comes out of her, this quiet, pleased hum against your mouth that makes your fingers tighten on her waist without you meaning to. She shifts on your lap, pressing closer, and her hands slide from your shoulders to the back of your neck.
You're getting into it. Really getting into it. Your hand starts to drift up her side and she makes another sound, breathier this time, and you can feel the vibration of it through her whole body. Then she turns her head, breaking the kiss, and her palm lands flat on your chest. "Okay, okay. Enough."
"What?"
"I said enough." She wipes the corner of her mouth with her pinky finger, checking for smudges. "You're going to ruin my lipstick before we even start. My makeup needs to get destroyed on camera, not during the warm up."
"You have very specific priorities."
"I have excellent priorities." She rolls her hips once on your lap, settling her weight, and then goes completely still. You watch her expression shift. Her eyes drop down between your bodies, then come back up to your face. "Well," she says, and there's something new in the way she's looking at you. "I think we can start."
She picks up her phone from the table, slides off your lap, and drops to her knees on the library carpet. She taps the screen a few times, opens the camera app, and holds the phone out to you. "Here. You're filming."
You take it. "Vertical or horizontal?"
“Of course it’s vertical. This is Twitter content, not cinema.”
You angle the phone. She reaches for your belt. Her fingers work the buckle loose, then the button, then the zipper, and she's efficient about it, tugging your jeans down your thighs with a little help from you lifting your hips. Your boxers are still on. The outline of you through the fabric is, well… it's pretty obvious.
Asa pauses. Her hands don't move, still resting at your waistband, but her eyes do. They settle on the bulge and stay there.
"Huh?'' she mutters.
Then she pulls your boxers down. Your cock springs free and bobs once, heavy and thick, settling against your lower stomach. The shaft is fat, veiny, flushed. In the dim lighting of the library corner, it looks even bigger than usual, and Asa is just kneeling there, looking at it, her hands frozen in midair. "Wow," she says quietly. Then, louder, like she's trying to convince herself as much as you. "Okay. This might be harder than I imagined."
You look down at her. "You can always give up."
Her head snaps up. The shock on her face converts instantly to pure, offended determination. "Excuse me? You think I'm afraid of a big cock? Are you seriously sitting there telling Enami Asa to give up?"
"I'm just saying."
"Don't underestimate me." She wraps her fingers around the base and the tips barely meet her thumb. She stares at that for a second, jaw flexing, then shakes it off. "Okay. Here's how this works. I'm going to suck your dick first. Get it nice and wet, do my thing. Then when I tap your thigh twice, like this," she demonstrates, two quick pats on your leg, "that's your signal. That means you can start fucking my face. Got it?" You nod. "Use one hand for the phone, one hand on the back of my head. And keep the angle tight on my face. This isn't about you, this is about me looking good."
"And then looking bad."
"And then looking incredible while looking bad." She adjusts her position on her knees, straightens her back, flips her hair over one shoulder. "You can start recording."
You hit the red button. The timer starts counting in the corner of the screen.
The shift is immediate. Asa was already pretty, already the kind of person who pulled attention without trying, but the second the camera goes live, something changes. Something clicks into place. Her posture straightens slightly. Her chin lifts. A slow smile pulls at her lips. Suddenly she isn't looking at you anymore. She's looking at the lens. Looking at the people on the other side of it. The ones who'll watch this alone in bed at some stupid hour of the night.
And just like that, she's performing.
She leans forward and presses her lips to the tip of your cock. Just a kiss. The red lipstick leaves a faint mark on your skin and she pulls back to admire it, still smiling at the camera. Then her tongue comes out, flat and pink, and she drags it across the head in one slow pass. Another kiss, this time on the underside, right where the shaft meets the ridge. She's teasing. Taking her time. Making sure the camera catches every angle of her pretty face against your thick cock.
She licks a long stripe from the base to the tip, her dark eyes locked on the lens the entire time. Then another. Then she swirls her tongue around the head, slow and wet, collecting the precum that's already beading at the slit. She holds it on her tongue for a beat, letting the camera see it, then swallows and licks her lips clean.
She opens her mouth and takes you in. The feeling is insane. Her mouth is hot and tight and her tongue does this thing where it presses flat against the underside of your shaft as she sinks down, creating this slick pressure that makes your toes curl in your shoes. She takes about half of you on the first pass, which given the girth is genuinely impressive, and her cheeks hollow as she pulls back up.
And she looks so fucking beautiful doing it. Enami Asa, on her knees on the library floor, with her black outfit and her red lipstick and her sharp little face stuffed full of your cock. The visual is so absurd, so completely disconnected from everything your life has been up to this point, that you almost forget to keep the phone steady.
She sucks you with purpose. Bobbing her head in a steady rhythm, taking a little more each time, letting the spit build up until it's coating your shaft in a slick layer. She pulls off with a wet sound and spits on your cock, a thick string that drips down the length, and then her fist wraps around you and pumps, spreading it, twisting at the head. She jacks you off with both hands for a few strokes, watching the way your cock throbs in her grip, and then she's back on it, hungrier this time.
You can feel her jaw stretching around you. Can see the effort in the way her brow furrows slightly, the way her throat works as she tries to accommodate the width. But she doesn't stop. Doesn't slow down. She finds her rhythm and sticks with it, her head moving in smooth, controlled bobs, her lips sealed tight, her tongue working the underside.
She pulls off just long enough to glance up at you. Not at the camera this time. At you.
"You better be getting my good side," she murmurs, her fist still pumping slowly.
"You're kind of busy to be giving direction."
"I'm always giving direction." She licks the tip once more, then sinks back down.
A minute passes. The wet sounds of her mouth on you fill the quiet corner of the library, obscenely loud in the silence. Spit drips from her chin onto her black top. Her lipstick is starting to smear, red bleeding past the edges of her lips, staining your shaft in uneven rings.
Then you feel it. Two quick taps on your thigh. She takes you back into her mouth, both hands dropping to rest on your knees, and tilts her head up so the camera can catch her full face. Her eyes are glassy. Her lips are swollen. She looks up at you through her lashes and gives the smallest nod.
You adjust the phone in your right hand, making sure the frame is tight on her face. Then your left hand slides to the back of her head, fingers threading through her dark hair, and you grip.
Your fingers tighten in her hair. You guide her head forward, slow, feeling the resistance of her throat as your cock pushes deeper than she was taking it on her own. Asa's hands grip your knees and her jaw stretches wide, lips pulling taut around your girth. She gags once, a tight spasm at the back of her throat, and you pull her back. She gasps, spit connecting her lower lip to your shaft in a thin strand, and before she can fully recover you push her down again.
The rhythm is careful at first. You're testing how much she can handle, reading the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers flex against your legs. Each push goes a little deeper. Each pull gives her just enough time to suck in a quick breath before you feed her your cock again. The wet sounds are filthy in the silence of the library. Every gag, every slick glide of her lips echoes off the bookshelves.
Asa's brow creases. She's concentrating, trying to relax her throat, but the girth keeps catching her. You can feel it, the involuntary tightening each time the thickest part of your shaft hits the back of her mouth. Her eyes water. Not crying, just the reflexive response of her body fighting what her brain has decided it's going to do. She breathes hard through her nose, hot bursts against your pelvis, and pushes through.
You set a pace. Your hand guides her head in smooth bobs, your hips rolling up to meet her on the downstroke. Spit builds and spills from the corners of her mouth, running down her chin in messy lines. The red lipstick is wrecked now, smeared in wide streaks across her cheeks and along your shaft, leaving your cock painted in uneven bands of crimson. Her mascara holds for a while, longer than you'd expect, but the constant watering finally wins and dark smudges start bleeding beneath her lower lashes.
She pulls off your cock abruptly, gasping, a thick rope of saliva stretching from her lips to your head before snapping and landing on her chin. She coughs once, wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing the lipstick further. Her eyes are glassy and red rimmed when she looks up at you.
"How is it," she asks between breaths. "How do I look?"
You angle the phone down at her, making sure the frame catches everything. The ruined lipstick, the mascara tracking down her cheeks, the spit glistening on her chin and neck, the way her usually perfect hair is sticking to the damp skin of her forehead.
"Beautiful," you say. "Completely ruined. You look incredible."
"Good," she says. "That's the point." She opens her mouth and takes you back in, and this time you don't start slow. Your grip tightens in her hair and you thrust up into her mouth with real intent, your hips snapping, the back of her throat meeting your cock on every stroke. Asa groans around you, the sound vibrating through your entire shaft, and her hands fly to your thighs for balance.
The pace is punishing now. Her head bobs in your grip, guided by your hand, and the sounds coming from her mouth are obscene. Wet, choked, guttural. Drool pours freely, coating your balls, dripping onto the carpet between her knees. Her black top is spotted with dark wet patches. She gags hard on a deep thrust and you hold her there for a second, your cock buried to the hilt, her nose pressed against your pelvis, feeling her throat convulse around you before you let her up.
She pulls back just far enough to breathe, her lips still brushing the head, and looks up at you with those ruined, watery eyes.
"Fuck," she pants. "This cock is so thick. I can barely fit it in my mouth." She jacks you with one hand, spit making the motion effortless, her small fingers unable to close around the circumference. "How does a little nerd end up with something like this? It's not fair."
"Genetics," you manage.
"Shut up." She licks a flat stripe up the underside, collecting the mess of spit and precum. "I'm serious, this thing is fat. My jaw is going to be sore for a week." She presses her lips to the head, almost affectionately, then opens wide and takes you deep again.
You fuck her face harder. The library is dead quiet except for the relentless, sloppy rhythm of your cock in her throat. Asa has given up trying to look composed. Her eyes are squeezed shut, tears cutting clean tracks through her smudged mascara. Her cheeks are flushed pink beneath the mess of ruined makeup. Spit and drool coat her entire chin, dripping in long strings onto her chest. She looks nothing like the sharp, immaculate girl who sat down across from you twenty minutes ago.
She looks better.
Your balls tighten. The pressure that's been building low in your stomach pulls into a hard knot and you feel the edge approaching fast. Asa must feel it too, the way your cock swells, the way your grip shifts in her hair, because her eyes open and lock onto yours. She doesn't pull back. She grabs your hip with one hand and pulls you deeper, taking your cock into her throat until her lips stretch around the base, and holds herself there.
You cum. The first shot fires directly into her throat and Asa's eyes go wide. You can see the muscles in her neck working, trying to swallow around the sudden flood. Your cock pulses again, a second thick load, then a third, each one making her throat bob as she struggles to keep up. It's a lot. More than she expected, clearly, because her eyes start to water fresh and you can hear this strained, gurgling sound as she tries to swallow without pulling off.
She manages. Barely. Her throat works overtime, gulping, swallowing, her fingers digging into your thigh hard enough to leave marks. Some of it escapes, a thick white trail leaking from the corner of her sealed lips, running down her chin, dripping onto her collarbone. She stays on you through the last few pulses, her throat milking every drop, until you finally stop throbbing and your grip in her hair loosens.
Asa pulls off slowly. Your cock slides from between her lips with a slick, heavy sound, and she sits back on her heels, breathing hard.
Her face is destroyed. The red lipstick exists only in faint, smeared traces across her cheeks and chin. Her mascara has bled into dark streaks that reach almost to her jawline. Her eyes are bloodshot, rimmed in red, lashes clumped together with moisture. Drool and cum coat her chin, her neck, the front of her top. Her hair is tangled and damp where your fingers gripped it.
She looks at the camera and smiles. This wide, satisfied, absolutely filthy smile, cum still glistening on her lower lip. She holds the look for a few seconds, letting the camera drink it in.
You stop recording. The timer reads eleven minutes and forty seven seconds. Your thumb hits the red button and the screen freezes on the last frame. Asa on her knees, wrecked, smiling. "How'd it turn out," she asks, her speech slightly hoarse. She reaches for the water bottle on the table and takes a long drink.
You scroll back through the footage, skimming. "Pretty good, actually. You have a genuine talent for this."
"I have a talent for most things." She holds her hand out. "Let me see." You pass her the phone and she watches sections of the clip, scrubbing through with her thumb, pausing on certain moments. Her expression is clinical now, analytical. She's reviewing footage, not reliving the experience.
"When are you posting it," you ask, pulling your boxers back up, getting your jeans situated.
"Probably tomorrow. Or maybe the day after. I still need to throw the video into Premiere and polish the edit a bit.”
"...You're editing blowjob footage in Premiere. Okay, sure. I don't know why I'm still surprised."
"Well yeah?" She looks at you like you're the weird one. "The lighting back here was awful. I need to fix the exposure, warm up the colors a little, cut out the dead space at the beginning..." She swipes through the footage. "Probably clean up the framing too. Blur anything that points back to you. Add captions… I'm not uploading raw footage. Be serious.”
You stare at her. "Is all that really necessary? It's a blowjob video, not a short film."
"It is absolutely necessary. You can't just upload raw footage like some amateur. Quality matters. Presentation matters. This is going on my page, and my page has an aesthetic."
She puts the phone down, reaches for her backpack on the table, and pulls out a small face towel and a compact mirror. She flips the mirror open and examines her reflection, tilting her head side to side, cataloguing the damage. Then she starts cleaning up, wiping the mascara streaks, the spit, the residue from her chin and neck.
"Thank you, by the way," she says, not looking up from the mirror. "Your dick is really nice. Genuinely. It looked great in the video. The size contrast between me and that thing is pretty hot."
"Thank you. I guess."
"You're welcome. I guess." She mimics your tone without missing a beat, still dabbing at her face. "You can leave now. I need to finish putting myself back together and I can't do that with you watching me."
You gather your laptop, your notes, your pens. Everything goes into your backpack. You zip it shut and stand up, pushing the chair back under the table. "Hey. One thing."
"What."
"Change my voice in the video. Pitch it up or down, whatever. Just alter it enough that nobody can identify me."
She waves dismissively. "Already planned on it. I'll run it through a filter. I'm a pro at this stuff." She meets your eyes in the mirror's reflection. "Now bye."
"Bye, Asa." You sling your backpack over your shoulder and walk out of the dead zone of the library, past the dusty reference shelves, back toward the main floor where normal people are doing normal things. The late afternoon sun hits you through the library's front windows as you push through the doors. Fresh air fills your lungs. You adjust your glasses, fix your hair, and start walking toward the parking lot.
It was a little degrading. You're aware of that. You just let a girl you barely know use you for content, boss you around, and treat you like a prop in her social media strategy. That part stings, a bit, if you think about it too hard.
On the other hand, it was also one of the best orgasms of your life. So maybe sitting with it too long isn't necessary.
—
The girls have officially taken over the theater lobby.
Ning’s holding a popcorn bucket almost as big as she is, carefully picking out the best coated pieces first. Shuhua has already loaded up on candy and a slushie. Yunjin’s in the middle of debating the water bottle policy with the cashier. Somi’s texting someone nonstop. Chaeyoung is fully invested in the ingredients list on a candy box for reasons nobody understands. Asa is standing slightly apart from the group, examining her nails.
“Has anyone recorded it yet?" Ning asks, popping a kernel into her mouth. "The challenge, I mean. I haven't even picked a guy."
General murmurs of negation ripple through the group. Shuhua shakes her head. Yunjin is still fighting the cashier. Somi doesn't look up from her phone. Chaeyoung quietly puts the candy box back on the shelf.
"I have," Asa says.
Every head turns.
"Already?" Shuhua's eyes go wide. "It's been like two days since we agreed on this."
"It was this afternoon, actually." Asa inspects a cuticle with surgical focus. "I finished about four hours ago."
Ning abandons her popcorn curation entirely. "Send it. Right now. Group chat."
"Absolutely not. I haven't finished editing. The raw footage needs color correction, the audio is unbalanced, and I want to add text overlays for the—"
"Oh my god, just send the raw version,” Ning groans.
"No. You'll see it when it's ready."
Shuhua leans in, lowering her tone even though nobody else in the lobby is paying attention. "Is it someone from our college?"
"Yes."
"Someone we know?"
Asa lets out a short laugh. “Absolutely not. He’s literally just some random library guy. Total loser. But Jesus Christ, his dick is huge. Like, weirdly huge. I was not mentally prepared for that at all.” Ning's eyebrows climb her forehead. "It was fucking hard to handle," Asa continues, touching her throat absently. "My throat still hurts a little, honestly. The girth on that thing was insane."
"The quiet ones always pack," Yunjin offers, having apparently won her water bottle argument. She rejoins the group with the confidence of a courtroom victor. "It's like a rule of the universe."
Chaeyoung has been quiet this whole time, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. She clears her throat softly. "I've been thinking, and I might not do the challenge. I don't think I can just walk up to some random guy and ask him to, you know. I'd rather die."
Somi finally looks up from her phone. She crosses the gap between them in two long strides and puts her hand on Chaeyoung's shoulder. Firm. Decisive. "You're not backing out," Somi tells her. "I won't allow it."
"But I literally cannot approach a stranger and say those things to his face. I would combust."
"Then don't. You're recording with me. We'll do it as a duo."
Chaeyoung blinks. "Wait, really?"
Yunjin nods encouragingly. "If you want, we can help you find someone too. I know a few guys in my econ lecture who would probably pass out if you looked at them."
Somi cuts her off. "No need. I already have someone picked out. Chae records with me, I handle the talking, she just needs to show up and look pretty." She squeezes Chaeyoung's shoulder. "Easy."
Relief floods Chaeyoung's face. "Okay. If we're doing it together, then yeah. I'm in. Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Just bring lip gloss and a hair tie."
Asa tilts her head, considering the arrangement. "A duo is smart, actually. The contrast will look really good on camera. Two girls, one cock. The timeline will eat that up."
"It's going to be so hot," Ning agrees, pulling out her phone to check the trending hashtag.
Armed with popcorn, candy, and oversized drinks, the six of them file into the theater. They talk about the movie previews, assignments, dumb campus gossip. As if they’re not all going into this week with the exact same goal: finding someone with a nice dick.
—
The next day arrives. You're walking through the main corridor on the second floor, laptop bag over your shoulder, earbuds in, heading toward your next lecture. The hallway is busy. Students moving between classes, conversations overlapping, the usual controlled chaos of midday foot traffic.
"Hey, you!"
You don't react. That shout belongs to someone else's life.
"Hey! I'm talking to you! Glasses!"
Still probably not you. Lots of people wear glasses. You keep walking. Fast footsteps come up behind you, then a manicured hand lands on your shoulder and whips you around surprisingly hard.
Jeon Somi stands in front of you.
Blonde hair spilling over her shoulders in soft waves. A designer jacket thrown over a top that’s doing absolutely nothing to hide her massive breasts. Long legs wrapped in fitted jeans. Sharp cheekbones, light brown eyes, and a look that feels dangerously close to a threat.
“Are you deaf?” she asks bluntly.
“Sorry. Didn’t realize you were talking to me. People don’t usually yell at me in hallways.”
“Yeah, I can tell.” Her gaze drags over you from head to toe, quick but thorough, leaving you feeling weirdly inspected. “You’re coming with me.”
“Where? Why?”
She doesn't answer. She grabs your hand and starts walking. Not beside you. Ahead of you. Pulling you behind her like a rolling suitcase. Her grip is strong and her strides are long and you have to half jog to keep up without tripping. People notice immediately. Heads turn. Conversations pause. You catch students doing double takes as you pass. Two guys from your programming class nearly short-circuit when they see Jeon Somi towing you down the hall.
And yeah, you get why. Everyone knows who she is. The leaked nude scandal last semester made sure of that. So did the endless rumors afterward, the guys she’s been seen with, the stories people tell about her like she’s some campus celebrity. Someone like her choosing someone like you feels fundamentally wrong to everyone watching.
By tomorrow, half the school is probably going to know your name too.
Somi takes you up a stairwell. First floor, second floor, third floor. Down a corridor that gets progressively emptier. Past classrooms that are clearly in use, then past ones that aren't. The fluorescent lights up here flicker intermittently. One of the ceiling tiles has a water stain shaped like Florida.
"Somi. What do you want so badly that you had to physically drag me across the building."
"It's just a favor," she says over her shoulder.
And there it is. That word again. Favor. The exact same word Asa used yesterday at your table in the library, right before she dropped the most insane proposition you’d ever heard in your life. Suddenly the pieces line up perfectly in your head. They know each other. Asa and Somi. Same friend group. Same social circle. Same weird fucking challenge.
Yesterday it was Asa. Today it’s Somi.
You stop walking and pull your hand free from her grip. She turns around, annoyed, "What?!"
"This is about that challenge. The Twitter thing."
Somi stares at you for a beat. "You know about it?"
"I'm familiar, yeah."
"Great. So I don't need to waste time explaining." She folds her arms under her chest, drawing your attention exactly where she probably expects it to go. “Are you in?”
"Why me specifically?"
"Because you're the most pathetic looking guy on this campus." She says it without a shred of hesitation or remorse. "But you're also decent enough that I wouldn't gag just from touching your dick. That's a narrow window, and congratulations, you fit through it."
"That's the worst compliment anyone has ever given me."
"It wasn't a compliment." The two of you are standing outside a classroom at the very end of the corridor. A laminated sign taped to the door reads CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE.
"This is where you picked," you say, looking at the sign. "A room that's closed for maintenance."
"Nobody will come in here. It's been shut for two weeks."
"A ceiling panel could literally fall on our heads."
"It's not going to." She pushes the handle and the door swings open. "Stop making excuses and get in."
You step into the classroom. The room is dim, lit only by thin strips of sunlight slipping through the blinds along the far wall. Desks have been shoved aside in crooked rows, and dust drifts lazily through the light. Half-erased equations still cover the whiteboard, leftovers from whatever class used this room last. And at the front of the room, perched casually on the professor’s desk, is a girl you’ve seen around campus but never spoken to. She has a pretty, sculpted face, big round eyes and dark hair with faint highlights catching the light. She's wearing an oversized cream colored sweater and a plaid skirt; the whole look makes her seem way too cozy and cute for a place this depressing.
She sneezes violently out of nowhere.
“Somi!” she groans, rubbing at her nose. “This room is disgusting. I’ve been here fifteen minutes and I’m pretty sure I’ve developed lung disease.”
"Stop being dramatic, Chae. A little dust never killed anyone." She closes the door behind you and strides further into the room. She motions between you and the girl on the desk like she’s hosting introductions at some awkward social event. “This is the guy I was talking about. Nerd boy, meet Chaeyoung. Chaeyoung, meet nerd boy.”
Chaeyoung hops down from the desk, landing lightly on her sneakers. She’s almost the same height as Somi, though Somi still has a couple inches on her. "I've seen you around before," she says. "You're usually in the library, right? Or sitting by the fountain near the engineering building."
"Yeah, that's my usual orbit."
"We've never actually spoken, though." She extends her hand. "I'm Chaeyoung. Lee Chaeyoung."
You shake it. Her grip is gentle, her palm warm. "Nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you too."
Finally, you think. Someone with basic social skills and a functioning sense of decency. You glance between the two of them. They're both wearing a noticeable amount of makeup. Chaeyoung has this soft, glowy look, peachy tones and delicate details. Somi went heavier. Contoured cheekbones, defined brows, lips glossed to a mirror finish. They look like they're ready for a photoshoot, not a afternoon on the third floor of a building with water stained ceiling tiles.
"Great," Somi announces, clapping her hands once. "Now that we all know each other and we've done the little handshake thing, let's record."
You lean against one of the pushed aside desks. "Can I ask what the point of this is? Genuinely. What do either of you gain from recording this?"
"Likes," Somi says immediately. "Followers. Engagement. Clout. Take your pick."
"And that's worth it?"
"We don't care what you think. It's none of your business what we do with the video." She crosses her arms. "You're here to provide a service. That's it."
Chaeyoung shifts her weight, tugging at the cuff of her oversized sweater. "I almost gave up on the whole thing, honestly. I know it's kind of crazy. Like, objectively, this is insane behavior."
"It is insane behavior," you confirm.
"But she's here now," Somi cuts in, putting her arm around Chaeyoung's shoulders. "And she is not backing down. Right, Chae?"
"Right. Yeah. I'm here. I'm doing it."
Somi turns her attention back to you, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Speaking of which. Your dick. Is it at least big? Because I swear to god, if I dragged you up three flights of stairs and you pull out a micropenis, I will be furious."
"It's decent."
"Decent, huh? That's exactly what guys say when they have a tiny cock. Every single time. 'It's decent.' 'It gets the job done.' And then you pull their pants down and it's like finding a AA battery in a sock."
"That's a very specific image. Sounds like you're speaking from experience."
"Don't test me right now."
Chaeyoung steps forward, putting herself slightly between you and Somi. "Can you stop being so mean to him? He's already doing us a favor by agreeing to this. The least you can do is be civil."
Somi rolls her eyes with her entire body. Her head tilts back, her shoulders drop, her hands fly up. "Please. Look at him, Chae. Look at this guy. He has never received a blowjob in his life. We are going to be the first people to ever touch his dick. He should be on his knees thanking us for the privilege."
"That's not true," you say. "I've had sex before."
"Sure you have."
"I'm serious. I actually got a blowjob yesterday."
Both of them look at you. Chaeyoung with genuine curiosity. Somi with theatrical disbelief. "Oh, really?" Somi takes a step closer, tilting her head. "Who gave you a blowjob yesterday? Name and surname, please."
The name almost leaves your mouth. It sits right there on the tip of your tongue, ready to go. And for a split second you consider it, because telling Somi that her friend already used you for this exact challenge would probably create enough chaos to shut this whole thing down. Asa mentioned that every girl had to pick a different guy. If Somi finds out she's not the first, that Asa already had you, she'd lose her mind.
Better to keep that card in your back pocket.
"It's personal," you say.
Somi stares at you for two full seconds, then turns to Chaeyoung. "See? Obvious lie. He panicked and couldn't even make up a name." She points at a chair near the center of the room. "Now sit over there."
You grab your backpack, drop it in the corner by the door, and sit in the chair she indicated. It's one of those standard classroom chairs with the little desk arm attached, but you push the arm out of the way and settle in. Somi is already moving around the room, scouting angles. She finds a spot on a shelf near the whiteboard, props her phone against a stack of old textbooks, and adjusts the lean until she's satisfied with the frame.
"The phone stays here,” she explains, tapping the screen. “It'll get both of us in the shot."
"Professional setup,” you say.
"I don't do amateur." She walks back toward you, Chaeyoung falling into step beside her. "Here's how this works. It's simple. The goal is for us to get facefucked until our makeup is ruined. That's the whole point of the trend. Cute face goes in, wrecked face comes out. So you need to not cum in thirty seconds like some premature disaster. Hold it together until our makeup is properly smudged. Can you manage that?"
"I think I can handle it," you say.
Somi raises an eyebrow. "You think?"
"... I'll handle it," you correct.
She nods once and starts heading toward the phone to hit record, but you lift a hand.
"Wait. One thing."
She stops and turns. "What now?"
"Can you show me your tits? Just... help me out a little. Get things moving."
The look she gives you is lethal. You're genuinely not sure if she's about to slap you or walk out. "You're such a pervert."
"You're about to do all this for Twitter likes. I don't think I'm the only pervert in this room.”
Chaeyoung lets out a laugh, immediately stifled behind her hand. Somi shoots her a look and Chaeyoung straightens her face, pressing her lips together.
"Fine," Somi mutters, then reaches back and taps the record button on her phone. She walks back over to you, stops right in front of your chair, and shrugs off her jacket with way more force than necessary, tossing it onto the floor. Then, without hesitation, she grabs the hem of her top and pulls it over her head in one smooth motion. She'd been going braless this whole time.
And her breasts are genuinely, absurdly large. Full and round on her narrow frame, heavy enough to bounce slightly from the motion of pulling her top off. Her skin is smooth, even toned, her nipples a soft pink against the pale expanse.
She stands there with her hands on her hips, topless and defiant. "Happy now, pervert?"
Chaeyoung is pulling at the collar of her cream sweater, fanning herself. "God, it really is hot in here. No ventilation at all." She tugs the sweater over her head and folds it neatly, setting it on a desk. Underneath she's wearing a simple white bra. Her chest is small, barely filling the cups, her collarbones delicate and pronounced above the band.
The contrast is staggering. Somi's huge, bare breasts next to Chaeyoung's petite frame in her little white bra. The tall, aggressive blonde towering over the soft, nervous brunette. Both of them in front of you, half undressed, in a locked classroom on the third floor of a building nobody visits.
Your cock is hard. Fully, uncomfortably hard, straining against the front of your jeans. There's no hiding it and you don't try. "Okay," Somi says, her eyes dropping to your lap for a fraction of a second. "Let's begin."
She kneels in front of the chair. Chaeyoung follows, settling on her knees to Somi's right. Somi's hands go to your belt, her long fingers working the buckle with efficiency. She yanks your jeans down your thighs with both hands, and your boxers come with them. She doesn't bother with the slow reveal. She pulls everything to your ankles in one sharp tug and your cock springs free, slapping against your stomach, thick and fully hard.
Somi stops. Her hands are still on the bunched fabric at your knees. Her eyes are locked on your cock. Her lips part, just slightly, and you watch her throat move as she swallows. "What the fuck," she mutters.
Chaeyoung, kneeling beside her, has gone completely still. Her mouth is open. Her eyes are wide. She's staring at your cock the way people stare at car accidents. Unable to look away, unable to process what she's seeing.
"Okay, that's..." She cuts herself off and stares for another second. "No. Hold on… That is actually the biggest dick I've ever seen in my entire life." She looks back up at you. "I'm being serious.”
Somi recovers. She flips her hair over one shoulder and wraps her fingers around the base. They don't close. Her fingertips fall about a centimeter short of her thumb.
"Well," she says, tone forcibly casual. "At least you won't embarrass us in the video."
"That's all you have to say?" Chaeyoung is still gaping. "Somi, look at this thing."
"I'm looking at it. I'm literally holding it. Stop acting like you've never seen a cock."
"Not one like this."
Somi starts stroking. Slow, tight pulls from base to tip, her grip adjusting to accommodate the girth. Her palm is slick with nothing but her own sweat and it's not enough, so she leans forward and spits. A thick, glossy string that lands on the shaft and she spreads it with her fist, twisting on the upstroke. Chaeyoung reaches out tentatively and wraps her smaller hand around the shaft just below Somi's. Her fingers look even more inadequate against the thickness. She strokes in tandem, following Somi's rhythm, and you can see the fascination on her face. She's studying your cock like it's a specimen, tilting her head, watching the way the veins pulse under her fingers.
"I literally do not know how I'm going to fit this in my mouth," Chaeyoung says quietly.
"The harder it is to take, the hotter it'll look on camera," Somi says, pumping steadily. "Trust me. You're gonna look amazing struggling with it. Just try not to throw up on his cock. I'm not doing another take because your gag reflex decided to betray us."
Chaeyoung immediately scrunches up her face. "Ew. Why would you even say that?"
"Because I'm thinking ahead.”
You lean back in the chair, watching both of their hands work your shaft. "Somi, quick suggestion: instead of talking about vomit, maybe switch gears and give me a titjob. Feels a lot more productive.”
Somi's head snaps up. "Who do you think you are? Asking me for a titjob? This isn't about your pleasure, this is about our content. You have no rights here. You're a prop."
Chaeyoung glances between you and Somi. "Actually, that would look really good on camera,” you explain.
"Excuse me?"
"Think about it," you say, keeping your tone light, reasonable. "Your tits wrapped around my cock, all wet and shiny with spit. Glistening in the light. That's premium content. The timeline would lose their minds."
"God, fine!” Somi snaps. "But only because it'll look good. Not because you asked." She shifts forward on her knees, positioning herself between your legs. She grabs your cock and angles it straight up, then presses her breasts together around the shaft.
The visual is pornographic: your thick cock disappearing into the soft, warm valley of her massive tits, the head poking out from the top of her cleavage on every upstroke. "Chae, spit on it," she orders.
Chaeyoung leans in and spits on the head of your cock, a neat string that drips down the shaft and into Somi's cleavage. Somi starts moving, sliding her breasts up and down, using her hands to press them tight around you. The friction is insane. Warm and slick and pillowy, her soft skin squeezing your girth from both sides.
She finds her rhythm, bouncing her tits on your cock with smooth rolls of her torso. More spit from Chaeyoung. More from Somi herself, leaning down to drool on your shaft before pressing it back between her breasts. The saliva mixes with the thin sheen of sweat building on her skin, and soon her entire chest is glistening, your cock sliding effortlessly through the slick channel.
"There," Somi says, watching the head of your cock emerge from her cleavage on each upstroke. "Happy now?"
"Extremely."
"Enjoy it. This is the only titjob you'll ever get from these." She works you for another minute, her breasts bouncing and jiggling with each motion, wet and gleaming in the dusty light filtering through the blinds. Your cock throbs between them, flushed and leaking, leaving trails of precum that mix with the saliva coating her skin. Eventually Somi pulls back, her breasts separating from your shaft with a slick sound.
"Okay. Enough warmup. Time for the real thing." She grabs your cock and angles it toward her face. "Don't go easy on me. I can handle whatever you've got."
You put your hand on the back of her head. Blonde hair, silky and thick between your fingers. You pull her forward and your cock slides past her glossy lips, stretching them wide. Somi takes half of you on the first push, her jaw straining around the girth, and you feel her throat clench as you hit the back of her mouth. You pull back, then push again, deeper. Her eyes water but she doesn't flinch. She grabs your thighs and braces herself, and you start fucking her face with real momentum.
Somi is aggressive even when she's the one being used. She pushes back against your thrusts, trying to take more, making these low grunting sounds in her throat every time you bottom out. Spit builds fast, coating your shaft in thick, frothy ropes that drip from her chin onto her bare chest. Her lipgloss is the first casualty, smearing in wide, shiny streaks across her cheeks and along your cock.
You pull out and she gasps, spit hanging from her lower lip in long strings. "Harder," she demands. "Come on, nerd. That's all you've got?"
You grab a fistful of her hair and shove her back down. Harder this time. Faster. The slapping of her lips meeting your pelvis fills the classroom, wet and rhythmic and obscene. Her mascara starts to run. Dark streaks bleeding from the corners of her eyes, tracking down her cheekbones. Her contour, her foundation, all of it softening and smudging under the assault of spit and tears.
You pull out of Somi's mouth and angle your cock toward Chaeyoung. She's been kneeling beside Somi this whole time, watching with flushed cheeks and parted lips, her hands resting on her thighs. "Your turn," you say.
Chaeyoung takes a breath and opens her mouth. You guide yourself in gently, slower than you did with Somi. Her lips stretch around the head and she whimpers, high and soft, her brow creasing as the girth fills her mouth. You push in a few inches and feel her gag, her throat tightening, her hands flying to your hips.
You stop. Let her adjust. She breathes through her nose, her eyes squeezed shut, and then nods slightly. You push again, easing into a shallow rhythm, just the first half of your shaft sliding between her stretched lips. She's struggling. Her jaw isn't built for this. But she's trying, god is she trying, her tongue working the underside of your cock, her lips sealed tight despite the strain.
"Relax your throat," Somi coaches from beside her. "Stop fighting it. Let him in." Chaeyoung adjusts her angle, tilting her chin up, and on the next stroke you slide an inch deeper. She gags again but pushes through it, her fingers gripping your thighs, her eyes watering. The peachy blush on her cheeks is bleeding, her subtle eye makeup starting to track.
You alternate. A minute in Somi's mouth, rough and fast, her mascara running in black rivers while she glares up at you with those defiant eyes. Then a minute in Chaeyoung's, slower, gentler, watching her struggle and adapt and gradually take more of you. Between rounds, they lick your cock together. Somi on one side, Chaeyoung on the other, their tongues meeting at the tip in a messy, overlapping tangle. Chaeyoung giggles when their lips brush. Somi pretends she doesn't notice.
Somi grabs the back of Chaeyoung's head suddenly, fingers tangling in her dark hair, and pushes her down on your cock.
"Deeper," Somi orders. "Don't be a pussy about it. Take it." Chaeyoung's eyes go wide and she gags hard as your cock hits the back of her throat, but Somi holds her there, keeps her down. You feel Chaeyoung's throat spasm around the head of your cock and her fingers dig into your thighs. Somi eases up after a few seconds and Chaeyoung pulls off gasping, a thick web of spit connecting her lips to your shaft.
"See?" Somi says. "You can take it. You just needed a push."
"You're crazy," Chaeyoung breathes. But she's smiling.
She leans back in, licking along the shaft, and takes you into her mouth again on her own terms. Deeper. More confident. Her eyes find yours and stay there, glassy and adoring. Then Somi pushes Chaeyoung aside and swallows your cock to the base. All of it. Her nose pressing into your pelvis, her throat bulging, her eyes rolling back for just a second before she catches herself. She holds you there, breathing through her nose in sharp bursts, then pulls off and jacks you with both hands.
"Fuck," Somi mutters, staring at your cock. "Why does your stupid dick feel so good in my throat." She says it like she's genuinely annoyed about it.
You fuck her face until her foundation is gone entirely, until the careful contour is just a memory and her cheeks are flushed and raw and wet with tears and spit. You fuck Chaeyoung's face until her peachy blush is smeared sideways and her mascara has bled into dark smudges beneath her lashes. They take turns. They share. They kiss each other around the head of your cock, their ruined lips meeting in sloppy, wet passes, tasting each other and tasting you.
The pressure in your stomach is winding tight. The balls deep thrusts into Somi's willing throat, the sweet suction of Chaeyoung's eager mouth, the visual of two beautiful, wrecked girls on their knees fighting over your cock. You won't last.
"I'm close," you tell them.
Somi pulls off immediately, gripping the base of your cock with one hand. "On our faces. Stand up."
You stand. Your legs are shaky but you manage. Somi and Chaeyoung press their cheeks together, kneeling side by side in front of you, looking up. You stroke your cock over their faces. Fast, tight pulls, your fist slick with the accumulated spit of both their mouths. Somi's hand comes up and wraps around yours, helping you pump, her eyes locked on the head of your cock inches from her face.
And then you cum. The first shot catches Somi across the bridge of her nose and her right cheek, a thick white rope that clings to her skin and starts to drip. She flinches and then holds still, jaw clenched, taking it. The second hits her forehead and tracks into her hairline. The third you aim at Chaeyoung, a long, heavy streak from her eyebrow down across her cheek to the corner of her open mouth. She gasps, her tongue darting out to catch what landed on her lips, and she moans.
More. A fourth shot across Chaeyoung's nose, landing on Somi's cheek where their faces are pressed together. A fifth that paints Chaeyoung's chin in a thick, dripping coat. A sixth, weaker, that drips from the tip of your cock onto Somi's chest, landing between her glistening breasts.
Chaeyoung is glowing, cum splattered across her flushed face and dripping down to her collarbone. She's smiling like she means it. Genuine and gorgeous. She licks the mess off her lips and laughs, breathless and bubbly, like getting painted with your load is the highlight of her day.
Somi wipes cum out of her right eye and stares at the evidence stringing between her fingers. "Okay," she admits, chest still heaving. "That was pretty fucking hot.”
She stands, crosses to the shelf where her phone is propped, and brings it close to their faces. She angles the screen so the camera captures both of them in tight frame. Glazed, ruined, beautiful. "Say goodbye," Somi tells Chaeyoung.
Chaeyoung waves at the lens with her fingers, cum still webbed between them. Then Somi turns Chaeyoung's face toward hers and kisses her. Soft, brief, their cum smeared lips pressing together and pulling apart with a slick sound. Both of them grinning when it's done.
"That turned out great," she announces, scrubbing through the footage. "The angle caught everything. The titjob, both of us choking, the facial, the kiss. This is premium content."
Chaeyoung wipes her cheek with the back of her hand and looks at you. "Thank you. Seriously. That was actually really fun."
"Anytime," you say, pulling your boxers and jeans back up.
Somi goes to her bag, pulling out wet wipes and a compact mirror. She starts cleaning her face with brisk, efficient motions, checking her reflection between each pass. Chaeyoung walks up to you while Somi is distracted. She's still got traces of cum on her jaw and she doesn't seem to care. She pulls out her phone.
"Can you follow me on Insta? I'd love to chat sometime. Outside of, you know, this whole situation."
You take out your phone. She tells you her handle and you type it in. Her page loads. Aesthetic photos, cute selfies, pictures of coffee and cats. You hit follow.
"I'll text you tonight," she promises. "For real. Not just saying that."
"I believe you."
Somi's reflection catches Chaeyoung in the mirror. "Chae, you know you're way too pretty for him, right? You could do so much better."
Chaeyoung rolls her eyes. "Don't listen to her. She's like that with literally every person on the planet."
"I'm used to the type," you say.
Somi snaps her compact shut. "Okay, we're done here. You can leave now. We don't need you anymore. Go study or whatever it is you do."
You grab your backpack from the corner, sling it over your shoulder. Chaeyoung gives you a little wave, her fingers wiggling, that warm smile still on her face. You wave back.
"Bye, nerd," Somi calls without looking up from her phone.
You push through the heavy door and step into the empty hallway, adjusting your glasses and shifting your backpack as you start toward the stairs. Behind you, through the closed door, you can still hear Chaeyoung complaining about the dust.
Two days. Two separate encounters. Two groups of gorgeous girls actively searching for you because of the same completely insane Twitter challenge. At this point, you're not even questioning it anymore.
This is very quickly becoming the best week of your life. And, to be honest, you’re more than ready to see how much weirder it gets.
—
The lecture hall slowly empties around you while you're still shoving your laptop into your bag. Your phone vibrates against the desk. Instagram DM. Chaeyoung. Her name appears with the little sparkle emoji from her profile, and you catch yourself smiling.
hey! how was class? hope ur not dying of boredom 🥲
You type back as you walk into the corridor. The conversation flows easier than you expected. She tells you about her morning, complains about her statistics professor, asks what you're studying. You mention you've been into a sci fi book lately and it turns out she's read it twice. She sends a screenshot of her bookshelf and half the titles are ones you own. The exchange feels weirdly normal. Like she's a person, not the girl who was on her knees beside Somi yesterday with cum dripping off her chin.
Then a notification slides down from the top of your screen.
Instagram DM. Huh_Yunjin.
You stop walking in the middle of the hallway.
hey 🤍 you free rn?
You open the DM and instantly do what literally anyone would do. You tap her profile. Black and white profile pic. Dark lipstick. Looking unfairly good for no reason. Almost a million followers. Yeah. That tracks. You scroll a little. Pictures that somehow survive Instagram moderation by the smallest possible margin. Sheer tops. Suspicious camera angles. Captions written like ongoing jokes between her and her followers. A tiny link in her bio leads exactly where you'd expect.
You know what this is about. You'd have to be brain dead not to. You reply:
wyd?
wanna give you a little something. trust me, you’re not gonna regret it
where r u
the theater room. building C, the big one with the stage. place is empty rn. just me. come find me 😈
how do i know this isn't some prank
Typing dots. Gone. She gives up on whatever she was typing. Then an Instagram notification slides onto your screen.
Photo • View Once.
Yunjin is in front of a full length mirror backstage somewhere, phone angled to catch herself in profile. Her plaid skirt is bunched up around her hips. No panties. The curve of her ass is right there, the dip of her lower back, one hand lifting the fabric to show you everything. A cropped top that barely contains her. Heels. Her face turned slightly toward the camera with a smirk that says she does this kind of thing on Tuesdays for fun.
The photo disappears. A new message pops up almost immediately.
does that seriously look like a prank?
been watching you for a while
you're cute
i'm interested. but hurry up. i'm not sitting here waiting all day
omw🏃
You shove your phone in your pocket and start walking faster.
Building C is across the quad. You take the path behind the library, the longer one, less foot traffic. Halfway there you stop and dig into the small zippered pocket of your backpack. A little plastic bag, sealed tight, three gummies left inside. Small, innocent looking, red and shaped like cartoon bears. You bought a whole bulk order after that stream went viral last year. The one with the two streamers who lost their minds on camera. You only tuned in because Hyeju was supposed to make a guest appearance, and you stayed because, well, the clips that came out of that night are still floating around the seedier corners of Twitter for a reason.
You pop one into your mouth and bite down. Sweet. Faint chemical aftertaste. You feel it start to dissolve under your tongue.
This thing is going to load your balls up like you've been edging for a week. The first time you tried one you came so much you genuinely thought something was wrong with you. Now you keep them around for special occasions, mostly solo sessions, but lately the universe has been throwing special occasions at you like it owes you back pay.
Four girls in three days. All from the same circle. This whole hot little clique of certified sluts is going through you like a relay race, and you're still undecided on whether that should hurt your pride or massively inflate your ego.
You push through the theater doors and lock them behind you with the inside latch. The auditorium is dark. Rows of empty seats descending toward the stage, which is lit warm and amber by the work lights overhead. You walk down the center aisle, your sneakers quiet on the carpet.
"Are you sure this is a safe place for this," you call out as you reach the stairs leading up to the stage.
A figure straightens up from behind one of the prop tables near the back of the stage. She steps into the warm pool of light, and yeah. Okay.
Yunjin in person is something else.
Tall. Legs that go forever, made even longer by the black heels strapped around her ankles. The plaid skirt from the photo, riding high on her thighs. A black crop top with thin straps, her stomach toned and bare, the slight curve of her chest visible underneath. Her hair is blonde. Freshly done, by the look of it, that bright platinum that catches every bit of stage light. Full pouty lips painted a glossy plum that's already smudged slightly at one corner. Sharp eyes. Mischief lives in them.
"My friend works here," she says, stopping a step away from you. "She runs lighting for the drama department. She told me the building is dead until evening rehearsal. We've got at least an hour, probably more." She looks you up and down, slow, taking inventory. "I'm glad you actually showed up."
"You called me."
"I did call you." She grins. "Not gonna do the whole introduction thing because everyone here knows who I am. Let's save the time. There's this Twitter challenge going around right now. Me and my girls all jumped on it. The premise is pretty simple. I need to get absolutely ruined on camera by a guy who looks exactly like you." Her hands come up and find the collar of your shirt, fingers playing with the fabric. "You're perfect for this," she tells you. "Glasses, the messy hair, the whole shy genius thing. I clocked you in the cafeteria last week. You were mumbling to yourself about some equation, and I thought, yeah. Him. Definitely him."
"I've heard about the challenge."
Her eyebrows lift. "Oh, really?"
"Word gets around." You hold her gaze. "I'm in."
"Smart boy." Her hand drops from your collar and slides down your chest, your stomach, and lands square on the front of your jeans. She squeezes lightly. "Oh, look at this. You're already hard. Is that for me?"
"That picture would make a dead man hard."
She laughs, head tipped back, her throat exposed. "Listen to you. I expected some stuttering little nerd, all sweaty palms and broken sentences. You're way more confident than I gave you credit for."
Your hands find her waist. She's warm under your palms, her skin smooth where your thumbs rest against her bare stomach. You let one hand slide down and around, palming the curve of her ass through the skirt. Squeezing. It's even better than the photo suggested. Thick and full and firm under your fingers.
"Mm." She presses into your hand. "Yeah, okay. You can definitely keep doing that." She squeezes your cock through your jeans again, harder this time, mapping out the shape of you. Her grin widens. "Wait. Hold on." She squeezes again. "What are you packing under here? This feels promising."
"You'll find out."
"I'm finding out right now, apparently." She leans her face close to yours, plum lips almost brushing your mouth. "This video is gonna be way better than I planned. I was expecting cute and mid. This is feeling more like cute and dangerous."
"I'll do my best."
"Yeah? Tell me what you're gonna do."
"I'm going to make you gag on it until you can't talk straight. I want to see you wrecked. Drooling on yourself. Huh Yunjin choking on my cock until your makeup is in your lap."
"Fuck yes. That's the energy." She closes the distance and kisses you.
She kisses like she's trying to eat you alive. Plum gloss smearing, tongue immediately in your mouth, both hands fisting the front of your shirt and pulling you against her. You back her up two steps until she hits the prop table behind her, and your hands are everywhere. Up her sides, palming the soft swell of her chest through that thin top, down to grab two handfuls of her ass and pull her tight against you. She rolls her hips into your bulge and groans into your mouth.
You make out for what feels like a while. Long enough that you're both breathing hard, her gloss completely gone from her lips and smudged across yours, her hair mussed where your fingers tangled in it. She pulls back, panting. "Okay. Okay, let's actually do this before I get carried away and just ride you in a folding chair." She steps out of your reach. "I'm gonna get undressed."
"All the way?"
"All the way." She's already reaching back to unzip the skirt. "If we're doing this, we're doing it properly. None of this half clothed business. I want my whole body in frame."
She undresses without an ounce of self consciousness. The skirt drops to the floor and she steps out of it. The crop top comes off over her head and her hair tumbles back down around her shoulders. Just heels left. She stands there in the warm stage light, completely bare, hands on her hips, watching you watch her.
She is staggering. Toned legs flowing up into thick thighs that gap at the top. Her ass round and full behind her. Her chest is small, soft, her nipples pierced with delicate silver bars catching the light. A subtle line of definition down her stomach. Her plum lips swollen from the kissing, her eye makeup still mostly intact, sharp and dark.
"Well," she says, doing a slow turn for you. "What's the verdict, professor?"
"You're perfect."
"Correct answer." She picks up her phone from the table, taps it into camera mode, and hands it to you. "Don't drop it. And try to keep me in frame, but don't worry about being artsy. The chaos is the point." She sinks down to her knees on the wooden stage floor, looking up at you. The amber lights catch her hair and turn it almost gold. She tilts her head, smirks, runs her tongue slowly along her lower lip. "Alright, babe. Let's see what we're working with."
Her hands settle on the front of your pants.
