I like each position RV member prefers when they want to be bred, can you also make one for twice ?
Nayeon
Nayeon pushes you onto your back, straddling your hips with that bright, teasing grin. She prefers cowgirl when she wants to be bred. She controls the pace, grinds down on you slowly at first to feel every inch stretch her pussy.
You grip her waist as she sinks onto you, her tight heat swallowing your cock whole.
"Fill me up."
She rocks her hips in circles, breasts bouncing with each drop. Her nails rake your chest, urging you deeper. She leans forward, long hair curtaining your faces, kissing you messy while she rides harder.
"I want your cum so bad. Breed me right here."
You thrust up to meet her, hitting that spot that makes her gasp. Her pace quickens, thighs trembling as she chases her high.
"Don't pull out."
She demands, her pussy clenching around you. You feel her pulse, her body begging. One final grind and she has you spilling deep inside her cunt, flooding her. She stays seated, rocking gently to keep every drop in, smirking down at you.
"Good boy."
Jeongyeon
Jeongyeon pulls you close on the couch with her legs, until you're on top in classic missionary. She loves the weight of you pinning her, legs hooked over your shoulders for that deep angle when breeding is all she craves. You slide in slow, watching her eyes flutter shut.
"Harder."
She murmurs, hands on your back urging you on. Her walls grip tight as you thrust deep, pelvis grinding against her clit with every stroke.
"Breed me...give it all to me."
Her voice cracks with need. You pound steadily, feeling her pussy soak your cock more with each thrust. Her fingers dig into your shoulders.
"Deeper… I want to feel you cum inside."
You angle just right, hitting her cervix, and she arches, moaning low. Her cunt rhythmically tries to milk you for all you have. You burry yourself deep and shoot pulsing hot ropes into her. She holds you there, legs trembling.
"Stay… don't let a drop leak out."
Momo
Momo gets on all fours and arches her back perfectly. Doggy is her favourite for breeding because it lets you pin her down completely. Your hips flush against hers as you drive in from behind. You press over her, chest to her back, sliding your cock deep into her in one smooth thrust. She moans into the pillow, pushing back to meet you.
"Breed me like this… fill me up."
Her ass jiggles with each hard snap of your hips. You grip her waist, pounding relentlessly. The angle lets you go impossibly deep. She reaches back, spreading her cheeks wider.
"Right there...cum inside me."
Her body shakes as you grind against her spot. Her tight pussy pulls you over the edge. You groan, spilling thick and hot seed into her, flooding her cunt. She collapses forward, keeping you buried, rocking back lazily. Momo feels too full to say a word.
Sana
Sana loves spooning turned breeding. Just lying on her side, you behind her, one leg hooked over yours for easy access. She craves the closeness when she wants to be filled. You slide in from behind, arm around her waist, hand cupping her breast. She sighs happily, pushing back.
"Breed me slow… make it last."
You thrust lazy but deep, grinding circles inside her. She turns her head for messy kisses.
"I want your baby..."
Her hand guides yours between her legs, rubbing her clit as you pump steadily.
The build is torturous. Her moans are soft and cute. She makes her pussy clench around your cock, teasing you.
"Now… breed me now."
You speed up, burying yourself to the hilt inside her, and explode, pumping her full of cum, pulse after pulse.
Jihyo
Jihyo always demands you fuck her in a mating press whenever she's ovulating. Her legs folded back, pressing her tits together, knees by her ears, her pussy so close to her mouth, you could switch between both holes whenever you wanted.
Now, you pin her wrists above her head, your body weight folding her in half, thrusting deep and hard into her wet pussy.
"Take it all."
You groan, eyes locked on hers. Her body rocks with each powerful stroke, breasts bouncing.
"Fill me up. I need your cum so bad..."
She clenches tight, urging you on. You grind against her cervix, making her cry out.
Jihyo orgasms first. Her walls spasm around your cock, pulling your own release out of you. You flood her pussy with your cum, groaning as she milks every drop. Your cock paints her inner walls white, until she's almost overflowing. But with her hips raised like this, gravity helps you with keeping her full. Even after you pull out, she keeps her legs up, smirking at you.
"Not wasting any."
Mina
Mina prefers something slow, just like Sana. You sit cross-legged, her in your lap facing you, legs wrapped around your waist. It's intimate, eye-contact heavy when she wants to be bred softly but deeply.
She sinks down slowly, arms around your neck.
"Breed me… please."
You rock together, grinding deep, her forehead against yours. Her breaths hitch with each roll. Your entire cock is inside her snug pussy, barely moving. Just enough for both of you to feel a new level of pleasure.
"Inside… all of it."
You thrust up gently, hands on her ass guiding her.
She trembles in your lap, clenching to draw out your cum as she feels your cock pulsating inside her. You spill thick ropes of cum into her tight pussy, filling her completely, until tiny streaks of your semen start to leak out around your cock.
She stays seated, kissing you tenderly.
"It feels so warm…"
Dahyun
Dahyun moans as she continues to ride you in reverse. Her back is facing you. Her ass bounces as she rides your cock. She loves the control she has over you and the feeling of you enjoying the view.
She grinds eagerly, hands on your thighs.
"Cum in me...breed me good."
You grip her hips, thrusting up hard. Her moans turn needy, but the sound of her ass hitting your lap drowns them out.
"Deeper… fill me up."
She grinds down, circling her hips to feel you throb. Your hands wander to her ass, squeezing her cheeks. Dahyun's walls pulse around your shaft, and you can't hold it in a second longer. You let yourself spill your cum into her pussy. She doesn't stop moving, coaxing every single drop out of your body, until someone knocks on the door of her bedroom.
"Be there in a minute."
She calls out, before turning her head to look over her shoulder at you.
"What are you gonna do these next couple of hours, knowing your cum is filling my pussy while I'm at dinner with the girls?"
Chaeyoung
Chaeyoung loves to get carried around while you fuck her. Probably because of your size difference. She's so small in your arms, you can just pin her against a wall and breed her pussy. Her legs are locked around your waist, you holding her up for raw, urgent breeding. You thrust up hard into her, her back against the cool surface of the wall of Twice's dance practice room.
"Breed me rough."
She pants, nails in your shoulders. You are able to let go with one hand and move it up her body. Chaeyeong's eyes are wide open. The fact that you can carry her with one arm has her pussy dripping wet. Your free hand now slowly wraps itself around her throat. Each slam of your cock into her pussy makes her gasp.
"Cum inside your little fleshlight."
She whimpers, her entire body begging you to use her as a cum dump. You pound into her relentlessly, her body bouncing.
You unload deep insider her small body, groaning into her ear. She clings around you, her legs locked as she's helplessly pinned between you and the wall, unable to do much but take your load.
"Don't drop me."
She sighs and you're unsure if she's afraid you'll let her fall, or if she just wants to keep your cum locked inside her.
Tzuyu
Tzuyu loves how big your cock feels when she is lying on her back, both her legs over one of your shoulders. Her pussy squeezes you just a little tighter like that. And it enables you to use only one hand to hold her legs together, while the other reaches down to admire her smooth thighs, or play with her tits.
Right now, you even take it a step further by making her cross her legs in the air as you slide in slow. She bites her lip, eyes softly looking up at you with pure love.
"Breed me… please."
You thrust deeper, as a steady rhythm starts to build. Her hands clutch your arm.
"I'm already so full. I need it. Please..."
You angle for her g-spot, making her arch odff the mattress.
Tzuyu orgasms silently, trembling, milking your cock. Unable to hold back, you spill your cum deep inside her pussy. You stay buried there, both of you holding eye contact as Tzuyu feels your cum filling her womb.
The penthouse reeks of money. Not just the marble floors or the stupidly oversized abstract art—but the air itself smells filtered, perfumed with something floral and expensive that probably costs more than my weekly groceries. I’m hunched over, scrubbing a wine stain off the ivory rug near the floor-to-ceiling windows. My back aches. Always aches. Another Tuesday, another fucking mansion filled with people who’ll never know my name.
Then… giggles. High, breathy, close. Followed by the soft hiss of steam escaping under the bathroom door down the hall. It’s thick, smelling like jasmine and vanilla bath oil. Curiosity pins me. Clients aren’t supposed to be home during cleans. I creep closer, silent in my worn sneakers. The door isn’t shut tight. Just a sliver of light spills out. I press my eye to the gap.
Heat hits me first. Moist, heavy air. Then the sight.
My clients named Jihyo, Momo, Tzuyu, Nayeon. All four housemates. Swathed in thin, pink silk robes clinging to damp skin. Steam curls around them like hungry ghosts. They’re crowded around the vast, fogged mirror above the double vanity. No makeup. Hair wet, dark and slick against flushed necks and shoulders. They look… unreal. Like models dipped in honey.
“Fuck, Tzuyu,” Momo breathes, her voice husky. She’s tracing a fingertip down Tzuyu’s arm. “Your skin is like actual fucking porcelain. How is that fair?” Momo’s robe gapes slightly as she leans, revealing the heavy swell of her tits, nipples dark and pebbled against the damp silk.
Tzuyu laughs, low and easy. “Says the girl with the rack that could start wars.” She flicks water at Momo, droplets catching the soft LED lights. Her own robe is loosely tied, the deep V offering a glimpse of smooth, tanned stomach and the shadowed curve where her thighs meet. Effortless.
Nayeon, perched on the edge of the enormous claw-foot tub, giggles, kicking her legs. Her robe rides up, showing miles of smooth, toned thigh. “Seriously, Momo. Put those weapons away before someone gets hurt.” Her eyes, bright and mischievous, sweep over Jihyo who’s meticulously brushing her hair. “And you, unnie. Stop being so perfect. It’s rude.”
Jihyo turns, a slow, confident smile spreading across her face. Voluptuous doesn’t cover it. The robe strains over her hips, the silk plastered to her full breasts, outlining every curve. She meets Nayeon’s gaze in the mirror. “Just appreciating the view, Nayeonnie. Especially yours.” Her gaze drifts down Nayeon’s body, lingering. “Those legs could stop traffic.”
It’s raw. Intimate. A surge of heat, thick and urgent, floods my groin. My breath catches, ragged in my throat. My cock is instantly hard, straining against the rough fabric of my work pants. It’s unbearable. Without thought, my fingers fumble with my belt buckle, the metallic clink impossibly loud in my own ears. I shove my pants and boxers down past my hips. My cock springs free, thick and already leaking, throbbing against the cool air drifting from the hallway. I wrap my hand around my hard length. A low groan escapes me as I start stroking, slow and firm, my eyes glued to the scene inside.
Jihyo’s reflection shifts slightly in the fogged mirror. Her eyes, dark and sharp, flicker. Away from Nayeon’s legs. Towards the sliver of the door. Towards the shadow where I’m pressed. They lock onto mine through the gap.
Fuck!
Her gaze doesn’t widen in shock. It narrows. Sharpens. Like a predator spotting prey. A slow, knowing smirk curls her perfect lips. She doesn’t look away. She watches me watching them. Watches my hand moving frantically on my cock.
“Someone’s enjoying the show,” Jihyo purrs, her voice cutting through the steam and the girls’ chatter. It’s low, deliberate. Not loud, but carrying.
The other girls freeze. Heads snap towards the door. Momo gasps, clutching her robe tighter. Tzuyu’s relaxed posture stiffens. Nayeon’s playful smirk vanishes, replaced by wide-eyed surprise.
Panic electrocutes me. I jerk back from the door, stumbling blindly. My foot catches on the discarded mop bucket. Time slows. The bucket clatters. My legs tangle. I crash forward, shoulder slamming into the bathroom door. It flies open with a bang, and I sprawl onto the slick marble floor, naked from the waist down, my cock still jutting out, hard and obscene, my hand frozen mid-stroke.
Silence. Thick, suffocating silence, broken only by the drip of a faucet. Steam swirls around me. Four pairs of eyes burn into me. Fury radiates off Momo and Tzuyu. Nayeon looks stunned. Jihyo… Jihyo just stares. Her gaze isn’t on my face. It’s locked lower. On my cock. Her smirk deepens, transforming into something darkly amused, deeply carnal.
Momo recovers first, her voice shrill with outrage. “You fucking PERVERT! What the HELL are you doing?!”
Tzuyu steps forward, her easy-going demeanor vanished, replaced by icy disdain. “Get out! Now! I’m calling security!”
I scramble, trying to pull up my pants, fumbling, humiliated heat scorching my face. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean–”
“Didn’t mean to spy?” Nayeon cuts in, her voice surprisingly calm, though her eyes are wide. “Didn’t mean to whip it out and jerk off while we were changing?”
Jihyo hasn’t moved. She slowly raises a hand, silencing the others. Her eyes finally lift from my groin to meet mine. They’re dark pools, unreadable. She takes a single, deliberate step towards me, her silk robe whispering against her skin. The steam parts for her.
“Put your hands down,” she commands, her voice a velvet whip. It’s not a request. My hands freeze on the waistband of my pants. “Look at you,” she murmurs, her gaze raking down my body again, lingering on my exposed cock. “Big boy, aren’t you? That’s… impressive.” A low chuckle escapes her. “Seems you were trying to ‘clean’ something else entirely.”
She stops right in front of me, looking down at where I lie helpless on the floor. The scent of her perfume – jasmine, vanilla, and something uniquely, powerfully her – washes over me, mixing with the steam. My cock twitches violently, betraying me utterly.
Momo looks horrified. “Jihyo! What are you–”
“Shut up, Momo,” Jihyo says, her tone brooking no argument. Her eyes never leave mine. There’s a terrifying, thrilling calculation in them. She crouches down slowly, bringing her face level with mine. Her robe gapes open further, revealing the deep shadow between her magnificent breasts. “You wanted a show, cleaner boy?” she whispers, her breath warm against my cheek. “You wanted to see us wet? Naked?”
I can’t speak. Can only nod, a desperate, jerky movement.
Her smirk turns predatory. “Good.” She reaches out, not touching me, but her fingertip traces a line in the air an inch from the flushed head of my cock. A jolt of pure electricity shoots through me. “Because you’re going to clean more than just the floor tonight,” she breathes, her voice dropping to a husky promise that vibrates deep in my gut. “You’re going to clean us. Every. Single. Inch.” Her eyes flick to the other girls, a silent command passing between them. Their expressions shift – Momo’s outrage fading into wary curiosity, Tzuyu’s ice thawing into something heated, Nayeon’s surprise blossoming into a wicked, intrigued grin. “Starting,” Jihyo says, her gaze snapping back to mine, filled with dark, undeniable hunger, "...right now."
(3rd Person POV)
His breath hitched, a ragged gasp tearing from his throat as Jihyo’s command hung in the steamy air, her dark eyes promising both punishment and filthy reward. He obeyed eagerly, hands trembling not from fear now but desperate, aching need, fumbling his pants back down past his hips, his thick cock springing free again, already slick and twitching, the flushed head glistening under the bathroom’s soft LED glow as he stared up at her, waiting.
Jihyo knelt down, her silk robe pooling around her knees on the cool marble, the scent of jasmine and her own arousal thickening the steam. Her hand, cool and deliberate, slid up the inside of his trembling thigh, fingers brushing the tight, hot skin of his balls before her thumb swiped roughly over the slick, leaking slit of his cock, making his whole body jolt and a choked groan rip from his throat.
A vicious shiver tore through him as Jihyo’s thumb smeared his pre-come across his sensitive head. "Fuck!" he gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily off the cold marble. Momo, frozen a few feet away, watched Jihyo’s bold possession, her earlier outrage flickering, replaced by a dark, fascinated heat that bloomed across her cheeks and down her neck; her breath hitched, sharp and audible in the steamy silence, her own hand unconsciously drifting to press between her legs over the thin silk.
"See something you want, Momo?" Jihyo murmured, not looking away from his agonized expression, her thumb circling the swollen crown again, making him whimper. "Or someone?" Before Momo could answer, Jihyo’s command cut through the haze. "Come here. Show him what happens when he spies on Momo’s perfect fucking tits."
Momo exhaled, a shaky sound, then stepped forward, her movements suddenly deliberate, predatory, her wide eyes fixed on his rigid cock glistening under Jihyo’s touch. She sank to her knees beside Jihyo, the damp silk of her robe parting to reveal the heavy, full curve of one breast, her nipple stiff and dark. Her fingers, trembling slightly only a moment ago, now reached out with shocking confidence, wrapping firmly around the thick base of his shaft beneath Jihyo’s hand, her cool touch a stark contrast to the furnace heat of his skin.
"Think this big cock deserves my tits, cleaner?" Momo breathed, her voice thick with a mix of challenge and raw need, her thumb mimicking Jihyo’s earlier motion, dragging roughly over his leaking slit, spreading the wetness as she squeezed him hard enough to make his vision blur. "You gonna fucking earn it?"
Momo’s grip tightened like a vise at the base of his cock, her thumb grinding relentlessly against his sensitive slit, drawing a ragged, desperate gasp from his throat. Tzuyu watched hungrily from the edge of the claw-foot tub, her relaxed posture gone rigid, knuckles white where she gripped the cold porcelain rim, her dark eyes wide and fixed unblinkingly on Momo’s hand working his thick shaft, a slow, deliberate bite sinking into her plump lower lip.
Tzuyu shoved off the tub’s edge, her movements fluid and deliberate, her earlier icy disdain replaced by a predatory heat that radiated off her damp skin as she stalked towards them.
"My turn," she declared, her voice low and thick, her gaze locked on his mouth while Jihyo's lips still stretched obscenely around his cockhead; she hooked her fingers sharply in his hair, wrenching his head back, forcing his gaze up the long lines of her body to where her robe had fallen completely open, revealing the swollen, glistening lips of her pussy hovering mere inches above his face.
"You wanted to peek? Now fucking clean it, cleaner," she commanded, her thighs trembling slightly as she lowered herself onto his mouth, grinding her hot, wet slit against his lips, the musky, heady scent of her arousal flooding his senses as her fingers tightened painfully in his hair, forcing his tongue to plunge deep into her slick, waiting heat. "Lick me clean!"
Tzuyu’s sharp command echoed off the marble as she ground her slick, swollen cunt hard against his mouth, the musky tang of her arousal flooding his senses, forcing his tongue deep into her hot, clenching depths. "Suck it, cleaner!" she gasped, her thighs trembling against his ears, her fingers knotting painfully in his hair and holding him prisoner against her needy flesh.
Nayeon’s playful giggle cut through the steam, sharp and hungry now, as she dropped to her knees beside Jihyo, her nimble fingers immediately joining Momo’s on his achingly hard shaft.
"Looks like the big, bad cleaner needs all our help," she purred, her eyes glittering with dark amusement as she leaned down, her breath hot against the throbbing vein on the underside of his cock, while Momo, taking her cue, shifted lower, her full lips parting to engulf one heavy, aching ball, sucking it deep into the wet heat of her mouth just as Jihyo, with a low, possessive hum, swallowed the leaking head back down her throat, her tongue swirling relentlessly over the ultra-sensitive ridge.
Tzuyu’s thighs clamped like a vice around his head, a sharp, startled cry ripping from her throat as her entire body seized, her slick pussy pulsing and gushing hot wetness against his tongue, forcing him to swallow convulsively as she shuddered through her climax. She slumped back against the vanity, panting, a sheen of sweat glistening on her dusky gold skin, a lazy, sated smirk touching her lips as she caught her breath and rasped, "Fuck... alright, girls... who’s taking that fat cock first?"
“Why not let him pick?”
"Momo," he gasped, his voice raw and desperate, his eyes locked on her full, trembling lips and the heavy swell of her tits still glistening with steam. He lunged forward, one hand fisting in her damp robe, yanking it open completely as the other gripped his thick, leaking cock, driving it hard and deep into her sopping wet cunt with a rough, animalistic grunt, her shocked cry of "FUCK!" echoing off the marble as her tight walls clenched violently around his invading shaft.
His calloused hands roughly groped Momo’s heavy, bouncing tits, thumbs grinding hard over her stiff, dark nipples as he slammed his hips forward, each brutal thrust forcing choked gasps from her throat and making her breasts jiggle obscenely. Jihyo and Nayeon watched, eyes dark with hunger, Tzuyu still panting from her own climax against the vanity, a low murmur of "Fuck yes, ruin her" escaping Jihyo's lips as Momo's head thrashed back, her fingernails digging into his shoulders.
Jihyo’s command hung thick in the steam as Momo writhed beneath him. “Choke her,” Jihyo hissed, her voice raw with command, and his calloused hand instantly clamped hard around Momo’s throat, cutting off her choked gasp mid-fuck as he slammed his hips forward with brutal, piston-like force, the wet smack of flesh on flesh echoing off the marble tiles.
Nayeon’s sharp, delighted giggle cut through Momo’s strangled whimpers as she dropped lower, her fingers finding Momo’s swollen, glistening clit and rubbing vicious, tight circles just as Momo’s body suddenly stiffened, arched off the floor, and exploded, a guttural scream tearing from her constricted throat as her pussy convulsed wildly around his driving cock and a powerful jet of clear fluid erupted, soaking his thrusting balls and splashing Nayeon’s fingers and the cool marble beneath them.
He ripped his slick cock from Momo’s shuddering cunt, leaving her gasping and dazed on the wet marble, then lunged for Tzuyu, locking his arms under her knees and around her chest in a full nelson. He drove his throbbing, soaked cock straight up into her dripping hole from behind, her shocked cry echoing as he impaled her deep, fucking her suspended body with savage, upward thrusts that made her scream.
