A few days later, Y/N steps into the kitchen and freezes.
J and Jiheon are already seated at the table, matching smiles painted across their faces. J’s legs are crossed high, her skirt riding up. Jiheon’s leaning forward, elbows on the wood, chin in her palms. They’ve been waiting.
“Morning, oppa,” Jiheon purrs.
Y/N can do nothing but grab a granola bar from the pantry. Don’t make eye contact. Don't make eye contact he keeps telling himself, the granola bar crinkles in his grip.
“You’ve been avoiding us,” J says, her voice a pout. “After everything we shared.”
She lets the last word hang. His jaw tightens.
“I have plans.” Y/N replies
Jiheon laughs, light and sharp. “Plans? With that Ahyeon girl? Please. She doesn’t know you like we do.”
He suddenly turns to face his step-sister “She knows enough. Don't you worry about her.”
J uncrosses her legs, stands, steps closer. Her hand lands on his chest, fingers playing with the collar of his blue shirt. “Does she know how you taste when you’re nervous? How your breath catches right before—”
Y/N steps back. Her hand falls.
“Enough of this. I’m leaving for school.”
And he's out the door before they can respond. The granola bar unopened in his pocket.
The sci-fi club meets every week in room 204, after last period. Poster of a nebula on the door. A dented model starship on the shelf. And Ahyeon, sitting at the back table, flipping through a worn paperback.
She looks up when Y/N walks in. Her hair is pulled back with a clip, loose strands framing her face. The afternoon light catches her cheekbones. She looks absolutely gorgeous.
“You’re early.” she says
He swallows trying to find a little bit of courage, his mouth starts to dry up.
“I need to ask you something.”
She closes the book. Sets it down. Her eyes are dark, patient, curious.
Y/N crosses the room and stops in front of her.
“I really like you Ahyeon-ah. Have liked you for a while. So will you go to prom with me?”
The words come out rougher than he had intended. Unrehearsed. Clearly he didn't think about what he was going to say if she laughed.
She doesn’t laugh.
A small smile spreads across her mouth. She stands. Now we’re close enough that I can smell her shampoo—something floral, clean.
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask,” she says. “Yes, of course i'll go to prom with you, Y/N.”
The air leaves his lungs. Relief. Joy. Something that feels like a punch.
He grins. She laughs. And then she kisses him, right there in the sci-fi club, her lips warm and sure.
The two become the talk of the school by Tuesday.
“You and Ahyeon? Seriously?” My friend Mark claps my shoulder in the hallway. “She’s out of your league, man.”
I don’t argue. She is.
We eat lunch together. She holds my hand under the table, thumb tracing circles on my palm. People stare. I don’t care.
She visits my house after school on Thursday.
The door clicks shut behind her, and I hear footsteps from the living room. J and Jiheon, summoned like bloodhounds.
Ahyeon’s hand is still in mine. I squeeze, a warning.
“So this is where you live,” she says, glancing around. “Cute. Cozy.”
J appears first, leaning against the archway. “Y/N, you didn’t tell us you were having company.”
Jiheon drifts in behind her, arms crossed. “We could’ve helped you prepare.”
The word helped drips with implication.
Ahyeon’s eyes flick between them. She doesn’t flinch.
“I’m sure you could,” she says, her voice sweet and sharp as a blade. “But I think I’ve got handling Y/N down.”
J’s smile tightens. “Oh, do you? He has particular tastes.”
Ahyeon tilts her head. Lets the silence stretch. Then she laughs, light and dismissive.
“Maybe. But I don’t share.”
She turns to me, grabs my wrist, and pulls me toward the stairs. “Your room. Now.”
I follow. Behind me, I hear Jiheon hiss something. J shushes her.
The door clicks shut. Ahyeon pushes me onto the bed, stands over me, her chest rising and falling.
“They’re trying to get under my skin,” she says, but she’s smiling. A dangerous smile.
“They’re jealous.”
“Good.” She climbs onto the bed, straddles my hips. Her skirt rides up. I can feel the heat of her thighs through my jeans.
“I’m going to give you something to remember,” she says, her voice low. “Something they can’t touch.”
Her hands find my belt buckle.
My head tips back as her mouth finds me. She’s slow at first, deliberate—a tease. Her tongue traces a line, circles, retreats. My fingers dig into the sheets.
Then she takes me deeper.
There’s a rhythm she sets, confident, hungry. She knows what she’s doing. Every flick of her tongue, every hollow of her cheek, is a statement.
I’m better. I’m the one.
I can’t help the sound that escapes my throat. A groan, low and ragged.
She pauses. Looks up at me, eyes glinting.
“Let them hear,” she whispers.
Then she resumes, faster now, her hand working in tandem with her mouth. The pleasure builds, tightens, coiling low in my gut.
I grip her hair. She moans around me, the vibration sending a shudder up my spine.
“Ahyeon—I’m close—”
She doubles down. No hesitation. No mercy.
I come with a gasp that turns into a long, shuddering exhalation. My body arches. She doesn’t pull away. Takes everything, holds still as the last pulse fades.
Then she lifts her head.
Her lips are slick. A trail of white runs from the corner of her mouth across her cheek. She doesn’t wipe it.
She smiles up at me, breathless and triumphant.
From somewhere downstairs, I hear a door slam.
They heard.
The house feels heavier after Ahyeon walks out the front door. J and Jiheon waste no time. They corner Y/N in the hallway, bodies pressed close, voices low and sticky with intent.
"She left you all worked up," J murmurs, fingers tracing the line of his shirt collar. "We saw how she looked at you. We can finish what she started."
Jiheon slides a hand down his chest, stopping just above his belt. "We won't stop at a lousy blowjob this time. We'll ride you until you forget her name. Both of us. At the same time."
Y/N steps back, jaw set. "I'm not interested. She's my girlfriend. That's it."
J laughs, but it cracks at the edges. "Come on, oppa. We know what you like. We can do things she never will."
He shakes his head, already turning away. "Nothing you say changes anything. I'm done with this."
They keep pushing for another minute, voices turning sharp, but he keeps walking until the door to his room shuts behind him. Their footsteps fade, leaving only silence.
Prom night arrives like a held breath. Y/N stands in front of the mirror in a fitted black tuxedo, the fabric sharp against his frame. The tie sits straight. His hair is combed back. He looks ready.
J and Jiheon wait in the living room wearing the sluttiest outfits they could assemble. J's top is a tiny black crop that barely covers the underside of her breasts, the fabric stretched thin enough to show the hard points of her nipples. Her shorts ride so high the lower curve of her ass cheeks peeks out with every step. Jiheon's version is even bolder: a sheer white tank top with no bra underneath, the material clinging to every curve, and cutoff denim shorts so short they function more like underwear. Both girls move with deliberate sway, hips rolling as they block the hallway.
"Don't go," J says, voice thick. She steps in close, pressing her chest against his arm. "Stay here. We'll make it worth it. You can fuck us all night. Any position you want."
Jiheon drops to her knees right there on the carpet, looking up with wide eyes. "We can start now. Pull your cock out and let us suck it together. We'll swallow every single drop."
Y/N sidesteps them without a word. He grabs his keys, checks his phone for Ahyeon's text, and heads for the door. Their calls follow him down the driveway, but he doesn't look back.
The prom venue glows under soft lights. Ahyeon waits near the entrance in a flowing red dress that hugs her waist and flares at the hips. When she sees him, her face lights up. They move inside together, hands linked.
They dance slowly to the music, bodies swaying in time. Her head rests on his shoulder. Friends from the sci-fi club wave them over between songs. They laugh, share stories, drink punch that tastes too sweet. The night stretches easy and warm. Y/N forgets everything else while Ahyeon stays close, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his palm.
Later, Ahyeon pulls him outside and whispers against his ear. "My parents are gone all week. Come home with me."
The drive back to Ahyeon’s house was a blur of electric tension, the air in the car thick with the scent of her perfume and the unspoken promise of what was to come. Every time she shifted in her seat, the red fabric of her dress brushed against Y/N, sending jolts of heat through him. By the time the engine cut out in the driveway, the silence was heavy, charged with a hunger that had been building all night.
The moment the front door clicked shut behind them, the pretense of patience vanished. Ahyeon turned to him, her eyes dark and dilated, shimmering with a predatory kind of desire. Without a word, she reached behind her back, the metallic slide of the zipper echoing in the quiet hallway. The red dress didn't just fall; it cascaded, sliding down the curves of her hips and pooling around her ankles in a shimmering heap of crimson silk.
She stood before him in a matching set of black lace—a bra that struggled to contain her breasts and panties that left very little to the imagination. She stepped into his space, the heat radiating off her skin. Her mouth crashed against his, her tongue sliding deep, tasting of lip gloss and longing. Her hands were frantic, working his jacket off his shoulders and then tearing at his shirt. A button popped, pinging off the wall, as she shoved the fabric aside to feel his bare chest.
Y/N groaned into the kiss, his hands finding the swell of her hips. Below, his cock was a rigid iron bar pressing against the denim of his pants. Ahyeon felt it; she let out a low, humming moan against his lips and reached down, palming him through the fabric. She squeezed him firmly, her fingers tracing the length and girth of him, making him gasp.
As they stumbled toward the bedroom, a sound drifted through the house. It was faint at first—a soft, breathy whimper—but as they entered the room, it became clear. The wall shared a boundary with Asa’s room, and the sounds filtering through were unmistakable.
"Ahh… fuck… right there… oh god…" Asa’s voice was a broken melody of pleasure, echoing through the drywall.
Y/N's dick twitches harder at the sound. He pictures Ahyeon's sister on the other side of the wall, two classmates stripping her down, hands on her tits, mouths on her neck. The image makes his balls tighten.
Ahyeon paused, a playful, wicked smirk crossing her lips. She didn't seem bothered; if anything, the sound of her sister’s ecstasy acted like an aphrodisiac. She pushed Y/N back onto the bed, crawling over him with a slow, sensual grace. She leaned down, her breasts brushing his chest, her nipples stiff and poking through the lace.
"Sounds like Asa is having a very busy night," Ahyeon whispered, her breath hot against his ear. She began to grind her hips against his lap, the friction of the lace against his pants driving him wild. "But I don't want to share. I want you all to myself."
She pushes him backward onto the bed. Her fingers make quick work of his belt. Pants and boxers hit the floor. His cock springs free, thick and veined, already leaking at the tip. She climbs on top, straddling his hips. One hand reaches between them, grips his shaft, and rubs the head along her soaked slit. She sinks down in one slow motion, pussy stretching around him until her ass meets his thighs.
"Ohhh fuck," she moans, voice loud and clear. "Your cock feels so good inside me."
She began to bounce, her tits jiggling violently in the lace bra. Hips roll in steady circles, then lift and drop. Each descent takes him deeper. Wet sounds fill the room as her pussy grips and slides along his length. "Ahh… ahh… yes… deeper… fuck me harder…", rhythm slow at first but as the sounds from the next room intensified, so did her pace.
Through the wall, Asa’s moans grew frantic, bordering on screams. "Yes! Fuck my pussy! Harder! Oh god, your cock is so big! I can't—ahh! Right there!"
The sound of Asa's pleasure pushed Ahyeon over the edge. She reached back, unhooking her bra with a quick snap and tossing it across the room. Her bare breasts swayed as she slammed her hips down harder, her pussy gripping Y/N with every descent.
Y/N grips her hips, thrusting up to meet her. His cock drives into her soaked heat again and again. The head nudges her cervix with every deep stroke. "Fuck, Ahyeon… your pussy is squeezing me so tight."
Ahyeon let out a loud, piercing moan, her eyes rolling back. "Ahhh! Yes! Right there! Pound my cunt! Make me scream louder than my sister!"
Next door, the audio shifted. The sounds of shifting bodies and heavy breathing indicated a change in position. Asa was now riding one classmate while a second pushed into her from behind. Her voice cracked, a mixture of shock and pure bliss.
"Ohhh shit! Both holes! You're stretching my ass so wide! Fuck me! Fuck me!"
The double penetration makes her scream. The classmate under her thrusts up into her pussy while the one behind grips her waist and drives into her ass. Skin slaps against skin. Wet squelching noises mix with her cries. "Ahhh! I'm so full! Don't stop! Cum inside me!"
Ahyeon hears every word. She rides Y/N even harder, ass slapping against his thighs. Her pussy clenches and flutters around his thick cock. "Listen to her getting double-teamed. Two cocks ruining her at once. But you're mine. This dick belongs to me."
She grinds down in tight circles, clit rubbing against his pubic bone. "Ahh… ahh… I'm getting close… your big cock is hitting so deep… fuck… fuck…"
Y/N's hands slide up to squeeze her tits. He pinches her nipples, rolling them between his fingers. She moans louder. "Yes! Play with my tits while you fuck me!"
The race intensifies. Ahyeon slams down with everything she has, pussy dripping down his shaft and onto his balls. Each thrust makes obscene wet sounds. "Ahhh! Yes! Fuck! I'm gonna cum! Cum with me!"
Next door, Asa is losing it. "Oh my god! I'm cumming! Both cocks are making me cum so hard! Ahhh! Fill my holes!"
Her screams peak, raw and desperate. The two classmates grunt and thrust harder, one flooding her pussy while the other pumps cum into her ass. Asa shakes between them, voice hoarse. "Yes! Yes! So much cum!"
Ahyeon hears her sister's orgasm and it pushes her over. She rides Y/N at a frantic pace, hips snapping. "Ahhh! I'm cumming! Your cock is making me cum!"
Her pussy spasms around him, walls pulsing and milking. Y/N groans, hips jerking up as he erupts inside her. Thick ropes of cum shoot deep, filling her until it leaks out around his shaft with every bounce. "Fuck… Ahyeon…"
She keeps moving through both their orgasms, slower now but still grinding, drawing every drop. "Mmm… so much cum… I can feel it pumping into me."
They stay locked together, breathing hard. Through the wall, Asa's moans soften into satisfied whimpers as the three of them collapse. Ahyeon leans down, kisses Y/N slow and deep, then whispers against his lips. "Best night ever."
Y/N holds her close, cock still twitching inside her soaked pussy. The sounds from next door fade, but the memory lingers, making the afterglow even sweeter. He strokes her back, content, completely hers.
Later that night as Y/N arrived home after giving his girlfriend a couple more orgasms, his relentless step-sisters were waiting for him by the kitchen table.
"So, how was she, Y/N?" Jiheon asks
"Was it everything you hoped for?" J sarcastically adds
"I'm not talking about this with my sisters. Plus it's none of your business. You should worry about your own boyfriend, Jiheon-ah." he says with a smirk knowingly
"What's that supposed to mean? she asks
"Oh, i don't know. Maybe the fact that i haven't seen him around in over a month." I'm sure you did something to upset him. Or did he think you were a bad fuck and left you for someone better?"
"What the fuck did you just say to me? Last week you were begging me to swallow your cum, now you've got a girlfriend and you suddenly think you're above it all?" Jiheon replies furiously as she gets up from the table, almost screaming at Y/N
"Maybe i did. Or maybe i just got tired of letting you two play games with me. All of this teasing and flirting after making fun of me for years for liking your older members. And now you're trying to fuck up the best thing that's ever happened to me." "If you care about me, then just stay the fuck out of my life." Y/N says as he walks out of the kitchen and up the stairs, slamming the door to his room.
"Looks like little bro finally grew some balls." J says "What are we gonna do about this? We can't just let him walk away after everything that happened."
"Oh, he's not walking away i can promise you that. And since we can't just threaten to expose him to that slut girlfriend of his, we'll have to make it impossible for him to resist us." Jiheon replies
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The worst part about having a slutty best friend isn't that she's a slut.
It's that she's your best friend.
Few people throw a party as iconic as Enami Asa.
Known and hated by her neighbors for the constant disturbance of the peace, the fame of her parties doesn't lie in the organization, the logistics, the setup, or the quality of the drinks, but rather in the complete absence of all that. Being the type of person who skimps on her own birthday cake to invest in booze and whatever cheap substance she can find along the way that'll get you fucked up, an Asa party is always the kind of event that guarantees at least half a dozen memorable moments (all of them for the worst-best reasons imaginable).
The downside, though, is the aftermath; the mess left behind, the rubble of a terrorist attack on every form of public order and decency. And you, being the idiot lovely friend that you are, always stay behind with Asa to help her clean the whole house. Years of friendship and infamous parties and this has pretty much become an unspoken ritual between the two of you.
Although…
Maybe "clean" is an overstatement. Getting the house back to borderline habitable and confirming nobody died in some corner is about the most two drunk people operating at roughly 15% mental capacity can accomplish.
But, as they say, after the storm comes the calm.
With a final pass of the vacuum cleaner, the machine earns its well-deserved rest. You and Asa do too, collapsing onto the couch almost at the same time. The house is, at last, slightly less unsanitary: cups stacked in the sink, the trash bagged in the hallway - along with the three used condoms Asa insisted you!!! pick up - and the floor still sticky with beer, though at least swept. Needless to say, hours of post-party cleaning with alcohol still running through your bloodstream aren't exactly the ideal way to end the night, especially when you nearly puke twice during the process. But, well... who would you be if you left your best friend/birthday girl hanging?
And speaking of her, Asa is sprawled out next to you, head resting against the back of the couch, emptying her lungs in a long sigh of pure exhaustion. Still wearing the same outfit from the party, specifically a short black skirt and a strapless top that made every guy at the party try (and fail) not to stare at her nipples pressing through the thin fabric. Her short dark hair is plastered to the back of her neck with sweat, a few strands escaping to frame her face, the red lipstick still smudged at the corners of her mouth, only one hoop earring remaining on her ear, and her cheeks still flushed from the alcohol and hours of cleaning - this is Asa's final form after one of her parties: gorgeous in her complete state of wreckage.
"Thanks for staying," she murmurs with her eyes closed. "Everyone bailed and left me with this shitshow. You're the only one I can count on at times like this."
"You're welcome. That'll be fifteen bucks," you reply, unlocking your phone.
Asa cracks one eye open just long enough to glare at you.
"Oh, please. Like I'm gonna pay you." She scoffs. "It's my birthday, asshole. Where's my birthday discount?"
"It's four in the morning," you point out, turning your phone screen toward her. "Your birthday's over. Princess privileges have officially expired.”
"You greedy asshole," she laughs, giving your arm a weak slap. "I feed you, I get you drunk, I throw you a party, and you've still got the balls to charge me for helping me clean up? Fine. Don't come crying to me next time you want me to set you up with one of my friends."
You shrug without looking up from your phone, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. Even though the house has finally fallen silent, the bass from the boombox still seems to be rattling around somewhere inside your skull, a noisy ghost that just won't leave. You already know you're gonna wake up with one hell of a headache whenever you finally make it to bed.
The minutes drift by. You mindlessly scroll through your Instagram feed while Asa, slumped beside you, massages her temples with her eyes closed, the two of you quietly enjoying this well-earned lull after hours of drunken mayhem.
"Hey," Asa says into the silence. "By the way... Ahyeon told me what happened between you two."
You look up from your phone and glance over at her. She's sitting sideways on the couch, watching you with a look that's equal parts suspicion and curiosity.
"A lot happened between us. What exactly did she tell you?"
"That you fucked her.”
"Okay." You slip your phone into your pocket. "And?"
"And..." Asa echoes, mocking your nonchalant tone. "She told me you fucked her in the ass, dumbass."
"So? She's the one who asked for it.”
"Fuck!" she groans. "Can't believe Ahyeon got her ass fucked before I did. That was supposed to be me, goddammit!”
You frown, confused.
"Now she's gonna be all smug about it," Asa goes on. "'Oh my God, I've done anal. Look how cool I am.' I'm never gonna hear the end of it.”
"Look, don't know if getting fucked in the ass is exactly a flex, but sure.”
"Doesn't matter. It should've been me," she insists. "I'm closer to you than she is. You should've- Like- We've known each other way longer. Why'd she get to go first?”