Yunjin’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants with an ease that makes it immediately clear this isn’t new territory for her. And definitely not the weirdest place she’s done it. She keeps looking up at you while she works the button open, her glossy lips curved in that teasing little smile, blonde hair falling over one shoulder as she tugs the zipper down.
“You’re trying so hard to look calm,” she says, amused, her knuckles brushing the hard outline of you through your underwear. “It’s cute. I can feel your dick jumping every time I touch you.”
“You’re naked on your knees in front of me,” you answer. “I’d be more worried if I looked calm.”
She laughs under her breath and pulls your pants down with your underwear in one smooth motion. Your cock springs out hard, heavy, already leaking precum from the kissing and the gummy spreading heat through your veins. Yunjin actually goes silent. You watch the reaction hit in stages. First surprise. Eyes widening. Taking a second look. Then comes the grin. Slow, filthy, pure excitement.
“Oh my god,” she says, sitting back on her heels. “No fucking way.”
You glance down at her, trying not to grin too much. “Still think I’m just cute and dorky?”
“Shut up, I’m processing.” She wraps one hand around the base, and her fingers don’t close all the way. That makes her smile wider. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. Quiet guys are always hiding something evil in their pants. This might be the biggest dick I’ve ever had in my mouth, and I’m not even saying that to boost your nerd ego.”
“That’s a pretty strong review.”
“I have experience. My review matters.” She strokes once, slow, her thumb dragging along the underside. “Jesus. It’s not even just long. It’s fat. Like, I’m gonna feel personally disrespected by my own jaw in ten minutes.”
She leans in and spits directly onto the head, letting the saliva slide down before she spreads it with her palm. Her hand moves over you with immediate ease, slicking you up, twisting around the ridge, cupping the head, rubbing the wetness down the shaft until your cock gleams under the stage lights. She watches the shine build with open appreciation.
“Pretty,” she murmurs, smiling to herself before lightly tapping your cock against her cheek. Once. Then again. Soft little smacks against skin. She tilts her head, looking way too pleased. “Jesus. Look at this thing.” Her grin widens. “This is absolutely gonna ruin me.”
She drags the underside over her lips, leaving a wet smear of saliva and precum across the plum gloss. Her mouth opens slightly, tongue slipping out to trace the swollen head. She gives you one slow lick, then kisses the tip like she’s flirting with it, her eyes staying locked on yours the whole time.
“You know what’s dangerous?” she says, rubbing your cock along her lower lip. “I can already tell I’m gonna be stupid about this. I’m supposed to make a cute little challenge video and go home, but this dick looks like it could ruin my plans for the week.”
“You’ve barely started.”
“I know. That’s the problem.” She opens her mouth wider and lets the head rest on her tongue. “I’m excited.” Then she takes you in.
The first slide into her mouth is hot, wet, and far too smooth for something that should be difficult. Her lips stretch around the girth, glossy and plush, sealing tight as she sinks lower. You feel her tongue flatten beneath you, guiding the shaft in a practiced line, easing the thickness over the middle of her tongue and toward the back of her throat. She doesn’t rush. She doesn’t panic. She makes room.
You swear under your breath when she takes more than half of you on the first try. Yunjin hums around your cock, pleased with the reaction, and pulls up slowly until only the head remains between her lips. Her cheeks hollow, suction tightening in a way that nearly makes your knees buckle. She swirls her tongue around the ridge, collects the slickness gathering there, then sinks down again, deeper this time, both hands on your thighs for balance.
Yeah, okay. She absolutely knows what she’s doing. There’s skill in the way she moves, not just enthusiasm. She angles her head to take the girth without scraping teeth. She uses her tongue constantly, dragging it along the underside, pressing into the sensitive strip beneath the head whenever she pulls back. Her lips never loosen. Every inch of you gets attention, and when she reaches the point where most girls would stop, she relaxes her jaw, breathes through her nose, and keeps going.
Your cock hits the back of her throat. She gags once, barely, more like her body acknowledging the size than refusing it. Her hands squeeze your thighs. Her eyes flutter, watery already, but she forces another inch down until her lips are close to the base. Then, with a slow, obscene determination, she swallows around you and noses against your pelvis.
“Fuck,” you say, because there isn’t anything smarter available in your brain.
She pulls off with a slick gasp, saliva stretching from her mouth to your cock before breaking across her chin. Her lips are swollen and wet, the plum gloss already smeared beyond repair. “See?” she says, breathing hard but grinning. “Made for it.”
“You weren’t exaggerating.”
“I never exaggerate about head. That’s sacred.” She strokes you in one hand while the other drops to your balls, cupping them with a reverence that surprises you. Her eyes lower. “Oh, these are heavy. What the hell are you feeding them?”
“Would you believe gummy bears?”
She looks up sharply, amused. “Don’t joke with me while I’m worshipping your balls.”
“I’m not joking.”
She studies your face for a second, then laughs. “You’re weird. I like it.” Her fingers roll your balls gently, feeling the weight, her tongue slipping out to lick along the base of your shaft. “These are going to make an insane mess of me, aren’t they?”
“That’s the plan.”
“That better be a promise.” She bends lower and takes one of your balls into her mouth, lips sealing around it, tongue moving with slow, wet attention. Her hand keeps stroking your cock while she sucks gently, then switches to the other, giving it the same treatment. The stage lights catch every trail of saliva on her chin, every smudge of makeup beginning to soften around her mouth. She looks completely at home like this, naked, kneeling, eyes bright with hunger.
“You have no idea how hot this is,” she says between kisses along your shaft. “Your cock is stupid big, your balls are full, and you look like you still think this is a weird dream you’re gonna wake up from.”
"It’s crossed my mind, yeah.”
“Don’t wake up. I’m not done being a slut for you.” She goes back down on you, more aggressive now. Her hand grips the base while her mouth works the upper half, fast and wet, tongue flicking, lips dragging, throat opening whenever she decides to take you deep. She alternates between worship and hunger, kissing your shaft, licking the veins, spitting on it again when she wants more slickness, rubbing the mess over you with her palm before swallowing you down.
Your phone stays in your hand, recording, the frame centered on her face. It catches everything. The way her lips stretch around you. The way her eyes lift to the lens whenever she takes you deep. The slow collapse of her makeup. Plum lipstick smeared across her chin, mascara damp at the corners, saliva slipping down her neck and onto the small rise of her chest.
She pulls off, panting, and slaps the head of your cock against her tongue twice before rubbing it over her lips. “I’m getting attached,” she says, almost accusatory. “That’s so unfair. You show up with this fat thing and expect me to act normal after?”
"You invited me."
"Yeah, and now this cock is mine. I'm calling dibs." She plants another wet kiss on the tip, then smiles up at you from below with spit running down her chin and eyes half-lidded from sheer arousal.
Yunjin leans in and swallows you deep again, this time she doesn't pull back when her throat tightens, the discomfort is part of the pleasure, swallowing repeatedly, forcing herself to adjust, her eyes watering harder, completely red now. You feel the muscles contracting around your cock, feel her body working to accept every inch. You watch as her thighs press together beneath her, the shine between them highlighted by the overhead stage lights when she shifts.
"Fuck, you're soaked," you groan.
She pulls off just enough to speak, lips still brushing the head. "Obviously I am. Do you have any idea what it's like having this monster prying my mouth open? My pussy's been dripping since I saw it." Her hand slides between her legs for one quick touch, collecting the proof of just how much of a slut she is, then she shows the wet shine on her fingers to the camera with a shameless smile.
"See? Your fault." She licks her own fingers making an obscene sound that makes your cock throb, then looks up at you. "Okay. I want it now."
"Want what?"
Her smile turns wicked. "Don't play dumb. Grab my hair and use my throat. I've been nice to your dick. Now ruin me for the video. Fuck my face, I know you're dying to do it."
"Alright, since you insist." Your free hand slides into her blonde hair, gripping close to the scalp. Yunjin opens her mouth immediately, tongue out, waiting, that look of a bitch in heat as deliberate as it is involuntary. You guide her forward and push your cock between her lips. Yunjin accepts the first thrust with a deep inhale through her nose, then braces her hands against your thighs.
You start hard right away. There's no need to build a rhythm when you already know what Huh Yunjin is capable of. Your thrusts are deep, each one pressing into her throat, nothing brutal yet but firm enough that her body has to be actively working to keep from gagging badly on your cock. Her eyes start watering again. Her lips stretch around you, swollen and slick. Saliva spills from the corners of her mouth almost immediately, pooling under her chin before dripping onto her chest.
Yunjin takes it beautifully.
The more you give her, the more alive she looks. She doesn't retreat from the roughness. She leans forward, seeking more force, gripping your thighs and letting you control the angle while she focuses on relaxing her throat around every thrust. A professional cocksucker, indeed. Your cock slides in and out of her mouth with wet sounds that echo louder and louder across the vastness of the theater, the camera catching her face coming undone in real time like a painting in the rain.
The lipstick is no longer neat, smeared across her cheeks and your shaft, purple and red streaks mixing with spit. Her mascara begins to run in thin lines, and when Yunjin looks up at you through wet lashes, you see genuine happiness stamped across her ruined face; it's beautiful to witness such raw passion in simply being the biggest slut on campus.
"Fuck, Yunjin," you say, driving deeper. "You really can take it."
She tries to answer around your cock and only manages a garbled, eager sound. Her hands go to your hips, pulling you forward — a clear signal for you to pick up the pace. So you fuck her mouth harder. Your hips slam into her face, your hand holding her in place, and every deep thrust makes her throat bulge and clench. She gags, recovers, takes it again. Tears spill freely now, cutting through the makeup on her cheeks. Drool runs down her neck in thick streams, sliding over her collarbone, dripping onto her small breasts and leaving glossy trails across her nipples.
You pull out to let her breathe. She inhales sharply, laughs, and spits a filthy string of saliva onto your cock.
"That's it. That's the clip. Holy shit, keep going. We're making history. My pussy is literally dripping onto the stage right now. How do I look?"
"You already look completely ruined," you tell her. "In other words: pretty fucking hot."
"Good. Make it worse then." Yunjin rubs her cheek against your shaft, nuzzling affectionately like she has genuine fondness for the thing destroying her face. "This cock is too fucking good. I hate that I found you through a trend. I should've hunted you down weeks ago. My bad."
You push back into her mouth, and she takes you with that same hunger. Now the rhythm is getting rougher and less careful, driven by the gummy bear's effect creeping through your bloodstream. Your balls feel heavy, too full, aching with all the pressure, and Yunjin notices. Her hand reaches down to cup them while you fuck her throat, squeezing gently, rolling them between her fingers.
The rhythm is partially interrupted when you see her thighs starting to tremble. You notice a full-body tremor rolling through her before she finally locks up completely. Both hands clench around you, fingers digging in, her throat contracts hard around your cock in thick, rhythmic pulses. She's cumming. Unironically, she's cumming right there on her knees with your cock buried in her throat, cumming just from having a cock in her mouth. Her eyes blow wide, then roll back until only the whites are visible, lashes fluttering as tears cut down her ruined face. Her whole body shudders and her hips jerks against nothing. You've never seen anything this hot in your life.
When you pull back to let Yunjin breathe again, you ask: "Holy fuck, d-did you just cum?"
She slumps forward with forehead pressing against your thigh, laughing in these ragged, wrecked little gasps. "I told you I was a slut." She tilts her face up and there's mascara smeared everywhere, along with spit, tears, and pure satisfaction. "Don't act so surprised." She drags the back of her hand across her chin and only smears it worse. "A cock like that shoved down my throat? Yeah. That's what happens."
"That's, like, really insane."
"That's talent, babe. Now put it back." You do, of course, and she gives herself over with even less restraint. The next stretch is messy beyond any salvation. She alternates between taking full-on facefucking and pulling you out to worship the head, tongue circling, lips sucking hard, hands pumping the base. The dirty talk pours out nonstop whenever her mouth is free because she simply can't contain herself, and you love that about her.
"This is mine now," she says, pumping you with both hands. "I'm serious. You don't get to walk around campus with this fat cock pretending it's public property. I found it, I choked on it, I came from it, so I have rights."
"Okay so you're making legal claims now?"
"Sexual claims. Way more serious." She kisses your tip, leaving a ruined smear of lipstick and spit. "You know, I'm going to think about this in class from now on. I'm going to be sitting there pretending to take notes while remembering how your cock stretched my throat open.”
Your orgasm starts building for real, low and heavy, dragged out by the gummy until it feels almost too intense. Yunjin senses the shift and pulls off, wrapping both hands around your cock. Her grip is slick, fast, frantic, using all the spit coating you. “You close?”
“Yeah.”
“On my face,” she says instantly. “All over it. Don’t waste a drop anywhere boring. I want to look disgusting.”
She jerks you harder, her hands sliding from base to tip in quick, wet strokes. Her ruined face is right below the head of your cock, eyes locked on you, mouth open, tongue visible between glossy lips. “Come on,” she urges. “Make me pretty. Paint this slutty face. I want it in my hair, on my lips, down my neck. Give me that huge nerd load. I know you’ve got it.”
The pressure snaps. The first jet hits her cheekbone hard, thick and white, streaking toward her ear. Yunjin gasps, delighted, and doesn’t stop stroking you. The second shoots across her forehead and into the roots of her blonde hair. The third lands over her nose and upper lip, splattering hot across the smeared makeup. She laughs, breathless and amazed, pumping you faster. “Holy fuck,” she says. “There’s so much.”
More comes. Another heavy rope spills over her open mouth, coating her tongue before sliding down her chin. She tilts your cock with one hand, aiming the next burst at her neck, and it paints a thick line down her throat. She drags the head lower, still milking you, and more cum spurts across her collarbone and small breasts, catching on her nipples and dripping toward her stomach.
It keeps going. The gummy turns the orgasm into something ridiculous, relentless, your cock pulsing over and over while Yunjin works every contraction out of you. She aims you back at her face for the final spurts, letting them splatter across her lips and jaw, adding more white to the ruined plum and black makeup already smeared everywhere.
By the time the last weak pulse drips from the tip, she is covered. Face, neck, chest, the top of her stomach. Cum clings to her lashes, streaks through her hair, sits thick on her lips. She stares down at herself, stunned for half a second, then bursts into laughter.
“Oh my god,” she says, genuinely amazed. “What are you, a fucking fire hose?”
You’re still catching your breath, phone aimed directly at her. The frame catches her kneeling there in the stage lights, naked and trembling, grinning through a mask of cum and destroyed makeup.
Yunjin lifts her chin toward the camera and smiles like she knows exactly how filthy she looks. She drags one finger through the cum on her cheek, brings it to her mouth, and tastes it slowly.
“Yummy,” she says, making sure the camera catches the way her tongue cleans her fingertip.
Then she pouts at the lens, exaggerated and sexy, lips glossy with your cum, eyes half lidded and sparkling with trouble. She holds the pose long enough to make the ending perfect.
You stop recording. For a moment, both of you just stand there in the afterglow of it, the empty theater silent around you except for Yunjin’s uneven breathing. She rises carefully, one hand finding the edge of the prop table to steady herself. Her knees shake a little, and she laughs again when she notices.
“That,” she says, pointing at you with a cum covered finger, “was the best blowjob, deep throat, facefucking situation I have ever been part of. And I’ve got an extensive resume.”
You pull your underwear and pants back up, still sensitive enough that even the fabric brushing you makes you wince. “Glad I ranked highly.”
“Highly? Babe, you broke the scale.” She looks down at the mess on her chest, then back at your jeans like she can still see through them. “I’m obsessed. That’s so annoying. I was supposed to film a hot clip, post it, brag in the group chat, and move on with my life. Now I’m standing here covered in your cum wondering if I can fit you into my schedule as a recurring problem.”
“That sounds flattering.”
“It’s extremely flattering. Don’t let it make you arrogant.” She bends down carefully, picking her clothes off the floor one by one. She doesn’t put anything on yet, probably because there is no clean way to do it while coated like this. “Are you free tonight?”
You pause with your belt half fastened. “Tonight?”
“Yeah. My place.”
“I thought you got what you needed.”
“With you?” She gives you a look that makes it very clear how stupid she thinks that sentence was. “No, babe. I have so many things I need to do with your dick that I should not start listing them, because if I do, I’ll get wet again and try to fuck you right here on this stage before the drama kids show up.”
You glance toward the backstage hallway. “How are you getting rid of all of that?”
“There are showers behind the dressing rooms.” She waves it off, completely unconcerned. “I’ve made bigger messes here during tech week. Don’t worry about me.”
“You’re really inviting me over after this?”
“I’m not inviting. I’m claiming.” She steps closer, still naked, still streaked with cum, and taps a finger against your chest. “I’ll send you my address on IG. Come tonight. Bring that cock, bring the weird gummy thing if that’s part of your magic, and don’t make plans for tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be there,” you say.
“Good. And hey. Seriously. That was insane.”
“You were insane.”
“I know. That’s why people like me.” You hand her phone back. She checks the video quickly, scrubbing through the timeline with professional focus despite the fact that cum is still dripping from her chin onto her chest.
“Oh, this is disgusting,” she says happily. “Perfect. The lighting is hot, my face looks wrecked, your dick looks criminal. I might not even have to edit much. Maybe just cut the parts where I was yapping my ass off about being in love with your cock.”
“Glad the production value survived.”
“Barely. My dignity did not, but that wasn’t invited.” She heads toward the backstage showers with her clothes bundled in one arm, hips swaying, heels clicking lightly on the stage floor. Before disappearing behind the curtain, she turns back, still grinning. “Tonight,” she says. “Don’t make me chase you.”
You leave the stage feeling absurdly good about yourself. The theater doors shut behind you, and the hallway outside is empty, too normal for what just happened. Your legs are steady enough now, your breathing mostly back.
Four girls so far. Not that you're counting. Okay, maybe a little. Asa. Somi and Chaeyoung. Now Yunjin. Two more should still be out there somewhere. You head back toward the main campus mentally preparing for the next completely normal and not concerning interaction of the week.
—
The park looks stupidly nice today. One of those afternoons where the lighting is so good everything suddenly feels edited. Trees glowing, grass looking greener than usual, the whole thing straight out of a stock photo. Families on blankets. Dogs losing their minds over frisbees. People jogging. Just regular people doing regular Thursday stuff.
Shuhua walks beside Ning with a cherry popsicle in hand, somehow managing to eat it with impossible levels of grace. No sticky fingers. No drips. Every little movement neat and automatic, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth between bites. Her pale blue dress shifts softly around her ankles in the breeze, dark hair pinned back with a single clip. Between the sunlight and the whole effortless look she's got going on, she barely feels real.
Next to Shuhua, Ning looks like the opposite side of the same coin. Tiny shorts, cropped tank, dark hair down around her shoulders. The center part frames her face in a way that somehow makes her eyes stand out even more. People call her features feline all the time. Mostly because of her eyes. Sharp. Alert. Always tracking everything around her.
"Have you seen Yunjin's numbers?" Ning asks, scrolling her phone while walking, a skill she's perfected over years of content creation. "Forty thousand views in twelve hours. Forty thousand. And she barely edited. The color grading is flat and the audio peaks twice. Imagine if she'd actually put effort into post."
Shuhua takes another careful bite of her popsicle. "I thought her video was quite good, actually."
"It was fine. Asa's was better. The library setting, the composition, the slow buildup. That's how you do it." Ning locks her phone and slides it into her back pocket. "The point is, we're the only ones who haven't filmed yet. Somi and Chaeyoung posted theirs this morning. Asa posted yesterday. Yunjin went up last night. We're falling behind."
"It's not a race, Ning."
"Everything is a race when likes are involved." She glances sideways at Shuhua. "I can't afford to lose momentum. My account gained six hundred followers just from reposting Asa's clip with commentary. If I post my own content from the trend while it's still peaking, the engagement will be insane. But we need to find someone today."
Shuhua finishes the last bite of her popsicle and holds the bare stick between two fingers, looking around for a trash can. "I agree we should film soon. I've been thinking about it more than I expected, honestly. The idea is growing on me."
"Growing on you how?"
A faint blush spreads across Shuhua's cheeks, barely noticeable against her pale skin. She looks away for a second. "I'd rather not get into that in the middle of a public park.”
Ning grins. "That's all the elaboration I needed."
They round a bend in the path and that's when Shuhua spots you. Sitting on the grass under an oak tree, legs crossed, a paperback open in your lap. Earbuds in. Glasses catching the afternoon light. Completely oblivious to the world around you, which is your default state and, apparently, your most attractive quality. "I know him," Shuhua says, slowing her pace. "He's in my Wednesday seminar. Quiet. Sits in the back row. He's quite smart, from what I can tell."
Ning studies you with the detached precision of a photographer framing a shot. "I've seen him around too. Library, mostly. Always alone, always reading." She tilts her head. "He's got the look. The glasses, the messy hair, the whole unaware thing. The contrast would photograph beautifully."
They exchange a glance. Shuhua raises one eyebrow. Ning nods once.
"Together?" Shuhua asks.
"Together." Shuhua deposits her popsicle stick in a trash can along the path and the two of them walk across the grass toward you. Their shadows fall over your book before you register their presence. You pull one earbud out and look up.
Oh. Sure. The last two.
Ning shifts her weight onto one hip and studies you quietly. Not openly suspicious, not exactly friendly either. Up close, she's honestly more striking than her photos ever made her seem. You've seen her Instagram enough times to know that. There's something magnetic about her in person. The sharpness of her features. The unwavering eye contact. Like once she looks at you, looking away becomes your responsibility.
And then there's Shuhua. You keep trying to come up with a better word for it, but ethereal is annoyingly accurate. Pale skin glowing under the sunlight, big dark eyes, delicate features that somehow look even softer up close. She has her hands folded in front of her dress so neatly that she looks like she belongs at some afternoon tea party, not here near you.
It's incredible, genuinely, how you went from being invisible on this campus to being the gravitational center of the six hottest girls at the university. One week. Seven days of your previously unremarkable life, and suddenly you can't sit in a park without attracting beautiful women who want to use your cock for content.
"Have you heard of a Twitter trend called Ruin the Pretty Face?" Ning asks, skipping past any greeting.
"Yeah,” you say, closing your book. "It's gotten huge lately. Honestly kind of wild.”
"We want to record a video," Shuhua adds, her tone polite as ever, like she's asking you to proofread an essay. "With you. If you're willing."
You look around the park. Families. Dogs. Vendors selling popcorn and ice cream. A man flying a kite about thirty meters away. "Here? Right now?"
"Not here, obviously," Ning says. "I drove today. We can film in my car. Tinted windows, good camera, plenty of privacy."
"And both of you are recording this together."
"Yes," they say in unison.
You let that sink in for approximately half a second before your brain finishes its cost benefit analysis.
"Okay," you say, standing up and tucking the book under your arm. Shuhua falls into step beside you as the three of you start walking toward the parking area. Ning leads, phone already out, checking the light conditions, probably calculating optimal filming angles based on where her car is parked relative to the sun.
"Can I ask you something?" Shuhua asks gently. Her hands remain clasped as she walks, pale blue fabric shifting around her calves with every step.
"Go ahead."
"Has any girl ever approached you before asking for the same thing? For this challenge, I mean."
You don't hesitate. "No. You two are the first crazy ones to come up to me with something like this."
Shuhua nods, seemingly satisfied. "Good. I'd feel strange if we weren't the first. It would change the dynamic."
Ning glances back over her shoulder. "The dynamic's fine. Let's stay focused." The parking garage is only about a five minute walk from the park. Ning's SUV is parked on the second level, black with windows tinted dark enough to look at least a little suspicious. She unlocks it with her key fob and jerks her head toward the back door. "Get in the back.”
You climb in. The interior is clean, almost obsessively so. No fast food wrappers, no loose change, no clutter. Just a faint scent of clean air and leather. Shuhua slides in on your left, gathering her long dress around her legs with careful, ladylike precision. Ning gets in on your right, pulling the door shut with a solid thunk. The tinted windows turn the afternoon light dim and amber. You're sandwiched between them. Shuhua's thigh brushes yours through her linen dress. Ning's bare leg presses warm against your other side.
Ning reaches into a bag near the front seat and produces a compact makeup kit, the professional kind with multiple compartments and a lighted mirror. She flips it open and starts touching up her face, quick and efficient. Then she hands it to Shuhua, who applies a careful layer of lip tint and a fresh coat of mascara, checking her reflection from three different angles before she's satisfied.
"We'll record on my phone," Ning announces, then hands you the device. "Hold it. I want mobility in the shot. Don't shake it, keep us in frame, and don't film anything identifiable about the car."
"I can handle it." You barely stop yourself from smiling. She has no clue you've somehow ended up doing this three separate times in the same week. At this point you could probably run a masterclass on filming angles for horny Twitter content. "Trust me.”
"We'll see." Ning turns to face you more fully, one leg tucking beneath her on the seat. "And one more warning. You're cumming in my mouth. Tell us when you're about to blow, because I’m not letting you make a mess in my car. Understood? Now get that cock hard."
Two hands find your lap simultaneously. Ning's on the right, confident and direct, her fingers pressing against the growing shape beneath your jeans. Shuhua's on the left, lighter, more tentative, her touch exploratory as it traces the outline of you through the fabric.
Ning leans in first, kissing you without much hesitation. Her lips are cool and smooth, carrying the faint taste of gloss. A quiet hum leaves her before she pulls away again. Then Shuhua takes her place.
The shift is instant. Shuhua kisses more softly, more carefully, barely parting her lips at first. But her hand around your cock tightens slightly, betraying nerves or excitement. She still tastes faintly like cherry from the popsicle. When your tongue brushes against hers, her breathing catches and a small surprised sound slips out before she can stop it.
Then suddenly it's all three of you at once. Kisses overlapping, mouths brushing against mouths, everything blurring together into something messy and warm. For a few seconds it gets hard to tell where one kiss ends and another begins. Shuhua's perfectly composed expression slips just a little, her eyes growing heavy. And Ning's whole cool princess act cracks for a split second when you catch her lower lip between your teeth and a real reaction slips out before she can stop it.
"You kiss well for a nerd," Ning murmurs against the corner of your mouth. They keep kissing you. Both of them. Taking turns, sharing, their hands still stroking you through your jeans, until Shuhua's brow furrows, her hand stops moving on your lap and her fingers press down, tracing the shape more carefully. Her eyes widen.
"Your cock is actually fucking huge," she murmurs.
Ning's hand joins Shuhua's, both of them feeling you through the denim now, mapping out the length and thickness with growing disbelief. "Hmm, it's probably just the pants," Ning says, though her expression suggests she doesn't believe that for a second. "Let's check if that's actually the case."
Ning yanks your belt open with zero hesitation. She tugs your pants down your thighs, and you lift your hips so she can pull them past your knees. Your boxers go with them. Your cock springs free, half hard and swelling heavier by the second in the warm, close air of the car.
Ning just stares for a second. Her lips part slightly, eyebrows lifting before she can stop them, and for one brief, completely unguarded moment she looks genuinely caught off guard. Her hand comes up slowly, wraps around the shaft, and her fingers don't even come close to meeting. "Okay," she breathes. "This is going to be way better than I imagined."
Shuhua leans across your lap to see, her pale face inches from your cock, and her dark eyes go impossibly round. "That is the biggest dick I have ever seen. In my entire life. Holy shit."
Your cock's still a little sore, honestly. Yunjin kept you at her place until almost two in the morning. At some point you completely lost track of how many times she made you cum, how many positions she somehow folded herself into, or how many times she looked you dead in the eyes and told you your cock belonged to her now.
The gummy lasted way longer than the package claimed it would, and by the time you finally collapsed onto her couch, you were pretty sure your body had reached its limit. For the first time since this whole insane week started, you actually felt drained.
But you can find some more stamina. For Shuhua and Ning, you can dig deep.
Ning strokes you once, twice, feeling the girth, watching the way your cock thickens further under her touch. She glances at Shuhua with a grin spreading across her face. You lift the phone, frame the shot tight on both of them, and hit the red button. The timer starts counting in the corner of the screen.
Ning leans down and drags her tongue in a long, flat stripe from the base to the tip. Shuhua follows immediately, her tongue tracing the opposite side, and the two of them meet at the head with their mouths brushing against each other. Ning takes you in first, wrapping her lips around the crown and sinking down, taking as much of your girth as her small mouth can manage on the first pass. Her cheeks hollow and she pulls up slow, letting the camera catch the slick shine coating your shaft. "Your turn," she murmurs, and guides your cock toward Shuhua's mouth.
Shuhua parts her lips and takes you in gently. Her eyes flutter closed and a soft, quiet sound escapes her throat. She bobs her head in shallow, careful motions, her hand gripping the base where her mouth can't reach. She's tentative at first. Testing. Adjusting to the stretch of her jaw around something this thick. But she doesn't pull away. If anything, she sinks deeper, taking another inch, then another, her throat working around you.
"Good?" Ning asks, watching Shuhua's face with curiosity.
Shuhua pulls off just enough to speak, her lips still brushing the head. "Very good." She kisses the tip softly, then takes you back into her mouth with more confidence.
They trade off. Ning goes deep, sloppy and showy, letting spit pool and drip down her chin because she knows exactly how it looks on camera. She moans around your shaft, loud and performative, her dark eyes finding the phone lens and holding the gaze. Her tongue works the underside with practiced skill, and when she pulls off, thick strings of saliva connect her swollen lips to your cock. Shuhua takes over with a steadier, quieter intensity. She sucks you with focus, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration. She discovers a rhythm that makes you twitch in her mouth and she stays there, repeating the motion, building on it. Her hand cups your balls, rolling them gently, and you hear her whimper against your shaft.
This looks like the kind of porn video you'd scroll past on your feed and immediately save. Two insanely beautiful women in the backseat of a car, heads in your lap, taking turns swallowing your cock while the afternoon light filters through tinted windows.
You decide it's time to step it up. Your free hand slides into Ning's dark hair and you push her head down. She takes it with a muffled sound of surprise that melts into a groan as your cock hits the back of her throat. You hold her there, feeling her throat constrict around you, then pull her back and push forward again. Fucking her face in slow, deep strokes. Her hands grip your thigh for balance and she opens her throat for you, letting you use her mouth however you want.
"Fuck yes," she gasps when you let her up for air. "Use me. Treat me like your slut." You push her back down and pick up the pace. Your hips roll up from the seat, driving your cock into her mouth while your hand controls the depth. Spit spills from the corners of her stretched lips, running down her chin, dripping onto her crop top. Her mascara starts to bleed at the corners of her eyes.
Then you switch. You pull Ning off and guide Shuhua down by the hair. She resists for half a second, startled by the rougher handling, then melts into it. You thrust into her mouth and she makes this sweet, overwhelmed sound, her eyes going wide and wet. You fuck her face slower than you did Ning's, giving her time to adjust, but you don't go easy. She doesn't want easy. You can tell from the way her hands keep drifting to her chest, squeezing her breasts lightly whenever she gets too worked up.
"Your dick feels so good in my mouth," Shuhua whispers when you give her a moment to breathe. Her usual elegance is slipping. Hair sticks to her lips, her cheeks are flushed, and every word sounds less put together than the last. "I didn't expect to enjoy it this much. It's so thick, it stretches my jaw so wide, and I just want to keep taking it."
"Then take it," you tell her, and she does. Shuhua sinks down on her own, swallowing as much of you as she can manage, and works her throat around you with a determination that borders on desperate.
You alternate between them. A dozen strokes into Ning's willing throat, then a dozen into Shuhua's eager mouth. Your hand switches between their heads, pulling, guiding, controlling the pace. Their makeup is slowly losing the fight. Ning's contour is smudged along her jawline now, and the gloss she'd put on earlier is long gone, leaving her lips puffy and messy. Shuhua's mascara has started to run beneath her eyes, creating dark crescents that weren't there before. Even her lip tint is smeared across her cheek now. The polished look both of them started with has completely fallen apart.
The pressure builds low and heavy in your stomach. Your balls tighten. The gummy's lingering effects make the orgasm feel enormous, swelling bigger than you can hold back. "I'm about to cum," you announce.
Ning pulls Shuhua off your cock and moves in front of you, kneeling on the floor of the backseat between your spread legs. She wraps her lips around the head and seals them tight, her hand pumping the shaft in fast, wet strokes. Her dark eyes look up at you, then at the camera, holding the gaze while she works you toward the edge.
You cum hard. The first pulse floods her mouth and she flinches, her cheeks bulging slightly before she swallows. More follows. Thick, heavy spurts that fill her faster than she can manage. Her throat works overtime but some of it escapes, leaking from the corners of her sealed lips and dripping down her chin. You keep cumming, pulse after pulse, the gummy ensuring that the load is obscene, far more than any normal session should produce. Her eyes water but she doesn't pull off. She takes everything you give her, her hand milking every last drop from your shaft.
When you finally stop throbbing, Ning pulls off slowly. She keeps her lips pressed tight together and turns to face the camera. She opens her mouth.
It's full. Completely full. Your cum pools on her tongue, thick and white, some of it already dripping from her lower lip. She tilts her head back slightly to show the camera, letting the load sit there, visible and obscene. Shuhua leans in close, her face next to Ning's. Ning cups Shuhua's chin and tilts her face up. Slowly she lets the cum dribble from her mouth into Shuhua's open lips. A thick strand stretches between them before breaking and landing on Shuhua's tongue.
Shuhua closes her mouth and swirls it, her expression somewhere between wonder and arousal. Then she leans toward Ning and passes it back, letting the cum slide from her lips into Ning's waiting mouth. They go back and forth, the load shrinking slightly with each transfer as they swallow bits of it, giggling between passes, their lips brushing together each time.
Finally, Ning swallows the last of it and pulls Shuhua in for a kiss. A real one. Deep and slow and wet, their tongues visible between their joined mouths, cum and saliva smearing across both their chins. They break apart and turn to face the camera with matching grins.
Ning winks at the lens. Shuhua blows a kiss.
Their faces are destroyed. Mascara tracking down their cheeks, lips swollen and smeared, chins dripping, hair tangled and damp. Ning's crop top is stained dark with spit. Shuhua's pale cheeks are flushed pink all the way to her ears. They look absolutely ruined and absolutely gorgeous.
Perfect content.
You stop recording. The car falls quiet except for their breathing and the distant sound of a car alarm somewhere in the structure. You hand the phone to Ning.
"Thanks," she says, already scrubbing through the footage. Her eyes move quickly, evaluating. "You did a great job filming. The angles are solid, you kept us in frame, the lighting caught everything. This is usable."
"I did the best I could."
"You succeeded." She watches a specific section again, the cumswapping part, and nods approvingly. "This is going to perform so well. The engagement on this will be insane."
You reach down and pull your pants back up, fastening your belt with slightly shaky fingers. "Well. I need to go now." You look between them. "It was a pleasure meeting you both. Genuinely."
Shuhua tucks a strand of damp hair behind her ear and smiles at you, still flushed, still catching her breath. "Thank you for your help. I mean it. You were very kind about the whole thing."
"Anytime." You open the car door and the cool air of the parking structure hits your face. You step out, legs a bit unsteady, and turn back to close the door.
Ning is watching you with a slight frown. She glances at Shuhua, saying, "It was a little too easy."
"What do you mean?"
"He wasn't surprised by the request. He wasn't overly excited about having two girls sucking his dick in my car. He treated the whole thing like it was just another day." She tilts her head. "That's weird, right? Most guys would be losing their minds right now."
Shuhua considers this for a moment. "Yeah, he was actually quite calm. Unusually calm. But maybe it all happened too fast and he didn't have time to process everything properly."
"Maybe," Ning says, not fully convinced. She shrugs and looks back at her phone. "Whatever. We better clean up. I still need to edit and post this before the trend peaks."
Shuhua reaches for the makeup kit. "Don't forget to tag me in the video."
Shuhua rolls her eyes and smiles at the same time somehow. "Of course. Nothing says friendship like performance metrics.”
—
As usual for a weekend, Yunjin's living room is full. The girls have somehow claimed every inch of the giant L shaped couch, stretched out with their legs tangled together and their attention split between their phones and conversations happening in five directions at once. The TV's running in the background, ignored completely. Empty sushi containers crowd the coffee table beside abandoned wine glasses and Somi's energy drink.
Chaeyoung sits in Somi's lap with her back against Somi's chest, scrolling her phone while Somi braids a small section of her hair absentmindedly. Asa is cross legged on the floor cushion by the window, her laptop open, analytics dashboard visible. Ning occupies the armchair with her legs draped over one side, editing something on her phone. Shuhua sits upright at the end of the couch, both feet on the floor, posture perfect even at eleven at night.
Yunjin paces behind the couch in an oversized t shirt and shorts, wine glass in hand, narrating. "Final conclusion: Asa is winning," she announces, pointing at the screen Asa turns toward the group. "Obviously. She posted first, the algorithm favored her, the library setting was aesthetic, and her editing is annoyingly good. Twelve thousand likes and climbing. The comments are losing their minds."
"Thank you," Asa says simply.
"Second place is me." Yunjin grins with absolutely no humility. "As it should, honestly. I killed it and looked amazing doing it. Ning, put my video back on. Show them the ending.”
Ning taps the link and angles her phone so the group can see. The final thirty seconds of Yunjin's clip play on the small screen. The stage lighting, Yunjin's ruined face, and then the cumshot. The girls lean in and watch as rope after rope lands across Yunjin's cheeks, her forehead, her open mouth, her chin, her neck. It keeps going. And going. The volume of it is genuinely startling.
"What the actual fuck," Somi says, pausing mid braid.
"That's not real," Ning adds, rewinding and playing it again. "That can't be real. That's like a full minute of cum."
"It felt like a full minute," Yunjin confirms, swirling her wine. "My face was dripping. It got in my hair and I had to wash it three times."
Shuhua tilts her head, studying the footage with clinical interest. "I've genuinely never seen anyone produce that much. Is that medically normal?"
"He told me he had these gummy bears that act like some ridiculously overpowered aphrodisiac. Explains the massive cum loads. Pure genius." Yunjin takes a sip. "Look at those numbers. People are sharing that clip specifically because of the finish. The algorithm is pushing it."
Chaeyoung covers her eyes. "I can't watch it again. It's too much."
"You literally made out with Somi on camera with cum all over your face," Yunjin reminds her. "Don't get all puritan on me now."
"Watching and actually being part of it are two completely different things,” Chaeyoung replies.
By the way, their duo video is doing pretty well too. Somi's chaotic, aggressive energy mixed with Chaeyoung's softer vibe ended up creating this weirdly perfect contrast people are absolutely obsessed with. The comments are exactly what you'd expect: half thirsty, half completely unhinged. Which is apparently the dream outcome, even if Somi keeps pretending she never reads them. Ning and Shuhua's clip has the lowest numbers so far, but that's mostly because theirs went up last.
"My video's gonna do numbers too. Give it forty eight hours," Ning says, unbothered. "Late posts always start slower. Lower engagement upfront, longer lifespan after. Some big NSFW accounts already picked it up and are funneling people over.”
"You and your analytics," Yunjin mutters.
"My analytics pay my rent."
Asa closes her laptop and leans back against the wall. "Honestly? I think this worked out for everyone. The videos are getting attention, engagement's solid, and none of us got banned. That's good enough for me.”
For a few seconds, the room settles into this quiet, satisfied silence. Then Shuhua casually says, "It's the same guy."
Every head turns. Nobody says anything. Just several seconds of confused blinking until Ning finally asks: "What do you mean?"
Shuhua points at Ning's phone, which still has Yunjin's video paused on screen. "That cock. It's the same one in our video. Look at it. The size, the shape, the slight curve to the left. It's identical."
"No way," Yunjin says. "That's impossible."
"Play all the videos side by side," Shuhua insists. Asa immediately gets to work. A few quick movements later, all four clips are sitting side by side on the screen. She hits play.
The evidence is damning. The same thick shaft. The same slight leftward curve. The same heavy balls. The same pair of hands, same forearms, same skin. It's definitely the same person.
"Oh my god," Chaeyoung breathes.
"It's the same fucking guy," Somi says after a long silence. "How did six different people somehow land on the same nerd? There's no way that's statistically possible."
Ning gives a small shrug. "Shared good taste."
"This isn't funny."
"I'm not joking." Ning barely reacts. "He checked every box. He was available. Apparently very available."
Chaeyoung's face visibly crumples. She sinks lower into Somi's lap and hugs a pillow against herself. "We texted every day...I thought we had something going on.”
"Aw, Chae..." Somi murmurs softly, and her hands go back to braiding Chaeyoung's hair.
Yunjin lowers her wine glass onto the counter and looks around. "Okay, before anyone gets mad… I slept with him after.”
"You WHAT?" Somi sits up so fast that Chaeyoung nearly topples off her lap.
"His dick is amazing," Yunjin says, completely unapologetic. "I got hooked. We had sex for hours and I was about to schedule a second date. Sue me."
Chaeyoung's eyes are glassy. "I can't believe I was starting to fall for someone who was getting blowjobs from all my friends behind my back."
"Nobody knew anything," Asa says firmly. "That's the point. None of us coordinated. None of us told each other which guy we picked. We all approached him independently."
Shuhua folds her hands in her lap. "I asked him directly. When Ning and I found him in the park, I asked if any girl had ever approached him before with the same request. He told us no. That we were the first."
"That lying piece of shit," Somi hisses.
"Honestly?" Asa starts. "We can't judge him. Think about it. If we had known we were all using the same guy, we would have dropped him immediately. He saw an opportunity and he took it."
Shuhua nods. "It's somewhat fair when you consider the full picture. We used him for content and engagement. He used the situation for his own benefit. We're not really in a position to be angry."
"I'm in a position to be angry," Somi declares. Chaeyoung sniffles. Somi's hand moves from her hair to her back, rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades. "I warned you that you deserved better than him," she says.
Ning rolls her eyes from the armchair. "Please. It's not like she and him were dating. There was no exclusivity, no commitment, no cheating. She texted him for a few days. That's hardly a betrayal."
"It felt like something," Chaeyoung mumbles into the pillow.
Yunjin walks around the couch and stands in front of all of them. Her posture shifts, shoulders back, chin up, that specific energy she gets when a plan is forming behind her eyes. "We're all going out," she announces.
"Out where?" Asa asks.
"The mall. After hours. We're going to find him and we're going to settle this."
"Settle it how?" Shuhua inquires, politely but with clear suspicion.
"Chaeyoung, text him right now. Tell him to meet us." Yunjin pauses. "Actually, forget it. Let me handle this. I know how to persuade him."
Somi crosses her arms, careful not to dislodge Chaeyoung from her lap. "What exactly are you planning, Yunjin?"
Yunjin looks at her like the answer should be written on the ceiling. "Isn't it obvious? A fucking orgy. All six of us. One night. One guy. In the mall after closing."
Asa grins and laughs. “Girl, you’ve officially lost it.”
"Consider it a farewell orgy," Yunjin continues, pacing now, warming to the idea. "We get it out of our systems. All of us. Every last fantasy and curiosity and frustration. And after that, he's free. Completely free for Chaeyoung, if she still wants him. Clean slate."
Shuhua raises a finger. "Nobody is pursuing him. The only person who had sex with him outside of the challenge was you."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever, Miss Dump-the-Lore. I'm horny and I want an orgy. Are you in or not?"
"Fuck it," Somi says. "This is my shot at getting even. I'm gonna destroy that dick. Brutally.”
Asa sets her laptop aside and stretches her arms above her head. "I'm in too. I'll admit it. I've been curious about what that thing feels like somewhere other than my throat."
Ning locks her phone and swings her legs off the armchair. "I'm in. I'm honestly curious to see how this drama's gonna end. Plus Amazon still hasn't delivered my new super vibrator, and rewatching all those clips got me horny as hell.”
Shuhua smooths her skirt over her knees, considering. "Since everyone else is going, I suppose I'll participate as well.
Everyone’s attention lands on Chaeyoung. She slowly raises her head from the pillow in Somi’s lap, pink-cheeked and blinking through damp lashes. “...Fine,” she says. “I’m in too. I want to feel that cock filling me, stretching my pussy open.” She glances down, embarrassed but honest. “I dreamed about it last night and woke up dripping.”
Then comes the collective murmur. Quiet gasps. Suppressed laughs. Multiple people making deeply judgmental mmm sounds at once. Chaeyoung lets out a tiny embarrassed laugh and hides behind her pillow again.
"Oh my god, shut up," she mumbles. "All of you, shut up, please.”
Yunjin claps her hands together so hard it echoes off the apartment walls. "Perfect! Up, everyone. Go get changed." She grabs her keys from the counter and points at the group. "And I hope every single one of you is on the pill, because things are going to get pretty fucking intense.”
—
The mall is nearly deserted when you get there. A handful of people drift toward the exits while janitors sweep through the empty walkways. The background music hums through the open space, weirdly loud without the usual crowd to drown it out. At the top of the escalator, you spot them right away. Six girls sitting around a table by the pretzel stand, looking way too good to be here for anything innocent. You know exactly what this is. You figured it out the second Yunjin texted you. The game’s up. And somehow, instead of feeling nervous, you feel completely calm. You stroll over with your hands in your pockets and pull up a chair.
"Hey girls," you say, sitting down and leaning back. "How are the videos going?"
Somi’s glare is intense enough to be considered a health hazard. Her arms are folded tightly, her expression hard, pure annoyance radiating off her in waves. Yunjin, on the other hand, looks almost entertained. She rests her chin in her hand and studies you with narrowed eyes.
“Wow,” she says. “You really had us all fooled, huh? Playing all six of us while acting like you didn’t know what was happening.”
You shrug. "You guys wanted to use me for content. I let you. Every single time. The fact that you all happened to pick the same guy isn't really my problem to solve."
Shuhua tilts her head. Those elegant features carry a trace of genuine hurt underneath the composure. "You lied to me. I asked you directly if anyone else had approached you, and you looked me in the eyes and said no."
"Yeah," you admit. No point denying it. "I did. But be honest, the video turned out great, didn't it? If you'd known I already filmed with four other girls, you would've found someone else, and maybe that someone else wouldn't have been half as good on camera."
Ning, who's been scrolling through engagement metrics on her phone this entire time, murmurs without looking up. "He has a point."
"Don't encourage him," Somi snaps.
Chaeyoung hasn't said much. She's sitting between Somi and Asa, picking at the sleeve of her sweater. When she finally glances up, her face is calm, but her eyes give her away. There’s hurt there, even if she’s trying to hide it.
"You were sleeping with Yunjin," she says quietly.
"This only happened once.”
Somi leans forward. "Chaeyoung likes you, you absolute idiot."
You meet Chaeyoung’s eyes and hold them. “Hey, I like you too. But we’ve been talking for less than a week” You spread your hands toward the table. “And I didn’t exactly know what to make of you yet. Mostly because, no offense…” You gesture at the others. “The people you’re surrounded by aren’t exactly screaming reliable.”
Asa slowly lowers her iced coffee onto the table. “And what exactly is that supposed to mean? Are you calling us sluts?”
“Asa, you literally called yourself a slut in the library. Those were your exact words.”
“Yeah, and when we say it, it’s empowering,” Asa shoots back smoothly. “It’s reclaiming the word. We're owning our choices, our bodies, and making money on our own terms. It’s about autonomy. What you’re doing is using it like an insult, which is a completely different thing.”
You raise your palms in surrender. "Fair enough. My bad. So why am I here? Are you gonna jump me in a food court? Beat me up behind a Cinnabon?"
Yunjin's smile spreads slow and dangerous. "Something like that. We do plan to break you. Just not in the way you're thinking." She pauses for effect, clearly enjoying herself. "We want to fuck you."
You blink. Then you lean back in the chair and let out a long breath through your nose. “Oh.” You nod once. “Yeah. Okay. That probably should’ve been my first guess.” Your eyes find Chaeyoung again. "Are you okay with this?"
She gives a small shrug that's trying very hard to look casual. "Why wouldn't I be? You're not my boyfriend or anything."
“For the record,” you say, tone shifting into something more genuine, “I’ve actually really liked talking to you. The late-night texts, the movie recs, all of it. I’d like that to keep being a thing. No matter what happens tonight.”
Chaeyoung watches you for a second, searching your face. Then a small smile tugs at her lips. “If you make me cum hard enough,” she says lightly, “I might hear your case.”
Somi snorts. Ning grins.
"I don't think I deserve to be put on trial here when I didn't actually do anything wrong," you reply. "But fine. Challenge accepted."
Ning tucks her phone into her purse and claps once. "Okay, okay, enough with the romance subplot. How exactly are we doing this? Logistics. Where, when, how."
You look around the emptying food court. "You're not seriously planning to do this here. In the mall."
Yunjin spreads her arms wide. "We've already filmed blowjobs in a library, a classroom, a theater, and a car. What's a mall?"
"The difference is we could get caught and arrested. All seven of us. Public indecency. That goes on a record."
Asa sets her iced coffee down like she’s been waiting for the perfect moment to speak. She clears her throat and begins: “The mall closes in twenty minutes. After that, security drops to basically nothing. One guard for the whole building, and he usually camps out by the loading dock on the north side.”
Everyone turns to stare at her.
Completely unfazed, she keeps going: “I know a girl who works at the mattress store on the first floor. SleepHaven, over by the west corridor. She told me that whole section had all its security cameras taken down for replacement this morning, and the install crew never showed. No cameras until at least Monday.” She takes a casual sip of her coffee. “I’ll head down now, ask to use the restroom, pretend to leave, then hide in there until they lock up. The bathroom lock’s been broken for weeks, so there’s no chance of getting stuck. Once the store’s closed and everyone’s gone, I’ll open the front gate from the inside and let you all in.”
Silence around the table. Shuhua exhales slowly. "So either this is going to be the best sex any of us have ever had, or we get arrested, end up on the local news, and our lives are effectively over."