Tzuyu’s scream ripped through the steam, raw and ragged, as his brutal upward thrusts hammered her suspended pussy, her slick walls clenching like a hot, wet fist around his invading cock. Nayeon and Jihyo watched, Jihyo’s fingers idly tracing circles over her own stiff nipple through the damp silk, Nayeon biting her lip hard, their breaths shallow and synchronized with the wet, rhythmic slap of flesh pounding flesh.
"Fuck, Tzuyu," he grunted, his voice thick with strain and lust, each savage thrust lifting her higher off the marble floor, her legs kicking helplessly against his iron grip, "this fucking tight little cunt... grips my cock like it’s fucking starving for it!" Tzuyu could only whimper, a broken sound lost beneath the relentless pounding, her head lolling back against his shoulder, eyes rolling white as the overwhelming stretch and friction tore another ragged cry from her throat.
Tzuyu’s entire body seized violently, her pussy clamping down like a hot, wet vice around his driving cock as a guttural scream tore from her throat, her hips jerking wildly against him while her slick juices pulsed out, coating his shaft and balls in her release. He dropped her limp, trembling body onto the cool marble, her chest heaving, then turned his burning gaze towards Nayeon, still watching with hungry eyes.
"You're next," he growled, grabbing her ankle and yanking her towards him before flipping her onto her back, hooking her legs over his shoulders, and folding her body brutally in half. "Jihyo?" he panted, staring down the length of his own sweat-slicked body at her as he positioned the swollen, dripping head of his cock against Nayeon's entrance, "Gonna save the best pussy for last." He slammed his entire length into Nayeon's tight heat in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt as she shrieked.
Nayeon screamed, her manicured nails raking, sinking into his back as he pistoned into her relentless and deep, her voice breaking into breathless sobs of "Daddy! Oh God, Daddy, fuck me harder!" Momo and Tzuyu, still glistening and flushed from their own use, hauled themselves up, leaning against the vanity with predatory smirks; Momo traced a fingertip through the sweat beading on Nayeon's trembling stomach, sneering.
"Look at little Nayeonnie, squealing for Daddy like a cheap slut," while Tzuyu chuckled darkly, "Bet she cums just from being called out on it." Jihyo, her eyes burning with possessive fire, seized his jaw, her mouth crashing against his in a bruising, demanding kiss, her tongue plunging deep as he drove into Nayeon with brutal, unforgiving strokes, her own moan vibrating against his lips.
Jihyo ripped her mouth from his, lips swollen and glistening, her command a harsh gasp against his cheek: "Make that little bitch cum right fucking now!" He locked eyes with Nayeon's tear-streaked, desperate face beneath him and snarled, voice thick and raw,
"Cum, you filthy whore, cum on Daddy's cock!"
Nayeon’s scream tore from her throat, raw and primal, her back arching violently off the marble as her eyes rolled white and her pussy clamped down in spasming waves around his brutal, driving thrusts. He ripped his cock out of her sopping, convulsing cunt, her juices slicking his shaft, and flopped onto his back on the damp tile, his chest heaving, pointing his still-thick erection at Jihyo’s dripping slit. "Ride it, Jihyo," he gasped, his voice ragged, eyes locked on her heavy tits, "Fucking bounce those perfect tits.”
Jihyo smirked, a dark promise in her eyes as she straddled his hips, gripping his shaft firmly, guiding the swollen, slick head to her flushed, swollen opening before sinking down onto him in one smooth, greedy motion, her full tits jiggling wildly with the impact, her groan low and satisfied as she began a relentless, deep bounce, her nails scraping his chest.
Tzuyu’s long fingers worked slick lube over Nayeon’s trembling thigh, her touch surprisingly clinical despite the obscene context, while Momo knelt, murmuring filthy encouragement as she guided Nayeon’s hips down onto the edge of the marble vanity, spreading her wide. They didn’t linger though, their task a swift, efficient prelude; as Nayeon gasped, arching her back against the cool surface, Tzuyu and Momo exchanged a hungry glance, their attention snapping towards the primal rhythm dominating the center of the steam-hazed bathroom.
Jihyo rode Y/n with furious abandon, her voluptuous body bouncing on his cock, the wet slap of skin echoing off the tiles, her head thrown back as guttural moans ripped from her throat. "Fuck, yes! Just like that, cleaner boy!" she gasped, her nails digging into his chest, her own breasts swaying heavily with each downward plunge, the glistening tip of his thick cock stretching her wide each time she slammed down.
Tzuyu and Momo, abandoning Nayeon whose legs still quivered on the vanity, moved like predators, circling Y/n and Jihyo on the damp floor. Momo crouched right beside Jihyo's bucking hip, her own robe falling open completely, her large breasts swinging as she leaned in, her voice a husky growl.
"Look at her take that monster cock, Y/n! Holy shit, ram it deeper into that greedy pussy! Make her scream!" She reached out, roughly squeezing Jihyo's bouncing tit, pinching a stiff nipple hard.
"Yeah, give it to her!" Tzuyu added from the other side, her easy-going demeanor replaced by intense arousal, her eyes fixed on where Jihyo was impaled. She knelt, running a hand up Y/n’s tensed thigh. "God, look at her go. Such a fucking slut for that dick, Jihyo! Riding it like her life depends on it!" Tzuyu’s fingers brushed the base of his shaft, slick with Jihyo’s juices, feeling the powerful thrusts from below.
Y/n grunted, his own control fraying beneath the onslaught of sensation and their filthy words. He gripped Jihyo's hips tighter, his knuckles white, meeting her downward strokes with sharp upward thrusts, driving his cock impossibly deep. He locked eyes with Jihyo, a wicked smirk twisting his lips even as sweat stung his eyes.
"Hear that?" he rasped, his voice thick with exertion and lust. "They see you. They see what a cock-hungry whore you really are, bouncing on me like some cheap street slut." He punctuated the insult with a brutal upward slam that made her shriek, her inner walls clenching vice-like around him. "You love being shown up like this, don't you? Love them watching this fat dick stretch your tight little pussy wide open?"
Nayeon, recovering her breath but still flushed and trembling, slid off the vanity, joining the circle. She didn't speak immediately, just watched with dark, hungry eyes as Jihyo was verbally and physically ravaged, a small, satisfied smile playing on her lips as she saw the leader undone. The air crackled with shared heat, the scent of sex and sweat overpowering the lingering perfume, the only sounds the relentless slap of flesh, Jihyo’s ragged cries, Y/n’s guttural groans, and the girls’ lurid commentary urging them on towards a shuddering, inevitable peak.
"Fuck, I'm so close!" Jihyo gasped, her rhythm faltering as her cunt clenched violently around Y/n's thick cock. Nayeon's fingers traced slick, teasing circles over his tightening balls while Momo and Tzuyu leaned in, their mouths closing hungrily over Jihyo's bouncing tits, suckling hard at her stiff nipples. The room filled with their combined, desperate moans.
Tzuyu's middle finger found Jihyo's swollen clit, circling it fast and hard, slick with the mixture of her own arousal and the lube smeared earlier on Nayeon. "Make her fucking gush!" Momo demanded, releasing Jihyo's nipple with a wet pop and shoving Tzuyu's hand aside to take over, her own fingers rubbing Jihyo's clit in rough, demanding circles just as Y/n slammed his cock impossibly deep one final time.
Jihyo's back arched violently off Y/n's body, a silent scream tearing from her throat before erupting into a ragged, guttural wail as her cunt clenched in a vice-grip around his shaft and a sudden, hot jet of fluid sprayed out, soaking Y/n's lower stomach and thighs in a pungent rush. "FUCK! FUCK! FUCKING CUMMING!" she shrieked, her body convulsing uncontrollably, the squirting pulsing rhythmically as Momo kept rubbing her clit through the intense orgasm, Tzuyu watching with dark, fascinated eyes as Jihyo completely unraveled.
Jihyo slumped against him, chest heaving, her slick cunt still twitching from the force of her orgasm as Momo finally eased the relentless pressure on her clit. Y/n’s own cock throbbed viciously inside her stretched warmth, slick walls fluttering wildly around him, the intense friction pushing him dangerously close to the edge. He gritted his teeth, fighting the rising tide, a predatory smirk spreading across his sweat-slicked face despite the overwhelming sensation.
With a sudden, deliberate movement, Y/n gripped Jihyo’s hips firmly and lifted her impaled body clean off his shaft. A slick, obscene plop echoed in the humid air as she slid free, collapsing onto the damp tiles beside him with a shuddering gasp, her thighs instantly clamping together reflexively. He pushed himself up smoothly onto his feet, towering over the sprawled women, his thick, glistening cock jutting out rigidly from his groin, slick and gleaming with a potent mix of her juices and his own pre-cum, pulsing visibly with each beat of his heart.
His eyes, dark with lust and triumph, swept over the flushed faces staring up at him: Jihyo panting, dazed but defiant; Momo licking her lips hungrily; Tzuyu’s gaze fixed unblinkingly on his dripping erection; Nayeon biting her lower lip, a playful challenge dancing in her eyes. He ran a hand slowly down his abs, smearing the wetness Jihyo had sprayed over him, his voice a low, gravelly command cutting through the heavy breathing. "Alright," he rasped, tapping the swollen head of his cock, a thick bead of precum welling up instantly. "Who wants this fucking load?"
The humid air crackled with their collective hunger. They all replied, “WE DO DADDY!” before bringing their faces closer and sticking their tongues out, eager pink points glistening under the bathroom lights, breaths hot against his slick, throbbing cock.
His gaze raked over their eager faces as his fist tightened on his slick shaft. "This load ain't getting wasted, sluts," he snarled, the veins standing out on his forearm. "You share every fucking drop."
He began stroking himself furiously over their outstretched tongues, his hips jerking, a deep grunt ripping from his chest before thick ropes of hot cum splattered Jihyo’s flushed cheek, streaked Momo’s chin, and painted Tzuyu and Nayeon's eager, open mouths. Jihyo’s tongue, slick with his thick spunk, darted out to gather the mess before turning to Momo, locking her in a deep, filthy kiss, sharing the salty tang as Tzuyu eagerly licked Nayeon’s coated lips clean.
"So yummy," Momo gasped, pulling back with a shared strand of cum stretching between their mouths just as Tzuyu swallowed and purred, "Shared it all, Daddy!”
Y/n smirked down at them sprawled on the wet tiles, his thick cock still glistening. "Lick it clean, you filthy sluts," he ordered harshly, "Get every fucking drop off my cock," he instructed, “don’t forget my balls.”
They scrambled, tongues eagerly lapping his cum from his shaft and tightening scrotum, their mouths hot and greedy. Jihyo sat back, wiping her chin with a low chuckle, her eyes gleaming as she gestured towards the steaming shower. "Get that filthy cock in here, cleaner boy," she purred, "The bathroom floor's clean enough... time you washed us properly."
Tags: Smut, Masturbation, Public masturbation, stablished relationship.
Your phone vibrated in your pocket, announcing a new message. Knowing who it was from, you excitedly pulled it out to confirm. Sure enough, it was a message from your wife, saying she missed you and wished you were home with her. You wanted to be with her right now too, but unfortunately, work was keeping you away.
Things were going well at the company, so they'd had a lot of work lately. That's why some of you were asked to work that Saturday. It was to get ahead on certain tasks and lighten the workload for the following week. Nothing too complicated, just filling out endless spreadsheets with data and checking that everything was in order.
Right now, you were alone in the office, sitting in your small cubicle in front of your computer screen. Your space wasn't very full, just the computer, a few typical office supplies, and a photo of your wife. The snapshot showed her with a wide smile that revealed her buck teeth, while she made a peace sign with her hands. Seeing that photo always gave you the strength to work.
At that very moment, everyone else had gone out to buy lunch. You didn't want to go, so you asked someone to bring you a sandwich and a drink. Something quick to stave off hunger, because you weren't planning on working that late that day anyway.
Your phone vibrated again, letting you know your wife had texted you again. When you looked at the screen, you swallowed, grateful you were alone in the office. The message was empty of words. It was just a short video, where it was clear your wife wasn't wearing much clothing. Without even pressing play, you could see she was simply wearing a silk robe and panties, nothing else.
You scanned the office to see if anyone had returned, but you didn't see a soul; you were still alone. That gave you the courage to plug in your earbuds and put one in. You didn't want to be so reckless as to use both and not be able to hear if any of your colleagues came back.
Leaning back in your chair, you picked up your phone and pressed play on the video. Instantly, your wife began to move on the small screen, and you noticed that the phone was resting on some surface.
"Honey, I miss you so much." She said, leaning closer to the camera, making it clear she wasn't wearing a bra. Her breasts hung freely as she blew you a kiss through the camera. "This heat is unbearable without you," she added before ending the recording.
The city was being hit by a heat wave, one that had everyone stressed out. You were no exception. Your air conditioner had broken down and you hadn't been able to get it fixed, which meant that now Nayeon, your wife, was home alone enduring the relentless heat. It made you want to get out of the office even more, but you still had work to do before you could leave.
You sent her a quick message saying you'd be home soon, that she should just bear the heat until you arrived. Your phone vibrated before you could even put it down on your desk. As expected, it was another video.
This time Nayeon had placed her phone on the living room shelf, so you had a good view of her. "I'm so sweaty. The heat is killing me." To emphasize her point, she raised an arm, revealing her sweat-drenched armpit. That image alone, plus the familiar scent of your wife's sweat, made your pants bulge. In the video, Nayeon was now fanning herself with one hand, trying to escape the heat as she puffed. "I can't stand it." She added, running her hand over her armpit and then bringing it to her nose to smell it. She made a face of disgust that you knew was fake. She didn't like to admit it, but she enjoyed it just as much as you did when you sucked on her armpits.
Without realizing it, you were squeezing the bulge in your groin; the mere sight of your sweaty wife had been enough to make you lose control. Luckily, none of your colleagues had returned yet. The office was still as empty as before.
As you were adjusting your erection so it wouldn't bother you, a new video came in. You wasted no time opening it and realized that Nayeon had gotten rid of her robe; now all she was wearing were panties, which didn't really cover much of her anatomy.
"I'm so sweaty," she said in the video, turning around and raising her arms so you could see the fine layer of transpiration covering her body. Even though it was a video, the sweat was clearly visible, giving your wife a special glow that was driving you wild.
To continue the torture, you watched as Nayeon turned her back to the camera, spreading her buttocks to show you how sweaty her ass was. Even though the thong she was wearing covered it almost completely, you could still see the wrinkled edges of her sweat-covered anus. That made you unconsciously rub your erection through your clothes.
You could almost smell the scent of that beautiful ass filling your nostrils, and your wife's buttocks pressed against your face. You'd eaten her ass so many times that its taste practically lived in your mouth, and you knew very well that the sweat only intensified its natural essence.
You leaned back in your chair, resisting the urge to just whip out your cock and jerk off right there. It would be so easy to come to the videos Nayeon was sending you, but that was so wrong. Of course, masturbating in your cubicle was strictly against the company rules. Not really, but it was implied in the company's code of conduct. That's why it felt so good to rub the bulge that had formed in your pants, because it was forbidden.
For a moment you considered going to the bathroom and dealing with your erection, releasing some tension so you could continue working in peace, but you quickly dismissed the idea. Masturbating in the bathroom was only slightly better than doing it right there; it was wrong anyway. Besides, you were likely to run into someone on the way, and then it would be difficult to hide how hard you were because your pants were barely containing your erection. You decided the best thing to do was simply forget about it; surely after a while you would relax and everything would go back to normal.
What you didn't know was that your wife would keep sending you videos, though you should have expected it. She was and attention seeker, and you loved her for it, but sometimes she wouldn't stop messaging you about even the smallest things. This time, however, her messages came loaded with something that instantly demanded your full attention.
The next video arrived a few minutes later, making you immediately interrupt the rhythmic dance of your fingers on the keyboard. You stopped typing to focus on your wife's new message, but not before glancing at the front door. Still, no one was there.
Nayeon was still in the same state of near-total nakedness, but this time she was holding something in her hand. When she raised it, you could see it was a popsicle, mango flavored to be exact. "This is the only thing that helps me a little with the heat," you heard Nayeon say through your earbud. She then licked the popsicle, a lick that was charged with eroticism and a clear intention to drive you wild. She had always loved turning small, innocent things into obscene acts to give you an erection, and then acting like nothing had happened. She mostly did this in public, but making sure no one else saw her; that side of her was just a show for your eyes. These things almost always ended with you so aroused that you had to rush home, where you fucked your wife like an animal. She never complained about it.
On your phone's small screen, you could see Nayeon sucking on the popsicle. Not sucking it like someone would to eat it and enjoy its refreshing taste, but instead, she was giving it a blowjob. Her lips were sealed around the popsicle as she moved her head the same way she did when she sucked your cock. You could even see the exact same expression on her face and shine on her eyes.
She didn't say anything else. Instead, she just kept sucking on the popsicle while staring at the camera, looking at you through the phone screen. She only broke eye contact to lean back, shoving centimeter by centimeter the popsicle into her mouth as far as she could. With a touch of pride, you watched as your wife swallowed the entire thing, leaving only the stick stick out. In her throat, you could see a bulge that shouldn't be there, just like the bulge in your pants.
Nayeon kept moving the popsicle in and out of her mouth without changing position, letting you see the bulge that formed in her throat every time she pushed it all the way down. Just like when she sucked your cock and swallowed it whole length. Your member throbbed at the memory of the enveloping wetness of your wife's throat. If she kept this up her videos were going to drive you crazy, and maybe even to get fired.
The friction of her sucking on the popsicle was melting it. Mango-colored drops ran down your wife's cheeks, then trickled down her neck and onto her chest. Now not only sweat but also melted ice cream coated your wife's breasts, making your desire for her uncontrollable. You needed to suck on her tits right now, to feel the contrast between the saltiness of her sweat and the sweetness of the popsicle.
Without realizing it, you started rubbing your erection vigorously, practically masturbating through your clothes. Not being able to pull out and come properly for your wife felt like torture. Right now, you couldn't think of anything but her and her hot body. You wanted your wife on top of you, bouncing on your cock while her beautiful face contorted with pleasure. But unfortunately, you were at work, and there was no room for those kinds of lustful thoughts there.
For a second, your heart leaped into your throat when, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of someone in the doorway. Luckily, it was someone from another department just passing through, not one of your colleagues returning. Even so, it made you reconsider what you were doing and put your phone down.
You started typing, thinking that your colleagues could return at any moment and that you hadn't made much progress. Trying not to look at your phone, you kept entering data, pressing key after key to advance your work. After all, that's what you were there for, instead of texting your wife.
The minutes passed quietly as you continued working, nothing unusual happening. Your colleagues didn't return, and Nayeon didn't send you any more messages. No videos, nothing; your wife had completely cut off communication with you. Perhaps she was angry because you hadn't replied to her last message, and that was why she wasn't saying anything, or perhaps she was plotting something and it wasn't the right time to reveal what she was doing.
Your fears were confirmed when your phone vibrated once again. The sound startled you, pulling you out of the trance your work had put you in. At least this time you'd managed to make some progress before she interrupted you again. Thinking you'd find a message from her reproaching you for not replying, you unlocked your phone. You were wrong; Nayeon had sent you another video.
The new video was longer than the previous one, much longer. It was clear your wife had been busy while you were working. She was in the same place as before, still wearing only sweat-soaked panties and with a stained chest, but now she was holding a new popsicle. Unlike the previous one, this one was freshly opened, so it hadn't touched her lips yet.
Nayeon turned around and took a few steps back to the couch behind her. It was only a few steps, but you immediately felt your cock become impossibly hard as you watched your wife's ass sway. Her buttocks rose and fell with each step, bouncing hypnotically. Despite doing Pilates constantly, Nayeon didn't deny herself life's pleasures, so despite the physical activity, her abdomen remained smooth, her thighs fleshy, and her ass round and slightly plump. It was a beautiful and exciting combination; your wife's body was truly fiery. Not only in your opinion, it would be easy to believe that since you loved her, but in the opinion of many others. You couldn't help but notice how she always turned heads, especially when she wore jeans.
She slumped heavily onto the armchair and sprawled out, more reclining than sitting, staring at the camera. Soon the popsicle touched her lips, and she gave it a blowjob just like before, only this time it was shorter. Now Nayeon didn't suck the popsicle until it melted in her mouth, but instead dragged it across her chest, playing with her nipples, which, despite the small screen, you could see were hard. Whispered directly into your ear, you heard your wife's moans. You didn't need a bigger screen to know she was enjoying this immensely.
You didn't know when you put your hand inside your pants. Maybe it was when Nayeon was playing with the popsicle over her left nipple, leaving more stains on her chest, or when she started moving down her abdomen, clearly heading south. The truth was, now that she was running the popsicle over her crotch, covered by her thong, you were holding your erection directly. You felt your member throbbing against your hand, crying out for release. Your cock wanted to be free and for you to touch it properly. To masturbate as the video your wife had sent you deserved. But the risk of doing it right there was so great that you just limited yourself to squeezing your cock.