"Hold on," you say, turning to face her fully. "I thought you'd already done anal before."
"Oh, right, just because I'm a slut, huh?" She shoots you a look of fierce judgment as if you'd insinuated something - but she is, by the way. She really is. "I know I'm a slut, but I'm not THAT much of a slut, come on! I'm not gonna give my ass to just anyone."
"Really?"
"Dead serious. It has to be someone special."
You take a second to process that. Enami Asa: easily the biggest freak you know. The girl who was literally telling anyone who'd listen just two weeks ago about hooking up with two guys in the same week, whose Amazon cart is perpetually full of brand-name vibrators and whatever other horny shit catches her eye.
And somehow... she's never done anal.
...Huh.
Yeah. You definitely didn't see that coming.
"Special, huh? So what exactly does someone have to have to qualify as 'special' in Enami Asa's book?”
She rolls her eyes at your mocking tone but answers, "It has to be someone I trust. Someone I know won't fuck it up, like, hurt me or whatever. I want someone with experience, who actually knows what they're doing."
"Someone like…?" You leave the sentence dangling in the air on purpose.
Asa bites her lower lip, looking at you with those pretty dark eyes in a way you have absolutely no business finding attractive.
"Like you. Duh.”
And just hearing that, your cock gets hard. Those little words leaving her full lips like that - hushed, almost a secret, as if it weren't the most intimate thing she's ever confessed to you - set your blood on fire.
"Okay, just to be sure: you're asking what I think you're asking?" You look at her, searching her face for any sign she's joking.
"Depends," Asa replies, repositioning herself on the couch to get a little closer to you. "Would you do it?" You have to look away for a second, swallowing hard as you try to process the abrupt turn the night's just taken. "It'd be, like..." she goes on, a filthy smile slowly spreading across those full lips, "the ultimate birthday present. Best one I've ever gotten.”
"And what about that manual orange juicer I got you?" you remind her. "Which, by the way, wasn't cheap."
"And I love it, babe," she says, giving your knee a squeeze. "Gonna be drinking fresh, 100% natural orange juice thanks to you. I'll use it every day, pinky swear. But If you fuck my ass… that'd be an even better present, you know? Think of it as an early Christmas gift.”
You can't help but laugh at how ridiculous this is. Asa just sits there with that smug little smile, calm as the morning light, quietly watching your reaction.
Little by little, it dawns on you that she's not kidding. You let out a sigh, drag both hands over your face, and rub at it, feeling your sanity hanging by a thread - and, at this point, probably your boxers too.
"Fuck, Asa..." you mutter. "You actually wanna do this? Like, right now?”
"Right now," she confirms, biting her lower lip again (at this point it's hard to tell if it's involuntary or intentional). "It's just us two here anyway. And if you want to know something…" She leans toward you. Perfume, sweat, and alcohol scrambling your senses. "Just talking about it is already making me wet," she reveals with a mischievous giggle that makes your cock throb in your pants.
"You can't be serious," you say with a half-suppressed laugh.
Now, take note: to Asa, a challenge is what bait is to a fish. She'll bite every single time - and you swear you didn't even do it on purpose.
"You think I'm kidding? Want me to prove you wrong?"
"No! Jesus Christ, Asa! You don't have to prove any-”
You don't even finish the sentence before she's standing right in front of you, her petite body on full display - much to your libido's delight and your better judgment's despair. To understand your predicament, it helps to know that Asa has always had the kind of body that makes a lot of girls die of envy: slim waist, that natural thinness so many dream of having and proportions so perfect that any outfit looks tailor-made for her. So, naturally, expecting you not to admire the view is asking a bit much.
Without breaking eye contact, she slides her hands to the hem of the black skirt and lifts it slowly, folding the fabric at her waist in an act of provocation that feels downright unfair.
Unfair because she's not wearing panties.
But you already knew that.
Earlier, in the kitchen, when Asa called you to help her, she bent down to grab a case of beer from the back of the fridge and her skirt rode up, you saw everything. At the time, you assumed it had been accidental. A wardrobe malfunction. One of those situations you simply don't mention because it would only embarrass the other person. She didn't even notice you'd seen. You let it go.
Now, staring at Asa's smooth little pussy spread right in front of you, the pink folds glistening with how wet they are, it's obvious that was far from an accident.
Reason finally manages to regain control for an instant, and the conclusion is unavoidable: choosing to throw a party in a skirt with no panties is far too specific to be a coincidence. In Asa's case, it's practically Machiavellian.
Come to think of it, it didn't even make sense that you'd followed her to the kitchen; it's not like she couldn't carry a case of beer to the living room by herself. Everything had been carefully orchestrated. A master strategist in the art of temptation.
Congratulations. Point goes to her.
Enemy neutralized successfully.
"See?" she asks, spreading her legs slightly so you get a better view. "I've been wet for a while now."
There's no way you can argue otherwise. The smooth white skin gleaming under the living room lamp is all the proof needed.
Then she turns around, putting her back to you, and arches her ass out, still holding the skirt bunched at her waist. Her ass is small, proportional to her body, round and firm. She glances over her shoulder, smiling slyly.
"So?" she asks, swaying her hips gently. "Fuckable? I mean, okay, I know Ahyeon has me beat this year. She turned into a total gym rat and somehow ended up with a whole dump truck back there. Ugh, it's so unfair. Her boobs got bigger too. What the hell is she even doing at that gym? Bench-pressing silicone? Steroid squats?” She laughs, but there's a grain of truth buried in the joke. She gives her own ass a little smack. "But…" She smirks. "Mine's still way tighter. And let's be honest…" She grabs her cheeks with both hands. "…this perky little thing has its own charm, right?" She spreads her cheeks apart just a tiny bit, enough to give you a glimpse of the little hole between them. Tight, pink, and seemingly untouched. Looking over her shoulder, she asks: "Wanna feel?"
And with that question, Asa drops you right between Scylla and Charybdis.
The choice between the lesser of two evils. Which, in this case, means either touching your best friend's ass and, at some point, ending up fucking just to put her on equal footing with Ahyeon in this bizarre female sexual rivalry you simply cannot comprehend - running the risk of ruining your friendship for the rest of your lives...
......or playing the prude, refusing a request made in absolute good faith and, for the first time in years, not being there when she chose to trust you.
You keep staring at her there, arched forward, offering herself up, her hands pulling aside her own cheeks. And even with your cock throbbing inside your pants, something tugs you back for a moment.
The choice seems so obvious it somehow loops back around and becomes complicated. Maybe it sounds like some self-righteous bullshit - a convenient little principle to make yourself feel better than everyone else. But over the years, you've watched practically every guy who drifted into your circle take one look at Asa and think the exact same thing. Somewhere along the way, you decided you weren't going to be just another one of them.
Asa always meant more than that. She's someone you actually give a shit about.
Even with the flirting. Even with the pecks at parties that always passed as harmless fun. Even with all the doors she, consciously or unconsciously, left open, you never took a single step further.
But now, between the alcohol, the sight of this cute little ass arched right in your face, and Asa herself practically begging to be touched…
You're starting to reconsider decisions that, up until five minutes ago, seemed non-negotiable.
"Asa..." you murmur. "We're friends. Best friends. You know this could ruin that... right?”
She looks over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow before firing back, "So? Ahyeon's your friend too. Didn't stop you from railing her. Don't start playing the saint with me now, babe.”
"That was different, Asa! Those are completely different situations!"
"Oh, are they? How?"
"You and I are closer," you point out. "I'm probably the only male friend you have who's never tried to get with you. Everyone else already has. I haven't."
"Okay… fair. You never tried." For one brief, beautiful moment, you think reason has finally won, but then the corner of her mouth curls into a knowing little smirk as she adds, "But you wanted to."
You even open your mouth to argue but she doesn't grant you the right.
"Oh, cut the bullshit." She laughs softly. "Don't insult my intelligence. You never made a move because you thought it'd ruin our friendship. Not because you didn't want to." She sways her hips slowly, still arched, holding your gaze over her shoulder. "You don't have to play the gentleman with me. Kinda hard to buy that act when I can see the bulge in your jeans.” The smirk on her lips grows a little wider. “That's one hell of a 'just friends' situation you've got going on. You're rock hard over your own best friend. So disgusting, right?"
You tug at your jeans - not to hide the obvious, but because your cock's starting to ache from being crushed against the denim. Keeping your eyes locked on her mischievous smirk, you shoot back, "Well, kinda hard not to get hard when you're over there wiggling that ass in my face and asking me to fuck you in that dirty little voice of yours.”
"Exactly. So chill out. We both want this. It's not like you're taking advantage of me or me of you. It's just… us. Enjoying our friendship, tightening the bond in a more fun way. It's not gonna ruin anything, okay? I promise. Tomorrow we'll still be besties. The only difference is you'll know what my back door feels like." She rolls her hips again, slower and more hypnotic. "Come on, babe. I wanna feel those big hands of yours all over me."
Your brain isn't really processing anything anymore. It's just taking everything in through a thick haze. This is the final stage of arousal, where thought gives way to pure instinct. You don't even notice your hands reaching out until they're already wrapped around her ass.
In the last flicker of lucidity, a single thought crosses your mind: Maybe Asa's right.
Your hands practically swallow the tight, firm cheeks, your fingers sinking into the soft flesh. You squeeze, feel the springy give beneath your palms, spread them apart and press them back together. Small, round, with her pink little pussy glistening between her cheeks, the skin warm under your hands, still damp with sweat from the party. And once again, your brain simply does not compute that this is your best friend's ass. The one who understands is your body - and by "body," your cock pulsing inside your pants.
"So?" Asa asks, biting her lower lip as she watches your hands knead her ass. "Better than Ahyeon's or not?”
"Can't give you a verdict till I put my cock in," you say, fully surrendered now, giving her ass a firmer squeeze that draws a gasp from her.
"So you're really gonna fuck your best friend's little ass?"
"Yeah," you confirm, holding her gaze. "You got what you wanted, congratulations."
"God, yes." She grins, giving her ass a smug little wiggle. "I was starting to think you were gonna keep fighting yourself all night.
"Yeah, not happening. Now get on all fours for me," you order.
Asa obeys, but shoots you a look over her shoulder. "You're not gonna shove it in all at once, are you?"
"Fuck no. Of course not. You really think I'd go in dry your first time?” You laugh. “C'mon. Arch that ass for me.”
"Oh, thank god." She adjusts her knees on the cushion and curves her back. "Oh, and before you ask - I already prepped. Did the whole routine. I'm spotless. You can eat me out without a second thought."
You laugh as you position yourself behind her, commenting, "You're methodical as fuck when it comes to getting laid."
"I don't half-ass anything, babe," she replies, sounding oddly proud of herself. "If I'm doing this, I'm doing it right. No amateur shit here.”
"Good. I know what I'm doing too. Just relax and let me handle the rest.”
You push the skirt until it's bunched more or less around her waist, her arched ass now fully visible. You lean in and kiss one cheek, then the other, feeling the soft skin against your lips. Lower down, her exposed pussy, looking wetter by the minute, dripping slightly between her thighs.
"You really are soaking wet," you say, dragging your thumb lightly across her pussy lips just to see her reaction.
Asa shudders and pushes her hips back against your hand. "Told you I'm horny as fuck," She doesn't sound embarrassed in the slightest. "I've wanted to give it to you ever since Ahyeon told me everything. I almost snuck off to the bathroom to get myself off like three different times during the party."
"Then we better get started."
Your first move is spreading her cheeks apart with both hands, exposing the tight pink hole between them, clenching slightly at the touch of the cold night air. You lean in and drag your tongue from bottom to top in a single motion.
Asa reacts with a jolt so sudden she nearly escapes your hands, kicking back like a startled pony - however un-erotic that comparison might be. Her legs tremble, her hips twist, and she lets out a sharp little yelp of pure surprise.
"Fuck!" She laughs nervously, gripping the back of the couch. "What the hell was that-"
You hold her hips firmly, keeping her in place, and say, "Hey, don't move. Stay still."
"Sorry. It's just I didn't expect it to feel like that. You caught me off guard," she pants, trying to reposition herself. "Go easy at first, please."
You return with your tongue, slower this time, tracing wet circles over her hole, feeling the ring of muscle clench beneath your mouth. Once you sense she's adjusted to the sensation, you press the tip of your tongue against the entrance. Asa responds with a moan, and this time she doesn't try to escape. Her thighs shake, but she makes an effort to hold position like a good girl.
"Oh, fuck," she murmurs. "That's - god - what a weird feeling. But it's good. A good weird. Keep going, babe."
You lick, suck, work your tongue against her hole the same way you did with Ahyeon last week. Getting everything wet, letting the spit drip down, laying the groundwork. With each pass of your tongue her body responds differently, and gradually the tension in her muscles yields. Asa starts to relax, pushing her ass back against your mouth instead of pulling away from it.
"I didn't know it was this sensitive back there," she says, her breathing starting to hitch. "Like, I'd use a finger sometimes when I was touching myself, but nobody's ever- You know- Done that with their tongue before. Jesus... Fuck.”
"That feel good?” you ask before going back in.
"Mm-hm," she breathes. "A lot. Please don't stop.”
You keep obeying the birthday girl's wishes, alternating between licking her ass and dropping down to suck on her drenched pussy, which makes her moan louder and arch her back deeper. The silence that had filled the living room now gives way to the sounds Asa produces, plus the wet noise of your mouth working on her.
"Are you gonna tell Ahyeon about this?" you ask, glancing up at her.
Asa laughs, breathless, glances back over her shoulder, and grins. "Obviously I'm gonna tell her. Gonna rub it right in her face. 'Did you know he fucked me too? And, just so you know, it was way better. He even came back for seconds.’ She's gonna freak the fuck out.”
You smack her ass, cutting off her smug little laugh. A pink mark starts to appear on the skin almost immediately.
"You're such a shameless little show-off. What kind of girl gets fucked in the ass for the first time and the first thing she wants to do is tell everyone about it?" you ask.
She lets out another little laugh.
"Me."
You shake your head, unable to hold back a smile, then give her other cheek another smack so they're matching.
"Ow!" she yelps, still laughing. "Yeah, I'm a show-off. So what? Thanks to me, you get the privilege of taking my anal virginity. I could've auctioned that off for millions, babe.”
"Yeah, alright, enough jokes. Now I'm gonna start with my fingers," you warn. "Relax for me, okay?”
You bring your index finger to your mouth, get it properly wet, and bring it back to her hole already slick with your spit. You press slowly, feeling the resistance of the tight ring. Asa's body goes rigid like stone.
"Easy," she says, and for the first time, you can hear the nerves beneath all that bravado. "Seriously. Go easy on me. If you hurt me, I'm gonna kill you."
"I got you," you murmur, easing your finger in a millimeter at a time. "Just breathe. Don't clench.”
Gradually she releases the air trapped in her lungs, her body softening, and your finger begins to slide inside slowly, until it reaches the last knuckle. Her hole is absurdly warm inside, clenching around your finger.
"Fuck, you're really tight in here," you comment, moving the finger slowly in and out.
"That's because nobody's ever used it," she says (or tries to. The sentence comes out through clenched teeth). "Everything back there is brand new. Enjoy it.”
You keep working the finger slowly, giving her body time to adjust. Little by little, the tightness gives way, she finally opens up to you, and her moans grow softer and more frequent. When she seems ready, you add a little more spit and bring a second finger in beside the first.
"Ow, ow! Wait," Asa moans, tensing up again. "It's starting to burn."
"I know. But you need to open up, otherwise my cock won't fit," you explain, keeping both fingers still for a moment. "Wanna stop?"
"No, no!" she answers quickly. "Keep going, please. Just go really slow, okay? I'm delicate."
You almost laugh at the audacity.
Returning your attention to Asa's ass, you now move both fingers together, spreading them apart gradually in a scissoring motion, stretching her hole. The moans never stop; they just shift in pitch, low and continuous, following every movement. Suddenly, she reaches one hand behind her, slides it between her own legs and starts rubbing her clit. Her pussy so wet that the sound of her fingers against it is actually audible.
"It's better like this," she murmurs, her fingers circling between her legs. "When I touch myself up front, everything relaxes in the back. Keep going."
Both fingers glide in and out of Asa's ass at a steady rhythm, and she's starting to lose control. Her hand between her legs speeds up, fingers circling her clit in relentless stimulation, and the moans leaving her mouth are growing increasingly unhinged, dangerously loud in the dead quiet of the night. You feel the walls of her hole clamping around your fingers with every motion, her entire body trembling and arching in response.
"Wow, okay... It's starting to feel good now,” Asa moans, pushing her ass back against your hand. "I can feel your fingers all the way up front. I swear, it's like I can feel them through everything.”
"Yeah?" You smirk while rotating your fingers slowly inside her. "You're enjoying having your little hole stretched open, huh?"
"I'm loving it," she admits between short pants. "If you keep this up I'm gonna cum, and I'm not even kidding. Your fingers in my ass and my fingers on my pussy - fuck! - such a hot combo."
But that's not what you want. Without saying anything, you begin pulling your fingers out slowly. Asa notices immediately and protests with a frustrated grunt, her hips trying to follow your hand on pure reflex before she can accept the loss of sensation.
"Nuh-uh," you say. "I want you to cum with my cock in your ass, not my fingers."
Asa looks over her shoulder. Her eyes burning with want, her face completely flushed. "Fuck, babe... then quit teasing and fuck me already.” There's no trace of that playful attitude now. Just the raw, desperate need of a girl who wants her cute little ass fucked. "I'm ready. You got me all opened up. My hole's so fucking wet - just put your cock in me already.”
You push yourself off the couch in one smooth motion. Your thumb pops the button, you yank the zipper down, and in one quick pull, your jeans and boxers are around your thighs. Your cock springs free, hard and throbbing, the swollen head already glistening.
"Come here," you call. "Spit on it."
Asa turns around on all fours on the couch and faces you, her eyes dropping to your cock. Her mouth parts slightly, surprised, and for a moment she does nothing but stare.
"Holy shit," she murmurs. "Ahyeon had this thing inside her?"
"Yeah."
"I get why she was acting all smug afterward,” Asa says, wrapping her fingers around the shaft, feeling the weight in her hand. "No wonder she was walking around with that stupid little grin. You must've fucked her real good... Jesus, this thing is thick.”
"That's why I prepped your hole properly," you reply. "Now spit."
Asa nods with a dirty little grin, gathers saliva in her mouth and spits directly onto the head of your cock, watching hypnotized as it slides down the length. She closes her fingers around it and starts stroking slowly, spreading everything, coating every inch. Her hand moves up and down, squeezing with perfect, practiced pressure, staring at your cock with the focus of someone utterly devoted to it.
"Feels nice in my hand,” she comments, rubbing her thumb across the tip and spreading the precum. "Hard as fuck. Ahyeon knew exactly what she was doing when she decided to tell me, you know? She was trying to provoke me. Made a point of saying your cock was one of the best she'd ever had. Wanted me thinking about the dick that fucked her. My best friend's dick."
"And it worked?" you ask, your cock throbbing in her hand.
"Yeah. It worked," Asa admits, giving one last firm squeeze. "I was so fucking jealous.”
Then she spits again, more saliva running over your cock. Spreads it all with her hand until it's completely slick and shining. Only then does she lift her face toward you, the corner of her mouth pulled up in that mischievous smile you've known for years.
"Like that, daddy?" she asks, putting on an innocence so obviously fake that only a slut like her could pull it off.
You feel your cock jump in her hand.
"Yeah, perfect," you confirm. "Good girl. Now turn back around."
Asa smiles, pleased with herself for finding the right button, and repositions herself on the couch. Her back to you again, knees spread on the cushion, spine curved and her cute little ass arched up. The pink hole slightly open from the prep, still wet with spit. The slickness that dripped from her soaked pussy trails down in thin threads between her thighs.
Behind her again, you hold your cock with one hand and slide the head between her cheeks, grazing lightly against the tight little hole. Asa shudders the instant she feels, for the first time, the real contact of your cock against her ass.