Yunjin grins so wide it's almost manic. "Both of those outcomes sound pretty great to me. Let's go."
Chaeyoung shifts nervously in her seat. Ning puts a hand on her knee under the table. "Relax. Think about that huge cock that's about to be inside you. Focus on the positives."
"I'm literally right here," you say.
Ning just smirks at you. Doesn't say a word. Shuhua stands up and smooths down her skirt. "Fine. Let's go to the first floor. Split up. Move separately. Stay away from any active camera zones. We'll reconvene at the restrooms near the west corridor."
And that's how you end up locked in a mall bathroom stall at eleven thirty on a Saturday night, sitting on a closed toilet lid, scrolling through your phone while the building goes quiet around you. The lights in the corridor outside dim to half power. The muzak cuts off. You hear the distant rumble of security gates being pulled down over storefronts.
Forty minutes pass. Your phone buzzes. Yunjin's text reads:
on our way. going separately. be careful
You crack the stall door open and listen. Nothing. You slip out of the restroom and into the corridor. The first floor is eerie with most of the lights off, storefronts shuttered behind metal gates, the air conditioning humming low. Your sneakers barely make a sound on the polished floor. When you reach SleepHaven, five silhouettes are already gathered outside the gate. Asa's face appears behind the glass a moment later. She fiddles with something, and the front gate slides open just enough for everyone to duck under.
You file in one by one. Asa pulls the gate back down behind you. Yunjin doesn't waste a second. She kicks off her shoes and throws herself backward onto a king size display mattress near the front.
"The universe loves me. An orgy in a mattress store. This is genuinely the greatest night of my life."
Asa hisses at her immediately. "Keep it down. And we can't do this out here, anyone walking by the storefront might overhear. Grab a mattress, take it to the back area behind the counter. There are pillars back there, it's more concealed."
They end up choosing a queen-size display bed that’s already dressed in spotless sheets and looks ridiculously high-end. You grab one end, Somi grabs the other, and together you haul it behind the service counter to the back section of the store. Yunjin surveys the setup and nods approvingly. "This is actually perfect. Way better than I expected."
Shuhua is running her hand along the sheets. "This is a three thousand dollar mattress. Egyptian cotton sheets. If we're going to commit a felony, at least we're doing it in luxury."
"Okay," you say, standing at the edge of the mattress. "I'm going to be honest. I have absolutely no idea how this works. I've never done anything like this before."
Somi steps forward. She puts one hand flat on your chest and pushes. Hard. You lose your balance and fall backward onto the mattress, the expensive sheets puffing up around you. "Lie down," Somi orders, looking down at you. "And leave the rest to us."
You look up at the six girls standing over you and grin, sinking deeper into the mattress. “Alright then,” you say. “I’m at your service.”
There’s no drawn-out moment to it. Everyone just starts undressing. Yunjin finishes pulling off the top she’d already loosened earlier and casually flings it behind the counter. Somi pops her bra loose with one hand while kicking off her jeans. Ning pauses long enough to fold her skirt perfectly before setting it aside. Chaeyoung turns a little as she slips out of her bra, clearly self-conscious, while Asa strips down with the detached efficiency of someone changing after class. Shuhua carefully unbuttons her blouse, smoothing it flat over a nearby pillow.
You pull your shirt over your head, shove your jeans and boxers down, and your cock springs free. Already half hard from the sheer visual assault of six naked women in a dimly lit mattress store.
Yunjin goes first, exactly as everyone expected. She swings herself over your lap, straddling your hips as the mattress dips beneath her knees. Then she leans in and claims your mouth without warning, her tongue sliding past your lips like she’s not interested in asking permission. There’s nothing tentative about it. She kisses hard and deep, all heat and confidence. Her hand snakes down between your bodies, gripping your cock and stroking until you’re fully hard under her touch. Then she guides you lower, dragging the tip through her soaked folds until it catches at her entrance.
"God, I'll literally never get tired of this," Yunjin breathes against your lips. "The way you stretch me open. It's so fucking good every single time." She sinks down. Slow. Taking inch after inch until her ass meets your thighs and she's fully seated with your entire length buried inside her. Her walls grip you tight, clenching, adjusting. Her head tips back and her mouth falls open.
Then Somi is there. Standing over you, looking down at your face with that cold, mean expression she wears so well.
"Alright," she says, one leg swinging over your head. "Let's put that tongue to work. See if it's actually good for anything besides lying to people."
She lowers herself onto your mouth. Her pussy presses against your lips, wet and warm, her thighs framing your face. She's facing Yunjin, their knees almost touching on either side of your body. You flatten your tongue and drag it through her folds, tasting her, finding her clit and circling it. Somi's thighs twitch.
"Don't be gentle about it," she tells you, grinding down harder. "You owe me."
To your left, Ning takes Chaeyoung's hand. "C'mon babe, lie down," she murmurs. "We're not just gonna stand here watching."
Chaeyoung settles onto the mattress beside you, on her back, her dark hair fanning out across the white sheets. Ning crawls between her legs, pushes her thighs apart, and dips her head. Chaeyoung gasps when Ning's tongue touches her, her back arching slightly off the mattress.
Behind Ning, Asa kneels. With Ning on all fours, her ass presented perfectly, Asa spreads her cheeks with both hands and buries her face between them. Her tongue drags from Ning's clit all the way back, slow and thorough, circling her asshole before dipping back down to her pussy. Ning moans into Chaeyoung, the vibration making Chaeyoung whimper. Shuhua watches. She's standing beside the mattress, one hand between her own legs, fingers sliding through her wetness as she takes in the scene. Her eyes are locked on where Yunjin's body meets yours, watching your cock disappear inside her with each roll of her hips.
Yunjin notices. She reaches out with one hand, hooks it behind Shuhua's neck, and pulls her in for a kiss. Shuhua leans into it, her fingers working faster between her thighs while Yunjin's tongue slides against hers.
Yunjin breaks the kiss and looks back at Somi. "Fuck, your tits look so good from here," she says, openly staring at the way Somi's chest bounces with each shift of her hips against your face. "So fucking hot, seriously."
"I know," Somi responds, not even slightly humble about it. She rolls her hips forward, smearing herself across your mouth. "Deeper. Get your tongue inside me."
You push your tongue into her, as deep as it'll go, and she grinds down on it. Her full weight presses against your face, and breathing becomes genuinely difficult. Your nose is pressed against her clit, your mouth completely covered by her pussy. She's suffocating you and she knows it and she doesn't care.
It’s heaven. You’d die smiling buried in her ass.
Yunjin picks up her pace on top of you. She plants her hands on your chest and starts really riding, lifting her hips until just the tip remains inside before dropping back down with her full weight. Each time she takes you to the root, her breath hitches, her nails dig into your skin. Your cock is coated in her arousal, glistening every time she rises.
"You feel so deep like this," Yunjin groans, rolling her hips in a circle before slamming back down. "I swear you're in my fucking stomach right now."
Somi reaches forward and grabs one of Yunjin's tits, squeezing roughly. "Ride him harder. I wanna feel him moan into me when you do it." Yunjin laughs breathlessly and complies. She speeds up, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the dark store. Every time she bottoms out, your hips jerk involuntarily, and Somi feels the moan travel through your tongue directly into her cunt. She bites her lip, satisfied.
To your left, Chaeyoung is squirming under Ning's mouth. Her fingers are tangled in Ning's hair, pulling gently, her chest heaving. "Right there, Ning, don't stop, fuck, please don't stop."
Ning hums in acknowledgment, then gasps herself as Asa's tongue pushes inside her ass. Her back dips, pushing her hips back against Asa's face, seeking more.
"Asa, that feels insane," Ning mumbles between Chaeyoung's legs. "Do that again." Asa doesn't respond verbally. She just grips Ning's hips tighter and keeps going, alternating between her holes with a precision that has Ning trembling on her knees.
Shuhua pulls away from kissing Yunjin and kneels beside the mattress, still touching herself. “Yunjin, if I may say so, you look exceptionally pretty taking that cock,” says softly, and even her dirty talk sounds polished somehow. “The way it stretches you is... deeply impressive.”
"Shu, babe, it's unreal," Yunjin responds between bounces. "His dick is literally ruining me for everyone else. That's not even a joke. No one else is ever gonna measure up."
Somi grabs the back of your head with one hand, lifting it slightly, pressing you harder against her. Your tongue aches from the effort but you keep going, sucking her clit between your lips, flicking it rapidly. Her thighs are shaking now. "Shit," Somi breathes. "Okay, maybe your mouth isn't completely useless."
Yunjin's rhythm becomes erratic. She's chasing it now, grinding her clit against your pelvis with each downstroke, her walls clenching tighter around you. Her moans get louder, less controlled. "Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum," she pants. "Your cock is so deep, I can feel it everywhere, I'm literally about to lose it."
She slams down one final time and holds there, grinding in tight circles. Her whole body seizes, thighs clamping against your sides, her pussy spasming around your shaft in rhythmic pulses. She throws her head back and her mouth opens in a silent scream before the sound catches up, a long, shuddering moan that echoes off the store walls. Somi watches Yunjin cum and something about it tips her over the edge too. Her thighs slam shut around your head, trapping you completely, her hips bucking against your mouth in short, sharp jerks.
"Don't you dare stop," she hisses through her teeth, one hand braced on Yunjin's shoulder. Her whole body goes rigid for three seconds, then she comes apart, grinding down on your tongue through it, her slick flooding your lips and chin. Her legs tremble violently on either side of your head before she finally loosens her grip and you gasp for air.
They both climb off. Your face is drenched, Somi's arousal smeared from your forehead to your chin. Your cock is still hard, still throbbing, slick with Yunjin's cum.
Yunjin collapses onto the edge of the mattress, spent and grinning. "Okay. Who's next."
Chaeyoung sits up. Her cheeks are flushed from whatever Ning was doing to her moments ago, her eyes bright. "Me!"
The other girls shift, making room. Ning wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Asa sits back on her heels. You pull yourself upright and move toward Chaeyoung, settling between her legs as she lies back down. You look down at her. She looks up at you. In the dim glow of the emergency lights, her face is soft and beautiful and a little nervous.
You smile softly. “Hey.”
She meets it with a little smile of her own. “Hey.”
"I'm gonna go slow," you tell her quietly. Just for her. "You tell me to stop whenever you need me to." She nods, her hand finding yours on the sheet and squeezing gently.
You guide yourself to Chaeyoung's entrance and press forward. Just the tip at first, barely pushing in, letting her feel the stretch before you commit. Her eyes go wide, her lips parting, fingers curling into the sheets beneath her. "Oh my god," she whispers, staring up at you. "That's just the beginning?"
"Just the beginning," you confirm, and push another inch inside her.
Behind you, the mattress shifts as everyone else finds their positions. Yunjin grabs Shuhua by the waist and pulls her close, tangling their legs together until their pussies press flush against each other. Yunjin starts grinding immediately, rolling her hips in slow, lazy circles, her wetness mixing with Shuhua's. A few feet away, Ning swings a leg over Asa's face and settles down, her knees bracketing Asa's head. Asa's hands come up to grip Ning's thighs and she gets to work without being asked. Somi kneels between Asa's spread legs, slides two fingers inside her, and starts pumping with a casual, almost bored efficiency that makes it clear she's done this before.
You sink deeper into Chaeyoung. She grabs your forearm, squeezing hard, her back lifting off the mattress. You stop halfway and let her breathe. "You okay?"
"Yeah, just... give me a sec. You're really thick." She exhales slowly, her walls fluttering around you, adjusting. Then she nods. "Keep going." You push the rest of the way in. All of it. Chaeyoung's mouth falls open and no sound comes out for a solid three seconds. Then she lets out this shaky, overwhelmed little moan that makes Yunjin glance over from her scissoring position and grin.
"There it is," Yunjin says approvingly, grinding harder against Shuhua. "That's the face. I made that exact same face my first time with him."
You pull back slowly and thrust in again, building a gentle rhythm. Chaeyoung's hands find your shoulders, pulling you down closer. You lean in and kiss her, soft and deep, and she melts into it. When you pull back, she's smiling.
"You taste like Somi," she murmurs against your lips.
"Bet that's a taste you know pretty well."
Chaeyoung's cheeks flush even darker. "Maybe."
Somi doesn't even look up from fingering Asa. "I heard that. And yes, she does."
Ning laughs from her perch on Asa's face, then cuts herself off with a sharp gasp when Asa does something particularly good with her tongue. "Fuck, Asa, what are you doing down there? That's so good, keep doing that."
Asa can't respond because her mouth is full of Ning's pussy, but she gives a thumbs up with one hand, which makes Shuhua giggle breathlessly from where she's grinding against Yunjin.
"This is genuinely the most unhinged thing I've ever participated in," Shuhua manages between heavy breaths, her hips moving in rhythm with Yunjin's. "And I'm including the time Ning convinced me to skinny dip at that resort."
"Shu, babe, this is so much better than skinny dipping," Yunjin replies, reaching down to adjust the angle of their hips so their clits press together more directly. Shuhua whimpers at the change in pressure. "This is like... peak friendship activities right here."
You pick up the pace with Chaeyoung. She wraps her legs around your waist, locking her ankles behind your back, and the new angle lets you go deeper. Her nails rake down your shoulders. "Right there," she breathes. "Oh god, right there, don't move from that spot."
"Chae's getting loud," Somi observes, curling her fingers inside Asa and making her jolt. "I love that for her honestly."
"She deserves it," Ning says, then rolls her hips against Asa's mouth, chasing the sensation. "After all those sad little crushes she's had? Let the girl have her moment."
"Can you guys stop talking about me while I'm getting fucked, please," Chaeyoung says, but she's laughing, and then the laugh dissolves into a moan when you thrust particularly deep.
Yunjin is sweating. They're all sweating. The store has no ventilation running this late, and the combined body heat of seven people fucking on a three thousand dollar mattress has turned the back area into a sauna. Skin glistens under the dim emergency lighting. The sounds are obscene and layered: wet skin, heavy breathing, Ning's sharp little gasps mixing with Shuhua's softer ones, the rhythmic slap of your hips meeting Chaeyoung's.
Somi adds a third finger inside Asa, stretching her, and Asa's hips buck off the mattress. Ning grabs Somi's shoulder to keep her balance. "Warn me before you do that, she almost threw me off."
"Not my fault Asa's a squirmer," Somi says, pumping faster. "You good down there, Asa?"
Asa pulls her mouth away from Ning just long enough to gasp, "So fucking good, oh my god, keep going,” before Ning pushes her head back down.
"Nope, you're not done," Ning tells her sweetly.
You shift your weight onto one arm and bring your free hand down between your body and Chaeyoung's. Your thumb finds her clit, swollen and sensitive, and you start rubbing in slow circles while you fuck her. The effect is instantaneous. Chaeyoung's whole body tenses, her grip on your shoulders turning desperate.
"Oh fuck," she gasps. "Oh fuck, that's not fair, you can't do both at the same time."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm gonna lose my mind, that's why." Her hips are grinding up to meet yours now, matching your rhythm, trying to get more of everything at once. "Your cock is literally splitting me open and now you're touching my clit and I can't, I actually can't—"
Yunjin, still grinding against Shuhua, looks over with pure delight on her face. "She's gonna blow. Look at her legs shaking."
Ning is rocking faster on Asa's face, she grabs her own breast, squeezing, her head tipping back. "Shit, I'm close too. Asa, please, keep going, I'm so close, I'm gonna cum so hard."
You press harder on Chaeyoung's clit, rubbing faster, your hips snapping into her with deep, steady strokes. She's clenching around you so tight it's almost difficult to move. Her moans have gone high and thin, her eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in her body coiling. "Look at me," you tell her quietly. She opens her eyes. They're glassy, overwhelmed, gorgeous. "Cum for me, Chae."
She shatters. Her back arches completely off the mattress, her legs lock around you, and her pussy clamps down on your cock in hard, rhythmic spasms. And then the gush comes. Warm and sudden, soaking your pelvis, the sheets beneath her, running down your thighs. She's squirting, hard, her whole body convulsing with it.
Yunjin's jaw drops mid grind. "Holy shit, she's squirting! She's literally squirting all over that poor mattress!"
The sight of it pushes Ning over. She grinds down on Asa's mouth one final time and cums, her thighs clamping around Asa's head, her fingers digging into Somi's shoulder hard. Asa cums seconds later from Somi's relentless fingers, her legs trembling and her muffled moans vibrating against Ning's cunt. Shuhua follows, burying her face in Yunjin's neck, flushed and panting, her hips stuttering through the last waves of her orgasm.
Somi pulls her fingers out of Asa, holds them up, glistening and dripping, and licks them clean with a look of pure satisfaction.
Chaeyoung is still trembling beneath you, aftershocks rolling through her. "I'm so sorry," she pants, looking down at the soaked sheets. "I came so hard. I couldn't help it. I've never done that before."
"Don't you dare apologize for squirting," Yunjin says firmly, wiping sweat from her forehead. "That was the hottest thing you could have possibly done."
Somi nods. "We'll deal with the mattress situation later. Not important right now."
"Agreed," Ning says, climbing off Asa's face and stretching. Her legs are still wobbly. She looks at your cock, still hard, still wet with Chaeyoung's cum, and her eyes sharpen with hunger. "Because I need that inside me right now. Immediately."
Yunjin sits up, her director energy returning. "Okay then. Asa, Ning, Shu. Line up. On all fours. Show us these pretty pussies." The three of them arrange themselves side by side on the mattress, knees spread, backs arched, asses presented. Asa, Ning, Shuhua. Three different body types, three different skin tones, all of them glistening with sweat and each other's spit.
Yunjin beckons you over. "Come fuck these little sluts, nerd.”
Somi circles around to the front of the lineup, taking her time as she studies them from the other side. Her gaze drifts over the three bent bodies, the way they’re all presented for you, and then she reaches out without warning and gives Shuhua’s ass a sharp smack. She jolts with a startled yelp, shooting Somi a scandalized look.
“Hey! Warn me before you start getting handsy.”
Somi only grins, entirely unbothered, then turns that wicked little expression on you. "Look at them. Three tight little pussies all lined up just for you. How's that feel?”
You stare at the three of them, each one looking back over her shoulder at you, waiting. Your cock throbs. "I genuinely cannot put what I'm feeling into words.”
Yunjin snorts, arms crossed. "Then stop trying to put it into words and start putting your cock in them. That's the only language they need right now.”
Asa, her ass arched perfectly, her cheek resting on her folded arms, glances back at Yunjin with a lazy grin. "Wow. Shakespeare could never.”
Yunjin kneels beside Shuhua and grabs both her cheeks, spreading them open with her thumbs, putting everything on display for you. Shuhua's pussy is glistening, swollen, absolutely dripping from her earlier orgasm and the continued arousal of watching everyone else get fucked.
"C'mon," she says, looking up at you with that insatiable grin. "Time to fuck."
There’s no teasing pause. You guide yourself against her and push in. The head breaches Shuhua's entrance and she immediately drops her forehead to the mattress, her fingers clawing at the sheets. You stop with just the tip inside, letting her adjust. Her walls are squeezing you so tight it's almost resistance. "Oh," Shuhua breathes. "Oh, that's... that is significantly larger than I anticipated."
Ning, still on all fours beside her, glances over. "Girl, breathe. You'll get used to it."
"Easy for you to say, you haven't taken it yet," Shuhua replies through gritted teeth, but she pushes her hips back slightly, taking another inch on her own terms. You grip her hips and feed her more, slow, steady. Shuhua's spine curves downward, her shoulder blades pinching together. When you're about three quarters in, she lets out this long, shaking exhale.
"I've used large toys before," she says, almost conversationally despite the strain in her tone. "This doesn't even compare. The heat, the way it throbs. It's completely different."
"You doing okay?" you ask, rubbing your thumb along her hip bone.
"More than okay. Please keep going." You bottom out inside her and Shuhua makes a sound you've never heard from her before. Something between a whimper and a laugh, surprised and overwhelmed and deeply pleased all at once. You start moving, pulling back slow and pushing in deep, establishing a rhythm that lets her feel every inch.
On the other end of the mattress, Somi has pulled Chaeyoung into her lap. They're kissing, messy and unhurried, Somi's hands tangled in Chaeyoung's hair. Somi breaks away and licks her lower lip.
"You were so fucking hot squirting like that," Somi murmurs against Chaeyoung's mouth. "I almost came just watching you." Chaeyoung blushes but grins. Her hand traces down Somi's stomach, over her navel, and slips between her thighs. She pushes two fingers inside Somi without warning. Somi gasps, her hips jerking forward. "Shit, Chae, warn a girl."
"You didn't warn me when you shoved my face down on his cock," Chaeyoung replies sweetly, curling her fingers.
Somi's head tips back. "Okay fair. Fuck. Keep going, baby. Finger that wet pussy while I watch them get wrecked."
You're building speed inside Shuhua now. Her initial tension has dissolved into pure pleasure, her hips rocking back to meet your thrusts. Yunjin hasn't moved from her spot beside the lineup. She leans in and spits directly on where your cock meets Shuhua's pussy, the saliva mixing with the mess already there.
"That's it," Yunjin says, watching with dark, hungry eyes. "Fuck her good. Look at how well she takes it now."
"Yunjin," Shuhua manages, "please stop narrating and let me enjoy this."
"Never. This is the best show I've ever seen."
You pull out of Shuhua and she whines at the loss. Ning is next. You shift over, position yourself behind her, and push in. Ning is wetter than Shuhua was, practically dripping down her thighs already, but she's just as tight. The first few inches make her gasp and grab the mattress. "Fuck me," Ning breathes. "Okay. Okay I get it now. I get why Yunjin lost her mind over this."
"Right?" Yunjin says proudly. "Told you." You sink deeper and Ning's arms give out. Her chest presses flat against the mattress, ass still raised, and you can feel her clenching around you, her body trying to accommodate the stretch. You give her a moment, then start thrusting. Ning buries her face in her arms and moans.
Yunjin spits on Ning's pussy too, then smacks her ass lightly. "Take that dick, Ning. You were bragging about your skills all week, show me you can handle it."
"I am handling it," Ning says, except she very clearly isn't. Her voice is trembling. "It's just... a lot. God, it's so much."
Across the mattress, Chaeyoung has migrated lower. She's got her mouth on Somi's left breast, sucking the nipple between her lips while her fingers keep working inside her. Somi watches her with hooded eyes, one hand on the back of Chaeyoung's head.
"I love your tits so much," Chaeyoung mumbles against the soft skin, switching to the other one. "They're ridiculous. Like genuinely unfair."
"Babe, you can have them whenever you want," Somi replies, arching into her mouth. "Just keep doing what you're doing with those fingers."
You pull out of Ning and move to Asa. She's been waiting patiently, her cheek resting on her folded arms, watching you fuck the other two with analytical interest. When you press against her entrance, she pushes back immediately, trying to take you in one motion. But her body resists. She only gets halfway before she hisses and stops.
"Shit," Asa says, surprised. "I thought I was ready. That's thicker than it looks."
"Take your time."
"No, just push. I can handle it." You push. Asa's fingers curl into fists and she breathes out hard through her nose, but she doesn't tell you to stop. When you're fully seated inside her, she lets out a low groan that sounds almost relieved. "Okay," she says. "Yeah. That's incredible actually."
You start fucking her, and Asa is different from the other two. She pushes back to meet every thrust, matches your rhythm instantly, treats it almost like a collaboration. Her pussy grips you perfectly, slick and hot and eager.
Yunjin is in her element. She moves between the three of them, spitting on each pussy as you rotate, slapping asses, gripping hair, running her nails down their spines. She's the conductor of this whole symphony and she's loving every second.
"Look at them," she says to you, spreading Asa's cheeks so you can watch yourself slide in and out. "Look at how they take that fat cock. They're soaking. All three of them are dripping for you."
You switch back to Shuhua. She cries out when you enter her again, pushing back greedily. Then to Ning, who's so wet now that the sounds are obscene, filthy and loud in the quiet store. Then Asa again, who grinds back against you with precision.
Yunjin crouches next to Ning's face and lifts her chin. "You like getting fucked like this? Getting shared? All three of you lined up like good little sluts?" Ning just moans in response, her eyes glassy. "If I'd brought my strap we could've been double teaming these pussies," she continues, looking back at you. "Next time. Definitely next time. Me and you, fucking them from both ends."
Somi pulls Chaeyoung's mouth off her breast to watch. "They look so good from here. Especially Shuhua. She's completely gone."
Chaeyoung nods, her fingers still buried inside Somi, pumping steadily. "She's always so put together. It's nice seeing her fall apart."
You keep rotating. Shuhua cums first. You're deep inside her, one hand on her hip, the other gripping her shoulder, and she turns her face to the side so you can see her expression when it hits. Her eyes flutter shut, her mouth opens, and she comes apart in these beautiful, controlled waves, her pussy milking your cock through each contraction. Somehow even this is elegant.
Asa goes next. You're gripping her waist, pounding into her at a pace she set herself, and her head drops forward. "There, there, fuck, right there, I'm cumming," she whispers, and her whole body seizes. Her walls clamp down so hard it almost stops your movement. She shakes through it, silent except for these tiny, breathy sounds.
Ning is last. You're still inside Asa when Yunjin says, "Ning needs to cum. Go wreck her." You pull out of Asa and push into Ning. She's so sensitive at this point that she flinches at the first thrust. Yunjin grabs a fistful of her hair and pulls her head back. "Grab her hair," Yunjin tells you. "Fuck her hard. She can take it."
You wrap Ning's hair around your fist and pull. She gasps, her back arching severely. You start pounding into her. Hard. Deep. Relentless. Ning's moans escalate rapidly into something approaching a scream.
"Ning!" Shuhua hisses sharply. "The security guard. Keep it down."
Ning slaps her own hand over her mouth, her eyes wide, her body jolting with each thrust.
The muffled sounds leaking through her fingers are still loud but contained. You don't stop. You fuck her through it, pulling her hair, driving into her until her thighs start shaking violently and she cums with a strangled sound behind her palm, her pussy contracting around you in hard, rhythmic squeezes. Her entire body goes limp when it passes, collapsing flat onto the mattress.
You pull out, wipe the sweat from your forehead, and sit back on your heels. Your cock is glistening, impossibly hard still, twitching against your stomach. "That was insane," you pant, looking at the three spent girls in front of you. "Seriously. I don't know how guys in porn last this long. My legs are shaking."
"Well," Somi says, extracting herself from Chaeyoung's fingers and crawling toward you. "You better hold on a little longer. Because now it's my turn."
She pushes you flat on your back. You hit the mattress with a grunt. Somi swings a leg over your hips, but instead of facing you normally, she plants her feet on either side of your chest, squatting over your cock in a deep stance. Her thighs flex, her core engages, and she grips the base of your shaft to line you up.
Yunjin slaps the mattress with both hands. "Yes! Amazon position! Go for it, Somi, ride that cock!"
Ning, still flat on her stomach recovering, lifts her head long enough to whistle. Shuhua immediately makes a sharp shushing sound at her, eyes wide.
Somi stares down at you, face unreadable except for that familiar look of mild annoyance she somehow manages to make attractive. Calm. Detached. In control. "Let's see what all the fuss is about," she says. "Everyone else completely lost their shit over this. I don't buy it.”
She lowers herself onto you. Inch by agonizing inch. In this position, squatting over you with her feet planted on either side of your chest, Somi controls everything. The angle, the depth, the speed. You can't thrust up, can't grab her hips, can't do anything except lie there and take what she decides to give you. Your cock stretches her open and you watch her face. She's fighting. Every micro expression is a battle between the pleasure flooding her body and the icy composure she refuses to drop, even as her jaw tightens and her breathing starts to lose its rhythm. Her thighs tremble as she sinks lower, swallowing more of you inside her, her pussy spreading around your girth.
She stops about halfway. Breathes. Then pushes down the rest of the way until her ass meets your pelvis and every inch of you is buried in her. Her eyes close for exactly one second. When they open again, she's rearranged her expression into something cool and unaffected.
"Okay," she says, looking down at you. "I'll give you this much. It's a pretty impressive cock." She shifts her hips, adjusting to the fullness, and you feel her walls squeeze around you involuntarily. "Real waste that it belongs to someone like you, though."
"Sorry about that," you reply, your breath catching as she clenches again. "I'll try to be hotter next time."
"Shut up. Don't talk. Just lie there and let me use you like the stupid little toy you are."
Somi starts moving. Slowly at first. She lifts her hips until barely anything remains, pauses for a second, then sinks back down with controlled force. The impact sends a sharp jolt through you. Then she does it again. And again. Gradually settling into a rhythm she seems satisfied with. Her pussy grips your shaft on every upstroke, wet and impossibly tight, then swallows you whole on the way back down.
The view from below is staggering. Somi's body is built for this. Her slim waist, her toned stomach flexing with each movement, and those massive breasts bouncing with every drop of her hips. They move almost independently, heavy and full, swaying and colliding against each other. Sweat is beginning to bead along her collarbones, rolling down between them.
Yunjin sits cross legged on the mattress, watching with her chin propped on her fist. "Okay, she looks fucking incredible doing that. Like, objectively."
Ning nods slowly, still recovering from her own orgasm, lying on her stomach with her chin in her hands. "It's giving professional athlete. The core strength alone."
"Seriously though," Asa adds, tilting her head to study Somi's form. "Look at the control she has. She's basically doing weighted squats right now. That's genuinely impressive."
Shuhua watches from beside Yunjin. "If I tried to do that, I would absolutely injure my lower back."
Asa glances at her. "That's because you used to walk around with your spine curved like a shrimp, Shu. You have the posture of someone who's been gaming for twelve hours straight. You only realized because Yunjin took that cursed picture of you.”
Yunjin barks out a laugh. Shuhua's mouth falls open. "That was truly offensive," Shuhua says quietly. "And for the record, I'm fixing it. My posture's good now. I bought a posture corrector and everything."
"Girl, that thing is still in the packaging on your desk," Ning says without looking up.
Somi ignores all of them. She's locked into her rhythm now, bouncing on your cock with increasing intensity, her hands braced on your chest for leverage. Each time she drops down, the sound of skin meeting skin is sharp and wet. Your hands are flat on the mattress because she hasn't given you permission to touch her, and somehow that makes it hotter. She's using you. Completely and totally.
Somi looks down at you, and her mouth curls into something between a smirk and a sneer. "God, you're adorable like this." She rolls her hips in a filthy slow circle, grinding your cock deep before picking her rhythm back up. "Pinned under me. Dumb and hard and just letting me take what I want. Like a good little fucktoy."
"View's pretty good from here too," you breathe, barely getting the words out while her cunt grips you on every drop.
"Yeah?" She lifts almost all the way off, just the tip, then slams her hips down so hard your vision whites out. "Nnngh— you like this? Like getting fucked stupid by a girl who doesn't give a shit if you cum? Just lying there taking it like an obedient little bitch?"
"Yes," you groan, hands fisting the sheets. "Fuck— yes, I like it.”
"Of course you do." She picks up speed, and the wet sounds get louder, filthier. Her breasts are bouncing so hard they're practically hitting her chin on every drop. "This is where you belong. On your back, getting used. You should be thanking me."
Yunjin starts clapping rhythmically, like she's at a sporting event. "Let's go Somi! Ride that dick! Let's go Somi!"
Ning immediately joins in, clapping along. "Bounce bounce bounce! Wreck that cock!"
Asa cups her hands around her mouth. "Give me an S! Give me an O! Give me an M!" Give me am I!”
Chaeyoung is giggling uncontrollably, clapping along with them.
Shuhua's eyes go wide. "Can you all please be quieter? There is a security guard somewhere in this building." They all drop to stage whispers, still clapping, still chanting, but at a fraction of the volume. Yunjin is whisper screaming "let's go Somi" with the intensity of a soccer mom at a championship game. Ning is doing quiet finger snaps. Asa is mouthing the letters of Somi's name with exaggerated lip movements.
Somi doesn't acknowledge any of them. She's grinding now, deep and circular, her clit pressing hard against your pelvis on every rotation. Her breathing has changed. Shorter. Sharper. That icy control is fracturing. You can see it in the way her thighs are shaking, the way her nails are digging into your chest, the way she keeps biting the inside of her cheek.
She speeds up again. Full bounces, slamming herself down, taking you to the root every time. Your cock is drenched in her, glistening in the low light. The mattress creaks beneath you. She tilts forward slightly, changing the angle, and her mouth opens in a silent gasp that she immediately tries to suppress.
"Fuck," she whispers. “Fuck…” She grinds down hard, circling her hips, pressing her clit against you with desperate pressure. Her thighs clamp around your sides. Her head drops forward, blonde hair curtaining her face, and her whole body locks up. You feel her pussy spasm around you in tight, rhythmic contractions, milking your shaft as the orgasm rolls through her. She grinds through every wave of it, extracting every last second, her hips stuttering and her breath coming in these ragged, broken exhales she can't quite control.
When it passes, she stays seated on you for a long moment. Still full of you. Catching her breath. Then she rises slowly, your cock sliding out of her with a wet, obscene sound, and she climbs off the mattress on slightly unsteady legs.
Somi rakes her fingers through her hair and gives you this perfectly curated look of mild disinterest. "Your dick's... fine. Nothing I couldn't replace with a ten-minute Amazon order.”
Yunjin snorts so hard she almost chokes. "Please. Even you don't believe that. I saw your legs shaking, Somi."
Somi's cheeks flush hot. "That doesn't mean anything. I'm not some pathetic slut who gets attached because a guy has a big dick. That's your department."
Yunjin doesn't flinch. Just smiles, soft and knowing. "You're so full of shit, babe. But it's cute. Keep pretending.” Somi rolls her eyes and turns away, but you catch the faintest trace of a smirk before she kills it.
Then Yunjin claps her hands once and the energy in the room shifts. "Okay. There's someone here who still hasn't gotten off." She looks at you pointedly. Your cock is still hard, still slick, throbbing against your stomach. "Stand up."
You get to your feet. Your legs are genuinely wobbly. Six pairs of eyes look up at you as the girls arrange themselves on their knees in a loose semicircle on the mattress. Asa to your left, Ning and Shuhua in the center, Yunjin to the right, Chaeyoung directly in front of you.
Somi steps forward. She reaches up and slides your glasses off your face. The world goes slightly blurry. Then she turns and places them carefully on Chaeyoung's face. The frames sit crooked on her smaller nose. She adjusts them, pushes them up, and looks up at you through the lenses with those big, pretty eyes.
Yunjin surveys the six of them kneeling around you and puts her hands on her hips. "Alright. Here's how we're doing this. I'll play distributor. Make sure everyone gets their fair share. No one girl hogging more than she's entitled to. Equal distribution of cum across all parties."
Shuhua tilts her head. "That's not really necessary. We're perfectly capable of organizing ourselves. No central authority needed. We just take turns, share naturally, everyone gets what they need."
Yunjin points at her. "And that is how you get one girl with a face full of cum and four girls with nothing. You need structure. Leadership. I'm the one who put this whole thing together. I organized the venue, the logistics, the communication. I am essentially the vanguard of this entire sexually transgressive movement." She pauses, then touches her hair with genuine regret. "Shit, I really should've brought a beret.”
Somi tilts her head back, closes her eyes, and exhales through her nose. "We're literally waiting for him to cum on our faces and you two are doing dialectics.”
"You're not the vanguard of anything," Shuhua replies calmly. "You're just horny and bossy. Those aren't the same thing."
Ning snorts. Asa covers her mouth.
"Can you two please shut up and start sucking," Chaeyoung says flatly, already wrapping her hand around your shaft. Your glasses sit crooked on her face, way too big for her, and she looks up at you through them with this expression that's equal parts sweet and filthy. She leans forward and takes the head into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it, tasting the combined slick of every girl who rode you tonight.
"Fine. Actions over theory. I can respect that,” Yunjin says before she ducks her head and runs her tongue along the left side of your shaft while Chaeyoung works the tip. Ning joins from the right, her tongue tracing a vein from base to mid shaft.
Three mouths on you at once. Your cock is more than big enough to accommodate them. Chaeyoung sucks the head with these slow pulls, her cheeks hollowing, while Yunjin and Ning lap at the shaft from either side, their tongues occasionally meeting and sliding against each other.
Somi kneels behind Chaeyoung, watching over her shoulder. "Tilt your head more, Chae. You're losing the angle."
Chaeyoung adjusts and takes you deeper, the glasses sliding down her nose. She pushes them back up with one finger without missing a beat.
Asa taps Ning's shoulder. "My turn." Ning pulls back and Asa takes her place, her technique immediately different. More controlled, more rhythmic. She sucks along the side of your shaft in long, measured strokes, her hand cupping your balls, rolling them gently. She remembers from the library how sensitive they are.
Shuhua waits patiently until Chaeyoung comes up for air, then leans in and takes over the tip. She's less hesitant than she was in the car. Something about tonight has unlocked her. She takes you halfway down without flinching, her throat relaxing around you, and holds there for a few seconds before pulling back with spit connecting her lips to your cock.
"Good girl, Shu," Yunjin murmurs approvingly, stroking Shuhua's hair back from her face.
"Don't patronize me," Shuhua replies, then immediately goes back down on you.
They rotate. Pairs and trios. Somi finally takes her turn, and true to form, she's rough about it. She grabs the base and sucks hard, her tongue doing something cruel and brilliant against the underside of the head. When she pulls off, she spits on your cock and strokes it with both hands, spreading the saliva, then passes you to Yunjin, who takes you to the root in one smooth motion. She holds you in her throat, her nose pressed against your pelvis, her long tongue extending to lap at your balls while you're still buried in her mouth. Asa watches with genuine admiration.
Yunjin pulls off with a wet gasp and grins. "Talent, baby."
Ning and Chaeyoung work you together next. Chaeyoung on the shaft, Ning sucking your balls into her mouth one at a time, humming against them. Then Shuhua and Asa, Shuhua taking the head while Asa licks the base. Then Somi alone, because Somi doesn't share well, her massive tits pressed against your thighs as she bobs her head with aggressive speed.
Your legs are trembling. The gummy bear you ate before coming to the mall is doing its job. You can feel the pressure building, heavy and dense, your balls tight and aching with the volume they're carrying. Every rotation of mouths pushes you closer. Six different techniques, six different temperatures, six different rhythms. It's sensory overload.
Yunjin can tell you're getting close. She reads your body, the way your stomach muscles tighten, the way your breathing goes shallow. "He's almost there," she announces. "Everyone get in position."
The six of them arrange themselves in a tight semicircle on their knees, faces upturned, close together. Chaeyoung in the center with your glasses still perched on her face. Yunjin and Somi flanking her. Asa, Ning, and Shuhua filling in the gaps. Twelve eyes looking up at you. Six open mouths.
You wrap your fist around your shaft and start stroking. Fast, tight, your hand slick with six girls' spit. "Cum for us," Yunjin says, her tongue extended. "Give your little pornstars everything you've got. I wanna be dripping."
"Cover my face," Ning adds, licking her lips. "I want to taste it again. Give me what you gave me in the car."
Somi tilts her chin up. "Don't you dare miss me."
Chaeyoung just looks at you through your own glasses, her mouth open, waiting. She doesn't need to say anything. The image alone almost sends you over.
"Paint us pretty," Asa says. "All of us. Don't leave anyone out."
Shuhua closes her eyes and tilts her face upward. "I'm ready."
You cum. And the gummy delivers. The first rope hits Chaeyoung across the bridge of your glasses, splattering the lenses, dripping down onto her nose and lips. She gasps and keeps her mouth open, catching the next spurt on her tongue. You angle toward Yunjin and she catches a thick streak across her forehead and cheek, letting it drip down to her chin. She moans, savoring it.
You move to Somi and land a heavy load across her lips and jaw, cum sliding down her neck onto her collarbones and the tops of her breasts. She doesn't flinch. Doesn't blink. Just takes it.
Asa gets the next several spurts. Across her nose, her left cheek, her open mouth. She swallows what lands on her tongue and lets the rest sit on her skin. Ning leans in eagerly and catches a rope from her hairline all the way down to her chin, cum beading on her eyelashes. She licks it from the corner of her mouth and grins. Shuhua receives the final waves, thick streaks landing across her forehead and cheeks. She keeps her eyes closed through it, her lips parted, cum dripping from her jaw onto her bare chest.
And it keeps coming. The gummy turns what should be a normal orgasm into something absurd. You go back through the lineup, adding more to each face. A second coating on Chaeyoung's glasses, now completely opaque with cum. More on Yunjin's neck and tits. Another streak across Somi's parted lips. By the time you're finally spent, shaking, your hand still wrapped around your softening cock, all six of them are glazed. Thoroughly, comprehensively, disgustingly covered.
The store is silent for a moment.
Then Yunjin starts laughing. Then Ning. Then all of them. Chaeyoung takes the glasses off and holds them up, both lenses completely coated, and that sends everyone into hysterics.
"That was unreal," Asa says, wiping cum from her eyebrow. "Genuinely, medically, that shouldn't be possible."
"I told you guys, these gummy bears are straight-up magical. Holy shit,” Yunjin beams, cum dripping off her chin.
Somi examines the mess on her chest with raised eyebrows. "Okay. I take back what I said earlier. His cock is more than 'fine'."
Asa stands up first, grabbing her shirt from the floor. "Okay. This was incredible. But we need to get out of here before sunrise."
Shuhua freezes mid laugh. "How exactly are we getting out of here, by the way?"
Six girls exchange glances. A long, terrible silence.
Asa looks at Yunjin. "Please tell me you planned the exit."
Yunjin blinks. "My plan went as far as the orgy part. I figured we'd improvise after."
Somi turns to Shuhua slowly. "You're supposed to be the smart one. Please tell me you thought about this."
"The idea wasn't even mine!" Shuhua protests. "And if I were truly the smart one in this group, I wouldn't have come here at all. I was driven entirely by lust, which I am not proud of."
Chaeyoung wipes your glasses on the sheet and puts them back on. "I mean, to be fair, every single person here was driven by lust. Not one of us was thinking logically tonight."
Ning sits back on her heels and surveys the scene. Cum on their faces. A mattress stained beyond repair with squirt. A clearly vandalized store.
"This is fantastic. We're stuck in a mall with the evidence of multiple crimes on our bodies and on this three thousand dollar mattress."
Shuhua nods solemnly. "Yeah, we're done for. Roll credits. Little cartoon circle closing in around our faces and everything." She sighs. "'That's all, folks.'”
All six of them turn to look at you. Hopeful. Desperate, even. Ning clasps her hands together. "Please tell me you have an idea."
You look past them toward the back of the store. Storage area. Receiving dock. "The store's on the first floor. There's gotta be a back door for deliveries. Loading area that opens to the outside. And somewhere back there, a spare key or a push bar."
The relief on their faces is instantaneous. Shoulders dropping. Exhales all around. Yunjin throws her arms up. "See? No reason to panic. Everything was under control the entire time. I planned for this."
"You absolutely did not," Shuhua says flatly.
"Details. Minor details." Yunjin stretches her arms above her head and rolls her neck. Then she looks at you with that familiar, dangerous glint. "So. Who wants a second round?"
Chaeyoung sputters. "Now? Here? We literally just figured out how to escape."
"We have time! The back door isn't going anywhere. And neither is his dick." She gestures at you. "Look at him. He's already getting hard again."
She's not wrong. The gummy's still doing its job. Somi glances down, then looks back up at you. "You seriously got another round in you?”
You look at the six of them. Flushed, sweaty, ridiculously attractive. Still hanging around half delirious at two in the morning in a dark mattress store. Somehow this is reality now.
"For you guys," you say, "I think I can power through.”
Asa smirks. Somi rolls her eyes but she's already moving toward you. Yunjin claps once, saying, "Then it's settled. The night continues." She pushes you back onto the mattress and the rest of them follow, six bodies closing in around you, hands and mouths everywhere.
Due to a sudden illness, Jeongyeon’s body underwent a dramatic change—her weight skyrocketed, and her figure became unrecognizable. For an idol whose career depends on her appearance, this was a crushing blow.
Her once slender and graceful body became bloated and clumsy. The chubby woman staring back at her in the mirror felt like a complete stranger, filling Jeongyeon with shame and alienation. She avoided mirrors, refused to go out, and hid at home, wallowing in self-pity.
As a public figure, Jeongyeon dreaded fans discovering her transformation, terrified of their ridicule and rejection. Her agency worked tirelessly to conceal the issue, fearing it would tarnish the group’s image.
Under this dual pressure, Jeongyeon’s psyche began to warp. She became obsessed with perverse erotic novels, finding fleeting pleasure in their pages.
When night fell, Jeongyeon would sneak into public restrooms, locking herself in the innermost stall. Stripping off her clothes, she faced the grimy walls and began to masturbate.
Her mind was consumed by the wild plots of those stories: rape, domination, humiliation… The thought of these sent heat coursing through her body. She yearned to be ravaged, to be toyed with until her mind unraveled, like the heroines in her novels.
“Mmm… give me more… harder…” Jeongyeon moaned softly with her eyes closed, her fingers moving rapidly between her legs. She deliberately made louder noises, fantasizing about someone bursting in, stripping away her dignity and boundaries.
After what felt like an eternity, Jeongyeon reached climax. She collapsed to the floor, tears streaming down her face. This perverse pleasure left her feeling hollow and sorrowful, yet she was powerless to stop.
9:46 PM
While the other members of TWICE were preparing for their comeback, Jeongyeon was left alone in the dorm again. While watching erotic novels before going to bed, the power suddenly went out due to a faulty circuit breaker. With no other option, Jeongyeon called her manager for help. The manager and his assistant, who were out dining, promised to come over after hearing about the blackout.
The manager and assistant arrived soon and told Jeongyeon to wait while the assistant went to fetch tools and a new circuit breaker. As they waited, the manager struck up a conversation with Jeongyeon.
Soon, the assistant returned with the tools. In the dark dorm, the manager had Jeongyeon hold a flashlight while he worked on replacing the circuit breaker, with the assistant observing nearby.
At that moment, Jeongyeon noticed the manager and assistant staring at her with lecherous eyes. An inexplicable wave of desire surged within her, making it hard to control herself. Feeling overheated, she handed the flashlight to the assistant and stumbled into the bathroom in the dark. The manager continued working on the breaker, while the assistant smirked mischievously.
In the bathroom, Jeongyeon, overwhelmed by desire, even she had just masturbated crazy in a public toilet, clamped her thighs together, bent over the toilet lid, and supported herself with one hand while the other reached down, frantically rubbing her clitoris. She knew she shouldn’t be doing this, but her body’s intense reaction was uncontrollable.
“Why? Why this sudden, overwhelming lust? Why? I can’t take it anymore!” Jeongyeon thought as she pleasured herself, her hips facing the bathroom door. Suddenly, the lights came back on, and she felt a hand on her buttocks. Startled, she stopped but remained bent over, too nervous to look back.
The manager, caressing her round buttocks, said, “Jeongyeon, are you that lonely? Masturbating in the bathroom when there are men in the dorm? TWICE’s girls are so naughty.” The assistant, seeing Jeongyeon in such a compromising position, was stunned but quickly became aroused.
Blushing and too shy to turn around, but being horny at the same time, Jeongyeon whispered, “Oppa, you can’t do this… we’re colleagues.”
“Haha, it’s because we’re colleagues that we should help relieve your loneliness. We’re just being helpful!” the manager said shamelessly, reaching around to unhook her bra. Jeongyeon let out a reluctant “ah.”
The manager pulled down her pajama pants and underwear, leaving her in just her top, her pale, round buttocks fully exposed to the two men.
“So beautiful,” the manager muttered. Both men eagerly groped her soft, white buttocks, occasionally squeezing the flesh.
“Oppa, don’t… don’t bully me like this… it’s not right…” Jeongyeon squirmed slightly, as if trying to evade their hands, but to the two men, it seemed like she was enticing them further.
“Bro, her skin is so smooth, so soft. I wonder how it feels to fuck her,” the assistant said. Jeongyeon buried her face in the toilet lid, too ashamed to face them, but her position made it all too easy for them to molest her. The assistant slipped his hand under her top, roughly kneading her breasts, shaping them into various forms and tugging at her nipples. The manager knelt down, licking her vagina, which was already wet with arousal. His teasing made her labia glisten, her pink folds irresistibly tempting.
“Ah… mm… ah… you can’t… you can’t do this…” Jeongyeon moaned, her remaining shred of rationality making a final stand. The assistant, still groping her breasts, kissed her ears and lifted her shoulders to kiss her face. Jeongyeon’s face was flushed with desire, driving the assistant to kiss her neck, cheeks, and lips passionately. Jeongyeon, moaning, reciprocated, extending her tongue to meet his kisses.
The manager moved his tongue to the area between her anus and vagina, his fingers relentlessly stimulating her clitoris. He licked around her wet anus, probing it with his tongue.
“Ah… ah… don’t… don’t lick there…” Jeongyeon was incoherent, her mind already surrendering to the assault of the two men.
The manager, licking her anus, stood up and said, “, I’ll let you go first. I’ll play with her tits.” Feeling the absence of the manager’s tongue, Jeongyeon felt a strange sense of loss. The assistant dropped his pants, positioned himself behind her, and thrust his erect cock into her vagina.
“Ah… ah…” Jeongyeon felt a rush of fulfillment, accepting the assistant’s assault.
“So good, Jeongyeon. I’ve wanted to fuck you for so long but never had the chance. You’re always so glamorous on stage, I didn’t dare speak much. Turns out you’re such a slut, seducing us to rape you when the others aren’t around,” the assistant said as he thrust.
He watched his cock slide in and out of her vagina, stretching her opening wide, the visual stimulation intense. His cock glistened with her juices. Her pink vagina opened and closed with each thrust.
