Why Not Me - Jihyo
OC X JIHYO {12k Words} {Released Free} Chapter 1
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Minwoo never thought in a hundred years that his older brother Chaehyun would land someone like Park Jihyo.
Not just any girl. Not some cute office worker or college sweetheart.
Park fucking Jihyo. Twice’s leader. The woman whose voice had been blasting through his earbuds during late-night gym sessions for years. The same Jihyo whose stage presence could make stadiums full of grown men scream like teenagers. The Jihyo, whose thighs—God, those thighs—had their own fan accounts, whose hourglass figure had trended worldwide more times than he could count, whose smile was weaponized sex appeal wrapped in sunshine.
And now she was standing in his family’s living room, barefoot on the hardwood floor his mom had just polished that morning, wearing nothing but a thin white T-shirt and tiny black cotton shorts that looked painted on.
Minwoo’s brain flatlined.
He’d walked in from the kitchen carrying a tray of fruit his mom had forced him to cut, expecting the usual weekend family chaos—his dad yelling at the TV, his little sister scrolling TikTok, and Chaehyun probably bragging about some new car part he’d installed.
Instead, he walked straight into a fever dream.
Jihyo turned when she heard his footsteps.
Her long dark hair was loose, slightly messy from whatever playful wrestling she and Chaehyun had been doing on the couch five minutes earlier. The white T-shirt was thin—way too thin—and stretched tight across her full, heavy breasts. No bra. He could see the faint outline of her nipples pressing against the cotton every time she breathed. The shirt rode up just enough to show a sliver of toned midriff, the kind of flat, defined stomach that came from years of grueling choreography and core workouts.
And those shorts.
Jesus Christ, those shorts.
They were barely more than boy shorts, hugging the generous curve of her hips, digging slightly into the soft flesh of her thick, sculpted thighs. The material was so snug it outlined every dip and swell—inner thighs that looked plush enough to bruise under a hard grip and outer thighs carved from endless squats and dance practice. When she shifted her weight, the fabric pulled even tighter, creating a perfect camel toe that made Minwoo’s mouth go dry in under two seconds.
He froze mid-step.
The tray wobbled. A grape rolled off and bounced across the floor.
Jihyo smiled—bright, sweet, and completely innocent—and bent slightly to pick it up.
Her ass flexed under the shorts. Round. Full. The kind of ass that made leggings manufacturers rich and grown men stupid. The shorts rode up higher as she bent, exposing more of those creamy thighs, the faint tan lines from whatever bikini bottoms she wore on secret beach trips with Chaehyun.
Minwoo’s cock jerked hard in his sweatpants.
Instant. Painful. No warning.
He could feel it thickening, lengthening, pressing insistently against the soft cotton, the head already leaking a wet spot; he prayed no one would notice. His balls tightened as someone had just yanked them. Heat flooded his groin so fast he almost groaned out loud.
She straightened, held a grape between delicate fingers, and popped it into her mouth.
Her lips closed around it. Cheeks hollowed for a split second.
Minwoo’s vision tunneled.
He could picture it too clearly—those same full lips wrapped around something much thicker. Sliding down. Tongue swirling. Throat working. The same innocent smile she gave fans on bubble lives is now smeared with spit and precum while she looked up at him with those big doe eyes.
Chaehyun laughed from the couch, completely oblivious.
“Yo, Minwoo, you good? You look like you just saw a ghost.”
Jihyo giggled—soft, melodic—and walked over to him, hips swaying naturally.
“Here, let me help with the tray,” she said, voice warm and friendly, like she wasn’t currently the center of every filthy fantasy he’d ever had.
She reached for the tray.
Her breasts brushed his forearm—soft, warm, heavy—even through the shirt. No bra meant he felt everything. The faint drag of her nipple across his skin sent electricity straight to his already aching cock.
He nearly dropped the tray again.
“Thanks,” he managed, voice hoarse.
She tilted her head, smiling up at him.
Up close, she smelled like vanilla body cream and something faintly floral—probably whatever expensive perfume Twice’s sponsors sent her. Her skin was flawless, poreless, and glowing under the living room lights. A tiny beauty mark sat just below her left eye. Her lashes were long and dark, even without makeup.
And those thighs.
God, standing this close, he could see the faint muscle definition when she shifted. The way the shorts dug in created the softest, sexiest little roll of flesh at the top of her thighs. He wanted to grab them. Spread them. Bury his face between them until she was shaking and screaming his name instead of his brother’s.
Chaehyun called from the couch, “Babe, come sit. Minwoo’s just being dramatic.”
Jihyo laughed again—that bright, addictive sound—and turned, giving Minwoo a perfect view of her ass as she walked away.
Each step made her cheeks bounce slightly under the tight fabric. The shorts wedged higher with every movement, outlining the perfect heart shape of her backside. When she sat down next to Chaehyun, she crossed one leg over the other.
The motion made her thigh flex: muscle and soft flesh in perfect harmony.
Minwoo stood there like an idiot, tray still in his hands, cock so hard it hurt to breathe.
Jihyo had moved in quietly after dating Chaehyun for a year—she said it was easier with her schedule, easier to avoid paparazzi, and easier to just be normal for once. She cooked breakfast in tiny silk camisoles. Did yoga in the living room, wearing nothing but leggings and a sports bra that left very little to the imagination. Took showers so long the bathroom mirror stayed fogged for twenty minutes afterward, and Minwoo had caught himself standing outside the door once, listening to the water hit her body, imagining every droplet sliding down those curves.
Minwoo had barely unpacked his duffel bag in the dorms before the semester break hit like a gift from the universe. Four whole weeks. No lectures, no group projects, no pretending he gave a shit about macroeconomics. Just one thing on his mind the entire train ride home: Jihyo.
He hadn’t lived under the same roof as her for almost two years now.
College had forced him out—dorm life, a part-time job at a café, and the usual broke-student grind. He’d missed the chaos of family dinners, missed the way his mom fussed over everyone, and missed the low-key thrill of hearing Jihyo’s laughter echo through the house at odd hours.
But mostly, he’d missed her.
Not in any innocent, brotherly way.
He’d missed the way she padded around the kitchen in oversized hoodies that still managed to hug her curves. Missed catching glimpses of her stretching in the living room after vocal practice, sports bra clinging to sweat-damp skin, those legendary thighs flexing with every deep lunge. Missed the nights when Chaehyun was out late, and she’d sit on the couch in tiny sleep shorts, legs tucked under her, scrolling her phone while humming Twice songs under her breath—completely unaware (or maybe very aware) that Minwoo was stealing glances from the hallway, cock half-hard just from the sight of her bare thighs pressed together.
Back then, she’d been new to the house. Polite. Sweet. Always asking if he wanted snacks, always thanking him when he carried her heavy stage bags up the stairs after late-night schedules. She’d treated him like a little brother.
And he’d jerked off in his room afterward, thinking about bending her over the kitchen island while she called him “oppa” in that breathy voice she used on variety shows.
Now he was twenty-two. Taller. Broader from inconsistent gym sessions fueled mostly by spite and sexual frustration. And he was finally home.
The front door clicked open at 7:14 p.m.
The smell of kimchi jjigae hit him first—his mom’s signature, simmering on the stove. Laughter floated from the living room. His dad’s booming voice is arguing with a sports commentator on TV—Chaehyun’s lower chuckle.
And then her voice—bright, melodic, unmistakable.
“Minwoo-ya! Is that you?”
He dropped his bag in the entryway without thinking.
Jihyo appeared around the corner, barefoot, wearing loose gray sweatpants that still managed to cling to her hips and a cropped black tank top that ended just above her navel. Her midriff was on full display—toned, smooth, with a faint line of definition running down the center from endless core work. Her hair was up in a messy bun, a few strands falling around her face. No makeup. Just naturally flushed cheeks and those full, pouty lips curved into a genuine smile.
She looked softer than on stage. More real. More fuckable.
Minwoo’s throat went dry.
