I had to stop myself, or else this would go on forever 💔 ill make a pt2, maybe. The files were meant to be of js pics but uh .... decided maybe more "homemade" ykyk idek .. lolz
The elevator doors slide open on the fourth floor and the first thing you see is Kim Minjeong on her knees behind a ceramic plant pot.
You naturally arch a brow at the sight. She's crouched low, both hands gripping the rim of the pot like it's a trench wall, her entire body pressed against the fake fern sprouting out of it. She's wearing an oversized grey shirt that barely reaches mid-thigh - and from the way the fabric shifts when she moves, you're pretty damn sure that shirt is the only thing she has on. Her black hair is messy, half-falling over her face, and her bare feet are flat on the hallway tile.
You stop walking. You Blink. You tilt your head.
She hasn't noticed you yet. She's too busy peeking around the edge of the pot, neck craned, lips slightly parted, completely frozen in concentration. The hallway stretches in both directions, somewhere further down you can hear the faint sound of someone rummaging through a bag.
"So, goonette," you say, loud enough to echo off the walls, "what the fuck are you doing?"
Minjeong nearly leaves her body. She spins around so fast her hair whips across her face, grabs your wrist with both hands, and yanks you down to her level with a strength that should not exist in someone her size. Her eyes are wide, panicked, absolutely unhinged.
"Shut up," she hisses, pulling you behind the fern. "Shut up shut up shut up. She's right there."
You stumble forward, catching yourself on the wall. "Ow. What the hell, Minjeong?"
Minjeong jabs her finger down the hallway. You follow the direction and see a girl standing in front of an apartment door about six units down. She's got her back partially turned, one hand holding a tote bag while the other digs around inside a small leather purse. Even from this angle and this distance, you can tell she's gorgeous. Dark hair spilling past her shoulders, a cream-colored blouse tucked into a pleated skirt that stops well above the knee.
"That's her," Minjeong whispers. "Ning Yizhuo. The new neighbor."
"Okay. And?"
"And?" Minjeong stares at you like you just asked her what oxygen is. "And she's right there. In the hallway. Where I also am. At the same time."
"That's generally how hallways work."
"You don't understand." Minjeong shakes her head rapidly. "I can't let her see me. Not like this. I was waiting for you, I heard footsteps, I opened my door and she was already out here, and I just," she gestures at the plant pot, "improvised."
You look at the plant pot. You look at Minjeong, a grown woman in nothing but an oversized shirt, hiding behind fake foliage in a well-lit public corridor.
"This is the worst improvisation I've ever seen."
"Shut up."
"You don't even fit behind this thing. Your whole left shoulder is sticking out."
"I said shut up." She tugs on your sleeve again. "Look at her. Look at that skirt. Are you looking?"
You glance back down the hallway. The girl, Ning Yizhuo, apparently, shifts her weight from one foot to the other while she searches for her keys, and the movement makes the pleated skirt sway against her thighs.
"Yeah, she's hot. So go talk to her."
“Are you out of your FUCKING mind?" she whispers sharply.
"It's 2026, Minjeong. Lesbians have some privileges now. You can say hi to a pretty girl without being burned at the stake."
"I can't just go talk to her."
"You literally can. You walk over there, you open your mouth, and you say hey, I live in 69, nice to meet you."
"No. No no no no." She's shaking her head so hard her hair whips back and forth. "She's too beautiful. She's too perfect. Every time I see her I forget how to be a person. The first time I greeted her, I said 'day nice you'. Last week she smiled at me in the lobby and I walked into a glass door. A glass door. In front of her. She watched me do it."
"Jesus Christ."
"I'm in love with her and she thinks I'm brain damaged."
You open your mouth to respond, but then something shifts in the hallway. Ning has stopped digging through her purse. She's looking up. She's looking your way.
Minjeong suddenly drops flat onto her stomach behind the plant, and judging by the noise, it definitely hurt.
You're still half-standing, fully visible, and now there's a very pretty girl staring directly at you from twenty feet away with a slightly confused expression on her face.
"Hi?" Ning calls out. She takes a small step forward, tilting her head. Her face is even prettier up close. Round cheeks, full lips, a little furrow between her brows that somehow makes her look both concerned and adorable. "Are you lost?"
"No," you say, straightening up and trying to look like a normal human being who was not just crouching behind a plant with a half-naked girl. "I'm visiting a friend. Apartment 69. You know if she's home?"
Ning's expression softens. "Oh, the girl in 69? I don't know, honestly. I don't see her very often." Behind the pot, Minjeong clenches her jaw so hard you can almost hear her teeth creak. "She seems nice, though. Quiet. Try your luck, I guess."
"Thanks. I will."
Ning gives you a small wave and a smile that, yeah, okay, you understand why Minjeong is losing her entire mind. It's a very good smile. Warm and a little bit shy.
"Bye," Ning says, and then she finds her keys, unlocks her door, and disappears inside.
The hallway goes quiet. You count to three. "She's gone."
Minjeong rises from behind the pot like a vampire emerging from a coffin. Her face is bright red. Her shirt has ridden up on one side, exposing the curve of her hip, and she doesn't even notice. She just stands there, staring at Ning's closed door, mouth slightly open. You grab her arm and steer her toward apartment 69. She lets you. She's basically on autopilot at this point, shuffling along beside you in bare feet, still looking over her shoulder.
The second you're both inside and the door clicks shut behind you, she leans against the wall and slides down until she's sitting on the floor. "I'm a loser."
"Yep."
"A complete loser."
"The most pathetic dom I've ever met." You kick off your shoes and step past her into the apartment, placing your jacket on the arm of the sofa. It's messy in the way Minjeong's place is always messy, not dirty, just chaotic; a hoodie draped over a chair, three half-empty water bottles on the coffee table, her laptop open on the couch with what you suspect is Ning's Instagram still loaded on the screen. "You can choke me out and make me call you mommy but you can't say hi to a girl in a skirt."
"Shut up."
"You said that already."
"Then shut up again." She pulls her knees up to her chest. The shirt rides higher. She's definitely not wearing anything underneath it, and frankly, you already knew that because this is how it works with you two. She knew you were coming over. She was ready. And then Ning happened and now she's sitting on her own floor having an existential crisis instead of riding your face like she planned.
"Are you horny?" you ask.
She looks up at you with the most offended expression ever. "Of course I'm horny, idiot. I was standing meters away from her. I could smell her perfume. I'm soaked."
"Great. Take it out on me. That's what I'm here for."
That flush on her neck deepens, crawls up to her cheeks, and the corner of her mouth curls into something that isn't quite a smile. It's more like a switch being flipped. One second she's a puddle of useless gay panic on the floor, and the next she's looking at you the way she looks at you when she wants to break you apart.
"Yeah," she says, and just like that, there she is: The Kim Minjeong who knows exactly what she wants and exactly how to take it. "That is a great idea."
This is the thing about your arrangement with Kim Minjeong: you've been fucking for about eight months now, no strings, no feelings, just a mutually beneficial deal that started at a house party where she got drunk, told you she needed someone to use when she was stressed, and you said sure, because you're a simple man with simple needs and she's objectively one of the hottest women you've ever met. No romance. Never has been.
You keep calling her a lesbian, though she’s technically bi – she just prefers women every time. Men are just recreational, tools for her pleasure (and you’re no exception).
She's a dom through and through. With women, she's terrifying. Commanding, controlled, but with you, the dynamic bends. She tops, sure, most of the time, but there's a flexibility to it. A give and take. She likes that you can pick her up. She likes that you push back, that you don't just fold the second she gives an order. She'll never admit it, but sometimes she wants to be the one getting thrown around, and you're the only person she trusts enough to let that happen.
Dom with girls. A bratty little thing with you (when she feels like it).
You don't give her time to get up on her own. You close the distance in two steps, bend down, and scoop her off the floor. She yelps as you throw her over your shoulder like a sack of rice. Her bare thighs press against the side of your face and her fists smack against your back.
"Put me down! I'm the dom here. You can't just manhandle me."
"You're only a dom with other girls." You adjust your grip on her legs, one hand firm on the back of her thigh, the other settled on her lower back, and start walking toward the bedroom. "With me, you're still a submissive little slut."
"Only sometimes," she fires back, but she's laughing, her body shaking against your shoulder, that yelp of surprise already dissolving into breathless giggles that she's trying (and failing) to suppress. Her fingers grab onto the back of your shirt for balance. "This is so undignified. I'm supposed to be intimidating."
"You were hiding behind a plant pot thirty seconds ago. The intimidation ship has sailed."
"I will kill you."
"After I make you cum, maybe."
She smacks the back of your head playfully.
You carry her into the bedroom and throw her onto the mattress. She bounces once, twice, hair splaying out around her head, shirt bunched up around her waist. You were right. Nothing underneath. Just Minjeong, flushed and bare from the waist down, propped up on her elbows, looking at you with that dangerous half-smile that means she's already deciding how she wants this to go.
"What a gentleman," she says, spreading her legs just slightly wider against the sheets.
You pull your shirt over your head and toss it somewhere behind you and then you're climbing onto the bed, climbing onto her, one knee between her thighs and both hands planted on either side of her head.
Minjeong watches you the whole time. That half-smile still there, lazy and sharp at the same time, her eyes tracking you as you settle your weight over her. She doesn't move to take control. Not yet. She just lies there with her hair fanned out on the pillow and that stupid oversized shirt bunched around her ribs, bare from the waist down, waiting.
You kiss her. She smiles against your mouth. You can feel the curve of it, the way her lips pull tight before they soften and open for you. Her hand comes up to the back of your neck, nails dragging lightly through the hair there, and she tilts her chin up to press closer. It's slow. Familiar. You've done this enough times to know exactly how Minjeong kisses when she's wound up (desperate, messy, like she's trying to crawl inside you) versus how she kisses when she's settling in (languid, teasing, every movement calculated). This is somewhere in between. She's keyed up from the hallway but trying to play it cool, and you can feel the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers grip just a little too hard on your neck.
You drop your mouth to her throat. Her pulse hammers against your lips. You drag a slow kiss along the tendon there, down to the junction of her neck and shoulder, and that's where you find it. A faded bruise, yellowish-purple at the edges, right above her collarbone. Your work from last Tuesday.
"Still got it," you murmur against the mark.
"It takes forever to fade on me. I've been wearing turtlenecks like a catholic school teacher."
You press your lips to the hickey, then to her jaw, then to the corner of her mouth, then to her cheek. You pause there. Pull back just enough to look at her.
Kim Minjeong's face is something else. It really is. The bone structure alone is borderline unfair. But up close like this, with her hair messy and her cheeks flushed and her pupils blown wide, there's a softness to her that the sharpness can't hide. Long lashes. Lips bitten pink. She looks, in this moment, genuinely cute. Sweet, even. Innocent. And nobody in the world would guess that this girl has a strap-on collection organized by size in her closet and once made you edge for forty-five minutes while she ate a sandwich.
Your hand slides down. Over the bunched-up shirt, across the flat plane of her stomach, past the dip of her navel. She doesn't flinch, doesn't tense. Just watches you with those dark eyes, lips slightly parted, breathing steady but shallow. Your fingers trail through the thin strip of trimmed hair between her legs and then lower, and the second you make contact, the truth of her situation becomes very, very clear.
She's not just wet. She's slick. Swollen. Her lips are puffy against your fingertips, flushed and hot, and when you drag two fingers through the length of her slit you can feel the slickness coat your skin in a single pass. Eight months of sleeping with this girl and you know what each level of turned on feels like, and this is top tier. This is "I stood three feet from my crush and smelled her perfume and now my brain is soup" levels of arousal.
You press your mouth back to hers. Her tongue meets yours immediately, sliding warm and slow, and you keep your hand where it is, fingers resting against her, not entering, not pressing, just there.
"I love seeing you like this," you say between kisses, your lips brushing hers with every syllable. "All silly. All lovestruck. It's hard to even recognize you."
"Fuck off."
"Seriously. You're like a different person. The girl who sat on my face last week and told me I wasn't allowed to breathe until she finished would never hide behind a plant pot."
"You don't understand." She bites your lower lip, not gently. "Ning doesn't just mess with me. She messes with me on a cellular level. Like, my DNA rearranges when she's nearby. I become a different organism."
"That's the most dramatic thing you've ever said, and you once cried because a girl at a bar had pretty collarbones."
"She did have pretty collarbones." Minjeong shifts her hips, pressing herself against your still-motionless fingers. "And I didn't cry. My eyes watered."
She pushes against your chest. Not hard, but with intent, and you know this cue well enough to roll with it. You let her flip the position, your back hitting the mattress, and she's on her side next to you in an instant. But she doesn't climb on top of you. Doesn't straddle you. Instead, she twists around toward the nightstand, reaching for her phone.
"What are you doing?"
"Making you understand."
Her free hand finds your waistband. She tugs your pants down with a single efficient yank, underwear included, because Minjeong has never had patience for steps. Your cock springs free, already hard. She wraps her fingers around the base without even looking, thumb pressed against the underside, grip firm and familiar. Then she settles beside you, shoulder pressed to yours, and holds the phone up so you can both see the screen.
Ning's Instagram. Already open. Already loaded.
"Have you just... had this open? The whole time?"
"Don't worry about it." She scrolls up with her thumb. The grid fills with photos, and even in tiny square thumbnails you can tell this girl knows what she's doing with a camera. "Look. Everyone thinks she's this sweet little shy thing. And yeah, on the surface, sure. She posts these cute little aesthetic shots, coffee cups, sunsets, book stacks. But then."
She taps on a photo. It loads full-screen.
Ning, sitting on a windowsill, sunlight hitting her from behind. She's wearing a white tank top and shorts, legs crossed, chin tilted up. The light makes the tank top just translucent enough to show the shadow of her bra underneath. Her expression is serene. Very innocent.
"See? See that? She knows exactly what she's doing with that angle." Minjeong's hand starts moving on your cock. Slow, steady strokes, her grip twisting slightly at the head the way she knows you like. Her eyes don't leave the phone screen. "And this one." She swipes. New photo. Ning at what looks like a rooftop bar, leaning forward on a railing, wearing a low-cut top that compresses her tits together into a line of cleavage that is impossible not to look at. She's laughing at something off-camera, completely natural, completely devastating. "She posted this at eleven PM on a Wednesday," Minjeong says, her thumb swiping again, her other hand maintaining that maddening rhythm on your shaft. "Eleven PM. On a Wednesday. Who posts cleavage at eleven PM on a Wednesday?"
"Someone who looks good and wants people to know."
"Exactly. She's not innocent. She's a little slut who likes showing off. And everyone in her comments is like oh so pretty queen gorgeous and she replies with little heart emojis like she isn't fully aware that she's making people lose their minds."
She swipes again. And again. A photo of Ning at the beach in a bikini, a selfie where she's biting her lower lip and looking directly into the lens. A gym photo (sports bra, leggings, glistening with sweat, the absolute audacity of this woman). Each one, Minjeong narrates like she's giving a museum tour of her own personal torment.
Then she stops scrolling. Taps on one photo. Holds the phone closer. This one is different.
Ning took it with the phone behind her, catching the reflection in a full-length mirror. She's standing in what looks like her bedroom. She's wearing a dress. Tight. Short. White fabric that clings to every curve, hemline barely reaching mid-thigh. But that's not the part that makes your cock twitch in Minjeong's hand. It's the fabric itself. Slightly sheer. Just enough that you can make out, underneath the dress, the outline of her underwear. The faint color difference where the material thins over her ass. And her ass, in this photo, is the absolute center of gravity. Round. Full. The exactly kind of shape that the dress was designed to showcase, every inch hugged tight.
Minjeong's grip tightens on you. Her strokes get slower. She's savoring both the image and your reaction simultaneously.
"Look at that," she murmurs. "Look at her ass. It's so round. So tight. Do you see how the dress barely holds it? And those panties showing through, she knew. She absolutely knew when she put that dress on."
"Yeah," you manage, because her thumb is doing something truly unfair to the head of your cock right now.
"I think about this photo at least three times a day. Minimum. I've zoomed in. I've screenshotted it. I'm not proud of any of this."
"You shouldn't be."
"But look at it." She tilts the screen again, like you somehow missed it. "That's my neighbor. That ass is twenty feet from my front door at any given time. That ass takes out the trash. That ass rides the elevator. That ass exists in the same building as me and I haven't touched it and I might actually die from that fact."
You turn your head to look at her. Her cheeks are red. Her lips are wet. Her hand hasn't stopped moving. "So what are you gonna do about it?"
Her strokes falter for half a second, that same panicked expression from the hallway, the one that turns her from a confident dom into a disaster lesbian in zero-point-five seconds flat. Then she recovers, keeps stroking, and lets out a long exhale through her nose. "Nothing. Yet."
"I honestly expected a little more confidence from you."
"I need courage! I need time. I need to figure out if she even likes girls, and I need to do that without accidentally liking one of her posts from 2024 at four AM, which, yes, has almost happened."
"God, you're hopeless."
"I know." She swipes back to the mirror photo. Stares at it. Her hand squeezes your cock, slow and tight. "For now I can only fantasize about her. About what I'd do if she let me. What she'd sound like. What she'd look like underneath all those little outfits." She locks the phone and drops it on the mattress. Turns her head to look at you. "But I've got you for now." Her hand twists on the upstroke. "So let me use you until I figure the rest out.”
“I'm all yours, babe.”
Minjeong smiles at that, then lets go of your cock and grabs the hem of her shirt and peels it off in one smooth motion, tossing it behind her. It lands somewhere on the floor, probably on top of your shirt, and now there's nothing between the two of you.
You've seen her naked plenty of times. Eight months of this arrangement means the novelty of nudity itself wore off around month two. But Minjeong's body is still something worth looking at, and you let yourself look while she shifts on the bed, swinging one leg over your hips to straddle you. She's small. That's the thing that always catches you off guard, every single time, the sheer smallness of her. Narrow shoulders, a waist you can almost span with both hands, ribs you can count when she arches her back.
Her tits are on the smaller side, firm and round, nipples already stiff, small rosy peaks, puffy and firm. Her stomach is flat, tight, the faint outline of muscle there not from any disciplined gym routine but from the kind of lean genetics that some people luck into. Her hip bones jut out just slightly, two subtle ridges that frame the space between her legs like brackets.
She's tiny. She's maybe a hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. And she runs your entire sex life with an iron fist.
Minjeong settles her weight on your hips, her bare pussy pressing flat against the length of your cock. She's so wet that you can feel it immediately, hot slickness spreading against your shaft, coating the underside as she shifts her hips in a slow experimental grind. Her thighs tense on either side of you. She reaches down, wraps her fingers around your cock, lifts herself up just enough to position you, and then she sinks.
It's one fluid motion. No teasing, no hesitation, just Minjeong dropping her hips and taking you to the base in a single stroke. Her pussy swallows you whole, tight and soaked and burning hot, inner walls clenching around you as her weight settles into your lap. Her eyes flutter shut for half a second, lips pressing together, and then she exhales slowly through her nose and opens her eyes again.
She looks down at you. And gives you the most mischievous fucking smile you've ever seen on a human face.
It's the kind of expression that shouldn't be legal on someone this small, this cute, this outwardly innocent-looking. Her eyes are narrowed into pleased little crescents. She knows she looks good up there. She knows the visual of her tiny frame perched on top of you, back straight, shoulders back, every compact inch of her on display, is doing exactly what it's supposed to do to your brain.
Then she starts to move. Lazy rolls of her hips, grinding more than bouncing, working her clit against your pelvic bone with each forward push. You reach up and touch her face. Your thumb traces along her cheekbone, down to the corner of her mouth, and she turns her head just enough to catch it between her lips. Sucks it in to the first knuckle, tongue swirling around the pad, cheeks hollowing slightly. Her eyes stay locked on yours the whole time, still rolling her hips in that maddening rhythm.
She lets your thumb go with a soft sound and settles into a steady pace. Her pussy clenches around you every time she pushes forward, that grinding motion spreading her slick all over the base of your cock, making everything obscenely wet.
"So," you say, resting both hands on her thighs, "how was your day?"
"Fine. It was a good day, actually."
"Tell me more."
"Worked until like four. Nothing crazy, just emails and a presentation that nobody's going to read." She punctuates this with a particularly firm grind, her clit dragging hard against you, and her eyelids flutter. "Then I came home and played Burnout Revenge."
"The racing game?"
"PS2 classic. I'm running it through an emulator with upscaling to 4K. The textures hold up surprisingly well, actually. The crash physics are still unmatched in the genre, and at higher resolution you can really appreciate the particle effects during takedowns."
"That was extremely specific. Anything else?"
She bites her lip. The rhythm of her hips hasn't faltered once during this entire conversation, steady and practiced, she could probably fuck you and file her taxes at the same time. "And, obviously, I kept gooning to Ning."
"Obviously."
"The usual routine. Went through her tagged photos. Found a TikTok where she's doing that stretching trend. Watched it nine times. Locked my phone. Unlocked it. Watched it four more times." She rolls her hips in a tight circle that makes your fingers dig into her thighs. "Came twice thinking about her sitting on my face. Showered. Then you texted."
"So your evening was: vintage racing games, cyberstalking, and masturbating."
"Don't judge me."
"I'm not judging. Just a goonette living her best life. Gotta respect it."
She leans forward, planting her hands on your chest again, and the angle shifts. Now she's bouncing, lifting her hips until just the tip stays inside and dropping back down with a wet slap of skin. Her tits sway with the motion small enough that it's more of a jiggle, barely there, but you watch it anyway because she's gorgeous. Her stomach flexes with each rise and fall. The muscles in her thighs work visibly under her skin.
"She posted a story today," Minjeong continues, slightly breathless now but still committed to the conversation. "Just a mirror selfie. Gym clothes. Sports bra and those tiny shorts. You could see the outline of her..."
"Her what?"
"Her pussy." Minjeong says it like she's confessing a mortal sin. "Through the shorts. Just the shape. The seam was sitting right between her lips and I almost threw my phone across the room."
"You're unwell."
"I'm aware." She sits up straight and grinds down hard, taking you as deep as possible, and her jaw goes tight for a second. Her cunt is soaked, absolutely drenched, and every movement makes a slick, filthy sound that fills the space between sentences. "I screenshot it. I have it saved in a separate album. With the other forty-seven screenshots."
"Forty-seven."
"Don't start."
You slide your hands up from her thighs to her waist, gripping that narrow frame, thumbs pressing into the soft skin below her ribs. She feels impossibly small in your hands, fragile almost, and the dissonance between that and the way she's currently milking your cock with practiced efficiency is something you'll never fully get used to.
She plants her palms flat on your abs and picks up the pace. Faster now, less grinding and more fucking, her hips snapping down with intent. Her pussy is clenching in uneven pulses, tight enough that you can feel every ridge of her, every slick fold gripping your shaft on the outstroke. A strand of her black hair sticks to her forehead with sweat. Her cheeks are flushed dark pink.
"Ning. Tell me what you'd do if you had her. All of it."
That glassy, faraway look sharpens into focus, and the corner of her mouth twitches upward. She leans down, chest pressing against yours, and kisses you, her lips brush yours when she talks. "You want to hear it?"
"Every detail."
She rolls her hips once, grinding your cock against her front wall, and exhales warm against your mouth. "Okay. So first, I'd take my time. I wouldn't rush her." Her hips find a rhythm again, slow circular grinds, keeping you deep while she talks. You thrust up to meet her, a steady push from below, and her breath hitches before she continues. "I'd get her on this bed. Right here. And I'd just kiss her for a while. Like, actually kiss her. I want to know what her mouth tastes like. I want to learn the shape of her lips with mine." She kisses you again, brief, punctuating the thought. "Then I'd undress her. Slowly. I'd take that little skirt off first and just look at her legs. Run my hands up her thighs. Feel how soft she is."
"Romantic."
"Shut up, I'm getting there." She grinds down harder, her clit catching against your pelvic bone, and her jaw tightens for a second before she keeps going. "I'd kiss down her neck. Her collarbones. I'd pull her bra off and put my mouth on her tits. She's got perfect tits, you saw the photos. I'd suck on her nipples until she's squirming and pulling my hair."
You thrust up into her, firm and steady, and she gasps against your lips. Her pussy clenches around you, soaked and tight, and you feel her arousal running down your shaft onto your thighs. She's dripping.
"Then I'd go lower. Kiss her stomach. Bite her hip bones. And when I finally got between her legs..." Minjeong's breathing is heavier now, her hips grinding with more urgency. "I'd make her wait. I'd kiss the insides of her thighs. Breathe on her pussy without touching it. Let her feel how close my mouth is. She'd be begging by then."
"You think?"
"I know. She'd be grabbing the sheets and whining and pushing her hips up, trying to get my mouth on her." Minjeong bites your lower lip, tugging gently. "And I'd look up at her and say, 'Ask nicely.' And she would. She'd say please in that sweet little tone and I'd finally put my tongue on her clit and she'd lose her fucking mind."
You grip her hips and pull her down onto the next thrust, burying yourself to the hilt, and she moans against your mouth. A shaky, breathy thing that she immediately tries to talk over.
"I'd eat her pussy until she came on my face. I'd drink every drop." Her fingers curl against your chest, nails pressing crescents into your skin. "And then I wouldn't stop. I'd keep going. She'd be sensitive and twitching and trying to close her legs but I'd hold her open and keep licking until she came again."
"That's just foreplay?"
"That's just the beginning." Minjeong sits up slightly, just enough to change the angle, and sinks back down with a wet sound that echoes in the room. Her pussy grips you impossibly tight as she adjusts. "After that, I'd flip her over. Get her on her hands and knees. And I'd take my time looking at her from behind. That ass, spread open for me, her pussy swollen and wet and dripping down her thighs."
She's riding you harder now, the tempo picking up. Her thighs flex against your sides with each stroke, her abs clenching as she grinds forward. You match her rhythm from below, fucking up into her.
"I'd spit on her pussy." She says it right against your lips, no hesitation. "I'd watch it drip down. Then I'd finger her. Two fingers, deep, curling right against that spot. I'd finger-fuck her until her arms gave out and she collapsed face-first into the pillow."
"And the strap?"
Her eyes light up. Literally brighten, like you just said the magic word. "The strap! Oh, I'd make her earn the strap. She'd have to suck it first. Get on her knees in front of me and take it in her throat. Get it nice and wet while looking up at me. And I'd hold her hair and tell her she's a good girl."
She kisses you again, messy and open, all tongue and shared breath. When she breaks away, a thin string of saliva connects your lips for a second before it breaks. "Then I'd fuck her. Start slow. Let her feel every inch going in. And then I'd grab her hips and rail her until she screamed. I'd pull her hair and smack her ass and call her my little whore and she'd love it, she'd take it so well, she'd push back onto me begging for more."
You thrust up hard enough to make her yelp. She recovers instantly, grinding down, chasing the friction against her clit with desperate, needy movements.
"But here's the thing. That's all just the beginning. The real plan is bigger."
"Bigger how?"
"I'm going to turn her into a pet."
"A pet?”
"A kitten." She says it with absolute conviction. "I'm going to slowly, methodically, lovingly transform Ning into my personal kitten." She grinds down on you, rotating her hips in a tight circle that makes your toes curl, and keeps talking like she's not currently fucking you into the mattress. "I still have that collar. The one with the little bell. I bought it over a year ago and never used it because I never found the right person." Her pussy clenches around your cock, rhythmic, pulsing. "Ning is the right person. I'm going to put that collar around her pretty neck and hear that little bell jingle every time she moves. Every time she crawls to me."
"Crawls."
"On her hands and knees. Like a good kitten." She licks her lips. "First, the collar. Let her get used to wearing it. Sleep in it. Feel it against her throat all day and think about who it belongs to. About who she belongs to."
Your hands slide up her thighs, gripping her waist as you keep thrusting into her from below. She's dripping down your shaft, her arousal coating the insides of her thighs, making everything slippery and filthy.
"Then the ears. Cute little cat ears on a headband. She'd wear them when she comes over. Take off her shoes at the door and put on her ears and become my kitten." Minjeong's riding is getting erratic, less controlled, her body chasing something. "And finally... the tail."
"Tail?"
"Anal plug. With a tail attached. Long, fluffy, the kind that sways when she walks." Her eyes are glazed, dark, gone somewhere deep inside her own fantasy. "She'd wear all three. Collar with the bell. Ears. Tail. And she'd kneel at my feet and purr while I pet her hair and tell her she's the prettiest kitten in the whole world."
She drops her forehead against yours, breathing hard, her hips slamming down onto you with increasing desperation.
"A slow metamorphosis," she pants. "Step by step. From the sweet neighbor into my perfect little pet. Exactly like Kafka."
That makes you pause mid-thrust. "Kafka?"
"The Metamorphosis. Gregor Samsa wakes up transformed. Ning's transformation is just more... intentional. Guided. Consensual."
"I really don't think Kafka's book is about pet play, Minjeong."
She sits up, still riding you, still grinding, her pussy clenching in those telltale uneven spasms that mean she's getting close, and gives you a look of genuine academic offense.
"It doesn't matter. Let me tell you a secret about art: once a work is published, it no longer belongs to the author. It belongs to the public. And the public draws its own interpretation." She punctuates this with a hard grind that nearly makes you choke. "A work of art depends on its creator to be born, but once it's finished, its existence no longer depends on the creator. Barthes wrote about this. The death of the author."
"You’re pushing this concept to another level."
“If there are two things I take seriously, it’s literature and smut." Her thighs are shaking now, trembling visibly, and her rhythm is falling apart. She's close and trying to hold the conversation together through sheer stubbornness. "So yes. I'm going to give Ning a metamorphosis. A beautiful, filthy, calculated metamorphosis. From girl to kitten."
You grab her hips and pull her down hard, thrusting up into her, and her composure cracks. Her head drops back, her nails rake down your chest, and her pussy clamps around you like a fist. "Well," you manage, "better a kitten than an insect, I guess."
She laughs (or tries to, it comes out strangled and thin) and then you grab her thighs and flip her. One smooth motion, you've done this enough times to know how she folds, and suddenly she's on her back beneath you, black hair splayed across the pillow, legs wrapped around your waist, looking up at you with glassy, unfocused eyes and a mouth that won't stop running.
You slide back into her and she arches off the mattress. "Keep talking," you tell her, setting a deep, steady pace. "Tell me where I fit in."
Her arms loop around your neck, pulling you close, her lips brushing against your ear while you fuck her. "You'd be there. When I have her. I'd make you fuck her while I watch."
"Yeah?"
"On her back. Legs spread. I'd hold them open for you and watch your cock slide into her pretty little cunt." She clenches around you, hard, her heels digging into the small of your back. "I'd tell you how fast to go. When to stop. When to keep going. She'd look at me the whole time, begging me with those big eyes, and I'd just pet her hair and tell her to take it."
You pound into her harder and she gasps, fingernails raking down your shoulders.
"And when I'm done watching, I'd climb over her face and sit on it. Make her eat me out while you fuck her." Her hips are rocking up to meet every thrust, her pussy so wet you can hear it with every stroke, slick and obscene. "And I'd cum on her. I'd squirt all over her gorgeous face and her neck and her tits and she'd be dripping with it, covered in me, and she'd fucking love it."
"What about me?"
Her legs tighten around you. She's trembling, her whole body vibrating with tension, and her sentences are coming out fragmented, breathless. "You'd pull out of her pussy and jerk off on her face. All of it. Every drop. I want to see her pretty face painted with your cum. And then I'd lean down and lick it all off. Every streak. From her forehead to her chin. And I'd kiss her and push it into her mouth and she'd swallow it and thank me."
You drive into her deep, grinding, and her back arches so hard only her shoulders and hips are touching the mattress. "We'd take turns. I'd fuck her with the strap until she's screaming and then hand her to you. You'd fuck her throat until she's gagging and then give her back to me. Back and forth. Like she's ours. Our little toy. Our perfect little..."
Her sentence dies. Her mouth opens in a silent gasp, eyes squeezing shut, and you feel it before she says anything. Her pussy locks down around your cock in rhythmic, convulsive pulses, tight enough to make you grit your teeth. Her thighs clamp against your ribs. Her nails break skin on your shoulders. Her whole body goes rigid, suspended, every muscle drawn taut like a wire.
Then she breaks. The orgasm tears through her in waves. She shakes underneath you, her hips bucking upward, riding it out on your cock while incoherent sounds spill from her throat. Not moans, not screams, something between the two. Raw, guttural, the sound of someone who's been edging herself mentally for weeks on fantasies about her neighbor and finally found the right release valve). Her pussy flutters and grips and releases and grips again, milking your shaft in spasms that you feel all the way to the base of your spine.
You don't stop. You fuck her through it, pace relentless, chasing your own finish now. She's boneless beneath you, still twitching through aftershocks, oversensitive and whimpering every time you bottom out. Her hands slide weakly down your arms, grip failing, body completely spent.
It hits you thirty seconds later. That tight coil in your gut snaps and you pull out just in time, fist around your shaft, pumping hard. The first rope lands across her stomach, thick and hot against her skin. The second catches her ribs. The third drips between her tits, pooling in the dip of her sternum. She watches the whole thing with heavy-lidded eyes and a lazy, satisfied smile, her fingers trailing through the mess on her stomach, smearing it across her skin like lotion. "I love that," she murmurs. "I love feeling it land on me."
You collapse next to her. Both of you are breathing like you just finished a sprint. Minjeong stares at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, your cum drying on her skin in streaks.
"That was good," she says eventually.
"Yeah."
Silence for a few seconds. Comfortable. Then you roll your head to look at her.
"Take a quick shower."
She frowns. "Why the urgency?"
"Because while you're in there, I'm going to invite Ning over."
Minjeong sits up so fast she almost headbutts you. "Like, now? Right now?!"
"Right now."
"I'm not prepared. I don't know what to do. I don't know what to say. I have cum on my stomach. My hair is a disaster. I haven't mentally rehearsed any conversation starters. I don't even have snacks."
“Shower. Fix your hair. Put on something cute. I'll handle the rest."
She stares at you with the wide, panicked eyes of someone who's just been told their execution has been moved up. "What are you going to say to her?"
You shrug. "I'll improvise."
"That's the worst possible answer you could have given me!"
"Shower. Now. Go."
She goes. Reluctantly, trailing protests down the hallway, but she goes. You hear the bathroom door close, then the water start. You give yourself sixty seconds to pull your pants on, check your hair in the hallway mirror, and walk out of apartment 69.
Apartment 71 is right there. Two doors down. You knock. Footsteps. A pause (probably checking the peephole). Then the door swings open, and there's Ning.
She's changed since the hallway encounter. The skirt is gone, replaced by fitted jeans and a black blouse that you immediately cannot stop noticing. It's sheer. Not fully transparent, but enough that the dark outline of her bra is visible underneath and her hair is down, slightly wavy, framing that face.
"Oh, hi! You're the guy from earlier." She leans against the doorframe, smiling. "Did you find your friend?"
"I did, yeah. She was home."
"Good." Ning tilts her head. "So what's up?"
"Okay, this might sound random, but Minjeong and I ended up buying way too many drinks and it seems stupid for just two people to go through all of it. You want to come over? Just casual, hanging out, nothing weird."
Ning's eyebrows lift. "Minjeong invited me?"
"Basically, yeah."
"That's... huh." She crosses her arms, but not defensively. More like she's processing. "I thought she didn't like me very much, honestly. I always got the feeling she was avoiding me. Like, every time I see her in the hallway she kind of... disappears?"
You almost laugh. "No, she's just shy. Genuinely. She's one of those people who comes across as distant but really she's just terrible at starting conversations."
"Really?"
"Really. She actually thinks you're super nice. Talks about you a lot." (Understatement of the century.) "She'd love to get to know you better, she just doesn't know how to make the first move."
Ning's smile shifts. Wider, softer, and there's a pink flush creeping up her neck that she probably doesn't realize you can see. "That's actually really sweet. I've been wanting to talk to her too, I just didn't want to bother her if she wasn't interested."
"Trust me. She's interested."
Ning tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, glances back into her apartment for a second and then looks back at you. "Yeah, okay. Let me grab my phone. Give me like two minutes."
"Take your time. Apartment 69, whenever you're ready."
She grins. "Be right there."
You lean against the wall outside apartment 71, hands in your pockets, waiting. Through the open door you can hear Ning moving around inside (a drawer opening, something falling, a muttered "where did I put it"). She reappears thirty seconds later, phone in hand, slipping on a pair of white sneakers by the door.
"Ready," she announces, pulling the door shut behind her.
You walk her the ten steps to apartment 69. It's not a long journey. Ning could have done it alone. But you're the wingman tonight, and wingmen escort. You push the door open and step aside to let her in first. She crosses the threshold at the exact moment Minjeong rounds the corner from the hallway, freshly showered, hair still slightly damp at the ends, wearing a cropped tank top and the shortest pair of cotton shorts you've ever seen on a human being. Her legs look freshly moisturized. She smells like peach body wash from three meters away.
She sees Ning.
Ning sees her.
Minjeong’s expression glitches in real time. Shock. Panic. A vacant reboot stare. And finally, a smile pulled so tight it looks less like happiness and more like muscle strain.
"Hi," Ning says brightly, giving a small wave. "I hope it's okay that I came over. Your friend said you guys had too many drinks?"
Minjeong's eyes slide to you. There is murder in them. Pure, concentrated, premeditated murder. Then she looks back at Ning and the strained smile returns. "Yeah. Totally. So many drinks. Come in."
You close the door and head straight for the kitchen. "Let me check what we're working with." You open Minjeong's refrigerator. The interior is depressingly sparse (condiments, leftover rice in a container, half a lemon wrapped in plastic, and three cans of beer lined up on the bottom shelf). "We have a total of... three beers."
You grab all three, carry them to the living room, and distribute one to each person. Ning takes hers, looks at the single can in her hand, then looks at you.
"I thought you said there were too many?"
"Three beers is way too much for two people... if you don't think about it."
Ning considers this logic. Decides not to challenge it. Cracks her can open.
The three of you sit on the couch. Minjeong on one end, Ning on the other, you in the middle like a human buffer zone. Complete silence. You can hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen. Somewhere outside, a car alarm goes off and stops. Minjeong takes a sip of beer. Ning takes a sip of beer. You take a sip of beer.
"Is that TV new?" you ask Minjeong, gesturing at the wall.
She follows your gesture. Stares at the blank wall. Looks back at you. "There's no TV there."
"Oh. You're right. My bad."
More silence. Ning clears her throat. "This beer is good," she offers. "It's really... cold."
"I like cold beer," you say.
"Me too," Minjeong adds. "Water as well. And soda. Anything cold. I like cold liquids in general."
You have never in your life wanted to leave a room more than you do right now.
"So," Ning says, turning slightly to face both of you, "how did you two meet?"
"Mutual friends," you say at the same time Minjeong says "Mutual friends." You glance at each other. At least you're synchronized on the cover story. The real story involves a house party, four shots of tequila, and Minjeong whispering something in your ear so filthy you nearly choked on an ice cube. But Ning doesn't need that information right now.
