Tags : Pet play, Blowjob, Deepthroat, Face-fucking, Vaginal sex, Anal sex, Creampie, Sex against window, Recording, Praise kink, Dirty talk, Orgasm control, Cum play
Words : 3120
The summons came through her private phone at 9:47 PM — a single message from a number saved under a name no one else would recognize.
My office. Now.
Sohyun's pulse kicked against her ribs in that familiar way, half nerves and half thirst. She was already dressed for it — she'd known, somehow, when she chose the white camisole this morning instead of the thicker blouse. Tight enough to show the shape of her breasts through the fabric, the outline of her nipples visible if the light hit right. The low-waist brown pants sat below her navel, a strip of bare skin showing above the waistband. She'd painted her nails two nights ago, pink-lavender, running a brush along each with care, imagining his hands holding hers to examine them.
She slipped the black cardigan over her shoulders — open, never buttoned — and grabbed her bag. Told her roommate she forgot something in the practice room. The lie came easy now.
The company building was mostly dark on the upper floors. Security knew her face, waved her through. The elevator hummed ascending, and she watched her reflection in the polished brass doors — the flush already rising across her collarbone, the soft wet heat beginning between her thighs.
She knocked on his door. Three light taps.
Come in, pet.
He never said it aloud. It was always in the message that appeared on her phone after she knocked. She pushed the door open.
The office took up the whole corner of the fifteenth floor. City lights bled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Seoul spread out below like circuitry. His desk sat at the far end, mahogany, spotless except for a single lamp casting amber light across the surface. Bookshelves lined one wall. A dark gray couch against another.
He sat behind the desk, watching her enter. Dark suit jacket draped over the chair behind him, sleeves of his white shirt rolled to his forearms. The silver glint at his temples caught the lamplight. His eyes moved over her slowly, deliberately, the way a man checks something he owns for damage.
"Lock it," he said.
She turned the deadbolt. The click echoed.
"Come here."
She walked toward the desk, and he watched every step — the sway of her hips, the way her bare stomach tensed with each stride. When she reached the edge of the desk, he held up one hand.
"Stop."
She stopped.
"Look at me."
She raised her eyes. His gaze pinned her where she stood, and she felt it everywhere — between her legs, in the tightening of her nipples against the camisole, in the way her breath shortened without her permission.
"You've been good today?"
"Yes," she breathed.
"Tell me."
"I was good today. I did everything you asked. I thought about you during the video shoot. I thought about coming here."
"Thought about what would happen when you did?"
She nodded, her cheeks burning.
"Use your words."
"Yes. I thought about what you'd do to me."
Something shifted in his face — not softening, but deepening. He reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a strip of black leather. Thin, maybe half an inch wide. A small silver O-ring at the end.
"Come around."
She walked around the desk, her legs unsteady. He turned in his chair to face her, and she stood between his knees, close enough to smell his cologne — sandalwood and something metallic, like clean coins.
He reached up and brushed her hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His thumb ran across her cheekbone, feather-light. She leaned into his touch.
"You're so beautiful," he said quietly, and the shift in his voice — from command to something softer — made her chest ache. "Every time I see you, it surprises me. That you're real. That you're here."
"I'm here," she whispered. "I'm always here."
His hand slid to the back of her neck, fingers threading into her hair at the nape. He tilted her head back gently, studying her face like a painting.
"I know, baby. I know." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, soft, lingering. "You're my good girl. My perfect little pet."
She felt the words in her stomach, warm and liquid.
"Will you wear this for me?"
He held up the leash. The silver buckle caught the lamplight.
"Yes," she said. "Please."
His hands were gentle as he fastened the collar around her neck — a second, thinner strap of black leather fitted to her throat, the O-ring resting just below her Adam's apple. He buckled it at the back, his fingers brushing her nape. Then he clipped the leash to the ring, and the weight of it tugged forward slightly.
"There."
He sat back, holding the leather coiled loosely in his fist. She watched his chest rise and fall with a slow breath. His eyes were dark, reverent.
"Look at you."
She felt the collar against her skin, the leash a line of tension between them. Her pulse beat against the leather.
"On your knees, pet."
She sank slowly, her knees meeting the carpet. The leash went slack as she descended. She looked up at him from the floor, her hands resting on her thighs.
"Good girl." His thumb traced her lower lip, pressing slightly. She parted her mouth, and he slid his thumb inside. She sucked gently, watching his eyes darken. "That's it. You know what to do."
He pulled his thumb free, wet and glistening, and wiped it across her lower lip.
"Undo my pants."
Her fingers found his belt — familiar now, practiced. The leather tongue slid free, the button popped, the zipper descended. She pulled his pants open and his cock sprang up against his stomach, already hard. The sight of it sent a pulse through her cunt. Thick, veined, the head flushed dark, a bead of pre-cum pearled at the slit.
She licked her lips without thinking.
"You want it?"
"Yes. Please. I want to taste you."
"Then show me how hungry you are. Open."
She opened her mouth wide, tongue flat and waiting. He guided the head to her lips and she took him in, slow, savoring the first stretch of her lips around his girth. Her tongue pressed against the underside of his shaft, tracing the ridge of a vein. She heard his breath catch above her.
"Fuck. Yeah. Just like that."
She sank deeper, taking him inch by inch, her throat relaxing to accept him. Her nose reached his pelvis and she held there, her throat full, her eyes watering. She looked up at him — the leash still in his grip, the city lights behind him — and the sight made her cunt clench around nothing.
He let her set the rhythm at first, watching her bob her head along his length. Her hand wrapped around the base of his cock, stroking what her mouth couldn't reach. Saliva ran down her chin, slick and obscene. She sucked harder, hollowing her cheeks, and the sounds — wet, hungry, desperate — filled the office.
"That's my girl," he groaned, his hips beginning to rock. "Look at you. On your knees. Leashed. Taking my cock down your throat like you were made for it."
She moaned around him, the vibration making his grip tighten on the leash.
"You were made for it, weren't you? Made for me."
She pulled off just long enough to gasp, "Yes. Made for you. Only for you," before taking him back, deeper this time, pushing past her gag reflex and feeling her throat stretch around the head of his cock.
His hand moved to her hair, gathering the long black strands in his fist. "Deep breath, pet."
She inhaled through her nose, and he thrust upward, burying himself fully in her throat. She felt his pelvis against her face, his balls against her chin. The pressure was everything — the fullness, the submission, the way her throat pulsed around him. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She didn't wipe them.
He held her there for three heartbeats, four, five. Then he pulled back, letting her breathe, and the air hit her raw throat like a burn.
"Good. So good." He stroked her hair, his voice thick. "Again."
She took him again, and again, each time deeper, her throat loosening, her hunger growing. Saliva soaked the front of her camisole, the white fabric clinging to the swell of her breasts. Her hands moved to her own body — one gripping her thigh, the other pressing between her legs, rubbing herself through the brown pants.
He caught her wrist. "No. That's mine. You don't touch without permission."
She whined, pulling off his cock. "Please. I need—"
"I know what you need. Turn around. Hands on the window."
She pushed to her feet, unsteady, her legs shaking. The leash stayed clipped to her collar as she crossed to the floor-to-ceiling window. Seoul spread below her, thousands of lights, thousands of people with no idea what was happening behind this glass. The thought made her dizzy.
She placed her palms flat against the cool glass. Her reflection stared back — flushed, wrecked, the collar dark against her throat.
Behind her, she heard his belt unbuckle fully, his pants drop. She didn't turn.
"Arch your back."
She pushed her hips out, bending at the waist, pressing her chest toward the glass. Her breasts flattened against the cool surface, her nipples tightening into hard peaks against the camisole. The brown pants were pulled tight across her ass.
He stepped behind her and ran one hand down her spine, over the curve of her ass, gripping the flesh hard. His other hand yanked her pants and underwear down to her mid-thighs, exposing her. The air hit her wet cunt and she shivered.
"Look at you. So wet for me. So ready."
She felt his cock slide between her thighs, not entering, just dragging through her slickness, coating himself. She pushed back against him, trying to take him in, but he held her hips still.
"Ask me."
"Please," she gasped. "Please fuck me. I need you inside me."
"Inside where?"
"My pussy. Please put your cock in my pussy. I need it so bad."
"Good girl."
He lined up and pushed in, one slow, relentless inch at a time. Her cunt stretched around him, gripping, pulling him deeper. She cried out, her forehead pressing against the window. The city spread below, indifferent.
"Fuck, you're tight," he growled, his hands gripping her hips. "Every time. Like you've never been touched."
He bottomed out, his pelvis against her ass, and stayed there. She felt him pulsing inside her, felt the fullness reaching deep into her belly.
"Look at yourself."
She raised her eyes to her reflection — the girl in the window, collared, pants around her thighs, breasts flattened against the glass, a man buried inside her. Her own face, slack with pleasure, eyes half-lidded.
"See what you are," he said, beginning to move. Slow, deep strokes that dragged against every sensitive inch of her walls. "You're my pet. My perfect little whore. You belong to me."