“Hey, noona,” he managed, voice rougher than he intended.
She bounced forward—actually bounced, tits jiggling under the thin tank—and threw her arms around him in a quick hug.
Her breasts pressed firmly against his chest. Soft. Warm. No bra again. He could feel the faint outline of her nipples through the fabric, brushing his shirt as she squeezed him.
“Welcome home!” she chirped, pulling back but keeping her hands on his upper arms, squeezing like she was checking if he’d grown. “You got taller again? Or buffer? Look at these shoulders.”
Her fingers dug in playfully.
Minwoo prayed she couldn’t feel how fast his heart was hammering—or worse, how his cock was already stirring in his jeans at the simple contact.
“Yeah… gym,” he lied. The gym had seen him maybe six times this semester. Most of his “gains” came from carrying heavy boxes at the café and pure, pent-up horniness.
Chaehyun wandered in from the living room, beer in hand, grinning.
“Little bro’s back. Don’t let Jihyo feed you too much. She’s been stress-baking again.”
Jihyo swatted Chaehyun’s arm. “Yah, I only baked because your mom said she missed my red bean buns.”
She turned back to Minwoo, eyes sparkling. “I made extra. For you.”
The way she said “for you” shouldn’t have sounded like an invitation.
But it did.
His cock twitched.
He forced a smile. “Thanks, noona. Smells amazing.”
Dinner was torture.
Jihyo sat directly across from him.
Minwoo sat there at the dinner table, trying to act normal, but his eyes kept betraying him. Every few seconds, they'd dart across to Jihyo, zeroing in on those perfect, full breasts straining against her cropped black tank top. No bra meant every little movement made them jiggle—soft, hypnotic bounces that sent heat pooling straight to his groin. When she reached for the kimchi jar, her arm lifted just enough to make her tits shift and wobble, nipples poking faintly through the thin fabric like they were teasing him on purpose. And when she laughed—head thrown back slightly, that bright, melodic sound filling the room—her whole chest shook with it, the jiggle more pronounced, making the tank top ride up another inch to expose more of her toned midriff. He could see the faint sheen of sweat on her skin from the warm kitchen, making her glow under the overhead light. His cock throbbed in his jeans, already half-hard from the hug earlier, and he shifted uncomfortably, hoping no one noticed how he was staring like a starving man.
The whole family was seated now, the table loaded with steaming bowls of kimchi jjigae, rice, banchan, and grilled meat. Chaehyun plopped down to Jihyo's left, his arm casually draping over the back of her chair as he owned her—which he did, technically. Their dad, Hongshik, settled in to her right, his broad frame making the chair creak as he grinned and started dishing out portions. Mom sat next to Minwoo, across from Dad, fussing over the napkins and making sure everyone had enough. The conversation flowed easily—Dad bragging about his latest fishing trip, Mom asking about Minwoo's college classes, and Chaehyun cracking jokes about Twice's latest comeback and how Jihyo had been practicing dance moves in the living room at 2 a.m. Jihyo laughed along, her voice light and flirty, leaning into Chaehyun now and then so her shoulder brushed his. But Minwoo's mind was elsewhere, replaying the way her breasts had pressed against him during that hug, imagining how they'd feel in his hands—soft, heavy, nipples hardening under his thumbs.
They talked and laughed about everything—old family stories, Jihyo's funny fan encounters, and even teasing Minwoo about whether he'd found a girlfriend yet. "With a sister-in-law like Jihyo, you've got big shoes to fill," Chaehyun said with a wink, making everyone chuckle. Jihyo blushed playfully, her tits jiggling again with the motion, and Minwoo forced a laugh while his cock twitched harder. He was so distracted that he barely tasted the food, his eyes flicking down to her cleavage every time she leaned forward.
Then it happened—his chopsticks slipped from his fingers mid-bite, clattering to the floor under the table. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, cheeks heating as he bent down to grab them. The tablecloth draped just enough to hide him from above, but from this angle, he had a perfect, shadowy view under the table. And there they were—Jihyo's legs, crossed casually in those loose gray sweatpants. But loose didn't mean much on her; the fabric still clung to her thick, sculpted thighs, outlining the plush curves where her legs met her hips. The pants were soft cotton, riding up slightly from sitting, exposing a few inches of bare calf—smooth, toned skin that begged to be touched. He froze for a second, admiring the view like a pervert. Those thighs—famous for a reason—looked even sexier up close, the material dipping into the soft valley between them, hinting at the warmth hidden higher up. He could imagine spreading them apart, burying his face between them, and tasting her through the fabric before yanking it aside.
As he reached for the chopsticks, still staring shamelessly, a hand suddenly appeared on her left thigh—from the side, sliding in slowly and deliberately. Big, rough fingers splayed out over the sweatpants, caressing the curve of her thigh with a possessiveness that made Minwoo's stomach twist. The hand rubbed up and down, thumb digging in just enough to make the fabric bunch, tracing the inner seam like it was mapping her out. At first, Jihyo's legs tensed—her thighs clamping together slightly, muscles flexing under the touch. Minwoo could see it all: her bare feet curling against the floor, toes flexing in surprise. She froze, her body going rigid for a heartbeat, and he imagined her face above the table—maybe a quick hitch in her breath, a subtle shift in her posture while the family kept talking.
But then, like she was used to it, her thighs relaxed. Completely. She uncrossed her legs slowly, spreading them wider under the table—inviting, almost begging for more. The hand took the cue immediately, fingers sliding higher, rubbing firmer now, kneading the soft flesh of her inner thigh through the pants. Minwoo gritted his teeth, jealousy burning hot in his chest. Lucky bastard, he thought, picturing Chaehyun's smug grin above the table. Getting to touch those thighs whenever he wants. Feeling her spread for him like a good little slut while we're all sitting here eating dinner.
But something felt off. He blinked, staring harder in the dim light under the table. The hand—it was coming from the right side. Jihyo's right thigh. And Chaehyun was on her left. Minwoo double-checked, heart pounding now—yeah, Chaehyun's legs were angled left, away from her. That hand... those thick fingers, the faint age spots on the knuckles, the wedding ring glinting dully... that wasn't his brother's hand.
It was his dad's.
Hongshik's hand. Their father's hand. Sliding possessively over Jihyo's thigh as if it belonged there.
Minwoo's world tilted. Shock hit him like a punch to the gut, freezing him in place under the table. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. No fucking way. His mind reeled, unwilling to process it, denial surging up hot and bitter. This couldn't be happening. Not his dad—the same guy who lectured them about respect and family values, who went to church every Sunday, who still called Jihyo "daughter-in-law" with that proud smile. Touching her like that? Under the table, right in front of everyone? While Mom sat across, clueless, passing the rice?
But it was happening. Right in front of his eyes. The hand didn't stop—emboldened now, fingers creeping higher, rubbing slow circles on her inner thigh, inches from her crotch. Minwoo could see the fabric tent slightly as the hand pressed in, kneading deeper, and Jihyo's thighs trembled—subtle quivers that made her legs shake just a little. She was enjoying it. Fuck, she's actually enjoying it. Her thighs spread even wider, one knee brushing against Hongshik's leg under the table, giving him full access. The hand took advantage, sliding up to the crease where her thigh met her hip, thumb brushing dangerously close to her pussy through the sweatpants. Minwoo's cock—traitor that it was—throbbed harder at the sight, a twisted mix of rage and arousal flooding him. He wanted to scream, to yank the tablecloth up and expose it all, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. The kinkiness of it—the forbidden, dirty secret unfolding while the family laughed above—made his balls ache.
Did she know? Did Jihyo mistake his father's hand for Chaehyun's? Why else would she allow the old man to grope her like that, spreading her thighs like a needy whore? She had to think it was her boyfriend—some playful under-the-table teasing. But even as Minwoo thought it, doubt crept in. The way she relaxed so quickly, the way her thighs parted without hesitation... it felt too familiar. Too practiced. Like this wasn't the first time. His stomach churned with unwillingness, a sour knot of betrayal twisting inside him. He couldn't believe this—his idol sister-in-law, the perfect Park Jihyo, letting his dad feel her up while Chaehyun sat right there, oblivious. While he watched, hard as a rock, hating every second but unable to stop staring as the hand rubbed higher, making her tremble again.