Your wife's next move was to hold the popsicle between her lips as she removed her underwear. The thong was tossed aside, out of frame, before Nayeon settled herself on the couch, placing one leg on the armrest and the other on the floor. Her nakedness revealed her exposed pussy, completely shaved and glistening with her own moisture. Its folds gleamed with a pearly sheen that made you lick your lips, remembering how delicious her fluids were.
To make her pussy even more delicious, Nayeon ran the popsicle up and down between her folds. Instantly, a shiver ran through her body and a moan escaped her lips, which didn't stop her from continuing to rub the popsicle against her pussy to make it wetter. Holding your breath, you watched as your wife pressed the popsicle against her opening and finally inserted it into her cunt. A moan much louder than the previous ones marked the exact moment the cold spread through her. The popsicle disappeared completely inside your wife's body amidst her moans and shivers.
Using the makeshift dildo, Nayeon pleasured herself. Holding the popsicle by the stick, she frantically and constantly thrust it in and out of her vagina, relentlessly pleasuring herself with the unlikely object.
The sloshing sound wasn't just from Nayeon's nectar, but also from the juice the popsicle was leaving as it melted. It was undeniable that her pussy must be burning with pleasure, a stark contrast to the ice-cold popsicle, which was melting and staining your wife's body with its juice. Right now, you'd give anything to dive between her legs and enjoy the extraordinary mix of flavors that must be happening inside your wife's pussy.
The sad thing was that you were stuck at work, with your pants open and your cock in your hand… With your pants open? When had you unzipped them and pulled out your cock? You couldn't remember, nor did you want to; right now all your attention was focused on your wife's actions, who was still masturbating in the video.
While your wife used the popsicle to pleasure herself, you used your own hand to stroke the length of your member. With slow movements that contrasted sharply with Nayeon's, you shamelessly masturbated at your workplace, sitting in your cubicle where anyone could see you. Your wife had you so mesmerized that she made you forget the worry of being caught in such a morbid act in a place where it was obviously not allowed, but you were sure you would be able to hear if someone approached. Your coworkers were usually quite noisy, especially during lunch, so it wouldn't be difficult for you to hear their jokes and laughter when they returned to the office. You were convinced you could tuck your cock back into your pants before anyone saw what you were doing.
Little by little, the popsicle melted thanks to Nayeon's actions. The juice stained and ran down her thigh, mingling with her clear nectar. You couldn't help but regret not being there to lick the mess she was making on her skin. All those vaginal fluids, that popsicle juice, the sweat from the heat… Even without tasting it, the flavor seemed delicious.
Perhaps to give her pussy a break from the cold, Nayeon pulled the popsicle out, but it didn't stay out for long. This time, she put it in her mouth, sucking her own nectar from the surface, while she used her other hand to rub her clit. She drew circles over the delicate bundle of nerves and occasionally moved down to rub her folds. Sometimes she parted them with her fingers so you could see her opening. It was obvious how her pussy throbbed with pleasure.
Now reduced in size, the popsicle went back inside your wife's cunt. She inserted it in one swift motion, just as you'd seen her do many times with toys and your own cock. Of course, this time it was much easier for her given the size of the improvised toy; in any case, the cold added something extra that compensated for its lack of size.
Your wife's hand was moving faster than before; it was clear she'd grown accustomed to the sensation of having the popsicle inside her. While she played with her breasts, she continued to masturbate frantically, while you stroked your member more slowly.
By this point, you had already fully taken out your penis and leaned back in your chair. You were masturbating properly, no short, furtive movements. Your hand was tracing its entire length at a speed that gradually increased. Soon you were masturbating almost as fast as your wife in the video.
Nayeon was completely sprawled on the couch, overcome with pleasure. She couldn't stand up, and probably didn't want to. Her moans were proof of how much she was enjoying it, masturbating for you in an impromptu video using a toy that wasn't really a toy.
On your phone screen, you watched Nayeon pull the popsicle out of her now fully melted, leaving only the stick on her hand. The ice had completely melted, leaving a trail of juice mixed with your wife's natural fluids. Her crotch was a mess of different delicious fluids, soaking her completely.
The stick was tossed aside, discarded after it had served its purpose. Now Nayeon was spreading her folds again with the fingers of both hands, offering you her throbbing, swollen cunt. Her opening was clearly visible and agape, inviting you to taste it, to replace the popsicle with your own anatomy. But the distance between your bodies only allowed you to masturbate faster.
Lying on the couch as she was, you couldn't really see Nayeon's face. You could only make out her open mouth as she moaned, and she was probably pulling those obscene faces that came over her when the pleasure was too much.
Your wife's fingers stopped opening her cunt and instead began to draw circles. One hand on her clitoris and the other on her folds, pleasuring herself with her new actions. The moans returned immediately, matching the rhythm of what her hands were doing.
Soon, just caresses on the outside of her pussy weren't enough for Nayeon; she effortlessly slid two fingers into her opening. Her pussy eagerly received them, tightening around them as her other hand continued to caress her clit. The fingers moved in and out the same way you moved your hand over your hard cock, except your wife's fingers made a sloshing sound that the phone picked up even from a distance.
Your wife's words reached you muffled by pleasure, both yours and hers; you were both consumed by passion and sexual desire. Nayeon called out to you, moaning that she needed you there, that she wanted your cock instead of her fingers. Unfortunately, right now all you could do was masturbate while watching the video she had sent you. A video that was far better than any porn that could possibly exist.
The confirmation that those two fingers weren't enough for your wife came when she contorted herself strangely to reach behind her body with her other hand, now caressing her rear entrance. Despite everything, you could clearly see Nayeon inserting and withdrawing her fingers from her vagina while her other hand drew circles over her anus. That small entrance was also soaked; the mixture of fluids and juices from her vagina had completely coated it.
You almost came thinking about the mix of flavors and delicious smells that your wife's ass would be right now. All covered in her own nectar mingling with the sweat from her buttocks and the juice from the popsicle. You truly regretted not being there to devour your beloved wife's holes.
One of the fingers massaging her anus ventured further. Hesitant at first, it only slipped a little inside your wife's anus, but soon gained confidence and went all the way in. The symphony of sounds that finger coaxed from your wife was simply delicious, a delight almost as wonderful as watching her pleasure herself with her own fingers. At uneven rhythms, both hands worked to lift Nayeon to the heights of ecstasy she was experiencing, while your hand did the same to you.
It was obvious Nayeon wanted more; she always did. There was an insatiable nature to your wife that only made you love her more. This time, that craving manifested itself when she added a third finger to her pussy and, at the same time, another to her ass. You were sure she could take more fingers in both holes, you'd seen her do it, but for now, that seemed to be enough. Perhaps Nayeon was already dangerously close to her limit, and more fingers would only have made things more difficult. As she herself had told you, it wasn't always about stretching herself; sometimes it was more about the skill of hitting the right spots.
Now you didn't care about any of that. Your hand moved frantically over your cock; you were pretty sure you'd soon reach climax. If you were lucky, maybe you'd even come at the same time as your wife, that would be wonderful. Coming together while both of you masturbated, thinking about each other was such a deeply connection only a loving couple like you could reach.
Nayeon moaned directly into your ear thanks to the earbud that carried those beautiful sounds to you. It was a shame you couldn't make a sound; you could only gasp softly as your breath grew more and more rapid from the effort of moving your hand. You so desperately wanted to moan directly into your wife's mouth, to make your lips meet and your breaths become one as pleasure engulfed you, carrying you to the point of no return: climax.
Right now, the video showed Nayeon pleasuring herself with both hands at a steady, unstoppable pace. You knew her well and knew she wouldn't last much longer. The almost imperceptible trembling in her thigh, the way her moans were punctuated by gasps, the way her fingers became clumsy at times, all of it told you so. Only you could read those signs and understand that her orgasm was imminent. You gripped your cock, anticipating what was coming.
Just as you predicted, your wife reached her climax. Her moans rose to such a high pitch they could practically shatter glass. Her body was engulfed in spasms as her holes tightened to squeeze her fingers. She couldn't take it anymore and had to pull her hand out of her pussy. Along with her fingers, a jet of fluid shot out, spraying everywhere. A few drops even stained the camera and partially blurred your view of your wife. All you could see was that she was sprawled out even more than before on the couch, and that she still had her fingers inside her ass.
Nayeon's moans echoing in your ear and her fluids spilling everywhere were what brought you to your climax as well. Trying not to ejaculate all over the office, you squeezed the tip of your cock while closing your lips tightly to stifle any sound. Drop by drop, the semen spurted from your cock, flooding your hand. There was so much that you couldn't contain it, and it began to seep through your fingers, dripping down onto your underwear.
You didn't come at the same time, but it was very close. You caught up with your wife just moments later, so now you were both panting heavily, trying to catch your breath. At different paces, but together, like the couple you were.
You could barely see Nayeon slipping to the floor and sucking on her fingers, from both hands. She kept switching hands and flavors, sometimes sucking on fingers dripping with her own juices, other times curling her tongue around the fingers that had been inside her asshole. Watching your wife clean every trace of herself from her fingers reminded you that maybe you should clean yourself up too. Of course, you weren't going to eat your own semen, not here, but you should at least clean your hand.
You tried to sit up straight in your chair as your heart leapt into your throat and you almost jumped, managing to stifle a gasp of surprise at the last second. Standing beside you was your coworker, Mina, whom you had asked to bring you a sandwich. She placed your order on your desk and leaned close to your ear to whisper, "I won't tell anyone if you send me the video." She then straightened up and walked to her cubicle, where she sat down in her assigned chair. "Hurry up, the others will be here soon." Mina gave you a smile as she playfully pointed at the hand you were still using to hold your penis and then moved close to her desk.
You froze, unable to move or say a word, your hand still covered in semen. Before you could react, you heard your coworkers laughing as they approached down the hall. Not knowing what to do, you thought this was the end, that you'd be found out and in a couple of hours you'd be on your way home with your things in a box and a permanent mark on your resume. Luckily for you, Mina tossed you a pack of tissues as she headed for the door, trying to help you hide what you'd just done.
It didn't go unnoticed by you how she moved her lips without uttering a word, but you could clearly understand what she wanted to say. "Send me the video and no one will find out."
A/N: This was sitting on my mind for over a year or so, I don't really remember, so I'm happy I finally was able to write it. Nayeon is always so fun to write and no matter what naughty thing you make her go through you know she can endure it.
Maybe the photos I used as cover, or rather seeing her with that outfit, was what finally pushed me to write this. Recently nayeon has been really hot, more than the usual to be fair with her.
Nayeon will return not in Avengers Doomday you can always count on that.
"This Is For All My Ladies Who Don't Get Fucked Enough" [+18] | Knight's Smutrathon Special - DAY 9
ft. TWICE's Im Nayeon, Park Jihyo, Chou Tzuyu, and Hirai Momo (x 4 Male OCs)
WORD COUNT: 2202
NOTE: SURPRISE! DOUBLE UPDATE FOR TODAY!
DONATE OR REQUEST FOR COMMISSION HERE (only for fluff marathon line-up slot on November): https://ko-fi.com/knightyoomyoui
DESCRIPTION: Basically their experience at Victoria's Secret Fashion Show this year but their performance didn't just end there yet.
=== START ===
Nayeon, Jihyo, Tzuyu, and Momo performed their latest hits ‘This Is For’ and ‘Strategy’ as part of their attendance for the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show. In accordance also with their appearance to the said event, they were included to the bidding program which just added for the first time this year to offer a money as additional reward for anyone who took part of the said event.
As a result, TWICE won the highest auction price costing 2 million dollars each for the four members. The girls were informed about the update, and they noted the instruction to them that they’ll meet their investors after the event.
Waiting at their hotel room, they heard a knock on their door. Jihyo opened it and they were greeted by four foreign men who personify their actions for buying a huge name like them for one night. Two caucasian and two black men all wearing each of their fancy suits entered the room one by one.
All four men meet TWICE who are wearing Victoria Secret’s pink and white striped robes. Each sides facing one another, discreetly observing with full fascination and a mix of lust. “So, may we know who bought each of us?” Tzuyu asked with her broken English.
“I bid for you.” The caucasian man said. “You’re Tzuyu right? I’m Kade.” He introduced himself. The rest also did the same to avoid confusion between themselves. The other white dude is Dustin, and the two black men are Philip and Rob.
Nayeon, Jihyo, and Momo also stated their names. Coincidentally, the ones they’re facing are the ones who bought for them. “Thank you for choosing us.” They all bowed their head and the men smiled. They watched these gorgeous women remove their robes, presenting themselves with the Victoria’s Secret lingerie they worn to represent.
“We agreed to be added with the bidding because this is for me and for all of my ladies with me right now who don’t get fucked enough. Sadly, we are nine in our group and only four of us are here, but lets see what you guys can do, maybe its you four who can end their cravings for some real cocks too.” Jihyo said. Biting her lip at the sight of the bulge in their slacks.. “So please, don’t be shy to try some of us too even if you bought a specific member. It’s just all of us in this room so let’s make this night the best as possible.”
“We will. Thank you for reminding us, Jihyo.” Dustin said.
“Come on girls, lets give them what they came for.” Jihyo commanded her group to approach their respective leading men. They all walked seductively at them, swaying their curves and stepped their legs proudly while keeping their tantalizing stares to their partner.
“Damn, this is so worth of every penny I’ve spent.” Philip commented as he watched Jihyo smirked at her and blink those huge sparkly eyes at him, her aura is enough to turn him on. “You’re goddamn right, these are pure Asian baddies we got here. Not to mention, we’re about to bang some K-Pop superstars right now, man. That’s a fucking rare luck we got.” Rob agreed before turning his head back at Momo who placed her arms on his shoulders and stared at him hypnotizingly.
His gaze lowered down to her long cleavage, making him salivate. “Boys, I think we should get right into it. Man, I’m so fucking hungry seeing their heavenly bodies.” They all nodded before they all kissed their partners passionately.
Tzuyu and Kade let their lips move as they stood still. Nayeon locked Dustin’s neck around her arms to keep him close. Jihyo and Philip didn’t lasted long to get through it, pushing his girl and have themselves crash on the bed where they make out aggressively. Momo and Rob began running each others hands to their bodies.
Philip kneaded Jihyo’s huge tits onto her black laced bra twice before searching for its clip. Unlatching it, he spread those cups away to reveal her tanned milkers laying neatly above her ribcage. Philip immediately dived through it and sucked her caramel nipples diligently while he handled his body nicely as Jihyo gasped at his mouth tasting her body.
Nayeon was pushed to the wall and Dustin attacked her neck, sniffing her womanly scent and gnawed at her exposed pearly skin. Nayeon gasped and let herself submit getting cornered by a well-built man like Dustin peppering her intimate areas with kisses. She held his head and scratched it softly to encourage him leave more marks on her skin.
Kade kneeled below Tzuyu and stared at her perfect long legs and those thick Taiwanese thighs she’s packing. He mouthed a damn at how amazed he is for Tzuyu’s sexy body. Tzuyu could only watch as Kade started kissing his thighs and rub his face along with it before grabbing the waistband of her panties and pull them down, exposing her curvy ass and that small pussy between those holy thighs first.
Momo was turned around, her back pressing Rob’s chest. His hands went straight to her boobs and cupped them fiercely. Her gaping mouth was captured by Rob until he has full access of her tongue when she awed at the feeling of his other hand sneaking inside her pink panties, curling his digits to her snatch.
Philip was the first one to strip off his suit to join his partner all naked on the bed. Jihyo saw his big black cock probably at 8 inches length all ready to invade her pussy. He jerked it first before slowly daggered it through Jihyo’s center, her eyes rolling back at how huge he is inside her.
Nayeon’s panties was replaced to her pussy lips. Dustin held his long white cock to her entrance while hooking her leg up to spread her open. She was fucked sideways against the wall, Nayeon could only moaned as she has full access watching his cock going in and out of her while Dustin observes her contorting face in pleasure.
Tzuyu was bent on the nightstand as Kade eats out her ass and licks her pussy behind. She gasped and ooh-ed at her tongue snaking in through her walls and lapping out the fluids coming out of her. Wet enough to be a lube, Kade took her ass first as she fucked her in a doggy, her thighs rippling at the impact.
Momo was stripped off from her panties before she was led to a chair by Rob. His monstrous cock made her gulp nervously and shudder in excitement to take such a manly cock like his for real after settling too long for silicon dildos. She joined Rob to sit on his lap at the chair, slowly dragging herself down to his awaiting cock before she slowly take him all inside until all of his length were swallowed by her cunt to be fucked.
The room was filled with moans, shattering screams from getting their holes stuffed by huge cocks, long whimpers from squirting and getting cummed inside and many lewd noises. All four men did their roles great for giving these girls a night to remember after missing such a rowdy sex from a real men like them.
The girls were switched both from their partners and into the positions they desire to perform and attempt. Some of them were shocked that they were able to fold their bodies just so they can be bred effectively in this kind of form. No matter what angles they were took, their cocks didn’t fail to reach every areas they never knew inside their walls and stimulate their G-spots.
Nayeon was fucked in a classic missionary by Dustin while she blows Rob’s black cock, spurting his cum into her mouth in the process. She was pounded also in a reverse cowgirl by Philip while she slobbered Dustin’s cock who is standing in the mattress to reach her face’s height. Jihyo joined the trio that time, lapping to Dustin’s hanging balls below while he was taken by Nayeon.
Tzuyu was carried by Kade through her tits and fucked her ass while allowing Philip to drive her cock in between her thighs pressed together, her feet dangling through her shoulders for being folded between two men. Her body was stained with a black man’s cum. Kade was replaced by Dustin after cumming into her ass to target her pussy next, while Rob took turns from Philip to claim her thighs next.
Jihyo titfucked Kade while he’s sitting on the chair. After swallowing his cum, she straddled him to be fucked while her boobs were feasted by the lucky man beneath her. She screamed in surprise when she felt a second cock pummeling her ass from behind, which turns out to be Philip.
Meanwhile, while Momo watched Jihyo getting double penetrated on the chair. Dustin who just finished having his orgasm from Tzuyu’s little pussy who got passed to Rob to have her all by himself, approached the poor abandoned woman spawled onto the bed. He instructed Momo to get above her in reverse, and so she did to have themselves for a 69 position.
Momo bobbed her head up and down through his cock while Dustin used his jaw to eat her pussy out. The vibration around his cock was caused by Momo’s moans from his excellent oral service. The Japanese busty woman repaid his effort by burying her face to his groin, deepthroating him with her absent gag reflex while fondling his balls that made his knees raise in shudder.
As Dustin slapped her ass, Momo took it as as signal to sat on his cock and fucked herself through it. They were joined by Philip who claimed Momo’s peachy ass next, her gasping mouth stole by Kade for his cock. Her free left hand was grabbed and placed onto Rob’s cock, demanding to be jerked off.
Nayeon and Jihyo saw Momo’s bouncing juggers and attached their mouth to her nipples. Rob and Kade who are also both positioned to each sides, fingered Nayeon and Jihyo’s cunt while they sucked off their fellow member. Tzuyu then sat to Dustin’s face, blinding the guy with her ass and silencing his moans with his pussy to be eaten.
All 8 people committing a very sexual and lustful activity on the bed in a cooperative manner is a sight to behold. Seeing all of themselves brilliantly finding a way to pleasure one another to avoid one of them being left behind made them all horny. It encouraged each of them to do better servicing one after another to attain that satisfying conclusion for all of them.
“I’m about to cum!” Momo slid her mouth Kade’s cock and pumped it with her fist, she was the first to alert all of them, understandably enough since she’s the one who is mostly filled amongst the girls.
“Is everyone with her too?” Philip asked.
“Yeah no shit, I’m about to bust this man. Her mouth is too good.” Rob replied after being blown again by Momo.
“I’m close too!” Dustin was spared by Tzuyu for a moment, lifting her pussy away from his mouth to let him speak.
“How about you girls?”
“We’re almost there!” Nayeon and Jihyo agreed.
“Oh god I can’t hold it in anymore!” Tzuyu said as her clit is being rubbed harshly while getting lapped and one of her breasts groped by him.
“I’M CUMMING!!!”
Momo was joined by the rest as they all let out their most refreshed sounds by releasing their orgasms simultaneously. The mattress was stained by the girls’ combined squirting. Momo felt her two holes filled with cum by Philip and Dustin, her face was painted by Rob’s and Kade’s went down onto her tummy.
Momo, Tzuyu, and Dustin collapsed on the bed, while the rest went on the matted floor with Nayeon and Kade on the left, Jihyo and Rob on the right and Philip on the front side. They all catched their breaths, all sweaty and exhausted.
“Goddamn, what an amazing night we just have.” Philip reacted. He was received by chuckles from them.
“How’s that, ladies? Was it worth the wait?” Dustin asked as he looked at Momo and Tzuyu’s tired faces. They nodded and shared the same “yes” answer.
“So much!” Nayeon shouted in glee and Jihyo laughed with it. “Yeah, if only Jeong, Sana, Dahyun, Mina, and Chaeyoung are here. They’re gonna love you all.”
“You can join us sleep for tonight if you want?”
All four men thought the same idea. How can they say no? They stood up and helped the girls. Some of them cleaned the mess they made while the others started taking a batch together to clean themselves.