"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes, I'm yours."
He fucked her slow at first, each thrust deliberate, watching himself disappear into her body. Her breasts pressed and dragged against the cold glass, the friction through the camisole making her nipples ache. Her hands slid on the window as she braced against each impact.
Then his pace quickened, his grip tightening on her hips hard enough to bruise. The sounds — his skin slapping against hers, her moans, the wet noise of his cock pumping into her — filled the office.
"Harder," she begged. "Please, harder."
He gave it to her. His thrusts turned punishing, deep and fast, driving her into the glass. Her breath fogged the window in front of her face. Her tits bounced with each impact, pressed flat then released, the camisole soaked with sweat and saliva.
"Whose pussy is this?"
"Yours. All yours."
"Say my name."
"CEO," she gasped. "Sir—"
"No. My name."
She knew it. He'd given it to her in the dark of his bed one night, whispered against her hair. She'd never said it to anyone else.
"Jaeho," she breathed.
His rhythm stuttered. He leaned over her, his chest against her back, his mouth at her ear.
"Again."
"Jaeho. Please. Please don't stop."
He didn't. He drove into her, faster, harder, the head of his cock hitting that deep spot inside her that made her vision blur. Her orgasm coiled tight in her gut, building with each stroke.
"I'm close," she whimpered. "I'm gonna—"
"Not yet. Not until I tell you."
She tried to hold it back, her muscles clenching around him, her whole body trembling. He reached around and pressed his fingers against her clit through the fabric of her panties, still bunched at her thighs.
"You want to come?"
"Yes. Yes, please."
"Then come for me. Come on my cock like a good pet."
He pressed hard on her clit and thrust deep, and she shattered. Her orgasm ripped through her, her cunt clenching and pulsing around him, her scream muffled against the glass. Her legs gave out but he held her up, still fucking her through it, drawing every wave out of her body.
When she came back to herself, she was slumped against the window, barely standing. Her reflection stared back, wrecked and beautiful.
He pulled out slowly, and she felt the absence like a loss.
"Don't move."
She stayed where she was, face against the glass, ass still exposed. She heard the drawer open — the soft click she recognized. The camera.
"Jaeho—"
"Shh. I know. You're so beautiful like this. I want to keep it."
She didn't argue. She never did. She heard the tiny red light come on.
"Show me your ass."
She pushed her hips back, presenting herself. The air was cool on her wet, swollen cunt.
"Spread yourself."
Her hand reached back, fingers finding her own skin, pulling her ass cheek aside. She heard him exhale, slow and reverent.
"Perfect." A soft click. "Now touch yourself. Show me how wet you are."
Her fingers slid through her slickness, gathering it, spreading it. She felt her own heat, the sheen of her arousal.
"Put your fingers in your mouth."
She obeyed, tasting herself on her tongue. Salty and sweet.
"Get on the couch. On your hands and knees."
She crawled across the carpet, the leash trailing behind her. The leather was damp and warm against her neck. She climbed onto the gray couch, positioning herself on her knees, her ass in the air.
He moved behind her, the camera still recording. She heard him spit, heard the wet sound of him working it into her.
"Open for me, pet."
She felt his thumb press against her asshole, circling, pressing gently until the ring of muscle gave way. She gasped, her fingers gripping the couch cushions.
"You want it here?"
"Yes. Please. I want you in my ass."
"Beg."
"Please, Jaeho. Please fuck my ass. I want to feel you there. I want to be so full of you. Please."
He pulled his thumb out and replaced it with the head of his cock, pressing slowly. She felt the stretch — different from her cunt, tighter, more intense. Her breath came in sharp gasps as he pushed past the first resistance.
"Breathe," he said, his voice strained. "Let me in."
She forced herself to relax, to open, and he slid deeper. The sensation was overwhelming — fullness and pressure and a pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain. Her mouth fell open, but no sound came out.
"That's it. Taking me so well. All the way, baby."
He seated himself fully inside her, his pelvis flush against her ass. She felt impossibly full, stretched, claimed.
"Look at the camera."
She turned her head, finding the lens. Her eyes were glassy, her makeup smeared, her lips swollen and wet.
"Tell me who you belong to."
"You," she whispered. "I belong to you."
He began to move, slow thrusts that made her whole body rock. The camera captured everything — the way her ass rippled with each impact, the leash swinging against her throat, the wet sound of him sliding in and out of her.
He fucked her ass with increasing urgency, his breathing ragged, his composure cracking. She pushed back into each thrust, taking him as deep as he could go, wanting all of him.
"I'm going to come," he warned. "Where do you want it?"
"Inside. Please. Fill me up."
"You want my cum in your ass?"
"Yes. Please. I want to feel it. I want to be full of you."
He drove into her one last time, buried to the hilt, and she felt his cock pulse inside her as he came. Hot, thick, endless. She felt each spurt, felt her body accepting it, claiming it. She moaned at the sensation — being filled, being marked from the inside.
When he finished, he stayed inside her for a long moment, both of them breathing hard. Then he pulled out slowly, and she felt the emptiness, felt the warmth of his cum beginning to leak out of her. It ran down her inner thigh, a slow trickle.
She collapsed sideways onto the couch, her body giving out completely. Her limbs felt like water. The leash lay coiled on the cushion beside her.
He set the camera down and knelt beside the couch. His hand found her hair, stroking gently, pushing the strands back from her face.
"You did so well, baby. So perfect."
She couldn't answer. Her body was still trembling, small aftershocks rolling through her muscles. She felt the cum seeping out of her, pooling on the cushion beneath her. The sensation was obscene and perfect.
He lifted her legs onto the couch and covered her with his suit jacket, the expensive fabric draping over her nakedness. He sat on the floor beside her, his back against the couch, his hand never leaving her hair.
"I love you," he said quietly. "You know that, right?"
She turned her head, her cheek against the cushion, looking at him through half-closed eyes. The city lights painted his face in gold and shadow.
"I love you too," she whispered. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For wanting me. All of me. Even this part."
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, her temple, the corner of her mouth.
"This part is my favorite part. Because this part is only mine."
She smiled, small and dreamy, her body still humming with spent pleasure. The cum continued to leak out of her, warm against her skin. The camera's red light glowed silently from the desk, capturing her in the aftermath — limp, full, utterly owned.
A/N and warning: Some discussion of eating disorders, death, and suicide. There's also name-calling. Thanks to @xantithesis, @kwilquib, @limemrys for the beta in the early parts. Thanks to @sinswithpleasure for the sex scene design.
—
"Your ugly ass is dragging the group down, whore."
"And you're giving the girls fucking ED."
The groups aren't that big (say, aespa and LE SSERAFIM big), but it's going to be worth a lot, nonetheless.
The steps are rather straightforward: a new Gmail account under VPN, with the header being an enquiry about their public images, then a large sum of deposit on your bankbook statement. You've done this a number of times — domestically and abroad, from nose picking to illegal substances, boy groups and girl groups. There's a line being drawn, of course: no one under the age of eighteen. Still, the industry is pretty fucked; you are aware, and you are awfully fucked in the head; you are also aware. The money's audaciously fantastic, though.
(Caveat: the writer doesn't know shit about sending an anonymous email, really.)
You have your associates — accomplices, a team. You get your videos, photos, or whatever media; they get their slice of cake. They are around the world — elusive, secretive. The security measures are tight. Every movement has to be careful. The cash has to be wisely spent.
However, those are not enough.
Since the dawn of your career three years ago — a discovery through a platform by accident lulling you into this tangled web of treachery — you've had two flatliners. That's the term. Their streams of texts just stopped after one day, and you don't know their fate, really. Your best wishes for them are that they find a path that's better than sitting in front of their computers and threatening companies to release scandals of their employees' wrongdoings. However, death is entirely possible in this field. They won't appear in the news, or if so, it's suicide, or it's an accident. It's just bleak.
Let's shrink the scene a bit. So, what the hell is actually happening here?
You have this little snippet of a fight — Music Show backstage, Jeong Hyerin of tripleS and Kim Dahyun, slash Stella Kim, of Hearts2Hearts. R-rated profanities were thrown around between them — fucks and cunts and a shockingly wide array of socially distressing insults. It was something about the stature of their groups: Hearts2Hearts is more famous, Hyerin is more talented, Stella is prettier, tripleS has a better discography. Whatever the fuck they were verbally abusing each other about, you don't care. It's your annual salary's worth of motion pictures here from SM and Modhaus, and oh, it's just so sweet to hear them scream these words over and over again — ass, whore, fuck.
Let's shrink the scene even more.
There are occasional vibrations from your server as your professor lectures about the basics of IP addresses. You look at your phone screen from time to time — pings for everyone, a bounty to claim — and you click on some of them: the usual trivial stuff. They're waiting for someone to attach them to emails and, as explained earlier, be traded for a currency.
