"Just the tip," you whisper, knowing damn well that once she feels you stretching her open, there’s no turning back.
Tags: Choking, light restraint, dom/sub undertones, unprotected sex, creampie, forced quiet, risk of getting caught, slight dub-con elements
Your mouth is on hers, hungry, demanding, swallowing the soft gasp that escapes her lips. Your tongue pushes past her teeth, claiming her, tasting her, making her whimper into your mouth. Fuck, she tastes good—like the wine from dinner and something sweeter, something that's just her.
You don't know how it got to this.
But does it even matter at this point?
Winter is beneath you, wide-eyed, breath uneven, her body already betraying her. The cabin air is thick with the scent of pine and summer heat, but all you can focus on is her—how she's splayed out beneath you on the bed, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from your kisses, parted like she's about to say something but keeps swallowing the words before they can form. Her body is warm, soft where you hold her, a contrast to the sharp tension crackling between you both, something unspoken but undeniable.
Your sister is just down the hall.
Your parents are in the next room over, sleeping, completely unaware of what's happening—what's about to happen. The thought should stop you. It should make you hesitate, reconsider, anything.
It doesn't. It just makes your cock harder, the forbidden nature of it all making your blood run hotter.
Her messy bun is coming undone, strands of blonde slipping loose around her face, framing the flush creeping up her cheeks. Her pendant—the tiny, delicate one she never takes off—catches the moonlight from the window, rising and falling with every uneven breath. The long sleeves of her shirt are pushed up, bunched at her elbows, fabric soft and slightly wrinkled from where your hands have gripped at her.
You slide your hands up her sides, pushing her shirt up to reveal the taut skin of her abdomen. She shivers as the cool air hits her exposed flesh, muscles flexing beneath your touch. You can't tear your eyes away from how her stomach tightens with each ragged breath, the way her ribs show just slightly beneath soft skin. She flinches, a half-hearted attempt to cover herself, but you pin her wrists above her head with one hand.
"Let me look at you," you growl, and she bites her lip, torn between wanting to hide and wanting to be seen.
"We really shouldn't," she whispers, but her back arches subtly, her body contradicting her words. "What if someone hears?"
You push the shirt higher until her bra is exposed—simple, cotton, nothing fancy, but the way her tits strain against the fabric makes your mouth water. You can see her nipples hardening, pressing against the thin material. You lower your head, dragging your tongue across one peak through the fabric, feeling it tighten further. She arches into your mouth, a choked sound escaping her lips.
"Shhh," you warn, your free hand sliding down between her legs where she's completely bare and already dripping. "You gotta be quiet, baby."
"Oh god," she whimpers, trying to press her thighs together but failing against your strength. "You're so much bigger than I thought you'd be."
Your cock presses against her entrance, heavy, throbbing. Just the tip, nothing more—just enough to feel the way she's slick, hot, inviting. You can barely breathe from how much you want her, from how close you are to ruining this moment, this fragile hesitation that's keeping her from pushing you away.
She whispers, "We shouldn't." Her voice breaks on the second word, trembling with both desire and doubt. "We can't. It's wrong."
Her body doesn't pull back, but her eyes dart nervously toward the door. Her hips stay tilted just so, thighs trembling as if they're fighting to close but can't bring themselves to do it. If anyone wakes up, if someone hears, this doesn't just become a mistake—it becomes something you can't take back.
"You're so fucking wet," you murmur against her ear, your fingers sliding through her folds, gathering her slick before bringing it to your mouth. You suck your fingers clean, watching her eyes widen at the obscene display. "Taste so good I could eat you for hours."
"No, don't," she protests weakly, but her hips betray her, rocking against your hand. "That's so filthy." Yet her breath catches, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "But I need it."
Your voice drops lower, teasing, thick with a promise you both know you won't keep. "It's okay. Just the tip."
A flicker of hesitation. A sharp inhale. Her hands flutter against your grip, testing your hold. But she doesn't say no.
You press forward just a little, and the second your cock pushes past her entrance, her entire body tightens beneath you. She's so fucking tight, her cunt stretching around you in slow, pulsing resistance before yielding, letting you sink just that much deeper. You both gasp, sharp and shallow. Her nails dig into your arm, her fingers curling, but she doesn't push you away—doesn't tell you to stop.
"It's too big," she whines, her head thrashing slightly on the pillow. "I can't—you won't fit. Oh god, you're stretching me so much."
Her breath catches in her throat, a whimper that she tries to swallow down, but you hear it anyway. Feel it, in the way her thighs tremble beneath your hands—bare, smooth, but not completely.
She's shaved, but there's a faint prickle under your palm, the softest roughness just beginning to grow back. It's subtle, just enough to feel, just enough to remind you that this is real, that she's real, naked beneath you, trembling, wet.
"Your pussy's so tight," you whisper, and her eyes roll back slightly at your words. Her pendant shifts against her collarbone as she swallows hard. "Been thinking about fucking you for so long."
"We shouldn't," she says again, more desperate now. "We can't do this. We—" but her words dissolve into a soft moan as you push in another inch. "Oh fuck, you're going to ruin me."
You bring your fingers to her throat, thumb brushing against the delicate skin there. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just a warning. A reminder that she can stop this at any moment.
She doesn't.
"This is wrong," she whispers, but her body arches into your touch, contradicting her words. Her pussy clenches around your tip, like she's trying to pull you deeper. "But I need it so bad. Need you inside me."
Her thighs tense, muscles fluttering beneath your grip. But you keep her pinned down, spread open, locked in place beneath you. The pendant around her neck dangles slightly, catching the dim cabin light, shifting with every shallow breath she takes.
"Just the tip," you murmur again, voice thick, coaxing.
But you both know that's a lie.
She shifts—just a little, a reflex, a reaction—but it's enough. Enough for your cock to slide in another inch, enough for the tight heat of her to wrap around you just a little more, enough for both of you to feel the moment restraint snaps and neither of you can turn back.
She's dripping, soaking you, slick gathering at the base of your cock where you've barely even pushed in. Your length drags against her folds, spreading the warmth of her arousal, and fuck, she's so wet you can feel it running down your balls, making everything that much harder to control.
"Fuck…" she breathes, the word slipping out on a strangled gasp, barely audible. She bites down on her lip, hard, as if that will stop another sound from escaping. As if it will stop the truth from settling between you.
"Tell me to stop."
The words hang in the thick air, heavy, offering an out she won't take.
Silence. Then, almost imperceptibly, she shakes her head. "Don't stop," she whispers, the admission clearly costing her. Her fingers clutch at your arms, digging in, anchoring herself to you. "I need it. Need you to fill me up."
You exhale slowly, press her thighs down against her body, locking her in place, keeping her open for you. You can see where your cock is splitting her open, stretching her tight little pussy, and the sight almost makes you lose it right there.
But for a moment, everything slows down. You slide your hand up to cup her cheek instead. Her skin is flushed hot against your palm. You hold her there, making her look at you, forcing her to meet your gaze as you hover above her. Your eyes lock, and something passes between you—something raw and honest that strips away all pretense. Her pupils are blown wide, leaving just a thin ring of color, and you can see everything in them—the want, the fear, the surrender.
"Winter," you whisper, just her name, nothing more. Your thumb traces her bottom lip, still swollen from your kisses. She trembles beneath your touch, vulnerable in a way that has nothing to do with being naked.
"I shouldn't want this," she confesses, voice so quiet you almost don't hear it. "But I do. I want it so much. Want you inside me. Want you to cum in me."
Her lashes flutter, her chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths. You move your hand back to her throat, just enough pressure to make her gasp, just enough to watch her lips part in something between a plea and surrender. Her pulse flutters against your palm, frantic, but she doesn't try to stop you. The pendant at her throat taps against your wrist with every thundering heartbeat.
The fabric of her long-sleeve shirt is bunched at her wrists now, twisted from where she's been gripping the sheets, knuckles white. Your hand leaves her throat to slide between your bodies, finding her clit with your thumb, circling the swollen bud.
"You knew this was gonna happen."
Her lips part again, and this time, she doesn't argue.
The moment you bottom out, it's over.
Winter's hands fly to your wrist, nails sinking deep into your skin, not to push you away but to hold on, to ground herself against the overwhelming stretch of you inside her. She's gasping, barely breathing, each ragged inhale broken by the weight of your grip around her throat. Her pulse thrums beneath your fingers, frantic, erratic, like a trapped bird.
"Oh god," she cries out, too loud in the quiet cabin. "You're too big. You're stretching me too much."
"You can take it," you murmur, voice thick with lust, pressing deeper, grinding your hips down until she whimpers. Her pussy stretches around you, tight and slick, gripping your cock like it was made for you. Her body trembles beneath you, chest rising unevenly, legs twitching where you've pinned them open. "Fuck, you're taking my cock so well."
"Please," she begs, though what she's begging for isn't clear even to her. Her hands push weakly against your chest, but her hips keep rocking, seeking more. "It hurts but don't stop, please don't stop."
Your free hand slides up her body, finding her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt. You can feel her nipple harden under your palm as you squeeze, rough enough to make her gasp. The cotton barrier is frustrating, but there's something filthy about having her half-dressed like this, completely bare from the waist down, cock buried deep while her shirt still clings to her upper body.
"Should've torn this off you," you growl, bunching the fabric of her shirt in your fist, tugging it up to expose more of her. "Wanna see these tits bounce while I fuck you."
"No, someone might see," she protests, even as she arches her back, pressing her breast more firmly into your hand. "Someone might hear us."
The bed creaks. You freeze.
Your sister is asleep just down the hall. Your parents are in the next room. If anyone hears—
But then Winter clenches around you, fluttering, pulsing, already too fucked out to care. Her walls squeeze so tight it's dizzying, the slick heat of her drawing you in, making it impossible to think about anything else. Her eyes are glazed over, lips parted, cheeks flushed with a mix of shame and pleasure she can't hide.
You loosen your grip on her throat, letting her take in a desperate gulp of air—only to tighten your fingers again the moment a sound escapes her lips. A muffled moan, cut off as her lashes flutter, as her body jolts beneath you. The sight of her struggling for breath, completely at your mercy, makes your cock throb inside her.
"Shhh." Your warning comes with a twist of your hips that makes her eyes roll back.
She nods frantically, eyes wet with unshed tears, body twitching in your grip, obedient even as she shakes. A whimper escapes her, too loud in the quiet room, and she slaps her own hand over her mouth, biting down on her fingers to keep quiet.
"I can't be quiet," she whispers desperately against her fingers. "It feels too good. You're too deep."
You pull her hand away, replacing it with two of your own fingers, pushing them between her lips. "Suck," you command in a harsh whisper. She obeys immediately, tongue swirling around your digits, eyes locked on yours as she hollows her cheeks. It's obscene, the way her mouth works around your fingers while her pussy grips your cock. You push them deeper, making her take them to the knuckle, watching her throat work as she struggles not to gag.
"Such a dirty girl," you whisper. "Acting all innocent then taking my cock like you were made for it."
You don't slow down. If anything, you make it worse for her—slow, deep thrusts, dragging every inch through the mess between her thighs, keeping her on edge, making sure she feels every second of it. You can feel your cock dragging against that spot inside her that makes her whole body jerk.
She reaches for you suddenly, hands clutching at your shoulders, nails digging in as she pulls you closer. Her legs wrap around your waist, changing the angle, taking you even deeper. The new position has you hitting something that makes her bite down hard on your fingers, her body shuddering beneath you.
You pull your fingers from her mouth, tracing the wet digits down her chin, her throat, between her breasts, leaving a glistening trail on her skin. "You like that?" you ask, adjusting your hips again, making sure to hit that same spot. "Right there?"
"Yes," she admits shamefully, her resistance crumbling. "Fuck me harder. Please. I need it deeper."
She nods frantically, eyes wide, desperate. Her hands move to your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you down until your foreheads touch. You're sharing breath now, mouths close enough to kiss but not quite touching. You can feel every gasp, every whimper.
"I shouldn't want this," she confesses in a broken whisper. "Shouldn't want your cum. Shouldn't want you to knock me up. But I do. I want it so fucking bad."
The intimacy of it almost breaks you. You pull back slightly, shifting your attention to where your bodies join. You hook one of her legs over your arm, opening her wider, changing the angle again. The sight of your cock disappearing into her, slick and glistening with her arousal, has you transfixed.
"Look at how well you take me," you say, voice strained, slowing your pace to make her feel every inch. "So fucking perfect."
"It's too much," she whines, even as her hips chase yours. "Too big. You're ruining me for anyone else."
She's too sensitive, too overwhelmed, but you don't stop. She's past the point of being able to resist, past the point of pulling away. Her pussy is making obscene wet sounds with every thrust, so fucking soaked that it's running down the curve of her ass, staining the sheets beneath you both.
Your thumb finds her clit, swollen and slippery, and the moment you touch it, her whole body jerks like she's been shocked. You circle it slowly, deliberately, feeling how it pulses under your touch.
"Please," she whispers, the word barely audible, her first real plea since this started. You're not sure if she's begging you to stop or continue, and you don't care. You press down harder on her clit, rubbing faster, matching the rhythm of your thrusts.
"God—" she breathes, barely able to form words, her mouth struggling to work. "It's so—so deep. Your cock is so big. I can feel you in my stomach." Her voice is like crushed velvet, hushed and broken. Her pendant swings with each thrust, catching the light in hypnotic flashes.
Her hands grip your arms now, holding on for stability as you pick up the pace. The rhythm changes from slow and deep to something more urgent, more primal. Her breathing quickens, shallow and ragged, little puffs of air against your face.
"I can't—" she gasps, her words cut off by a particularly deep thrust. "I'm getting close." The admission is almost shameful, whispered like a secret against your neck. "Please, I need to cum on your cock."
You press her thighs wider, holding them open with bruising force. The position lets you watch everything—the way her stomach tenses with each thrust, how her breasts bounce slightly beneath her shirt, the way your cock stretches her open, the slick mess of her arousal coating both of you.
"I said just the tip," you taunt, voice rough with exertion, with need. "Look at you now. Taking every fucking inch."
"I know," she whimpers, shame and arousal mixing in her voice. "I'm such a slut for you. Can't help it. Need your cock so bad."
Her whimpers turn into silent screams, mouth open, lips trembling, thighs quivering beneath your grip. She's too far gone, helpless to stop what's coming, unable to do anything but take it. Your fingers are soaked with her arousal as you work her clit, switching between gentle circles and firm pressure, watching how each touch makes her react differently.
She's so close. You can feel it in the way her pussy tightens around you, in the desperate, broken sounds she's trying not to make. Her breathing becomes erratic, shallow, her entire body tensing beneath you.
"I'm gonna cum," she whimpers, the words barely audible. "Please, please don't stop. Fill me up. Want your cum so bad. Want you to breed me." Her confession makes your cock throb, the desperation in her voice pushing you closer to your own edge.
She grabs your wrist where you're working her clit, not to stop you but to press your fingers harder against her. Her eyes are pleading, desperate, silently begging for release. You give her what she wants, increasing the pressure, circling faster, feeling her body wind tighter and tighter.
"Gonna fill this tight little pussy," you whisper against her ear, biting down on her earlobe. "Gonna pump you so full you'll feel me for days. Put a baby in you."
The words make her clench around you again, her pussy gripping your cock like she's trying to milk it. She's right on the edge, teetering, about to break. Her nails dig into your back, dragging down, marking you as thoroughly as you're marking her.
"Cum for me, right now." The order comes as a growl against her ear, rough, absolute. You punctuate the command by grinding against her clit, circling it with your thumb as you thrust deeper, harder.
"Shit! I'm cumming," she cries out, too loud, beyond caring who might hear. "You're making me cum on your big cock. Oh god, I'm cumming!"
Her body seizes, back arching off the bed, legs trembling violently, a choked gasp escaping as she shatters beneath you. Her orgasm takes her apart, raw and violent, the aftershocks making her sob. Her pussy clamps down on your cock like a vise, pulsing, milking you, pulling you deeper. Her pendant swings wildly against her throat, catching the light with each convulsion of her body.
But you don't stop.
You keep working her clit through it, relentless, forcing her higher even as she tries to twist away from the overwhelming sensation. Your fingers are merciless, pushing her past what she can handle, turning her orgasm into something that seems endless, wave after wave crashing through her.
"That's it," you encourage, watching her fall apart. "Take it. Fucking take it. Take my cum."
"Breed me," she begs, completely lost to the pleasure. "Fill me up. Make me yours. Please, please, please."
She's still cumming when you bury yourself deep, when you push so far inside it's almost painful, when you spill into her, hot and thick, filling her up, leaving her ruined beneath you. You can feel your cum pumping into her, your cock twitching with each pulse, her body taking everything you give her.
Your fingers finally ease off her clit, letting her come down from the intensity. You trace lazy circles on her inner thigh instead, feeling the way she twitches with aftershocks, sensitive and spent.
Neither of you move.
The only sound is the ragged pace of your breathing, the soft, wet tremble of her body as she twitches through the last waves of it. The weight of what just happened settling over both of you. The evidence of it already spilling between her legs, a mixture of her slick and your cum dripping onto the sheets.
It was reckless. Dangerous. The filthiest thing you've ever done—fucking her with your family just rooms away, the constant threat of discovery making every sensation sharper, every touch more electric. The memory of her body yielding to yours, taking you so deep, of her desperate attempts to stay quiet as you ruined her—it's all seared into your mind.
A floorboard creaks in the hallway.
You both freeze, eyes wide, bodies still joined, the reality of what you've done crashing over you like ice water.
Ningning x Karina x Male Reader | 18k words
Tags: 3sum, blowjob, deepthroating, spit play, hair pulling, breast play, nipple play, dirty talk, dominance, orgasm control, multiple orgasms, body worship, rough sex, two hot bitches feral for cock
Bio can wait. The two baddest bitches at school just told you to skip class with them. Who the fuck would say no? Especially when its Karina and Ning.
no this is not in the same universe as "dumb" :P
The moment you push through the doors to your school's dance room, you know your plan for a solo practice is finished. Karina and Ningning are sprawled against the mirror wall, a perfect picture of cool indifference that somehow makes the empty room feel smaller.
They're wearing what they always wear—simple but devastatingly effective. Karina in high-waisted gray sweatpants that pool slightly at her ankles, paired with a fitted black long-sleeve crop zip up that rises just enough when she stretches. Ningning in similar wide-leg pants but with a simple white off-shoulder top that somehow makes her collarbones look like art. Both outfits say "I barely tried" while looking impossibly put-together.
They're those girls at school—the ones with presence, the ones who command attention without trying.
Everyone on the dance team is attractive in their own way—but they have that something extra. You've seen it countless times during team practices: the way other dancers give them space, how even the coach seems to hold their breath when they perform.
Karina's scrolling through her phone, platinum blonde waves cascading over her shoulders as she absently twists a strand of Ningning's dark hair between her fingers. Ningning has one AirPod in her ear, her dark eyes drifting up to catch yours before you even announce yourself. The contrast between them is striking—Karina's cool blonde presence against Ningning's warm, dark features—perfectly complementary in the way they occupy space.
"Of course," you mutter, dropping your bag near the door with a thud that's maybe a little louder than necessary.
Of course they taking up the whole floor (they're not)
You try to play it casual, hyper-aware of every movement you make. That's the thing about being dancers—you notice details. Sometimes you catch Karina's eyes lingering on you during practice, or notice how Ningning always ends up stretching near you, but you tell yourself it's nothing. Just the usual dance team dynamics. You're all physical people; boundaries blur. It doesn't mean anything.
Ningning stretches her arms over her head. "What are you pissed for? There's like, so much space."
"I need the whole floor to go full out," you say, gesturing vaguely to the room. "I'm working on that new combo."
Karina snorts without looking up from her phone. "Yeah, because you need the entire studio to practice the same eight-count for an hour."
Ningning laughs, then tilts her head slightly. "You wanna dip with us instead?" Her blonde-tinted waves fall over one shoulder as she shifts to look up at you, dark eyes expectant.
You're instantly torn. Dance has made you disciplined—fit, clean, and sharp on the floor—and that same discipline usually keeps your grades steady. Usually. But there was that chem test last week. And the English paper you turned in late. And now Bio tomorrow, which you're definitely not prepared for.
"Can't," you say, even as your eyes drift to where Karina's top meets the waistband of her sweatpants. "I've got a test next period. If I bomb another one, Coach will bench me for sure."
Karina finally looks up from her phone, golden-rimmed eyes locking with yours in the mirror. Your reflection stands tall behind theirs, and for a moment, the three of you make a symmetrical composition in the glass.
"That's cute," she says, a smirk playing at her lips. "Choosing bio over us." She shifts, her shoulder brushing against Ningning's, and something passes between them—some silent communication that makes Ningning bite her lower lip to suppress a smile.
"Pussy," Karina adds, the word landing soft but deliberate.
The question hangs in the air, and something in the atmosphere shifts. They're still draped against each other—Karina's head now resting on Ningning's shoulder, Ningning's fingers absently playing with the hem of Karina's top—but their attention is fully on you now. The casual indifference is gone, replaced by a focused intensity.
Karina's eyes narrow slightly, calculating. Ningning's lips part, just barely, like she's already anticipating your answer. The way they're looking at you makes your skin prickle with heat. It's the same look they get right before a performance—that blend of challenge and confidence that says they know exactly how good they are.
The logical part of your brain is still calculating how many points you need on tomorrow's test to maintain your eligibility for the showcase. You've already been warned about your grades. One more missed class and you might actually get suspended from the team. This isn't just about one bio test anymore.
But there's something about the way they're waiting, bodies still intertwined but faces turned toward you in perfect symmetry, that makes the decision feel momentous. Like this is some kind of turning point.
Your jaw ticks, just barely.
"Fuck it," you say finally, slinging your bag back over your shoulder. The relief on their faces is subtle but unmistakable, like you've passed some test you didn't know you were taking. "Say less."
The reason is simple, even if your GPA will suffer for it: you just wanted to hang with the two baddest girls at school. And when they both smile at you—Karina's slow and knowing, Ningning's bright and wicked—you can't bring yourself to regret it.
Not yet, anyway.
…
Ningning's house is just a short drive through the sprawl of suburban Southern California. By the time you arrive, all three of you are armed with Slurpees from a 7-Eleven pitstop—yours blue raspberry, Karina's cherry, and Ningning's a swirled mix of both that she sips like she's solved some great mystery of flavor.
Her room is exactly what you'd expect—a perfect blend of cozy and chaotic. Fairy lights wrap around the ceiling fan, with climbing ivy trailing down from the fixture, casting soft shadows across the walls. Posters cover nearly every inch of white space—Frank Ocean, SZA, Tyler the Creator, Tate McRae, Billie Eilish—with a round mirror breaking up the collage. Monstera plants thrive in the corner next to a small white bookshelf. The whole space glows in the afternoon light filtering through the windows.
You settle on the carpet, back against her bed, Slurpee in one hand, a bag of sour gummy worms in the other. But Karina? She's sitting directly on Ningning's lap, legs draped over hers, body leaned back lazily against Ningning's chest like they've done this a hundred times before. No hesitation, no awkwardness—just pure, easy closeness. They fit together the way bad bitches always do, like they know exactly how to take up space.
Leon Thomas hums from a speaker in the corner, his smooth vocals and the soft R&B bassline weaving into the atmosphere, just enough to fill the comfortable silence.
"Let's play a game," Karina says suddenly, her cherry-red nails tapping idly against Ningning's thigh.
"What kind of game?" You ask, already suspicious.
"Just questions. Truth only." Ningning grins, absently running her fingers through Karina's platinum hair. "I'll start easy. Who's the hottest on the team?"
You glance up from your drink, already knowing exactly where this is going. It's a setup. A trap.
You take a second, not too long, just enough to make it seem like you're actually considering your answer. But you know there's only one right response—the one even they would agree on.
"Chaewon."
"Fuck, such an obvious answer," Karina groans, throwing her head back dramatically. "She's so fucking hot."
"Ugh," Ningning adds, biting her lip. "I tried making out with her at Jungwoo's party last month and she wasn't feeling it. I almost died."
They exchange knowing looks, satisfied, like they'd already predicted your answer before you even opened your mouth. Karina leans back further into Ningning, reaching for her own Slurpee.
"Your turn," Ningning says, nodding at you.
You think for a moment. "Best dancer in the crew?"
"Me, obviously," Karina says without hesitation.
Ningning rolls her eyes but doesn't argue.
"Fair," you concede with a smile.
"My turn," Karina says, her voice dropping slightly. "Ever hooked up with anyone from the team?"
The question hangs in the air. It's an escalation, but not entirely unexpected.
"Yes," you answer, taking a sip of your Slurpee.
Their eyes widen simultaneously. "Who?" Ningning demands, leaning forward.
You shake your head. "That wasn't the question."
Karina narrows her eyes. "Sneaky. I respect it." She turns to Ningning. "That's definitely our next question."
"What about you two?" you ask, deflecting.
Karina shrugs. "Not with anyone from the team."
Something in her inflection makes you pause. "But with each other?"
They exchange a look, this one different—a silent communication you can't quite read. Without saying a word, Karina turns her head, meeting Ningning's eyes with a smirk. Ningning doesn't hesitate. She cups Karina's face and pulls her in, capturing her lips in a kiss that's anything but casual.
Jesusfuckwhat.
Karina's hand slides up to Ningning's neck, fingers tangling in her hair as their mouths move against each other. Ningning's other hand drifts down, boldly palming Karina's breast through her top. You watch, frozen, as Karina lets out the faintest sound against Ningning's lips.
Is this actually happening right now? Your throat goes dry as you try to process what you're seeing, your Slurpee forgotten in your suddenly tense grip.
When they finally part, Karina's lipgloss is smudged, and both are breathing heavier, their eyes dark when they turn to gauge your reaction. Neither says anything—they don't need to. The answer is written all over their flushed faces.
And they're just gonna act like that didn't happen? Like they didn't just—
"Your turn," Karina says, her voice noticeably huskier now, acting like she didn't just have her breast grabbed in front of you. "What's your biggest turn-on?"
You blink, trying to recalibrate. The game is apparently still on, despite the fact that your brain is still processing what you just witnessed.
You swallow. "Someone who takes control without asking."
Ningning smirks, running her thumb across her bottom lip to fix her smudged gloss. "Noted."
What the fuck is happening right now?
It's Ningning's turn, and she doesn't hesitate: "Who on the team did you hook up with?"
You consider lying, but decide against it. "Yujin."
That night in her car after the showcase. Her skin under your hands, the way she bit her lip to stay quiet...
"Shut the fuck up," Karina's jaw drops, her eyes widening with what looks suspiciously like jealousy. "Are you serious?"
"She's hot as fuck too, what the hell?" Ningning looks genuinely offended, sitting up straighter, dislodging Karina slightly. "How are you pulling the baddest girls and we didn't even know?"
Karina narrows her eyes. "When did this happen? And why didn't she tell anyone?"
Because she asked me not to tell anyone. Because it was just that one time. But you just shrug, enjoying their reactions more than you should.
The questions heat up rapidly.
"If you could do anything to anyone in this room right now, what would it be?" Karina asks, fingers now tracing patterns on Ningning's arm.
You consider your words carefully. "I'd rather show than tell."
"Bold," Ningning says with approval. "But you'll have to wait your turn."
"Ever watched porn with someone else?" Karina asks, changing tactics.
"No."
"Wanna start?" Ningning challenges, raising an eyebrow.
The game accelerates. Boundaries blur. Questions become increasingly explicit.
"Where's the riskiest place you've hooked up?"
"What's something you want to try but haven't yet?"
"Have you ever thought about either of us while getting yourself off?"
"If you could do anything to anyone in this room right now, what would it be?"
Your answers grow bolder. Theirs grow filthier. With each revelation, the space between you shrinks, though neither of them has moved from their position.
"Have you ever fantasized about being with two people at once?" Karina asks, no longer pretending this is just a game.
"Yes," you admit.
"Anyone specific in mind?" Ningning presses.
You look from one to the other, letting the silence answer for you.
With each answer, the air in the room grows thicker, charged, until Karina finally shifts on Ningning's lap to face you directly.
"You're pretty hot, you know that?" Her voice is smooth, casual, like she's just stating a fact. She doesn't look at you when she says it, just keeps tapping her nails, waiting to see how you react.
Ningning hums in agreement, finally meeting your gaze. "Especially when you dance."
You shift slightly, a near-imperceptible reaction, but they catch it. Of course they do. Dancers notice everything. The way your grip tightens slightly on your cup, the flicker of something unreadable in your eyes before you school your expression back into something neutral.
You keep your cool. You're unsure where this is going, but you don't back down.
Karina stretches her arms above her head, arching her back slightly against Ningning. The movement causes her top to ride up, exposing a sliver of skin at her waist. It feels too deliberate, too precise to be casual. Your mouth goes dry.
They know exactly what they're doing.
Ningning's hand settles on Karina's hip, fingers splayed possessively as she adjusts her position on her lap. You can't help but track the movement. The room suddenly feels ten degrees warmer, and you shift your position on the floor, grateful you're sitting cross-legged.
Karina takes a long sip of her Slurpee, her eyes never leaving yours over the rim of the cup. When she pulls away, she runs her tongue slowly over her cherry-stained lips, catching a drop.
Jesus Christ.
You blink rapidly, heart pounding against your ribs. Heat crawls up your neck, and you're acutely aware of every inch of your body—especially the parts now responding all too obviously to their performance.
They exchange one last look, a silent confirmation passing between them. Ningning's eyes darken slightly as she tilts her head, expression unreadable but sharp, like she's weighing something in her mind.
Then, just like that, she drops it.
"Yo, be honest, would you fuck both of us?"
Did she really just ask that?
The shift is immediate.
This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
Everything in the room feels different now—the air heavier, charged with something unspoken. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you process the question, trying to read their expressions for any sign they're messing with you.
You're caught between laughing it off or taking it seriously. But when you look at them, really look, you realize—
They're serious.
"Are you—" you start, voice catching slightly. "Is this for real?"
Instead of answering, Karina slides off Ningning's lap in one fluid motion, the kind of movement that reminds you why she's first in every formation. She kneels in front of you, close enough that you can smell her perfume—something expensive and subtle that's been driving you crazy all afternoon.
Her eyes never leave yours as her fingers find the hem of your shirt, slipping underneath to trace along your stomach. The touch sends electricity up your spine.
"We've been thinking about this since that showcase last month," Ningning says, her voice softer than usual as she moves to join Karina. "The way you danced that night..."
They were watching me?
Karina's mouth crashes into yours with unexpected hunger. It's not just a kiss—it's a claiming. Her tongue slides against yours, hot and insistent, tasting like the cherry Slurpee and something sweeter underneath. She sucks your bottom lip between her teeth, tugging just enough to make your breath catch. Her hands fist in your hair, pulling you closer, angling your head exactly how she wants it.
When she finally releases you, your lips are tingling, slick with her spit. You barely have time to gasp before Ningning turns your face toward her, her fingers digging into your jaw.
Her kiss is even more aggressive—open-mouthed and demanding. Her teeth graze your lip, biting down just hard enough to sting before soothing the spot with her tongue. You feel Karina's mouth on your neck now, sucking hard enough to leave marks, her hands shoving your shirt up roughly.
"Fuck," you breathe against Ningning's lips as Karina's nails rake down your chest.
Is this actually happening? Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Without warning, Karina's hand finds the back of Ningning's neck, pulling her away from you. For a brief second, you think something's wrong—until they crash together right in front of you, mouths colliding in a kiss that's nothing short of filthy. Karina's tongue slides along Ningning's bottom lip before pushing inside, Ningning moaning into her mouth, hands gripping Karina's waist to pull her closer.
Your hands move on instinct, reaching out to touch them. Fingers grazing Karina's sides, palm flat against Ningning's lower back. They don't stop kissing, but Karina reaches blindly for your hand, guiding it higher along her body until you're cupping her breast through her top. Ningning breaks the kiss just long enough to suck in a breath when your other hand slides down to grip her ass.
They continue making out, but now it's a performance for you as much as it is for them. Karina bites Ningning's lower lip, tugging it between her teeth while looking directly at you. A string of saliva connects their mouths when they briefly part before diving back in, messier this time, wetter. Ningning's hand finds the back of your neck, keeping you close, letting you feel their breath, almost encouraging you to join.
When they finally pull apart, both their lips are swollen, shiny with spit. Ningning pulls you in for another kiss, the taste of Karina still on her tongue. You can taste both of them now, the flavors mingling as Ningning licks into your mouth with deliberate slowness. Karina's fingers tangle in your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck. She drags her tongue up your throat, teeth scraping along your pulse point.
Ningning's fingers twist in your hair, yanking your head back further to expose more of your neck. The sharp pull sends a jolt straight to your groin. She works her way down the opposite side from Karina, leaving a trail of bites and kisses that make your skin burn. You're trapped between them, their bodies pressing against you from both sides.
The sensation of their mouths—one on your neck, one on your collarbone, then trading places with practiced coordination—is overwhelming. Karina sucks your earlobe between her teeth while Ningning's tongue traces the hollow at the base of your throat.
Then they're kissing each other over your shoulder again, but it's nothing like the controlled display from earlier. This is raw, messy, desperate. Karina moans into Ningning's mouth, their tongues visibly sliding against each other. Ningning's hand is still in your hair, Karina's palm flat against your chest, feeling your racing heartbeat. You watch, transfixed, as Karina's teeth catch Ningning's bottom lip, as Ningning's fingers tighten in Karina's platinum hair.
"Get the fuck up," Karina breathes when they finally pull apart, her lips swollen, a flush spreading across her chest. She grabs the front of your shirt, hauling you to your feet.
Ningning's already pulling your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly aside. Her hands immediately explore your torso, fingers tracing the definition in your abs, your chest, your shoulders. Karina drops to her knees, working on your jeans, her knuckles deliberately dragging against your hardness through the denim.
"Goddamn," Ningning whispers, lips against your ear as her hands slide around to grip your ass. "Been wondering what you were hiding under those practice clothes."
"Sit," Karina commands, pushing you backwards until you hit the edge of the bed and drop down.
They stand before you, and for the first time, you get a moment to just... look. To really take them in.
Karina unzips her long-sleeve crop top with deliberate slowness, revealing an expanse of smooth skin inch by inch. Her collarbones cast delicate shadows, her shoulders slim but toned from years of dance. When the top finally falls away, the black lace of her bra is a stark contrast against her pale skin, barely containing her full chest. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her sweatpants, pushing them down her hips in one fluid motion, stepping out of them gracefully, her curves unmistakable even in the fading afternoon light.