"That's nice," Ning says. "I don't really know anyone in the building yet. I moved here about three weeks ago."
"Where from?" you ask.
"Across town. I chose this place because it's closer to the university."
"Cool," Minjeong says. Then nothing.
This isn't going anywhere. The conversation has the energy of a dentist's waiting room. Ning is being polite, Minjeong is buffering, and you're running out of observations about temperature-sensitive beverages.
Time to go nuclear.
You stand up. "I'm going to grab something from the fridge." You take one step, then turn back toward Ning as if you just remembered something: "Oh, by the way, Minjeong thinks you're very, very, very beautiful. Isn't that great?"
You don't wait for the reaction. You hear Minjeong hiss behind you (something that sounds a lot like "I'm going to fucking kill you"), but you're already walking to the kitchen with a grin so wide it hurts your face. You open the refrigerator and start rummaging, slowly, giving them all the time they need.
From the living room, silence. After a moment, Ning finally asks, softly: “Is that true?”
You can practically hear Minjeong's heartbeat from here. A pause. A long one. Then her answer, quiet and unsteady: "Well. If you like hearing it, it's true. If you don't like hearing it, then he's a liar and I'll fight him."
Ning laughs. Warm and sweet, not polite. "I like hearing it, don't worry."
Another pause. You move a jar of pickles aside, pretending to search for something.
"Then it's true," she says, softer than you’ve ever heard.
"I'm not going to let you panic alone." That's Ning. Closer now. "I think you're beautiful too. And mysterious. Every time I see you in the hallway you vanish before I can say anything and I've been wanting to actually get to know you properly for a while."
"I've wanted to get to know you properly too." Minjeong's breathing is audible even from the kitchen. "Your whole body, too." Dead silence. "I mean. That's. I didn't. That came out wrong! I meant your whole personality. Your whole person. Not your body specifically. Not that there's anything wrong with your body, your body is... I'm going to stop talking now."
"It's fine."
"I'm so sorry. God, I’m so pathetic. The second I’m around a pretty girl, my brain just shuts off.”
"Minjeong." Ning murmurs, tender and sure. "I said it's fine. Actually, I'd really like that."
You're still crouched in front of the refrigerator, not even pretending to look anymore, just listening. Then your eyes land on something wedged behind the leftover rice. Chocolate. A full bar, dark, still in the wrapper. You grab it, stand up, close the fridge.
You turn around.
On the couch, Ning has one hand on Minjeong's cheek. Minjeong's fingers are tangled in Ning's hair. Their mouths are pressed together, Ning tilting her head to deepen the angle while Minjeong pulls her closer by the waist. Ning's lips part and Minjeong leans in, and the kiss turns from tentative into something unhurried and real.
You stand there holding a chocolate bar, mouth slightly open.
"Okay. Damn." You look down at the chocolate, then back at the couch. "That was fucking fast."
Neither of them hears you. Minjeong's hand slides from Ning's waist to the small of her back, and Ning melts into her like she's been waiting three weeks for exactly this. You take a bite of chocolate and lean against the kitchen counter to watch, because honestly, you earned this.
Minjeong has shifted from sitting beside Ning to climbing onto her lap, knees bracketing Ning's thighs, hands cupping her face. The kiss has evolved past tentative and into something hungry, Minjeong tilting Ning's chin up with her thumb, licking into her mouth, rolling her hips in these tiny, unconscious movements against Ning's legs. Ning's hands hover at Minjeong's, then finally settle there, fingers gripping the hem of the tank top.
They've completely forgotten you exist. You take another bite of chocolate.
Then Ning's eyes drift open mid-kiss and catch you standing in the kitchen doorway, casually eating a snack. She breaks away from Minjeong's mouth, lips swollen and pink, looking slightly dazed.
"What about your friend?"
Minjeong glances over her shoulder at you, then back at Ning. She doesn't climb off her lap. Instead, she settles more comfortably, running her fingers through Ning's hair.
"So, the thing is: he and I are fuck buddies."
"Oh.” It's the only sound that comes out of Ning's mouth.
"We have sex together. Like, quite often. It's a whole arrangement."
"Oh."
"And I was wondering if maybe you'd want to join us tonight? Like, I don't know. It'll be fun."
"I'm sorry, join you as in..."
"As in exactly what you're thinking."
Ning lets out a short, startled laugh. "Minjeong. We just kissed for the first time like two minutes ago."
"I know."
"And you're already asking me to have a threesome with you and your friend."
"I know how it sounds. It is insane. One hundred percent. I won't argue with that." Minjeong's thumb traces small circles on Ning's hip, her gaze steady even though her ears are turning red. "But I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it. A lot. Like, an embarrassing amount."
"You've thought about this. This specifically."
"You, me, him. In very explicit detail. Multiple times. For weeks." Minjeong swallows but doesn't look away. "Since you moved in, basically. I've had whole scenarios in my head that I'm not going to describe right now because you'd never look at me the same way again."
"That's... I don't even know what to say to that."
"You can say no. It's completely fine. We'll pretend I never said anything and just go back to kissing on the couch and I'll die of embarrassment quietly on my own time."
"No, it's not that. It's just." Ning glances at you again. You keep your face perfectly neutral. Switzerland. "This is a lot. I barely know either of you."
"I get that."
Ning chews the inside of her cheek. She's fidgeting with the hem of her top, twisting the fabric between her fingers. "Can I be honest about something?"
"Please."
"I find it really, really hot that you've been thinking about that."
Minjeong is going to die. You can see it happening, the superhuman effort required to keep her expression at calm and cool when every atom of her being is screaming. Ning covers her face with one hand, speaking through her fingers. "And it's so embarrassing to admit this but I've always wanted to try it. A threesome. Like, always. It's been on my list forever and I never had the opportunity or the nerve and now you're just casually offering it to me on a random weeknight and I..."
"You have a list?"
"Shut up, everyone has a list." Ning drops her hand. Her face is burning but her eyes are bright. "It's so kinky. It's so filthy. I can't believe I'm actually considering this."
"You're considering it?"
"I'm past considering it." She exhales, something reckless and electric settling into her expression. "Okay. Yeah. Okay. Before I lose my nerve and go back to my apartment and scream into a pillow for three hours about what I almost did."
Minjeong takes her hand. "Come see my room.”
The three of you file down the hallway. Minjeong pushes the bedroom door open and Ning steps in, her eyes sweeping the space. It's relatively tidy (Minjeong cleaned up most of the evidence), but a few things are still out. A bottle of lube on the nightstand. A silicone vibrator resting casually on the dresser like a paperweight. A harness draped over the back of a chair.
Ning stares at the harness, then at the vibrator, then at Minjeong.
You lean close to Ning's ear. "These are just the ones she left out. The whole arsenal is in the drawers."
"Drawers," Ning repeats faintly. "Plural."
"Top one is straps. Middle is accessories. Bottom is stuff she won't tell me about."
Minjeong shoots you a look but doesn't deny it. She perches on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, and pats the sheets beside her. "Sorry, the bed's a little messy. We were, um. He and I were having sex before you came over."
"Seriously?"
"Yes," you confirm, stepping closer. "In fact, we were having sex and thinking about you."
Ning's lips part. Her eyes go wide, bouncing between the two of you. "About me?"
"Minjeong came thinking about you." You say it plainly. "She talks about you constantly. She's been stalking your Instagram for weeks. Those photos you post, the ones in the tight dresses? She has a whole saved folder."
"Forty-seven screenshots," Minjeong adds quietly, apparently deciding that full transparency is the move now.
"Forty-seven," Ning echoes.
You guide Ning gently by the shoulders until she's sitting on Minjeong's lap, facing outward, her back against Minjeong's chest. Minjeong's arms wrap around her waist instinctively, chin resting on her shoulder.
"Minjeong is a certified perv, you’re her newest subject of observation,” you continue. "She hid behind a plant in the hallway tonight because you were wearing a skirt and she couldn't handle it."
"The plant," Ning says, something clicking. "I thought I saw someone crouching by that fern."
"That was her."
Minjeong groans into Ning's shoulder.
You don't waste time and lean down to kiss Ning. Soft, exploratory, tasting the beer on her lips, and she kisses you back without hesitation. Behind her, Minjeong holds her steady, fingers spreading across Ning's stomach. Ning pulls back, slightly dazed. "Having two people wanting me like this. Thinking about me like that. It's... it's messing with my head."
Minjeong's lips find her ear. You don't hear the whispers, but you know exactly what she's saying. Ning's breath hitches. Her thighs press together. Her eyes flutter shut. While Minjeong murmurs, you kneel down and untie Ning's sneakers, pulling them off one at a time. Then her jeans (button, zipper, easing the denim down her legs while she lifts her hips to help). Her blouse goes next, Minjeong helping from behind, and then she's sitting there in a black lace bra and matching panties, skin warm and flushed, goosebumps rising along her arms.
"Look at you," Minjeong breathes, running her palms over Ning's bare shoulders. She presses her lips there, a trail of kisses across the curve. "These shoulders. So broad. So pretty." She kisses the junction of her neck. "Your skin is so soft."
Ning shivers. You pull your shirt off. Take off your shoes. Unbuckle your belt. Ning watches, her blush deepening, a nervous little laugh escaping her when your pants hit the floor. "A guy and a girl at the same time. Wow."
"Get used to it," Minjeong murmurs against her neck. "I have a feeling you're going to get addicted."
You're down to your underwear now. You lean in and kiss Ning again, your tongue sliding against hers. Behind her, Minjeong's mouth works along Ning's neck, sucking gently, and Ning melts between the two of you. Trapped. Surrounded. Four hands roaming her body (yours tracing her collarbone, her ribs, the dip of her waist; Minjeong's sliding up her stomach, thumbs brushing the underside of her bra). Then Minjeong turns Ning's chin and the three of you meet in the middle, all tongue, breath and wet contact, mouths overlapping in a messy, three-way kiss that falls apart into smiles and reconnects again.
Minjeong taps Ning's hip. "Move up for me."
She shifts to the center of the bed, pulling Ning with her, and lays her down against the pillows. Ning's hair fans out dark against the white sheets. Minjeong reaches behind Ning's back and unclasps her bra with one hand, sliding it off her arms. Then her panties, peeled down slowly, Ning lifting her hips again, and then she's completely bare.
Minjeong stares, her gaze traveling down Ning's body with worship and hunger simultaneously. "You're so beautiful. Fuck, you're even more perfect than I imagined."
Minjeong pulls her own tank top off in one fluid motion. The shorts follow, kicked off the edge of the bed. No underwear (of course). She kneels beside Ning, fully naked, and reaches down between her own legs. Her fingers spread her pussy open, showing Ning. Swollen, pink, glistening wet, her clit hard and visible.
"See this? This is what you do to me. I've been like this since you walked in the door." She holds herself open, letting Ning look. "You have to take responsibility."
Ning's eyes are fixed between Minjeong's thighs. Her tongue darts across her lower lip. "I'll do anything."
"Lie flat for me." Ning obeys. Flat on her back, arms at her sides, chest rising and falling rapidly.
Minjeong swings one leg over Ning's head and settles her knees on either side. “If you want me to stop, tap my thigh twice,” Minjeong tells her. Ning nods in agreement. She lowers herself slowly, her wet pussy hovering inches above Ning's mouth, thighs framing that perfect face. Ning's hands come up to grip Minjeong's hips, pulling her down, and then her mouth is on her. Minjeong's breath punches out of her chest. Her spine straightens. Her fingers find the headboard for balance.
You settle between Ning's spread legs, lying on your stomach, and lower your mouth to her cunt. She's soaked, thoroughly, completely soaked, her inner thighs already slick. You drag your tongue flat from her entrance to her clit and she moans directly into Minjeong's pussy, the vibration making Minjeong gasp above her.
Minjeong is facing you, looking directly down the length of Ning's trembling body and into your eyes while you eat her out. Her pupils are blown wide. Her lips are parted. She rolls her hips against Ning's tongue and watches you work between those gorgeous thighs.
Ning's tongue drags flat against Minjeong's slit, tentative at first, tasting her, learning the landscape. You watch it happen from between Ning's thighs. Minjeong's face shifts from composed to fractured in a single breath, her grip on the headboard tightening, knuckles going pale. She exhales through her nose, slow and controlled, trying to hold her composure the way she always does when something feels too good too fast.
"Slower," Minjeong instructs, settling her weight down just a fraction more. "Take your time with me."
Ning adjusts. Her tongue narrows, tracing the outer edges of Minjeong's lips in long, patient strokes, avoiding the clit entirely, teasing without knowing she's teasing. Or maybe she does know. Her fingers grip Minjeong's thighs for purchase, thumbs dimpling the soft skin.
You lower your mouth back to Ning's cunt, deliciously wet now, her arousal smeared across her inner thighs, her lips swollen and flushed dark pink. You flatten your tongue against her clit and hold there, just pressure, no movement, letting her feel the heat of your mouth. Her hips twitch upward. You pull back an inch. She whines into Minjeong's pussy, and the vibration makes Minjeong's spine curve.
"She's good at this," Minjeong murmurs, more to herself than to you. Her hips roll forward, a slow grind against Ning's mouth, coating her chin, her cheeks. "Such a good mouth. Such a pretty, eager little mouth."
You circle Ning's clit with the tip of your tongue. Tight circles, building sensation, then you pull away completely. Kiss her inner thigh instead. Ning's legs tremble. Her hips chase your mouth and find nothing.
That's the game. You've played it before with Minjeong (she taught you, actually, during one of those early sessions where she sat you down and explained exactly how she wanted to be tortured). Build the pressure. Take it away. Build it higher. Take it away again. Make the body so desperate for release that when it finally comes, it breaks something. Ning is already responding to it. Every time you return to her clit, she's more sensitive, more reactive. Her thighs shake when your lips close around the swollen bud. Her hips buck when you suck gently. And every reaction feeds directly into Minjeong through her mouth, because Ning can't separate what she's receiving from what she's giving.
Minjeong grinds down harder. The restraint is gone now. She's using Ning's face, rocking her hips in steady, selfish rolls that drag her clit across Ning's tongue with each pass. Her pussy is leaving streaks of wetness across Ning's chin, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose. Ning takes all of it, mouth open, tongue working, breathing through her nose in short bursts between Minjeong's thighs.
"You're doing so well," Minjeong pants. She reaches down and pushes Ning's hair back from her forehead. "My perfect little slut. You were made for this, weren't you?" Ning moans her agreement into Minjeong's cunt, and Minjeong's eyes roll back for a second before she catches herself.
You slide two fingers into Ning. Slow, curling upward, pressing against her front wall while your tongue works her clit in lazy, unpredictable patterns. She's so wet your fingers meet no resistance, just the tight, hot grip of her walls clenching around you as you push deeper. You pump into her a few times, steady, feeling her pulse around your knuckles, then pull out entirely.
Ning's hips lift off the mattress, searching. Her thighs clamp around your head. You pry them apart gently and blow cool air across her soaked pussy, watching the muscles in her stomach jump. "Please," she gasps into Minjeong, smothered between Minjeong's thighs, but you both hear it.
You press your tongue flat against her clit again and hold. No movement. Just heat, pressure and the promise of more. Her legs start shaking.
Above her, Minjeong is losing her rhythm. The controlled grinding has dissolved into something needier, less precise, her hips stuttering and jerking against Ning's mouth. "Make me cum," Minjeong breathes. "Right now. Make me cum, Ning."
Ning's hands slide up from Minjeong's thighs to her ass. She grabs both cheeks, fingers digging into the flesh, and pulls Minjeong down hard against her face. Her tongue pushes inside. Not against the clit, not teasing the entrance. Inside. Deep, as far as she can reach, curling and stroking Minjeong's walls while her nose presses against Minjeong's clit.
Minjeong shatters. Her whole body seizes. Her head drops back, tendons standing out in her neck, mouth open, a long, broken moan tearing out of her chest. Her hips grind down in tight, frantic circles against Ning's face, riding the orgasm out on her tongue, her pussy clenching and releasing in visible pulses. Wetness floods Ning's chin, her neck, pooling in the hollow of her throat. Minjeong shakes through it for what feels like a full minute, her grip on the headboard the only thing keeping her upright, wave after wave rolling through her until she's gasping and oversensitive and trembling.
She lifts herself off Ning's face on unsteady knees. Ning lies beneath her, mouth and chin and cheeks glazed with Minjeong's arousal, chest heaving, lips puffy and swollen and glistening. And she's close. You can feel it in the way her pussy clenches around your fingers (you've slid them back inside during Minjeong's orgasm, three now, curling rhythmically against that spongey spot while your thumb traces circles around her clit). Her legs are shaking uncontrollably. Her abs are taut. She's right there, right on the edge, teetering.
"Please," Ning whimpers, looking up at Minjeong with glassy, desperate eyes. "Please, I need to, I'm so close, please let me."
Minjeong slides off to the side, settling next to Ning, propped on one elbow. She runs a finger along Ning's jaw, collecting some of her own wetness, and pushes it between Ning's lips. "You'll cum when I tell you."
"Please, Minjeong, I can't, I need it."
"You can hold it." She strokes Ning's hair, calm and collected now, fully back in control despite the fact that she was just falling apart thirty seconds ago. "Be a good girl for me."
You pump your fingers steadily inside Ning, curling on every outstroke, your thumb maintaining constant pressure on her clit. Her walls flutter around your knuckles in desperate, involuntary spasms. Her fists grip the sheets so hard the fabric bunches. Every muscle in her body is locked.
"Minjeong," Ning begs again. Tears are forming at the corners of her eyes, not from pain but from the sheer intensity of holding back. "I'll do anything. I'll be so good. I'll be your good girl, I promise, please, I'm begging you."
Minjeong watches her for a long, cruel moment. Then she leans down, presses her lips to Ning's ear, and whispers, "Cum for me."
Your thumb presses down hard on Ning's clit and your fingers drive deep and curl. Ning screams. Not a moan, not a gasp. A full, raw, wrecked scream that tears out of her throat as her back arches completely off the mattress, her pussy clamping down on your fingers so tight it almost hurts. Her thighs slam shut around your hand. Her whole body convulses, rhythmic, violent contractions that shake her from her core outward, and she keeps screaming through it, broken fragments of Minjeong's name and and sounds that aren't language anymore.
You work her through it until she collapses, boneless and twitching, her legs falling open, your fingers still buried inside her pulsing cunt.
Minjeong turns to you. "Clean her face."
You pull your fingers out of Ning and move up the bed. Her face is a mess. Minjeong's juices coating her chin, her cheeks, the sides of her nose, drying in sticky trails. You lean down and drag your tongue from her jaw to her cheekbone, collecting the taste of Minjeong off Ning's skin. Across her chin. Along her upper lip. The corner of her mouth. You gather all of it on your tongue, every slick, musky trace, then you press your mouth to Ning's and push it all inside. Your tongue slides against hers, feeding her Minjeong's arousal, and Ning moans into the kiss, her hands coming up weakly to grip your face.
When you pull back, Ning's eyes are unfocused and completely gone. "Daddy," she whispers.
Minjeong's eyebrows lift. She looks at you. You look at her. A charged, knowing glance passes between you. "On your knees," Minjeong tells Ning, shifting back into something commanding and absolute. "On the floor. You're going to suck his cock now."
Ning slides off the bed like her bones are made of liquid, settling onto her knees on the carpet, looking up at both of you with that ruined, beautiful, cum-stained face and waiting.
Ning wraps her fingers around your shaft. She doesn't put it in her mouth right away. Instead, she tilts her head and presses the length of it against her cheek, dragging it slowly across her skin, her jaw, the corner of her lips. Her eyes close. She nuzzles against it like it's something precious, the warm weight of your cock resting against that gorgeous face, and she exhales through her nose, content.
"Look at her," Minjeong says from the edge of the bed, legs crossed, leaning forward on her elbows. "She didn't even need to be told. Show us how much of a slut you really are, Ning."
Ning drags your cock across her other cheek, leaving a faint streak of precum glistening on her skin. She opens her eyes and looks up at Minjeong, searching for approval, and presses her lips to the underside of the shaft in a long, lazy kiss.
Then she takes you in. No teasing, no tentative licks. She parts her lips and slides you into her mouth, her tongue pressing flat against the underside, cheeks hollowing as she sucks you in to the halfway point. Warm, wet, tight. Her lips seal around the shaft and she pulls back slowly, then pushes forward again, finding a rhythm.
Minjeong leans back on her palms, watching with fascinated eyes. "Get it nice and wet for me. Every inch. That cock is going inside your little pussy next, so you better make sure it's ready." Ning moans around your shaft. The vibration rolls through you and your hand finds the top of her head, fingers threading into her hair. She bobs steadily, saliva building around her lips, coating you, making everything slick and messy.
"You know what's funny," Minjeong continues, conversational. "I've seen every single photo on your Instagram. Every one. That mirror selfie in the white dress? The bikini shots? That gym story where the seam of your shorts was sitting right between your pussy lips?"
Ning's rhythm falters for a second. She pulls off your cock, a string of spit connecting her lower lip to the head, and looks at Minjeong with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. "You saw that?"
"I screenshot it. You knew exactly what you were doing when you posted it. Little tease. Showing off that body, those curves, hoping someone would notice." Minjeong tilts her head. "Well, someone noticed."
Ning licks her lips, tasting the mix of saliva and precum. "I am a tease."
"You're more than a tease. You're a slut who posts thirst traps at midnight hoping someone will come put her in her place." Minjeong's voice is fond and cruel at the same time, a combination only she can pull off. "And here you are. On your knees. Drooling on a cock. Exactly where you belong."
"Exactly where I belong," Ning repeats.
She takes you back in her mouth, pushing past the halfway point, her throat opening up as she works more of you inside. Her hand wraps around the base, stroking what her mouth can't reach, spit running down her fingers.
"Tell me something," Minjeong says, sliding off the bed and kneeling beside Ning on the floor. She tucks a strand of hair behind Ning's ear, gentle, then traces her thumb across Ning's stretched lower lip where it meets your shaft. "What do you prefer? Pussy or dick?"
Ning pulls off with a wet sound. She jerks you slowly while she answers, her fist slick and tight. "I can't decide."
"Pick one."
"I can't." She rubs the head of your cock against her parted lips while she talks, smearing spit and precum across her mouth. "I want both. Together. At the same time. Fucking me."
Minjeong face shifts into a look of predatory delight. "Both at once. Greedy little thing. I bet you'd give up all your holes if we asked. Pussy, mouth, ass. Every single one."
Ning nods without hesitation. "Every one. All of them. I'd let you use all of me."
"Say it properly."
Ning's eyes lock onto Minjeong's. "I'd give you every hole I have. Both of you. However you want. Whenever you want. I'm yours."
Minjeong strokes her cheek kindly. Then she gathers Ning's hair into a fist at the back of her head and pulls, firm enough to tilt her face upward. "Open."
Ning opens her mouth. Minjeong guides her head forward, pushing your cock between those swollen lips, controlling the depth, the angle, the speed. Slow at first. She pulls Ning down to the midpoint, holds her there for two seconds, then lets her come back up.
"Deeper," Minjeong instructs. She pushes Ning further. Three-quarters. You feel the head of your cock brush the back of her throat and Ning's hands grip your thighs, steadying herself. Her eyes water. She breathes through her nose, adjusting.
"All of it." Minjeong's fist tightens in Ning's hair. "Take the whole thing. Gag on it for me."
She pushes Ning all the way down. Your cock slides past the resistance of her throat and Ning chokes, her whole body lurching, spit flooding around the shaft and dripping from her chin. But she doesn't pull away. Her fingers dig into your thighs and she holds herself there, throat constricting around you in tight, involuntary spasms. Tears bead at the corners of her eyes, catching the light.
Minjeong holds her in place for three seconds. Four. Five. Then pulls her off by the hair. Ning gasps, a thick rope of saliva stretching from your cock to her lips before it breaks and drops onto her chest. Her mascara has started to run, thin dark tracks beneath her lower lashes.
"Good girl," Minjeong purrs, wiping Ning's chin with her thumb. "Look at you. So messy already."
She pushes Ning back down. Faster this time, setting a rhythm with her fist in Ning's hair, fucking her face onto your cock with controlled, merciless strokes. Ning takes it. Her throat opens and closes around the head on every downstroke, spit bubbling at the corners of her mouth, dripping off her chin in thick, translucent strings that land on her tits, her collarbones, the floor between her knees.
"This is what all those Instagram photos were really about," Minjeong tells her between strokes, pulling her up for air then shoving her back down. "Every posed selfie, every tight dress, every lip bite. You were advertising. Begging someone to see through the pretty packaging and find the desperate little cockslut underneath."
She pulls Ning off. Ning coughs, gasps, saliva coating her entire lower face. Her lips are swollen and red, her chin is a mess, and her eyes are glassy with tears that haven't quite fallen. "Thank you," Ning rasps.
Minjeong cradles her jaw, tilts her face up, and studies the damage with open admiration. Ruined makeup, spit-slicked skin, puffy lips trembling with exertion. A masterpiece in progress.
"We're just getting started," Minjeong tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead that is somehow tender considering the circumstances. "Keep drooling over that dick," Minjeong tells Ning, giving her hair one last stroke before standing up. "I need to get something."
She pads across the room to the dresser, bare feet on hardwood, and pulls open the second drawer. You hear her rummage for a moment, pushing things aside with purpose. Ning stays on her knees, her fist wrapped loosely around your shaft, stroking in slow, absent movements while she watches Minjeong's back. Saliva still drips from her chin in lazy strings. The bell hasn't arrived yet and she's already waiting like something trained.
Minjeong turns around holding a strip of black leather. Thin, elegant, with a small silver buckle and a tiny bell dangling from a ring at the front. She walks back with it draped across both palms, presenting it like a jeweler showing a necklace.
"Look at you," she says softly, stopping in front of Ning. Her gaze travels down from Ning's tear-streaked face to the spit glistening on her chest, the swollen lips, the collar of bruises already forming on her knees from the hard floor. "Kneeling there, serving both of us. Makeup ruined. Drool everywhere. You look like a perfect little pet."
"She really does," you agree.
Minjeong crouches to Ning's level. "Tell me what you want to be."
Ning's eyes drop to the collar, then rise back to Minjeong's face. "A kitten."
Minjeong's breath catches. The momentary crack in the dom facade where the girl who hid behind a fern forty minutes ago surfaces and can't believe this is actually happening. A goonette fantasy becoming real. Then she blinks and it's gone. "That's the perfect answer." She unfastens the buckle, opens the collar wide. "I have exactly what you need to be a proper domesticated kitten."
She reaches forward and wraps the leather around Ning's throat. Gentle, careful, adjusting the fit so it sits snug but not tight, the cool metal of the bell resting in the hollow between her collarbones. She threads the leather through the buckle and pulls it closed.
"What do you think?" Minjeong asks, looking up at you.
"Looks perfect on her." You tilt your head, studying the way the black leather contrasts against Ning's skin, the way the little bell catches the lamplight. "You told me you'd been saving that for someone special. Seems like you finally found her."
Ning smiles when she hears that. Minjeong cups Ning's face with one hand, running her thumb across her lower lip, smearing the mess of spit and precum that's collected there. Ning's tongue darts out and licks the pad of Minjeong's thumb, maintaining eye contact. Like an obedient kitten lapping at her owner's hand.
"So cute," Minjeong whispers. She traces the ruined tracks of mascara under Ning's eyes, the smudged eyeliner, the foundation that's gone patchy from tears and spit. "So beautiful like this. All ruined. You know what I want? I want you to always wear makeup when we have sex. Full face. So I can watch it fall apart piece by piece. Watch you go from perfect to wrecked."
"Yes, Minjeong."
"Meow for me."
Ning doesn't hesitate. She tilts her chin up, the bell jingling softly, and lets out a small, sweet meow. Breathy and earnest and completely without irony. Minjeong giggles. An actual, genuine, delighted giggle that breaks through the dominant composure entirely. She covers her mouth with one hand and laughs, eyes crinkling. "Oh my god. You actually did it. I can't believe you actually did it." Ning smiles up at her, proud, the bell swaying against her throat. "So obedient." Minjeong smooths herself back into control, the grin turning firm. "Go to bed, kitten."
Ning rises (legs a little unsteady, knees red from the floor) and climbs onto the mattress, settling on her back against the pillows. The bell chimes with every movement she makes. Minjeong crosses the room again, this time to a different drawer. You sit on the edge of the bed beside Ning and rest your hand on her calf, running your thumb along the muscle there. She looks at you with those big, glassy, wrecked eyes.
"You feeling okay?"
She lets out a nervous little laugh, the bell jingling as her chest moves. "I've never felt so many things at once. I'm nervous and excited and my brain is like... short-circuiting? In a good way. In a really, really good way."
"You were born for this."
She stares at the ceiling, a bewildered smile spreading across her face. "And to think I was going to spend tonight watching Gossip Girl again. For the fourth time. I was on season three."
"Ning, this is objectively a better use of your evening."
"So much better," she agrees, still smiling at the ceiling like she can't quite believe her own life.
Minjeong reappears at the bedside. In one hand, a pair of padded handcuffs (black leather, matching the collar, because Kim Minjeong is nothing if not aesthetically coordinated). In the other, a tube of lipstick. Deep red, almost burgundy.
She climbs onto the bed with the fluid confidence of someone who has orchestrated this exact type of scenario before (even if never with someone she actually had feelings for). She straddles Ning's waist, takes both her wrists, and guides them above her head. The handcuffs loop through a slat in the headboard and click shut around each wrist with a snap. Ning tugs once, testing. Secure.
"The collar is a good start," Minjeong says, settling her weight on Ning's hips and uncapping the lipstick. "But it's not enough. You're a kitten with owners now, and kittens need to be marked so everyone knows who they belong to."
She presses the lipstick to Ning's stomach. The tip is cool against warm skin, and Ning flinches slightly, her abs tensing, the bell chiming from the movement. Minjeong writes in slow strokes across that flat, taut canvas. Each letter precise. When she finishes, she leans back to admire her work.
CUM DUMP. Bold, red, slightly smeared at the edges where Ning's breathing made her stomach rise and fall.
"Perfect," Minjeong murmurs. She looks at you. "What do you think?"
"I was going to suggest something but anything I wrote would sound incredibly sexist coming from me, so I'm glad you took creative control."
"Haha, very funny." She caps the lipstick and tosses it aside, then looks down at Ning. "Do you agree with what it says?"
Ning cranes her neck to read it upside down. The bell jingles. Her cheeks flush even darker than they already were, but she nods. "Yes. That's me."
"Good girl." Minjeong runs her fingertips along Ning's sides, feeling the goosebumps rise in their wake. "Obviously, she still needs more marks. Look at this skin." She pinches Ning's hip lightly and a pink spot blooms instantly on the pale flesh. "So fair. So sensitive. Every touch is going to leave a trace. It'll be easy for you to turn her all red."
She climbs off Ning and settles beside her, one hand possessively resting on Ning's collared throat, thumb stroking the leather. She looks at you with that dark, commanding certainty that has no business existing in the same person who said "day nice you" to this girl three weeks ago. "Fuck her tight little pussy. Make her scream.”
You obey without hesitation, settling between Ning's spread thighs, her legs draped over yours, the handcuffs clinking softly against the headboard slat as she shifts. The bell on her collar chimes. The red lipstick letters on her stomach rise and fall with her breathing. You grip the base of your cock, still slick from her throat, and drag the head along her slit. She's drenched, swollen, her pussy lips parting easily under the pressure, and Ning's entire body tenses in anticipation, her wrists pulling against the cuffs.
You push inside her. Slow. Inch by inch. The heat is staggering, tight and wet and gripping you like a fist, her walls clenching around the shaft as you sink deeper. Ning's head drops back against the pillow and her mouth falls open, the bell jingling as her throat works around a soundless gasp. You bottom out, hips flush against hers, and hold there. Let her feel the fullness. Let her adjust to being stretched around you while handcuffed and collared and marked with lipstick on a bed that still smells like the sex you had with Minjeong an hour ago.
Minjeong, meanwhile, has moved. She's propped against the headboard beside Ning, one leg bent, the other extended, and she's rummaging through the nightstand without looking (because she knows the layout of that drawer by muscle memory at this point). Her hand emerges with a small, matte black vibrator, compact and curved. She clicks it on, the low hum filling the room, and presses it between her own legs with a satisfied sigh. She spreads herself open with two fingers and nestles the tip directly against her clit, her thighs falling apart, and settles in to watch.
"Tell me what she feels like," Minjeong says. "I want details."
You pull back halfway and thrust in again, a deep, measured stroke that makes Ning's back arch off the mattress. "Tight. Really fucking tight. Tighter than you."
"Obviously. I've been broken in. She hasn't." Minjeong adjusts the angle of the vibrator and her breath stutters for a second. "What else?"
"Wet. She's dripping. I can feel it running down my balls." You thrust again, establishing a slow, grinding rhythm, pulling nearly all the way out before sliding back in to the hilt. Ning's pussy grips you on every outstroke like it doesn't want to let go. "And hot. She's burning up inside."
"Hear that, Ning?" Minjeong turns her head to look down at her. Ning's face is flushed, eyes half-shut, lips parted around shallow breaths, the tear tracks of ruined mascara still visible on her cheeks. "Your desperate little cunt is putting on quite a performance."
Ning's hips roll up to meet your next thrust and a moan spills out of her, unguarded and raw. "It feels so good."
"Yeah?"
"So good. Oh my god." Her wrists strain against the cuffs as she tries to reach for you and can't. The bell jingles with every movement, a constant, delicate accompaniment to the wet sounds of you fucking her. "I can feel all of you. Every inch."
You lean forward, changing the angle, pressing deeper, and Ning's eyes snap open. You grab her hip with one hand, anchoring her, and set a rhythm that's firm and constant, each stroke bottoming out, grinding against her cervix before pulling back.
"I bet she'd love having two cocks in her," Minjeong says, pressing the vibrator harder against her clit, her free hand gripping the sheet beside her thigh. "Mine and yours. Both stuffed inside that greedy little hole at the same time. Stretching her open until she couldn't think straight."
Ning's breath catches. She turns her head toward Minjeong, and even through the haze of pleasure there's something uncertain in her expression. "I don't... I don't think two would fit in me."
Minjeong snorts a soft, ruthless laugh, pure dismissal. "We'd make it fit. We'd go slow and work you open and push inside together and you'd take it because that's what dumb little cum dumps do. They take whatever gets shoved inside them and say thank you." You punctuate her point with a particularly hard thrust and Ning cries out, her voice pitching high, bouncing off the bedroom walls.
"Careful," Minjeong purrs, circling the vibrator in slow patterns against herself, her own arousal glistening on the toy. "The neighbors are going to hear you. What will they think of sweet, innocent Ning from apartment 71? The nice new girl with the pretty smile who waves in the hallway? Moaning like a little slut in heat for two people she met tonight." She tilts her head, studying Ning's mortified, aroused expression. "What do you think Mrs. Park next door would say if she could hear you right now? She brings you fruit baskets, doesn't she? Sweet old lady. Probably thinks you're such a wholesome young woman. If only she could see you handcuffed and collared with CUM DUMP written across your belly and a cock buried in your soaking wet pussy."
Ning whimpers, flushing from her cheeks all the way down her chest, the embarrassment and the arousal tangling together until they're indistinguishable. You feel her cunt clench around you, tighter, wetter, her body responding to the humiliation even as her face burns with shame. You keep fucking her. Steady, controlled strokes, each one dragging your shaft along her front wall, each one forcing a small, involuntary sound from her throat. The bell hasn't stopped chiming. The handcuffs rattle against the headboard in rhythm with your thrusts. The red lipstick on her stomach is starting to smear where your hand grips her hip, the M in DUMP bleeding into a crimson streak across her skin.
Minjeong's gaze drifts to the floor. She spots her own shorts. She clicks the vibrator off, sets it aside, and leans over the edge of the bed to pick them up. She examines them for a second, turning them inside out, finding the crotch panel. Even from where you are, you can see the damp patch.
"Open your mouth," Minjeong tells Ning. Ning obeys, lips parting, and Minjeong presses the wet patch of fabric directly against her nose and mouth. Ning inhales and her eyes roll back, a full-body shudder running through her, her pussy clamping down on you so hard your rhythm stutters.
"That's what you do to me," Minjeong whispers, rubbing the shorts across Ning's face slowly, smearing her own scent across Ning's cheeks, her lips, the bridge of her nose. "Smell that? That's how wet I get just looking at you. Every time you walk past me in that hallway, every time I see you through the peephole, this is what happens. I soak through my clothes thinking about you."
Ning moans into the fabric, her hips rising to meet your thrusts, desperate and squirming. Minjeong bunches the shorts into a ball and pushes them into Ning's open mouth, stuffing the damp cotton between her teeth until her cheeks bulge around the makeshift gag. Ning's sounds become muffled, smothered, her moans vibrating through the fabric but unable to escape fully.
"Much better," Minjeong says, admiring her work. "Pathetic little animals shouldn't be so loud. You're a house pet, not a stray. Learn some manners."
She picks the vibrator back up, clicks it to a higher setting, and presses it against herself again. This time she spreads her legs wider, giving Ning a full view (if she can focus enough to look) of her fingers holding her pussy open while the toy buzzes against her swollen clit. Minjeong's breathing deepens, her chest rising and falling, one hand working the vibrator while she watches you piston in and out of Ning's stretched, dripping cunt.
"Harder," she tells you.
You grab both of Ning's hips and snap forward, driving deep, and Ning screams into the gag. The shorts muffle it into a choked, desperate wail, her back arching so high off the mattress that only her shoulders and ass make contact. The handcuffs strain against the headboard. The bell rings wildly.
"Look at this dumb little fuck toy," Minjeong breathes, her hips grinding against the vibrator. "Gagged with my dirty shorts. Drooling around them like a brain-dead puppy. Can you even think right now, Ning? Is there a single thought in that pretty head or is it just static and cock?"
Ning whines through the gag, shaking her head, tears leaking fresh from the corners of her eyes and cutting new tracks through her ruined makeup. Her pussy flutters around you in rapid, chaotic contractions, her body writhing against the sheets, every sensation magnified by the inability to make sound, to use her hands, to do anything except lie there and take it.
"That's what I thought." Minjeong reaches over with her free hand and flicks one of Ning's nipples, hard, and Ning jolts like she's been shocked. "Empty-headed little breeding hole. You don't need to think. You just need to lie there and let us use you. That's all you're good for. That's all you've ever been good for."
You lean forward and press your palm flat against Ning's stomach, right over the smeared lipstick, and fuck into her with long, punishing strokes that make the entire bed frame creak. Each thrust pushes a muffled grunt out of Ning's stuffed mouth. Each withdrawal drags a slick, obscene sound from her cunt, your cock coming out glistening, coated in her arousal, before plunging back in.