It's another normal day, really. You wake up; you go to class; you hang out with your friends a bit; you go back to your room and sleep peacefully; rinse and repeat. The cadence (author's favorite word) has been perfect for the last three years here. You wouldn't change a thing, really. It's beautiful to the ear. It's where you can settle. It's harmonious.
The clock strikes four, eventually. You gather your belongings into your bag and head for dinner around campus with your peers — another garlic and crispy pork on rice at your favourite diner. You guys talk about mundane things: classes, homework, relationships. Maybe it deviates from those topics sometimes, but more often that not, it's these things that bond you together over time — these little things. Even if your supposed threats aren't looming over their lives, you'd be glad to take a bullet for them. You love them that much.
You bid farewell after dessert, grab a bike, take an elevator up to your floor. It has become a banal routine to which you've grown accustomed. Your mind races towards the activity you're going to do tonight — another client, another job, another email. It's your life.
In a heartbeat, you're on your roller chair, scrolling your feed unenthusiastically for an illicit job on your tabletop computer. There's nothing today. It happens; you're not too bothered about it. Scandals don't happen every day. There's an abundant chance that you'll live to see tomorrow's sunrise. You've been defensively sound. You've been careful. They won't get to you soon.
On a side note, SM and Modhaus haven't replied to your email. Perhaps the requested payment is too hefty. You might let it hang for a few days before renegotiation. If nothing comes by, well, to say it simply, Jeong Hyerin of ex-tripleS and Stella Kim of ex-Hearts2Hearts will be seen hurling scathing insults all over the internet.
And you just plant yourself under your comfy blanket like that.
:bceSleepPeaceful:, you send it into your server.
—
You wake up to three soft knocks on your door. Your take a look at your phone screen: 1:35, six hours before your daily routine repeats itself.
You tread carefully toward the door. There's a quick scan through the peephole, a safety measure. At the front of your door stands a person wearing a white surgical mask. They're as tall as you are, hair neatly kept under a cap.
They look abnormally shaky, though. Perhaps they need a—
No, it's not safe for a person with your activities. You can't be opening your room's door to someone who you can't even see their face.
"Please," a female voice pleads against the closed door. "Help me," she sounds awfully desperate. Plus, no one can access your dorm without a proper face scan this deep into the nocturne (speaking of a convenient plot establishing). What could be the harm? It's someone in your own building!
The door creaks slightly as you open it. She doesn't immediately lunge at you, and that makes your body relax a bit. Her eyes look fearful through her clear glasses, and she just keeps looking around herself as if keeping an eye on an unknown threat. She also doesn't look incredibly strong — won't stand a chance against you in a fight. The black sweater kind of hides a lot, but to say that you're intimidated by the possibility of her hiding her muscular arms under the fabric is a stretch.
"I'm sorry for knocking on your door this late, but," she starts, voice trembling with apparent fear, "my boyfriend, we, we had a fight. He's drunk, and," and her voice just trails off, unable to finish the dreaded sentence. Her eyes remain aware of her surroundings as ever.
You squint your eyes, examining the poor woman, trying to undermine her situation with your doubts, and nothing just comes up, really. You're not recognizing her with the mask on. Still, she just doesn't have that deadly edge. The thorns just don't seem to be there. So, you stick your head out into the quiet hallway, half-expecting another associate to knock you out and kill you for good. You've been quite a shithead to these big corporations for years, and you have grown to accept that fact.
There's none in the hallway, luckily — no blind-spots, no shadows, just her. Also, with her standing in your eyes' dead-spots beside you, she could've just knocked you over and stabbed you with a hidden blade into a blood-soaked lump of flesh. Finally, the unpleasant wariness under your skin retreats to dormancy, and eventually, you let out a small sigh of relief.
With safety likely ensured, you make way for her. "Come in," and you kind of realize how drowsy you sound.
The shrouded woman hastily enters the room, and you close the door with a soft thud. She settles herself on your bed, and you hear these erratic breathing sounds through her mask — chest rising and falling. Her eyes lay on the floor. She needs space. She needs time.
The risk remains high, still.
To have someone knocking on your door a little past one-thirty in the morning is definitely unusual, even if there was nobody knocking you out initially in the hallway. She needs to be screened, at least with basic questions as a precaution.
Flatly, with hands on your hips, you start, "What happened, Miss?"
The woman remains unresponsive to your question, still trying to adjust to the atmosphere of a stranger's room. There's this soft hum of your air conditioner working against the outside heat, and you really hope she'd be able to hold on to that. You remain careful of her presence in the room. Still, maybe it's something inside your detached heart. You figure you should help her despite the low, constant purring of the threat.
Okay, water might help her.
The fridge, you open it, and a bottle, you give her.
She places it beside her on your bed after you handed it to her, though, not opening it yet. The droplets on the bottle are going to make the mattress wet, but again, you don't have the heart to stop her from doing so. She just seems to be in a state of shock and won't act rationally. She's not you. She's not as methodical as you are.
"Take your time," you utter, almost not believing the words that just came out of your lips, and you sit in your roller chair. You just watch her hyperventilating and breathing abnormally under the dark night. There's a streak of moonlight being cast through the window, draping over her body. It looks like she's glowing in your room, really.
A voice leaves her lips, eventually. It's unintelligible at first, more like a cry, but they become proper words after a few utterances.
"He, he went out drinking again," she stammers out, almost a whisper. "And he came back," and suddenly, she grabs the hemline of her sweater. You just sit in your chair dumbly. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
Your exhaustion is gone the moment she takes off the sweater. There's a bruise on her right shoulder — purplish, wide, brownish. Her arms look rather muscular for a woman of her size. She adjusts her mask slightly, with most of her face still hidden. You squint your eyes as if questioning the believability of the mark. Not being an expert in the field is detrimental to you, though, so you can do nothing but believe her words for now and wait for her next move. You hope she won't feel too cold against the chill of your AC, with her upper body being just in a piece of bra.
"You have to call the police," you state. It's a logical move for her. It's also for you. She gets shelter, and you get to—
"I can't," she cuts your train of thought shakily, making you branch through the possibilities. Perhaps he has a relation to them — a son, a decorated one. Perhaps they're too incompetent. "They can't get involved in this," she continues, almost crying now. You hear her sniffle, and immediately you hand her a box of tissues from your table. She grabs a few pieces to wipe the tears from her eyes.
Still, with the heart to push the problems away and lingering fear for your safety, you ask, "Do you have friends? Do you have, like, someone you can stay the night with?"
She sniffles a little more. "No," a rather succinct reply with her teary voice, and she just doesn't explain more — no acquaintances, zero friends. It feels more like a stalling process than a genuine answer, as she's now covering herself with your recently washed blanket. You need to probe a bit more.
"What floor do you live on?"
"Third," another blank reply, and it's the fifth here — speaking of logistics.
You poke back, "So, I am selected out of, what, eight floors, then twenty-four rooms to hide from your police boyfriend? That's a bit coincidental, isn't it?" What's twenty-four multiplied by eight again?
She looks up at you, and you can see a glint of anger in her eyes. That was crass, sure, but you can't risk—
"What the fuck? Why, why would you say that?" The sniffles seem to have stopped now. Her voice deservedly becomes a tad more enraged. "Are you saying I deliberately got myself abused by my boyfriend just to whore myself out for you?" and she stands up from the bed, your blanket falling onto your bed. You shake a bit, really. This is the first time tonight that she looks genuinely terrifying—
Okay, wait, you've heard this intonation of the word whore before. You tilt your head slightly. It's definitely recent enough for you to recognize—
Why does the bruise become smeared—
Three trains of thoughts in a row being cut short, and the woman starts laughing — so fucking close to being a hysterical one. You watch her bending backwards slightly as she just screeches out of the depths of her lungs.
Your ugly ass is dragging the group down, whore.
Stella Kim.
Oh, shit.
They have found you.
Your first instinct is to run. The gears in your head are turning as if to devise a plan to get you the fuck out of this premise. Your life is on the line here! The door is almost within your reach — a step away (well, a huge step away). You can punch Stella's face or knock her out in some way (her muscles, however, pose a substantial threat). Maybe you should kill yourself now! (This is the most feasible solution.)
"What do you want?" you ask almost blankly, although not without a tremble in your voice.
"You're smart. I'm impressed, really," Stella says, sauntering towards you like a fucking predator as you remain frozen in your roller chair. The opening of running away becomes diluted with each second that passes. She pulls down her mask and takes off her cap in the same beat, revealing her face that glows against the moonlight. Her blonde hair sways gently with her tentative steps. "We've expected that — figuring me out in, how long?"
You look at the clock beside your bed: 1:42. "Seven minutes," you stammer out, and Stella just chuckles devilishly.
"Seven minutes in heaven!" she exclaims with her celebration hands, tilting her head to the side ever so chillingly. Her expression just sends shivers down your spine like that — the eyes, the laugh, the grinning behind the mask. "So, here's what's going to happen:"
Flatlined — that's your fate. Disappearance, death — there's no leeway or workaround for this. She edges even closer, and you can smell her rosy perfume at this distance. She bends down, and you're face-to-face with her.