Ningning watches your reaction to Karina, a smirk playing on her lips before she pulls her own shirt over her head. Her body is different—more delicate frame with gentle curves, her light blue bra a perfect complement to her fair skin. She stretches her arms overhead, an unnecessary movement that's purely for your benefit, showing off her slender waist and the subtle definition in her stomach. Her sweatpants come off next, revealing slim legs that somehow look even longer than they are.
They stand there for a moment, letting you drink them in. Karina in black lace, Ningning in light blue cotton that somehow looks just as sexy. Their dancer's bodies—Karina's fuller curves and Ningning's delicate frame—on full display.
Holy fucking shit. This cannot be real.
"Like what you see?" Ningning asks, head tilted, eyes dark with want.
Words fail you entirely. You just nod, mouth dry.
They move toward you in perfect tandem, the bed dipping as they climb on either side of you. The heat of their bodies is scorching against your skin. Karina's mouth finds your chest first, her tongue tracing a wet path from your collarbone down to your nipple. She bites down gently, watching your reaction through hooded eyes. Ningning works on the other side, her lips softer but no less insistent, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your shoulder.
Their hands explore every inch of you—Karina's nails scraping down your abs, Ningning's fingers tracing the V-line of your hips. You feel Karina's teeth against your ribs, leaving marks that will be visible tomorrow at practice. Ningning's tongue darts out to taste the salt on your skin, her hands gripping your biceps, feeling the muscles tense under her touch.
They work their way down your body with agonizing slowness. Karina's mouth blazing a trail along your stomach while Ningning's lips press against each vertebra of your spine. The dual sensation of their tongues—one hot against your abs, the other tracing the dimples at the small of your back—has you practically panting.
"Fuck, he tastes good," Karina murmurs against your skin, her words vibrating through you.
"Let me," Ningning replies, and suddenly they're trading places, Karina's weight shifting behind you while Ningning moves to kneel between your legs. She presses her mouth to your stomach, tongue dipping into your navel, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your jeans.
Karina's breath is hot against the back of your neck, her full breasts pressed against your back, nipples hard even through the barrier of her bra. "You like that?" she whispers, her hands sliding around to your chest, fingers pinching your nipples just enough to make you hiss.
Ningning looks up at you from under her lashes, a wicked smile on her lips as she moves lower, her mouth now hovering just above the visible bulge in your jeans.
Karina slides around to your side, impatient. "Let's see what you're working with," she breathes, hunger evident in her voice.
Karina's mouth finds yours again, swallowing your groans as she continues to grind against you. Ningning turns your head, breaking the kiss so she can claim your mouth instead. You feel Karina's lips trail down your neck, your chest, moving lower with clear intent.
Their hands work at your jeans in tandem, Ningning popping the button open while Karina drags the zipper down with agonizing slowness. Karina's mouth finds yours again, kissing you deeply as Ningning tugs your jeans down your thighs, taking your boxers with them. She pulls them completely off your legs, tossing them somewhere behind her, leaving you fully exposed as your cock springs free, harder than you can ever remember being, already leaking at the tip.
"Oh my god!," Karina breathes, breaking the kiss to look down, genuine surprise in her voice.
Ningning crawls back up, pushing Karina aside to get a better view. "Let me see," she demands, her eyes widening as she takes you in. "Goddamn."
"Fuck, no wonder Yujin kept quiet about this," Karina says, wrapping her hand around you, testing your girth with her fingers barely meeting around your shaft. "Selfish bitch kept this all to herself."
"I can't believe our first threesome is with a dick this good," Ningning murmurs, her eyes fixed on Karina's hand stroking you slowly. "Wish I'd known what you were hiding under those practice sweats."
Karina nods in agreement, her thumb collecting the bead of precum from your tip and smearing it down your length. "Goddamn, we picked the right guy to skip with today."
Their reactions send a surge of confidence through you. The power dynamic shifts—their impressed expressions giving you an unexpected edge in whatever game you've all decided to play.
Maybe I can handle these two after all.
Karina recovers first, her confidence returning as she slides back onto your lap, this time with just her underwear separating you from her heat. She takes your hands, guiding them deliberately to her body—one to her breast, the other to her hip—while leaning in to kiss you deeply. Her tongue slides against yours, claiming your mouth as she grinds down against your exposed cock, the thin fabric of her panties already soaked through.
"Touch me," she commands against your lips, and you don't need to be told twice. Your fingers knead her full breast, feeling the hardened nipple through the lace as your other hand grips her hip, guiding her movements against you. The wet patch of her panties drags against your length, the friction making you both groan.
"Fuck, your tits feel even better than they look," you murmur against her mouth, gaining confidence as you squeeze harder, making her gasp.
Ningning circles behind you, her knees bracketing yours on the bed. Her hands slide over your shoulders, down your chest, her lips finding your ear. "She thinks she's in charge," she whispers, her teeth grazing your earlobe, sending shivers down your spine, "but we both know better, don't we?" Her fingers pinch your nipples, the sharp pain making your cock twitch against Karina.
You're sandwiched between them—Karina's weight on your lap, her body rolling against yours in a perfect rhythm, the lace of her bra scraping against your chest as she moves, and Ningning pressed against your back, her breasts soft against your shoulder blades, her breath hot on your neck. Karina's mouth leaves yours to trail along your jaw, down your neck, sucking hard enough to mark you, while Ningning's hands roam lower, one sliding between you and Karina to wrap around your cock.
"Fuck," you hiss as her cold fingers encircle you, giving a slow, tight stroke that has your hips bucking involuntarily, pushing you deeper into her grip and harder against Karina's core.
Karina moans at the increased pressure, her head falling back, platinum hair cascading down her back as she rocks harder against you. The movement pushes your cock along her slit through the thin fabric, the head catching on her clit with each stroke.
"I knew you'd feel this good," Karina breathes, eyes heavy-lidded with pleasure as she watches your face, her lipstick smudged, her cheeks flushed. She takes your hand from her hip, guiding it between her legs, pressing your fingers against the soaked lace. "Feel what you're doing to me."
Your fingers press against her through the fabric, feeling the slick heat there. You can feel how swollen she is, how wet, even through the barrier. You rub your thumb in slow circles, watching her face contort with pleasure.
"Goddamn," you breathe, feeling her wetness seep through the lace onto your fingers. "You're fucking soaked."
"Can you blame me?" she says, grinding harder against your hand, her movements becoming less coordinated as pleasure builds. "Who knew you were hiding all this..." She gasps as your thumb presses harder, her eyes fluttering shut momentarily.
Ningning's hand continues to stroke you, her grip tightening just beneath the head on each upstroke, twisting slightly in a way that has your thighs tensing. Her teeth find the junction of your neck and shoulder, biting down hard enough to make you groan. "Don't forget about me," she whispers, her other hand reaching around to pull Karina's face toward her.
They kiss over your shoulder, messy and aggressive, all tongues and teeth, while their hands continue to work you both. You watch, entranced, as Karina moans into Ningning's mouth, her hips still moving against your hand, Ningning's fingers still wrapped tight around your cock.
The image of them kissing while touching you, while grinding against you, is almost enough to push you over the edge right there. You feel the familiar tightening, the building pressure. Ningning must sense it because she squeezes the base of your cock, staving off your orgasm.
"Not yet," she breathes against Karina's lips. "I want more than just my hand on him."
Karina pulls back from the kiss, lips swollen and wet. "Greedy bitch," she says, but there's no real heat behind it, just desire. She grinds against you one more time, the friction delicious but not enough, before lifting herself off your lap.
Before you can process what's happening, Karina drops to her knees between your legs, shoving them apart roughly. Her nails dig into your thighs as she positions herself, looking up at you through her lashes, a wicked smile playing on her lips.
"Hold on," she says, sitting back on her heels. She reaches behind her head, gathering her platinum hair in her hands. The movement lifts her chest, her arms raised, exposing the soft skin of her armpits and stretching the fabric of her bra against her breasts. She works quickly, twisting her hair into a messy bun at the top of her head.
The sight of her—arms raised, back arched slightly, body on display—makes your cock twitch with anticipation. She catches your reaction and smirks, knowing exactly what she's doing.
"Fuck, I need to taste it," she murmurs, her breath hot against your length. She runs her tongue from the base to the tip in one long, slow stroke, maintaining eye contact the entire time. When she reaches the head, she pulls back slightly, letting a string of saliva fall from her lips onto your cock. She works it in with her hand, coating you before wrapping her lips around the tip, sucking hard enough to hollow her cheeks.
Ningning watches intently from beside you, her hand absently stroking your thigh. As Karina works you deeper into her mouth, Ningning reaches behind her own back, unclasping her light blue bra. She slides the straps down her arms slowly, revealing her small, perfect breasts, the nipples already hard.
Your hand instinctively reaches for her, palm cupping the soft weight, thumb brushing over the hardened peak. She sighs at your touch, leaning into your hand as she watches Karina suck you.
The sight alone is almost enough to make you cum—Karina, the girl half the guys at school would kill to talk to, on her knees with your cock in her mouth, her platinum hair pulled up to give you a perfect view, while your hand explores Ningning's bare breast.
Karina takes you inch by inch, her tongue pressed flat against the underside, creating delicious pressure as she sucks. Her hand works what doesn't fit, twisting in tandem with her mouth's movements, spit already making her fingers glide smoothly along your shaft. You feel the vibration of her moan around you as she takes you deeper, the hot, wet pressure of her mouth making your toes curl.
She pulls back just enough to speak, her lips still brushing against your tip. "Fuck, you taste so good," she breathes, her eyes heavy-lidded with genuine pleasure. "Better than I thought you would."
She descends again, moaning around your length in a way that tells you she's enjoying this just as much as you are. The vibrations from her throat send shockwaves of pleasure through your cock.
"Jesus Christ," you breathe, your free hand instinctively going to Karina's hair, tangling in the loose strands that frame her face. She moans around you as you tug slightly, the vibration sending shockwaves of pleasure up your spine.
Just as you're settling into the sensation, she's yanked backward, Ningning's hand fisted in her hair, pulling hard enough to make Karina yelp.
"My turn," Ningning says, her voice sharper than before, edged with hunger. She moves between your legs, but first reaches behind Karina, unhooking her bra with practiced ease. "Take this off. I want to see you."
Karina complies, shrugging the black lace from her shoulders, her full breasts bouncing slightly as they're freed. Your mouth goes dry at the sight—both of them now topless, their dancer's bodies on full display.
Ningning sits back momentarily, mimicking Karina's earlier motion as she gathers her hair, arms raised above her head, body stretched long and lean. The position emphasizes the delicate curve of her waist, the subtle definition of her stomach. She secures her hair in a high ponytail, a few strands falling to frame her face.
"Much better," she says, settling between your legs. Rather than starting slow, she spits directly onto your cock, the warm saliva dripping down your length, trickling over your balls in a sensation that makes you shiver. She spreads it with both hands, stroking you a few times before wrapping her lips around you.
The first slide of her mouth around you is electric—different from Karina's technique, more aggressive from the start. She takes you deep immediately, your tip hitting the back of her throat, the muscles there contracting around you in a rippling sensation that makes your vision blur momentarily. You feel every millimeter of her throat closing around your head, squeezing in a way that's almost too intense.
She pulls back, gasping for air, but her eyes are bright with excitement. "Fuck, you're so big," she breathes, stroking you with her hand. "Feel so fucking good stretching my throat." She dives back down with enthusiasm, humming in satisfaction as she takes you deep again, the vibrations traveling through your entire length.
Karina moves to your side, pressing her now bare chest against your arm. Your hand immediately finds her breast, significantly fuller than Ningning's, the nipple stiff against your palm. You squeeze gently, drawing a soft moan from her as she watches Ningning take you deep.
The dual sensation is overwhelming—Ningning's hot mouth around your cock, taking you deeper than Karina had, her throat constricting rhythmically around your tip with each swallow, while your hands explore Karina's body, feeling the softness of her skin, the firmness of her breast in your palm.
This is not real life. This cannot be real life.
The sight of Ningning on her knees, lips stretched wide around your cock, eyes watering slightly as she takes you to the back of her throat, is almost too much. Her technique is different from Karina's—less teasing, more focused on depth and suction, her hands gripping your thighs hard enough to leave marks. Each time she pulls back, you feel the cool air against your saliva-slick skin for just a moment before she descends again, taking you impossibly deep.
Karina presses closer, guiding your hand to her breast again while she watches Ningning work. Your fingers pinch her nipple lightly, drawing a soft gasp from her that turns into a smile. She leans in to kiss your neck, her teeth grazing your pulse point as Ningning continues to suck you, the wet sounds of her mouth filling the room.
"You're doing it wrong," Karina says after a minute, tugging Ningning's hair hard enough to make her release you with a wet pop, a thick string of saliva still connecting her lips to your glistening cock. She moves between your legs, gently pushing Ningning to the side.
Ningning doesn't move far. Instead, she shifts to your other side, pressing her small, firm breasts against your arm, guiding your hand to touch her as Karina had done. The contrast between them is striking—Karina's fuller, heavier breasts against Ningning's smaller, perkier ones, both equally perfect in different ways.
Your hands explore their bodies as they continue taking turns with your cock—feeling the taut muscles of their dancer's bodies, the softness of their breasts, the hardness of their nipples against your palms. Karina arches into your touch, more vocal in her enjoyment, while Ningning responds with subtle shifts of her body, pressing herself harder against your hand.
Karina pushes Ningning aside, but instead of taking you directly into her mouth, she gathers saliva and lets it fall in a long, obscene strand onto your cock. The warm wetness slides down your shaft, pooling at the base and dripping onto your balls, the sensation making your cock twitch visibly. She spreads it with both hands, one working the shaft while the other focuses on the head, applying more pressure on the upstroke. Her technique is more deliberate—twisting motions, varying pressure, her thumb occasionally swiping over the sensitive spot just beneath the head.
"Watch and learn," she tells Ningning before taking just the tip between her lips, sucking firmly while her hands continue their assault, working you with practiced precision. Each stroke is wetter than the last, her spit making obscene squelching sounds as she pumps you. You feel the suction of her mouth intensifying as she hollows her cheeks, the pressure building at the base of your spine.
She releases you with a gasp, her eyes glazed with arousal. "So fucking good," she moans, jerking you faster. "Love how you throb in my mouth." She's not performing anymore—the pleasure in her voice is raw and genuine as she takes you in again, moaning around your length like she's tasting something delicious.
Not to be outdone, Ningning moves closer. "Let me show you how it's really done," she says, nudging Karina to share. She gathers a mouthful of saliva and lets it drip directly onto your cock where Karina's hands are still working, the added wetness making the glide even smoother. The warm spit runs down to your balls, the tickling sensation making your thighs tense.
Then she ducks lower, her mouth finding your balls. She takes one gently between her lips, sucking lightly while Karina continues working the shaft, their combined efforts making your head spin. The contrast between Karina's firm strokes and Ningning's gentle suction creates a dual sensation that has you groaning, your hands tangling in the sheets.
Ningning hums against your sensitive skin, the vibration traveling up your shaft. "Mmm, I can feel you getting closer," she purrs, her breath hot against your balls. "Getting harder for us." She sucks again, moaning like she's savoring the taste and feel of you, her enthusiasm unmistakable.
Karina watches Ningning with growing arousal, her own breathing heavy. "He tastes so fucking good," she tells Ningning, almost reverently. "Like you wouldn't believe."
"Fuck," you groan, hips lifting involuntarily, the muscles in your stomach clenching. "This really your guys' first threesome? There's no fucking way you're both this perfect at this."
They exchange a look, something passing between them that you can't quite read. Then, without warning, they both move at once. Karina releases your cock from her grip, allowing Ningning to take you deep into her throat in one smooth motion, her nose pressing against your stomach as she swallows around you. The tight squeeze of her throat has you seeing stars, the rhythmic contractions milking your length as she holds herself there, her eyes watering from the effort. You hear a muffled moan vibrating around your cock as she takes you, a sound of pure pleasure that makes your hips buck involuntarily.
The sensation is indescribable—hot, wet pressure surrounding every inch of you, her throat muscles rippling involuntarily around your head, her tongue pressed flat against the underside of your shaft. You feel yourself hit the back of her throat and then push beyond, into the tighter passage that spasms around you.
When she pulls back for air, a thick strand of spit connects her lips to your cock. Before it can break, Karina leans forward, connecting her mouth to Ningning's through the spit strand, the two of them sharing a messy kiss with your cock between them. Their tongues visibly slide against each other, spit passing between their mouths before both turn their attention back to your cock.
"Holy shit," you breathe, unable to look away as they kiss, their tongues visibly sliding against each other, spit passing between their mouths before both turn their attention back to your cock.
Now they work in tandem, taking turns—Karina sucking the head while Ningning strokes the shaft with spit-slicked hands, then switching, Ningning taking you deep while Karina's hands massage your balls. The constant switching, the different pressures and sensations, the visual of them trading your cock between their mouths, is mind-bending.
Karina pulls off with a gasp, a line of spit connecting her bottom lip to your cock. Ningning immediately takes her place, but not before Karina spits directly onto your length, adding to the mess. Ningning works the extra wetness in with her hand before taking you deep again, her eyes watering as she pushes past her gag reflex.
The competition escalates further. Karina yanks Ningning off by her hair, replacing her mouth with her own. She takes you as deep as she can, gagging slightly but pushing through it, determined to outdo Ningning. When she comes up for air, Ningning is ready with another gob of spit, this time letting it fall into Karina's open mouth. Karina takes it, letting it mix with her own saliva before dripping it all onto your cock.
"Fuck," you groan, watching the exchange with wide eyes. The sight of Karina's mouth open, receiving Ningning's spit, then the combined wetness falling onto your cock, is filthier than anything you've ever seen.
They're getting progressively sloppier, wetter, messier with each passing minute. Ningning holds your cock at the base, pointing it toward Karina's waiting mouth, but before Karina can take you in, Ningning spits onto the head. Karina smiles, working the wetness in before adding her own spit, creating a growing puddle of saliva that drips down onto your balls.
The visual is obscene—both of their faces are wet with spit, their lipstick long gone, hair messed up from where you've grabbed it, eyes dark with desire as they work you between them. Your cock is coated in a sheen of their combined saliva, glistening in the fading light of Ningning's room.
The wetness is incredible—warm spit running down your shaft, pooling at the base, dripping onto your balls and beyond. Each stroke of their hands spreads it further, creating a slick, frictionless glide that has your toes curling. The sounds are just as filthy—wet suction, obscene slurping, the squelch of saliva between their fingers as they stroke you.
Then they change tactics. Instead of taking turns, they position themselves on either side of your cock. Karina takes the head into her mouth while Ningning works the shaft with her tongue, both of them moving in a synchronized rhythm that has your thighs tensing. You feel the different textures—Karina's soft lips sealed around your tip, the suction of her mouth pulling at you, while Ningning's tongue traces patterns along your shaft, occasionally dipping lower to tease your balls.
When they switch, it's seamless—Ningning taking the head while Karina's tongue traces patterns along the underside. Their eyes meet over your cock, some unspoken competition still driving them, but now they're working together to destroy you completely.
"He tastes so fucking good when he's about to cum," Karina whispers to Ningning, her voice raspy with desire. "Can you taste it?"
Ningning nods, her lips never leaving your skin. "Mmm, getting saltier," she agrees, moaning as she takes you into her mouth again. She pulls off with a wet pop. "Love how he twitches on my tongue."
Their obvious enjoyment, the way they're talking about you like you're some delicious treat they can't get enough of, pushes you even closer to the edge.
The most obscene moment comes when they both press their open mouths to either side of your shaft, essentially making out with each other with your cock between their lips. Their tongues slide against your skin and occasionally touch each other, sharing spit as they work you from base to tip. The sensation of both their tongues, both their mouths, both their breaths against your most sensitive skin has your head spinning.
"Jesus fucking Christ," you groan, your hands fisting in the sheets, hips lifting involuntarily. "I'm gonna—"
"Not yet," Karina says, pulling back, her hand squeezing the base of your cock hard enough to stave off your orgasm. Her lips are swollen, her chin and chest slick with spit and precum. "We're just getting started with you."
Ningning's eyes are dark with want as she looks up at you, her mouth and chin equally wet, a strand of saliva still connecting her bottom lip to the side of your cock. "We haven't even decided who goes first," she says, her voice raspy from taking you so deep.
Karina wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, her gaze predatory. "And I'm not done showing off what I can do with my mouth."
Is this actually my life right now? How the fuck did I end up here?
The tension between your need to cum and their determination to edge you builds to a breaking point. Just as you think you can't take anymore, Ningning makes a decisive move, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you backward onto the bed.
"My turn to feel good," she announces, climbing up your body with predatory grace. Her small, perfect breasts hang above you as she straddles your chest, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your torso. "Scoot back," she commands, waiting for you to shift until your head is properly on the bed.
Without hesitation, she moves forward, positioning herself directly over your face. Through the thin fabric of her panties, you can see how wet she is, a dark patch spreading across the cotton. The scent of her arousal hits you—sweet and musky and intoxicating.
"Show me what you did to Yujin," she demands, lowering herself until her covered core is just inches from your mouth.
You reach up, hooking your fingers into the sides of her panties, pulling them to the side to expose her completely. The sight of her pussy makes your mouth water—she's got a neat landing strip of dark hair leading down to otherwise perfectly bare lips. The contrast of the carefully maintained strip against her pale skin speaks to her personality—controlled yet still wild underneath. Her folds are delicate, pink and glistening with arousal, already swollen and parted slightly, revealing the deeper pink within. She's absolutely soaked, her wetness visible from her entrance all the way up to her small, perfect clit that peeks out from beneath its hood.
"Fuck, you're pretty," you murmur before lifting your head to run your tongue through her slit in one long, firm stroke, tasting her fully for the first time.
"Shit," she gasps, her thighs trembling slightly as she grips the headboard for support.
You continue exploring her with your tongue, learning what makes her breath hitch and her thighs quiver. You trace around her entrance, gathering her wetness before moving up to circle her clit, alternating pressure and speed to keep her guessing.
Meanwhile, Karina hasn't forgotten about your cock. You feel her mouth envelop you again, picking up where they left off, but with a new urgency. She takes you impossibly deep, her throat constricting around your head as her hands massage your balls.
"Don't forget about me down here," she whines when she comes up for air, her hand replacing her mouth as she strokes you firmly. "Just because she's getting your tongue doesn't mean I'm done with your cock."
The dual sensation—Ningning's wetness on your tongue, Karina's mouth and hand working your length—creates a sensory overload that makes your head spin. You grip Ningning's thighs, pulling her more firmly against your face, your tongue diving deeper into her heat.
"Fuck, your tongue is fucking insane," Ningning moans, her hips beginning to roll against your mouth with more purpose. "The way you—shit—the way you flick it right there."
You focus your attention on her clit, alternating between fast flutters and firm circular motions, watching her reactions to learn exactly what drives her wild. Her thighs tense and tremble around your head, her breathing becoming more labored.
"Oh my god, oh my god," she chants, grinding herself shamelessly against your face now. "Your fucking tongue, holy shit—don't stop, please don't stop."
From below, you hear and feel Karina's response—the wet suction of her mouth intensifies, her pace increasing to match your efforts on Ningning. The competition continues, each trying to divert your attention and pleasure to themselves.
"He's already shaking," Karina observes after pulling off your cock with a wet pop, her hand continuing to stroke you firmly. "His cock gets harder every time you moan, Ning."
Ningning looks down between her legs at you, then back over her shoulder at Karina. Without breaking the rhythm of her hips against your mouth, she reaches back with one hand. Karina meets her halfway, their fingers intertwining in a brief moment of unity despite their ongoing competition.
"Fuck, I think I could die on his tongue," Ningning confesses, her voice thick with pleasure but not quite at the breaking point. "No wonder Yujin kept coming back."
You feel a surge of pride at her words, doubling your efforts, flattening your tongue to provide a broad surface for her to grind against while occasionally dipping into her entrance. Her taste is addictive—tangy and sweet with a hint of something uniquely her. Your chin and lips are completely coated in her arousal now, the obscene wetness making filthy sounds with each movement.
As amazing as it feels having Ningning on your face, you're acutely aware of Karina working diligently between your legs, her mouth and hands tag-teaming your cock with relentless precision. Each time you feel yourself getting close, she backs off just enough, squeezing the base or slowing her rhythm to keep you right on the edge.
"You taste so fucking good," you murmur against Ningning's pussy, the vibration of your words making her gasp. "Could eat you for hours."
"Please," she whimpers, her body trembling with the effort of restraining her orgasm. She's close—you can feel it in the way her thighs tense, see it in the flush spreading across her chest, hear it in the pitch of her moans.
But before she can tip over the edge, you pull back slightly, easing the pressure on her clit, focusing instead on long, slow strokes through her folds. Her frustrated groan makes you smile against her wet flesh.
"Evil," she hisses, recognizing what you're doing—giving her just enough to keep her on the edge but not enough to push her over.
Two can play at that game.
You feel a newfound confidence swelling within you. Making Ningning tremble above you while Karina worships your cock below has awakened something primal and commanding. You're done being the passive recipient of their attention.
You grip Ningning's hips firmly, lifting her off your face despite her whine of protest. "Move," you tell her, your voice rougher than usual. "I want to try something else."
Ningning slides off you reluctantly, her chest heaving, lips swollen from biting them to hold back her moans. Karina looks up from between your legs, her chin wet with spit, eyes questioning.
"Get on your hands and knees," you tell Karina, sitting up and pointing to the middle of the bed. "Facing Ningning."
Karina's eyebrows raise, a slight smirk playing on her lips, but she complies, crawling into position on all fours across the bed. Her platinum hair falls around her face as she looks up at Ningning, who's watching this shift in dynamic with undisguised interest, still breathing heavily from her near-orgasm.
You position yourself behind Karina, taking a moment to appreciate the view—the elegant curve of her spine, the swell of her ass, the way her hair cascades down her back. You run your hands over her skin, feeling the goosebumps that rise in the wake of your touch.
With deliberate slowness, you hook your fingers into the waistband of her panties, dragging them down her thighs. The reveal is exquisite—unlike Ningning's landing strip, Karina is completely bare, her pussy smooth and flawlessly waxed. Her lips are fuller than Ningning's, her pink folds more pronounced, glistening with an abundance of arousal that's already begun dripping down her inner thighs. She's swollen with need, her entrance visibly pulsing as you watch.
"Fuck, look at you," you breathe, running a finger through her slick folds, collecting her wetness. She's so wet it makes an obscene sound, a lewd squelch that fills the room. "Soaked just from sucking my cock."
Karina looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes dark with want. "What are you waiting for?" she challenges, but the slight tremble in her voice betrays her desperation.
You grip your cock, still slick with their combined spit, and drag it through her folds, coating yourself in her wetness. The head catches on her clit, making her gasp and arch her back further.
"Please," she whispers, and the vulnerability in that single word hits you hard.
"Look at Ningning," you command, waiting until she turns her head forward.
Ningning has positioned herself cross-legged in front of Karina, close enough to touch, her eyes darting between Karina's face and your cock poised at her entrance.
This is it. This moment. After all the teasing, all the build-up, you're finally about to be inside one of them. The significance isn't lost on you—or them, judging by the anticipation crackling in the air.
You position yourself at her entrance, gripping her hips firmly with both hands, and then thrust forward in one smooth, relentless motion, burying yourself to the hilt inside her.
"Fucking hell!" Karina cries out, her arms nearly buckling from the sudden intrusion. She's impossibly tight around you, hot and wet and perfect. Her inner walls grip you like a vise, pulsing around your length in a way that nearly makes you cum on the spot.
"Goddamn," you hiss through clenched teeth, fighting for control. "So fucking tight."
You hold still for a moment, both to let her adjust and to regain your composure. The sensation is overwhelming—better than anything you could have imagined. Better than Yujin, better than anyone you've been with before.
Slowly, you pull back until just the tip remains inside, watching your length emerge coated in her arousal, before driving back in with deliberate force. She makes a choked sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan, her fingers clutching desperately at the sheets.
"Eat her out," you command Karina, nodding toward Ningning. "Show her what that pretty mouth can do."
Ningning's eyes widen at your directive, but she doesn't hesitate. She scoots closer, positioning herself so her pussy is directly in front of Karina's face. Karina leans forward eagerly despite the distraction of your cock still pumping into her, her tongue darting out to taste Ningning.
You establish a rhythm, your hips meeting Karina's ass with increasingly forceful thrusts. The wet sounds of your bodies meeting fill the room, mixing with Karina's muffled moans against Ningning's pussy and Ningning's sharper gasps.
"That's it," you encourage, your hand sliding up Karina's spine before tangling in her platinum hair, pulling just enough to arch her back further. "Make her feel good while I fuck you."
The visual is pornographic—Karina on all fours, her face buried between Ningning's thighs, her ass raised high as you pound into her from behind. Your cock glistens with her arousal each time you pull back, her wetness making the glide effortless despite how tightly she grips you.
"Fuck, she's good with her tongue too," Ningning moans, her hand coming down to grip Karina's hair, holding her firmly in place. "Not as good as you, but still—ah!—still fucking amazing."
The praise spurs Karina on, making her work harder to prove herself. You can feel her determination in the way she pushes back against your thrusts, meeting you halfway, taking you impossibly deeper.
You bring your hand down on her ass in a sharp slap, watching the flesh jiggle and redden under your palm. Karina jerks forward with a muffled cry, her inner walls clenching around your cock in response.
"You like that?" you ask, doing it again, harder this time.
Her answering moan, vibrating against Ningning's core, is all the confirmation you need. You develop a rhythm—thrust, slap, thrust, slap—each impact making her tighten around you, each moan making Ningning gasp.
"Fuck, don't stop," Ningning pants, her hips rolling against Karina's face with increasing urgency. "She gets better every time you spank her—fuck!—it's like she's trying to earn it."
You can tell they're both getting close, teetering on the edge of release. Karina's pussy is gripping you with almost painful intensity, fluttering with each thrust in a way that signals her approaching orgasm. Ningning's thighs are trembling, her chest flushed, her breathing ragged as she grinds against Karina's eager mouth.
But you're not ready for this to end. Not yet.
You pull out of Karina suddenly, making her whine against Ningning's pussy. At the same time, you reach forward to pull her away from Ningning, denying them both their release.
"Not yet," you tell them, your voice rough with desire but commanding in a way that surprises even you. "I'm not done with either of you."
They both look at you with identical expressions of frustration and arousal—lips swollen, eyes glazed, cheeks flushed. Karina's mouth and chin glisten with Ningning's arousal, while Ningning's thighs are visibly trembling from how close she was.
"Don't forget about me," Ningning says, her eyes fixed on your cock, still hard and slick with Karina's juices. "I want to feel that too."
"You had his mouth," Karina argues, turning to glare at her friend despite her breathlessness. "My turn to have something."
"Your pussy isn't the only one that needs attention," Ningning shoots back, crawling closer to you. "He obviously likes how I taste better anyway."
"Bullshit," Karina scoffs, reaching for your cock possessively. "He was practically shaking inside me. Weren't you?" She looks up at you, seeking confirmation.
The competition between them reignites, both vying for your attention, both desperate to be the one who makes you lose control first. But you've found your footing in this dynamic now, no longer overwhelmed by their beauty or intimidated by their confidence.
You know exactly what you want to do next.
After pounding into Karina with increasingly forceful thrusts, your control begins to waver. The wet heat of her pussy, the sight of her platinum hair bouncing with each impact, the obscene sounds of your bodies meeting—it's all becoming too much.
"Fuck," you growl, suddenly pulling out completely with a lewd, wet sound. Your cock springs free, glistening with her arousal, bobbing heavily in the air between you. Karina whimpers at the loss, looking back at you over her shoulder with confusion and frustration in her eyes.
You take a deep breath, fighting for composure, and shift backward until you're settled against the headboard. Your cock stands at full attention, slick with Karina's arousal, veins prominent against the flushed skin, pulsing visibly with each heartbeat.
"Get over here," you command, voice rough with barely restrained desire. "Both of you."
The frustration on both their faces at being denied release only heightens your newfound confidence. Their flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and desperate eyes tell you everything you need to know—they're as close to the edge as you are.
"Ningning," you command, your voice leaving no room for argument. "Come ride me. Karina, you're on ball duty."
Their eyes widen at your sudden assertiveness, but neither hesitates. Ningning practically scrambles toward you, her small breasts bouncing with the movement, eyes dark with hunger. She straddles your thighs, positioning herself above your cock, while Karina crawls between your spread legs, her platinum hair falling around her face as she looks up at you with a mixture of surprise and arousal.
Holy shit, who am I right now? When did I start giving orders to the two baddest girls at school?
You take a moment to truly look at Ningning hovering above you—her skin glistens with a fine sheen of sweat, making her body gleam in the scattered light. Droplets trail down between her breasts and along the defined lines of her dancer's abdomen. Her dark hair, once perfectly styled, now falls in messy strands around her face where it's escaped her ponytail. The contrast of her disheveled appearance against her usually perfect composure makes your cock throb with anticipation.
You reach up to trace the elegant curve of her collarbone, your finger dipping into the hollow at the base of her throat where sweat has pooled. Impulsively, you lean forward to lick the salt from her skin, dragging your tongue along the defined ridge before sucking hard enough to leave a mark. She gasps at the sensation, her hands gripping your shoulders for balance.
"You taste fucking incredible," you murmur against her skin, your lips moving down to capture a bead of sweat trickling between her breasts. "Even your sweat is sweet."
Her head falls back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat as you continue to explore her body with your mouth. Your hands roam freely, cupping her small, firm breasts, feeling the weight of them in your palms, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples. They're incredibly responsive, stiffening further at your touch, drawing a whimper from her lips.
"Please," she whispers, her voice so different from her usual confident tone. "Need to feel you inside me now."
Ningning hovers above you, her entrance just brushing against your tip, teasing you both. You've had enough teasing. Your hands grip her narrow waist, fingertips digging into her soft skin as you pull her down onto your length in one forceful motion.
"Oh fuck!" she cries out, her body going rigid as you fill her completely. She's even tighter than Karina, her walls gripping you like a vise, her heat enveloping you in a way that makes your vision blur momentarily.
Her pussy feels different from Karina's—tighter, with more texture, gripping you in rhythmic pulses that suggest years of dance have strengthened muscles you're now benefiting from. Every tiny movement sends lightning through your nerve endings.
This cannot be real life. There's no way I'm inside Ningning right now with Karina watching. No fucking way.