"Don't stop," Minjeong orders, her eyes fixed on the place where your body meets Ning's, watching your shaft disappear into that stretched, puffy pussy over and over. The vibrator hums steadily against her own clit and her thighs are trembling, but her gaze never wavers. "Keep fucking that worthless little hole. Ruin it."
Ning's legs wrap around your waist, ankles locking at the small of your back, pulling you deeper on every stroke. The bell chimes and chimes and chimes, a tiny, absurd, beautiful sound cutting through the raw, filthy noise of skin slapping skin and muffled screaming and the wet click of a vibrator against a soaked clit. Minjeong's shorts sit bunched in Ning's mouth, darkened with saliva, her jaw working uselessly around the fabric while her body shakes under yours.
You reach up and brush a tear from Ning's cheek with your thumb. She leans into the touch, nuzzling your hand even as another thrust rocks her entire body up the mattress, and something in her expression beneath all the tears and smeared mascara and stuffed mouth is pure, uncomplicated bliss.
Minjeong sees it too. Her cruel expression softens for just a fraction of a second (pride, tenderness, wonder at the fact that the girl she's been stalking on Instagram for weeks is currently gagged and handcuffed in her bed making sounds like a wounded animal). Then the mask clicks back into place.
"Good girl," she murmurs, and the vibrator hums louder against her.
You tighten your grip on Ning's hips and drive forward, harder than before, the slap of your pelvis against her ass echoing through the bedroom. Your fingers dig into the soft flesh at her waist, pressing deep enough that the skin blanches white around your fingertips before flooding pink when you shift your hold. Each thrust rocks her up the mattress an inch, the handcuffs clanking against the headboard in a metallic staccato, the bell on her collar singing its constant little song.
"That's it," Minjeong breathes from beside you, the vibrator pressed snug between her legs, her thighs glistening. She's watching the place where your cock disappears into Ning with an almost clinical fascination, her free hand gripping her own thigh. "Fuck her good. Really good. I bet you're loving that, aren't you? That wet, warm, tight little pussy gripping your cock so well."
"She's squeezing me every time I pull out."
"Of course she is. Desperate little hole doesn't want to let go." Minjeong shifts the vibrator's angle against her clit and her abs clench. "Her body knows what it's for even if her brain hasn't caught up yet."
You increase the pace again, snapping your hips forward with enough force that the bed frame groans against the wall. Your hands on Ning's hips are leaving marks now, red fingerprints blooming on her pale skin like stamps, and you watch them appear and darken with each adjustment of your grip. She's going to wear those bruises for a week. Little oval reminders pressed into her flesh that she'll see every time she showers, every time she changes, every time she catches herself in a mirror.
Minjeong leans over and spits on Ning's chest. A thick glob that lands between her tits and slides slowly down toward her sternum, mixing with the smeared red lipstick. "Dirty slut."
Ning's muffled shriek through the gag is somewhere between protest and ecstasy. Her hips buck up against yours, chasing the impact, her body arching into the degradation like a plant turning toward sunlight. The shorts stuffed in her mouth are soaked through with saliva, her jaw working around the damp cotton, drool leaking from the corners of her lips and running down her chin in thin streams.
"It's so good hearing her like that," Minjeong murmurs, pressing the vibrator harder against herself. "All those little choked sounds. Like a puppy whining through a muzzle." She tilts her head, studying Ning's tear-streaked, gagged, spit-covered face. "But now I want to hear her beg."
Minjeong reaches over and hooks a finger into the bunched fabric, pulling the shorts from Ning's mouth. They come out dark with spit, and Ning gasps, gulping air, her jaw stretching wide to relieve the ache. A thick rope of saliva connects her lower lip to the wadded cotton for a second before it breaks. Minjeong stands. Right there on the mattress, rising to her full height above Ning's prone body, feet planted on either side of her ribcage. Small but towering, naked, the vibrator buzzing at maximum in her hand, pressed hard against her swollen clit. Her pussy is flushed dark, her inner thighs slick with arousal, and she looks down at Ning the way a goddess looks at an offering.
"Beg me," she says. "Beg me to cum all over your body. Ask me to drench you. To bathe you in it. Make it sound delicious, kitten, or I won't give you a single drop."
Ning's face is a wreck. Mascara smeared to her temples, foundation patchy and streaked, lipstick bitten off entirely, her cheeks flushed so deep they're almost purple. She looks up at Minjeong standing above her while you keep fucking her in long, brutal strokes, and the combination of being split open on a cock and staring up at the woman she's been crushing on for three weeks breaks something loose inside her.
"Please," she moans, her wrists pulling uselessly at the cuffs. "Please cum on me, Minjeong. All over me. I want it. I want to feel it. I want to be covered in you, I want it on my face and my tits and my stomach, please, please give it to me, I need it, I need you."
Minjeong's legs tremble. The vibrator hums furiously against her clit, her hand pressing it so hard the skin around it dimples. "Are you a dirty little whore?"
"I'm a dirty little whore."
"Whose dirty little whore?"
"Yours. I'm your dirty little whore, Minjeong, please, please cum on me, mark me, I want to smell like you, I want to taste you, please."
You slam into Ning and she screams, the sound raw and open now that the gag is gone, and Minjeong breaks above her like a dam. It starts with a strangled moan that rips from somewhere deep in Minjeong's chest. Her knees buckle slightly, her thighs clamping together around the vibrator, and then it happens. She cums, hard, and the squirt hits Ning's body in a hot, clear arc. It splashes across her tits first, then her stomach, then her collarbones as Minjeong's hips jerk and pulse, wave after wave of fluid pouring out of her in rhythmic gushes. Minjeong's free hand grabs her own thigh for stability, her mouth open, head thrown back, a long, shattered moan pouring out of her that doesn't sound like the composed, commanding woman who was giving orders thirty seconds ago. It sounds like someone coming undone at a molecular level.
Ning squeals beneath the onslaught, flinching at first as the warm fluid hits her skin, then going still, then opening her mouth. She tilts her chin up and catches the last pulses on her tongue, her lips, her cheeks, letting Minjeong's cum pool in the hollow of her throat and overflow down the sides of her neck. There's so much of it. It runs in rivulets across her ribs, pools in her navel, mingles with the spit and the smeared lipstick until her entire torso is a glistening, dripping mess.
"It's so warm," Ning whispers, eyes wide, almost awed.
You stare. You've seen Minjeong squirt before (on your face, on your chest, once on the kitchen floor by accident), but watching it land on Ning (on that perfect body, in that collared throat, across those parted lips) while you're buried to the hilt inside Ning's cunt is something else entirely. It's the filthiest, hottest, most depraved thing you've ever witnessed in your life, and you know with absolute certainty that this image is going to be burned into your brain until the day you die.
Your composure snaps. "I'm going to cum."
Ning's legs lock around your waist, heels digging into your lower back. "Inside me. I'm on the pill. Please. Inside."
Minjeong drops to her knees on the mattress, still trembling from her own orgasm, and looks at you with glazed, heavy-lidded eyes. "Good girl. Cum inside her. Fill her up."
You bury yourself as deep as you can go, your fingers gripping Ning's marked, bruised hips hard enough to leave fresh prints, and let go. The orgasm tears through you hot and blinding, your cock pulsing inside Ning's clenching pussy, pumping thick ropes of cum against her cervix. Ning's eyes roll back, her lashes fluttering, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp as she feels the heat flood her insides. Her walls clamp down around you in rhythmic, milking contractions, coaxing every drop out of you, and she trembles from head to toe, a soft, broken little moan leaking from her throat that trails off into nothing as her body goes limp beneath yours.
The three of you breathe. Ragged, heavy, out of sync. The vibrator lies abandoned on the sheets, still buzzing faintly. You pull out slowly, carefully, and sit back on your heels. Ning's pussy is swollen and flushed, her lips puffy and parted, and as your cock slides free, a thick trickle of cum follows, oozing from her entrance, dripping down the curve of her ass onto the sheets beneath her.
"Look at her," you murmur, running your gaze across Ning's body. She's glowing. Literally glowing, her skin sheened with Minjeong's juices from collarbone to hip, glistening in the warm light. The remnants of the lipstick letters peek through the mess like a watercolor left in the rain. The collar sits snug against her throat. Her face is ruined and radiant and completely, utterly spent.
Minjeong crawls to the edge of the bed and looks between Ning's legs. She watches the cum leak from that swollen, used pussy, and her tongue drags across her lower lip slowly. "You," she says to you, not taking her eyes off the mess between Ning's thighs, "lick her body clean. Every inch. All of my cum, off every part of her." She settles onto her stomach between Ning's legs, face inches from her dripping cunt. "I'm going to eat yours out of her pussy."
You start at Ning's neck. The hollow of her throat, where Minjeong's juices have pooled against the leather of the collar. Your tongue drags through the warm, slick fluid and Ning giggles, her shoulders scrunching up.
"That tickles." You smile against her skin and keep going. Across her collarbone, tracing the ridge of bone, collecting the taste of Minjeong (familiar to you, musky and slightly sweet) off Ning's body. Down to her chest, your tongue flat against the curve of her breast, circling toward the nipple, lapping up every trace. Ning squirms, the handcuffs rattling, another breathless laugh escaping her as your tongue hits a sensitive spot along her ribs.
Then Minjeong's mouth touches her pussy, and the giggling stops. Ning's entire body goes taut. Her breath catches in her throat and comes back out as a long, trembling sigh that seems to drain every ounce of tension from her muscles. Her head sinks deeper into the pillow. Her eyes close. Her lips part. "Oh," she breathes. "Oh, that's..."
You move lower, licking a path down her stomach, through the ghostly remnants of the lipstick, tasting salt and Minjeong's cum and the warmth of Ning's skin underneath it all. Your tongue dips into her navel, circles it, continues downward along the soft plane below. Meanwhile, you can hear Minjeong working between Ning's thighs, the wet sounds of her tongue lapping at Ning's entrance, scooping your cum out of her, swallowing, going back for more. Ning's hips start to move. Subtle, involuntary rolls, pressing up toward Minjeong's mouth, then settling back, then pressing up again. Her breathing has gone shallow and uneven, little gasps punctuating each exhale, the bell on her collar chiming softly with the motion of her chest.
"Two people," Ning mumbles, her eyes still closed, her head turning to the side on the pillow. "Two people licking me at the same time. This is insane. This is so fucking good."
You work your tongue along the crease where her hip meets her thigh, that sensitive fold of skin, and she shivers beneath you. Minjeong's head bobs gently between Ning's legs, her tongue pushing inside, collecting the last of the cum pooled deep within her, and Ning lets out a sound that's barely human. Low, sustained, vibrating in her chest, the kind of sound someone makes when they've stopped trying to perform and simply surrendered to what their body is feeling.
Her fingers curl into fists above the handcuffs. The bell rings softly, endlessly. Her whole body glows under the lamplight, wet and clean and worshipped, and she melts into the mattress like she's never going to move again.
Minjeong lifts her head from between Ning's thighs, her chin glossy, her lips swollen and shining. She licks the corner of her mouth slowly, savoring, her eyes half-closed like she just tasted something transcendent at a Michelin-star restaurant.
"Your cum," she says to you, running her tongue across her lower lip one more time, "mixed with her juices. It's perfect. It's like they were made to go together. I could eat it out of her for hours."
She presses one final, lingering kiss to Ning's pussy (Ning twitches, oversensitive, a tiny whimper escaping her) and then sits up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "But now." Minjeong crawls up the bed until she's level with Ning's face, looking down at her with that predatory calm. "I need his cock. You've had your turn, kitten."
Ning blinks up at her, dazed and glowing, wrists still locked above her head. "What do I..."
"You're going to stay right there. Handcuffed. Watching me get fucked." Minjeong reaches over to the sheets where the vibrator lies dormant and picks it up, turning it over in her hand. She clicks the base once, twice, three times, cycling through the settings until the hum becomes aggressive. Maximum power. "And this is going to keep you company."
She spreads Ning's thighs apart with one hand. Ning's pussy is puffy and flushed, freshly eaten, still glistening. Minjeong positions the vibrator at her entrance and pushes it inside in one smooth motion. Ning's spine lifts off the mattress, her mouth falling open, a sharp gasp cutting through the room as the toy seats itself deep, buzzing furiously against her walls.
"Oh fuck," Ning breathes, her thighs snapping shut around the vibrator. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck."
"Don't you dare cum," Minjeong tells her, tapping her knee. "Not until I say." She turns away from Ning with the dismissive confidence of someone closing an app and moves to the center of the bed, positioning herself on all fours. Knees apart. Back arched. That narrow waist curving down into the swell of her ass, which is small and tight and perfectly round.
You settle behind her, one hand on her hip, and take a second to appreciate the view. Minjeong's pussy is swollen between her thighs, still flushed from the vibrator and the squirting, her arousal smeared across her inner thighs in glossy streaks. Her shoulder blades jut beneath her skin as she braces on her forearms. The knobs of her spine trace a delicate line down to the small of her back.
"Great ass," you tell her, and bring your palm down on her right cheek with a sharp crack. The sound rings through the bedroom and Minjeong jolts forward, a hiss escaping through her teeth, a pink handprint blooming on her skin before you've even pulled your hand away.
"Flattery will get you everywhere," she mutters over her shoulder. "Now put it in."
You line yourself up and push into her. Different from Ning. Familiar. Minjeong's cunt is wetter than you've ever felt it, still pulsing from the orgasm she had standing above Ning, and she takes you easily, her body opening up around your shaft with practiced ease. She drops her head between her arms and lets out a long, satisfied exhale as you bottom out.
You grab her hips and start moving. Steady, calculated strokes, pulling back until just the tip catches at her entrance and then driving forward, burying yourself deep enough that your hips smack against her ass. Minjeong turns her head to look at Ning. The girl is a wreck already, barely two minutes in. Her wrists twist against the handcuffs, the chain clinking, her hips writhing against the mattress in tight, involuntary circles. The vibrator hums relentlessly inside her, and you can see the tension in her thighs, the way her muscles clench and release and clench again as she fights against the building pressure.
"Are you enjoying the show?" Minjeong asks her, rocking back against your thrusts. "Watching me take his cock while that toy fucks your needy little hole?"
Ning's eyes are locked on the place where your body meets Minjeong's. She watches your cock slide in and out, glistening, stretching Minjeong's pussy around the shaft, and her lips part around a shaky moan. "Yes."
"Of course you are. Horny little slut. Can't go five minutes without stimulation or you start falling apart." Minjeong pushes back against you harder, matching your rhythm, her ass meeting your pelvis with a wet slap on each stroke. "I bet you touch yourself every night in that apartment. Alone in bed with your fingers in your pussy, scrolling through filth on your phone."
Ning whimpers, squirming harder, the bell on her collar ringing with every movement. "Minjeong, you're so beautiful."
The compliment catches Minjeong off guard mid-thrust. Her composure flickers for a second, she pushes her hair out of her face and smiles back at Ning. "You're beautiful too," she says, soft enough to sound sincere. “The prettiest little kitten in the world.” Then she flips the switch: "Now shut up and watch me get fucked."
You grip Minjeong's waist tighter and increase the pace, driving into her with more force, the bed rocking beneath the three of you. Minjeong drops her chest to the mattress, arching her back deeper, changing the angle so you hit that spot inside her that makes her fingers claw at the sheets. Her moans are low and controlled, the sounds of someone who knows exactly what she likes and is getting exactly that.
Ning is losing it. Her legs press together around the vibrator, thighs trembling visibly, her abs clenching in rapid spasms. Sweat glistens on her chest and stomach, mixing with the drying residue of everything that's already been spilled on her tonight. Her breathing has gone ragged, shallow, desperate little pants that hitch and stutter every few seconds. "Minjeong," she gasps. "I don't... I don't know how much longer I can hold on."
"You'll hold on as long as I tell you to hold on."
"Please. It's so much. It's right there, it's right there and I can't, I'm trying so hard to be good."
"Then try harder."
A tear spills down Ning's cheek, cutting a fresh track through the ruined mascara. Her whole body is shaking now, vibrating almost as intensely as the toy inside her, every muscle locked in a war between obedience and biology. You bring your palm down on Minjeong's ass again, lighter this time, playful, and she glances back at you over her shoulder. "You're being pretty mean to your new girlfriend."
"It's nothing. She needs to learn good manners from the start. You don't spoil a pet the first day you bring it home. You establish boundaries. You establish who's in charge." She clenches around you intentionally, her pussy gripping your shaft, and grins. "She'll thank me later."
Ning turns her tear-streaked face toward you. Those big, dark, beautiful eyes swimming with desperation, her lower lip trembling, the collar sitting snug against her throat with its little bell catching the light. She looks wrecked and gorgeous and absolutely at her limit.
"Please," she says to you, quiet and broken. "Please make her cum. Quickly. I can't hold it. Please, please, I'm begging you."
You look at those teary eyes and that quivering lip and your heart just squeezes. You lean forward over Minjeong's back, your mouth close to her ear. "No problem, princess."
You grab both of Minjeong's arms, pulling them back behind her. Her chest drops, her cheek pressing flat against the mattress, her spine bowing into a deep, sharp arch. She yelps at the sudden shift, her shoulders straining, her body completely at your mercy with her wrists locked in your grip behind her back.
You start fucking her hard. Not the measured strokes from before. This is punishing. Brutal. Your hips snap forward with everything you have, slamming into Minjeong's pussy. The slap of skin on skin is deafening, drowning out the buzz of the vibrator, drowning out the rattle of Ning's handcuffs. Minjeong's moans dissolve into sharp, staccato cries, each one punched out of her by the impact of your hips against her ass, her body jolting forward with every thrust and being yanked back by the grip on her wrists.
The bed creaks dangerously. Ning writhes beside you both, tears streaming freely now, her teeth sinking into her lower lip hard enough to leave marks, every ounce of her willpower focused on the single task of not letting go while the vibrator destroys her from the inside. Her thighs clamp together and release and clamp again, her hips bucking against nothing, the bell ringing wildly with every spasm.
And Minjeong, face pressed to the sheets, arms pinned behind her, being railed from behind with her new pet crying beside her and a bruise forming on her ass in the shape of your hand, lets out a breathless, broken laugh that's equal parts pleasure and disbelief.
"This isn't fair," Minjeong gasps into the mattress. "You two conspired against me. You plotted. This is a coup. This is a hostile takeover of my own bedroom and I won't..."
The rest of the sentence dies in her throat because you slam into her hard enough to shunt her forward on the bed, and what comes out instead is a moan so loud it fills every corner of the room. Her back arches impossibly deep, her shoulder blades pressing together, her fingers flexing uselessly in your grip.
"Say you love my dick."
"I'm not going to..." Another thrust. Her entire body shudders. "That's so... you can't just..."
You pull back to the tip and drive forward again, grinding deep, pressing against that spot inside her that turns her brain to static. Her thighs tremble violently. Her toes curl into the sheets. "Say it."
"I love your dick," she chokes out, and the words dissolve into a ragged moan that she buries in the mattress. "I love your dick, okay, I love it, it's so deep, fuck, I hate you both so much." You don't let up. Each stroke is full and punishing, your hips colliding with her ass, the wet slap of contact filling the bedroom alongside Ning's desperate whimpering and the relentless hum of the vibrator. Minjeong's pussy clenches around you in erratic pulses, her walls fluttering, her body winding tighter and tighter like a spring being cranked past its limit.
Her moans climb in pitch. Her knees slide wider apart on the sheets. She tries to say something (probably another complaint about fairness) but it comes out as nothing, just air and sound, her jaw hanging open, drool pooling on the mattress beneath her cheek. You feel the exact moment it starts. Her pussy locks around your cock in a vice grip, her whole body going rigid, and then the orgasm crashes through her.
She screams. Face down, arms restrained, pinned and filled and wrecked, Kim Minjeong screams into her own sheets while her cunt pulses around you in violent, rhythmic contractions. Her hips buck backwards, grinding against you, riding it out, her spine rolling in waves. You hold her wrists and stay buried deep while she comes apart, letting her pussy milk the length of your shaft through every spasm, every aftershock, every trembling pulse that ripples through her body for what feels like a solid thirty seconds.
When it subsides, you release her arms. They fall to the mattress like dead weight. Minjeong lies face down, breathing in shattered gasps, her skin flushed from her neck to her lower back. She turns her head to the side and blinks once, twice, refocusing on reality. "That," she pants, "was not fair."
"You enjoyed it."
"Irrelevant." She takes one more deep breath, then pushes herself up onto her elbows and looks at Ning. The girl is a disaster. Tears streaming, teeth clenched, every muscle in her body locked in a full-body tremor, the vibrator still buzzing mercilessly inside her. Her thighs are clamped together so tightly her legs are shaking, and her wrists have gone white where they strain against the cuffs. She looks like she's going to shatter.
Minjeong softens. Just a fraction. Just enough. "Okay, kitten. You can cum now."
Ning doesn't even process the words for a second. She stares at Minjeong with glazed, uncomprehending eyes, and then it registers, and then everything she's been holding back for the last ten minutes detonates at once.
Her back arches off the bed so hard the handcuffs wrench against the headboard with a metallic crack. Her mouth opens wide, a raw, wrecked scream tearing from her lungs, and her pussy clamps down on the vibrator and pushes it halfway out as she squirts. It's violent. A forceful gush of clear fluid that arcs from between her clenched thighs, soaking the sheets beneath her, splashing against her own legs, pooling in the creases of the mattress. Her entire body convulses, hips bucking off the bed in sharp, involuntary jerks, the bell on her collar ringing frantically.
Minjeong is right there. She reaches between Ning's legs and presses her palm flat against her pussy, rubbing in firm, circular strokes through the squirt, through the contractions, keeping the pressure steady while Ning convulses beneath her hand. "That's it. Let it all out. Give me everything."
Ning squirts again, a second wave that coats Minjeong's wrist and forearm in warm, slick fluid. Her screams dissolve into broken sobs, her body jerking and twitching, riding the orgasm far past the point of pleasure and into something overwhelming and raw. The vibrator buzzes against Minjeong's palm, trapped between her hand and Ning's pulsing cunt, and Ning's legs kick weakly at the soaked sheets.
When it finally subsides, Ning goes completely limp. Every muscle releases at once, like someone cut her strings. She sinks into the mattress, chest heaving, eyes unfocused, mouth slightly open, tears and sweat and mascara streaking her face. The bell rests silent against her throat for the first time in what feels like hours. She looks demolished. Thoroughly, comprehensively, beautifully ruined.
Minjeong pulls the vibrator out gently (Ning flinches, whimpers, then settles) and clicks it off. She sets it aside and reaches for the handcuffs, producing a small key from the nightstand drawer. She unlocks the left cuff first, then the right, and Ning's arms fall to the mattress like they've forgotten how to be arms. Red marks circle both wrists where the leather pressed into skin.
Minjeong lifts each wrist and presses her lips to the marks. Left, then right. Gentle kisses, barely there, tracing the indentations with her mouth. She doesn't say anything.
Then she stands. She crosses to the dresser and pulls open the top drawer (the one you mentioned to Ning earlier, the strap-on armory). She surveys her options for a moment, selects one with the casual authority of a sommelier choosing a bottle, and steps into the harness. It's matte black, sleek, the silicone cock attached to it a reasonable size (not the biggest in her collection, you know, but enough to make a point). She adjusts the straps around her hips and thighs with efficient movements, tightening buckles, checking the fit, as calm as someone tying their shoes.
She turns back toward the bed. Standing at the foot of it, naked except for the harness, the strap jutting from between her slim hips, hands resting loosely at her sides. She looks at Ning, still spread-eagled and trembling on the soaked sheets, and tilts her head.
"Come here, kitten." Ning lifts her head from the pillow. Her eyes are glassy, unfocused, still drifting somewhere between consciousness and the afterglow of the most intense orgasm of her life. She blinks at Minjeong. Processes the command. Processes the strap-on hanging between Minjeong's legs. Swallows hard. "Crawl."
Ning rolls onto her stomach. Her arms shake as she pushes herself up onto her hands and knees, the bell on her collar jingling with the effort. She's unsteady, swaying slightly, her limbs still trembling from the aftershocks. But she crawls. Slowly, carefully, across the ruined sheets, one hand in front of the other, knees sliding through the wet patches she left behind, moving toward Minjeong at the foot of the bed.
She stops in front of Minjeong. On her hands and knees at the edge of the mattress, eye level with the strap. The bell hangs beneath her chin, swaying gently. Her hair falls in messy curtains around her face. Minjeong reaches down and tilts Ning's chin up with two fingers. Studies her. The smeared makeup, the tear tracks, the swollen lips, the flush that extends from her cheeks down her neck and across her chest. The collar sitting snug against her throat. The faint red marks from the handcuffs circling her wrists.
"You smell like a whore," Minjeong tells her. "Like cum and sweat and pussy. Like someone who spent the last hour being used as a fuck toy by two people she barely knows. You reek of it."
Ning's lips tremble. She doesn't look away.
"Meow for me."
Ning meows. Soft, small, slightly hoarse from all the screaming, the sound catching in her raw throat. The bell jingles as her chin dips with the effort. Minjeong smiles. She strokes Ning's hair once, tucking a matted strand behind her ear. "See this?" She wraps her hand around the shaft of the strap and angles it toward Ning's face, the tip brushing her lower lip. "This is for you. Your job is to worship it. Not suck it, not blow it. Worship it. Like it's the most important thing in your world. Starting now."
Ning's lips part. She extends her tongue and touches it to the underside of the shaft, just below the head, and drags it slowly upward. Her eyes stay locked on Minjeong's. Wide, dark, still glistening with tears, unblinking. She licks a stripe from base to tip, then closes her lips around the head and sinks forward, taking the first few inches into her mouth with reverent, unhurried devotion. No gagging, no desperation. Slow. Her cheeks hollow gently as she sucks, her tongue working the underside, and she never once breaks eye contact with the woman standing above her.
Minjeong's hand settles on top of Ning's head, fingers threading into her damp, tangled hair. She watches her collared kitten worship the strap with an expression you've never seen on her before. Possession, tenderness, hunger, disbelief, all layered on top of each other. Her thumb traces circles on Ning's scalp. The bell chimes softly with each gentle bob of Ning's head. "Good girl," Minjeong whispers. "My good girl.”
Ning takes her time. Her tongue traces the ridge beneath the head of the strap, slowly, mapping the shape of it like she's memorizing every contour. She pulls back and presses her lips to the side of the shaft, kissing down toward the base where silicone meets harness, where she can smell Minjeong's skin underneath, the salt and musk of her. She kisses back up the other side, unhurried, devoted, and when she reaches the tip again she parts her lips and takes it in, sinking forward until her nose nearly touches Minjeong's pelvis.
The bell chimes softly with each subtle bob of her head. Her eyes never leave Minjeong's face. Minjeong watches with parted lips, one hand resting on top of Ning's head, fingers curled loosely in her hair. She's quiet for a while, just breathing, just watching, letting Ning set the pace. The strap pushes against the base plate with each stroke, transferring subtle pressure against Minjeong's clit, and every so often her eyelids flutter at the contact.
"You look so pretty with a cock in your mouth," Minjeong murmurs, brushing a strand of damp hair away from Ning's face. "Like you were designed for it."
Ning hums around the shaft, grateful, and takes it deeper. Spit is building around her lips, coating the silicone in a slick sheen, dripping from her chin in slow threads that land on the sheets between her hands.
Then Minjeong's grip tightens. Her fingers twist into a fist at the back of Ning's skull, and the gentle resting hand becomes something controlling. She holds Ning's head still and rolls her hips forward, pushing the strap deeper into Ning's mouth. A test. Ning gags slightly, her throat constricting, but she doesn't pull back. She breathes through her nose and relaxes her jaw and takes it.
"Good," Minjeong breathes. She pulls back and thrusts forward again, a little harder. "Stay right there."
She starts fucking Ning's throat. Slow at first, measured strokes that push the strap past Ning's tongue and into the tight resistance of her throat, holding for a beat, then withdrawing. Each thrust draws a thick, wet gurgling sound from Ning's mouth, saliva flooding around the shaft, bubbling at the corners of her lips. Minjeong increases the pace gradually, her hips finding a rhythm, her fist in Ning's hair controlling the angle and the depth.
Ning takes it. Her hands grip the edge of the mattress for balance, her collared throat working around the intrusion, her eyes streaming with reflexive tears that cut fresh tracks through the mess on her face. She gags and drools and keeps going, keeps her eyes locked on Minjeong's, keeps that expression of total, willing surrender even as spit runs freely down her chin and drips onto her chest.
You lean back against the headboard, watching, arms crossed. "This is really romantic."
Minjeong doesn't break her rhythm. She keeps her fist in Ning's hair and her hips rolling forward and glances at you over her shoulder. "It is, actually."
"Nothing says 'welcome to the building' like a strap down the throat."
"Before I can pamper her, I need to degrade her a little first. It's the process. Destruction and reconstruction. You have to tear something down before you can build it into what it's meant to be." She thrusts deep and holds Ning there, nose pressed against her pelvis, throat convulsing.
"Quite poetic."
"I get pretty poetic when there’s a beautiful, slutty girl sucking my big, thick cock." She releases Ning's head and the girl pulls back gasping, a thick bridge of spit stretching from her lips to the tip of the strap before it collapses onto her chin. Minjeong strokes her cheek with the back of her hand.
She grabs Ning's hair again and pulls her back onto the strap. Harder this time, faster, her hips pumping with real force, using Ning's mouth like it exists for this singular purpose. The sounds are filthy. Wet, choking, guttural. Ning's throat bulges with each deep stroke, her body lurching forward. She gags violently and spit erupts around the shaft, coating Minjeong's thighs, running in thick ropes down Ning's neck and between her collarbones.
Minjeong keeps going. She fucks Ning's face with the detached focus of someone working through a task, her jaw set, her breathing steady, only the flush across her chest betraying how much this is doing for her. The base plate grinds against her clit with every thrust and she absorbs each pulse of pleasure without changing expression.
Then she stops. Pulls the strap out completely. Steps back.
Ning stays on her hands and knees, head hanging, chest heaving. She's destroyed. Saliva covers the entire lower half of her face, her neck, her collarbones. It's dripped down onto her tits and stomach, mixing with the dried residue of everything else that's been on her tonight. Her lips are swollen and raw, her mascara has migrated to her temples, and she's trembling from head to toe.
"Open your mouth," Minjeong says. Ning tilts her face up and opens wide. Tongue out, lips stretched, the bell resting in the puddle of drool at the hollow of her throat. Minjeong leans forward and spits. A thick glob that lands directly on Ning's tongue. It sits there, glistening, and Ning holds perfectly still, mouth open, waiting. "Swallow."
Ning closes her mouth and swallows. Her throat bobs once. She opens her mouth again to show it's gone.
"Perfect little drain." Minjeong traces Ning's jawline with her fingertip, tilting her head side to side like she's inspecting merchandise. "Tell me something, kitten. Have you ever been fucked in the ass?"
The question catches her off guard. The empty, obedient look breaks, and a timid, almost girlish shyness surfaces. Her blush deepens and she lowers her gaze to the bed. "Only twice," she admits quietly.
Minjeong's palm connects with Ning's cheek. Not hard enough to snap her head, but sharp enough that the crack rings through the room and a pink handprint blooms on Ning's skin. Ning's eyes go wide, her mouth falling open in a surprised little gasp, the bell jingling from the impact.
"Dirty little slut," Minjeong says evenly. "Acting all shy and innocent with your 'only twice.' You’re disgusting… and you know it. Only twice. Like a normal person's answer to that question isn't zero." She grabs Ning's chin and forces her to make eye contact. "But that's good. It means we can skip the boring part. Your greedy little asshole already knows how to open up for cock."
She releases Ning's chin and looks at you. That look. Commanding, certain, the look that turns her from a five-foot-nothing disaster lesbian into someone you'd follow off a cliff. "Get the lube."
You roll off the bed and cross to the dresser. Second drawer, left side, behind the silicone cleaning spray. You know where she keeps it because you've been here enough times to navigate this room blindfolded. You grab the bottle (water-based, good quality, Minjeong doesn't cheap out on essentials) and turn back toward the bed.
The position has already changed. Minjeong is lying on her back in the center of the mattress, the strap pointing straight up from between her hips. Ning is climbing on top of her, straddling her waist, their bodies pressing together. Ning's hands brace on either side of Minjeong's head. The bell dangles between them, brushing Minjeong's collarbone. Their faces are inches apart.
Minjeong reaches down and positions the head of the strap against Ning's entrance. Not inside. Just there. Resting against her slit, the tip nudging between her swollen lips. Ning's hips rock forward instinctively, trying to sink down, and Minjeong grabs her waist to stop her. "Not yet," she whispers. "Wait for it."
You climb onto the bed behind them, lube in hand. From this angle, Ning's ass is presented to you, round and full and perfect, the curve of it framing the view of Minjeong's strap pressed against her pussy below. Her thighs are spread wide across Minjeong's hips. Everything is on display.
Minjeong peers around Ning's shoulder at you, her expression calm and focused and completely in control of every variable in this room. "Get her ready.”
You pop the cap on the lube and squeeze a generous amount onto your fingers. It pools in your palm, clear and slick, and you start at the curve of Ning's ass, spreading it across both cheeks in slow strokes. Your palms glide over the full roundness of her, kneading gently, working the lube into her skin until it gleams under the lamplight. She shifts on top of Minjeong, her thighs tightening around the other girl's hips, and you feel the muscles in her glutes tense under your hands.
"Cold," Ning murmurs, a tremor running through her.
"I know,” Minjeong says. “Give it a second."
You bring your slicked fingers to the cleft of her ass and slide downward, finding the tight ring of muscle between her cheeks. You circle it slowly with the pad of your index finger, spreading the lubricant around the rim, letting her body register the sensation before you ask anything of it. Ning's breathing changes. Her shoulders hunch forward, her forehead dropping against Minjeong's collarbone, and beneath her you can see Minjeong's hand come up to stroke her hair.
You press the tip of your finger against her entrance. Gentle, patient pressure, not forcing, just resting there, letting the muscle relax on its own terms. It takes a few seconds. You feel the tension gradually release, the ring softening, and your fingertip slips inside to the first knuckle. Ning exhales shakily against Minjeong's chest. "There you go," you say quietly. "Just relax."
You work your finger deeper, inch by inch, feeling the heat of her, the tight grip of her walls around the digit. She's tense but yielding, her body fighting its own instincts and slowly winning. You pull back and push in again, a little deeper, establishing a gentle rhythm. When she's comfortable with one finger, you add a second, scissoring them apart carefully, stretching her open with methodical patience. Ning whimpers into Minjeong's neck, her hips rocking back against your hand in tiny, involuntary movements.
"She likes it," Minjeong observes from below, watching your fingers disappear into Ning's ass. Her free hand traces lazy patterns on Ning's spine. "Look at her pushing back onto your fingers. Greedy even here."
You work her for another minute, making sure she's properly relaxed, properly slicked. Then you withdraw your fingers and squeeze more lube onto your palm, wrapping your fist around your cock and stroking it from base to tip until the entire shaft glistens. You wipe the excess across Ning's entrance one more time for good measure.
You position yourself behind Ning, one hand on her hip, the other guiding your cock to her ass. The head presses against the ring of muscle, warm and slick, and you hold there. "Tell me if it hurts," you say. "Or if you need me to slow down. Any time."
Ning nods against Minjeong's chest, her fingers gripping the sheets on either side of Minjeong's shoulders.
"He likes you a lot," Minjeong tells Ning softly, brushing her lips against Ning's temple. "He's not usually this gentle."
Ning turns her head, catching your eye over her shoulder. "You're very thoughtful."
"Someone here has to be," you reply, glancing at Minjeong.
"Excuse me, I am extremely thoughtful. I gave her a collar."
You push forward. Slowly. The head of your cock meets resistance and you maintain steady pressure, not thrusting, just leaning into it, letting her body decide the pace. The ring stretches around the tip, tight and gripping, and Ning's breath catches. Her fingers dig into the mattress. You pause.
"Keep going," she whispers.
You push deeper. The same patience you used with your fingers, feeding your cock into the impossibly tight heat of her ass while her body opens for you in gradual, reluctant increments. She's burning hot inside, tighter than anything, and the pressure around your shaft is almost overwhelming. You grit your teeth and go slow, watching the place where your body meets hers, watching her stretch around you.
Beneath her, Minjeong reaches down and guides the strap to Ning's pussy. She tilts her hips and pushes upward, and the head of the silicone cock slides between Ning's swollen lips and into her cunt at the same moment that you sink another inch into her ass.
Ning releases a guttural, fractured cry that wavers between a sob and a moan, her muscles locking as both holes fill simultaneously. Her mouth opens against Minjeong's collarbone and she just breathes, fast and shallow, processing the fullness.
"Oh my god," she chokes out. "Oh my god, I can feel both of you. I can feel everything."
"Breathe," Minjeong tells her, cupping the back of her head. "Just breathe, kitten."
You hold still, buried halfway in Ning's ass, giving her time. Minjeong holds still beneath her, the strap seated partway in her pussy. The three of you exist in a suspended moment of absolute fullness, nobody moving, just breathing together, letting Ning's body adjust to being stretched in two places at once.
Then Ning rolls her hips. Barely perceptible, just a tiny rocking motion, testing, and the sensation ripples through all three of you. You feel the shift in pressure as the strap moves inside her pussy, separated from your cock by only a thin wall of tissue, and the indirect contact through her body sends a jolt through your shaft that makes your jaw clench.
"More," Ning whispers. You push the rest of the way in. Slow, steady, until your hips press flush against her ass. At the same time, Minjeong rocks upward, seating the strap fully in Ning's cunt. Ning is pinned between the two of you, every inch of both holes filled, her small body stretched and stuffed and sandwiched between your chest and Minjeong's. "Fuck," Ning breathes. "Fuck, that's so much. It's so much."
"Too much?" you ask.
"No. Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."
You start to move. Slow, careful, pulling back a few inches and pressing forward again. Minjeong finds a counter-rhythm beneath you both, thrusting upward as you withdraw, so that Ning is never empty, always full of one of you, the two cocks alternating inside her in a steady, rocking cadence. The thin membrane separating your shaft from the strap means you can feel every stroke Minjeong makes, a firm pressure sliding against you through Ning's body, and the sensation is dizzying.
Ning is lost. Her face is buried in Minjeong's neck, her hips moving in helpless, undulating waves between the two of you, taking each thrust from behind and each upstroke from below. The bell on her collar chimes with every rock of her body. Her moans are continuous now, not sharp peaks but a sustained, low, trembling sound that vibrates in her chest.
"Can you feel him in your ass while I'm in your pussy?" Minjeong murmurs against Ning's ear, her hips rolling in smooth, controlled strokes. "Can you feel both of us moving inside you at the same time? Filling you up from both sides?"
"Yes," Ning gasps. "I feel everything. I feel you rubbing against each other through me. It's so full, I've never been this full, I can't think."