The next morning, after waking up and having breakfast with them. The four men left the hotel with the girl’s numbers on their pockets. Nayeon, Jihyo, Tzuyu, and Momo couldn’t wait for them to return again in New York next year, and definitely they’re going to bring the other five members and have those four invite more for a crazier fuckfest that will surely surpass the night they've had.
=== END ===
Word count: 3.3K | Tags: Smut, No Plot, (FFM) Threesome, Ass/Pussy Eating, Anal, Squirting, Ass to Mouth.
Amidst the orgy in IU's new house, an eager Mina and a hungry Nayeon get to share a moment of their own, accompanied by the hostess' boyfriend.
…
Scoffing, he walked to Mina's back. "Since our girlfriends are busy…" He whispered as his hands took her waist, letting his member rest on her skin.
"I've been thinking about this for two weeks already," she chuckled, tilting her neck to let his lips run through her skin, reaching for his dick while she enjoyed the trail of kisses on her neck.
"How can I pay you for keeping the secret?"
"What?" Nayeon asked in an almost offended tone, trying to ignore the improvised foursome made by IU, Jeongyeon, Chaeyoung, and Tzuyu. "Did you know?"
Mina and Seungdae stared at each other, then back at Nayeon. "I'll tell you more during dinner," the short-haired girl giggled before they cornered the eldest member against the L-shaped couch. Mina pinned her down, using her knees to keep her friend's legs slightly open as she kissed her plump lips.
Seungdae let his hunger take over him. He knelt, admiring the meaty set of thighs and buttcheeks he had in front of him. Taking advantage of Mina's legs having stopped Nayeon's from closing, he kissed the older woman's thighs, spreading them as he got to her groin until he reached her bum. He took his time to lick Nayeon's ass, feeling her clench when his tongue ran through the small creases of her puckered hole.
Her coy moans were muffled in Mina's lips. In only a matter of seconds, she had already acclimated to her new spot. In another minute, just as Seungdae's tongue ventured inside her butthole, she had already accepted that she had no domain, say, or power between him and her friend. Her legs relaxed, and her thighs went up to be held by Mina, giving the man full access to eat her holes.
"Always so obedient," the Japanese beauty whispered, holding Nayeon's cheeks.
"It's not fair with that face," she whispered, weakened by Mina's eyes and warm smile, feeling her hands run down her neck to kiss her again.
Watching up close how her pussy clenched at the touch of Mina's lips, Seungdae chuckled and gave a few more licks to her asshole, fucking her a bit with his tongue, before going a few centimeters up to kiss Nayeon's fat pussy, licking her already drenched folds.
His tongue and how it went as deep inside her cunt as he could felt glorious. His subtle giggle let her know he liked her taste, and the immediate subsequent swirl of his muscle throughout his inner lips confirmed he was hungry for her.
That gave Nayeon the little push she needed to let her hands run free all over Mina, taking her neck first, then slowly going back and forth between her waist and her small boobs, subconsciously mirroring her friend's actions as their tongues danced together, encapsulating her whimpers as soon as Seungdae captured her clit.
He loved her taste and how quickly her pussy got drenched, even after having licked all of her juices thoroughly. Her flavor, her heat, her musk; he could truly spend hours licking that cunt and not get tired, but he had just started, and he knew he would get more time with Nayeon later. He kissed, licked, and bit her inner thighs, her groin, her fat outer lips, and every corner of her slit, before sucking on her clit, stopping when her hips shook, leaving her begging for more.
"Why?" She whined, rocking her pelvis, looking for his touch.
"Shush," Mina purred before he could say anything, rubbing Nayeon's clit. She heard a scoff coming from Seungdae, and remembering how good she made her feel their first night together, she arched her lower back to present her pussy to him.
"I love my life," he sighed, shaking his head with an ear-to-ear smile. He took a second to contemplate Mina's glistening folds surrounded by her meaty thighs and ass. Shoving his fingers into Nayeon's cunt, he outlined Mina's slit with slow kisses, using the time to breathe her scent, letting her folds gather more of her precious nectar before he went wild on her.
The trio moved smoothly together. The background of Chaeyoung's cute moans, muffled in Tzuyu's lips, and the intense breathing of Momo, vigorously fingered by Jihyo, guided them on their own tempo.
Mina showed her eagerness by moving her pussy towards his lips, finally getting his tongue to run through her folds while she chuckled mid-kiss devilishly, letting her fingers go crazy on Nayeon's bean.
Nayeon reciprocated it. Her ankles hugged Mina's back, forcing their torsos to touch completely. Her big hands went down to that juicy pair of buttcheeks and spread them wide open.
'Dinner is served,' Seungdae thought, enjoying Mina's flavor, kissing her clit very carefully, making her flinch at every gentle touch until she relaxed, no longer afraid of any attack on her sensitive bean. Instead, he focused on the entrance of her cunt, purposefully shoving his tongue into her walls, resting his nose right on her pucker hole.
Their hunger pushed them to demand more of each other. Nayeon's fingers moved down to Mina's abs, caressing them as her hand reached her friend's pussy, pushing Seungdae's mouth from those slippery folds to the relaxed, already gaping asshole of the Japanese woman. Mina moaned hungrily as Nayeon's long fingers curled in her walls, doing the familiar dance only her unnie could perform inside of her. The man's lips kissed her rim eagerly, shoving his tongue in and out, making her tickle in that particular way she loved so much.
Seungdae allowed himself to go from Mina's tight slit to her puckered hole. Regardless of how roughly that first night with her ended, savoring that gaping pink butthole was a highlight worth repeating at any cost. Having it offered in a room with his girlfriend and the rest of Twice getting frikier by the second gave him the perfect opportunity to shut any thoughts.
The sound of Momo grunting as Jihyo shoved Seungdae's replica into her cunt caused the same reaction in the trio. His fingers stiffened against Nayeon's G-spot, causing her to mirror the same reaction inside Mina's pussy, which made her hips tremble and her asshole shut tightly, capturing the man's tongue.
"I want it," she moaned, reaching for his hair, pulling him.
"Can I go first?" Nayeon whined, pinching one of Mina's nipples. Her giggle and smirk suddenly turned into a moan, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head as Seungdae impaled her guts with his whole shaft.
"I'm sorry," he scoffed, already rocking his hips against Mina. "Queen's orders. You'll have to wait."
"Why?" She complained, kneeling on the couch with him lying on his left, lifting Mina's left leg as they spooned, Nayeon's fingers firmly curled inside the short-haired woman.
"Because you'll love what Jin and I will do to you later, and because you're a good whore who'll do as she's told," Seungdae scoffed, running his right hand through Mina's body until he reached her jaw to kiss her, keeping his eyes on Nayeon.
She loved the view. Her friend was thriving. Eyes closed, tongue swirling with his, hips swaying against his shaft, left hand pinching her own nipple, right hand softly scratching Nayeon's tummy. It was her subtle way to beg her to move her digits.
"Unnie," Mina whispered, moaning, getting the woman out of her trance.
"Will you keep her waiting?" He chuckled, letting the Japanese beauty bite his lower lip.
"Will it be worth it?" Nayeon asked, slowly moving her fingers inside Mina, more so to feel his length moving than to please her friend.
"I wouldn't dare disappoint my favorite slut?" He grinned, bringing a slight blush to her cheeks.
"Am I not your favorite?" Mina pouted, taking her delicate fingers to her mouth, and clenching her ass tightly.
He moaned, feeling her take his soul from his cock. "You may be an evil anal-addicted lunatic, but not a slut," he panted, smirking at her, making her smile with his words.
"Can you two fuck me like one?" She replied, biting her lip, staring cutely at them without stopping her hip movement.
"Any day," he scoffed, choking Mina with his right hand and ramming her butthole. "Nayeon?" He raised his eyebrow, challenging her.
The older woman shook her head, getting off the couch to kneel and kiss him while she shoved her thumb in her friend's mouth. This time, her fingers moved inside Mina's pussy as hard as Seungdae was thrusting into her.
Mina smirked warmly, gazing at their tongues swirling while she sucked her digit. She could spend hours getting her ass drilled, simply enjoying the constant reshaping of her guts, but it was Nayeon's fingers that slowly pushed her towards her first orgasm of the day. Not caring one bit to hold back, she let her lust guide her body, looking for her own climax, holding the man's hand on her neck and Nayeon's wrist in place.
For a moment, all Seungdae could process was the tightness of Mina's butt. No matter how insanely wide she could gape, or how absurdly deep she could get a dildo lost her guts, the control she had over her muscles made her insides feel incredible. The only thing that brought him back to reality was Jieun's grunt. That tone that combined her lust with a tint of pain.
Without stopping, he stretched his neck to find his girlfriend in all fours over Dahyun, chuckling as she pressed Jeongyeon's hand on her own asscheek.
Finally, he witnessed Jeongyeon's dominant side, ramming Jieun's butt while the soloist scanned the room and found his eyes. Unconsciously, he had stopped for a moment, drawing Mina's and Nayeon's attention to IU, although the older woman kept fingering her friend.
The look in the soloist's eyes was clear. Jeongyeon was moving just like she liked it, and she wanted more. They grinned, as if encouraging each other.
He resumed his pounding at Mina's asshole, reactivating his own threesome right before Jeongyeon pulled IU's hair.
"Nayeon," Seungdae hissed, causing her to shake her head and turn to see Mina's needy eyes. "Should we?"
"Eh?" Mina voiced, confused at the mutual glance they shared before staring directly at her. His grip tightened around her neck, and he thrusted so hard and fast into her guts it seemed a whole audience was clapping.
Nayeon's fingers went equally intense inside her cunt, pushing her G-spot with enough precision and technique that she could have made Mina explode without any other stimulation. Knowing that, her free hand captured her nipple to pinch it and twist it.
Mina melted on the couch, unable to face them as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her core shook first, a sign of her last bit of control before her whole existence convulsed in place, squirting in Nayeon's hand.
Seungdae had to focus on his grip and Mina's face to avoid exploding in her guts. Lost in the Japanese beauty's face, he managed to endure it until her pupils were visible again. She giggled, shrinking in their embrace, victim of her own sensitivity.
"Adorable, isn't she?" Nayeon grinned, biting her lower lip.
"A work of art," he smiled at Mina, leaning for a peck, then giving space for Nayeon to do the same.
"Can you keep going?" The short-haired girl asked, grinding her hips on him.
"You're never satisfied, are you?" He chuckled, and she shrugged, biting her lips seductively. Not waiting any further, he pulled her with him until his knees were on the floor, and her ass was on the edge of the sofa while her legs made a full split.
With a smirk, Nayeon knew what to do. She made her way to straddle Mina's face. When she looked down, her friend's mouth was open wide, and her tongue was moving eagerly, welcoming those dripping folds.
Mina acted immediately, rubbing her clit, rocking her hips on Seungdae's manhood, and devouring her friend's folds. Despite the evidence literally dripping from Nayeon's hand into her mouth, to any witness, it would appear as if the Japanese woman was just getting started.
Aided by Seungdae holding her ankles, Mina gripped onto the older woman's buttcheeks, spreading them to taste her folds. Soon, she had her grinding her hips over her face, leaning to the man, and trying to contain her moans.
Nayeon ogled at Seungdae, watching his girth captured by Mina's rim. "I need your cock," she panted, reaching for his abs, almost pleading.
"Told you: Queen's orders," he chuckled, leaning forward to lick her plump lips.
"Please!" Nayeon moaned, licking his tongue, exhaling on his mouth.
As much as he liked feeling her breath and her helplessness, and as much as he would love to demolish her pussy, he also needed to wait. "Uh-uh." He hugged Mina's legs with one arm, practically framing their faces with them. "I don't want any toy entering this precious cunt, understood?" He grunted, biting her lip as his free hand reached for her slit, pulling her a little forward, forcing Mina to eat Nayeon's ass.
"W-why would I torture myself with so much to play with around me?" The older woman smirked, failing to pretend she wasn't already shaking on his hand, and loving her friend's tongue entering her butthole.
"Because, as much of a nympho as you can be, you are a good and obedient whore. So you'll do as you're told." He growled, staring at her eyes as closely as possible. She nodded, whimpering as his middle finger pushed her G-spot. "Hold it until you can't bear it anymore."
Nayeon hummed in confusion, even more so when he offered her Mina's right foot. "I hate you," she shook her head, moaning louder as he fingered harder and harder. Giggling, she welcomed her friend's cute toes into her mouth, sucking on them as intensely as her ass was getting eaten.
She felt Mina's chuckle on her puckered hole. It felt degrading. Despite having licked all of the members' feet, doing that under his command, knowing she'd have to wait to get his meat inside of her pussy, was slightly humiliating, but incredibly arousing; as much as witnessing him take Mina's left toes to his mouth while locked eyes with her. She understood it was his own way of saying 'look what you're missing,' and rubbing it on her face.
With his gaze on her, Nayeon let him take her to her climax, no longer trying to ignore how good his fingers felt inside of her and how deliciously wild Mina's tongue was running in her butthole. Her pleasure built up, letting it show not only by the occasional clenching of her holes, but also by how desperately she licked her friend's toes, going between her digits so quickly her drool was already falling.
She obeyed, feeling every bit of pleasure accumulating and holding it until her orgasm filled her whole system.
With eyebrows frowning as she begged with her eyes, a tear shed down her cheek. He nodded so subtly that blinking may have made her miss it.
Nayeon succumbed in front of him. In a millisecond, her eyes disappeared on the back of her head. She shuddered, held in place by Mina, who somehow got enough force to maintain her hovering over her face, and Seungdae, choking her firmly. At the same time, his fingers stormed her G-spot, letting the first waves of squirt fall on his hand until his stiffened fingers came out of her cunt and attacked her clit, causing Nayeon to convulse violently.
The sudden movement caused Mina's ass to clench tightly while the never-ending squirt gushing from Nayeon's pussy rained all over her torso. The Japanese beauty continued rocking her hips, however, at least until she heard Seungdae grunting.
Close call to his climax, but Mina stopped just in time. Panting, he admired Nayeon's broken smile and the seductive way her eyes returned to ogle at him, thanking him for already making up for their last encounter, even if it wasn't with his dick.
He hugged her tightly to kiss her, knowing every brush on her skin was sending little shock waves of pleasure through her brain.
"I may not h-hate you," Nayeon panted with a weak smile.
"I shouldn't have made you cum, then," he smirked at her, shoving his fingers back in her cunt to lift her from Mina's face. He stopped for a moment to see her run her digits through her torso and savour her friend's squirt.
"I can't lick myself clean," she scoffed, proudly displaying her body at them.
In a blink, she had both of them licking and sucking every part of her, from her lips to her neck, going down her collarbones and her small tits.
"Thought you'd drain me with that cute, little hole," he whispered to Mina, kissing her jawline.
"It would be a waste not to inject that load into someone's cunt," she giggled, fully relaxing. Seungdae took his time, enjoying Nayeon's flavor from Mina's midriff, while Nayeon herself went further down to lick her friend's folds and then her gaping hole.
"Can't I get at least a little bit?" The older woman pleaded, holding his thigh.
He eyed Mina. "I need to get my dick clean before shoving it in someone else's cunt," he smiled, taking a seat to Mina's left. Surprisingly, the short-haired woman wiggled her way into the corner of the couch, instantly taking his glans into her mouth.
"Yah, that was for me!" Nayeon whined.
"You can clean the rest," she scoffed. "Let me enjoy my own taste," Mina smiled cutely, biting the tip of her tongue as she licked his slit.
Nayeon set her eyes on him. His smirk and shrug made her angry, but he, having the boldness of reaching for Mina's folds with his right hand, may have pushed her a bit further. Just as he lay his back on the sofa, she pulled him a bit down and to his left, and jumped over his face, pressing her fat pussy on his mouth.
He welcomed it, enjoying her juices while their tongues swirled through his shaft, running over every bit of skin. The relaxation was so deep that he didn't mind when he stopped feeling their mouths, as long as his fingers were still inside Mina's walls and his mouth was filled with Nayeon's flavor.
"Great One," Jieun called him, causing Nayeon to jump from his face.
"Yes, my queen?" He turned quickly to see her with Sana and Momo standing behind his girlfriend. Seungdae chuckled, removing his fingers from Mina's cunt and kneeling to kiss his IU's bald pussy, tracing a path of kisses until he met her lips. "Is it time?"
She nodded quickly, biting her lower lip. "You may want to see your little sweetheart; you won't want to miss what she's doing," she winked at him, stroking his dick.
"Take Mina, I'll drop this one with Jeongyeon and Jihyo." Both nodded, and the man turned quickly to carry Nayeon in his arms, causing her to yelp.
"When will you fuck me with this cock?" She asked him, reaching for his meat.
"Oh, Jin and I have something in mind specifically for you," he smirked before interrupting Jihyo from eating Jeongyeon's folds, and Chaeyoung from drinking milk directly from the leader's udder while she fingered her. "Take one, leave one, right?" He joked as he left Nayeon in their embrace, quickly taking the tattooed girl as she playfully raised her arms for him.
With just one arm, he carried Chaeyoung, shoving his Mina-flavored fingers in her mouth before turning to see Tzuyu's tanned ass and pussy contrasting with Dahyun's pale butt and pink folds. "You have no idea how much I wanted to see that," he told the slim woman in his arms.
…
Author's note: While writing the whole orgy, I had to decide where I wanted the focus to be, so this wasn't fleshed out in the actual fic. Since I have a lot of other things waiting to be written and I'm not sure if I'll have another chance to write MiNayeon, I also had that little itch begging me to write this little piece.
Of course, if you want more of this, you can read the whole orgy here.
Also, a few extra pics because I love them together, and they've been so clingy lately.
The Private Bodyguard (TWICE Nayeon, Jihyo, Momo, Tzuyu x M Reader)
The golden hour in Santa Monica isn't just a time of day; it's a mood, a filter that turns everything it touches into an idealized version of itself. From the eighth-floor balcony of the penthouse suite at The Huntley, the view is perfect: the massive Ferris wheel of the Santa Monica Pier turning lazily against an indigo and violet sky, the Pacific Ocean a vast, shimmering mirror for the final, orange burst of the setting sun.
Momo is leaning against the cold white railing, her back to the ocean, watching you. She’s wearing the same black off-the-shoulder knit top and black high-waisted linen shorts from the red-carpet event earlier, but the 'idol' persona is currently on pause. Her dark brown hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, her bangs slightly tousled by the sea breeze. She adjusts her sunglasses, looking at you over the dark lenses with a small, knowing smirk that she would never show a fan.
You’re standing two steps back, by the sliding glass doors, your large, 6'4" frame the definition of unobtrusive security. You’re wearing a tailored black suit that strains across your chest and shoulders, the earpiece in your left ear a constant, static connection to the rest of her security detail stationed in the lobby. Your job description is simple: protect Momo from everything.
But the real contract isn’t written down.
In 2021, Momo is TWICE’s Main Dancer—a global icon of perfection. In this penthouse, she is yours. She isn't the client; she’s the object you get to use, the quiet submissive who paid top dollar to forget the stress of a ten-city tour. And you’re not the bodyguard; you’re the "property" she uses to feel grounded.
"They're too quiet," Momo says, her Japanese accent thickening now that the cameras are off. She gestures with her chin toward the street below, where a small crowd of Paparazzi and fans are still lingering by the side entrance. "Your team says they've been there for hours. They just... wait."
"Waiting is what they're good at, Momo," you reply, your voice a deep, neutral vibration. "My job is to make sure that's all they do."
"And what about your waiting, Y/n?" she challenges, pushing off the railing and taking a slow, measured step toward you. She lowers her sunglasses until they rest on the end of her nose, her dark eyes locking onto yours with a sudden, predatory intensity. "You've been standing there since we got back from the pier. Your heart rate is high... I can feel it from here."
"I’m analyzing threats," you counter, the earpiece crackling with a status update from your team, which you ignore.
"The only threat on this balcony is me," she breathes, moving into your space until her heat is radiating against your black suit jacket. She reaches up, her small, manicured hand brushing against your lapel, her fingers tangling in the silk lining. "You know the clause in our contract, Y/n. 'Total discretion.' That means you don't talk, you don't ask, and you don't stop until I tell you to. You're my property until we leave LA."
"And right now, I’m in a mood," she continues, her voice dropping to a low, demanding rasp as her hand moves down to rest over the front of your trousers, her eyes widening as she feels the immediate, heavy response of your body. "The sunset is almost gone, and I’m tired of waiting."
The Santa Monica breeze pulls at the loose strands of her hair as Momo drops to her knees on the balcony’s cold stone floor. From this height, the distant lights of the Pacific Park Ferris wheel begin to glow, but her focus is entirely on the space between your legs.
"The team is still on the perimeter," you mutter, your voice a low, gravelly warning that vibrates in the quiet air. "If someone has a long-lens camera on the pier—"
"Let them watch," Momo interrupts, her voice muffled as she focuses on the task. "They’ll just see their 'Dancing Machine' doing exactly what she was born to do: performing."
She doesn't hesitate. Her small, nimble fingers—the same ones that execute the most complex choreography in the industry—work with a cold, practiced efficiency. She undoes your leather belt, the buckle clinking softly against the railing, and drags the zipper of your black suit trousers down. When she peels back your silk boxers, your 9-inch length springs free, thick and pulsing with a heavy, rhythmic demand that seems to dwarf her small frame.