Minwoo stayed bent under the table longer than he needed to, fingers numb around the fallen chopsticks, heart slamming so hard he could feel it in his throat. The scene unfolding inches from his face was impossible, obscene, and yet it was happening in real time—his own father’s thick, weathered hand buried deep between Jihyo’s spread thighs, hidden only by the loose gray sweatpants and the tablecloth’s shadow.
He forced himself to straighten slowly, movements mechanical, face blank as he sat back up and placed the chopsticks on his napkin like nothing had happened. Above the table, everything looked perfectly normal.
Jihyo was smiling sweetly at something Chaehyun had just said, nodding along, her voice light and melodic as she replied. “Really? That’s hilarious, oppa.” Her tone was the same bright idol voice she used in lives and interviews—innocent, bubbly, and untouchable.
But Minwoo could see the cracks.
Her shoulders were subtly hunched forward, like she was trying to keep her upper body composed while her lower half was being dismantled. Every few seconds, a tiny shiver ran through her—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. Her full lips parted on a silent breath, then pressed together again. She bit the lower one—hard—teeth sinking into the plump flesh until it turned white, then released with a soft, wet pop. The gesture was small, almost cute, but Minwoo knew exactly what it meant: she was fighting not to moan.
Chaehyun’s arm was still casually slung around the back of her chair, fingers playing idly with the ends of her hair while he rambled on about some funny story from work. Completely oblivious. His other hand rested on the table, gesturing as he talked. Nowhere near her lap.
Across from Minwoo, Hongshik looked bored—chin propped on one hand, eyes half-lidded as he stared at his bowl like the jjigae had personally offended him. To everyone else, he was just an uninterested old man waiting for dessert.
But Minwoo knew better now.
He watched his father’s right arm disappear under the table again, elbow barely moving, the motion so practiced and subtle it could have been him reaching for his napkin. Except that Minwoo could see the faint flex of forearm muscles under the rolled-up sleeve and the slow, deliberate rhythm of his wrist. Hongshik’s fingers were working inside those sweatpants—rubbing, circling, pressing—exactly where Jihyo’s body was betraying her the most.
Jihyo’s chopsticks trembled in her grip. She clutched them so tightly the wood creaked. A soft, involuntary gasp slipped past her lips—barely audible, disguised as a surprised laugh at Chaehyun’s joke—but Minwoo heard the edge of pleasure in it. Her eyelids fluttered. She bit her lip again, harder this time, trying to trap the next sound before it escaped.
Their eyes met for a split second.
Hongshik glanced sideways at her—casual, almost lazy—and Jihyo looked back. The look they exchanged was electric, loaded, and filthy. No words. Just raw understanding. Her pupils were blown wide, and her cheeks flushed a deep pink that had nothing to do with the warm kitchen. She bit her lip once more—deliberately this time, seductively—and her thighs shifted wider under the table. Inviting. Begging.
Minwoo’s stomach twisted with a sick cocktail of shock, jealousy, and unwanted arousal. His cock—already traitorously hard from watching her tits jiggle earlier—was throbbing painfully now, trapped against his zipper. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t look away.
Hongshik’s hand moved again—higher, deeper. Minwoo couldn’t see exactly what his fingers were doing anymore, but he could see the effect. Jihyo’s body jerked once—subtle, hidden by the table—then again. Her breath hitched audibly this time. A tiny, needy whimper escaped before she could swallow it, disguised as a cough. She pressed her thighs together around his father’s wrist, trapping his hand there, grinding subtly against it.
Then Hongshik did something—curled his fingers, pressed harder, rubbed faster—and Jihyo broke.
She leaned back in her chair suddenly, spine arching, head falling back against the headrest. Eyes squeezed shut. Mouth falling open in a silent, ecstatic O. Her chest heaved—those perfect, heavy breasts rising and falling rapidly under the cropped tank, nipples visibly stiff and poking through the fabric like bullets. A full-body shudder rolled through her—shoulders, arms, thighs—her chopsticks clattering softly against the edge of her bowl. Another soft, broken gasp slipped out, this one impossible to hide.
Chaehyun turned to her immediately, concerned. “You okay, babe?”
Jihyo forced her eyes open, lashes fluttering. She managed a shaky smile, her voice breathy and wrecked. “Y-yeah… just… the stew is really spicy today.” She fanned her face weakly with one hand. “Whew.”
Mom laughed. “I told you I added extra gochujang! You always say you like it hot.”
Chaehyun chuckled and rubbed her back comfortingly—completely unaware that his girlfriend was still trembling from his father’s fingers buried inside her pants.
Hongshik, meanwhile, slowly withdrew his hand—calm, unhurried—wiping his fingers discreetly on a napkin as he’d just finished eating. He picked up his spoon again and took a casual bite of rice, expression blank.
But Minwoo had seen everything.
The way Jihyo’s thighs had trembled and clenched around his dad’s wrist.
The way her body had arched like she was coming undone.
The way she hadn’t pulled away—hadn’t even tried to stop him.
The way she’d looked at Hongshik with pure, pleading lust right before she threw her head back in pleasure.
This wasn’t a mistake.
She hadn’t confused his father’s hand for Chaehyun’s.
She knew exactly whose fingers had been stroking her clit, fingering her pussy under the dinner table while her boyfriend, his mom, and his little brother sat inches away.
And from the practiced ease of it all—the subtle signals, the silent eye contact, the way her body responded like it had been trained—this wasn’t the first time.
Questions exploded in Minwoo’s mind, each one dirtier and more twisted than the last.
How long had this been going on?
How many times had his dad fingered Jihyo under this very table while the family ate?
Did Chaehyun really not know? Or was he just that blind?
Did Jihyo sneak into Dad’s room at night when Chaehyun was asleep?
Did she ride his father’s cock in the guest bathroom while everyone was downstairs?
Did she moan “appa” instead of “oppa” when she came?
Minwoo’s hands shook under the table. His cock was so hard it hurt—leaking steadily into his boxers, a shameful wet spot spreading. He hated how turned on he was. Hated that the sight of his perfect, untouchable sister-in-law getting secretly finger-fucked by his own father was making him throb like this.
But he couldn’t stop watching.
Jihyo took a shaky sip of water, lips trembling around the rim of the glass.
Hongshik calmly asked Mom to pass the kimchi.
Chaehyun kept talking and laughing, none the wiser.
And Minwoo sat there—silent, stunned, painfully aroused—knowing the perfect idol image the world worshipped was nothing but a carefully constructed lie.
Underneath the table, in his own house, Park Jihyo was someone else’s dirty little secret.
And now Minwoo was the only one who knew.
*****************
Dinner ended in the usual blur of clattering dishes and overlapping goodnights. Mom started clearing plates with her cheerful efficiency, Chaehyun stretched and yawned dramatically while complaining about how full he was, and Jihyo—sweet, perfect Jihyo—suddenly stood up a little too quickly.
“I’ll… um, go change into something more comfortable,” she said, her voice still light but edged with something breathy that only Minwoo seemed to catch. She flashed her trademark idol smile—bright, practiced, flawless—then turned and hurried toward the stairs without waiting for anyone to respond.
Minwoo watched her go.
The gray sweatpants clung to her thick thighs with every hurried step, the soft cotton darkened noticeably at the crotch. A wet, unmistakable stain bloomed right between her legs—darker gray turning almost black where her arousal had soaked through. The fabric stuck to her skin there, outlining the plump shape of her pussy lips in obscene detail as she climbed. Each step made her ass cheeks flex and jiggle under the material, but Minwoo’s eyes were locked lower—on that spreading damp patch that proved exactly how much she’d enjoyed what happened under the table.