You feel Karina's presence below, her breath hot against your thighs as she watches Ningning take you. The anticipation of her mouth on you while you're buried inside Ningning makes your cock swell even harder.
"Move," you growl, your hands still gripping Ningning's waist, guiding her into a rhythm. She begins to ride you, her hips rolling with a natural fluidity that showcases her dancer's body. Unlike Karina's more controlled movements, Ningning rides you with complete abandon, her head thrown back, small breasts bouncing with each drop of her hips.
Your hands slide from her waist to her ass, squeezing the firm globes, feeling the muscles flex and contract as she moves. Her skin is impossibly soft despite the toned muscle beneath. You spread her wider, your fingers digging into the supple flesh, controlling her movements even as she sets the pace.
Sweat drips down her temple, following the curve of her jaw before trailing down her neck. You lean forward to catch it with your tongue, tasting the salt of her exertion, the evidence of how hard she's working on your cock. Her hair has come further undone, dark strands sticking to her damp neck and shoulders, the ponytail now hanging by a thread.
"Fucking hell, you're deep," she gasps, her internal muscles clenching around you as she adjusts to your size. "Shit, shit, shit."
You feel Karina's mouth on your balls, her tongue lavishing attention on the sensitive skin while Ningning continues to ride you. Her lips are impossibly soft, contrasting with the occasional graze of teeth that makes your hips buck involuntarily. She sucks one into her mouth, the wet heat surrounding you from below as Ningning envelops you from above.
The dual sensation—Ningning's tight heat surrounding your cock, Karina's wet mouth on your balls—creates a pleasure so intense you have to grit your teeth to maintain control. Your hands tighten on Ningning's ass, fingers dipping between the cheeks, exploring every inch of her.
"Look at you," Karina murmurs against your skin, her breath hot and teasing. "Already about to bust for her. Your balls are so tight."
She's not wrong—your entire body is wound like a spring, tension building with each drop of Ningning's hips, each swipe of Karina's tongue. You can feel the pressure building at the base of your spine, your thighs tensing with the effort of holding back.
Her observation spurs you to reassert control. You tangle one hand in Ningning's hair, finding the loose ponytail and wrapping it around your fist before yanking her head back sharply, exposing the elegant line of her throat. The remaining hair tie snaps, releasing a cascade of dark waves that fall around her shoulders. She gasps, her pussy clenching around you in response, her rhythm faltering momentarily.
"Fuck, I love when you pull my hair," she moans, her pace increasing, taking you deeper with each drop of her hips. Her nails dig into your chest, leaving crescent-shaped marks that sting deliciously, adding tiny crescents of pain to the overwhelming pleasure.
You pull her down to crush your mouth against hers, swallowing her moans as you thrust up to meet her movements. Her lips are swollen from earlier kisses, softer now, yielding to your assault. You taste yourself on her tongue, mixed with her own unique flavor and the lingering sweetness of the Slurpee from earlier. The combination is intoxicating.
Your free hand slides up her sweat-slicked back, feeling each vertebra, each ripple of muscle beneath her skin. You trace the definition of her shoulder blades, the delicate curve of her spine, the subtle dimples at her lower back. Her body is a masterpiece of lean muscle and subtle curves, honed by years of dance but still undeniably feminine.
Karina's not content to be forgotten. She moves from your balls to nip at Ningning's thighs, leaving small red marks that make Ningning jerk and gasp above you. Her teeth graze the sensitive skin where thigh meets ass, leaving a trail of light bruises that will remind Ningning of this moment for days to come.
Then she presses her tongue flat against the place where your bodies join, tasting both of you with each of Ningning's movements. The added stimulation makes Ningning shudder, her inner walls fluttering around you. Karina's tongue slides up to tease Ningning's asshole, circling the tight ring of muscle before dipping back down to where you're connected.
"Oh god," Ningning whimpers, the added stimulation nearly pushing her over the edge. Her movements become erratic, desperate, her inner walls fluttering around your length in warning.
You can feel how close she is—her thighs trembling against yours, her breathing shallow and rapid, her pussy contracting in those telltale rhythmic pulses that signal impending orgasm. Her eyes are unfocused, lips parted, a flush spreading from her cheeks down her neck to her chest.
Not yet. I'm finally in control here, and I'm not letting it end this fast.
You're not ready to let her finish yet. With a sudden burst of strength, you lift her off you entirely, eliciting a cry of protest that cuts off when you manhandle her to the side, practically throwing her onto the mattress beside you.
Her body bounces slightly with the impact, her hair splaying across the sheets like dark ink, chest heaving with exertion and denied release. Her skin is flushed pink, nipples tight peaks begging for attention, thighs still spread with the memory of having you between them. A thin sheen of sweat makes her entire body glisten, highlighting every curve, every muscle, every dip and hollow of her dancer's physique.
"My turn with Karina," you state, your voice rough with arousal but commanding enough that neither questions you.
Karina's eyes darken with desire as she moves to take Ningning's place, but you stop her with a hand on her shoulder. Her skin is hot to the touch, slightly damp with exertion, surprisingly soft despite the toned muscle beneath. You can feel her pulse racing beneath your palm.
"Get your ass up here," you direct, indicating your face. "Wanna taste you while you ride me."
Her breath catches, pupils dilating until her eyes are nearly black, a fresh wave of arousal evident in the way she presses her thighs together momentarily. She complies immediately, positioning herself over your face, facing your feet, while reaching back to guide your cock into her waiting heat.
The position allows you full access to her pussy with your mouth while she controls the depth and pace of penetration. The view is spectacular—her round ass hovering above your face, her slick, swollen pussy lips parted and ready, the perfect curve of her spine leading up to her platinum hair cascading down her back.
As she sinks down onto your length, you grip her hips, pulling her core against your mouth simultaneously, your tongue finding her clit with unerring precision. The taste of her explodes across your tongue—tangy, sweet, with an underlying muskiness that's uniquely hers, different from Ningning's flavor but equally intoxicating.
She cries out, her body jerking at the dual penetration, her inner walls clenching around you. You feel her thighs trembling on either side of your head, her weight shifting as she struggles to maintain balance in the face of such intense stimulation.
"Oh fuck, oh fuck," she chants, beginning to move on your cock while grinding against your mouth.
Where Ningning rode you with wild abandon, Karina's movements are calculated, controlled—each roll of her hips designed for maximum pleasure, each contraction of her inner muscles deliberate and devastating. She knows exactly how to angle herself to take you deepest, how to twist to hit her most sensitive spots, how to clench around you to create the perfect pressure.
Your hands roam her body, one gripping her hip to guide her movements, the other sliding up her sweat-slicked torso to find her breast. It fills your palm perfectly, heavier than Ningning's, the nipple stiff against your skin. You pinch it between your fingers, rolling it, tugging slightly, feeling her inner walls contract around your cock in response.
Your tongue works her clit relentlessly, circling the swollen bud before flattening against it, applying perfect pressure as she grinds down. Her taste becomes more intense as her arousal builds, her wetness coating your chin, dripping down your neck. You trace her entrance with your tongue, feeling where your cock stretches her, the tight ring of muscle yielding to your thickness.
That's the difference between them—Ningning all passion, Karina all precision. Both fucking incredible in completely different ways.
Ningning watches for a moment, her chest heaving, before moving to participate again. She positions herself beside your head, leaning down to whisper in your ear, her voice husky with arousal. Her breath is hot against your skin, her lips brushing your earlobe with each word, sending shivers down your spine.
"She thinks she can take you better than me," she murmurs, her hand trailing down to massage your balls as Karina continues to ride you. Her fingers are cool against your heated skin, gentle yet firm as they cup and roll, occasionally dipping lower to feel where you stretch Karina open. "But I had you deeper. I felt you throbbing inside me."
Karina hears her and responds with a particularly skillful twist of her hips that makes you groan against her flesh. The movement changes the angle, taking you impossibly deeper, her inner walls rippling along your length in a way that makes your toes curl.
"He's rock hard inside me," she shoots back, looking over her shoulder at Ningning with a triumphant smirk. Her platinum hair sticks to her sweat-dampened back in places, strands darkened by moisture. "Like, literally throbbing."
Their competitive banter continues as they trade positions again, this time with Ningning straddling you in reverse, her back to your chest. The view is spectacular—the elegant line of her spine, the subtle dimples at the small of her back, the perfect curve of her ass as she positions herself over your cock once more.
She sinks down slowly this time, savoring each inch as you fill her, her head falling back against your shoulder with a gasp when you're fully seated. Her hair, now completely free from its ponytail, spills all around you, tickling your chest, your neck, your face—dark, silky strands that smell faintly of coconut shampoo and her own unique scent.
Karina kneels beside you, her mouth finding your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before soothing it with her tongue. The contrast of her platinum hair against your skin is stark, beautiful, the strands sticking to your sweat-dampened chest as she moves.
You grip Ningning's hips, guiding her movements as she rides you with increasing urgency, her head falling back against your shoulder. Your hands slide up her torso, feeling the taut muscles of her stomach contract with each movement, the delicate ribs beneath her soft skin, before finding her small, perfect breasts.
They fit perfectly in your palms, the perfect handful, nipples stiff against your fingers. You pinch them lightly, rolling them between your fingers, feeling her pussy clench around you in response. Your mouth finds the side of her neck, tasting the salt of her skin, sucking hard enough to leave a mark that will be visible for days.
"Fuck, the way you fill me," she gasps, her hand reaching back to tangle in your hair, pulling you into a messy kiss over her shoulder. The angle is awkward but intensely erotic, her tongue sliding against yours as she continues to move on your cock.
Her body is a furnace against yours, heat radiating from every inch of her skin, her sweat mingling with yours where your chests press together. You can feel her heartbeat, rapid and strong, her pulse fluttering beneath your lips when you break the kiss to suck at the sensitive spot beneath her ear.
Karina's hand slips between Ningning's legs, her fingers finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles that make Ningning's rhythm stutter. "Let me help you," she offers, her voice innocent but her eyes calculating as she watches Ningning respond to her touch.
It's not cooperation so much as an extension of their competition—each trying to prove they can give and receive pleasure better than the other. Still, the effect is the same: Ningning moaning loudly as Karina's fingers work her clit, her pussy clenching rhythmically around your length.
They might be competing, but holy shit does it work in my favor.
You break the kiss to watch them, fascinated by the shifting dynamic. Karina leans forward to capture Ningning's mouth in a passionate kiss, swallowing her increasingly desperate moans while continuing to work her clit. Their tongues visibly slide against each other, the kiss open-mouthed and filthy, a performance as much for your benefit as for their own pleasure.
Your hands slide to Ningning's ass, spreading her cheeks, feeling where your cock disappears into her tight heat. The visual of them kissing while Ningning rides you, Karina's fingers visible between her legs, is almost enough to push you over the edge.
Sweat drips down your temple, your chest, your back—every inch of you is damp with exertion, muscles burning with the effort of maintaining control. The room smells of sex now, the sweet musk of their arousal mixed with sweat and the faint coconut of Ningning's shampoo creating an intoxicating blend that fills your lungs with each ragged breath.
"Switch," you command, your voice strained with the effort of holding back your orgasm. "Karina on my cock, Ningning on my face."
They separate reluctantly, exchanging a look that speaks volumes before repositioning themselves according to your instructions. The brief moment it takes them to adjust gives you a chance to regain some control, your breathing ragged, your cock throbbing painfully with need.
Karina sinks down onto you with a satisfied sigh, her pussy still incredibly tight despite how wet she is. Ningning straddles your face, her thighs bracketing your head, her scent intoxicating as you pull her down onto your waiting tongue.
What happens next is the most seamless teamwork you've seen from them so far. Karina leans forward to kiss Ningning deeply, their breasts pressing together as they move in synchronized rhythm—Karina riding your cock with deliberate precision, Ningning grinding against your tongue with increasing desperation.
Their hands explore each other's bodies, pinching nipples, tangling in hair, tracing curves with obvious familiarity. It's clear this isn't the first time they've touched each other this way, but the addition of you between them brings a new intensity to their interactions.
They work together now, their earlier competition forgotten in favor of a united goal: pushing you past the point of control. Karina's inner muscles contract around you in waves, milking your length with expert precision. Ningning grinds against your tongue with shameless abandon, her wetness coating your chin, her thighs trembling on either side of your head.
"Fuck, he's gonna cum," Karina observes, feeling your cock swell and pulse inside her. "I can feel it."
The sensation is overwhelming—Karina's pussy gripping your cock like a vise, her inner walls rippling along your length with practiced control, while Ningning floods your mouth with her arousal, her taste growing stronger as she gets closer to her own release. You feel the familiar tightening at the base of your spine, the tension building in your balls, the telltale throb of impending orgasm.
Ningning looks down at you between her legs, her eyes dark with desire. "Not yet," she says, both to you and Karina. "We're not done with him."
They exchange another look, some silent communication passing between them, before they both lift off you simultaneously. The sudden loss of stimulation makes you groan in frustration, your cock twitching in the cool air, your mouth still chasing Ningning's retreating heat.
"What the fuck," you hiss, your voice rough with need.
Are they seriously edging me right now? After I was finally about to—
They smile at your frustration, identical expressions of satisfied mischief on their flushed faces. The power dynamic shifts again as they move to position themselves on either side of you, their hands trailing teasingly across your sweat-slicked skin.
Your body is hypersensitive now, every touch amplified tenfold. Karina's fingers along your ribs feel like fire, Ningning's breath against your neck like a physical caress. Your cock stands proudly between you, harder than it's ever been, the head swollen and purple, veins prominent against the shaft, a bead of precum glistening at the tip.
"We told you," Karina purrs, her fingers wrapping loosely around your aching cock, not providing nearly enough pressure. The touch is maddening—just enough to keep you on edge, not enough to provide relief. Her platinum hair falls across your chest as she leans over you, a few strands sticking to your sweat-dampened skin. "We're not done yet."
"You'll cum when we say," Ningning adds, her tongue darting out to flick across your nipple, sending a jolt of electricity down your spine. Her dark eyes hold yours as she does it again, teeth grazing the sensitive peak before soothing it with her tongue. The contrast of sharp pain and soft pleasure makes your cock jerk in Karina's loose grip.
Your earlier dominance wavers in the face of their united assault, but you're not ready to surrender control completely. With a growl, you reach out, one hand tangling in Karina's platinum hair, the other gripping Ningning's hip hard enough to leave marks.
You feel the damp heat of Karina's scalp as you fist her hair, the moisture from her exertion making the strands cling to your fingers. On Ningning's hip, your fingers dig into the subtle curve, feeling the contrast of soft skin over firm muscle. Your grip is possessive, commanding, a clear statement that this power struggle isn't over yet.
"No," you state firmly, pulling Karina's face close to yours. Her platinum hair falls around you both like a curtain, individual strands clinging to the sweat on your face and neck. You can smell her shampoo—something expensive and floral—mixed with the musk of sex and the salt of her sweat. "I decide when this ends."
The authority in your voice makes both of them freeze, their eyes widening in surprise before darkening with renewed arousal. Karina's pupils dilate so completely her eyes look almost black, while Ningning's lips part on a shaky exhale.
"Yes, sir," Karina whispers, the unexpected honorific sending a shock of pleasure through your system. The word falls from her swollen lips with surprising naturalness, as if she's been waiting for the opportunity to say it.
Sir? Oh fuck, that's hot coming from her mouth.
Ningning nods her agreement, suddenly docile under your grip. "Whatever you want," she adds, her voice softer than you've heard it all day. The contrast between her usual sharp-tongued confidence and this new, yielding tone makes your cock throb painfully between you.
The surrender in their responses ignites something primal within you. You pull Karina into a bruising kiss, your teeth catching her lower lip hard enough to make her whimper. Her mouth opens immediately under yours, tongue sliding against yours in eager submission. Her platinum hair tangles around your fingers as you hold her in place, controlling the angle, the pressure, the depth of the kiss.
When you release her, her lips are even more swollen than before, a tiny drop of blood where your teeth caught her too hard. The sight of it—evidence of your intensity—makes something dark and satisfied unfurl in your chest.
You turn to Ningning, claiming her mouth with equal ferocity, your tongue pushing past her lips in a clear mimicry of what your cock has been doing to both of them. She yields immediately, moaning into the kiss, her small hand coming up to grip your bicep, feeling the muscle flex under her fingers.
The taste of them mingles on your tongue—Karina's cherry-sweetness, Ningning's slightly spicier flavor, both layered with the salt of sweat and the unique taste of their arousal from when they rode your face. The combination is intoxicating, driving you to deepen the kiss, to take more, to claim her completely.
You break the kiss, looking at them both with undisguised hunger. Their faces are flushed, lips swollen, eyes glazed with desire. Sweat makes their skin gleam in the fading afternoon light, highlighting the contours of their bodies—the swell of Karina's breasts, the elegant line of Ningning's collarbones, the defined muscles in both their stomachs from years of dance.
"Get on your backs," you command. "Side by side. Now."
They scramble to comply, positioning themselves as instructed, their earlier bratty competition replaced by eager compliance. They lie beside each other, legs spread, bodies on display for your approval. The contrast between them is striking—Karina's fuller curves and platinum hair against Ningning's more delicate frame and dark waves.
Both are covered in a fine sheen of sweat, their skin flushed pink with exertion and arousal. Ningning's small breasts rise and fall with her rapid breathing, the subtle definition in her stomach more visible now as she lies flat. Karina's fuller curves create shadows and valleys across her body, her platinum hair spread out across the pillow like spilled moonlight.
You move to kneel between them, looking down at the feast before you—Karina with her full breasts and perfectly waxed pussy, Ningning with her smaller, perkier breasts and neatly trimmed landing strip. Both of them flushed, breathing heavily, watching you with identical expressions of desperate need.
Your own body bears the marks of your encounter—small crescent-shaped indents from their nails, light bruises forming where their mouths have been too eager, sweat dripping down your chest and back. Your cock stands painfully erect between you, harder than you've ever been, throbbing with each heartbeat.
"Now," you say, your voice calm despite the fire raging through your veins, "let's see which one of you can take me better."
They exchange a glance—half challenge, half solidarity—before turning their attention back to you, waiting for whatever comes next.
I've got the two baddest dancers at school spread out for me. Bio test be damned—this is worth getting benched for.
And what comes next will test all three of you to your limits.
You move between them, your body radiating heat, muscles tense with anticipation. Your hand trails up Ningning's inner thigh, feeling her tremble beneath your touch, while you lean down to capture Karina's mouth in a hungry kiss.
"I want it first," Ningning demands, her voice a mixture of need and command. Her slender fingers wrap around your wrist, trying to guide your hand higher between her legs. The desperation in her tone sends a fresh surge of arousal through you.
Karina breaks the kiss, her breath coming in short pants against your lips. "Make him choose," she challenges, her eyes locked on Ningning's, then flicking back to yours. "Let's see who he really wants."
Jesus, even now they're competing. And I'm supposed to pick?
You pull back slightly, looking between them—both flushed, panting, their bodies on display just for you. An idea forms, something that will satisfy them both while maintaining your newfound control.
"I choose both," you state, your voice leaving no room for argument. "But I'm calling the shots."
Without warning, you move over Ningning, positioning yourself at her entrance. She's so wet you can see it glistening on her inner thighs, pooling slightly beneath her on the sheets. The head of your cock slides through her folds, gathering her arousal, the contact drawing a whimper from both of you.
When you finally push inside, the wet sound is obscene – a lewd squelch that echoes in the room, matching Ningning's sharp gasp as you stretch her open.
"Fuck, you're splitting me in half," she cries out, her back arching off the bed, small breasts pointing upward as you fill her completely. Her inner walls clamp down around you like a silken vise, rippling with involuntary spasms that nearly end you on the spot.
The sensation of her tight heat surrounding you again nearly makes your vision go white, but you hold on to your control by a thread, fingernails digging into your own palms as you fight the urge to come immediately.
You don't give her time to adjust, setting a brutal pace immediately, each thrust punctuated by the wet sound of her arousal and the sharp slap of your hips against the backs of her thighs. Her legs wrap around your waist instinctively, heels digging into your lower back, urging you deeper.
"God, don't stop," she gasps, each word punched out of her with your thrusts. Her hair splays across the pillow in dark waves, sticking to her sweat-slicked temples and cheeks. There's something almost painful in her expression as she takes you, a mixture of pleasure so intense it borders on agony.
You shift your angle, driving deeper, searching for that spot inside her that will make her fall apart. When your cock brushes against it, her reaction is immediate – her entire body seizes, back arching further, a broken sound torn from her throat.
"There! Right there!" she sobs, eyes wide and glassy, unfocused with pleasure. "Oh god, I'm gonna—"
But you haven't forgotten Karina. Your hand finds her core, two fingers sliding easily into her wet heat, thumb circling her clit with deliberate pressure. She gasps at the contact, hips bucking up to meet your hand.
"I need more than fingers," she demands, voice cracking with need as she watches you pound into Ningning. "She's hogging you."
You lean down, capturing one of Ningning's nipples between your teeth as you continue thrusting, the dual sensation making her cry out louder. The taste of her sweat-slicked skin is addictive – salt and something uniquely her that makes you want to lick every inch of her body.
Your fingers pick up speed inside Karina, curved perfectly to hit her g-spot while your thumb continues its assault on her clit. Her hips rise to meet each thrust of your hand, grinding against your palm, seeking more friction.
"I can feel how wet you are," you tell Karina, voice rough with exertion as you continue pounding into Ningning. "Soaked through. All for me."
Sweat pours down your back, drips from your forehead onto Ningning's chest, mingling with the perspiration already coating her skin. It slides between her small breasts, pooling in the hollow of her throat. Impulsively, you lean down to lick it away, tasting the salt on your tongue, feeling her pulse hammering beneath your lips.
The room fills with the sounds of your collective panting, moaning, the wet slap of flesh, the squelch of your fingers in Karina's pussy, the creak of the bed frame protesting your vigorous movements. The air is thick with the scent of sex – musky, primal, intoxicating.
Ningning's nails rake down your back, leaving burning trails that sting deliciously. Her inner walls flutter around you, signaling her approaching orgasm. Her eyes, which have been locked on yours, suddenly squeeze shut, brows drawing together in intense concentration.
"I can't—it's too—" she gasps, words failing her as pleasure overtakes her ability to form coherent thoughts.
You pull out suddenly, leaving her empty and gasping, hovering right at the edge of release. Before she can protest, you shift to Karina, removing your fingers from inside her only to replace them with your cock in one swift movement.
"Finally," Karina gasps, body arching up to meet your thrust. Her pussy welcomes you with a gush of wetness, the lewd sound filling the room as you bottom out inside her. She's different from Ningning—slightly less tight but wetter, hotter, inner walls undulating around your length in deliberate pulses that suggest years of practice.
Her legs immediately wrap around your waist, ankles crossing at the small of your back, pulling you deeper. The change in sensation is mind-bending – from Ningning's tight grip to Karina's silky heat, both equally devastating to your self-control.
Now it's Ningning's turn to receive your fingers, sliding easily into her abandoned pussy, still stretched from your cock and dripping with arousal. You find her g-spot with unerring accuracy, applying firm pressure that has her keening, back arching off the bed.
"No fair," she whimpers, eyes glassy with frustrated tears. "I was so close."
"You'll get your turn again," you promise, voice barely recognizable through your labored breathing. "Want to make it last."
You lean down to kiss Karina as you thrust into her, swallowing her moans. Her mouth is voracious against yours, tongue tangling with yours, teeth nipping at your lower lip. One of her hands tangles in your hair, pulling hard enough to send sparks of pain-pleasure down your spine.
"Feel how fucking wet I am for you?" she pants against your lips, inner muscles clenching deliberately around your length. "Been thinking about this since I first saw you in homeroom."
The confession, unexpected and raw, sends a fresh surge of arousal through you. Your hips stutter in their rhythm before driving deeper, harder, drawing a choked cry from her throat.
Beside you, Ningning grows impatient with just your fingers. She rises to her knees, moving closer until she can press her body against your side. Her small breasts brush against your arm, nipples hard points of contact that make your skin tingle.
"Let me help," she murmurs, surprising you as her hand slides down to where you're joined with Karina. Her slender fingers find Karina's clit, circling it with a practiced touch that suggests this isn't the first time she's touched her friend this way.
Karina's reaction is immediate – a sharp gasp, inner walls clenching around you, back arching to press her breasts up toward you. Her platinum hair fans out across the pillow, damp strands sticking to her flushed face and neck.
"Fuck, Ning," she breathes, using a nickname you've never heard before. "Just like that."
The sight of Ningning's darker fingers against Karina's pale flesh, the contrast of their skin tones as they work together to maximize pleasure, is possibly the hottest thing you've ever seen. Your cock throbs inside Karina at the visual, drawing a knowing smile from both girls.
"You like watching us together, don't you?" Karina purrs, voice thick with satisfaction. "Been playing with each other since sophomore year. Wondering when we'd find someone worth sharing."
The casual revelation sends your mind reeling, imagination filling with images of them together – Karina's head between Ningning's thighs, Ningning's fingers buried inside Karina, their bodies entwined in countless configurations.
Holy shit, this is actually happening.
You increase your pace, pounding into Karina with renewed vigor while maintaining the curl of your fingers inside Ningning. The awkward angle strains your wrist but the dual sensation of both their bodies clenching around different parts of you is worth any discomfort.
Suddenly, you withdraw from Karina, her disappointed whine cutting off as you move down her body. Your tongue finds her clit, sucking the swollen bud between your lips while three fingers thrust into her soaked entrance. She tastes incredible – tangy, sweet, with an underlying musk that's uniquely hers.
"Oh my GOD," she cries out, thighs immediately clamping around your head, one hand fisting in your hair to hold you in place. "Right there, don't you dare fucking stop!"
Your free hand continues working inside Ningning, her wetness covering your fingers, dripping down your wrist. The position is challenging but the sound of both girls moaning, their bodies writhing on either side of you, spurs you to push through the discomfort.
"His tongue," Karina gasps to Ningning, eyes wild, pupils blown wide. "You have no idea."
Instead of responding with words, Ningning leans down to capture one of Karina's nipples in her mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive peak. The unexpected cooperation between them – Ningning pleasuring Karina while you work between her legs – creates a tableau of feminine beauty that's almost artful in its eroticism.
You alternate between them, mouth moving from Karina to Ningning, fingers filling whoever doesn't have your tongue, never letting either girl get too close to the edge before switching again. Their frustration builds with each denial, whimpers turning to pleas, then to demands.
"Please," Ningning begs, voice cracking, a tear escaping the corner of her eye to disappear into her hairline. "I need to come so bad it hurts."
"Let her finish," Karina surprises you by saying, her own voice shaky with need. "Want to watch her fall apart on your cock."
The request – so unlike her earlier competitive attitude – makes your decision for you. You move up Ningning's body, positioning yourself at her entrance once more. She's so wet now that you slide in effortlessly, her body accepting you with a soft squelch that should be embarrassing but is just incredibly hot.
"Yes," she hisses, hands immediately finding purchase on your shoulders, nails digging in. "Fuck me like you mean it."
You comply, setting a relentless pace that has the headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust. Her small body takes everything you give her, inner walls gripping you like a vise, fluttering with the beginning of her orgasm.
"Look at me," you command, one hand moving to cup her jaw, forcing her gaze to meet yours. "Want to see your eyes when you come."
Her gaze locks with yours, dark irises nearly swallowed by dilated pupils. There's something raw and vulnerable in her expression that contrasts sharply with her usual guarded demeanor. A single tear tracks down her temple, disappearing into her hairline—overwhelmed by sensation, by the intensity of feeling you so deep inside her.
You grip her small, firm breast in one hand, thumb brushing over the hardened nipple, while your other hand finds her throat. Not squeezing, just resting there, feeling her pulse race beneath your palm. The gesture is possessive, dominant, and her response is immediate—pupils dilating further, inner walls clenching around you.
"Going to come," she warns, voice thin and reedy, barely audible over the sound of your bodies meeting. "Don't stop, don't stop, please don't—"
Her words dissolve into a high-pitched keen as her orgasm crashes through her. Her pussy spasms around you in powerful waves, each contraction stronger than the last, milking your length with incredible strength. Her entire body goes rigid beneath you, back arched so dramatically only her head and hips remain on the mattress.
The sight of her coming undone – face contorted in ecstasy, throat working as she gasps for air, body surrendered completely to pleasure – burns itself into your memory with crystal clarity.
You continue thrusting through her orgasm, prolonging it, feeling each aftershock ripple through her overstimulated body. Only when her whimpers take on an edge of discomfort do you finally pull out, your cock glistening with her release, harder than it's ever been, angry red and pulsing with need.
Before you can move, Karina pushes you onto your back with surprising strength, swinging one leg over to straddle you. Her eyes are wild, desperate, platinum hair hanging in damp strands around her flushed face, lips swollen from kisses.
"My turn," she growls, positioning herself above your cock. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else."
She sinks down onto your length in one fluid motion, taking you to the hilt with a satisfied groan. The wet heat of her pussy surrounds you, different from Ningning's but equally intoxicating. Where Ningning was all tight, gripping heat, Karina is velvet smoothness with deliberate control, her inner muscles rippling along your length in waves that suggest she's done her Kegels religiously.
"So fucking thick," she gasps, beginning to ride you with the perfect combination of speed and pressure. Her larger breasts bounce with each movement, nipples stiff peaks begging for attention. You reach up to cup them, feeling their weight in your palms, thumbs brushing over the sensitive tips.
She leans forward, changing the angle, her platinum hair falling around your faces like a curtain. The new position has the head of your cock dragging against her front wall with each movement, hitting that spot that makes her thighs tremble.
"Right there," she breathes against your lips, not quite kissing you, just sharing breath. "Can feel you so deep like this."
Ningning, still trembling from her recent orgasm, moves to join you. She positions herself beside you, her small hand sliding down your chest, over your stomach, to where you and Karina are joined. Her fingers find Karina's clit, circling it with practiced ease while her mouth finds your nipple, teeth grazing the sensitive peak.
The dual sensation – Ningning's mouth on your chest, Karina's pussy gripping your cock, the visual of both girls working together to maximize pleasure – sends jolts of electricity down your spine, coiling at the base, threatening to push you over the edge embarrassingly quickly.
"Not yet," Karina commands, reading your expression with unsettling accuracy. She slows her movements, rising until just the head of your cock remains inside her before sinking back down with agonizing slowness. "Want this to last."
Ningning shifts positions, moving behind Karina now, her small hands reaching around to cup Karina's breasts, taking over where your hands just were. The visual is incredible – Ningning's darker skin against Karina's paleness, her delicate fingers pinching Karina's nipples as she continues to ride you.
Karina's head falls back against Ningning's shoulder, throat exposed, eyes closed in concentration as she chases her pleasure. Her inner walls flutter around your length, the beginning of what promises to be an intense orgasm.
"She's close," Ningning murmurs, looking down at you with dark eyes, her chin resting on Karina's shoulder. One of her hands slides down Karina's stomach to find her clit again, rubbing in tight circles as Karina continues to ride you with increasing urgency. "Can feel how tight she's getting."
The sight of them together – Karina bouncing on your cock while Ningning touches her from behind – combined with the incredible sensation of Karina's pussy gripping you like a silken vise, brings you dangerously close to the edge again. Your balls tighten painfully, pressure building at the base of your spine, every muscle in your body tensing with impending release.
"Gonna come inside you," you warn, voice tight with the effort of holding back. "Can't wait any longer."
"Yes," Karina hisses, movements becoming more erratic as her own orgasm approaches. "Fill me up. Want to feel it."
Her platinum hair sticks to her sweat-slicked back, strands darkened by moisture. Beads of sweat roll down between her breasts, along her stomach, glistening in the fading light. The scent of sex fills the room – musky, primal, intoxicating – mingling with the faint coconut of Ningning's shampoo and the cherry sweetness of Karina's lip gloss.
Behind her, Ningning continues her ministrations, one hand on Karina's clit, the other reaching down to cup your balls, feeling their tightness, the way they draw up close to your body as you approach your peak.
"He's about to explode," Ningning announces, voice husky with renewed arousal despite her recent orgasm. Her fingers massage your balls gently, adding another layer of sensation that pushes you closer to the brink. "Can feel how tight they are."
Karina's movements become more deliberate, grinding down on each downstroke, creating a corkscrew motion that has the head of your cock hitting every sensitive spot inside her. Her inner walls flutter around your length, the telltale beginning of her orgasm.
"Don't stop," she gasps, eyes locking with yours, pupils so dilated her blue eyes look almost black. "Please, I'm so close, I'm right there—"
Her words cut off as her orgasm hits, body going rigid above you, thighs clamping down on your hips with bruising force. Her pussy contracts around you in powerful waves, each pulse threatening to pull your own release from you. Her face contorts in pleasure, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent scream, a single tear tracking down her flushed cheek as the intensity overwhelms her.
The visual of Karina coming undone above you – head thrown back against Ningning's shoulder, throat working as she tries to breathe through the pleasure, body trembling with the force of her release – combined with the rippling contractions of her pussy around your cock, finally shatters your control.
You grip her hips hard enough to leave bruises, fingertips digging into the soft flesh as you thrust up into her spasming heat. The first pulse of your orgasm hits with such intensity that your vision whites out momentarily, pleasure radiating from your core outward until every nerve ending is alight with sensation.
"Fuck, I'm coming," you growl, the words torn from your throat as you empty yourself inside her in hot, powerful spurts. Each pulse seems stronger than the last, your entire body seized in the grip of the most intense orgasm of your life. Your hips buck uncontrollably, driving deeper, prolonging the pleasure for both of you as her inner walls continue to milk every last drop from you.
Karina collapses forward onto your chest, her body still trembling with aftershocks. Her skin sticks to yours with sweat, her breathing ragged against your neck. Behind her, Ningning strokes her back gently, fingertips tracing the knobs of her spine with surprising tenderness.
For several minutes, the only sounds in the room are your collective breathing, gradually slowing as your heart rates return to something approaching normal. The scent of sex hangs heavy in the air, mingled with sweat and the faint traces of their different perfumes – Karina's expensive floral scent, Ningning's lighter coconut notes, both now thoroughly blended with the musk of shared pleasure.
Eventually, Karina shifts, wincing slightly as she lifts herself off your softening cock. A mixture of your release and her own arousal follows, dripping onto your stomach in a lewd display that somehow still manages to send a weak throb of interest through your spent cock.
She collapses beside you, one arm thrown across her eyes, chest still rising and falling with slightly labored breaths. Ningning moves to your other side, curling against you like a satisfied cat, her small hand coming to rest possessively on your chest.