"You don't need to think. I told you that already. Thinking is not what you're here for." Minjeong thrusts upward, sharp, and Ning cries out. "You're here to take two cocks at once like the greedy little hole you are and say thank you when we're done."
You increase your pace slightly, your strokes lengthening, pulling back further before pushing in. Ning's ass grips you with every movement, the lube making the slide smooth but the tightness still staggering, her body clenching and releasing around your shaft in rhythmic pulses that sync with Minjeong's thrusts below. You grip Ning's hips, thumbs pressing into the dimples at the base of her spine, and settle into a steady, driving tempo.
"Look at her taking it," Minjeong says, and there's genuine awe underneath the domination. She cranes her neck to look past Ning's shoulder at you, watching your cock disappear into Ning's ass on every stroke. "Both holes stuffed and she's still begging for more. I knew it. I knew the second I saw her that she was built for this."
Ning whimpers in response, her nails scratching at the sheets beside Minjeong's head. Her back arches, pressing her chest harder against Minjeong's, their nipples sliding together with each thrust. The position keeps her pinned, unable to control anything, unable to set the pace, simply trapped between two bodies that are using her in tandem. And she loves it. Every line of her body broadcasts it, the way she pushes back onto you, the way she grinds down onto Minjeong, the way her moans have taken on a pitch that borders on delirium.
You lean forward, changing the angle, and Ning screams. Your cock hits deeper, pressing against spots that make her entire body jolt, and at the same time Minjeong adjusts beneath her, angling the strap upward, finding her g-spot through her front wall. Ning is caught between the two points of pressure, her body jerking and spasming.
"That's our good kitten," Minjeong coos, holding Ning's trembling body against hers, one hand in her hair, the other gripping her ass, pulling her cheeks apart so you can thrust deeper. "Taking both her owners so well. So stretched. So full. So perfectly, obscenely stuffed. Now mark her," she says, looking past Ning's shoulder at you. "I want prints on her."
You bring your palm down on Ning's right cheek. The crack splits the air and Ning yelps, her whole body clenching, her ass tightening around your cock so hard your vision blurs for a second. A pink handprint blooms on her skin, vivid against the pale flesh.
"Again," Minjeong orders. "Leave her tight little ass completely red. I want it glowing."
You smack her left cheek. Then the right again. Then the left. Each impact sends a shockwave through Ning's body that you feel in the grip of her ass around your shaft, each clench followed by a release that lets you thrust deeper. Her skin flushes from pink to angry red, overlapping handprints layering on top of each other until both cheeks are burning, swollen, marked in a way that's going to last for days.
Ning screams into Minjeong's neck with every slap, her body jolting forward, then rocking back onto your cock like she's chasing the sting. "Tell me what you are," Minjeong demands. She grabs a fistful of Ning's hair and pulls her head up, forcing her face out of hiding. "Loud. So I can hear it."
"I'm a whore," Ning shouts. Her face is streaked with fresh tears, mascara long gone, nothing left but raw skin and swollen lips and wild, desperate eyes. "I'm a dirty little whore."
"The neighbors are going to hear you screaming that."
"I don't care." Ning's hips grind back against you, then forward onto Minjeong, her body working between the two cocks with frantic, shameless need. "I don't care if they hear. I want everyone to know. I want the whole building to know I'm a whore. That Minjeong is my owner. That I belong to her."
Minjeong's hand slides from Ning's hair to her throat. Not squeezing, not choking. Just holding. Her fingers wrap around the column of Ning's neck, feeling the collar beneath her palm, the bell pressing into the webbing between her thumb and index finger. She tilts Ning's face down until their eyes meet.
"Look at me," Minjeong says. Quiet now, almost tender. "Don't close your eyes. Don't look away. I want you to cum while you're looking at me. I want to see it happen."
Ning's gaze locks onto Minjeong's. Inches apart, sharing breath, Minjeong's hand steady on her throat. The bell is trapped between Minjeong's fingers and Ning's skin, silent for the first time.
You fuck her harder. Deep, punishing strokes into her ass, each one landing with a wet smack against her reddened cheeks, your fingers digging into her bruised hips. Minjeong thrusts upward in counterpoint, the strap filling Ning's pussy on every alternating beat, the two of you working her body in a relentless, coordinated rhythm that leaves her nowhere to go, nothing to do except take it and feel it and fall apart.
Ning's lips start trembling. Her breathing fractures into staccato bursts, each exhale a whimper, each inhale a gasp. Her thighs shake uncontrollably against Minjeong's hips. Her fingers claw at the sheets, the mattress, Minjeong's shoulders, anything she can reach. The tension builds visibly in her body, every muscle drawing taut, her stomach clenching, her jaw tightening, her eyes going glassy and unfocused even as she fights to keep them locked on Minjeong's face.
"That's it," Minjeong whispers, her thumb stroking the side of Ning's throat. "Right there. Let go for me. Let me see it." It hits her from both directions at once. You feel it in her ass first, a clamping, rhythmic contraction that grips your cock so tight you have to grit your teeth, her muscles spasming in rapid pulses. Then Minjeong gasps beneath her as Ning's pussy does the same thing around the strap, both holes clenching simultaneously in waves that roll through her body like seismic aftershocks.
Ning's mouth opens. No sound comes out for a full two seconds. Her back arches, rigid, suspended between the two of you, every tendon in her neck standing out beneath Minjeong's hand. Then the scream comes. Low at first, building, ragged and destroyed and raw, her eyes never leaving Minjeong's face even as her body convulses between them. Tears spill freely down her cheeks. Her hips jerk and stutter in helpless, broken movements. Fluid gushes from around the strap, soaking Minjeong's thighs and the sheets beneath them.
The orgasm goes on and on. Each time you think it's subsiding, another wave hits her, another contraction grips you, another cry tears from her throat. Minjeong holds her gaze through all of it, steady and anchoring, her hand warm and firm on Ning's throat, grounding her through the most intense thing her body has ever experienced.
When it finally ends, Ning collapses. Completely, boneless, every ounce of energy drained, her full weight dropping onto Minjeong's chest. Her cheek presses against Minjeong's collarbone. Her eyes close. Her breathing is ragged, hitching, edging toward sobs. Minjeong wraps both arms around her. Pulls her close. One hand cradles the back of her head, fingers threading gently through her tangled, sweat-damp hair. The other rests flat between her shoulder blades, palm warm against her spine. She presses her lips to Ning's temple and holds them there.
"Good girl," she murmurs into Ning's hair. "Such a good girl. My perfect little kitten. You did so well. I'm so proud of you."
Ning makes a small, broken sound against Minjeong's chest. Her fingers curl weakly into the sheets beside Minjeong's ribs, holding on. You pull out of Ning slowly, carefully, and her body shudders once at the withdrawal. Her reddened ass bears overlapping handprints in various shades of crimson, the skin hot to the touch. You sit back and exhale.
"I'm close," you tell Minjeong.
She looks at you over Ning's shoulder. "Stand up."
You climb off the bed, your feet finding the floor, and stand at the edge of the mattress. Minjeong gently lifts Ning off her chest, easing her upward, pressing kisses to her forehead, her cheek, the tip of her nose.
"One more thing, kitten." She strokes Ning's face. "Can you kneel for me? On the floor?"
Ning blinks, still dazed, still trembling in the afterglow. She nods faintly. Minjeong helps her to the edge of the bed and Ning slides off, her knees finding the carpet, settling into that familiar position. On the floor, between your legs, looking up at you and Minjeong with glazed, wrecked, adoring eyes. The collar gleams at her throat. Minjeong slips off the bed and kneels beside her, one arm draped around Ning's shoulders, both of them looking up at you from the floor.
"Now," Minjeong says, settling beside Ning on her knees, one arm still draped protectively across her shoulders, "my kitten gets her reward." She looks up at you, then at Ning, then at your cock standing hard and slick inches from both their faces. "Warm milk. All over that pretty face and tongue." She runs her fingertip along Ning's jaw, turning her head to face your shaft. "You must be starving, baby. You've worked so hard tonight. Been such a good little pet. So you're going to suck that cock until he gives you every drop. And I'm going to help."
Minjeong leans forward first. Her lips close around the head of your cock, warm and soft, her tongue swirling once before she pulls back and guides Ning in. Ning's mouth replaces hers, those swollen, raw lips stretching around your shaft, taking you halfway in a single smooth stroke. She bobs twice, sloppy and eager, spit already building, and then pulls back as Minjeong moves in again.
They find a rhythm. Ning takes you deep while Minjeong's tongue works the base, licking the underside of your shaft where Ning's lips can't reach. Then they switch. Minjeong sucks the head while Ning drops lower, pressing her mouth against your balls, her tongue dragging across the sensitive skin, taking one into her mouth and sucking gently while Minjeong bobs above her.
Then their mouths meet at the tip. Ning's tongue presses flat against one side of the head, Minjeong's against the other, and they lick upward in unison, their tongues meeting at the slit, sliding against each other with your cock trapped between them. The contact dissolves into a kiss. Minjeong's hand cups the back of Ning's head and they kiss around the head of your cock, tongues tangling together, lips brushing the sensitive ridge, spit and precum smearing between their mouths in a connected, glistening mess. The bell on Ning's collar chimes softly as she tilts her head to deepen the angle.
"You two are perfect together," you manage.
Minjeong breaks the kiss and looks up at you, a strand of spit connecting her lip to Ning's. She smiles. Then she turns to Ning and presses one last, lingering kiss against her mouth. Slow, tender, her thumb stroking Ning's cum-stained cheek. "I want the best seat in the house for this," she murmurs against Ning's lips.
She stands. Her bare feet pad around behind you and you feel her chest press against your back, her chin hooking over your shoulder, her arms winding around your torso from behind. One hand slides down your stomach and wraps around your cock, slick from both their mouths, her grip firm, practiced and exactly right.
Below you, Ning kneels alone. She tilts her face up, mouth open, the collar gleaming, and extends her tongue to press against your frenulum. Just the tip of her tongue, light, flickering, the most sensitive spot on your entire body being teased with delicate, maddening precision while Minjeong's fist works the shaft from behind.
"Look at her," Minjeong whispers against your ear, her breath hot on your neck. "Look at that face. That gorgeous, ruined, perfect face. Mascara destroyed. Lips swollen. And she's kneeling there begging for more. She deserves to be painted. She deserves every single drop you've got."
Her hand strokes you steadily, twisting slightly at the top, her thumb swiping over the head on each upstroke before Ning's tongue catches the underside again. Minjeong's other hand rests on your hip, her nails pressing lightly into your skin.
"Imagine what she's going to look like," Minjeong continues, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. "Thick ropes of cum across those cheekbones. Dripping off her chin. Pooling on that pretty tongue. Sliding down to the collar. My collared little cum dump covered in you while I watch."
Ning's tongue flutters against the frenulum and she pulls back just enough to speak, her lips still brushing the head of your cock. "Please. I want it. I've been good, I've been so good tonight, please give it to me. I want to taste it. I want to feel it land on me."
"Hear that?" Minjeong's hand quickens. Her strokes tighten, pumping your shaft with urgent, focused precision, her wrist snapping on the downstroke. "Your little kitten is begging. She's starving for it. Starving for your cum on her pretty face."
Ning opens wider, her tongue extended as far as it'll go, flat and waiting. "Please, please, please. Cum on me. Cover me. I'll swallow everything, I'll lick it all up, please, I need it."
"Give it to her," Minjeong breathes. "Cum all over her fucking face. Do it. Now."
"I'm close," you grit out, your abs clenching, your thighs locking.
Ning stays perfectly still, kneeling, tongue out, eyes open, looking up at you with those glassy, adoring, wrecked eyes. Minjeong aims your cock directly at her face from behind your hip, angling the head downward, her grip controlling exactly where every drop is going to land.
You break. The first rope fires thick and hot across Ning's cheek, a white streak from the corner of her mouth to her temple. Ning flinches at the impact and then holds still, mouth open wider, and the second shot lands directly on her tongue, heavy and warm, pooling in the center. Minjeong doesn't stop stroking. Her fist milks your shaft in relentless, squeezing pumps, coaxing everything out of you, and the third rope catches Ning's forehead, dripping down the bridge of her nose. The fourth hits her chin and slides down to the collar, catching in the leather, dripping off the bell. The fifth and sixth are weaker, oozing from the tip, and Minjeong aims them across Ning's lips, painting them white, smearing the head of your cock across her mouth to spread the last traces.
"Oh fuck," Minjeong exhales against your shoulder, watching her handiwork. "Look at that. Look at her. She's covered. She's absolutely covered."
Ning kneels there, face glazed, tongue still extended with a thick pool of cum sitting in the center. It streaks across her features like abstract art, white against flushed skin, dripping slowly down the contours of her face, following the paths of the dried tears and mascara tracks. The collar glistens with it. A drop hangs from the bell, catching the light before it falls.
Minjeong pushes your cock forward, guiding the sensitive, spent head between Ning's lips. "Clean him up, kitten."
Ning closes her mouth around the tip and sucks gently. You shudder, every nerve ending screaming with oversensitivity, your hands gripping Minjeong's arm around your waist for stability. Ning's tongue swirls around the head, dipping into the slit, coaxing the last remnants of cum from you with patient, thorough attention. She sucks and licks and swallows, her throat bobbing, until there's nothing left and your cock is clean and twitching in her mouth.
She releases you with a soft, wet sound and looks up, waiting. Cum still covers most of her face, drying at the edges, fresh and wet in the center. Minjeong steps out from behind you and kneels in front of Ning. She takes Ning's face in both hands, cupping her jaw, tilting her head left, then right, examining her. Her thumbs rest on Ning's cheekbones, framing the mess, and a slow, reverent smile spreads across her face. "Perfect," she whispers. "You're absolutely perfect."
She leans in and presses her tongue flat against Ning's forehead. The first lick drags through the streak of cum there, collecting it. She pulls back, swallows, and goes in again. Across Ning's temple, where the first rope landed, her tongue tracing the line from hairline to cheekbone, gathering every trace. Ning's eyes close. A soft, contented sigh escapes her as Minjeong's tongue moves down to her cheek, lapping at the thick smear there with long, patient strokes, cleaning the skin beneath to a flushed, spit-shined pink.
Minjeong works methodically. She licks across the bridge of Ning's nose, down the other cheek, along her jawline where a trickle has dried. Her tongue finds the corner of Ning's mouth and traces the crease where cum has settled into her smile lines. She licks Ning's chin clean, her tongue pressing into the soft dip beneath her lower lip, following the trail down to the collar where the last drops cling to leather and metal. She licks the collar itself, her tongue running along the strap, over the surface of the bell, tasting salt, cum and Ning's skin all at once.
Ning stays still through all of it, eyes closed, face tilted up, surrendering to the sensation of being cleaned by the woman who owns her. Small tremors run through her body. Her hands rest limp in her lap. When Minjeong finishes, Ning's face is clean. Flushed and raw and still marked with the ghosts of mascara, but clean.
Minjeong tilts Ning's cleaned face toward hers and kisses her. Her mouth opens, and you watch the moment Ning realizes what's happening. Minjeong is pushing the collected cum from her own tongue into Ning's mouth, feeding it to her in a slow transfer. Ning makes a small, surprised sound and then melts into it, her hand finding Minjeong's and their fingers lacing together on Ning's bare thigh. They stay like that for a long moment, mouths connected, sharing the taste between them, Ning swallowing in small pulses while Minjeong's thumb strokes circles against the back of her hand.
When they finally break apart, Ning licks her lips and Minjeong presses her forehead against hers, both of them breathing, both of them quiet. You sit on the edge of the bed. The room is wrecked. The sheets are wrecked. Everyone in the room is wrecked.
"That," you say to the ceiling, "was a very intense night."
"Understatement," Minjeong murmurs, still forehead-to-forehead with Ning.
Ning lets out a shaky exhale that's half laugh, half disbelief. "Everything happened so fast. Like, two hours ago I was looking for my keys."
"And now look at you."
"Please don't make me look at me right now." Ning shifts on her knees, winces, and glances toward the hallway. "Can we take a bath? I need... water. Hot water. On my body. Immediately."
"Yeah," you agree.
"Absolutely," Minjeong says, finally pulling back from Ning's face. She stands, offering Ning both hands, and Ning takes them.
Getting up is a process. Her legs wobble on the first attempt, her knees buckling, and Minjeong catches her around the waist with a steadiness that suggests she's done post-sex stabilization before (she has, for you, twice). Ning finds her footing on the second try, standing on shaking legs, one hand gripping Minjeong's shoulder.
Minjeong looks back at the bed. The sheets are destroyed. Soaked through in multiple overlapping patches of various fluids, twisted into ropes at the corners where someone (everyone) was gripping them, the fitted sheet pulled halfway off the mattress. A pillow has migrated to the floor. The handcuffs dangle from the headboard slat, still open. The smeared remnants of red lipstick have transferred onto the fabric in abstract streaks. The lube bottle is on its side, cap off, a small puddle forming on the nightstand.
"I'm going to have to replace literally everything. The sheets, the mattress protector, possibly the mattress. This looks like a crime scene."
"A fun crime scene," you offer.
Ning looks down at herself and goes very still. Her stomach is sticky with dried residue (sweat, spit, squirt, cum, all mixed together in various combinations). The ghost of the lipstick letters still clings to her skin in faded red traces. Her knees are raw and red from the carpet, the skin irritated and tender. She turns slightly and cranes her neck to look at her own ass, and her eyes go wide. "Oh my god."
It's crimson. Both cheeks overlapping with handprints in varying shades of red, some of them clearly defined (fingers, palm, thumb) and others just general swelling from repeated impact.
"Oh my god," Ning repeats, touching her own cheek gingerly and flinching. "That's so red."
Minjeong's dominance evaporates instantly, she rushes over and examines the marks with careful fingers, barely touching, her brow furrowed. "Are you okay? I have a really good moisturizing cream, it's the one with shea butter and aloe, I can put it on your knees and your... everything after the bath. It helps with inflammation."
"I'm fine." Ning gives her a lopsided smile. "Just a little sore. Everywhere. In places I didn't know could be sore."
Minjeong takes her hand and leads her down the hallway to the bathroom, walking slowly, matching Ning's careful pace. You follow. The bathroom is small but clean (the cleanest room in the apartment at this point, by default). Ning catches her reflection in the mirror above the sink and stops dead. She stares at herself.
The mascara is gone. Not removed. Migrated. It's spread across her temples, under her eyes, down her cheeks in dried tracks that map every tear she shed tonight. Her foundation is patchy and streaked. Her lipstick dissolved hours ago. Her hair is a tangled, matted disaster. The collar still sits around her throat. Faint red marks circle both wrists from the handcuffs. Her entire body from the neck down glistens with a cocktail of everything the three of you produced tonight. "Holy shit," Ning whispers at her own reflection. "You two really used me."
Minjeong, standing behind Ning, locks eyes with you in the mirror. She's trying not to freak out. Trying so hard. Her lips are pressed together, her nostrils are flared, and her hand reaches out and grabs your bicep in a death grip, her nails digging in. She squeezes your arm so hard you almost yelp, and behind Ning's back she's suppressing a grin so enormous it looks physically painful to contain.
You give her a subtle nod. She releases your arm (there will be half-moon nail marks there tomorrow) and composes herself. Minjeong turns the shower on. She adjusts the handle, testing the temperature with her wrist, nudging it warmer until steam starts curling against the glass, then helps Ning step in first. Ning moves under the stream and the hot water hits her shoulders and she lets out a groan of relief that borders on spiritual. The collar's bell catches the water and glints.
"Should I take this off?" Ning asks, touching it.
"Only if you want to."
Ning considers. "I'll keep it on."
Minjeong's face does the thing again (the barely suppressed joy, the disbelief) and she steps in behind Ning, pressing close under the spray. You get in last, and the three of you fit in the shower the way three adults fit in a standard shower stall, which is to say barely, with a lot of rotating and someone always catching an elbow and everyone taking turns directly under the water.
Minjeong washes Ning. Carefully. She squeezes eucalyptus wash onto a soft cloth and runs it over Ning's shoulders in slow, gentle strokes, working down her arms, across her chest, rinsing each section under the stream before moving to the next. She handles the raw spots (knees, wrists, the reddened cheeks of her ass) with extra tenderness, barely any pressure, just warm water and soft fabric. When she gets to Ning's hair, she reaches for a specific bottle on the shelf. You recognize it immediately.
"Is that the expensive shampoo?"
Minjeong doesn't look at you. "Maybe."
"The one you specifically told me I'm never allowed to use?"
"It's for her hair type."
"My hair has a type too, Minjeong."
"Your hair has the type of 'use the two-in-one like everyone else.'" She squeezes a generous amount into her palm and begins working it through Ning's hair, massaging her scalp with her fingertips. Ning practically purrs under the attention, her eyes closed, her body leaning back into Minjeong's hands, the hot water rinsing the suds down her back in slow cascades.
After the shower, Minjeong wraps Ning in the fluffiest bathrobe in the apartment. She sits Ning on the closed toilet lid and dries her hair with a blow dryer, one hand running through the strands while the other directs the warm air, sectioning and smoothing with the attention of a salon professional.
You lean against the doorframe, towel around your waist, watching this. "I've never received this level of service."
"And you never will. Be grateful I'm still willing to give you water."
"Noted."
Once Ning's hair is dry and soft and falling in clean waves around her face, you and Minjeong put on some clothes, then she leads Ning to the kitchen.
"Tea," she announces, filling the kettle. "After all that, we need tea."
"You're so Korean," you say.
"And you're so annoying. What do you want?"
"Mint."
Minjeong looks at Ning, who has settled onto a kitchen stool with the careful movements of someone whose entire lower body is filing complaints. "Chamomile, please."
With the calm precision of habit, Minjeong fixes three cups. She opens a cabinet and pulls out a tin of butter cookies, the classic round one straight out of a grandmother’s kitchen, then sets it down on the counter.
The three of you drink tea and eat cookies in the kitchen of apartment 69 at (you check the microwave clock) eleven forty-seven on a weeknight. Ning is in a fluffy bathrobe with a collar and bell around her neck. Minjeong is in an old t-shirt and fresh shorts. You're in your jeans and nothing else.
Minjeong wraps both hands around her mug. Stares into the tea. Takes a breath. "So, Ning."
"So, Minjeong."
"Would you... do you want to go on a date with me? Tomorrow?" She says it quickly, her eyes fixed on the surface of her chamomile. "Like, dinner. Or coffee. Or whatever you want. Something normal. Where we wear clothes and sit across from each other and talk."
Ning smiles. "I'd really like that."
Minjeong exhales. You watch the tension drain from her shoulders in real time, weeks of anxiety dissolving in a single sentence.
Ning shakes her head slowly, laughing at herself.
"I still can't believe I did all that. With two people I barely knew three hours ago. I'm... I mean, I was going to watch Gossip Girl. I was going to make instant ramen and watch Gossip Girl and go to sleep at midnight like a normal person. And instead I got..." She gestures at everything: the collar, the bathrobe, the cookie in her hand, the entire trajectory of the evening.
"Any regrets?" Minjeong asks.
"Zero. Absolutely zero." Ning dunks her cookie in her tea and takes a bite. "I'm just realizing I might be a much more adventurous person than I thought."
Minjeong nibbles the edge of her own cookie. "I hope it wasn't too much. For a first time. I know I can be... a lot. I was so excited and nervous simultaneously and when I get like that I tend to just go and go and go and I should have checked in more and..."
"Minjeong."
"Yeah?"
"It was too much. But in the best way. Like, you took sex and turned it into something I didn't know existed. I didn't know it could feel like that. I didn't know I could feel like that."
Minjeong stares at her cookie with an expression of concentrated joy that she's trying very hard to play cool about. Ning takes another sip of chamomile, and then, very quietly, looking at the counter rather than at either of you, says, "Also, I think I want to try having two... you know. Both of you. In the same... in one..." She trails off. Covers her face with both hands. The bell jingles. "Oh my god, I can't believe I'm saying this out loud. Both of you at the same time. In my pussy. Together." She peeks through her fingers. "I think I might die if that actually happened, but I want to try."
Minjeong is gripping her mug so hard her knuckles are white. "We can absolutely make that happen. Yeah."
"But more than anything," Ning continues, setting her tea down. She reaches across the counter and takes Minjeong's hand, threading their fingers together slowly. "I want to get to know you better." She rubs her thumb across Minjeong's knuckles. "When I first moved in, you were this mystery to me. The girl from 69 who I'd catch glimpses of in the hallway and then she'd just... vanish. I kept thinking, is she shy? Does she hate me? Is she a ghost? I genuinely considered the ghost option for a minute."
Minjeong opens her mouth to respond and nothing comes out.
"I'd listen for your door," Ning admits. "I'd hear it open and I'd rush to my peephole hoping to catch you leaving so I could time my exit and accidentally run into you. And every single time, by the time I got my shoes on, you were gone."
"I move fast when I'm panicking," Minjeong says quietly.
"I figured that out tonight." Ning squeezes her hand. "I started thinking maybe I'd never get to talk to you. That you'd just be this beautiful, weird, untouchable person two doors down who I'd think about way more than was reasonable. And now I'm sitting in your kitchen wearing your bathrobe and your collar and I know what sound you make when you cum, but I don't know your favorite movie. Or what makes you laugh. Or what you eat for breakfast. And I want all of that. Every boring, normal detail.”
They look at each other across the kitchen counter, and the bell chimes once as Ning leans in, and they kiss. Gentle, slow, tasting like chamomile and butter cookies.
You finish your mint tea. Set the mug in the sink. Pick up the last cookie from the tin and take a bite. "I'm going to head out," you say. "You two have a lot to talk about."
Minjeong breaks the kiss and stands from her stool. She walks over to you and takes your hand in both of hers, squeezing. "Thank you," she says. "For real. This wouldn't have happened without you. I'd still be hiding behind that plant if you hadn't dragged me into my own life."
"You absolutely would be."
"I know. That's why I'm thanking you."
Ning hops off her stool (winces slightly upon landing), walks over, and presses a kiss to your cheek. Her lips are warm from the tea. "That was really sweet of you. Setting all this up. Being so considerate through everything. You're a good person."
"I'm an okay person who was heavily incentivized."
Ning laughs. "Still."
You pull on your shirt, then the shoes, find your jacket on the couch (right where you left it approximately a lifetime ago), and head for the door. You stop with your hand on the knob and look back at them. Minjeong has her arm around Ning's waist, and Ning is leaning into her, and they look like something that was always supposed to happen and just needed a minor logistical push.
"Just remember to invite me back," you say. "There's apparently a lot of unfinished business."
Minjeong and Ning exchange a knowing glance. "Oh, we're definitely calling you," Minjeong says. "There's still a lot to be done. I have an entire drawer we didn't even open tonight. And I'm going to need your... assistance."
"The drawer you won't tell me about?"
"That drawer stays classified until the appropriate time."
Ning waves from under Minjeong's arm. "Come back soon."
"I will." You open the door and step into the hallway. The sad little fern sits in its pot by the wall, oblivious to its role in the evening's origin story. "Good luck, you two. Goodnight."
You close the door behind you and stand in the hallway for a second, listening. Through the door, muffled, you hear Ning say something and Minjeong laugh. It’s unfiltered. Effortless. So different from the composed, dry version she shows the world.
You press the elevator button, take a bite of the stolen cookie, and head home.
It’s Monday, the best day of the week, and you start the morning with three garment bags, four coffees, and absolutely no will to live.
The building’s decked out like a luxury Christmas ad—fancy gold bows, tacky fake snow, and designer branded ornaments that likely cost more than your rent. Is it pretty? Sure, maybe in that soulless rich-people-love-red-velvet kind of way. You’d probably appreciate it more if your fingers weren’t going numb around a cardboard drink tray and your shoulder wasn’t about to dislocate from hauling couture like a pack mule.
And surprising to approximately zero people, your boss has already texted you.
Director Lee: Where are you?
You check the time. 8:12am. Work starts at 9:00am. That’s so adorable. Apparently contracts are more of a fun suggestion when you’re at the bottom of the food chain.
You: Just got in, on my way up! 😊
You stare at the smiley face for three seconds before deleting it. He doesn’t deserve emojis.
The elevator walls are mirrored, which feels rude this early in the morning. You catch a glimpse of yourself: shirt wrinkled from your coat, collar slightly crooked, tie hanging on for dear life, hair doing that ‘I tried, then gave up’ thing that seems to be your new do. You look like the Before picture in a men’s skincare ad, and the dark circles definitely don’t match the brand mood boards.
The doors slide with a hum and reveal the un-magical top floor: open concept, glass walls, icy stares, and the giant lit-up company logo AESPA GROUP glaring down at you like God—if God only cared about profit margins and engagement metrics.
You shoulder the door to your boss’s office open. He doesn’t even look up.
“Took you long enough,” he says, still typing. “Is that my Americano?”
You set the tray down with the restraint of a man choosing not to commit homicide.
“Yes. Americano, no sugar,” you say, handing it to him. “Just like you.”
“What was that?” He finally glances at you, eyes flicking over your face, then your shirt, quickly enough that it feels like judgment.
“Just like you ordered.” You smile back—the kind you reserve for people who can fire you.
He takes a sip. “Too much foam. Tell them to fix it next time.”
You make a mental note to throw yourself into traffic. “Yes sir.”
“Hey, and try to look less tired,” he adds, waving a hand at you. “We’re one of the biggest fashion houses in Seoul, not an accounting firm. Iron that shirt next time.”
“Sure thing, boss,” you say. “I’ll just stop sleeping and start photosynthesizing.”
But he’s already typing again, so technically you could have just insulted his entire bloodline and he wouldn’t have noticed.
Outside, the office hums with the chaos of fake productivity converged with real deadlines. People actually say things like “brand synergy” or “content pillars” with straight faces.
You head to the intern corner—a tragic little island made of two mismatched desks, one sad plant surviving purely out of spite, and a shit-ton of unspoken trauma.
Ningning is already there, legs crossed, lipstick perfect, scrolling on her phone like she owns the Wi-Fi. Today she’s in a cream knit, white stockings, and a skirt short enough to be illegal in three countries.
She spots you and lights up. “My coffee hero!”
You set her cup down by her laptop. “One latte, minimal foam. Crafted with love and mild resentment, Your Majesty.”
“You’re the best,” she says, taking a sip. Her eyes flutter as she lets out an actual moan that draws a few looks from nearby desks. “God, marry me.”
“Tempting,” you say, taking a seat. “But I’m not sure I want to be your caffeine dealer for the rest of my life.”
She laughs, head tipping back, hair falling over her shoulders in perfect waves (you’re pretty sure her hair has a higher paying contract than you do). “Oh please, you love me. You’d last two weeks tops here without me. I make this place bearable.”
“You make this place an HR hazard.”
She leans forward, perhaps a little too far. “So, did he bite your head off again?”
“You mean metaphorically or literally? Because at this point, I’m not ruling anything out.”
Ningning chokes on her drink, giggling. “God, you’re dramatic.”
“God, I’m underpaid.”
“He really hates you, huh?”
“He hates the foam, my shirt, and my face.”
She gives you a once-over, not subtly at all. “Your face is fine. You could be someone’s office crush if you tried.”
“And yet, tragically, my main office role is ‘guy who carries things and gets blamed for the weather.’”
“Hot guy who carries things,” she corrects. “Be specific.”
“Thanks, I’ll put it on my resume,” you say, letting yourself look at her properly.
Ning Yizhuo, your fellow intern who started the same week as you. Perfect hair, glowing skin, a perfume cloud worth half your paycheck. She’s the kind of girl the whole office notices—the kind that makes whispered excuses for why she’s allowed to leave early. And somehow, she gets away with everything.
You? You’re just The Intern. The one with the dark circles and the good emails.
Across the room, some guy from merch swings past and calls her name. She lifts a hand in acknowledgment without taking her eyes off you.
“You stayed late again, right?” she asks. “I saw your light on when I was leaving.”
“Yeah,” you say with a sigh. “Slides. Samples. Whatever else he remembered at 8:59 p.m.”
“Cute. He asked me to stay late too.”
You keep typing, pretending to care. “Oh yeah?”
“Mhmm.” She hums, smugly. “Team bonding.”
You look at her, raising a brow. “Pretty sure teams usually have more than two people.”
“Yeah, well,” she says, shrugging one shoulder. The movement shifts her sweater, gives you a quick flash of lace strap. “This was a very… focused meeting.”
“Focused on what?”
She just smiles. “Do you really want to know?”
No. You absolutely do not.
“You realize he’s married, right?” you say, leaning back. “And also your boss.”
She shrugs. “I realize I like nice things. And men in power like pretty things that laugh at their jokes.”
You drag a hand over your face. “You’re going to get promoted and leave me here, aren’t you?”
“Maybe,” she says with a smirk. “But I’ll remember you fondly when I’m rich.”
“Thanks. I’ll remember you when I’m haunting this office after I die from being overworked.”
Across the room, someone calls her name again, more insistently this time. She stands, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs, tugging the hem in a way that just makes it ride higher when she walks.
“Meeting or something?” you ask.
She winks. “Apparently, the execs like my energy. Wish me luck.”
“Luck. And maybe a moral compass.”
She laughs. “Oh honey, that won’t pay the rent. Gotta go now, try and hold the fort for an hour or so, pretty boy. And don’t miss me too much.”
She walks away like the hallway is a runway and she’s getting paid, and you absolutely do not watch. For more than three seconds.
Your phone buzzes again on the desk.
Director Lee: Reminder—meeting later about Winter.
You stare at it, each word capitalized and ominous. Winter. The Chairman’s daughter. The company princess. The allegedly terrifying, scary-smart, ice-cold heiress everyone likes to whisper about when they think nobody important is listening. Beautiful, brutal, and probably allergic to interns.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, snow flurries drift past the glass like someone shook a globe. But inside, the air suddenly feels a couple degrees colder.
Winter’s coming.
And something deep in your gut says she’s going to hate you on sight.
You make it to lunch without dying or crying, which honestly qualifies as a win.
People are traveling in packs, clutching salads and tablets, talking about metrics like they personally invented capitalism. You and your sad convenience-store kimbap end up at the far end of the break room, wedged between a plant and a recycling bin that probably sees more action than you do.
Ningning slides into the seat across from you without asking, tray loaded with something colorful and overpriced.
“You look like you just saw your paycheck,” she says, unwrapping her chopsticks.
“I did. It waved at me and vanished into my bills.” You stuff a piece into your mouth. “How was your Very Important Executive Meeting?”
She chews slowly, eyes sparkling. “They love me.”
“Shocking,” you mumble while chewing.
“Apparently I ‘bring warmth to the room,’” she says, dramatically covering her mouth. “Can you imagine? Me. Warm.”
“Of course,” you say sarcastically. “You’re like a space heater with legs.”
Really nice legs, unfortunately. Or fortunately. It really gets confusing how you feel about her.
“Exactly,” she says smugly. “Which is why I got personally invited to the big meeting next week.”
You pause mid-bite. “What big meeting?”
She blinks. “You didn’t hear?”
“No,” you say. “No one tells me anything unless it involves coffee or Excel.”
Ningning leans in, lowering her voice even though the room is too loud for anyone to care. “Winter’s coming. You know, the daughter of the Chairman who always has a stick up her ass.”
You chew slowly. “Are you speaking from experience or gossip?”
“Gossip, obviously,” she says, but she’s clearly enjoying this. “Apparently she used to secretly intern here before she left to study abroad. People still twitch when they talk about it. Said she made a senior designer cry once.”
“Okay, but to be fair,” you say with a hand over your mouth, “this place would’ve made the senior designer cry even if she didn’t.”
“True. But she did it as an intern. That’s talent.”
Talent of being someone’s daughter. Cute.
You set your kimbap down, appetite fading a bit. “So she’s coming back for what, exactly?”
“She finished her studies. Just in time for the busiest time of the year. Big holiday campaigns, end-of-year sales, strategic whatever—I stopped listening after ‘mandatory overtime.’ She’s coming in as some fancy ‘creative director for special projects’ or whatever title rich kids get when they’re born with a last name instead of a personality.”
You wince. “Can’t wait to disappoint yet another person.”
“Because you’re in logistics,” she says, counting off on her fingers. “You organize samples, shoots, deliveries, and make sure everything appears magically where it needs to be. And she’s taking over ‘special projects.’ What do you think that means?”
You look down at your food that no longer looks edible. “It means I’m going to die in the storage room under a pile of clothes.”
“Honestly?” Ningning whispers. “She sounds kinda hot, so if you’re lucky it’ll be a pile of our new holiday thongs that she’s tried on.”
You stare at her. “You think everyone who could ruin your life is hot.”
“That’s my type,” she says cheerfully. “Dangerous and emotionally unavailable.”
“Therapy is right there,” you say, gesturing vaguely at nowhere.
“The only therapy I care for is shopping therapy,” she says, winking. “Look, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just pretend to be a cute, boring intern and she won’t even notice you.”
“I don’t exactly need to pretend.”
The word “Winter” continues circling your brain like a glitching notification as you finish your lunch.
You tell yourself it’s just another rich girl with too much power and not enough hobbies. That it probably won’t even matter—you’ll fetch some samples, send some emails, get yelled at maybe twice, and that’ll be it.
You’re wrong, obviously.
--
Winter arrives on a Wednesday.
The office has been buzzing since Monday, but Wednesday is when the anxiety graduates to full-blown performative. The place looks sharper somehow—less messy piles of fabric, more strategically placed lookbooks. People are suddenly ironing things again. Someone cleaned the microwave. There are actual fresh flowers at reception, which feels truly apocalyptic.
You start your day the usual way: sweating under coat and garment bags, juggling coffees, convincing yourself this is just paying your dues and not being emotionally waterboarded for a single line on your resume.
You dump caffeine on the right desks, take a quick detour to the sample room to double-check a delivery, then speed-walk toward the elevator with your head buried in your phone, trying to respond to three emails at once, hitting send just as you step out into the ground-floor lobby.
Which is exactly when someone says, sharply, “Watch where you’re going.”
You look up, briefly, enough to register a group of suits near the entrance—some familiar from the upper floors, some not. A cluster of reception staff and a man you’ve only ever seen in framed photos—Chairman, CEO, god of your employee handbook—standing beside a younger woman in a long, brown wool coat.
You register the coat first because it’s perfect. Then the boots—sharp, high heeled, expensive. Then the line of her slender legs, the straightness of her posture, dark brown hair tucked behind one ear in a way that looks effortlessly feminine and elegant.
You don’t register who she is right away; too busy holding garment bags in one hand, a half-empty coffee in the other, and moving too fast across the lobby as you angle toward the turnstiles.
There’s a subtle ripple—people turning, straightening, bowing slightly as they pass.
You don’t bow.
You’re mid-step, mid-sip, mid-“oh shit I forgot to reply all,” and your brain does that thing where it decides “continue walking” is more important than “corporate social etiquette.”
You walk right past the group—close, but not close enough to say you were acknowledging anyone—and head straight toward the elevator.