His goddess. Park Jihyo. Twice’s leader. The woman was worshipped by millions of fans for her strength, her voice, and her untouchable beauty. Dripping wet from his own father’s fingers.
Minwoo’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
He could still picture it: her thighs parting willingly, hips subtly rocking to meet Hongshik’s thick, calloused digits as they slid inside her soaked folds. The way her body had shuddered and arched when he’d curled them just right, hitting that spot that made her bite her lip and throw her head back in silent ecstasy. She hadn’t flinched away. Hadn’t whispered “stop.” She’d spread wider. Invited him deeper. Let the old man finger-fuck her right there while the family laughed and ate like nothing was happening.
It should have been him.
Not his grumpy, balding, fifty-something father with the perpetual scowl and the beer belly hidden under loose shirts. Not the man who still called her “daughter-in-law” in that overly formal tone during family photos. Minwoo stared across the table at Hongshik, who was now calmly sipping the last of his tea like he hadn’t just had his hand buried knuckle-deep in idol pussy five minutes ago.
How the hell had he done it?
How had this ordinary, unimpressive old man seduced someone like Jihyo? She could have anyone—actors, idols, CEOs, or fans who threw money at her feet. Yet she’d let Hongshik grope her under the dinner table, let him make her come (or at least edge her to the brink) while her boyfriend sat inches away. The memory of her trembling thighs, the way she’d clenched around his wrist, the soft, broken gasp she’d failed to hide—it replayed in Minwoo’s head on loop. She’d been into it. Desperate for it. Her body language screamed consent, craving, and familiarity.
It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t a one-time mistake.
This was routine.
The thought made Minwoo’s stomach churn with jealousy so sharp it hurt, but his cock—still traitorously hard—throbbed harder at the same time. He hated how turned on he was. Hated picturing Jihyo on her knees in front of his dad instead of him. Hated imagining her moaning “appa” in that breathy idol voice while Hongshik’s thick fingers stretched her open.
A few minutes later, Hongshik pushed back from the table with a low grunt.
“Long day,” he muttered, voice gruff and disinterested as always. “Gonna head up and rest.”
Mom nodded absently. “Don’t forget to take your blood pressure pill, yeobo.”
Chaehyun waved without looking up from his phone. “Night, Dad.”
Hongshik didn’t reply. He just stood, stretched once—joints popping—and headed for the stairs.
Minwoo watched him go.
Every heavy step up the wooden staircase felt like a countdown. He knew—knew with sick certainty—where his father was really going.
Not to his own bedroom.
To Jihyo.
She is up there right now. Probably already peeling off those soaked sweatpants, the wet cotton clinging to her swollen pussy lips as she tugged them down her thick thighs. Maybe she was standing in front of the full-length mirror in Chaehyun’s room, fingers trailing over the slick mess his dad had left between her legs. Maybe she was biting her lip again, remembering how good those rough fingers had felt, how they’d rubbed her clit in slow, firm circles until she almost came right there at the family table.
And now the old man was climbing the stairs to finish what he started.
Minwoo’s hands curled into fists under the table.
He pictured it too clearly: Hongshik slipped into the bedroom while Chaehyun was still downstairs scrolling Twitter. Jihyo turned toward him with that same needy look she’d given him under the table—eyes dark, lips parted, thighs already trembling. Maybe she’d drop to her knees without a word, tugging down his dad’s pants to worship the cock that had no right being anywhere near her perfect mouth. Maybe she’d bend over the bed, ass up, spreading herself open and whispering, “Please, Appa… deeper this time.”
The images burned into Minwoo’s brain.
His cock leaked steadily into his boxers, the wet spot growing cold against his skin.
He should feel disgust. Rage. Betrayal on behalf of his brother.
Instead, he felt… hungry.
He wanted to follow them. Wanted to crack the door open just enough to watch. Wanted to see exactly how far Jihyo would let the old man go—how many filthy things she’d do behind Chaehyun’s back while the house slept.
He stayed seated, staring at the empty staircase, listening to the faint creak of floorboards overhead.
Somewhere up there, his perfect sister-in-law was waiting.
And his father was about to claim what should have been his.
*****
Minwoo’s heart hammered so loud he was sure someone downstairs would hear it. He moved like a shadow up the stairs, bare feet silent on the worn wooden steps he’d known since childhood. Every creak felt like a gunshot, but the TV noise from the living room—his mom’s drama serial, Chaehyun’s occasional laugh—covered him.
The hallway at the top was dim, lit only by the soft glow spilling from under the doors. Chaehyun’s room—their room now—was at the far end. The door wasn’t closed all the way. A thin vertical line of warm yellow light sliced through the darkness, and through that crack, Minwoo could already see movement.
He froze at the top of the stairs, breath shallow.
Hongshik was there.
His father stood just outside the doorframe, his broad back filling most of the opening. He glanced left, then right—a quick, practiced scan of the empty hallway—before pushing the door open another few inches and stepping inside without a sound.
Minwoo didn’t think. He just moved.
Feet flying over the carpet, he closed the distance in seconds, heart in his throat, cock already straining painfully against his jeans again. He reached the doorway just as Hongshik disappeared inside. Minwoo pressed himself flat against the wall beside the frame, then leaned in—slow, careful—until one eye could see through the narrow gap.
The sight hit him like a fist to the gut.
Jihyo stood in the middle of the room, back to the door, facing the full-length mirror propped against the wall. The overhead light was off; only the soft bedside lamp glowed, painting her skin in warm gold. She’d already peeled off the cropped black tank top. It lay crumpled on the floor beside her feet. Her bare back was flawless—smooth, toned from years of choreography, with faint tan lines from a bikini top crossing her shoulders like secret invitations.
Her hands were at her hips now, thumbs hooked into the waistband of the gray sweatpants.
She dragged them down slowly—agonizingly slowly—like she knew someone was watching.
The soaked crotch peeled away from her skin with a faint, wet sound. The dark gray fabric had clung obscenely to her pussy lips, outlining every swollen fold. As the pants slid past the fullest part of her ass, the material finally released with a soft snap against her thighs.
Minwoo’s breath caught.
Her ass was perfect—round, firm, impossibly full. The kind of ass that made shorts ride up and leggings look painted on. Two deep dimples sat at the base of her spine, right above the swell. A tiny red thong—barely more than a string—disappeared between her cheeks, the front triangle completely drenched. The thin cotton was dark and clinging, molded to her puffy outer lips like a second skin. A glistening trail of arousal had already trickled down the inside of one thick thigh, shining wet under the lamplight.
She bent forward slightly to step out of the pants, her ass pushing out toward the door—toward them. The thong string pulled taut, digging into her flesh, outlining the tight pucker hidden between those glorious cheeks. Her pussy lips shifted under the soaked fabric as she moved, swollen and puffy from the earlier fingering, begging to be touched again.
Minwoo’s breath caught in his throat as he pressed his eye tighter to the narrow crack in the door.
Inside the softly lit bedroom, Hongshik stepped right up behind Jihyo like he owned every inch of her.
His big, rough hands slid around her bare waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest in one smooth, possessive motion. Jihyo didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp in shock. Instead her body melted instantly—spine arching, thick ass pushing back to meet him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Minwoo could see it clearly in the mirror’s reflection: the thick bulge in his father’s slacks pressing hard between those perfect, round cheeks. The gray sweatpants were already down around her ankles, kicked aside. All she had left was that tiny, soaked red thong—clinging wetly to her swollen pussy lips, the thin string disappearing deep between her ass cheeks. Hongshik’s cock—obviously rock-hard—rubbed right up the center of her crack through his pants, slow and deliberate, dry-humping the plush flesh like he was claiming territory.
And Jihyo liked it.
She leaned back heavier against him, rolling her hips in a slow, filthy grind. Her thick ass cheeks flexed and squeezed around the ridge of his bulge, trapping it, teasing it. A soft, breathy laugh slipped from her lips as she tilted her head just enough to look back at him over her shoulder.