The three of you lie there in sweat-soaked, satisfied silence, the reality of what just happened slowly sinking in as your brain begins to function again. Your body feels simultaneously weightless and heavy, every muscle pleasantly exhausted, skin hypersensitive as you come down from the most intense experience of your life.
Ningning's fingers trace lazy patterns across your chest, occasionally circling a nipple, making you twitch despite your complete exhaustion. Her head rests in the crook of your shoulder, damp hair tickling your skin. You can feel her heartbeat gradually slowing where her small breasts press against your side.
Karina reaches for your free hand, intertwining her fingers with yours in a gesture that feels surprisingly intimate after everything you've just done. Her thumb strokes the sensitive skin of your inner wrist, sending tiny shivers up your arm.
"So much better than bio class," she murmurs, voice still slightly hoarse from all her moaning. "Worth missing that test for sure."
You laugh, the sound pulling from deep in your chest. "Coach is gonna kill me when I get benched, but yeah... definitely worth it."
Ningning lifts her head to look at you, dark eyes still soft with lingering pleasure. She leans in to place a gentle kiss on your lips – so different from the desperate, hungry kisses you shared earlier. This one is almost sweet, her lips soft and yielding against yours.
When she pulls back, Karina immediately takes her place, claiming her own kiss. Her style is different – a little deeper, her tongue briefly tracing your lower lip before she pulls away with a small nip that makes you gasp.
"We should make this a regular thing," Karina suggests, trying to sound casual despite the hint of eagerness in her voice. Her fingers continue their gentle exploration, trailing down your stomach now, circling your navel, deliberately avoiding your spent cock.
"Mmm," Ningning agrees, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Next time I go first though." The competitive edge is back in her voice, though softer now, wrapped in playfulness rather than genuine rivalry.
You find yourself laughing again, equal parts disbelief and delight. "There's going to be a next time?"
"Duh," they say in unison, then exchange a look and burst into giggles.
Karina props herself up on one elbow, pushing damp platinum strands behind her ear. With her makeup smudged and her hair a mess, she looks younger somehow, more like the girl who sits behind you in English rather than the untouchable dance team captain.
"I wonder if Yujin would want to join us sometime," she muses, glancing at both of you. "Now that I know about your little secret hookup."
Your face heats up at the mention of what you thought was your private encounter. "You think she'd be into this?"
Ningning shakes her head slightly. "She kept that whole thing with you totally quiet. Didn't even tell us, and we tell each other everything." She shoots a meaningful look at Karina. "She might not be into sharing."
"Maybe," Karina concedes with a thoughtful expression. "But I've seen how she looks at Ningning during practice."
Ningning rolls her eyes, but there's a hint of a blush on her cheeks. "Whatever."
"And I'm still determined to finish what Chaewon started with you at Jackson's party," Karina continues, poking Ningning's side playfully. "Before she chickened out."
"She didn't chicken out, she just got weird about it," Ningning protests, but there's a wistful quality to her voice. "Said she wasn't ready or something."
"Trust me," Karina says confidently, "if she saw what I just saw, she'd definitely be ready. We just need to ease her into it."
Your eyes widen at the casual way they're discussing expanding this... whatever this is. Your cock gives a valiant twitch despite being completely spent, drawing knowing smirks from both girls.
"Look at that," Karina teases, glancing down at your slight movement. "Someone likes the idea."
"Don't break him," Ningning warns, reaching across you to flick Karina's arm lightly. "We need him functional for next time."
Karina catches Ningning's hand, bringing it to her lips for a quick kiss before releasing it. The gesture speaks to a depth of connection between them that goes beyond the competitive dynamic you've witnessed so far.
"So what do you say?" Karina asks, blue eyes fixed on yours, one eyebrow raised in challenge. "Ready to be our regular class-skipping buddy?"
"With benefits," Ningning adds with a suggestive smile, her hand drifting dangerously close to your cock again, though it's far too soon for you to respond.
You think about your day just hours ago – boring, predictable, defined by classes and swim meets and the constant pressure to maintain your GPA. Then you look at these two incredible girls curled against you, their bodies warm and soft, offering something you never imagined would be within your reach.
"Bio test was today," you remind yourself aloud, wincing slightly. "I'm definitely getting a zero."
"You can make it up," Karina says with a dismissive wave. "Just tell Mr. Park you were sick or something."
Ningning nods in agreement, her fingers drawing circles on your chest. "No one's gonna believe you'd skip for no reason anyway. You're like, annoyingly responsible."
As they continue chatting, arms draped across your body, heads resting against your shoulders, you find yourself wondering what exactly you've gotten yourself into. The dance team's secret hookup? Their shared boyfriend? The guy lucky enough to be their favorite distraction?
Whatever this is, whatever label might eventually apply, one thing is certain: there's no way you're backing out now.
Bio test be damned, you think, pulling both girls closer as you sink into the comfort of Karina's bed.
ITZY Yuna x Male Reader | 5k words
Part 1 out of ?
Tags: PWP, Blowjob, Size Kink, Cock Worship, Mutual Horny Chaos, 2nd Person POV, Yuna Is Down Catastrophic
She said glasses and earrings were a cheat code—so you tested it. No big deal. Just an experiment. But the second Yuna opens the door, she short-circuits, and next thing you know, she’s on her knees. I guess it works?
The car is parked in your usual spot, tucked away from the main road where the streetlights don’t quite reach. It’s summer.
The air outside warm enough that the windows are cracked just enough to let the night breeze slip through. Chill R&B hums from the speakers, blending into the comfortable silence between you and Yuna.
Yuna’s lounged back, slides kicked off, feet propped up on the dashboard like she owns the place. Her phone screen flashes in quick bursts as she scrolls TikTok, fingers moving lazily while she sips from her boba. Cropped pink tank, low-rise jeans that hang just right, a couple of delicate rings on her fingers—casual but calculated, effortless, she knows she’s hot and she owns it.
You’re half-watching, half-zoned out, fingers drumming absently against your drink. Not thinking about how good she looks. Or trying not to.
Then she speaks, totally unprompted.
“Glasses and earrings are such a fucking cheat code for guys.”
You blink, slow to process. “…Huh?”
She doesn’t even look up from her phone. “Like, if a dude who’s my type pulls up with that? Whip it out already, I’m on my knees.”
You choke on your boba. Cough, nearly die, and have to thump your own chest to recover. “You’re a slut”
Yuna finally spares you a glance, completely serious. “I’m sooo serious. Glasses? Hot. Earrings? Hot. Together? Killy me now. Instant buff.”
You recover, rubbing your throat. “Any guy?”
She scoffs. “Obviously he has to be cute, I’m not gonna suck off some rando that's ugly and gross.”
You stare at her, a mix of disbelief and amusement creeping in.
Yuna shifts, folding a leg under her and turning fully towards you, sitting up. Her tank top rides up just slightly, exposing a sliver of skin, but you don’t look for too long. She leans in like she’s about to tell you the secrets of the universe. “Like, okay, hear me out.”
You sigh, playing along. “K, I’m listening.”
“The glasses just make the guy look smart, but like, not too smart. Unless he’s a nerd, but you get my point.”
“Suuure.”
“The earrings? Hot. Earrings are just hot. Like, I wear earrings. I’m hot.”
You stare at her, unimpressed. “I don’t get it.”
She waves a hand, exasperated. “Like, hot but not too hot, smart but not too smart. ya get me?.”
You squint. “But what if the guy’s ugly?”
She pauses, then scoffs. “See, that’s where it’s tough, ‘cause the buff only works if you’re already cute, ya know? Or like… almost hot.”
You raise an eyebrow. “You saying some guys are almost hot?”
“Yeah, bro, like some guys just need to hit the gym, dress better, get some earrings.”
You just give her a look, telling her you don’t really get it.
Silence lingers for a beat. Then she shrugs, says it so offhandedly you almost don’t catch it. “Like, you’d actually be hot if you tried.”
Your brain stalls. “…What?”
She doesn’t look up, just sips her boba. “You heard me.”
You’re still blinking. “No, repeat that.”
A slow, shit-eating grin spreads across her face. “Nope.”
“That felt personal.”
“It wasn’t. But if you feel attacked…”
You scoff, sitting up slightly. “I literally gym, and you gotta admit I dress nice.”
She finally looks at you, eyes dragging over your plain black tee and gray sweats, unimpressed.
You gesture vaguely. “When I go out.”
She snorts, shaking her head but doesn't disagree. “Yeah, aight.”
You narrow your eyes. “You’re basically saying I would be hot if I wasn’t ugly.”
Another shrug. “That’s not what I’m saying, but if that’s what you’re hearing…”
You laugh it off, shake your head, shift the conversation elsewhere. But Yuna? She sits with it, lets the words settle.
The idea is planted.
She doesn’t bring it up again, but it lingers. Her gaze flickers to you when you’re not looking, her teeth pressing lightly into her bottom lip like she’s trying not to think too hard about it. Then, just as quickly, she shakes it off, scrolling her phone with a little too much focus.
A week later…
The drive to Yuna’s place feels normal—same streets, same turn signals, same playlist humming low through your speakers. But today? Today’s different. Today, you’re running a test.
You grip the wheel with one hand, glancing at yourself in the rearview mirror. Glasses on. You always needed them, just never wore them. Now? Gentle Monster frames, clean, sharp. A flex, but a subtle one.
Earrings? Left ear—a small silver star stud. Right ear—a tiny dagger earring. A balance of soft and sharp. Like you weren’t thinking about it, but also? You were.
Your fit? Casual but intentional.
Black compression shirt, snug and sculpting but not obnoxious. Grey wide-leg sweats, laid-back and effortless. Fresh kicks, spotless with no creases.
It’s intentional, but not try-hard. Like you just threw shit on, but somehow, everything fell into place.
You exhale, tapping your fingers against the steering wheel.
Let’s see if she notices.
You knock. A shuffle of footsteps inside. The door swings open.
Yuna stands there, the striped pajama set hugging her tiny waist, sitting snug on her hips, showing just enough skin to be lethal. The fabric stretches over her curves, hinting at the toned stomach underneath, the kind of body that looks soft but still tight in all the right places.
Her red hair falls in messy waves, catching hallway light like she planned the whole damn lighting setup. Even "just hanging at home," her skin glows with that I-woke-up-like-this perfection you know for a fact takes at least three serums to achieve. Light makeup—because of course she wouldn't be completely bare-faced—just enough to make her eyes wider, her lips fuller, slightly glossed and parted in what starts as a greeting but dies somewhere in her throat.
She was expecting movie night. Takeout containers. Stupid debates about whether pineapple belongs on pizza. The usual safe routine.
Instead, she gets you. Version 2.0.
Her entire body freezes. Processing.
Her eyes make a deliberate journey: glasses, earrings—that small hesitation when she notices they're mismatched—down to how your shirt remembers every gym session you've been putting in, lingering just a beat too long where your sweats hang low, then back up to your face with the slow-dawning realization that you've weaponized her own words against her.
She straight-up blue-screens.
Her weight shifts subtly, thighs pressing together like she's trying to create pressure where she suddenly needs it. Her fingers flex at her sides, curling then uncurling like she's physically restraining herself. The sharp inhale is audible—chest rising, lips parting before she catches herself. A full system restart happening in real time.
"What. The. Fuck." It comes out flat, almost accusatory, like you've committed a personal offense.
You can't help the smirk. "What?"
Yuna's eyes narrow, flicking to your earrings again with something dangerously close to hatred—not for the accessories, but for how effectively you've played her. Her jaw works, tension visible as she grinds her teeth. The mental battle is written across her face: pride versus want, restraint versus impulse.
"You're a fucking bitch," she mutters, the words carrying more heat than venom.
Your grin widens, victory sweet on your tongue. "Hmm? Didn't catch that."
No verbal response. Just the sudden, almost violent way her fingers hook into your shirt, yanking you inside before kicking the door shut with enough force to rattle the frame.
Her grip on your wrist is tight—too tight to be casual, not tight enough to hurt. She pulls you down the familiar hallway, the same path you've walked a hundred times before, except now your heart hammers against your ribs like it's trying to escape. This isn't movie-night Yuna leading you to her bedroom to argue about Netflix choices. This is something else entirely.
The words barely form in your mouth before your back hits her mattress, the air rushing from your lungs in a soft "oof." Suddenly everything is different. Same room—same fairy lights strung across her headboard, same pile of clothes heaped on her desk chair, same vague scent of vanilla and something distinctly her—but the air feels electrically charged, dense with potential.
She climbs onto you with feline precision, one knee planted on either side of your thighs, lowering herself with a deliberate slowness that borders on torture. The weight of her settles against you—warm, solid, undeniable. The smirk playing at her lips is both challenge and promise, a silent I told you so mixed with you're going to regret this in the best way possible.
And just like that, the tables turn.
Your earlier confidence dissolves under her gaze. Your breath catches as she studies you like a meal she's about to devour, eyes dragging from your face to your throat, lingering on the pulse point there before traveling lower to where your shirt has ridden up to expose a strip of skin.
Pure instinct drives your hands to her hips, fingers just grazing the warm skin exposed between her top and pajama bottoms—but before you can get a proper grip, she's caught your wrists. One fluid motion and your arms are pinned against the wall above your head, chest exposed, completely at her mercy. Her nails dig just enough into your skin to send a shiver racing down your spine, a silent warning that makes your pulse spike.
"Yuna—" Her name escapes as a whine, embarrassingly breathless.
"Did I say you could touch?" The edge in her voice is new—commanding in a way that makes heat pool low in your stomach.
She leans in close again and you flinch slightly, turning your head, caught off-balance by this sudden shift in dynamic. The predatory smile that spreads across her face tells you exactly what you need to know:
You might have started this game, but she's the one who's going to finish it.
Her grip tightens. "What? You getting nervous?"
And you are. Because you don’t know what she’s gonna do next. Because your hands are pinned down, because she’s taking her time, because she’s in complete control.
"Too late." Her voice is soft as her fingers catch your jaw before you can answer—firm, controlling. She lets it hang there, the weight of her words sinking in before she tilts your face up like she’s testing the weight of you in her hands, deciding whether she wants to break you apart or take her time savoring it.
She doesn’t kiss you yet. Just hovers. Close enough that you can feel her breath—warm, teasing, curling over your lips. Close enough that you can smell her—sweet, like strawberries, something feminine and bright, but dark underneath. Something heady. Something that lingers.
"What..." It slips out soft, almost breathless, escaping before you even realize. You're already leaning in—just slightly, just enough to chase the warmth of her mouth, the phantom touch of lips that still haven’t pressed against yours.
She grins. Pulls back just enough to make you ache for it. Watching, waiting. Letting the moment stretch, letting you need.
Then she finally kisses you—hungry, consuming, impossible to escape. Her lips move like she’s starving, like she’s been waiting for this, for you.
Her hands roam without hesitation, clawing at your shirt, nails scratching lightly before pressing harder, groping, gripping, taking. She grinds down, pressing herself closer, hot, desperate, soaked through.
Her tongue slides against yours, deep, messy, filthy. She tastes like strawberries and something warmer, something intoxicating. She bites your bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth before letting go, leaving you breathless, dizzy.
You manage to get half a word out—something cocky, something desperate—but she just presses her thumb over your lips, silencing you effortlessly. "Shh."
Her smirk is wicked, teasing. "Did I tell you to talk?"
One last kiss—hard, bruising—claiming—before she finally pulls back, pupils blown wide, breath heavy, hot against your lips. Still teasing, still in control.
Her eyes flicker, dark and sharp. She lets the silence stretch, lets you squirm just a little before tilting her head, smirking. And then, finally—
“Whip it out when I tell you to.”
She shifts back, slow and deliberate, like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you. Legs crossed, arms folded, head tilted slightly—waiting.
“Shirt off.”
You hesitate. Her expression doesn’t change. Just one perfectly raised eyebrow.
You exhale, dragging the fabric over your head, the fabric peeling away from your skin, leaving a fleeting chill before the heat of the room settles over you. The shift makes your muscles tense briefly, instinctively flexing, your lean frame now fully exposed. She doesn’t say anything at first—just watches. Eyes dragging down, slower than usual. She’s seen you shirtless before—at the beach, when you work out together—but this feels... different. More deliberate. More assessing. Like she’s realizing something she hadn’t let herself think about before.
Her fingertips trail over your chest, nails scraping lightly as they move down. Her breathing shifts. Not a full pause, but a subtle inhale, like she’s registering something new.
She barely skims your waistband before stopping. Lips part, but no words come out. Just a beat of silence, her fingers still resting against your skin.
Then, just as quickly, she shakes it off. Moves like she never hesitated. “Pants too.”
You move to pull them down, and her hand shoots out, gripping the fabric at your waist. Stopping you. Holding you there.
She tilts her head. Smirks. “Hmm, one sec.”
She leans down, lips trailing from your chest to your abdomen, slow and deliberate, each press of her mouth sending heat curling low in your stomach. Lower. Lower. Until she’s hovering over your bulge, her breath warm against the fabric, her smirk returning as she glances up at you—waiting, teasing.
“Whip it out.”
You follow her command, fingers hooking into the waistband of your sweats and boxers at the same time. You push them down in one slow motion, the fabric dragging over your hips, your thighs, until they pool around your ankles. The cool air hits first, sending a shiver down your spine, your skin prickling in contrast to the heat of her stare. You kick them off, tossing them aside without a second thought.
Your cock, already stiff, springs free, swaying slightly before settling upright.
You expect some kind of reaction, a smirk, a comment, something. But she just sits there. Silent. Taking you in. Making you wait.
Then, the shift.
Her jaw tightens. Barely. Just enough to notice. Her fingers twitch, like she’s resisting the instinct to reach for you. A single exhale slips out—soft, sharp, involuntary.
“...Hah.”
Her thighs press together.
She blinks once, slow, expression still unreadable before she scoffs, voice flat. "You're joking."
It’s not a question. Not disbelief. It’s irritation. Like she’s pissed off that she’s this affected.
Then, before she even registers it, her hand is on you.
Her fingers wrap around the base, testing the weight. Thumb pressing into the ridge, sliding down, measuring. Her grip is firm, not teasing, not soft. Calculating. Then, she swipes her thumb over the tip, smearing the bead of precum across the sensitive skin.
The slick warmth sends a sharp jolt through you, your stomach clenching at the sudden stimulation. A shudder rolls down your spine, hips jerking just slightly—instinctual, involuntary. She hums at the reaction, amused, dragging her thumb back over the head, slower this time, watching you twitch beneath her touch.
"...You’ve been walking around with this the whole time?"
One slow stroke. Deliberate. Frustrated. Her breath hitches for half a second before she exhales through her nose, sharp and controlled. She’s working through something.
Then she moves.
Slow, deliberate, sinking down until her face is level with your cock. She spreads her knees wider, arching her back instinctively, ass lifting behind her as she dips her head down. The motion is fluid, effortless, like she’s done this a hundred times before—but not with you.
Her breath fans over the head, warm, teasing, and fuck, she’s gorgeous. But the way she’s looking at you? The way her lashes flutter as she drags her gaze from the base to the tip, the way her lips part slightly like she’s thinking about something she shouldn’t? Filthy.
Your fingers twitch against the sheets, aching to touch her. To run through her hair, trace over her cheek, press against the plush curve of her lips. But you don’t. You know better.
She tilts her head, lining it up. Comparing.
Her fingers tighten around the base, giving an experimental squeeze, jaw tensing slightly like she’s still processing the math of it all.
She hums, amused. Like she just confirmed something. Her eyes drag from your cock to your frame, mapping out the proportions. She’s smaller, you’re lean, cut where it matters. Her fingers tighten around your thigh—just slightly.
She exhales slow, shaking her head. Testing her own reaction.
“It’s almost annoying.”
A sharp squeeze at the base, like she’s making peace with it.
"You're just big enough to be fucking perfect."
She looks up at you, doesn’t blink. Holds your gaze like she’s daring you to move.
"Look at me."
You do. Try to. But the intensity of her gaze is too much, hungry, piercing, hot. Like she’s devouring every inch of you without even touching. Your body reacts before you can stop it. It’s overwhelming. Too much. You instinctively try to escape it, tilting your head back, but she doesn’t let you.
Her other hand catches your chin, dragging you back down to her. “I didn’t say you could do that.”
Your breath shudders. You swallow hard. She notices. Smirks.
Then—she stops.
She knows exactly what she’s about to do. And she wants you to watch.
Lifting her arms, she gathers up all her hair, twisting it tight, securing it with practiced ease. It’s a ritual, a performance, because she knows you’re looking. And she likes it.
The movement stretches her out, making you take in everything—the pull of her arms, the soft dip of her waist, the sleek curve of her long torso. Cinched. Compact. Fucking perfect. Her neck, her collarbones, the bare skin of her armpits exposed for a fleeting second, all of it framed just for you.
"Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking hot." Your voice slips past you.
She pauses, just for a second. A slow, knowing smirk on her lips as she glances at you.
"I know."
Your fingers twitch, instinct taking over—you reach down, wanting to stroke yourself to the sight of her.
Sharp slap.
Your hand jerks away, stinging. Her eyes flicker up, challenging. Smirking.
"I already told you—keep your hands to yourself."
Then—she leans back down, the same position, same arch. She dips her head low. Her lips purse, and before you can register it, a thick glob of warm saliva drips from her mouth, landing perfectly against the tip. She watches it spread, her thumb smearing it across the sensitive skin, coating you in wet heat before she strokes again—long, slow, deliberate.
She looks up, eyes locking onto yours, smirking like she already knows she's won. "Now sit back and let me enjoy myself."
Then—she sinks lower.
Her red hair spills over your stomach, strands brushing against your skin as she angles herself just right. The dim light catches on the messy waves, glowing warm, wild, untamed. She looks up at you through thick lashes, half-lidded, pupils blown wide, mouth parted just enough to tease you with the heat of her breath.
She’s so fucking close.
But this isn’t about you.
Her fingers wrap around the base, a slow, possessive squeeze, more for herself than for you. She exhales, lips barely parted, watching, taking you in. Her tongue swipes over her own bottom lip as if contemplating a meal she’s about to devour.
Then—she goes for it.
Heat. Wet. The first slide past her lips is tight, hot, an impossible contrast of softness and pressure. Her mouth stretches, lips plush and slick, sealing around you with a perfect, obscene suction. The wet heat of her tongue presses firm against the underside, dragging against every ridge, every pulsing inch, like she’s mapping you out with her mouth. The pressure of her cheeks hollowing pulls a groan straight from your chest before you can bite it back.
It's not careful, not teasing—hungry.
Her nails dig into your thigh as she sinks deeper, her own body reacting, thighs pressing together, chasing the heat curling in her own gut.
She doesn’t slow. Doesn’t drag it out like a game. She’s working herself up with every motion, letting herself indulge.
Another moan, this one softer, needier, and fuck, she’s enjoying this. Her tongue presses against the underside, massaging every inch she swallows. She pulls back, spit slick and glistening, gasping softly before diving back in, sucking harder, deeper.
She flicks her gaze up—not to check on you, but to see how much more she can take.
The wet pop when she pulls off is obscene, spit stretching between her lips and your cock before snapping apart. But she doesn’t wipe it away—you can tell, she likes the mess.
She tilts her head, gaze flicking up to yours, breathless, her lips curling into something between a smirk and frustration.
"Fuck, you taste so good." She mutters, voice wrecked, annoyed at how much she’s into this.
You start to smirk, breath hitching as you mutter, "Damn, you really know how to—"
But you don't get the chance.
She takes you deep mid-word, zero hesitation, lips stretching, throat tightening as she swallows you down in one sudden, slick motion. The shock rips a strangled sound from your throat, something between a gasp and a groan, because fuck, that was unexpected.
It's warm, so fucking tight, her throat flexing around you as she forces herself deeper, nose pressing flush against your groin. The wet grip of her throat clenching around the tip sends heat jolting up your spine, and when she pulls back—slow, torturous—a thick string of spit clings between her lips and your cock, stretching, breaking, dripping down onto her own chin. She watches you, gaze locked, eyes dark, sharp, daring you.
"You talk too much. And I haven't told you to open your mouth."
Her voice is wrecked, breathless, but smug as hell. She grips the base, firm, controlling, and slaps the head against her lips, wet and filthy, smearing spit and precum across them before taking you back in without hesitation—deeper, tighter, longer.
Your thighs tense. Your breath stutters. Toes curl, heat pooling low in your stomach, a wildfire spreading through your limbs. Your hands clench into the sheets because if you touch her now, you're done for.
She hums around you, low, vibrating, because she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.
Then she pulls back, spit-slick and glistening, pausing just long enough for you to feel the absence, to make you ache for it.
You think she’s about to go back in, your breath catches—but she lingers, gaze flicking up, owning the moment, letting the tension coil tighter. Then, slowly, she slaps your cock against her lips once more, her own breath shuddering like she’s just as caught up in this as you are. But this isn’t for you—it’s for her.
She dips lower, tongue dragging down your length, lips wrapping around one ball, sucking slow, wet, indulgent. She pauses for a second, breathing heavy, swallowing like she’s processing how good it tastes, how much she’s enjoying it.
Then she makes a sound—a frustrated groan, muffled, needy, like she’s annoyed by just how good you are in her mouth. Her hand never stops moving, stroking you in time with every pull of her mouth. Then the next, her tongue rolling over the sensitive skin, a soft moan escaping her, sending a jolt straight through your core.
She licks a line back up your shaft, slow, messy, like she’s savoring the weight of you on her tongue.
Your hands twitch against the sheets, fists clenched tight, every muscle in your body strung too fucking tight, resisting the urge to grab her. She notices. She loves it.
She pulls off completely, spit pooling down her chin, tilts her head up at you, lips parted, swollen, smirking.
"Hold my hair up."
Your breath shakes as you comply, fingers threading into her red waves, feeling the silkiness as they slide between your knuckles. You gather them slowly, watching the way they shine under the dim light, then bunch them up tight, pulling them together like a ponytail, holding firm.
She exhales slow, eyes flickering shut for half a second like she’s steeling herself. Then, she looks up at you—hungry, determined.
"Good. Now don’t let go."
The moment you tighten your grip, she moans, low and wrecked, like it’s fueling her. Like she’s been waiting for this.
She takes you back in.
In one go.
There’s no hesitation now. No more teasing. Just her fucking her mouth on you, using your cock like a toy for her own oral fixation.
She goes messy, abrupt, taking you deep with zero breaks, her hands working in sync—one stroking your shaft, the other massaging your balls, slick with spit, wet, filthy, relentless.
She gags. Chokes. Sputters saliva down her chin, but she doesn’t stop—she loves this.
Each time she sinks down, she stays longer, testing her limits, forcing herself deeper, moaning around you, the vibrations traveling straight through your spine. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
She pulls off with a wet, deep, gasp, sucking in air, but her hands never stop moving—stroking, twisting, milking you even as she gasps for breath.
“Shit,” she pants, her voice wrecked, her lips swollen, glistening with spit.
Her grip tightens, both hands now working together, slick and dripping, saliva coating every inch. She strokes faster, twisting her wrists, making a fucking mess of you, her mouth hovering just inches away, lips parted, panting.
Your whole body is tight, legs folding in slightly, toes curling, arms flexing involuntarily around the grip in her hair. The pleasure is too much, too fucking good, overwhelming, and if she wasn’t in complete control, you’d be thrusting up into her mouth, chasing the heat, the pressure. But she’s already forcing herself deep, hitting the back of her throat for you. No, for herself, taking what she wants.
Your grip on her hair loosens.
She notices.
She fucking notices.
Her lashes flutter up, eyes glazed, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed—completely cock-drunk—and she lets out the softest, filthiest little whine, like she doesn’t want you to stop her. Like she needs this. More of this.
Your fingers clench, regaining control, and you hold her still.
Her moan shatters through you.
It’s wrecked, vibrating along your length as she hollows her cheeks again and sucks. Hard.
And then—she goes feral.
She spits again, a thick glob dripping onto the head, smearing it in with her tongue before slapping your cock against her lips, her cheek, the curve of her jaw. Then she leans in, sucking and slurping her own saliva back up from your cock and groin, her tongue dragging slow and deliberate—only to sputter it back down again, wetter, filthier.
The slick warmth trickles lower, dripping under your balls, pooling there as her fingers smear it across your skin like she never wants to waste a single drop. She’s moaning the entire time, whimpering under her breath, her own body tensing, thighs pressing together, like she’s getting off on the sheer act of ruining herself.
Her tongue flicks out, lapping at the sensitive tip before flattening against it, rubbing it against her slick, spit-drenched muscle like she wants to taste every inch.
Her hand never stops moving—stroking, twisting, pumping, both hands working together now, slick and dripping, her fingers sliding with ease from how fucking wet everything is.
She’s not thinking anymore.
She’s just moving, sucking, licking, moaning, lost in it. She’s devouring you.
She sinks back down, deeper, until she’s gagging again, nose flush, throat spasming. She pulls off just to spit again, rubs her own mess into your shaft with both hands before swallowing you back down like she missed it.
She stays down longer each time.
Testing her limits. Pushing past them. Letting them break.
She pulls off with a wrecked gasp, drool dripping off her chin, her hands still stroking you frantically, like she can’t stop. Like she won’t stop.
“Fuck—” Her voice is raw, strained, needy. Her lips glisten, her cheeks are damp with spit, ruined.
Next, she slaps your cock against her tongue again, holding it there, eyes locked on yours, lips parted, panting.
Waiting.
Wanting.
She flicks her tongue once. Then again.
Your whole body tenses, a choked moan ripping out of your throat before you can swallow it down. She notices instantly, smirking, lips flushed and glistening.
"Gonna cum for me?" Her voice is low, wrecked, teasing. "Gonna fill up my mouth?"
She doesn’t give you a chance to answer. She’s back down, and you know it wont be long.
She sinks down, deeper than before—deeper than you thought she could go.
Her throat tightens, a hot, slick vice around you, lips stretched wide, nose flush against your skin. She stays there, like she’s proving something, forcing herself to take it all.
Your body shakes. A helpless, broken noise tears from your throat, your fingers twisting tighter in her hair. Your entire body is locked up, muscles taut, overwhelmed, unable to do anything but take what she’s giving you.
She swallows around you—tight, pulsing—milking you. The suction drives you insane, your mind foggy with nothing but her heat, her wetness, the way she’s owning you with her mouth. Your stomach clenches, your toes curl, thighs shaking. The heat in your gut is unbearable, climbing too fast, too much—
And then—she pulls off.
Not all the way. Just enough to drag her lips, tongue, teeth back up, slow, deliberate, before sinking back down just as deep.
She does it again.
Slow. Controlled. Absolutely ruining you.
Her hands are still working—one stroking your length, the other massaging your balls, her slick fingers pressing, squeezing, keeping you so fucking close but not letting you fall.
This time, she pulls off completely.
Your cock twitches in the open air, aching, drenched in her spit, glistening under the dim light. The sudden absence is unbearable, like she just took the world’s best heat away from you.
And then—she stops everything.
Her grip loosens. Her mouth lingers inches away.
Nothing.
You make a noise—desperate, strained. Your fingers clench, stomach tight, chest rising too fast.
She tilts her head, mocking, daring, teasing. Lips swollen, cheeks flushed.
"Say it."
Your breath stutters. She’s watching you unravel, watching you need.
You hesitate.
Her fingers go completely still.
The absence is unbearable. The loss of heat, friction, her—everything.
She waits. Just waits.
Eyes locked on you, lips parted, not moving until she hears what she wants.
“You wanna cum or not?”
Her voice is wrecked, low, filthy—and so fucking amused. Like she already knows.
Your jaw locks, but your body betrays you.
“Yuna, please—I'm so close” It rips out of you, barely a whisper, shaky, ruined.
Her eyes spark. She grins.
She giggles. It’s horny, evil, delighted.
And with that, she dives back in.
Messy. Unforgiving.
Her mouth works you over, fast, relentless, sucking hard like she’s dragging the orgasm out of you. Her cheeks hollow, tongue pressing firm, head bobbing fast, sloppy, wrecking you.
Her hands won’t stop moving—both of them now, stroking, twisting, pumping, slick and filthy, drenched in her spit.
She pulls off just to spit directly onto your tip, spreading it with her tongue, letting the mess drip down your shaft, pooling at your base.
She goes back down, faster, tongue swirling, throat flexing, each motion more desperate, more demanding. The sounds she’s making—filthy, obscene, completely unashamed.
You can’t stop it.
Your hips jerk, thighs flex, toes curl, fingers pull tight in her hair.
And then—your whole body locks up.
It hits like lightning, brutal, full-body, overwhelming.
You moan—loud, wrecked, shaking.
She pulls off at the last second, her tongue stretched out, eyes locked on you, stroking you fast as you cum hard all over her tongue and inside her mouth.
Spurts of thick white streak across her tongue, her lips, pooling where she wants it.
She stays there, mouth open, holding it, letting you see it.
Then—she closes her mouth and swallows.
A loud, filthy gulp.
Like she was made for this.
She stays between your legs a moment longer, tongue flicking slow, deliberate, dragging over every inch of sensitive skin as she cleans you up, savoring it. Her lips press one last time to the tip, a lazy, lingering kiss, before she finally—finally—pulls away, her breath still hot and damp against your stomach.
She doesn’t hurry.
She stretches, rolling her shoulders like she just wrapped up a workout, sighing like she’s completely satisfied, her fingers pressing briefly into your thighs as she pushes herself up. She moves like she owns the space, like she just conquered something.
Without another word, she crawls up towards you. One hand grabs your chin, tilting your face up, making sure you’re looking at her.
She’s still wrecked, ruined—her lips glossy, chin damp, pupils dark and dripping with smug satisfaction.
"You're never taking those glasses off again."
Her other hand moves, fingers slipping up to the bridge of your glasses, pushing them back into place with the laziest, most condescending adjustment.
Like she just did fucking community service.
You’re still panting, your limbs heavy, your chest still rising too fast. And yet—a realization grips you.
You just unleashed something.
Something feral. Something dangerous.
She grins, tilting her head like she knows exactly what you’re thinking.
And then—she giggles.
That same horny, delighted, evil little giggle from before.
Like she’s already thinking about the next time she ruins you.
End.
----------------
AN: Finally got through this one and can check it off. I'm currently starting a new piece, one of my longer ones so it might be a while until its posted. Ill try my best to fill the next few days with more shorter moments like this one, but I really wanna focus on my longer fics with more depth.
As always, room for part 2 with this.