"I, no, we," and a sly wink, "are here to send a message, obviously — hearts to hearts — to this super secret society you're in," and she just grins as if impressed by her own group name's drop.
Also, we, she's not here alone?
"I'll let you guess first. What is it?" and Stella giggles mischievously. The tension does not deflate, indeed. The complete control remains in her hands, and inside whoever the collaborator is. Perhaps they're waiting for this grand moment to enter and bury a bullet inside your brain — a gun-to-the-forehead suicide, definitely, maybe plausible.
You don't let an answer escape your lips. You and she both know it by heart.
"Rude!" she utters another reference — so iconic. "Come on, let's have some fun!"
You exercise your right to remain silent despite Stella's status of not-a-cop, tightening your mouth shut stubbornly.
She just gives you this slightly annoyed expression, then, "Tough crowd, fine. So," and she takes a deep breath. "You're going to be a flatliner after tonight!" she presents rather proudly. Imagine a salesperson selling a promotion; she's like that right now.
"But—"
"Who the fuck said it's up for negotiation," Stella growls, and you jolt back with the sudden aggression. "God, you're lucky I haven't strangled you to death yet."
There's this scoff from the other side of the door — a dangerous presence, an observant. (At least) two against one — you're against the world here.
Stella's arms look muscular enough compared to your lanky frame. Again, you won't stand a chance against her. A headbutt might suffice for a few seconds of daze, slash stunned. It's a somewhat sound combat move, really, but it takes more than, well, a few seconds to open the door and get the fuck out of here.
(Then, there's another figure with a silenced pistol in front of your door. There's no escape without your mortality being discontinued, really.)
"We're here to have some fun, still," Stella diminishes the tension slightly with her remarks, despite the looming dread, despite the power in her hands. It's not the exact case of a threat being completely nullified by the aggressor themself, but your body relaxes a bit. You feel like you can be a tad cockier and more playful with her, even if you're unsure how the hell it's going to benefit you.
You tilt your head slightly, clicking your tongue to indicate your willpower to fight, at least mentally. "And that is?"
Stella just smirks at you as if promising a predicament. "I'm not the best at explaining things, so," and she takes a deep breath before yelling at the door to her unknown teammate, "Alright, showtime!"
This needs a little more environmental storytelling to show that your dorm uses a keycard system. Therefore, whoever enters a room must've acquired its matching key. A part of you wishes that whoever is standing in front of the door will just kick it open with sheer force, because the method of hacking and the beeping sound of your door unlocking are much, much more terrifying. It's a disturbance to your ever-perfect cadence, at least until you're done with college.
The light from outside glows against Stella's teammate's back menacingly. At first, you cannot see their face properly. They step into the room, letting the moonlight cast across their features ever so slowly. Each second that passes fills you with horror as the identity of the figure becomes clear. Oh, what a dramatic entrance!
Jeong Hyerin.
So, both SM and Modhaus have found you. Hyerin may have a gun holstered on her belt, ready to plant a metal pellet in your brain, splattering blood everywhere on your table. The assumption is overly pessimistic, yes, but with the risk involved in your field, you can't help—
"Fucking bitch," Hyerin cuts over your train of thoughts flatly. God, how many times has that happened today? Also, that utterance of fucking is definitely matching the cadence you've heard in the clip. It's really her: glasses, white shirt, dark-colored slacks.
You bite your lip, seeking something to hold on to. Your hands are balled into small, trembling fists on the armrests. "Just, just kill me, will you?" you mutter shakily. "Make it quick, for fuck's sake." Oh, you don't sound firm at all. Two grim reapers are standing in front of you in your own room, ready to take your soul to the blazing netherworld.
Hyerin scoffs as Stella watches expectantly with hands on her hips, still in just a bra and a pair of brown slacks. Well, your death is much less grandiose than you've expected — quiet, vengeance-ridden, too soon. Heroism is nowhere to be found here, just a guy existing as another job to wrap up for the entertainment industry. The women's eyes are filled with brimming lust for more power despite already having an abundant advantage. You close your eyes shut, preparing yourself for the impending doom.
"As Stella said," Hyerin starts, "we're here just to send a message. The matter of life and death will be there," and she moves closer until you can smell her perfume, classier than Stella's, "if you choose to ignore it — discard it, dismiss it."
You gulp, a little confused by the entire ordeal as you open your eyes again. "So, so you're not here to kill me?"
Stella chuckles, relieving the tension somewhat, though fiendishly enough to keep you on edge. "Not yet! We're just here to warn you. The next time won't be as pleasant as this!" she says with a glint of cheerfulness in her voice — not funny — and she cups your face, eliciting a flinch from you. Her hand feels soft against your cheek. "I'm sure you're smart enough, right?" she teases, running her hand down your quivering body sitting on the roller chair — neck, chest, stomach — and she just lingers there, circling around your belly button. There's some implication to be drawn from this — the physical contact — but you're not assuming it too quickly, not while your fatality is actively being tossed around as a trivial topic.
Ready to accept all of their demands, you choke out, "Fine, I won't leak the video!"
"Every video," Hyerin adds, winking. "We have all of your details now — SM, Modhaus, JYP, Hybe. I've heard that the bounty hunters are waiting for their moment."
Your breath hitches at the thought of yourself becoming their target, sitting in the place of the stars you've preyed upon for the last three years.
"And we're not hesitating to use them for the greater good," she tells you with a shrug, with a head tilt. The whole matter seems to be so unimportant to her — a job, a task, a prey. Stella is grinning along with Hyerin's threat as well, still raking her painted nail around your belly button on the flimsy fabric tentatively. The action locks you in your place — an elusive restraint you can't break free from. Hyerin continues, eyes burning with power over you, "So, a simple question for you: do you wanna live to see another day?"
"Yes," you utter instantly.
"Good boy," Stella calls, eyes raking over your feeble body that's sinking into the chair. You feel a pang of something you can't quite name forming in your heart. There's this little strain under the fabric on your lower half.
Oh, shit.
Really?
Stella's eyes find it in a heartbeat, and you can only close your eyes and grit your teeth. You know she's fucking smiling. You know she's eyeing it akin to a prize. You know she's going to make you her plaything for tonight.
"What do we have here? Does someone like being called a good boy?" Stella remarks coyly, trailing her finger down towards your crotch. "Or is that a gun pointing at us?"
You feel a harsh flick on it that makes you jolt, probably Hyerin. "Bitch boy slut." Yeah, it was definitely her. You feel yourself pulse against the strain of your pyjama trousers — twitching, surely leaking. This is indubitably wrong — arousal under threat. You aren't supposed to be like this! It's probably the case that the allure of being cruelly beaten and humiliated by a woman (or in this case: women, two of them) is finally getting to your fortified mind.
Stella gasps in faux-shock and artificial fear. "Be careful, Hyerin! It might be an ICA19 Silverballer from the Hitman World of Assassination franchise!"
Hyerin does not say a thing except a scoff, instead blanketing your bulge with her warm breath. You keep leaking and twitching pathetically under the fabric, so needy, so eager to be freed. Hyerin hums, satisfied with your conflicted antics of avoiding eye contact while yearning for their touch. "Should fit in my mouth perfectly."
"And mine too!" Stella chimes in enthusiastically, and in an instant, your pyjama pants are yanked down your legs. Cold — that's the first sensation you feel on your legs. And when you open your eyes, you're greeted with the sight of Hyerin on her knees, ogling you with boiling desire. Fuck, she's even licking her lips at the sight of you. Her breath mingles on your skin. Stella kneels beside her promptly, and here you are: sitting in your ergonomic chair with two of your now-former victims about to suck your hard, dripping cock. Your hands are clutching your armrest tightly, unable to leave the premises at your will.
Your mind wanders towards the about-to-happen: Hyerin and Stella slobbering and perhaps making out on your cock; spit drenching your shaft obscenely. You're still shell-shocked by the sudden conclusion of your wicked slice of life, but at least their smiles and eagerness to swallow your dick are soothing the pain of that.
To establish, never have you been surrounded by two women of such stature to wrap their lips around your cock before. Spending most of your out-of-class time in your room really helps your dating life flourish and propel you through the hierarchy of college in this post-COVID world — zero matches, zero talking stages, zero girls.
Cutting back, Hyerin doesn't wait for formalities, instead wrapping her lips around the tip of your cock with immediacy. You shriek instinctively at the warmth of her mouth — so wet, so tight — and you moan pitifully into the chilly air of your own room. Your nails are digging into the armrests desperately. You roll your eyes to the back of your head under the punishing pleasure. They're everything good boys would do when they get their cocks sucked, really.
Stella keeps the situation from being predictable, and she starts squeezing your balls in a fashion that does not exude mercy at all. It's mixed feelings down there — Hyerin's heat and Stella's sentence. The sensation is undoubtedly a barrage on your nerves, breaking and rewiring them over and over again. Your vision is all blurry from the overstimulation, and the women become these blobs of blue-like colors in the night.