“Fuck… fuck my pussy… it feels so good… so big… I can’t take it… mm… ah… ah…” The manager sat on the toilet lid, Jeongyeon’s head resting between his legs. He lifted her face, urging her to suck him. With a trace of rationality left, Jeongyeon was overwhelmed by the sight of his cock. Under his coercion, she took half of it into her mouth. The manager enjoyed her blowjob, grabbing her breasts and teasing her nipples.
The assistant, holding her waist, began thrusting rapidly, continuing for about 20 minutes. Jeongyeon’s legs weakened, her body leaning heavily on the manager. His cock went deeper into her mouth, causing her to gag and choke from the intensity.
The assistant’s thighs slapped against her buttocks, reddening them with each impact. Choking on the manager’s cock and overwhelmed by the assistant’s thrusts, Jeongyeon struggled, but the assistant kept pounding her vagina. As he came, she collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.
The assistant, sweating from the exertion, felt exhilarated watching Jeongyeon collapse. The manager stood, lifted her, washed her face, and stripped off her remaining clothes, leaving her completely naked.
He sat her on the toilet lid, placed her legs on his shoulders, and thrust his thick cock into her vagina. The size caused her pain, and she grimaced, clutching his waist as he pounded her. He moved slowly, grinding against her, mixing her juices with the assistant’s semen, and rubbed her clitoris.
Jeongyeon moaned, “Ah… ah… it feels so good… Oppa, you’re fucking me so good…”
The manager said, “Hold her arms. I’ll show you something exciting.”
The assistant grabbed her arms, pulling them from the manager’s waist. The manager sped up, flipping her labia with each thrust. Jeongyeon, never having experienced such a large cock, screamed, “Ah… ah…” The assistant rapidly rubbed her clitoris, overwhelming her with pleasure.
“Ah… ah… Oppa, stop… you can’t fuck me like this… I’ll break… ah…” Jeongyeon trembled, unable to resist the two men. As the manager thrust and the assistant teased her clitoris, she suddenly urinated, spraying onto the manager. Shocked but thrilled, he realized he had reduced a beloved idol to such a state.
Jeongyeon arched her back, screaming, “Ah… ah… don’t…” before climaxing. Her body was covered in urine, sweat, and juices, experiencing unprecedented stimulation.
Exhausted, her arms hung limply as the manager continued fucking her vagina. The assistant placed his cock at her mouth, and she obediently opened it, letting him thrust inside.
In TWICE’s dorm, the manager and assistant took turns—one fucking her vagina, the other her mouth. The assistant deliberately thrust deeply, aroused by her submissive demeanor.
Five minutes later, the assistant shoved his cock fully into her mouth, causing her to struggle and gag, tears and snot streaming down her face. The manager kept pounding her vagina, pulling out and thrusting back in, making her body tremble. Seeing her pained yet aroused expression, the assistant came in her throat.
After cumming, the assistant felt no fatigue, still stroking her body. The manager continued raping her for another half hour before shooting his load deep inside her.
In over an hour, both men had cummed in her mouth and vagina. Exhausted, Jeongyeon sat limply on the toilet, semen dripping from her vagina, too ashamed to look at them.
The manager, crouching to admire her dripping vagina, said excitedly, “Good thing I was prepared and captured this moment.” A camera on the counter had recorded everything.
The assistant, playing with her vagina, said, “Jeongyeon, want more? We’ve helped you relieve your urges.”
Jeongyeon, head bowed, said nothing, her breasts heaving. The assistant’s fingers teased her vagina, slipping inside.
“…Mm…” Jeongyeon moaned instinctively.
The assistant kissed her, speeding up his fingers. Under his teasing, she moaned erotically again.
“…Ah… ah… no more, Oppa… I’m exhausted… ah… mm… ah…” After a few minutes, she climaxed again, urinating high into the air, to the manager’s delight.
3:30 AM
Jeongyeon lay on the bed’s edge, the manager holding her legs, thrusting steadily into her vagina. She was giving the assistant a blowjob, her head hanging off the bed, aligning her throat for deep penetration. The assistant’s cock went fully inside, his pubic hair covering her face, her throat bulging as she swallowed.
Her deep throating pleased the assistant. After a few seconds, he pulled out.
“Cough… cough…” Jeongyeon choked, grabbing his cock to stop him, saying seductively, “Oppa, you’ll kill me!”
The assistant chuckled, groping her breasts, saying, “How could I? I love you too much! Who else would we play with? Come on, keep going.” He thrust back into her mouth.
Jeongyeon obediently continued. After a night of relentless assault, the men’s rhythm was perfect. Soon, her body writhed, gripping the sheets, legs alternating between closing and spreading, toes curling, breathing heavily.
The men exchanged a knowing smile and sped up. Seconds later, Jeongyeon trembled violently, legs clamping around the manager’s waist, her body arching in a sensual curve.
After two minutes of climax, she relaxed. The men stepped back, their erect cocks twitching. Jeongyeon lay smiling, her limbs twitching slightly.
Ten minutes later, she slowly got up. The assistant hugged her from behind, asking, “How was it? Good?”
Leaning weakly against him, she brushed her hair aside and shyly said, “Damn Oppa… you’ll kill me eventually.”
The manager pinched her chin, saying, “Slut, we haven’t even cum yet. What now?”
Jeongyeon glanced at him, her voice dripping with seduction, “Then let this little slut serve you well!” She stood and kissed the manager passionately.
“Bro, mind if I go first?” the assistant asked.
“Go ahead. She almost sucked me dry earlier,” the manager replied. The assistant kissed Jeongyeon, thrusting into her vagina and pumping away.
Watching them, the manager hugged her from behind, saying, “I’ll take the back door, slut.”
“Mm… mmm…” Jeongyeon, lost in the kiss, mumbled in agreement. The manager spit on his hand, rubbed his softening cock, and pressed it against her anus, saying, “Here it comes,” before thrusting in.
“Mmm… mmm…” Jeongyeon moaned muffledly, her mouth occupied.
“So tight…” the manager gasped.
“Yeah, her front’s tight too. Still like a virgin after all this. She’s perfect!” the assistant said, pulling away from her mouth.
“Ah… Oppa… you bad guys… you’ve played with every part of me…” Jeongyeon panted, her voice intoxicatingly seductive.
“Idols are just different. So much better than regular sluts,” the manager said, groping her breast.
“Yeah… it’s like fucking a corpse with them…” the assistant said, thrusting hard.
“You… pervy Oppas…” Jeongyeon gasped.
Sandwiched between them, she moaned, “Oppa… faster… I’m coming… so good… you’re killing me… ah…” She trembled violently, climaxing again.
The men didn’t stop, continuing to fondle her breasts and body while fucking her vagina and anus in sync.
The wet sounds grew louder. Jeongyeon trembled again, clearly thrilled by the prolonged assault, cooperating fully.
After about 15 minutes, with Jeongyeon climaxing again, she hugged the assistant tightly, unable to make a sound, her hands gripping his back, knuckles white, feet arched, toes curled.
The men, reaching their limit, panted heavily, thrusting faster.
“Oh…” The manager roared, pressing against her buttocks, his scrotum contracting as he came in her anus.
“I’m cumming… ah…” The assistant hugged her tightly, thrusting deep, shooting his load into her vagina.
“You’re fucking me to death…” Jeongyeon screamed hysterically, her body tensing before going limp, fainting.
12.4k words | smut, threesome, femdom, sub! reader, edging
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"Mr. Duplantier, please raise your head."
A heavy breath escaped your nostrils as you obeyed the order. You stared at the high ceiling. Thierry, your butler for as long as you could remember, and also your tailor, was adjusting the collar of your three-piece tuxedo, made of vicuña wool, silk, and you had no idea what the hell else. Frankly, you didn't care. You never had.
You were in the main foyer on the second floor of your family residence in Le Roucas-Blanc, standing on a small circular platform. In front of you, a large window opened onto the private terrace, overlooking the tranquil and beautiful Mediterranean Sea off the coast of Marseille. The sun was setting on the horizon, painting the sky in intense shades of red and orange.
"I really don't want to attend that gala, Thierry," you said quietly, clenching your fists nervously.
"I know you don't want to, but you have no other choice, sir," he replied. His voice was velvety and deep. "Your father is counting on you."
You sighed and lowered your head when Thierry allowed you to. The man, well into his seventies, with long, graying hair, took his time bending down and adjusting the hem of your trousers. It was understandable that his body wasn't in its prime anymore. Not like you remembered it ten years ago, when he used to chase you around the residence to scold you for your mischief. Back then you were happier, of course, because you didn't know what it truly meant to be the heir to such a vast fortune, nor all the pressure that rested on your shoulders.
"He's counting on me, but he doesn't care how I feel," you spat out, your gaze lost in the soothing sea.
“That’s nonsense, my young sir,” Thierry straightened with a grunt and draped the handkerchief he’d used to polish your shoes over his left shoulder. “Your father loves you. I know because I’ve known him for forty years.”
“What kind of love is it to force your son to attend silly galas and social events? He knows I’m a disaster.”
“They are your duties, sir,” Thierry remarked, now adjusting your sleeves. “Whether you like it or not. And you’re not a disaster. In fact, you’re a great man with a big heart.”
“That’s no good when you’re terrified in a large enough crowd,” you retorted. “Do you think an heir can be this awful at social events? What will the investors think of me?”
“You don’t need to be a social butterfly to be a good heir, Mr. Duplantier,” Thierry said, turning his back on you and taking a small trunk from the fold-out table he always used for occasions like this. “The stability of your family will be measured by how you perform behind your desk. You don’t need to be friends with anyone.”
“My father would say that’s ridiculous,” you replied absently.
Thierry opened the small trunk. From inside, he took out a watch: the rose-gold Patek Philippe Complications you wore for special occasions. After placing the trunk back on the table, he approached, took your wrist, and looked you in the eye. His gaze was paternal. Intimate.
“With all due respect, Arno, you take what your father says far too seriously,” he said, his voice so measured that it eased your tension. "His way of seeing the world is very different from yours, for his path was taken under completely different circumstances. You already have the path laid out for you, and your only task, my young sir, is not to stray from it, whatever method you use to walk it."
The old man's words pulled you from your reverie. You remained thoughtful for a second, your gaze lowered. The anxiety that gnawed at you didn't disappear immediately, but you were able to see things from a different perspective. One that, perhaps, would serve as a mantra to which you could take refuge during difficult times.
It didn't solve all your problems, but it was a start.
Thierry adjusted the watch on your right wrist and lowered the sleeve of your tuxedo. Unfortunately, you were now ready to leave.
"Your driver is waiting for you downstairs," the old man said, taking a step back. "Allow me to accompany you, sir."
You nodded.
“Yes, of course,” you stepped off the small circular platform, let Thierry take the lead, and followed him.
The Rolls Royce Cullinan that always took you places was waiting outside, parked on the street. It was supposed to be yours, but you’d never actually driven it. Thierry walked beside you and opened the rear door for you when you reached the curb.
“I wish you the best of luck, sir,” Thierry said. “Everything will go well today. You’ll see.”
Your old butler wasn't one to break with formalities often, so it was up to you to break that barrier a little now and then. On this occasion, you did so by giving him a hug. Thierry didn't reject it, but he was careful not to wrinkle your tuxedo too much.
"Thank you, Thierry," you said softly, holding him tightly in your arms. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
Thierry patted you on the back a couple of times.
"You're a strong lad. You would have managed."
After a few seconds, you stepped away from him, gave him one last appreciative nod, and got into the car. The driver started the engine seconds later.
By the time you arrived at your destination—about ten minutes later—it was already night in Marseille.
The car pulled up to the esplanade of the Palais du Pharo, built by Napoleon III in 1858. Outside, there were fewer journalists than you'd expected, but you noticed the place was packed inside. You weren't sure if so many people or such a large venue were really necessary to begin with, but wealthy people loved inviting other wealthy people, as well as their families. It was no wonder the crowd was so large.
Your driver got out and opened the door for you. After a deep breath, you stepped out of the car. Immediately, two men stood beside you: your bodyguards. You knew them both; these two in particular had been serving your family for three years. Mario on the left, Antoine on the right.
The sound of the Rolls Royce door closing behind you was drowned out by the flurry of camera shutters that erupted the moment you started walking. Thankfully, the press hadn't completely surrounded the esplanade. However, the few photographers keeping watch behind the barriers seemed to multiply with every passing second between flashes. You walked, feeling the lash of the Mistral breeze; a frigid, dry, salty air that stung your forehead and threatened to muss your hair.
It was downright torturous, but after suffering permanent damage to your damned retina from the flashes and turning down a few interviews—not you, really; Antoine was in charge of doing it for you—you reached the steps of the Palace. The enormous structure loomed ominously before you, like an imperial colossus made of limestone, bathed in amber light that highlighted its black mansard roofs.
You began to climb the steps, feeling the weight of the gazes of the newly arrived guests who turned, curious, to see how a bigger fish than themselves was making an appearance. It was no secret to you that you were rather unpopular with the elite. The only thing that reassured you, at least, was that the motives were purely superficial, since you had never actually done anything to anyone.
As you crossed the threshold, the port's chill gave way to a dense, dry air. The main hall stretched out beneath a black and white marble floor, a polished checkerboard pattern that reflected the gleam of the chandeliers on the ceiling. The walls, moreover, were paneled in dark oak halfway up, and the upper portion was upholstered in silk tapestries in pristine cream tones.
You ascended the interior stone staircase. Upon reaching the main floor, you entered the Salons Napoléoniens, a suite of interconnected rooms that formed the historic heart of the building, its walls adorned in white and gold. The wooden parquet floor led you to the Salon Eugénie, where the greatest number of important figures, and probably your father, would be found.
Of course, you weren't wrong.
Pascal Duplantier occupied the center of the long, rectangular room, beneath the main crystal chandelier, letting, as always, the flow of people orbit around him like his own personal asteroid belt. Behind him, through the immense arched windows, the lights of Fort Saint-Jean and the entrance to the Old Port were silhouetted against the black of the Mediterranean Sea.
Your heart raced for a split second. You tried to blend in and lose yourself among the guests, but he spotted you quickly. You stopped dead in your tracks. Your father's chin tensed slightly, then he bowed his head to his inner circle and walked toward you.
Standing just inches from you, Pascal placed a firm hand on your shoulder, almost a grip. One of the many ways he asserted his authority over you, forcing you to keep your shoulders straight.
"It’s good that you’re here, son," he said, giving your shoulder a light shake. "You look quite handsome. You’re wearing the..."
"The watch you gave me?" you cut him off. "Yes, of course."
A smile spread across his face from ear to ear.
"Splendid, because I have a couple of people I’d like to introduce you to."
Pascal stepped aside and gave you a gentle nudge to get you moving.
"But..."
Unwilling to accept any objections, your father steered you through the crowd until you reached one of the marble fireplaces at one end of the ballroom. A group of four people stood waiting in silence, observing your arrival with an uncomfortable and barely disguised scrutiny. You were forced to converse with them for a couple of agonizing minutes, but eventually—and once your father gave you leave—you managed to slip away.
The relief of escaping your father’s circle was immediate, yet you knew that your peace wouldn't last for very long. Sooner or later, someone was bound to approach you; it was always that way. And while it wasn't something that particularly bothered you, you preferred to speak with as few people as possible.
The gala was being held in this room as well as two others—one of which was larger and more centrally located. You headed there, toward the spacious bar that had been set up, politely greeting those who respectfully approached you. Some seemed eager to prolong the conversation, but you cut them all short with a wide array of excuses you had long since mastered.
"Just a sparkling water, please," you requested of the bartender, hands clasped behind your back, shoulders back, and posture straight. You might not have been the most eloquent of speakers, but you took pleasure in elegance and in maintaining proper etiquette.
It took the bartender just under a minute to hand you the small, wide glass. You cradled it between your fingers, letting the cold lower your pulse a little before taking a small sip. There were too many people there. They could pretend all they wanted that they weren't watching your every minuscule movement, but you weren't a fool; you knew when you were being judged.
And frankly, you didn't handle pressure very well.
You scanned the room with an eagle eye, searching for a place to slip away to.
There. All the windows facing the room's balcony were closed, save for one. Sparkling water in hand, you stepped away from the bar and made your way through the mass of guests. Of course, you didn't have to exert much effort, as people tended to part around you like a school of fish around a shark.
They let you out onto the balcony without any trouble. The change in the air was instantaneous, and the sea breeze blew once again, comforting against your face. You let out a deep exhale, took a sip of your water, and rested a hand on the balustrade, between two sculptures carved from the same limestone.
The beautiful garden stretching out before the palace and the cliff became the focus of your attention as you sank into your ruminations. Part of them revolved around Thierry’s words. The old butler was wise; you would never doubt that. But he couldn't truly understand how difficult it was for you to be there at that moment, wanting to jump off the balcony as if the building itself were on fire. It was frustrating, for you truly wished you could be better than that. An ideal heir, charismatic and...
Someone stepped out onto the balcony. You were no longer alone.
The sound of footsteps snapped you out of your reverie. Heels. Two pairs. Two women. You kept your gaze fixed on the horizon, relying on your peripheral vision to observe as two figures—clad in matching black dresses—settled at a moderate distance from you. You took a subtle step to the left, claiming that corner of the balustrade for yourself.
They began speaking in an Asian language. After listening for a few seconds, you realized it was Japanese. What on earth were two Japanese women doing in Marseille? Your father didn't have business partners on that side of the world—not that you knew of, anyway; just a couple of Chinese investors who hadn't even attended due to scheduling conflicts.
You didn't understand a single word, but the difference between the two of them was evident. One woman’s voice was colder, more reserved; she weighed every word carefully and relied on short, concise sentences. The other was far more expressive, faster-paced. It almost seemed as though she didn't process her thoughts before letting them tumble out of her mouth.
The reason you had come outside was to be alone; but if you weren't going to get that solitude anymore, what was the point of staying? You turned around—very slowly—and took...
The exchange between them ceased abruptly.
"Are you also going to escape from here, Arno?" one of them asked in perfect French, amused.
You stayed very still. Shit.
Not wanting to be rude, you slowly turned around until you were looking at them.
And for Christ's sake, they were both beautiful.
"Euh… excusez-moi?" you said.
The woman on the left, with skin as pale as a piece of white chalk, dark brown hair tied up in a ponytail and dressed in a tight black dress that hugged her toned figure with a blazer on, took a step forward, a subtle smile on her face,
"Excuse my friend, Monsieur Duplantier," she said, also in perfect French, her hands clasped on her belly. Her voice was deep, authoritative. "The fresh air makes her think out loud."
"It's okay," you said, and looked at them both. "Uhm... do I know you?"
"No, the truth is that you don’t have the honor," said the other woman, with her lower back leaning against the balustrade and a glass of wine in her hand. Her raven hair was long and shiny, with perfectly cut bangs and two strands of hair marking her round face on each side.
Her companion gave her a stern look, to which she responded by raising the glass to her lips to take a sip.
"Excuse her again," the pale woman insisted with a slight bow. "Allow me to introduce ourselves. I am Céliane Velyaro, director of procurement at Dumonra Holdings, and my assistant here is Noélie Tessara."
You frowned. Those weren’t exactly… Japanese names. In fact, they even sounded French. Who were these women?
"Ah… my pleasure," you nodded. "I'm Arno. Arno..."
"Duplantier," Noélie cut you off. "We know."
Céliane glared at her again, but instead of scolding her, she sighed.
"Dumonra Holdings, you say?" you asked. You didn't really know what to do with your hands considering that you were holding a glass in one, so you chose to carry them behind your back, tapping the floor with the top of your foot, avoiding direct eye contact. "It... rings a bell."
"That's fantastic!" Céliane said, her voice a little more spirited, but just as restrained. "I am pleased to know that our influence is beginning to extend beyond Oros. You see..."
There it was. Oros. Of course they were not Japanese. Actually, they weren’t French either.
"Where was Oros again?" you asked, more to yourself than to them. "It was the… east coast of the United States, right? Near New York?"
"You are correct."
You nodded slowly. Oros was probably one of the most important cities in the world in recent years. Many things reached the ears of the European Union, some certainly disturbing. But until now the relationship between the city-state and the rest of the political-commercial landscape had been predominantly cold. For now, you feared.
"Uhm... well, I hope you enjoy the evening. Thank you for coming."
"We're interested in your family business, Arno," Noélie was quick to say as you were about to go back inside.
You stopped in your tracks once again and let out a sigh. Seriously, they didn't realize you just wanted to run away?
"Those matters are handled by my father," you said, exhausted. "I'm afraid I have no power over the business."
Céliane's lips curved into a smile... somewhat ominous.
"Not yet," she replied.
"Yes, and that means I have no power to discuss these matters with anyone. With your permission..."
"Don't you feel suffocated, Arno?" Noélie asked, and for the first time, she moved away from the balustrade and stood close to you. "With unbearable pressure on your shoulders?"
You were unaware of the customs of the people of Oros, but in the rest of the world, Noélie was undoubtedly invading your personal space. She was looking at you closely, with a pair of round eyes and extremely attractive, full lips parted. You couldn't help but take a quick and sneaky look at her more than generous bust.
"I-I..."
"Would you accept a drink for us in a more... private place, Monsieur Duplantier?" Céliane asked.
"I-I already told you that I have no power over my family's business."
“No need,” Noélie said, and drank the rest of her wine, staring at you. "Not for the initial phases, at least. But don't worry, our kind is quite... patient."
"Ah, of course... well, I would love to attend to you, but I have other pending matters. It will have to be for another..."
“Stop lying, please,” Céliane said, standing in front of you, hands clasped in front of her, her posture straight. "You have no business to attend to other than to keep running from corner to corner away from people. Instead, what I offer you is a private place where, instead of having to put up with hundreds of people, you will only have to put up with two. Don't you think that's a lot better?"
"Besides, you just have to listen to us," Noélie added. "I'd say it's in your best interest to do so."
You looked at them both briefly in the eyes. Damn, they were right: what better opportunity were you going to have to have a break, at least in the company of two strangers? Besides, it wasn't going to do you any harm to lend your ears for a little while, no more than what you suffered in there.
Right?
"Alright," you sighed. "But make it quick, please."
Céliane smiled without showing her teeth.
"Don't worry, we won't be a bother to your precious time, Monsieur," she assured.
"Not as long as you're cooperative," Noélie added, more quietly, her breath smelling of wine and... something else you couldn't make out, before standing alongside Céliane, who didn't seem to have heard her.
You just blinked, thinking you had heard wrong. Had she... had she threatened you?
"Follow us, please."
Céliane turned around and walked into the room, closely followed by Noélie and, five feet behind, by you.
As expected, a good number of glances turned to you and the women you followed. You could almost hear what they were whispering to each other. "That's not Monsieur Pascal's heir, following two attractive women going who knows where? In the middle of the gala? Scandalous! What will his father think of him?"
But of course, you didn't care about all that. If there was a clear motivation for you at the time it was to get away from public scrutiny, and your father was the least of your worries; he, in fact, would surely be proud, according to his twisted and perverted way of thinking regarding business. He would have gladly wanted to be in your position.
Céliane and Noélie guided you out of the salon, and subsequently out of the Salons Napoléoniens. You walked through the wide and extensive corridors of the palace, leaving behind some curious guests who turned to look at you when you passed by them, as if to say: "Wasn't that...?" Yes, yes you were. It was strange even for you and your usual behaviors, let alone for others.
You ended up going down to the second floor of the palace, by then less crowded. As you turned a corner, you watched with a frown as one of the doors ahead was guarded on either side by two armed men. But not armed with guns or rifles or batons, armed with...
"T-those are halberds?" you asked as the two women approached said door.
"Oh, yes. Made of an alloy of steel and tungsten carbide," Céliane responded with disinterest.
"But why...?"
The guards, both dressed in charcoal-colored, military-style, long-draped frock coats, with side zippers and open at the bottom to reveal a pair of tall black boots and silk pants, stepped aside as Céliane and Noélie stood in front of them. They were both tall, with broad shoulders. They wore dark iron helmets, with a spiked crest and outward-curving side fins. And their faces remained hidden behind ominous masks that obscured their eyes, making them look like two empty sockets.
"Customs of our nation, Monsieur Duplantier," Céliane said with her back to you, hands on the handles of the double doors. "Please don't dwell on it."
The pale woman opened the doors wide, entering a small living room with six sofas, five of them single, arranged around a glass coffee table, covered in silk damask fabric, decorated with fringe trimmings and with an elegant tufted finish. All this outlined on a wool rug, with a classic floral design in pastel tones.
Noélie passed Céliane and went to the right of the room, where a quiet fire crackled inside a fireplace, surmounted by a tall gold-framed mirror. The guards closed the door behind you. Céliane turned to look at you.
"Take a seat, Monsieur Duplantier," she invited you, gesturing to the couches. At that moment Noélie returned from the fireplace, with a bottle of wine in hand and three crystal glasses. She put everything on the glass table.
"Uhm… thank you," you nodded.
You walked around the largest sofa and took a seat. Céliane did the same, placing herself in one of the singles to your left. Noélie sat opposite. Being there was undoubtedly more peaceful than at the gala, but it didn't mean that you weren't nervous. The two women couldn't stop looking at you, almost predatorily. They wanted something from you. Something they knew you could give them.
"Tell me, Monsieur Duplantier," said Céliane, uncorking the bottle of wine. "How much actual knowledge do you have about your father's business?"
You blinked. You weren't expecting that question.
"Well… not as much as you think I have. That's for sure," you said, hesitantly accepting the glass of wine that Céliane offered you. "I know, as do you, that we have control of almost the entire port and that there are a considerable number of construction and logistics companies that depend on us."
You waited for a response, but received only silence. It was patently obvious that it wasn't enough. With a sigh, you took a small sip of your wine and shook your head. You had to weigh your words very carefully so as not to screw things up. It would be all too easy to do so, and the consequences were worse than you could even contemplate.
"I’m not exactly privy to the details, ladies," you said, despite being actually quite well-informed. "I learn only what I’m permitted to know; I am well-versed in economics and other fields, certainly. I simply know that we handle a great deal of money, and a great many people."
"Wow, put that way, it sounds almost pristine," Céliane remarked with a chuckle, pouring wine for herself and Noélie.
You tightened your grip slightly on your glass.
"E-excusez-moi?"
Céliane set down the wine bottle and elegantly crossed her legs in her seat, glass held aloft. Her eyes turned back to you.
"Are you claiming, then, Monsieur Arno, that you possess no precise knowledge regarding how that money is generated, moved, and spent?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Hm?"
"N-no, I do not have access to that information," you replied, shaking your head.
With a gesture that was both utterly calm and calculated, Céliane raised her glass to her lips and drained the entire contents in a single gulp. Noélie followed suit.
"Your father is a corrupt man, Arno," Céliane spat out coldly, examining the glass in her hand. "Corrupt to the very core. A scourge. An apple that went rotten long ago and now sits festering in a pile of filth."
Your heart skipped a beat. You swallowed hard, feeling an unpleasant chill run down your spine. You could neither refute her words nor feign offense, for it was the absolute, unvarnished truth. Pascal Duplantier was not a good man—of that much, at least, you were certain, despite how much he kept hidden from you. Thierry was, of course, the source of your knowledge.
"I—I... have to go. Please excuse me."
You made a move to stand up, but in the blink of an eye, someone seized you by the wrist and held you seated with tremendous force. Horrified, you turned to your right to see Noélie sitting beside you, a calm smile on her face. How the hell had she gotten there so fast? Were you so nervous that you hadn't even noticed when she stood up?
"You don't have to lie to us, Arno," said Céliane, refilling her wine glass. "It is pointless for you to pretend to respect him."
Noélie, right up against your right side, leaned against you, your arm nestled between her large, round breasts as if by pure accident. You avoided her gaze at all costs.
"With us, you can stop pretending, Arno," she said, her voice honeyed and slightly husky. "We know that you aren't like him."
"You don't know me..." you muttered under your breath, trying to sound calm. You hadn't even attempted to stand up again, though you knew you wouldn't have been able to anyway.
"Oh, well, I wouldn't be so sure," Céliane replied, swirling the wine in her glass. "I think we know you all too well. You really don't want to know how well."
"For God's sake... what do you want? You're cops, aren't you? A-Are you going to hurt me...?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.
Noélie let out a dry laugh.
"Don't be ridiculous, Arno," she said. "First of all, no. We aren't cops. And if we wanted to hurt you, you’d already be floating face-down off some deserted coast in Greece."
Céliane let out a sigh, set her glass down on the table, and leaned forward.
"Don't be foolish, Noélie; you're scaring him," the pale woman said in a low voice, though her eyes gleamed with undiminished intensity. "Listen, Arno. What we want is to offer you a way out. A way to ensure your prestigious family name is no longer sullied by Pascal's activities."
"I'm certain you aren't doing this out of charity. P-please, get to the point. And... can you let go of me, please? My wrist hurts."
Noélie released her grip. Your muscles ached slightly where she had held you. Just how strong was that woman? She remained close to you, however. Her breath warm against your neck. She had your nerves completely on edge.
"We want Trans-Marseille Solutions," Céliane finally stated. "It controls the docking rights and the heavy-cargo warehouses."
Céliane uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way. The movement—perhaps intentionally on her part—afforded you a fleeting glimpse of her shapely thighs and what appeared to be a pair of wine-red lace panties. You blushed and averted your gaze.
"As you well know, that is the company your esteemed father uses for his dirty dealings," she continued. "If, for any reason, that structure collapses, it will drag Duplantier & Fils, and you, as an accomplice, down with it. In short, Monsieur Arno, we want that subsidiary to become an asset managed by Dumonra Holdings. We provide international legal cover and security, and you... well, you get the noose off your neck."
Noélie seized upon your silence to rest her hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently, a reminder that you remained trapped between her and the sofa.
"Think about it, Arno," she whispered. "All you have to do is give us the name of the front man running that company on your father's behalf. We can force Pascal into an early and safe retirement."
"S-so you’re acting like you know so much, yet you don't even know his name?" you asked, staring down at the rug.
Céliane let out a nasal laugh.
"We know who appears in the official records, Arno. We know that perfectly well," she said. "But at this level, the official name is usually just some poor wretch who was paid to sign on the dotted line. We want the name of the man who truly holds the power. The one your father visits in private." Céliane moistened her lips, letting her gaze drift down to yours for a fleeting moment. "All we need is a name."
Shit. What the hell had you gotten yourself into? You blamed it squarely on your damn inability to say no; had you done so, they wouldn't have dragged you off alone in the first place. Now you were neck-deep in shit.
"I—I... I'm n-not sure..." you began to say.
Noélie slid her hand down from your shoulder, tracing a torturously slow path across your chest until it came to rest just above your heart, which was pounding like a war drum.
"Don't be so suspicious, Arno," Noélie murmured close to your ear, her lips brushing against your lobe. "We wouldn't ask you for something so valuable if we weren't prepared to pay you back in kind."
With a completely deliberate motion, Noélie shifted subtly, pressing her side more firmly against yours. You felt the firm pressure of her thigh against yours as she leaned in. You pursed your lips and let out a deep exhale, making her smile at your reaction.
"Imagine," Noélie continued, her voice growing huskier and more sensual. "Waking up tomorrow knowing you are no longer an accomplice to a criminal who forces you to do his bidding. To be the clean, unblemished face of the Duplantier family. You would have autonomy, respect, and above all..." Noélie lowered her hand and placed it on your thigh. "Our most intimate gratitude."
Céliane rose to her feet with a terrifyingly slow deliberation and walked until she stood directly in front of you. She leaned forward, resting one hand on the back of the sofa, just above your head.
"Give us the name, Arno," Céliane commanded, her face mere inches from yours. "You will be generously rewarded."
"But..."
Noélie’s fingers began to slowly inch their way up the fabric of your trousers, seeking the outline of your cock, which was growing harder with every passing second. You let out a sharp gasp when she finally closed her hand around your bulge, with a firmness that made you arch your hips slightly.
"Come on, relax, Arno..." Noélie murmured. "You’re too tense."
Noélie unbuckled your belt with practiced ease. Then, with a couple of precise movements, she lowered your zipper and slid her hand inside your boxers to make direct contact with your erection. You shuddered; her skin was cold. Her fingers wrapped around your shaft and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"Mmm... you’re big," Noélie said. "That’s exactly why I love shy guys."
"The name, Monsieur Arno," Céliane insisted once more, as if you hadn't heard her the first time. She raised her other hand and caressed your cheek with a pointed fingernail. "Don’t you want us?"
Noélie gave you another squeeze and rubbed the palm of her hand up and down the length of your cock, reaching your balls as well. You were paralyzed, as if caught in an uncomfortable limbo. On one hand, you wanted to stand up and flee, to avoid, at all costs, putting your family's safety at risk. On the other, the voice of your conscience whispered in your ear that this was the right thing to do. That perhaps you—the Duplantiers—were better off without your father and his dirty dealings. It was a possibility that had been lurking in the back of your mind.
And on a third hand—a more immediate, carnal one—you really wanted these women to fuck you. It had been far too long, a couple of years, perhaps, since you’d been intimate with anyone. At this point, you were certain you wouldn't find a better opportunity to end your dry spell.
But of course, apparently that was entirely on you.
"Y-You guys are going to get me into a hell of a mess..." you wheezed, trying to clear your thoughts.
"Nonsense, nothing of the sort," Céliane assured you. "Our intelligence services are more than capable enough to ensure your stability from day one."
Noélie, oblivious to your conversation and perhaps a little impatient, tugged your trousers and boxers down to mid-thigh, thereby freeing your erect, throbbing cock. She wrapped her fingers around it and began stroking it up and down. Céliane herself moved her hand away from your face and down to your balls, caressing them with her fingernails.
"T-Thierry... my butler..." you began to say.
"The old man is more pristine than a newly opened public square," Céliane interjected. "He won't be affected."
That, at least, was a relief. But could you really be sure of it? You didn't know these women. They weren't even American, or European. They were Asian, but yet not quite. They hailed from a hermetic, technologically advanced city-state, one that had only recently begun to surface in the public consciousness. Could you really trust them?
Noélie and Céliane continued with their ministrations, so you opted for silence for the moment.
Your cock throbbed within Noélie's hand, which moved with a steady yet relentless rhythm—each stroke chipping away a little piece of your willpower. Céliane gave your balls a gentle squeeze, then spat into her hand and brought it up to your tip, rubbing her palm in circles around your glans while Noélie worked the shaft.
The moan that escaped your lips made them both smile. Noélie pressed herself against your arm, her round breasts brushing against you on either side. Céliane, meanwhile, propped one foot up on the sofa beside your hip, giving you another glimpse of her panties, which, only from this distance, did you realize were semi-transparent. Beneath them, you caught a glimpse of a pretty, hairless pussy.
Together, they redoubled their efforts. Both hands moved up and down your hard, slick cock with fluid, coordinated wrist movements. It was overwhelming. And to make matters worse, Noélie began letting out soft little moans right into your ear. Sweet, lovely, sensual moans.
You were close. Very close. You felt it at the base of your spine, in the rush of blood to your crotch. Both women noticed and quickened their wrist movements.
But just as you let out a hoarse gasp and rolled your eyes back, on the verge of exploding, they both stopped dead in their tracks. They withdrew their hands completely, leaving you with an unbearable emptiness. The desperation you felt was something you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy.
"Ah-ah..." Céliane chided, tilting her head with a cruel smile. "We haven't heard a name yet, petit Arno. You wouldn't want to stay like this, would you? I imagine it must be a... frustrating sensation."
Noélie licked her lips, reveling in the look of disarray on your face.
"Come on, I know you want to," Noélie purred, bringing her hand close again, though not quite touching you, merely grazing your skin with her fingertips.
"P-Please... please!" you begged.
"The name comes first," Céliane said sternly. You remained silent for several long seconds, prompting Céliane to take a step back. "Bah, it's no use. Let's go, Noélie; he's not going to..."
A sudden surge of alarm made you grab her wrist tightly and finally give in.
"Adrient Boyer!" you blurted out, your breathing ragged.
Great. You had officially become a snitch.
Céliane glanced down at your hand, which was still clamped around her wrist. You blushed and let go.
"Adrient Boyer, you say?" she asked. "And why should we believe you?"
"I—I swear it!" you nodded. "Adrient Boyer. My father always calls him before heading to the docks."
Céliane exchanged a glance with Noélie and offered a faint smile, apparently satisfied with the answer. She returned to her spot in front of you, this time resting a knee on the sofa right beside your left hip, forcing you to stare up close at her lace-clad crotch.
"Boyer... the accountant who supposedly retired two years ago," Céliane murmured. "Quite clever of Pascal, I must say."
Noélie, seeing that you had kept your end of the bargain, closed her hand around your cock once more. She cast all subtlety aside; now the friction was constant, frenetic. Her wrist moved with expert precision. You moaned instantly.
"Good boy, Arno," Noélie whispered close to your ear, using her thumb to rub your own precum around your glans. "We Dumonras always keep our promises."
Céliane didn't lag behind, bringing her hand back to your crotch as well. While Noélie tended to the shaft and the tip, Céliane wrapped her fingers around the base, squeezing firmly. Her other hand came into play, too; her fingernails toyed with your balls.
"Just so you know, this is only part of the payment for your honesty, petit Arno," Céliane murmured, her voice deepening. "But you have to earn the rest."
The two of them synchronized once again. Their hands rose and fell in unison. The sensation was chaotic and overwhelming, leaving you paralyzed with pleasure, your hips tensed against the sofa. Noélie buried her face in your neck, letting her hot breath wash over your skin as she moaned your name softly.
"Tell us something else, Arno," Céliane whispered, bringing her face dangerously close to yours, so close that your noses brushed. "Where does your father usually meet with Boyer? What place does he tend to frequent after his trips to the docks?"
The pleasure was so overwhelming that you had to mentally repeat the question to yourself several times. Location. You knew the location. You weren't entirely sure if Boyer attended regularly, but it was the place where your father usually went to meet up with his cronies. You would have been reluctant to share that information, but your brain was being so deliciously melted that it slipped past your mental filters effortlessly.
"C-Cassis!" you panted, your eyes squeezed shut. "A villa near Pointe des Lombards!"
Noélie picked up the pace, and Céliane began to rotate her hand with a technique that made you curl your toes inside your shoes and arch your back. This time, thank God, they didn't stop. You felt your climax drawing dangerously near: an uncontrollable torrent of fire surging up through your urethra.
"That's it..." Céliane smiled, watching with fascination as your body went rigid. "Let it all go, Arno. Be ours. Cum... cum for us."
"Cum, Arno," Noélie moaned into your ear in turn.
With a loud groan, you climaxed so violently that you were left breathless, profusely coating both women's hands, and your own abdomen, with the thick jets of semen spurting from the tip of your cock. Noélie let out a soft chuckle, feeling your intense throbbing against her hand, while Céliane wiped away a drop that had splashed onto her cheek with her finger. She glanced at it for a second, then brought her finger to her mouth.
You lay there panting, your heart racing a mile a minute. Noélie gave you a couple more gentle strokes, milking every last drop out of you.
Céliane leaned further over you, letting a lock of her hair brush against your forehead.
"Cassis. Good," she approved. "You’ve been very useful, petit Arno. But you could be even more so."
"Mmm, and I’ve barely even started having fun with you," Noélie panted.
Before you or Céliane could say another word, Noélie lay down on her side on the sofa, her torso resting across your thigh, and took you into her mouth, warm and wet, to clean up every drop of semen with slow, sensual sucks.
"Well, be grateful that my partner here is a bit of a..." Céliane raised an eyebrow at Noélie’s noisy slurps as she polished your cock with her tongue. "...slut."
Noélie lifted her head from your lap once she was finished, completing the task by giving your pubic area a long lick to gather the semen that had landed there as well.
"It’s not my fault that cum is just as delicious as a good dose of AB negative," Noélie said, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
"Wait a second," you said, shaking your head, thinking you must have misheard. "AB... negative? Isn't that...?"
"Information, Monsieur Arno," Céliane cut you off quickly, shooting a withering glare at Noélie. "We need more information."
"B-but what else do you want from me?!" you asked, exasperated.
"I’m certain Boyer isn't the only one who frequents that place," Céliane leaned toward you, allowing her expensive perfume to fill your lungs. "In fact, I’m sure you’ve been there yourself, don't try to lie about it. So... who else have you seen there, petit Arno?"
You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her gaze. You definitely weren't cut out for this shit. Maybe someone else would have been a tougher nut to crack, but not you.
"L-Lemaire..." you croaked out. "Jean-Pierre Lemaire. H-he's... a customs inspector, I think. Regional."
Céliane smiled slightly, satisfied, and took a step back to remove her blazer. She was left in her tight, sleeveless dress. Then she pulled down the top and rolled it up above her navel, revealing a lace bra the same color as her panties, with sheer straps. Next, she unzipped the side of the bottom. As she pulled it down, Céliane slid the rest of the dress down her legs, still wearing her strappy heels.
You were left breathless. Her body was, without fear of exaggeration, perfect: toned in all the right places and brimming with alluring curves. Toned sexy abs; wide hips; small waist, beautiful legs; and small yet round breasts.
"O-oh... wow," you murmured.
Noélie let out a soft giggle to your right and began to undress, first pulling down the top of her velvet dress. Her bra, also lace but black, barely contained her large, beautiful breasts. The bottom of the dress also fell to the floor, revealing panties that matched her bra.
Of course, Noélie wasn't far behind. Her legs were slightly thinner and larger than Céliane’s, less sculpted, but she carried a bit more flesh here and there, complete with a round, firm ass. Not that she really needed anything more, anyway; her breasts alone were enough to make your mouth water.
"Come on, touch me, Arno," Noélie encouraged you, kneeling down to your right with her hands resting on her own thighs. "You’ve earned it for being such a good boy."
You blinked.
"C-can I really...?"
"Don't make me say it twice."
Hesitantly, you raised a hand and closed it around her left breast, soft and yielding to the touch, squeezing it a couple of times until she let out a moan. Then, a few moments later, Noélie grasped the back of your head and buried your face deep in her cleavage. Instinctively, you began to kiss and lick every inch of her skin.
"Mmm, you like them, don't you?" Noélie asked, amused.
While she smothered you in her breasts, Céliane stepped closer and worked quickly on the upper half of your tuxedo—the very one Thierry had spent so long perfecting—until you were stripped naked from the waist up. Next, she turned her attention to your trousers, making you take off your shoes so she could slide them down and off your legs.
Being completely naked alongside those two women felt surreal, yet no less worthy of the hottest of fantasies. You were so aroused that your erection throbbed without anyone even touching it. You needed them like you needed damn air to breathe.
You felt Céliane move with a predatory elegance. She turned around, presenting her back to you, and slowly lowered herself onto your lap, sandwiching your shaft between her perfect buttocks. barely concealed beneath a layer of thin lace.
"You can touch me, too, petit Arno," Céliane purred, her voice low and heavy with lust, her hands resting on your knees as she began to move in a circular rhythm, rubbing your cock directly against her ass.
You brought your left hand straight to one of Céliane’s buttocks, sinking your fingers into her firm flesh with a tight squeeze that made her let out a low moan and intensify the friction against your cock. You panted against Noélie’s breasts, which were now thoroughly slicked with your saliva. If only she would...
"I see you're hungry, sweetheart," you heard Noélie say. "Let me help you."
As if the gates of heaven had opened just for you, Noélie reached a hand behind her back and unclasped her bra, letting it fall into her lap. Her pair of breasts, with slightly dark, enticing nipples, were left exposed mere centimeters from your face. You immediately took one into your mouth, licking and sucking with a desperate need you made no attempt to hide.
It was fucking paradise; you were sure of it. You felt so ecstatic that you almost forgot you had only met them that very night, and that they were coaxing information out of you to help dethrone your father, all in exchange for sex.
However, just as you were slipping into a trance-like state, and perhaps to put on the brakes for both of their sakes, Céliane paused and glanced back at you over her shoulder. Noélie, in turn, placed a finger against your forehead and pushed you away from her breasts with barely any effort. Seriously, why the hell was she so strong?
Frustrated, you turned to look at Céliane.
"More names, petit Arno," she urged you. "You don't actually think that's enough for us, do you?"
"Merde..." you growled, shaking your head. You closed your eyes, trying to remember. "Uhm... uh... William Loughty. H-he's... he’s the owner of the shipping fleet that ferries goods back and forth between Italy and Monaco... I saw him once, around Christmas."
"What exactly does he import from Italy...?" Céliane ventured.
"U-uh, well... raw materials for the refineries in..."
"Don't be ridiculous, Arno; we already know that," Céliane cut you off.
"But I really don't know anything else!"
"In that case..."
Céliane made a move to stand up, and Noélie to step away.
"No! Please!" you hastened to squeal. "Fuck!" You shook your head and lowered your gaze. "O-once, I heard them talking about... well... cocaine paste. At least forty tons from Palermo and Syracuse."
"And...?" Céliane raised an eyebrow.
"And my father approved those imports," you stated, the words tumbling from your mouth like broken glass. It was a bitter feeling. Maybe your father was a son of a bitch, but he was your own flesh and blood. It didn't feel entirely right. "I don't know anything else about it. I swear to God!"
Céliane chuckled softly.
"Calm down, calm down; you don't have to get so worked up, sweetie," Céliane soothed you. "I believe you. You're a good boy."
Your cock throbbed beneath her ass.
"P-please... stop calling me that."
"Huh?" Céliane raised both eyebrows. "What, that you're a good boy?"
You squeezed one of her buttocks tighter, then rested your hand on her slender waist.
"Our petit Arno likes being told he's a good boy, huh?" Noélie giggled. "Why shouldn't we call you that? It is what you are, after all." She placed a hand on your chest and rubbed it in circles, her lips brushing against your neck. "A cute, good, obedient boy."
"For the love of God, this shit isn't fair..." you whispered, your voice barely a thread.
"Good boys get what they deserve. Don't they, Noélie?"
"I certainly think so."
Noélie waited for Céliane to stand up, then gave you a shove, making you lie down lengthwise along the sofa, lifting your right leg onto the seat while leaving the other one dangling. Then, without a word, Céliane glanced back at you over her shoulder as she grasped the waistband of her panties and slowly slid them down to her ankles, making sure to bend her knees so that, from your vantage point below, you had a perfect view of her wet, pristine pussy mere inches from your face.
"You're going to eat me out real good... aren't you, sweetie?" Céliane asked, clenching her buttocks and spreading them wide to reveal her pussy lips and her asshole.
You nodded rapidly, desperate. Céliane stifled a smile by biting her lower lip; then, bracing one hand against the backrest of the sofa, and still standing, she slowly lowered her ass until she was sitting directly on your face, her pussy pressed tight against your mouth.
You moaned against her tender, moist flesh. Your vision was obscured by soft, milky skin. Not much air was getting through, but that was the least of your worries. You placed a hand on her thigh and summoned every ounce of your skill at giving oral sex to women.
Fortunately, you were rewarded just seconds later by a genuine, sensual moan from Céliane.
"That's it, baby," Céliane murmured, shifting the full weight of her lower body onto your face as you licked between her delicious folds and around her clit. "Such a good boy... fuck."
At the other end of the sofa, you felt Noélie shifting around on your legs. You couldn't tell what she was doing, not until you felt a pair of soft, full, and fluffy pillows envelop your cock from either side, pinning it firmly between them. Then, after spitting a copious amount of saliva into her cleavage, she began moving up and down, giving you a titjob that made you moan against Céliane’s pussy.
The sensory feast was overwhelming yet marvelous. On one hand, you had the metallic, sweet taste of Céliane on your tongue; on the other, you had Noélie moving relentlessly up and down, giving you no respite as your cock slid between those two soft mounds.
It wasn't long before Céliane began letting out hoarse moans, growing louder with every breath. She had switched hands to brace herself against the backrest, allowing her to grab your hair and give it little tugs to press you even harder—if that were even possible—against her ass. Her thighs were trembling, too. And after a few seconds of sucking, licking, and hungry kisses against her pussy, she let out a stifled cry and exploded all over your face.
"Mmmgh, fuck!" Céliane whimpered, drenching your mouth and nose with her delicious climax, her thighs still quivering. "My good boy really knows how to eat pussy!"
Noélie stopped her ministrations not long after, releasing your cock from between her breasts.
"My turn," Noélie panted.
Céliane stood up without a word and swapped places with Noélie. You didn't even have time to react before Noélie climbed onto the sofa, straddled your collarbone, and leaned in just a little closer to push her panties aside and bury her pussy, sporting a small patch of pubic hair. right against your mouth.
"Mmm!" she moaned as you diligently devoured her pussy in return. "Delicious... fuck."
Céliane took Noélie's spot between your legs, but instead of using her breasts, she wrapped her lips around your cock. The contrast between the two was stark: Noélie reveled in naughtier, more playful, almost frenetic, movements, while Céliane’s suction was deep and sensual, applied with a strength that kept you hard and feeling good, yet without rushing you too quickly toward a climax.
Noélie rubbed herself against your nose and lips, twisting her hips with every minuscule flick of your tongue against her folds. Fortunately, your view remained unobstructed; otherwise, you wouldn't have been able to admire her breasts from below as she squeezed them and toyed with her own nipples.
"You are really fuckin good, sweetie..." Noélie purred, gripping your head. "What's your blood type, by the way?"
Céliane hurriedly pulled away from your cock.
"Don't answer her," she said sharply. "Ignore her."
That was easy enough to do, as she immediately took you back into her mouth, and you were fully committed to continuing to devour Noélie.