Kim Chaewon x Male Reader | 4k words
Tags: cheating, light bratty elements, backshots, reckless decisions, tension, guilty pleasure
Next Pt 2.
Cutting class to get a break? Nah.
Cutting class to fuck your girlfriends best friend? Yesssssir
Is this dumb?
Skipping class just to fuck your girlfriend's best friend?
Absolutely.
But with her soft bed under your knees and your hands gripping her hips—who gives a shit about being smart right now?
Chaewon's room is exactly like her—carefully curated chaos that feels effortless.
All-white sheets that tangle around your legs, a fuzzy cream blanket kicked to the side. Squishmallows stacked against her headboard, now knocked over from how hard the bed's shaking. BTS watching from a poster on the wall, vinyls of SZA and Keshi mounted near her mirror like trophies. Polaroids scattered across her wall—blurry concert nights, drunken smiles, memories you're not part of.
Her dresser is a mess of half-open products—lip masks, serums in glass bottles, perfumes that cost more than you make in a week. The scent of her hangs in the air—sweet vanilla with something darker underneath, something that gets under your skin and stays there.
A Bath & Body Works candle sits for show, not for burning. Makeup scattered like she got ready in a hurry—an open tube of lip gloss, an eyelash curler abandoned.
Nike slides kicked off by the bed, a Starbucks cup still half-full on the nightstand. Your hoodie thrown over her chair—she took it last week and never gave it back.
Chaewon's face is pressed into the mattress, her messy bun barely hanging on, blonde strands sticking to her neck as she gasps. She's arching her back for you, pressing her ass against you as you sink your cock into her, her pussy gripping you so tight it makes your vision blur. The wet sounds of her taking you fill the room—slick, obscene, mixed with the slap of skin on skin and those breathy little moans she tries to muffle in her pillow.
Her skin is hot beneath your hands, a thin layer of sweat making her glow in the dim light coming through her curtains. That sweet vanilla scent gets stronger as her body heats up, mixing with the unmistakable smell of sex.
Her white tank top is riding up her back, bunched around her ribs. You keep pushing it higher, needing to see more of her, to feel more of her skin under your hands. Your eyes can't get enough of her—the curve where her waist dips before flaring to her hips, the way her body trembles when you hit just right.
Rough. Desperate.
She shudders when you dig your fingers harder into her waist, leaving marks that will still be there tomorrow. Her nails claw at the sheets, hips rocking back, trying to take control, but you don't let her. You decide the pace. You decide how deep. She just has to take it.
Her breath catches on a moan when you thrust harder. She feels too fucking good, squeezing around your cock like she was made to take you, like she's trying to break your self-control.
Then—light cuts through the moment.
Your phone, half-buried in the rumpled sheets, screen glowing bright. You don't need to check it.
Eunbi.
Your actual girlfriend.
Chaewon's supposed best friend.
She has no clue. No idea you're not in calculus right now. No idea you've got her best friend's ass pressed against you, your cock buried inside her.
Probably just asking about hanging out later, or sending you some stupid TikTok that made her think of you. Something sweet and normal because that's who Eunbi is.
You flip the phone over, face down against the bed. You shouldn't be here. You should be in class. Or with Eunbi. But Chaewon pushes back against you, and those thoughts disappear real fucking quick.
Chaewon turns her head, looking back over her shoulder, breathless but still fucking smirking. "Going to ignore her like that?"
Instead of answering, you press your hand between her shoulder blades, shoving her face back into the mattress.
She moans, the sound muffled by sheets, but you can hear the smile in it. Even with your cock inside her, she's still playing games.
"Bet she'd cry if she saw you like this."
Something dark twists inside you at her words. Your grip turns bruising, thrusts harder, deeper, and whatever smugness she had vanishes in an instant.
Chaewon whimpers, nails digging into the sheets hard enough to tear them, thighs trembling. She can't keep up anymore, can't match your rhythm as you fuck her harder than anyone has before.
She gasps out something—your name, "fuck," maybe both—but it breaks into a high, desperate sound that lets you know you've won.
Eunbi is good. Beautiful. Sweet. She gives head like she read about it in a magazine. She's the kind of girl people expect you to stay loyal to.
But Chaewon? Chaewon is filthy, tight, and knows exactly how to crawl under your skin and live there.
Eunbi texts you good morning with heart emojis. Chaewon sends you pictures of her tits when she knows her best friend is sitting right beside her.
Eunbi kisses you like she's making promises. Chaewon bites your lip until you taste blood and laughs when you wince.
Eunbi's the girl you bring to prom. The girl your mom loves. The girl who makes you lunch and saves you a seat in the cafeteria. But Chaewon's the girl you ruin your life for.
She's still testing you, still pushing back against you even as she falls apart. "You're holding back," she accuses between gasps, her voice shaky but challenging.
Your jaw tightens. She always does this shit. Always wants to see how far she can push before you break.
You answer with a thrust so hard it knocks her flat against the mattress, her blonde hair spilling across the white sheets. She gasps, a shocked sound that's almost a yelp, but when she looks back at you, that fucking smirk is still there, daring you for more.
"Fuck—slow down—" she starts, but you both know she doesn't mean it.
Your fingers dig into her hips, dragging her back onto your cock as you set a pace that finally wipes that smug look off her face. Whatever game she was playing dissolves into gasping breaths and desperate moans she can't hold back anymore.
She's squeezing you so tight it's hard to think, too good to remember why this is such a fucking bad idea, too perfect to care about who keeps blowing up your phone from the other side of the bed.
Your phone vibrates against the sheets. Again. And again.
Chaewon notices, of course she does. She lets out this breathless little laugh that makes your stomach flip, barely turning her head, voice syrupy and taunting like the cherry slushies she's always drinking between classes. "Does she even make you feel this good?"
You don't answer. You push her face into the mattress instead, feeling a rush that's better than any post-game high you've ever chased.
She moans, muffled against floral sheets, but you can hear the fucking amusement in it, the way she's still enjoying this too much, like she's winning some bet with herself.
If she wants it rough, she's going to get it. And God, every bone in your stupid teenage body is screaming to give it to her.
Your hand slides up her back, fingers wrapping lightly around her throat as you lean down, your varsity track team t-shirt sticking to your chest with sweat, voice low in her ear. "Take it, take that dick."
She instantly becomes a whimpering, moaning mess beneath you, her whole body quivering. You can feel her pussy clench tight around you, gripping your cock like she's desperate to keep you inside. She licks her lips—you can feel the sticky gloss against your palm—her breath hitching in that way that makes you dizzy, and pushes her hips back against you again. A deliberate roll that makes you forget there's a calc test tomorrow you should be studying for.
That's all you need.
Your grip tightens, forcing her still, making sure she takes it. She chokes out a gasp, her whole body shuddering against yours, her thighs—always toned from cheer practice—trembling as you fuck her deeper, harder, until her teasing completely breaks apart.
At this angle, with your weight pressing her down, you can feel everything—every slick, desperate clench around your length, the obscene wetness that spreads between you each time you push back in. It's suffocating, consuming, a vice of heat wrapped around you, pulling you deeper into something you shouldn't want this badly but fuck, you'd fail every class for this feeling.
Her hand reaches back, grabbing blindly for anything to hold onto—your wrist, your thigh—until she finds your arm. She grips it hard, nails dragging over your skin, feeling the way your muscles flex under her fingers. Feeling you as she feels you inside, the same fingers that wave to Eunbi across the cafeteria now digging into your skin.
Your phone vibrates again, the buzz muffled against the rumpled sheets where you flipped it face down earlier. Neither of you look at it. Neither of you dare.
Chaewon's breathless now, moaning into the sheets, a mess beneath you, every ounce of her earlier cockiness gone, replaced by something desperate and hungry that makes you feel ten feet tall. The most popular girl in school, falling apart for you.
If you were a better person, you wouldn't be here.
But you're not. You're the kind of person who thinks about this—about her—even during fourth period when Eunbi is passing you notes with little hearts drawn in the margins.
A noise outside the room—soft, but distinct. A car door? Her mom home early? Your body tenses, every muscle tight, your breath catching mid-thrust, the reality of where you are crashing in.
Chaewon hears it too. Feels you hesitate.
And then she laughs. Breathless, airy, like this is the funniest thing that's happened all day, like the thought of getting caught is just another cheap thrill.
"Aww, scared someone's gonna catch you balls deep in me?" Her voice is teasing, dripping with amusement, even as her legs tremble beneath you, her Victoria's Secret Pink thong still dangling from one ankle.
Your fingers flex around her throat in retaliation, squeezing just enough to make her gasp. She barely has a second to process it before you slam her down, your grip unrelenting, then flip her onto her back so fast she barely has time to catch her breath, her blonde hair—perfectly highlighted last weekend at a salon that costs more than your car payment—slipping free from its messy bun, wild against the sheets.
Your cock slips free in the motion, and you grab it tight, feeling the obscene slickness coating your length, dripping from her. It's wet—wet as fuck—before you slap it against her swollen folds. The sound is loud, filthy, obscene—wet as hell. Your cock slides against her, dragging through the mess between them before you shove it back in. She shudders, her breath hitching, her thighs twitching as you tease her with the weight of it before pressing forward, sinking back inside.
Chaewon's eyes flutter, her breath catching as you force her legs up, pressing her thighs flush to her chest, pinning her in place, giving her no room to squirm away. The new angle has her gasping, hands flying up to your arms, gripping tight, her nails—freshly done in that pale pink Eunbi helped her pick out yesterday—dig into your arms, clinging tight like she's bracing for impact, like she needs something to hold onto before she breaks completely.
The bed shifts beneath you, and your phone vibrates once more, the buzz reverberating through the mattress, felt through every grinding thrust. You both feel it. Neither of you care. Not when you should be in Mr. Kim's class right now, not when Eunbi thinks you're taking notes instead of taking her best friend.
Your only focus is on the way she clenches around you, the way she gasps your name between ragged moans, the way she completely melts beneath you, nothing like the ice queen who rules the hallways.
Chaewon's hands fly to your shoulders, nails digging into your skin as she pulls you down to her. There's nothing delicate about it—her kiss is messy, frantic, her lips parted, her breath hot and ragged against yours. She kisses like she's starving for it, like she wants to taste herself on your tongue, like she doesn't care how sloppy it gets.
Your tongues tangle, wet and uncoordinated, her mouth opening wider, drool slicking your chin, mixing with the sweat beading along your skin. She moans into it, needy, desperate, hips shifting beneath you, trying to keep up with the way you fuck her, so different from the composed way she presents herself in class.
You pull back just enough to catch her dazed expression, lips swollen, spit-glossed. A strand of saliva still connects you, snapping when she licks her lips, pupils blown wide with something dangerously close to obsession.
"You don't kiss her like that," she breathes, and it's not a question. It's a victory lap.
No, you don't.
Eunbi kisses soft, slow, careful—under the bleachers after school, sweet and innocent. Chaewon kisses like she wants to ruin you for anyone else. And you let her.
Your response is a sharp thrust, making her yelp, making her arms tighten around your shoulders. Her back arches off the bed, the tiny gold cross necklace her parents gave her for her birthday sliding against her collarbone, and you take the moment to move, dragging yourself out until just the tip remains before shoving back in, hard. Her breath hitches, body tightening, legs shaking.
Then you stop moving.
She whines immediately, brows furrowing, her legs squeezing around you, trying to force you to keep going. But you don't. You let the frustration build, watching her squirm, watching her writhe beneath you—wet, glistening, flushed deep with arousal. She's a fucking mess, and you're not done making her one.
You let the moment hang, let the desperation settle before tilting your head down and spitting—right on her clit. The thick glob lands exactly where you want it, shining against her swollen bud. Before she can even process it, your thumb is there, pressing in, rubbing it in slow, deliberate circles as you start moving again.
She chokes on her breath, body jolting like she just got caught cheating on a test.
"Fuck," she whimpers, fingers clawing at your forearms, legs shaking with every tight, controlled rub.
You're still hovering above her, watching her squirm, watching her fall apart beneath you, burning this image into your brain to replay during the classes you actually attend.
"Eunbi wouldn't let you do that," she gasps, voice breaking, teasing even as she crumbles, the same mouth that gives morning announcements over the school intercom now whimpering your name.
No, she wouldn't.
Eunbi wouldn't moan like this, wouldn't beg like this, wouldn't be dripping like this. Eunbi wouldn't take you like this, wouldn't even dream of skipping AP Lit to fuck in an empty house. Eunbi is SAT prep courses and college applications and volunteer hours.
Chaewon is this.
And that's why you fuck her harder.
Your thrusts grow rougher, deeper, driven by something reckless and insatiable, something you're too young to name but old enough to crave. Chaewon's body rocks beneath you, her moans turning sharper, breathless, spilling into the thick heat of the room. You press down, pinning her fully against the mattress, making sure she takes every inch, making sure she feels all of it.
Her nails scrape against your back, leaving marks that'll sting in the shower after practice, her legs tightening around your waist, pulling you closer, needing you deeper. Her breath stutters between gasps, each one catching higher as you fuck her harder, hungrier, as if there's no tomorrow—no girlfriend still calling, no consequence waiting outside this room, no college future that could evaporate if this gets out.
Risk of getting caught? Forgotten.
Guilt of cheating on your girlfriend? Forgotten.
Eunbi? Forgotten.
The only thing that matters is the way your cock fits so snug against Chaewon's walls, the way she clenches down, tight and desperate, squeezing you with every frantic, high-pitched moan as she completely loses all composure. The Queen Bee of your high school reduced to a whimpering mess beneath you.
She's right there, on the edge, her nails dragging, her hips bucking up, desperate to finish. But you don't let her have it. Not yet. Not when seeing her like this—completely undone, completely yours—is better than any high you've ever chased on the field.
You slow—not in pace, but in control. Shift your weight, dragging her with you, rolling her onto her side without ever slipping out. One of her legs hitches over yours, your grip securing it in place as you push in again, deeper, the angle hitting something inside her that makes her whimper, makes her entire body tense up like she's been shocked.
Her fingers claw at your arm, nails pressing into taut muscle built from varsity workouts, her breath breaking apart into sharp little gasps that fill the bedroom. She's trying to speak, trying to say something, but it keeps getting swallowed between ragged moans.
"I'm—" she tries, voice cracking, "I—fuck—"
The way she stumbles over it, how she can barely get the words out—the girl who always has a comeback, who never shuts up in class—makes something snap inside you. Your cock throbs, swelling even harder, stretching her more as her walls squeeze around you in desperation. Your grip tightens—on her thighs, her ass, her waist. You need to feel her, need to hold every part of her as she comes undone.
Your hands roam—palming the curve of her back, gripping her tits, feeling the way they bounce with every thrust. Then up, fingers tangling into her blonde hair, tugging her head back against the pillows, making sure she feels all of it, all of you.
She pulls a pillow close, biting into it, eyes squeezed shut, drowning in the way you fuck her. The room is thick with the sound of skin against skin, her breathless whimpers breaking into something higher, needier. The air is heavy, thick with sweat, with the intoxicating scent of her—her Victoria's Secret body spray mixing with the raw, musky heat of sex, the sheets carrying the evidence of it. It's overwhelming, suffocating, consuming, every breath filled with her.
You're barely holding on yourself, tension winding tight in your spine, in your stomach, but seeing her like this—seeing her break beneath you, seeing her fall apart in your hands—that's what pushes you closer to the edge.
You grit your teeth, feel your cock twitch inside her, aching, swollen, so fucking close you can taste it. "I'm close," you manage, voice rough, strained, barely holding on.
Chaewon doesn't answer—not with words. Just a moan, high-pitched and wrecked, a breathless whimper spilling past her swollen lips. She turns her head, eyes hazy, half-lidded, looking at you through the blur of sweat and pleasure. Her gaze drops, trailing down your body, watching the way you're fucking into her, the way you stretch her open, the way you own her—this girl who has everything, who everyone wants to be.
Then her hand moves—sliding between her legs, fingers brushing over her swollen, messy clit. She gasps at the contact, whines as she rubs tight, fast circles, her entire body tensing, back arching into you.
The slick, obscene sounds of it mix with her gasps, her slurred curses, her whimpers breaking into desperate, breathless pleas. "Fuck—fuck, fuck, fuck—"
You're right there. So fucking close. This moment of perfect, terrible clarity where nothing exists outside this room—not school, not your future, not even tomorrow.
Chaewon gets there first. Her entire body seizes up, legs trembling, thighs squeezing tight around your waist as she crashes into her orgasm. Her grip turns bruising, hands clawing at you—your back, your arms, your shoulders—grasping for anything, everything as she spirals.
"Oh my fuck!" she screams, head thrown back, voice breaking into something raw and desperate, loud enough that you're suddenly grateful her parents won't be home for hours.
That's it. That's what fucking wrecks you.
Your body locks up, heat pooling at the base of your spine, surging through you like a live wire, so intense it knocks the breath from your lungs. Your cock twitches violently inside her, pulsing, aching, your entire body seizing up—legs tensing, toes curling, muscles locking in place as the pleasure crashes through you. You bury yourself deep one last time before instinct kicks in, before you yank yourself out, your hands shoving her onto her back.
You stroke yourself fast, frantic, desperate, your abs clenching, hips jerking on instinct, chasing that last pulse of pleasure. The sight of her wrecked beneath you, her skin still flushed, her thighs twitching, sends you over the fucking edge. "Shit—" you groan, voice wrecked, guttural, as your cock throbs violently in your grip. The first thick spurt shoots out, streaking across her stomach, hot and filthy, splashing across the curve of her waist, her navel. The rest follows in messy ropes, dribbling down her skin, pooling between her ribs. It's everywhere—sticky, raw, a fucking mess. Chaewon shudders at the sensation, her breath hitching, her thighs still twitching from the aftershocks of her own release.
She exhales, still trembling, thighs twitching, completely spent. A fucked-out smile tugs lazily at her lips as she drags a slow, shaky breath in, her chest rising, coated in the evidence of what you just did to her.
You sit back, gasping, running a hand through your sweat-damp hair, trying to catch your breath. The room smells like sex and sweat and her perfume—a combination that's going to haunt your dreams for weeks.
Chaewon stirs, reaching down without hesitation. Her fingers trail over her stomach, gathering the mess you left on her, scooping up a streak from her skin and bringing it to her mouth. Her tongue flicks out, tasting it, humming low in her throat. Then she does it again—this time from her chest, then her waist, dragging her fingers through the sticky warmth, licking it up like it's second nature.
"Fuck," you breathe, voice wrecked, hand finding her thigh and squeezing it tight.
She moans softly at the contact, smirking as she stretches out beneath you, shameless. "You fucked the shit out of me," she purrs, voice thick, teasing. "Now you gonna think about it the next time you fuck Eunbi, huh?"
Your jaw tightens. The mention of her—your girlfriend—after everything you just did, after the way Chaewon looks right now, smug and satisfied and so fucking filthy, makes something snap.
Your hand flies to her throat, gripping, pinning her back into the sheets. She gasps, but it's not in protest—it's in pleasure. Her lips part, her breath hitches, eyes darkening as she tilts her chin up, inviting more, daring you.
And then your phone rings.
Not just a vibration this time. A full-blown call.
Loud. Shrill. Eunbi.
A cold weight sinks into your chest, heavy, suffocating. The real world crashing back in like a bucket of ice water.
Post-nut clarity slams into you, cutting through the heat still clinging to your skin. Everything crashes in at once—who you are, what you've done, what this means.
You let go of Chaewon's neck like she burns you, scrambling off of her, off the bed, reaching blindly for your phone. Your hands are still shaky as you grab it, answering as fast as you can, voice rough, breath unsteady.
"Hey."
Eunbi's voice is light, sweet, unaware. "Hey, why weren't you replying? It's class change."
Fuck. You swallow hard, running a hand through your damp hair. Your skin is still hot, sticky, the air thick with the lingering heat and smell of musk.
"Uh—I had to walk home to grab something."
A lie. A weak one. But it makes sense. You live close enough to the school that it's not impossible. You just hope she buys it, hope she doesn't hear how your heart is still hammering against your ribs.
"Oh," Eunbi hums. "I got worried."
As she talks, you don't notice Chaewon moving. Not until she's right there, sliding down the bed, her bare body pressing into your side, her face hovering way too close to your cock.
Your breath hitches. Your grip on the phone tightens.
She's smirking. Watching you. Waiting. The same look she gives when she knows the answer to a question no one else can solve.
"You weren't answering," Eunbi says. "I thought something happened."
"Sorry, babe. Didn't mean to worry you."
And that's when Chaewon makes her move.
She doesn't touch your cock. Not yet. Instead, her mouth goes lower, latching onto your balls, sucking wet and slow, tongue swirling over sensitive skin.
A bolt of heat spikes down your spine. Your muscles go tight, your breath cuts short, your fingers dig into the sheets.
"Shit," you almost say out loud—but bite your tongue last second.
Eunbi's still talking. You don't even register what she's saying. Something about meeting at lunch, something about the chem test next period.
Chaewon's fucking grinning, lips stretched around you, her eyes locked onto yours, waiting for you to slip up, to lose control, to moan or gasp or fucking break. The thrill of it clear in her eyes—the risk, the power she has over you right now.
You shove her back, her shoulders hitting the mattress, but all it does is make her giggle—low and sultry, like she's savoring your panic, like she enjoys watching you squirm. Too loudly. Dangerously loud.
Panic seizes your whole body. Your eyes go wide. You press a finger to your lips, mouthing, "Shhh."
Eunbi pauses on the other end. "You okay?"
You force yourself to act normal. To breathe. You push Chaewon away—physically shove her back. She pouts, but she listens, sitting back on her heels, smug and satisfied, before stretching her arms over her head, languid and unbothered. Then, just as easily, she steps off the bed, stretching like a cat, unbothered, like this was nothing more than a game to her.
"Yeah," you say, somehow steady. "I'm fine."
Through the phone, you hear Eunbi giggling, the sound of footsteps, her friends chattering in the background. She's walking to her next class. Completely unaware. The girlfriend who trusts you, who saves you a seat at lunch, who helps you study for tests you're barely passing.
"Okay," she says. "I'll see you at lunch then, babe. Love you."
Silence lingers. A pause that stretches too long.
You should say it back. You need to. But then, you look up.
Chaewon's standing at her closet, slipping on fresh clothes. Her ass is in clear view, the length of her body stretching as she moves, her legs lean and smooth. Her messy tank top clings to her body, damp with sweat, a streak of dried cum still visible on the fabric.
Your mouth feels dry. Your brain short-circuits, caught between what you should feel and what you do feel.
"I love you too," you manage to say, through everything weighing on you, and the call ends with a soft beep.
Chaewon turns to face you.
And she gives you a look.
Not smug. Not teasing.
Just dirty. Unreadable. Something dark and lingering in her eyes.
She doesn't say a word. Just grabs her shorts, turns, and walks out to the bathroom.
The door shuts.
You sit there, still gripping your phone, staring at the space she left behind. Your pulse won't slow down. Not from the panic. Not from the guilt. Not from the fact that even now, even after all of it—you still want her.
Your skin burns, your body tense, still stuck in it. Still feeling it. What you shouldn't have done. But you did. And the worst part? Some fucked-up part of you knows that if she pulled you back into that bed, you wouldn't stop her.
You should feel worse. You should hate yourself.
But Chaewon's still hot as fuck, and that's the problem.
AN: This was originally going to be a longer fic, but I ended up with a newer Chaewon idea, and she’s my ult bias so i cut this down to just the sex.
Sorry to all the Eunbi fans, dw she’ll get her own
Karina X Male Reader | 2500 words
Tags: Rough Sex, Dirty Talk, Spit Play, Hair Pulling, Creampie, just wanna fuck her cuz she's hot af
She just finished getting ready for the club, but she's giving you that look. There's no way you're letting her walk out that door.
Fuck.
She's looking at you with that same look again. That half-lidded gaze that makes your cock twitch in your pants. Karina's sprawled on your couch like she owns the place, that sparkly see-through dress barely covering anything important. Her dark hair spills over her shoulders, and those full lips are slightly parted like she's waiting for you to do something about it.
You've been trying to keep it together all night. But how the hell are you supposed to concentrate when she looks like that?
"Why do you keep looking at me, babe?" she asks, voice honey-sweet but with that edge that tells you she knows exactly what she's doing. Her legs shift slightly, the dress riding up just enough to drive you fucking insane.
Every time she moves, those little crystals on her dress catch the city lights shining through your windows. She's glowing brighter in your living room than she would under any club strobe light, the view all yours instead of being on display for strangers to want what they can't have.
"Why do you keep looking at me like that?" she repeats, biting her lower lip.
That's it. You're done playing this game.
You cross the room in seconds, grabbing her by the face. Her skin is so soft under your rough hands, warm and smooth like silk. You crash your lips against hers, feeling her melt instantly.
When you pull back, her lipstick is smudged. Good.
"Call your girls," you growl against her mouth. "Tell 'em you ain't gonna make it tonight."
Her eyes flash with excitement as she reaches for her phone.
…
The couch is creaking so loud her moans are probably echoing through the entire building, but you couldn't give less of a fuck. Fuck the bed—you don't need it. The couch is your playground tonight, and you're sure as hell gonna break it.
Karina's dress is shoved up around her waist, her tits spilling out from the top where you yanked it down, her panties pushed to the side because you couldn't wait to get inside her. The champagne-colored fabric bunched around her middle only makes her naked skin look more delicious by contrast.
"Fuck, you're so wet," you groan, feeling her pussy grip your cock like it was made for you. Her walls are squeezing you tight, hot and slippery as you pump into her. You take it slow at first, savoring the way her body accepts you inch by inch, the way her breath catches when you're fully seated inside her.
"Been thinking about this all day?"
"Yes," she gasps, her voice breaking as you hit deeper. Her mascara is already starting to smudge at the corners of her eyes. "Wanted you to see me in this dress and just—ah!—lose it."
You pull back until just the tip of your cock is teasing her entrance, watching her face as she whimpers, trying to pull you back in. When you slam back in, the sound she makes is almost inhuman.
One hand digs into her waist, feeling the contrast between the smooth fabric and her even smoother skin. Your other hand presses her thigh open wider, spreading her legs so you can watch yourself disappear inside her over and over. The visual is hypnotic—your cock glistening with her arousal each time you pull out, her pussy lips stretching around your thickness, clinging to you like they don't want to let go.
"Look how pretty your pussy is," you tell her, staring down at where you're connected. Her waxed lips are puffy and pink, stretched around your thickness. Every time you pull out, you're coated in her juices, a string of wetness connecting you to her even when you're apart. "So fucking wet for me."
You maintain a steady rhythm, watching her face contort with pleasure as you hit that spot deep inside her that makes her toes curl. Her lips part in a silent scream, eyes unfocused as she surrenders to the sensation. You can feel the pressure building at the base of your spine, but you fight it off. Not yet. Not nearly yet.
Karina's eyes flash with something dangerous as she suddenly grabs your neck from underneath, pulling you down to her level. Her nails dig into your skin, not enough to hurt but enough to remind you she has claws.
"Spit in my mouth," she demands, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Fucking now."
You oblige, letting a string of saliva fall between her parted lips. She watches it descend with hungry eyes, her tongue darting out to catch it. When it connects, her eyes roll back, a shudder running through her entire body. She's on her worst behavior tonight—and you're right there with her.
Your thrusts become deeper, more deliberate, each one punctuated by the wet sound of your bodies connecting and the sharp slap of skin against skin. The couch cushions shift beneath you, creating new angles that make her gasp and claw at your shoulders.
"Pull my hair," she orders next, her perfect tits jiggling with each thrust as she arches her back. The crystal embellishments on her dress catch the light with each movement, creating a dazzling display across her skin. "I wanna feel you take control."
You tangle your fingers in her dark hair, wrapping it around your fist before yanking just hard enough to expose the delicate line of her throat. Her pulse flutters visibly under her skin, rapid and strong. Her eyes light up with approval, pupils blown wide with desire.
You bend down to taste her exposed neck, dragging your tongue from her collarbone to her jaw, tasting salt and expensive perfume. Her skin pebbles with goosebumps in the wake of your mouth.
"That's it," she moans, one hand reaching down to rub her clit while you fuck her. Her fingers move in tight circles, pressing and releasing in time with your thrusts. Her other hand reaches between your bodies, cupping and squeezing your balls with just the right pressure. "Fuck me like we're the last two people on fucking earth."
You slide two fingers into her mouth, and she sucks them like she's starving for it, eyes never leaving yours. Her tongue swirls between your digits, getting them soaking wet. When you pull them out, a trail of saliva connects her mouth to your hand before breaking.
"Slut me out," she begs, her voice husky and raw. "I'm your whore tonight. Use me up."
Her words hit you like a physical force, sending a jolt of electricity straight to your cock. You feel yourself somehow get even harder inside her, stretching her walls further. Her eyes widen, feeling the change.
"Fuck, you get so big when I talk dirty," she gasps, a proud smile playing on her lips despite her compromised position.
Her words make you snap your hips harder, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the apartment along with the wet squelching noises from her soaked pussy. The obscene soundtrack echoes off the walls, filthy and perfect.
"Yeah? You like being my little whore?" You grip her face, thumb pressing into her cheek, making her look at you while you rail her. "Like it when I fuck this tight pussy?"
"Yes! God, yes!" Her nails rake down your back, definitely leaving marks you'll feel tomorrow. Her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you deeper. "Don't stop, please don't stop!"
She suddenly braces her hands against your chest, pushing with unexpected strength. You're about to ask what's wrong when she speaks.
"I want to ride you," she says, voice thick with need. "Let me show you how bad I can be."
The sight of her taking charge sends a fresh wave of desire through you. You grip her waist, helping her as you both shift positions without disconnecting your bodies. The movement causes your cock to hit new angles inside her, drawing a long, shuddering moan from her throat.
For a moment, you're mesmerized by the view—Karina straddling you, dress bunched around her waist, perfect tits bouncing freely, her body flushed and glistening with sweat. Her hair cascades down her back in wild waves, and her lipstick is smeared across her face from your kisses. She's never looked more beautiful.
She places her hands on your chest for leverage and starts to move, rising up until just the tip of your cock remains inside her before sinking back down with agonizing slowness. Her eyes flutter closed as she takes you to the hilt, a soft "fuck" escaping her lips.
"My turn," she pants, finding her rhythm as she rides you. She grinds her hips in circles that hit spots inside her that make her whole body shudder. "Gonna use you now."
You grab her ass, spreading her cheeks as she bounces on your cock, feeling the firm muscle flex under your palms with each movement. Her tits sway hypnotically with each rise and fall, and you can't resist anymore. You sit up slightly, capturing one perfect nipple in your mouth, swirling your tongue around the hardened peak before sucking hard.
"Oh god," she cries out, her pace faltering as pleasure overtakes her. Her fingers tangle in your hair, holding your mouth against her chest as you worship her breasts, moving from one to the other. "Yes, just like that."
You cup both tits in your hands, feeling their perfect weight as you alternate between licking, sucking, and gently biting her sensitive nipples. She's become a complete mess—hair wild, makeup smudged, dress twisted around her body, eyes unfocused with pleasure as she continues to ride you with increasing desperation.
Her movements become more erratic, her thighs trembling with the effort of lifting and lowering herself.
You can tell she's close, her breathing coming in sharp, quick gasps, her pussy fluttering around your cock with the beginning of her orgasm.
"I'm gonna cum," she whimpers, her body tensing as her rhythm falters completely. "Fuck, fuck, I'm cumming!"
Then, you feel her pussy clenching around your cock, squeezing you with an intensity that nearly pushes you over the edge.
Her back arches dramatically, head thrown back, exposing the elegant line of her throat as she cries out. Her entire body trembles, thighs quivering against yours as the orgasm washes through her.
The sight of her losing control, completely surrendered to pleasure, is almost too much to bear. You grip her hips tightly, holding her in place as you thrust up into her from below, prolonging her orgasm while chasing your own.
"You look so fucking beautiful when you cum," you growl, feeling your own release building rapidly. The pressure at the base of your spine intensifies, your balls drawing tight against your body. "I'm close, baby."
"Do it inside me," she moans, collapsing forward onto your chest, her face nestled in the crook of your neck. Her breath is hot against your skin as she whispers filthy encouragements in your ear. "Fill me up. I need to feel your cum inside me. Please..."
Her begging pushes you over the edge. You wrap one arm around her waist, the other hand gripping her ass as you slam into her one last time. Your vision blurs at the edges, white-hot pleasure exploding through your body as you empty yourself deep inside her. Every muscle in your body tenses as you pulse within her, painting her walls with rope after rope of hot cum.
"Fuck, FUCK!" you groan, the intensity of your orgasm making you dizzy. Your hips continue to jerk involuntarily, shallow thrusts as you ride out the aftershocks.
Karina captures your mouth in a deep, messy kiss as you both come down from your high, bodies still connected, still shuddering against each other. Your tongues slide together lazily, the urgency gone but the intimacy deeper now. You can feel your cum starting to leak out of her, creating a warm, wet mess between your bodies, but neither of you cares.
For several long moments, you just breathe together, her forehead pressed against yours, both of you covered in sweat and sex and satisfaction. Her weight on top of you is perfect, grounding. Your hands trace idle patterns across her back, feeling the occasional aftershock ripple through her.
After catching your breath, you're still half-hard inside her, neither of you wanting to move. The bass from her phone vibrates against the coffee table—her girls blowing it up with texts.
"I should probably go," she says, voice raspy from screaming, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "My friends are waiting." Her phone buzzes again. "The club's meant to see me tonight."
You look down at her—flushed skin, swollen lips, your cum leaking out of her—and raise an eyebrow. "Bullshit. You're not going anywhere."
Her smile widens as you start to harden inside her again. Your hand slides up to her throat, applying just enough pressure to make her breath catch.
"No," she agrees, pulling you down for another kiss that tastes like everything you shouldn't want but can't live without. "It’s still early, and I'm not done being bad yet."
Kim Chaewon x Male Reader ft. Eunbi
Pt 2 of Dumb.
Tags: cheating, light bratty elements, backshots, reckless decisions, tension, guilty pleasure, hooking up at a party, I like chaewon more im sorry
Being a good boyfriend at a party? Boooring.
Letting your girlfriend’s best friend drag you upstairs to fuck? Awh shit here we go again.
Her lips stretch around your cock, wet but controlled. Perfect, but not desperate. No mess, no frantic need to take more than she can handle. Just slow, deliberate motions, the kind that look good in the mirror she angled herself toward before she started.
Fuck, why can't she just let go for once?