"Hey. Relax."
"I am relaxed, damn it," she shoots back, though her body tells a different story. "Just put it in before I start overthinking it and lock up.”
You press the head against her hole and push slowly. The pressure builds, increases, the ring of muscle yielding millimeter by millimeter, and the sensation is absurd. Tight in a way that makes you hold your breath. Asa makes a choked sound and grabs the back of the couch hard.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" she lets out in rapid succession. "Stop, stop, stop! Don't move! Let me breathe..."
You stop with just the head of your cock inside, feeling her squeeze and pulse around you. Asa breathes deep, her small chest rising and falling with the effort.
"It's thick as fuck," she murmurs. "No fucking way Ahyeon took all of this up her ass. What a whore."
"Wanna stop?"
"No," she answers fast. "No, absolutely not! Just let me get used to it. Keep pushing, but slow. Really slow, please."
You push another centimeter. Then another. Asa's hole opens around your cock, swallowing you slowly, and with each progression she makes a different sound. A moan. A gasp. A quiet curse. For you, the sensation is overwhelming, hot, impossibly tight, her ring clenching behind the head of your cock with every millimeter of advance, it takes a herculean effort to simply not bury the whole thing inside her ass.
"More," she asks when you hesitate. "Put it all in. Slow but all of it. I want to feel your whole cock in my ass."
You continue, millimeter by millimeter sinking into the tightest little ass you've ever fucked, until your hips press flush against her cheeks. Your entire cock buried in Asa's hole, every inch embraced by that hot, pulsing grip. She releases the air from her lungs all at once, her head dropping forward, dark hair hiding her face, sweat trailing down her spine, tracing every vertebra before disappearing into the fold of her waist.
"Fuck," she murmurs. "I feel everything. I feel your whole cock in my ass. God, this is insane - I can't even breathe."
You stay still, letting the moment belong to her as she adjusts. Her hole pulses around your cock, clenching and relaxing in involuntary waves, and gradually the tension in her body gives way. Her thighs stop trembling so much. Her breathing becomes more controlled, less ragged, her body finally settling around you.
"What was Ahyeon like the first time?" Asa asks suddenly, looking over her shoulder, face flushed and expression curious. "Was she like this too? All tense and stuff?”
"She had a little less trouble," you answer honestly, running your hand over her ass, caressing the warm skin. "But that's fine. Everybody's different. You're doing great too."
"Oh, of course she had less trouble," Asa grumbles. "Easier when it's not actually your first time, right?"
"What do you mean?"
"Babe, you seriously think Ahyeon was an anal virgin? Oh, please.” Asa declares, rolling her eyes, and the indignation adds extra color to her already red face. "She'd probably taken it in the ass from half the city before you. She just played innocent so you'd feel bad for her and fuck her. Perverted bitch.”
You laugh and smack her ass hard enough to make a sharp crack.
"Hey, don't talk about her like that. She's your friend too."
Asa moans at the slap but laughs right after, saying, "She is my friend, yeah. But in this specific department she's my rival," she retorts as if it made perfect sense. "I'm well within my rights to question her anal integrity. It's a competition. She started it when she came bragging to me.”
"Stop being so petty, Asa."
"Fine, whatever." She adjusts her knees on the couch, settling in better. "I won't talk shit about your other little slut anymore. Daddy's favorite girl. Happy?”
"Close enough.” You shake your head, laughing.
Asa laughs with you. It lingers for a moment before trailing off into a quiet exhale. She looks down, absently biting the inside of her cheek, and when her eyes find yours again, her face is somehow gentler. Her dark gaze is steadier, more attentive. Slowly, she reaches back and wraps her hand around the wrist resting on her waist.
"Hey," Asa murmurs. "Seriously now... thanks for saying yes to this. This is what I meant before, you know? About it having to be someone special. Someone I trust." She bites her lip, taking a second to find the right words. "You know what you're doing. You're not trying to prove anything. You're not hurting me. You're letting me go at my own pace, and..." She hesitates, then lets out a small, nervous laugh. "I-I wouldn't trust anyone else to put a cock in my ass. That's what I'm trying to say. Yeah. You're... you're amazing.”
You slide your hand along her waist, your thumb tracing slow circles over her warm skin. "That's what friends are for..." you reply. "I guess.”
Asa lets out a short laugh, shaking her head before hiding a smile as she turns to face forward again.
"Yeah, I guess so," she agrees, rolling her hips gently against you, her hole squeezing your cock with the motion. "Anyway, sentimental moment over. Now keep fucking me. Go for it."
"Alright. I'm gonna start moving," you warn.
Slowly, your hips pull back a few centimeters and push forward again. The movement is slow, but the sensation draws a long, deep moan from Asa. You repeat the pattern: pull back, push in. Pull back, push in. Each thrust a little easier than the last, her hole yielding a bit more, molding itself to your cock.
"Yes," Asa moans, pushing her ass back against you. "Just like that, daddy. Put your hands on my waist, hold me tight."
Both your hands wrap around her slim waist. The few times you've touched her there, it was always in innocent contexts: posing together for a photo, guiding her through a crowded party, or in some casual gesture of affection between friends. Now, though, you pull that same waist back against you with every thrust, making her ass collide with your pelvis in a rhythm still slow but firm. Asa's hole is already completely slick, gliding along your cock with an ease that increases with every stroke.
“Fuck my ass, babe,” she breathes through clenched teeth. “Yeah, right there! Fuck - this cock's so fucking good. Now I totally get why Ahyeon acted so cocky. After getting fucked by this dick, I'd be cocky too.”
You drive in deeper and she gasps, then laughs, almost beside herself.
"You like taking it in the ass, Asa?" you ask, gripping her cheek with one hand while you fuck her.
“I fucking love it, she replies, pushing her hips back against you. “I should've let you do this sooner. I thought it'd hurt a lot more, but it feels so damn good. Feeling my best friend's thick cock stretching me open, taking me nice and slow - fuck, it's so damn hot."
You increase the pace just enough to give her something new. The walls of her ass grip your cock with every thrust in a squeeze so intense you need to focus to not lose control. Asa, growing bolder by the minute, grinds back on you, rotating her hips in circles while you pump in and out, and her moans shift in tone, deeper, rawer, even better to listen to.
"Yeah, fuck me like the little slut I am,” she says, glancing over her shoulder for a second just so you can see her smirking. "That's what I am, right? Your dirty little friend taking it up the ass on the couch after the party.”
"You always were," you reply, spanking her ass. "I just never got to see it for myself.”
"And you like what you see?" she teases, grinding harder. "You like fucking your friend's virgin ass? Nobody else has ever had this privilege. Just you, daddy.”
"It's perfect," you admit, driving into her again and drawing another loud moan from her. "You've got the best ass I've ever fucked.”
"Better than Ahyeon's?!" asks eagerly, and you almost laugh because of course she'd ask that while you literally have your cock stretching her ass open.
"No comparison," you answer, and it's the truth. Asa grinds in a way Ahyeon never did, plus her hole is hotter and slightly tighter - now even you're questioning Ahyeon's "anal integrity" (add one more conspiracy theorist to the group).
"Ha, take that, bitch,” Asa declares to no one in particular, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. "Honestly, it's not even fair how much better than her I am at literally everything.”
And while she goes on bragging to herself, your hips never stop working, maintaining a steady rhythm, feeling every inch of Asa's ass clenching around your cock. Her small firm cheeks bounce with each thrust, then spread when you decide to palm both apart with your hands to watch your cock sliding in and out of her. Her hole gapes for a split second with each withdrawal before enveloping your cock again, a sight that is, to be uselessly honest, the most obscene thing you've ever witnessed - not because of what it is, but because it's her.
For a while, you keep fucking her at an easy, unhurried pace, one that doesn't ask too much from either of you. It's almost like tenderizing a cut of meat with a mallet; blow after blow, never rushing it, letting the fibers slowly loosen and surrender beneath each measured strike, until the whole piece grows softer under steady, patient pressure. Every thrust opens Asa up a little more, easing her wider, getting her thoroughly stretched and accustomed to your cock, until it's finally time to give in to the freedom those relentless rolls of her hips and the way she presses her ass back against you seem to be pleading for.
Asa's moans also find their own rhythm: constant, separated only by brief intervals, broken now and then by whatever filth decides to escape her mouth, "Fuck... you're stretching my little ass out so good," she groans, her fingers tightening around the armrest. "It's filling my little hole completely. Can feel you so deep, you know that? Every time you bottom out, I feel every inch of it. It's driving me fucking crazy.”
"You feel so fucking good," you tell your best friend, your hands squeezing her ass. "Now I get why everyone who's ever fucked you ends up wanting more. You're just built for this. Built to be used like a fuck toy - and I mean that as the biggest compliment I could possibly give you."
"And I feel extremely flattered hearing that, babe," she responds looking over her shoulder, face completely overtaken by lust. "Your cock is stretching my whole ass out and I love it, I love being used by my best friend. Give me more, give me every inch of that dick, babe."
You fire off a sequence of faster thrusts and Asa moans loudly with each one, her entire small body rocking on the couch. After several pumps you slow down and stay buried inside her, just feeling her hole pulse.
"Now that you're nice and stretched out," you murmur, giving her ass a slow, affectionate stroke, "how about you ride me for a while? Set the pace. I wanna feel you move however you want.”
Asa's eyes light up at the idea, the answer coming without even thinking, "Yes, daddy!” She beams. "Let me ride your cock for a while. I swear I'll make you feel so fucking good.”
"You know, maybe it's the horniness talking but I like hearing you call me daddy," you admit, running your hand down her back.
"Yeah?" she grins, playful, wiggling her ass with your cock still inside. "Then that's what I'm calling you from now on. Whenever this cock is inside me, you're my daddy. Deal?”
"Deal," you answer.
Holding the base of your cock, you begin pulling out slowly, watching the thick length sliding gradually out of Asa's hole, every fraction of withdrawal drawing a soft little moan from her, the tight ring clinging to your cock as if refusing to let go. When the head finally slips free, her hole winks, clenching and opening to the air. Your best friend's little hole, untouched just half an hour ago, is now flushed, slick, and slightly swollen from your use. Asa keeps her ass arched toward you on purpose, as though she knows exactly where your thoughts have gone.
And she knows it. A dirty little thing like her knows exactly how wrong this is.
Truth be told, that's exactly what turns her on.
"Like what you see?" she teases, giving her hips a playful sway. "That little hole belongs to you now, daddy.”
You don't bother answering her. The look in your eyes already tells her everything she needs to know. Shaking yourself out of the moment, you ease back onto the couch, getting comfortable as your cock stands hard against your stomach, still glistening from her.
Asa gets on her knees on the couch and turns to face you. With one hand on your shoulder she moves and straddles your lap, one knee on each side of your thighs, her slim body with the skirt still bunched at her waist and the strapless top letting one nipple peek out. She looks down at your cock and bites her lip before her hand drops to grab it, positioning the head against the hole that was just fucked. She takes a breath, presses her forehead to yours, and then starts lowering herself slowly.
The tip presses against her entrance once more, her tight ring giving way much more easily this time, though it's still snug enough to draw a long, helpless moan from her. Asa's eyes roll back as half your cock slips inside, her eyelids fluttering while every muscle in her body focuses on not tensing up as you're slowly worked back into her. She keeps lowering herself until she's fully seated, your entire length buried inside her, your hips pressed flush together.
"Holy fucking shit," she moans, trembling on your lap. "In this position it goes deeper. Feels like your cock grew three extra centimeters."
She stays still for a moment, just breathing, letting her body adjust naturally. Then she starts to move. Slow at first, searching for the right rhythm, lifting her hips a few centimeters and dropping back down, feeling every millimeter of friction. Her face twists with pleasure on each descent.
While she finds her rhythm, your hands travel up her body and grab the edge of the strapless top. You yank it down in one go, the fabric sliding smooth on sweaty skin to reveal her tits. Small and proportional to her compact frame, with pink stiff nipples you spent the whole party watching press against the thin fabric.
Asa glances down at herself - still lazily grinding against your lap - and asks with a smug little smile, "So? What do you think?"
"They're cute," you say, your thumbs brushing lightly over her nipples. "They really suit you."
"Right?!" she says, grinning. "Flat is justice, damn it. You don't need huge tits to be hot."
"I've never said otherwise."
"That's why you're my kind of guy," she murmurs, leaning into your touch. "Go on... squeeze them for me, daddy.”
That's what you were about to do anyway. Your hands rise between you, grabbing both tits, fingers working the nipples, and Asa, feeling your touch, closes her eyes and picks up the pace. Her body responds to your touch by rising and falling with more energy, her hole gliding along your cock in a way that makes you clench your jaw. It doesn't take long for Asa to show she knows what she's doing, using her whole body to ride you, especially the strength in her hips, creating those small impacts of skin against skin that echo through the room with every hard drop.
"I bet Ahyeon can't ride dick like this," Asa pants. "Come on, admit it. I ride you way better, don't I?"
"You do," you admit, giving her nipple a squeeze. "Way better. Just don't tell her I said that."
"I knew it! Oh, and wanna hear something funny? Ahyeon actually asked me for riding tips once. Like, she literally asked me how I do it. So I taught her, obviously. I'm a good friend after all."
"No shit?"
"Dead serious. I'm the one who taught her how to ride. And then the ungrateful bitch goes and uses what I taught her to take it up the ass from my friend? The nerve..." Asa sinks lower as she rolls her hips, clenching around you in the process and drawing a groan from your lips. "At least now I'm showing you how it's actually done. My student rode you like an amateur. Daddy's best little anal slut does it like this."
"One of these days you're gonna have to explain this whole rivalry thing between you two," you say.
"Oh, there's a lot of lore behind it," Asa replies, planting both hands on your shoulders to give herself more leverage. "It all started when she stole a guy she knew I had a crush on."
"You never told me that."
"'Cause it's kind of personal. It's between me and her. I'll tell you later."
"When's later?"
"After you fill my ass with cum and I'm sitting on your lap with your cock still inside me. Then I'll stay all cozy with you for a bit, feeling your cum inside me, and I'll tell you everything. Deal?"
You laugh at the sheer casualness with which she says something like that.
"Well... okay. Works for me."
Asa smiles and starts riding you with renewed enthusiasm. Her body never stops moving - her small breasts bouncing softly, her slim waist rolling over your lap. You can tell she's past the adjustment phase now, completely used to taking you, every descent smooth and deep. Never breaking rhythm, she shifts effortlessly between slow circles, straight bounces, lazy rolls of her hips, and short grinding motions, switching from one to the next without missing a beat, and the constant variety is enough to drive you crazy.
"Am I doing a good job, daddy?" she asks between pants, gazing into your eyes.
"You're incredible," you answer, squeezing her waist. "My good girl. Keep going."
"Yes, sir," she says, picking up the pace. "I'm gonna ride this cock until you fill my tight little ass with hot, thick cum. That's what I want for my birthday - an anal creampie from my best friend.”
Then, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, Asa leans in and kisses you. And for the first time in all your years of friendship, it's a real kiss; open-mouthed, her tongue meeting yours, warm, soft, and everything it shouldn't be. Years of quick pecks at parties, affectionate two a.m. texts, and playful flirting never came close to preparing you for this. The reality of her mouth on yours is rawer than you ever imagined. She tastes faintly of alcohol with a hint of something sweet - probably the frosting from the cheap birthday cake she picked up. Her quiet moans melt into the kiss, vibrating against your lips as she never stops moving.
She pulls back just enough to keep her forehead resting against yours, still breathless, her eyes bright as she lets out a dazed little laugh.
"Fuck... I can't even- Like, a few hours ago we were just getting drunk, acting like idiots at my party. And now I'm bouncing on my best friend's dick, calling him daddy." She laughs again, half in disbelief, half completely into it. "But it feels so good. So wrong and so fucking good." She shakes her head with a breathless smile. "I'm so turned on I can't even think straight. Your cock's actually in my ass. Like..." She lets out an unsteady breath, still smiling in amazement. "This is so fucked up. I love it."
"It's fucking insane for me too," you admit, your hand slowly trailing down her sweat-slick back. "You're the one girl I always swore I'd never make a move on. I spent years telling myself our friendship meant too much to risk - and now I've got my best friend riding my cock.”
"So? Regretting all those promises you broke?"
"Not for a second.”
Asa rewards your honesty by grinding harder, deeper, her hole tightening around your cock in a way that makes your hips lift off the couch. The intensity is building, the rhythm accelerating, and her breathing is getting shorter and faster, the climax approaching.
"I'm close," she confesses, gripping your shoulders hard. "Gonna cum, babe. Gonna cum with your cock in my ass - holy shit. Can feel myself tightening up.”
Her hand slips between her legs, fingers finding her clit as she keeps riding you, drawing out a different kind of moan this time - lower, rougher, the kind that only comes when an orgasm is closing in. Your hands stay firm on her waist, lifting her up and pulling her back down with almost ridiculous ease, her light frame making it effortless to set the rhythm. And Asa gives in the way only she can. True to her word, she never does anything halfway. If she's going to feel it, she feels every last bit of it. If she's going to cum, her whole body cums with her.
"Cum for me, daddy," she whimpers, grinding herself back against you as her fingers work her clit even faster. "Cum nice and hard for your dirty little slut of a best friend. The best friend who's been dying to spread her legs for you. "The one who got jealous as hell because Ahyeon got this cock before she did." Her voice catches on a moan. "And now I am - fuck - now I'm taking it so fucking good!" She rocks back harder. "Now fill me up. Fill my ass with every last drop.”
"Fuck... I'm close," you groan. "You're gonna make me cum."
"Yes! Fill me up," she moans, her ass tightening around your cock. "I'm your dirty little slut now. Your slutty best friend who's gonna let you fuck her ass whenever you want. Fill me up, daddy. Please. Every fucking drop.”
She grinds faster, harder, riding your cock with growing desperation, squeezing around you with every thrust. The pleasure has been building for far too long - ever since she lifted her skirt and showed you how wet she was, ever since she told you that you were the one she wanted to fuck her ass. Asa doesn't stop talking. She doesn't stop moving. Her hole keeps clenching and relaxing around your cock in a relentless rhythm, pulling you closer and closer to the edge right along with her.
"Give me your cum, daddy. Give it to me give it to me give it to me-”
You grab her by the hips and pull her down hard, burying your cock to the hilt as you cum. As deep in Asa's ass as you can possibly get. Thick, hot ropes flood her from the inside, each pulse making her hole tighten around you. The feeling is almost unreal. Her impossibly tight ass milks every spasm out of your cock while you keep her pinned against you, holding her there as you empty yourself completely, letting every involuntary squeeze draw out the very last drop.
Asa feels the rush of hot cum filling her ass, unmistakable, flooding her exactly the way she'd begged for. That, finally, pushes her over the edge. It comes in beautiful stages: first, her whole body goes rigid, every muscle tightening all at once. Then she starts to shake - and she really shakes - completely out of control, her thighs trembling on your lap, her hole fluttering around your cock, her eyes rolling back until only the whites show. Her mouth falls open, but no sound comes at first. Then, finally, a long, ragged moan tears its way up from somewhere deep in her chest.
You wrap your arms around her trembling body, feeling her convulse in your lap, and Asa digs her nails into your shoulders, hard enough that she's definitely leaving marks. You can already feel the sting, though the adrenaline dulls most of it. The orgasm keeps rolling through her in waves, each one making her clench around you all over again, tighten all over again, and for a moment it feels like it's never going to end.
But it does. And when it finally does, Asa melts against you. Her forehead comes to rest on your shoulder, her whole body going limp, deflating like a balloon, her breathing so heavy you can feel her chest rising and falling against yours.