“Naughty old man,” she purred, voice low and teasing, dripping with that idol sweetness twisted into something downright pornographic. “Fingering me under the dinner table like that… making me soak through my pants in front of everyone… and now you just barge into my room as you own it?”
Hongshik chuckled—deep, rough, smug. The sound vibrated against her neck as he leaned in and dragged his lips along the sensitive skin just below her ear.
“Can’t help it, baby girl,” he rasped, voice gravelly with lust. “This body… fuck. Look at you. Can’t resist even for a second.”
He thrust forward hard—his hips snapping so his clothed cock jammed deeper between her ass cheeks. Jihyo gasped sharply, mouth falling open, eyes fluttering half-shut in pleasure. Her knees dipped for a second before she caught herself, grinding back even harder, her ass cheeks spreading wider around his bulge like she was trying to swallow it through the fabric.
Hongshik’s mouth latched onto the side of her neck—sucking hard, teeth grazing, leaving a fresh red mark right where her pulse hammered. He inhaled deeply, nose buried in her hair, breathing her in like a drug.
“God, that perfume… smells so fucking good on you,” he growled against her skin. “Makes me want to eat you alive.”
Minwoo’s teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached. Jealousy burned white-hot in his chest, twisting with raw, shameful arousal. How the hell was this happening? His own father—grumpy, boring, fifty-something Hongshik—had Jihyo, Park fucking Jihyo, grinding her soaked thong-covered pussy back against him like a needy slut. The woman whose thighs and tits had launched a million fan edits, whose stage presence made arenas scream, was right now letting the old man hump her ass and mark her neck while she moaned like she couldn’t get enough.
Jihyo let her head fall back onto Hongshik’s broad shoulder, long dark hair spilling over his shirt. Her bare tits—full, heavy, perfect—jiggled with every slow roll of her hips. In the mirror, Minwoo could see everything: the way her dark pink nipples stood stiff and aching, begging to be touched. The faint sheen of sweat was already glistening between her breasts. The soft curve of her toned stomach rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths.
Hongshik’s big hands roamed up her bare torso, palms sliding over the smooth, defined ridges of her abs—abs that thousands of fans drooled over in crop-top stages and gym selfies. He rubbed slow, possessive circles, fingers digging in just enough to make her skin dimple. One hand drifted higher, cupping the underside of one breast, thumb brushing teasingly close to her nipple without quite touching it.
“You’re so fucking tight here,” he murmured against her neck, fingers flexing over her abs like he was memorizing every line. “All that dancing… makes these abs so hard… but this ass…” He gave one cheek a hard squeeze, making it jiggle. “…this ass is soft as hell. Perfect for grabbing. Perfect for fucking.”
Jihyo whimpered—soft, needy, desperate. Her hips rolled faster now, grinding her soaked thong right along the length of his clothed cock. The wet fabric made obscene little slick sounds every time she dragged herself over him. Minwoo could see the dark patch on her thong growing bigger, fresh arousal seeping through, dripping down the inside of one thick thigh.
She reached back with one hand, fingers threading into Hongshik’s hair again, holding his mouth against her neck while the other hand braced on the mirror. Her reflection stared straight ahead—eyes glassy, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep pink—as she rode back against his father’s bulge like she was already close.
Hongshik thrust again—harder this time—making her tits bounce wildly in the mirror. He pinched one nipple between rough fingers, rolling it slowly, tugging just enough to make her gasp and arch.
“Gonna make you come again, baby,” he growled low. “Just like under the table. Gonna make this pretty pussy soak my fingers while your boyfriend’s downstairs playing on his phone.”
Jihyo’s only answer was a broken moan—head lolling further back on his shoulder, body trembling, thighs shaking as she ground faster, chasing the friction of his cock against her dripping slit.
Minwoo stood frozen in the hallway, hand pressed hard against the front of his jeans, squeezing his throbbing length through the denim. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look away.
His goddess was falling apart for the wrong man.
And the worst part?
He was so fucking hard he could barely think straight.
Minwoo’s fingers dug into the doorframe so hard his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mirror’s reflection—every filthy detail crystal clear, lit by the soft bedside lamp like some private porn set just for him.
Hongshik’s big hands slid higher from Jihyo’s toned abs, cupping the heavy undersides of her bare tits from behind. He lifted them slowly, weighing the soft, fleshy mounds in his palms like they were priceless treasures. Jihyo’s breasts were even more perfect up close—full, round, defying gravity despite their size, and pale skin flushed pink from arousal. Her dark nipples stood out, stiff and swollen, already begging for attention.
She tilted her head back against his shoulder again, that signature sweet-sexy Jihyo smile curving her full lips as she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. Her mouth parted just a fraction—soft, glossy lips opening in silent invitation.
That was all the invitation Hongshik needed.
He leaned down and claimed her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle.
It was raw. Hungry. Filthy.
His lips crashed over hers, sucking hard on her lower lip before his tongue plunged inside, tangling with hers in a wet, aggressive dance. Jihyo moaned straight into his mouth—soft, needy, the sound muffled but unmistakable. Minwoo could see everything: the way her tongue curled eagerly around his father’s and the slick slide of spit as they devoured each other. Thick strands of saliva escaped the corners of her mouth, trickling slowly down her chin, dripping onto the swell of her tits, and leaving shiny trails over her skin.
Hongshik’s hands never stopped working on her breasts. He kneaded them roughly—squeezing the soft flesh until it spilled between his thick fingers, then trapping her hard nipples between thumb and forefinger. He pinched. Rolled. Tugged. Each little twist made Jihyo’s body twitch violently—her hips jerking back against his bulge, thighs pressing together as fresh wetness soaked the front of her tiny thong even more.
Minwoo gulped hard, throat dry, cock throbbing so painfully against his zipper he thought he might come in his pants just from watching. The view was fucking obscene. His goddess—Park Jihyo, the woman who commanded stadiums with a single hip sway—was being kissed into complete submission by his grumpy old father. Hongshik ate at her mouth like he was starving, sucking her tongue deep, licking into every corner, while his rough palms mauled those perfect tits. Her nipples looked painfully hard—dark pink peaks pinched and pulled between his calloused fingers, glistening with the faint sheen of sweat and spit that had dripped down from her chin.
Jihyo’s knees buckled again. Her legs trembled, thighs quivering as another wave of pleasure rolled through her. She reached back blindly, small hands stretching up to clutch at Hongshik’s neck, fingers threading into his short, graying hair, holding him against her like she never wanted the kiss to end.
She moaned louder into his mouth now—sweet, broken little sounds that vibrated through the quiet room. “Mmmph… ahh…” The noises were muffled by his lips, but Minwoo heard every one. Each whimper made her tits jiggle in Hongshik’s hands, nipples trapped and tortured, sending visible shivers racing down her toned stomach.
Hongshik broke the kiss just long enough to growl against her swollen lips.
“Fuck, these tits… so heavy, so perfect,” he rasped, giving them another hard squeeze that made her gasp. “Been thinking about them all through dinner. Wanted to rip that little top off and suck on these nipples right at the table.”
Jihyo’s only response was a shaky laugh that turned into another moan as he pinched both nipples at once—hard—rolling them between his fingers until her back arched sharply off his chest.
“Yes… Appa… harder…” she whispered, voice wrecked and breathy, the honorific slipping out like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Minwoo’s stomach flipped.
Appa.
She was calling his father "appa" while he played with her tits and ground his cock against her ass.
The jealousy burned hotter, twisting with sick arousal until Minwoo could barely breathe. His hand moved on its own—pressing harder against the front of his jeans, rubbing the aching length through the denim just to take the edge off. Pre-cum soaked through the fabric in thick pulses; he could feel the wet spot spreading.
In the mirror, Jihyo’s reflection looked completely lost—eyes glassy, cheeks flushed deep red, lips swollen and shiny with spit. Her bare tits bounced with every rough squeeze, nipples trapped and throbbing between Hongshik’s fingers. She kept grinding back against him, thick-ass cheeks flexing around his bulge, thong string pulled so tight it dug into her flesh.