Your body quivers even more as Hyerin starts taking you in deeper towards her constricting throat. Her tongue lies flat against the underside of your cock, heightening the sensation to keep this from being an ordinary session — not another blowjob! She keeps sliding her lips down your length eagerly, eyes definitely locking with yours despite the daunting (your last grasp of words to put you in control) size of your dick. So, you try to concentrate on her with the last drop of your willpower. It's a success, and you get to see Jeong Hyerin's mouth enfolding around your cock without a single ounce of leniency for your mind that's about to break.
"Isn't she a wonderful cocksucker?" Stella teases, pressing her fingers on your ballsack a tad harsher. The pain is even more prominent than before. Hyerin's throat and lips are still subsidizing it with bliss at least. "Dick-sucking lips, cute eyes, leader vibes — how could you not submit to her?" and Stella pouts just to emphasize her point.
(Caveat: the writer doesn't know what the hell he's talking about right now — Stella pouting to emphasize her point, subsidizing it with bliss. Shit's messy as hell.)
You keep shifting out of the blending sensations in your ergonomic working chair. It creaks and rotates lightly along with your body, but there's still not enough force to break it into pieces from your weight, thankfully. Again, Hyerin's orifice and Stella's palm are working on your entire cock in tandem — the heat, the texture, the aggression in their words earlier. Everything about them just feels so right, even if you're being flatlined after tonight.
Long gone is the junior-year student who puts ethereal-looking idols in jeopardy, replaced by a bitch boy slut who's getting his dick sucked by his targets-turned-hunters.
Your tip reaches Hyerin's throat, eventually. You can feel her contracting around the sensitivity of it. There are these choking, retching sounds coming from her larynx. Her doe eyes are getting wetter with the intimidating (again, your words) size of your cock. At Jeong Hyerin's height of 162 centimeters, it translates into a smaller orifice and a shallower mouth, resulting in less capacity to take your cock. Still, that also means her mouth will feel unbelievably tight for you, and you'll just be moaning and writhing in your comfortable chair with that unforgiving warmth.
There's still this soft whir of your air conditioner working against the spring heat outside, but it's now obscenely sprinkled by the squelching sounds of Hyerin choking and Stella encouraging her cocksucking endeavor and taunting you with filthy words. There are also the pathetic wails from your lungs, but you're too dazed and confused to consider that right now.
Hyerin stops, finally, pulling herself away from your cock. She doesn't cough, leaving just a trail of her saliva linking her lips and you together. The sight is your dick being awfully lathered with her clear spit, shining against the moonlight akin to a sacred object (it really is). You're twitching and leaking precum pitifully under the serene nocturne. Your chest heaves up and down frantically with your uneven breaths. The women won't let you stop just here, still. You're not getting away with your crimes so easily.
Stella scoots into Hyerin's position as the latter gives her the place, wiping her lips and attempting to regain her composure after your cock left a mark in her esophagus. Stella lets go of your now-bruised balls before she flashes her wet tongue at you, hot breath mingling on your drenched-with-Hyerin's-spit cock. God, the view is just so fucking pornographic.
Not the eyes rolling up as well, shit.
"Do you want me to suck your cock as well, baby boy?" Stella quips, tongue almost touching your hardness. "Do you want me to whore my lips out on you?" and the intonation remains as confident as ever — that seductive cadence, that recurred utterance of whore just to prove a point of unyielding dominance against you. You can't do anything to resist that power, really.
Awfully desperate, you respond promptly, "Yes, Stella," and there's a please as well — polite.
Stella hums approvingly, drawing a line up the underside of your sizable erection with her red-painted nails. It twitches with boiling need and a handful amount of appetite for her mouth. "You said the magic word! Alright, consider this your birthday present!"
Your birthday is in—
"Fuck!"
Standing two inches, or five centimeters, taller than Hyerin, Stella can definitely take more of your cock before she makes these ugly sounds from her throat (in the case that the math is correct). The sensation does not feel much different from that of Hyerin's — still warm, still wet, still completely tight. Some personal touch would be Stella's hand jerking you off around the base and humming into your taut flesh. It's stylish, less totalitarian than Hyerin's lack of flair.
You're still making stupid noises in your chair. The wheels are rolling softly against the floor as Stella pushes her mouth deeper and deeper on your pathetic erection induced by the threats on your mortality. She looks at you with her smug eyes. She just knows that this is a one-way street of their dominance and your submission (such a basic analogy).
On the side, Hyerin recollects herself and starts unbuttoning your shirt. You protest with nothing from your vocal cords. (Well, there are still weakly expressed moans, of course.) She takes off the upper half of your pyjamas in a practiced motion, and eventually, you're naked and goosebumps-ridden in your chilly room, cock completely used and abused by your subjects of almost-dishonor.
Hyerin sings, "You're so pliable, bitch boy, manageable," circling her black-painted nails around your hardening nipples and making you shriek. "Thought you'd be stronger, to be honest."
The lack of muscles is clear and prominent on your body — arms, abdomen, legs. Gym isn't your commonplace, not really. Running and weightlifting consume too much time for you — changing clothes, carrying a water bottle, and the terrifying distance of five hundred meters from your dorm. Look where it got you, getting your cock sucked by two idols you were about to expose to the entirety of South Korea. What a horror!
Dick buried inside Stella's mouth and utterly ashamed of your physical attributes, you stammer out a plea, "Can you please just make me cum and leave? I can't do this anymore."
Stella chuckles against your cock, spit leaking out from the tight space between her lips and your skin. And beside her, Hyerin gives you a blank expression before saying, "Then you should've considered the consequences of your actions, perhaps?" and she grabs your chin to crane your neck towards her face. Her eyes lock with yours firmly. "You're fucking lucky the upper echelons sent us first."
You just give Hyerin a soft whimper, unable to undercut her point. You've never been a good debater during your time on Earth.
Hyerin retreats herself to a spot beside choking Stella, watching her lathering your cock with spit intently. Hyerin doesn't push her friend's head down to give you more pleasure inside the tight esophagus, instead running her nails on your taint ever so slowly just to overwhelm you.
"Shit, fuck," you groan, doing your best not to wake your neighbors up at two in the morning. Hyerin smiles wickedly as she patiently waits for her baton from Stella.
After a short while of retching sounds, Stella releases your dick from the confines of her warm throat, and you just slump weakly into your roller chair — shaking, pulsing, twitching. You hear the women scoffing at the lump of flesh called you.
"Two deepthroats and you give up? Really?" Stella asks with a tad of raspiness decorating her voice. If you're not having your soul sucked to the point where you question your life choices now, you'd find it sexy.
"Weak ass," Hyerin utters. You're still too exhausted to dispute the claim.
"Should we show him that we've reconciled?" Stella quips before a giggle leaves her lips. Where are they going with this? "I'm so sorry for calling you that. I think you're beautiful, Hyerin."
Hyerin sighs ironically, then: "Me too! I think you're not being a bad influence on the girls. You're perfect as you are, Stella."
You open your eyes to see the girls looking at each other tenderly in front of your leaking cock. Stella pouts. Hyerin pouts.
"Can I kiss you?" Stella asks, pointing a finger to her lips. They're a little thinner than Hyerin's, you observe, but speaking in an awfully lusty haze, she probably has the best lips compared to Carmen, Jiwoo, and Yuha.
Hyerin tilts her head a bit. "Sure!" and she leans in towards Stella, only to be halted abruptly by the latter's finger.
Stella looks at you with pretend sympathy before saying, "Does baby boy wanna get involved? Attendance? Participation?"
You nod profusely and stupidly at them, immediately regaining the energy to press your lips against theirs. You sit yourself back up properly on the chair—
Stella's lips land on your cock promptly, placing your body into a melting point from the right. Then, Hyerin joins her from the other side without another word. You moan raucously from the depths of your lungs as you feel their flesh on your dick. Within your blurry vision, you see their lips touching on top of your shaft. The sensation is unreal, heavenly even.
Again, to tell it simply, they're making out and settling their earlier controversies on your cock.
Giving them some distinctiveness, Hyerin's kissing style feels more aggressive, as if to consume you entirely with just her mouth. There's this hunger to dominate and conquer you on the left-hand side. Her spit gets sprayed everywhere on your length. Stella, literally, on the other hand, remains sensual and a bit more playful than her ex-adversary. She seems to be more controlled of her movements and saliva management — not so messy, not so outwardly hungry. They're making you shake uncontrollably, regardless of their styles of blowjobs.
"I love you, Jeong Hyerin," Stella quips, eyes shut.
"I love you too, Stella Kim," Hyerin utters in a similar fashion.
Their wetness and warmth, as nature has designed, are propelling you towards the precipice. The sight helps a whole lot as well, again: two idols making out with tongues on your erection in the middle of the night. Hyerin's dick-sucking lips and Stella's hot mouth — they're making your mind go completely, totally haywire. Your fingers dig into the armrests of your chair badly as your toes curl helplessly between the girls. There'll be remnants of debauchery after this, surely.