You’re a few meters away when the air behind you turns to ice.
“Stop.”
It’s one word. Calm. Flat. Not loud, but it lands like someone dropped a weight on the floor.
You freeze.
The lobby goes quiet in that particular way where everyone is absolutely listening while pretending not to.
Your hand tightens around the garment bags. You turn.
It’s her. She’s looking at you.
Up close, Winter is… for lack of better words, a lot. Pretty feels like a cheap word for it. She’s breathtaking. The coat sits perfectly on her shoulders, not a speck of lint in sight. Her gaze is cool, steady, and absolutely unimpressed.
Beside her, your boss looks like he’s trying not to sweat through his shirt.
“Come here,” she says, looking right at you.
Your feet move before your brain can even attempt to protest. You step closer, aware of every eye in the lobby on your back.
She looks you up and down once. Not in a checking-you-out way. In an evaluating a piece of furniture way. Evaluating if it’s time to replace it, that is.
“You work here,” she says. It isn’t a question.
“Yes,” you say, then remember where you are. “Yes, I—yes, I’m an intern.”
“Yes, Ms. Kim, this is one of our interns,” your boss cuts in quickly, voice way too bright. “He’s new, still learning—”
“I didn’t ask you,” she says without looking at him.
He shuts up immediately.
She steps closer, heels clicking once on the marble. The top of her head reaches your mouth at best, but she feels much taller. Maybe it’s the shoes. Maybe it’s the confidence. Maybe it’s the fact that she could probably have you banned from the building with a single text.
“You saw a group of executives and staff bowing,” she says, studying your face. “You walked past without acknowledging any of them.”
Your stomach drops. Slowly.
You open your mouth, then close it again. You could say you were distracted. You could say you didn’t realize. You could say you were carrying half a closet and had a mild panic attack.
“I—sorry,” you say quickly. “I didn’t think—”
“Clearly,” she says, coldly.
Okay. There’s a lot you could say back, but you like being able to pay rent, so you swallow it.
You bow. A quick, sharp angle. “I sincerely apologize for my disrespect, Ms. Kim. It was careless and unprofessional. It won’t happen again.”
She watches you. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t move.
The silence stretches.
Your boss laughs too loudly. “He’s—ah—little rough around the edges, but he works hard. We’ll make sure he’s properly trained, won’t we?”
You stay bent for a half-second longer than necessary, then straighten slowly when it becomes clear she’s not dismissing you yet.
Her eyes flick to your boss, then back to you. “We better,” she says.
Winter gives you one last look before turning away, coat sweeping behind her as she glides toward the private elevator, your boss and the others scurrying in her wake.
The moment the doors close, sound slams back into the lobby like someone un-muted the world.
You stand there, heart pounding, fingers cramped around the garment bags, coffee now cold.
Ningning appears at your elbow like she teleported. “Oh my god,” she whispers, eyes wide and delighted. “You just got main-character bullied.”
You drag a hand down your face. “God, I hate this place.”
--
Hell, as it turns out, is measured in business days. Winter doesn’t just vanish into some glass office and become a rumor again. She’s everywhere. The first week is a montage of you discovering new and exciting ways one person can ruin your day without technically doing anything you can complain to HR about. Not that they’d even take your side.
On Monday, she sends an email at 9:01 a.m. to your boss and three other executives, cc’ing you as an afterthought.
Subject: Current intern utilization
Please send through a detailed breakdown of intern responsibilities, logged hours, and current project allocations by EOD. I’d like to assess whether we’re getting appropriate value from them.
By noon, your boss drops a spreadsheet on your desk and tells you to “clean it up” so Winter can “review your contribution,” so you spend the entire afternoon turning your own exploitation into a color-coded chart.
On Tuesday, she doesn’t email—you wish she emailed. Instead, she leaves a single-line comment in the spreadsheet at 7:14 a.m., visible to the entire leadership team:
“Some of these cells seem quite aspirational. Please revise.”
No explanation. No guidance. Just a digital eyebrow raise that somehow ruins your whole morning. You spend the next six hours re-verifying every number like you’re preparing evidence for a federal trial, only for her to leave another note at 3:02 p.m.:
“Better.”
Which, from her, somehow feels like a threat.
Come Wednesday, she actually summons you.
It’s a one-line message from her assistant, which is apparently a person who exists purely to deliver dread: “Ms. Kim would like to see you in her office. 3:00 p.m. Don’t be late.”
You spend the next three hours alternating between fixing a lookbook and planning your own funeral.
At 2:55, you stand outside her door, trying to look like a functional adult and not someone whose heart is pounding so hard it’s probably shaking the glass.
Her office is twice the size of your boss’s and somehow feels colder. White walls, a glass desk, a few carefully chosen campaign photos framed perfectly straight. There’s a single plant in the corner that looks like it has a trust fund of its own.
Winter sits behind the desk, laptop open. Of course she wears glasses. Thin frames—unforgiving, sophisticated, and so, so hot.
“Come in,” she says without looking up.
You do. You don’t trip, which you choose to take as a good omen.
“Sit,” she adds, gesturing at the chair before you.
You sit. Your palms are damp. You have never been more aware of your own knees.
She finishes typing, hits a key, then finally looks at you. Her gaze is clinical, the way a doctor might look at an x-ray.
“You’re the intern from the lobby,” she says, again not as a question.
Why does she always talk like that? It’s so condescending, rude, and… hot as hell.
“Yes,” you say, then clear your throat. “I mean—yes, Ms. Kim.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Three months.”
“Department?”
You swallow. “Officially logistics and production support. Unofficially… coffee and PowerPoint.”
Her eyebrow lifts by a barely perceptible millimeter. “Was that supposed to be funny?”
“Honestly, not really,” you say before your brain can stop your mouth. “It’s sad, if anything.”
There’s a tiny pause. For a horrifying second, you think you’ve just signed your termination papers.
Then, very faintly, the corner of her mouth moves. But it wasn’t a smile.
“You’ve been handling sample flow and shoot logistics,” she says, like she already knows and is just testing you.
“Yes, Ms. Kim.”
“And you’re responsible for the current tracking system for the lingerie capsule.”
You hesitate. “I… built the sheet, yes. But it’s based on—”
“It’s inefficient,” she cuts in. “It doesn’t account for real-time changes or returns. It’s fine for basic catalog work, but not for what we need.”
Your spine stiffens a little. “With respect, I’m working with what we had—”
“With respect,” she says, and somehow makes the phrase sound like a knife, “you’re not listening.”
Heat crawls up your neck. You shut your mouth.
She taps a key on her laptop, spins it slightly so the screen faces you. It’s your spreadsheet, rearranged and ripped apart. Columns moved, formulas rewritten, conditional formatting doing things you didn’t know Excel could do.
“I redid it,” she says, simply. “This is the minimum standard I expect for the holiday campaign. You’ll use this version from now on.”
You stare. It’s… actually good. It anticipates things you’ve been dealing with manually—last-minute changes, missing sizes, delayed shipments. It’s cleaner, faster, smarter.
You hate that it’s smarter. You hate that she’s smart. And rich. And mean. And hot. So damn hot. Like, insanely hot.
“Okay,” you say slowly. “I can work with this.”
She nods like you’ve answered a math question correctly. “Good. Because you’re going to be the point person for one of my Christmas projects.”
Your brain bluescreens. “I—what?”
“I need someone to coordinate models and logistics for a limited-run lingerie shoot,” she says. “Scheduling, fittings, contracts, set prep. Production is overloaded. Your boss says you’re reliable.”
You think about the lobby. You think about your inbox. You think about all the ways this could go wrong.
Your brain malfunctions, but you bite down on your first three responses.
“What exactly would I be responsible for?” you ask, unsure of what you’re hoping to hear.
“Everything that doesn’t require my physical presence. You will liaise with agencies, confirm models, ensure sample availability, coordinate with the photographer, and be on set. You will send me daily updates. I don’t like surprises.”
You nod, mind already racing. “Okay. I can—yeah. I can do that.”
“Can you?” she asks, folding her arms. “Because if you can’t, tell me now. I don’t have time to babysit.”
You sit up a little straighter. Somewhere under the humiliation and the nerves, something stubborn bristles.
“I can do it,” you say, confidently.
She watches you for a second, like she’s trying to decide if you’re lying.
“The shoot is in two weeks,” she says. “Find me three solid options for the lead model by Friday. Not influencers. Not whoever your friends follow on social media. Models. Professionals. Women who can sell the brand and the price point.”
“Any specific look?” you ask. “Body type, vibe, restrictions?”
“We’re selling luxury, not cheap sex.” Her nose wrinkles slightly at the last two words. “I don’t want anyone who looks like they’re here for a paycheck and an afterparty.”
You think automatically of Ningning, then shove that thought into a mental closet.
“Got it,” you say, nodding. “I’ll pull options and vet them before I send you anything.”
“Good. And try not to embarrass me again in the lobby.”
You flinch. “Y-yes, Ms. Kim.”
She looks back at her screen, effectively dismissing you.
You stand, heart pounding, brain buzzing with logistics and the cold, sharp reality that you’ve just been handed a live grenade with a silk bow on it.
As you reach the door, she speaks again.
“Oh, and one more thing.”
You turn. “Yes?”
“If you’re going to joke with me,” she adds, without looking up, “at least be funny.”
Your mouth opens. Nothing intelligent comes out. You settle for, “I’ll… work on that.”
“Do,” she says.
You escape into the hallway, adrenaline still snapping under your skin, and head straight for the only person who finds your impending doom entertaining.
Ningning listens to your recount with her chin in her hand, eyes bright.
“She gave you her project?” she says when you’re done. “Personally?”
“She gave me a bomb,” you correct her. “Personally. And set a timer.”
“That’s huge. You’re basically her guy now.”
“I don’t want to be her guy,” you say, sighing. “I want to be alive.”
“She trusts you,” she insists.
“She literally said she doesn’t want to babysit me.”
“In rich-girl speak, that means she thinks you might be useful,” Ningning says, putting a hand over your shoulder. “Congrats. You’re a tool. Her tool.”
You drag a hand through your hair. “If this goes wrong, I’m dead.”
“If this goes right,” she counters, “she’ll remember your name.”
You think of Winter’s mesmerizing eyes, the way she’d watched you bow in the lobby, the way she’d dismantled your spreadsheet and rebuilt it better in an afternoon.
You’re not sure which outcome is scarier.
--
By Thursday, your email outbox looks like you’re speed-dating the entire modeling industry. You send briefs, chase comp cards, haggle over rates you’re pretty sure are technically illegal. You put together a shortlist, then a shorter shortlist, then a Winter-proof shortlist.
By Friday, your days now become:
Mornings: inbox triage, contract language you’re technically not qualified to understand, calendar coordination with people who treat time like a rumor.
Afternoons: scramble to keep samples moving, confirm sizes, track down a missing box of embroidered bras that went on a scenic detour to the wrong warehouse.
Evenings: updates to Winter, who responds with timestamps that prove she never sleeps.
You think you’re being proactive by confirming a time with the studio before the photographer, and send a smug little “All set, just waiting on your final confirmation :)” email to Winter before you leave one night, then crawl home and face-plant into bed.
The next morning, there’s a reply waiting.
No studio is ‘all set’ until you have a signed booking and a backup. Do not declare things done just because you’re tired.
You stare at the screen, heat prickling your neck. Then you scroll down.
Attached are two options for alternate studios she found herself, with their availabilities, rates, and lighting specs highlighted.
You hate how competent she is. You also hate that some twisted part of you finds that so damn attractive.
--
By the time the shoot week rolls around, you’re held together by caffeine, spreadsheets, and the fear of disappointing a woman whose shoe collection costs more than what you’ll ever make in your lifetime.
The morning of the shoot hits like a truck.
You’re at the studio before the sun is awake, hauling garment bags, checking hangers, arranging racks of silk and lace into something organized.
You’ve confirmed:
Lead model: booked, signed, confirmed twice.
Photographer: on board, annoyingly smug, claims he “works best with chaos,” which you take as a personal threat.
Makeup and hair: two artists who speak fluent eyeliner and disdain.
Catering: fancy pastries you can’t pronounce.
You’re standing in the middle of it all, checking the time for the fifth time, when your phone buzzes.
Unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Hi, this is Kim Chaewon’s agent,” a voice says too cheerily. “I just wanted to let you know she won’t be able to make it today. Something came up.”
Your stomach drops. “Something… like what?”
“Another campaign got confirmed last minute,” the agent says. “Bigger brand, bigger fee. You understand.”
You do understand. You also understand the part where your life flashes before your eyes and ends with Winter staring down at your grave and calling you inefficient.
“We have a signed contract,” you say, clinging to sanity. “Usage, day rate, all agreed. She can’t just not show.”
“She’s very sorry,” the agent says, in a tone that suggests she isn’t. “But this is non-negotiable. We’ll, of course, waive—”
You hang up.
Sure, it’s not professional. It’s not mature. But if you stay on the line, you’re going to say something you can’t afford.
You stand there in the half-lit studio, phone still in your hand, listening to the hum of the lights and the slow, approaching footsteps of your doom.
“Everything okay?” the photographer calls from across the room, fiddling with his camera.
“Yeah,” you lie. “Just… checking on something.”
Your brain goes into overdrive. Backup model. You have one. You have her number.
You call. It goes to voicemail.
You text. No read receipts.
You send three more messages in the span of five minutes, all increasingly less dignified. Nothing.
You can feel the panic starting to crawl up your throat.
Winter is going to kill you.
You’re halfway through drafting a desperate email to every agency contact you have when Ningning slips into the studio, waving at someone behind you.
“Wow,” she says, looking around. “Fancy. This is where the magic happens, huh?”
“Ning,” you say, throat tight. “The lead model just bailed.”
She blinks. “What?”
“She went for another job last minute with a bigger fee. Backup’s not picking up. The shoot starts in—” you check the clock, “—forty minutes.”
She whistles low. “Yikes.”
You swallow. “Winter is going to actually skin me alive.”
“Okay, relax,” Ningning says, leaning against a clothing rack like this is a casual chat and not the moment your career bursts into flames. “You have, what, photographers, makeup, studio, clothes? You’re just missing one hot person.”
“Really? Yes, thank you, so helpful.”
“Look,” she says, holding your shoulders a bit too long. “You can find someone. Call the agency again. Beg. Bribe. Offer your firstborn.”
“I can’t even afford a plant,” you say, turning away.
You’re in the middle of dialing the agent back when the air in the studio shifts, the way it does when someone important walks in.
Winter steps through the doorway like she’s arriving on set for a Vogue shoot about capitalism. Dark coat over a slate gray blouse, hair tucked neatly, expression already in that focused, clipped mode that makes your spine itch.
She takes in the room in one sweep: lights, backdrop, racks, crew, you.
“How are we?” she asks.
You want to die.
“There’s a… small issue,” you say, heart ready to stop beating.
Her eyes narrow just a fraction. “Define ‘small.’”
“Our lead model,” you say, forcing the words out, “took another job. She’s not coming.”
The silence that hits is deafening.
The photographer stops adjusting his lens. Makeup pauses with a brush mid-air. Somewhere, a hanger squeaks traitorously on a rack.
Winter looks at you.
It’s not even anger at first. It’s assessment and calculation. You almost wish she’d just start yelling.
“Explain,” she says, folding her arms.
You walk her through it as fast as you can: the call, the agent, the signed contract, the sudden bail. You mention the backup you can’t reach, and that you’re trying to get someone—anyone—on short notice.
Her jaw ticks once. “So,” she says slowly, “after I specifically told you I don’t like surprises, you’ve given me the worst kind of surprise.”
Your throat goes dry. “I—tried to—”
“You tried,” she cuts in, voice sliced clean. “You also failed.”
Your vision tightens at the edges. For a second, you genuinely think you might throw up. Not because she’s wrong—she isn’t—but because the truth hits hard when it’s delivered in public, in front of a whole crew.
“We’re here,” the photographer says weakly, trying to be helpful. “We can… shoot something. Details. Product. Mood stuff.”
Winter doesn’t take her eyes off you. “I didn’t line up talent, staff, studio, and product to shoot ‘mood stuff’. We are not an amateur brand scrambling for content. We’re supposed to look like we know what we’re doing.”
Ningning shifts at your side, like she’s about to say something, then thinks better of it.
Then Winter does something you absolutely do not expect.
She sighs.
It’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. But it’s real—the kind of exhale you let out when you’ve already mentally moved from blame to solutions because you don’t have time to wallow.
Her gaze flicks briefly to Ningning. “What’s your name again?”
Ningning blinks like she’s just been yanked into the spotlight without warning. “Ning Yizhuo, ma’am.”
Winter’s eyes trail over her: the perfect hair, the flawless skin, the goddess-like figure. The way she’s already subconsciously posing, even just standing there.
“Do you have any on-camera experience?”
Ningning’s smile is instant. “A little. Small campaigns. Some lookbooks. I’ve modeled before.”
Of course she has.
Winter looks back at the racks of lingerie, then at the set, and then at the crew. You can practically see the math happening in her head. Limited options, limited time. Salvage the day or let it die.
“Try something on,” she says, pointing at the dressing room. “Let’s see if you can be useful.”
Ningning’s eyes go wide, then bright. “Yes, Ms. Kim!”
Ningning reappears ten minutes later in a robe and a dangerous amount of confidence.
You’re fiddling with hangers just to keep your hands busy when she steps out from behind the changing screen. Studio robe hanging off one shoulder to flash collarbone and the top of a black strap, along with long, bare legs and glossy red toes.
“Okay,” she says, pivoting in front of Winter. “What’s my poison?”
“We start with the black mesh set,” Winter says, pointing. “Underwire bra, high-cut thong, and garter belt. Let’s go for the full look.”
Ningning hums, grabs the hanger, and disappears. You catch flashes in the mirror—bare skin, straps sliding over shoulders, a glimpse of white panties being peeled off and kicked aside—before you force your eyes back to your clipboard and pretend “SHOT LIST” is fascinating.
When she steps out, the room actually inhales.
Sheer black mesh bra, embroidery barely shadowing her nipples. A tiny matching thong, high-cut to bare hipbone and the dip of her waist. Garter belt cinched tight, suspenders clipped to stockings that run all the way up her thighs. Thin black heels to finish it, making her legs look endless.
“God damn,” the photographer mutters. “Yeah. That’ll do.”
Winter steps in, all business. She adjusts a strap, straightens the garter belt, tugs the bra a fraction higher.
“Stop fidgeting,” she scolds. “You’re not nervous. You’re in control.”
Ningning’s smile sharpens. “Yes, Ms. Kim.”
They move her onto the set—a low velvet chaise in front of fairy lights and shadow. First: simple poses, hand on hip, weight in one leg. Then Winter starts tuning her like an instrument.
“Sit. Lean back on your hands. Curve your spine. Chest forward, not your shoulders.”
Ningning arches, throat bared, hair spilling over one shoulder, lips parted on a faint breath.
“Look at the camera like it’s yours. Not like you want something from it.”
Next frame, Ningning’s eyes go heavy and lazy, one corner of her mouth tilting like trouble. Heat crawls under your collar.
They put her on her knees on the chaise, back arched, ass up, hands braced. The thong disappears between her cheeks, suspenders tight, stocking bands biting into her soft thighs.
“Chin over your shoulder,” Winter says. “You’re not apologizing for being seen.”
Ningning glances back, hair falling, eyes glinting. The camera fires in rapid bursts.
The second set is crimson: push-up bra, tiny thong with a gold ring at the hip, suspender belt framing her stomach like an invitation, and a fur-trimmed Santa coat worn open. In one shot she’s got one hand on the coat, the other hooked in her thong, like she might drag it lower if you behave.
And you are not behaving, internally.
Her lips are a deeper red now, glossed and slick. At one point she bites the tip of a gloved finger, eyes on the lens in a way that makes you twitch in your pants.
“Slide the strap down,” Winter says. “More. Stop right before it looks like an accident.”
Ningning eases it down, robe hanging from her elbow. From where you stand, you can see her pulse jumping in her throat.
“Hand to your thigh. Higher. Curl your fingers into the stocking.”
Her fingers trail up, stretching the sheer fabric and digging into skin. The motion drags the thong just enough to hint at more. Everyone is looking. You can’t not.
Winter never flusters. She stays behind the monitor, voice cool and precise, every tiny correction turning Ningning into something sharper, sexier, and a little more dangerous.
“Stop trying to be pretty,” she says once. “Be expensive.”
The next shot, Ningning nails it. Her whole body language shifts—slower, lazier, like you’re lucky she let you into the room. Her hand slides up her stomach, fingers settling under the band of her bra, thumb brushing the underside of her breast. The camera eats it alive.
By the time Winter calls, “That’s enough,” your nerves are wrecked and your cock is very aware of gravity. You’re half in love, half pissed, and fully aware your whole career just depended on a girl who can turn into sin itself in just three outfits.
Winter shuts her laptop. “We have what we need. Contact sheets by morning.”
You nod automatically.
She gives Ningning one last look. “You did better than I expected.”
“Thank you, Ms. Kim,” Ningning says, still a little breathless.
Then just like that, she’s gone, heels fading down the hallway.
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“Did you hear her compliment me?” Ningning whispers excitedly. “That was foreplay.”
You rub your temples. “Ning, I’m begging you to speak to a professional.”
Crew starts breaking down and you dive into clean-up: counting pieces, logging SKUs, making sure that everything that touched skin gets tagged for dry cleaning.
Eventually Ningning emerges in her own clothes again; makeup still intense, hair mussed.
“Okay,” she says, dusting her hands. “I’m going to hit the bathroom and take, like, forty selfies before this makeup dies.”
She flashes you a peace sign and vanishes down the hallway.
The studio empties out in slow waves. By the time the last light is powered down, it’s just you, a bored studio tech in the office down the hall, and racks of very expensive, very intimate fabric.
As you finish your last sweep, you spot something on a side table: a keycard with a sleek black leather holder.
You pick it up.
KIM MINJEONG, it says on the tiny embossed tag.
Of course she has a designer keycard.
You sigh and slip it into your pocket. You’ll have to run it up to her office before you leave or security will have an aneurysm.
That’s when you hear it. A soft, wet sound. A muffled, breathy whine. The faint rhythmic creak of something hitting something else.
You freeze.
The sound’s coming from further down the hall, near the storage rooms. You move without consciously deciding to, steps quiet on the cement floor, heart picking up with every little gasp that echoes.
It takes about two seconds to put the voice together with the picture you do not want but absolutely have in your head.
You stop in front of a slightly open door. Light spills out in a narrow strip across the floor.
You should turn around. You know you should. You should walk away and mind your business.
Instead, you look.
The room is a small storage space lined with metal shelves, boxes stacked in neat rows. In the middle of it, half-pinned against a stack of prop crates, Ningning is very much not in the bathroom.
She’s still in the black stockings from earlier, garter straps clipped and stretched. Her skirt is shoved up around her waist, blouse wide open, bra hanging loose around her ribs. Her hair is a mess, lipstick smeared, mascara a little smudged at the corners of her eyes.
Your boss has his pants around his thighs, shirt untucked, tie loosened and hanging crooked. One hand is braced on the shelf above her head; the other is on her hip as he drives into her from behind.
You see it all in one hot, paralyzed second: her cheek pressed to the cool metal, lips parted on a moan. Her ass slams back against him in short, needy pushes, stockings biting into the soft flesh of her thighs with every thrust.
“Fuck,” he groans, voice ragged. “You perfect little whore. Your pussy is just phenomenal.”
Ningning laughs breathlessly, turning her head just enough that you see the lazy, satisfied curve of her mouth. “I thought you had dinner with your wife,” she teases, words breaking on a sharp inhale as he snaps his hips harder.
“I moved it,” he pants. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you on that set.”
Her nails scrape down the metal shelf to keep balance. “You liked it?”
“You were made for this,” he says, fingers sliding from her hip up to grab her shoulder, pulling her back onto him. “Our little secret weapon.”
Your heart is pounding. Your cock jerks against your zipper. You know you should turn around, walk away, and pretend you never saw this.
And yet, you don’t move.
He pulls out suddenly, hand on her hip to turn her around. She lets him spin her, back pressing into the crates now, skirt still bunched, thighs parted. His cock juts out, flushed and wet.
Ningning looks down at him and grins. “You’re really worked up today.”
“You did that,” he says.
“Mm.” She loops her arms around his neck, pulling him in. “Then I should fix it, right?”
She lifts one leg, hooking it over his hip. He grabs under her thigh, hefts her up against the boxes, and she wraps her other leg around him, caging his waist. For a heartbeat, they’re eye to eye, breath mingling, her chest pressed to his.
He thrusts back into her in one sharp push, and she gasps, head tipping back to thump softly against a crate.
“Oh god,” she breathes. “You’re so nice and big, Director-nim.”
He fucks her like he’s been thinking about it all day—rough, hurried, desperate. Every thrust rocks her up the crates a little as they creak in protest. Her skirt rides higher, flashing the tops of her stockings and the band of her panties dragged to one side, while his cock slides in and out of her in long, obscene strokes.
You can hear everything: the slap of skin, the wet drag, and the breathy little sounds she makes every time he buries himself all the way in.
“Say my name,” he groans.
She obliges, moaning it into his neck, biting at his collar. “Harder,” she whispers. “Come on, you can fuck me better than your wife, can’t you?”
He groans, almost collapses into her for a second. “You’re trouble. You’re fucking trouble.”
“And you love trouble,” she says, laughing, then gasps again as he changes angle and hits something that makes her whole body jerk.
Her hand slides between them, fingers finding her clit as she works herself in fast, tight circles, matching his pace.
“Look at you,” he says, watching her hand move. “Can’t even wait for me to finish before you start touching yourself.”
“Gotta help you along,” she pants. “You’re getting old.”
He hauls her down on him harder in retaliation. She squeals, then laughs again, breathless.
“You know Winter liked me too,” she sings. “She said I did better than she expected.”
Jealousy spikes in you at those words, but you’re not entirely sure which part.
“Of course she did,” he says. “You saved her ass. She should be thanking you on her knees.”
Ningning’s eyes glitter. “Well,” she purrs, legs tightening around his waist, “I’m more than happy to be the one on my knees for now.”
She squeezes him once more with her body, then pushes at his chest lightly. “Put me down.”
He lowers her, hands lingering on her hips as her feet touch the floor. She smooths her skirt down halfway, then drops to her knees in front of him.
“Does your wife suck your dick like me?” she asks, fingers curling around his shaft. “I bet she doesn’t even bother.”
“Ning—” he starts, already breathing hard.
She leans in and shuts him up with her mouth.
Her tongue flicks over the head first, tasting both of them, then she takes him in, lips sealing around him, hand stroking the base in time with her bobbing head. His head tips back, a low, broken sound tearing out of him.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re so good at this.”
Her eyes flick up, lashes wet at the corners. Saliva glistens at the seam of her mouth, a thin strand stretching when she pulls back to lick along the underside of his shaft, slow and lazy, like she has all the time in the world.
You can’t breathe.
He pushes her back down, guiding her with a fist in her hair. She lets him, taking him deeper this time, until her nose almost brushes his stomach. The garter straps flex against her thighs as she steadies herself, fingers curling into his hips.
She gags softly, then breathes out through her nose and settles, throat flexing as she swallows around him.
“That’s it,” he pants, staring down at her. “Such a good girl. Serving your boss so well.”
The word lands like a slap. Your grip on the doorframe tightens until your fingers ache.
She leans in to lick a drop of pre-cum off the tip, then pulls back just enough to murmur, “Look at me.”
He does, eyes wide and shaking.
She opens her mouth, tongue out just a little, and starts stroking him fast. Her wrist snaps, and the wet slides of her hand and his low curses fills the tiny room.
“Fuck, Ning… I’m close,” he grunts, hand tightening in her hair.
She makes an encouraging noise, then wraps her lips around the head and bobs faster, taking him as deep as she can with each stroke. Her free hand sneaks back between her own thighs again, fingers pressing into the soaked crotch of her panties.
“Come for me, Director-nim,” she mumbles around his cock, words muffled, eyes locked on his.
That does it.
He groans, a broken, primal sound, hips jerking. Thick white spurts paint her tongue, her lips, the corner of her mouth. She lets it hit her, some of it dripping down her chin, onto her fingers where she’s still stroking him through the aftershocks.
You feel your own cock throb in your pants, shame and arousal twisted together so tight you couldn’t pull them apart if you tried.
She milks the last drops out of him with slow, lazy strokes, then closes her lips, swallowing it all.
“So yummy,” she says softly, licking a streak from the corner of her mouth with the tip of her tongue.
He laughs weakly, sagging back against the shelves, breathing hard.
You step back from the door, finally, pulse punching in your ears.
This is crazy. You shouldn’t have seen any of it.
You move as quietly as you can down the hallway, back toward the main space, every breath loud in your own head. You don’t hear the door open behind you. You don’t hear your name. They’re too wrapped up, too busy smoothing clothes and straightening ties and returning to the world like nothing happened.
By the time you hit the elevator, your face is hot, your palms are sweaty, and Winter’s keycard feels like it weighs a hundred pounds in your pocket.
You jab the button for the executive floor, chest tight with about six different kinds of anger and something that feels suspiciously like heartbreak.
For yourself. For every late night you spent proving yourself while she proved something very different against a storage room wall.
You tell yourself you’re just here to return a key.
You tell yourself you’re not going to walk into Winter’s office with all this buzzing under your skin and do something stupid.
You’re wrong on at least one count.
Winter’s keycard burns a hole in your pocket the whole way.
You don’t let yourself think about what you just saw. About the way your boss’s hands looked on Ningning’s skin. About her loud, needy moans. About the way she didn’t push him away. About how, for all your late nights and extra hours and desperate attempts to be useful, that’s still the oldest promotion track in the book.
You focus on the one concrete task in front of you: return the key, leave, go home, and pretend your brain isn’t a blender.
You stop outside Winter’s office, straighten your shirt, and lift your hand to knock—and then freeze when you hear her voice through the door.
Not cold, this time. Not stern. More… frayed.
“…Not this again,” she’s saying. “You said you’d try. You always say you’ll try.”
A muffled male voice replies, too faint to make out the words. You catch the tone: defensive and desperate.
Winter laughs, but it’s a sharp, humorless sound.
“Busy,” she says. “You’re always busy. Do you know how many flights I’ve taken for you? How many times I’ve moved my entire week because you said you’d ‘see what you could do’?”
You stare at the wood grain of the door like it might offer answers.
You should go. You know you should go. Give the key to her assistant. Come back later. Set yourself on fire in the stairwell. Anything but stand here and listen.
Once again, you don’t move.
The guy says something again, and Winter’s voice spikes.
“No. Don’t you dare,” she snaps. “Don’t make this about how ‘hard’ you’re working. You think I’m not? You think I’m on vacation here while you’re fucking around?”
Your breath catches.
There’s a beat of shocked silence on his end, then more muffled words, faster now. Excuses. Denials. You can’t make them out, but you know the rhythm.
“Oh, please,” Winter says, voice shaking. “Do you think I’m stupid? You fly to Berlin and suddenly you’re ‘too tired’ to talk, but she’s in your stories. Did you forget we have mutual friends?”
Your chest tightens.
“I ignored it,” she goes on, voice climbing. “I swallowed it when you said it ‘didn’t mean anything.’ When you said it was just one time. Then two. Then ‘you were drunk.’ I let it go because you said you’d try.”
Her breathing’s audible now, quick and uneven, like she’s pacing.
“And what do I get for that? For pretending not to see you flirting with her in your own comments? For pretending not to care that everyone else did?”
More faint protest from the phone. You catch “overreacting” and “nothing’s happening now” in the blur.
“Overreacting,” she repeats, flatly. “Right. I ask you to come home for Christmas, for once, and I’m overreacting. I ask you not to fuck other people while you tell me you love me, and I’m overreacting.”
You swallow hard.
“I don’t want another video call,” she says, softer now but somehow worse. “I don’t want ‘maybe next year’ while you’re in someone else’s bed. I wanted you here. Just you. And you can’t even give me that.”
There’s a long pause this time. You hear her inhale, shaky. When she speaks again, her voice has gone oddly flat.
“Right,” she says. “Of course. Work comes first. She comes first. It always does.”
More muffled words, an attempted soothe, something that sounds like “you know I love you.”
“Don’t,” she cuts in quietly. “Don’t say you love me if you’re not willing to show up. If you’re not willing to stop cheating on me and pretending it’s a scheduling issue.”
Silence. Heavy silence.
Then, very clearly: “No. We’re not doing this anymore.”
Your hand tightens around the keycard.
“We’re done,” she says, firmly. “I’m done.”
There’s a burst of frantic noise from the speaker you can’t make out—your brain fills it in with apologies and promises you’ve heard in other people’s mouths. She ends it with two clean sentences.
“Goodbye. Don’t ever call me again.”
Silence. Then the sharp crack of something hard hitting a desk.
You flinch.
You wait. One second. Two. Ten.
Then, very quietly, you knock.
There’s a pause. Then Winter’s voice, calmer but still rough around the edges. “Come in.”
You open the door just enough to slip inside, closing it quietly behind you.
Winter is behind her desk, phone facedown, jaw tight. Her eyes are a little red at the corners, but her makeup is still perfect, which somehow makes it worse.
She looks up. Whatever you overheard gets buried under ice in half a second.
“What do you want?” she says, pretending to inhale instead of sniffling.
You hold up the keycard holder like a peace offering. “You left this at the studio.”
Her gaze drops to it, then back to your face. The tiniest muscle in her cheek twitches. “You came all the way up here just to play courier?”
“Figured security would tase me if I kept it,” you say, pressing your lips together cautiously. “And your assistant’s gone.”
“How long were you outside my office?”
Your stomach drops. “I—just now?”
“You were eavesdropping.” Her voice goes flat again, back to the tone from the lobby. “On a private conversation.”
“I wasn’t trying to,” you say quickly. “I came to return your key, and you were already on the phone. I was going to leave, but then you were—” you stop yourself before you say ‘crying’, “—upset. I didn’t want to just barge in.”
“So you decided to stand there and listen instead,” she scoffs. “How thoughtful.”
Heat crawls up your neck. “That’s not—I’m sorry. I should’ve gone.”
“Yes. You should have.”
The silence stretches, tight and thin, like a rubber band ready to snap.
You move forward, set the keycard gently on the corner of her desk. “Here. I’ll get out of your way.”
You turn to leave.
“Stop.” she says, sharply.
Your shoulders tense. You face her again.
“Did I say you could go?” she asks.
Something in her tone makes your pulse jump. She’s sitting still, back straight, hands folded on the desk, but there’s a wound under the smoothness now, and it’s fresh and exposed. The emotional equivalent of a cracked screen under a perfect case.
“It was a mistake,” you say carefully. “It won’t happen again.”
“You keep saying that. In the lobby. In the emails. On set. You’re constantly sorry. It’s exhausting.”
You bite down. “I don’t know what else you want me to say.”
She stands. The movement’s unhurried, but it still makes the hair on your arms rise. She circles the desk, heels soft on the carpet, and stops in front of you, just close enough that you can smell her perfume—cool, sharp, something floral over something darker.
“You embarrassed me in the lobby,” she says. “You nearly wrecked my campaign today. And now you’ve completely invaded my privacy.”
You flinch. “I said I’m sorry.”
“Words are cheap. Show me you’re sorry instead.”
You blink. “How am I supposed to—”
“Kneel.”
The word hits like a slap.
You stare at her. “What?”
Her eyes narrow. “You heard me. You were so eager to bow in the lobby when there was an audience. Do it properly now.”
Your heart thumps once, heavily. Humiliation and anger spike together.
“That was—” you start, then stop, because arguing with your boss’s boss’s daughter is a terrible idea when you are on a six-month contract. “You’re joking.”
“I don’t have time for jokes,” she says, folding her arms. “Get on your knees.”
For a second, you consider telling her to fuck off. Walking out and letting the internship burn. But your legs move before your pride can veto it.
You sink down, knees hitting the plush carpet, thighs brushing the edge of her desk.
The angle puts your face level with her ridiculously tiny waist. From here, you can see the fine stitching on her blouse and the subtle curve of her hips under the pencil skirt.
“Now apologize,” she says, leaning against the desk.
You grit your teeth. “I’m sorry for listening when I shouldn’t have. I should’ve knocked and left instead of standing there.”
“Louder,” she sneers.
Your ears burn. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, voice rougher. “I crossed a line. I shouldn’t have.”
She steps closer. One heel slides between your knees, nudging them apart a little. Your breath stutters.
“All you do is make mistakes around me,” she says condescendingly. “It’s almost impressive how incompetent you are.”
You look up at her. From this angle, the light hits her hair, throwing a faint halo around her head.
“Look, I’m sorry you had a bad day,” you say quietly. “That doesn’t mean you get to—”
Her hand snaps out, fingers wrapping around your jaw, thumb pressing into the hinge hard enough to make your teeth click.
“Careful,” she warns.
The grip isn’t brutal, but it’s firm. Possessive. It sends a jolt of something hot straight down your spine.
“For someone in your position,” she murmurs, “you’re very comfortable telling me what I do and do not ‘get’ to do.”
Your pulse hammers as your hands flex uselessly on your thighs.
“I’m trying to apologize,” you mutter through her grip.
“And you’re not even good at that.”
She holds your face there for another few seconds, studying you. You don’t look away. You can’t. Her pupils are blown a little, whether from anger or something else, you don’t know.
Her gaze flicks down your body, slow enough that you feel it. You suddenly become hyper-aware of your position: on your knees, head tilted back, your cock half-hard from the mess of adrenaline, humiliation, and the lingering images of Ningning on her knees a floor below.
Winter notices. Of course she does.
She scoffs. “You’re hard?”
Your face goes hot. “That’s—no, that’s not—”
“You’re all the same,” she says in disgust. “My father, his partners, the men in London, my ex. You see pretty things and you think wanting them entitles you to something.”
“That’s not what this is. I’m not entitled to anything.”
“You’re not?” she asks, tilting her head. “You eavesdrop on people’s private conversations, you argue with your superiors, you accept projects you know you aren’t qualified for, and now you’re kneeling on my floor, looking at me like you’re holding back drool.”
“Who says I’m drooling?”
“Your eyes.”
Your jaw clenches. “Nothing I do is good enough for you. Honestly, what do you want from me?”
She looks down at you, eyes gleaming, lips pressed together like she’s holding something back. Then she exhales, a sharp little huff through her nose.
“I want,” she says slowly, “for you to stop being so useless when I’m having the worst week of my year.”
She reaches down, curls her fingers into your hair, and tugs your head toward her.
Your face is inches from the front of her skirt now. You can smell her heat under the faint perfume, something warm and incredibly alluring that cuts through the cold aesthetic of the office.
“I’m so tired of everything. Make yourself useful. If you’re going to be here, at least serve a purpose for once in your life. ”
Your brain blanks for a second. “You want me to—”
“Yes,” she says, pushing even closer. “Unless you’re too incompetent for that as well.”