Momo’s breath hitches. She lowers her sunglasses to the bridge of her nose, her dark eyes wide and glazed as she takes in the reality of the "equipment" she’s hired. She reaches out, her manicured nails ghosting over the thick, violet vein that runs the length of your shaft, before her hand closes around the base. She can barely get her fingers halfway around the girth.
"It’s... it’s even bigger in the California sun," she whispers, a dazed, triumphant smirk touching her lips.
She starts a slow, agonizingly firm stroke, her grip tight and technical. She uses her other hand to support your weight, her thumb rhythmically swiping over the broad, weeping head of your cock. Every time she reaches the top, she twists her wrist slightly, mimicking a move she’s perfected in a hundred dance studios, but here, the stakes are physical.
You look down at her—the global icon, the woman who sells out stadiums, kneeling at your feet in her black knit top and linen shorts, her face inches from your heat. You reach down, your large hand tangling in her ponytail to tilt her head back, forcing her to look up at your 6'4" frame while she works.
"You’re being very thorough, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, predatory vibration. "Is this how you treat all your security detail?"
"Only the ones who can actually handle the pressure," she breaths, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop of moisture from the tip of your cock.
She picks up the pace, her movements becoming a blurred, rhythmic friction that sounds like a series of wet, soft slaps in the twilight. She’s focused, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tries to find the exact frequency that will break your professional composure.
The Santa Monica breeze chills the sweat on your neck, but the heat radiating from Momo is a localized furnace. She doesn't wait for your permission. She reaches up, sliding her designer sunglasses into the neckline of her black knit top, and leans forward.
Her mouth opens in a wide, trembling 'O' as she takes the broad, weeping head of your 9-inch length into her throat. The transition from her hand to the wet, velvet heat of her mouth is a shock to your system, a heavy, technical pressure that makes your hands tighten instinctively on the white balcony railing.
Momo is a "performance" specialist for a reason. She doesn't just take you; she masters you. She uses her tongue to swirl around the thick, violet vein running the length of your shaft, her eyes rolled up to watch your professional mask finally begin to crack. Every time she bottoms out, she makes a low, muffled sound—a vibration that travels straight through your core.
"Momo... the perimeter," you rasp, your voice dropping into a dark, guttural warning.
She doesn't pull back. Instead, she reaches up, her small, manicured hands gripping your thighs to anchor herself as she picks up the pace. It’s a rhythmic, relentless demolition of your composure. She knows exactly how to use the suction to mimic the heavy, pulsing beat of the music she dances to every night. The wet, soft slaps of her lips against your skin are the only sound on the eighth-floor balcony.
You reach down, your large hand tangling in her ponytail, not to pull her away, but to guide the depth. You’re 6'4" of pure, trained restraint, but Momo is systematically dismantling every layer of your defense. Your heart rate—the one she joked about earlier—is now a frantic, pounding thud in your chest.
"You're going to take every drop, Princess," you growl, your hips starting an involuntary, rhythmic thrusting that pushes her to the absolute limit of her capacity.
The "Sunset Clause" is reaching its breaking point. The sky has turned a bruised, deep purple, and the Ferris wheel is a spinning halo of neon in the distance. You feel the snap hitting the base of your spine—a white-hot, snapping point that you haven't felt since the tour started.
You pulse once, twice, the heavy pressure mounting as you prepare to erupt.
The sky over the Pacific has turned a deep, bruised purple, the neon lights of the Santa Monica Pier reflecting off the glass of the penthouse behind you. Your breath is coming in jagged, heavy rasps, the 6'4" frame of your body finally hitting its breaking point.
"Momo... look up," you growl, your voice dropping into a dark, guttural command.
You reach down, your fingers tangling firmly in her ponytail to pull her back just as the first surge of heat hits the base of your spine. She obeys instantly, her head tilting back, her lips parted and swollen from the friction of your 9-inch length.
You pulse with a violent, rhythmic intensity, the first thick wave of the "service" she paid for hitting her right across her cheekbone. You erupt again and again, the heavy, stinging saltiness coating her pale skin, splashing over the bridge of her nose and catching in her dark lashes. One stray drop hits the lens of the sunglasses tucked into her black knit top, a shimmering mark of exactly how much she broke her bodyguard tonight.
Momo doesn't flinch. She watches you through dazed, blown-out pupils, a small, triumphant smirk touching her lips as she feels the heat of your release cooling in the ocean breeze. She looks like a ruined masterpiece—the "Dancing Machine" of TWICE, kneeling on a balcony in California, wearing the evidence of your surrender like a trophy.
"You're a mess, Princess," you mutter, your hand finally relaxing its grip on her hair.
"I'm a client who got exactly what she wanted," she breaths, her voice a wrecked, sultry rasp. She reaches up, using one finger to swipe a bit of the mess from her cheek, bringing it to her lips to taste the salt before she looks back at the pier. "The fans think I'm untouchable. But you... you know better, don't you, Y/n?"
You don't answer. You reach into your suit pocket and pull out a clean silk handkerchief, handing it to her with a cold, professional efficiency as you adjust your trousers and zip up. The "bodyguard" is back, even if the air between you is still thick with the scent of sex and the Pacific salt.
"The motorcade leaves in twenty minutes, Momo," you say, your voice returning to its neutral, protective drone. "I suggest you head inside and fix your makeup before the lead car arrives."
Momo stands up, her legs a bit shaky as she brushes the dust from her linen shorts. She gives you one last, lingering look over her shoulder before sliding the balcony door open.
"Don't go too far, Y/n," she whispers. "I might need another 'security check' before we hit the airport."
(Timeskip)
The Gulfstream G650 cuts through the night at 45,000 feet, the cabin pressurized into a silent, pressurized vacuum of luxury. Outside the oval windows, the American Midwest is a dark void, but inside, the dim amber LED strips along the floor are the only thing illuminating the cream leather interior.
Momo is sprawled across the oversized captain’s chair in the main cabin, her black knit top still slightly damp from the balcony encounter. She’s staring at a lookbook for the Victoria’s Secret show in New York, her fingers tracing the lace of a set she’s scheduled to wear. The "Dancing Machine" is going from the stage to the runway, and the pressure is a physical weight in the cabin.
You’re standing by the galley, your 6'4" frame nearly brushing the ceiling of the jet. You’ve shed the suit jacket, your white dress shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up to reveal the heavy, functional watch on your wrist.
"The pilot said we have four hours until JFK," you mutter, your voice a deep, vibrating rasp that carries over the low hum of the engines. "You should be sleeping, Momo. The fittings start at 8:00 AM."
"I can't sleep, Y/n," she whispers, her Japanese accent soft and jagged in the quiet. She closes the lookbook and looks up at you, her dark eyes reflecting the amber cabin lights. "My heart is still beating too fast from Santa Monica. And this plane... it’s too quiet. It makes me think about things I shouldn't."
She stands up, her linen shorts riding high on her thighs as she walks toward you. The jet tilts slightly into a pocket of turbulence, and she uses the movement as an excuse to stumble into your chest. You catch her by the waist, your large hands spanning the entire width of her torso, pinning her against the cold marble of the galley counter.
"You're supposed to be resting," you growl, your eyes tracking the way her pulse is jumping in the hollow of her throat.
"I'm resting my image," she breaths, reaching up to hook her fingers into the belt loops of your trousers. She pulls you closer until the 9-inch reality of your response is grinding into her stomach through the thin knit of her top. "But my body... my body wants to know if the 'security' on a private jet is as thorough as it is on a balcony."
She reaches around you, her small hand finding the "Do Not Disturb" switch for the cabin crew, flicking it until the small red light glows.
"We're over Kansas, Y/n," she mutters, her tongue flicking out to moisten her lower lip as she looks up at you. "No Paparazzi. No long lenses. Just 500 miles an hour and a bodyguard who doesn't know how to say 'no' to his client."
The hum of the Rolls-Royce engines is a low, hypnotic thrum that vibrates through the floor of the Gulfstream, but the real tension is in the air between the galley and the main cabin. A few feet away, behind the heavy silk curtains, the other TWICE members are dead to the world, buried under designer blankets and eye masks after a grueling week in LA.
The silence of the jet makes every sound feel amplified. You grab Momo by the waist, your large hands nearly meeting around her spine, and haul her back toward the tail of the plane. You move with a predator’s silence, navigating the narrow aisle until you reach the heavy wood-veneered door of the private master suite.
You pull her inside and click the lock, the sound swallowed by the thick carpeting.
The suite is a sanctuary of cream leather and ambient gold lighting, dominated by a queen-sized bed bolted to the airframe. You don't say a word. You just slam your palms against the door on either side of her head, pinning her against the wood.
"The walls on a G650 aren't as thick as the ones at The Huntley, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, vibrating warning. "If you make a sound, the leader is going to be knocking on this door wondering why her main dancer is screaming in the middle of the night."
"Then make sure I don't have enough breath to scream, Y/n," she dares, her Japanese accent a jagged, sultry rasp.
You don't give her another second. You lean in, your mouth crashing against hers with a territorial hunger that has been simmering since the Santa Monica sunset. It’s a collision of teeth and tongue, tasting of expensive champagne and the raw, electric adrenaline of 45,000 feet.
Momo isn't passive. She wraps her arms around your neck, her fingers digging into the nape of your hair, pulling your 6'4" frame down until your chests are crushed together. The friction of her black knit top against your dress shirt is a sharp, static spark. She moans into your mouth—a low, frustrated vibration that you catch and swallow before it can drift toward the main cabin.
You shift your weight, pressing your thigh between hers. The linen shorts she’s wearing are thin, and the heat radiating from her center is already soaking through the fabric, meeting the immediate, heavy throb of your 9-inch response.
"You're already shaking, Princess," you mutter, breaking the kiss just long enough to nip at the sensitive skin of her jawline. "Is it the turbulence, or are you just that desperate for a 'security check'?"
"Shut up," she breaths, her head lolling back against the door as your hand slides down the curve of her hip, finding the hem of her shorts. "Just... show me what the Victoria's Secret runway is really for."
The cabin pressure seems to drop as the latch clicks, the low hum of the jet the only thing separating this sanctuary from the sleeping idols just a few feet away. You don't waste a second. With the practiced efficiency of a man used to high-stress transitions, you strip out of your white dress shirt and slacks. Your 6'4" frame is a map of hard muscle and functional scars in the amber glow of the suite, your 9-inch length springing free, thick and pulsing with a heavy, rhythmic demand.
Momo’s eyes go wide, her breath hitching as she watches the "security detail" disappear, replaced by the raw, physical reality of the man she’s hired. She doesn't let you lead. She reaches out, her small hands flat against your chest, and gives you a firm, commanding shove.
You hit the cream leather mattress with a heavy thud, the suspension of the jet absorbing the impact. You lie back, your head against the silk pillows, as Momo stands at the foot of the bed.
"You're off the clock, Y/n," she whispers, her Japanese accent a jagged, sultry rasp. "Now, you're just an audience."
She reaches for the hem of her black knit top, peeling it over her head in one fluid, dancer’s motion. Underneath, she’s wearing a piece from the upcoming Victoria’s Secret collection—a sheer, midnight-blue lace balconette bra with delicate gold hardware that catches the cabin light. The cups are dangerously low, barely containing the heavy, pale swell of her breasts, the dark centers visible through the intricate floral mesh.
Next, she slides her black linen shorts down her thighs, kicking them aside onto the plush carpet.
She’s wearing the matching high-cut lace thong, the silk straps sitting high on her hips to accentuate the athletic curve of her waist and the powerful, toned lines of her dancer’s legs. A delicate gold belly chain rests against her skin, shimmering with every shallow breath she takes. She looks like a high-end fantasy, a mix of global idol perfection and raw, predatory intent.
She doesn't just get on the bed. She starts a slow, agonizingly rhythmic crawl toward you, her knees sinking into the leather. She moves with the same hypnotic grace she uses on stage, her eyes locked on your 9-inch reality.
"Do you like the fitting, Y/n?" she breaths, her voice dropping into a low, American-tinged dare as she hovers over your lap. "Or should I tell the designers it's too... restrictive?"
She reaches out, her manicured nails ghosting over the thick, violet vein of your shaft before her hand closes around the base. She leans down, her hair falling around your thighs like a gold-flecked curtain, and presses a lingering, wet kiss to the broad, weeping head of your cock.
"You're shaking," she observes, a dazed, triumphant smirk touching her lips. "Is the air getting too thin for you up here?"
The vibration of the Gulfstream’s engines hums through the mattress, a rhythmic bassline to the high-altitude silence. Momo doesn't just crawl; she performs, every shift of her weight on the cream leather a calculated strike against your composure. The midnight-blue lace of her balconette bra strains with every breath, the gold hardware glinting like a promise as she hovers inches above your lap.
"You look like a doll, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, gravelly vibration that seems to rattle the small cabin. "Like something they’d put in a glass case. But we both know what’s happening behind that curtain if I let go of this restraint."
Momo’s smirk widens, her eyes dark and predatory as she grips your 9-inch length, her small thumb tracing the thick, pulsing vein from base to head.
"Tell me," she breaths, her Japanese accent dropping into a sultry, American-edged rasp. "Tell me exactly what the 'Bodyguard' wants to do to his favorite client while the rest of the world thinks she’s an angel sleeping in the next room."
"I want to see if those dancer’s lungs can actually hold a scream when I’m buried to the hilt in you," you counter, your large hands flat against the bed, knuckles white as you fight the urge to just flip her over. "I want to see if that designer lace survives the next hour, or if I’m going to have to explain to your stylist why there are finger marks bruised into your hips before the New York fitting."
Momo let out a low, shaky moan, her head lolling back as she starts a slow, agonizingly firm stroke. She leans down, her breath hot and smelling of peppermint against the sensitive skin of your thigh.
"You talk too much for a man who’s supposed to be 'discreet', Y/n," she whispers, her tongue flicking out to catch the weeping head of your cock. "But I like it. I like knowing that under that suit and that earpiece, you’re just a beast waiting to break me. Do it. Break the 'Main Dancer'. Show me why I pay you so much more than the others."
She shifts her hips, the high-cut lace thong disappearing between the soft, ivory curve of her thighs as she lines herself up. She’s soaking—a localized furnace of heat that you can feel radiating against your skin even before she makes contact.
"Don't just watch, Y/n," she dares, her voice a wrecked plea as she lowers herself an inch, the broad head of your cock just beginning to stretch her entrance. "Take me. Take me before we hit the coast."
You keep your hands pinned flat against the cream leather of the mattress, your knuckles white, your chest heaving as you tower beneath her. The 6'4" frame of your body is a coiled spring of pure, disciplined restraint, and you’re forcing her to feel every agonizing millimeter of the distance between your power and her desire.
Momo’s breath hitches, a fractured, high-pitched sound that she immediately muffles by biting her lower lip. She hovers there, the broad, weeping head of your 9-inch reality just beginning to stretch the sensitive pink entrance of her center. The midnight-blue lace of her thong has been pushed aside, and the heat radiating from her is a localized furnace in the pressurized cabin.
"You... you’re not going to help me?" she gasps, her Japanese accent thick and jagged with a hunger she usually masks behind choreography.
"I’m on the clock, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that seems to rattle the very airframe of the Gulfstream. "If the 'Main Dancer' wants to be ruined at forty thousand feet, she’s going to have to work for it. Show me that athletic endurance the trainers are always bragging about."
Momo let out a low, frustrated growl of her own, her eyes darkening as she takes the dare. She grips your shoulders, her small, manicured nails digging into the hard muscle of your deltoids as she slowly, agonizingly lowers herself.
The displacement is immense. You watch the way her internal muscles have to fight to accommodate the sheer girth of you, the gold hardware on her balconette bra shimmering as her chest heaves. She takes three inches, then five, her head tossing back as her breath comes in short, sharp hitches.
"God... Y/n... you’re... you’re too big," she sobs, her voice a wrecked, sultry rasp. "It’s stretching me... all the way to my ribs."
"Keep going," you command, your voice a cold, mechanical weight. "I want to feel you bottom out before I even think about moving a finger."
She whimpers, a broken sound of pure overstimulation, but she doesn't stop. She pushes through the resistance, her ivory thighs trembling with the effort until she finally slams down against your hips, burying your full length to the hilt. The impact sends a jolt through both of you, timed perfectly with a sudden pocket of turbulence that makes the jet drop fifty feet.
Momo shivers, her back snapping into a rigid arc as she feels the broad head of your cock bottoming out against her cervix. She’s pinned there, her designer lace straining, her face flushed a deep, feverish pink.
"Now," she wails, her fingers clawing at your chest. "Now, Y/n... please! Move! I can't... I can't do it alone anymore!"
The discipline finally snaps. The 6'4" frame of your body uncoils with a violent, rhythmic urgency that matches the turbulence shaking the Gulfstream. You reach up, your large hands moving with a predator’s precision to find the gold clasp of that midnight-blue balconette bra. With a sharp, metallic click, the lace gives way, and the heavy, pale swell of her breasts spills out into the amber light of the cabin.
"You’ve worked enough, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that drowns out the hum of the Rolls-Royce engines.
You hook your fingers into the ivory curve of her hips, pinning her down onto your 9-inch length as you pull her torso forward. You bury your face in the soft, lavender-scented heat of her chest, your tongue swirling around one dark, tensed nipple before you take the entire aching weight of her breast into your mouth.
Momo let out a high, fractured shriek that she immediately chokes back, her fingers tangling in your hair as she arches her back. The sensation of your mouth on her skin while you’re buried to the hilt inside her is a total demolition of her professional composure. You suckle her with a rhythmic, hungry pressure, your teeth grazing the sensitive underside of her breast until she’s sobbing your name into the quiet air of the suite.
"Y/n... oh god... it’s... it’s too much," she sobs, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry rasp.
You don't slow down. You start a punishing, high-altitude pace, your hips slamming against the cream leather mattress with a heavy, wet thud that rattles the suite’s hardware. Every thrust is a deep, technical invasion, the displacement of your girth stretching her to the absolute limit. You’re relentless, your body primed by the adrenaline of the flight, while Momo is already a beautiful, lace-clad ruin beneath you.
The high-cut lace thong is a discarded scrap of midnight blue against her thighs as you drive home again and again. You can feel her internal muscles clamping down on you in a series of frantic, desperate spasms—the "Main Dancer" hitting her peak at 45,000 feet.
"Look at me, Momo," you rasp, pulling back just enough to see her dazed, blown-out pupils. "Tell me exactly who owns this 'performance' tonight."
"You... you do," she sobs, her head tossing back as her breath comes in jagged, peppermint-scented gasps. "Always... always you, Y/n."
The altitude is high, but the pressure in the master suite is higher. You shift your grip, your large hand sliding down from the ivory curve of her waist to the tight, frantic heat where your bodies are joined. Momo is a gasping, lace-clad wreck beneath you, her head lolling back against the silk pillows as you maintain a slow, torturous grind that keeps your 9-inch length buried deep.
"You're already hitting your limit, Princess," you growl, your voice a dark, predatory vibration against her damp collarbone. "But we haven't even finished the 'full inspection' yet."
You reach behind her, your fingers tracing the dip of her spine until you find the puckered, sensitive entrance of her rosebud. It’s tight—a virgin heat that hasn't been touched since the tour began. You press your thumb against the center, the rhythmic friction of your entry below making her internal muscles clench around you in a desperate, pleading spasm.
Momo let out a high, fractured shriek, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of your forearms. "Y/n... no... it’s... it’s too much!"
"It’s exactly enough," you counter.
You work your thumb in a circular, punishing motion, stretching the delicate skin while your cock continues its deep, technical demolition of her center. The dual stimulation is a total system failure for her. You watch the way her athletic thighs begin to tremble, a fine sheen of sweat coating her skin as her breath turns into a series of jagged, high-pitched hitches.
"Look at me, Momo," you rasp, pulling back just enough to see her blown-out, glazed pupils.
She forces her eyes open, her face flushed a deep, feverish pink. Just as you drive home one last, bottoming-out thrust, you press your thumb deep into her rear, the sudden intrusion triggering a violent, involuntary reaction from her core.
Momo’s back snaps into a rigid, trembling arc. Her mouth hangs open in a silent, wrecked plea as a sudden, torrential surge of clear heat erupts from her, soaking the cream leather mattress and your own thighs in a frantic, rhythmic spray. She’s squirting—the "Main Dancer" completely losing control at 45,000 feet, her internal muscles milking you with a desperate, crushing hunger.
"That's it," you mutter, watching the way her chest heaves, the midnight-blue lace of her bra long forgotten as she sobs your name into the pressurized air. "Take it all, Momo. Every bit of it."
The snap hits you like a physical explosion. You can't hold back the "Sunset Clause" any longer. The first surge of heat hits the base of your spine, a white-hot, snapping point that signals the end of your professional restraint.
The "Fasten Seatbelt" chime pings through the cabin like a countdown, a sharp contrast to the primal, rhythmic thudding of your hips against the leather. You’re right on the edge, the 6'4" frame of your body vibrating with a tension that the Gulfstream’s stabilizers can’t compensate for.
"Time's up, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, gravelly warning.
With a wet, heavy squelch, you pull out of her soaking heat just as the first surge hits the base of your spine. Momo let out a fractured, high-pitched whimper of protest, her internal muscles still pulsing in a desperate, empty rhythm. You don't give her a second to recover; you grab her by the ivory curve of her waist and haul her upright until she’s kneeling between your thighs.