After a few minutes of work, Noélie finally arched her back, grabbed you by the nape of the neck, and pressed you firmly against her pussy as she climaxed all over your face. Now you really were gasping for air, for the woman was thrashing violently, again and again, grinding herself against your face.
A few brief seconds later, Noélie climbed off you and lay back to your right, wedged between your body and the backrest of the sofa. Just then, Céliane pulled away from your cock, which she had left glistening with saliva. She looked you in the eye.
"You’ve been quite cooperative, Monsieur Arno," Céliane said, wiping the corner of her mouth with her thumb. "But we need the big fish. Those shipments require legal protection to cross the Mediterranean, someone to sign off on the sanitary inspection permits. Who is the rotten apple, sweetie?"
Noélie snuggled up against your right side, one of her breasts pressed flat against you, her thigh resting over yours. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, unable to believe just how insatiable that woman was.
Although, you put your mind to work. Such power lies only in the hands of a politician. You knew politicians by the dozen. None by choice, it was worth noting. But which one of so many? Your father had good relations with almost the entire French political landscape. Ministers, prosecutors, and senators frequented that summer home; you could even swear that, once upon a time, the President himself had come close to dining with Pascal.
But who, out of all of them...?
Of course. How could you not know? You had greeted him that very night when you arrived at the Palace. His face was still fresh in your memory.
You looked at Céliane.
"If I give you the name..."
"We’re yours," Noélie said. "For the rest of the night. You can cum inside me... or inside Céliane. Or wherever you want. But there will be no more limits, petit Arno."
No limits. Fuck. What would those women do with you if there were no limits? The possibilities were thrilling. Promising. You craved it. Remorse faded into the background. In its place remained only your lust.
"Clement Chevalier," you murmured under your breath.
Céliane and Noélie exchanged glances. Apparently, they hadn't expected that.
"The Prime Minister?" Céliane asked. "Are you sure?"
"M-my father made me speak with him when I first arrived..." You swallowed hard, staring up at the ceiling. "They... were talking about—I don't remember what—regarding tourism in Southern Italy, and Chevalier mentioned Loughty's fleet of ships. But I don't know anything else. I slipped away without them noticing."
Céliane took a moment to process the information, then nodded, perhaps as the pieces clicked into place in her mind.
"The Prime Minister," she repeated. "Wow... I don't know why I'm surprised."
"Good job, Arno," Noélie said from your right, leaning in to plant soft, wet kisses on your cheek. "You know what this means... don't you?"
Noélie cupped your chin in her fingers, tilting your face to look at her. Your eyes met first, then drifted down to her lips.
"We're going to split you right down the damn middle, pretty boy," she murmured against your lips. "Tell me something: do you just like being a bottom?"
"Uhm..." You nodded. "I prefer it, y-yes... but I can take the top role if you ask me to."
Noélie giggled, grinning from ear to ear. She was... fuck, she was charming.
"You're such a sweetheart! Très mignon!, très mignon!"
You didn't even have time to blink before she pressed her lips against yours. You had expected roughness. A lack of finesse. But Noélie was surprisingly gentle with you.
Of course, as the seconds passed, the atmosphere heated up, and you began to devour each other’s mouths, a fiery exchange of saliva and heavy breathing.
"Tsk, eyes over here, petit Arno," you heard Céliane say. "You’re going to want to see this."
You broke the kiss with Noélie to look at her. Céliane rose and climbed onto your lap, straddling you. First, she removed her bra, tossing it over the back of the sofa. Her breasts were small and perky. Next, she lifted her hips, grasped your cock, and, looking you right in the eye, slowly impaled herself upon it.
Céliane pursed her lips and stifled a moan, her eyes squeezed shut. Your cock pushed its way inside her walls, slowly, but surely. It was a delicious sensation: overwhelmingly tight, yet wonderfully warm. When she had taken you all the way to the hilt, you both moaned once more. You placed a hand on her waist and gave it a firm squeeze.
Céliane opened her eyes and looked at you.
"Look at me, petit Arno," she commanded in a low voice.
And so you did. Your gaze roamed over every inch of her perfect body, and...
"No, in the eyes," Céliane said, lifting your chin with a finger. Inevitably, your eyes met hers. "That’s better. Look at me while I show you a good time, my little obedient boy."
Céliane began to move atop your cock with such grace, such sensuality, that you couldn't help but reach out and caress her abdomen with your fingertips, almost as if you were worshipping such a woman. Making eye contact, which was damn hard to maintain, made you blush, as was only natural given those piercing eyes.
"Hey, why don't you give me a little touch?" Noélie asked, still pressed tight against your side, right into your ear. "Remember, tonight I'm all yours, treasure."
Not entirely sure what to do, you slipped your right arm behind Noélie's shoulders and reached down to give her ass a squeeze; then, you pushed her panties aside and rubbed your fingers against her pussy. Noélie moaned in satisfaction, bit her lip, and buried her face in your neck, showering it with kisses.
"Mmm... you like that, don't you?" Céliane, finding a rhythm with her hips, placed a hand on your stomach and slowly slid it upward until her fingers were close to your lips. She nudged two fingers inside your mouth, and you sucked on them both with a low moan. "Oh yeah, good boy."
Céliane pulled her fingers out of your mouth and leaned forward; just inches from your face, she moved in to give your lips a slow, upward lick with her agile tongue. You didn't mind in the slightest that her saliva was left glistening on your chin. Then, Céliane finally kissed you.
"Hey, I want that too, don't leave me out!" Noélie said.
Noélie joined the kiss as best she could. You and Céliane welcomed her in. Now the three of you were sharing saliva in a wild, sloppy battle of lips. Acting on pure instinct and letting yourself get swept up in the moment, you gave a firm squeeze to the ass of both Noélie and Céliane, though you only slipped a finger inside the former's pussy, making her moan right there in the middle of the kiss.
Céliane was the first to break away, pulling back just to gaze into your eyes, utterly ecstatic with pleasure.
"Fuck, who would have thought that the best cock I’d have in months would be yours?" she moaned, bouncing her ass against your shaft, her fingernails digging into your shoulders. "I didn't have high hopes for you."
"Uh... thanks?"
"You're welcome."
Céliane straightened up and planted her feet on the sofa on either side of your waist. With her hands resting on your abdomen, she began performing strong, deep squats onto your cock, moaning over and over until she climaxed. Her ass slammed against your pelvis one last time, and she threw her head back.
"Ohhh fuck!" Céliane shrieked, cumming all over your cock. Her knees dropped back down onto the sofa, and now she ground her hips back and forth, with you so deeply impaled inside that tight pussy that the tip of your cock was brushing against her cervix.
The intensity with which Céliane gripped you from the inside bordered on painful, but that only made you enjoy it more. Made you moan even louder.
Moments later, Céliane pulled away from atop you, and Noélie hurried to join her, both of them now kneeling between your legs. Noélie took your cock between her lips, swallowing it halfway down her throat. She sucked greedily for several long seconds, cleaning Céliane’s fluids off your shaft and replacing them with her own saliva. Céliane pitched in by kissing every spot Noélie couldn't reach, including your balls, which she sucked on gently.
After a few seconds, they both released your cock to look at you.
"We’d better move to the floor," said Céliane.
Both women got off the sofa and, working together, effortlessly moved the coffee table to one side of the room, near the fireplace that was still crackling and providing a pleasant warmth. Then, with the area between the sofas cleared, they knelt right in the center of the rug.
"Come here, pretty boy," purred Noélie.
You hurriedly stood up and positioned yourself right in front of them. Céliane was the first to take you into her mouth, once again showing off her talents, until she yielded her turn to Noélie. The two of them worked on your cock for a few delicious seconds, but they stopped when they noticed you tensing up too much.
"Hey, you know you’re not allowed to cum until we say so, right?" said Céliane, gripping your scrotum from the top, like a bag of oranges. "Don't get too excited."
"Uh... y-yeah, yeah," you nodded, not the least bit inclined to contradict her. "I won't."
"Really?" Céliane raised an eyebrow.
Before you could answer, Céliane squeezed your balls tighter. Noélie had a firm grip on the shaft. You moaned.
"I promise," you said in a strained whisper.
Noélie let out a soft giggle.
"Gooooooood boy."
With that, it was Noélie who resumed sucking you off, first swirling her tongue around your glans before taking you deep into her throat, where she held you for several long seconds before she began to pump her head. Céliane did the same. But nothing about it was quite as hot as watching them meet right at the tip of your cock, their tongues intertwining with each other with your member right in the middle.
You couldn't do anything but moan like a total slut.
"Mmm... well?" Noélie looked at you, rapidly rubbing your saliva-drenched cock. "How do you want me, sweetie?"
"On top of me."
Noélie bit her lower lip.
"Only if you fuck me afterward."
"H-how...?"
"Any way you want. Missionary, doggy style, standing up and bent over, one leg lifted, spooning..."
"I get it," you cut in. "Deal."
Noélie pounced on you the moment you lay down on the rug, lacking any of the elegance Céliane might have possessed, but making up for it with a predatory agility and energy that kept your pulse racing. She straddled you, while Céliane positioned herself behind your head and had you rest back against her lap.
Having finally shed her panties, Noélie lifted her hips and grasped your cock, slowly impaling herself upon it. You watched, panting, as her face contorted with pleasure while her hot, silky walls swallowed your length with delicious ease.
Once you were buried hilt-deep, Noélie placed a hand on your abdomen and looked down at you with a seductive smile, beginning to move her hips up and down in a sensual rhythm.
"Does this warm little pussy feel good, sweetie?" she asked, slowly sliding her hand upward from your abdomen. You thought she was going to make you suck her fingers, just like Céliane had, but instead, she closed her fingers around your throat and squeezed, just enough to let only the bare minimum of air pass through. "Oops, too bad you can't answer anymore."
You moaned—or at least you tried to, though Noélie's grip on your throat remained firm. Céliane, for her part, grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the floor beside her calves, restricting your ability to touch Noélie’s voluptuous body as she bounced faster and faster atop you, her hypnotic breasts, the size of two perfect melons, jiggling lasciviously.
"Mmm, my good boy likes this, doesn't he?" Noélie asked, showing no signs of loosening her grip.
"He loves it, just look at his face," Céliane remarked, never taking her eyes off your flushed, contorted features. "What if...?"
Céliane tilted her head, studied you for a couple of seconds, and let loose a thick glob of spit directly onto your face, staining your lips, your chin, and the tip of your nose. You bucked your hips. Your cock throbbed deep inside Noélie, who let out a moan.
"Fuck! He loves that, too," Noélie moaned, now bouncing wildly on top of you. "Give him a slap!"
A quick, sharp slap landed on the right side of your face. You looked up to meet a sly, mischievous smile on Céliane’s face; she didn't hesitate to deliver another one to the opposite cheek. Once again, Noélie squealed with pleasure as you throbbed inside her.
"What a kinky little guy, fuck, I love it!" Noélie moaned. For a moment, she opened her eyes to look at her partner. "Can I keep him? Maybe..."
"No," Céliane said immediately, sharply. "We’d have to speak with Mr. Leumara, and..."
Céliane fell silent, realizing she was treading on ground that a puppet like you had no business knowing about. You weren't about to press the matter, and frankly, it wasn't as if you could have, anyway.
"God, you guys are so boring sometimes!" Noélie protested. "As if it would do him any harm to turn into a..."
"Noélie, enough!"
Noélie grinned from ear to ear, visibly aroused and amused in equal measure. Soon, her face twisted with pleasure once again.
"Fuuuuuck... I'm going to cum so hard!"
Those final words, followed by a lascivious shriek, gave way to Noélie's unbridled climax. The voluptuous woman writhed atop you, grinding against your cock amidst tremors, her pubic hair brushing against your skin with every forward thrust. She tightened her grip on your neck, and your air supply was suddenly cut off. You endured it gladly until, at last, she let you go.
Noélie half-opened her eyes, pupils dilated with lust, to look at you. Her mouth hung slightly open, panting.
"Your turn, petit Arno," Noélie purred, sliding off you.
Céliane released her grip on your wrists, allowing you to kneel behind Noélie as the latter settled onto her hands and knees spread wide, ass thrust high for you, and the side of her face pressed against the floor. Without a word, you grabbed your fluid-soaked cock and thrust back inside her.
You weren't averse to taking a dominant role, though it usually wasn't your first choice. Being the dominant one was, quite simply, something you were indifferent to. If the situation called for it, then you stepped up.
And this moment, certainly, demanded it. To have refused would have been sacrilege.
So there you were, gripping Noélie’s wide hips with both hands, delivering strong, deep thrusts into her warm pussy, her breasts bouncing beneath her, her ass jiggling with every impact. You panted heavily, doing everything in your power to maintain the rhythm and make her feel good.
Céliane stood up and positioned herself to your right; as if to balance the dynamic, she grabbed a handful of your hair and buried your face in her pussy.
Magnifique. Now you were really communicating.
The small room filled with the sound of both women’s moans, mingling with the relentless rhythm of your body slamming against Noélie’s. Céliane gave you no respite; she kept your face pressed firmly against her crotch, her fingers deeply entangled in your hair, her fingernails digging into your scalp, yet you devoured her without a single complaint.
"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" Noélie moaned between thrusts. "The bastard actually knows how to use that cock! How am I not supposed to fall in love?"
"I worry about your definition of 'falling in love,' woman," you heard Céliane say amidst her own moans.
"Nonsense! I’m in love with my petit Arno and his wonderful, magical cock!"
The next few minutes passed in the blink of an eye. Noélie had another orgasm, one you felt particularly proud of. Céliane followed suit. One of them came all over your cock, leaving it dripping wet. The other one bathed your mouth and tongue with her delicious fluids as her climax washed over her.
Céliane then gave you a shove backward, making you lie flat on your back. She took her place atop you, turned her back to you, and planted her feet firmly on the floor to take you back inside her. She began to squat over your cock, her back perfectly arched in a display of unexpected flexibility, with her hands resting on your calves.
"I know what you're thinking..." she said, glancing back at you over her shoulder as she drove every inch of your shaft in and out with every squat. Noélie watched from just inches away, catching her breath. "My ass is perfect; I know. I also know you're dying to cum inside me while watching it. But I already told you: you’re not going to cum until I say so. You know that, right?"
"I—I know..." you murmured, almost breathless, as she stole the air right out of your lungs every time her ass slammed against your pelvis.
Céliane smiled.
"That’s a good boy."
Just when you thought she couldn't surprise you any further, she leaned back, grasped the nape of your neck, turned her head to meet yours, and kissed you with fierce intensity, right before she began pumping her hips furiously up and down. Beyond her flexibility, that woman possessed absurd lower-body strength; she showed not even a hint of fatigue, even after two intense, non-stop minutes of action.
Feeling yourself nearing the edge, you moaned right into the kiss. But that was a damn mistake, for she stopped immediately. You writhed wildly beneath her, but she simply held you fast, reveling in the desperation etched across your face.
"Beg me," was all she said.
You frowned.
"H-huh?"
"You heard me."
Céliane climbed off you and knelt at your right. She grabbed your cock and started jerking you off, her hand sliding frictionlessly along your slick shaft. You were close. Painfully close. But you squeezed your eyes shut and thought about literally any random nonsense just to hold it back.
"God... oh God!" you panted, your voice barely a whisper. "Please!"
"That’s not enough."
A nimble, mischievous mouth joined in. You opened your eyes to find Noélie sucking your balls while Céliane kept jerking you off with a killer grip and a deadly flick of her wrist. It felt so good, it felt like your brain was going to explode.
"You have to use the right words, petit Arno," Céliane said.
"T-the right words?!" you asked. "What the hell are the right words?!"
"I thought I made my command quite clear."
"Ugh, merde, merde!" you cried out, holding back the eruption like a son of a bitch. "I’m begging you, dammit! Please! I want to cum!!"
Céliane clicked her tongue.
"One word is missing."
"Dammit!!" you shouted, your voice hoarse. "I’m begging you, mommy. Let me cum! I need it so bad!"
"Yes! Cum then, my sweet boy!" Céliane moaned.
"Mmmghhh!!"
You arched your back and squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on the tidal wave of sensations washing over you. Only then did you feel the tip of your cock being engulfed by something warm. You opened your eyes just in time to see Céliane still jerking you off, but now with Noélie positioned right over you, your entire glans buried deep inside her pussy.
"Fill me, mon chou," Noélie moaned. "Fill me!!"
You came so hard that your vision went black for a split second.
The orgasm hit you, shattered you, swallowed you whole, and spat you back out. Your entire body trembled as you throbbed around Céliane's hand and filled Noélie's pussy from the inside with a massive surge of thick cum. However, since you weren't fully buried inside her, a good portion of your load oozed down the sides of your shaft, staining Céliane's hand in the process.
"So warm..." Noélie panted, giving Céliane a little shove to push her aside so she could impale herself completely on your cock. "You know what? I think a little scolding from Mr. Leumara will be worth it."
For the first time that night, you saw Céliane’s composure finally crack, her eyes going wide with shock.
"Noélie, NO!"
Before you could even register what was happening, Noélie, with you still buried balls-deep inside her and throbbing, lunged forward and sank two sharp fangs into your neck.
You screamed at the top of your lungs. But that floor was deserted, save for the two foreign guards.
Everyone wants a piece of of her. Everyone wants a piece of Naoi Rei.
Whether it’s a lucky shot from a camera, a quick clip on the phone, a little aegyo if she indulges it, or even just being able to breathe the same air as her—everyone wants her. And when she’s dressed in this ivory satin dress that drapes downwards beneath her collarbone like the folds of rose petals, she looks absolutely irresistible from any and every angle.
Just divine.
But some people are greedy. Desiring more than what they’re allowed. Like this asshole who ducks underneath the velvet rope to reach out for Rei. The idol just glances at him. Unflinching.
Because you’re already there, quick to sweep your arm across the air and knock this idiot onto the ground.
The clamoring crowd converts into a sea of gasps as they watch you pin his wrists together behind him and press your knee against the back of his head, forcing him to munch on the carpet as you call for backup. When the rest of security arrives, you let them take over, fix the creases of your suit, and jog back towards Rei.
“Back off, people. Give her some space. She’s had a long day,” you address the crowd with a raised hand.
But they’re all idiots too. Just more restrained ones. They don’t really care for her. They just want her. Like she’s made to be desired. Made to be adored. Made to be coveted.
So they continue bathing her in flashing lights, continue scrambling and pressing up against the barriers, continue screaming at the top of their lungs for but a modicum of her attention. And all the while, you’re the only one allowed to stick close to Rei, hand hovering just above the small of her back, never touching it, keeping yourself at arm’s length.
Because this is as close as you’re allowed to get to her.
Once you’re both inside the hotel, you waste no time ushering her through the lobby. She turns a few heads, but that much is to be expected from someone like Rei. The elevator arrives at the ground floor, and in moments, you’re both catching the last few glimpses of the crowd held outside by the security team as they all fade from view with the closing of the doors.
You press a button. Eleventh floor.
“Did you really have to slam him that hard? Such an aggressive man.”
You roll your eyes at her, returning to your cross-armed position three or four feet away from her. The elevator’s empty except for the two of you, yet she maintains her distance, clutching her Louis Vuitton in hand.
“Tch, would you rather he slam you? If anyone’s getting aggressive, it’s them. Fucker really thought he could get away with it too.”
One step. To the side.
“Mm, I don’t mind aggressive. You should know that.”
The heat by your collar chokes you. You swallow and the fit of your tie around your neck is made more present. “Do I now? Last time I checked, I was the one walking out of the hotel with scratch marks on my chest and back.”
Another step. Closer.
“Last time I checked, I was the one left on the bed with spank marks all over my thighs and all of that cum dripping out of me. Mm, I almost melted into the floor the floor that night. Fuck. Could have broken my back, you know?”
“Huh, but don’t you like getting your back blown out?” you retort with a scoff, and you glance sideways at her. Which is a mistake. Because you get a glimpse of the way Rei’s sharp jawline lifts when she smirks at you. “I do. I really do, don’t I?”
Ding.
The elevator doors part, but neither of you take the invitation to exit. You can feel the air-conditioning of the opulent hallway wafting into the small elevator, but the tension between you two is anything but dispersed.
Rei makes the first move and steps out, wagging a finger at you in a come-hither motion as she does. “Come. Checkout’s in ten hours.”
You trail behind her, a pace and a half away. Rei gives you this unadorned and unabashed view of her bare back all the way down to the cut of her dress by her ribs. You can see the way her shoulders rise and fall with her breath, the way her muscles tense in anticipation, the way the column of her spine goes rigid once she stops outside her door.
“Keycard?”
You oblige, leaning forward to swipe it into the terminal and unlock her room. She enters first and is already kicking out of her matching white heels. But as soon as you turn around to close the door behind you, you feel hands etching circles against your back.
“Mm, you’re tense. Tired from having to watch me all day?”
You grip the doorknob, back still towards her. “When am I never tired? You’re always a fucking handful.”
She is. Rei really is.
As the head of her security—and as her personal guard—you’re supposed to be keeping trouble away from her. But no one gave you a manual on how to keep her away from trouble. Rei always has a way of finding it. Grinding too intensely when she’s tipsy at the afterparties, allowing what little clothes she sometimes wore to slip down her petite body, roaming her fingers over places incredibly unbecoming of an idol.
She’s definitely a fucking handful. It irritates you. Whether as her guard or as something else, you’re not quite sure.
Among her recent offenses was her little stint earlier at the awards show, when she got too close for comfort to her cohost. She was practically begging him to place his hand on her ass.
You still remember the burning in the back of your eyes when you saw it happen. More so when she smirked at you as she did it
Speaking of roaming—her hands roam across your torso like they might be in search for something. You let her, and you can sense her drawing closer towards you. Once you hear the ever-so-slight motion of her tiptoeing, and once you hear the coast of her breath against your ear, your whole body goes slack.
“Are you going to do something about it then?”
You spin around, but Rei’s ahead of you. She grips your tie so hard it bends you downwards to her level. Raising a brow, she gives your leash a testing tug. “Mm, I knew it. You were fucking me with your eyes the entire time, weren’t you? Couldn’t wait for us to get back to the hotel?”
Trying to temper your breath, you grunt. “And I bet you were just itching to get stripped off your new little designer dress, yeah? Couldn’t wait for me to be the one to do it?”
“You’re jealous,” she prods, physically too with an index finger against your chest.
“It’s called work. Don’t get it twisted.”
She twists your necktie until your face is an inch away from hers. “Hm? But if you’re still ‘working’, I can’t really beg you to rip this outfit off of me now, can I? Maybe I should ask someone else to do it for me. I can think of a few—.”
Rei knew what she was doing. And you fucking hated her for it.
But that didn’t stop you from shutting her up by crashing your lips into hers and stealing her breath. She holds you steady with one hand against your shoulder and the other wrapped around your tie as she moans into every attempt you make to try and tame her devilish little tongue.
One step. Then another. Until she’s stumbling backwards. Deeper into the room. Beyond the vestibule. Past the small kitchen and the adjacent comfort room. All the way through the living room until she’s pressed up against the windows overlooking Saitama.
Rei whimpers and pulls away, and there’s this audible pop from how tightly sealed her lips were. “God, you’re so needy, aren’t you? How long have you been waiting for this?”
“Ever since I caught you changing in the dressing room this morning,” you utter, face hovering over hers.
She licks her lower lip and shakes her head. “The truth.”
“Ever since we met up at the airport to fly over to Japan.”
Rei rewards your honesty by sliding the hand on your shoulder down towards your crotch, cupping it, massaging it, feeling its weight and heft and strain against your pants and underwear like she might discover how pent up you are from it. “Mm, you wanted to fuck me on the plane? What was I wearing yesterday? The shorts?”
“The shorts,” you mutter as she’s palming over where your tip might be. You can’t get fully hard like this, and she knows, and she keeps you in this semi-erect state as she continues. “What did you imagine? Pulling the curtains behind us while you pound into me in first-class?”
“Wanted to fucking—god—eat your pussy out and feel those thighs clenching against me while you’re losing your fucking words.”
Her tongue flicks against her lower teeth as she giggles in a low tone. “So needy. But I like you like that. Like this. Just within arm’s reach for a good fuck.”
Rei only needs one hand to unzip you, to unbuckle your belt, to yank your pants and underwear down by their garters. She’s done this before. Way too many times to count. She steadies her grip on your necktie as she cups your balls first, rolling them between her delicate little fingers, stroking your underside with just her thumb.
“You know, one of the cabin crew was giving me the look after takeoff. He kept coming back to my seat to ask if I ‘needed anything’,” she starts, giving your balls a gentle squeeze—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who’s working you. “You didn’t so much as bat an eye. I wonder why.”
You want to grumble something back, but Rei’s quick to glide her digits up your shaft and start shuffling them across the crown of your head. “Mmm, he looked cute too. Bet he was imagining me sucking him off behind the trolley. Bet he’d stretch my throat good. But this?”
She lets go of your tie at last and bends forward to kiss your tip, locking eyes with you the entire time, smiling. “He’ll never get this.”
Rei sinks to her knees.
In all of her glamor and attitude, you watch as a divine goddess like her descends to her knees, fingers dragging against the front of your thighs, leveling herself with your cock. It’s such a delight seeing her kneel. For all that she’s worth, she looks so fucking good on her knees before you.
And you make sure you let her know.
Rei licks the head once. Then twice. Testing. Tasting. Feeling the way your tip twitches and shudders in her grasp. Delighting in the way your pre-cum drips onto her palate. She grips the base of your cock so she can swirl her wet tongue and spread the drool around, licking stripes back and forth the length of your member, tracing the outlines of your veins like she’s mapping you out.
“Fuck … yes … Just like that. You’re drooling so much. Hungry. aren’t you?”
Rubbing her pursed lips between your cock and balls, she looks up at you with challenging eyes. “Then feed me. Feed me with this thick, fat cock of yours.”
Placing your hands on your hips, you give her an inviting nod. “Help yourself first. Let’s see what you can do.”
Giggling behind her lip bite, Rei begins stroking your cock faster now that it’s coated in a sheen of her saliva. She wraps her mouth around the tip again and hums into it like she’s speaking into a microphone, all while jerking you off. With a deep breath, she takes you in. Deeper. Until you knock against the back of her throat. She swallows around your head and withdraws, but doesn’t pull out fully.
Rei repeats this tantalizing motion over. And over. Again.
She picks up the pace. Lips smashing against the curl of her fingers to meet her hand at the point where she can go no deeper. Rei gags every time you threaten to push past the tight ring of her throat, but she doesn’t pull away. She never pulls away. She just lets the drool gush out of her tightly sealed lips, dribble down her chin, and drip onto the top of her dress.
You look down at her and the sight of it all just makes you moan. Her full lips are still painted pretty. Her makeup still coloring her cheeks. Her dress still wrapping around her like a sinful little present you can’t help but want to unwrap. She looks polished. Presented. Perfect.
And you’re going to change that.
Splaying your fingers wide across her head, you grip her this way to steady Rei. Her eyes widen in surprise, and you just chuckle. “Easy now. Shit … time for me to do the feeding.”
“Mmmh?” she asks, unable to get more out of her before you’re thrusting into her mouth. “NGHHHH—HCKKKK!”
You fuck her throat.
Your hips carry you forward as you lean into her and begin pounding into her pretty presented face. Enjoying the warmth and wetness of her mouth. Enjoying the way her eyes flicker and water. Enjoying how her throat bulges from your repeated intrusion.
“Yeah? You fucking like that? You talk so much but you look much better like this—on your knees, like a tight little suckslut drooling all over my fucking cock,” you bellow, tightening your core. Rei’s eyes roll upwards when she gags again, but you don’t stop. You don’t fucking stop feeding her the dick she’s been oh-so-craving. You think about the flight. You think about her teasing. You grip her head harder. “Is this what you wanted? Fuck … Look at me when I fuck your throat.”
On command, she places her trembling hands on your thighs and tilts her chin upwards. Not only does this give you an unobstructed view of her sweaty, messy face. Rei makes it so much easier to align your dick with the length of her mouth and throat so you can hammer into her harder. Faster.
You’re so used to the luxury of her long hair, often bundling it several times around your fingers as handles for throatfucks like this. But tonight, you’ll have to make do with entrenching your digits into her bob.
“God … fucking … damn it! You take it so fucking good. You like that don’t you? You fucking love getting your throat used like this, yeah?” you grunt in between powerful and deep thrusts that shake her entire form. “Say it. Say you love it.”
Rei chokes up and pushes past your cock lodged deep inside her mouth, but her tongue is pinned to one side as you continue your relentless facefucking.
“I said say it. Speak up. You love giving me an earful whenever I’m on the clock. Why don’t you spit it back out for me and give me a mouthful in return.”
Clawing, squeezing at your thighs, Rei grumbles and curses you with her glare. “Fhkk … HLRK—yhh …”
“What was that?” you taunt, thrusting faster. “Can’t hear you.”
“GLKKK HLCKKK—FHHKK! YHH!”
You smirk. “Speak up now. Come on. You can do it. Use that mouth of yours. Use that fucking mouth of yours.”
When you lower your free hand to palm over her left breast from outside her dress, she lets out an unprecedented moan and relaxes. You take advantage of this and push in as deep as you can, bring her head down all the way to the base of your cock to the point that she’s kissing your stomach. You hold her there. Hold her like this. Even as she struggles. Even as she writhes. Even as she blows bubbles of spit in dollops by your balls. Not letting go. Not until she says it.
Not until she admits it.
It’s only when one of her hands flies to your wrist by her chest, squeezing it, moaning on your dick, that she utters something in a broken tongue—a turn of phrase only you would understand. Because you’re the only one she’s ever said it to with a face full of cock.
And then, you let go.
Rei bursts from your grip and gasps for air the moment she resurfaces. Fingers combing through her hair, chest heaving, eyes still a little glazed, but her lips? Her thick puffy lips? They’re twitching. Quivering. In anticipation. In excitement.
She smiles.
“You … ngh … taste so delicious,” she stutters, still catching her breath. Rei whips her hair back and bites a finger. “Mmm, I want more.”
You part your lips to speak, but Rei is faster yet again. She’s quick to grip your tie and pull you in. At first, you think she might kiss you, but when she instead holds you close like this, hearing her every pant, feeling her every breath on your face, you sense the faint inkling of an idea forming in her twisted mind.
Rei lets go of you and takes a step back, hiding her hands behind her with an attempt at a coy smile blossoming across her face. Winking, she pleads through a breathy tone. “I think I’m done with this dress now. Could you help me take it off?”
This sudden slowdown rattles you. You were absolutely ready to finish down her throat for the first time tonight. But this change of pace is a welcome one because you see Rei turning towards the window once more, presenting her backside to you. Like a ballerina mid-pirouette. It’s then that you see the delicate strip of a zipper hidden behind the top folds of her dress.
She doesn’t need to tell you twice.
You glide over to her, heart still pounding, light sweat coating your neck, hand unavoidably trembling as you reach for the zipper. Pinching it between your thumb and index, you peel the zipper downwards like you might pluck the petals off a rose. The zipper doesn’t even go all the way down. Just goes far enough to loosen its grip on her figure. Just enough that when she parts her elbows to stop holding it up, the entire thing just comes undone.
And you come undone as well.
For Rei is completely naked now.
She glances over one shoulder, her side profile framed by the curve of her hair down to her chin. There’s a twinkle in her eye—one of amusement. One that asks you, “Hm? Why are you staring? Not like you haven’t seen this before, have you?”
She steps out of the dress and turns your way, flaunting her full figure on display, coated by the halation of what little nightlights could seep in through the window. Your eyes immediately lock onto the translucent pads over her areola. “You wore pasties?”
Not the most romantic thing to say right now, you admit.
“What? Am I supposed to have my nipples constantly grazing the inside of my dress?”
“No, I just figured someone like you would go full commando. Not something like … this.”
She rolls her eyes, crossing her arms just underneath the swell of her breasts. There’s just something about the way her lithe yet full figure dances through the room that breathes new life into you. “Well, again, are you still going to just stare at me or are you going to take these off too?”
You bite your lip and step closer.
She ruined the pace. Slowed it down. But, perhaps, it’s time to get sensual now.
“What are you doing?” Rei asks as you glide your hands up and down her sides, really memorizing every curve of her. Drinking her in. Your eyes are parked on hers. It makes her look away—cute.
“What am I doing?” you repeat, one hand drifting up from her stomach towards the fold between her breasts. “Just taking my time.”
“You surely weren’t doing that when you were pounding my throat just now,” she replies, which is interrupted by her moans as you cup and lift one breast now. “Nghh … stop teasing me. It’s getting cold.”
“Let me fix that.”
Rei shudders when you whisper in her ear that way, but she finds herself trembling all the more when your other hand roams down the slope of her back, pausing just above her ass. You plant a garden of kisses across her neck, tracing her collarbone with your lips, and decorating the other side of her nape with more pecks.
“Fuck … yes …,” she mutters, not even aware of it. Her own hands are rubbing up and down your forearm and waist. It’s almost like you two are lovers right now, indulging in a moment of passion. But you try not to think about it too much—lest reality shatters your expectations. “Mmm, squeeze them.”
You obey, sinking your digits into the soft flesh of her exposed breast. This merits a higher-pitched groan from her, one that tightens her throat. Her head is rolling in circles as you bombard her with a mixture of kisses and gropes, palming over her hardening nipples. She loses her breath when you give her buds long continuous strokes, but she also whimpers in your grasp whenever you add more pressure with your pinches.
Biting her lip, Rei presses her forehead against your chest but you do not let up, swapping to her other breast now. Your kisses trail up past her chin, and when your lips find hers, she’s taking you into her once more. Kissing you.
“Nghh … fuck … I’m so wet right now,” she confesses in between laps with her tongue, declaring her arousal like you need any more confirmation from how she entangles herself into you. “God, I’ve been thinking about you all day. Wanted you to just kiss me after getting my make up done. Wanted … mmhh … ahh … wanted you to just take me then and there in the dressing room.”
You pull away a moment to reply. “Fuck, when I saw you with half your dress on, you can’t imagine how hard I got on the spot. Walked with a limp just thinking about bending you over the vanity.”
She giggles and lifts her leg up, thinking you won’t notice her trying to grind against you while you play with her chest. “Yeah? More …”
“I wanted to stuff you, fill you up … god … wanted to see you bend over. You look so fucking sexy bent over, you know that? So delicious. Just wanted to see your pussy drip right into my mouth while I eat you out.”
Rei’s drawing blood from her lips now with how hard she’s biting down. Arms wrapped around you neck, leg wrapped around your waist, she tugs you closer. “Then what are you waiting for? Eat me out.”
Lost in another maelstrom of kisses, you both don’t know how you manage to even crash onto the couch without hurting yourselves.
Rei reaches for the remote, but you knock it away from her. “Let them hear it. I want them to hear how you’’ll moan for me—how you’ll be mine.”
Her eyes are set ablaze by your words, and she nods, wagging a finger at you. “Mm, come and get a taste then.”
Stealing a few more kisses, you lean Rei against the backrest and push her knees towards the sides of her head. She knows how this goes, tucking her hands beneath them so she can hold them up for you.
Kneeling in front of her, you let it sink in first. The view.
Her moist pussy already leaving a mark on the leather. Her leg muscles tensing midair. Her round ass digging into the seat.
This? This is a view that you’re sure only you get to see.
You kiss her knee. The side of it. Trail downwards along her thigh. Thick. Supple. Smells like lavender—her body wash. Rei shudders when your own hands come over her upper thighs, close to her hips. Gripping her. Keeping her spread out. Holding her in the optimal position for what you’re about to do.
Lowering your face towards her waiting snatch, you can already smell how horny she is. The scent of her pretty pink pussy permeates the air. Meanwhile, the woman who’s got her body all conveniently positioned for you doesn’t have the slightest clue that you can see the mewl that never leaves her lips, the neediness that warps her face.
You kiss her pussy. Just over the hood. Not quite there but close enough to make her feel something. Your breath is enough to make her lurch. But your lips? They make her beg.
“Fuck … lower please … more …” she pleads as you circle the outline of her nether bits. The soft of your nose rubs against her hood while you lap a few times at her quivering hole. Her knuckles turn white from how she’s squeezing her legs into herself. “Nghh! Your tongue …”
“What about it?”
“Please … please …”
“Please what?” you probe, circling her clit but never daring to actually lick directly onto it.
“MMMHH! Please! Please … lick me … eat me out …”
“On one condition: you don’t hold back a single fucking moan.”
Rei’s an idol. She’s got pipes for sure. But you love the way she sings for you when you really give it to her.
At first, it’s just little bounces. Little tilts and jilts of her head and neck. But that’s only because you’re licking her at a conservative pace. When you begin to finally press the wall of your tongue and slather your palate against her dripping wet sex, it’s a two-for-one deal: she gets to feel the pleasurable twitches scatter all across her body, and you get a rich taste of her arousal.
Your tongue wraps and folds and slithers across the surface of her pussy, paying special attention to her clit, and when you sense she’s still muting her voice, you part her hood with two fingers and flick the tip of your tongue rapidly against her exposed clitoris.
“AHHHH! AHHH AHHH SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT!”
You grip her thighs firm, face soaked in a mixture of your own drool and her juices, holding her firm, holding her steady, ensuring she won’t just fly away from the building tension, continuously dragging your tongue against her pussy.
“Nghhhh … guh … close! Shit shit shit—I’M CLOSE!”
You only pause to hum against her stomach. “Already cumming? Such an easy slut. But you love being easy for me don’t you?”
There’s an initial frustration in her eyes, but it gives way for what’s honest—what’s primal. “I love being fucking easy for you. I love the way you make me—AHHH SHIT—make me get off so fast … nghh … AHHH … so good!”
“Then get off to my tongue. Sing for me. Cum for me, Rei.”
It’s when you call her name that she loses all control. “Yeah? Just give in and let—.”
“CUMMING!”
Your hands move behind hers to press her harder into the couch, lifting her ass up in the process. With this new angle, you’re able to lick her repeatedly without fail. Even when she detonates all over your face with a spray of squirt. Even when she’s screaming into the empty hotel room for you to stop. Even when she’s fidgeting and flopping her arms about to try and break free from your clutches.
You don’t stop eating her out.
“Ghhhh stop … p-p-please—PLEASE! I’m t-t-t-too sen-sen-s-sensitive,” she slurs, each word dragging out, head too woozy to even form coherent thoughts beyond her cries for mercy. But you don’t afford her that. She’s been extra abrasive today. Extra bratty.
And Rei knows what brats get.
Her hands find purchase now by the sides of your head as her feet crash onto the edge of the couch. But as she’s trying to force her legs shut, Rei’s post-orgasmic state renders her too weak to really put up any fight. “Fuck fuck … ffffuuuuckk … c-c-can’t … s-s-stop …”
“Do you really want me to stop?” you taunt, peeking up from her mound, staring right at her unfocused eyes. You love the sight of her looking all vulnerable and meek like this. It’s such a fucking delight to see her come to ruin by her own volition. “Tell me, do you want me to stop?”
Her head full of haze shakes left and right as she licks her lip.
And that’s all you need.
As you part from her, Rei whines breathy through her clenched teeth, but this is immediately replaced by a high whimper when you spank her pussy. Lightly. For now.
Her eyes widen and they manage to lock onto you. “What—NGHH!”
You spank her again. But you make sure to rub over her reddened hood gently with your fingers to soothe her.
After a few rolls over her mound, you dip two fingers into her and stretch her open. You curl your fingers upwards, drag it against the top of her inner walls, feeling for that sweet spongy spot within her that makes her coil up and babble.
You’re losing her. Quickly. As you begin fingerfucking Rei, her insides clench around your digits and refuse to let them go.
“You just came and you’re already itching to cum again, aren’t you?” you provoke her, flicking her clit with a finger to grab her attention. She’s too busy dissolving into the couch as her body forgets how to operate itself, flailing about. “Do you like it when I do this?”
The come-hither motion milks a response out of her. “Yessss, fuuuu-u-u-uuuuck … nghhh AHH … Your fingers … s-so big … so th-thick … guhhh!”
“Yeah? You like my fingers? You like my fingers stretching your tight little cunt out?”
Rei beams, jamming her tongue between her quivering lips. “Mmh … fuck yes … fuck me … you’re just … you just know how to—AHHH—how to b-b-bring me there—CLOSE!”
Thumb smudging against her clit, wrist starting to ache from the rapid-fire of your fingers, fist drenched in her slick, you dip lower and hover just above Rei’s folded form. She glances away and you swear you can feel the heat radiating from her flushed cheeks. But when she returns to you, she sheds the meekness and instead reaches out for your cheek to caress it. To hold it. Then to pull you in for another kiss.
Words cannot describe how decadent it is to be kissing Naoi Rei while she’s whimpering into your lips from your fingering. But maybe words don’t have to. This isn’t something you would dare share to others—with others. This moment is something for you to keep to yourself.
She is someone for you to enjoy—all for yourself.
So when you feel her tongue losing the fight against yours and going slack in your mouth, your wrist gets a second wind as you’re now grinding the bottom of your palm into her clit while urging her to finish from your two digits along.
“Fuck fuck fuck—I’m going to cum, I’M GOING TO CUM!” she bellows right next to your ear while you’re still kissing and licking her neck. “NGHHH DON’T STOOOOOP. C-C-CUMMING!”
You withdraw.
It takes a lot to pull your fingers out of her wet fucking walls because her pussy just wants to devour you whole. But when you manage it, and your fingers finally feel the cool hotel room air, you smirk down at her.
Rei pouts and blows into your face. “What was that for? I was so fucking—HNGHH?”
You spank her pussy. “I asked if you wanted to continue. I didn’t say you could cum.”
“Ehh, you’re such a killjoy,” she complains, beating into your chest like that would hurt you one bit. “Mmh … please … please I really need it again. I really … ohhhh shiiiit … I really need to cum again.”
As you’re still rubbing her, you move backwards and finally step out of your pants, which have been bunched up by your ankles since the beginning. Kicking them away, you slap her pussy one final time before resting the full length of your cock against her opening. “Do you want my fingers again, or do you want this?”
Rei’s grinning again. “I love the way you put your dick on me like that. Fuck, what a view … it feels so warm … so heavy … so fucking … thick …”
You grip the base of your shaft and plap her drooling sex with the full heft of its weight. “Thought you liked my fingers? Weren’t you just begging for it?”
“Nghh, but I love your dick more. Please …?”
“Please what? You should know by now that—.”
She tugs you by your tie and presses her forehead against yours. “Tonight, I want you to fuck me like I’m just another Nagoyan whore. No glamor, no paparazzi, no hosting. Just … just you and me. And um, you can cum inside this time—AHHHH!”
Fastest draw in the wild fucking west.
You push into Rei so fast that she gets no moment to adjust to your full length inside of her. She can only fan her fingers out by your torso as you pull back only to give her another full thrust.
“Shit … you really fill me up so good … God nghh your stretch … it’s unlike any other …”
Hands on her waist, lifting her ass onto your thighs, you build up a rhythm into fucking Rei. Her tits springing forth with each motion. Her buttocks rippling with each impact. Her pussy squelching with each thrust and throb of your cock.
You wipe her sides before spanking her ass. “Never had me a Nagoyan whore before. What are they supposed to feel like? What can one of them do?”
“Mmmh, I heard they’re really good with their mouths—NGHH—.”
You thrust harder into her. Faster. “Yeah? What else?”
“—that they … that they—MMMHH—that they—.”
“Use your words, Rei. Use your … fucking … nghh … words.”
“—NGHH NGHH—that they make for gooood mmmphhh—good eye candy—!”
You play with her clit just to see her face warp even further with pleasure, hearing her interrupt herself with screams—music to your ears. “Fuck … keep going now … tell me more—sell me on one.”
“—a-and … fuck … fuck you’re so big .., you’re so fucking big—AHHH AND THEY MAKE THE TIGHTEST COCKSLEEVES IN ALL OF JAPAN!”
Bingo.
Rei’s whole body convulses and even though all she screams are repeated babbles and curses into the air, you don’t stop. You don’t dare fucking stop giving it to her the way she begged for it—giving it to her good. You fuck your little Nagoyan whore like she deserves it as a reward for her little stint of dirty talk, but not before pulling her in a bit closer for more kisses.
“Shit shit shit—like that, like that! Faster—please, faster!”
You press her deeper into the couch, kneeling into it as well as you both sink. You’re hammering into her so hard the fucking furniture shakes and threatens to fall backwards, but you don’t give a damn. All you can think of in this moment is the sight of Rei’s glazed-over and sweaty face pleading for release.
“Please! PLEASE!”
“Please what—?”
“PLEASE MAKE ME CUM ON YOUR DICK!”
It’s criminal how fast your fingers fly to her clit when you want to get her to finish faster. But it’s more criminal how breathy and sultry her voice can get when she’s needy and deliciously fucking desperate like this. Wasting no time, you finish her off with a series of breakneck thrusts, fucking her cunt like the cocksleeve she promised it to be.
“Who’s my little Nagoyan fucktoy? Are you my slutty little fucktoy?”
“Mmmmh yes yes yes—I am, I fucking am—.”
“Say it. Say it in—nghh, fuck—say it in full.”
“I-I’m your little … tight … slutty … cheap … horny … fucking … N-Nagoyan … fuckt—CUMMING!”
You don’t edge her this time. You piston into Rei’s pussy until she comes undone because of you all over again.
And seeing her unravel makes you unravel as well.
“Fuck, fucking take it—fucking take it all, Rei,” you groan aloud as the final few strokes inside her pool the tension towards the tip of your cock and set you off. What gets you over the edge is the roll of her eyes and the low grumble Rei lets out when she’s hit that satisfied note on the orgasm score.
You cum.
You shoot thick rope after rope into her warm little pussy, painting her fucking walls with the thick of your seed that you’ve been holding in for a week now. Unlike Rei’s orgasm that hits her hard and fast, you feel yours deep in your core, reverberating throughout your body as her cunt becomes a vice that continues milking you off your load.
Once you’ve both come down from your ecstatic highs, you pull out. Carefully. Because Rei’s pussy is a bit sore and throbbing now. Because you want to see the fruit of your labors.
When the feathery folds of her release you, so does it release your globs of cum. It trickles out of her, crests over her untouched asshole, and pools into a crease of the couch.
“Fuck,” is all you can immediately say as you try to regain your composure. You only think to take off your blazer and the rest of your suit now to join Rei in her nudity when the heat of lovemaking finally gets to you. “Rei, you look so fucking sexy like this.”
She raises a brow and does the unthinkable. Well, unthinkable to most people. But perhaps not to Rei. Fingers lowering to her used pussy, she scoops up some of your cum and brings it to her lips, tasting your release.
“Mmm, now I kinda regret not letting you finish off inside my throat. You taste delicious. Strong, a bit bitter, very salty. Your first load is always so fucking thick too.”
You chuckle, undoing the tie and tossing it behind you. Your ears perk at hearing ‘first load’, which implies a second, a third, or even a tenth one if you were fortunate. You’re about to fully pull away from her when she has this moment of weakness. When Rei reaches out to you but stops herself.
You could have sworn she looked like she needed you. Needed needed you.
Taking one last look at her form laid out like this on the couch, you can’t help but feel like Rei’s some sort of prophet. No way in hell could anyone have foreseen her spineless after a good fuck with cum dripping out of her pussy like this from back at the elevator ride alone. Guess that’s one of her charms.
You lean forward and help her up, and she’s clinging to you while standing on her own two feet. You don’t question it. Don’t point it out. You let Rei hold you close, pressing her face into your chest as her arms squeeze you tightly.
“You … alright?” you ask, starting to get a bit worried over how silent she is.
She nods, hair brushing your collarbone, tickling you. “I … I am. I think I am … just … just need a moment. You always do this to me.”
“Do what exactly?”
“Confuse me.”
You want to pull away so you can talk to her about this, but Rei really doesn’t want to let go. She allows you some room to breathe by detaching herself, but she’s holding your wrists now. Her fingers are unable to steady themselves on you. “Don’t … don’t ask. Stop asking questions. Just …”
“Rei, I—.”
She presses a finger to your lips and sighs, shaking her head. “Let’s not get things too … complicated. Just … don’t just swap between rough and passionate like that. It gets confusing.”
“What do you want right now then? Rough or passionate?” you wonder, unsure of what the difference between either even is at this point.
“P-Passionate. Please?”
She gasps as you sweep her off her feet. Carrying her like a princess, as she drapes her arms around you, you lift her all the way to the modern dining table in this spot between the kitchen and living room. Set her down on her bare bottom. Place your hands on either side of her against the cold surface. And just press into her.
“Sorry. If I got carried away,” you confess. You feel the need to say that because a part of you now realizes how brutal you might have been. How you might have been taking out your frustrations and jealousy out on Rei. “We need like a safeword or something when it gets too much.”
“No, you’re never too much,” she tells you otherwise, patting your cheek before wiping away the sweat along your nose with her thumb. “I just … god, just stop asking questions.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Passionate. She wants passionate.
You start with a kiss to her cheek. Then her lips. Then her nose. Rei giggles, “I said passionate, not sappy. But … I’ll allow this.”
You kiss down to her neck again, but instead of peppering across it, you focus on this one spot. This single sensitive spot of hers that could always make you draw a moan or a reaction from her.
“Oh …? Ohh ... mmmh … I like that … I r-really … like that …”
Rei reaches for your cock and gasps through sealed lips when she feels how hard you still are even after all of that. With a twisting motion, she tests to see if it’s true, and when the blood circulates through your shaft again in full force, throbbing in her heavenly grasp, she chuckles into your ear as she nips at your lobe.
“Do you really like me that much?” she mutters. And you cannot believe she even has to ask that question.
“Nah, just when you’re a good little Nagoyan slut.”