It's only a matter of time before you explode between their lips, shooting spurts of semen onto the floor. Hyerin and Stella show zero signs of halting their obscene activity on your cock. Stella's hands unbutton her jeans down below before she slips her hand under her panties, jilling herself while sucking you off. You hear her moan needily on your length. Hyerin's focus remains on you, however, placating the dispute with Stella with full concentration of her leader-coded mind. What a single-minded woman!
There are a few more unintelligible utterances from your lips. The ache inside your thighs grows rapidly with the feelings and the gorgeous view. Your balls tighten under their pillowy lips making out on the shaft. Time to cum!
Hyerin seems to sense it, though, and she pulls back from your dick abruptly. The act leaves you in the unfulfilled high of pre-orgasm. Stella keeps kissing the right side of your cock for a heartbeat. Perhaps she realizes the absence of Hyerin's plumpness, and she releases your cock from the heaven between her mouth. Of course, you frustratedly groan into the air that's now starting to reek of sex.
"What the fuck?"
Hyerin laughs almost wickedly. You try to jerk yourself off with your hand only to be stopped by hers — firmly held, locked, chained.
"You really think we're gonna just let you cum that easily, bitch boy?" Hyerin taunts, flicking your length with her fingers. It swings from side to side pathetically.
Stella piles on the misery, pouting. "Ladies first," she sings, standing up from the floor to reveal her half-undone jeans — unzipped, unbuttoned.
Hyerin gets up as well, still holding your hand from jerking off and finishing the tormenting deed. "Get on the fucking bed," she scowls, and you jolt up suddenly from your chair. Hyerin doesn't let you react to her decree, though. Instead, she manhandles you with her trained strength at once and pushes you face-first onto the mattress. You flip yourself over on the bed, watching them strip themselves of their clothes before you.
As the clothes come off, you do your best to resist the urge to relieve yourself at the sight of their exposed bodies. Your hand tries once or twice, only to be attacked by mean looks from the women. "Don't you fucking dare," Hyerin commands.
In a heartbeat, Hyerin and Stella become naked in front of you. They don't give time for you to ogle their features, of course, rather approaching your bare body with haste at the same time under the moonlight shining from outside.
At the first contact, you feel Hyerin's supple tits press against the right side of your chest. Her lips look even more fitting for a dick-sucking session when you're eye-to-eye (and through a layer of lens) with her. She circles your taut nipple with her nail, making you shriek under the chilly air. Stella, also still in her glasses, lands on you a tad farther from your face. Her hand caresses your flat tummy languidly, humming approvingly as if satisfied with your lack of physicality.
"Should've hit the gym, baby," Stella breezes, moving up your frame until she's level with Hyerin. "You're like a fucking chopstick," then Stella flexes her arm. It does look strong and muscular.
"Undisciplined, yet you're still trying to expose us. So hypocritical," Hyerin adds, teasing her thumb on your thin lips. Stella joins as well, hovering her thumb over your mouth, baiting for your lips to part.
The absolute lack of agency, their insults, and the prospect of their fingers in your mouth make you twitch down there needily. They don't notice, but you know they are fully aware of the effect they're having on you — debuff, influence, dominance.
"Does my baby boy wanna suck my finger?" Stella teases with a pout, running her digit on your parted lips. You stick your tongue out, trying to get a taste. Dissatisfaction comes forth, though, as she and Hyerin just pull their thumbs away from your orifice. Your frail abs are not helping you sit up from the mattress to chase their hands as well, resulting in you falling onto your bed with a thud.
"Really bad boy," Stella playfully sneers, giggling at another reference that's being made.
"You're much, much worse than we thought," Hyerin coos. "What a nasty little slut."
You whine disappointedly at the delayed gratification and Hyerin's epithet, cock pulsing pitifully against the thick air of your room. The need to be sexually satisfied keeps soaring with their denials. It's tormenting, and you're not sure how long you could resist it before your mind is shattered under them.
"Please," you beg pathetically. The message is received, indeed, as Stella gives you a mischievous grin, and Hyerin tilts her head a little.
"Please, what, baby boy?" Stella asks, wiggling her hand in front of your face mockingly. "You want something in your mouth?"
You whine, then: "Your fingers, please." You just sound so deplorable — completely exploited and broken — but the shame is deflected by the need for their digits inside your mouth. God, to get a taste of their smooth flesh, it would be more addictive than anything that has ever graced your tongue.
Stella laughs, almost tenderly, if not for the mocking edge. You know the cadence to be kind, and it's just almost there. She turns to Hyerin for a question: "Should we let him suck our fingers?"
Hyerin does not hesitate to give a yes as a reply. You can feel that there's this blazing need to corrupt you wholly in her eyes (even if you are already, and utterly rotten), and she just does nothing to resist that desire. She's letting it take over her soul, letting it be her second nature with you, letting you be on the receiving end of her craving for authority.
Then, the thumbs you've been craving disappear into the space between your lips, and God, for the first time tonight, you feel like a pure, unfiltered, unrestrained slut.
It's mostly the taste of their hand creams that fills your mouth, mixed with the raw scent of their sweat and skin. Nevertheless, your cock responds to the confusing flavor by twitching eagerly under the cold air of your own dorm room. You close your eyes shut just to feel their thumbs with more intensity. You've learned from somewhere that turning a sense off results in the others being heightened, and you get to apply the knowledge to sucking Jeong Hyerin's and Stella Kim's thumbs like a—
"Bitch," Hyerin growls, shifting on top of you slightly. Her chest is pressed against yours on the right side — supple, soft — and you kind of wish that you'll get to slot your cock between her tits after finishing with her digit, fully drenching it with your spit. "Maybe you'll get more than our fingers if you are a good bitch boy slut for us."
You fall into decadence that easily, really, as you just reply to Hyerin's scathing insults with: "I'm a good bitch boy slut for you, Miss Jeong."
(With Hyerin's and Stella's thumbs exploring your warm mouth, you're pronouncing it pretty clearly and easily understood. That's something to be admired.)
Stella whines softly. "You're a good bitch boy slut just for Miss Jeong?" she asks with this tiny tinge of disappointment at your choice of words. "What about—"
"I'm a good bitch boy slut for you too, Miss Kim," you utter clearly again before she gets to finish her question.
Stella makes this aw sound out of fondness. Your tongue keeps twirling and licking their digits with overflowing determination from your beating heart, and the girls just hum with approval as you become their proper bitch boy slut.
"I think he deserves more than this. Do you agree, Stella?"
A moment of thinking from Stella, then: "Perchance. Should we play with his natural dildo now?"
Natural dildo — what a fucking way to put it.
Regardless of the name of itself, though, your cock twitches with anticipation of their body pleasuring your cock eagerly and dominantly. Hyerin is the first to pull her thumb out of your mouth, leaving a lewd string of your spit linking your lips and her hand. It's the same image with Stella on your left side, and now, your mouth just feels so empty. You need their digits back, even if they're still on top of your body. You open your eyes again to see Hyerin and Stella looking at each other, thinking, devising a plan to ruin you into an irreparable state of mind.
"I wanna spit into his mouth before we, like, ride him," Hyerin starts, blowing a small bubble with her saliva at Stella — so indecent, so enchanting.
"Okay, me too! Open your mouth, baby boy," Stella approves promptly as she turns to you, and you can do nothing but loosen your jaw at the declared decree. You roll your tongue out to accept their fluid.
Stella starts first. You hear her gathering the spit inside her mouth. You watch her cheeks move from side to side, preparing your appetizer for tonight. Hyerin does so as well. Her mouth movements are weirder than Stella's, but you are awfully well-equipped for their essence, nonetheless.
After a few breaths, Stella breaks the waiting game. "Okay, rate it on a scale of five stars!" and she hovers her mouth over yours. She creates a narrow slit with her lips, and you see her spit falling from her mouth into yours. Of course, you accept it gleefully.
Your dick pulses in the air wildly the moment her taste explodes on your tongue. It's full of her mint toothpaste from earlier, you assume. The texture is nothing but smooth on the tongue. She's perfect, really. Your toes curl with the pleasure and satisfaction of drinking Stella Kim's dirty (and minty) spit. She watches you with a smile above your face, at one point caressing your cheek even, and you just swallow her down your throat.
"How many stars, baby boy?" Stella asks lovingly.
Without hesitation, unanimously between all of your brain cells, "Five stars, Miss Kim," and she laughs on top of you, giving you one last rub on your temple before giving the spotlight to Hyerin.
"How the fuck am I supposed to beat that?" Hyerin jokes. "Maybe I'll just place my spit on your tongue. What do you say, bitch boy?"
You nod profusely and stupidly at the offer. And for the second time, Hyerin doesn't wait for formalities, instead diving straight onto your thin lips with her plumpness — a kiss, messy, full of saliva.