"Fuck," she murmurs hoarsely against your neck. "Holy shit... That was- Like..." She lifts her head to look at you, eyes half-glazed, the shock of the ecstasy still there. "I felt it go through my whole body. I'm serious. From my toes all the way to the top of my head. Strongest orgasm I've ever had. Jesus." She lets out a weak, satisfied laugh. "My first time taking it in the ass, and that's what happens. Guess I've been doing sex wrong…"
"Happy to help you find your new favorite hobby," you say, chuckling. Asa smiles.
But she doesn't get up, though. She stays on your lap, your cock still inside her ass, the hot cum filling the space between you just like she said she wanted. Her body feels feather-light against yours, sweat and perfume mingling in the air as her breathing gradually slows, the two of you lingering there without either of you feeling any need to move.
"Hey," Asa says after a while, still leaning against your shoulder. "Maybe this doesn't have to be a one-time thing."
"What do you mean?"
"We could keep doing this. Fuck every now and then." She gives a small shrug. "I think it'd be nice."
"Like friends with benefits?"
"Yeah. Friends with benefits." She looks up at you. "What do you think?" Her hair sticks to her forehead, her lips are swollen, her lipstick completely smeared - the face of someone who just made the riskiest decision of your entire friendship... and doesn't regret it one bit. "No dating, no expectations, no drama. Whenever we're in the mood, it's just you and me. Sound good?"
You don't even have to think. "I'm in."
"Nice," she says with a smile, leaning in to give you a quick peck. "Mind if I stay on your lap a little longer? It feels nice like this. Cozy."
You wrap your arms around her, pulling her small body close.
"Sure. Get comfortable."
"Thanks," she murmurs. "Seriously. This was the best birthday present I could've asked for. Better than the juicer. Better than the party. Better than everything."
"Anytime," you reply, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Anything for the birthday girl."
Asa closes her eyes and snuggles a little closer. The darkness in the room is already beginning to fade, slowly giving way to the pale light of dawn spilling through the windows. Outside, the chorus of city birds is the first ordinary sound you've heard in hours (after what felt like an endless night of Asa's moans) - the quiet prelude to a brand-new morning.
"Daddy," Asa murmurs against your shoulder, followed by a quiet little laugh.
You chuckle too. "Yeah... now that we're not horny anymore, hearing you call me that is kind of weird."
"I know," she says. "Without the whole sex thing, it sounds really fucking weird. Let's keep that one for the bedroom."
"Deal.”
Then Asa's stomach growls out of nowhere, cutting right through the moment. She glances down at it with a look of pure betrayal before sighing.
"I'm starving," she complains. "Burned way too many calories getting my ass fucked. Need a snack before bed."
"I'd offer to order something, but I don't think anything's open yet," you say.
Asa barely hears you, already looking around the room for something.
"Hang on..." she murmurs, frowning. "Where'd I leave the rest of my cake? There was, like, half of it left. I remember seeing it on the coffee table during the party." She points across the room, where the coffee table now sits empty. "Yeah, it was kinda shitty and dry, but it'd absolutely hit the spot right now."
"Hmm," you mumble. "About that..."
Asa goes still on your lap. "What?"
"I'm pretty sure I saw somebody leaving with a tray," you say, trying to piece together the hazy memory. "Must've been around two in the morning. I was in the kitchen grabbing another beer when I saw someone heading out the front door with it."
"Who?”
"No clue. Some guy in a striped shirt. I think he was one of Ruka's friends.”
You watch Asa slowly close her eyes, her face settling into the expression of someone who realizes they're fucked - and not the kind she'd been enjoying five minutes ago. She presses her lips into a thin line, takes one slow breath through her nose, then lets it out through pursed lips, “Fuck.”
AN: Been up for almost a month on FP, finally cross-posting this one. I'll be honest, everything is 100x easier over there, so sorry if things are delayed on Tumblr.
“What exactly are you doing up on the counter like that?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“And why exactly are you wearing shoes on there? You do realise we cook in this kitchen?”
Asa lowers her shoulders just a little, but it does so much more than a subtle movement should ever have the power to do. Now isn’t that the understatement that underpins it all. Fine details and mildly-reserved seduction cooked into the drop of a shoulder, the hike of a leg, the tilt of her hips. It’s Asa’s modus operandi, and you’re her favourite victim.
“Not like you ever cook.”
Avoiding the questions. Gaslighting. This woman has a game to play, and you’re part of it. If you were ever unwilling, you would be dragged, kicking and screaming, into it.
You are never unwilling.
"I baked you a cake."
"Yeah, well, I'm a little distracted here."
"What's distracting you?"
"Oh I don't know... Maybe my girlfriend? Up on the counter? Ass in the air and back arched, wearing some little black leather shorts?"
"Just eat the damn cake."
"I'm thinking about it."
"Yeah?" Asa shoots you a sly smile, biting on one of those long black nails in a way that communicates an opening into a mind you're all too familiar with. Devilish looks with a sinful mind - there's always something in there. "Well, I know you're a messy eater; hope you plan on cleaning up once you're finished. There's a lot of cream filling inside."
Yep, that’s something, alright.
She's doing that thing again - tugging on the little invisible string around your heart, forcing it to thump faster. You swallow thickly. You're walking closer, focusing on her lips as she speaks again.
"And, well, it is your birthday..."
Your birthday. You're too distracted by the fact she's pressing her chest to the counter, deepening the arch of her back even further and lying her face against the smooth surface. Her cute cheek squashed against the marble, dark eyelashes fluttering upwards as she looks at you through them. The way she's wiggling her hips slightly, back and forth, in those tight shorts...
"My birthday," you echo her words.
She's sliding her hand over her thigh now, fingertips pressing into the pale skin. She grips, and she squeezes and fuck -
"Mhm," she's smiling, "so you're allowed to have your...cake. Indulge a little. Eat it up."
Those catty eyes are trained on you as she presses her hand further down. You're standing at the counter now, chest heavy and struggling with each breath. A figurative growl from somewhere deep inside you as you catch her wrist, pulling it away from where it's getting dangerously close to her crotch.
"Let me." You tell her, taking in yet another shaky breath. "Let me...enjoy it how I want to."
Her eyes widen with excitement as she pushes her hips back and, fuck, that’s too hot. "That's the spirit, birthday boy. Do what you want."
"You're really the best girlfriend," you begin to tug the shorts from her hips, watching her skin rise with goosebumps as your fingertips brush over her - subtle things. "You know that?"
"Yeah, well." Asa bites her lower lip for a moment before letting it slip free. "I love spoiling you."
You pull the tight fabric over her ass and the soft flesh spills out, plump and fucking perfect.
"Your ass..." You can't help it. You have to grip it. You drag your fingertips across her skin. It's so perfectly smooth and inviting and...
Her throat rumbles with a laugh. "You act like you've never seen it before."
You dive in without thinking, lips immediately pressing to the skin, teeth grazing, tongue sneaking out to get a taste. Her little whimper makes you want more.
"I like it." You tell her against her flesh. You pepper kisses down to her thighs before pulling back. "Every time is like the first time."
"Cringe," she mocks.
"Hey, it's my birthday, remember? You can't be mean to me."
She lifts a brow. You duck your head down again, allowing your teeth to dig into the skin. Her breath hitches. You smile against her, pulling back, watching the way the spot turns a delicate pink colour. You take your time, letting your hands wander her ass, watching the way her flesh reacts. You slide your palm down her thigh, and she rolls her hips, trying to chase the touch.
"Please..." Asa's breathless, her voice filled with want, "just... eat the cake already." Her tone is playful, but there is something about the edge that makes you think she's really trying to hold back. That she wants you more than she's letting on.
"It looks so pretty." Your fingers move, sliding over her bare pussy, just peeking through the gap at the top of her thighs. You prod your fingertips inside, finding her wet already. Of course she is. Then there's the moan.
Asa's moans - you could wax lyrical about them. You could write sonnets and songs and poetry about them. You want to record them sometimes, just so you can listen back whenever you want, but then you remember just how easy it is to elicit new ones. There's always something so playful about them, even when they're low and gravelly. It's like she's laughing a little as she moans, like she's having so much damn fun.
You place a hand on each cheek. Your birthday cake, in all its glory, is laid out on the counter for you. You lean in, dragging your tongue up from her slit and resting your face between those pert little cheeks.
Fuck, she's sweet - sweeter than the cake you're ignoring, and she smells so good. Her whole body just has this way of making you want to bury your face into any part of her that you can and just melt away into her.
You're tasting her sinful little hole, ass pressed back against your face, and her moans are growing louder. You're swirling your tongue against her. Her fingers grip at the edge of the counter, and she's pushing back more and more.
Eating her ass is one of your favourite things in the world. In part because of her reaction, which is always perfect, and partly because of her taste. The way she wriggles and tries to control it and can't help but just give in to the pleasure of it all. You're rock hard already, and your cock is pressing against your pants.
You pull back, taking a moment to grip her cheeks and watch them spread, spitting on her hole, watching the way her body shivers. You press your thumb to it, and it succumbs to the pressure, swallowing it whole.
Her moans are endless, and she's trying to roll her hips, to fuck back against your finger. You work your thumb inside, and she reacts in all those dirty little ways you can never forget. Her whole body is shivering, and it's honestly the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life (and Asa has given you a whole catalogue to choose from).
"Oh my god," her voice is strained, "please, just... My ass... Oh..."
You have to bite back your laugh, simply because you can't help but find her so endearing. Her cheeks are flushed, and you know if you could see her face it would be bright red. Her hair is damp at the temples with sweat. You move your thumb in and out of her slowly.
"Please what, babe?" You ask.
She's burying her face into the marble; it’s a ridiculous thing to try, but this girl is so used to being face down in the bed that muscle memory kicks in when the brain goes to mush. "Don't make me say it."
You use your free hand to smack her ass, just once. She whimpers. "Say it."
"No!" She huffs. There's a moment of silence where you keep fucking her with your thumb. You hear her suck her teeth. Finally, she relents. "Eat my ass and make me cum. Please."
You let out a knowing laugh. "Good girl."
You're not sure what you enjoy more: making her cum or making her beg. You lean in again - another taste. Her back arches beautifully. Your cock is aching. You work your mouth against her over and over.
You press your middle finger against her cunt, sliding it inside with no resistance. She's gripping it as her wetness leaks down your hand. The moans are getting out of control, her body shuddering and jerking. You feel her tighten around your finger.
"Already?" you ask, and she does not like that.
Asa pushes her face up and off the counter, her whole body trembling. "You're just... fucking good."
That makes you grin. You press your finger deeper, curling it in her, and she's practically screeching now, and despite the description, it’s a blessing to hear. You keep your mouth buried against her asshole, fucking her with your finger, picking up speed. Your cock is straining in your pants, your balls aching. You can't wait to slide your dick into her, which is utterly relatable.
"Oh my god," she's panting hard, her fingers straining where she grips the counter, "oh my god, oh my god... Yes, right there, right fucking there! Don't stop, don't stop..."
It's when she starts cumming that you start lapping up all the cream, sucking her into your mouth. Her pussy is pulsing around your finger. You hear her hit the counter with a dull thud, and it's followed by her hitting her open palm against it repeatedly.
"So good," her voice is a breathy whine, "so, so good."
You keep moving your finger inside her until the fluttering stops, her whole body relaxing into the counter. You pull back and look at the mess you've made. A sheen of sweat on her skin. Her cheeks red from the way you've so roughly spread them.
"Happy birthday to me," you say, as you unbutton your pants.
There's a little chuckle from Asa. She turns her head, her eyes slightly glazed. "That good, huh?"
"You have no idea," you take your cock out, sighing with relief, "can't wait to sink into you."
Special thank you to @prael for organizing this round of prompts!
~~~
You're three missions deep into a game you really should've stopped playing an hour ago when someone starts pounding on your door.
Not knocking. Fucking pounding.
You pause mid-reload, frowning at the screen. It's 2pm on a Saturday. You're in sweatpants that have seen better days and a shirt with a stain you're pretty sure is from Thursday's lunch. Nobody should be here.
The pounding continues.
"Alright alright, Jesus fuck, I'm coming (that's what she said)," you mutter, dropping the controller and hauling yourself off the couch.
You open the door and your brain immediately blue-screens.
Asa from 3B is standing in your hallway.
Wearing nothing but a towel.
A white towel. Tucked under her arms, barely secure, showing way too much leg and the curve of her shoulders. She's dripping—fully dripping—water pooling on your doormat. Her hair is soaked, and there's shampoo suds sliding down the side of her face.
"My water's out," she says, like this is completely normal. Like she's not standing there practically naked. "Can I use your shower?"
You open your mouth. Close it. Your brain is trying to process several things at once and failing spectacularly. You're pretty sure you're doing a damn convincing cosplay of a fish out of water.
"I—what?"
"Water. Out." She tilts her head and more shampoo slides down toward her eye. She squints, annoyed. "Middle of washing my hair. Building maintenance isn't answering. So can I use your shower or not?"
"Oh. Uh. Yeah, of course, I just—"
She's already walking past you into your apartment before you even finish the sentence. Just strides right in, leaving wet footprints on your floor, completely unbothered by the fact that she's in a towel in her neighbor's apartment.
You close the door slowly, still trying to catch up to what's happening, decidedly looking anywhere besides your neighbor's… very attractive legs…
Stop being a pervert.
"You live alone, right?" she asks, glancing around. Her eyes land on the pile of dishes in the sink, the controller on the couch, and the bag of chips you left open on the coffee table.
"Yeah."
I can tell, her eyes say.
"Good." She spots the hallway leading to what she correctly assumes is the bathroom. "That way?"
The fuck does 'good' mean?
"Yeah, second door, but—"
She's already heading that direction. You follow, because what else are you supposed to do?
She stops at the bathroom door, hand on the handle.
"Towels?" she asks.
"Uh, cabinet under the sink. But you already have—"
"This one's wet." She says it like you're being slow on purpose. "I'll need a dry one after."
"Right. Yeah. That makes sense."
There's shampoo dripping dangerously close to her eye now and she wipes at it with the back of her hand, still holding the towel secure with the other. "You got conditioner?"
"I... don't think so?"
She looks at you like you've just admitted you don't own furniture. "What do you mean you don't think so?"
"I use, uh, the three-in-one—"
"Oh my god." She laughs and shakes her head. "Of course you do. Whatever, I'll survive. Thanks for this, by the way."
And then she's in your bathroom, door closing behind her, and you're standing in the hallway trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.
The water starts running and you're still standing there like an idiot.
You force yourself to walk back to the living room. You sit back down on the couch. Pick up the controller. Stare at the screen without actually seeing it.
There's a girl in your shower. A naked girl. Not even just a naked girl.
It's Asa. Your hot neighbor who you've exchanged maybe twenty-four words with total. Who you've definitely noticed in the hallway, in the elevator, that one time she was getting her mail in running shorts. And now she's naked in your bathroom, using your terrible 3-in-1 soap, probably judging every aspect of your life.
You unpause the game and die instantly because you're not paying attention. The water is still running and you're trying so very hard not to think about what's happening not even ten feet away.
"Hey!" Her voice cuts through the sound of the shower.
You duck and nearly drop the controller. "Yeah?"
"Your water pressure is amazing!"
"Oh. Uh. Thanks?"
What the fuck are you supposed to say to that?
"Way better than mine!" she continues, and you can hear the smile in her voice. She's genuinely enjoying this. "I might have to come over every time!"
She's joking. Probably joking. You hope she's joking because your brain cannot handle the thought of this becoming a regular thing.
The water runs for another few minutes. You're hyperaware of every sound - the shower shutting off, the cabinet opening (she's getting one of the towels), the bathroom door unlocking.
"Hey, do you have a—"
She opens the door and leans out, and your brain short-circuits for the second time today because she's wrapped in your towel now. Your dark blue towel that's way too big for her, tucked under her arms, her shoulders and collarbones still wet.
"—hair dryer?" she finishes.
You blink at her stupidly. "Huh?"
"Hair dryer. Do you have one?"
"Why would I have a hair dryer?"
She looks at your admittedly short hair, then nods like that's fair. "Right. Okay. I'll just..." She gestures vaguely at her wet hair.
"I have, uh..." You try to think. "A towel? Another towel?"
"That's fine. I'll just air dry." She steps fully out of the bathroom now, padding barefoot across your floor, leaving little wet footprints. "You mind if I wait a bit? I don't want to go back to my place like this."
"No, yeah, that's fine. Totally fine."
She settles onto the other end of your couch, tucking her legs under her, completely at ease in your towel in your apartment. You're still holding the controller, game paused, trying to figure out where to look that isn't directly at her.
"You can keep playing," she says, nodding at the screen. "I'll just sit here."
"Right. Yeah." You unpause and die immediately again.
She laughs. "You're terrible at this."
"I'm distracted."
"By what?" There's something in her voice that makes you look at her, and she's got this expression on her face that's not quite innocent. Like she knows exactly what she's doing. She tilts her head.
"By... the current situation."
"What situation?" She's absolutely fucking with you now. "I'm just sitting here."
"You're sitting here in a towel."
"Would you prefer I wasn't in a towel?" She grins slyly. "Because I can work with that."
Your brain stops functioning.
She shifts on the couch. Or at least you think she does—you're trying so hard not to stare at where the towel is tucked that you don't notice her getting closer until suddenly she's right there. Not on her end of the couch anymore. Right next to you, her thigh almost touching yours.
"You know," she says, and her voice has dropped lower, "I've been thinking."
"About what?"
"About how we live on the same floor." She leans in slightly. You can smell your body wash on her skin. "Same building. Same floor. Same water line."
Your eyes flick to hers. She's got this look on her face—amused, knowing.
"So if my water's out..." she continues, a shit-eating grin forming on her face. "Why isn't yours?"
Oh.
Oh.
"You—"
"There we go," she says, and then she's climbing into your lap.
The controller falls to the floor. Your hands automatically go to her waist—to steady her, to stop her, you're not sure—but she's already settling her thighs on either side of yours, towel riding up dangerously high.
"Is this okay?" she asks, but she's already leaning in.
"Yeah," you manage hoarsely. "Yeah, that's—"
She kisses you before you can finish. Her lips are soft and she tastes like your toothpaste (she used your toothbrush? Jesus). Then her hands are in your hair and you're kissing her back before your brain even has the chance to catch up.
She makes this little pleased sound against your mouth, pressing closer. The towel is the only thing between you and you can feel the heat of her through your sweatpants. Your hands tighten on her waist and she grinds down slightly, testing.
You groan into her mouth and she pulls back just enough to grin at you.
"Thought so," she says cheekily.
Then she's kissing you again, harder this time. Her tongue slides against yours and her hips roll forward, grinding against the bulge in your sweatpants. You're already getting hard and she can definitely feel it.
"Asa—" you start, but she catches your bottom lip gently, tugging at it with her teeth and whatever you were going to say disappears.
Her hands slide down from your hair to your shoulders, then lower, fingers curling in your shirt. "Off," she murmurs against your mouth.
You help her pull it off, and then her hands are on your chest, tracing the lines of muscle. She pulls back to look at you properly, appreciation clear in her eyes.
"Not bad," she says.
"Thanks, I guess?"
She laughs, then kisses you again. This time when she grinds down you thrust up to meet her and she gasps, breaking the kiss.
"Bedroom?" you suggest.
"Not yet." Her hands go to the towel tucked at her chest. "I want you to touch me first."
She pulls the towel loose and it falls away.
Fuck.
You've thought about this—of course you've thought about this, she's gorgeous and lives twenty feet away—but imagination doesn't even come close to reality. She's right here in your lap, completely naked, skin still slightly damp from the shower.
Your hands move without conscious thought, sliding up her sides to cup her breasts. She arches into the touch, head falling back.
"Mmph~ yes," she breathes. "Like that."
You thumb over her nipples and they harden under your touch. She rocks her hips against you again, more deliberately now, and you can feel the heat of her even through your sweatpants.
Wait. Why should you just sit here and let her control everything?
The thought clicks something into place. Your hands tighten on her waist and you stand up in one smooth motion, taking her with you. She yelps in surprise, legs wrapping around your waist instinctively.