She whines and fakes pushing you away, but there’s this look in her eyes that tells you she’s thankful you didn’t answer that question seriously. Rei hops off the table so she can stroke you better, pumping you within the folds of her fingers, palming the tip whenever she senses pre-cum ready to be smeared around it.
“You were asking me so many questions earlier. Maybe I should ask you some too,” she coos, shucking her hand absentmindedly yet with strong purpose as she traces outlines into your chest with another. “Tell me … what’s something we haven’t done yet that you want to try?”
“Seriously?”
“I’m very serious,” she’s quick to reply, and as if to prove her point, she tightens her grip on your dick, meriting a moan from you. “There’s only so much we can do at hotels and dressing rooms. I just thought you’d find it boring—.”
“I want to spank you.”
Rei raises her brow, but there’s already the spark of interest alighting in the wicks of her eyes. “Spank me? Do you know big your hands are? You’re going to bruise me.”
“Well, do you want to try it?”
There are boundaries Rei will never cross, and you’ve seen the look on her face whenever someone urges her to cross them. At fan signs when these delulu dumbasses try to make her do something weird. At concerts when the prompters are telling her to give out aegyos again and again even when she’s tired. At board meetings and conferences when she disagrees with the creative direction for the group.
You fully expect her to make that same face now. But instead, she says, “Don’t … just don’t leave a mark that isn’t red.”
You chuckle and shake your head. “Oh you naughty little thing.”
Palm meeting her ass, you grope her. Massage her. Knead the doughy and pillowy flesh of her bottom. You’re testing. Tempering yourself for now. Waiting for Rei’s reactions. When you feel her lose track of her stroking and see her eyes flutter about, you grip and tug her cheek before pulling back to give it a nice firm slap.
The recoil makes even her thighs jiggle. You can’t help but spank her again. And again. And again.
“Mmh! Did you really have to go for it just like that?”
Spank. Spank. Spank.
“Nghh! The other side … get … get the other side too …”
Spank. Spank. Spank.
“F-Fuck … that … that—nghh … that …”
It’s adorable how there’s a physical manifestation to the way Rei loses herself in the moment. You don’t make fun of her for it. Instead, you move her hand away from your cock, pick up the other she’s been using to sneakily rub herself with, and turn her around, pressing her palms onto the table.
“What …?”
You spank her. Harder. The previous ones were teasing and amicable. This one is sharp and resolute. “Bend over for me.”
To your surprise, she doesn’t fight it either. Rei slides her arms further forward to lift her bubble butt up for you. “Like this?”
“Perfect,” you praise, both hands caressing her butt cheeks. You take your time with them. No rush. Admiring how her voluptuous bottom feels in your hands. Adoring how digging your thumbs along the inner fold reveals and conceals her tight little holes. Acclaiming how each and every moan of hers seduces you into doing more than just fondling her ass.
“Count them,” you command, palming her sweaty cheek before delivering a blow.
“What—NGHH! One … wait—.”
You spank her again. This time beneath the mound—closer to her thigh.
“Guhh! T-Two … hold on, I-I—.”
You spank her again. This time on the opposite cheek. Harder.
“Th-Three … three …”
You spank. She counts. Babbles out some nonsense. Drags fingers against the table. But this entire time, with each sting against her rump, with each flare of recoiled pain against your palm, with each whimper and moan and cry, Rei does not move from her position.
She stays in place, reddened ass kept held up in the air for you, taking it all.
“Such a good girl,” you whisper as you position yourself behind her now. The praise makes her shudder, and if that wasn’t enough, your suddenly soft touch against her spine sends her quivering. “Look who’s fucking wet after all that. Hm?”
You don’t have to see her to know how Rei’s face is probably as red as her ass. “Sh-Shut up …”
You motion like you’re about to spank her and she whimpers. “P-Please! No … no y-yeah … I was … It was hot. I got … I got super turned on when you were spanking me. And … a-and … never mind.”
“Never mind?” you mock, cupping one of her cheeks again. “Use your words, and finish your damn sentences.”
“Ugh … I liked it when you made me count. There, are you happy?”
“Oh, I very much am now,” you tease, gripping her waist. Rei is about to retort with the way her back tenses up, but when she feels your hard cock hotdogging her, she instead mewls and begins to breathe heavily. “Nice and wet from all those spankings. Nice and wet for another round with me.”
The spanking must have done a number on her. Rewired her brain or something. Because there’s no banter. There’s no snarky retort. There’s no hesitation.
Rei just bends over, shoulders and chin slack against the surface of the dining room table, fingers digging into her soft flesh from behind, spreading her butt for you.
“Fuck me … again please … one more … I need it … I really need it now …”
You smack your cock against her back, sliding it between her cheeks. You can never get enough of her ass. Fuck, you can never get enough of Rei. Pulling her hips back and lining up your tip against her warm and dripping entrance, you push in slowly this time as you let Rei feel the entire heft of your insertion.
Her feet arch and lift her higher, trying to escape the sensation of your cock slipping fully into her, but she ends up coming back down to meet your hips as she shudders. “Nghhhhh … shit …”
You work her slow and steady. None of that pounding from earlier. Rei feels the way the tip of your cock spears into her and presses against all the right places inside of her. You glean this from how she’s heaving and smothering onto the table.
One hand on her lower back, your other hand connects with her tender as cheeks. God, you just fucking love to see them clap against each other—against you. “You enjoyed counting for me? Have a bit of a new kink now, do you?”
“O-Oh nghhh mmmphh … shut up! I shouldn’t have told you that.”
You spank her again, groping her ass before letting go. “I know why that turns you on. You like being told what to do—you just can’t admit it.”
“Do I? Hnnh, hnhhgghh! Shit shit, that’s not fair—that’s not AHHH!”
She can’t even finish her thought from the pounding you’re giving her. Not faster—harder. Deep into Rei. Making sure her ass ripples upon collision. Making sure the table screeches against the polished floor. Making sure Rei gets stuffed to the brim with each thrust.
“Admit it, Rei. You love being ordered around. You just like to think you’re in control, but you crumble the moment anyone gets even just a little bit firm with you, yeah?” you whisper close to her, one hand now pinning one of hers against her back while the other is busy keeping you both steady. “Say it. Fucking say it, slut. Tell me that—.”
“J-Just—fuck … fuck … fuck, NGHHH just for you!”
That catches you off-guard.
You could have sworn you were at least ten minutes away from getting close, but hearing how vulnerable and unabashed her moans are, how Rei’s trying so hard to lift her face up from the table to look at you through the sweaty hair clinging to her face, a part of you is just taken by the moment and you lose all control.
“Shit, I’m going to cum. I’m going to fucking cum, Rei,” you declare, giving her ass repeated spanks to further sate your desire to overwhelm her, to just remind her that she may be your employer, but during moments like this? She’s yours.
She’s yours.
“I-I-I’m close too,” she huffs, body getting dragged back and forth against the dining table. She’s lucky there aren’t any complementary snacks on it—they’d be scattered all over the place now. Fortunately for you, the only mess you need laid out before you now is just Rei. “Don’t stop! Fuck, pound me harder. Harder! HARDER!”
Her begs and pleads egg you closer and closer, but you want to prolong it for just a moment. Just until you hear it. Just until she says it. You lift her up by under her arms until she’s drawn taut like a strung bow. “Say it, Rei. Tell me whose you are? Tell me whose fucking slut you are!”
“J-J-Just yoursssss nghhhh hnghhhh JUST YOURS! CUMMING!”
The both of you come in unison while you hold her close, arms moving towards her stomach and waist to wrap her tightly—so she can’t let go. As the tension from your core rolls over towards your balls before spiking through your shaft and tip, you feel Rei clench the last few times around your balls-deep dick, finishing herself off while also finishing you off deep inside of her.
Needless to say you two are fucking spent, collapsing onto one another against the table. Rei’s already groaning about how heavy you are, but you keep yourself against her back, dick still at an odd angle in her pussy.
Once you finally find the energy within you to pull away, your cock makes her pussy squelch before you hear the lascivious squirting sound of your second load of the night coming out of her well-used cunt.
You aren’t being an asshole in the slightest. But the moment you help Rei up, the first thing she does is slap your face.
You act like it doesn’t sting. Physically, at least. But seeing her watering eyes is what really gets you to form thick lumps in your throat.
“Hey,” you start, your voice gentler than it’s ever been. You move forward to try and reach for her, but she’s faster and darts out of the way. Too bad for her, you weren’t trained for nothing. You manage to catch her by her waist and hold her down. “You’ve been acting weird tonight. Really weird. Do you … want to talk about it?”
Sniffling, she blinks fast and shakes her head. “No. N-No, I don’t. I-I-I just—.”
“Rei.”
She knows when you call her name like that—just her name, and nothing else—that you’re being serious. That you mean business. Calming herself down a little and drying her eyes, she nods and returns to you. “Yeah, yeah sorry … I … Moment ruined haha. I just … I just expected you to get up and leave.”
“So you wanted me to leave you like that? All fucked out on the table?” you clarify, unsure of where this is headed. “I mean, if that’s your thing, then sure—.”
“No, asshole—that’s the problem. I … I already expect you—expect this—to be what it is. Just casual. But lately, when we … when we’re together like this, I … I feel …”
“Feel something different?”
Rei glances at you, frozen in place. If the circumstances were different, you might have reached out to brush the hair from her face, held her hand, maybe even picked her up playfully in your arms.
But this is not that kind of story. You’re just her bodyguard. The bodyguard whom she’s slowly getting a little too attached to.
“Look, Rei, this doesn’t have to get complicated if you don’t want it to. If it helps, just think of it this way: I’ll only be here when you want me, if you want me,” you propose, leaning against the table next to her. You figure not having to look eye-to-eye might make it easier for the idol. “You want a quick fuck? The guy you’re trying to hit on didn’t take you home? You’re lonely and all by yourself in the dorms? Call me. And I’ll be there. Until then, I won’t be in your way. Saves us all the thinking and feeling, yeah?”
“What if I want that thinking and feeling though?”
She glides towards you. Until your fingers touch atop the glass of the table. But Rei pushes further until your hips connect and she’s got a hand on your thigh now. Until it becomes impossible to ignore a different kind of heat spreading through you. “You … you’re different. And I like different. Because you’re never anything I might want, but also everything I tend to need. And lately, I … I don’t know. I’ve just been feeling like I want to be yours.”
“Tch, what have you done with the real Naoi Rei. She wouldn’t be saying all this sappy shit—she’d be demanding me to fuck her on the balcony.”
Rei lets out a hearty giggle but not without beating you several times with the small of her fist. “You really are such an asshole … and maybe I’m … I’m the weird one for liking that. All of it. All of … you.”
You shrug and cock your neck to the side, giving yourself some room to breathe. “You sure this is what you want? It’ll probably be easier with someone else. Heard you kept getting paired with that Niki boy from ENHYPEN. You two would make a great pair.”
“Ehh, he’s way too easy on the eyes. He wasn’t any fun in bed either.”
“Wait, did you actually sleep with him?”
Rei smirks and bites her lip. “What? Jealous?”
You part from the table so you’re facing her now, getting her between your legs as you loom over her. “Did you actually? Rei, I’m being serious. You know the protocol: I need to know these things. Especially before shit goes south, and—.”
“Are you saying that now as a bodyguard, as a fuckbuddy, or as someone else?”
You’re normally the one gagging Rei, but this time, she gags you. “I … That hardly makes a difference.”
“It does,” she argues, pursing her lips. “To me.”
You’ve spent the last three years protecting the woman in front of you from any harm that may come her way. Whether that’s in the form of delusional fans, desperate paparazzi, or damaging rumors. But the one thing all that time has never taught you was how to protect Rei from you.
Because even you can’t control yourself when you’re around her.
It’s not fair. How she gets away with everything. Sometimes thanks to you. Sometimes because of her own charm and wit. How she can be a flirt with the other idols. How she can act all innocent one day and be extremely suggestive the other. How she can just keep you on the edge every time, leaving you guessing about what she’s really thinking—what she really means. This push and pull with her has been around your little dynamic since kingdom come, and yet, when confronted with the need for an answer to it all, you’re unsure. You’re just so fucking unsure of what to say right now. To her.
So she answers for you.
“Forget it. This isn’t going to work out anyway. They’ll notice. They always do. You’ll start treating me nicer. Being more conscious and cautious around me. And just … being weird in public. If we keep up what we have and leave it at that, we can at least hide everything until we’re back here—behind closed doors, in our own little world, where no one else can see us.”
She feigns a smile and glances up at you as you hover over her. “Maybe that will have to be enough for me—.”
Your shaky lips pressing into hers stops her from ever finishing that little soliloquy. Rei’s breath grows ragged in the way that you know it to when she’s about to cry, but you hold the side of her face like you’ve always wanted to ever since seeing her for the first time at that boardroom meeting, and press your thumb against the slope of her nose.
When she pulls away, her face is dotted in confusion. But you clear your throat and muster up what little you have left in you to utter what you’re about to say next. “Let’s not put a label on it. This? I love it. You’re not the only one who needs this. Who needs me. Who … needs you. But let’s meet in the middle and just not call it anything. That way, we can just let it become what we both need it to be.”
Rei’s chuckling at your attempt at being sentimental, and immediately you just have this urge to spank her again. “I can work with that. Just promise me one thing.”
“If it’s to pull out, I can’t guarantee it all the time. Not anymore. Not after this.”
She bites her lips and jabs your chest. “Asshole. Just make sure it’s fun for you too. As much as I like the idea of using your dick like a personal dildo, I … I um …”
You don’t need her to finish the sentence. It’s abundantly clear you’re both terrible with words, so you let your bodies do all the talking instead.
Her fingers lacing through through your hair, yours feeling up her sides. Her mouth finding purchase against your neck with teeth, yours worshipping her nipples and breasts. Her breath coasting over your hardening cock and still-heavy balls, yours peppering the small of her back and the rump of her ass.
It’s different now. It really is. You can feel it. She can too. And you both love it.
The intensity. The devotion.
The fervency.
You’ve been all over the hotel room by now, but you both find yourselves back on the couch. When Rei breaks the kiss and smudges the back of her hand against her lips, you think she might climb onto your lap and indulge in you like that. But much to your surprise—and delight—she falls to her knees once again.
Ruffling her already messy bob, she groans and leans her face close to your semi-flaccid cock. Close enough so you can feel her warmth against your skin. “Think you can still go for another round? Let’s … let’s see how it feels like this.”
She doesn’t even go into any specifics, but you know what she means. “Yeah. Yeah, give me a minute—oh god, fuck, Rei.”
Rei only gives you approximately seventeen seconds before she’s kissing and dragging her lips up and down your shaft. She has a penchant for working underneath your head. Softer than a tickle. Firmer than a grasp. Rei grabs your cock and balls and glances down at it. “It’s all sticky and moist now. Has a funky feeling to it.”
“Yeah, and whose fault might that be exactly?”
She smirks and flicks your tip once with her tongue. “Let me clean up my mess then, daddy.”
Oh she has gone and done it now.
She goes cross-eyed looking at your tip, polishing it with one thumb. “Hm? Did you like that, daddy?”
You inhale deep through clenched teeth as she strokes you at a relaxed pace. “Fuck … Fuck yeah, yeah I do. Be a good little slut and clean up daddy’s cock.”
Rei bites her tongue and nods before smacking her lips against your head, working your tip with a mix of moans as she dutifully continues jerking you off at the same time. You can feel how she now sucks you off less like she’s trying to satiate her cravings for cock and cum and more like she’s trying to provide you the purest form of pleasure she can offer.
She paces herself, trading the grandstanding of forced deepthroats to make herself gag on your thick shaft in favor of a more rapid rhythm that gets you curling your fingers into the soft of the couch.
She fondles your balls in between motions, tugging on them downwards, rolling them between her lithe fingers. One of her hands glides up and down your thigh, digging her thumb into the crease of your muscle. And fuck, does it feel so heavenly coupled with the sight of your length disappearing into her pretty little face.
When she comes up for air, drool trickling down her chin, she strokes you fast, saliva coating your entire cock. “Mmmh … how did that feel? Does it feel good when I blow you like that, daddy? I love sucking your dick … it feels so good inside my mouth, pushing down against my tongue … hitting the back of my throat …”
“Shit … you can have this cock any day everyday, Rei … god, just don’t stop … keep going …”
Giggling, she palms over your head just to make you whimper a little. “I don’t want you to cum down my throat though. But before I really finish you off … how about I give daddy a bit more motivation to fuck me again.”
You lift a finger like you might ask her what that implies, but she’s way ahead of you.
You never got why Rei would often beg for you to stop when you continue eating her out or keep fucking her through her orgasm. But you understand that now when she threatens to break her neck with how fast she’s bobbing up and down the full length of your dick with no intentions of slowing down.
Gripping your balls firmer, she looks up at you, through her tears, grunting every time your head pushes into her throat by even just an inch, lapping at what little of your underside she could with her pinned tongue.
Meanwhile, you’re curling upwards, meeting her warm and wet mouth as much as you can before you feel the pit of your stomach readying to burst. “Shit … shit, Rei that’s so fucking hot. Fucking swallow my cock down that slutty throat of yours—god, make daddy feel good. Make daddy feel so fucking good, baby.”
She catches your term of endearment and smirks. With one final fast pump of your dick, she holds you, sheathing you deep inside of her tight little idol mouth, before retracting backwards inch by glorious inch so she can reveal the new messy coating and sheen of your cock thanks to her ministrations.
Coughing a little bit, she snorts to the side before sitting on the balls of her feet, your cock still in her hand. “Nghhh … all worked up now, aren’t you, daddy? One last round?”
“One last round,” you confirm, bounding from the couch. When Rei stands up to join you, you take this opportunity to sweep her off her feet again, and she takes this chance to wrap her legs around your body once more, and you both take this moment to indulge in each other’s lips—never boring of how the other tastes—and tumble towards the bedroom like this.
Sandalwood and bergamot hit your nostrils, but the only scent your mind can focus on is the mixture of heady sweat, drying cum, and splattering saliva shared between your bodies as you lay her down on the mattress and pillows.
You climb on top of her but she’s shaking her head. “Daddy … as much as I want you to pound me into the sheets, I … I want to ride you,” she confesses, biting her lip like an innocent church girl—but you know she’s anything but that. “Please? Fuck, I want to ride you so hard one last time and feel you finish inside me while we’re … while we’re together like that …”
You kiss her neck and grind your dick against her still-wet pussy a bit more, not offering her reply, just selfishly searing this moment of brief intimacy into the back of your mind before you get ridden.
“Daddy … daddy please, stop teasing meeee … mmmh! Ahhh! Fuck … my pussy’s already aching for your dick again … Please … please … one more … one last … let me ride you …”
You push down the voice in your head that wants to make her beg. Instead, you turn the volume up on the voice that wants to indulge her desire. “Are you going to ride me until I can’t feel my thighs from how fast you’ll be bouncing on top of me?”
Biting her lip, she nods in rapid succession, caressing up and down your shoulders as you continue grinding against her. “I’ll ride you so good it’s all you’re ever going to be thinking about when we sit next to each other on the plane ride home, daddy.”
That’s just what you wanted to hear.
Rei gasps and giggles over how fast you swap places with her, trading the luxury of pinning down her soft curves in favor of feeling their weight on you. She’s just as quick to adjust too, already resting her supple cheeks against your thighs.
Swirling her hand around your cock, she measures you against her soft-toned torso. “Oh wow, I took all of this inside me? Fuck … that’s actually really hot. I didn’t think you were this big.”
“It would be even hotter visually seeing you get stretched out, you know,” you tease back.
Nodding, Rei lifts her hip up momentarily to push your head in through the tight ring of her entrance, and when it slips inside of her, the rest just falls into place.
“Mmm, fuck … daddy …” she grumbles, not bouncing, just grinding her mound against your own while feeling your full length inside of her. She reaches out for your chest, drawing lazy figures and shapes across it. “We really need to find the time to just fuck all weekend. I can’t … nghh … I can’t just keep doing quickies like these anymore.”
“We’re beyond quickies at this point,” you tell her, fighting back a sharp moan yourself. “And I won’t say no to that. I wonder what the company might think when we request for a hotel room in the middle of an empty schedule.”
“We’ll use my card,” she groans, steadily working her pace faster, gliding with her hips. You want nothing more than to feel her bouncing on your cock right now, but you temper yourself. “Mmmh, I might use it to buy a bunch of other things for you too, daddy.”
There’s a pause. Rei licks her lips with a knowing smirk when she feels you throb inside her from imagining how she’d look in the skimpiest of lingeries. “I think daddy likes that idea too.”
You grip her waist with a touch so needy that it’s all Rei needs to know.
“Oh … fuck … fuck … shit … daddy … daddy!”
Each word is prefaced by a bounce. Each pause is predicated by a low, deep moan.
You suck in deep as you lift up from the bed and envelop yourself in her chest. One hand kneading her right tit, the other taking in the scent of her skin as she rides you. Rei sinks into a gentle bliss when you palm over her nipple, and you find it both endearing and so fucking sexy how she grips your shoulder every time you roll over it.
You start bucking up into her to try and quicken her pace, but Rei pushes you back down onto the mattress and pins you by your lower stomach. “Let … nnghhh ahhh! Let me do the work. Let me ride you, daddy.”
Spanking her ass, you tap it twice before retreating your hands behind your head. “Then ride me like there’s no tomorrow, baby.”
Licking her puffy lips clean, Rei wastes no time.
She first bounces with her knees, sinking and lifting herself to a practiced rhythm as she acquiesces to the feeling of your dick inside of her in this new position. But when she craves more than this, she lets her instincts kick in and gets more daring.
Rei leans backwards and rides with her hips. Her hands swap between your shins and her own ass as she struggles to balance herself atop you. When she stumbles forward, you catch her with one hand to her chest.
You both make eye contact and there’s this drag of a gasp from her when she feels your grasp.
Giggling, she understands the assignment. Growing less self-conscious, Rei relies on you to keep her steady as she allows herself to alternate between riding you and grinding into you. Whenever she tires from working your thick shaft inside her, she cools off a bit with several rounds of humping to get her off, before she returns to the task at hand.
But your hands never sit still. You caress down the parting of her body, front and center, between her cleavage, down to her stomach. If you press firmly enough you can feel the faint motions of your dick being taken in and out of her. The faint outline of a bulge forming just beneath your palm.
“Hnghhhh … daddyyyy … so full—so fucking full. I love it, I love it, I love it—AHHH MMMHH!”
You lift your hand beneath her breast, scoop it up, swat it a few times. Move to the other side and do the same. Settling on her right tit, you slap them lightly without pause, enjoying how her breasts jiggle for you with each mount of her ride, delighting in how she full-body shudders with each gloss of your thumb against her nipple.
“Fuck fuck FUUUUCK, dadddyyyy, you’re t-t-teasing me … nghhhh you know how sensitive I-AMMMM AHHHH DADDY!”
You’re fondling both breasts now, rubbing her nipples between both of your thumbs and index fingers, polishing them to perfection. You can feel the shakiness of her breath—like her lungs might give out. “Ride me, Rei. Keep fucking riding daddy’s cock. Don’t stop … fuck … don’t fucking stop. Keep bouncing on my dick like that—like a good little slut. Like daddy’s good little fucking slut.”
“Y-Yes daddy! Yes … yes … YES! More … MORE PLEASE!”
“Do you like it when I play with your full fucking tits like this? While you’re riding daddy?”
“Yes … yes! Not a—MMMH MMMPH—day goes by! When … when I don’t imagine daddy playing with them … teasing them … u-using them—fuck!”
“Who’s my Nagoyan fucktoy? Who’s my good little tight slutty fucking Nagoyan fucktoy?” you growl, approaching your own orgasm, flicking her nipples in fervent motions to help her chase her own.
“I AM! I FUCKING AM DADDY! C-C-CUMMINGGGG NGHHH—.”
There’s just something about Rei getting off from her own debasement that turns you so fucking on. But in this moment, all you can think about is bucking what little with your hips you can up and into her to chase your own orgasm. When she clenches down hard once more, crumbling almost instantaneously onto you, you hold her by the waist and fuck the last few tremors of her climax into her as you shoot your final load of the night into Rei.
Breathing. Just heavy breathing.
Rei swipes a hand across her forehead, leans onto your chest, and bites her lip, gesturing at you with her eyebrows. “Was I any good? I don’t really get to ride you that much, so …”
“Never doubted you one bit. Knew you had it in you,” you assure her, resting a hand on her ass. You contemplate spanking her, but the girl deserves a break. “Fuck, we need to do something about those nipples of yours, baby. You can’t just keep cumming whenever someone plays with them.”
She pouts and her lips do this thing where it gets all kissable. It’s adorable. “You’re the only one who plays with them. You’re too obsessed, daddy! Now they’re all sore.”
You help her back up into a sit, your cock still inside her pussy as you kiss around the soft pad of her areolas. “There, feeling better?”
Blushing, Rei nods. “Yes, daddy.”
“You love calling me that a little too much. It’s cute.”
“Shut up.”
“I won’t,” you whisper as you kiss her cheek. Even Rei’s surprised by this. This isn’t part of the script. Isn’t part of the usual routine. Then again, nothing about tonight has been anything remotely like what it used to be between you two. But neither of you resolve to acknowledge it.
Rei taps your chest twice, and you know what that means. Carefully, she dismounts you, rubbing her pussy out a few times to soothe herself as your last load trickles out of her. Once she’s recovered, she makes her way to the bathroom, giving you an unknowing view of her swaying ass.
As you take in the final glance of her naked form before she disappears behind the bathroom door, you can’t help but hope that she might turn around. Just a glance. Just a look. But it never comes, and soon, the idol’s already running the water, readying for her post-sex shower.
Alone. Like always.
You do some cleaning up of your own. Fixing the sheets, wiping yourself, rehydrating with some shoddy sparkling water. Anything to get your mind off of things.
By the time she’s done, she’s dressed in her personal pink robe, and you’re already fitted in your boxers. She doesn’t wait for you to say anything. Rei just gets into bed and claims the side closer to the wall, leaving you to roll onto your back on the side closer to the bedside table.
And neither of you say a word. Just like before.
Just like always
As Rei drifts off to sleep behind you, a final thought permeates your exhausted mind. In the grand scheme of things, you really are just another fuck to her. And maybe, just maybe, it’s better this way. For her sake or for yours, you’re not quite sure. But if this is what it takes to maintain what you two have, then you’ll gladly bite that bullet.
Because having her like this is better than having none of her at all.
Something shifts on the bed. Before it registers, an arm comes around you, but doesn’t pull you in. Instead, the body attached to said arm pulls itself in. Towards you. Against your side. Fitting her face against the length of your arm.
“Rei …”
“Don’t … don’t say anything. Don’t make this weird,” she pleads, her hand atop your chest caressing you in fervent frolicking strokes. “Just let it happen.”
You dig your hand and arm underneath her, shifting her head closer to your chest, and hold the length of her small back against you like that. “Ok.”
Everyone wants a piece of her. Everyone wants a piece of Naoi Rei.
But, perhaps, you’re the only one who has the privilege of having her completely like this.
You’re the only one with the highest honor of being hers.
College classes are bullshit, you thought as you stared at your phone screen, class schedule on display. Not living in the city, you took a two-hour commute — every day — just to arrive for one class that’s only for an hour. An hour. Then it’s the same stupid commute home at 8. That’s it. For the majority of the week.
For Fridays and Saturdays? Oh yeah, they’re fine, most definitely.
“Christ, 7 to 7 on Fridays and Saturdays?”, you whined out loud. You swiped a few more at the screen in disbelief, hoping it was a glitch, just a minor typographical error by some overworked coffee-for-blood intern half-asleep over the keyboard. But no. An internship at the local clinic, and four hours of a course on clinical research and ethics. 7 to 7. You heaved a sigh and tightened the straps of your backpack. Why they couldn’t put some of the classes during your weekdays is a mystery as clear as muddy water.
Finally leaving the ornamental front gate of your college campus, you trudged along a brick path that ran alongside different shops and stalls that were neatly positioned just before the train station. You pass by different hobby shops, neat textile stands, and a couple of establishments you haven’t got the time or the money to try.
You reached the last stand of food and saw beside it a newly opened cafe, complete with a jazzy new logo, neat brutalist walls, and those hip, one-word, obscure names all cafes seem to have nowadays: Fors. Its grey walls seemed to hold more life inside as you peeked into the windows beside the main entrance. Orange lights and the buzz of customers gave the cafe that inviting feeling of stepping into something new, despite its seemingly uninviting exterior. You decided to indulge in that, thinking of buying a small pastry for the road.
The cafe wasn’t all that big, situated on this gravel lot with a neat side garden facing the street, but it definitely maximized the space. Brick stepstones were inlaid to lead to the heavy wood-and-glass door, with its sleek black “Welcome” sign hanging. The larger cement wall extended to the right of the door, sporting this large, seamless circular window, its wedges smoothed out to serve as momentary seating or a place to take a photo, as the neat sidewalks and the bunched-up shops outside, with the shadow of the nearby bridge, serving as the background.
Your feet crunched on the gravel as you took the brick path towards the door. Fixing and undoing your pack straps, you pushed the door inward. The bell overhead rang. The staff, all clad in matching navy blue polo shirts and cream-colored aprons, looked toward the entryway and offered a warm welcome. Fors was a spacious cafe, its cashier and brewing station situated to your left atop slabs of the same cement. Just past the cashier was the cold glass display, chock-full of illuminated pastries and cakes, each with its price. To the right of the cashier and pastry area was the front-of-house. It was designed to be sunken, so there was a small downstep to reach the various chairs and tables for customers. Off to the side, where the large circular window had been, were these velvet couches and small coffee tables, basking in the natural light. On the opposite, far end of that were more tables distributed evenly, orbiting the cafe’s large shelves filled with books. The sconces attached to the walls leaked out the same orange light that caught your attention, tying all the elements together cohesively.
To be truthful, you weren’t a big fan of cafes. More specifically, you weren’t a big fan of how cafes tried hard to be “commercially unique”, going so far as to rename the sizes of coffee cups or complicate coffee orders with a dash of this or that, a dollop of foreign syrup, a shot of exotic bean grounds. You had your gripes, too, with this new wave of muted, minimalist, and sleek aesthetic that all cafes seem to go for nowadays. You’d always wonder which Heaven a cafe’s soul goes to whenever it loses its life and trades it for cold, stone floors.
However, you never turned down a good old croissant. It’s simple, not too crazy — plain. Seizing the moment, you walked to the cashier and placed your order.
“Would you like a regular coffee with that, Sir? It comes in three sizes, Micro, Mean, and Maxim,” the young female barista pointed up at the overhead menu with the drink sizing.
“Yeah, I’ll have the…uh…the Mean.” You cursed internally.
“Okay, that’ll be $25.50.”
I will never return here, you thought as you weakly handed over your card. After a few taps and prints, you took it back alongside the warm croissant and ventured down towards the seats.
Scanning the area, most customers were seated near the circular window, hoping to get a shot for Instagram or whatever. So you walk past them and take a window-side wood seat with a small square table. Comparatively, this window was a bit dirtier, with blurry fingerprints streaking and dotting the pane.
“Guess they neglected you, huh, buddy?” You softly asked the window, pulling out the seat. “Well, don’t worry, I’m not much for circle windows,” you whispered as you finally sat down to wait for your coffee.
“You usually talk to inanimate objects, or just windows?”
On the table directly in front of you, nearer to the books, there was a woman. Fair. Olive-shaped face. A gentle and delicate nose with a smooth bridge. Subtle smirk. Silky deep-brown locks styled in a wolfcut that flowed just down to her shoulders. Time-stopping.
“No, just—just windows…” You sighed.
The woman’s gaze was sharp. You felt it cut you four different ways as she scanned your appearance, searching for…something. The slicing ceased as her gaze fell back down to the opened laptop in front of her.
You gulped a bit as you shifted in your seat, uncomfortable with the sudden connection this stranger initiated. But hey, with a knockout of a woman such as her, you found it hard to complain. She sat down like grace and hard work combined, a delicate posture accenting the way her fingers typed swiftly, her eyes twinkling from the laptop light. She seemed around your age, with smooth skin sculpting and defining her cheeks and neck, with waves of her hair flowing downwards in subtle curls.
“You usually stare this long at strangers?” she piped up again, never taking her eyes off the laptop screen.
You cursed under your breath. “No, I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. That’s weird,” you said with a shift of your head away from her general direction.
What is wrong with me? You thought. Your heart raced just looking at the woman; any longer and you’d die. But fuck, this girl’s beautiful, you awed silently.
And so, like addiction and relapse and all that, your gaze flowed and waned, wandering and detouring, but ultimately landing back on her.
Her brow was raised, still immersed in whatever she had on that laptop. Her eyes narrowed a bit further. Then it happened. Seemingly frustrated, her nose scrunched like something she didn’t mean to do and instantly corrected. The crinkles at the top of her nose bridge eased as her expression settled. It happened for a split second, but you caught it.
Then you felt a slash, the gash quickly rising from your arms and up to your face. Warmth flushed your cheek. Her almond eyes lacerated you. You were leveled.
You nervously smiled, getting caught again. You fiddled with the complimentary Fors creamer and sugar, hoping that mindless actions would undo the last three minutes of awkwardness. You drummed the table a bit, conveniently looking to the counter, waiting for this dumb century-long coffee.
Coffee beans must’ve still been harvested from exotic red-soil countries, you mused.
The woman suddenly stood up, chair whining against the floor. Grabbing her sling bag and books in one hand, and holding the corner of her still open laptop with the other, she strode shortly and stopped at your table. She set her belongings on the table, occupying more than half of your table space, and sat directly in front of you, resuming her nonchalant typing, not even acknowledging you with brief eye contact.
“Uh…”
“It’s self-service.”
“Excuse me?”
The woman nodded to the cashier. “That’s probably your coffee right now, cooling away.” Right enough, your eyes found a pastel grey mug sitting alone on the countertop.
“Excuse me,” you said with a half-hearted smile as you peel away from the table. And so you walked over, grabbed your now less-hot-than-desirable coffee, and stopped just before you reached your table. The woman still sat there.
Okay, I’m still in it, you rejoiced silently.
You took a seat again, placing the coffee just beside your croissant and the newly placed leather books. You craned your neck subtly, trying to read the titles on the spines.
“Law books,” she answered.
“Law student,” you responded in understanding.
So she was older, you thought.
She gave a nod as you took a seat, trepidation hanging over you as you thought of how to fill the silence.
“Got a paper due?” you asked meekly.
“A digest, yeah.”
“Cool, cool,” you said with a sip of your coffee.
“You?”
“Me?”
“Your major.”
“Gotcha. I’m a nursing student.”
“Hm. Younger.”
“Well, not that young,” you replied sheepishly.
“Young enough.”
“I mean, it’s not like we’re ages apart,” you replied. “You’re what, four years ahead?”
“Flattering, but no. I’m 37,” she winced.
You almost spat out your coffee. “Shut up.”
That made the corner of her lips lift a bit, and her face rose to look up at you instead of her work. The edge of her gaze stung less.
“Yup, 37. Majored in Poli Sci. Left for a bit. Came back.”
“But you look…” You pointed at all of her.
“Yes?”
“Absolutely not 37,” you said in awe, wrapped in a jest, but you caught yourself.
“I’m sorry.” You played it cool. “You’re just…wow.”
She laughed a single melodious laugh, her nose scrunch more visible now. Then you noticed it — the lodged maturity in her laugh, the seriousness seeping through her smile as her face eased back into a composed smirk, the intensity in the corners of her eyebrow. Her brown gaze stabbed you, but you didn’t mind.
“So you do laugh.”
“I do. Unfortunately.” She released a short sigh, thought for a bit, and decided to shut her laptop. “Kazuha.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Kazuha,” you offered your hand. She shook it firmly, but friendly.
“So how do you…?” you motioned up and down.
“Exercise and diet. Mainly genetics, too. Aren’t you supposed to be an expert on this, Nursing?”
“Oh shut up. You’re lucky I don’t quiz you on…” You leaned closer, tilted your head, and read off the spine of one of her books. “…torts, obligations, and civil proceedings.”
“I’m sure I can handle it.” She sized you up.
“I’m sure I can handle it,” you repeated sarcastically.
“Christ, you’re a child,” she scoffed slightly.
“Hey, a child you specifically chose to sit next to.” You pouted with false-surrendered hands. “Pretty sure that’s illegal.” You leaned back a bit.
Her gaze sliced down to your arms and back up to your eyes.
You relented immediately.
“Obviously, I’m kidding. Thank you for sitting here,” you said as you leaned back in towards her. This rewarded you with another laugh, the melody ringing in your ears as she chuckled.
“I’m 23,” you eased her mind.
She nodded with a slight smile. “Alright.”
“Alright?”
“Alright.”
Kazuha stowed her laptop, piled the cluttered paper, and stacked the uneven books. With a sling of her bag and a grip on her books, her tall frame stood before you, hips cocked to the side.
“Nursing. 23.” She repeated your details back to you, seemingly memorizing and rehearsing the information. “I’ll see you around then, 23. Enjoy the coffee.” The older woman pivoted and strode away, her heels tapping across cement.
Alright, you smile to yourself, satisfied. You took a sip of your coffee and finally dug into the croissant.
Kazuha sliced the back of your head with one last peek at you. You never noticed.
-
With a zip of your duffel bag, you neatly fold and store your scrub top and the casing of your stethoscope, ready to head out. Packing most of your things, you venture out of the clinic, eager to start that commute home. Your ID beeps at the employee monitor as you say goodbye to your clinical instructor, hoping to split before they have any “last-minute tasks” for you. With a dash across intersections, you quickly navigate past the rabble of people also rushing to head home. Like obstacles, the buzz of people filled your night commute; a group of teenagers on skateboards, similar college students probably on their 5th Red Bull, businessmen guffawing as they turn off work mode, and you — this aquamarine smear in a mosaic of muted clothes and the scattered bounces of car lights. Pulling out your phone, you cross off the last item of your to-do list and walk down the same street-lined shop, the last stretch before your commute.
You glance at the familiar shops, giving an occasional wave at the vendors you’ve personally gotten to know while studying. You see Mr. Lee, resident loudmouth teokbokki monger, as he shouts out his low prices over his steaming boiler of rice cakes. Just further down, Mrs. Bang, the no-nonsense street food mogul and local grandmother of all, fans the coals just under sizzling skewers and tin-foiled sweet potatoes. Across Mrs. Bang’s side, the Kim brothers chase off young kids staying too late at their neon-highlighted computer gaming lounge. You chuckle a bit, staring at this picture of comfort. Miles and miles of pavement and hours of train tracks separate your college from your house, but walking down this lane has always felt like home.
You walk a few more meters and come up to Fors again, its human vibrance sheltered by its grayscaled exterior. The circular window, an amber eye staring back into city streets and cloudless nights. Words and conversations spill through the glass door, decoding long enough whenever the door opens for a customer and vanishing as quickly as it shuts.
You were never a cafe guy.
You take a few strides past Fors, walk the crossing, and stand just before the steps leading down into the subway and, eventually, home. Something gnawed at the back of your mind.
You were never a cafe guy.
You could go back now, just to check. No harm done.
You were never a cafe guy.
It’s only a few steps. You check your wristwatch. 7:23. Two hours before the final train.
You were never a cafe guy.
You still had a lot of studying to do.
You were never a cafe guy.
You didn’t even have any money left.
You were never a cafe guy.
And you never will be, if they didn’t have…this.
Her hair is whimsical, flowing through the air in slow-motion curls and waves. A million love songs play as a part of her face, now comes into view. Her skin is bright and rose-cheeked and warmed by orange cafe beams, a stained-glass display of jaw-drop, devotion being the only appropriate response. Her lips are sweet and kind and lightly pouted, as if inviting a reply only lips can make. Her name flits from your mouth like a short kiss you never want to end, like those you make before leaving for work or wanting to stay in the moment. Cherubs softly sigh as she scans the room, gracing each customer with a momentary glimpse of her— those split-seconds freeze as you find yourself actively trying to pause the world and the hands of time, just to commit the image to memory. Her eyes shatter the last of your inhibitions as you physically feel weak in her gaze. Daggers dig into your torso, then your face, your beating heart bleeding true onto your sleeves. Your chest rises and falls as you try to steady your breathing from the sprint back.
“Hey,” you pipe up.
“Hey.” Her smile twinkled in the sea of strangers, like faraway lights beckoning you to come close. A smirk rises from her lips as her wolf cut cascades down her cheeks. You notice something.
“Hoop earrings.”
“Working eyes.” Kazuha’s scoff turns into a laugh as she turns her attention back to her books.
You come up to the empty seat across from her.
“Taken?”
Kazuha shrugs with a brow raised. “Maybe.”
Crap.
“Really?” You drop the bravado a bit, concerned.
She suddenly laughs, hand immediately coming up to cover her grin. She gestures with an open palm toward the empty seat.
You nod, pulling out the chair and taking a seat, face-to-face with Kazuha again. Well, face to book. A dark green leather-bound book with spidery gold lettering blocked her face from view – Environmental Law.
You lean back a bit, breathing finally evening out. Now, with you sitting down and thinking clearly, you realize the next step is unknown to you. She was right there, just a few feet from you, and yet the distance was canyon-like. You glance back down at your watch – 7:31. Maybe not too late to catch that train.
Her voice cuts through cafe conversation.
“So…” Environmental Law is lowered for a bit, her sharp eyes now coming into view. “You ran all the way here just to see me?”
“Just to see you?” you echoed sheepishly. “No, of course not. I was just, you know, walking. Then I realized I hadn’t eaten yet. So, I wanted to grab a bite to eat before that train ride home. So, yeah,” you finish with a shrug.
“Uh-huh.” Her eyes narrow for a bit as she scans you up and down. “You beelined here, didn’t you?”
You exhale and admit. “Yeah…”
A short giggle leaves her, but a smile stays. She closes up stupid Environmental Law and sets it aside, along with her other law books. She leans forward, her knit sweater accentuating her slim waist and graceful frame.
“Am I a bite to eat, 23?” Her voice suddenly takes on this sultry lowness. Blood rushes to your cheeks as you are hit by her sudden boldness and the obvious double entendre.
“No! I just mea—“
Kazuha bursts out a quick chuckle, her hand waving it off as she makes light of the conversation. “Jesus, chill out!” She smiles at you, satisfied with the jest.
“But did you? Beeline here, I mean?” She asks again, her voice rising with a slight tone of hope. The contrast jarred you.
For how brief you’ve known her, Kazuha’s voice was markedly unique. Hers was a symphony made by madmen — confident, clear, contradicting. Her voice could be light and easy, with a small rise in pitch. But then, it’d have this surprisingly low quality to it, like a sudden flip of sentience and suave — and Kazuha seemed to abuse that switch.
“You’re going to be dangerous, huh?”
“Pretty much,” she says with sly eyes and a smirk.
-
“So yeah, graduated, did ballet, hated it, got confused, then took time off.”
“Mhm…yeah.”
“Then got back here to take up law finally.”
“You liking it…?”
“Mmm…just a bit lower, please.” Kazuha’s fingers interlace in your hair, pushing you a bit lower, down her open legs.
You chuckle as you give a compensatory lick lower on her wetness, nearer her smooshed asscheeks. “I meant law,” you say in between pecks to her pussy lips and kisses to her smooth thighs propped up on your shoulders.
“Fuck yes!” Her grip tightens when you hit a spot right at the crease of her ass, using your tongue for all its worth. “Yeah, I’m-I’m liking it, yeah.” She giggles through strained breaths.
You hook your arm around her left thigh, come back down towards her pussy, and start rubbing the bud at the top of her splayed lips. Your tongue takes care of business nearer the entrance, lapping up the leaking lubricant.
“Fuck, yeah, right there! Yes, yes, right there!” Kazuha’s mouth widens as her neck arches to the ceiling of her quiet flat, her slender throat on display, moonlight streaking through her blinds, the strips of light dying to touch the scene.
You maintain the pace Kazuha liked, rubbing faster only at her clit. Heaven collapses onto you as her strong thighs smother you, the soft flesh clamping down the sides of your head.
“You’re dripping.” You can’t help but smile through suffocation.
“For you,” Kazuha breathes out your name, caressing your head with surprising sweetness. “Oh fuck!— You make me so wet.”
You grip her outer thighs, your fingers sinking into the plump skin, as you lower them from your head. Her pink pussy lips are spread for you, liquid still dripping down the ring of her ass. An idea pops into your head.
“Shit! Yes!” Kazuha’s head snaps back onto the pillow as your tongue trails from her asshole and up to her clit in one long, deep lick.
Your head finally comes into her view. “Really?” you coo, intrigued.
A laugh rises through her exhausted breath as she nods with a smile. “Mhm…” Her voice softens in erotic embarrassment.
You lean back down and, after a few more coaxes with your index and middle finger, her hips buck against your head as her sex twitches in orgasm. You drown in the erotic liquid and the salt in her sweat that was beading down her navel. You open your mouth wide, tongue flat in acceptance of the fruit of your hard work. The older woman’s legs wrap around your head, humping in response, as if trying to get another orgasm going.
With the added juices, you slide your tongue down her pussy lips and back onto her tight rim. She shrieks in delight with the repeated contact, the tip of your tongue circles and teasing entrance, baiting her for a bit before letting her cunt settle down from the high. You sit back up, satisfied with your work.
Kazuha lies there for a few moments, recollecting. Her tits bounce ever so slightly with each inhale and exhale. With a flick of a switch, her post-orgasm vulnerability vanishes, leaving only a deep need to retaliate. She rises to plant a few kisses on your neck before pulling you lower, her mouth now close to your ear.
“My turn.”
She adeptly reverses your position, with you now lying down on your back, your bare chest and boxers subjected to her gaze. Kazuha straddles you, the tent in your underwear lightly touching her pussy.
With you now on the bottom, Kazuha leans down, her lips seeking a target. First, they land on your cheek. Then the side of your mouth. Your jaw. Ear. Jugular. Pecs. Her face stops near your now-hardened nipple, eyes staring back up at you. Her open mouth breathes warmth onto you. Your cock twitches visibly at the possibility, now straining even harder. This catches her attention. Her sharp gaze widens.
“Really?” She echoes.
Fuck.
You admit with a slow nod.
Her pink tongue slowly darts out, dragging across the hard nub.
Sparks fly immediately. You jerk in pleasure, your torso rising on instinct, inadvertently bumping your nipple back onto her tongue. You squirm in the unexpected gratification, your breathing quickens as you grip tighter on her pastel blue bed sheets.
Hunger consumes her now. Her mouth latches down onto your left nipple, tongue coating the sensitive nerve endings with slick saliva. She licks repeatedly, around the nub, alternating clockwise and counter. She releases you with an open-mouthed gasp, her tongue coming down to poke and flick the nub lightly and minutely, just enough for you to feel the stimulation — and ultimately crave more.
A neural pathway must have short-circuited because the words that came out of your mouth surprised even you.
“The other one, too. Please…”
After a few last licks, Kazuha smirks up at you. She kisses your left nipple one last time as she shifts a bit, eager to focus her attention on your other erect bud. Saliva coats your right nipple now, Kazuha working hard to keep it moist. Seemingly satisfied, she now blows a cold breath onto it.
“Kazuha—shit!” Your abdomen flexes in response to the cool feeling. Your fingers find her hair, tightening and coiling a few strands before loosening. “Sorry,” you whisper.
“It’s alright,” she whispers back, a comforting smile manifests on her cheeks. “You feel good?” Her gaze is a different kind of sharp now — less edge, more eager. Less cut, more care.
You nod back, letting her continue. And she does. She brings her index and middle finger to your mouth now, eyes wide with this concentrated gaze, lashes batting and beckoning for you to give in.
You open up a bit, her fingers now brushing against your lips. Her lithe fingers dance around your tongue, sliding and slipping, making sure you taste her skin. Without breaking eye contact, she brings out her now-wet fingers and places them back on your left nipple. She traces circles around the center, cutting across occasionally, rubbing your nipple for you. You squirm again, the nerve endings overloaded with the pleasurable stimuli, your body needing to do something to try and regain control. But Kazuha was everything — consent and control. She coaxed and cooed whenever she tried new things, making sure you were alright with it. But the moment you said yes, her disposition steeled. She would fixate on those boundaries she could cross and punish you for it, building you up for your eventual breaking down.
With her fingers focusing on your left nipple, you finally see her plan: her mouth latches onto your nipple on the right. Surges of electricity course through your chest and up your spine, wetness now coating both of the nubs. You curse out in pleasure as you feel the onslaught of sensation, Kazuha pushing and driving you further. She giggles at your response, and you feel her mouth curl into a smile as she licks and sucks at your areola. Your hard dick flexes painfully, begging, pleading, for release as it strains against your boxers. Kazuha looks up at you with an erotic open mouth, her tongue flicking your nipple. Her eyes dart to your cock and back to you, debating whether to give you a journey into that one last frontier you’ve been wishing she’d venture to.
“Should I?” Her low voice inquires in faux apprehension.
Not able to take it anymore, you snap. “Kazuha, you fucking better,” you whisper.
She laughs in surprise, gasping at your boldness. Her eyes sharpen for a moment, but glaze over with this newfound warmth. Kazuha leans over, her gorgeous features becoming clearer. She lowers and gives you a sweet kiss, lips pressing against yours firmly, but not hungrily. The sentiment of the kiss caught you off guard, but you reciprocated. You close your eyes and let yourself go.