Hongshik kissed her again—deeper, dirtier—tongue fucking her mouth while his hands kept tormenting her nipples. One palm slid down her stomach again, fingers tracing the defined lines of her abs before dipping lower, hooking into the front of her thong.
Jihyo whimpered into the kiss, hips bucking forward instinctively.
Minwoo watched—transfixed, jealous, painfully hard—as his father slowly tugged the soaked fabric aside, exposing her dripping pussy to the cool air.
He knew what came next.
And he couldn’t make himself leave.
Hongshik’s rough hands gripped Jihyo’s hips tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above her thong string. With one slow, deliberate spin, he turned her around to face him fully.
Minwoo’s breath stopped.
There she was—Park Jihyo, Twice’s untouchable leader, sex icon of K-pop, the woman whose every hip thrust in fancams had sent millions of fans scrambling for tissues—standing completely bare from the waist up in the soft bedroom light.
Her big, beautiful, heavy tits bounced free as she completed the turn. Full, round, impossibly perky despite their size, they swayed heavily with the motion, pale skin glowing, dark pink nipples stiff and pointing straight ahead like they were begging to be sucked. The faint bounce sent ripples through the soft flesh, making them jiggle side to side before settling into that perfect, natural teardrop shape that had launched a thousand thirsty comments and endless edits.
Minwoo gulped so hard his throat clicked audibly.
This was the body that made grown men lose their minds. The same tits that strained against tight stage outfits during “Feel Special” performances, that bounced hypnotically in “Alcohol-Free” dance practices, that had entire fan accounts dedicated to zooming in on every jiggle. Millions fapped to those fancams—pausing, rewinding, coming hard to the way her breasts moved when she hit a sharp choreo point. And now they were right here—bare, flushed, nipples hard and aching—in front of his own father.
He wanted to shove past the door. Wanted to be the one standing there instead of Hongshik. Wanted to cup those heavy mounds in his own hands, feel their weight spill over his palms, squeeze until she gasped, then lean down and suck one stiff nipple deep into his mouth—tongue swirling, teeth grazing—until she was moaning his name, thighs shaking, pussy dripping down her legs.
But he couldn’t move.
Jihyo smiled up at Hongshik—sweet, filthy, utterly seductive. That famous idol smile twisted into something pornographic, eyes half-lidded and sparkling with mischief. She arched her back just a little, pushing her tits forward proudly, offering them up like a gift.
“Look at them, appa,” she purred, voice low and teasing. “You like?”
Without waiting for an answer, she gave a playful little shake—shoulders rolling so her big breasts bounced and jiggled side to side. The heavy flesh slapped softly together, nipples tracing little circles in the air before settling again. Another shake—harder this time—making them wobble wildly, the motion so obscene it looked straight out of a high-budget AV scene.
Hongshik’s eyes darkened instantly—pupils blown, jaw slack with raw lust. His breathing turned rough, nostrils flaring like he could smell how wet she was from across the room. His cock strained visibly against his slacks, thick and angry, tenting the fabric so hard Minwoo could see the outline of the head.
Jihyo laughed softly—breathless, delighted—watching the hunger bloom across his face.
“You’re so easy, old man,” she teased, reaching up to cup her own tits, lifting them higher, squeezing them together until deep cleavage formed and her nipples almost touched. “Just one look at these, and you’re drooling. Bet you’ve been hard since dinner, huh? Thinking about sucking on them while everyone else ate jjigae.”
Hongshik growled low in his throat, hands shooting out to replace hers. He grabbed both breasts roughly—palms engulfing as much as he could, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh. He kneaded them hard, thumbs flicking back and forth over her nipples, making them pebble even tighter.
“Fuck yes,” he rasped, voice thick. “Been staring at these tits all night. Wanted to pull that little tank top down and bury my face in it right at the table. Make you moan while your boyfriend talked about his day.”
Jihyo whimpered, knees buckling slightly as he pinched both nipples at once—hard twists that made her gasp and arch into his touch. Her thong was a soaked ruin now; Minwoo could see fresh wetness trickling down the inside of her thick thighs, glistening trails that caught the lamplight. She was leaking like a broken faucet—pussy clenching on nothing, clit throbbing visibly under the drenched cotton.
She loved it.
Loved seeing the raw, animal thirst in his eyes. Loved knowing this grumpy old man—her boyfriend’s father—was losing his mind over her body. The power of it made her even wetter; she could feel another gush soak through the thong, dripping onto the carpet between her feet.
“Poor Appa,” she cooed, voice dripping honey and sin. “So hungry for these big tits. Want to suck them? Bite them? Fuck them?”
Hongshik answered by leaning down and latching onto one nipple—mouth wide, sucking hard, tongue lashing the stiff peak while his hand mauled the other breast. Jihyo’s head fell back, mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, fingers tangling in his hair to hold him there.
Her hips rolled forward instinctively, grinding her soaked thong against the bulge in his pants, chasing friction while he devoured her tit like a starving man.
Minwoo stood paralyzed in the hallway, hand shoved down the front of his jeans now, gripping his leaking cock through his boxers. He stroked once—slow, desperate—pre-cum slicking his palm as he watched the woman of his dirtiest fantasies get worshipped by the wrong man.
Jealousy burned.
Arousal drowned it.
He couldn’t look away.
Not when Jihyo’s free hand slid down her own stomach, fingers dipping under her thong to rub slow circles over her swollen clit while Hongshik sucked and bit her nipple.
Not when she moaned louder—sweet, filthy sounds that echoed in the quiet room.
Not when she looked straight into the mirror—almost like she knew someone was watching—and smiled that wicked, satisfied smile while her body trembled on the edge.
She was dripping for the old man.
And Minwoo was dripping for her.
Hongshik’s grin turned downright feral—wide, predatory, eyes gleaming with pure, unfiltered lust as he stared down at her bare, heaving tits.
He yanked her forward by the waist, thick fingers digging into her soft hips hard enough to leave faint red marks. Jihyo gasped—sharp, needy—then melted against him instantly, arms flying around his neck in a tight, desperate hug. Her laugh bubbled out—breathless, delighted, filthy—as she felt his hunger radiating off him in waves.
Those massive, heavy boobs crushed against his chest, soft flesh spilling over the rough fabric of his shirt. Her rock-hard nipples dragged across the material with every tiny shift, scraping deliciously, sending electric jolts straight to her dripping clit. She moaned low and broken right into his ear, hips twitching forward so her soaked thong pressed against the thick ridge of his cock.
“Fuck… appa…” she whimpered, voice wrecked and sweet at the same time.
Hongshik’s big hand slid up, cupping her chin firmly, tilting her beautiful face up to his. His thumb traced the plump curve of her lower lip—slow, teasing—watching her eyes glaze over in a daze. Her mouth fell open automatically, tongue peeking out just a little, begging without words.
“Good girl,” he growled, voice gravelly and thick.
His thumb slipped inside her mouth. Jihyo closed her lips around it instantly, sucking hard, her tongue swirling like she was starving for any part of him. Saliva coated his digit as she bobbed her head shallowly, moaning around it like it was his cock instead.
All the while, his other hand trailed down—slow, deliberate—fingers dragging over the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips until he reached that legendary ass.
He cupped both cheeks at once—rough palms engulfing the toned, plump flesh that had broken the internet a thousand times over. Millions jerked off to these exact curves in tight stage shorts and dance practice leggings, fantasizing about grabbing them, spanking them, burying their faces between them. And now an old man’s hands were kneading them like dough—squeezing hard, spreading them apart, thumbs dipping into the crease where the thong string disappeared.
Jihyo moaned louder—raw, shameless—hips rolling back into his grip, pushing her ass deeper into his palms. The motion made her soaked thong slide against her swollen pussy lips, clit throbbing with every grind. Fresh wetness trickled down her inner thighs, shiny trails catching the lamplight.