"What are you—"
You set her down on the couch, on her back, and settle between her spread thighs. "My turn," you say.
Her eyes widen slightly, then darken. "Okay then."
You kiss down her neck, her collarbone, taking your time. She's squirming under you, impatient, but you ignore it. Kiss between her breasts, down her stomach, lower.
"Oh fuck," she breathes when she realizes what you're about to do.
You kiss the inside of her thigh, then the other one, deliberately avoiding where she wants you. She makes a frustrated sound.
"Stop teasing, you fu—"
You lick up through her folds and she chokes on whatever she was going to say. She's already wet, and the taste of her makes you groan even louder than she does. You do it again, slower this time, and her hips jerk up.
"Ahhn~ fuck—yes—"
You find her clit with your tongue, circling it, and her hands fly to your hair. She's making these breathy little sounds, "ah—ah—" every time you hit the right spot.
"Right there," she pants. "Don't stop, please don't stop—"
You slide two fingers into her while you work her clit with your tongue and she practically sobs. She's tight around your fingers, already clenching, and when you curl them to hit that spot inside her she cries out.
"Oh god—nngh—oh fuck—I'm—"
She cums with a sharp gasp, thighs clamping around your head, pussy pulsing around your fingers. You work her through it until she's pushing at your head, oversensitive.
When you pull back she's sprawled on your couch, chest heaving, looking so very wrecked.
"Holy shit," she mumbles.
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, a wide smile on your face. "Bedroom now?"
"Yes. Fuck yes." She sits up, then notices the bulge straining against your sweatpants. "But first—"
She drops to her knees on the floor and your brain short-circuits for the third time today.
"Asa, you don't have to—"
"I want to." She hooks her fingers in your waistband and pulls your sweatpants down. Your cock springs free—you weren't wearing boxers—and her eyes go wide. "Oh. Okay. That's..."
"What?"
"Nothing." But she's grinning as she wraps her hand around you. "No complaints here."
Then she leans forward and takes you in her mouth.
"Ohhhh fuck—"
She can't take all of you—you're too big—but what she does take feels incredible. Her tongue works the underside while her hand strokes what doesn't fit, and you have to brace yourself against the back of the couch to stay upright.
She pulls off with a wet pop, looking up at you with those big eyes. "Good?"
"You know it's good."
She smirks at that, then takes you back in her mouth, deeper this time. You can feel yourself hitting the back of her throat and she moans around you, the vibration making your hips jerk.
"Asa—fuck—if you keep doing that I'm gonna—"
She doubles down, sucking harder, and you have to physically pull her off before you lose it.
"What's wrong? Gonna blow a load down my throat already?" She pouts.
"Bedroom," you say roughly. "Now. Before I pump everything I have into that mouth of yours."
"Promise we can try that next time?"
Next time. Fuck.
"Yeah. Promise."
You pull her up and kiss her hard, tasting yourself on her lips. Then you're half-walking, half-stumbling to the bedroom, stopping every few steps because you can't stop kissing her.
You get her to the bed and she climbs on, crawling backward, completely unselfconscious in her nakedness. You strip off your sweatpants the rest of the way and follow her.
"How do you want me?" she asks.
"On your back. Want to see your face."
She grins and lies back, spreading her legs. You settle between them, lining yourself up, and pause.
"You sure about this?"
"If you don't fuck me in the next ten seconds I'm going to lose my mind," she says flatly.
Good enough.
You push inside slowly. She's tight—so very tight—and you have to go slow or you'll hurt her. She's making these little whimpering sounds, "oh—oh god—you're so big—"
You're halfway in and you pause, letting her adjust. She's trembling, stretched around you, and you lean down to kiss her.
"You okay?"
"Very okay. Keep going."
You push in the rest of the way and she moans, nails digging into your shoulders. Fully seated inside her, you have to stay still for a second or you're going to lose it immediately.
"Move," she pants. "Please move."
You start with slow, deep thrusts. She's so wet that the slide is easy, and the sounds are obscene—slick and dirty. She's moaning with every thrust, "yes—fuck—yes—"
"Harder?" you ask.
"Harder."
You give her what she wants. Snap your hips forward, really driving into her, and she nearly screams. Her legs wrap around your waist, heels digging into your ass.
"There—right there—mmph—oh fuck—"
You can feel her getting tighter, clenching around you rhythmically. She's close again.
"Touch yourself," you tell her. "Want to feel you cum on my cock."
Her hand flies between you, fingers working her clit, and within seconds she's cumming. Her pussy clamps down on you like a vice and you have to stop moving or you'll follow her over the edge.
"Oh my god—oh fuck—" She's shaking through it, eyes squeezed shut.
When she finally goes limp you pull out and flip her over.
"Ass up," you tell her.
She scrambles to comply, getting on her hands and knees, presenting herself to you. The view is incredible—her ass displayed, her pussy glistening and swollen from being fucked.
You line yourself up and push back in, and from this angle you go even deeper. She moans into the pillow, back arching.
"Fuck—yes—"
You grab her hips and really fuck her now. Hard, fast, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. She's moaning continuously, "ah—ah—ah—" with each thrust, and you can feel your orgasm building.
"I'm close," you warn her.
"Inside," she gasps. "Cum inside me—"
"Asa—"
"Please—wanna feel it—"
You reach around to rub her clit and she screams into the pillow, gripping your sheets, cumming again. Her pussy spasms around your cock and that's it—you're done. Your orgasm slams into you and you bury yourself deep, cumming hard, filling her up.
"Fuck—fuck—Asa—"
You can feel yourself pulsing inside her, pumping her full, and she's moaning at the sensation. When you finally stop you collapse on top of her, both of you breathing hard.
After a long moment, she speaks.
"So," she says, voice still muffled by the pillow. "Same time next week when my water mysteriously stops working again?"
Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE CUTEST, COOLEST, AND HAWTEST GIRL AKA MY ULT ENAMI ASAAAAA <3
(5.4k words)
The first rule of surviving the underworld: never play cards with someone who smiles too much. The second rule? Ignore the first if you’re the one doing the smiling, especially one that doesn't dress properly.
Seriously, you just want to fit in with the Gen Z. Sneakers to meetings instead of dress shoes, or that you’d rather win a deal over a poker table than through bloodshed (Brain over brawn, as you dubbed). Or…rob them suckers in broad daylight by getting too fucking good at making even your enemies cackled at your 174th rendition of your Dad jokes. Either way, the underworld doesn't quite know what to make of you — an heir of a gangster family who grin too much, joke too often, and somehow still had half the city under your thumb with what you promptly called "business senses".
“Boss, you can’t keep calling blackmail ‘mad rep,’” your right-hand man groans as you both step out of the backroom of the casino. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and the smell of cheap perfume (home, sweet home).
You brush a bit of ash off your sleeve. “Why not? Sounds more professional. Classier. Like something I can put on my LinkedIn.”
He sighs. “…You threatened to release a video of the guy cheating on his wife.”
You grinned. “Exactly. That’s high-stakes negotiation. Will be my first line in my bio.”
The rest of your crew wait by the cars outside — black suits, too much gel, and enough bad jokes to make the cops quit their job out of secondhand embarrassment. One of your underlings nod, half-impressed, half-concerned as he follows you from behind. “You really are unorthodox, boss.”
“That’s one word for it,” you said, stretching. “I prefer…unpredictable.”
Because that is your thing. You don't rule with terror or tradition. Leverage is how you roll — those that make rival bosses sweat in their suits the moment you mention the files. (Wait, you're basically the loan shark. Huh. That sounds less impressive now saying that out loud.) The point is that you always had something on someone — the mayor, the port inspectors, the CEO of Lottemart, even that one police chief who thought he was untouchable. Your web of blackmail keeps everyone dancing on the palm of your hand. Every other gang in the city either hates you or owes you. Sometimes both.
One of your guys flicked his toothpick and said, “Boss, word on the street says the Enami clan aren't happy about us taking the port deal.”
You tilt your head. “The Enami? The traditional ones? You mean the boomers who still bow before slicing someone?”
“They’re saying they’re gonna ‘teach us respect,’ if we keep going to be rowdy.” another added, air-quoting the phrase.
“Respect’s earned, not taught,” you mutter, lighting a cigarette. “Besides, I’ve got enough insurance on half the gangs in this city. They won’t risk a war.”
“Yeah, but boss, they’re not like the others,” he said. “Old-school type shyt. Tight discipline. No leaks. They don’t play dirty like we do.”
“Hey, don’t say we play dirty, dummy.” You exhaled a plume of smoke and smirked. “But they are really stinky boomers.”
Truth is, the Enami Clan is really something. Old money, old rules. They are the kind that still bowed before portraits of their ancestors and treated “honour” like currency. No gambling, no shady trades, no jokes (or none that you and the gang can really trace off, they totally have graveyard jokes). Just clean-cut precision, discipline, and ruthlessness.
And then the supposed daughter. Or mysterious, whatever works. You never see her before, only heard stories. How she once fought off a dozen armed men during an ambush and left the last one crawling back to deliver a message: “Try again, and I’ll aim for your throat next time.”
A little dramatic, sure. But she is Enami blood through and through. Living up to the clan name. According to words on the street, you heard.
And uh…you have crossed paths with her men plenty of times. You clashed, sometimes violently, but never fatally (yet). There was always this silent line neither side dared to cross. You don't go directly after her, and neither is she.
It worked….well, until tonight.
You don't arrive home until midnight, still humming from the adrenaline of the day’s deals, when you notice the unfamiliar cars lined up outside the estate. Black. Polished. Not something that you associate yourself with.
“Young master?” your butler calls from the hall. “Your father’s in the dining room. He’s... entertaining guests.”
“Guests?” you echo, loosening your tie. “Since when does he entertain anyone who doesn’t owe him money?”
The butler doesn't answer — just look pale, which is never a good sign. So you just dismiss him for the night (for his own good). Kicking off your shoes, you loosen your tie, and halfway through debating if you had the energy to shower when you hear it. Voices. Calm. Polite. Out of place in a house that usually echoed with your boys cackling and the constant curse of "fuck" from your old man.
You followed the sound down the hallway and stopped just shy of the dining room. And there they were.
Your father sat at the head of the table, back straight, expression unreadable (very different from his usual laidback self). Across from him—a man in a crisp black yukata, posture perfect, aura colder than the grave. His hands fold neatly, movements deliberate, measured. And beside him sits a girl. Good guesses are, around your age.
You notice her eyes first — dark, steady, and completely unimpressed by your existence. Her hair frames her face in sharp, clean lines; her kimono is immaculate, not a wrinkle in sight. Everything about her screams discipline and control, right down to the way she barely blinked when you stepped in.
You clear your throat. “Wow. Didn’t know we were doing a period drama.”
Your father’s gaze flicks up. “You’re late.”
“You say that like it’s not my defining trait, Dad.”
He ignores you, gesturing to the empty chair across from the girl. “Sit.”
You hesitate, glancing between the strangers. “Jeez, you could at least tell me who I’m sitting with before I get scolded again.” Still, you obey, partly because you respect him, and partly because the last time you ignored that tone, you end up cleaning blood off the floor for three hours.
The older man spoke first — his voice deep, controlled, with a faint edge of authority that made your instincts straighten. “You must be his son.”
You flashed a grin. “Well, where are my manners? Good evening to you, sir. And you are…?”
He doesn't answer immediately, potentially trying to measure what kind of trouble you were in. You give him a playful bow in return, because really, who didn’t love a little mischief in the house?
Then your father leaned back, steepling his fingers. “You’re both aware of the… tension between our groups.”
You tilted your head. “You mean the nerf war?”
The older man’s eyes narrowed. “If that’s what you want to call it.”
Your father sighs. “As much as I enjoyed the passionate young blood, it’s gone too far. And we think there is only one way to stop it.”
You laugh under your breath. “Please don’t say marriage. Every time someone says that in a movie, it always go shit at the end.”
Neither side breaks even a chuckle.
You blinked. “...Wait.”
“You’re going to marry her.” “I’m sorry, what the fuck?”
He continued like he didn’t just throw a grenade into the room. “The groups need peace. Everyone needs peace. And there’s no better symbol of unity than between you, our children. You’ll court her properly. Publicly.”
You turn to the girl, who was still staring at you with the same flat and surgical calm. “No offense, but are we both hearing this shit correctly?”
She tilts her head slightly. “Unfortunately.”
“Well, that’s comforting.” You lean back in your chair, smirking despite the chaos in your head. “Guess this makes us… allies?”
“You talk too much.” “And you glare too much, I guess that’s equilibrium.”
Your father pinches the bridge of his nose. “Enough. You’ll be seeing more of each other from now on. Learn to get along.”
You raise a brow, turning to the girl again. “Well, I’m gonna need your name before I start practicing my couple introductions.”
She finally spoke, voice calm and quiet, but sharp enough to leave a mark. “Asa. Enami Asa.”
You blinked once. Twice. So this is her. Ah…
The air between you two suddenly gets heavy, even the sound of a chair creaking feels like a gun cocking. Asa sat perfectly still, posture sharp, her eyes trained on the steaming cup of tea in front of her. You aren't sure if she was trying to calm herself or calculate how fast she could stab you with the spoon.
Anyway, your hand is already reaching for the gun holstered under your jacket. “Ah….just saying, your men started this.”
She shoots you a glare that could have sliced steel. As expected, her hand is already on her katana. “Mine don’t act without orders.”
“Yeah? Then maybe you should check your communication, missy.”
“You’re not funny.” “Funny’s how I cope with being blamed for your fucking mess.”
And that was it. That was the spark. Both of you squared up, tension sharp enough to make the air crackle. You could see her hand twitch near the hilt of her blade. Yours flexed around the grip of your gun. The distance between you shrinks, hard to tell whether you were about to kill each other or kiss just to end the argument. (If you two kiss, then that will be too short of a read.)
Then, from outside, a gunshot rang out. The noise snapped both your heads toward the door. Shouts followed — names, threats, the distinct crack of glass and metal colliding. Yay, plot continues.
Immediately, you bolt for the courtyard, and Asa right behind you. "Goddamn it, these fuckwits."
Outside, chaos has erupted (as both of you suspected). Men from your side and hers are at each other’s throats, fists flying, blades flashing, gun barrels gleaming under the neon haze. The shouts blended into a single roar. Anger, confusion, loyalty. All tangled together.
One of your men yells, “Boss! They’ve taken you hostage!”
“I’m right here! You dipshit!”
At the same time, Asa’s lieutenant shouts, “Miss Asa! Are you alright?”
“Do I look kidnapped to you?”
Neither side listens. The fight grows exponentially, the noise rising, and for a second you feel the weight of everything snapping simultaneously. So you did the first thing that came naturally — that being raising your gun and firing one clean shot into the air. The echo booms through the courtyard, cutting through the chaos like a whip. Every head turned.
And beside you, Asa drew her katana — the blade catching the light as it hisses out of its sheath. The sound alone makes both sides freeze.
“Oi, fuckwits! Put. The. Weapons. Down.”
Asa stepped forward beside you, her presence commanding in a way that even made your own men hesitate. “If anyone moves,” she said coldly, “I’ll consider it treason.”
The crowd freezes, leaving only the gushing sound of the wind past the cherry trees lining the courtyard.
You holster your gun, turning to your men with a strained smile. “Now that I’ve got your attention, let’s clear up a few things.” You clap your hands together. “Nobody’s kidnapped, nobody’s captured, and nobody’s dying tonight.”
Asa crosses her arms. “What he said.”
The shock that rippled through both sides is almost funny. You feel every pair of eyes flicking between the two of you, confused and tense (which is fair).
And then, because apparently your life wasn’t absurd enough, the words escape your mouth before you can stop it. “Also, a small announcement while I have everyone's attention,” You glanced at Asa. “uh….We’re married.”
Asa gives you a sideways glance that could’ve killed a lesser man. “…Unfortunate as that may be,” she mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear. “It’s true.”
Gasps spread through both sides like a wave.
“The hell you mean wife?!” one of your men blurts out, looking scandalized.
“It’s true,” a calm, commanding voice confirmed from behind was your father, standing with Asa’s. The two old men exchange knowing looks, clearly proud of this ridiculous plan they hatched. "We approved their marriage."
You sigh as you turn back to the sea of confused faces and add, “So yeah, you can all stop trying to kill my wife now.”
For a few seconds, silence hung thick… until your side erupts into a chorus of cheers.
Your side, a bunch of loud, rowdy degenerates who think subtlety was a myth, cheers. “Boss got married?!” “Damn, finally!” “She’s way outta your league!” "He's buying rounds for us tonight dawg!!" "You can get laid? What?"
Meanwhile, Asa’s men bow slightly, muttering restrained congratulations like they were at a funeral. The contrast is so fucking absurd that you can't stop a small laugh from slipping out.
“Something funny?”
“Just wondering if it’s too late to file for divorce,”
She turns away, sliding her katana back into its sheath with a soft click. “You wouldn’t survive the paperwork.”
“Maybe not,” you admitted, holstering your gun. “But I’d die trying.”
The crowd still roared in celebration — your men drinking, hers bowing, both sides unknowingly cementing an alliance that would make them unstoppable.
And all you can think, as you look at the woman now bound to you by name and circumstance, is that peace had never felt so damn annoying.
-
It starts the morning after that deal of a lifetime. Eh… rephrase it, the curse of a lifetime.
The Enami heiress has finally moved in.
You are fresh out of your sleep and barely dragging yourself out of bed when your courtyard are crowded with the same set of black cars, their engines humming low like a threat. Men in suits flow out of them like shadows, carrying polished cases and folded kimonos wrapped in white cloth. Every motion is crisp. No wasted movement. No talking. Not even a cough.
Your own men, bless their dumbass hearts, gather near the gate — some gawking, some whispering, one or two are half-convinced you were about to be assassinated in your pajamas (rude).
“Boss, they’re really here.”
You squint, coffee mug in hand. “Dude, you don’t say. What gave it away, the line of samurais or the death stares?”
He blinked. “The cars.”
“Ah, my big brain lads,” you sighed, scratching your neck. “Truly the backbone of this established organisation.”
You stand there barefoot, coffee mug in hand, watching the whole circus unfold like a reality show you definitely didn’t audition for. If Architectural Digest came over to film your ‘new shared home,’ you’d probably look more at ease.
And then she steps out.
Perfect posture, face calm, eyes unreadable. Not a single hair dares to move without permission. She gives your house one quiet glance, like she was measuring whether it deserved to still exist, then simply walked past you without a word.
That’s how your, um, “married life” began.
Days bleed into each other like bad coffee stains. The house, once loud and messy, now feels like someone had pressed mute.
You remember when it used to be alive — your men yelling over fried rice at 2 A.M., arguing about whether to use bleach or detergent, laughing too hard over nothing. Now they whisper like the air will chill them out. Every time she enters a room, they will be straightened up, bow, and suddenly remember how manners worked.
At dinner, she sits on one side of the long table, posture straight, barely touching her food. You sit at the other, leaning back, cracking jokes to your crew, pretending the icy atmosphere didn’t bother you.
“So,” you attempt one night, halfway through a meal, “are you allergic to talking, or is it just a family thing?”
Her chopsticks don't pause. “It’s a you thing.”
"You’re starting to sound like my dad sometimes.” “I’ll take that as an insult. Now leave me alone.”
The guys sitting nearby tried not to choke on their rice.
You don't mind her sharpness. If anything, you find it kind of fascinating, you know? It's rare to see someone looking so calm while clearly wanting to break your nose. But what you don't show was the quiet irritation bubbling under your easy grin. Because back then, her people cross paths with yours on the streets — and it is not always pretty. She’d injured some of your men before. You’d seen the scars, the stitches. They were your family, your brothers.
You never bring it up, because it will be too petty at this point. You just smiled, joked, and told yourself you’d be the adult in the room. Fine, if she wants to live like a ghost, you’ll just live around her.
So that’s what you do.