The insult hits like a match thrown on gasoline. Humiliation twists with anger, and underneath both is a thick, throbbing thread of arousal that makes your voice come out low.
“You’re seriously asking your intern to go down on you. Do you know how insane that is?”
She tightens her grip in your hair, pulling just enough to make your scalp sting. “I’m not asking. I’m telling you. Last chance to say no.”
You should say no. You know you should. This is every rule broken at once. HR would set the building on fire.
Instead, your hands move to her hips, fingers brushing the smooth fabric of her skirt.
“I’m not saying no,” you hear yourself say.
Something flashes across her face—triumph, maybe, or relief—before her expression smooths out again.
“Good,” she murmurs. “I wasn’t going to take ‘no’ for an answer anyways.”
She releases your hair long enough to gather her skirt in both hands and drag it up. The fabric slides over your fingers, revealing sheer black stockings clipped to a garter belt you didn’t know she was wearing. The straps disappear up under the hem of her blouse, into the shadow of the skirt bunched around her waist.
Her panties are simple, black, and very, very damp.
Heat surges through you as she hooks her thumbs in the waistband and pulls them aside, baring herself in the soft office light. Her folds are completely smooth, soft, and shockingly wet already.
“Don’t make me regret this,” she says quietly.
You swallow, lean in, and breathe her in, starting with a kiss just above her inner thigh, lips pressing into her warm skin.
She makes a soft, impatient noise, fingers sliding back into your hair. “Don’t tease. It’s unnecessary.”
“Have some patience for once in your life,” you murmur against her.
Then you move where she wants you.
Your tongue drags up the length of her slit, slowly, from her dripping entrance to her adorable clit. She’s impossibly delicious, like a forbidden fruit you never knew could exist.
She shudders, hand clenching in your hair. “Again.”
You obey.
You trace her, learning her rhythm, the places her breath catches. You circle her clit with the tip of your tongue, light at first, then firmer when she groans under her breath. Then you open your mouth wider, flatten your tongue against her, licking slow, steady stripes.
“Don’t stop to savor it,” she says, voice thinner now. “This isn’t for you.”
“Of course not, everything is about you, Kim Minjeong.”
Her hips jerk. “Shut up,” she says, but it comes out breathy.
She lets out a quiet yelp as you lift her up onto her desk in one smooth motion, spreading her legs wide apart. You suck gently, then harder, tongue flicking back and forth, pressure building in careful increments. Her breathing hitches, and her other hand finds your shoulder, nails scraping lightly through your shirt.
“Right there—” she bites off a sound, exhale turning into a low, involuntary moan. “Don’t stop.”
So you don’t. Why would you, anyway?
You add a finger, sliding it slowly into her. She’s dangerously tight and hot around you, walls clenching as she takes you in. Then a second finger, working them in a steady rhythm that matches your mouth.
She breaks. Not all at once. Little noises at first, trapped between her teeth, then larger, less contained. Your name twists through her teeth like she doesn’t want to even say it.
“Fuck,” she gasps quietly.
You grin against her. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you curse.”
She swears again, hips pushing against your face while her thighs tremble under your hands. “H-harder—faster—” she snaps. “Keep going—”
She cuts off on a sharp cry as you suck her clit just right, fingers curling inside her.
She goes rigid, then shudders. Her hand yanks hard at your hair, forcing you tighter against her, grinding her beautiful pussy against your mouth like she’s trying to fuse you there. You keep going, slower now, riding it out, licking her through it until she flinches away.
“Stop,” she pants. “That’s enough.”
You ease back, lips and chin still wet, breathing hard. Your jaw aches. Your cock is straining painfully against your zipper.
She stands up, skirt still bunched around her waist, thighs parted, chest heaving. For a moment, the mask is completely gone. She looks defeated, flushed, and human, finally.
But the cold comes back like thunder after a strike of lightning.
She drops her skirt, smoothing it down with shaking hands, and looks at you like you’re back to being a problem.
“Stand up,” she demands.
You push yourself to your feet, blood rushing from your head straight to your cock. From this angle, you tower completely over her, which you’re suddenly extremely aware of. She’s so small that you could toss her around the room if you wanted to.
Her gaze flicks down, lingers, comes back up. “You’re still hard?”
You huff a laugh. “Yeah, turns out I wasn’t the one who just came on someone’s face.”
Color hits on her cheekbones. “Don’t talk to me like that,” she says, grabbing your crotch.
Something in you finally snaps.
Maybe it’s the whole day. The studio chaos. The cheap satisfaction in your boss’s voice in the storage room as he finished in Ningning’s mouth. The way everyone gets to use everyone else, and you’re always the one on the ground.
Maybe it’s her letting a cheating boyfriend string her along for God knows how long and still acting like she’s above wanting anything.
Whatever it is, it breaks the last fine thread of your patience.
“No,” you say to her for the first time.
Her eyes flash. “Excuse me?”
You step in, crowding her back until her hips hit the desk. Your hand finds her waist, fingers digging into the silk of her blouse.
“You don’t get to treat me like trash after using me for your own pleasure,” you say, voice low.
She scoffs. “Pleasure is a stretch.”
“So you didn’t like it?”
“I don’t need to answer your questions. Who are you, again?”
“I’m not a dog you can order around and then just walk away from.”
“That is exactly what you are. A dumb, worthless intern.”
“Then fire me,” you dare. “Replace me with someone more competent, but don’t lie to yourself. Don’t pretend you’re okay letting some guy cheat on you over and over while you only know how to grow a backbone with me.”
You grab her wrist as she moves to push you away, pinning it gently but firmly to the desk behind her.
“Let go,” she warns. “Don’t touch me without my permission.”
“Make me leave, then. Tell me to walk out the door and I’ll go right away. But don’t stand here acting like I’m the only bad decision you made this month.”
She glares up at you, fury and something darker warring. “You’re out of line. You don’t get to have opinions about my relationship that you eavesdropped on.”
“Your ex fucks other girls behind your back, but you’re still defending your relationship,” you say, pressing your bulge in between her thighs. “You’re allowed to let him walk all over you, but I’m not allowed to say you liked how I ate you out? Come on.”
Her lips part, then snap shut. You can see the battle happening on her face: the instinct to reassert control, to shut down, to freeze you out.
You ease your grip on her wrist a little to give her air. “Go ahead and tell me to walk out,” you murmur, “Hell, fire me if you want to. I already crossed the line of no return when I got on my knees for you. Just say the word and I’m gone.”
She doesn’t say it. She doesn’t even seem to consider it.
Instead, after a long, tense moment, she exhales. “I hate you.”
You smirk. “Yeah? Prove it.”
“Have I not?”
You pull her in for a kiss that she isn’t ready for. It’s messy, rough—everything a first kiss probably shouldn’t be. Your teeth click, your nose bumps hers, and for a split second she’s frozen under you.
“God, I can’t stand you,” she whispers between breaths. “You’re the worst person I ever met.”
Then she grabs your shirt in both fists and hauls you closer, kissing back like she wants to bite through you. She tastes like expensive lipstick and herself. Her mouth is hot and demanding, tongue sliding against yours, teeth catching your lower lip hard enough to draw a hiss from you.
You release her wrist and immediately put your hand on her hip, then her ass, dragging her flush against you. She gasps into your mouth when she feels your erection press into her through your slacks.
“Fuck,” she breathes. “You’re—”
“Let me guess—so hard?” you say, lips against her jaw as you trail kisses down to her neck. “Yeah. That tends to happen when you press your pretty little pussy against my face for half an hour.”
Your hands move on their own, tugging her blouse out of her skirt, fingers spreading over the bare skin of her waist. She shivers, arching into your touch.
“You know what I don’t understand?” she asks, but her voice is losing its edge. “What on earth gives you enough audacity to think for even a second that you deserve this? I can’t tell if I should be offended right now.”
“How ironic,” you murmur into her skin. “For someone with enough audacity to think the whole world should bow down to her for being born rich.”
“You might be the most annoying person I’ve ever met in my entire life.” She tries to hit you, but it ends up more of a shove that just rocks you both against the desk.
You slide a hand up, cupping her breast through her bra, thumb sweeping over her nipple. She inhales sharply, head tipping back.
“Take this off,” you mutter, fumbling with the buttons of her blouse.
“You can’t even undress me properly?” She pushes your hands away impatiently and undoes them herself. The blouse falls open, revealing a black bra that matches the stockings and garters—simple, smooth, and expensive. You reach behind her, find the clasp, and pop it open.
The bra slides down, and her tits spill into your hands. Gorgeous isn’t even the right word to describe them. Her chest is soft, warm, for some reason, her skin just smells incredibly enticing. You close your mouth around one nipple and suck, teeth grazing lightly. Her hand flies to the back of your head, nails digging into your scalp, dragging you closer.
“Fuck,” she gasps. “That actually feels good.”
You lavish attention on both, licking, sucking, squeezing just enough to make her whine. Your other hand finds the hem of her skirt, shoving it back up around her hips again, fingers skimming the garter straps, then the band of her panties.
She feels you there and tenses. “Did you lock the door?” she says, breathless. “Or were you too stupid?”
“Was I supposed to know this would happen when I went to return your keys?”
“Right, how could I forget?” she mutters. “You don’t know anything. Dumb as bricks.”
“Don’t worry, no one’s here,” you say, though you’re not actually entirely sure. “Everyone went home to avoid you because you’re such a bitch.”
She lets out a sharp, surprised laugh that melts into a moan when you suck harder. “I really hate you,” she says in between breaths. “You’re such a—ohh—”
You slide your hand between her thighs, pressing your fingers against the damp heat of her panties. “You hate me so much that you’re dripping wet. I guess dumb guys turn you on, that’s why you tolerate being cheated on.”
Her nails dig deeper. “You’re going to get fired after this.”
“Oh, is that a threat?” you ask, rubbing slow circles over her clit through the fabric.
“No, it’s a promise.” She bites her lip, hips grinding down on your hand despite her words.
You can’t take it anymore.
You step back just enough to fumble with your belt, ripping it open, yanking your zipper down. Your cock springs free, actual painful with how long you’ve been hard. You catch her staring, eyes widening as she catches her breath.
You take her hand and wrap it around you. Her fingers tighten on instinct, stroking once, and you have to bite back a groan.
“Show me how much you hate me,” you say, voice rough. “If I’m getting fired, I better get a severance package.”
Her hand squeezes, thumb smearing pre-cum along your length. “Interns don’t get severance, idiot,” she says, but there’s no bite left in it. “Clearly we need an IQ test for new hires.”
“Start with yourself. You’re fucking your intern in your own office.”
“Who says I’ll fuck you?”
“Me.” You pull back just enough. “Turn around.”
She hesitates, then does it—slowly and cautiously. She plants her hands on the desk, shoulder blades shifting under the half-open blouse, skirt hitched up enough to show the curve of her ass.
You step in behind her, one hand on her hip, the other dragging her panties aside again. She’s soaked, hot, and somehow so ready it makes your head spin.
“Last chance to say no,” you say, last shred of sanity clinging.
She glances over her shoulder. “Just shut up and fuck me.”
You line yourself up and enter her. She’s tight—so much tighter than you expected. But the resistance gives up slowly, her body stretching around you, taking you in inch by inch. You groan, gripping her hip harder, and she lets out a strangled sound, fingers digging into the desk.
“How does it feel, Ms. Kim?” you murmur, bending over her, mouth by her ear. “Your intern’s inside you.”
“Shut up—” she hisses, breath shaking. “I’m being generous because it’s about to be Christmas—”
You slide in the rest of the way, burying yourself all the way, and her sentence dissolves into a broken gasp.
For a moment, you both just stay there, breathing hard, bodies locked. She’s so tight you have to grit your teeth not to come embarrassingly fast. Her muscles flutter around you, adjusting and accommodating to your throbbing length.
“F-fuck,” you groan. “You feel so—”
“Move!” she cries. “If you’re going to fuck me, do it right for God’s sake!”
You pull back, slow, savoring the drag, then thrust in again, setting a rhythm that’s steady at first, then harder as she starts to push back into you.
The sound of your bodies meeting fills the room—wet, wild, and punctuated by her quiet curses and your low groans. The desk creaks under the shared weight and papers crumple under her hands.
“Is this what you wanted?” you mutter into her neck, thrusting deeper. “Someone to fuck you after all those months of being neglected by your ex?”
She moans, head dropping forward, strands of hair falling over her face. “Shut up…”
“You like it,” you say, grabbing her hips with both hands now, slamming her back onto you with each stroke. The impact makes her cute little ass slap against your skin. “You like being fucked like you’re not perfect all the time. Like you’re a person and not a press release.”
She makes a sound that’s almost a sob as her shoulders shake. “You don’t know a single thing about me or my life,” she gasps, words hitching on your rhythm. “So stop acting like you do.”
“I know you’re just a spoiled rich brat who thinks everyone should worship the ground she walks on.”
“No, not everyone, just you—aah!” Her voice breaks as you hit deeper, nails scraping the desk.
“You got off on making me kneel for you,” you say, breath hot against her ear. “Just how much do you love yourself?”
“Oh god. Just stop talking and keep fucking me like this.” Her hand flies back, groping blindly until she catches your wrist, nails digging in. It doesn’t stop you; it just anchors you.
You adjust your angle, aiming for the spot that made her clench around your fingers earlier. The next thrust hits it dead-on and she cries out, the sound strangled and desperate.
“Say it,” you demand, speeding up. “Say it or I stop.”
“You wouldn’t fucking dare,” she spits. “I’ll kill you if you stop now.”
You change to a tormentingly slow grind, dragging out of her almost all the way before pushing back in. “Say it,” you murmur, lips brushing her neck. “Say you like it. Say you want more.”
Her pride hangs on by a whisper. You feel it in the way she trembles, in the way her fingers claw at the desk, in the way her hips still, instinct fighting need.
Then it breaks. Finally.
“I like it,” she chokes out, voice cracking. “I—fuck—I love it. There, are you happy? Just don’t stop. Keep fucking me.”
You slam back into her, hard, then again, picking the pace back up. Your hand slides around her front, fingers slipping between her thighs to find her clit, working it in tight, fast circles that make her knees buckle.
“Say please,” you growl, wrapping your fingers around her tiny neck. “Beg for the first time in your life.”
“No—I’ll never—aaah—” Her protest melts into a moan as you rub harder and squeeze slightly tighter, thrusts driving her into the desk.
“Beg for me to keep fucking you.”
There’s a tiny, broken noise, then she cracks completely.
“Please… please fuck me…” she gasps. “It feels so good, please, please, please!”
“Look at you,” you say, half-laughing, half-groaning. “Always pretending to be high and mighty. Hey, Kim Minjeong, does aespa group know their heiress is just a dirty little slut?”
“Fuck you—aaah—don’t talk—fuck—harder—harder, harder, harder!” Her voice pitches up with each word, strangled and desperate.
She falls apart.
You give her what she begs for, driving into her with everything you have, the slap of your flesh echoing off the glass. Her moans bounce off the walls, nails digging helplessly into the glass as you hammer her through it.
“I’m coming—I’m gonna come!” she cries. “God, this stupid fucking intern is making me come again—”
She arches off the desk, back bowing, a raw sound ripping out of her throat before she bites it into a rough, strangled cry against her own arm. Her walls clamps down around you hard, pulsing in tight, relentless waves that drag you straight to the edge with her.
“Fuuck!” you cry, forcing a few more thrusts to chase the edge—before it slams into you.
You spill inside her with a loud groan, fingers clenching her hips, forehead dropping to the back of her neck. Hot, pulsing release floods out of you in waves, each contraction wringing another unintelligible sound from your chest.
For a while, there’s nothing but the harsh sound of your breathing and the faint tick of the clock while the both of you tremble quietly, still joined.
Eventually you manage to ease out of her. She sways, catching herself on the desk as your cum slowly leaks out of her pussy and trails in cloudy streaks down the backs of her thighs.
Winter came. And so did you.
The air shifts as the reality of what you’ve just done settles between you.
Winter re-buttons her blouse slowly, not looking at you. Her hair is a mess, her lipstick is smeared at the corners, and a faint flush still lingers on her throat. She keeps her eyes on the buttons, like if she doesn’t look at you, none of it counts.
“You should go home,” she says finally, voice shifting back to something more neutral, but still much softer than before any of this happened. “It’s really late.”
Your stomach tightens. You huff out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “So am I really getting fired?”
She scoffs, reaching for her blazer. “No. But if you tell anyone about this, your life is over.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not exactly dying to brag about being the Chairman’s daughter’s rebound for her asshole ex.”
“Rebound? This doesn’t even qualify.”
“What is it then? A moment of weakness?”
She glares at you, then exhales, long and annoyed. “You’re insufferable.”
“You’re welcome, by the way,” you say, bending to grab your belt. “Seems like you really needed that.”
“Do you ever stop talking?” she asks, smoothing her skirt down, trying to tame the chaos you just brought to it.
“Sometimes,” you say, and pause, debating if you should say anything more. “Also, don’t call him back. You deserve better than that.”
Her jaw flexes. “Go home, intern. Give that rock you call a brain some rest.”
“Just intern, still? Not even a tiny bump to ‘stress relief’ in the org chart?”
“More like liability.” She flicks a glance at your face and wrinkles her nose. “And can you wipe your mouth? You look like evidence.”
You lick your lips, her sweet aftertaste still lingering like it was branded to your face. “You taste really good, in case you didn’t know.”
“Get out,” she says, rolling her eyes so hard it’s a miracle they came back down.
You give a small, mock salute before turning toward the door. “Yes, ma’am.”
Your hand’s on the doorknob when she speaks again. “Don’t be late tomorrow. We still have a campaign to finish.”
You can’t help but chuckle. “Yes, Ms. Kim. Wouldn’t want your sales to suffer just because your personal life exploded.”
“That’s the spirit,” she says dryly. “Sarcasm instead of some online courses and brain nourishment supplements.”
“You don’t pay me enough for any of that,” you say, cracking the door open.
You step out into the hallway, closing the door behind you with a soft click as you lean against it for half a second with your eyes closed, lungs still burning from her lingering scent still reminding you of what just happened.
Then you hear it.
The faintest scrape of shoe leather on polished floor.
You look up.
Further down the hall, half-turned like she just happened to be on her way to the elevator, Ningning stands with her phone in her hand.
Her makeup is mostly wiped off now, hair pulled into a messy knot, stockings long gone, bare legs peeking out from under her skirt. She looks smaller without the studio lights on her—but her eyes are bright, and there’s a tight little smile on her mouth that has nothing to do with joy.
“Hey,” she says lightly, as if you didn’t just drag your CEO’s daughter over her own desk. “Busy up here?”
Your blood runs cold. “How long have you been standing there?”
She tilts her head. “Long enough.”
“Why?” you ask, heart pounding against your chest.
She wiggles her phone between two fingers. The screen is dark, but you don’t need to see the gallery to know what’s in it.
“You know,” she says, voice sweet as poison, “for a place that spends this much on marble, you’d think they could invest in better soundproofing.”
You swallow, throat suddenly dry as a dessert. “Ning.”
She just smiles wider. “Don’t worry,” she says, slipping the phone into her pocket like it’s nothing. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
She steps past you, brushing against your shoulder as she walks away.
A/N: After a rework and a lot a bit of brain damage from a prior Winter fic, this is finally out. I can finally maybe sorta redeem myself if this confusing as hell fic is anything to go by.
Enjoy.
You honestly think you can be a model for Advil.
It’d be so easy too; Your back hurts like a motherfucker, it hurts to open your eyes, and your head feels like it got run over by a truck, then having said truck double down on it and run you over in reverse. It doesn’t even feel like you got any sleep either, and the pillow you're resting your head on is way too damn hard.
And you were not appreciating how happy the sun is today, shining its stupid light at you.
You take a deep breath and give your arms a good stretch. Your neck gets a nice ol’ crack, and you feel bliss for a good second. Until you open your eyes, and immediate regret settles in as the glare of the sun is beaming down straight at your head.
Can you shoot the sun? Is that a thing you can do? Or, you know, hope that it gets all gloomy and starts raining. That’ll show it not to mess with you today.
You slowly open your eyes again, covering the light with a hand to take in your surroundings. And you won’t lie, not a single thing inside of this room is familiar to you.
Where the fuck are you?
A curse slips out of your lips as your back cracks mid-stretch, and you crane your neck to figure out what the hell sort of mattress gave you an even worse morning than it already is. And lo and behold, it was a chair. Made of wood.
Fan-fucking-tastic. No, really it was great—no idea where you are and a shitty chair as a bed.
Definitely gonna need that Advil soon.
Your body is literally screaming for it, dying to get something to get rid of the pain yet you can’t even get up. You return to slumping back into this god awful chair trying to get comfortable.
Obviously, it doesn’t work out.
So you look around. To your left, it's a wall. Good start. You look to your right, and you spot a bed. A big, fluffy, lovingly beautiful bed that looks extremely good to get on top of and simply lay there to wallow in your misery. The pillows look so enticing too, like it would wrap your head in a gentle embrace when you lay upon them.
You’d love to do exactly that, but someone's already beat you to it. Enjoying the soft cushion of the bed and the pillow, the ones that you should rightfully have due to being completely fucking hungover. All you can manage to see is her hair sprawled over her back and her shoulders peeking over her top.
You almost missed her at first glance; She almost looks one with the bed considering that she’s wearing all white and the only thing sticking out was her black hair and your suit jacket over her.
Wait, your jacket?
Who the fuck is she?
Okay, the need to un-fuck your head from this migriane just grew higher because you need to figure out what the hell is going on.
You wake up in what most likely is a hotel room somewhere with a woman sleeping on the bed while you’re on the chair with a killer headache because of said chair along with alcohol. You wonder why you couldn’t have just slept next to her but that would’ve been an awkward way to wake up.
Especially if you two were naked.
The bed would’ve been worth it though. Anything to not be sleeping in the way of the sun and having a sore everything. You would’ve preferred a rude awakening than a rough one if it meant it got rid of this goddamn migraine.
You manage to grab the closest pillow and use it as a nice warm headrest for yourself instead of this god awful chair past you decided to sleep on. You sigh and close your eyes, giving yourself a proper pillow this time as you try to remember what exactly you did to end up here.
That begs the question—
What the fuck did you do?
—
“How about her? She looks like your type.”
“Haewon, I'm not looking for a girlfriend.”
Not even an hour in the party and you already regret going. You were honestly hoping that it stuck to its script. Reunion party five years after graduating, a chance to mingle with old friends, catch up with the latest gossip, the works. And it was nice to see them all, finding out how life has treated them. Or not.
You don’t judge. Life’s been a rollercoaster for you too.
It's a simple affair, classy, elegant, all that jazz. It was all so formal. Until someone said that there was an open bar and suddenly everyone’s got alcohol in their hands.
Now when Haewon is given a combination of rum, soda, and lime, otherwise known as the beautiful concoction one may call a mojito, you’re usually gonna have a headache at the end of the night.
It doesn’t help that she’s been on this whole schtick for weeks on end. And knowing that this party was gonna have people coming in droves she might as well hit two birds with one stone. Get you a girlfriend, and get wasted doing it.
“Bullshit you’re not.” And she always was one for dramatics when she’s had alcohol in her system. “The last girlfriend you had was what, three years ago?”
“Two and a half,” you correct. “It’s not even that long.”
“That’s longer than your cock.” That headache’s coming in real fast if she keeps this up. “I’m just trying to help you get your dick wet.”
“Oh my god, Haewon please–” People were staring, and it was generally not a good sign when they did. “Pipe down, you’re making a scene.”
She sighs, raises her glass up in the air as an ‘apology’ of sorts—whatever the fuck that even means—and speaks in a quieter tone. “How about this,” she starts, taking another sip of her drink. “You go out there and talk to one girl that’s not me–” Well there goes that loophole. “And you see where it goes.”
“...That’s it?” You narrow your eyes. There was always something else with her whenever these negotiations of hers comes along. “I don’t need to go home with her, get her number, anything?”
“Nope. Just talk to someone. Anyone that you haven’t met yet.” And there it is. The rules of the game further expand. “The only people you’ve talked to here are me, some of your guy friends from that stupid club you were in, and the bartender,” she continues. “And he doesn’t count since you only asked for a drink.”
“Why are you so hung up on this?” You shake your head, leaning back against the chair. “You’ve been on my ass about this for weeks now. And it’s not like I’m missing out on anything big.”
“You’re missing out on a lot, really,” she snaps back, the smirk on her face really starting to annoy you, until it softens to a smile. “You’ve been coasting since the break up. The literal definition of eat, sleep, work and repeat. It’s like you don’t do anything else.”
“I have hobbies,” you defend, but she didn’t seem to hear it. Or chose to ignore it.
“And besides, it’s been three years.” You’re almost tempted to correct her again if not for how serious she is about this. “You gotta live a little, you know. Explore and all that.”
“What are you, my mom?” As much shit Haewon does give you she does it in good faith. You think. She just tends to do it in the most obnoxious ways possible, especially when she’s had some alcohol in her system.
“Ew, no,” she snorts, rolling her eyes at you. “Look, just try it out. And I swear I’ll get off your ass about it.”
“Yeah?” You can’t believe you’re agreeing to this stupid little bet, deal, whatever the hell this is that she’s trying to do for you. But if this is the only way to get her to shut up is to say yes (like it always is) then you might as well follow her advice for the umpteenth time. Besides, she does have a point. You have been doing the bare minimum in terms of your social life.
And a party’s always the best time to make new friends. Plus it sounded easy enough.
Just one.
You’ll give her shit one last time though. Just for good measure.
“The last time you said that–”
“Yes, yes, the last time I said it it didn’t go well for the both of us,” she cuts you off, running a hand through her hair and looking away with a sigh. “But there isn't a jukebox to screw us over.”
“And whose fault was that?” you smirk, the memory clear as day. “We had to help old man Park for a good week.”
“Don’t remind me.” She rubs her forehead in annoyance. “Forget about that, will you please go talk to someone?”
“Fine, fine.” You take one last swig of your drink and stand up. “You gonna be ok on your own?”
“Sullyoon and Lily are around. I can hang with them,” she replies, returning to her drink. Probably to finish the glass before going to find her friends. “Now shoo. I’ll be watching.” She points her fingers at her eyes then points it at you. A gesture you respond with a roll of your eyes and a wave before heading off to…
Crap, where the hell do you even start?
You give the room a quick once over, and you have a few options that you can probably try your hand on.
A group laughing at some joke one of them made. Looks a bit too rowdy for your social battery.
Nope.
A pair sitting by one of the tables—they look like they’re about to get cozy. Being a third wheel didn’t sound enticing in the slightest.
Pass.
A guy standing in the corner scrolling on his phone. That’s a mayb–and he was waiting for someone.
There goes that.
Maybe this was a bit harder than you thought.
Haewon must’ve been laughing her ass off by now if she saw you looking like a lost puppy. Until a lone woman by the bar caught your eye that you thought, hey, maybe you do have a chance at this after all.
She almost looked bored, swirling the drink in her hand, her other one propping her chin up as she looked around. You walk closer and you start to notice how nice she’s all dressed up. Dark hair that stood out from the white ensemble she has on. White tank top, white maxi skirt, coupled with a western looking belt and she’s…wow.
Screw nice, she looked gorgeous.
And that alone was enough for you to re-think your decision to talk to her.
Fuck.
But your legs kept moving anyway. Closer and closer to the bar, making excuses in your head that you’re here for another drink and not for Haewon’s stupid idea. It’s why you’re suddenly ordering another glass of rum and taking a seat right next to her.
Definitely just here for a drink.
She meets your eye for a moment when you get comfortable on the seat before she returns to her drink. Not the coldest, yet not the most inviting. You can work with that.
God you wish Haewon was here to help. Talking already wasn’t your strong suite, add a pretty woman to that and you might as well be one with the wall.
Your drink comes before the courage to speak up, and the glass meets your mouth, the liquid burning your throat. Good time as any to bite the bullet, so you ask:
“So what’s your poison for the night?”
The feeling of being ignored was making you nervous, though it immediately gave way to relief when she turns her head.
“Wine,” she says, giving her glass a quick twirl. “Not much of a drinker. You?”
You nod, leaning an elbow on the counter. “Rum. A friend’s got me stressing out and this seemed like a good idea to get rid of the headache.”
“And now what,” she laughs, and boy you want to make that a ringtone. “You’re hiding from them?”
“More like I need a break,” you chuckle. “She’s a bit much, if you know what I mean.”
“Tell me about it,” she agrees, taking a sip from her drink. “My friends were trying to get me into their drinking game. And I do not want to have a massive hangover tomorrow.”
“And you figured the bar is the best place to hang out?” You can’t help but smile. “You know, the place where you can get alcohol in a second?”
She grins. “Least I can control how much I can drink.”
“Fair enough.” You raise your glass in mock salute. “Moderation is the key and all that fancy stuff.”
“And watching them be drunk messes is fun too.”
“Oh, I can imagine.” The image of a drunk Haewon fooling around is both amusing and headache inducing. You shake the thought off your mind, quickly returning your focus on the woman in front of you. A woman you don’t have a name to put on her pretty face.
“To watching our friends be a mess then, miss…” you say, tilting your glass towards her, your lips curling into a small smile. The question hangs in the air, hoping that she’ll catch on.
She chuckles, ending your dilemma with a clink of her glass against yours and an answer to the age old question of meeting new people:
A name.
“Minjeong.”
—
Water stops running from the faucet as you turn the knob off and grab the nearby towel to dry your face. Washing your face with cold water is the second best thing you can do when there aren't any sort of painkillers. Or a medical cabinet.
You take a look at yourself through the reflection, and the feeling of shit matches the look; Your hair’s all messed up, you got puffy eyes, and you generally look like a mess. You sigh, rubbing a hand across your face, lazily hanging the towel back on the rack before trying to fix yourself up.
The pounding in your skull hasn’t gone away or lessened, but you can at least remember a few more things that happened.
Right, so—
Haewon forces you (not really, but she kinda also did) to mingle, you meet Minjeong by the bar, and you somehow get wasted, which results in you sleeping in a chair while Minjeong’s taken up residence in the bed. You’re not even sure if she got wasted too, if her words about being a lightweight were anything to go by.
You really need to do something about this hangover though. There’s probably some water in the mini fridge, if that can even help. A quick search on the phone can—
Wait, where is your phone?
You check your pockets, pat your back pockets, nothing. Not even your wallet is on your person.
Fuck hangovers, seriously. How else could you forget where you placed them. It only made your head hurt even more when the burst of panic hit you.
“There you are.”
“Jesus–” You jolt back, spinning, twirling, fuck the world is dizzy and your hands are bracing against the counter as you see two Minjeongs leaning by the doorframe, arms crossed. Two pretty women are always a nice sight to see, you suppose.
If only the world stopped spinning around for you to appreciate it. It took a moment for the two to merge into one very amused looking woman smirking right at you.
“Thought you left,” she muses, straightening up as she walks towards you. Her hair’s a mess and it honestly shouldn't fit her, but here she is looking way too good in the morning while you’re the complete opposite of it. “But your stuff was still at the nightstand and I thought you'd be too drunk to be leaving this early.”
You wonder how much you drank last night for her to make that comment, although the hangover alone was enough for you to know that it was probably a shit ton.
“Kinda thought about it,” you admit, rubbing your head as you make room for her to use the sink. “But my head is killing me. I don’t even remember what hotel we’re in.”
“That bad, huh?” She turns on the sink and washes her face. “There’s some painkillers in my bag if you want some.”
“Didn’t know you were a girl scout,” you joke, elated at the fact that she has the cure to your problems. You could kiss her right now if you could.
That…might've been the hangover talking.
“I was planning to give it to Ning since she likes to drink a lot,” she says after a splash of water hits her face. “My Knight needs it more right now though.”
Her Knight? Where the hell did she get that from? What the fuck did you two do last night?
“Now get out. A girl's freshening up and you need your meds, mister.” Another douse of water hits her face.
“Right, meds. Where’s your bag again?” You push off the counter.
“Black handbag by the nightstand.”
You utter your thanks as you stumble back out to the main room. And there it is, your key to paradise, hidden inside a simple bag that you unzip and damn she’s pretty organized.
Makeup, mirror, keys, wallet, keys, mints, how much shit can someone put in one small bag–
Pills. You quickly grab the bottle and hold onto it like it was the most important thing in your life right now. And with a cold bottle of water and two tablets later, you flop in the bed awaiting the minutes that awaited sweet, sweet relief.
Hopefully you can remember whatever else you did to end up in a room with Minjeong, because this was not how you expected waking up today, if at all. You pick up your phone from the nightstand, barely alive, and check for–oh.
10 missed calls and you don’t know how many messages from Haewon.
500 Won:
where are u
are u still alive
o there u are
shes pretty hot
go get ur dick wet
and tell me all abt it tomorrow ;)
kay wtf
the hot chick has hot friends
thot u said ur done drinking
oooo hes gonna get lucky 2nite
dont forget to buy a condom!
Great, Haewon saw everything you did last night. Whatever it is that you did. You keep scrolling, eventually ending up at the last batch of her texts.
500 Won:
ok u havent been replying at ALL
where are u
seriously
pls tell me ur not dead
or that u two fucked thatd be great 2 yk
just txt back im worried
You shake your head. You can never tell with her.
You:
Alive wth a migrne
Im with Minjeong, dw
“Find it yet?”
You look up, spotting Minjeong looking a hell of a lot more awake than you are. Whether that’s because she’s a morning person or washing one’s face works better on her than you, but the small grin she sends your way is already helping make the pain go away.
“Yeah.” You nod to the bottle on the nightstand. “You’re a godsend.”
“Guess that makes us even then,” she says, gesturing you to move. You scoot over and she uses the space to sit on the bed. “Think you’re up for some food?”
“Long as you tell me how I got here,” you reply. As much as you want to go back to sleep and enjoy the bed after whatever happened last night, food inside your stomach sounded amazing. “And what do you mean by even?”
She smirks. “You got in a drinking match with my friends. All in my honor.”
“That explains the hangover,” you groan, palming your face. You glance at Minjeong, hands on the telephone and pressing down on the dialpad. “But why’d you bring me to your hotel room?”
“I’ll tell you over breakfast.” The phone’s on her ear.
“So, are you a waffles or pancake type of guy?”
—
“–Yes!”
When Minjeong said her friends were massive drunkards, you thought she was exaggerating. Or at the very least, could handle their liquor as much as they could consume it.
Turns out, they are massive drunkards that got wasted far faster than you thought they did, and you’re pretty sure that they’re all worse than Haewon. At least, Yizhuo and Aeri were.
You can understand why Minjeong prefers to drink light now because if you had to deal with this every time alcohol was involved, your liver would be screaming about bloody murder.
And now that they’ve found her and by extension, you, talking by the bar for who knows how long (time really does fly by when you’re with someone you like), their drinking game received another participant.
You’re not even sure why you decided to take the fall for Minjeong. To make new friends, impress her, get rid of any more nerves left in your body—could’ve been one, could’ve been all of them.
The things you do to meet new people. You just hope it’s worth it.
You only hoped that Haewon didn’t see this. Or God forbid record any of it. You’ll never live it down.
Now you’re how many shots down (seven, plus the two glasses you’ve drank since you got here) while you’re up against their ‘best’ drinker, who’s already shit faced when she challenged Minjeong to a one-on-one, that quickly changed to becoming you as her opponent.
You were already buzzed anyway, you say. You didn’t want to have everyone drunk, you say. The entire bottle of whatever the fuck it is you drank—apparently the hardest alcohol that the bar has—makes you regret being so nice.
At least Minjeong’s safe from having a migraine tomorrow.
“O-one more,” Yizhuo slurs, slamming the glass down on the counter. “Lemme…lemme beat this guy–”
“I think we’ve had enough,” you mutter, moving to pick up the half empty bottle, only to be swept away by Aeri’s hands.
“One more, coming right up!” She’s pouring another shot to both of your glasses. Fucking hell these women were insane. And cheaters too, when you spot Yizhuo’s glass contain a lot less alcohol than yours.
You groan, leaning back in your chair as you glance at Minjeong, who gives an apologetic look. Jimin’s right beside her, chuckling at the entire thing. Haewon would fucking love these two, and you wish she was the one drinking all this poison instead.
Actually, if Haewon was here with you, you’d probably be in a worse state than you are now. You just know that she’ll be as competitive as Yizhuo is, and you’re not exactly sure who’ll be at the top.
Definitely not you, that woman knows how to drink.
“You got this.” Minjeong gives you a smile and a thumbs up, a gesture that Jimin follows with a nod.
You shake your head at her, almost pleading with her to tell them to stop. Your head is swimming, the world is spinning, and you don’t know if you’ll be able to go home at this rate. You don’t even know if Haewon already left you here.
“Come on,” Yizhuo says, picking up her glass and tipping it towards you. “Drink. Or are you a…are you a pussy?”
The male ego sure is a fickle thing.
“Fine.” You pick up your glass. “Let’s see you keep up then.”
Your head got a lot larger hearing Minjeong laugh at that.
Next thing you know the entire bottle’s gone, Yizhuo’s drunkenly patting you on the back and considering you a worthy opponent for the future (you’re never doing this again), and you’re staring at the ceiling contemplating recent life decisions. The world’s gone fuzzy, and you’re pretty sure you’ll be knocking yourself out soon. If you don’t get the urge to throw up first.
Minjeong’s face fills your view, and your thoughts are filled with how utterly beautiful she looks. You’re damn sure it’s the alcohol talking now, but the way her hair frames her face so perfectly, strands of them brushing her cheeks, how she looks at you all happy like that, and the smile on her lips is—they look very kissable—
“You okay?” Minjeong asks, waving her hands over your face.
You let out a garbled mess that tells her that you are in fact, not okay. It’s a response that gets her giggling, and you can barely hear her talk to something else, probably to Aeri. Or Jimin. It’s not gonna be Yizhuo, considering you just drank her under the table.
Or at least beat her in the game cause you are absolutely shit-faced too.
She says something your brain can’t keep up with as she helps you get up, draping your arm over her shoulder.
“W-what?” You stumble forward, following her lead.
“I said I’m taking you back to my room,” she repeats, placing a hand on your chest to steady you. “We’ll take Jimin’s car back.”
You wanted to tell her that Haewon can help take you home, but you don’t even know if she already left first since you’ve been with them for…fuck, you don’t know. Hours? You should probably message her that you’re still with Minjeong.
Attempts to tell her were done. Slurring that it’s okay, you can have a friend help you out, you don’t want to be a bother, all those excuses. Except you don’t know if she understood a word you said when her laughter is the only response you get.
“Great,” she snorts. “My Knight can’t even talk properly.”
“A wha?”
“A knight,” she clarifies, opening a door that leads you both outside.
“Oh.” What the fuck are you supposed to say to that? “You’re a–a princess now?”
“Am I not?” Her eyebrow raises.
“Yo–you’re more prince, kinda.” You shrug.