A few seconds deep into the liplock, Kazuha pulls back. Like magnets, your lips chase and follow her, both of you now sitting up, with her on your lap. You stare at her face again, this beauty staring back at you in the middle of her muted apartment. Once again, those seconds play in slow motion. The curl of her hair stops mid-fall; the blanket flows off her waist like linen waterfalls; her lips, like sweet fruit, accent the light pink tinge of her cheeks. Her body was on yours, graceful, toned, and fragile. You’ve begun hoarding those moments.
Her thumb caresses your cheek, and the world resumes its turning.
“Hey, you okay?” Her voice is sultry, sweet, almost a soft squeeze on your shoulder.
You hold her hand and rub her palm for a bit. “I can’t help but try and memorize every detail of your face…” You trail off.
“Eh?” she squeaks, her voice high now. She shifts back a bit. Much to your dismay, you sense the warmth in her fade a tad, that stinging facade of the Fors cafe girl flooding back in just a smidge.
“No, I just meant— You’re beautiful,” you stammer through, trying to save the conversation from, well, whatever it was you were trying to save it from. “From when I saw you the first time, you were just so— “
“God, shut up.”
Her lips collide with yours. You feel her smile through the kiss as her lower lip lightly bites yours. “Just lie back down, okay?” Kazuha says, with a flat palm, lowering you back onto the mattress.
Her nails run down lightly on your sternum and down to your stomach, your abs tightening suddenly at the mix of tingles and sensuality. Her fingers stop at the band of your boxers, just a few inches from the large tent, aggressively trying to find much-needed contact from Kazuha’s anything at this point. She hooks both thumbs as you also lift your hips a bit, helping her remove the last roadblock to your sexual resolution.
Your cock stands proudly, throbbing and flexing for the older woman, putting on a show so she could finally touch the whole you. You stare at Kazuha, her lips coming to a pout, eyebrows rising as she evaluates your length. You gulp.
“Relax. It’s bigger than I thought.” Kazuha croons. “Biggest I’ve had,” she mutters under her breath, quiet enough to escape you.
She wraps her fingers around the tense muscle, her cool skin grasping and pumping it slowly. Kazuha watches you, observing every squint, twitch, and groan she can make you perform for her. You moan out her name in weakness, the vowels slipping off your tongue like honey. With a quick swoop, both your lips reunite, her tongue slipping inside to tangle with yours. You share a hot breath as Kazuha pulls back, her nose nuzzles yours for a bit before she dives back in to make out with you. With a sigh, she pushes against you, kissing harder as she grows more insatiable, before peppering smooches down your neck and back onto your right nipple. Her tongue comes out, flicking at it once more before going to your other nipple. Her mouth licks in a constant circle while her other hand lies across your chest, finding your erect right nipple. Your head pounds from the overstimulation — a tongue and a hand on your sensitive pecs, her smooth left palm jerking your length, and a pair of eyes that stare up at you as you go insane. Waves upon waves of signals and zings course through your brain and spine, tingling and rushing through your veins as you grow increasingly numb and sensitive at the same time. You stiffen up unconsciously, puffing your chest and giving Kazuha more space to wreak havoc. You feel simultaneous wet corkscrews from both her tongue and her precum-lubricated hand.
Then, for whatever fucking reason, Kazuha speeds up.
“Zuha! Wait!” you croak with weak knees. A tightness starts in your abdomen and starts rising at the base of your steaming length. You buck erratically into Kazuha’s palm as she pumps you relentlessly. The pleasure builds, you feel this tightening in your core as you breathe quicker now.
“Zuha, please!” you manage to moan out, but the older woman jerks you off anyway. Her palm travels your length, squeezing and twisting, stopping just at the tip, and starting back down at the base. With quick strokes, you feel your orgasm building and rumbling along your length.
Then, nothing.
A pit forms in your stomach as your eyes widen, taking in a motionless Kazuha with a stupid, teasing, edging smirk. “Wait, no, fuck! Zuha, you can’t do thi—“
Her warm, silky mouth suddenly plunges on your thick length, tongue slipping down your shaft and reaching the base in one smooth stroke. With a quick maneuver, Kazuha lies between your spread knees, hands reaching up to stimulate your chest one last time before you eventually…
“Fuck!” You unknowingly grip Kazuha’s hair tighter as you slam her mouth deeper onto your meat, her nose meeting your navel. Your cock releases a shot of cum into her mouth, the pressure immediately releasing and gratifying. You hear a slight audible gag as your cock keeps going, dumping and firing off strands of white into her (very receptive) throat and pink tongue. Kazuha bobs for a few moments, making sure to pump every last rope out of you, before releasing your cock from the caverns of her mouth.
Kazuha sits back as she angles her face slightly upward. Her erotic clavicle and neck flex for a bit as she gulps down your seed. She sighs after swallowing, tired and satiated, for now.
The once-spinning apartment has now slowed to a stop, the blue bed and the ravishing woman now clear instead of a sex-hazed blur. Kazuha tucks a stray lock behind her ear, her eyes satisfied with the hurdles she just put you through. Your head collapses back down onto her pillow, sweat soaking just under your chin and neck.
The sheets crinkle and fold as Kazuha plops herself beside you to your left, your two naked bodies touching shoulder to shoulder.
You turn your head to look at her. She looks back.
“So…” she begins. “Zuha’s new.”
“Hey, you try moaning out a three-syllable name,” you retort.
“Oh, Kazuha! Fuck, yes, yes, Kazuha!” she yelps out suddenly, eyes closing in dramatized pleasure as your eyes widen. Her face returns to normal as she playfully shrugs. “Not so bad to me.”
You push her shoulder. “You’re so dumb.”
She squeals, laughing at you, her voice taking on a new pitch and decibel. Her eyes smile at you, a blade sheathed momentarily.
“I like it, though. ‘Zuha’.” She repeats the nickname, testing it out for herself and being satisfied.
You can’t help but beam. “Okay then.”
-
You stir awake to the sound of the bedroom door closing. Your eyes focus for a bit, taking in Kazuha’s apartment walls. A plant in the corner. Pictures of friends on a desk nearby. Pastel blue living room.
Kazuha smirking in the doorway.
She wore classy cat eye sunglasses perched atop her forehead, her round eyes visible and scanning. A pair of pearl earrings glint slightly in the panel of Sunday sunlight streaming through the window. She wore high-waist jeans, a simple white shirt, a brown wool cardigan, and boots. She held a cardboard cup holder, two coffee cups in stow — Fors coffee cups — and a paper bag with the cafe logo in her other hand.
You, on the other hand, were still naked, comfortably under her covers.
“You’re up early.” You rub your eyes for a bit.
“It’s 10.”
You whip around to find your phone. 10:07. You text back home that you were fine. Your gaze lowers to the coffee in her hand. She catches it.
“Yeah, figured I’d do something nice for you while you were knocked out.” Kazuha shrugs sarcastically, stepping away from the door and into the hallway leading to her living room.
“Thanks!” you call out.
“Just get dressed! I don’t want crumbs on my bed.”
You sigh a few more times, streaks of the midnight adventure seeping through your closed eyelids. You can’t help but smile, your heart feeling heavier and fuller.
This thing with Kazuha? It was thrilling. But at the same time, waking up in her apartment for the first time was calm and still — it was certain. Your heart races, not for the chase or the “game”, but for the serenity of something stable.
You hold yourself back a bit. This has to be superficial, you think. Who wouldn’t be infatuated with a natural beauty taking an interest? You’ve literally only known her for a day.
But you’ll be damned if you don’t try and stretch that into years.
You rise out of bed, slip on your boxers, and look around for your shirt. You rifle through your bag and through some of Kazuha’s clothes from last night — still nothing.
“You must really like cold coffee, huh?” Kazuha pipes up from the living room, impatient but teasing.
You sigh, walking out into the hallway, shirtless, bashfully covering yourself.
It didn’t take long for you to see exactly where the shirt went. You see Kazuha facing away from you, fiddling with her microwave, wearing your white shirt. It hung low on her frame, hugging her shoulders but flowing loosely down, giving her a boxy sort of look. Your eyes trail down the shirt and see her legs, extending gracefully. Kazuha was a tall woman, taller than average, standing just a few inches below you, but her legs went on for miles. Her hips curved sensually, followed by those strong thighs that wrapped around your head previously, then her smooth calves, all the way down to her feet. Her hips were cocked again, the swell of her ass accentuated by her black panties, as she was preoccupied with the appliance.
“You had pants on a while ago.”
“Perceptive.” She snorts. “More comfortable this way.”
You hear a metallic clang and the closing of a microwave door. The appliance beeps, its internal timer being set before a constant drone picks up as it stirs to life.
“I expected shorts but not…” You can’t help but ogle the curves of her thighs as they transition to her legs. You slightly drool at the sight.
“Stop staring and take a seat.” She tilts her head to look back, her eyes meeting yours.
You scoot over to her kitchen area, taking a seat on the corner nearest a window. On the table are the two coffees she bought from Fors, you take off their tops, trying to discern which one was yours. You place the latte near you and Kazuha’s americano on her side of the table. With a ping from the microwave, Kazuha brings a tray over — two croissants. She plops the pastries in the middle of the table, taking a seat across from you. You stare at her a bit before deciding to inch your chair closer to her side. You were now sitting to her left.
“There’s enough room for both of us, c’mon.” She bumps your shoulder playfully.
“I know. Just wanted to be closer.” You shrug, sheepishly.
“You’re a sap.” She chuckles briefly as she nudges the tray of croissants.
“Thanks, Zuha.” You lean over to try to kiss her cheek.
She clicks her tongue as your lips land on her palm instead. “Eat.”
“Bossy.”
“Insisting,” she corrects.
You pick up a croissant, take a bite of the flaky pointed end, place it back on the tray, and chew in front of her.
“Happy?” you ask through munches.
“Jesus, just eat!” she whines with a small laugh, hitting you on your shoulder.
“You don’t really talk much, huh?” you say with a sip of coffee.
“You don’t really stay quiet much, huh?” Her nose scrunches as she acts irritated.
“Not in my nature. Learned that a long time ago.” You shrug.
She sighs as she looks into your eyes, a small smirk plastered on her face. “I rarely talk to people, let alone have breakfast with them. So I stay quiet most of the time.”
“So, is this a first for you?”
“Not exactly. Just…the first time in a long while.”
“I see.” You tap your fingers a bit on her table. A few silent seconds pass. But you can’t help yourself. “How’re you liking it so far?”
“You’re really annoying, do you know that?” She replies snarkily.
“Wow, tell me how you really feel. Am I right?” you chuckle, poking her side a bit.
“And you’re really stupid.”
“That I can accept a bit.”
She laughs at you, her hand reaching up to cup your cheek. Instinctively, it seems.
“But,” Kazuha thinks hard for a bit. “…you’re charming,” she finishes honestly.
Your chest pounds as her hand comes into contact with the side of your face. Your stomach feels full, butterflies fluttering and drifting up your throat, trying to crawl out of your mouth in the form of stutters and stammers. Your brain kicks into overdrive again, trying to encode the sight before you.
Her nose was adorable, the folds on her bridge on the verge of scrunching. The corner of her lips rose, a smirk about to form again. Her lashes batted, as her eyes were softer now, their edge now an old friend you dare not reunite with.
Kazuha senses what you were doing; her nose now actually scrunches in amusement before smoothing, like reflex suppressed. She rolls her eyes and averts her gaze as she scoffs, a hint of light pink appearing on her cheeks. Her hand lowers from your cheek, landing back on the table, near her coffee cup.
“So…” you cough a bit. “I thought you hated ballet.” You nod across the kitchen, motioning towards a wall in the living room. On it, hung a picture of a younger Kazuha, mid-pirouette.
Kazuha follows your gaze and clicks her tongue. “Ah. Yeah. I think it’s all I’ve ever known, and I don’t really have any other pictures.” A somber quality to her voice reached you.
“Why’d you do it, anyway?”
“Well, my father was a prestigious man.” Kazuha puts on a fake gruff voice. “Only the best for my little girl. The best schools, the best clothes, the best lessons. It was either the best or nothing at all.” Kazuha laughs it off, but continues. “I liked it at first. Then, I got confused. Did I like it? Or did my dad like it, so I liked it too? Maybe decided I didn’t like it. Told him about it. He obviously wasn't happy. We stop talking. I moved away. Next thing I know, I’m back here, all dressed in black, staring at his casket being lowered.”
Shame fills you. “Oh no, Zuha. Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t even mean to…” You wrap an arm around her, and her head rests on your shoulder.
“No, I know. It’s alright.” Her voice stiffens a bit, trying to play it tough. “It’s just not really a conversation over coffee.”
You nod silently as your thumb strokes her shoulder.
Kazuha blurts out, the moroseness in her now absent. “I was close to getting married once.”
“Excuse me?” you gasp, shock evident in your voice.
“I know, right? Had a ring too!” she lays her palm flat, staring at the bare space the ring used to inhabit. “But stuff happened, so I don’t really go for that anymore— the commitment thing.” Her voice softens as she trails off.
“Oh.”
A few awkward minutes pass by without a word being uttered.
Your heart beats a little bit faster, nervous and ashamed, for even yearning a little bit. Her eyes wander upwards, trying to catch your expression.
“Hey, look, this was—“
You cut her off. “So! You like croissants too?” you cough, bypassing that conversation for now. You prod at both of your croissants with a fork.
Kazuha pouts but nods slowly. “Uh, yeah. Croissants, pastries, bread, in general.” Kazuha eyes you but plays along, her voice sullen now.
Given where you are in your life now, you’ve always appreciated honesty. Playing social games has been a pain, so to speak, and you’ve always made it a point to be clear. Now, you reassess.
So you nod.
And then you sigh.
And then you speak up.
“Look, Kazuha. This…” You motion to both of you. “Don’t you want to try?”
Kazuha breathes deeply, the conflict obvious in her brows. “Dating?”
“We don’t have to go out all the time! I’ve got school, I know you’ve got law. We can just, y’know, hang out— like see each other at the end of the day.”
“But—“
“And, I’ll respect your time. If you just wanna stay here and not meet up, I’ll understand.”
With pursed lips, Kazuha slightly nods, still trying to think about the proposition.
“What about the sex?” she inquires innocently, despite the subject matter.
“Oh. No, no, we don’t have to. I’m fine without it.”
Kazuha stifles a laugh, a smile coming back to her cheeks, her face brightening now.
“You’ll be fine without it?” she says with a roll of her eyes, a brow sharply rising now.
You blush suddenly. “I mean, yeah. I don’t want to pressure you.”
“You really are a sap,” Kazuha confirms. There was a certain sweetness to her voice, like a slow realization of you.
Her face is a few inches from yours. You’re still shoulder-to-shoulder. The seconds tick by as millennia. You study her face in the pause.
Her eyebrows.
That’s what made her gaze so sharp. Those eyebrows that furrow, arch, or dip with every expression passing through her. They’re angled when she’s thinking, pointed when she’s scoffing, and rounded whenever her nose scrunches. Together with her eyes, her brows complete her blade.
The ambient sounds of Kazuha’s flat unwarp as temporal flow is restored. Her eyes move minutely across your face, and you feel small cuts on your lip.
“What is it?” you whisper.
“I’m worse, y’know, when we become closer. You just don’t know me yet,” she whispers back.
“Give me a chance to then.”
Your lips meet again that morning in her flat.
-
A week passes by after that day. Then a month. And then three. And, true enough, you’ve consistently met up with Zuha. You’d catch up with her after her classes, she’d sometimes wait after you clocked out, or you’d just stop by her flat. You’ve settled into that familiar routine, taking into account your commute time and all that. Although you have spent many a night at Zuha’s place, too, when she points out how you’ll only be cramped in that train ride (albeit while her lips are on you). But, all in all, Zuha was a part of your day.
And yet, she remained mysterious.
You’ve been observing her on the days you spent time together in her apartment. And, honestly, you felt perplexed.
Zuha was the type of person who had this cold exterior, especially when it came to her studies, but at the same time bawled over her 7th watch of The Lion King (getting through Mufasa’s death was always a trip through all the stages of grief).
She’d keep all her notes and digests organized, but she’d highlight like a maniac afterward — a mosaic of colors, lines, arrows, offshoot notes, and tangent case references. It was incomprehensible, but Kazuha would read them and judge you for not understanding.
She’d shut down most jokes you make, rebutting and parrying with a deadpan expression, but then she’d drop a few dad jokes, grin sweetly, and then assert that she’s just funnier than you.
She’s clumsy, but only once. She’s precise in a way that ensures she won’t make the same mistake twice. She mispronounces words, looks them up on Google, and then she practices. She overcooks a dish, tries again angrily, and then proudly serves it when she gets it right. She knocks over furniture sometimes, but then arranges them in a way that allows her to perform chaînés across her apartment.
Which brings you to ballet.
Each movement of hers seemed like a calculated performance. An afternoon at hers was a quiet recital just for you. You’d see ballet in everything she did — the way she’d gracefully bend to pick up a dropped spoon, or the way her lines extend when you stare at her putting on jeans, or the way she’d unscrunch her nose and tuck a strand of hair neatly behind her ear. You’ve been wondering whether she still likes ballet. You’d watch her and just be stuck.
She’d catch you staring sometimes, too. You felt it whenever you got cut. She would raise an eyebrow, a small, confused smirk forming. Then a roll of the eyes. A rare middle finger. But most commonly a blush.
Was the age gap between you and her apparent? Surprisingly no. Both of your personalities jived, and Zuha never made a point of talking down to you, and you always respected her whenever she knew something you didn’t. Being with her was refreshing. She had an impulsiveness about her that was such a thrill ride, but then you’d also have these deeply meaningful conversations that went on for ages. She was the perfect woman, in addition to being the perfect girlfriend.
And, you’ve had girlfriends before, but it was always the high school crash-and-burn ones. It was never a “go straight to their place after school to cook dinner” type. I mean, you’ve never even introduced anybody to your parents.
Not until your 10th night staying over at Zuha’s flat.
-
“You never told us it was a girl!” Your mom squealed on the other side of the video call. All this time, you’ve told her you’re staying over at a friend’s but never bothered to specify a girl. But then, Zuha accidentally walked behind you a few minutes ago, her feminine form obvious through the video. Your mom was now seated and audibly excited.
From the background, you hear your dad laugh. “So that’s where he’s been!”
“Yes, okay, she’s a girl. But that’s enough! I’m just staying over here to bypass the stupid commute times!” You whine, uncharacteristically.
Zuha sat in front of you and to the right, sitting just outside of the phone’s view.
“Remember when you kept sneaking in to stay over, ‘hon?” Your mom sighs, reminiscing.
“Yeah, we were around his age then, too, ‘hon,” your parents laugh. Zuha is dying, her stomach flexing as she giggles silently.
“Well, where is she? Show her to us!” Your mom whines, insisting.
“Oh, I don’t know, Mom. She’s kinda bu—“
“Wait!” Zuha protests, suddenly and swiftly walks over behind the couch to lean over your shoulder. Her face now comes into view and on camera.
“Oh, honey. She is gorgeous.” Your mom gasps in shock. “Wow.”
Zuha giggles lightly and greets your parents respectfully.
Your dad now walks over, puts an arm around your mom, and chuckles. “Kazuha, please, drop the honorifics. At this point, we’re just glad you’re our son’s girlfriend. Welcome to the family!”
You fake a yawn. “O-kay, guys! It’s getting pretty late, we should probably—“
“No! I want to keep talking to them!” Zuha’s voice rises, her pearly whites widely on display as she teases you. Her nose scrunches momentarily. You mentally take note of it.
You hear defiant cries from your phone, too.
“Christ, fine, fine!” You hand your phone and walk over to the kitchen to prepare a side dish. Zuha stays behind, entertaining your folks with a couple of stories about you. After having their fill, their conversations shift from you to her: where she came from, her childhood, her hobbies, and then finally, ballet.
Your ears (and your parents') perk up as soon as you hear Zuha talking about her old ballet school, how strict the recitals were, and how dedicated her classmates were. You feel the tinge of joy Zuha had for ballet, and you couldn’t help but gush at her passion. You hear your parents exclaim as they look up Zuha on their cellphones, surprised to see how much of a slight celebrity Zuha is.
And it was true, shortly after your first morning together, you looked her up. And, real enough, Zuha had her own Wikipedia page and YouTube videos with thousands of views. She was an astonishing performer. Her lines were clean, graceful, and full of training. Interestingly, you’d also sometimes catch her watching her old recitals. She’d tuck them away whenever you got close, laughing shyly, so you never really got around to asking her about it.
So, conversation aside, you had to focus on dinner. You fix up a small salad for a few minutes and set it down on the table beside the sukiyaki Zuha cooked. You motion over to her, she nods, and says goodbye to your parents, handing you back your phone before sitting down at the table. You check back on the video call.
“Alright, guys, you’ve terrorized me enough.” You joke.
“She’s a keeper, honey.” Your mom whispers sweetly.
You look up from your phone and see Zuha preparing a plate for you first, oblivious to what your mom just said.
“I know, Mom. She is.” Your heart swells.
“Okay then, just text us every time you’ll stay over there, alright?”
“Mhm, I will. I promise.”
“And use protection!” Your dad calls out in the background.
“Go to bed, Dad!”
The video ends, and you awkwardly chuckle, tucking away your phone. Zuha inches her chair closer to the table, waiting for you.
“So.” You finally take a seat in front of Zuha.
“So.”
“Did you hear any of that?” You wince a bit.
“Hear what?”
You shake your head as you release a sigh, laughing at the whole situation. “I’m sorry, Zuha. They just get excited from time to time.”
“Oh no, don’t be. They’re cute. They really love you.”
“Yeah, I do too,” you say, satisfied. “Thanks for being kind to them.”
“Of course.” She lets go of her fork for a bit to take your hand, her thumb rubbing your outer palm.
After a few silent stares, both of you start eating, eager to just dig in and finally head to bed.
The older woman pipes up suddenly, mouth half full. “Gotta say sorry to your dad, though.”
“What do you mean?”
“Oh. ‘Cause we won’t use protection tonight.”
-
Your relationship had its ups and downs, too, no doubt about that. You’d argue, but she had her ways, and you had your own ways of ensuring it never got too out of hand (Bread. It was bread.) or too long (Not going to bed mad, and all that).
Fighting was normal. Fighting with Zuha, however, was not. Fighting with Zuha was hard. When she knew she was right (and that was most of the time), she was bulletproof. She was stubborn, argumentative, and smug. She’d have these three absolutely solid main points, a dozen supporting statements, and a recommendation or two on how you could change your behavior. It was incredible, really, peeling back a layer to envision how she was in her classes.
You’d try arguing back, but she was quicker. A stern “no” and you’d immediately fold. You couldn’t get a word in, even if you tried.
Which made you really savor those moments you were right.
-
So, the crux of the problem was that Zuha thought you were, and you quote, “at times too taciturn, apprehensive, and slow to move”, end quote.
“I told you to see to it already. Did you listen? No. You never do.” She rolled her eyes but remained planted in front of you, arm crossed, eyebrows jagged and sharp as ever.
“Okay, Zuha, that’s a bit unfair. I swear, I gave them to you. I bought them, then gave them to you right after.”
“Absolutely not. If I had them, then we'd already be there in the damn cinema!”
Yes, this argument was about tickets. To an animated movie. About talking animals.
“No! I’m absolutely sure I gave them to you. I triple checked those tickets, Zuha. I know how much you looked forward to the movie, so I made sure not to mess up.”
“So where are the tickets, then?”
“Zuha, I don’t know. I gave them to you, and that’s the last time I saw them.”
“The absolute negligence.” She muttered to herself, shaking her head and walking toward the other side of the living room.
“Hey, c’mon. We can just stream it. I’m sure a couple of pirate sites already have it up. Let’s calm—“
You heard the metallic hum of her gaze being unsheathed. “Calm down? You wanna run that by me again?”
“Shutting up.” You mumbled.
With a few careful strides and a sidestep, you avoided the fuming area that is Zuha and got to the bedroom. Looking to lie down for a bit and just zone out, you hauled the large clothes pile that Zuha always kept cluttered. You grabbed a couple of shirts and blouses, set aside the heavy leather coats, and hung a couple of the jeans and trousers she had worn in the past few days.
Then, something fell out.
You hung the jeans by the belt loop and looked around. And there it was. On the carpeted floor.
Two obviously-folded movie tickets. From her pants. Your face melted into a smile as memories of the day you gave it to her flooded back.
“Zuha!”
“What?” A shout.
“Come here for a minute.”
You heard her steps bounding down the hall.
Her eyebrows were weaponized, her graze fresh off the grindstone.
“Look what I found.” You sat on the bed, leaned, and crossed your arms. Smug.
Her blade swung wide and almost caught your neck. But they landed on the tickets on the floor.
“Now, for my cross-exam, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, could you tell me what those are?”
Zuha was frozen speechless, her tongue poking the side of her cheek now. “You don’t cross-examine the jury, smart ass.”
You clicked your tongue a few times. “Zip it, Nakamura. I have the floor. Now what, pray tell, are those you see on the floor? Are they movie tickets?”
“You could have put those there to—“
“Now, now, if I remember correctly,” you put on a fake, wondering tone amidst your lawyerly bravado, “you must only respond with a yes or a no during the cross-examination.”
She scoffs, eyes darting around the room. “Yes, they’re movie tickets.”
“And those pants are yours, correct?”
“Yes.” She grumbles.
“So were you, or were you not, the latest recipient of said tickets?”
Silence.
“Ms. Nakamura, I’m gonna need an answer from you.”
“Ugh, fine! Fine, fine! I had them last then. It’s my fault we couldn’t go.”
“No further questions, Your Honor.” You took a bow at the four walls of her room and the imaginary spectators of your stupendous legal victory.
You poked Zuha in the side. “How’s that?”
“I’m giving it to you this once.”
“Giving what?”
“The satisfaction of proving me wrong.”
You reveled in the honor. “Christ.” You took a step back, letting the privilege sink in. “This is the best day of my life.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get you next time.”
“Is this what law school’s like? It’s kinda easy, don’t you think?”
“Alright. I take it back. You’re done. Shut the fuck up.” Her voice was harsher now.
“Shutting up.”
“Sit down.”
“Yes, Ma’am.” The satisfaction was stripped away instantaneously. Your obedience and your “taciturnity” were now the most salient parts of you once again.
Standing in front of you, Zuha placed both hands on your shoulders, locking eyes with you.
“Z-Zuha?” You gulped.
“Look. I’m sorry for calling you negligent. Or that you don’t listen. That’s not true.”
Your hands found her waist on instinct, rubbing her sides sweetly. “Hey. That’s alright. I know you really wanted to catch that movie.”
“Let me make it up to you, then.” Her fingers trailed along the length of your arms and stopped at your knees. With her eyes fixed on yours, she got on her knees, tantalizingly slow, positioning herself between your legs. Her hands crept up and down your thigh, feeling the soft material of your baggy shorts. Eventually, her palms wound up in between your legs, settling on your clothed bulge, growing and stiffening.
Fighting with her was hard. But you were right where you wanted to be.
-
To add on to your list of perplexities, Zuha was a total freak despite the exceptional discipline she exhibits when it comes to studying, cooking, or any other area in life. Hell, she was even more adventurous than you. (But to be fair, you were pretty vanilla, so the bar is already low.) You were already pretty exploratory, letting her do the nipple thing, but then Zuha took it further.
It started with a few slaps on her ass, then the occasional “put a finger in it” from her, and then your tongue. But now, most of the time you go out with her ends up in “alleyway ass-play”, as you refer to it in your mind.
When the mood struck her, you’d know. She was unbelievably teasing with it too — a small raise in her eyebrow, pupils darting to an unseen corner, a bump of her shoulder. Then she’d amp it up with a small kiss on your cheek, nails lightly digging into your bicep, deep whiffs around your neck, or, if unheard, a moan of your name. Then, with discreet shuffles, you’d be on your knees, tongue worshipping Zuha’s ass.
You figured you must have been totally whipped, always letting her reach orgasm and delaying yours until you guys got home. But every time, you’d still put an arm around her and kiss the top of her head sweetly. It was Zuha — of course, it was fine.
-
For example, this one time, you waited outside the Law building, tucking your clinical notes inside a clipboard to prepare for tomorrow’s case presentations. You adjusted your scrub pants a bit, allowing your top to finally untuck. You heaved a sigh, a 12-hour shift evident in the ache of your shoulders and neck. You rubbed your eyes and did a few stretches, willing the fatigue to leave your body before Zuha sees you. With a few minutes left before 5:30, you finally sat down on the building steps with your back to the door, eyes heavy with sleep (or lack thereof).
With a scuffle and the sound of metal turning, you heard the conversations of the law students finally seeping through. An onslaught of corporate attire swarmed you — heels clacked, oxfords tapped, ties swished, and pants swooped. Future lawyers, entranced in their own legal world, threw around jargon, judicial loopholes, and jurisprudence issues, all while flowing down the steps. They courteously gave you a wide berth (probably resonating with that same tired look you had) as you waited for Zuha. The flock thinned out soon enough as the remaining stragglers trailed off away from the steps. You looked around, slightly worried, as the campus became increasingly sparse. But, with your feet weighing a million, you stayed sitting for a few more peaceful minutes.
“You better not be falling asleep.”
Zuha.
You stood up to turn around, following her voice. The ache in your joints dissipated instantaneously as your pulse quickened.
“'Cause I definitely can’t carry you home.”
There she was.
She stood at the top of the steps, with a strong amount of swagger, wearing this deep blue three-piece suede suit. She wore black tapered high-heeled boots, accentuating her long, slender stature. Her fair skin glowed with the contrast of the suit’s color, making her presence literally illuminating. Her neck was fully on show, ditching the traditional collared polo top and only wearing the blue vest. Her nails were colored a dark red, beautifully manicured and shaped, as her hand lay on her cocked hip. Her eyes twinkled alongside her earrings, like stars beginning to show in the waning sun. And her brow, proudly raised and basking in your jaw drop and ogle. Her silhouette was sharp, slender, and confident, armed with her sling bag and a clipboard containing the structure of her defense.
The surge of law students prior has been erased from your memory; they could never compare with what you were seeing. You continued to stare, speechless, but remembering — encoding. Zuha did tell you about the mock trial and how they all had to dress formally to simulate real court proceedings, but you never expected…this. You swooned internally, feeling weak in the knees and in her gaze.
Zuha scoffed playfully, shooting a finger gun. “Hey. I take it you’re speechless? I know, I know, I clean up pretty nice, if I do say so myse—“
“You’re breathtaking.”
Her eyes widened as she stopped fronting. A blush crept up her neck and on her cheeks. She tucked a stray hair back behind her ears.
“Oh. I mean, I was just kidding…” Zuha trailed off.
“No, I mean it.” You climbed up one step closer. “You’re absolutely breathtaking…”
You felt cuts across your body and your face as Zuha stared back, shy and nervous and on guard.
“Come on, it was just the makeup. And these clothes were really just lying around unused.” She excused herself.
“Zuha.”
“Plus, you see me all the time. Without all the makeup and the jewelry and all that.” Her eyes avoided your gaze now as you stood with her atop the steps.
“Zuha.”
“What…?” She spoke in a small voice, seemingly terrified of what you had to say — the confident law student, mortified at the notion.
“I mean it. You really are— and not just today, but all the time.” You cupped her cheek. “I am so in love with you.”
Zuha breathed out, glassy eyes taking you in, a pout suddenly forming. After a beat, she finally leaned in to kiss you, crumpling your shirt to pull you in. You kissed back, holding both sides of her face as she hummed in glee. Her hands trailed up to your shoulders, criss-crossing just behind your neck as you pulled her closer by the waist now, deepening the kiss. You felt her lips curve into a smile as she pulled back slightly to stare at you, her gaze soft and sweet.
Zuha whispered out a joke. “So this is all it took for you to kiss me like that, huh?”
“I mean, you’re gorgeous all the time.” You chuckled and planted a peck on her lips. “But yeah, you look great in that suit. Jesus.”
“Hey.” Her thumb brushed along your cheek. “I appreciate you. I know I’m weird with affection, but I’m trying. It’s okay when it’s you.”
You smiled lightly as you held her gaze. “I’m yours, Zuha. No way around it.” You shrugged.
She leaned in again, and you pursed your lips on instinct. But this time, she tilted your head down, planting a kiss on your forehead. You blushed at the unfamiliar gesture as you coughed awkwardly.
“So how’d the trial go?” You asked Zuha as you both finally stepped down and away from the Law building, your arms linking.
“Yeah, it went great! We all had a chance to speak before the bar, and it all went smoothly. My notes really came in handy with the defense, what with all the different cases I got to reference.”
Zuha then went off on a tangent on how the mock trial works and how they’d be scored. She brought up different parts of the courtroom and what role they played in legal proceedings, how a cross-examination was supposed to be done, and why technicalities are basically bulletproof if a law hasn’t been amended yet. You nodded along to her voice, half listening and half swooning as her lips moved.
“…so we really had no choice but to call for a short recess just to finally get the defense straight.” Zuha finally finished.
Zuha lagged for a moment, quietly registering what you said. Then she bumped your shoulder appreciatively. “Thanks. I’m really liking it, too.”
Both of you finally reached a T-junction, with the road extending on both your left and right. A few convenience stores lined the street as the nightlife started to grow.
“Did you want to eat something before we go? Or just share the pint of ice cream we have at home?”
“That pint sounds kinda tempting, but that’s not dinner. Hey, I thought you were Mr. Health Guy, out here making people’s lives healthier?” She chided with a smile, poking at your scrub pants.
“Hey, I’m off the clock!” You whined.
Zuha thought for a moment, but her eyes ultimately landed back on you. Something was off.
“Hey, did you really like this suit?” She raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Of course. It fits you perfectly, Zuha.” You answered slowly, suspicious of the sudden question.
Her eyes look past you, in between the different convenience stores. Her grip on your forearm tightened slightly.
“Do you wanna take it off me?”
“Dammit, Zuha, I knew it!”
“Come on. We’ll be quick.”
“We’ll be caught.”
“We’ll be quiet,” Zuha affirmed, steadfast. Her legs extended as she dragged you into a small passageway just beside a store. The path was dimly lit (of course) with only a blinking lamp post on the far end.
“Plus…” Zuha started as she pulled you into the shadows, her arms squeezing both your shoulders. “It’s not for me.”
“What do you mean?” You whispered.
Zuha turned around, planting both palms on the brick wall of the building. She arched her back, the suit jacket trailing off her sides, showing off the round shape of her ass. The suede shimmered slightly, drawing lines where her legs and juicy thighs met the outline of her butt. Your meat suddenly flexed in anticipation.
“As a thank you. For waiting for me.” She said with a bite of her lip. “And for everything else.”
You approached her slowly, your hand coming in contact with her waist. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Think of it as payment. For the times I only let you get me off.”
“You’re crazy.” You said, head leaning in to take a whiff of her neck.
Zuha moaned at the proximal contact. You moved both your hands to hug around her waist, feeling the sleek material of her vest. You made a slight U-turn, fingers trailing upwards to cup her chest as you kissed the spot below her ear. You finally closed the distance with the tent poking through your pants as you brushed your bulge at the cleft of her asscheeks.
“Mmm, fuck, that for me?”
“I’m yours.” Your right hand squeezed her tit as your left pushed against her fit stomach, bringing her whole arched body closer to you. Your cock rubbed against the material of your scrub pants, grinding against her plump ass and poking in between from time to time. You leaned against her shoulder, face buried in her fragrant vanilla-shampooed hair, grunting as you finally had your way with her.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry for leaving you— fuck— hanging all the time.” Her palm crumpled the hair on the back of your head as she turned slightly to kiss your cheek. You ground your cock harder against her, gripping her flesh tighter as if she’ll disappear right before you orgasm. You moaned in unison as you humped her. But you needed more. With a quick release, you pulled down your scrub pants and boxers, exposing your straining dick to the night air. You brought your shaft closer as you humped along the groove of her ass.
“Fuck, did you take it out? Oh God, fuck, yes, that’s so fucking hot. I can feel how hard you are.” The older woman mewled as her hair became disheveled, the thought of your bare cock rubbing against her ass exhilarating her to a new height.
The soft feel of the suede and the roundness of her butt were the perfect velvet cushion to hump and grind against as you held her in place. Beads of pre-cum slicked the length of your shaft, making your strokes extra slippery and smooth. Zuha cried and whimpered your name as she felt your entire length run between her cheeks. You drove your meat further, alternating between a long stroke and a deep push between her thighs. You crept both of your hands underneath her vest, feeling for the bottom of her bra. You snuck a couple fingers in, rubbing and pinching at her hardened peaks.
“Holy fuck, you’re amazing. Yes, yes, oh God yes, just like that, just like that.” Her fingers tightened around your hair.
With a sudden bang and the sound of hollow plastic falling, both of you froze. Your eyes panicked, darting to the end of the passageway where the convenience store was. A cat had knocked over several empty water jugs and plastic gallons of oil. A bell rang, and the store owner stared at the ruckus, a frustrated cry accompanying his irritated hair scratch.
He was now facing the alley.
Toward the both of you.
Any closer — any noisier — and you’d both be caught.
“Hey, wait, wait,” Zuha says with slight concern.
You buried your face back in her hair, adrenaline flowing as your dick did most of the thinking. You gave her a hump.
Zuha lightly smacked your cheek. “Hey, c’mon!” She snapped at you quietly.
But you didn’t listen. You grinded against her more aggressively now, your dick smacking her ass.
“Fuck!” Zuha croaks out.
The store owner’s head snapped towards the alley. You saw him squint, trying to make sense of the shadows.
“Fucking stop it, I swear.” Zuha released a warning alongside a breathy moan.
You brought one of your hands to her mouth, covering her lips but leaving her nose. You continued grinding now, slowly but surely, savoring the unexpected audience. Zuha seemed to notice this too; her complaints now coos and moans into your hand.
The store owner shook his head and finally knelt down to fix the spilled containers. He headed back in shortly after.
Zuha smacked your shoulder this time. “You really are an idiot, huh?”
You held her hip with one hand now, watching your shaft bump up against the blue velvet material. You brought your other hand to her throat and pulled her back towards you, your chest and cock now pressing flush against her.
“God, you’re lucky I like you.” She breathed out, turning her head to the side to meet your lips as you mashed your member against her.
“I like you a lot, Zuha.” You murmured against her temple, hugging her a bit harder, a bit of sentiment breaking through the sex-fueled cracks of your resolve.
“Yeah? I bet you do.” Her hold on your hair loosened as her hand traveled downward, finding your thick rod. She stroked it a few times, spreading precum along the length. “Mmm, fuck, you’re so big. You feel good?”
“God, fuck yes.” You brought her hand back up to your hair as you took charge, breathing in the scent of her sweat as you angled her face towards you. Zuha gasped out an open-mouthed moan, feeling you drive your erection further between her thick ass. You shove your tongue in her mouth as she groans out your name, meeting her in a raspy and sloppy kiss.
You rubbed back against her harder, feeling the rising pressure in your groin just steaming to get out. She responded in kind, meeting your humps halfway, colliding against you with the velvet feel of her pants.
“Where do you wanna cum?” She rasped out.
“M-mouth..?” You requested through clenched teeth.
“Fuck.” Zuha said with an accidental gasp. “Great choice.”
You humped erratically now, the piston-like rhythm now lost to impending release. Zuha’s body rocks alongside yours as she welcomes the roughness. After a few awkward humps and grinds, you feel a surge travel up from the base of your cock to the tip, your meat flexes as you finally groan out in pleasure completed.
“Cumming?”
“Mhm, y-yeah.”
You leaned back a bit, hand wrapping your cock to keep the stimulation going. Zuha quickly whipped around and crouched, hands on both your thighs, as she opened her mouth. You leaned forward a bit, tip now coming in contact with her tongue. The LED lamp’s light crawled through the shadows from the end of the alley, lighting up Zuha’s clear face as she looked up at you while steadying herself.
You stared at Zuha, at the stray lock of hair that traveled down her face, the slightly scuffed suede suit now a juxtaposition to the raunchy situation you were both in, and her delicate lips now parted to accept your release. You stroked yourself faster, groaning as your knees shuddered and spine tingled, until you finally climaxed. You spurted out a rope of cum, shooting half into Zuha’s mouth and up diagonally to her right cheek. You let out a strained growl, another wave shooting out and splattering on her tongue, the orgasm hitting you way harder than expected. Zuha stroked it for you, aiding you in emptying your balls deeper into her mouth. She helped you ride out your orgasm, catching each drop with care.
With a gulp, she smirked. “Well?”
“Fuck— thank you.” You gulped, exhausted and palpitating, your cock still out.
She giggled before rising from the cement to pat you on the chest. Her hand slid up to the side of your face as she leaned in to plant a kiss on your cheek.
“Of course.” She cooed, her thumb stroking your jaw gently.
You zipped up awkwardly, patting down the crumples and folds of your shirt. “So now do you wanna go home?”
-
Zuha could be confusing at times, but in the short span you’ve known her, you were aware that your feelings had grown ever clearer — you already loved her. It was easy, exciting, and expected.
Sure, Zuha was a woman of opposites within herself, but with you, it was different. You got to fill in whatever gaps Zuha had, and you enjoyed the “work”, so to speak.
You’d ease tightly-wound nights she spent studying with instant cocoa and a few back rubs. Funnily enough, you could now also recall off the top of your head different cases she’d said mattered to her defense. You’d have breakfast ready for her whenever you had to leave her apartment early, and you’d be there in the evening, picking up scattered clothes she’d be too tired to pick up.
And she filled you, too.
Zuha was quick with a quiz or two on your recent lessons and cases. She’d roleplay as different patients with varying diagnoses, practicing how quick you could diagnose and plan interventions. On your down times, she’d buy you more bread, masking the sentiment with a flashy grin, but secretly making sure you never forgot to eat. She’d click her tongue and fume for a moment whenever you food-stained your shirt, but you would always catch her preparing the washing machine right after. Her age is apparent in those moments.
You already loved Zuha, but telling her was a different thing altogether. You’ve noticed it for a long time, how she would dodge conversations about it, simply skirt around the topic, or silence you with a kiss. She never talked about love, or loving, or falling in love, and so you’ve always chalked it up to her not being used to it, what with her alleged marriage (you were still very curious about that) not being the best and how she’s never really needed to love another. You knew she was trying to open herself up, and you would be there every step of the way.
However, you also knew this thing with Zuha was different. It had to be. Sure, it’s only been a couple of months, but forehead kisses and buying groceries together seemed to convey otherwise. You’ve already considered Zuha’s flat your place too, and she wouldn’t have it any other way either. You’ve already shared countless nights together — snoring, arguing, or kissing. If that wasn’t love, then you don’t know what the hell you’ve been doing with her all this time.
And so, since it was now also your 4th month together, you planned to tell her tonight.
-
With a click of your phone, you send a reply to Zuha, reminding her to stay safe on her way home.
She texts back a smiley face with sunglasses and finger guns. “You know it.”
For the 5th time now, she’s had to stay a bit late on campus, so you decided to go ahead and prepare dinner for when she arrived. You run some plates under the faucet after finally setting down tonight’s dinner: a few well-seared cuts of beef, beautiful and silky mashed potatoes, a yogurt bowl with mixed berries for dessert, and a nice bottle of wine you bought on the detour home. Then, as you both ate, you’d tell her you love her. Boom — sparks fly, she’ll tell you she loves you too, and then you’ll be a hero. After dinner, you’d lead her to the couch and bring out your secret weapon to seal the deal: a pint of ice cream and a Disney movie. You hum to yourself, satisfied, as you fold a few of the clean laundry that piled on the corner stool of Zuha’s (and yours) room.
You hear the faint jingle of Zuha’s keys as the door finally swings open. She steps in, this wonderful woman wearing an oversized army green parka over her baggy grey hoodie, loose jorts, and dark leggings that pair with her beat-up sneakers — stylish as always. She pushes her glasses up her nose as she readjusts the strap of her (obviously heavy) duffel bag. Her gaze scans and lands first on the food on the table and then finally on you. Her face beams as her eyes turn into crescent moons of glee, and her nose scrunches for an imperceptible second.
She smiles at you. “Sorry, I’m late.”
Your arm wraps around her waist as your other hand cradles the back of her head. You lean forward and plant your lips on hers. Her arms snake and cross just behind your neck as she leans into you, surrendering to your kiss.
“Mmm, you missed me?” She whispers with a smirk, her eyes shimmering.
“I always do.” You kiss her forehead. “I made dinner.”
“Thank you.” Her fingers run through your hair appreciatively. She pecks you one last time before leaving the embrace to turn around and behold the dinner.
“You’ve always been the better cook.” Zuha shrugs. “Meat and potatoes? What’s the occasion?” She chuckles.
“You tell me.” You smiled as you led her to the table, pulling the chair out and seating her. You pop the wine bottle and fill her glass halfway.
“And wine? Seriously, what’s up with you?” She gasps lightheartedly.
“C’mon, Zuha. It’s our 4th month together.” You tease.
She gulps down an eighth of the wine with wide eyes. “Oh gosh, no, yeah, I knew that!” She smirks with a cocky brow.
“Yeah, so just sit back and let me serve you.” You put the wine off to the side, stab a couple of pieces of the meat, spoon some of the silky spud, and lather the rich demi-glace over the ensemble. You graciously offer the plate up for her judgment.
She picks up her fork and tries the meat. Then the mashed potatoes. Then the meat with the sauce.
“Holy God,” Zuha mutters with a full cheek.
You burst out laughing. “Good?”
She nods vigorously, the strands of her bangs bouncing in unison. “More than good— Christ.”
“Well thank you, Zuha. I appreciate that.”
“No, you! I appreciate you. You have to make this for me all the time.” She scarfs down another bite.
“Zuha, slow down.” You say with a chuckle. You take a bite off your own plate and relish in your recently learned dish (thank God for YouTube). “So how was school?” you continued.
The older woman then goes off on a tangent about how a certain law was amended just yesterday, effectively disassembling the defense they had set up for their next trial. She vouched for her argument’s validity, citing more and more cases you had no knowledge of, and expressed her exasperation with the amendment. How they knew which laws to amend to throw a wrench in Zuha’s defense really irked her.
Despite the obvious anger dormant in her, Zuha glowed. She was passionate, fiercely intelligent, and dedicated. And that’s what you loved — Zuha just being herself.
And so you finally work up the courage.
“…but, it’s fine. That’s the law, I guess. If that’s what the law says, I’ll just have to find another theoretical basis. Which is a lot of work. But, I’ll manage.” Her brows finally ease as she catches herself in the zone. Her gaze rises, cuts your jaw, and meets back with you. She displays a goofy, toothy grin.
“Hey. I love you.”
“What?” Her voice ups in pitch as she abruptly stops chewing.
“I said, I love you.”
Zuha’s mouth hangs slightly open. The faint jazz music from the nearby speakers floats through the dead air.
You chuckle once, slightly nervous. “Zuha, I love you.”
“N-no, yeah. I know, I know you do.”
You chuckle again, a bit weaker now. “Well, I mean…I was expecting something more than ‘I know’.”
“No, I-I do…y’know…” Zuha attempts to complete her sentence but trails off after her stuttering, her disposition now uncharacteristic of the confident woman you met.
“Yeah…” you nod slowly, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. “So can you say it back?”
“What?” Zuha tries to tame her ragged breathing.
“…say you love me?” Unconsciously, your voice verges on a plea now. Your hands cramp and your fingers freeze, desperate to cross the meager distance of a few centimeters toward her clenched hand. “Is it too early for that? Or, am I pressuring you? Is that why you can’t say it yet?”
“No, it’s not that. Look, I do, okay?” She sighs, her gaze now dull and inaccurate, rarely meeting yours. “But I…”
“What’s wrong?”
An inhale. “I’m afraid of saying it…”
“Afraid of saying it? W-why…?”
“Because saying it makes it…”
“Makes it what…?”
“Real.”
The mood vastly changes now. The apartment suddenly has this uncomfortable weight, like a heavy load on your shoulders, and you’re quickly getting exhausted.
Your breathing quickens as your eyebrows finally fall into a furrow. “So this…” You pointed at both of you. “…wasn’t?”
“It’s not like that.”
“So what is it like then?” You whine now, letting go of your cutlery, appetite now obviously extinct.
“I just meant that saying it makes it…official.”
“There it is again, Zuha. So was this all unofficial for you? I mean— what the hell even are we then?”
“We’re…”
“I’ve practically moved out and lived here, Zuha. ” You push back the plate. “Was all this nothing to you?”
“It’s not nothing.” Zuha’s voice finally settles into a whisper.
“We sleep together, we go to class together, we go home together, we do laundry together— Zuha, we buy groceries together. And all this time you’ve been afraid of making it ‘real’? So what is this? W-what’s— What are we doing?” Your forehead crinkles as you gulp, studying her face.
Nothing.
“Did you even know it’s our 4th month together?” You continue, voice shaky now.
She looks away, her face turned to the side, looking toward the different dishes that were drying.
“Zuha.”
Her eyebrows furrow a bit more in response, and her chin trembles slightly. But she doesn’t reply. She looks down instead.
“Kazuha.” You drop her nickname.
She looks up at you, her eyes suddenly now crystal-like with the tears finally building. Her chin wobbles as her bottom lip quivers into a pout. Her eyebrows lose all their pointedness as her gaze is disarmed.
She cries.
Dammit. You immediately scooch your chair out to walk over to her. You lean down and wrap her in an embrace.
“You’re mad.” Her voice is a shaky tantrum as she laments the loss of her nickname. The once cool and sleek woman, now a fragile sobbing mess in your hands. Almost like a child, the older woman whimpers into your chest.
So, you press your lips against her forehead as you try to console her with a few gentle hushes. “No, no, no, I’m sorry. I’m not mad, Zuha.”