"Finish the job," you command, your voice a cold, mechanical weight.
Momo doesn't hesitate. Her eyes are glazed, her face flushed a deep, feverish pink as she reaches for her own breasts. She uses her small, manicured hands to push the heavy, pale globes of her chest together, creating a deep, velvet cleavage that’s still damp with the lavender-scented sweat of her "performance."
You guide your 9-inch length into the tight, slick valley of her cleavage. The friction of her soft skin against your throbbing, violet-veined shaft is a total system failure. You start a fast, punishing rhythm, your hips snapping forward as you buried yourself between her breasts.
"Look at me, Princess," you rasp, leaning over her until your shadow swallows her whole.
She forces her eyes open, looking up through the haze of her own overstimulation. You pick up the tempo, the sound of your cock slapping against her chest echoing in the small suite. Every thrust is a heavy, technical reminder of exactly who she hired to protect her.
The snap hits you like a physical explosion. You erupt with a force that makes your spine snap straight against the headboard. The first thick surge of heat hits the center of her chest—a heavy, stinging saltiness that splashes over the midnight-blue lace of her discarded bra and coats the ivory curve of her throat. You pulse again and again, the "service" she paid for painting her skin in a frantic, rhythmic spray.
Momo doesn't flinch. She watches you through blown-out pupils, her breath coming in jagged, peppermint-scented gasps. She reaches up, using one finger to swipe a bit of the mess from her collarbone, bringing it to her lips to taste the evidence of your surrender before she looks at the window.
"We’re over New York," she whispers, her voice a wrecked, sultry rasp.
"Then fix your hair," you mutter, your hand finally relaxing its grip on her shoulder as you reach for your trousers. "The lead car is waiting at the hangar, and you have a runway to walk."
Momo gives you a dazed, triumphant smirk, her tongue flicking out to catch a stray drop from the corner of her mouth. She looks like a ruined masterpiece—the Victoria's Secret angel, christened by her bodyguard at 45,000 feet.
(Timeskip to before VSFS red carpet)
The hotel suite at the Edition New York is a frantic beehive of activity, but the bedroom is a dead-silent vault. Outside that door, a dozen stylists, publicists, and managers are screaming into phones, preparing for the Victoria’s Secret red carpet. Inside, there is only the hum of the air conditioning and the heavy, rhythmic thrum of your heartbeat.
Momo is standing in front of a full-length triptych mirror, doing a final check of the look that’s about to break the internet. She’s wearing a deep-cut, oversized black pinstripe blazer that hangs off her athletic frame with a masculine edge, but the "business" ends there. Underneath, she’s in a plunging black lace corset-style top that pushes the heavy, pale swell of her breasts upward, creating a deep, velvet cleavage that's impossible to ignore. Her hair has been dyed a rich, sultry cherry-wine red, falling in soft waves over her shoulders.
You’re standing by the door, your 6'4" frame blocking the entrance, still dressed in your tactical security suit. Your earpiece is chirping with the lead car’s arrival time, but your eyes are locked on the mirror.
"The pinstripes are a nice touch, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, vibrating rasp. "Very professional. If people ignore the fact that you’re barely contained in that lace."
Momo catches your eye in the reflection. She doesn't smile. She turns slowly, the oversized blazer flaring out as she walks toward you. She stops an inch from your chest, the scent of her high-end perfume—something with notes of dark rose and sandalwood—hitting you like a physical blow. She reaches up, her manicured fingers ghosting over the knot of your tie, before sliding down to rest over the heavy, 9-inch response already straining against your slacks.
"The stylists think it's 'power dressing,' Y/n," she whispers, her Japanese accent a jagged, sultry rasp. "But I told them the corset felt a little... tight. I think I need my head of security to help me breathe before I have to go out there and smile for five hundred cameras."
She reaches for the single button of her blazer, popping it open to reveal the full, heaving reality of her chest. The lace is straining, the dark centers of her breasts visible through the mesh as she takes a shallow, deliberate breath.
"The car is downstairs, Momo," you mutter, even as your hands find the ivory curve of her waist, pulling her flush against you. "We have exactly six minutes before the 'National Center' is late for her global debut."
"Then you better be fast," she dares, her tongue flicking out to moisten her lower lip as she looks up at you through her lashes. "Because if I walk onto that carpet without being 'satisfied,' I might just tell the press exactly what my bodyguard does during international flights."
The red light on your earpiece flickers—the lead car is idling on 24th Street—but the world outside this suite has ceased to exist. You reach out, your large hands gripping the lapels of her oversized pinstripe blazer. With a slow, deliberate tug, you slide the heavy wool off her shoulders, letting it pool onto the plush carpet like a discarded shadow.
Next come the matching trousers. You kneel before her, the 6'4" frame of your body making the gesture look less like a service and more like a tactical dismantling. You undo the button of her slacks, the silver zipper rasping in the quiet room as you drag them down her toned, dancer’s legs.
Momo stands there in the center of the suite, a vision of high-fashion ruin. She’s left only in the plunging black lace corset-style top and a pair of matching lace-trimmed silk panties that sit high on her hips, accentuating the athletic curve of her waist. The cherry-wine red of her hair glows against the ivory skin of her shoulders, her chest heaving with a rhythmic, frantic energy that strains the delicate lace of her top.
"Better?" you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration as you stand back up, stripping out of your own suit and slacks until your 9-inch reality springs free, thick and pulsing against the New York air.
"Much better," Momo breaths, her dark eyes tracking the heavy, violet-veined length of you. She reaches out, her manicured nails ghosting over your chest before she gives you a firm, commanding shove toward the vanity table. "But I think the 'Power Dresser' still has too much energy. I need you to drain it, Y/n. Now."
She doesn't wait for an answer. She turns around, bracing her small, strong hands against the edge of the marble vanity. She arches her back, her gaze catching yours in the triple-mirrors as she looks over her shoulder. The black lace of the corset frames the deep curve of her spine, her cherry-red hair falling forward to expose the pale, sensitive nape of her neck.
"Five minutes, Y/n," she sobs, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry rasp. "Make sure the 'National Center' can't even remember her own name when she hits that carpet."
You step up behind her, your heat radiating against her back. You reach down, your large hand sliding between her thighs to find the soaking, localized furnace of her center. She’s already dripping, the scent of her arousal mixing with the dark rose of her perfume.
The ticking of the clock on the bedside table is the only thing keeping time as you reach into your discarded suit jacket. The crinkle of the foil is a sharp, metallic snap in the silent suite. You roll the latex down the 9-inch length of your shaft with a practiced, steady hand, your 6'4" frame looming over her like a shadow in the vanity's LED-lit mirrors.
Momo is still braced against the marble, her cherry-red hair a vibrant contrast against the cool white stone. She’s breathing in shallow, rhythmic gasps, her black lace corset rising and falling with a frantic energy.
"The car is idling, Y/n," she whispers, her eyes locking onto yours in the center mirror. "If you're going to ruin me, do it now."
You don't give her a second to breathe. You reach down, your large hands hooking under her ivory thighs, and haul her upward. She wraps her powerful dancer's legs around your waist, her heels digging into the small of your back as you settle her onto the edge of the vanity. The movement sweeps her discarded pinstripe blazer onto the floor, leaving her exposed in nothing but the lace and your grip.
"Hold onto the marble, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, vibrating rasp.
You drive home in one deep, technical thrust, burying yourself to the hilt in her soaking, localized furnace. The displacement is massive; the air leaves her lungs in a high-pitched, fractured sob that she immediately stifles by biting her shoulder. The plunging lace of her top strains to the breaking point as you start a punishing, rhythmic pace that makes the heavy vanity table rattle against the wall.
"You're... you're too much," she gasps, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry rasp. Her head tosses back, her neck arching as she feels the broad head of your cock bottoming out with every heavy, wet thud of your hips.
"I'm exactly what you paid for," you counter, your hands sliding up to grip her waist, pinning her down onto your heat.
You're relentless, your body primed by the high-stakes pressure of the New York event. Every thrust is a deep, predatory invasion, the latex-slicked friction creating a heat that seems to melt the air in the room. You watch her reflection—the global icon, the "Main Dancer," reduced to a trembling, lace-clad ruin under the weight of her bodyguard.
"Five minutes, Princess," you mutter, your heart rate finally hitting the red line. "Let's see if those wings can actually fly."
The heavy, rhythmic thud of your hips against the marble vanity is the only sound in the suite, save for the frantic, shallow hitches of Momo’s breath. Outside, the muffled honk of a New York yellow cab cuts through the silence, but here, the 6'4" frame of your body is a pressurized furnace, and the "Sunset Clause" is reaching its absolute breaking point.
"Look at yourself, Momo," you growl, your voice a dark, vibrating rasp against the sensitive shell of her ear.
She forces her eyes open, her gaze locking onto yours in the triptych mirror. She’s a vision of high-fashion wreckage—her cherry-red hair tousled over her shoulders, her plunging black lace corset straining with every panicked heartbeat, her powerful dancer’s legs locked tight around your waist.
"The car is waiting," she sobs, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry plea as she feels the heavy, pulsing snap hit the base of your spine. "Y/n... please... now!"
You don't pull back. You reach down, your large hands hooking under her ivory thighs to pull her flush against you, burying your 9-inch length to the absolute hilt. You drive home one last, world-ending thrust that rattles the expensive perfume bottles on the vanity.
You erupt inside the latex, the first thick surge of heat hitting her core with a violent, rhythmic intensity. You pulse again and again, your forehead resting against her damp shoulder as you fill the condom to its limit. Momo’s back snaps into a rigid, trembling arc, her internal muscles milking you in a desperate, involuntary spasm that lasts long after the "Fasten Seatbelt" chime of your own self-control has faded.
"That's it," you mutter, your voice a low, gravelly vibration. "Carry that weight onto the carpet, Princess."
Momo let out a long, shaky exhale, her head thumping back against your chest as her legs finally lose their grip, sliding down your hips. She stays pinned there for a moment, her chest heaving, the black lace of her top damp with the sweat of her "pre-event" performance.
You step back, the wet, suctioning sound of your withdrawal the only thing breaking the quiet. You strip off the protection, tie it in a knot, and discard it with a cold, professional efficiency. The "Bodyguard" is back before the sweat has even cooled on her skin.
"Four minutes, Momo," you say, your voice returning to its neutral, protective drone as you reach for your discarded white shirt. "The stylist is going to need every second of that to fix your hair and re-pin that corset. Don't make me tell them why you're walking with a limp."
Momo stands up, her knees visibly shaky as she reaches for her black pinstripe trousers. She gives you one last, dazed, and triumphant smirk in the mirror, her eyes dark with the secret you both share.
"They'll just think I'm 'in character' for the show, Y/n," she whispers, her fingers tracing the edge of the marble where your hands just were. "But we know the truth. I'm an angel because you're the one who keeps me grounded."
(Timeskip to backstage before the show)
The chaos of the Victoria's Secret backstage is a sensory overload—shouting hair stylists, the smell of hairspray, and the distant, rhythmic bass of the opening set vibrating through the floorboards of the Lexington Avenue Armory. But the private dressing room assigned to Momo is a temporary island of silence.
Momo stands before the mirror, the "National Center" preparing for the walk of her life. She has shed the pinstripe suit, now dressed in her performance base: a leopard-print lace teddy that cinches her waist, topped with a pale pink, push-up feathered bra that forces her cleavage into a deep, inviting valley. Over it all, she wears the iconic pink and white striped VS robe, the rhinestone wings on the back shimmering under the harsh fluorescent vanity lights.
You are stationed just inside the door, your 6'4" frame acting as the final barrier between her and the world. You’ve tightened your tie, but your eyes are fixed on her reflection.
"The red carpet photos are already trending, Momo," you growl, your voice a low vibration that cuts through the muffled noise outside. "They’re calling you the 'Ethereal Angel.' If only they could see the 'Angel' right now."
Momo turns, the silk of her robe fluttering open to reveal the high-cut line of the leopard lace. She catches your gaze in the mirror, her expression shifting from focused professional to something much darker. She reaches out, her manicured fingers catching the lapels of your suit jacket, pulling you into the narrow space between her and the vanity.
"The wings are heavy, Y/n," she whispers, her Japanese accent a jagged, breathless rasp. She reaches behind her, untying the silk sash of the robe until it falls open completely, exposing the pale pink feathers and the way her skin is still slightly flushed from the New York heat. "I think I need a shot of adrenaline before I hit that runway. A 'security check' to make sure I don't stumble."
She presses herself against you, the soft feathers of her bra brushing against your dress shirt as she looks up at you. Her hand slides down, finding the 9-inch reality of your response already straining against your trousers.
"The show starts in ten minutes," you mutter, your large hands finding the ivory curve of her waist, your thumbs hooking into the high-cut lace of the teddy. "Your manager is right outside that door."
"Then don't let her hear me," Momo dares, a dazed, triumphant smirk touching her lips as she reaches for your belt. "Use that big hand of yours to keep me quiet while you remind me why I'm the one who gets to wear the wings."
The bass from the runway stage is a physical throb in the dressing room walls, a countdown to the moment Momo has to step into the light. You don't waste a second. You grab her by the waist, your large hands spanning the entire width of her torso, and spin her around to face the mirror.
"Look at the 'Angel' they're waiting for," you growl, your voice a dark, vibrating rasp against the back of her neck.
You reach down, hooking your fingers into the hem of the pink and white striped VS robe. You hike it up past her waist, exposing the leopard-print lace of her teddy and the powerful, ivory curve of her dancer's thighs. With your other hand, you make short work of your own belt and zipper, your 9-inch length springing free, thick and pulsing with a heavy, technical demand.
Momo's breath hitches, her hands flying to the edge of the marble vanity to brace herself. She watches your reflection in the mirror—the 6'4" frame of her bodyguard looming over her, a predatory shadow in a room full of lace and feathers.
"Y/n... the call time," she gasps, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry plea. "They're going to... they're going to come looking for me."
"Then we better be thorough," you counter.
You drive home from behind in one deep, bottoming-out thrust. The displacement is massive; Momo’s back snaps into a rigid arc, the pale pink feathers of her bra shivering as she let out a high, fractured shriek that you immediately smother by pressing your face into the side of her neck. You start a punishing, rhythmic pace, the heavy, wet thud of your hips against her glutes timed to the muffled beat of the show's opening track.
Every thrust is a deep, predatory invasion. In the mirror, Momo looks like a ruined masterpiece—her cherry-red hair tousled, her eyes glazed and blown-out, her hands white-knuckled as she grips the vanity. The rhinestone wings on the back of her robe shimmer with every violent jolt of your body, a frantic, shimmering strobe light in the dim room.
"You're shaking, Momo," you mutter, your hand sliding forward to cup one of the pale pink feathered cups, squeezing the heavy weight of her breast as you drive home again. "Is the 'National Center' getting stage fright, or is she just realizing she’s owned by her security detail?"
"I... I’m yours," she sobs, her head tossing back against your shoulder. "Always... just... don't stop! I need to feel it... before I go out there!"
The pounding on the dressing room door is frantic now, the stage manager’s voice muffled by the heavy wood but clear in its urgency: "Momo-san! Three minutes! Curtains up!"
The 6'4" frame of your body is a pressurized furnace, and the "Sunset Clause" is reaching its absolute breaking point. You don't slow down; you pick up the pace, the heavy, rhythmic thud of your hips against her glutes echoing in the small room.
"You're going to walk that runway with my mark on you, Princess," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration against the back of her neck.
With a wet, heavy squelch, you pull out of her soaking heat just as the first surge hits the base of your spine. Momo let out a fractured, high-pitched whimper of protest, her internal muscles still pulsing in a desperate, empty rhythm as she clutches the vanity.
You reach forward, your large hand tangling in her cherry-red hair to pull her head back, forcing her to watch her own reflection in the mirror. You erupt with a violent, rhythmic intensity, the first thick surge of heat hitting the center of her back, splashing over the rhinestone wings of her striped VS robe. You pulse again and again, the "service" she paid for painting the leopard-print lace of her teddy and the ivory skin of her lower back in a frantic, rhythmic spray.
Momo doesn't flinch. She watches the evidence of your surrender coat her "performance" gear, a dazed, triumphant smirk touching her lips. She can feel the warmth of your release soaking through the lace, a physical weight she’ll carry under the bright lights of the Armory.
"That's it," you mutter, your voice a low, gravelly rasp as you step back to adjust your trousers. "Now go be an angel for the world."
Momo stands up, her knees visibly shaky as she reaches for the silk sash of her robe. She doesn't wipe it off. She simply pulls the pink and white striped silk closed, the wetness of your mark acting as a secret layer between the high-fashion fantasy and the raw, physical reality of her bodyguard.
"The fans will wonder why I'm smiling so much during the finale, Y/n," she whispers, her fingers tracing the rhinestone wings on her back before she turns to the door. "But they’ll never know it’s because I’m still carrying your heat under my wings."
She gives you one last, predatory wink before sliding her designer sunglasses on and stepping out into the neon chaos of the backstage, leaving the scent of peppermint and sex lingering in the air.
(Timeskip to after show, still in the dressing room)
The heavy backstage door hasn't even fully clicked shut before the room is flooded with the rest of the "Angel" lineup. The air, already thick with the scent of your recent "security check," suddenly turns electric as Jihyo, Tzuyu, and Nayeon breeze in, their heels clicking sharply against the floor.
They’re a coordinated assault of high-fashion lace and pink fur. Jihyo is in a lethal black leopard-print corset that cinches her waist to an impossible degree, while Tzuyu and Nayeon are draped in various shades of soft pink lace and silk, their legs disappearing into massive, oversized pink fur boots.
"Momo-rin, you're late for the lineup," Nayeon chirps, her voice playful as she stops just short of you, her eyes immediately darting from your 6'4" frame to the slightly flushed state of Momo’s face. She sniffs the air once, her smirk widening. "And why does it smell like... 'hard work' in here?"
Jihyo leans against the vanity, her own black leopard lace straining as she crosses her arms. She looks at you, her gaze professional but with a dangerous, knowing glint. "We were wondering where our head of security went. The hallway was completely unguarded. Very unprofessional, Y/n."
"I was performing a final stress test on the client's equipment," you growl, your voice a deep, vibrating rasp that seems to resonate in the small room.
Tzuyu walks over to Momo, her height nearly matching yours as she reaches out to adjust the rhinestone wings on Momo's robe. Her hand pauses as she touches the damp, warm fabric where your surrender still clings to the silk. She looks at her fingers, then back at you, her expression a mix of shock and dazed curiosity.
"It's a very... intense stress test," Tzuyu whispers, her voice a low, melodic thrum.
"The show starts in five minutes," Nayeon says, walking closer until her pink lace top is brushing against your dress shirt. She reaches up, her manicured nails ghosting over your jawline. "But the runway is so long... and we're all feeling a little bit 'unsecured.' Don't you think the rest of the team deserves a quick check-up before we have to go out there and be perfect?"
Momo doesn't look jealous. She gives you a dazed, triumphant smirk, leaning back against the marble as she watches her sisters surround you. "He's very thorough, unnie," she breaths, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry rasp. "But I think even a 6'4" bodyguard might have his hands full with four Angels at once."
The high-octane adrenaline of the Victoria's Secret runway is still vibrating through the room, a mix of ozone, expensive hairspray, and the raw, electric hum of a successful global debut. But as the heavy deadbolt clicks shut in the private dressing room, the "Angels" aren't celebrating with champagne. They’re looking at you.
Momo, Nayeon, Jihyo, and Tzuyu are a vision of high-fashion wreckage. Their hair is artfully tousled from the runway wind machines, their skin glowing under a layer of shimmer-body oil and the sweat of a twenty-minute high-energy performance.
"The show is over, Y/n," Jihyo breathes, her black leopard-print corset heaving with every ragged breath. She walks toward the long vanity mirror, her heels clicking a rhythmic predatory beat. "But we’re still wound up. The cameras are gone, the fans are screaming outside... and we’re stuck in here with the only man who knows what we look like when the wings come off."
"Line up," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that seems to rattle the framed mirrors.
You don't ask. You command. Your 6'4" frame looms over them as they obey with a dazed, hungry compliance. You line them up against the mirrors—a row of the world’s most desired women, draped in pink fur boots, leopard lace, and sheer silk.
Nayeon is first, her back arched against the glass, her pink lace top strained to the breaking point. Tzuyu stands next to her, her long, elegant limbs trembling as she watches your reflection. Jihyo is third, her hands already bracing against the marble, and Momo—still carrying the faint, drying mark of your pre-show "check"—takes the end of the line, a triumphant smirk on her lips.
"You wanted to know why Momo was walking with a limp?" you rasp, stripping out of your trousers until your 9-inch reality springs free, thick and pulsing with a heavy, technical demand. "Now you’re all going to find out."
You start at the end of the line, grabbing Nayeon by her tiny waist and hauling her back against you. You drive home in one deep, bottoming-out thrust, the displacement making her let out a high, fractured shriek that echoes off the vanity. You don't stay long; you give her ten punishing, rhythmic hits before moving to Tzuyu, her eyes blowing out as she feels the sheer girth of you stretching her internal muscles to the limit.
By the time you reach Jihyo, the room is a symphony of wrecked, multilingual pleas. You bury yourself in her black leopard-print heat, your large hands pinning her shoulders against the mirror.