It feels good, you admit, but not as good as it could. Not as good as it should.
Eunbi keeps her hands to herself. No stroking, no slick trails of saliva over her fingers. Just her mouth, just the steady rhythm of her tongue gliding against your shaft, the soft press of her lips forming a seal as she bobs down, then up again. It's careful. Too careful.
You want to tell her to stop thinking about how it looks. To stop being so fucking pretty about it. But you don't.
Her room smells like fresh laundry and vanilla lotion. The soft cotton of her bed sheets beneath you feels clean, untouched, like everything she owns. The dim light from her nightstand lamp casts a glow over her skin, making her look softer, younger. Her sweater is slipping off one shoulder, delicate pearl necklace resting against her collarbone—a birthday gift from her parents that she never takes off, even now.
She looks like she belongs in a romance movie, not on her knees with your cock between her lips.
Everything in her room is carefully arranged, intentional. Cream-colored sheets, layered blankets with knit textures, a few decorative pillows placed neatly against the headboard. A woven rug spreads beneath the bed, soft against your feet. No clutter, no mess. A single shelf above her desk holds a couple of books—her worn copy of "Pride and Prejudice" with color-coded sticky notes peeking out, her planner filled with perfectly-lettered assignments and deadlines, a small potted succulent she waters every Sunday, and a framed photo of her and her friends at homecoming—perfectly centered.
Not a single thing out of place. Not even when she's doing this.
She has plushies, but only a few, lined up neatly on a chair in the corner rather than scattered around the bed. The Rilakkuma bear you won her at the fair sits front and center—a trophy of your relationship, displayed like evidence. The walls are warm-toned, decorated with woven macramé and string lights draped just right, giving the room a soft, effortless aesthetic. Everything in here feels curated, thought-out, a space meant to be calm, peaceful. A room that doesn't belong in the same world as you know who.
She looks good like this. Hair neatly tucked behind her ear, cheeks hollowed out in a way that makes her look like some perfectly curated fantasy. The kind of girl you bring home, not sneak around with.
This should be enough. This should be all you want. So why isn't it?
She makes it look effortless, makes it look like something out of a scene meant to be remembered, meant to be admired. But that's the problem. It's pretty—too much so. Like she's thinking about how this looks, not how it feels.
You want to grab her hair, push her down, make her take more—see if she can let go for once. But you already know she won't.
She's kneeling between your legs, jaw working as she takes you in again, but there's a hesitance. A limit. She won't spit. Won't let it get messy. Won't let it drip past her lips or smear across her chin. Won't use her hands, won't pump you in time with her mouth, won't let her own arousal turn this into something real.
It's a performance. A perfect, practiced performance.
She's soft. Gentle. Controlled. Not like her.
Not like Chaewon, who'd already have you up against the wall by now, who'd have spit running down her chin and wouldn't give a single fuck.
You tell yourself it should be enough. That it feels good. That you should just take what she's giving you. But some part of you—some selfish, impatient part—already knows where your mind is going next.
She just wants to be good at it. Not filthy, not desperate—just good. And that's the problem, isn't it?
You're frustrated.
"Come on," you murmur, voice thick, pleading. "Just a little deeper."
Your fingers sink into her hair, gentle but insistent, urging. Not forcing—never forcing—but hoping she'll listen, that she'll feel the way your body aches for more, that she'll give you more.
Eunbi shakes her head. A small, simple movement. No.
Your stomach tightens. "Please?" You swallow hard, trying again, voice quieter this time. "Just for a second."
Jesus, you're practically begging now. Has it really come to this?
She doesn't stop, doesn't even pause—her tongue moves over you, warm and slow, dragging along the underside, circling the tip, keeping her rhythm neat and measured. She kisses the sides, lets her lips glide over your length, keeps her pace controlled. Too controlled.
It's good. She's good. Gorgeous, poised, deliberate—like everything about her. Her dark lashes flutter as she looks up at you, the golden light from her bedside lamp soft against her skin, casting her in something warm, something that makes her feel untouchable. Like she belongs on a canvas, not on her knees.
But it's not enough.
You let out a breath, low, shaky. "Eunbi, please," you whine, shifting, trying not to thrust too much into her mouth, trying to keep still, trying to let her set the pace. "I need more. Please, just—"
"I said no."
Her voice is quiet but firm, steady, like she's not even considering it. Like it's a boundary so deeply ingrained she doesn't even feel the need to explain. No.
She pulls back slightly, looking up at you with those doe eyes that normally make you melt. "I don't like when you push like this," she adds, a hint of disappointment in her tone. "You know that."
Fuck. Now you feel like shit for even asking.
You groan, tilting your head back against her pillows, burning with frustration, trying to fight the desperation curling inside you. She's so beautiful. The way she looks like this, her lips wet, her hair falling in soft waves over her shoulder, the way her touch is careful, precise
—
But it's not dirty. It's not messy. It's not what you need.
What's wrong with you that this perfect girl isn't enough?
She stops before you finish.
Just pulls away, composed, dabbing the corner of her mouth with her thumb before smoothing a hand over her hair, like she's fixing herself in a mirror, like she's resetting.
You let out a breath, half a groan, running a hand over your face, still aching, still tense, still fucking needing—
"Can I at least fuck you?"
It comes out rough, raw, too exposed, but you don't care. You need it. Need her. Need something.
Eunbi exhales, standing up, brushing invisible dust off her sweater, already moving on. Already done.
"I need to study. The AP Bio exam is next week, and I still haven't gone through the last chapter." She gestures to the color-coded study guide on her desk, sticky notes and highlighters arranged by subject. "You know how important this is for my scholarship application."
Like it's obvious. Like it's the only thing that matters now. Like you weren't just in her mouth, half-delirious, seconds away from losing it.
Right. The perfect student. The perfect girlfriend. Never lets anything get in the way of her future—not even you.
You stare, blinking, trying to catch up, trying to process how she does this—how she always does this.
Your head falls back against the bed. A groan rumbles from your throat, frustrated, unsatisfied.
"We haven't fucked in days," you mutter, half a whine, half an accusation.
She glances at you, unimpressed. "Maybe you should be studying too." She pauses, softening slightly. "Your Calc grade isn't exactly where it needs to be for State, is it?"
Low blow. But she's not wrong.
Then she picks up her laptop, flips it open, and just like that, you're forgotten. The light from the screen illuminates her face, highlighting her focused expression—the tiny furrow between her brows that appears when she's concentrating. Even frustrated, you can't help but notice how pretty she looks like this, how dedicated.
Your breath comes slow, heavy. You stare at the ceiling, still pulsing, still hard, still aching with nowhere to put it.
This isn't working. Not today, not anymore.
Then—
Your phone buzzes.
You reach for it, thumb sliding over the screen, hardly thinking, barely hoping.
A message.
From her.
But not under her name. You're not that dumb.
Your stomach tightens, pulse kicking up.
Chaewon.
"You and Eunbi are coming to Yena's party, right?"
You hesitate, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you finally type, "Idk, Eunbi's being lame."
Fuck, that feels disloyal. But it's true, isn't it? You almost laugh at the absurdity—worried about a text when you've had your cock inside her best friend. Your moral compass is seriously fucked.
The reply comes fast.
"Awh, what? She didn't give you what you wanted again?"
You don't answer. You don't need to. Your silence is enough—it always is with Chaewon. She reads you like a book, knows you in ways Eunbi never tries to.
A moment later, another message from her.
"I always give you what you want."
The frustration lingers, simmering under your skin. But now, it's shifting—turning into something else entirely.
You shouldn't answer. You should put the phone down. Focus on Eunbi. Be better.
But your thumb hovers over the keyboard, and you know exactly what you'll type next.
Chaewon is already on her knees. Mouth open, spit trailing from her lips.
This isn't a performance. This isn't careful. This is fucking chaos.
It's messy. So fucking messy. Drool pools at the corners of her mouth, her throat taking your cock fully. She doesn't just take it—she devours it. Not one controlled motion, not a single thought about how it looks—just raw, desperate need.
So different from Eunbi's careful rhythm, her pristine technique. This isn't romance. This is hunger.
The bass from the speakers rattles the walls, the muffled sound of people shouting over music bleeding through the door but distant—because you're upstairs, in Yena's family bathroom, the one she reluctantly said people could use if they absolutely needed to. "Just don't go in any bedrooms," she'd warned everyone at the start. "My parents would kill me."
Downstairs is chaos—bodies pressed together, drinks sloshing, someone shrieking with laughter while Yena yells over the music. An hour in, Chaewon caught your eye from across the room, a slow, knowing smirk curling at her lips. She tilted her head toward the stairs, eyebrow raised in silent question. You didn't hesitate. You followed, slipping up the forbidden staircase when Yena wasn't looking.
Eunbi would never. Not at a party. Not with people around. Not in a place you weren't supposed to be.
And now you're here.
Her hands stroke your cock in time with the bob of her head, tight and slick, not caring where the spit lands. It drips from her fingers, slides down her wrist, pools on the floor beneath her knees. She fucking enjoys this. Loves the way your cock twitches in her grip, loves the way your breathing turns ragged as she ruins you with her mouth.
You watch, mesmerized, as she pulls back to the tip, lets saliva gather on her tongue, then sinks back down in one fluid motion. The contrast of her lipstick—still perfectly applied, dark against her skin—makes the whole thing feel filthier somehow. That perfect makeup, ruined by what she's doing to you.
She moans around you, the vibration sending a shudder up your spine. Her eyes flick up to yours, holding your gaze as she takes you deeper, deeper than anyone should be able to. When she reaches the base, she swallows—her throat constricting around you in waves that make your vision blur.
Where Eunbi keeps her hands to herself, Chaewon uses everything—fingers, palms, nails dragging just hard enough to make you shiver. No limits. No hesitation.
Your jeans and boxers are shoved down to your ankles, forgotten, useless. You're exposed, vulnerable, and fuck—she knows it.
She pulls off you with a wet pop, her lips slick, cheeks flushed. Then, with that wicked little smirk, she grips your cock and slaps it against her lips, her tongue flicking out between each tap. The sound is obscene in the quiet bathroom—wet, needy, filthy.
"She doesn't do this for you, does she?" she murmurs, voice wrecked, lips glossy with a mix of saliva and you.
The way she says "she"—like Eunbi is a concept, not a person. Like she's something to be pitied for not knowing how to make you fall apart.
You can barely think, barely breathe, but she doesn't give you time to recover.
"I missed your cock," she purrs, stroking you slow, teasing. "Forgot how fucking big you are."
Her thumb circles the head, spreading the wetness there, toying with the sensitive spot just beneath it. Your hips jerk involuntarily, and she laughs—a low, satisfied sound.
She leans in, but instead of taking you back into her mouth, she runs her tongue along the underside, tracing the vein from base to tip in one long, slow drag. When she reaches the head, she swirls her tongue around it, then blows cool air against the wetness, making you hiss through clenched teeth.
Eunbi would never talk like this. Would never say the word "cock" like it's candy on her tongue. Would never play with you like a cat with a mouse.
You thread your fingers through her hair, not pushing, just holding on as she continues her assault on your senses. She responds by taking just the tip between her lips, sucking hard, then releasing it with another obscene pop. Again and again, she does this—never giving you the full warmth of her mouth, just teasing, edging, driving you mad.
"You want more?" she asks, letting your cock rest heavily against her cheek, leaving a wet smear across her skin. "Tell me how badly you want it."
Your breath catches. Words fail you. She waits, patient in her cruelty, one eyebrow raised.
"Please," you finally manage, the word raw and desperate.
She rewards you by taking you deep again—so deep you feel the back of her throat, feel her gag slightly before adjusting. But she doesn't pull back. Instead, she stays there, swallowing around you, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes from the effort. The sight alone nearly finishes you—Chaewon, kneeling before you, taking you so deep it hurts, mascara starting to run.
She lowers her mouth again—but not where you expect.
You thud back against the counter as her lips part over your balls, warm, wet, sucking soft before her tongue drags slow and filthy along the skin. You choke on a moan, hands gripping the edge of the sink, barely keeping yourself upright.
You'd never even dream of asking Eunbi for this. The thought of her perfect mouth anywhere but where she decides it should be feels impossible.
The risk? Insane.
Eunbi is downstairs. Completely oblivious, probably sipping whatever drink Yena handed her, scanning the room for you. Probably checking her watch, wondering if you're just talking to someone. Trusting you, even now.
Your moral compass isn't just fucked. It's shattered.
A burst of laughter outside the door—someone else who snuck upstairs. Footsteps. Then—a knock.
You freeze.
Your stomach drops. Chaewon? She just grins. Breathless, messy, still on her knees.
"Occupied," she calls out, voice sweet, almost sing-song.
Where Eunbi would panic, straighten her clothes, check her appearance—Chaewon thrives on the risk.
A pause. The shuffle of footsteps. Then the voices move away, back toward the stairs—likely another couple looking for privacy in the off-limits zone, disappointed to find the bathroom taken.
She presses her hands against your thighs, digging in just enough to ground you, before tilting her head up. The bathroom light catches the deep brown of her hair, the strands sleek and polished where they frame her face.
A weeks ago, the blonde had made her look sharp, dangerous—but this? This soft brown, paired with the glitter dusting her collarbones, the sequined dress clinging to her body, the way she looks up at you with that expression—
She doesn't just turn heads anymore. She kills.
And she's about to kill you, too.
Suddenly, she takes you even deeper.
Your head slams back against the mirror as she forces herself down, throat tightening, swallowing around you until her nose brushes your skin. She stays there for a moment, the heat, the pressure, unbearable—before pulling back just enough to suck in a desperate breath, spit dripping from her chin. Then she does it again. And again. Wrecking you.
Her hands are everywhere now—gripping your thighs, sliding up to your stomach, tracing the line of muscle that disappears beneath her lips. She moans around you, like she's getting off on this too, like having you in her mouth is as good for her as it is for you.
The wet sounds fill the bathroom—obscene, filthy noises that would make anyone flush with embarrassment. But not her. She revels in it, makes it even messier, even louder.
Everything Eunbi wouldn't do. Everything you begged for earlier. Everything you needed.
Your legs nearly give out, knees weak, hands scrambling for something—anything—to hold onto. You fist her hair, not to control, just to survive.
She pulls back just enough to take a breath, your cock still resting on her tongue, before diving back down. She establishes a rhythm now—brutal, relentless, taking you to the edge and keeping you there. Each time she reaches the base, she swallows, throat constricting around you in waves that make your vision blur.
When you're close—so close you can barely stand it—she feels it, knows it from the tension in your thighs, the way your breath hitches. And she pulls back, letting cool air hit wet skin, making you gasp at the sudden change.
"Not yet," she whispers, stroking you with a tight grip that's just shy of enough. "I'm not done playing with you."
Before you can protest, she's sucking at the head again, tongue flicking across the slit, gathering the wetness there. Her free hand slides lower, cupping your balls, rolling them gently between her fingers.
The dual sensation has you seeing stars, biting your lip to keep from crying out. Your hips jerk forward, seeking more, but she controls the pace now, keeping you right at the edge.
Chaewon pulls off with a gasp, dragging the back of her hand across her mouth, a strand of spit snapping between her lips and your cock. Her gaze flicks up to yours, dark, knowing. Smug.
"I want more," she murmurs, voice rough, fingers curling around the waistband of your jeans. She pulls them up for you, tugging your boxers into place, smoothing the fabric down over your still-hard cock.
Not "I need to study." Not "Maybe later." Just raw, honest want.
Then, like nothing happened, she turns to the sink. Washes her hands, pats her lips dry, eyes catching yours in the mirror. That smirk still lingers.
She doesn't ask if you're following her. She knows you are.
With Eunbi, you follow rules. With Chaewon, you just do.
Chaewon grabs your wrist and pulls you toward the door, slipping out of the bathroom like a ghost. The upstairs hallway is empty—everyone else obediently staying downstairs like Yena instructed, the music and voices a distant roar beneath your feet. Up here, it's just the two of you, the dim light causing the hallway to be bathed in shadows.
The forbidden zone. Where you definitely shouldn't be. Where Eunbi would never go.
She finds an empty bedroom—one of the guest rooms, judging by the neutral decor. Pushes the door open. Steps inside.
And you go with her. Even knowing Eunbi is somewhere downstairs, even knowing what this makes you, you follow Chaewon without hesitation.
Because Eunbi gives you what you should want. But Chaewon gives you what you need.
The door clicks shut behind you, sealing the two of you away from the chaos downstairs. Neither of you bother with the light switch. The only illumination comes from the moonlight cutting through the blinds, painting soft silver lines across her skin. It's enough. You see her clearly. She sees you. You both know exactly what you want. The music is a distant thrum beneath your feet, the muffled sounds of voices and laughter nothing more than background noise.
Chaewon doesn't wait. She shoves you back onto the bed, her hands pressed against your chest as she straddles your lap, her weight sinking onto you like she belongs there. Her mouth crashes onto yours, all heat and urgency, a clash of lips and teeth, her breath warm and sharp with the faint taste of alcohol.
She kisses like she does everything—reckless, unrestrained, like she has something to prove. Her tongue flicks against yours, demanding, teasing, making you groan against her lips. Your fingers find her thighs, gripping, kneading the soft skin before sliding up, tracing the curve of muscle until they meet the hem of her dress. You push it higher, inch by inch, the sequined fabric rough against your palms, a contrast to the impossibly smooth skin beneath.
She doesn't stop you. She only presses closer, grinding against you in a slow, deliberate roll of her hips that has your cock straining painfully against your jeans. The heat of her is everywhere, suffocating, intoxicating. You can feel the dampness of her through the layers of fabric, her body already responding, already wanting.
Your bodies remember each other. Like muscle memory. Like addiction.
Your hands drift up, slipping beneath the fabric, palms mapping the dip of her abdomen, the delicate ridge of her ribs, the smooth arch of her waist. She's warm, taut, her body tight beneath your touch, and fuck—you've wanted this, wanted her, for far too long. The softness of her skin contrasts with the firmness of muscle beneath—every inch of her body a testament to perfect discipline, now coming apart under your hands.
"You fucking love my body don’t ya?" she whispers, arching into your touch. "You must love how tight I am."
The kiss breaks, her breath fanning against your lips, both of you panting. You lift a hand to your mouth, never taking your eyes off her as you drag your tongue over two fingers, wetting them slowly, deliberately. The moonlight catches the gleam of saliva on your skin.
Her gaze drops, watching you, pupils dark, mouth slightly parted. She doesn't say anything, but the way she looks at you, the way her hips press down just a little harder, says enough. Her breathing changes—shortened, expectant—a minute shift that only happens when she knows what's coming.
You reach between her legs.
Jesus Christ.
Your fingers find lace, the damp fabric clinging to her, heat radiating through it. You push it aside, and the moment your fingers slide over her, you feel it—slick, dripping, obscene. The wetness coats your fingertips instantly, spreading as you press in, parting her folds. The sensation is electric—soft, swollen flesh giving way beneath your touch, the slickness making everything frictionless, perfect.
A filthy squelch fills the air, louder than it should be, and your stomach tightens. She's so fucking wet, soaking for you, sticky and warm, coating your skin like she's been waiting for this all night. The evidence of her arousal is undeniable—a primal, visceral response that no amount of performance could fake.
A groan rips from your throat before you can stop it. "Fuck."
Chaewon smirks against your jaw, lips dragging over the sensitive skin there, breath hot and teasing. "You hear how wet I am for you? Nobody gets me this fucking soaked."
You push two fingers inside her, easy, effortless. She gasps, her walls clenching tight around you, slick and needy, sucking your fingers deeper. Her hands grip your shoulders, nails biting into your skin as she rocks against you, fucking herself onto your hand, chasing more. You can feel the flutter of her inner muscles, the way they grip and release around your fingers, drawing you in deeper with each pulse.
Each roll of her hips makes it filthier, makes the sound of it wetter, the obscene noise of her arousal filling the dimly lit room. The slick noises of your fingers moving inside her cut through the distant bass from downstairs, somehow more real than anything happening at the party. There's something primal about that sound—wet, hungry, honest.
Her lips ghost over your ear, voice rough, desperate. "Been thinking about your cock stretching me open all fucking night."
Your cock throbs painfully in response, stiff and aching, pressing insistently against the confines of your jeans. She feels it, of course she does. And then—
She reaches down.
She pulls you out, fingers curling around your length, slow and deliberate, stroking just enough to tease but not enough to satisfy. The contrast of her small hand wrapped around you, her grip firm but playful, makes your stomach clench. She watches your face as she does it, reading every twitch of your brows, every sharp inhale. She knows exactly what she's doing to you. The cool air of the room hits your heated skin, making you even more aware of how hard you are, how desperate.
One touch and you're already at her mercy.
Your hand is still between her legs, fingers coated in her slick, but before you can push deeper, she bats it away, shaking her head. She wants control, and you give it to her, because there's no other option. You're completely at her mercy.
She drags the tip of your cock against her folds, rolling her hips just enough to spread her arousal over you, painting you with her wetness. The sensation is maddening, teasing, an unbearable heat that has your fingers tightening on her hips, clutching her like she's the only thing tethering you to the earth. The silken glide of her against you, the warmth, the slickness—it's a cruel preview of what waits just beyond.
The way she uses her own wetness to slick you up. No hesitation. No shame. Just raw fucking need.
She hums, pleased, as she does it again. Slow. Excruciating. The head of your cock catches against her entrance, almost slipping in before she pulls away again, denying you both what you want. The tease is calculated, precise—she knows exactly how to wind you up, how to make you desperate.
You groan, forehead dropping against her shoulder, breathing hard. The teasing is torture.
She giggles, dark and amused. "You always get so needy for me." She grinds against you again, coating your cock with her slick. "Bet she doesn't fuck you like I do."
Then, in one smooth, fluid motion, she sinks down.
Your breath stutters, a guttural moan ripped from your throat as she takes you to the base in one go, her walls gripping you like a vice, hot and suffocating, squeezing you so tight it borders on unbearable. The sudden engulfing heat is a shock to your system—going from the cool air to the burning, tight clutch of her body in an instant.
"Fuck," she gasps, voice breaking. "So big. You stretch me so fucking good."
Your head falls back, eyes locked on where your bodies meet, watching your cock disappear into her slick heat, swallowed by her perfect, tight body. The visual alone nearly makes you come—the contrast of her against you, the way she stretches around your thickness, the gleam of her arousal coating both of you. There's something hypnotic about the junction where your bodies connect, something primal and satisfying about the visual proof of your joining.
Chaewon trembles, her thighs flexing as she adjusts, muscles taut, abs tightening as she takes you fully, stretching around you. Her mouth falls open, breath hitching, a choked moan slipping free. The moonlight catches the sweat beginning to form along her collarbones, making her skin gleam like she's been dusted with silver.
She bites her lip, eyes hazy as she exhales slow, feeling every inch of you inside her. "oh my god," she whispers, nails digging into your chest, anchoring herself against you as she shudders, as she finally lets herself feel it—the fullness, the way you stretch her open.
You barely hold yourself together. She's so tight, so warm, so fucking perfect, gripping you like she was made for this. For a moment, neither of you move. It's too much, too good, too fucking overwhelming. You can feel the subtle pulsing of her inner muscles as they adjust to your size, the minute tremors running through her thighs as she holds herself still.
Then she does.
A slow, torturous roll of her hips. Making sure you feel every inch of her. The movement causes a ripple effect through her body—the subtle flex of her abdominal muscles, the shift in her posture, the way her breath catches when you hit a spot deeper inside her.
The way she works her body. The absolute control she has. Like she's been studying exactly how to make you lose your mind.
Your fingers press bruises into her skin, trying to ground yourself as she starts to move, her control unwavering, her pace teasing. She isn't rushing—this is for her first. The slow drag of your cock inside her, the way her walls flutter each time she lifts herself just a little before sinking back down, inch by inch, stretching around you over and over.
Her nails rake over your neckt, leaving faint red trails in their wake, legs trembling slightly as she builds her rhythm, grinding first, then lifting herself higher, letting herself adjust before coming back down, harder. You can see the concentration on her face, the focus as she finds the angle that works best, the depth that makes her breath stutter.
"Shit! You feel so fucking good inside me," she breathes, voice breaking with each thrust.
Then she lifts all the way up, just enough that only the tip remains inside her. And then she drops.
You groan, your hands flying to her hips, helping, guiding, lifting her before dropping her back down onto your cock, bouncing her, feeding her exactly what she wants. The feeling of her coming down around you again and again is almost too much—each time she sinks onto you, her pussy seems to grip you tighter, wetter, hungrier. The impact of her body meeting yours sends shockwaves through both of you, the wet slap of skin on skin adding to the symphony of sounds filling the room.
She cries out, her head tipping back, letting herself get lost in it. Her thighs flex, her abs tightening each time she slams down, using the strength in her body to fuck herself onto you harder, faster. You feel everything—the tightness, the heat, the sheer hunger behind every movement. The sequins of her dress catch the moonlight as it shifts around her body, like she's wrapped in stars, coming apart in your hands.
This is what sex is supposed to be. Not careful. Not controlled. Just fucking animal.
The rhythm builds. She grinds deep in between, tilting her hips, rolling against you to hit just the right spot, her moans turning into high, desperate whimpers. The sound of her getting closer to the edge makes your cock throb inside her, makes you want to flip her over and take control, but there's something hypnotic about watching her use you like this—the pleasure on her face, the flush spreading across her chest, the sweat making her skin gleam in the half-light.
Her breathing turns ragged, her voice dissolving into gasps, unrestrained, loud enough that if anyone was standing outside the door, they'd know exactly what she was doing to you. And she doesn't care. Each exhale carries a moan, each inhale a gasp as she works herself on your cock, taking exactly what she needs.
"Bet she never rides your cock like this," she pants, voice raw with pleasure.
Downstairs, people are dancing, drinking, talking. Up here, the world's ending. And you're both happy to burn.
You don’t respond, all you can do is grip her harder, guide her movements, lift her higher, bring her down faster, lose yourself in the feel of her. Her pussy is fucking wrapped around around you, slick and hot and perfect, squeezing with each movement like she's trying to milk every last drop from you. The heat between your bodies grows, sweat making your skin slide together, the air in the room thick with the scent of sex.
She moves faster. Filthy. Unapologetic. Fucking you like she owns you. Her movements become less controlled, more desperate—a frantic search for release that has her grinding down harder, taking you deeper, her entire body tensed and trembling as she chases her pleasure.
The bed creaks beneath you, the frame knocking against the wall, the bass from the party downstairs pulsing through the floor, through your bones. The rhythm of the music below seems to sync with her movements, like the whole night is building to this collision. The distant thump of bass is a counterpoint to the wet sounds of your bodies joining, creating a soundtrack to your recklessness.
Every sound outside makes this hotter. The risk, the recklessness—it fuels her, fuels both of you. Knowing that just a floor below, everyone is oblivious. Knowing that at any moment, someone could come looking. Knowing that what you're doing is wrong in all the ways that feel so fucking right.
"I'm the only one who knows how to take this cock," she moans, her movements becoming more erratic, more desperate.
This is what you needed. Her body. Her.
Without warning, she leans forward, her hands pressing against your chest for balance, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps. Then she shifts, twisting her body until she's facing away from you, her legs tucking neatly beneath yours, straddling you in reverse cowgirl.
Not just a new position. A fucking display.
Your cock slips free from her dripping cunt, the sudden loss of warmth making you groan. The head catches briefly on her swollen lips before it slaps wetly against your stomach, coated in her juices, gleaming in the dim light. You're drenched in her—your cock, your balls, even your thighs sticky with evidence of how fucking soaked she is for you.
The moonlight catches every bead of sweat on her neck and shoulders, highlighting the dip of her spine, the perfect curve where it meets her ass. Her skin is flushed pink where your fingers gripped too hard, already bruising—marking her as yours.
She reaches down between her legs, fingers slick with her own arousal, and wraps them around the base of your cock. You feel the squelch as she grips you, her fluids making her grip slippery. Her thumb smears through the mess at the base, mixing your pre-cum with her slick in a filthy cocktail.
Even her hands are fucking dripping.
She angles your length against her entrance, rolling her hips, dragging the tip through the wetness that coats her inner thighs. You can see it in the moonlight—her arousal literally dripping from her cunt, trailing down her thighs in glistening rivulets. She's so fucking wet it's obscene, her pussy swollen and red from the pounding, lips puffy and spread.
Then, slowly, she starts to sink down. You watch, mesmerized, as her cunt stretches around you again, the pink flesh yielding, spreading, taking your girth inch by inch. The sight of your cock disappearing into her is hypnotic—the contrast of her tight hole struggling to accommodate you, the way her body swallows you up.
She sinks down, and this time you can see everything. The way her asshole clenches reflexively with each inch she takes. The way her pussy lips stretch thin around your shaft. The way her thighs shake with the effort of controlling her descent. You can even see where you're splitting her open, where she's stretched to her limit around you.
The moment she bottoms out, taking you to the base, your hands fly to her waist. Your cock is buried so deep you swear you can see the faint outline of it pressing against her lower abdomen, distending her slightly from the inside.
You're rearranging her guts and she's fucking loving it.
Your jaw clenches, a low, wrecked groan spilling from your lips as you take in the sight before you. Her ass—round, perfect, jiggling slightly with each small adjustment. The dimples at the base of her spine. The way her pussy grips the base of your cock, her arousal seeping out around it, making the junction of your bodies a sticky, filthy mess.
Her ass bounces against you as she starts to move, the wet slapping sounds echoing in the room. Each time she lifts up, your cock emerges glistening, coated in her cream, only to disappear again as she drops back down. The suction of her body creates obscene noises—squelching, slurping sounds that should be embarrassing but only make you harder.
Your eyes trace lower, to the tight, puckered rim of her ass. It winks with each movement, clenching and relaxing as she works herself on your cock. A thin trickle of her own arousal has traveled up from her pussy, making it glisten invitingly in the dim light.
A rush of heat surges through you. You lift a hand to your mouth, gathering saliva, making sure it's wet enough, filthy enough. A long strand of spit trails from your lips to your thumb as you pull it away.
Then you press it against her ass, rubbing slow, teasing circles around the tight pucker. It's damp from her own juices running down, making your thumb glide easily against the sensitive skin. You feel her whole body jolt at the contact, her pussy clamping down around your cock in response.
She almost screams, her back arching sharply. You push your thumb in deeper, past the tight ring of muscle. The heat inside is scorching, the pressure intense as her body struggles to accommodate the intrusion. Her asshole grips your thumb like a vice, pulsing around it as she adjusts.
Two holes filled. Two ways to own her completely.
"Fuck—" she gasps, voice breaking into a whine. Her rhythm falters as her body processes the dual penetration, the overwhelming fullness of being stretched in two places at once.
You can feel your own cock through the thin membrane separating her passages—feel the rigid hardness of it pressing against your thumb. The knowledge that you're filling both her holes at once, stretching her to her limits, sends a primal surge of satisfaction through you.
She's dripping now—literally dripping. Each time she lifts herself up, a fresh gush of her arousal spills down, coating your balls, soaking into the sheets beneath you. The bed is getting drenched, the spot beneath you growing dark with the evidence of her need.
You take your other hand and trail it up her body, over the sweat-slick plane of her stomach, feeling the muscles jump under your touch. Her nipples are hard enough to cut glass, poking through the thin fabric like pebbles. You pinch one roughly, rolling it between your fingers, feeling her whole body clench in response.
She leans back against you, her spine a perfect arch, her head falling onto your shoulder. You can see the veins in her neck straining as she gasps for air, see the flush spreading across her chest, turning her skin a deep rose. Sweat drips from her hairline, tracing glistening paths down her temples, her neck, between her breasts.
Her nails dig into your thighs, breaking skin, leaving crescent-shaped welts as she uses you for leverage. She starts to bounce harder, faster, her control slipping. Each time she drops down, the impact forces a grunt from her lips, a primal sound torn from deep in her chest.
You can feel it—the way her walls are spasming around your cock, gripping erratically, her body starting to lose rhythm as she approaches the edge. She's soaking wet, her arousal making obscene squelching noises with each thrust. The sounds are pornographic—wet, sloppy, filthy—the soundtrack of two bodies using each other without restraint.
Your thumb presses deeper into her ass, timing the thrusts with the bouncing of her hips. Each time she drops down on your cock, you push in with your thumb, ensuring she feels stuffed from both ends. The double penetration has her babbling, incoherent sounds spilling from her lips as her brain short-circuits from the overload.
Her moans grow higher, more desperate. The pace is frantic now, almost brutal—her ass slapping against your thighs hard enough to sting, to leave both of you marked. The wet sounds grow louder, sloppier, as her body produces more slick, preparing for release.
She's going to flood the fucking bed when she comes.
The pleasure coils tight inside both of you, unbearable pressure building at the base of your spine, in your balls, making them draw up tight against your body. You're fighting it, gritting your teeth, determined to feel her break first.
Your grip tightens, fingers digging into the sweat-slick skin of her waist hard enough to leave bruises, marks that will last for days, reminding her who did this to her.
"Chaewon, I—"
She doesn't let you finish.
Her hands fly back, fingers wrapping tight around your wrists, pinning them down. She slams herself down onto you one final time—forcing you impossibly deep, grinding her ass against your pelvis in tight circles, making sure you feel every ripple, every clench of her inner walls.
A wrecked sound rips from your throat as your control shatters. Your cock pulses violently inside her, the first spurt of cum hitting deep, painting her insides. She feels it—you know she does, from the way her breath catches, from the way her cunt clamps down even tighter, milking you, demanding every last drop.
She gasps, her entire body seizing as her own orgasm hits. Her pussy convulses around your cock in rhythmic pulses, squeezing, releasing, each contraction drawing another jet of cum from you. Her thighs shake uncontrollably, her abs tightening so hard they cramp. Her asshole clenches rhythmically around your thumb, synchronized with the pulsing of her cunt.
She's cumming. Hard.
A gush of wetness floods around your cock, her release spilling out, soaking both of you further. It drips down, adding to the mess between your bodies, the evidence of her pleasure impossible to contain.
"F-fuck—" The word shatters in her throat, dissolving into a high, keening wail as another wave hits her, her body jerking like she's being electrocuted.
She's not just coming. She's fucking breaking.
Your vision blurs, tunnels, focuses only on where your bodies are joined, on the sight of her stuffed full of your cock, taking your load deep inside her. Each pulse of your release triggers another aftershock in her, creating a feedback loop of pleasure that seems endless.
You're emptying yourself into her, filling her with rope after rope of hot cum, more than you thought possible. Your balls ache from the force of it, your entire body trembling with the intensity of release.