“These cheeks…” Hongshik rasped against her ear, squeezing harder, making the flesh spill between his fingers. “Been dreaming about this fat ass since the day you moved in. So fucking soft… so fucking perfect… gonna mark it up later. Leave my handprints all over it while you ride me.”
Jihyo’s knees buckled again. She clung tighter to his neck, tits mashed against his chest, nipples scraping torturously with every breath. Her tongue swirled faster around his thumb, sucking like a desperate little slut, drool leaking from the corners of her mouth and dripping onto her collarbone.
She pulled off his thumb with a wet pop, looking up at him with glassy, pleading eyes.
“Then do it, Appa,” she whispered, voice trembling with need. “Grab it harder… spank it… fuck it… make it yours…”
Hongshik growled deep in his throat, one hand leaving her ass to fist her hair at the nape, yanking her head back so her throat arched beautifully.
The other hand delivered a sharp, possessive slap to her right cheek—loud enough to echo in the quiet room.
Jihyo yelped, then moaned—long, filthy, dripping with pleasure—as the sting bloomed into heat.
Her pussy clenched hard, another gush soaking through the thong, dripping onto the carpet between her spread feet.
Minwoo watched from the crack in the door—hand shoved down his pants now, stroking his leaking cock in slow, desperate pulls—jealousy and arousal twisting him into knots.
His goddess was being manhandled, worshipped, and claimed by the wrong man.
And she was loving every filthy second of it.
Hongshik’s hands never stopped roaming—rough palms sliding over her bare skin, one still kneading the heavy swell of her tit while the other gripped her ass cheek hard enough to make the flesh bulge between his fingers. Jihyo was pressed flush against him, her soaked thong the only scrap of fabric left, grinding slowly and needily against the thick bulge in his pants like she couldn’t help herself.
He pulled back just enough to look down at her flushed face, his thumb brushing a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead. His voice came out low, gravelly, almost casual—like he wasn’t currently groping the hottest idol in Korea in his son’s bedroom.
“So… you and my boy,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers. “How’s that going these days? Still playing the perfect couple downstairs?”
Jihyo’s lips curved into a slow, wicked smile. She let out a soft, breathy laugh—half moan, half tease—as she rolled her hips again, dragging her dripping pussy along the ridge of his clothed cock.
“Really, Appa?” she purred, voice dripping honey and sin. “I’m standing here completely naked… bare tits pressed against your chest… My pussy is so wet it’s dripping down my thighs… and now you want to talk about your son?”
She arched her back deliberately, pushing her heavy breasts harder into him so her stiff nipples scraped against his shirt. A fresh shiver ran through her body, making her moan low in her throat.
Hongshik chuckled—dark, smug—and slid one big hand down the front of her body. His thick fingers traced the edge of her thong, then dipped lower, running slowly along her soaked pussy lips over the thin, drenched fabric. He didn’t push inside yet—just stroked up and down her slit in lazy, teasing glides, pressing just enough to make her swollen clit throb under the cotton.
Jihyo gasped sharply, knees buckling as her hips jerked forward into his touch. Her hands clutched at his shoulders for balance, nails digging in.
“Fuck… Appa…” she whimpered, eyes fluttering.
“Answer me, baby girl,” he growled, fingers circling her clit once—slow, firm—making her whole body twitch. “You still fucking my son? Still letting him think he’s the only one who gets this perfect little cunt?”
Jihyo’s head fell forward against his chest for a second, panting, before she lifted her gaze again—eyes glassy, lips parted, completely wrecked.
“I would’ve broken up with him months ago,” she confessed in a shaky whisper, voice trembling with need. “If… if I could bear to leave you.”
Hongshik’s fingers paused—then pressed harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over her clit through the thong. Jihyo’s thighs shook, another gush of wetness soaking his hand.
She kept talking—words spilling out between gasps and moans—like she couldn’t hold them back anymore.
“I haven’t… ahh… fucked him in months,” she admitted, hips rocking desperately against his fingers. “My body… it doesn’t feel anything for him anymore. Nothing. He touches me, and… it’s just… empty. Soft. Boring.”
She looked up at him with pure, filthy honesty, eyes shining.
“But you…” Her voice cracked as he slipped two fingers under the thong edge, finally brushing bare, slick folds. “You touch me, and I drip. You finger me under the table, and I almost come in front of everyone. You grab my tits, slap my ass, call me your dirty little girl… and I can’t stop shaking.”
Hongshik growled low, pleased, and possessive. He pushed one thick finger inside her—slow, deep—curling it against her front wall while his thumb kept rubbing her clit.
Jihyo’s mouth fell open in a silent scream, her back arching so hard her bare tits bounced against him.
“That’s right,” he rasped against her ear, pumping his finger in and out in slow, filthy strokes. “This pussy belongs to me now. Not his. Mine. Been stretching it, filling it, making it gush for months while he jerks off thinking you’re still his good girl.”
Jihyo nodded frantically, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around his finger like it never wanted to let go.
“Yes… yours… only yours, Appa…” she whimpered, grinding down onto his hand. “He doesn’t make me feel… anything… like this. Only you… fuck… only you make me this wet… this needy…”
Hongshik added a second finger—stretching her open wider—thrusting deeper while his thumb circled her clit faster.
“Then say it,” he ordered, voice rough. “Tell me who this cunt belongs to.”
Jihyo’s eyes rolled back, her body shuddering violently as she teetered on the edge.
“You… it’s yours… all yours… appa’s dirty little pussy… ahh—fuck—please don’t stop…”
Minwoo stood frozen in the hallway, hand wrapped tight around his leaking cock through his jeans, stroking in time with his father’s fingers pumping in and out of her.
Jealousy burned hotter than ever.
But so did the sick, twisted heat pooling in his balls.
He couldn’t look away.
Couldn’t stop.
And Jihyo—his perfect, untouchable goddess—was moaning louder now, thighs shaking, ready to come all over the old man’s hand while confessing everything.
Hongshik’s tongue dragged slowly and wetly up the side of Jihyo’s exposed neck, tracing the pulsing vein like he was savoring every inch. She tilted her head back farther—offering more—throat arched beautifully, long hair spilling over his shoulder as she surrendered completely. Her fingers dug harder into his back, nails scraping through his shirt, clinging like she’d fall apart if she let go.
He licked again—a broad, filthy stripe from her collarbone to just below her ear—then sucked lightly on the sensitive spot that made her whole body jerk. Jihyo’s breath hitched, turning into a long, trembling moan that vibrated against his mouth.
“Tell me, baby girl,” he murmured between slow, teasing licks, voice low and rough. “What does this pretty body miss when I’m not touching it? Who’s the only one who can make it feel good?”
Jihyo’s hips rolled forward instinctively, grinding her soaked thong against the thick ridge of his cock. Her bare tits pressed harder into his chest, stiff nipples scraping torturously with every breath. She tried to speak, but another long lick along her neck turned the words into a broken whimper.
“Only… ahh… only you, Appa…” she gasped, voice wrecked and needy. “Your tongue… fuck… your tongue on my neck, on my tits, between my legs… it makes me drip so much…”
Hongshik chuckled darkly against her skin, teeth grazing her pulse point just enough to make her gasp again.
“And my cock?” he prompted, thrusting his hips forward so the hard length rubbed right along her slit through their clothes. “Who fucks this needy little pussy the way it needs to be fucked?”
Jihyo’s knees buckled. She clutched him tighter, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around nothing as another gush of wetness soaked through her thong and trickled down her inner thigh.
“Only your cock…” she moaned, words slurring with pleasure. “Only your thick, old cock can stretch me… fill me… make me come so hard I can’t see straight… your son’s… ahh… his doesn’t do anything… doesn’t make me shake… doesn’t make me beg…”
She threw her head back even farther, offering her throat completely as Hongshik sucked a fresh bruise into the soft skin.