“Kinda?” she smiles. “A prince still needs a knight to protect her, you know.”
“It helps that the knight thinks the prince is cute.” The admission earns you a nudge, and you could’ve been seeing things but the blush on her face was pretty adorable. And the smile too. You couldn’t tell when she looks away to wave at a car coming to a halt in front of you.
“Here’s our ride,” she says, opening the back door where Yizhuo’s already sleeping by the other side. “Try not to puke anywhere, please?”
You nod as Minjeong helps you inside, following behind you as she closes the door. “T-thanks.”
“Thank me when you're still alive tomorrow,” she teases, before pulling your head over to rest on her shoulder. “Take a nap, I’ll wake you up.”
You hum, knowing that being taken by four women you just met to a place you have zero idea where it is while being drunk as hell was not the best of ideas, but the smell of peaches and irises lulls you into sleep's soft embrace.
The last thing you heard before you closed your eyes was Jimin asking Minjeong if you were alright. Aeri was the complete opposite, teasing Minjeong about you.
You really should’ve messaged Haewon in case this was a kidnapping.
It’ll be fine. Probably.
—
“–then I brought you here,” she finishes, taking a sip of water. She filled you in on whatever else you forgot (pretty much all of it when the drinks started coming) while you two ate breakfast. “I was gonna have you sleep on the bed but you were pretty adamant on using the chair.”
“I guess drunk me is a glutton for punishment,” you sigh, stabbing into the last piece of your pancake. You’ll need to pay her back for this.
“I tried to get you on the bed, really. But you were a bit too heavy for me to get up.” She gives a sheepish shrug. “Guess Jimin had to crash with the other two for nothing. I’ll have to apologize to her later.”
“I’ll do it for you,” you say, shaking your head. The painkillers were doing its thing in kicking the headache out of your head, and having a full stomach helps out. Even got to swap your shoes for a pair of slippers (you still can’t believe you slept all of last night in them). “I was a bother last night. You didn’t have to drag me back to your place.”
“It’s alright,” she chuckles. “It’s kinda my fault you got drunk in the first place, this is the least I could do.”
“Thought you’d pin the blame on Yizhuo.” You smile.
“Hey, you didn’t have to join in to stop me from getting drunk.” She points her fork at you. “I could’ve handled myself just fine.”
“Didn’t you say you weren’t that much of a drinker?” Last night’s a lot more clearer to you now, her grand re-telling of your antics with her group returning in full swing.
She crosses her arms. “That doesn't mean I'm a lightweight.”
“Sure you are.” The disbelief is painted all over your face.
“Is my Knight doubting my skill to drink?” Her tilt head is insanely cute, and her smile makes it even cuter.
You lean back on your chair. “Still on that nickname, are we?”
She blinks, a light blush heating her cheeks as she giggles and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean, if you don't like it–”
“It's fine. Though…” You miss all the shots you don't take, and the fact that she brought you all the way back to her hotel room is a good sign for you to try.
Haewon would be damn proud, you think. If only she stopped spamming your phone.
“Your Knight would like to have your number.” Shot taken. “You know, in case you need some help again.”
Minjeong opens her mouth. Scoffs. Grins. And laughs. “Can you even save my number?”
You glance back at the nightstand, your phone connected to the charger. Right. Died right before room service came to deliver your breakfast. You should’ve just turned it off when your phone started pinging non-stop after your reply. You open your mouth in silence, closing it and nodding. She does have a point. At least you trie—
“Here,” she giggles, unlocking her phone and handing it over to you. “Save yours on mine instead.”
“Well that was a little embarrassing,” you chuckle as you take her phone, typing your number on the keypad and saving it under your name. You swear her fingers brushed yours when you handed it back, your contact being the first thing she sees as you stand up and start to clean up.
“Just a little bit,” she teases, taking a look at her phone while you pick up the plates and move it back to the tray. “I’ll send you a message.”
“I’ll be sure to save it later,” you reply, picking up the tray full of empty plates and used utensils. You hear a ring come from your phone, and you assume that's her messaging you. “Gimme a sec to leave this outside.”
Minjeong gives you a look—smirking, as if your one action proved something to her. “You are such a knight.”
“I’m being polite,” you argue, moving to the door. You get a “Still a knight!” from her as you open the door, waving to one of the staff who was in the hallway. Handing over the utensils with your thanks, you head back inside to find Minjeong laying back on the bed.
“Jimin and the rest aren’t answering,” she says, tapping away at her phone. Her brows knitted together, lips in a thin line, hair perfectly framing her face. Even in complete focus she manages to make it look like she’s an adorable little kid. Even the little tantrum she makes when she puts her phone down. “Probably still sleeping from last night.”
“Ah yes, the alcoholics waking up late,” you laugh, moving to sit at the edge of the bed. “Shocker.”
“Hey, Jimin didn’t drink too hard last night. And you were part of the drunkards too,” she defends.
“I know. The hangover was a huge sign.” It wasn’t as much of a pain now, but the occasional throbbing in your skull is still there.
“Does it still hurt?” She moves towards you.
“Not as much as earlier.” You scoot closer. Just a little bit.
“Maybe you should lie down again.” She’s close enough to reach up to brush a stray hair from your forehead.
“I’ll be fine,” you mutter, head moving to the side. You hope the heat creeping up your cheeks isn’t you blushing.
She hums, leaning in closer. “You sure?” she asks, tilting her head to meet your eyes. “You’re looking a bit red.”
Great. “Must be the hangover.” You force out a laugh. Shit excuse, but you can work with it. It’s not like you can do anything else, not when she scoffs as if she’s seeing right through you.
Her hands stay on your cheek. “And you’re really warm.” No use in hiding it anymore, so you change tactics.
“Must be the pretty woman in front of me.” You shrug. That earns you a giggle and a little pinch of your cheek.
“You mean the beautiful prince in front of you?” she corrects, turning your head to face her. An eyebrow of hers raising, smirking, eyes glinting in this smug satisfaction.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” you deny half-heartedly, glancing down at those damning lips of hers.
Both eyebrows shoot up, and she’s grinning now. “Oh so you don’t think I’m beautiful?”
“I think you’re pretty.” You lean into her hand, your own moving to rest on her waist. Even with her top she feels so soft in your hands, and you can’t stop your thumb from doing a circling motion.
“And I think you’re full of shit.” She’s moved again, right next to you now, making you wrap your hand around her waist, and it feels so right to her to be like this; Pressed up against you, lips so close to yours, looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters right now.
“Really?” You scoff through your nose. It’s near impossible to not lean in when she licks her lips. Impossible now that her hand is pulling you closer still. “What’re you gonna do about it then?”
Minjeong smiles—all teeth and all heat—yet before she could do anything else, music starts blaring out of the nightstand. A tone you’re very familiar with. So much so, in fact, that you wish that you should’ve set your phone to silent and let it sit there and juice back up to full.
Amazing timing, really. Cockblocked by your own phone. And by extension your super concerned friend that will ask you all about your hangover, if you’ve taken pain meds, if you got home safe yet, if you banged the hot lady you met last night—the script’s so painfully obvious you can probably respond with all the answers and Haewon would understand in a heartbeat.
You give her a sheepish look, let out a quick apology before letting go of her and standing up to pick up your phone. The words ‘500 Won’ light up the screen, and her face that comes with it is taunting you into pressing that red button. Your thumb moves, inching closer to the green button instead, hoping that you can make it quick and potentially salvage your moment with Minjeong.
Only Minjeong takes matters into her own hands, making the decision for you by taking your phone away, ending the call before it can even begin, sets it to silent, and places it back down. You were about to open your mouth but whatever it was that you wanted to say is quickly forgotten when her lips crash into yours.
It wasn't as slow as you expected your first kiss with her to be. You were thinking that it’d be all soft and romantic and cheesy, just like how she calls you her ‘Knight’ and you call her a ‘Prince’ as if this was some sort of rom-com. You’d be the one who would start it, somewhere with the view of a tourist spot combined with her beauty being the catalyst of it all.
Yet here you are, shoved back against the wall, her hands roaming your chest, her lips utterly devouring yours; Demanding every bit of your attention, your touch, you. It leaves you scrambling, groaning in her mouth and your hands finding solace in her waist that you manage to kiss back with the same passion she’s pouring into the kiss.
You couldn’t savor how soft her lips are when she pulls away, breathing deeply, hooded eyes looking up at yours. “Been wanting to do that since last night,” she admits, biting her lip and tightening the grip she has on your shirt.
“Me too,” you gasp, rapidly blinking at the whiplash she’s given you. One second she’s nice and shy the next she’s sucking the life out of you with only a kiss.
“Is that why you approached me?” She’s pecking your lips at each word, bringing you down with a pull of your shirt. “Cause you thought I was hot?”
“Not really,” you mumble against her lips. It wasn’t the main reason, but it was most certainly a reason. “But it definitely helped.”
She smirks and tilts her head—something that you think is a habit for her—pulling away enough to look you in the eye. “So you do think I’m hot.”
“I always thought you were hot.” You raise an eyebrow, giving her a smirk of your own. “Beautiful though…”
Minjeong groans, light punches hitting your chest. “You are so–” The adorably frustrated sound she makes only strengthens the duality this woman has.
“I'm sure I can be convinced,” you say, initiating the kiss this time. One that makes her smile, that frustration she has channelled into her desires. One that you return wholeheartedly.
She starts to walk backwards, pulling you closer, closer, until her legs hit the bed and she falls. A hand on the mattress stops you from completely trapping her between you and the bed, and even then she’s reaching up to meet you.
Your lips are locked together with hers all throughout, and it was all so her; the softness of her lips, how sensitive they seem whenever you let your tongue touch her lips. Her fervent kisses are consuming you, and you let yourself be taken away by her every movement. How the taste of the syrup from earlier gave her a light sweetness to what’s already such a delicious pair of lips.
She breaks the connection, moving lower to trail pecks down your jaw, down your neck. “Take these off,” she whispers, kissing your pulse as her hands roam all over you. From your clothed chest to your increasingly tighter pants, she was getting more and more desperate to have you.
“You know I haven’t taken a shower yet right,” you utter, barely managing to pull away from her. You don’t know what type of woman Minjeong is but you are quickly finding out that she might be insatiable. “Or brushed my teeth.”
“You are seriously killing the mood right now.” She pinches your arm before doing a move you would never expect from her—flipping you on your back and settling on top of you. Her hair falls in waves, almost obscuring your vision. All except for her. “It’s not like you puked last night. So do you want this or not?”
“More than anything, I just–” You shrug, as much as you could do in this position. “I just think we're going a bit too fast, y’know?”
Minjeong stares, really stares at you. As if you didn't give her the lamest excuse ever known to mankind to avoid getting laid. And to be honest, you might have the same reaction as her if you were in her place.
You can see why Haewon’s concerned with you now. You were being a fucking idiot.
“Oh my god, you’re an idiot too.” She shakes her head, laughing in disbelief. She didn’t have to hammer it home, but you do deserve it. “A girl wants to fuck you and you’re saying no?”
“No–well, kinda–” you stutter, unconsciously placing your hands on her hips. “Look, I wasn't really expecting this to happen.”
“I don't think anyone expects to get laid at a reunion party,” she says, leaning down enough to feel her breath. The move forces you to keep your eyes on her, and you have an inkling that no matter how much you say no, she’ll keep pushing you knowing that the bulge she’s feeling isn’t really doing you any favors.
“I mean, yeah,” you agree, glancing down at her lips. Those plush, irresistibly tempting lips that you want to have another taste of, right there in front of you. The socially anxious side of you is peeking out again when you tell her that—”We haven’t even gone on three dates yet.”
Minjeong scoffs and gives you a grin as she leans back. “We haven't? Let’s see…” She raises a finger. “The first date was last night–” Two fingers. “The second was breakfast, and–” Three fingers. “We can count this as the third one.”
You blink. A bunch. Well, a lot, because—“I’m pretty sure that’s not how dates work, Minjeong.”
“It isn’t?” She tilts her head in mock innocence. “I wouldn’t know, it’s what Yizhuo usually tells me.”
“I’m starting to think she’s trouble,” you let out. It was getting harder to ignore how much she wants this—the roll of her hips against your own, that devouring look in her eyes—making it harder for you to pretend that you don’t want this too. “You are too.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You’re not exactly being subtle, Minjeong.”
“Because my Knight is being a dumbass.” She comes back down for a kiss. You’re already there, meeting her halfway. It’s so much more messier, the utter need that you’re feeding each other coming out in droves. Your hand comes up to the small of her back, and you deepen the kiss.
She responds with a delighted hum, fingers curling up in your hair, your cheek. Her lips dance with yours, the rock of her hips becoming faster. Your groan was her opening, her tongue making its way past your lips.
You're letting her take control, just the way she seems to like it. Letting her dominate your tongue, your body, your very being. You’re completely at her mercy, letting her stake her claim on you and you’re allowing it all to happen.
She breaks the kiss to ask you one last time. One last time to back out, to make up another excuse for the both of you, to go back to being whatever it was you and Minjeong were before this. “Is that a yes now?”
You’re already in too deep, because of course it was. Yes, si, oui, whatever other language you could say that you do want this. And yet, your lust-addled brain could only come up with—
“Uh-huh.” You nod. Many times, in fact. She must think you were a kid with the way you almost go brain dead from her kisses. And the deceptively cute giggles that she lets out are not helping in that regard.
“Good.” She kisses your nose—the tease—before sliding down, lower, lower, until she's right there, at the button of your pants. “Now let’s see if I can get rid of that hangover for you…”
There are instances in your life that your brain decides to inform you of impending doom, and this is one of them. Not because of anything that would kill you, though what she's been doing to you is definitely up that alley.
The idea that Minjeong is about to have your dick in her mouth looking downright giddy about it is making you have thoughts that she might actually ruin any other woman out there for you. It cements itself into your brain, solidified when she unbuttons your pants, pulling the zipper down. The sound of each tooth separating so damn slow is making you anxious.
Her giggling makes it apparent that you’re not doing a good job at hiding it, making her grin. “Already so excited?” she says, already knowing the answer to the question. Hell, you can ask her the same thing and you’d both have the same answer.
She pats your thighs, silently asking you to lift your hips up. And you follow, letting her pull your pants down and away from your body. Leaving you in your boxers, your bulge very much apparent and making Minjeong nearly burst in excitement at the sight.
“You are.” She palms your cock over your underwear, rubbing it softly, slowly, torturously. She leans in close, her breath making your thighs flex. She keeps the lazy rhythm for a moment, before her lips meet where your tip is over the fabric.
Fuck, if that's already enough to make you shiver, you don't know what will happen to you when her mouth is actually on you shaft.
“M-Minjeong,” you rasp, making her hum at you in response. “Please.”
She tilts her head, this look that tells you that she’s going to make you work a little more for it. And she will, when she asks: “Are you gonna let me take care of you?”
‘Taking care of you’ was a nicer way of saying that she’s going to keep you on your toes, drowning in this balance of agonizing torture and mindblowing pleasure.
You expect it to be the best and worst experience of your life.
It’s why you say yes in a heartbeat. And that's all she needs to hear, her hand pulling at the waistband of your boxers. You were fully expecting her to pull them down, yet she had one last string to pull.
“What's that?” She pretends not to hear you practically begging for her, snapping the waistband down. The sting doesn’t linger nor did it hurt, yet she gives the area a light kiss in apology. “I didn’t hear you, baby.”
“I'll let you do anything.” The confession slips out of you, stuttering over your words. She’s right there, oh so close to wrapping her lips around you, and here she is. Prolonging it, delaying what is to be the inevitable. “Minjeong please–”
She hums, almost having an internal debate with herself on whether you've earned it or not. A moment passes, and your throat's dry from the silence, the waiting, the edging. Then she seizes up in this happiness that brightens her all up—a beautiful, almost mocking grin, eyes curling up in crescents, cheeks reddening—before she gives you a quick, cute “Okay!”
And off it goes, your last bit of clothing that separates her from your length. It joins the rest of your clothes down on the ground, somewhere. You couldn’t really be asked where since your focus lies solely on Minjeong, who's face to face with your cock.
She’s staring at it with an almost child-like expression. As if this was the one she's ever seen, ever touched, ever sucked. Yet you mistake it as naivety, her hands looking like they were almost afraid of touching you. But when she did, boy were you fucking wrong.
She starts from the base, gripping it with this softness that makes you twitch. A light pump of her hand follows, and you can’t help but groan. It’s a sound that makes her look up at you for a moment, biting her lip to stifle a smile, her hand moving to stroke you slowly, while the other rubs at your balls.
Her lips come close, another twitch of your dick caused by her warm breath hitting your skin. She holds you with two hands, pointing your cockhead straight at her lips as she gives the underside of it a peck. Then another, and another. Her tongue darts out to lick at your shaft, heading upwards slowly, eyes never leaving yours until she reaches your tip.
You almost cum right there when she outright kisses your cockhead—sends a whimper straight out of your throat to the air. Makes you look like putty in her hands, hell you might as well be, and Minjeong simply smiles, giving your tip another kiss.
“Let Minjeong take care of you, hmm?” She starts making out with your length, kissing your tip, licking your shaft, hands guiding your length to where she wants to be. “Promise she'll take care of you really good–”
Her eyes close, dragging her lips, her tongue across your shaft. The sides, the bottom—it didn’t seem to matter where she starts, only that she always manages to end up right back at your tip. Always leaving a gentle kiss before she starts all over again.
Minjeong even lets your entire length rest on her face as she kisses the underside of your cock, rubbing you all over her. She looks so pleased with herself, sighing as she grips you back into her lips.
“Make that hangover go away. After all it was Minjeong’s fault, wasn’t it?” She’s completely absorbed in that narrative, and while you wanted to tell her that it was both your faults, with the way she’s ‘taking care’ of you, you’d rather keep your mouth shut and enjoy her mouth.
A nod is about the only thing you can answer her with, not trusting your voice to do it. She giggles—fucking giggles—and pecks your tip one last time before she wraps her lips around it and takes you in her wet mouth.
She only took the tip in and you’re already losing your shit. You’ve been losing it ever since she’s got her hands on you but this, this’ll make you go numb from the pleasure. You can’t bear to look at her; Not because you don’t want to, but because if you do you’ll inevitably cum on the spot.
And you can’t bear to be called a quick shot.
So you settle in looking at the ceiling, where you can only hear her moans into your cock, feel it vibrate against your tip as her tongue explores every inch of you. Her mouth bobbing up and down just there, never going past the head. Slow, gradually getting faster and faster until she makes this whine of annoyance.
“Look at Minjeong, please,” she says, even with your dick in your mouth muffling her. She tugs at your hand, demanding it of you. And when you actually do look down, you let out a groan on instinct.
You always thought she was stunning, but this gave that word a different meaning—pleading eyes, eyebrows scrunched up in what you can only call adorable, all while her cheeks are hollowing out from sucking your cock. The juxtaposition encapsulates your viewpoint of her, really.
She pops you out of her mouth and pouts. “Don’t look away from Minjeong, okay?” Even the way she says it is still part of it all, so filthy yet so endearingly Minjeong. Lips come back to take you in when you tell her, promise her that you won’t. And honestly, it was one of the best things you’ve ever bear witness to.
She’s gotten more insistent, going down on you faster when she knows you’re looking. Almost as if she gets off on it, on having you watch her every movement worshipping your cock. Still focused on your tip, she does it all for you.
Licking, kissing, rubbing it on her face. Taking you in and having it hit the inside of her cheek before she slaps it on her cheeks. All with a damn smile on her face as she looks at you.
“Isn’t she doing such a good job?” She smiles, stroking you slowly with both hands. “Is Minjeong doing good?”
Oh. So maybe she does get off on this. You pat her head and—
“You’re doing very well.”
The way she beams all but confirms it. Reddening cheeks, the happy sound coming out of her, her eyes closing in contentment. The signs are all there—her thighs rubbing together is a dead giveaway. Speaking of her thighs—
Her clothes need to go. Both to find out what she’s hiding under all her clothes and to give you a bit of breathing time before she comes back to your dick.
You sit up, hands coming to meet the hem of her shirt and giving it a tug. She takes the hint and gets up on her knees—not without leaving your cock a parting kiss—to help you, lifting her arms up as you pull the top off of her. She gets off the bed for a quick moment, hooking her thumbs into her skirt, pulling it down and leaving her in a matching white set of lingerie that definitely did not make you drool.
She does this little twirl for you, letting you see everything that she’s about to offer—breasts that perfectly framed her body, a small waist you have to hold, the cute ass she has—before practically jumping towards you, landing on top of you with a grin.
“Hi,” she mutters, giving you a kiss.
“Hey,” you respond to the kiss, her hands coming to unbutton your shirt one by one.
“How’s the hangover?” she asks, glancing down to make sure every button is undone before sliding it off of your shoulders. The heat in her legs makes you twitch, and her grinding wasn't helping things.
“What hangover?” You lean in to steal another kiss, your arms tugging the fabric away for your body. You get to hold that waist she has after it gets thrown in the growing pile of clothes, her giggles over your lips making you smile.
Minjoeng pulls away and pushes you back down onto the bed, coming back down with her ass high in the air to meet your length with a smile. “Good answer.”
You’re even more screwed when she finally goes past your tip, holding you by the base. Her mouth taking more of you, each bob of her head ending up somewhere along your cock; The first few inches, half your length, more than half.
The only consistent thing all throughout was her eyes never leaving yours. Even as she takes your entire length down her throat, she stares. Even as her eyes scrunch up, they open with this unwavering need to keep her eyes on you.
Until she gags, releasing your slick length and slobbering it all over her face. The absolute glee at the mess she’s making of herself is evident in her eyes, cheeks coated in a light sheen of her saliva, bubbling it on her mouth as she slaps herself with your length before dragging her tongue at your sides, all the way down to your balls.
And you can’t look away for one second. The few things you can do are groan, hold onto the sheets for dear life and stare at awe at how amazing her mouth looks and feels wrapped around you. Your thighs shake at how good she feels, resisting the urge to let yourself go, burst into her waiting mouth like she seems she wants you to.
Minjeong almost forces you to when she takes your entire length back into her mouth and lets her nose hit your base. Your hand instinctively shoots up to her hair, pressing down harder. As if she hasn’t taken it all already, and her response was to giggle around your cock and smile at you with her eyes.
You are definitely ruined for anyone else after this. And she’s only shown you what she can do with her mouth. Imagining what she’d do to you once you’re inside her makes you believe you’ll never find a better woman than her.
She gives you a tap and you remove the pressure on her head, pulling away. “So big,” she gasps, taking a deep breath. She glances down at your wet shaft before grinning back at you. “You want more of Minjeong’s mouth?”
“Yeah.” She didn’t even get to finish asking and the word’s already escaped your lips. She pouts, tapping your cock in her lips as if that wasn’t enough of a response for her.
“Ask nicely,” she states, letting your tip rest on her lips. Barely open, but her breath was enough to make you twitch. She lets the drool bubble past her lips, coating you even more on her saliva. The simplest of things that manages to make you beg.
And you’d get on your knees if you had to. Anything to have her lips.
“Can I please have more?” You feel like a child asking for a piece of candy while she looks like a child who got said candy. This duality of hers is seriously going to kill you, because what kind of reply is—
“Of course you can, silly.” All with a cutesy voice and your cock pressing back into her lips. Her hand grabs your other hand and rests it atop her head. It’s a signal, her way of telling you to take control this time, however temporary that was.
“You sure?” you ask her, gripping her hair tighter. All she does is give you a nod and a quiet hum of her agreement.
It feels surreal, when you push her head down on your dick, her throat giving way so easily. Accepting every single inch as she once again has her nose pressed up your skin. You curse as you feel her tongue wiggle on the underside of your length, closing your eyes for a moment.
She doesn't let you look away for too long, tapping your thigh again to remind you not to look away. Wide eyes stare into hers, and even with your length sheathed in her throat she still manages to look at you with a smile. Be it with her lips or her eyes, her happiness is simply radiating off of her.
You barely notice one of her hands snaking down between her legs when you pull her back up, and the very thought that she’s touching herself while pleasuring you makes you throb. That only serves to make her moan, the vibration of it making you inadvertently thrust in her mouth.
Minjeong gives a little shake of her head, a hand coming up to one of yours and giving another little tap; telling you to let her do the work, to let her choke on your cock like the good fleshlight she’s being for you all while you set the pace.
“If it’s what you want,” you say, and all she gives you is a nod, wiggling her ass at you. Like she was happy you’re doing what she wants. Pushing her back down and losing yourself in her throat, relishing in the power she’s handed over.
Of course, the control you have is simply a courtesy. You know she can take it away, even with all the cute slash filthy acts that are most definitely not making you harder if that was even a thing that could happen.
You continue testing the waters of how much you can get away with. You find out how long she can take your entire length (a while), she seemingly prefers it fast and messy (notice how she matches her fingers with your pulls), and Minjeong really, really loves being praised.
Telling her how good of a job she's doing makes her let these whimpers out of her mouth. Patting her head when she manages to hold herself down to the base of your shaft causes her to grin around your length. And, god, does it make you want to ruin her face.
Your grip on her hair tightens when she gags, her body seizing up before she moans around your cock and almost goes limp on your arms. Her hand leaves her clit to grip your thighs, her eyes rolling back as you keep her there. Drool falls at the corner of her lips, down your balls. Her whines are muffled, even when you’re pulling her back up to your tip to let her get off on her high.
Never thought you’d see someone cum from giving oral. But here you are, seeing it with your own two eyes, with one of the hottest women you’ve ever met.
And to think you’re having the time of your life all because you got drunk.
She blinks slowly, her eyes coming back to focus on you. And when she looks at you waiting for her to come back to reality, she does the cheekiest thing.
Smiles around your tip and gives you a wink. You don’t know if she’s taunting you, telling you to keep going, whatever. All you know is that she’s coming back down and taking your cock so damn well you take the kiddie gloves off and give her what the both of you so desperately want.
Minjeong takes all of it of course, everything you give her. Didn’t matter how you did it. Slow, fast, soft, rough—she doesn’t care. Make her fuck her face on your cock, let her lodge yourself in her throat, allow those lips of hers make out with your tip.
She lets you do whatever you want with her mouth. And you’re thanking her for it. Airing out every single word you can think of to let her know that she’s mind-blowingly good at what she’s doing. It makes her preen, leaning into your grip and turning herself into your very own toy to use for your pleasure.
It’s one of the best views in the world. One that you can watch for who knows how long she’s been doing this and then some. Watching her throat expand to take every inch of you, letting it rest there. See her tongue stick out from underneath and lick whatever she can. Each push makes her gag, moan, mewl, whatever the fuck type of beautiful sound she makes that only serves to push her deeper, grip her hair tighter, be more harsher in your abuse.
Minjeong loves it; Revels in it, smiling prettily at you. Her eyes do most of the work, looking so excited, so ecstatic when you take control. Even when her face is red from the abuse, hair all messed up, drool stuck on her chin, her cheeks, her mouth—she never tells you to slow down, or interrupt you with a tap.
Her fingers never stop rubbing herself, or pumping inside her. You can’t really tell when you can’t see them move, only that she’s doing it. It’s enough to make her juices drip on the bedsheets from how much she's been fingering herself. You almost think she wants to cum a second time, but she seems to stop at times. Blue balling herself, forcing herself to breathe deep when she gets too close to another orgasm.
You only stop when the familiar ache in your loins starts to stir, giving her a chance to finally breathe when you pull her off of your dick. Your entire length is coated in her saliva, yet she continues to put her tongue on you, licking the tip, the sides, your balls. It wasn’t enough to send you over the edge, but with the way you're twitching, she knows how much you’re holding back not to.
“You don’t want to cum?” she asks, leaving kisses all over your cock, making your thighs flex harder to avoid the end. “You don't wanna give Minjeong a facial? Give Minjeong a thick fucking load on her face?”
It's not that you don’t want to cover her face or make her swallow your entire load. The thought was extremely enticing, ruining that pretty face of hers even more. But you oh so badly need to have a taste of her pussy.
“Need to fuck you,” you let out, breathing heavily. Her little kitten licks are slowly making you lose it, and you had to push her away to stop her.
She seemed disappointed when you let her off your cock, but your words immediately made her grin. She nods to the side, glancing at her bag. “Bag has a condom. Can you grab it for Minjeong?”
Better to be safe than sorry, you suppose. As much as you want to fuck her raw, you don’t want to know how bad your pull out game is. Or if she'd even let you once you're inside her.
You reach over the nightstand, picking up her bag and rummaging through it. She starts humming, her hand stroking you lazily while you find said condom. You pull it out, giving it a once over before handing the packet over to her and placing the bag back.
She takes it with an adorably cute thanks, even with a debauched, filthy face coated in saliva and pre-cum. Ripping it open with her teeth, she pulls the latex out and throws the packet somewhere on the bed.
“Wanna see something?” Minjeong doesn't bother waiting for a reply, placing the condom between her lips. Her tongue pushes between the middle, and before you know it she’s taking you back into her throat.
She doesn't even bother with her hands to unroll the latex. All head, bobbing her head slow, tongue coming out to play and making sure she has the condom covering your entire shaft.
You're surprised you haven’t cum into the condom the second she had you in her mouth.
“What the fuck–” You blink, not believing what you're seeing. Sure, you’ve watched and felt her give you life-changing head, but this? This was another level of unbe-fucking-lievablity. It's an experience, the feeling of having a condom worn this way.
“The hell did you learn that?” You can't help yourself from asking her that question, because seriously, where the hell did she learn to suck dick?
You thought she wouldn’t answer you, considering all she does is smile and kiss your tip once she has the condom secured over you. Until she climbs on top of you, and whispers a sentence that makes you seriously consider swearing your life over to her like the knight she thinks you are.
“Minjeong likes sucking dick. Minjeong loves it when that dick belongs to someone Minjeong likes.”
She laughs. A full-blown, coming from the stomach, genuine laughter. She gives you a peck on the lips, and—
“God, you are so cute,” she teases, cupping your cheeks. “Stick around long enough and maybe you'll find out. For now–”
She sits up, hands giving you a light taps on your face before pushing down on your chest as she grinds her clothed pussy over your cock. You can feel how wet she is over the lace, thinking that it's ruined at this point. She might even think she owes you one, considering she came first.
“Let Minjeong take care of you, hm?” Her hand moves to push her panties to the side, finally feeling her pussy lips on your cock. Rubbing her folds over you, closing her eyes at the pleasure it gives her. “Minjeong needs to make sure that hangover's gone.”
The whole thing gives a reprieve, even for a moment. You chuckle, placing your hands back on that perfect waist of hers. You lean into this persona she’s taken up, running your hands over her skin. “Is Minjeong a nurse too now?”
“Minjeong’s just being a good girl,” she replies, pushing your length inside of her. Just the tip, as she seems to love it. Always teasing, always the head of your cock when it comes to her. “Isn't she? Tell Minjeong how good she is, how good she makes you feel.”
You can’t think straight, the heat of her walls enveloping you, overwhelming you. Even through the condom you can feel her tightness pulsing around your cockhead.
“You’re the best,” you breathe out, throwing your head back at the sensation. “Wish I could’ve had your lips forever. Wanted to make you swallow my cum, have you clean my cock after. Shit, Minjeong–”
You cut yourself off with a strangled gasp as Minjeong lowers down on your shaft, taking more of you. She whines as you stretch her out, eyes fluttering shut, hands weighing down on your chest to stop herself from taking all of you in.
“Why didn't you then?” She stays there, her pussy clenching around your dick. You can tell she wants to go all the way down and fuck herself on your cock, yet she holds herself back, wanting to listen. Eager eyes gaze straight into yours, and you’re left to grip her hips tighter.
“I told you,” you say, running a hand up to her chest, giving her clothed breast a squeeze. “Wanna fuck you so damn bad.”
“Ah, ah,” she tuts, shaking her head at you. Again with the cute persona—the smiles, the endearing voice—though now it comes with a subtle edge to it, tapping her finger on your chest. “You’re saying it wrong again, baby.”
The nickname makes you throb, making her gasp at the tingle inside her pussy. The words don't come, not immediately. Every small action she does stops you from completing the thought. The roll of her hips, the racy giggles, the fucking look in her eyes that tell you that nothing's going to stop her from riding the utter hell out of you.
…Wait a minute—
“Please fuck me.” You weren’t really begging. Not really, as much as the words themselves sound like it does. Or how pathetic (or confident, you’re not sure) you made it sound coming out of your mouth. You’re simply doing what she wants.
Asking politely.
Minjeong practically glows when she says your words, palming your hand on her breast, giving a grope of her own before looping around her back. You hear a quiet snap, before the lace on her chest loosens in your hand. She playfully pushes your hand away and finally, finally sinks all the way down and takes your entire length inside of her pussy.
“Oh fu–”
“Minjeong–”
The air gets filled with the filthiest phrases you’ve ever heard—your name, hers, curses, moans. All combined and coming out of both of you, your grip on her hip getting tighter just as her legs flex and shiver.
She feels so fucking tight it’s insane that you thought her mouth was the best because this already beats it by a mile.
And this was only the beginning—you’ve only gotten inside her, stretching her out and feeling her cunt take you so ridiculously well that you haven’t the slightest idea what would happen to you when she starts to move.
You’ve left waiting, wanting her to start rocking her hips, bounce on your lap, give her to those urges that she’s been keeping hidden. She’s doing a poor job of it, if the small movement of her hips are to say anything. And you know just the thing that’ll make her lose it.
“God, Minjeong you feel so perfect,” you praise, taking a breath to steady yourself. You’ve already resisted the urge to cum before, but this is another monster entirely. The monster that you’re deliberately feeding with praise. “Taking my cock so well.”
She takes the bait, of course. The glee on her face as she hears your words, the chuckles amidst her moans, the hips getting more insistent, rotating them in this circular motion that makes you close your eyes from the rush of pleasure.
The condom mutes the intensity of it, making you ponder how better she’d feel without it. You don’t let your mind wander too long about it, because the view of Minjeong toying with the straps of her bra, giving you glimpses of the soft flesh underneath.
She smiles, those pearly whites of hers lighting up her entire face. “Because you fill Minjeong up so good.” She switches things up, sliding her hips front and back, an action that makes those dark eyes of hers roll back while fumbling the straps off her shoulders, her hand keeping the cups of her bra in place.
She lets this breathy laugh slip past her lips when your fingers trail up and down her sides. “You wanna feel Minjeong’s tits? She knows you’ve been drooling over them.”
“Yes, please.” You know the game by now, what the rules are; how to bend them when you have to. You bite back a moan as her walls clench around your length, managing to grit out, “Can I touch them?”
Slot in another please in the end, for good measure. You still have to play the game, after all.
All the while Minjeong’s rolling her hips on your cock, giving you this salacious look when she listens to your answer. She lets the bra fall, thrown to the side, giving you a front row seat to her breasts.
A cute, petite pair that look like the perfect handfuls with pink stiff nipples that you need to have in between your lips. Combined with the slender waist you’re caressing in your hands and the tight pussy sheathing your cock, you're undeniably in paradise at this point. Hangover all but forgotten, traded in for the pleasures of Minjeong’s body.
“Come here.” Minjeong grabs your hands, bringing them up to her breasts. You give them a gentle knead, rolling a nipple in your fingers. It makes her sigh, satisfaction written all over her face as her rocking gets faster. “Make Minjeong feel good, hm?”
She’s so reactive when you explore them—sighing when you give them a good squeeze, moaning when you pinch her nipples, gasping when you give them a light slap and watch the soft flesh jiggle. It’s all encouragement for her, fucking herself faster on your cock, watching those hips of hers mesmerize you. A rough pinch of her nipple and she grows silent, body stilling and—
“Fucking hell,” you mutter, head laying back as her pussy clamping down around your cock, almost suffocatingly tight. Her entire frame’s gone frozen, face morphed into a silent scream of pleasure before she keens, cumming around your dick. “Christ, Minjeong–”
Minjeong crumbles, body crashing forward. Her arms wrap around your neck loosely, her hair falling covering your view as she shakes. Letting that high rock her being, creaming around your cock like she wants you to do the same. All you can hear is her sobbing, praises of how good she feels, how big your cock is at stretching her out. Her hips never stop grinding, rolling against yours, even with your hands moving to stop her.
There’s no ‘off' button with her, no slowing down. ‘Stop’ doesn’t seem to be in her dictionary at this point. Only for a slight reprieve, but you’ve learned by now that she’s insatiable. An increasing need to keep going, faster, harder until neither of you can’t take it anymore.
And you are loving it. As maddening as it is, the depravity, the degeneracy of it all takes you too. The very definition of sin that is Minjeong cumming her brains out on your cock is like a vice—another version of alcohol that you’d willingly get drunk on. One you’d never want to let go of, once you’ve had the taste of it.
You’ve been achingly close to cumming, ever since her mouth almost did you in. But you want this to last, not knowing when you’ll be having the opportunity to get another dose of the complete and utter insanity that you call Kim Minjeong.
“Oh my god,” she mumbles, her waist finally stopping. A pause in the carnality, allowing the both of you a chance to breathe. The gratified look on her face makes you smile as she pushes herself up a bit to face you. “I can’t believe I just–”
She laughs, her persona rearing back to show the Minjeong you met last night. “Fuck, I needed that,” she continues, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her fingers trace your jaw, brushing near your lips as she tries to steady her breathing.
“You okay?” you ask, cupping her cheek.
“I should be asking you that question,” she chuckles, leaning into your touch. “But yes, I’m okay. More than ok actually–I feel fucking amazing.”
You chuckle with her. “Glad I can help, my Prince.”
“Your Prince?” She can’t stop the grin forming on her face. “Are we doing this now?”
“To be fair, you started it.” Your eyes look to the side for a moment before coming back to meet hers. “I think. I’m still confused with the ‘three dates’ thing you pulled.”
“Sure.” She rolls her eyes, pinching your cheek. “How ‘bout you take me out on a date for real so you can stop being so confused about it.”
“I’d love to,” you respond, maybe a bit too hastily. Makes you seem like an idiot again, though you probably have the entire time you’ve been with her. “Whenever you’re free or you know, we can talk about it later. If you want to, I mean.”
“Definitely later,” she giggles, leaning down to steal a kiss. Her lips feel so soft, moving in sync with your own that you already miss the sensation when she pulls away and her eyes darken in desire. “Right now, Minjeong needs to make you cum.”
There she is, that personality of hers coming back in full force as she foregoes the slow fucking she’s done earlier—bouncing on your cock like her life depends on it, leaving you snapping your arms back to holding her waist, gasping at the jolt of pleasure.
“Give a little warning, please.” Your body jerks in surprise, feeling her slam her hips down on you. Her cunt taking your entire cock, juices drooling down your length. All the edging from earlier makes you all so close to cumming and filling up the latex wrapped on your shaft, and her weight on top of you prevents you from chasing your own high as she takes it upon herself to do it for you.