Chaewon moans through it, her walls rippling around you, milking out every last drop. She's insatiable, greedy, her body designed to take everything you can give and demand more.
She takes all of it.
The only sounds in the room are ragged breathing, the wet squelch as she shifts slightly on your still-hard cock, and the faint dripping of her arousal onto the soaked sheets below. The air is thick with the musky scent of sex—sweat, cum, her arousal, all mixing into a heady cocktail that makes your head spin.
Finally, she exhales, stretching like a satisfied cat. Her back arches, pressing her ass more firmly against you, causing your still-sensitive cock to shift inside her. The movement squeezes a few final drops from you, adding to the mess already filling her.
She breathes out a satisfied sigh, lips curving into something dark, smug, victorious.
"I'm keeping it inside," she murmurs, voice low, syrupy, ruined. Her internal muscles clench deliberately around you, making sure not a drop escapes.
Her hips shift—a slow, final roll—grinding down, sending another wave of overstimulation tearing through your body. You groan, oversensitive to the point of pain, but unable to pull away. She's got you trapped, her body still locked around yours, refusing to release you until she's ready.
She doesn't care about your discomfort. She loves it. Loves knowing she can push you past your limits.
"For the rest of the party," she purrs, squeezing around you one last time. You can feel your cum inside her, hot and thick, adding to the slickness each time she clenches. "Walking around downstairs with your cum dripping into my panties. Right in front of everyone."
Her ultimate victory. Carrying the proof of what you've done together while looking Eunbi in the eye.
---
The bass pounds through the floor, vibrating up through your feet as you lean against the wall, nodding along to whatever Eunbi is saying. For the past thirty minutes, you've been following her through the party, a dutiful boyfriend with a plastic cup of whatever Yena mixed, pretending you're fully present. Pretending you can't still feel the ghost of Chaewon's body on yours. Pretending there isn't a hollow ache in your stomach every time the crowd shifts and you catch a glimpse of brown hair and sequins across the room.
Eunbi takes a sip of her water—she stopped drinking an hour ago—and checks her watch for the third time in ten minutes. The party has hit that point where the music gets louder to compensate for the thinning crowd, where people are either leaving or getting sloppy. She doesn't belong to either category.
"I think I'm ready to go," she says, leaning in so you can hear her over a particularly aggressive bass drop. "I'm getting tired."
The way she says it—gentle, apologetic—makes the guilt twist deeper. She thinks she's the one inconveniencing you. She has no idea.
"Yeah, of course," you reply, finishing your drink in one long swallow, needing the burn in your throat to ground you. "Let me just grab your coat."
As Eunbi gathers her things, you scan the room, knowing you shouldn't, knowing you can't help it. You find Chaewon by the drinks table, hair slightly mussed despite her efforts to fix it, lips still swollen from your kisses. Your eyes meet across the crowd, and the corner of her mouth lifts in that familiar smirk.
You look away first.
"Ready?" Eunbi asks, coat draped over her arm.
Before you can answer, Chaewon materializes beside you, as if summoned by your weakness.
"Leaving so soon?" She directs the question at Eunbi, her voice innocent, her eyes anything but when they flick to you.
"Yeah, I'm tired," Eunbi says, smiling at her friend. "Great party though."
Chaewon laughs, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "You barely participated! Next time I'll make sure it's more your speed."
She hugs Eunbi, their cheeks pressing together, their perfumes mingling. Over Eunbi's shoulder, Chaewon's eyes lock with yours, dark and knowing. Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and you know she's thinking about what you did, what you released inside her—still there, still warm.
"Text me tomorrow?" Eunbi asks her as they pull apart.
"Of course," Chaewon nods, then turns to you. "You take care of her, okay?"
The double meaning hangs in the air between you. Her hand brushes yours as she steps back—a touch so brief Eunbi doesn't notice, but enough to make your pulse spike.
As you lead Eunbi toward the door, you feel Chaewon's eyes following you. You know this isn't over. You know that on Monday, when you see her in class, when you sit across from her at lunch with Eunbi between you, the game will continue.
You know you've made your choice, even if you won't admit it yet.
The truth is painfully simple: Eunbi is smart, perfect, and right.
But Chaewon's still hot as fuck, and that's the problem.
Wonyoung X Male Reader | 5700 words
Tags: Hookup, backshots, manhandling, rough, hot as fuck, WAP
White ears, pink ribbons, and an invitation to find out what this kitty does behind closed doors.
The house is packed. Bodies everywhere. Bass so heavy it makes your drink ripple in its plastic cup. Some frat's Halloween party where the costumes get lazier and the drinks stronger as the night stretches on. You've forgotten whose place this even is. Friend of a friend of a roommate, maybe.
You lost your friends about an hour ago—last saw them heading toward the keg in the kitchen, now they're ghosts in the digital ether, not answering texts. So you've been wandering, drink in hand, caught in the limbo of being alone in a crowded room.
You adjust your half-assed cowboy hat—the only real evidence of your last-minute costume besides the checkered shirt and boots you already owned.
Four drinks in and the world has that pleasant blur around the edges, like someone's applied a subtle filter to reality.
That's when you see her.
She's leaning against a metal railing at the edge of the makeshift dance floor, surrounded by three equally stunning friends. They're all laughing at something on someone's phone, heads bent together in that conspiratorial way that creates an invisible force field. One gloved hand wrapped around the bannister, posed in a way that seems both accidental and perfectly calculated. White cat ears with pink ribbons perched on dark hair that falls straight down her back. Her makeup is precise—eyeliner sharp enough to cut, blush high on her cheekbones, lips glossed pink. There's something distinct about her features—delicate but arresting, wide eyes that seem to absorb everything while revealing nothing.
Her outfit is simple but effective. White halter top. Pink satin skirt. Thigh-high black boots. Pink gloves past her elbows. Her body creates a silhouette that doesn't seem entirely real, like she was drawn rather than born.
She watches the crowd with this expression—not quite boredom, not quite amusement—like she's mentally captioning everyone's photos with comments they'd never want to read.
Then her eyes catch yours.
And they stay there.
You drain your drink. It's more for something to do with your hands than courage, but it serves both purposes. As you watch, a group of guys in basketball jerseys approach her circle. There's some back and forth, laughter, and then her friends are peeling away, following the guys toward the kitchen. She stays behind, waving them off with a dismissive flick of her gloved hand.
Perfect timing. You push through the crowd toward her, bumping shoulders with strangers who've already forgotten you exist before you've passed them.
Her eyes track you the whole way. She doesn't pretend she wasn't looking. When you reach her, she straightens slightly. The movement is subtle but deliberate, like everything else about her seems to be.
"And what exactly are you supposed to be?" You gesture vaguely at her outfit.
She blinks slowly, a half-second too long to be natural. "I'm a slutty cat," she says, voice softer than expected but somehow cutting through the music. "Can't you tell?"
You look at her again, taking your time now that you have permission. "I see the ears. But I don't know if that explains"—your eyes move down deliberately—"everything else."
She doesn't react to your gaze the way most would. No embarrassed laugh, no looking away. If anything, she seems to catalog your reaction, filing it away for later reference.
"And you're... what? A cowboy?" She reaches up, adjusting your hat with one gloved finger, letting it linger just long enough to make a point. "A little basic, don't you think?"
"Last minute," you admit. "Not all of us plan our slutty animal costumes weeks in advance."
She laughs—genuinely, you think. It sounds different than the practiced social laugh most people deploy at parties. "Maybe you need to get closer to appreciate the details," she says, voice dropping into something more private.
You step in. Close enough to notice things. The expensive perfume that probably costs more than your monthly coffee budget. The tiny rhinestones at the corners of her eyes that catch the light when she blinks. The almost imperceptible chip in her nail polish on her left index finger—the only flaw in an otherwise flawless presentation.
"I don't even know your name, cat girl."
"Wonyoung," she offers, gaze alternating between your eyes and mouth with scientific precision.
"Wonyoung," you repeat. "I'm—"
"Doesn't matter," she interrupts, something playful but challenging in her expression. "Tonight's not about names."
The directness catches you off guard in a way that makes your pulse quicken. You place your hand on the railing beside her hip, close but not touching. A question.
"No? What's tonight about then?"
She considers you, teeth briefly catching her bottom lip in a gesture that seems both calculated and unconscious.
"Alright, cowboy. Dream date vibes—go," she says, leaning in with playful curiosity in her eyes.
You grin casually. "Oh you know... some Boba, then some backshots."
Her eyes widen before she erupts into genuine laughter, head thrown back. "Oh wow! Honestly, I respect it." She leans in teasingly. "But I don't think you're hot enough to be saying shit like that."
"Oh, so you are checking me out?" You raise an eyebrow, amused.
She tries to suppress a smile, gives a playful scoff. "Don't flatter yourself."
"Too late—you already laughed." You smirk, stepping closer.
"It was a pity laugh," she says, biting her lip, playfully defensive. "I felt bad."
"Nah, you're a bad liar. I'm definitely your type."
There's a beat. The music pulses between you, bass dropping on some remix everyone will forget by morning. She glances down, then back up, eyes mischievous.
"Alright, fine. You're halfway to my type."
"What's the other half?" you ask.
Her voice drops lower, as she traces her fingers lightly down your arm. "Someone who can handle me."
"I can," you say, voice low, matching her energy.
She smiles, fingers tangling with yours, pulling you closer. "Let's see if you're all talk, then. My place is 10 minutes from here, and you saw my roommates leave with some guys so..."
The bass drops. The crowd surges. Bodies push and her body presses against yours for a moment. Something clicks into place. Simple chemistry. Complex consequences.
Her eyes widen slightly, then narrow with purpose. You've both just recognized something neither of you has named yet.
You look at her—really look at her—and wonder briefly about the reality that exists beyond this moment. The classes she attends. The coffee she drinks in the morning. The books on her nightstand. All the ordinary things that make up a life outside of this charged exchange.
But tonight isn't about that. Tonight is about following the electric current between two bodies and seeing where it leads.
"Lead the way," you say.
...
You don't even remember the Uber ride.
Just fragments. Her thigh against yours. Her mouth hot on your neck. "God, I want you," whispered against your ear, not caring if the driver heard. Her gloved fingers slipping under your shirt, tracing your stomach, then lower. Her climbing halfway onto your lap, skirt riding up, while the driver pretended not to notice.
"God, I can't wait to get you alone," she'd breathed against your mouth, her tongue sliding against yours again, tasting like cherry and tequila and bad decisions you'd never regret.
All you know is that now you're in her bedroom, and Wonyoung is on her knees on the edge of her mattress, those glossy lips stretched around your cock while you stand before her.
Her room is a trip—glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling, walls plastered with posters and polaroids, fairy lights strung around her bed frame casting everything in a soft pink glow. A Hello Kitty plushie stares at you from the pillow. The contrast between the cutesy bedroom and what she's doing to you right now is fucking with your head in the best way.
"Holy fuck," you breathe, watching her take you deeper.
The cat ears are still perched on her head, though slightly askew now. Her pink gloves are soaked with spit, one hand wrapped around what she can't fit in her mouth, the other cupping and squeezing your balls. The satin fabric against your skin feels unreal—slick but with just enough friction to make your knees weak.
Spit drips down her chin, pooling on her white top. Her lipgloss is destroyed, smeared across her lips and your cock. She pulls back, just enough to swirl her tongue around the head before taking you deep again, making a show of it.
"Get on the bed," she says, pulling off with a wet pop, voice raspy in a way that makes your dick throb. "I'm not done with you."
You climb onto her pastel sheets, pushing aside a few stuffed animals. She's on you immediately, shoving you back against the pillows, her body lithe but surprisingly strong for someone so small. The way your hands practically span her entire waist is a heady reminder of how delicate she is compared to you.
"Stay still," she orders, straddling your thighs, then lowering her mouth back to your cock. Your hands find her shoulders, feeling how narrow they are beneath your palms, how fragile her collarbones seem under your fingers.
She takes you deeper this time, relaxing her throat around you. The wet heat of her mouth is almost too much. You reach for her head, but she grabs your wrists, pinning them to the bed on either side of your hips. The look she gives you from under her lashes is pure power—this tiny girl somehow in complete control despite her size.
"Fuck, you're strong," you murmur, testing her grip and finding yourself genuinely restrained.
She pulls off just long enough to say, "Don't underestimate me just because I'm small," before sinking back down, taking you impossibly deep for her size. The contrast of her petite frame handling all of you makes your head spin.
"Fuck, your mouth," you groan, watching her cheeks hollow as she sucks harder.
She pulls off completely with a wet gasp, a thick strand of saliva connecting her lips to your cock. She takes a deep breath, then deliberately lets a string of spit fall from her mouth onto your shaft, using it to stroke you with one gloved hand while maintaining eye contact. The sight alone nearly makes you cum.
"You like it messy?" she asks, her voice husky, already knowing the answer.
Before you can respond, she swallows you down again, taking you impossibly deep in one fluid motion. Her throat constricts around you as she holds there for several seconds, nose pressed against your pelvis, before pulling back with a desperate inhale. Saliva runs down your length in rivulets now, soaking into the sheets beneath you, dripping down to coat your balls.
She establishes a rhythm that's driving you insane—deep, gurgling strokes with her mouth while her gloved hand follows, twisting slightly on the upstroke. Her other hand massages your balls, now slick with her spit. The wet sounds are obscene, sloppy and loud in the quiet bedroom.
"Wait," you gasp, feeling the pressure building, "I'm getting close."
She doesn't slow down. Instead, she somehow intensifies her efforts, one hand working your shaft in perfect sync with her mouth, the other pressing firmly behind your balls in a way that makes your vision blur. Your muscles tense, toes curling against the sheets as you fight the building pressure. You want this to last, but her technique is unreal.
She pulls off suddenly with a gasping inhale, strands of spit connecting her mouth to your cock in a spider web pattern. Without missing a beat, her gloved hand maintains the rhythm, now twisting on each upstroke, her thumb circling the sensitive spot just under the head.
"Not yet," she says, her voice raw and husky. "I want to play with you longer."
She looks up at you through mascara-smudged lashes, face flushed, hair clinging to her sweat-dampened skin, and you've never seen anything more erotic in your life. Her lips are puffy and red, glistening with a mixture of spit and pre-cum. She licks them deliberately before taking another deep breath and swallowing you down again.
This time she does something with her throat—a controlled swallowing motion while you're deep inside—that has you seeing stars. Your hips buck involuntarily, but she takes it, accommodating your thrust with practiced ease. Her nose presses against your pelvis as she holds you there, throat contracting rhythmically around your head. The pressure and heat are unreal.
She keeps you on edge like this—bringing you close with intense deep-throating, then backing off to focus on your shaft with her hands or gently sucking just the tip—for what feels like an eternity. Your breathing is ragged, sweat beading on your forehead as you struggle to hold back. Your hands fist in her hair, not guiding anymore but just holding on for dear life.
The sheets beneath you are soaked with her saliva, your thighs slick and shiny in the dim light. She seems to revel in the mess, deliberately letting spit run down your length, using it as lubrication for her gloved hands. The wet, sloppy sounds of her mouth and hands working in tandem fill the room, punctuated by her gasping breaths and your strangled moans.
Just when you think you can't take anymore, when the teasing edge has become almost painful, she takes you deep again, her throat working around you with purpose.
"Fuck, now I'm really gonna cum," you warn, your voice strained and desperate.
This time, she doesn't back off. Instead, she looks up at you with determination in her eyes, maintaining that crucial eye contact as she takes you deeper than before. One hand grips the base of your shaft firmly, the other massages your balls with precise pressure. She swallows deliberately around the head of your cock, her tongue pressed flat against the underside, hitting that perfect spot.
You lose it, your release hitting the back of her throat in hot, heavy pulses. There's so much that some escapes the corners of her mouth despite her best efforts to swallow it all. She doesn't stop or slow down, continuing to work you with her mouth and hands through your orgasm, extending the pleasure to almost unbearable levels.
Her throat works visibly as she gulps down your release, making obscene swallowing sounds that only intensify your pleasure. Her eyes water from the effort, mascara beginning to run in faint streaks down her flushed cheeks, but she never breaks eye contact. There's a look of triumph in her gaze, a satisfaction at reducing you to this trembling, groaning mess beneath her.
When your orgasm finally subsides and you're twitching with oversensitivity, she slowly, deliberately pulls away. Thick strings of spit and cum stretch between her lips and your cock, forming an obscene web that breaks and falls across her chin and neck. Her hand continues to stroke you gently, milking the last few drops from you.
She sits back on her heels, breath coming in heavy pants, lips dramatically swollen, chin and chest glistening with a mixture of saliva and the cum that escaped her mouth. Her cat ears are somehow still hanging on, though now sitting at a rakish angle on her disheveled hair. The gloves that once were pristine pink satin are now darkened with wetness in places, sticky and slick.
"Holy fuck," you breathe, genuinely stunned by what just happened. Your cock is still hard, barely softened by the intense orgasm.
She notices, a knowing smirk spreading across her messy face as she wipes her chin with the back of her hand. "Told you I wasn't done with you yet," she says, her voice absolutely wrecked in the sexiest possible way, rough and raspy from the workout her throat just got.
She reaches behind her, unzipping her white halter top and pulling it over her head. Her breasts are small but perfect, nipples pink and hard in the cool air. The cat ears wobble but stay in place.
"You're so fucking hot," you tell her, reaching for her waist.
She stretches, arms extending above her head, back arching in a way that's distinctly feline. Her small breasts lift with the motion, nipples hardening in the cool air. Her eyes hold a challenge as she slowly moves toward you.
"I want your mouth on me," she says, her voice husky with need.
Instead of letting her climb over you, you suddenly sit up, grabbing her by the waist. She gasps in surprise as you flip your positions, pushing her down onto the mattress with firm hands. Her eyes widen, pupils dilating at your show of strength.
"Is that what you want?" you ask, your voice low as you hover over her. Your hands easily pin her wrists above her head, one of yours enough to hold both of hers. "Tell me again."
"Yes," she breathes, arching into you despite being restrained. "Please."
You release her wrists and move down her body, deliberately taking your time. Your hands slide along her sides, feeling how tiny she is beneath you. When you reach her thighs, you push them apart without gentleness, making space for your shoulders. She moans at the manhandling, her head falling back against the pillows.
You hook your fingers into her thong, pulling it to the side rather than removing it. The first thing that hits you is her scent—musky and sweet with a hint of sweat from dancing all night, but undeniably arousing. There's a faint trace of her perfume mixed with the raw smell of her arousal that makes your mouth water.
"Fuck, you smell good," you tell her, your breath hot against her inner thigh.
She's already wet, her folds glistening in the dim light. You study her for a moment—she's pink and swollen, clearly aroused. She's shaved but you can see and feel the slight roughness of hair starting to grow back. The texture is oddly intimate, more real than porn-perfect smoothness, the slight stubble creating friction against your fingers as you trace her outer lips.
You start slowly, just running your tongue along her seam, tasting her properly. She's tangy and sweet, with a hint of salt from the night's exertions. The flavor is addictive, making you groan against her. Her hips buck at the vibration, seeking more contact.
"Oh fuck," she gasps when you finally circle her clit with your tongue. Her hands find your hair, fingers tangling in it but not directing, just holding on.
You explore her with your tongue, discovering which motions make her thighs tremble, which spots make her breath catch. You alternate between broad, flat strokes and focused attention on her clit, learning what she responds to best.
"Please," she whimpers after a few minutes of this teasing. "I need more."
You slide one finger inside her while continuing to work with your tongue. She's incredibly tight, her inner walls gripping your digit eagerly. The contrast between your larger hand and her small body is stark—one finger feels substantial inside her.
"More," she urges, lifting her hips toward your face.
You add a second finger, feeling her stretch around the intrusion. You curl them upward, searching for that spot that will drive her wild. When you find it, her reaction is immediate and dramatic—her back arches off the bed, a strangled cry escaping her lips.
"There," she gasps, her hands now gripping the sheets beside her head. "Right fucking there."
She's watching you now, propped up slightly on her elbows, her gaze heavy-lidded but intense. The sight of you between her legs seems to turn her on almost as much as what you're doing to her. When your eyes meet, she bites her lip, a flush spreading across her chest.
You maintain eye contact as you suck her clit gently while stroking that spot inside her. Her breathing quickens, her stomach muscles visibly tensing with each curl of your fingers. Her wetness increases, running down your palm and wrist.
"Don't stop," she pleads, one hand reaching down to touch your shoulder, nails digging into your skin. "I'm getting close."
You increase the pressure of your tongue, maintaining a steady rhythm as her breathing becomes more erratic. You can feel her inner walls beginning to flutter around your fingers—the first signs of her approaching orgasm.
She reaches down with her free hand, spreading herself wider for you, giving you better access. The gesture is incredibly erotic—her taking an active role in her pleasure while still letting you control the pace.
"Just like that," she encourages, voice tight with building tension. "Don't change anything, please, I'm so close."
Her thighs start to tremble, her hips making small, involuntary movements against your face. You curl your fingers more firmly against that spot, sucking her clit with slightly more pressure, and that's what pushes her over the edge.
You feel her start to tense, her thighs trembling on either side of your head. The inner walls of her pussy clench rhythmically around your fingers as her breathing becomes shallow and rapid. You maintain your rhythm, not changing a thing as her orgasm builds.
"Right there, right there," she chants, her voice tight and desperate. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna—"
She cuts herself off with a sharp gasp as her body goes rigid, suspended on the edge for several breathless seconds. Then she shatters, her back arching dramatically off the bed, thighs clamping around your head with surprising strength. Her release floods your hand and chin, her wetness increasing dramatically as she comes undone.
"Don't stop, don't stop," she begs as waves of pleasure roll through her. Her hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white with tension. Her stomach muscles contract visibly with each pulse, her entire body shaking with the intensity of her orgasm.
You work her through it, continuing to stroke that spot inside while gently sucking her clit, feeling each aftershock ripple through her slender frame. Her pussy grips your fingers in rhythmic spasms, pulling them deeper as if trying to keep you inside.
Only when she weakly pushes at your forehead, oversensitive and spent, do you finally relent. You plant a soft kiss on her inner thigh before gently withdrawing your fingers, watching her twitch at even that small movement. Your hand and chin are soaked with her arousal, glistening in the dim light.
She collapses back, chest heaving, limbs splayed across the pastel sheets. Her skin is flushed pink from her cheeks down to her chest, a thin sheen of sweat making her glow in the dim light. Her thong is still pushed to the side, her pussy visibly swollen and wet from your attention.
"Holy shit," she breathes, one arm thrown across her eyes. "Give me a second."
But even as she's still recovering, you're already hard again—painfully so. The sight of her completely undone by your mouth and hands has your cock throbbing with need.
Before she can fully catch her breath, you flip her over onto her stomach in one smooth motion. She gasps in surprise but immediately pushes her ass up, instinctively assuming the position. She looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded but gleaming with renewed interest.
"Harder," she says, her voice still breathless. "You can be rough with me."
You grab a handful of her hair, pulling her head back slightly as you lean down to bite the sensitive junction between her neck and shoulder. She moans, the sound vibrating through her slender frame. Her nails dig into the sheets, bunching the fabric in her fists.
"Yes," she hisses, pushing back against you, her ass rubbing against your hard cock. "Like that."
You trail bites and kisses down her spine, feeling each vertebra under your lips. Your hands grip her narrow waist, fingers easily spanning her sides. The pink skirt is still bunched around her waist, exposing her perfect ass and the thong still pushed to the side.
You grab the thin fabric of her thong and rip it off in one motion. She gasps, then laughs, the sound quickly turning into a moan as you push two fingers back inside her from this new angle.
"Fuck," she breathes, her back arching deeper, presenting herself to you even more. "Your fingers feel so good."
You curl your fingers upward, finding that spot again easily. Her reaction is immediate—her whole body shudders, a string of curses falling from her lips. You add a third finger, stretching her, watching her face twist in pleasure as she looks back at you.
"You're so fucking tight," you tell her, feeling her clench around your fingers. The view from behind is intoxicating—her slender back dipping into a perfect arch, pink skirt still bunched around her waist, her face half-turned so you can see her reactions.
"I want to feel you inside me," she says, voice husky with need, pushing back against your hand. "Now."
You position yourself behind her, one hand on her hip, the other guiding your cock to her entrance. From this angle, you can see how tiny she looks beneath you, her waist narrow enough for your hands to nearly encircle it, her ass perfectly round and invitingly raised.
"You're so fucking wet," you murmur, sliding your length through her folds to coat yourself in her arousal.
"Please," she whimpers, pushing back against you. "I need you inside me."
"Ask nicely," you tease, holding the head of your cock at her entrance but not pushing in.
She looks back at you over her shoulder, eyes narrowed despite her vulnerable position. "Please fuck me," she says, but it sounds more like a demand than a plea. "I need to feel all of you inside me."
You push into her slowly, watching your cock disappear into her inch by inch. Her mouth falls open, a low moan escaping as she's stretched around you. The view is intoxicating—her back arched deeply, her skirt bunched around her waist, her long dark hair spilling across the pastel sheets, and your much larger frame positioned behind her smaller one.
When you're fully seated inside her, you both let out a shaky breath. She feels impossibly tight from this angle, her inner walls gripping you like a vise.
"Fuck, you're deep," she gasps, reaching back to grab your thigh, urging you to move.
You start with slow, shallow thrusts, watching her reactions carefully. Her fingers dig into the sheets, her face half-buried in the pillow but turned enough that you can see her expressions. Each time you push in, her features twist with a mixture of pleasure and sweet strain.
"Harder," she breathes, pushing back to meet your thrusts. "I won't break."
You tighten your grip on her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh as you pick up the pace. The sound of skin slapping against skin joins the chorus of her moans and your heavy breathing, filling the dimly lit bedroom. Her cat ears have somehow managed to stay on through everything, wobbling with each thrust.
You lean forward, pressing your chest against her back, one hand sliding around to her throat. You don't squeeze, just apply gentle pressure, feeling her pulse race beneath your palm. Her reaction is immediate—a full-body shudder and a tightening around your cock that nearly makes you lose control.
"Yes," she hisses, reaching back to grab your hip, encouraging you to go harder, deeper. "Fuck me like you mean it."
You pull your hand away from her throat only to deliver a sharp slap to her ass. The sound echoes in the room, followed immediately by her gasping moan. A pink handprint blooms on her pale skin, and you follow it with another slap to the other cheek.
"Again," she demands, her voice rough with desire. "Harder."
You comply, bringing your hand down with more force. She cries out, her inner walls clenching around you in response. The contrast between the delicate curve of her body and the harsh sound of your palm connecting with her skin is intoxicating.
You pull her upright, her back to your chest, your cock still deep inside her. With one hand, you gather her long hair, pulling it aside to expose the slender column of her neck. Your lips find her skin, tasting salt and the lingering sweetness of her perfume as you drag your tongue from the curve of her shoulder up to just behind her ear.
"Oh god," she moans, her head falling back against your shoulder, giving you better access.
You continue exploring her with your mouth—the nape of her neck, the sensitive spot where her shoulder meets her throat, the delicate ridge of her spine. Your free hand slides up her torso to cup one small breast, thumb circling her nipple as you lick a path across her shoulder blade.
She turns her face toward you as much as she can, and you lean in, gathering saliva in your mouth before letting it fall onto her parted lips. Her tongue darts out to catch it, a primal gesture that makes your cock throb inside her.
"Fuck, that's hot," she breathes, her pupils blown wide.
The headboard knocks rhythmically against the wall now as you guide her back down to her hands and knees, but neither of you care about the noise. Her moans get higher, more desperate, her body trembling beneath yours as you drive into her with increasing intensity. You can feel her starting to tighten around you, the first telltale signs of her approaching orgasm.
You reach around her slender body, your hand finding her clit, circling it in time with your thrusts. She cries out, a sharp, broken sound that tells you you've hit exactly the right combination.
"Right there," she gasps, her voice strained. "God, don't stop."
You maintain the rhythm, the pressure, the angle—everything that's working for her. Her inner walls flutter around you, gripping you tighter with each thrust. She's close, so close you can feel it in the way her body tenses beneath yours.
"I'm gonna cum," she warns, her voice breaking on the last word. "Fuck, I'm so close—"
"Look at me," you demand, tugging her hair to turn her face toward you. Her eyes meet yours, glazed with pleasure but focused on you. "I want to see you when you cum."
That does it. She breaks apart beneath you, her body clenching around yours so tightly it almost hurts. A string of curses and broken moans falls from her lips as she comes undone. You can see every emotion cross her face—the initial shock, the overwhelming pleasure, the surrender. Her thighs tremble violently, her entire body quaking with the force of her orgasm.
The visual of her coming apart combined with the rhythmic grip of her body around your cock pushes you right to the edge. You're seconds away from your own release.
She senses it, somehow aware even through her own pleasure. "Wait," she gasps, reaching back to stop your movements. "Not yet."
Before you can react, she's wriggling away from you, turning around to face you. Despite having just experienced an intense orgasm, she moves with surprising agility, pushing you onto your back and straddling your thighs.
"I want you to cover me in your cum," she says, her voice raw and desperate, eyes wild with desire despite her recent release. "All over my face."
She leans down, taking you into her mouth again, tasting herself on your cock. The sight of her—flushed and sweaty from her orgasm, cat ears somehow still clinging to her head, eagerly sucking you after you've been inside her—is almost too much.
That's all it takes. You pull out quickly, one hand stroking yourself as she positions herself, her back against the pillows, cat ears still somehow clinging to her head as she looks up at you eagerly.
Her hands grip your thighs as you stroke yourself once, twice, three times before exploding across her face.
The sight is fucking obscene—ropes of white painting her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, one streak catching on her long lashes. She moans as it hits her, tongue darting out to taste what landed on her lips, eyes never leaving yours. A few drops land on the rhinestone necklace still around her neck, creating an obscene contrast with the delicate jewelry.
It's the most erotic thing you've ever seen in your life.
When you finally roll off her, both of you breathing hard, staring at her ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, she turns her head toward you with a satisfied smile, your release still glistening on her perfect face.
"So," she says, voice raspy and smug, "convinced about my costume now?"
You laugh, genuinely laugh, turning to face her. "Most convincing costume I've ever seen."
She stretches beside you, body elongating in one fluid motion, arms above her head, back arching slightly off the bed—every movement reminiscent of the animal she's dressed as. The motion causes her breasts to lift, and despite what you just did, you feel a stirring, your cock hardening once again.
She notices, a sly smile spreading across her cum-streaked face. "Careful, cowboy. Look at me like that again and we'll be going for round two before I even clean up."
"Is that supposed to be a deterrent?" you ask, reaching out to trail a finger along her collarbone.
She catches your hand, bringing it to her mouth and placing a kiss on your palm that somehow feels more intimate than everything you've just done.
"First," she says, sitting up and finally removing the cat ears that have somehow survived the entire encounter, "shower. Because as hot as this was—" she gestures to her face, "—I can't have a proper getting-to-know-you conversation with cum in my eyelashes."
You laugh again, surprised by how easy it feels with her despite the circumstances of your meeting.
"Lead the way, slutty cat," you say, and she pulls you up from the bed, toward her bathroom, her naked body as graceful in motion as it was beneath you.
And somehow, you know this night is just the beginning.
Chaewon x Male Reader | 8k words
Tags: manager x idol, secret relationship, pent up, semi-public, sneaking away, horny as fuck, chaewon is hot as fuck, I wish it was me
Chaewon looks too good in that dress. Three weeks without sex. How long before you snap?
Jus sumn quick for yall.
Chaewon [1:42 AM]: I've been touching myself thinking about you every night this week. It's not enough.
Chaewon [1:43 AM]: Good luck keeping it professional tomorrow when you see what they have me wearing for the HOT trailer shoot 😈
You stare at your phone, heat flooding through your body. Three weeks without her. The longest you've gone since you started dating a year ago.
Fuck, she knows exactly what she's doing to you.
Three weeks without her touch has made every message like this a form of exquisite torture. You can practically hear her voice in your head as you read her texts.
You're dating Kim Chaewon. LE SSERAFIM's leader. And you're one of their managers.
It started on a company retreat last spring—a late-night conversation about music that turned into coffee, then dinner a week later, then her pressed against your apartment door, whispering that she'd wanted this since the moment you'd been assigned to their team.
You'd both agreed it would be just once.
That agreement lasted approximately 8 hours.
No one knows. Not the company. Not the members.
Not even Jiyeon, the other manager who works with you handling the girls' schedules.
And right now, your girlfriend is driving you fucking crazy.
The comeback prep for "HOT" has been exactly that—hot, intense, and keeping you both so busy you can barely catch your breath, let alone sneak away to be alone together.
You've tried everything to deal with the frustration. Late-night FaceTiming while she touches herself in her dorm room, biting her pillow to stay quiet. Watching the videos you've made together—her riding you on your couch, her bent over your bathroom sink, her on her knees looking up at you with those eyes.
None of it is enough. You need her. You need to taste her, feel her skin against yours, be inside her.
The warehouse set is all sleek white surfaces and ribbed glass partitions. Floor-to-ceiling windows let in cold natural light that makes everything look clean, sterile, and expensive. The perfect contrast to the fire they're trying to create with this concept.
Staff members in black hurry around with clipboards and equipment, speaking in hushed, urgent tones. This "BORN FIRE" trailer shoot has to be perfect—it's launching LE SSERAFIM's most ambitious album "HOT" yet.
You check your own clipboard, making sure everything's on schedule while trying not to think about Chaewon and whatever outfit has her texting you at 2 AM.
The irony isn't lost on you. Here you are, supervising the filming of a teaser—literally called "BORN FIRE"—while Chaewon herself is the true teaser. She's igniting something in you that's becoming increasingly difficult to contain. The line between her performance for the video and her performance for you is blurring dangerously.
"Manager-oppa, the director wants to run through the toy car scene again," Eunchae says, bouncing up to you in her feathered white outfit. "Have you seen Chaewon unnie? She's next."
"Still in wardrobe," you answer, keeping your voice steady. Like you're not thinking about how Chaewon moaned your name in that hotel in Jeju last month, her body shaking beneath yours as she came for the third time that night.
Sakura walks past with her stylist, the long white dress trailing behind her. You spot Kazuha already positioned on one of the white block structures that fill the set. The whole group is scattered around the space in various stages of preparation.
"Jiyeon-ssi," you call to your fellow manager, "can you check if hair and makeup are done with Chaewon?"