“Only you… only appa’s cock can make me feel like this… like a bitch in heat… dripping and desperate… please… please fuck me…”
Minwoo stood frozen in the hallway shadow, one hand shoved down the front of his jeans, gripping his leaking cock so hard it hurt. His other hand pressed flat against the wall to keep from collapsing.
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
Park Jihyo—the sweet, powerful, untouchable leader of Twice, the woman whose smile melted arenas, whose body had trended worldwide for years—was confessing in broken moans that she hadn’t fucked his brother in months. That Chaehyun’s touch did nothing for her anymore. That only his father’s tongue, only his father’s cock, could make her body come alive.
Minwoo’s mind reeled.
His old man—grumpy, balding, ordinary Hongshik—had somehow turned the sexiest idol in Korea into a whimpering, dripping mess who begged for his dick like it was oxygen. He’d trained her. Molded her. Taken Chaehyun’s girlfriend and reshaped her into this needy, cock-hungry bitch in heat who spread her legs under the dinner table, soaked her thong for his fingers, and now stood half-naked in his son’s bedroom moaning about how only Appa’s cock could satisfy her.
The jealousy was suffocating—sharp, burning, twisting in Minwoo’s gut like a knife. It should have been him. He was young and fit, the same age as her fans who threw money at fancams. He’d jerked off to her for years—picturing her riding him, moaning his name, and her tits bouncing while she screamed for more.
But she was here—bare tits heaving, thong drenched, neck covered in hickeys from his father’s mouth—begging the old man to fuck her senseless.
And the worst part?
Minwoo was harder than he’d ever been in his life.
His cock throbbed painfully in his fist, pre-cum slicking his palm with every slow, helpless stroke. Hearing Jihyo confess—voice cracking with need—that only Hongshik could make her feel pleasure, that his brother’s dick was nothing compared to his father’s… it was humiliating. Enraging.
But it was also the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed.
She was completely broken for him—trained to crave the old man’s rough hands, his thick fingers, and his experienced tongue. She’d become exactly what Hongshik wanted: a dripping, obedient slut who got off on being claimed by someone she shouldn’t want.
Minwoo’s strokes sped up—quiet, desperate—eyes glued to the mirror reflection of Jihyo’s arched back, her heavy tits bouncing with every grind, her thighs shaking as Hongshik kept licking her neck and teasing her soaked pussy over the thong.
He hated his father in that moment.
But he couldn’t stop watching.
Couldn’t stop stroking.
Couldn’t stop imagining it was his tongue on her neck, his cock making her moan like that.
And deep down—twisted, shameful—he wondered if she’d ever look at him the way she looked at the old man right now.
Like he was the only one who could make her come undone.
Hongshik’s hands tightened on Jihyo’s hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above the string of her thong. With a slow, deliberate tug, he pulled her backward toward the small vanity table against the wall—the one usually cluttered with her makeup and perfume bottles.
“Back up, baby girl,” he rasped, voice thick with command. “Lean on the table for appa.”
Jihyo obeyed instantly, letting him guide her until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of the wooden surface. She braced her palms behind her, leaning back slowly, arching her spine so her upper body tilted toward him. The motion thrust her heavy, bare tits forward like an offering—big, round, perfect mounds heaving with every shallow breath. Her dark pink nipples—already swollen and painfully stiff—jutted out proudly, begging to be touched, to be hurt, to be worshipped.
Minwoo’s breath caught in his throat. A soft, involuntary gasp slipped past his lips before he could stop it.
God, those tits.
They were everything the fancams and tight stage outfits had promised—and more. Full, heavy, defying gravity with that natural teardrop shape, idols paid surgeons millions to imitate. The way they jiggled with each quick inhale made his mouth water. Perfect creamy skin, faint blue veins visible under the surface, nipples standing erect like little pink bullets, flushed darker from all the pinching and twisting earlier. Every tiny breath she took sent another ripple through the soft flesh—gentle bounces that made them sway side to side before settling again.
He wanted to bury his face between them. Wanted to suck one nipple deep into his mouth until she screamed. Wanted to slap them, watch them bounce, mark them with his teeth so everyone—especially his brother—would know they’d been claimed.
But the old man was already there.
Hongshik stepped between her spread thighs, crowding her against the table. His eyes were locked on her chest like a starving man staring at a feast. A slow, filthy grin spread across his face as he watched her tits rise and fall.
“Look at these perfect fucking tits,” he murmured, voice rough with awe and hunger. “So big… so heavy… been dying to play with them properly all night.”
He reached up with both hands, cupping the undersides first—lifting them, weighing them, thumbs brushing just below the areolas. Jihyo’s back arched harder, pushing them deeper into his palms with a soft whimper.
Then he flicked.
The pad of his right index finger snapped against her left nipple—a quick, sharp, upward flick that made the stiff peak bounce.
Jihyo gasped—sharp, needy—her whole body jerking.
He did it again. And again. Alternating between nipples, flicking them up and down like he was playing a tiny instrument tuned only to her pleasure. Each little snap sent a visible jolt through her—her tits jiggling wildly, nipples throbbing harder, turning an even deeper shade of pink.
“Ah—fuck—appa—” she moaned, voice cracking. Her thighs rubbed together frantically, slick sounds audible even from the doorway as her soaked thong slid against her swollen pussy lips.
Hongshik never let go. His fingers kept tormenting—flick, pinch, roll, flick again—keeping her right on the razor’s edge. Jihyo’s head fell back, long hair cascading over the table surface, mouth open in a constant stream of broken moans and whimpers.
“Please… please… more…”
She stared up at him with pure, glassy lust—eyes dark, pupils blown, lips swollen from earlier kisses. That famous idol smile twisted into something filthy and desperate, like she was begging him to ruin her completely.
Minwoo’s cock throbbed so hard it hurt. He stroked faster through his jeans—quiet, frantic—pre-cum soaking his boxers in thick pulses. Watching her like this—spread out on the table, tits bouncing with every flick, thighs rubbing desperately—was almost too much. She looked like pure sex: sweaty skin glistening, chest flushed red, nipples throbbing under his father’s cruel fingers, pussy dripping so much he could see the dark wet spot on the thong growing bigger by the second.
Hongshik leaned in closer, one hand still flicking her nipples while the other trailed down her toned stomach, circling her navel teasingly before stopping just above her mound.
“You’re dripping like a faucet, aren’t you?” he growled, voice smug. “Can smell how wet you are from here. This little cunt’s crying for Appa’s cock while your boyfriend’s downstairs watching TV.”
Jihyo nodded frantically, biting her lower lip so hard it turned white.
“Yes… yes… so wet… for you… only for you…”
He switched tactics—fingers now circling her nipples in slow, torturous spirals, tracing the puffy areolas without ever quite touching the peaks. Goosebumps erupted across her chest, down her arms, and over her stomach. Her whole body shuddered violently, thighs clenching and rubbing faster, slick sounds growing louder as her arousal leaked steadily.
She was a mess—sweating, flushed, heaving, eyes locked on Hongshik with pure worship. Every circle around her nipples made her twitch harder, made her moan louder, made her grind her soaked thong against nothing in desperate search of friction.
Hongshik watched her fall apart with patient, sadistic pleasure—never rushing, never giving her what she really needed. He kept her edged, kept her high on the razor’s edge of orgasm, letting the pleasure build until she was trembling uncontrollably.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice dark and pleased. “My perfect little idol slut… shaking and leaking just from having your nipples played with. Gonna come like this? Gonna soak your thong and drip all over the table without me even touching your pussy?”
Jihyo’s answer was a broken sob—half moan, half plea.
“Please… appa… I need… need more…”
But he didn’t give it.
He just kept circling, flicking, pinching—slow, relentless—watching her body betray her completely.
Minwoo couldn’t take it anymore. His hand moved faster inside his jeans, stroking his aching cock in time with her desperate moans. Jealousy burned, arousal drowned him, and all he could do was watch as the sexiest woman alive—his brother’s girlfriend, his lifelong fantasy—was edged to insanity by his own father’s patient, cruel hands.
And she loved every filthy second of it.
**********