You cook, clean, keep the place running as usual whenever you don't have to go out and terrorise the world with another rendition of your Dad jokes. Make breakfast for your guys, scold them for eating too fast, then give them extra servings just in case they're still hungry, make sure everyone has clean sheets. They joke that you were more of a mother than a boss. And to be honest, you're close to a mother figure to them so you just let them say whatever.
Sometimes, her men come over, usually for bandages or food when things go south, and are definitely thrown off by seeing you in an apron while covered in flour. You treat them the same way you treated your own. They always looked startled, like kindness was some foreign language.
“Since we’re…family now, tell your little miss not to kill my guys next time,” you say to one of them once, half-smiling as you patched a cut on his arm.
He bowed awkwardly. “She… doesn’t mean to, sir.”
You snorted. “Yeah, and I don’t mean to overcook rice, but it still happens.”
It is easier that way. Easier to play nice than to sit in silence with someone who made your chest feel like a bomb waiting to go off.
Then comes that midnight.
Well, saying midnight at your house is kind of a stretch. It barely feels like night, really. The main room is dim, lit only by the amber glow of a desk lamp and the faint red ember of your half-burned cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee. The papers in front of you look the same as they did an hour ago — trade reports, ledgers, call logs — all the things you tried to cram in your head while waiting for the outside to calm down.
The rest of the house is dead quiet. Your men long gone asleep, scatter around the guest rooms and couches like lazy guard dogs. Even the city outside seems to hold its breath. You like this hour when it doesn't go rowdy. Well, ignore the gun holster half-unbuckled on your hip (just in case).
That is, until you hear the faint creak of the front door.
You glance up, expecting one of your guys sneaking in from a late-night run. But the steps that followed are slow, deliberate. Heavy with exhaustion, yet steady. You knew immediately it wasn’t one of yours.
Then she appears. Your wife-on-paper. Asa.
Her usually clean kimono? ruined. Soaks through with red, the fabric clinging to her frame. Her katana dangled loosely in one hand, its tip leaving small drops of blood along the wooden floor (damn it, it took ages to mop it all up last time). A faint cut marks her cheek, and her eyes are distant, almost empty, even.
You rise from your spot, the floor creaking under your feet. “You’re back late,”
She doesn't answer.
“Rough night?” you add, standing now with one hand still on your gun not out of fear, just habit. (Weird habit, don’t ask.)
She gives you a single glance. “Stay back.”
You ignored it, picked up a towel from the table instead and walked toward her, slow but sure. “You’re bleeding.”
Her grip on the sword tightened. “It’s not mine.”
“Doesn’t make it look any better,” you say softly, lifting the towel.
That is when you hear it.
A sharp whistle cut through the air. The flash of steel catches the lamplight as her katana shoots upward, a cold edge kissing your throat before your brain fully catches up.
You? Flinching? Not even once.
Your gun is already up, cocked and aimed square at her chest, your finger resting on the trigger. The two of you stood apart — breaths mingling, reflections trembling on the thin surface of her blade.
Her eyes never waver. Neither are yours.
“You have a bad habit of pointing that thing at people, Enami.” “And you have a bad habit of not listening,”
Her eyes, cold and violet in the low light, refuses to waver. You wonder, for a brief moment, if this was how it’d end: not a war, not a deal gone wrong, but a dumb fucking misunderstanding between a "married" couple too stubborn to look away. But then…
Grrrrrrhhh.
A low, unmistakable rumble echoed between you. It takes a second to realize it came from her. You blink. She froze, eyes flicking down as if maybe she could glare her stomach into silence.
And you? Well, you tried not to laugh. You really tried. But the twitching on your lips betrays you before your brain could stop it.
"Don’t.” “I didn’t say anything,”
“You’re thinking about it.” “Yeah, probably.”
She glares at you, cheeks faintly pink from embarrassment. The katana lowers an inch. Well, not much, but enough for you to slide your gun back into its holster with exaggerated care.
You gesture toward the kitchen with a tilt of your head. “Come on. Before you eat someone alive.”
“I don’t need—”
“Yeah, yeah,” you interrupt, already walking ahead. “You never do, big child. Man, and here I thought I'm the immature one.”
You don't have to look back to know she follows (surprisingly) — the soft scrape of her shoes against the floor was enough.
In the kitchen, you flip on the small overhead light. It buzzed weakly, casting long shadows across the tile. You set your gun on the counter, reaching for the wet towel again, and turned to her. “Sit.”
She stands there, still gripping her sword, as if the chair might explode if she touched it.
You sighed, stepping closer until you were standing right in front of her. “Fine. Stand, then. Friggin' tough crowd.”
You press the towel lightly against her cheek. She gets stiff, but doesn’t stop you. The blood comes off in dark streaks, revealing the pale skin beneath. Your hand moves carefully, slow enough that she could push you away at any second. She doesn't(phew). When you finally pull back, her face is clean again — and up close, you noticed how tired she really looked. Eyes rimmed with faint shadows, shoulders drawn tight from holding too much.
Her voice comes out quiet. “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I’d rather not wake up tomorrow to a starved princess in my kitchen and a blade to my chest.”
She huffs, almost a laugh, but not quite, and turns her face slightly away. “You talk too much.”
“Only when the person holding a sword to my neck earlier looks this dead.”
Her lips twitch. Just a bit, but you catch it — the tiniest hint of a smirk, like she wants to be annoyed but couldn’t help herself.
You turn around and head to the counter, cracking two eggs into a pan. The oil hissed instantly, the smell of fried yolk and soy sauce filling the air. You grab a bowl, scooped in leftover rice, tossed it all together. Quick, simple, warm — the kind of thing that grounds a person back to life.
When you finally set the bowl down on the counter, steam curling up between you, she hesitates. “You really made this now?”
You roll your eyes. “Nah, it just materialized outta thin air. Sit, princess.”
Her lips pressed into a thin line — but she sat, picked up the chopsticks, and took a bite. Her shoulders dropped just slightly. The kind of release that happens when warmth finally reaches someone who’s been cold for too long.
You leaned back against the counter, arms crossed. “See? Not poisoned.”
“You really don’t know when to shut up.” “And yet, here you are, eating my food, bleeding on my floor. Still. Imma have to spend the whole day tomorrow mopping it.”
“Shut up. I'll bring someone over to do it.” “You better.”
You watch her eat in silence, her movements small but methodical, like she was trying not to enjoy it. The blood on her blade has dried by now, but the air feels…lighter. Not peace, exactly — just… less uhh…bloody. But it's more fascinating when you catch it — that small shift in her expression when she thought you weren’t looking. Her brows unfurrow, her lips curved slightly, and her foot tapped against the counter rhythmically.
When she catches you watching, she immediately straightens up, scowling. “What?”
“Nothing,” you turn away with a smirk. “Just realizing I should’ve made two bowls.”
“Too bad,” she mutters, snatching the last spoonful with an annoying kind of satisfaction.
And for the first time since she’d moved in, maybe since the marriage itself, the house is not as cold and shivering as back when she first moved in. Just… alive.
-
Things get strange as fuck a month later or two. One word: Domestic. Somehow it spreads outside of your household.
The room smells like expensive whiskey, cheap cologne, and a fuck ton of bad decisions. A long table separates you from another gang. The polished wood reflects the dim chandelier light so hard people will think this is a respectable meeting.
(It is fucking not.)
"Let's not waste anymore time, my guy." You spin a card between your fingers. "You can have the port route, but I get 90% of the cut and access whenever I want."
The rival boss (understandably) frowns. "What the fuck? You're basically robbing us!"
"Oh wow, you realise it so fast! Good work, champ."
A few of your guys snickered behind you. One of them whispers, “Boss is in a good mood today.”
"Dude, boss, always in a good mood."
The rival boss leaned forward, his fingers steepled. “You’re asking for too much.”
“And you’re hiding too much,” you shot back instantly.
Yep, that shuts his antics, alright. You just let him marinate the situation. Then, to put salt into his wound, you casually reached into your jacket and slid a thin envelope across the table. It stopped right in front of him.
"The fuck is this?" "Open it, my guy. A little bribe to you."
He opens it, and it is definitely not a bribe (lol). His expression is satisfying to watch - a tightening of the jaw, the vein pop on his forehead. But he can't do shit. And that energy channels to the rest of his "little" gang.
"Page 11's my favourite, by the way. About your little…fun."
He freezes as soon as he flips to that page. "Where…where did you…?"
"I have my source."
"It's fabricated." "Sure, then I'll leak it. You don't mind right?"
Silence again. He stares at you, weighing other possible options that don't exist. You lean forward slightly. “Ok, look, I’m not here to ruin your life. I’m here to make a deal. You get to keep your operation. I get my cut. Everyone goes home happy.”
A pause, before you add casually. "And please make up your mind quickly and wrap this up. My wife's waiting."
Well that is a shift, alright. So sudden that everyone blinked, even the terrified boss. "Your…wife? Are you married?"
"Yep. Terrifying woman. Sharp blade enthusiast. Not someone I’d make them keep waiting.”
One of your guys coughs to hide a laugh. Another just straight-up fails and snorts. "The boss has priorities now." Someone else mutters.
"Shush, you lot."
The rival boss stares at you like he tries to figure out if this was a bluff. It is. But it also kind of is not.
"You're kidding." "Nope. So can you just deal?"
"…Fine."
You don't even let him finish. You stand up immediately and clap your hands once. “Great talk. Love what you’ve done with the place.”
“Wait—shouldn’t we finalize—”
“You’ve got my guy for that,” you said, already grabbing your coat. “He loves paperwork. Don’t you?”
"Wait, boss, the fu—" "You do now."
Your men try their best to contain their giggles as you walk out like you haven't just strong-armed a deal in under 10 minutes. “The boss really said ‘my wife is waiting’ and ended the negotiation,” “Man’s gone soft.” "Boss, please go buy flowers for Lady Boss when you get home."
You flip them off.
-
By the time you arrive home, the sky has sunk into the deep and quiet blue. You step through the gates, rolling your shoulders to let off all the stress, already tugging your tie loose. And it seems like the boys have it rough too — some groans, some sigh, and some groans a second time.
You slip off your shoes, and then a click. The front door slides open behind you.
Huh, Asa is here.
Standing in the doorway like she has been cut straight out of the night. Not drenched in blood this time, thank fucking god, but not exactly untouched either — slightly uneven sleeves, a faint crease where there shouldn't be one, a few strands of hair escape and rest against her (puffy) cheeks.
"You're early." She says.
'You're early too."
'Well…I live here." “Funny. So do I.”
…The silence stretches just long enough to get awkward. And then…a very poorly hidden snicker comes from one of those fuckwits. You both turn at the same time, and of course, they are absolutely eavesdropping. One of them duck behind the couch like that would save him. It doesn't.
"Can you all just go wash up?"
"Sorry boss," one of them says, grinning shamelessly. “Watching our boss come home early for his wife is more entertaining.”
“You wanna keep that attitude, or you wanna keep your kneecaps, dude?”
"Boss, you love us too much to do that."
Behind Asa, her men stayed behind like statues…until one of them cleared his throat.
“…Lady Asa also concluded her duties ahead of schedule,” “…She prioritised returning. With haste.”
Her head turns just slightly. "That's enough."
It's subtle, but you somehow catch the red hue on her cheeks. She's…embarrassed? Your stone cold wife-on-paper?
"Damn, rush home for me?" "Don't be absurd."
"Mhm. What a coincidence, then." "It is not a coincidence."
You walk in together…well, try to. Ok, just imagine the scene straight out of a romcom - a very awkward one. You both step forward at the same time towards the hallway. Pause. Adjust. Then step again. Pause again. Cha cha real smooth.
"You go first, Asa."
"No, you." "Please, lady first."
"I don't need your courtesy." "Well I wasn't offering much."
And the audience (your boys) is groaning. “Oh my god.” “This is painful.” “I’ve seen middle schoolers with more games.” "Why is our boss so embarrassing…"
"I can still hear you, you lot." "We know."
Beside you, Asa exhales, a mix of irritation and resignation that this is her household now. You glance at her, and she glances back. And…both of you away immediately.
"I'll go prep dinner." "…Fine."
You take a few steps and….
"…make me more…"
You immediately turn back. "What now?"
"You heard me." "Nuh uh, I have loose brains. Please say again, my dear ... wife." Never know one word can make you both cringe and embarrass at the same time.
"…Fine. Give me more." Asa sighs. "Happy?"
"Yeah, yeah."
And of course, the audience gossips. Firstly, from your side: “She said make enough.” “That’s basically a love confession.” Then, her side: “…This is… unexpectedly normal.” "Hope she will get a lot."
"Why are both our sides so nosy…" "You tell me…husband."
It will take a while before you two get used to this domesticity.
Asa is a strict and authoritarian leader who runs her company with absolute control. Her decisions are final, and she demands total discipline and efficiency from everyone under her command.
“You have two days,” Asa continues, still looking at you. “Not to fix your reasons. To fix the result.”
“And if it’s not possible?” you ask, finally.
Asa looks at you longer this time. Not sharply. Not angrily. Just with certainty.
“If it’s not possible,” she says quietly, “then you’re not the right person for the task.”
There’s no threat in her voice. Nothing personal. Just a cold, objective statement. The meeting goes on, but the atmosphere has shifted. Every decision Asa makes sounds like a gavel striking the table—one after another. There is no vote. No compromise. When she finally ends the meeting, no one stands up right away.
“Meeting adjourned,” Asa says.
People begin gathering their things carefully, as if afraid of disrupting the fragile balance in the room. You stand as well, preparing to leave, when Asa calls out.
“You.” You stop.
“If you choose to stay,” she says without turning around, “follow my principles.”
She finally looks at you. “If not, don’t waste my time.”
Asa picks up her documents and leaves the room. No one follows her. No one speaks. You remain standing among the empty chairs, realizing one thing with absolute clarity: Asa doesn’t hate you. She isn’t your enemy.
She simply makes no exceptions—not even for you.
You’re staying late at the office, the building unusually quiet at this hour. Most of the lights are already off, leaving only the soft hum of the air conditioner and the glow from your desk lamp. Across the hall, Asa’s office is still lit—her silhouette visible through the glass, posture as composed as it was during the day. It doesn’t surprise you that she’s still working. Somehow, it never does.
After hesitating for a moment, you stand up and walk toward her office. Your footsteps sound louder than they should in the empty corridor. You knock once before opening the door, stepping inside. Asa looks up from her documents, eyes sharp but calm, expression unreadable as ever. She sets her pen down and meets your gaze.
“What is it?”
You don’t answer right away. Instead, you turn and lock the door behind you with a quiet click, the sound too deliberate to ignore. Her eyes flick to the latch, then back to you—no reaction, no tension, just that same unnerving stillness.
"You think locking the door changes anything?" Asa asks, voice dry. She leans back in her chair, fingers lacing together over her desk. The overhead light casts sharp angles across her face, turning her composed expression into something almost predatory.
You step forward, the deliberate weight of each footfall pressing into the silence between you. "Right now," you say, voice low, "I'll show you who's the boss." The words hang there, charged—not a threat, not a plea, just a statement of inevitability. Asa doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch, but her fingers tighten fractionally around the edge of her desk. The shift is microscopic. You notice.
Her phone lies on the polished surface, screen still aglow with unfinished business. You snatch it without hesitation, grip biting into sleek metal before flinging it across the room. It strikes the wall with a crack, skitters to the floor in jagged fragments. Asa’s breath hitches—just once—and for the first time, you see her mask slip. Panic flashes through her eyes, quick as a blade’s reflection, before she schools her features back into neutrality. But her pulse betrays her, hammering visibly at her throat.
“What do you want,” Asa demands, voice stripped of inflection, yet her knuckles bleach white where they clutch the desk’s edge. You lean in, close enough to catch the faint tremor in her exhale, the citrus-sharp tang of her cologne undercut with something warmer, primal. This close, you can count the individual lashes casting shadows across her cheekbones—can see the precise moment she realizes she’s no longer dictating the terms.
You answer by gripping the hem of her blouse and rending it apart in one vicious motion. Buttons ricochet off the walls like gunfire. Asa jerks back instinctively, her gasp raw against the sudden exposure of skin, collarbones rising fast under the ghost of your breath. Her composure fractures further when you shove her forward, her palms slapping flat against polished mahogany, the impact shuddering through her frame. “Still think control belongs to you?” you growl against the fungi curve of her ear, relishing how her ribs Hierarchy beneath your palm.
Her bra snaps easily between your fingers, the sound obscenely loud in the office’s tomblike silence. Asa makes a noise then—not a protest, not a plea—but something guttural and involuntary, the kind of sound pried from someone who’s never had to vocalize surrender before. You press her down further, the desk’s edge biting into her thighs, her reflection warped and wild in its varnished surface. Her pupils swallow every trace of grey, lips parted around unspoken words.
The stockings shred like cobwebs under your nails, runs spiderwebbing up her legs as you hook your thumbs into the waistband of her panties. Silk gives way with a sigh, pooling at her ankles before you kick them aside. Her hips jerk when your palm slides up the inside of her thigh, skin pebbling under your touch. "Look at you," you murmur, dragging your teeth along her shoulder. "So perfect when you're unraveled."
Your belt comes free with a whisper of leather, the buckle clinking against itself as you loop it around her wrists. Asa hisses when you yank her arms behind her back, the movement arching her spine, pressing her chest flush against the desk. The leather bites into her skin, leaving angry red marks in its wake. She tests the restraint once—twice—before going still, her breath ragged against the polished wood.
“You’ll regret this,” she spits, but the tremor in her voice betrays her. You trail a fingertip down the knobs of her spine, slow and deliberate, feeling the suppressed shiver beneath your touch. “Is that an order, ma’am?” you murmur, lips brushing the shell of her ear. She grits her teeth, hips bucking when your palm lands sharp against her ass—once, twice—the sound echoing in the hollow silence of the office.
Her gasp dissolves into a moan when your fingers slide between her legs, finding her already slick, her body betraying her in ways her words never could. You curl them inside her, relishing the way her thighs clamp around your wrist, the way her breath stutters against the desk. “Still want to threaten me?” you taunt, twisting your fingers just so, drawing a choked cry from her lips. “Or are you finally learning your place?”
Her hips jerk uselessly against your hand, her polished composure fracturing with every uneven breath. You drag your thumb over her clit in slow circles, watching her reflection in the desk’s surface—her lips parted, her eyelids fluttering. “Look at you,” you murmur, pressing deeper, feeling her clench around you. “So desperate for it. All that control, and here you are—dripping for me.”
“I—I didn’t—” Her protest falters as you withdraw your fingers completely, leaving her shuddering on the edge, her body taut as a bowstring. She twists against the restraints, her glare sharp but undermined by the flush spreading down her chest. You smirk, tracing the wetness glistening on your fingertips before pressing them back inside her with torturous slowness. “You didn’t what?” you taunt, curling your fingers just enough to make her gasp. “Didn’t want this? Didn’t beg for it?”
Every time her breathing quickens, every time her thighs tense and her back arches, you pull away—leaving her hovering, trembling, estimatedly close yet frustratingly denied. Her whimpers are music to your ears, raw and unpolished, stripped of all authority. “Stop—fuck—stop teasing,” she snarls, but the way her hips chase your retreating touch betrays her. You chuckle darkly, gripping her waist to hold her still as you drag your tongue up the sweat-slicked line of her spine. “Or what, Asa? You’ll fire me?”
Her frustrated groan dissolves into a gasp when you nip at the sensitive skin behind her ear, your fingers stilling inside her just as she tenses. “You’re insufferable,” she pants, but the words lack bite, especially when her body clenches around nothing, desperate for friction. You smirk against her shoulder, deliberately slow as you trace circles around her clit with your thumb—close enough to tease, never enough to push her over. “And you’re insatiable,” you murmur, relishing how her nails dig into the desk. “Look at you. You’d come untouched if I let you.”