Jiyeon nods and heads toward the dressing area. You turn your attention back to the monitor, where the director is reviewing footage.
Then it happens.
The quiet murmur of the set shifts. You feel it before you see it.
Chaewon walks onto set, and your entire body goes rigid.
Your throat goes dry instantly. God, you love her in white—the way it makes her skin glow, how it emphasizes every curve you've memorized with your hands, your mouth. You force yourself to breathe normally even as memories flood your mind unbidden. She knows what this does to you. She's counting on it.
The white strapless dress is even shorter than it looked in the concept sketches and fittings you'd seen last week. It hugs her body perfectly, showing off shoulders you've kissed a hundred times.
The black belt cinches her waist—the waist you've held in your hands while she rode you until you both saw stars. But it's the boots that kill you. Thigh-high, black, lace-up boots that make her legs look endless.
You force yourself to look away, back at your clipboard. Professional. You're a professional.
But memories flood your mind anyway:
Chaewon straddling you in the backseat of your car, hand pressed against your mouth to keep you quiet while security guards walked past.
Chaewon pressed against your kitchen counter, panties around one ankle, begging you not to stop as you dropped to your knees.
Chaewon in your bed, hair spread across your pillow, eyes locked with yours as you moved inside her, whispering that she loves you.
You still remember the first time she said those words—three months in, both of you sweaty and breathless, her eyes wide with something like surprise at her own admission. You'd felt it too, that terrifying, exhilarating free-fall into something neither of you had planned for.
"You good?" asks one of the camera assistants, noticing how you've been staring at nothing.
"Fine," you say, the word clipped.
On set, Chaewon takes her position. In one scene, she stands tall on a miniature white car, the contrast of the boots against the white making her look like some kind of goddess. In another setup, she holds a diagram against her bare shoulder, eyes focused directly at the camera.
She's perfect. Professional. The director loves every take.
But then, during a lighting adjustment, when everyone's attention is elsewhere, she looks directly at you.
It's quick—barely a second—but in that moment, her professional mask slips. Her eyes darken. The corner of her mouth quirks up.
It's the same look she gave you the first time you told her to get on her knees.
The director calls for the next setup. Chaewon moves into position with the other members, all of them in white, creating a visual that's both innocent and somehow sinful.
You take a deep breath. You've been so good. So professional.
But when she walks past you, she whispers, "Bet you want to take this off me so bad," so quietly only you can hear it, you know exactly how this day is going to end.
You are completely, totally fucked.
You're in hell.
Not the burning, fire-and-brimstone kind. The sleek, white, glass-walled kind.
A special kind of hell designed with surgical precision by Kim Chaewon—your weakness, your fucking undoing.
The "BORN FIRE" shoot continues. It's been three hours. You've managed to stay professional for exactly none of them.
"Cut! Five minute break," the director calls.
The set erupts into controlled chaos—stylists rushing to touch up makeup, lighting techs adjusting gear, Kazuha and Eunchae huddled near the white blocks watching practice videos on their phones.
You stare at your clipboard like it contains the secrets of the universe.
Chaewon moves through the space like she owns it, boots clicking against the polished concrete floor. The sound alone makes your pulse kick.
She stands by the glass partition, sunlight catching on her hair, making it glow against all the sterile white. Your eyes follow her despite your brain screaming not to.
"Manager-oppa," she calls, voice sweet and professional. The sound hits you low in your stomach—the same tone she uses right before she begs you to fuck her harder.
"Can you bring me some water?"
She knows exactly what she's doing. Every staff member sees a hardworking idol asking her manager for a simple favor.
You know better.
You grab a bottle and walk it over to her. That's when she strikes.
Her fingers brush yours as she takes the bottle—deliberate, electric—the touch lasting a half-second too long to be accidental.
"Had a dream about you last night," she murmurs, voice pitched for your ears only.
The cap of the water bottle clicks as she twists it open. She drinks slowly, throat working in a way that triggers a vivid flashback—her on her knees three weeks ago, swallowing around you, looking up with those same dark eyes. You'd gripped her hair so tight she'd moaned around you.
Her tongue darts out to catch a drop on her lower lip. Her eyes never leave yours.
You say nothing. Your grip on the clipboard turns your knuckles white.
Jiyeon passes by, checking her watch. "Chaewon-ah, wardrobe wants to check your outfit before the next shot."
Chaewon nods, all professional sweetness. "Coming!"
She brushes past you, close enough that you catch her scent—something floral and expensive that you've tasted on her skin a hundred times before.
The stylist adjusts something on the back of her dress while she stands in front of the monitor. You try to focus on the schedule, on anything but the curve of her shoulder blades, the way the belt cinches her waist.
"Everything good?" the stylist asks.
Chaewon nods, then turns slightly. Her eyes find yours in the reflection of the monitor. "Perfect."
The tech walks away. You're about to do the same when—
"Woke up so wet this morning."
The words hit you like a physical blow. Your body responds instantly, a rush of heat that makes you grit your teeth.
She doesn't even look at you. Just keeps checking her reflection, adjusting a strand of hair like she didn't just set you on fire.
You step closer, voice low. "Watch yourself."
She smiles—sweet, sharp, fucking dangerous. "Always do. That's why I look so good."
The director calls everyone back. You retreat to the safety of the production table.
You adjust your clipboard, grateful for its coverage. This is what she reduces you to—a professional with years of industry experience hiding an erection like a teenager. The thought should embarrass you, but instead, there's a twisted pride in how she still affects you this way, even after a year together.
For exactly twelve minutes, you breathe. Focus. Reset.
Then she slides into the chair next to you.
"Can I see the schedule?" she asks, loud enough for others to hear. Professional. Proper.
You hand her your tablet without looking up. Three staff members hover nearby, discussing lighting for the next scene.
Sakura sits across the table, focused on crocheting something delicate and blue, her fingers moving with practiced precision. The click of her crochet hook provides a steady rhythm to the chaos around you.
That's when you feel it—her hand on your thigh under the table. Casual. Like it belongs there.
Your entire body goes rigid.
"Chaewon," you warn, barely a whisper.
"Mmm?" She leans in, pretending to point at something on the screen. Her fingers start to move. Slow strokes up, then down. Teasing.
You inhale sharply, willing your face to stay neutral.
The staff members move away. But Sakura is still there, focused on her project, the hook moving in and out of the yarn.
Chaewon's hand inches higher, bolder than she's ever been. Her pinky grazes dangerously close to where you're already hardening against your will.
"Stop," you hiss.
She leans closer, her breath against your ear. "I'm ovulating, you know."
Your vision blurs. Blood rushes in your ears.
"You'd feel it the moment you were inside me—"
Sakura looks up suddenly, her eyes meeting yours across the table.
Your heart stops.
Chaewon doesn't move her hand. Instead, she laughs at something on the screen, all innocent charm. "Manager-oppa, the schedule looks too tight. Don't you think?"
Sakura tilts her head, then returns to her crocheting, seemingly oblivious to the fact that your girlfriend's hand is still on your thigh, still dangerously high.
You wrap your fingers around her wrist under the table, stopping her hand but not removing it. A dangerous compromise.
Her pupils dilate. That's when you see it—she's not just playing with you. She's affected too. Her cheeks flushed, her breathing just a little too quick.
She's as desperate as you are.
The realization hits you like a kick to the chest.
"Two minutes!" someone calls.
She extracts her hand slowly, deliberately. Stands up, smooths down her dress. The movement pulls the hem even higher on her thigh.
"Think you can last the rest of the day?" she asks, a challenge glinting in her eyes.
Before you can answer, Jiyeon approaches. "Chaewon-ah, they need you for the car shot."
Chaewon nods, all business again. But as she walks away, she glances back—just once. Just enough for you to see the hunger there, mirroring your own.
The next hour is psychological warfare.
Around you, the set buzzes with activity. Makeup artists touch up the members between shots. The director argues with the cinematographer about lighting. A production assistant nearly trips over a cable, sending everyone scrambling.
And through it all, Chaewon wages her private campaign against your sanity.
This is high-stakes chess played under fluorescent lights.
Every staff member represents a potential career-ending leak. The director who's worked with three generations of idol groups and has seen every possible scandal. The company photographer who reports directly to the CEO. The stylists who know every whispered secret in the industry.
One wrong move, one lingering glance held too long, and everything you've both worked for collapses.
She steps onto the miniature white car, boots planted wide, the dress riding up her thighs as she poses. The camera loves her. Every angle is perfection.
You remember the first time you took her for a drive, six months into your secret relationship. She'd climbed into your lap at a deserted scenic point, the gear shift digging into her leg as she rode you, both of you half-clothed, desperate, her breath fogging the windows as she came.
Now, as she stands on that toy car, her eyes find yours between every take.
During the group shot with the white blocks, she trails her fingers along the edge of the structure, the same way she's traced paths across your chest in the dark of your bedroom. Her fingernails scrape lightly against the white surface, and you swear you can feel phantom scratches down your back.
Each pose becomes more provocative. Each glance more daring.
When the stylist adjusts her dress between shots, Chaewon stretches her arms overhead, making the hem ride dangerously high. The movement fills your nostrils with the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something deeper—that clings to your sheets for days after she leaves.
In the solo shot with the diagram pressed against her bare shoulder, she turns just enough that only you can see how her teeth catch her bottom lip—the same way they do when you're deep inside her.
Your heart hammers against your ribs. Your skin feels too tight. Every minute is torture, and the fact that you're surrounded by people—Jiyeon checking the time, Eunchae asking you questions, staff members constantly brushing past—only makes it worse.
This isn't just teasing anymore. This is Chaewon pushing both of you to the edge.
Then comes the final blow.
During the last break, when the set is buzzing with activity, she passes by the narrow space between the equipment cases where you're checking inventory.
No one can see you here. Just a sliver of space hidden from the main floor.
She stops, just for a second. Leans in.
"Just fuck me in the changing room already."
The clipboard nearly snaps in your grip.
She walks away, satisfied smirk playing on her lips.
And something in you—the last thread of your control—finally snaps.
You count to ten. Wait until she's back in position on set.
Then you move through the space with purpose, face composed, steps measured.
Professional.
You reach her just as the director calls for a lighting check.
Your fingers wrap around her wrist—firm, decisive.
She looks up, triumph flashing in her eyes.
"Do you wanna get caught, you stupid bitch?" you whisper, the words harsh but your tone almost loving.
Her lips part. A small gasp that only you can hear.
"Manager-nim, is something wrong?" the director asks.
"Wardrobe issue," you say smoothly. "Won't take long."
You pull her away from the set, past curious eyes, past Jiyeon's raised eyebrow.
The changing room is too exposed. Too many people.
Five years in this industry has taught you one thing: discretion isn't just preferred, it's survival.
You've built your reputation on professionalism, on being the manager who anticipates problems before they happen.
Chaewon is the one variable you can never fully calculate, the one risk you can't mitigate. And God help you, you wouldn't have it any other way.
You spot it—a storage room door, slightly ajar. Dark. Empty.
Perfect.
Her breath catches as you change direction, leading her toward it.
"What are you—"
You push the door open. Pull her inside The storage room door closes with a soft click.
And finally—fucking finally—you're alone.
One second passes.
Two.
Then Chaewon launches herself at you.
Her hands grab your face with bruising intensity, fingernails digging into your scalp, your jaw, anywhere she can grip. The heat of her palms sears your skin as her mouth finds yours with desperate precision. The kiss is nuclear—all teeth and tongue and hunger. She bites your lower lip, hard enough to make you taste the metallic hint of blood, then soothes it with the velvety warmth of her tongue, exploring your mouth like she's trying to devour you whole.
Her body presses against yours, tits crushed against your chest, her hips grinding with shameless need. She grabs your hands and places them on her ass, demanding your touch without saying a word.
"Fuck, I missed your mouth," she gasps, her breath hot against your lips as she pulls at your clothes, fingers trembling and scrabbling at your belt, nails occasionally scraping against your abdomen. She can't seem to decide where to touch you—her hands moving from your chest to your shoulders to your neck, back to your belt, frantic and greedy. "Missed your hands. Missed your cock."
You slam her against the shelves, the metal rattling with a satisfying clang that echoes her gasp. Your hands are everywhere—her face, flushed and warm beneath your palms; her throat, pulse hammering wildly under your fingertips; the soft swell of her breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath; the dramatic curve of her waist that fits perfectly in your grip. Every touch relearns the terrain you've been starved of for three endless weeks.
She reaches behind and grabs your wrists, dragging your hands to her ass, forcing you to squeeze the firm flesh. "Touch me everywhere," she demands, voice thick with need. "I've been dying for it."
"You took too fucking long," she pants against your lips, her voice vibrating through you as her hands finally get your pants open, the sudden coolness of air a sharp contrast to the heat of her touch. Her fingers brush against your cock, a teasing touch that makes your jaw clench.
The storage room closes around you—metal shelves on one wall digging into her back, garment racks crowded with costumes exhaling the scent of fabric softener and makeup, cardboard boxes stacked in the corner threatening to topple with each movement. A single fluorescent light buzzes overhead, casting harsh shadows that carve her features into something almost feral with need, highlighting the sheen of sweat beginning to form at her temples, at the hollow of her throat.
She makes quick work of the black safety shorts beneath her dress, the fabric making a soft whisper as it slides down her legs before she kicks them away. The movement is so fluid, so urgent, that your mouth goes dry with anticipation. She grabs your hand, guiding it between her legs, letting you feel how ready she is. "See what you do to me?" she whispers, eyes locked on yours.
You spin her around, the quick motion making her gasp. For a moment, you just look at her—the elegant column of her neck where a few baby hairs escape her bob cut, curling with perspiration; the delicate slope of her shoulders, pale and perfect under the harsh light; the dramatic curve where her waist meets the swell of her ass, emphasized by the black belt that begs to be gripped. The white dress clings to every inch, revealing the heat she's generating beneath it. Your mouth waters just looking at her, tongue dragging across suddenly parched lips.
Your hand comes down on her ass with a sharp crack, the sound startlingly loud in the confined space. She jerks forward, a surprised gasp escaping her lips. The pale skin instantly flushes pink under your palm.
"Hurry up," she demands, looking back at you over her shoulder, eyes dark and glassy with impatience, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of brown remains. She arches her back, pushing her ass against your hand, silently begging for more.
You grip her hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh hard enough to leave impressions. "Shut the fuck up."
Her breath catches with an audible hitch. You know she loves it when you talk to her like this—can feel it in the goosebumps that rise under your touch, in the way her thighs tremble slightly.
You run your hands up her sides, feeling the heat radiating through the thin fabric, then down to the hem of her dress, bunching the material as you start to lift it. The fabric makes a soft rustling sound that seems obscenely loud in the small space. Your hands slide up her thighs, skin like silk beneath your calloused palms, finding the lace edge of her panties. Black, of course. The contrast against her pale skin is stark and mouthwatering.
Another smack lands on her ass, harder this time. You watch the flesh jiggle under the impact, the imprint of your hand blooming pink against her porcelain skin. "You like that?" you ask, already knowing the answer as she pushes back against you.
"Yes," she hisses, grinding back against your hand. "Again. Harder."
You comply, landing another sharp slap, watching the way her body jerks forward before pressing back, seeking more. "Look at you," you murmur, "So perfect for the cameras, but in here, you're just a dirty little slut who gets wet from being spanked."
She moans at your words, the sound vibrating through her entire body. "Only for you," she whispers, the admission hanging heavy in the air between you.
Spinning her back around, you claim her mouth again, tasting mint and desperation on her tongue as your hand slips between her legs, pressing the lace against her. The fabric is soaked through, warm and clinging to her folds. Her hands are everywhere—gripping your shoulders, sliding down your chest, grabbing at your ass to pull you closer, like she can't get enough of touching you.
"Goddamn," you mutter against her lips, the words a vibration between your connected mouths. "Your pussy's fucking drenched."
You hook your fingers into the lace and yank it aside, the elastic snapping against her thigh. Your middle finger slides through her folds, gathering her wetness, feeling how swollen and ready she is—hot and slick and perfect against your fingertips.
"Look how fucking wet you are," you murmur, watching her face contort with pleasure as you circle her clit, feeling it harden beneath your touch. "Been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"
She whimpers, a high, needy sound that goes straight to your cock as she grinds against your hand. "I told you I've been wet since I woke up," she pants, her breath coming in short, hot puffs against your face. "Thinking about you. About this. About you bending me over and fucking me until I can't remember my own name."
She tries to reach for you, but you catch her wrist with your free hand, her pulse jumping beneath your grip as you pin it above her head against the shelves. The metal is cold against her skin, making her hiss.
"Not yet," you tell her, voice dropping to a growl. "I want you desperate first."
"I'm already desperate," she hisses, trying to rock against your hand, the movement making her belt buckle clink against itself. Her free hand grabs at your shirt, your arm, anywhere she can reach. "Just fuck me already."
You turn her again, pressing her face-first against the metal shelving. The cold surface makes her gasp, back arching instinctively away from it. She braces herself, legs automatically spreading wider on the concrete floor, the heel of her boots making a sharp click as she repositions.
You grab her belt from behind, leather warm from her body heat, using it to arch her back, positioning her ass higher. The positioning makes the dress ride up further, exposing more of her thighs, making her stance more obscene, more perfect.
Another smack lands on her exposed ass, harder than before, the sound cracking through the small room. She jerks forward, a moan ripping from her throat.
"Fucking perfect," you mutter, kneading the flesh you just struck, watching the pink handprint fade and bloom again under your touch. You land another blow on the opposite cheek, evening her out, making her squirm.
The scent of her arousal hits you fully now—musky, sweet, unmistakable. Your mouth waters at the smell of her, cock throbbing painfully in response.
You reach up, fingers finding her hair, gripping the short strands of her bob at the nape of her neck. Not pulling, just holding, controlling. The sensation makes her moan, her head falling back into your grip.
"Please," she whispers, the word a broken, ragged thing as she tries to push back against you.
You keep her in place with your dual grip on her belt and hair. "Please what?"
"Please fuck me," she begs, all teasing gone from her voice, replaced with raw need. "I need your cock inside me. Now."
You release her hair to lean over her, your chest pressing against her back, trapping her heat between your bodies. Your mouth finds her ear, teeth grazing the sensitive lobe. "After all that teasing? All those filthy little comments with people right fucking there?"
You land another hard slap on her ass, watching the flesh redden under your palm. "This what you wanted? Getting your ass slapped while the whole crew is just outside?"
"Yes," she admits, voice small but sure. "Needed it so bad."
You drag the head of your cock through her slick folds, the sensation making both of you groan—her wetness hot and silky against you, making everything gloriously frictionless. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't make you wait longer."
"Because," she pants, voice vibrating with need, "you want this as bad as I do."
She's right, and you both know it.
You guide yourself to her entrance and thrust in with one brutal stroke, burying yourself to the hilt in her tight, clinging heat.
The sound she makes is primal—half gasp, half moan, pure fucking need. Your hand clamps over her mouth immediately, palm registering the warm wetness of her breath, the softness of her lips.
"Shhh," you warn even as you pull back and drive in again, the slick sound of your joining obscenely loud in the small space. "You want the whole fucking staff to hear how you take cock? How their perfect Kim Chaewon is just a dirty little whore in here?"
She shakes her head, but her pussy clenches around you at the words, a vice-like grip that sends stars exploding behind your eyelids. You know she loves the risk, the filth, the knowledge that just outside this door, she's Kim Chaewon of LE SSERAFIM, but in here, she's just yours to use.
"That's what gets you off, isn't it?" you growl against her ear, punctuating each word with a hard thrust. "Knowing they all think you're so sweet, so professional, when really you're in here letting me fuck you raw in a storage room."
Moving your hand from her mouth to her throat, you feel her swallow against your palm, her pulse racing beneath your fingers. You don't squeeze, just hold, feeling the vibrations of her moans traveling through her slender neck.
"That's right," you growl against her ear, teeth scraping the shell. "Remember who you belong to."
Her response is a full-body shudder, her inner walls clenching around you, making you groan at the sensation.
You fuck her hard, each thrust making her body jolt against the shelves. The metal creaks ominously, the sound mixing with the wet slap of skin on skin, the harsh sounds of your combined breathing. Your hand comes down on her ass again, the sting making her gasp, her pussy clenching around you in response.
"You love that, don't you?" you murmur, watching the red handprint bloom on her pale skin. "Love getting your ass slapped while your tight little pussy gets stretched around my cock."
"Yes," she admits, voice breaking around the word. "Love it. Love everything you do to me."
Without pulling out, you grab her left thigh and lift it, the smooth leather of her boot sliding against your palm as you plant her foot against a lower shelf. The new position opens her up, lets you sink even deeper into her molten core.
"Fuck," she whimpers, head falling forward against her braced arm, the tendons in her neck standing out in sharp relief.
"That's it," you growl, watching yourself disappear inside her over and over, mesmerized by the sight of her taking you, by the glistening evidence of her arousal coating you. "Take it deeper."
You grip her belt with one hand, bunching her dress even higher with the other until it's completely out of the way. The sight of her perfect ass jiggling with each impact makes your head swim, blood rushing in your ears. It's already pink from your earlier attention, the skin warm to the touch.
Your hand slides up her spine to grip her hair again, this time with purpose. You gather the short strands in your fist, tugging just enough to make her back arch further, to make her gasp, throat exposed and vulnerable.
"Look at you," you say, voice rough with exertion, the words punched out of you with each thrust. "LE SSERAFIM's perfect leader, taking cock in a storage room, being such a whore. Such a pretty little slut with your ass all red from my hands, your pussy dripping all over my cock."
She pushes back against you, taking you deeper, her body greedily swallowing every inch. "Harder," she demands, voice breaking on the word. "Fuck me harder. Make me feel it tomorrow."
You grip both her hips now, fingers digging into soft flesh, and pick up the pace. The new angle has you hitting that spot inside her that makes her whole body tremble, makes her walls flutter and clench around you. The wet sounds of her pussy taking your cock fill the small space—obscene, filthy, perfect.
"You're so fucking tight," you groan, feeling her walls grip you like a silken vice. "Squeezing my cock like you're trying to milk it dry."
You switch your grip, one hand finding her throat again, feeling her swallow against your palm as you apply the gentlest pressure. Just enough to remind her who's in control, to make her breath catch. Your other hand comes down hard on her ass again, the smack loud enough to make you both freeze for a second, worried it might have been heard outside.
"You've been a fucking menace all day," you growl, your pace relentless, the sound of your bodies coming together a wet percussion. "Strutting around in this dress, whispering that shit in my ear, touching me under the table."
Your grip on her throat tightens fractionally, making her pulse jump against your fingers. Her only response is to push back harder, taking you deeper, her body yielding and demanding all at once.
"You'd let me do anything to you, wouldn't you?" you ask, voice low and rough in her ear. "Slap your ass, pull your hair, fuck you where anyone could walk in and see you—see what a desperate little whore you really are."
"Yes," she admits, the confession barely audible. "Anything. Everything."
The tension builds between you, a tangible thing in the small, overheated room. The air is thick with the scent of sex, with the sounds of pleasure barely contained, with the electric certainty that this is exactly where you both need to be.
You change the angle again, leaning over her back to reach around to her front. The new position grinds your pelvis against her ass with each thrust, your cock hitting new spots inside her. Your fingers find her clit, circling it in tight, firm motions, feeling it swell and harden under your touch.
"Oh fuck," she gasps, her inner walls fluttering around you like wings. "Right there, don't stop."
You don't stop. You keep up the relentless pace, feeling her get wetter around you with each stroke, her arousal making everything slick and hot and perfect. Your fingers on her clit get slicker, the combination of her arousal and your spit making obscene wet sounds that mix with the slap of skin on skin.
"That's right, take it just like that," you encourage, voice strained. "Take it like the cock-hungry little slut you are."
Instead of being offended, she moans louder, her body responding to your words as much as to your touch. You know exactly what she likes to hear, exactly how far to push the fantasy of degradation that excites her so much.
The pleasure is so intense you have to grit your teeth to keep from coming too soon. Three weeks without this—without her tight heat squeezing you, without her desperate little sounds, without the feeling of being buried inside her—has left you balanced on a knife's edge of control.
"You close?" you ask, voice strained, the words feeling like they're being ripped from your chest.
"Yes," she pants, the word almost a sob. "So close."
You reach up with your free hand, tangling your fingers in her hair again, carefully pulling her head back to expose the elegant line of her neck, watching the muscles work beneath the skin as she swallows. You bend to press open-mouthed kisses along her shoulder, right where the dress leaves her skin bare, tasting salt and sweetness.
"Think about this tomorrow," you murmur against her skin, lips dragging over the goosebumps your breath creates. "When you're sitting in meetings, when you're in practice, when you're smiling for the cameras—remember how fucked you look right now. Remember how your ass felt getting spanked while my cock was inside you. Remember what a perfect little whore you are for me."
Her breath catches. Her pussy clenches around you. She's right on the edge, her body wound tight as a bowstring.
"Remember you're fucking mine," you growl, punctuating the words with a particularly deep thrust that makes her cry out before she can stop herself, the sound sharp and startling in the quiet room.
You cover her mouth again, palm feeling the heat of her breath, the wetness of her lips, but it's too late—the sound echoed in the small room. Both of you freeze, hearts pounding, listening for any reaction from outside.
Nothing. Just the continued sounds of the busy set.
The moment of fear transforms quickly back into desperate need. Your thrusts become harder, deeper, more deliberate. Her body responds with renewed hunger, pushing back to meet you stroke for stroke, the rhythm between you perfect and instinctive.
Your hand slips from her mouth to her throat, not squeezing, just feeling her pulse race under your palm, feeling the vibrations of her moans travel through your fingertips.
"You gonna come for me?" you ask, feeling your own orgasm building at the base of your spine, heat coiling tight and insistent. "Gonna come all over my cock like the needy little slut you are?"
She nods frantically, beyond words now. Her body tightens around you, clenching with each thrust, the pressure building visibly in the arch of her back, the tension in her thighs, the way her fingers curl against the metal shelf.
You can feel your own release building, the tight grip of her pussy dragging you toward the edge. You've been thinking about this for weeks—dreaming about it, jerking off to memories of it—and now you're finally here, buried inside her, both of you desperate and filthy and perfect.
Her breath hitches. Her pussy flutters around your cock. You know the signs—she's right there, teetering on the precipice.
One more hard slap on her ass, the sting making her gasp, her inner walls clenching around you in response.
You lower her leg from the shelf, repositioning her with both feet on the ground, but spread wide. You grip her belt again with one hand, keeping up the pressure on her clit with the other. The new angle has you grinding against that spot inside her that makes her go crazy, makes her whole body tremble.
"Come on," you urge, your own control slipping, voice rough and broken. "Come on my cock, Chaewon. Let me feel it. Let me feel what a fucking whore you are for me."
Her body responds instantly, like your words were the final trigger she needed. She buries her face against her arm to muffle the sound as her orgasm rips through her, her pussy clamping down on you in rhythmic pulses, a flood of warmth surrounding you. Her legs shake so hard you have to hold her up with the grip on her belt, feeling the tremors travel through her entire body.
The sight of her completely wrecked, the feel of her convulsing around you, the knowledge that you did this to her—it all sends you over the edge. You thrust deep one last time, grinding against her ass as you come, filling her up with pulse after pulse, the pleasure so intense it's almost pain, radiating from your core to the tips of your fingers, the backs of your knees, the top of your skull.
"Fuck, Chaewon, fuck," you chant, forehead pressed between her shoulder blades as you empty yourself inside her, feeling the way she milks every drop from you, her body greedy even in its exhaustion.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. Just the sound of ragged breathing, your heartbeats gradually slowing from their frantic pace, the distant muffled voices of the set filtering back into your awareness.
You're still inside her, softening but reluctant to break the connection. Her body occasionally trembles with aftershocks, her pussy giving your cock little squeezes that make you hiss with oversensitivity, the sensation bordering on too much.
You run your hand gently over her ass, soothing the skin you'd been striking moments ago. It's still warm to the touch, a faint pink that will fade before she has to be back on set. Your touch is gentle now, a stark contrast to the roughness from before.
"You okay?" you murmur against her ear, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck.
"Better than okay," she whispers back, voice wrecked but satisfied.
Eventually, you pull out slowly, both of you groaning at the sensation. You watch as a trickle of your come leaks from her, sliding down her inner thigh. The sight sends a possessive thrill through you, primal and satisfying.
She straightens, turning to face you. Her makeup is smeared, her lips swollen and red, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes have that dazed, satisfied look that only comes after she's been thoroughly fucked. A thin sheen of sweat makes her skin glow under the fluorescent light. Her short hair is disheveled where you'd gripped it, sticking up in places that you smooth down with gentle fingers.
You grab tissues from a box on the shelf, gently cleaning between her legs. She watches you, a soft smile playing on her lips—so different from the smirk she's been tormenting you with all day.
"Did I hurt you?" you ask, suddenly aware of how rough you were, eyes searching for marks on her throat, her wrists, her hips, ghosting your fingers over her ass where you'd struck her.
She shakes her head, running her fingers through your hair, nails scraping lightly against your scalp in a way that makes you shiver. "Babe, It was perfect."
You retrieve her safety shorts from the floor and help her back into them, then smooth down her dress. Your hands linger on her waist, not quite ready to let go, feeling the warmth of her through the fabric.
A smirk forms slowly on her face, eyes glittering with mischief as she leans in close, her breath warm against your ear. "Think they heard?"
You press a final kiss to her shoulder, lingering there, inhaling deeply—tasting salt and perfume and her, that essence that's uniquely Chaewon beneath the expensive fragrance. Your lips trace a path to the curve where her neck meets her shoulder, feeling her pulse still racing beneath your mouth.
"Not if you keep your mouth shut next time," you murmur against her skin, unable to resist giving her one more gentle bite.
She hums, the sound vibrating against your lips. "But where's the fun in that?" she whispers, that familiar playful defiance in her voice.
As she attempts to take a step back, her legs buckle. She grabs your shoulders to steady herself, her usual composure completely absent, the bratty confidence from seconds ago vanishing.
"I can't move," she whispers, voice wrecked, blinking up at you with unfocused eyes. All the sharp edges of her personality momentarily dissolved, leaving her soft and vulnerable in a way no one else ever sees. "My legs won't work."
"Good," you murmur, unable to hide your satisfaction as you press a kiss to her forehead, supporting her weight. You hold her close for a moment, feeling the way she melts against you, completely undone.
After a moment, that familiar glint of mischief gradually returns to her eyes. The transformation is beginning; the desperate, wrecked woman slowly rebuilding herself into the polished idol.
In this moment, with her guard completely down, she looks younger, softer. The harsh fluorescent lighting should be unflattering, but somehow it just makes her look more real—smudged eyeshadow, faint red marks on her throat where your fingers were, her hair disheveled despite her attempts to smooth it. For a few seconds more, she's just yours.
She reaches up, her hand cupping your cheek with surprising tenderness. Her eyes, usually sharp and mischievous, soften as she looks at you. She leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips—so different from the desperate ones you shared minutes ago. This one is deliberate, unhurried.
"I love you," she whispers against your mouth, the words barely audible but unmistakable. It's not something she says often—both of you knowing how dangerous those words can be in your situation.
Your hand comes up to cover hers where it rests against your face, holding her there for a moment. "I love you too," you reply quietly, the words filling the small space between you. "Even when you're being a menace."
Her eyes crinkle at the corners. "Especially when I'm being a menace," she corrects, and you can't help but smile.
You glare at her playfully, and she giggles—the sound at complete odds with what just happened, with the filthy things you both just did, with the woman who was begging for your cock and calling herself your whore minutes ago. The contrast is jarring and perfect; this duality of hers that only you get to witness.
She leans in and kisses you deeply, but without the desperate edge from before. This kiss is softer, a promise.
When she pulls back, you can see the clock ticking in her head. Reality intruding.
"You go first," you say, checking your watch. "They'll be looking for you. The shoot needs to wrap in twenty minutes."
She nods, takes a deep breath, and you watch in fascination as she transforms back into LE SSERAFIM's leader right before your eyes. Her shoulders straighten, her chin lifts, her expression becomes more controlled. It's like watching an actress step into character—except you know both versions are equally real.
She checks her reflection in her phone, adjusts her belt, smooths her hair with practiced precision. Only you would notice the slight tremble in her fingers, the pink marks on her hips where your hands were, the satisfied glow in her eyes that the camera won't quite catch but you can see clearly.
"How do I look?" she asks, voice steady now, almost back to the professional tone she uses with everyone else.
Like she's just been thoroughly fucked. Like her thighs are still sticky with both of you. Like she's hiding a universe of secrets behind that poised expression. Like she's yours.
"Perfect," you say instead, swallowing the possessive thoughts.
She smiles—not the coy smirk from before, but something genuine that crinkles the corners of her eyes. Then it's gone, replaced by the polished mask she wears for everyone else.
Just as you think she's about to leave, she presses one last kiss to your jaw, her fingers trailing down your chest with deliberate slowness. Her lips move to your ear, breath hot against your skin.
"I'll be thinking about this all night," she whispers, voice dropping to that register that makes your pulse quicken despite your recent release. Then, even lower, just for you: "And touching myself the second I get back to the dorm."
Before you can respond, she's slipped out the door with a final squeeze of your hand, leaving you alone in the storage room with her promise echoing in your mind, the scent of sex still hanging in the air, mingling with her perfume.
You give it two minutes before following, clipboard held strategically in front of you, expression carefully neutral as you adjust your own mask—the efficient manager, all business.
By the time you return, Chaewon is already back on set, taking direction for the next shot, nodding professionally at the photographer's instructions. Her posture is immaculate, her expression perfectly calibrated—looking as composed and professional as if she'd just been touching up her makeup instead of being bent over a shelf with your hand prints on her ass.
No one looks at her twice. No one notices the way she stands slightly differently, favoring one leg. No one sees the slight darkening at the base of her throat where your mouth had been.
You watch from behind the monitor, maintaining a careful distance, occasionally checking your phone or making notes on your clipboard. The perfect picture of professionalism.
She gets into position, poised and beautiful under the lights, following direction flawlessly. The camera loves her—captures her elegance, her poise, but misses completely the woman you know.
Then she glances directly at the camera, and for just a second—
The look she gives—half-lidded eyes, the barest hint of teeth catching her lower lip, a fleeting microexpression of remembered pleasure—that's just for you.
And you know, watching her seamlessly return to her perfect idol persona, that you'll both be counting the minutes until you can be alone again.
...
AN: Yes I'm a certified CHAEWON simp. This is strike 3 chaewon from me with more coming.