“Then why’d you call me Kazuha?” Her lips form a pout again as she looks up at you. Your heart aches as you stare at her.
You breathe out a sigh slowly. “Because I’m serious, Zuha. I need you to talk to me because this matters to me.”
“Okay.” Zuha sniffles a bit, her gaze studying yours, then she finally nods. “But I’m Zuha. I’ll always be Zuha now.” She adds while pounding your chest gently with her clenched fist.
You kiss her forehead a few seconds longer before you part. “Oh, jeez, who’s the child now?” You chuckle softly.
Zuha rolls her eyes as she sniffs, her cheeks are flush and her hair is messy. You carry your chair over to her side of the table so you can now sit in front of her. She dabs a few tissues on her nose and the corner of her eyes before sitting up straight. She tries looking at you, but her eyes wander, failing to hold contact.
You reach over to squeeze her palm. “I’m not mad, Zuha. But I am serious. I need to know now.”
She lets go of a long-withheld sigh. She studies your face, weighing her thoughts and words precisely. “I’m scared because the last time I told someone I loved them, they hurt me. And I never make the same mistake twice, you know that about me. So, I just—“
Her breathing hitches a bit before she’s able to gather herself, her tears now refusing to run down her cheeks.
“I never told you…even if I knew I felt it. I was afraid because if we made things real, then it’d be real enough to hurt me. And I never ever want to get hurt again.” Her brows come together in worry, her head now looking down at her lap.
You ease back in your chair. So she did love you back.
“But…” Zuha starts again. “I’m also afraid because I know you want the real thing. And I think the real thing you see is us staying here together and living our lives here. And I don’t think we can have that because…”
You nod slowly, nervous about what comes next.
“…because I’ve been taking ballet classes again.” Zuha finally confesses. “M-my old ballet school…they’ve always been asking me to come back and try again, saying they’ll save me a spot.”
“Your ballet school…” You murmur. “…in the Netherlands.”
She nods, eyes a bit red from the sobbing, but scanning your face for your reaction, gauging whatever emotions you feel.
“Huh. So all this time you’ve been coming home late…?”
Zuha nods with a nervous bite to her lip, moving slowly toward her duffel bag on the floor. She unzips the bag to pull out her ballet shoes, a faded rose pink with minimal wear — obviously new.
“You’ve been taking ballet for weeks, then.” Your voice comes out weak. Defeated.
“…yes.” Zuha’s voice was weaker and tinier.
You remain quiet for a second. “You told me it was for school, Zuha. You lied.”
“I was gonna tell you, eventually.”
“Zuha—” You speak, voice teetering on annoyed now. You take a small sigh. “When was 'eventually' going to be?”
“I don’t know, alright? I was working up the courage, but then…” She bites her lip. “Loving you made it more complicated.”
“Complicated? How?”
“Because I knew loving you would make the decision harder.”
Oh. The decision.
You finally let go of the weight of the apartment on your shoulders.
“So you’ve decided.” You say, flatly.
“It’s—it’s not like that. You know it’s not like that.”
“Then what is it like, Zuha?” Something was rising in your chest now. You feel your eyebrows furrow and grow heavier, this deep burning feeling churning in your stomach. You scan Zuha, immediately rifling through the numerous details of her face you’ve memorized, hoping — pleading — to have just the faintest idea of what was on her mind. (Looking back, your gaze sharpened that day. She felt it too.)
“I was just looking to try it out...” Her words stumble and trip. “But I can’t really drop school again, and my family’s still staying here, plus I don’t have the money for another apartment and tuition, and I absolutely won’t forgive myself if I force you to come with me. I mean, your parents are here, and I know you don’t want to leave them. I also know you want to set up a clinic here, and I know you’ll be shelling out money you don’t have to try and follow me now. So I don’t…” Zuha racks her brain in the pause but ultimately fails. “…I don’t know.”
You click your tongue on instinct. Zuha winces a bit.
“I’ve always been honest with you, Zuha.” Your anger is slowly cooling now as you feel yourself pull back from the conversation — indifference. Zuha’s eyes suddenly widen as you stand up.
“N-no, wait, hey, please. Don’t leave. Where are you going?”
“I’m not going anywhere, Zuha. I just need to think.”
“No, please, please. I can be more honest with you, please.”
“I know, but…” You sigh out, half hurt, a quarter tired, and on the verge of tears, and a quarter frustrated. “It’s time you’ve been more honest with yourself, Zuha.”
You gather the plates from the table slowly as Zuha sits there. Her puffy eyes stare at you helplessly, watching your every move with a pout on her face. She was desperate to forget all that had happened and just hug you. But she doesn’t. She knows you. You’ve always needed time and space whenever you guys get into a big fight, and she’s always respected that.
You decide to sleep with your back turned to Zuha.
-
Your phone buzzes you awake. 5:45. It’s a Friday.
You try to rise from the bed, but you feel a weight sprawled across your chest. Zuha.
In the toss and turn of the night, her arm was now wrapped around you, gripping your side of the covers tightly. You look down and see a pajama’d leg also interlocked with yours. You sigh as you stare at the top of Zuha’s head, burrowing closer to your side.
“Zuha, I have to go.” You whisper.
She shakes her head.
“Zuha, I need to leave.”
“Please, I’m sorry.”
“Zuha, I meant the clinic.”
Her fingers finally loosen. “Sorry, I thought you meant…”
“Oh, Zuha.” You squeeze her forearm. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.” You urge as you finally stand up. You stride a bit, looking around for your bag before you hear the mattress groan. Zuha snatches your hand, her bare face finding your gaze. Her face remains angelic despite the puffiness around her eyes and the pink hue of the tip of her nose. Her straight hair flows down smoothly, making it hard to decipher whether or not she slept at all or was simply blessed with a higher power’s favor to always wake up perfect. And yet her lips were still in a pout. A weak one, but you know it was there.
“About our conversation last night…”
“It’s fine, Zuha. We can talk about it when you’re ready.” Your eyes wander around her flat, thinking back to your first night, a far cry from the very night you just had.
She reels you in gently, slowly, like you were some boat about to be moored. You resist at first, but let her pull you in an embrace. You stand at the foot of the bed while she kneels to try to stay upright.
While her arms envelop your waist, you kiss her forehead, unsure about whether or not a kiss on the forehead was allowed or if the rules of your and Zuha’s “arrangement” have forbidden that and only allowed for quick hugs and gentle hand presses.
Zuha pulls you downward lightly, kissing you back on your forehead.
-
Five days pass by after that. Scant conversation was all that remained in Zuha’s apartment. A few scattered pecks here and there and a couple of hand squeezes that lingered a little too long also served as words unsaid. You’d sometimes share a brief gaze with Zuha, too, paragraphs and essays of what you wished to say would pour out telepathically, but it never sufficed. The conversation never came.
You’ve been going home more frequently, too. Your parents seemed to understand not to talk to you about it, only settling for small hugs and pats on the back whenever the topic shifted to Zuha or when you thought of her. Your room was never scarce of her, though. On your bedside, you kept a framed picture of Zuha from your 2nd month together, one where her goofy grin was evident, and her nose was scrunched as she watched a movie. The picture helped you sleep soundly.
Did you still love her? Of course. You’ve thought long and hard about dropping everything and going with her to the Netherlands, but it just wouldn’t work. There’s not enough money in your name for a plane ticket, let alone the funds needed to basically start living there. You couldn’t even bear to explain to your parents how your schooling would work. Ultimately, your paths have officially diverged. You know ballet’s a strict sport, and so you know long distance will only delay the inevitable. Heck, it might just cause a larger rift, now that you think about it. You already envision the long arguments over the phone about selfishness, not having enough time for each other, setting priorities, and timezone contradictions that would end in either tears, the “End Call” button, or, as you expertly predict, a breakup.
Now, here you are, finally clocking out of the clinic and walking down that same street toward the train station, dreading the old commute. You pass by the food stands, ignoring the scents and aromas of crackling food over coal heat, and stride faster down the sidewalk. Your eyes wander for a bit until you see Fors. You observe the cafe for a bit. It was busy as ever, catering to the nightlife now.
You see customers exit the establishment with paper bags in hand, and you briefly remember Zuha. Has she eaten? Probably not. You sigh for a moment, but after a couple of backtracks, end up trudging in to buy a croissant anyway. You tuck away the bread neatly and reroute to her apartment.
Up a couple of alleyways and bypass roads, you spot her apartment with the lights still off. Being a quarter past 5, she was still probably at school, packing up last-minute books and notes. And so, you let yourself in.
Zuha’s perfume was comforting. It floated through the apartment so much that you could smell her everywhere. Her apartment was still the same, but one part of the wall in the living room was now bare. You walk over to where the couch is and see an overturned picture frame. You flip it back up to see Zuha, the same picture that got her wide smile as she was locked in a spin. You sigh, staring at the picture — at the woman you love. You stroke your thumb over her cheek as you sigh deeply. You make the decision to hang it back up.
You sit down on the couch now, taking everything in: the smell, the hazy stovetop light, the different plants, and the ballet picture. In the quiet stillness of the apartment, your heart aches loudly. You gulp at the thought of not being able to give Zuha what she wanted, how she had to second-guess her dreams just because she ended up loving you too.
And then you feel it. Your bottom lip trembles.
God, fuck, no, you think to yourself as you shake your head, sniffling harshly to try and stifle the waterworks. You pull out your phone instead, hoping to just doomscroll and bypass emotions flowing out of you. You open up Instagram, only to close it back down. Your thumb shakes, obviously confused at the conflicting stimuli your body and mind seem to both be shouting. You settle on TikTok, but that doesn’t work either.
“Here are 10 simple date night dishes you could make for your—“
You’ve gotta be kidding me, you shout internally. You immediately exit the app, flinging your phone on the opposite end of the couch. You cross your arms for a bit, pinching the bridge of your nose as you sniffle.
But you can’t resist. Your fingers leap out.
You reach over to grab your phone, and you pull up YouTube, scroll for a bit, and find a video. Kitri Variation - Bolshoi Ballet. You hesitate, but something tells you to hit play.
The mix of warm and cool lights spread across the large wooden stage as the audience hushed straggling whispers and phrases. The camera wobbled a bit, zoomed out, but then focused shortly. From what you could see, the theater was grand and large, housing hundreds of red suede seats that surrounded the wide stage in a semi-circle. The stage was tall as it was wide, sporting these huge columns of burgundy curtains that cut the performance into sizable chunks and interludes. With the whole place now settling into quiet, music finally commences. A few booms and crescendos of classical music filled the theater as the strings started to pick up. The plucks and twangs of instruments invited the audience to a trance-like state, focusing on the next performer striding toward the center.
And there she was — Kazuha. Younger, a bit shorter, but with her shining smile still preserved and untouched after all these years. The spotlight cast a graceful shadow on the floor.
After a beat of silence, Zuha erupted in movement. She leaped and pounced and fell and zig-zagged across the stage. Her arms were graceful and strong, and would occasionally whip into shape. She’d perform on pointe, showing off her balanced and calculated lines while maintaining this air of pomp. With a couple of dips and hops, her face came into view. Her adorable face showed off a wide grin as her nose scrunched.
You chuckle softly, the light from your phone illuminating your face and part of the darkness that shrouded the living room, beyond the reach of her lamp in the corner and the kitchen lights. The lights bounce off the tears slowly creeping down your cheek. You laugh helplessly. “Jesus, I look so stupid.”
You keep watching, though.
You chuckle, glassy-eyed, as Zuha flitted through the stage with a smile, visions of the time you spent with her flooding your mind. You remember the smirks she’d make or the glares she’d produce. Hell, you remember her laugh whenever she had to take care of you when you were too sick to function.
As the music finally kicked up a notch, signaling a climax in the performance, Zuha fell into a series of fouetté turns, rotating on one leg while her other leg whipped around to propel her.
And she spun.
The video ended with roars of applause and cheers as Zuha took a small bow at the end before retreating offstage.
You put the phone down to finally wipe some of the tears running down the corner of your eyes, sniffling weakly as you groan out a laugh. The tremble in your lip slowly starts to settle. You lean back on the headrest, your stare landing on the apartment ceiling. You rest your puffy eyes before slowly drifting off to sleep, clutching the Fors paperbag close to you.
-
The next thing you know, you hear your name.
“Hey.”
Your eyes shift for a bit, discerning reality from sleep.
You feel a poke on your cheek.
“Have you been here long?” You open your eyes to see Zuha staring right back at you, her arm atop the sofa headrest, her eyes wide as she observes. She wore a plain white t-shirt paired with some high-waisted jeans — a casual day at school, it seemed.
You’re groggy, but you take a quick glance at the time. 7:12.
“I guess so.” You whisper as Zuha adjusts when you finally sit up.
“Hey, your eyes.” Her hand travels upward to cup your cheek. “Have you been crying?”
You shake your head minutely. “I don’t know.”
“What’s wrong?” Her eyes fall down toward your unlocked phone. On her video. On the hanging ballet portrait.
You scan the emotions running through Zuha. She stalls for a bit, digesting in silence. Then a sigh.
“Could you tell I was nervous?” She nods toward your phone.
“No, not at all.”
“Well, I was. My knees trembled before and after I got on that stage. Puked a couple times, too.”
“You were incredible, Zuha. You’ve always been incredible.”
She smiles subtly. Her eyes were puffy as well.
“Hey, listen—“
“You should do it.” You cut her off.
“What?”
“The Netherlands.”
“You want me to…go?”
“Yes. And I know you never really meant to ask for my permission, Zuha.” You cup her face. “But, I’m sure you’d still be a heck of a lawyer if you decide to come back, though.”
She briefly bites her lip, processing what you just said.
“You never had to lie to me, you know? I don’t want you to think for a second that I would have stopped you from going back to ballet. I’ve seen the way your eyes light up whenever we talk about it. You also know I’ve caught you watching your old videos before.”
Her head droops, but you lift it back up gently. You smile through the blade of her eyes.
“Look, I love you, Zuha. Not just the idea of being with you.” You rub a stray tear away from her eye. “And if loving you means you have to go away…” You bite the corner of your lip slightly as you nod. “Then that’s fine. My love stays the same.”
You try to slow time, but only muster up the power to stop the physical environment. Clocks halt, cars brake, stars stall. But not Zuha. Zuha breathes slowly as she locks eyes with you.
“I love you too,” she speaks in a whisper, getting shy at the overdue reply. “Oh God, I love you. I’m in love with you. You have my whole heart.” Her eyes are stunted waterfalls as she pouts up at you, finally baring herself wholly to you. This was Zuha — not the ballerina, not the lawyer, not the daughter. Just Zuha.
She gasps, revitalized by newfound oxygen, as if saying I love you back was a long, foreign feeling to her lips that she’s finally found again.
She inhales more now. “Gosh, I love you, and I’m sorry for lying to you— for going behind your back, for coming home late, and for not telling you. I-I should have told you because I owe that to you. Because I shouldn’t hurt you. Because I love you.”
You sniff back a sob, but you ultimately nod. “Zuha, I already forgave you the morning after you finally told me. I only wish you'd been more honest with me. I would have understood, y’know?” Her eyebrows crease, but you kiss the top of her head, whispering into her hair as you hold her close. “I’ve been in love with you for so long, you big baby.”
She rubs her eyes with the back of her wrists, chuckling stupidly as she realizes how her puffy eyes and tantrum must have looked: childish. She grins as her nose scrunches, but she wills it away.
“You don’t have to keep hiding that.” You flick your thumb lightly at her forehead. “Just…grin whenever you want to, laugh whenever you want to, do ballet whenever you really want to.”
A slight pout from her as she breathes out.
“The Zuha I know doesn’t need permission from anyone,” you continue.
She scoffs it off faintly with a shake of her head. “That’s ridiculous.”
“I’m serious, y’know. There’s a Zuha inside you that’s tough and enduring.” You slide a part of her locks behind her ear. “Not like Lawyer Kazuha. No, this Zuha is even tougher. This Zuha’s been tough for a very long time. And she doesn’t care what other people think. At least, that’s what she hopes for. Because deep down, she’s sweet. She’s warm. She laughs. She adores sleeping in. But she hides these things by being tough, thinking that letting them slip through the seams means weakness.” You take her face into your palms. Your thumb grazes her cheeks slowly. “But it’s not. I’ve seen her let go and just be herself. And in all of those moments, I’ve always thought of how tough she is, tough enough to laugh and be foolish and joke at her own expense. Tough enough to be vulnerable and to keep chasing passions despite the things she’s gone through in life. Tough enough to allow herself to scrunch her nose.” You tap the end of her nose gently.
“I love you.” She says in a low whisper. “And I missed you.”
You chuckle. “I know, Zuha. I love you, and I missed you, too.”
She buries her face into your chest as you wrap her in a small embrace, inhaling your scent as you breathe. Her hand reaches up from her side toward you, but she accidentally hits the paper bag.
“That for me?” Zuha’s face suddenly beams, like the tears that had just fallen were inconsequential to the now more important matter: bread.
“It’s for us, you selfish girl.” You chide as you prop yourself up on the couch to open the bag, pulling out the two croissants and placing them both on a plate of Fors tissue paper. “It’s still fresh…” You poke a floppy part in Zuha’s croissant. It doesn’t bounce back. “…you can have mine instead.”
Her nose scrunches for longer now. She gives a grin, flashing off her pearly whites, before opening her mouth.
“What?” You ask.
Her eyebrows furrow as she pouts, her cheeks rounding out her face. She points to her mouth wordlessly, almost cartoonishly impatient.
“Jeez, you really must have missed me if you’re acting like that.” You set aside your own croissant to focus on Zuha’s. She hums lightly as she opens up once again.
“Feed me both croissants, and I’ll show you how else I’ve missed you.”
-
The reuniting kiss with Zuha is all tongue, teeth, and tension. Her hands immediately trail upwards to crumple the hairs on the back of your head, pushing you towards her mouth. She releases a sloppy, hot exhale as your lips separate, sounding off whenever both of you reposition. You feel her pushing against you, pressing her lips further and further, licking, sucking, and sometimes biting.
“Zuha, wait.”
“Mmph. Fuck no.” She straddles you now, both hands on the sides of your face as she makes you look up at her. Her thumb presses lightly on your chin, making your jaw push back and opening your mouth.
Then she spits inside.
“Oh, fuck.” You wheeze out as you drink the warm saliva Zuha just produced.
“You like that?” A husky whisper.
You nod profusely.
She dives back in to make out with you and then pulls back again to spit more in your mouth. Zuha repeats this for a while, roughly rocking against your clothed crotch. A chorus of names and whispers fills the small apartment, the church-like atmosphere accentuated by the warm orange glow of a lamp off to the side. This was worship and sacrilege at the same time — you gnashed teeth, spoke in tongues, and sought salivation.
“Ugh!” You groan out as Zuha pulls back on your hair sharply, your head slamming back on the sofa. Her arms wrap around your head as she looks down on you, her wavy hair draping downward. With vigor, Zuha grinds her hips in a circle, sliding against your stiff member, her eyes watching your every reaction.
“Oh—oh fuck, yes.” Her mouth forms an “O” as she gasps your name, her breath colliding with yours. She moans into your mouth, holding you close, teasing you with a kiss, but only ever gracing you with light brushes against your lips.
Zuha suddenly rips your hands off her slim waist, lowering them down to her ass, the roundness of her cheeks ever felt through her tight denims. You squeeze courteously as you both moan in unison. You hear your name and other profanities spill forth from her mouth, her words slurring and seething as she desperately sated herself on dry humping you.
You inhale quickly as you abruptly stand up, carrying her lithe body as she clings onto your shoulders. “Mmm, room time?”
“Fucking do me on the kitchen counter.” She breathes out.
You shove your tongue into her mouth as you march over toward the kitchen. You hear the separate thuds of Zuha’s heels fall to the floor as she tightens her legs around you. With restraint, you finally withdraw from her lips (Zuha’s tongue was quite persuasive) and plop her down on the tiled countertop just beside her small rice cooker as you work on unbuttoning her jeans. Zuha leans back as she bites her lip, her gaze a blade waiting for your next move. You finally slide her pants off, revealing the smooth skin of her hips, her round, muscly thighs, and the wet spot on her light-colored panties. You take a deep whiff of her scent, the salty, sweaty, heady musk invading your nostrils, making your cock flex painfully. You release a rugged breath as you help Zuha lift her ass to slide off her panties. You consider fucking her there and then, but you fall to your knees and succumb to your baser desires.
You give her shaven pussy a long experimental lick.
Zuha squeals out at the surprise. “Oh God, yes, yes, I needed this, too. Oh, I need you so much.”
You hook your arms around her thighs, falling into the usual motions of routine. She was atop, in all her sexy glory, and you were down there once more, adoring and venerating the wet folds before you. You keep up a consistent stroke, tonguing and licking her clit as you rub two fingers across her splayed pussy. You alternate a few times, kissing her sex and licking the inside of her meaty thighs, watching Zuha groan or mewl depending on where your tongue dared to go. After a few more licks, you switch to a slower pace while sucking on her nub. Her leaking juices drip down the grooves of her crotch and the crevice of asscheeks, making the rim of her ass glisten. Zuha moans out slower now, her chest rising and falling as the tempo shifts. You coat your index and middle finger with her liquids before slowly entering her warmth.
“Jesus, fuck!” She nods as you look up at her, her right hand confused whether to tense and pull on your hair or ease and grip the back of your neck.
She opts for the former.
Your scalp stings, but the joy of pleasing Zuha far outweighs any pain she inflicted. You trail your fingers from her pussy and down to her tight rim. She squeals in surprise as you lose count of how much your name has been recited this night. With careful entry, you breach her tight asshole. A different kind of warmth wraps your fingers now — a hotter and tighter muscle, so paradoxical it keeps you inside when you want to pull out but eagerly sucks you back in when you want to penetrate. Zuha quickly verges on her release, the stimulation of all her holes making her legs twitch and squirm on your shoulders. Her voice picks up in pitch now as she closes her eyes in pent-up libido, her brows harshly furrowing and pointing to her ceiling, her hair flowing wildly with some sticking to her neck and forehead sweat. Bringing your other hand into play, you lick on her swelling clit as you finger both her holes.
“Motherfucker!— I’m yours, I’m all yours. Take me, make me cum. Please!” She runs her fingers through her own hair, her body twitching and her breath ragged as she locks you deeper between her legs.
With a final rub of your thumb on her clit, she cums. Wasting no time, you immediately get to work slurping up her pussy lips as her orgasm continues. You indulge in the tangy, salty mix of sex and love Zuha was offering, licking in long vertical strokes, making sure to cover wherever you haven’t covered yet. Her twitches die down slowly as her high subsides. Your tongue ventures lower again, reaching her puckered rim as you eat her out gently, matching her easing sighs and exhales, helping her return to baseline. Her eyes finally catch your gaze, staring at you and the highly obscene act you were committing.
“You feel good?” You whisper as you kiss the inside of her legs before rising up from the tiled floor.
Her arms wrap around your neck to pull you in. “So much fucking better now.” She whispers before smiling to kiss your cheek. She exhales deeply, angling your head to the side to kiss your neck sweetly.
You reach the smooth line of her back, fingers running up and down to feel her body, toned with constant discipline but curvy enough to grip and squeeze erotic flesh. You help remove the white t-shirt and throw it across the room. Zuha does the same, trailing her hand up from your abdomen and to your pecs before pulling your shirt off. Her palm briefly brushes your hardened nipples. You wince unexpectedly.
“Still sensitive?” She coos sweetly.
You chuckle and nod.
Her plotting eyes stare at you, a trance-like gaze taking over now, as she brings her hands to your shoulder blades, making you puff out your chest. Without breaking eye contact, she lowers her head to lick your nipple.
“Zuha.” You seethe through gritted teeth.
“Hm?” She continues to lick, spreading saliva around the areola. She licks the other one now, wrapping her lips around to suckle gently.
“Oh fuck, Zuha.”
“What is it?” Her head moves with each long lick, positioning and repositioning her tongue to get better angles. She releases the bud from her mouth to look up at you. “C’mon, tell me.” Her voice is a raspy whisper now.
“That feels good.” You wince out.
“What does?” She licks counterclockwise on your areola, avoiding the center. “This?” The flat of her tongue travels across your nipple.
“Or…” Zuha pulls back a bit. “…this?” She wraps her mouth around your whole nipple, her steaming mouth suckling while her tongue flicks the hardened tip.
“Gah, fuck! Y-Yes, Zuha, both. Both feel good.” Your brain processes the electricity traveling down your chest and up your spine. You were ticklish, but you felt yourself leaning in closer to Zuha.
Expertly, you feel her legs leave your lower back as her feet stop at the waistband of your boxers. She continues the assault on your sensitive bud, all while pushing your underwear downward, releasing your flexing shaft.
You let out an impressed chuckle. “Um…”
“Ballet.” Zuha boasts with a strange mixture of horny pride evident in her voice as she speaks.
You comply, kicking the boxers away, your rod now level with her steaming pussy. With her other hand riding up your chest, her fingers roll your left nipple as her mouth latches onto the right. You squirm slightly, the warmth of her tongue slathering across your pebbling nip, as you grip the overhead handles of the cupboards. Her right hand sneakily slips in between your bodies, tracing down your abdomen and finally to your hard cock. You jolt forward on instinct, roughing your erection along Zuha’s palm. She giggles sweetly, her breath betraying how amused she is at the situation. She stops licking your chest for a bit to spit on her hand before returning it to your impatient shaft. She coats the length with her spit and works you, twisting and pulling along, her thumb glossing over the slightly reddened tip.
“God, it was always so fucking big.” She leans in, a hand on the back of your head, pulling you closer. Your foreheads touch now, your breaths colliding as her chest rises and falls. Her vanilla-scented hair was a mess, covering most of her features, but she made sure you could see her face in open-mouthed pleasure. She jerks you off for a couple more minutes, matching each moan you make with her own, before rubbing your cockhead against her slick entrance. You both groan simultaneously. You take the hint and prop both Zuha’s arms around your neck as you step in closer, palm guiding the tip, aiming at her core. You push your shaft a few times, the underside rubbing the ridge of her pussy lips, coating and lubricating it, teasing her in the process.
“Please.” She whimpers.
“Begging?” You chuckle, surprised. “That’s new.”
“Shut up. I’ve just been really needy…” She whispers, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
“No, no, I like it. It’s hot.” You give her a peck, once on the lips and once on the forehead.
“Fuck me then. Please.”
With a long stroke, you thrusted in. She cries out with a whip of her head, hitting the hanging cupboards with a thud.
“Shit!” Zuha laughs through the blunder, planting a kiss on your lips to keep the mood going. Her arms hook speedily around your neck as her legs interlock just at the small of your back.
“Careful.” You hiss through the kisses you trailed along the side of her jaw. You grip her waist as you thrust forward, fucking her against the cupboards more carefully now. You pull back to feel your length smoothly retreat from her tight groin, her heat contrasting with the temperature of her apartment. You slowly push back in, drawing out a long moan from Zuha, her brows furrowing as she shuts her eyes.
“Yes, yes, fill me— God.” She cries out, her nails scratching and gripping your traps as her shins push you forward. You tighten your hold on her sides, squeezing and bruising her waist, your digits digging into her curves. You fuck her deep and strong, leaning into your strokes as you show her how much you missed her. You hear her walls squelch around your cock with every entry, lubing up and down your meat. The sound is erotic, your bodies the instruments, her cries the accompaniment.
Zuha is tight and accepting, but also combative — she would bite your earlobe, pull on your hair, or scratch the line of your back. When your lips strayed too far, she’d pull you back in. When you’d deviate from the angle she likes, she’d lock her legs tighter. It was a struggle for control, really — a competition to show who’s missed the other more, and you’ve definitely missed her.
And so you slow down abruptly, shocking Zuha.
“W-what are you—“
“Ballet, right?” You grip her full thigh, shifting her right leg to prop it on your shoulder, pulling her body toward you in the process. She jerks forward with a deep groan as you remain locked inside her, her body finally angling sideward to accommodate the new position. You pressed against her deeper now, the position granting you new grounds to explore.
“Oh fuck— oh fuck, you’re so deep…” Zuha’s moans come from her diaphragm now. “You’re so deep in me. Oh God, oh God yes, yes.”
You take a look at her thighs, how perfectly succulent they are, inheriting the roundness from her ass as it tapers off to her sexy, toned legs. Her calf rests on the left side of your head as your cock spears her in twain. You were in the middle of it all, bearing witness to Zuha’s undoing. Her head rests against the tiled kitchen wall with her arms spilled over past the rice cooker and sink, steadying and gripping with all her ability.
You place a hand on the knee atop your shoulder, simultaneously reaching down to palm her exposed breast. You start slow at first with experimental strokes, feeling out the new angle and Zuha’s novel tightness. You allow her left leg to hang free in the space between your legs, finally giving you the most amount of access you could have, driving your midriff and groin flush against the inside of her thigh.
“Holy fuck.” Zuha whimpers.
“Are you okay?” You gulp, sweat dripping down your forehead.
“You’re splitting me. You’re hitting me so deep. Oh shit— Christ!” Zuha doesn’t even stare at you now. Her lids remain closed, brows scrunched in permanent euphoria.
You tighten your hold on her wanton thigh while rolling her hardened nip between your fingers. With every mewl and cry, you thrust back deeper into Zuha, analyzing the subtle changes in her face and expression, evaluating how you could switch up every pound, every rail into her greedy sex. Your cock strains each time you thrust, the tense muscle invading her warm walls repeatedly, driving itself to find release.
“Jesus, I could fuck you like this every day.” You release a quick exhale.
“Shit, yes, please. I want that, oh fuck I want that.”
“Yeah? You want me to fuck you like this every day, Zuha? You wanna be bent over, split in half, every time, hm?” You pick up the pace.
“God, yes!” She yelps now.
“Mhm, yeah? You want me to pound away at you, while you just take it? You want me to just fuck you over every surface in this apartment?” You time your thrusts right, creating a rhythm from the constant thud on the cupboards.
Zuha grips you, nails digging into your forearm, as you rough your way into her, your cock pulsing eagerly, hitting just the right spots to have her droning on and on with an incohesive hum.
“Answer.” You whisper low, a hand coming down to slap her ass cheek.
“Yes! Please, oh please…”
“Yeah, I bet you’re gonna miss me when you’re in the Netherlands, huh? You want me to fuck you there, too, hm? Fuck you all around your small flat just before class? Fuck you until you leak cum while you’re practicing?”
“Y-yes!— Fuck, fuck, fuck, I want that, please. It’s you, it’s you, I only want you, it’s so different when it’s you. Shit— I need you and this fucking cock of yours. Oh fuck! My fingers aren’t enough, please.” She pleads, whispering rapidly.
“You only want me, huh?”
“Oh God, yes, I only want you...” Zuha gulps, her breathing now ragged and exhausted. “J-just— Come with me to the Netherlands. I can’t take it when you’re not here. Come fuck me there, too.”
The words stumble from Zuha’s lips unintentionally. Was she delirious? Maybe. Her slurred speech definitely didn’t help her case. You’re stunned, so you suddenly miss a beat, breaking the rhythm. But hearing her only wanting you made you grind harder, so you compensate on your next pump. You rub a particular spot, which makes Zuha twitch accidentally, her vice walls clamping around your meat. You lurch forward to steady yourself, your chest rising and falling.
“Fuck it. I’ll follow you all around the world just to have you like this.” Your fingers gloss over her trim thigh muscle, gripping her skin tightly as you plough over and over again. She winces a bit as your digits sink deeper into her curves. “Bent. Twisted. Gripped. Chased. Owned.”
“I-I’m yours. I’m yours…”
Having had enough of splitting her in half sideways, you ease up on the pistoning of your hips. You gently lower Zuha’s shin off of your shoulder, putting her leg down, allowing her to regain her balance gracefully, all while you remain hilted in her. The corkscrew sensation of her slick sends tingles through your thighs as you groan out softly. Zuha now grips the countertop while she’s bent over, her hair flowing down her bare back, apple-shaped ass fully exposed and impaled. You push the remaining length of your meat in her, gripping and bringing her waist up as you press against her back. Zuha leans her head on your shoulder.
“Hey.” She whispers.
“Yeah?” You whisper back.
“Say you love me...”
“I-I love you, Zuha.” You thrust once.
She bites her lip in the process of suppressing a moan. She rolls her hips slowly. “Again.”
“G-God— I love you, Zuha.” You pull back only to slam back in firmly.
“You…wha—what do you…What do you love about me?” Her eyes close as she cries out.
“Well…I love your neck.” You lick the length of her neck up to her earlobe. You grip her waist tighter, fingers ridging on the sleek lines of her abs. You thrust once. This makes her whimper and hiss.
“I love your tits.” You cup around to the front and take her breasts in both your hands. “How they feel, how soft they are, how hard your nipples can be.” You run your fingers across the sensitive peaks as you ram it in her again. She emits a shaky moan.
“I love this ass of yours.” You bring a palm down hard, striking the pound of flesh. A mix of a gasp and a scream falls from her mouth, her body in a rigid arch as you support her from behind. “Love how huge it is, how round your cheeks are when I cup it, and how tight it can be.” You reach down with your thumb, making a circle motion at the rim of her ass, teasing entrance and reaping the sounds Zuha makes.
“And I love your pussy.” You hold her sides once more before giving a shallow thrust. “You grip me so well, so hot and tight around my cock like this. Love how much you’re leaking all over me, how good you take me each time.”
Zuha hisses, sucking air. “Yes-yes-yes, I’ll take all of you.”
You finally thrust hard and quick, your thighs banging repeatedly on the base cabinet doors. Zuha lurches forward when you go faster, holding tighter on whatever she can grip, her body being pushed and pulled by the force of your rod poking her insides.
“God, yes, you do me so good, you do me so fucking good.” Her lips are filthy, speaking ill and cursing.
You bottom out over and over again, pressuring her velvety walls as you thrust to the hilt each time. The sound of skin and flesh slapping against each other intoxicates you, riling you to keep going. You look downward, eyes trailing from the line of her back, to your lubricated length — it was hypnotic seeing her pussy lips spreading to accommodate your length and girth, how each push forward sends your meat disappearing deeper within her body. You slap an asscheek. The plump curve jiggles at the contact.
“Jesus Christ, Zuha, you’re amazing.” The bumps and bangs of your legs on her kitchen cabinets have surely annoyed some of Zuha’s neighbors, but you don’t care. Back and forth, her body meets yours precisely, a moan clawing its way out of her throat each time you penetrate. But the pleasure eventually reaches an apex. You feel her walls clamp on you tighter. She hums and mumbles incoherently, desperately attempting to fill the silence and verbalize the torrent of feelings passing through her. She’s close.
“You gonna c-cum?” You wheeze out.
“I’m gonna fucking cum again.”
“Shit, okay, okay, just hold it! I’m close—“
“Fuck, please!” She begs, her tone coming out a little harsher than she intended. Zuha’s hand grips the back of your head as she angles her face sideward. Her tongue surges into your mouth in between dirty whispers. “Just cum with me, please. Oh God, I can’t take it— Please, cum with me.”
You pound away at Zuha, her cheeks bouncing and recoiling as you railed her harder. Her head lurches forward weakly, consciousness slipping as you prolonged her edge. You close your eyes to feel more of her, how her wet pussy wraps each inch of your length, how each texture sparks a sound from Zuha, how warm you’d be if you just stay planted inside. Your breathing quickens as you feel the coil deep within you.
“Z-Zuha! I-I’m—“
“Yes! Yes! Oh my God, yes!” Zuha lets herself go. “T-Tell me you love me!”
“What?—“ You’re confused, but your thrusts are on autopilot.
“Tell me you love me…When you cum, tell me you love me.”
This spurs you on. “Shit! I-I love you— Holy fuck!— I love you, I love you so fucking much…” Your fingers dig into her sides as you pursue a deeper stroke.
She winces. “Oh fuck, right there, yes, yes, I love you, I love you…”
The tension in your core finally shatters as you orgasm vehemently. You burst deep between her twitching legs and her grasping cunt. You cum forcefully, sending off copious ropes of your seed, painting her insides white. You groan weakly, repeating her name like a hymn or prayer a devotee would voice whenever their faith was tested or whenever they fell to their knees to sing praise. You hump at Zuha erratically, groaning as you dump everything you had inside her, an offering to the temple that is her body.
Zuha’s voice is gone at this point. She cums, a silent gasp in the sea of hair splayed on her face. She twitches and jerks occasionally, the onslaught of orgasm writhing out of her in surges. Her voice reaches a new pitch, exhales leaving her in short, vulnerable bursts. Her slick flows down your length, her walls clamping down on you as she rides her high. You hold her closer, hugging her as she pushes and shudders back, desperate to keep your length breached and wedged in her pussy.
The burden of the orgasm — the best orgasm you’ve both had, ever — finally dissipates for both of you. You wobble forward, hugging Zuha’s slim body as you lay your weight slightly on her. Zuha steadies both your bodies by propping her arms on the counter. Your palms trail down her arms to hold her hands. Your breathing syncs up as your forehead touches her back, just a few inches before her nape. You remain hilted, your cock still warm.
“Well.” She breaks the silence.
“Yeah?” You kiss a spot on the midpoint of her spine.
“Probably can’t get to ballet class tomorrow.”
You chuckle as you stand closer. Her walls squeeze slightly at the minuscule movement. You kiss up to the back of her head now, smooching her hair, then to her ear, then to her cheek. Her round eyes land on you, her stare dull, disarmed, diminished — glazed with the afterglow of sex, but made soft with a deep lingering affection — affection you can now confidently name love.
“You alright?” You laugh gently as you softly bump your head on hers.
“Never been better.” She gives you a peck. “So that’s what it took for you to fuck me like that, huh?”
“Shut up.” You chuckle. You pull out of her walls, a moan coming out of her as you depart. “Could’ve told me you loved me sooner if you wanted it that bad.” You say with a small smack of her thigh.
She gasps in fake hurt. “You diss me as you pull out? I rescind my declaration then.” Zuha turns around slowly, still leaning on the counter for stability. “Plus, I’m the one usually surprising you when we fuck— Oh, sorry. When we make love.” She chides. Zuha leans back, the light catching her angle and casting subtle shadows across her body. Her tall, athletic frame is made a thousand times better by the fact that she is still fully naked. Her toned and sculpted midriff is completely on display, the result of consistent training and commitment, creating the prominent lines you were gawking at. You make a mental note to ravish them later.
“Gosh, you’re really sexy.” You blurt.
A grin appears. Her nose scrunches for longer now, crescent eyes accenting the dimples on her cheeks as she laughs. She lightly punches your shoulder, but quickly reels you back in by the forearm. She wraps herself around you, your forearms tangling around her neck in an embrace. “You’re sweet.”
You kiss her crown lightly, whispering slowly. “You’re beautiful.”
She sighs, her gaze studying you, a stiletto point threatening to pierce, but no cuts come. She sheathes the blade, a pout surfacing in its place. “I’ve always…loved…that about you.” Her lips linger on the word “love”, its utterance a paradox between novel and natural. She says it carefully, like setting down delicate china you bring out only once in a while — fragile and vulnerably open to destruction. “The way you’d just tell me things. Me. The things you say are to me, and not just to who I think I am or who I think I should be. To Zuha.”
You smile lightly at the nickname you gave her. “Zuha suits you better. Plus, I don’t know you any other way.” You scramble around her kitchen, wearing your boxers and shirt, piling up garments, and gathering other flung articles of clothing (Zuha’s panties landed on a plant).
“Wouldn’t want it any other way, either.” Zuha raises her arms in a stretch, her abs and back muscles flex as she wrings out the (s)exhaustion from her system. She walks by you, giving you a light peck on the cheek before sashaying into the bathroom.
You stride down the hall and back into her room, the place where it all began. The space was the same, except her sheets were pink now, a more lush color compared to the pastel blue you had lain on that first night. You dump the pile in the basket and tidy up some more scattered socks and pants. On Zuha’s side of the bed, propped up on her end table and adjacent to her earrings, you see a new, smaller picture frame: you. A picture of you on your 3rd date with Zuha. You were holding two large paper bags of groceries, vegetables, and cartons peeking out the top. Hooked on your elbows were more bags — one with paper towels, another with soap and sponges. And in your mouth, wedged between your teeth, was a Fors croissant. You chuckle once as you adjust the frame.
“I think that’s when I realized I was falling in love with you.”
You turn around to see Zuha adjusting her pajamas, her shirt clinging to her slim frame, wet hair tied in a high bun, a towel hanging from her shoulder. She gives a small smile before hooking the towel off to the side of the door.
“But this was when…” You start.
“Mhm. Barely a week since we started dating.” She kicks around a loose carpet tuft. “I guess I’ve loved you since then.”
She shifts around awkwardly, but continues. “Hey, about that night you told me you loved me.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t even think for a second that I hesitated because I wasn’t serious with you— with us.”
“I know.”
“Good. Because I was. I am. I just…I was just scared.”
“I know, Zuha. I know you were. But I appreciate you telling me. Thank you.”
“Okay, good,” she says with a nod.
Zuha gracefully moves over toward the bed, shifting the sheets and making space for you. She sits, propping her back on the headboard, and brings the covers up to her knees, eagerly waiting for you.
You comply, scooching beside her and leaning back similarly. She lays her head on your shoulder, her gaze only pointing straight ahead.
“Did you mean it?’ You ask.
“Mean what?” She asks back.
“You wanting me to come with you. To the Netherlands. Or was that just…sex?”
A deep inhale, then a long sigh. “Of course I want you to come with me.” Her voice is smaller now, knees locking closer, and fingers gripping tighter. “I could barely handle you not coming home, not coming to me. How much more could I take being so far away from you?”
You take note of the new tone in Zuha’s voice. There is this strong vulnerability to her now, and her honesty only serves to strengthen her person, not weaken her fortitude. Her posture is small, but her heart is larger now. Long past inhibitions about baring so-called “weaknesses”, acknowledging strong emotions, and leaving ample space to be herself have now been dissolved.
“Oh, God, I want to come with you too. But I really can’t just up and leave my parents, Zuha. I barely have enough to help with rent if I do come with you.” The reality resurfaces and weighs on both of you. Zuha still had to leave, and you still had to stay.
“I know.” She mumbles.
You put an arm around her as she tucks her head on your chest, nearer your chin.
“But I don’t want to break up.” She murmurs against your shirt.
“I don’t want to, either.”
“Do we really have to choose?” A quiet whine leaves her lips.
“We might have to.” You rub her shoulder, tracing circles on her soft skin.
“If we do…break up,” Her voice cracks a bit, but she recovers with a sniffle and a cough. “I’d rather we do it on good terms now and not down the line when we’re at each other’s throats or over the phone.”
You exhale gently. “I’d rather have that too.”
You two stay silent for a while.
“Do you want to break up?” A whisper from Zuha so small you think twice about hearing it. She doesn’t look at you.
“Never.” You whisper, too. You stare at the back of her head and the curve of her cheek, her lashes moving as she blinks.
Zuha suddenly sits up, propping her palms flat on your chest, head looking toward you now. The blade returns to her eyes, lamp light glinting off her gaze. “So we don’t. We never will.”
“Can you do long distance?”
“I will if it’s you.”
“What happens if we both get busy? And we fight? And we lose time for each other?”
“I’d still want you.”
“Be realistic, Zuha.”
“I am.” Do you still feel the cuts of her gaze? You do. Swift slices of her pupils gash your arms, neck, and lips. She shakes her head with a sigh. “I’d still want you. The same awkward, speaking-to-windows, lukewarm-coffee-loving, nerd in scrubs. We can make it work.” Her hand cups your cheek now, minuscule lights like flecks sprinkle her pupils — tears.
You lean your head into her palm, savoring the warmth of her skin stroking your face.
She takes a gulp. “If we get busy, then we get busy. If we fight, then we fight. If we lose time, then we lose it. But, I’m still coming back to you.”
You shift on the bed a bit, linking your arms around her neck, allowing Zuha to put her chin on your chest. Her body lies on top of yours as she stares up at you while hugging your torso. You breathe slowly with her.
“Zuha, I’m still coming back to you, too. But I don’t want to lose time for you. I don’t want to fight with you. I don’t want to see us that way.”
“I don’t want to, either! But I’d rather have that than not have you at all.”
“Oh, Zuha.” You take her face in your hands, thumbs adjusting stray hairs and tucking it behind her ear.
“No! You can’t— Don’t do that. Don’t ‘Oh, Zuha’ me.” She veers her head away from your grasp, eyes staring at you for a beat. She bites her lip, stifling a sob. “I just got you back…” She chokes up, a free tear sliding down the side of her cheek.
You hush her gently as you bite back a sob of your own. “I know, Zuha. I know.”
“And don’t—“ She gulps, trying to find the words. “Don’t think I’m childish for finally wanting something for myself, enough to be selfish about it— enough for me to throw tantrums over it like a stupid kid.”
“Zuha, I would never.”
“I just…” Her brows furrow as she looks up. “Why can’t I have what I want?” Her face vanishes into your chest, tears soaking your shirt as you rub her shoulder blades.
She cries.
There it is: the plea Zuha has just breathed into existence. A whine in the face of the world. A conniption so ego-tistical, so selfish, and so immature, it’s childlike.
And so you respond in kind.
You stiffen up your upper lip, extinguishing the bawl attempting to bubble and rise. You grab her palm, urging her to look up at you. “Fuck it. Let’s do it. Let’s just give it a shot.”
-
“…and you’ve got your room key?”
“I do.” You tap your chest, feeling the keycard you slipped into your breast pocket earlier.
“Passport?”
You show your phone camera a slim browned-leather keeper. “I have it here, Mom.”
“Extra money?” Your dad pipes up now.
“Enough for dinner and a cab back to the hotel.”
“Good man.”
“Do you have enough data for your maps?” Your mom stutters now, the nerves evident in the shakiness of her question.
“I’m not that dumb, guys. I got this.” A chuckle leaves you.
“Alright. Just be safe, and come home safe. Good luck.” With a sigh, your parents slowly let you go. The phone clicks off.
Now, finally, on to the agenda. The show had just finished, with droves of people moving across the wide theater lobby, walking briskly to wherever their plans tell them to go. The carpeted floor effectively muffles the numerous footfalls, isolating only the sounds of conversation. Hushed words fly, whispers creep, and voices adjust. You remain silent, though, this stalwart constant standing still in the blur. A few shoulders whip past you, polite apologies making their way into your ears as compensation. A few adjustments to your gait and stride, and you’re all good. Nothing could really ruin your mood now.
You spot an empty bench in the atrium, this comforting spot illuminating to ease the aches of pacing. The sleek padded cushion groans, catching your full weight as you lean back to stretch. Your legs are crossed as you check the time. 8:22. You could stay a few more minutes. Or hours. You just had to know.
And so you go through the routine of anybody who’s socially awkward and unfortunate enough to be stuck in a public place: check your phone, stare at the ceiling, go to the bathroom (without actually peeing), and then back to the phone. It’s a cycle, really. A cycle you’re very much proud of, because you’ve gotten quite good at appearing like a normal person on the outside. A few pretend phone calls? Amazing play. Pseudo-interest in the shows playing next week and all the minute details of their posters? Absolutely masterful.
Did you appear like a person who knew what they were doing and not someone wandering around, grasping at straws, clawing at a glimmer of a slim chance? You hope so. Did they notice you awkwardly pacing and going up and down the hall? That’s not the point. The point is to masquerade as someone who’s not…afraid.
In truth, the pit in your stomach is growing. Afraid of what, exactly? Well, nothing, to a degree. You were afraid to find out that you flew exactly 5330 miles, gulped through the jet lag, lugged bags across stations, navigated across language barriers, and fumbled through faux pas, for nothing. Not even for a glimpse, a sideways glance, or a chat. You were worrying that, because of the past years of being broken up, and despite constantly grinding to make your own, striving to complete internships, acing departmental exams, and graduating with flying colors, it would all have been for nothing. You guys would still end up as nothing.
Why couldn’t you have what you want?
You slump on the bench, your unkempt appearance, tousled hair, and untucked shirt now obviously inappropriate for the formal setting and the more well-dressed theater goers leaving the maroon-carpeted lobby and down the polished mahogany exit steps. You don’t care anymore. You just absolutely had to wait.
So you wait.
And wait.
And wait.
The crowd thins out, save for a few pairs scrambling and hoping to catch the few remaining tickets for tomorrow’s performance. The buzz of talk soon dies down, replaced by the sound of rain falling and the crisp crash of tires driving over puddles and gutter water outside. You barely noticed the rain before, but you do now.
If only your mom could see you. I knew it. I told you you’d forget something, she’d say.
“Sorry, Mom.” A mutter from you. “Sorry, little umbrella.” Back at home, your umbrella ruffles in acceptance of the whispered apology.
Then you feel it.
You touch a finger to your right cheek, tracing an invisible line from your face to your lips. A cut.
Confusion fills you. Your breathing slowly picks up now. This was familiar. You’ve felt this before, this gash. It was this stinging feeling like a subtle paper cut, the type of paper cut you’d only feel after a substantial amount of time, but even then, the damage was already done. You unexpectedly blush as if blood were leaking from the slice. You feel your face heat up as your heartbeat quickens, the blood pulsing just beneath the surface. It becomes harder to gulp, too, as your throat dries, your voice stagnating and burrowing deep within your courage.
You turn to where the cut came from. Long-dead abilities revive within you. The sound of precipitation distorts as things come to a dead halt. Raindrops disobey gravity. People freeze in place, their stride suddenly stopping.
And yet she still walks toward you. Even if you stop time, she still walks toward you. Even if you’ve been broken up for all those years, she still walks toward you.