Hyerin's flavor is saltier, likely from the salt toothpaste you've seen on television. Her hands cup your face, fingers digging into your cheeks with an aggression that almost becomes painful. Your dick turns into this leaky, sentient joystick down below. Hyerin pushes her tongue into your mouth, and you just let her do it without an ounce of resistance. Your toes curl as the sound of wet lips clashing into each other rings inside your ear — obscene, filthy, debased. Her tongue wrestles with yours and becomes a fight for dominance inside your mouth. Stella hums from her throat at the romantic sight, running her hand on your strained body with care.
(Speaking of the fight, it's Hyerin's rout, can barely be called a competition, really.)
"Can I join?" Stella asks from the side, and Hyerin moves a bit to create a space for her into a three-way kiss instantly.
Kissing two people at the same time is quite a hassle, especially when you're the primary target that's under complete submission. They will constantly try to invade your mouth with their dexterous tongues. And for now, you feel completely overwhelmed by Jeong Hyerin's and Stella Kim's tongues and lips and eagerness for you. They keep moaning into your mouth desperately — their nasty little bitch boy slut — and you can only do your best to treat both of them at the same time with your thin lips.
The kiss goes on for a while — overwhelming, drenched, sensational. More and more precum leaks out of your slit, and you swear that you feel a sizable pool of it on your crotch already. Hyerin and Stella keep kissing you skilfully and ardently — passionate, unadulterated, commanding. Their hands are getting more wanton and wanting for the ownership over your pliant little bitch boy slut of a body. They're roaming all over your abdomen, leaving trails and trails of fire in their wake.
Hyerin pulls away from the mess, finally, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, and Stella follows a heartbeat later, leaving you hungry for more of their pillowy lips to be on yours. You attempt to sit up, though only to be reality-checked by your non-existent abs, and the girls just giggle cruelly at you failing to act on desire.
"There's so many things we can do tonight, baby boy," Stella says, still chuckling. "Such a shame that you can cum for us just once," and she frowns, apparently disappointed by the nature of your penis.
You want to deflect, to protest, but never have you cum twice in rapid succession before — a double tap that never happened. There have been attempts to achieve such a feat, though you could never resist the post-orgasm oversensitivity. So, there's just your silence persisting through their solemn looks at your pathetic, erect, and single-use cock.
There exists an optimal coordination while considering your ability to cum only once while the sex drives between yourselves are high. You don't have headcanons about these women, still. In your endeavor to expose their doings for personal luxury, you've been too greedy to form any opinion regarding their bodies, so you'll have to just ride along with whatever position and power dynamic (which is crystal right now that you're as good as six feet under) they put you in.
"Maybe you can fuck my ass — zero pregnancy risk," Stella proposes with a grin, biting gently at her finger. "Hyerin's ass would feel better on your face."
Hyerin doesn't say no to Stella, and she gets up from you suddenly. Her tits look utterly audacious under the soft light and dark shadow — so voluptuous, so supple, so eager for your touch. And obviously, you reach forward for her, albeit only to have your hands parried away by Stella's — perfect timing, zero damage done.
"Really bad boy," Stella scolds with a hint of mischief in her voice and a bit of reused reference, and she gets up from your abdomen. Her chest is on the smaller side compared to Hyerin, nipples already erect with need. Still, you cherish every kind of breast equally, really.
(You're not reaching for Stella's chest this time, though — lesson learned from her earlier deflection.)
"You have lube, right?" Hyerin asks, placing her weight on your ribs through her hands a bit forcefully. She's pinning you in your place, and the lack of freedom to move and breathe kind of gets you going more, to be honest.
You stutter out, "Yeah, it's in the," and you point towards your nightstand's drawer. Stella promptly opens the wooden cabinet and grabs your unused silicone-based lubricant, ready to lather it all over your cock. Then, she squeezes a sizable portion of liquid out of the bottle before enveloping your shaft with her hands to paint it with the clear, thick wetness.
On the other side, Hyerin mindlessly rakes her dark nails over your upper body, not harsh enough to cause pain, giving you euphoric shivers on top of the room's chill. She keeps licking her lips hungrily, and she looks hot doing that, really. Stella said it a few minutes before: Hyerin's dick-sucking lips, and you're agreeing with that wholeheartedly now, finally seeing them in action in front of your eyes. Despite being without makeup, Hyerin's lips look utterly plump and thick. It's no wonder that you were converted into a whore for her with those around your length earlier — such a pair of mind-breaking lips, a pair to die for.
(Okay, maybe the glasses play a part as well — both Hyerin and Stella. They just look unbelievably hot naked and in specs.)
Hyerin seems to catch your attentive eyes after a while, ogling at her lips without a tinge of decency.
"You want this around your cock again, bitch boy?" Hyerin asks, pointing at her mouth with nothing but pure derision for you.
You nod silently for Hyerin, only to be met with a scoff.
"I'm not tasting the lube," she denies cruelly, resulting in a disappointed whine from you.
On your left, Stella climbs on top of your lower half, lining up her asshole with your wet cock. It's not without preparation, still. Hyerin watches amusedly as your cock is pressed flat against your tummy. A teaser, one might call it. Stella Kim's asshole is about to tighten and milk your cock, and your desire for it can be heightened through whatever she's doing on your lap right now — sliding back and forth on your dick before letting it enter her. You feel the entrance to her ass run past your cock repeatedly, and that friction pushes you closer to the explosion a little more.
"You should fit inside me, baby boy," Stella half-whines, half-encourages. "Such a big cock for a little man."
That's quite a compliment. Your heart flutters at her words and whatever.
Hyerin doesn't add to the conversation. She mounts your face in an instant, suffocating your nose with her sensitive taint, closing your mouth with her pussy, blinding your eyes with her meaty ass. Her scent completely overwhelms you — musky, slightly sweaty. You feel the salt on your tongue that's darting out to taste her, and Hyerin moans at the contact. There's a technique to be done for her, of course — focus on the clit, keep the pace steady — though Hyerin seems to be overly sensitive to your flesh.
"Fucking splendid fucktoy," Hyerin whines, and she begins grinding on your face instantaneously. You start to feel her arousal painting over your face in a line — a kind of masculine makeup, to call. Your tongue laps her cunt in a deliberate, consistent rhythm, tasting her fluid that's slowly being gushed out and coating both of you — her folds and your face. Desperate, you reach for her ass bared before your eyes, though your arms are met with Hyerin's restraining force onto the mattress immediately. So, you can only try to focus on the swollen nub located just above her hole. Apparently, it requires much, much more proficiency in the field to concentrate your efforts on the clit. You're lucky that Hyerin's pleasure is triggered rather easily.
Down below, Stella decelerates her pace of sliding on your cock, eliciting a whine out of your lips into Hyerin's cunt as the warm bliss fades. Stella lifts herself off you, though, before she fiddles with your moistened joystick at all the angles possible. She's seemingly lost in the newfound ability to rotate it around the base. (It's fun to play with, to be honest.) Still, your mouth is too busy to declare your ineptitude to wait any longer for Stella Kim's snug hole, fully silenced by Jeong Hyerin's wet cunt.
After a few breaths of Hyerin's scent and your face being a tad messier, you finally jolt at the sensation of Stella's entrance resting at your tip. She hums, satisfied with your cock inching close to her asshole. "God, you're so big. It's gonna split me open so good," Stella coos with her honeyed voice. "Bet you wanna knock me up. Am I right, baby boy?"
You only make unintelligible sounds against Hyerin's damp folds as a yes, and you hear a chuckle from Stella down there.
"You're so hellbent on ruining my life, aren't you? Almost exposing me for peanuts, then trying to put a baby in my womb — so fucking determined!" Stella rambles in apparent frustration at your behavior. You can only moan whorishly against Hyerin's meaty thighs. "Guess what? You get just my asshole instead for being one!" she huffs rather dramatically.
Stella's tightness is many things: dreamlike, unbelievable, extraordinary. These adjectives should be used for something else instead, say, a piece of art — a film, an album, a painting. Somehow, though, you find them fully fitting to describe the tight, fleshy heaven that is Stella Kim's asshole.
Your tongue remains as diligent as ever on Hyerin's pussy, of course, while Stella's warmth welcomes you gleefully as though she has been preparing herself for your fat cock. There are these squelching sounds down below from the lube on your dick, and you can do nothing but whimper pathetically against Hyerin's frame as your nerves are torn apart by Stella's anal opening.
Stella pushes and pushes herself down your cock to envelop it fully inside her hole. The warmth and tightness are just heavenly, empathically beating your right hand. That feeling is heightened into a richer experience with Hyerin's cunt on your handsome face. She's suffocating you with her (positively) fat ass and blinding you completely, shutting down one of your sensory instruments.
There's a hum from Stella. "You're so big, my baby boy," and a grunt when she starts to move back and forth with your length still buried deep inside her snugness. You think it can be better: her moving her ass up and down your cock, letting the wet friction deliver you to paradise. The grinding feels good, still.
"I kinda wanna try this dildo now, to be honest," Hyerin scoffs, pressing her pussy on your face a little harsher as she keeps moving. "Maybe session number two in the shower?"