"You're all going to carry this 'security' back to the hotel," you mutter, your heart rate hitting the red line as the dual scent of their perfumes and their shared arousal fills the cramped space. "Every single one of you."
The air in the dressing room is thick enough to taste—a heavy, humid haze of expensive floral perfume, ozone from the stage lights, and the raw, musky scent of four "Angels" completely unraveled. You back away from the mirrors, your 6'4" frame a towering silhouette of dark, muscular intent as you gesture toward the oversized, plush charcoal lounge sofa in the corner.
"On the sofa. All of you," you growl, your voice a deep, vibrating rasp that leaves no room for negotiation.
They move with a dazed, rhythmic compliance, a sea of pink fur boots, leopard-print lace, and sheer silk collapsing onto the deep cushions. Nayeon and Tzuyu are tangled together on the left, their long, shimmer-coated legs draped over each other, while Jihyo claims the center, her black lace corset heaving with every shallow breath. Momo crawls over to the right, her cherry-red hair a vibrant contrast against the dark fabric.
You don't sit. You stand over them, your 9-inch reality thick and pulsing in the dim, amber-tinged light of the backstage area.
"The show might be over for the cameras," you mutter, your heart rate hitting the red line as you look down at the four most famous women in Asia, "but the 'Sunset Clause' is just getting started. I want to see exactly how much of that 'Angel' energy you have left."
Jihyo reaches out first, her manicured nails digging into your thighs as she pulls you toward her. She takes the broad, weeping head of your cock into her mouth, her eyes locked on yours with a fierce, predatory hunger. Nayeon leans in from the side, her soft, peppermint-scented breath hot against your neck as she whispers jagged, breathless praise in Korean.
Tzuyu is a silent, elegant wreck, her long fingers ghosting over your tensed abs, while Momo—the one who started this high-altitude fever—reaches for your hand, pressing your palm against her own damp, leopard-covered chest.
"We're all yours, Y/n," Momo sobs, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry rasp. "No managers. No fans. Just... finish us."
You move with a relentless, technical efficiency, shifting from one to the next in a blur of lace and skin. You take Tzuyu first, her back snapping into a rigid arc as you bury yourself to the hilt, her pink fur boots kicking uselessly against the sofa. Then you move to Nayeon, her high-pitched, fractured shrieks muffled by the heavy dressing room walls as you drive home with a punishing, rhythmic pace.
The room is a symphony of wrecked, multilingual pleas. Every thrust is a deep, predatory invasion, the displacement of your girth stretching them all to their absolute limits. You’re the only thing keeping them grounded while the world outside is still screaming their names.
The snap hits you like a physical explosion. You can feel the first thick surge of heat hitting the base of your spine—a white-hot, snapping point that signals the end of your professional restraint.
The "Sunset Clause" is a physical weight now, a localized storm of heat and friction in the dim dressing room. You pull out of Nayeon with a wet, heavy suction, your 9-inch reality pulsing with a rhythmic, technical demand that seems to vibrate through the charcoal fabric of the sofa.
You turn your focus to Jihyo. The "Leader" is sprawled in the center of the cushions, her black leopard-print corset pushed down to her waist, leaving the heavy, pale swell of her breasts completely exposed to the harsh fluorescent light. Her chest is heaving, her skin coated in a fine sheen of shimmer-oil and sweat from the runway.
"You've been remarkably quiet, Jihyo," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration. "Let's see if that professional composure holds up under a real 'security check'."
You drop to your knees between her powerful, ivory thighs, your large hands spanning the entire width of her ribcage to pin her down. You bury your face in the soft, lavender-scented heat of her chest, your tongue swirling around one dark, tensed nipple before you take the entire aching weight of her breast into your mouth.
Jihyo let out a high, fractured shriek that makes Tzuyu and Nayeon jump, her fingers tangling in your hair as she arches her back off the sofa. You suckle her with a punishing, hungry pressure, your teeth grazing the sensitive underside of her breast until her professional mask completely shatters.
"Y/n... oh god... please," she sobs, her voice a wrecked, sultry rasp.
You don't slow down. While you maintain the suction on her chest, you reach down with your free hand, your fingers finding the soaking, localized furnace of her center. You work her with a relentless, rhythmic precision, your thumb tracing the swollen pearl of her clit while your fingers drive deep into her internal heat.
The dual stimulation is a total demolition of her system. You watch the way her eyes roll back, her breath turning into a series of jagged, high-pitched hitches.
"Look at them, Jihyo," you rasp, pulling back just long enough to see her blown-out, glazed pupils. "Show your team exactly how the 'Leader' handles the pressure."
Jihyo's back snaps into a rigid, trembling arc. Her mouth hangs open in a silent, wrecked plea as a sudden, torrential surge of clear heat erupts from her, soaking your hand and the charcoal sofa in a frantic, rhythmic spray. She’s squirting—the most composed "Angel" in the lineup completely losing control, her internal muscles pulsing in a desperate, pleading spasm around your fingers.
Momo watches from the side, a dazed, triumphant smirk touching her lips as she reaches out to stroke Jihyo’s trembling thigh. "I told you, unnie. He doesn't leave anyone 'unsecured'."
The snap hits you like a physical explosion. You can feel the first thick surge of heat hitting the base of your spine—a white-hot, snapping point that signals the absolute end of your professional restraint.
The "Sunset Clause" finally hits the red line. Jihyo is a gasping, leopard-clad ruin beneath you, her ivory thighs still trembling from the aftershocks of her release. You don't give her a second to breathe; you hike her hips up, pinning her spine against the charcoal cushions as you drive home in one final, bottoming-out thrust.
"Take it, Jihyo," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that drowns out the muffled bass from the arena.
You erupt deep inside the protection, the first thick surge of heat hitting her core with a violent, rhythmic intensity. You pulse again and again, your 6'4" frame locking rigid as you fill the latex to its absolute limit. Jihyo’s eyes roll back, her fingers digging into the muscle of your forearms as she sobs your name into the salt-sweet air of the dressing room.
You step back with a wet, suctioning sound, the "Security Detail" returning to your eyes even as the sweat cools on your skin. You discard the evidence with a cold, mechanical efficiency, and turn your gaze to the rest of the squad.
Nayeon is sprawled on the left, her pink lace and fur boots a chaotic mess of silk and shimmer-oil. Tzuyu is sitting up, her long, elegant limbs tucked under her as she watches you through blown-out, dazed pupils. Momo is still the triumphant architect of this madness, her cherry-red hair tousled as she leans back against the vanity.
"Jihyo is 'secured' for the night," you mutter, your voice a low, gravelly rasp as you reach for your white dress shirt. "But we still have the flight back to Seoul, and I haven't even started on the 'International Protocol' for the rest of you."
Nayeon crawls forward, her manicured nails ghosting over your tensed abs. "I think the 'Center' needs a more personal debriefing, Y/n. Jihyo-unnie might be the leader, but I'm the one who has to face the press tomorrow morning. I need to be... centered."
Tzuyu stands up, her height making her the most imposing "Angel" in the room. She walks toward you, her pink lace bra shivering with every step. She doesn't say a word, but she reaches out, her hand sliding down to find the 9-inch response already stirring again under the pressure of her gaze.
"The SUV is waiting at the service entrance," you rasp, looking from Nayeon’s playful hunger to Tzuyu’s silent, elegant demand. "We have a thirty-minute drive to JFK in a vehicle with tinted windows and a soundproof partition."
The stage manager’s voice is a distant, frantic ghost through the heavy oak door, but the interior of the dressing room is a pressurized chamber of high-fashion ruin. You ignore the "All-Clear" signal from your earpiece, your 6'4" frame pivoting toward the most silent, statuesque "Angel" in the room.
Tzuyu stands as tall as your shoulder, her long, elegant limbs shimmering with a fine coat of body glitter and the sweat of the finale. She’s draped in a pale pink lace bodysuit that leaves her long, athletic midriff exposed, ending in those massive, oversized pink fur boots. She doesn't say a word, but her dazed, blown-out pupils track the 9-inch reality of your response as it pulses against the New York air.
"You’ve been watching the whole time, Tzuyu," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that seems to vibrate through the marble vanity behind her. "Waiting for your 'security clearance'."
You don't wait for her to move. You grab her by the ivory curve of her waist, your large hands spanning the entire width of her torso, and haul her back against the vanity. You spin her around, pinning her spine against the mirror. The pale pink feathers of her bra shiver against your dress shirt as you hike her lace bodysuit up past her hips, exposing the long, flawless line of her dancer's legs.
"The others... they're watching," she whispers, her voice a low, melodic thrum that breaks as you drive home in one deep, bottoming-out thrust.
The displacement is massive; the air leaves her lungs in a high-pitched, fractured sob. Tzuyu’s head thumps back against the glass, her cherry-red hair (matching Momo's tour style) splaying out like a halo. You start a fast, punishing, rhythmic pace that makes the makeup brushes on the vanity rattle in a frantic, metallic chorus.
"Let them watch," you rasp, your hands sliding up to grip her shoulders, pinning her down onto your heat. "Show the 'National Center' and the 'Leader' exactly why you're the one they save for the finale."
Tzuyu is a silent, elegant wreck. She doesn't scream; she just hitches her breath in a series of jagged, peppermint-scented gasps, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of your forearms until she draws blood. Every thrust is a deep, technical invasion, the friction of your girth stretching her internal muscles to the absolute limit.
In the mirror, Nayeon and Jihyo watch from the sofa, their eyes glazed and hungry, while Momo maintains her triumphant smirk, her hand ghosting over her own damp chest as she watches you dismantle the youngest member of the squad.
The snap hits you like a physical explosion. You can feel the first thick surge of heat hitting the base of your spine—a white-hot, snapping point that signals the end of your professional restraint.
The 6'4" frame of your body uncoils with a violent, rhythmic urgency as the "Sunset Clause" hits the absolute red line. You don't give Tzuyu a second to recover from the deep, technical demolition of her center. With a wet, heavy suction, you pull out of her soaking heat, the 9-inch reality of your response pulsing with a frantic, violet-veined demand.
"Down," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that makes the vanity mirrors rattle.
Tzuyu doesn't hesitate. The "Angel" of the group drops to her knees with a professional, predatory grace, her pale pink lace bodysuit straining against her athletic frame. Her long, elegant neck arches as she looks up at you through blown-out, dazed pupils, her cherry-red hair splayed over her shoulders like a ruined halo.
You don't wait for an invitation. You grab her by the ivory curve of her jaw, your thumb forcing her mouth open as you drive the broad, weeping head of your cock past her teeth. The displacement is massive; she let out a muffled, high-pitched whimper of surprise as you bottom out against the back of her throat, your hips snapping forward with a relentless, rhythmic pace.
"Look at me, Tzuyu," you rasp, your heart rate hitting the red line.
She forces her eyes to lock onto yours, her manicured nails digging into the hard muscle of your thighs as she takes the entire aching weight of you. The sight of the world's most elegant "Angel" reduced to a trembling, lace-clad wreck at your feet is a total system failure for your restraint.
The snap hits you like a physical explosion. You erupt with a force that makes your spine snap straight against the edge of the vanity. The first thick surge of heat hits the back of her throat—a heavy, stinging saltiness that she swallows with a desperate, rhythmic gulp. You pulse again and again, the "security check" painting her tongue and the corners of her mouth in a frantic, localized spray.
Tzuyu doesn't flinch. She stays there, her breath coming in jagged, peppermint-scented gasps, as she tastes the evidence of your total surrender. She reaches up, using one finger to swipe a stray drop from her chin before looking back at the mirror.
Momo, Nayeon, and Jihyo are watching from the sofa, their eyes glazed and hungry, their own leopard lace and pink fur a chaotic mess of high-fashion ruin.
"The SUV is idling at the service entrance," you mutter, your voice a low, gravelly rasp as you reach for your discarded white shirt. "We have a thirty-minute drive to JFK, and I still have two 'Angels' who haven't been properly briefed on the international flight protocol."
Nayeon crawls forward, her tongue flicking over her lower lip as she watches Tzuyu stand up with shaky, shimmer-coated legs. "I think the 'Center' is ready for her turn, Y/n. The armored SUV has very... comfortable leather."
The heavy, armored door of the Cadillac Escalade thuds shut with a vacuum-sealed click, instantly killing the roar of the New York paparazzi outside. The interior is a cavern of charcoal leather, starlight headlining, and the faint, expensive scent of the girls’ mixed perfumes. The soundproof partition is up, and the tinted windows turn the neon blur of Manhattan into a muted, gray ghost.
You’re sitting on the bench seat, your 6'4" frame taking up nearly half the cabin. Your white dress shirt is unbuttoned halfway, your tie discarded on the floor mat.
Nayeon doesn't wait for the SUV to pull out of the hangar. She crawls across the plush carpet, her oversized pink fur boots shedding soft tufts against the leather. She’s still in her pink lace performance bra, her skin glowing with a feverish, post-show heat.
"The others are in the lead car, Y/n," she purrs, her voice a jagged, peppermint-scented rasp as she straddles your thighs. "It’s just us. And thirty miles of highway."
She reaches for your belt, her manicured nails snagging on the leather in her haste. When your 9-inch reality springs free, thick and pulsing against the climate-controlled air, she let out a low, needy whimper. She doesn't hesitate; she hooks her fingers into the waistband of her own lace panties and kicks them into the footwell.
"I watched what you did to Tzuyu," she whispers, her dark eyes locking onto yours as she guided the broad, weeping head of your cock to her entrance. "Now I want to see if the 'Center' can handle the same 'security' protocol."
You grab her by the ivory curve of her waist, your thumbs digging into the soft dip of her hips as you pull her down. You drive home in one deep, technical invasion, the displacement of your girth making her back snap into a rigid arc against the seatback. Nayeon’s mouth hangs open in a silent, wrecked plea, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of your shoulders as the SUV hits the bumps of the Midtown Tunnel.
"Keep your voice down, Nayeon," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that matches the hum of the V8 engine. "The driver might not hear through the partition, but I want to hear every hitch in your breath while I dismantle you."
You start a fast, punishing, rhythmic pace. Every time the Cadillac brakes or accelerates, you drive deeper, bottoming out against her internal heat until she’s sobbing your name into the dark. Her pink lace top is a ruined scrap as you reach up to knead the heavy, pale weight of her breasts, your thumbs grazing her tensed nipples while you maintain a relentless, high-speed pace.
"Y/n... oh god... it’s... it’s too much!" she gasps, her head tossing back as her cherry-red hair whips against the tinted glass.
The hum of the Escalade’s V8 engine vibrates through the floorboards, matching the dark, rhythmic thud of your hips against the charcoal leather. You maintain your position, your 6'4" frame pinning Nayeon against the seatback as you drive home with a relentless, technical precision that stretches the pink lace of her bodysuit to its absolute limit.
"You're the 'Center,' Nayeon," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration against her damp collarbone. "Show me how you maintain focus when everything is falling apart."
You reach down, your large hand sliding between your joined bodies to find the swollen, soaking pearl of her clit. You start a fast, circular motion with your thumb, your fingers driving deep into her internal heat alongside your 9-inch length.
Nayeon let out a high, fractured shriek that she immediately chokes back, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of your forearms. Her cherry-red hair is a chaotic mess against the tinted window, her eyes blown-out and glazed as she watches the blur of the Van Wyck Expressway through the glass.
"Y/n... oh god... please!" she sobs, her voice a wrecked, peppermint-scented rasp.
"Don't stop," you command, your voice a cold, mechanical weight. "Finish it yourself. Right now."
Nayeon doesn't hesitate. She reaches down, her own manicured fingers joining yours in the frantic, wet friction of her center. The dual stimulation is a total demolition of her system. You watch the way her athletic thighs begin to tremble, the oversized pink fur boots kicking uselessly against the footwell as she hits her peak.
Her back snaps into a rigid, trembling arc. Her mouth hangs open in a silent, wrecked plea as a sudden, torrential surge of clear heat erupts from her, soaking the leather and your own thighs in a frantic, rhythmic spray. She’s squirting—the most famous "Center" in the world completely losing control in the back of an armored SUV, her internal muscles milking you with a desperate, crushing hunger.
The snap hits you like a physical explosion. You can feel the first thick surge of heat hitting the base of your spine—a white-hot, snapping point that signals the end of your professional restraint.
The hum of the tires on the JFK tarmac is a low, vibrating drone that matches the frantic thrum of your own pulse. You don't give Nayeon a second to recover from her own collapse. You reach out, your large hands hooking under her ivory thighs to pull her flush against your chest, burying your 9-inch length to the absolute hilt in one final, world-ending thrust.
"Carry this across the Pacific, Nayeon," you growl, your voice a dark, guttural vibration that seems to rattle the armored glass of the SUV.
You erupt deep inside the protection, the first thick surge of heat hitting her core with a violent, rhythmic intensity. You pulse again and again, your 6'4" frame locking rigid as you fill the latex to its absolute limit. Nayeon’s eyes roll back, her fingers digging into the hard muscle of your shoulders as she sobs your name into the cool, recycled air of the cabin. Her pink lace top is damp with sweat, her cherry-red hair a vibrant, tangled mess against the charcoal leather.
You step back with a wet, suctioning sound just as the Escalade pulls to a stop beside the gleaming silver hull of the Gulfstream G700. You discard the evidence with a cold, mechanical efficiency, the "Security Detail" returning to your eyes even as the heat still radiates from your skin.
"We’re here, Nayeon," you mutter, your voice a low, gravelly rasp as you reach for your discarded white shirt. "Adjust your lace. The ground crew is waiting."
Nayeon stays slumped against the seat for a moment, her chest heaving, the oversized pink fur boots still trembling. She gives you one last, dazed, and triumphant smirk, her eyes dark with the secret you’ve just branded into her. She reaches for her pink silk robe, wrapping it tight over the ruined lace.
"They'll think I'm just tired from the show, Y/n," she whispers, her fingers tracing the edge of the seat where you just held her. "But I'll feel you with every step I take up those stairs."
The door opens, and the crisp night air of the runway rushes in. You step out first, your towering frame a silent, protective shadow as the rest of the squad—Momo, Jihyo, and Tzuyu—exit their lead car, their eyes immediately finding yours.
The low hum of the Gulfstream G700’s engines transitions into a powerful, rhythmic roar as the jet lifts off from the JFK tarmac, banking steeply over the Atlantic. Below, the glittering lights of Manhattan begin to fade into a dark, oceanic void, leaving the cabin—and the four women inside—isolated in a pressurized world of silk, lace, and high-altitude heat.
In the dim, amber glow of the main cabin, the "Angel" squad is a vision of coordinated exhaustion and lingering electricity. Jihyo is slumped in a leather captain's chair, her black leopard-print corset finally loosened; Tzuyu and Nayeon are tangled together on the long silk divan, their pink fur boots discarded on the plush carpet; and Momo stands by the window, her cherry-red hair caught in the moonlight as she watches the wingtip cut through the clouds.
You stand at the threshold of the master suite, your 6'4" frame a silent, dark silhouette against the galley lights. Your white dress shirt is unbuttoned to the waist, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the tensed, powerful muscle of your forearms.
"The flight plan to Seoul is fourteen hours," you growl, your voice a deep, vibrating rasp that seems to resonate through the cabin's frame. "The 'Sunset Clause' doesn't expire until we touch down at Incheon."
Momo turns, a dazed, triumphant smirk touching her lips as she catches your gaze. She reaches for the silk sash of her striped VS robe, letting it fall open to reveal the leopard-print lace that still carries the faint, drying evidence of your earlier "security check."
"Then I suggest you get some rest, Y/n," she whispers, her Japanese accent a wrecked, sultry thrum. "Because we have a lot of 'international protocols' to get through before the sun comes up."
The "National Center," the "Leader," and the "Angels" all watch as you close the heavy soundproof door to the master suite, the metallic click of the lock signaling the start of the most private performance of their careers.
~Twice's Nayeon (x Male Reader), Smut, 2.1 k words, Oneshot
Read it on Fanprose
A/N 1: PLEASE DON'T JUDGE ME
A/N 2: Another one shot and PURE bfh. Written in like 2 hours. Please see author's note 1
My apologies, dear reader, but this is not a story about the birds and the bees. There will be no perverse penetration, no repulsive reproduction, not even a smidge of foul fetus making.
It will, however, be raucous enough to feature other such deplorable acts, the likes of which I shall keep you oblivious— for story purposes, thank you very much.
---
The lecture hall stood empty, projector humming as it shined rays of blue onto the empty screen. Even Professor Hark had left, rolling his eyes.
Save for two, of course. You, the undergrad student with certainly not enough time to be conversing about stupid things, and Nayeon, the TA who happily indulged in conversations less than intellectual.
You leaned back in one of the shitty plastic chairs the architect of this establishment deemed studious. “Oh, come on. You think it would be better to be a bee? What the fuck would you do as a bee,” you said in that tone you always took, the one that egged her on.
Nayeon crossed her bare legs on Professor Hark’s soft wheely chair, still a respectable distance away from the first row of desks you sat at. “Save the world? Bees pollinate a third of the world’s crops. What do birds do?” She asked, raising her eyebrows.
Always coming with facts. Arguing with your TA wasn’t always easy. Not that you’d ever let that stop you. “Birds umm— keep the seed population in check. Probably.”