The truth of it is written in the dampness streaking her inner thighs, in the way her breath hitches when your fingers brush just shy of where she needs you. You could end it now, could give her the release she’s trembling for—but where’s the fun in that? Instead, you withdraw completely, stepping back to admire the wreck of her: blouse torn, hair disheveled, lips bitten red. “I think,” you say calmly, straightening your cuffs, “you should ask nicely.”
Asa’s glare could melt steel. “Go to hell,” she rasps, twisting against the belt binding her wrists. But her body betrays her—hips lifting unconsciously, chasing the ghost of your touch, sweat glistening in the hollow of her throat. You tut, circling the desk like a predator. “Such language from the woman dripping onto her own conference notes.” You drag a fingertip through the mess she’s made on the mahogany, holding it up for her to see. “Tell me, do your subordinates know how desperate you get?”
Her nostrils flare. “I will bury you,” she growls, but the effect is ruined by the way her thighs squeeze together, seeking friction. You laugh, low and dark, before gripping her knees and wrenching them apart. The sound she makes—half gasp, half sob—sends heat coiling low in your gut. “No,” you murmur, tracing idle patterns on her oversensitive skin, “you won’t.”
When your fingers graze her clit, feather-light, her hips jerk violently. “Fuck—please—” The words are ripped from her throat, jagged and unfamiliar. You withdraw instantly. “Properly,” you demand, pressing your thumb against her entrance but not pushing in. Her breath hitches, her entire body trembling like a plucked wire.
The moment stretches—her pride warring with the slick desperation between her legs—until finally, with a shuddering exhale, her chin drops. “Please,” she whispers, voice raw. “Let me come.” You tsk. “Again. Louder.” Her fingers claw at the desk. “God—please, I need it.” The last word cracks open, revealing something broken and beautiful underneath.
Still, you wait, circling her like a wolf with prey pinned beneath its paw. Only when her hips buck uselessly against air, when sweat drips from her temple onto ruined documents, does she finally choke out the word you want. “Master.” It’s barely audible, but it’s there—stripped cough, bruised, and perfect. You reward her instantly, thrusting two fingers deep enough to make her scream.
Her orgasm hits like a detonation—back arching, thighs clamping around your wrist, her cry reverberating off the glass walls. You don’t let up, dragging it out with cruel precision until she’s sobbing, oversensitive and shaking. Only then do you slow, fingertips drawing lazy circles on her trembling stomach. “Good,” you murmur, unfastening the belt from her wrists. She collapses forward, panting against the desk, her reflection a wrecked masterpiece in the polished wood.
Before she can catch her breath, you drag her upright by the hair, lining yourself up at her entrance. Asa’s gasp is raw when you push in without warning, her body stretching tight around you. “Ahhh—too much—!” Her hands, still curled behind her from the restraints, claw at empty air as you bury yourself to the hilt. The resistance gives way with a filthy wet sound, her head tipping back against your shoulder. You pause, letting her feel every inch, her ragged breaths hot against your collarbone.
Her wrist twists violently behind her—not to escape, but to clutch at your thigh, fingers digging into muscle hard enough to bruise. “Move,” she grits out, desperation roughening her voice. You chuckle into the nape of her neck, nipping at the damp skin there before pulling out excruciatingly slow. Her hips jerk back instinctively, chasing the friction, but you hold her still. “is that how u beg to ur master,” you murmur, tracing the shell of her ear with your tongue.
The crack of your palm against her ass echoes like a gunshot in the hollow office. Asa’s gasp morphs into a ragged cry as the impact blooms red across her skin, her spine arching violently. “Answer me,” you demand, gripping her hair tighter. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes when you land another slap—harder this time—her knees buckling against the desk’s edge. “N-no—ah!—Master,” she chokes, the title torn from her throat like a confession.
You let go abruptly, watching her collapse forward onto the mahogany, her bound hands scrambling for purchase as her cheek presses into scattered papers. The disagreeable wet sound of her arousal smearing across the surface makes her shudder. Another smack—this one sharp enough to leave fingerprints—and she sobs openly, her thighs quivering. “There’s my perfect girl,” you croon, dragging your fingers through the mess she’s made. “Now. Let’s try again."
Her hips jerk when you press the head of your cock against her soaked entrance, teasing without yielding. “Beg,” you order, thumb circling the bruise forming on her ass. Asa’s breath hitches—pride warring with the molten need coiled low in her belly—until she finally rasps, “F-fuck me, Master. Please.”
With a sharp laugh, you deny her, pulling away just as her body clenches around nothing. “More,” you growl, landing another stinging slap to her ass, the sound swallowed by her gasp. Her wrists twist against the belt binding them, knuckles whitening as she grinds her cheek into the desk. “I—I need you,” she whimpers, the syllables ragged. “Need your cock—your fingers—anything. Just fill me.”
You lean over her, pressing your lips to the shell of her ear, voice dripping with menace. “Louder.” Another slap—harder—her skin rippling under the impact. Asa cries out, writhing, her voice fracturing. “I’M YOURS,” she shouts, the words echoing off glass walls. “Only yours—please—take me like the slut I am!”
The belt creaks as she arches her back, offering herself shamelessly, her thighs glistening with proof of her surrender. You sink into her with one brutal thrust, her scream dissolving into choked sobs as you whisper, “Good girl.”
Her body clenches around you like a vice, every ragged breath punctuated by the wet slap of skin against skin. Asa’s fingers scrabble at the desk’s edge, her forehead pressed to the wood, tears streaking her cheeks as she babbles incoherent pleas—half-formed words of worship and degradation tangled together.
You grip her hips hard enough to leave bruises, driving into her with relentless precision, each thrust calculated to wring another broken sound from her throat. The desk groans under the force of it, papers fluttering to the floor like wounded birds.
"Tell me," you growl, leaning close enough that your lips brush the shell of her ear. "How does it feel—having me here?" You punctuate the question with a particularly deep stroke that makes her choke on her own breath.
Asa’s words come fractured, her voice raw from screaming. "F-fuck—it's so big," she gasps, her bound hands scrabbling at the desk. "I—I can feel it on my stomach—" Her body jerks violently as you hit a spot that makes her vision white out. "Christ—I never knew that spot existed—!"
You slow just enough to watch her fall apart, her thighs trembling violently around you. "Every time you move," she sobs, her nails digging into the wood, "I reach another orgasm—I can't—" Her words dissolve into a keening wail as her body convulses around you, her climax hitting her like a freight train.
Asa turns her head just enough to meet your gaze, her lips swollen from biting, her pupils blown wide with desperation. "Don't cum inside," she pleads, voice cracking—but the way her hips grind against you betrays her. You smirk, gripping her waist tighter, dragging her back onto you with each brutal thrust. "You think I care?" you growl, feeling the coil in your gut tighten.
Her broken moan is all the answer you need as you bury yourself to the hilt, spilling into her with a groan that echoes off the glass walls. Asa shudders violently, her body milking every last drop from you, her whimpers muffled against the desk. You lean over her, pressing a kiss to the sweat-slicked curve of her shoulder. "Looks like you came harder knowing I didn't listen."
She makes a weak noise of protest, her fingers twitching against the belt binding her wrists—but when you pull out, the obscene drip of your release down her thighs silences her. Asa exhales sharply, her cheek pressed to the wood, watching the mess pool beneath her. "Fuck," she whispers, voice wrecked. "I'm never sitting down again."
You smirk, retrieving a black marker from Dashmuffin’s desk drawer—of course she’d have one—uncapping it with a decisive click. Asa’s eyes widen as she hears the sound, her breath hitching. "What are you—" Before she can finish, you flip her onto her back, the sudden movement making her gasp. She’s pliant now, limbs heavy with exhaustion, her skin flushed and damp. You pin her wrists above her head with one hand, the other dragging the marker’s tip down her sternum in slow, deliberate strokes.
The ink blooms cold against her overheated skin as you scrawl "Boss outside slut inside" in bold letters across her ribcage, the contrast obscenely stark against her pale flesh. Asa shivers, her protest dissolving into a weak groan when you move lower, writing "Free hole for master" just above her trembling thighs. Her hips twitch involuntarily, her body still hypersensitive from earlier. You chuckle darkly, adding "Your property" in jagged script along her hipbone, the marker catching on goosebumps as she squirms.
Her breath comes faster when you spread her legs wider, the marker’s tip tracing "SLUT" in capital letters down her inner thigh—each stroke deliberate, each curve exaggerated. Asa’s fingers clutch at the desk’s edge, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as the sensation borders between ticklish and torturous. You finish by sketching a crude arrow pointing between her legs, the ink glistening under the office lights. She’s panting now, her chest rising and falling rapidly, the words branding her more effectively than any collar ever could.
Leaning back to admire your handiwork, you snap a photo with her phone—the flash illuminating her marked skin, her dazed expression, the smeared ink and sweat. "Proof," you murmur, tucking the device into your pocket as her eyes flutter closed, exhaustion finally overtaking her.
With careful precision, you drape her ruined blazer over her shoulders like a makeshift shroud, the silk lining whispering against her oversensitive skin. Her panties—torn earlier in the heat of things—make perfect blindfolds; you knot them securely behind her head, the damp fabric sticking to her eyelashes as she murmurs incoherently. Your belt loops around her wrists with practiced ease, the leather still warm from her struggle.
The parking garage echoes with your footsteps as you carry her through the emergency stairwell, her dead weight slumped against your chest. A security camera blinks red in the corner—you flash it a grin as you adjust your grip, her bare thighs slipping against your forearm. The trunk would’ve been more discreet, but the backseat offers better visibility; you lay her diagonally across the leather, her knees bent to fit, one high heel dangling precariously off the edge.
When you open the door to your loft, the motion sensors flicker the lights on in sequence—kitchen, hallway, then finally the reinforced steel door at the end of the corridor. The biometric lock beeps green under your thumbprint, the hydraulics hissing as the door swings inward. Inside, the climate-controlled air smells faintly of leather and antiseptic. The frame waits against the far wall, its padded restraints gleaming under the track lighting.
Asa doesn't stir when you hoist her onto the rig, her limp body swaying slightly as you secure the padded cuffs around her wrists. The pulley system whines softly when you raise her arms overhead, the straps tightening automatically to keep her suspended mid-air. Her legs part easily when you buckle the ankle restraints to the floor mounts, the spreader bar clicking into place with finality. She hangs there like some beautiful, broken marionette—toes barely brushing the ground, head lolling forward, the ink from your marker still stark against her flushed skin.
You adjust the tripod with clinical precision, the camera’s red recording light blinking to life as it focuses on the center of the frame—where Asa’s trembling thighs glisten under the studio lights. Her blindfolded face twitches when the cooling fan hums to life, her lips parting around a silent question. The angle is perfect: every inch of her exposed, every bruise and bite mark captured in high definition, her branded skin on full display. You zoom in slowly, the lens tracing the path of a droplet of sweat as it rolls down her sternum, over the words "Boss outside slut inside," before disappearing between her breasts.
The whip’s crack echoes like a gunshot in the soundproof room, the tip grazing her inner thigh just hard enough to leave a pink bloom against her pale skin. Asa jerks violently in her restraints, a startled gasp tearing from her throat as consciousness floods back. "Wake up, slut," you murmur, dragging the coiled leather up her other leg—slow, deliberate—letting her feel every ridge against her oversensitive flesh. Her breath comes faster when you pause just beneath her hipbone, the whip’s handle tracing the letters of "Free hole for master" written there earlier. "Remember these?" you taunt, pressing the cool metal tip into the smudged ink.
Her shoulders tense when you step behind her, the whip’s tail brushing the back of her knees. "Now," you say, voice lethally soft, "let’s discuss your leadership." The first real lash lands diagonally across her ass with a sickening snap—not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make her scream. Tears well instantly, streaking down her blindfolded face as she twists against the restraints. "I—fuck!—what—?" she chokes out, her hips jerking uselessly. You land another strike lower, right where thigh meets cheek, watching the red line rise in real time. "Apologize," you growl, "for running this company like a tyrant."
The third strike overlaps the first, a perfect X forming across her flesh as she sobs openly now, her body shuddering with every ragged breath. "I’m sorry—god, please—" Her voice cracks, knees buckling as much as the spreader bar allows. "Louder," you demand, circling her like a shark, the whip trailing along the floor. "I’m SORRY," she wails, her tear-soaked blindfold slipping slightly to reveal one bloodshot eye. "For—for the layoffs—the—the quotas—" Each confession spills out between gasps as you rain down measured strikes, her skin flushing an angry red.
By the seventh lash, she’s babbling—apologizing for missed promotions, for withheld bonuses, for every cold email sent from her ivory tower. You catch her by the throat mid-sentence, your thumb pressing into the pulse point beneath her jaw. "Good girl," you murmur, watching her throat work around a swallow. The camera captures every second.
Her body jerks violently when the ninth strike lands—right across the words "Boss outside slut inside" on her ribcage—the ink smearing under the welt. She’s sobbing openly now, her thighs trembling where they’re forced apart by the spreader bar. "P-please," she gasps, her voice raw from screaming. "I can’t—Master, I c-can’t take anymore—!"
You pause, letting her dangle there—a portrait of ruined perfection, sweat-slick and shaking. Then, with surgical precision, you flick your wrist—the whip’s tail striking her swollen clit with a wet crack that echoes off the reinforced walls. Her scream shatters into a wordless wail as her body convulses violently, her muscles locking up before she goes completely limp in the restraints, her head lolling forward.
But you don’t let her rest. Before her breath can even out, your fingers dive between her thighs without warning, finding her entrance hot and pulsing. “Hnngh—no—!” she chokes out, her abused body twitching like a live wire as you press two fingers deep inside her already, twisting them just enough to make her toes curl. “I never made a girl squirt,” you murmur against her damp shoulder, your voice rough with fascination as you curl your fingers against that spongy spot inside her, “and I’ve never seen it happen right in front of my face.”
Her protests dissolve into ragged moans as you scissor your fingers relentlessly, her swollen walls gripping you with every thrust. Tears streak down her blindfolded face when you add a third finger—her body stretched taut around them—her hips jerking involuntarily as you drag them in and out with slow, brutal precision. “P-please,” she whimpers, her thighs trembling violently, her voice cracking around each syllable. “I c-can’t—my pussy’s sore—it’s too much—!”
And yet—her body betrays her, clenching down on your fingers with every stroke, her breath hitching in time with your relentless pace. You watch, mesmerized, as her stomach muscles flutter, her thighs tensing and releasing in erratic spasms, her entire body caught between pleasure and pain. “Master, stop—I’ll pee,” she sobs, her voice fraying at the edges, her wrists twisting weakly in the restraints. “I’ll—I’ll ruin everything—!”
You don’t stop. Instead, you press harder, thumb circling her clit in tight, punishing circles as she writhes against your hand—until suddenly, with a choked cry, her body seizes up completely. A hot, gushing flood spills over your fingers, soaking her thighs and dripping onto the floor beneath her suspended body. Her scream echoes off the walls, her back arching violently as she squirts for the first time in her life—her body convulsing uncontrollably as pleasure and humiliation crash over her in waves.
The moment the stream slows, you withdraw your fingers—just long enough for her to gasp a ragged breath—then plunge them back inside without warning, curling them ruthlessly against her g-spot. “N-no—stop—!” she sobs, her voice breaking as another orgasm rips through her, her body spasming wildly as a second, an even stronger squirt erupts from her abused pussy. The sound of liquid hitting the floor fills the room, her thighs trembling violently as she loses control completely, her muscles fluttering around your fingers in helpless, rhythmic pulses.
You don’t let up—not when she begs, not when she screams, not even when her legs give out completely and she hangs limp in the restraints, her body jerking sporadically with each fresh wave of pleasure. By the fourth squirt, she’s reduced to wordless whimpers, her blindfold soaked with tears, her thighs glistening with sweat and her own release. Her stomach muscles twitch uncontrollably with every thrust of your fingers, her body utterly spent but still responding—still yielding—as you push her beyond anything she imagined possible.
Finally, you slow—watching with dark satisfaction as she shudders through a final, weak orgasm—before pulling your fingers free with a wet sound that makes her whimper. Her pussy gapes slightly, swollen and flushed, dripping onto the growing puddle beneath her. “Good girl,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to her trembling shoulder as her body sags in the restraints, utterly wrecked. “Now you know what you’re really made for.”
The hydraulic hum of the suspension rig fills the silence as you lower her just enough for her toes to brush the floor, her legs trembling uncontrollably beneath her. The blindfold slips further as her head lolls, revealing one unfocused eye—the pupil blown wide, the lashes clumped together with tears. You adjust the straps with clinical precision, ensuring she won’t slip, her arms still raised above her head in perfect submission. “Rest,” you command, wiping her slick from your fingers onto her marked ribcage. “Tomorrow you still need to lead the meeting.”
The alarm blares through the loft at exactly 6:30 AM—a harsh, electronic screech designed to startle. You rip the damp panties from her face without preamble, her gasp sharp as the sudden light assaults her vision. The camera’s red recording light blinks mockingly inches from her face, capturing the exact moment realization dawns: the spreader bar still locked around her ankles, her thighs streaked with dried fluids, the whip welts angry and raised across her branded skin. “You fucking—!” she snarls, voice hoarse from screaming, her wrists twisting violently against the cuffs. “Turn that off—!”
You step into frame, catching her jaw in a vise grip, forcing her to meet your gaze—her pupils still dilated with residual terror. “U still brave cursing on me?” you murmur, thumb pressing into the bruise forming along her throat from last night’s collar. Her breath hitches, her body locking up mid-struggle. The camera zooms in, capturing the precise second her defiance cracks—her lips trembling, her lashes fluttering as she drops her gaze to the floor. “F-forgive me, Master,” she chokes out, the words thick with humiliation. Her thighs squeeze together instinctively, the movement pulling at the welts crisscrossing her inner legs.
“Say it properly,” you order, dragging the whip’s coiled length up her spine—slow, teasing—letting her feel every ridge through the fresh bruises. She shudders, her head bowing further, her voice barely above a whisper: “I am sorrry for being impolit—” The whip flicks against the back of her knees, cutting her off with a startled yelp. “Louder,” you growl, pressing closer, your breath hot against her ear. “Or do I need to remind you how we practice apologies?” The threat hangs between you, heavy with the memory of last night’s punishments.
Her throat works around a swallow before she tilts her head back, her voice cracking as she shouts, “I AM SORRY, MASTER!” The words echo off the soundproofed walls, her body trembling violently as the admission leaves her lips. You release the rig’s hydraulic lock with a sharp click, catching her the moment her knees give out—her naked body slumping against yours, slick with sweat and the remnants of her own humiliation. Her fingers clutch weakly at your shirt, her breathing ragged against your collarbone as you stroke her tangled hair. “Good girl,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead—the praise sending an involuntary shiver down her spine.
The walk-in closet’s automatic lights flicker on as you drag her inside, the racks of designer suits and silk blouses parting to reveal your handiwork hanging front and center: a skirt so short the hem barely grazes the curve of her ass, paired with a bra engineered to push her tits up into obscene cleavage. The collar gleams mockingly beneath the LED strips—thick enough to cover the fingerprints on her throat but thin enough to remind her who owns it. She makes a strangled noise when you shake out the panties, the double-sided silicone glistening under the lights, the remote vibrator already synced to your phone. “No,” she breathes, her legs buckling as you guide the first bulb past her trembling thighs.
Her gasp turns into a whimper when you press the second bulb into her ass without warning, her body clenching instinctively around the intrusion. The fabric of the skirt rides up as she sways on her heels, the dildos shifting inside her with every unsteady step. The dress shirt buttons strain over her enhanced chest, the thick cotton doing little to hide the way her nipples pebble against the fabric—but just enough to disguise the darkening fingerprints along her ribs. You fasten the collar with a snap, your thumb brushing the hollow of her throat as she swallows hard, her pupils dilating despite herself. “Breathe,” you order, smoothing the shirt over her trembling stomach—your palm lingering just long enough to feel the vibrations kick in.