Oh, you're going to be completely dry by sunrise.
The tip of your nose is mashed a bit, resulting in breathing difficulty on your end. Your willpower remains intact despite this minor inconvenience. Your tongue is as eager as ever to lavish Hyerin's arousal juice and make her moan with your dedication.
Down below, Stella gets a bit more brazen with her movements. Her actions become these slow bounces on your cock. They start lazily, surely, and you can properly feel her warm, tight walls fluttering around your cock this way, so adamant on milking your balls into a state of drought. "It's so fucking girthy, God," she rasps needily into the cold air. "Fucking tearing my ass open."
Then, Stella quickens her sinful moves. Her languid bounces turn faster and more intense. You feel the muscles of her inner walls hugging your cock so tightly that it's making your body tremble furiously under her and Hyerin. And despite everything — every sensation you're feeling — you can only spew out profanities along the lines of fuck and shit into Hyerin's ass as a form of expression. At least they seem to be receptive to your words and hasten their depraved exercises on your body, using you as another ride — a living fucktoy, an explosive object, a warm dildo-slash-vibrator.
(Caveat: the writer has no more analogies to compare your body to — creatively stuck, to put it simply.)
Hyerin's pussy quivers around your tongue, gushing out more and more sticky, clear juice onto your lips and tongue. She moans wantonly into the air of your room, and you're not so sure whether it reeks of sex now. Regarding her being vocally energetic, it's not a case of an actual contrast against her personality earlier, but seems like a complement to each other. You feel Hyerin's pulse throbbing against your face — beat, beat. Her thighs lock your head in place without any consideration of the possibility that she'll snap it clean off your neck. (Though, you're not really troubled by the notion. Like Holly Humberstone said: to die with them here is to die happy.)
A little groundwork for establishing your sexual activities — you get the idea of women's escalation in their expressions as they're about the reach their climaxes. You've read about it from quite a number of sources, with and without intent. And right now, you're rather ecstatic to apply that knowledge over Hyerin's and Stella's orgasms grinding and bouncing on your body, using it as a living canvas for their holes.
So, Hyerin is rubbing her cunt on your face as fast as she can. It's the speed she can go without exhausting herself on top of you (though still with disregard to your ability to lavish her nectar). Her moans grow mindless and debauched with the seconds that pass, and you can feel her folds clenching above your lips needily. It's a lot, surely, but you'd be awfully stupid to announce a session termination right now.
Stella remains vigorous in bouncing on your cock. Her walls contract around your length powerfully, drawing moans and whines out of your vocal cords with each time she moves. You can feel her ass latching onto the entire surface area of your length, not wanting to let go as Stella shifts. Each heave of her asshole on your cock snaps and rewires your nerves mercilessly in the cold air. The sound she's making from her throat grows louder and more depraved, and right now, the room becomes this tightly packed capsule of sinful stimuli under the moonlight.
"I'm gonna cum," Stella announces — whiny, reckless with the volume — but fuck the neighbors (and Stella's ass), really. Her hands grab your legs, perhaps bending her body backwards at an angle. She's fucking herself with your cock at a pace that's making your brain go haywire — the friction, the tightness, the warmth. You're never jerking yourself off without thinking of Stella Kim's perfectly snug asshole again.
Hyerin doesn't declare a thing — none of that I'm close nonsense — but you can sense her impending calamity building up against your face as she rides you with greater ferocity. Those breaths are going more and more frantic. Her thick thighs tremble against your cheeks in a mania. She's about to unleash torrents of her girlcum into your mouth, and dazed and confused and all lusted-out like this, you're quenching your thirst with all that she has.
To do it conveniently, there's this tsunami raging from afar. It's about to strike you in just a matter of heartbeats, making your body stiffen under the women helplessly as your cock paints Stella's insides with your cum. You can't announce, of course, utterly muted by Hyerin's pretty pussy brushing your face with slickness. The glee of participation is still there, at least — to be a vessel for the pleasure of two women.
You don't babble nonsense anymore, just pressing your tongue hard against Hyerin's cunt. It's the same response for each iteration: you lick, she moans, her moans spur you on, yadda yadda about the other lesser details. The notes fall into their places perfectly for you and Hyerin, and the same goes for you and Stella. Her asshole is tight — fact. Your cock is big — debatable. You two can't find your rhythm — bullshit. Everything is synchronized, just at the cost of half your life. It falls into a cliché of living a double life, but that's the best you can compare it to at this moment.
It approaches a little sooner that you've expected, and you gain this urge to hold on to something while you ride your climax out inside Stella. The instinct points towards something meaty enough for your fingers to bury themselves into fully. Therefore, your hands latch onto the globes of Hyerin's (again, positively) fat ass, and she groans exasperatedly.
"Fuck, grope my ass like that, bitch boy," Hyerin screeches — huffy — followed by moans that are blending with Stella's to make the room a sanctuary of debauchery.
You're not completely certain who among the girls cums first — A New Hope problem, but non-fatal. Perhaps there's a split-second difference in Hyerin's salty squirt coating your tongue and Stella's hot juice splashing on your tummy. Regardless, you keep squeezing and kneading Hyerin's cheeks desperately under the two women who are wetting your body. The climactic whines are rather loud and unrestrained, and those are going to wake someone up right now, surely.
(One might say it's a late-night shower for the funny, but this amount of water volume won't wash any filth away from you, even more so applying another layer onto your skin.)
For you, maybe it's the taste of Hyerin or the sensation of Stella on your stomach that makes your cock pulse angrily. You feel this shock through your body, and your length twitches inside Stella's warmth as it shoots the first spurt of your cum into her wanting hole.
"Fuck, you're, you're cumming in my ass," Stella cries between the spurts of her squirt. Your cock continues shooting ropes and globs of semen deep into her. Most of the bodily responses are common to you at this point — stiff spine, hitched breath, rolling eyes, et cetera — just that it happens inside Stella Kim's asshole in lieu of your right hand this time.
The three of you bask in the high of your orgasms for a moment before settling down on Earth once more. Everyone is tired. Everyone is spent. Everyone is satisfied. The veins in your cock pulse against Stella's fluttering walls surrounding it. Hyerin collapses face-first onto your drenched tummy, probably getting a taste of Stella's nectar in the process. Her pussy remains heaving on top of your face, although you just have no intention (and stamina) to move your face out of the way. Your air is just the smell of her cunt, and you're content with that.
"Fucking hell," Hyerin manages weakly, body still quivering on top of yours. Her warm breaths make contact with your frame, shivering you a little more with the closeness. "Maybe I'll come back to you, bitch boy, my bitch boy."
You just chuckle against her body feebly before letting go of her ass. Down below, Stella pulls herself off your cock as well, letting a copious amount of cum dripping from her spread asshole onto your mattress. You're going to have to clean it tomorrow (or today), certainly, but you want to lie here first, even if just for a short while, with your fatigued mistresses.
"You came so much, baby," Stella whines, voice barely above a whisper. "Good thing it's not in my pussy. I don't wanna get pregnant yet," and she giggles.
And for a moment, the three of you just lie there, letting the sound of your air conditioner envelop you after a round of sinful debauchery. Hyerin shifts her ass a bit to give you space to breathe in the sex-stricken air. You close your eyes, trying not to give in to the exhaus—
—
The sound of the alarm — Radial — is the first thing you hear. You scramble for your phone and slide the modal off promptly — half past seven ante meridiem.
You're naked, of course. The room smells of your spring air freshener — a contrast to the outside world's autumn and its brownish leaves.
You look around the room groggily, finding your pyjamas sitting all crumpled by the roller chair. There's this stain on the mattress just in front of your crotch — your cum. You feel sick to your stomach, and you're certain that it stems from the lack of sleep.
Last night definitely happened — Jeong Hyerin and Stella Kim barging into your room and having mind-blowing sex with you.
You get off the bed with your leg aching. Then, your phone dings a notification — Messages.
Unknown, 7:31 AM: hey mister flatlined
The user is still typing another message from the other side.
Oh, yeah, you just remember that half of your life is basically gone because of last night's event, and you realize how lucky you are to be alive right now. Your fate is much, much better than the other flatlined figures.
Luck's still in your favor.
Unknown, 7:31 AM: you know what happens if the clip is out
Unknown, 7:31 AM: [Skull]
You can do nothing but gulp in fear, watching the three dots lingering over your message box. Your body quivers at the potential of your life being evaluated by SM and Modhaus. You're going to be priced. You're going to be hunted.
You're going to be flatlined — for real this time, dead.
A bit of a tonal shift — the anonymous character doesn't leave you in a state of dread, at least.
Unknown, 7:32 AM: thanks for last night tho
Unknown, 7:32 AM: call us if you want another round
Unknown, 7:32 AM: [Kiss Mark] [Kiss Mark]
You wait for a few seconds for another message. It doesn't come.
You don't know what feeling it is, but you just stand by your bed, naked, chuckling softly against the morning glow from the window.