“They eat worms and poop.”
“Better than what bees eat! Isn’t honey like, their own vomit?”
“You don’t like honey?” She asked.
You rolled your eyes. “That’s not what I said.”
“Then what are you saying?” She uncrossed her legs, skirt way too short for what a TA at a respectable university should’ve been wearing.
“That I’d rather be a bird than a bee,” you said shortly.
“That’s your premise. You haven’t given me any supporting arguments. Just like that paper you handed in last week. Didn’t I tell you? You need to show your work.” She said in that playful voice she always used.
You stuttered. She had a point. That big C on your last paper wasn’t an outlier for you, it was an average. “Well— just ask the tutorial next week. I’m sure they’d agree with me.”
“Still not arguing anything,” she rolled her eyes. “Just admit it, I won.”
You sat up straighter in your chair, unwilling to give in. “Well— you didn’t show your work either!”
“I gave you statistics showing why bees are important for the earth,” she smiled, challenging.
“That still doesn’t show why it would be better to be a bee. We’re arguing experience, not impact!”
“So, your argument then, is that eating worms is better than eating honey?” She eyed you with that look, challenging yes, but also something else. Something that signaled fire.
“I-It—,” you stuttered.
Nayeon stood up, long bare legs glowing in the fluorescent lights of the classroom, top 2 buttons of her shirt unbuttoned revealing her alluring cleavage. You tried to peel your eyes off of her, but her long flowing hair and even longer legs made that impossible. “Here’s my thesis: eating as a bird is worse,” she said slowly, grabbing the apple from the desk that always seemed to be there. She took slow, long strides towards you. “Now let me show my work,” she mocked, taking a bite from the fruit.
She chewed it long and slow, exaggerating every chomp of her teeth. The hypnotizing movement of her hips as she strutted towards you stopped whatever half assed argument you were coming up with.
She stopped at your desk, towering over you as you sat. She let the crunch of the apple talk for her. She was close— closer than she had ever been to you, closer than any TA should have been to their student.
She swallowed with exaggeration, letting out a soft gasp. Her large round eyes peered at you from above in excitement. “How about it?” She teased, raising the apple back to her mouth. She took a soft, slow bite. Slow enough you could see her lips enclose on it, see the bit she took swirl as her tongue moved it inside of her mouth.
You sat there shocked, mouth agape. You knew what she was insinuating, knew what came next, but god fucking dammit it was crazy. She was going to feed you like a bird? Here? Right after class?
Your remarks were snuffed as your mouth instinctively opened— not by much, maybe half a centimeter. She noticed. A light gleamed in her eye, mouth now closed, cheeks full. Like this, she kind of looked like a chipmunk. Or a bunny. Yeah, a bunny.
A hand on your shoulder, leaning down low so you could see her cleavage. Yup. You were fucked. Her eyes stayed locked on yours as her lips hovered over your own. This was all too much. Resolve now gone, you tilted your head back, mouth opening even wider.
Nayeon smiled through the apple still lodged in her mouth; then she released it, right into yours. Strings of saliva dropped, connecting the apple in your mouth to hers.
It tasted sweet and warm and unmistakably Nayeon. She stayed there, hovering too close, watching you.
All this over a fucking argument. All this to prove it would be better to be a bee. But right now, without a shadow of a doubt, you wouldn’t be anyone but yourself.
It was mushy, so much so you could’ve easily swallowed it. But you let it sit there. You held it in your mouth as Nayeon hovered over you.
“See? It’s gross,” she said, smiling like she’d won. Her hand was still on your shoulder, her body leaned over and trapping you.
You finally swallowed, letting out a relieved huff of air. Your breath shook, probably not from the lack of oxygen.
Nayeon’s breathing started to match your own, this unspoken tension between you two, between student and TA. All coalescing into an apple, a bird and a bee.
Your eyes flicked to her lips. “S— still better than a bee,” you stuttered, leaning your face closer to hers. Nayeon’s hand on your shoulder tightened and her lips parted slightly. “I wouldn’t mind eating like this— easier that way.”
Her chest rose and fell with her breathing. An amazing sight, seeing her cleavage bounce with every heave of her chest. Her cheeks were a light red, and when she grabbed the apple and took another bite, her movements were quick and efficient.
She chewed it, before aggressively taking your lips in hers, transferring the apple to you. You let it sit there once again. A hand left your shoulder, tracing down your chest through your shirt, down to your waistband.
“Are you… hard?” She whisper-laughed. But the mush in your mouth left your answer a jumble of sounds. She covered your mouth with a finger, shushing you. “Just chew,” she huffed, sliding your waistband down.
Your cock sprang free, throbbing already. You flexed it as you felt the cool air on your pelvis— and then a hand. Nayeon’s eyes never left yours, but her hand sent a jolt up your spine.
She sat in the seat next to you, shifting you so she was cradling you with one arm. It was humiliating, to be in this position with Nayeon, the TA you’d been bantering with for the whole term. So why you let it happen, with chewed up apple in your mouth no less was a mystery.
Her hand slowly worked up and down your shaft in teasing rhythms, sending shudders through your body. But Nayeon just held you, eyes locked on you, noting every reaction your body showed.
Her fingers felt like chains. She expertly released whenever you bucked your hips up, absolving you from the pleasure. And all the while she sat there, smiling.
“Swallow,” she said softly. You gasped as the mush pushed down your throat. “Ho— holy shit, Nayeon.” You huffed, body squirming under her touch.
Every throb of your cock was painful, but her hands kept working. Every nerve in your loins screamed at a thousand percent, pleasure unimaginable.
“See,” she mocked, but her breath too grew ragged. “Not a good experience.”
You tried to sit up, but the bliss on your penis proved too much. You could only lie there in her arms.
“Now that I showed my work, can you admit that I won?”
“W— we still haven’t proved the bee e— experience isn’t worse,” you managed, even through her strokes.
“Too bad we don’t have honey.”
“Nngh!” You groaned as her thumb brushed your tip. “N—no, but… maybe we can get some nectar?” You chanced.
She rose an eyebrow at you in recognition, a sly smile creeping on her face.
“Extracting nectar isn’t easy,” she breathed. “Especially when it’s flower blooming season.” But you felt her knees shift under you, unmistakably spreading her legs.
Her hand left your cock, and the absence of it felt like drowning. They fiddled between her legs, before she raised them in front of you. Her fingers were covered in moist slickness, strings of her own viscous liquid coating her fingers.
She shoved them into your mouth. With an ‘oomph’, your tongue lapped it all up. Thick and sticky, you let it coat your mouth as her hand went back, collecting more of her nectar. She shoved more into your mouth before returning to your cock.
You bucked your hips at the return of her hand, savouring her all the while. It had that taste— not exactly sweet, a bit metallic, but undoubtedly addicting. You swished it in your mouth as her hand picked up the pace.
Finally, you swallowed. You almost couldn’t believe how long you had lasted. You could feel your cock pulse in her hand, feel how wet her hand was with your precum.
“What’s the conclusion?” She asked through heavy breathes. “Did I argue my thesis well enough?” Her voice was hoarse and quick, despite the academic language she was employing.
Despite squirming at nearly every twitch of her hand, “I think— the argument is flawed,” you got out.
She raised her eyebrow playfully. “Oh?” She gave you a few playful stroked.
“Nng— yeah. I-it assumes I’d want to switch in the first place.” You groaned.
“It’s a would you rather,” she rolled her eyes.
“I know, but,” you breathed. “I just think humans have it down— the whole feeding thing.”
She let out a dry laugh. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. You mind if I show my work?” You eyed her cleavage, still so close to you.
She gave you a few brushes on your tip. “You’ve finally learned,” she smiled. Pushing her chest forward, she pushed her top down, revealing her chest. Perfectly pink nipples twinkled in front of your eyes. You’d tasted a modicum of things up until this point, but this was possibly the most alluring.
You latched onto her nipple. She groaned as your tongue flicked it, her hand moving faster on your cock.
Yeah, you were right. Human’s had it down. It didn’t matter that you were still in the lecture hall, or that she was your TA and you her student. These were your primal instincts, the things every creature, no matter how small, were blessed with. Feeding.
Who said it had to be animalistic?
She cradled your head, eyes closed, head rolled back in pleasure. You too were reaching your limit, the pleasure growing to a peak.
You felt her nipples harden in your mouth, could hear her moans. In contrast to the apple and even her nectar, the taste of her flesh was welcome. Such smooth and supple skin, it was nauseatingly beautiful.
Her hand worked faster and faster until your pelvis grew tense. She felt it, squeezing you harder, until your mouth left her tit as you groaned.
You spilled your jizz in a burst of pleasure, unsure of where it even landed, You just knew Nayeon’s hand was covered in it, still pumping.
You kept cumming, waves of pleasure slowly dissipating.
Your breathing steadied. Then you realized the situation as the post nut-clarity settled in.
You sat up quick, nearly jumping off Nayeon’s lap.
“What the fuck!” You screamed. “Y—you fed me like a bird!”
Nayeon looked around herself in shock, cheeks flaring red. “W—why did you let me do that!” She yelled.
“You were the one who talked about fucking— experience or whatever!”
Nayeon’s flushed breathing evened out as she took everything in. “That was you! But I—I mean I guess we settled it,” she reasoned. “Yeah, human. Humans have it better.”
Yoon He had arrived in Seoul from Busan six years earlier, at just nineteen years old, with a slim body that many considered too fragile for the professional dance world. He didn’t have the broad shoulders or defined muscles that usually stood out in auditions. He was tall — almost 180 cm — but slender, with long, thin legs, a narrow waist, and slim arms that seemed incapable of easily lifting an idol. However, what he lacked in volume he more than made up for with precision, flexibility, and endurance. He could repeat a sequence for hours without his breathing becoming too labored. The choreographers called him “the precise thin one,” because every movement came out clean, elegant, and perfectly synchronized.
His path wasn’t easy. During the first few years he survived as a backup dancer for fourth-tier groups, sleeping in shared dorms, eating cheap ramen, and training until his joints ached. His slim build was rejected in several major auditions, with people telling him he needed “more physical presence.” But Yoon never gave up. He practiced alone in front of broken mirrors in cheap academies, perfecting subtle lifts and close contacts that required control more than brute strength.
His big break came with TWICE. He passed three grueling audition rounds for Nayeon’s solo stage on the “THIS IS FOR” tour. The chosen song was “MEEEEEE,” a track Nayeon had composed herself, with a slow, heavy beat full of sexual undertones. The choreographer explained the final part clearly: “In the last drop, you place your right hand on her waist. She turns, gives you her back, and rubs her ass against you as she lowers. It has to look sensual but natural. Can you handle it without anything else showing?”
Yoon nodded calmly. He had danced with many idols before. He had always kept a professional distance. But when Nayeon walked into the studio that first day, all his self-control wavered.
Nayeon was around 163 cm tall and weighed about 47 kg, but her body was a masterpiece of perfect proportions. She had firm, round breasts that filled any top, a tiny waist, and a high, round, soft ass that moved with hypnotic grace. That day she wore a tight red crop top and very short athletic shorts that exposed her toned legs. Her hair was tied in a high ponytail, and that signature bunny-tooth smile lit up the room.
“So you’re Yoon, the chosen one,” she said in her sweet, playful voice. “The choreographer told me you’re very precise with contact. Let’s see if it’s true.”
The first rehearsal was strictly professional. Yoon placed his slim but firm hand on Nayeon’s waist. Her skin was warm and soft. When the final drop arrived, Nayeon turned with precision and brushed her ass against the front of his pants. It was just a light, controlled second. Still, Yoon felt how his cock — thick even when soft and noticeably long — began to react. He focused on his breathing and continued.
Nayeon didn’t comment. She simply smiled over her shoulder and continued with the choreography.
Private trials begin.
The first rehearsals were group sessions with the entire dance team. Yoon stayed in his role, focused, slim and elegant among the others. But after the second week, the choreographer made a key decision: “The final part of the solo needs more intimate chemistry. Yoon and Nayeon will rehearse alone from now on. I want that moment to feel real, not mechanical.”
And so the private rehearsals began.
The third private rehearsal took place after eleven at night in a small studio at the JYP building. Just the two of them, a huge mirror covering one entire wall, and the music playing at moderate volume. Nayeon wore the same crop top, but this time without a bra. Her nipples were clearly visible against the thin fabric every time she breathed heavily after repeating the sequence.
They reached the final drop. Yoon placed his hand on her waist, firmer than in previous rehearsals. Nayeon turned and, instead of the usual light brush, pushed her ass back with more intent. She rubbed it slowly against Yoon’s crotch. He felt how his cock, thick and long, hardened quickly, pressing firmly against his training pants.
Nayeon stayed there a second longer than the choreography required. She turned her head slightly and whispered:
“Are you okay? I feel like… something really big moved back there.”
Yoon swallowed hard, his voice coming out hoarse. “Yes… everything’s fine.”
But it wasn’t fine. His erection was impossible to hide, and Nayeon had clearly felt the thickness and length of his cock against her ass.
From that moment on, every private rehearsal became a slow and delicious torture.
In the fourth rehearsal, Nayeon began “mistaking” the move on purpose. She turned more slowly, pressed her ass harder, and moved her hips in small circles while rubbing against him. Once she even let out a soft moan when she felt Yoon’s cock fully hard and thick against her.
In the fifth rehearsal she arrived wearing ultra-tight black leggings that clung to her ass like a second skin. The rub was so intense that Yoon had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning. When the song ended, Nayeon stayed pressed against him for a few extra seconds, breathing heavily, and murmured while looking at him through the mirror:
“I like how it feels… You’re so slim everywhere else, but down there you’re… really impressive. So thick and long. It’s getting hard for me to concentrate.”
Yoon felt heat rising up his neck. His cock throbbed painfully inside his pants.
The seventh rehearsal was the point of no return. Nayeon arrived with even shorter tops and, halfway through the session, took off her crop top “because she was too hot” and continued dancing wearing only a sports bra that barely contained her firm breasts. Every time she turned, her tits bounced softly and Yoon could see her nipples hardening against the fabric.
In the final drop, Nayeon didn’t just brush. She ground shamelessly against him, moving her hips in slow circles and pressing her perfect ass against the full length of his erection.
“Fuck…” she whispered, her voice broken. “It’s much bigger than I imagined. So thick… you’re making me wet just from this, Yoon.”
He clenched his jaw. His slim hand tightened harder on Nayeon’s tiny waist. For the first time he allowed his fingers to slide a little lower, brushing the upper curve of her perfect ass. Nayeon didn’t pull away. Instead, she pushed back harder, enjoying the feeling of that thick, long cock pressing between her ass cheeks.
When the music ended, they stayed pressed together. She still had her back to him, and he had his throbbing erection trapped against her body. Nayeon turned her head and looked him straight in the eyes through the mirror.
“Do you know how long I’ve been fantasizing about this? Since the third rehearsal. Every time I feel that thick, long cock against me… I’m dying to have it inside me for real.”
That night they didn’t go all the way, but the tension was already unbearable. After the music, Nayeon knelt down, pulled down his pants, and when she saw his cock for the first time — long, very thick, veiny, and perfectly straight — she let out a genuine moan of surprise and desire.
“Oh my God… you’re so slim and elegant… and you have this monster. I love it.”
She licked it from base to tip with devotion, trying to take as much as she could into her mouth while moaning around its thickness.
The Concert Night
The following rehearsals became even more intense. In the ninth, Nayeon slowly jerked him off with her hand while they repeated the choreography, her fingers barely wrapping around the circumference of his cock. In the tenth, after the music, she knelt again and gave him a long, wet blowjob, looking up at him with those bunny eyes while her breasts bounced out of her sports bra.
But they always stopped before full sex. Nayeon would kiss him hungrily, whisper how much she wanted to feel him inside, then smile mischievously and say:
“After the concert. I want you to give me everything when we’re completely alone and without rushing. I want you to fuck me the way you deserve after all these weeks of teasing me.”
Yoon accepted, even though every night he went home with a painfully hard cock and his mind full of images of Nayeon.
The day of the concert finally arrived.
The venue was completely packed: twenty thousand fans screaming Nayeon’s name. Yoon waited backstage, dressed in a tight red outfit that highlighted his slim, elegant figure. Nayeon appeared dressed to kill: a shiny red bodysuit with a deep neckline that showed the perfect curve of her breasts and a short skirt that barely covered her ass. She approached him before going on stage, sweaty from the warm-up, and whispered in his ear with a husky voice:
“Tonight, on stage, I’m going to grind for real against that thick, long cock of yours. Try not to cum in your pants in front of everyone, Yoon.”
When the solo for “MEEEEEE” arrived, the stadium exploded in screams. Nayeon danced with overwhelming sensuality, sweaty and completely owning the stage. Yoon entered for the final part. He placed his slim hand on her waist. Nayeon turned and, in front of twenty thousand people, pressed her ass against him much harder than in any rehearsal. It wasn’t just a brush. It was a slow, deliberate, circular grind, shamelessly rubbing against Yoon’s huge erection while smiling at the audience as if nothing was happening.
Yoon felt like he was going to lose his mind. His thick, long cock pressed hard between Nayeon’s ass cheeks through their clothes. She moved her hips to the beat, squeezing once, twice, three times, clearly feeling how that cock throbbed against her. Nayeon bit her lower lip and smiled wider at the crowd, but her ass kept provocatively grinding against him.
Yoon had to use all his concentration and years of discipline not to moan in the middle of the stage. When the lights went down at the end of the song, Nayeon turned, gave him a quick innocent kiss on the cheek for the cameras, and whispered in his ear:
“My private dressing room. After the encore. Don’t change your clothes. I want to fuck you while I’m still sweaty from the stage.”
The concert ended amid deafening applause, but the real show was just beginning.
The Private Dressing Room
As soon as the door to Nayeon’s private dressing room locked, she transformed. Still sweaty, with the shiny red bodysuit clinging to her glistening skin, she pushed Yoon against the wall with surprising strength for her size.
“All this time…” she said, her voice full of desire. “All those weeks rubbing against that thick, long cock, getting me wet in every rehearsal, teasing me on stage… Now it’s mine. All mine.”
She kissed him violently, shoving her tongue into his mouth while her hands moved down and squeezed the huge bulge in his pants. She ripped off his red shirt and dropped to her knees in front of him. When she freed his cock, she looked at it with pure hunger.
“You’re so slim and elegant… and you have this big, thick thing. It drives me crazy.”
She sucked him with devotion, using both hands to stroke the base while trying to take as much as possible into her mouth. She moaned around his thickness, saliva running down her chin, her breasts bouncing with every movement of her head.
Yoon lifted her in his arms — his slim build allowed for agile movements — and sat her on the makeup table. He tore off the bodysuit in one pull, leaving her perfect breasts exposed: round, firm, with pink nipples already hard. He sucked and bit them hungrily while sliding two long fingers into her soaked pussy, curling them exactly where she needed it most.
Nayeon threw her head back and screamed without shame.
“Fuck me already… I want to feel how that thick cock stretches me.”
Yoon placed the thick head of his cock against her wet entrance and pushed in with one deep thrust. Nayeon let out a long cry of pleasure, feeling how her pussy stretched to its limit around him. He was big — very big — and filled her completely in a way no one else had ever managed.
He started fucking her with a strong, steady rhythm, every thrust making her tits bounce violently. Yoon grabbed them with his slim hands, squeezing them, pulling on her nipples while he pounded her mercilessly.
“Harder… I want to feel you tomorrow when I have to dance,” Nayeon begged between moans.
He fucked her against the wall, with one of her legs lifted over his shoulder. Then he carried her to the large couch in the dressing room. He sat down and placed her straddling him. Nayeon rode him furiously, her tits bouncing in front of Yoon’s face while he sucked, bit, and squeezed them. She rotated her hips in circles, clenching her pussy around his thick, long cock.
“I want to cum again…” she gasped.
Yoon lifted her and put her on all fours on the couch. He penetrated her from behind with animalistic force, gripping her hips, spanking her hard enough to leave red marks on her perfect ass. Nayeon screamed, trembled, and came for the second time, contracting violently around him.
Finally, when Yoon felt he couldn’t hold back any longer, he growled against her ear:
“Where do you want me to cum?”
“Inside… fill me up… I want to feel that thick cock filling me to the brim,” Nayeon begged, pushing back desperately.
With a deep roar, Yoon came inside her, hot and abundant spurts filling her pussy while Nayeon had a third, more intense orgasm, trembling and moaning his name uncontrollably.
They stayed embraced for several minutes, sweaty and exhausted, Yoon still buried deep inside her. Nayeon smiled against his neck, kissing him softly.
“Tomorrow in the studio… against the mirror. I want you to fuck me while we both watch how that big cock goes in and out of me. And after the next concert… I want you to take me in the dressing room again. This is just the beginning, Yoon.”
He kissed her sweaty shoulder, still feeling how her pussy throbbed around his cock.
After weeks of frustrating rubs, teasing in rehearsals, and provocations on stage, the professional line had been completely crossed. Yoon, the slim and precise dancer, had discovered that his greatest weapon wasn’t in his slender body, but in that thick, long cock that drove Nayeon crazy.
The “THIS IS FOR” tour had only just begun.
And “MEEEEEE” would never be just a song for either of them again.