The boardroom goes silent when she limps in, her heels echoing too loudly against the polished floors. Every head swivels—first to the unfamiliar shortness of her skirt, then to the shadow of the collar peeking above her blouse, and finally to the unnatural flush creeping up her neck. She grips the conference table as she lowers herself stiffly into the chair, her thighs pressing together in a futile attempt to ease the stretch of the silicone inside her. The CFO clears his throat, his eyebrows climbing toward his receding hairline as her breath hitches mid-sentence. “—Q3 projections—hnn—show a—” Her fingers spasm around the laser pointer, the red dot trembling across the pie chart.
You lean back in your seat, tapping your phone twice against your thigh before sliding your thumb across the screen in one slow, deliberate swipe. The vibrator kicks on with a muted buzz—silent to the room but loud enough to make her spine snap straight, her eyes widening as the intensity climbs. Her knuckles whiten around the edge of the table, her other hand darting down instinctively to press against her skirt—only to freeze when the entire room stares. A bead of sweat rolls down her temple as she forces her palm back onto the presentation clicker, her voice cracking on the next statistic.
For five agonizing seconds, you leave it at maximum—watching her thighs tremble where they’re clamped together, the fabric of her skirt darkening with dampness between her legs. Then, with a flick of your thumb, you drop it to the lowest setting. Her exhale is audible, her shoulders sagging for half a breath before you crank it back up without warning. This time, her knee jerks violently, knocking against the underside of the table hard enough to rattle water glasses. The CFO frowns as she stammers through the profit margins, her blouse sticking to the sweat now slicking her ribs.
By the third cycle—sudden silence, then brutal vibration—her thighs are slick with more than sweat, the scent of her arousal sharp enough that the intern two seats down sniffs the air discreetly. Her next attempt to speak dissolves into a choked gasp when you twist the setting to a pattern: three short pulses, then one prolonged grind against her swollen clit. Her hips twitch forward involuntarily, her skirt riding up just enough to reveal the edge of a welt from last night’s whip. The VP of Sales chokes on his coffee when she abruptly stands, her chair screeching back as her hands flatten against the table for balance. “M-meeting adjourned,” she grits out, her voice strangled. “Everyone—hnn—out. Now.”
The emergency stairwell door slams behind her with a metallic clang, her heels echoing unevenly off concrete as she staggers down the steps. One hand claws at the collar while the other yanks her skirt aside—the silicone toys glistening obscenely where they stretch her open. “Master—please—it’s too much,” she pants, her knees buckling against the landing railing. Her thighs tremble violently when you finally appear in the doorway above her, silhouetted by the exit light.
She makes it three steps before the vibration spikes again, her forehead slamming against the railing as her body convulses. The emergency door’s push bar digs into her hip when she collapses against it—her palms slipping on the metal as she tries to force it open. The dildos shift audibly inside her when she lifts one knee, her breath hitching as the movement grinds them deeper. “Can’t—” she sobs, her cheek pressed to the cold steel door. Her skirt is hiked up around her waist now, the welted stripes across her ass visible beneath the fluorescents. You step closer, nudging her ankle wider with your shoe just as the vibrator switches to a relentless pulse. Her scream is muffled by the door when her hips jerk forward, her fingers scrambling for purchase on the smooth metal.
The second orgasm hits before the first even fades—her thighs clamping around nothing as she arches violently, her shoulders pressing into the door hard enough to leave marks. The silicone toys bulge obscenely against her stomach when she spasms, her cunt pulsing around them in erratic clenches. A thin trickle of fluid streaks down her inner thigh as she whimpers, her knees buckling completely. “Too—hnn—too full—” she slurs, her forehead sliding down the door as her legs give out. The vibrator’s pattern shifts again—short, brutal bursts now—and her body seizes mid-collapse, her back bowing as a third orgasm rips through her without pause.
She’s on the floor by the fourth, curled fetal around the vibrations, her ruined stockings torn at the knees. The emergency exit sign bathes her in red as she trembles—her thighs slick, her skirt bunched at her waist, her blouse twisted to expose one marked nipple. Every breath comes in ragged hitches, her fingers clawing weakly at the concrete beneath her. “M-master, stop—” she chokes out, but her hips stutter forward involuntarily when the pattern changes to a slow, grinding roll. The fifth orgasm is silent—her mouth open around a soundless scream, her spine locked in a perfect arch, her cunt squeezing rhythmically around the toys as her body empties itself in pulsing gushes.
You crouch beside her, dragging her upright by the collar to watch her face when the sixth hits—her pupils blown wide, her lips parted around ragged moans, her entire body shuddering like a live wire. The vibrator dies abruptly mid-spasm, leaving her gasping against your chest, her limbs twitching with residual tension. “Good girl,” you murmur, thumbing away the drool streaking her chin. The camera in your breast pocket captures every second.
Her blouse gapes open—buttons popped during her convulsions—exposing the sheer push-up bra struggling to contain her swollen tits. The lace cups glisten with sweat, her nipples stiff peaks pressing obscenely against the fabric. You drag your nails down her sternum, savoring her flinch when you trace the words “Master’s cumdump” inked above her heaving ribs. “Hands and knees,” you order, shoving her forward—her palms slap the concrete just in time inevitably to catch herself. The dildo-laced panties stretch obscenely between her thighs, silicone glistening with her slick.
You grip the waistband without warning, yanking them down to her knees in one sharp motion. The sudden emptiness wrenches a gasp from her throat—her cunt clenching around nothing, her asshole fluttering open in silent protest. Before she can process the loss, her body betrays her—her pussy convulsing violently as a hot gush sprays across the floor, the sound of liquid slapping concrete echoing off the stairwell walls. Her scream dissolves into a broken moan as the flood continues—her thighs trembling uncontrollably, her forehead pressed to the ground as she squirts without pause.
"Please—nngh—Master's dick—!" she sobs, her hips jerking forward involuntarily, her hands scrambling backward to spread her own cheeks wider. "F-fuck your slut right here—breed me—ruin me—!" The words tumble out half-slurred, her voice wrecked from screaming, her body still twitching from the aftershocks. Her thighs glisten in the emergency light—smeared with fluids, the welts from last night's whipping standing out crimson against her trembling skin.
You drag her up by the hair—her-howling—only to shove her face-first against the stairwell railing. The metal bites into her ribs as you mount her from behind without preamble, your cock splitting her soaked cunt in one brutal thrust. Her scream claws at the concrete walls as her body bows—her spine arching obscenely, her tits crushed against the cold steel bars. "You'll take it," you snarl into her ear, your fingers digging into the fresh bruises on her hips. "Until I decide you're done."
And then—no mercy. No rhythm. Just ruthless piston strokes that send her careening into another orgasm within seconds, her cunt milking your cock in frantic pulses as she shatters. Her thighs convulse around yours, her nails scraping uselessly against the railing as you fuck her through it—deeper, harder—until her choked sobs turn wordless again.
“Master’s—hnn—so—big—” she gasps, her voice shredded raw, her forehead pressed to the cold metal as another brutal thrust knocks the breath from her lungs. “Ruins—ruins my slutty pussy perfect—!” The admission spills out between wrecked moans, her body betraying her again as she grinds back onto your cock, her cunt clenching greedily around each inch. You drag your thumb through the sweat slicking her spine, smearing it down to the whip marks on her ass. “Louder,” you growl, twisting her nipple hard—watching her back arch as she wails. “Tell them what you are.”
“Ngh—Master’s—filthy—!” Her voice cracks as you slam into her cervix, her toes curling against the concrete. “Owned—owned cunt—!” The words dissolve into a scream when your teeth sink into her shoulder, her hips jerking erratically as another squirt rips through her. Her thighs tremble violently, her slick dripping down to pool at her knees—the scent of her arousal thick enough to taste.
You pull out abruptly, leaving her gaping and shuddering—only to shove two fingers into her dripping ass without warning. Her shriek bounces off the stairwell walls as her body locks up, her cunt pulsing around nothing. “Good slut,” you murmur against her ear, twisting your fingers deeper—feeling her clench around them in helpless, rhythmic spasms. “But we’re not done.” The camera in your pocket catches the exact moment fresh tears spill over—her ruined mascara streaking black down her cheeks as she nods, her voice barely a whisper: “Y-yes… Master.”
You slam back into her cunt with a wet crack—her scream overlapping with the sharp smack of your palm against her ass. The impact leaves a perfect red handprint over yesterday’s whip marks, her flesh jiggling obscenely from the force. She sobs your title through gritted teeth, her thighs quaking as you pound into her without pause—each brutal thrust punctuated by another spank. Her swollen clit grinds against the cold railing with every snap of your hips, the dual stimulation wringing another broken squirting from her oversensitive body.
"Harder—Master—!" she wails, her fingers scrabbling at the stairwell railing causelessly. The words send a dark thrill through you—her desperation so tangible you can taste it—and you oblige by wrapping a fist in her hair, yanking her head back as your hips piston faster. Her pussy clenches in spasmodic pulses, her breath coming in ragged gasps as you growl in her ear: "Pathetic. Never satisfied." The degradation sends another violent shudder through her—her body betraying her again as she squirts around your cock, a thin stream splattering against the concrete steps below.
"A-ah! Make me—make me squirt 'til I’m—nngh—'til i'm dry!" she howls, her vision going white as her orgasm splits her open—her cunt fluttering wildly around you as another gush coats your thighs. You chuckle darkly, tightening your grip on her hips, angling your thrusts to grind directly against her ruined g-spot. "Who made you this greedy?" you taunt, feeling her walls convulse around you yet again. Her answer comes between hiccuping moans: "Y-you did—Master owns—owns my needy pussy—!"
Finally, you pin her against the railing with your full weight—her breath hitching as your cock presses impossibly deeper—and murmur against her ear: "Good girl." The praise sends her hurtling into another climax, her scream echoing off the stairwell walls as her body empties itself in weak, pulsing gushes. You keep her there—cock buried to the hilt—as aftershocks wrack her frame, her thighs trembling violently against yours. Her whispered "T-thank you, Master" is barely audible over the sound of slick dripping onto concrete.
You drag her off the railing by her hair—her knees buckling instantly—and shove her face-first onto the steps below you. "Clean it," you order, your fingers tightening in her tangled strands as she stares up at your cock—still glistening with her own wrecked slick. She hesitates—just for a fraction of a second—before lunging forward with desperate hunger, her tongue laving up your length with frantic strokes. The camera captures every detail: her swollen lips stretching obscenely around your girth, her throat working around involuntary swallows as she chokes herself deeper, the tears streaking fresh tracks down her already ruined makeup.
Her trembling hands rise instinctively—only for you to catch both wrists in one grip, forcing them behind her back as she gags around your cock. "No touching," you growl, shoving deeper—watching her throat bulge obscenely as your tip breaches her tight passage. Her nostrils flare with each panicked inhale, her chest heaving as she fights to take you deeper, her body betraying her again when she moans around your length—the vibration sending a dark pulse of pleasure up your spine.
You fist her hair tighter, grinding against her face—her lips stretched white around your base—before suddenly yanking her off with a wet pop. She gasps for air, drool and precum slicking her chin, her unfocused eyes rolling back as another aftershock,“Master’s taste—hnn—so good,” she slurs, her tongue darting out to catch the beads leaking from your tip. Her thighs squeeze together involuntarily—her ruined cunt still pulsing around nothing—as she whimpers, “W-want more…”
You shove back into her throat without warning, her gag reflex kicking instantly—her nails scrabbling at your thighs as her eyes bulge. “Swallow,” you order, thrusting shallowly, relishing the way her trachea flutters against your cock. Tears spill over as she nods frantically, her throat working around you in desperate, uneven swallows. The camera catches the moment her body betrays her again—her hips jerking forward against empty air as she gags out a muffled moan.
You pull out just enough to smear your length across her face—dragging precum and spit over her bruised cheeks, her fluttering eyelids, the branded “SLUT” inked along her jawlinechemistry.Her tongue darts out instinctively—lapping at your shaft like a starved animal—before you shove back in to the hilt. “Filthy,” you growl, watching her nose press into your pelvis, her throat distending obscenely around you. “Made for this.” She moans in agreement—the vibration traveling up your cock—as her hands creep toward her own dripping cunt.
You kick her wrists away without breaking rhythm, your sneaker leaving a muddy print on her inner thigh. “Did I say you could touch?” Her muffled sob shakes through you—her cunt clenching around nothing—as you fist TER her hair harder. “Eyes up.” She obeys instantly, her tear-streaked gaze locking onto yours as you fuck her face in brutal, shallow snaps. The camera zooms in: her mascara ruined, her lips split and swollen, her throat bulging with each thrust. A fresh squirt soaks the steps beneath her as she chokes out your title—the syllables garbled around your cock.
You pull out just enough to let her gasp—her lungs heaving—before plunging back in to the hilt. Her nose crushes against your pelvis, her trachea fluttering wildly as her body fights to swallow around you. Her thighs jerk apart involuntarily, her toes curling against concrete as another orgasm rips through her—her cunt pulsing violently despite the emptiness. The vibrator in her discarded panties buzzes to life against her ankle, the sudden vibration wringing a soundless scream from her stuffed throat.
Her spasming muscles drag you closer—her throat milking you in erratic pulses—as you finally slam deep and hold. Your cum floods her esophagus in hot spurts, her Adam’s apple bobbing frantically as she gulps reflexively. The camera catches the exact moment her eyes roll back—her body convulsing as she swallows every drop, her cunt squirting weakly against air. You grind against her face, smearing the last remnants across her branded cheek as she whimpers—her tongue darting out instinctively to lick your softening cock clean.
You drag her upright by the collar—her legs wobbling violently—and shove the discarded panties back into place with a wet squelch. The dual dildos stretch her obscenely—her pussy gaping around silicone as her ass struggles to accommodate the sudden fullness. Her scream cuts off abruptly when you twist the remote to maximum—the vibrations wringing another brutal orgasm from her oversensitive body before she even hits the ground. Her thighs clamp around nothing as she collapses forward—her palms skidding against concrete—her entire frame shaking as the toys buzz mercilessly inside her.
You scoop her up effortlessly—one arm hooked under her trembling thighs—her broken blouse fluttering open to reveal the swollen, bitten peaks of her tits. The vibrator’s hum echoes through the stairwell as you descend—her ruined stockings snagging on the railing, her head lolling against your shoulder with each shuddering breath. The car door clicks open—her whimper muffled against the leather seat as you deposit her inside—her legs splayed obscenely to showcase the glistening silicone stretching her holes.
The camera zooms in: her torn blouse barely clinging to her shoulders, the “Master’s Cumdump” zero ink gleaming under the dome light, her thighs twitching uncontrollably as the vibrator pulses. You toss the ruined skirt onto the backseat—its seams split beyond repair—before sliding into the driver’s seat with a dark chuckle. The engine roars to life—her moans harmonizing with the purr of the motor—as you tap the remote again.
Asa’s penthouse address spills from her lips between gasps—her fingers twisting in her own hair as another brutal vibration rips through her. The car peels out—her body jerking forward against the seatbelt—her tits bouncing obscenely with every turn. Her heels dig into the floor mat—her toes curling against leather—as the dual stimuli drag another gush from her ruined cunt. The scent of her arousal floods the cabin—thick enough to fog the windows—as she claws at her own nipples, her back arching off the seat.
The red light lasts just long enough for you to flick the remote—three sharp pulses—and watch her dissolve. Her thighs slam together—her skirt riding up to expose the glistening toys—as her hips piston helplessly against air. A thin stream arcs onto the dashboard—her body convulsing—before she collapses back, her blouse gaping open to reveal bite marks darkening along her collarbone. Her breath fogs the passenger window in erratic bursts—her lips parted around silent pleas—as the vibrator switches to a relentless grind.
The sudden brake at the next intersection sends her lurching forward—her tits flattening against the glove compartment—her cunt clenching around silicone with a wet squelch. Her moan vibrates through the steering wheel—her nails scraping grooves into the leather—as another orgasm tears through her without warning. Fluid soaks through the seat fabric—pooling beneath her twitching thighs—as she sobs your title into the dashboard. The traffic camera overhead captures every second: her skirt hiked up around her waist, her ass jiggling with each brutal vibration, her face contorted in overwhelmed ecstasy.
The final turn into her building’s garage wrings one last scream from her—her back bowing off the seat—as the toys pulsate in sync with the engine’s growl. Her thighs tremble violently—her cunt pulsing around nothing—when you finally kill the remote. The sudden silence is punctuated by her ragged gasps—her body twitching with aftershocks—as she slumps against the door, her ruined makeup smearing across the glass. “M-Master’s car…” she whimpers, her fingers trailing through the puddle beneath her—her cum-streaked reflection grinning back from the windshield.
You drag her out by the ankle—her knees buckling instantly—and scoop her up before she can collapse. Her legs hook instinctively around your waist—her pussy gaping obscenely—as her blouse flutters open to expose her marked ribs. Her whimper turns into a choked gasp when you thrust into her mid-stride—her dry walls clamping around you like a vise—her broken nails scrambling at your shoulders as you carry her toward the elevator. Every step jolts her cervix—her breath hitching—her slickless cunt gripping you tighter with each brutal snap of your hips. The elevator’s mirrored walls capture her fluttering eyelids—her swollen lips parting around silent screams—as her thighs tremble against your sides.
The ascent to her penthouse stretches her limits—her pussy chafing with every dry thrust—her whines escalating with each passing floor. The doors slide open—her toes curling against marble—as you fuck her across the threshold—her blouse fluttering to the foyer floor. Her cunt squeezes desperately—her walls rasping against your cock—as her sweat-slicked back slides down the hallway wall. She claws at the wallpaper—her legs locked around your waist—her breath coming in ragged sobs as you pound into her mercilessly. The friction burns—her thighs sticky with spent fluids—her body trembling as she begs for relief through gritted teeth.
You pin her against the glass balcony doors—her ass pressed to the chilled surface—her reflection warping with each brutal thrust. The city lights flicker below—her silhouette trembling against the skyline—as her dry cunt milks you in painful, rhythmic spasms. Her scream echoes through the penthouse—her nails scraping the glass—as her orgasm rips through her without lubrication—her body convulsing against yours. “Master’s—ruined—!” she wails, her thighs clamping around your hips—her cunt clinging like a vise as she shatters—her fluids long since emptied. The glass fogs bookmark with her panting—her reflection dissolving into streaks of sweat—as you growl against her branded throat: “Again.”
She collapses forward her palms sliding against the balcony rail her spine arching obscenely as you mount her from behind. Your cum leaks down her thighs cooling in the night air as you slam back into her raw, swollen cunt. Her scream pitches higher her body jerking her inner walls scraping against you with a wet, grating friction. The blood comes slowly a thin smear of crimson streaking your cock her pussy clenching in desperate, uneven pulses. Her whimpers dissolve into silent gasps—her eyelids fluttering her hips twitching erratically as she grinds back onto you her body betraying her even now.
Her knees buckle—her torso slumping over the railing—her cheek pressed to the cold metal as her limbs go limp. The blood trickles faster—her cunt gaping—her breath shallow—as you fuck her through the faint—her body jolting with each thrust despite her unconsciousness. Her nipples scrape against the railing—her tits flattened—her arms dangling—her reflection a broken blur in the glass below. You squeeze her throat—her pulse fluttering against your palm—as her pussy convulses weakly—her body still trying to milk you even as her-class's consciousness slips away.
You pull out with a wet pop her hips jerking reflexively her thighs streaked with blood and semen her cunt pulsing around nothing. Her breath hitches a weak moan escaping her as you drag her up by the hair her head lolling her lips parted around silent pleas. The moonlight catches the sheen of sweat on her collarbone the bite marks—the branded words her body a canvas of ownership. You drop her onto the marble her limbs splaying—her pussy twitching—her last whispered “Master…” barely audible as her eyelids flutter shut.