“Sorry,” she coyly says, smirking devilishly unashamed of what she’s doing to you. Impaling herself deeper on your dick, cupping your cheeks to avoid letting your eyes wander from anywhere else except her. “Minjeong wants to taste your cum. Can she have it please?”
You dart your eyes down, watching her tits jiggle in time with her movement. She knows exactly what you want, pulling you towards them and your lips latch on to a bud, sucking eagerly. Your groans get muffled, moving from one peak to the other. Flicking them with your tongue, sucking on the teat, giving them a bite—it all makes her drive harder on your shaft, pulling you deeper into her chest.
Minjeong slowly picks up the pace riding you, hearing the slap of flesh on flesh as she slams on you harder. Relishing the worship you give of her mounds, getting them slick with your saliva, your suction on her nipple deepening as you give her rear a firm squeeze.
Whispers of the lewdest things you’ve heard plague you as she never falters, never lets up on slamming her ass against you, breathy moans of your name coming out of her mouth—you’re doing so good, laying there and letting Minjeong get stretched out by your big, fat cock. You’re gonna make her cum again, gonna make Minjeong’s cunt cream all over that dick.
Your hands leave her hips to grip her ass and she takes it up a notch, the bed creaking at her movements. Wanna feel Minjeong’s tight little ass? Feel her tight pussy fuck your big dick like the good girl Minjeong is. She loves being such a good girl for you. She’s being such a good, nasty little girl for you, right? Being the perfect little cocksleeve you need–
“Fuck, yes–” you let out, your eyes closing to prevent yourself from losing control. Each word, each obscene feeling brings you closer to what she wants, what you both want. Her stiff buds brushing against your chest at each bounce, groping that soft ass of hers, letting her dirty talk overtake your mind. “I’m so fucking close Minjeong, please–”
“Look at Minjeong,” she says, and you snap your eyes open. Dark eyes full of this perverted glee gaze down at you, the grin on her face mirroring it. Her hips rock faster, leaving you breathless. “You wanna cum? Hm? Want to cum inside Minjeong’s tight little cunt and fill that condom up?”
You completely forgot about the fucking condom, and the fuck you’re currently giving about it is at an all-time zero. All you want is to have that orgasm that you’ve denied yourself—one you damn well deserve.
“Minjeong!” You squeeze hard on her asscheek, another hand reaching up to the back of her neck as you empty your load into the latex. Watch her eyes roll back as each spurt of your cum balloon the condom, her own orgasm taking over her again as her back arches. The grip on her neck keeps her anchored to you, and you’re treated to the sight of every small change in her face—the whines, the fluttering eyes, the shaking—as she milks you of your cum.
You thrust upwards, Minjeong relinquishing control to you, letting you hammer upwards into her pussy. Each stroke makes you throb, releasing more cum into the rubber. Her hips don’t stop their rocking, grinding against yours to make the pleasure last for the both of you.
She gasps your name, hand pushing down on the mattress next to you, balancing herself as the last vestiges of your orgasm fade. You’re both left panting, Minjeong collapsing on top of you. All sweaty, sheets wet and air reeking of sex.
“Good fucking morning,” Minjeong huffs, draping her arms around your neck, her breath tickling your ears. “Best way to start the day after a hangover, am I right?”
You laugh weakly, still catching your breath. “Thanks for the cure, I guess. And the meds.”
“Anything for my Knight.” She smiles, shifting to have her cheek rest against your shoulder to stare at you so affectionately—one you could never look away from even if you tried—it makes your heart melt.
You let the silence take over, giving you both a chance to rest. She moves a hand to rub your cheek while yours slide up her body. Her waist, her back, you run your fingers through the soft skin and just…look. The afterglow she has makes her smile shine brighter, and you are just utterly captivated by this woman.
Even when she can edge you for what felt like hours.
Besides, you’d let her ruin you again.
She giggles all of a sudden, giving your cheek a poke of her finger. “So about that date…”
“Are we talking about the first one or the fourth one?” She pinches your cheek for that one.
“The first real one,” she clarifies, lifting her head. “Dinner later?”
“Already?” You raise an eyebrow. “You’re a bit impatient.”
“We fucked before we could even go on a date. We have a little catching up to do,” Minjeong quips, her fingers tracing down your collarbone. “But we can always do tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow's good,” you agree, leaning up to peck her lips. “Do you live nearby or–”
You find out that she lives on the other side of the city, close enough for you to pick her up and have dinner at a new restaurant that opened up.
It was weird, talking about something so mundane after sex that it almost feels…normal for the both of you. Talking so casually like this wasn't the first time you met, making up for lost time that you never actually had before last night.
And managing to get a date with Minjeong gets you all elated for tomorrow, having another chance to spend time with her.
“Oh!” she gasps as if she just remembered something. “Forgot about this–”
She lifts up, slipping your softening cock out of her folds before she crawls down, returning to face your cock. Weighing the filled tip of the latex on her finger and humming her amazement. “That’s a lot of cum…”
You push yourself upright just as she unrolls it off you, giggling at the bulk of it. She leans forward, taking your tip in and swirling her tongue. It makes you flinch in surprise, letting her clean you of any leftover cum before she gives you a parting kiss on the head and faces you.
“You were really backed up huh,” she teases, straightening up and returning her gaze towards it, laser focused on the load weighing it down.
“All because of you.” Your compliment goes unheard as Minjeong's gone off to dreamland. She bites her lip before her tongue darts to wet her lips. Looking completely entranced at the filled condom, debating something in her head. Her eyes flicker between you and the rubber, before she does the sluttiest, nastiest thing you’ve ever seen from her.
Minjeong brings the opening to her lips and unfurls her tongue, letting the sticky fluid drip out and straight into her waiting mouth. She lets it fill her, the rubber getting slimmer and slimmer, emptying out the load she wrung out of you and pooling it on her tongue.
You can’t look away from it, not even when she puts the latex down. You’re completely enthralled as she cups her hands under her chin as she looks at you, mouth wide open to show you all the cum she’s gotten off you. She grins, chuckling at what must have been a dumbfounded look on your face, making a sliver of your seed drip down.
You’re getting her a ring on the third date.
She winks, closing her mouth shut and making her cheeks bulge. You watch her throat bob at every gulp, swallowing your load. Her thumb wipes the cum that almost dripped off her chin, making sure not a single drop’s been wasted as she sucks on it. Her lips are still smiling throughout, her gaze never leaving you as she finishes.
Opens her mouth wide and lolls her tongue out to show you how she cleaned it out completely. “All gone,” she says, smiling at you sweetly. “Minjeong loves the taste of your cum.”
Make that the second date.
The sudden urge to take her in your arms and kiss the living hell out of her takes you. Before you can even move to do it, the sound of the door beeping twice makes both of you freeze. Minjeong’s eyes widen, snapping out of her cum-induced haze and quickly standing up, pulling you with her towards the bathroom.
“Get in, get in–” The door beeps again, once this time. It opens just as Minjeong closes the bathroom door, locking it and rushing over to open the shower to play pretend.
“Minjeong?” You can hear Jimin’s groggy voice through the door.
Minjeong gives you a look to stay quiet before she answers, “In here!”
“Where’s the cutie?” Aeri follows up, footsteps rushing over. You weren’t sure if she was referring to Minjeong or you but–”He went home already?”
You give Minjeong a cheeky smile about the compliment, mouthing the word back to her. Minjeong rolls her eyes at you before shoving you under the showerhead. You make a surprised noise at how cold it was, making her throw a ‘zip it’ gesture at you.
“Y-yeah!” Minjeong agrees, grabbing a towel to cover herself up. That’s where you know things went south.
Not because of the lie, as shit of an excuse it was. It’s because you don’t think Minjeong remembers the state the room was in before she dragged the both of you in here. “Said his friend was picking him up.”
“Really? Thought he’d stay a bit longer. He sounded fun,” Jimin says, her footsteps slower than Aeri’s. “Hey, do you still have those painkil–” She gets cut off with a squeal, and the noises that you hear on the other side of the door make you want to curl up in a hole somewhere and die from the shame.
A gasp. “Is that a–”
“Oh my god it is–” Laughing is all you can hear.
You hear the rattle of a bottle on the other side. “You think they…?”
“Fuck yeah they did–” You can imagine the smirk on Aeri’s face.
“Girl you better spill the tea!” You both jolt from the banging on the door.
Minjeong’s covered her face with her hands, cheeks glowing crimson. “Oh my fucking god,” she mutters, finally realizing that her clothes, your clothes, and a goddamn condom were all strewn about the bed.
There was no getting out of this, so all she does is sigh. “I’ll tell you later, okay?”
“Whatever you say!” Aeri sing-songs. “Hope you two have fun in the shower!”
You hear a sigh from the other end. “We’ll get these to Yizhuo. Text us when you’re not–uh, Jimin’s voice falters, not really knowing what to say. “Preoccupied.”
“Remember to pull out!” Aeri’s cackles echo through the wood before the front door shuts, giving a beep.
It was quiet for a while, both of you simmering in the embarrassment. You more so, the feeling of running water coming down on you making it feel more depressing than it should be.
A shaky laugh comes out of Minjeong, her shoulders shaking. “I can’t believe that just happened.”
“You’re telling me,” you chuckle, stepping out of the shower. “Good luck telling them what happened, by the way.”
“Me?” She looks at you, almost offended at your words. “You’ll be helping out because I am not doing this alone.”
“I don't think I should be intruding in girl talk.” You place your hands on her waist. “Besides, you can tell me all about it on our date.”
“Fine,” Minjeong whines, playfully punching you on the chest before looping her arms around your neck. “But I expect compensation.”
“I was already planning to pay for the dinner.”
“I expect flowers too.” You don't know if she was joking or not. But if flowers are what she wants, flowers are what she'll get. “But I wasn't talking about the date.”
“Oh?”
“Well,” She gets up on her tip toes, giving you a kiss. Tongue delving deep into your mouth, battling yours before she abruptly breaks it. “If you can't help me out with the girls, you can help me instead.”
“And how, exactly, may I help my Prince?” Your eyes follow her pull the towel down her frame. Taking her in once more. Her pretty face, her cute tits, her slim waist, her tight cunt.
God, she's perfect. If only you can understand how quickly she swaps between Minjeong and Minjeong.
It’s part of her charm, you muse.
“I think you know how.” She slowly gets on her knees, a hand slowly stroking your cock, looking up at you with a smirk. “Just be a good little Knight and let Minjeong suck another load out of you.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not how I can help, Minjeong.” The words feel like dejavu, for some reason. And if it is, then you have an idea where this is headed towards.
“It isn't?” She tilts her head.
“Minjeong wouldn’t know, but she really wants to taste your cum again.”
(Karina X Winter X Giselle X Ningning) Wordcount: 4978 words
You wake up to the soft warmth of a mouth wrapped around your cock. You barely have time to process that it’s the first day of NNN and the start of your and Karina’s new challenge, before a tongue flicks along the underside of your shaft, making your hips jerk. It’s not Karina. You know the difference instantly. Karina is all lips and slow, savoring teasing. This mouth is smaller and hungrier, the lips tighter as they slide down until you feel your tip pressed right against the back of her throat.
You blink, struggling to see through the haze. Long hair, black and spilling over your stomach. A hand wraps around your base, stroking in perfect rhythm with her mouth. She hums around you, a playful, taunting sound that sends a jolt of heat straight through your gut.
“W–Winter?”
The name slips out before you can stop it and she looks up at you, eyes sparkling with mischief. Her lips are stretched tight around your cock, and her cheeks are hollowed as she lets you see every inch disappearing between them. Your body tenses.
“Mm?”
She hums, not stopping for a second. The vibration travels straight through you.
You want to stop her. You should stop her. This is wrong, this is insane, and Karina could walk in at any moment. But all you can do is clutch at the sheets, panting as Winter bobs her head faster, tongue swirling, hand squeezing your cock even tighter. You don’t know how she got here. She must’ve been too quiet to wake you up. You think, for one crazy moment, that Karina must have set this up. She joked about making you fail NNN again, about bringing in “reinforcements” to see how long you’d last. Is this her idea of a prank? A test?
Right now, you don’t even care. Winter’s mouth is so wet, so warm, and she’s moaning around your cock like getting you off is her favorite thing in the world. Her lips glide all the way down your shaft until your hips lift off the bed, the wet, hungry sounds echoing in the quiet, dreamlike morning. Her eyes still don’t leave yours and you feel yourself dangerously close to the edge, fighting not to give in. You want to say her name, to warn her, to beg her to slow down, but the words get stuck in your throat.
You force yourself to look away, desperate for any distraction that’ll keep you from losing it too soon. As your gaze drifts to the right, your brain stutters. There’s someone else lying beside you.
Ningning is sprawled on her side, propped up on one elbow, wearing nothing but a wicked smile on her face. She’s watching the scene of Winter sucking you off, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she gazes at Winter’s lips gliding along your length. When you meet her gaze, her eyes flicker with amusement. She leans a little closer, her voice a sultry purr.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
She whispers, her fingers tracing lazy circles over your chest.
“We had a little bet who could wake you up with just her mouth, and I guess Winter won.”
She pouts, fake disappointment curling her lips, then grins.
“Too bad. I wanted a taste of your cock too. So, you better make it up to me.”
Before you can even process what’s happening, before you can form a reply, Ningning’s body moves, her thighs swinging over you. Suddenly, she’s kneeling above your head, her heat radiating down as she settles just above your lips, her pussy on full display. The scent of her arousal hits you instantly, dizzying and sweet.
Winter doesn’t pause for a second, her hand stroking you in perfect rhythm with her mouth, her moans vibrating straight through your core. Your world narrows to the sensations of Winter’s mouth driving you mad from below and Ningning’s pussy hovering just out of reach above you.
The younger one glances down at you, her hair falling in a curtain around her face. She bites her lip, her eyes gleaming.
“Well? You going to make it up to me, or do I have to sit here all morning, oppa?”
You barely have time to breathe before her hips sink lower, her soft warmth brushing over your mouth. You give in without thinking, licking a slow, teasing stripe along her folds. Ningning gasps, her body shuddering above you, and she rocks her hips against your tongue, urging you on.
Winter’s pace quickens, her cheeks hollowing, sucking you harder than ever, as Ningning rides your mouth, her breathy moans and needy whimpers filling the air. The bed creaks beneath you as you’re trapped between them, Winter’s relentless mouth, Ningning’s desperate, rolling hips. You’re helpless, overpowered, and more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life.
You force yourself to focus, to fight back that boiling pleasure Winter is building inside you with every slick, eager movement of her mouth. Your only hope is distraction, so you bury your tongue into Ningning, desperate to lose yourself in her taste instead of the maddening heat building below. She gasps the moment you lick her cunt, the sound ringing in your ears, her thighs trembling slightly as she settles her weight onto your face. Your hands grip her hips, pulling her down so you can really taste her. She’s soft, wet and intoxicating on your taste buds. You let your tongue flick and circle, teasing her clit and then diving lower, savoring every drop, every shiver of her body above you.
“Fuck-”
Ningning’s voice is already shaking as her hips start to rock.
“God, you’re good at that.”
She bites her lip, looking down at you, her eyes wide and pleading.
“Do you like it? Do I taste good for you, oppa?”
You groan into her, nodding as best you can with her pressed to your mouth. You answer with your tongue, giving her a long, slow lick, feeling her shudder.
“Tell me.”
She moans, hips rolling in slow circles as you suck gently on her clit
“Tell me how much you love my pussy. Tell me I taste better than anyone.”
Her voice cracks on a whimper when you push your tongue inside her again.
“Please, I need it. I want to hear it from you…right now.”
You want to talk but your silenced by Ningning grinding her pussy onto your tongue as Winter’s mouth relentlessly pushes you toward the edge with a steady, unyielding pace. The only thing keeping you from losing it is the way Ningning sounds above you, desperate for your approval, her body so responsive to every flick of your tongue. You finally manage to break away just enough to gasp.
“You taste fucking incredible,”
Your voice muffled by her thighs.
“Sweetest pussy I’ve ever had, Ningning. I could eat you for hours.”
She cries out, her hands flying to your hair, grinding herself down against your mouth.
“Oh my god, fuck-don’t stop. I want you to eat me every morning, I want you to love it-love me. Do you love how wet I get for you?”
You moan your answer, your tongue driving deeper, flicking and teasing her just the way she wants, giving her everything she needs and more. She’s writhing above you, moaning your name, while Winter’s mouth never lets up from your cock.
Ningning’s thighs clamp tighter around your head. Her muscles are trembling, but they’re still strong. Stronger than you expect. It becomes harder to breathe. Every gasp for air is laced with her scent as her slick cunt smears your lips and chin. You dig your nails into her thighs, desperate for a little leverage, but she only presses closer, holding you captive with her body. Your hands slide up, digging into her flesh, but she barely budges. If anything, she seems to revel in it, grinding herself against your mouth, letting out a needy, ragged whine.
“God, I love your mouth.”
Her voice is thick with heat.
“But do you like my thighs, too? Hm? Are they as good as my pussy, oppa?”
You try to nod, but she’s relentless, squeezing you between her legs, making you dizzy. Your lungs burn and you’re powerless beneath her, completely at her mercy. She tilts her hips just enough for you to catch a breath, her fingers tangled in your hair, tugging you back to her.
"Say it."
She demands with a shaking voice.
“Tell me you love my thighs. Tell me you want to be smothered by me.”
Your answer is muffled, half choked by pleasure and desperation, but you manage.
“I love them. Fuck, Ningning, I love your thighs. Want you to squeeze me…never let go…”
A shiver runs through her. She lets out a soft, broken laugh, then rolls her hips against your mouth, thighs quivering as she chases her own high.
Meanwhile, Winter switches things up. Her mouth leaves your cock slick and aching, the cool air prickling over your skin. For a split second you think she’s done, but then you feel her lips at the base of your cock. They trail down to your balls, her tongue swirling around them and teasing. She kisses your inner thighs and lets her breath ghost along your skin. The teasing touch sends sparks of pleasure through your whole body.
Then she moves higher, her mouth exploring your abs, your hip bones. Her teeth scrape playfully against your skin. Her lips press kisses along every inch she can reach. You twitch, body helplessly responsive, caught between Winter’s wandering mouth and Ningning’s crushing thighs.
The older of the two circles back to your cock, her breath hot as she kisses up your length, finally swallowing you again, taking you in deep. The sudden return to that slick, desperate warm mouth is enough to make you gasp against Ningning.
Ningning moans as you suck her clit harder. Her thighs shake and you realize you’re pushing her toward a crushing orgasm. Because her moans grow louder and higher now. They fill the room with desperate, needy sounds as she rocks herself against your mouth. Her free hand squeezes her tits, fingers tugging at her own nipple as her hips grind down. Her thighs crush your head with each shuddering thrust. The air in your lungs is thick with the scent of her arousal. Your world shrinks to nothing but her taste and the pressure of her body on your tongue.
You struggle beneath her, half dazed and breathless, but you don’t let up. Reaching around her, you grab both of her ass cheeks in your hands, squeezing, spreading, kneading her soft flesh as you pull her down harder onto your mouth. Ningning arches her back with a gasp. Her voice breaks and her hips jerk into your touch.
“Fuck-You like my ass, don’t you? You want to fuck it, don’t you, oppa?”
You answer without hesitation, voice muffled by her thighs and slick pussy.
“Love your ass, Ningning. Want to fuck it so bad…want to feel you squeeze me everywhere.”
You can feel her starting to fall apart. Her entire body trembles. Her breath comes in short, desperate pants. She glances down at you, her lips parted.
“Tell me…whose ass is better? Mine or Ari’s? I want to hear you say it. Right now.”
There’s not even a pause. You give her ass a hard squeeze, licking her clit just the way she seems to like it the most.
“Yours. Always yours, Ningning.”
The words hit her like a shockwave. Ningning’s thighs clamp down even harder, trapping your head, nearly suffocating you as she tips over the edge. Her entire body shudders, her moans spilling out loud and broken, echoing off the walls. She grinds herself against your mouth, riding out her orgasm with reckless abandon, not letting up until she’s trembling and breathless and spent, finally easing her grip just enough for you to gulp in air.
All the while, Winter never stops. She takes your cock deep, then lets her tongue and lips explore you, sucking, licking, kissing up your length, down to your thighs, then back again. She moans around your dick as she hears Ningning’s cries, her mouth growing even hungrier, determined to push you right to your own breaking point.
Ningning collapses forward. Her body is limp and shivering. Her breath is hot against your skin. She’s smiling, dazed and satisfied, her hands still tangled in your hair. You’re dizzy, half blinded by pleasure and lack of air, your cock throbbing in Winter’s relentless mouth. Every second that passes she pushes you closer to the edge, no hope of holding out much longer.
As Ningning finally climbs off you, her thighs trembling, she barely gives you a moment to breathe. She collapses beside you. But then she grabs your face with both hands and pulls you into a deep, hungry kiss, her tongue diving into your mouth, making herself taste her own slick that’s still coating your lips and chin. She moans into the kiss, her body melting against yours, needy and possessive.
You lose yourself in the kiss, but Winter has no intention of letting you rest. She shifts lower on the bed, her hands wrapping around your slick, aching cock. One hand grips at the base, the other twists up your shaft. Her lips trail down, kissing and licking your balls, drawing them into her mouth one at a time. The sensation is overwhelming. Her hands stroke you in tandem, her mouth teasing your most sensitive spots, while Ningning’s lips are locked to yours, swallowing every sound you try to make.
You’re still trapped, unable to tell Winter to stop, with your moans swallowed by Ningning’s mouth, your body jerking with pleasure as Winter works you ruthlessly toward the edge.
Suddenly, from your left, you hear a new voice, almost lazy and sweet, but dripping with mischief.
“Hope you didn’t forget about me.”
You turn your head, breaking the kiss with Ningning, and your heart skips. Giselle is kneeling on the floor next to the bed, her body poised and perfect, her arm draped over the mattress, chin resting on her forearm as she watches you with a wicked smile. She’s completely naked, her skin glowing in the soft morning light, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
She is playing with a bottle of lube, giving it a little shake, letting you see her slick, glistening fingers.
“I’m all lubed up and ready for you, daddy.”
Her purr in combination with her sultry look and that pink hair, almost finishes the job Winter has started. Pink hair? Didn’t she change that a while ago-
“Just say the word. Or maybe…”
She lets her fingers slide slowly down her ass, which is unfortunately out of your view, and gives her right cheek a loud spank.
“…you’re already too busy?”
Winter only doubles down at the sound of Giselle’s voice, taking both of your balls in her mouth at once. Her hands pump your cock faster, making you arch off the bed with a gasp. Ningning nips at your jaw, breath hot against your cheek.
“Looks like you’ve got a choice to make.”
Giselle grins, certain you’ll be choosing her.
“I know you can’t resist.”
She doesn’t wait for another invitation. With a wicked grin, she crawls up onto the bed, the bottle of lube clamped between her teeth. She swings a leg over you, straddling your hips for just a moment. Bending low, she leans forward and deposits the lube right in your mouth, the plastic cool against your tongue. She gives your chin a little tap, her eyes shining with mischief.
Winter finally lets your cock slip from her mouth, her hand still wrapped around your shaft. She shoots Giselle a look, not even trying to hide her annoyance.
“Hey! That’s not fair. You can’t just walk in and take his cock for yourself.”
Giselle just laughs. Her whole body twists to face Winter as she sits back on her knees. With a lube slick hand, she reaches out and gently strokes Winter’s cheek in mock sympathy.
“Aww, poor thing. Did you want a turn? Too bad, you lost the race.”
Her touch leaves a glistening streak across Winter’s skin.
Winter leans away, frowning and scrunching up her nose, clearly unamused by the sticky residue.
“Seriously? Ugh, keep that stuff on yourself.”
Her gaze drops to the way Giselle’s ass glistens with lube.
Meanwhile, Ningning has recovered enough to roll over, sliding herself close to your side. She plucks the bottle of lube from your mouth with delicate fingers, her eyes never leaving yours. She gives you a sly smile.
“Let me help you with this, oppa.”
Her voice is sweet as she flips the cap open. But you can see the hunger in her eyes and the way her breath catches at the prospect of her hands all over you again.
She squeezes a generous amount into her palm and wraps her hand around your cock, the coolness making you shudder. But Ningning wastes no time. The moment the lube touches your skin, she abandons all pretense. Her fist tightens around your cock and she starts jerking you off in quick, greedy strokes, her hand gliding easily up and down your shaft. Her eyes are fixed on your face, hungry and defiant, her lip caught between her teeth as she pumps you fast and rough, clearly determined to wring every reaction out of you.
You can’t hold back a sharp gasp, your hips twitching helplessly into her grip. A deep groan slips from your lips. Your whole body arches into her touch. The sensation is electric and overwhelming. Your cock is throbbing in her slick fist as she works you faster and faster.
At the edge of the bed, Giselle and Winter are still caught up in their bickering. Giselle is taunting Winter who’s pouting and climbing off the bed. She moves to sit up at the headrest, planting herself right next to you, her thigh pressed against your arm. She glances down at your face, her lips curled into a faint pout, her eyes flicking between your flushed expression and the way Ningning’s hand is working you.
But it’s your gasps that finally catch Giselle’s attention. She turns, her eyes narrowing at the sight of Ningning’s determined grip.
“Hey!”
Giselle swats Ningning’s hand away with a sharp smack, her voice dripping with playful indignation.
“You’re supposed to lube him up, not make him blow before I even get a turn.”
Ningning just scoffs, rolling her eyes and giving your cock one last, lingering squeeze before she lets go.
“Maybe if you’d paid less attention to your own ass, you wouldn’t be so late to the party.”
She wipes her slick hand on the sheets, but there’s no real heat in her tone.
Winter smirks from her spot at the headboard, her fingers tracing idle circles on your chest as she leans in to whisper in your ear.
“Better hold on. I’ve heard guys lose their minds when she rides them.”
You’re still reeling from Ningning’s grip, your cock aching and twitching. You’re more desperate than ever but take Winter’s advice to heart.
Giselle swings her leg over you and plants herself facing your feet, giving you a full view of her ass. She reaches back, spreading her cheeks just a little, looking over her shoulder with that same wicked, challenging smile. Unable to resist, you reach out and give her a couple of sharp slaps, your palms stinging as her ass jiggles beneath your hands. She lets out a gasp, then slowly, lowers herself onto your cock.
You can’t see her face, but you hear her breathing quicken as she sinks down, inch by inch, your cock stretching her tight, glistening asshole. She rocks her hips, working you deeper, until you’re buried inside her and her ass is pressed flush against your hips. The grip is unreal. It’s a hundred times hotter and tighter than Winter’s mouth, making you groan.
When she’s settled, Giselle starts to bounce, slow at first, then picking up the pace. Every rise and fall sends waves of pleasure through you, her ass jiggling with every slap of skin. The sight is hypnotic. The slick sheen of lube only makes her cheeks shine brighter, every bounce punctuated by the lewd, wet sounds of her riding you.
Winter and Ningning lounge at the head of the bed, watching openly, their conversation drifting in and out as you try desperately to focus.
“Look at her.”
Winter says, her voice low and amused.
“God, such a slut. Bet she’s been thinking about this all week.”
Ningning laughs, her gaze fixed on Giselle’s bouncing ass.
“Please, she’s probably been stretching for him every night with the plugs she leaves lying around everywhere in the dorm. Anything for a cock in her ass.”
You try to block them out, biting your lip, staring at Giselle’s perfect, bouncing form. Every time she slams down, you feel your control slipping. Her asshole is gripping you so tightly you nearly lose it with every stroke.
Suddenly, Winter’s voice turns mischievous.
“Bet you won’t pour the whole bottle over her.”
Ningning grins, grabbing the lube, and without hesitation, she flips the cap and tips it over Giselle’s ass. The cold, slick liquid gushes out in a thick stream, splashing over her cheeks, running down between them, pooling in the valley of her ass, and flooding over your cock and thighs. There’s so much of it, it coats everything. Your hips, the sheets, even the lower part of your abs, until you’re both a slippery, shining mess.
But Giselle doesn’t miss a beat. She just looks back with a smirk, giving Ningning a mocking:
“Thanks, babe.”
Before dropping her hips again, grinding herself down harder, making you feel every slippery inch.
The lube turns creamy, somehow thickening and stringing into sticky, white ropes that stretch from Giselle’s bouncing ass to your skin, webbing her cheeks to your abs, connecting you in lewd, messy strands.
The girls’ gossip keeps swirling, their voices teasing, but Giselle just rides you harder, letting the lube make everything filthier. Your hands dig into both Ningning’s and Winter’s thighs on either side of you as you try to hold onto something. Your body slides against hers, every movement impossibly slick and hot.
Winter leans in, her lips brushing your ear.
“If you take control and put her in her place, we’ll let you finish all over our faces. All three of us. Wouldn’t you like that, oppa?”
The promise in her voice, the sight of Giselle’s ass bouncing and coated in that sticky, white cream, the taste of Ningning still on your lips…You don’t really have a choice.
You sit straight up, sudden determination in your voice.
“Deal.”
Giselle is so caught up in her own pleasure, in the relentless bounce of her ass and the feeling of your cock stretching her, that she barely notices the shift in your body. It’s not until your arms wrap tightly around her waist and you pull her flush against your chest that her eyes widen in surprise.
“Wait-”
She starts, but you’re already moving. With one quick motion, you rock back, dragging her off your lap and pushing her forward until she’s on her hands and knees. Your cock slips out of her tight hole, despite her muscles desperately trying to hold you in, making her whine in protest.
“What are you doing?”
She gasps, her voice dripping with need.
“I was having so much fun riding your cock-”
You cut her off.
“Shut up and take it.”
She barely has time to smirk over her shoulder before you thrust back into her, sinking into her ass in one hard, unrelenting stroke. The mess of lube makes it easy, almost too easy, and you bottom out in an instant, hips smacking against her slippery cheeks. The force of it makes her jolt forward, her knuckles gripping the sheets, but she doesn’t falter. Instead, Giselle just throws her head back and laughs.
“Oh fuck, daddy—is that all you’ve got?”
She taunts you, arching her back, grinding back against you.
“Come on, ruin me. I know you want to see how much of your cock I can take. Bet you love the way my ass milks you, don’t you? Bet you wanna see me drooling, begging for more, huh?”
Her words only drive you harder. You grab her hips, fingers digging into her slick flesh, and pound into her with reckless, punishing force. The wet, creamy lube squelches with every thrust, splattering across your thighs, your abs, the sheets, making everything even messier. Giselle just takes it, her ass bouncing with every slap of your bodies, the creamy strings stretching and breaking as you fuck her harder.
Winter and Ningning are sprawled at the head of the bed, eyes wide, mouths open in awe and delight as they watch you dominate Giselle, their cheeks flushed and their breathing heavy.
“God, look at her.”
Winter laughs.
“She really is the sluttiest, isn’t she?”
Ningning grins, sliding her hand between her own legs as she watches.
“She loves it. I bet she gets fucked like that all the time.”
Giselle’s words come out in breathless, broken moans.
“Come on, daddy, don’t hold back. Show your little audience what you can do. Make me scream for you…make a mess out of all of us.”
Your own control is hanging by a thread. Every word she spits only makes you thrust harder and faster, determined to claim her completely.
You slam into Giselle from behind, hips crashing into her slippery ass. Your grip tightens around her waist, so you don’t suddenly lose the much needed leverage. Every thrust is met with a taunt, her voice breathless, but utterly unbroken.
“Mmm, is that all you’ve got, daddy?”
She glances back at you over her shoulder, a wicked grin curling her lips.
“Thought you were gonna put me in my place. Thought you were gonna shut me up. But here I am, still talking…”
You grip her harder, your fingers sinking deep into her flesh, desperate to pin her down, to silence her, to make her feel every inch of your cock rearranging her guts.
“Shut up, Giselle.”
But she just arches her back, meeting every brutal thrust with a filthy moan and a laugh that sounds almost triumphant.
“Oh, you like it when I talk, don’t you? Like hearing how good your cock feels in my ass-how messy you’ve made me. You gonna cum for us, daddy? You gonna make a mess all over your little sluts?”
Every word, every taunt pushes you closer to the edge. Giselle’s body shudders with every thrust, her cheeks flushed, her mouth open, her eyes glassy with pleasure, but even as she looks totally fucked, she keeps going, never missing a chance to tease you, to push you just a little bit further.
“Come on.”
She gasps, her voice dissolving into a cry as you pound into her.
“Let go. Show us how much you love fucking my ass. Fill me up, daddy. Ruin me. Ruin all of us.”
You’re right there, barely holding on. Your hand reaches out to finally clamp over her bratty mouth, determined to shut her up for good. But just as your fingers brush her lips-
Ding-dong.
You freeze. The sound barely registers at first, muffled and distant, but it comes again. Louder this time.
Ding-dong. Ding-dong.
You try to focus, but everything starts to blur. The feeling of Giselle’s body, the heat of her tight ass, the chorus of voices and moans. The room starts to fade, piece by piece, the sensation of slick skin and tangled limbs dissolving into darkness.
Ding-dong.
You blink, the light behind your eyelids blending you. The doorbell keeps ringing, echoing through the apartment. You’re lying in your own bed, the sheets twisted around your legs, your skin hot and your breath coming in shallow gasps. The spot next to you, where Karina had curled up last night, is empty and already cold.
The dream lingers, sticky and vivid, as you force yourself to sit up, your cock still achingly hard, your head spinning. You stumble out of bed, still hard and thoroughly annoyed at whoever thought it was a good idea to interrupt the best dream you’ve had in months. Your head is foggy with sleep and arousal, your body still thrumming with the phantom feeling of Giselle’s slick skin and bratty moans. You tug on the first shirt you find, not even bothering with pants, just your boxers, and pad barefoot into the living room, rubbing the sleep from your eyes.
The doorbell rings again. You move toward the entrance. When you reach the door, you glance at the small video display set into the wall, the grainy feed from the camera outside lighting up.
Your heart skips.
There, standing in the hallway with a suitcase by her side, is Giselle. She’s wearing a tight black dress, the fabric hugging the curve of her ass while the top also shows off her collarbone underneath her necklace. Her hair tumbles over her shoulders, one hand resting on the handle of her luggage. She glances up at the camera, shifting her weight, her lips curling into an awkward smile.
For a moment, you just stare, caught between the afterglow of your dream and the sudden, impossible reality of her standing right there. The memory of her voice, her body, the way she begged and taunted you, echoes in your head. You can’t help but let your gaze drift, comparing every detail of the real Giselle to the one you’d just had your way with in your sleep.
She looks even better in real life.
______________________________________
Hi guys!
I hope you enjoyed this short first chapter. Don't worry, the next ones will be longer.
“So, the other appointment had to cancel,” V hands the tablet to you. “Just these two tonight, feel free to take your time. We did a bit of extra digging and they’re rich rich. We believe this one is a bit of a high end model of sorts.”
“I’d believe it,” you mumble, scrolling through her pictures. “Ning Yizhou?”
“Yeah, and her friend Kim Minjeong, but apparently she goes by ‘Winter’,” V responds. “Strictly speaking she’s the client, the other is just here for ‘moral support’, but it would definitely be in our best interest if both left satisfied tonight.”
“If she’s interested, that’s fine,” you grab the doorknob. “She’s stunning anyway, it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Do your thing champ, we’ll be watching,” V winks before taking the tablet back and walking away.
You give your head a little shake, trying to ignore the last comment before taking in a deep breath. Even though it’s far from a new experience, you’re always a tad bit nervous meeting clients for the first time, never knowing what exactly to expect. You turn the knob slowly and enter the room.
Inside, the two girls immediately snap their heads toward you. Winter is sitting on the edge of the bed while the model girl is leaning against the wall in front of her.
“Nice to meet you,” you hold your hand out. “Ning Yizhou, correct?”
“Ningning,” she accepts your hand with a smile. “Or just Ning is fine.”
God, she’s even prettier than the pictures.
“And then you must be…” you turn your attention to the other girl who’s still seated nervously on the bed and offer her your hand.
“W-Winter,” she stammers, her grip on your hand far tighter than necessary.
You flash her a warm smile, sensing the overwhelming amount of nervousness coming from her, in hopes of calming her down. There’s no denying she’s incredibly cute, even if a little shaken up, and just the tiniest peek under her sweater was enough for you to see how adorably petite she is.
“Usually we start with a quick, warm shower,” you explain as she lets go of your hand. “It’s mostly for the water to calm your body, but it also helps us get a little more acquainted with each other.”
“Oh, alright,” Winter stands up.
“Admittedly, this is a bit new,” you turn to Ningning. “I’m not sure if you’d like to join us in there or…”
“You two go ahead, I’ll be here,” she smiles and takes a seat on the bed with her phone in hand.
She is distractingly gorgeous.
However, she’s not your priority at the moment. Luckily, Winter’s cuteness makes it a bit easier to stay on track. You walk her to the bathroom and close the door behind you.
“Wow,” Winter gasps. “It’s so big! You could shower a whole family in there.”
“Nothing but the best for our valued clients,” you gently place a hand on her hip and walk her forward. “You can leave your clothes here, I’ll get the water going.”
“Okay,” Winter nods.
Even though she’s not in your direct line of sight, you can’t help but notice she seems a bit hesitant. She very obviously waits for you to turn around and start messing with the shower before stripping down.
Part of the fun is the vast variety of girls who come see you. Most are very – some overly – confident in themselves. They’re pretty much all exclusively filthy rich, so it makes sense, but every now and then you find a truly down to earth and humble girl.
Is Winter one of them? Only time will tell. Your gut is giving you good vibes, though, just based on her mannerisms. Or maybe you’re just watching her through the rose-tinted glasses because she’s adorable, who knows.
“Do you like it really hot or just warm?” you ask as you remove your shirt. “I forgot the count, but I think there are like twelve shower heads in here. It’s pretty big so it doesn’t steam–” you pause abruptly when you see Winter standing there in her underwear. “Uh, is something wrong?”
“Huh? With what?” she looks confused as she steps up to the shower. “Hot is fine.”
“Oh, right,” you toss your shirt onto the counter and turn the temperature a bit higher. “Usually, you’d take everything off, but would you rather keep your underwear on?”
“Oh, really?” Winter blushes profusely. “I… I thought… umm…”
“It’s not a big deal,” you’re trying your best to avoid staring too hard – it’s not easy when her body looks so cute. “Would you like me to keep mine on until we’re back in the room, or…”
“No no, it’s fine,” she stammers. “You can take yours off. I’ll… also…”
She reaches up behind her back and unclips her bra, holding it up with her hands as the straps dangle down. You turn around to strip down as well, offering Winter a bit more privacy. After picking up your pants and tossing them aside with your shirt, you turn back to Winter and see her still standing there, bra on the floor, covering her chest with her hands.
“Don’t worry,” you crouch down and pick her bra up for her. “It’s completely normal to feel nervous, this is probably a bit out of your comfort zone and that’s totally alright. Let’s try making this as easy as possible, alright?” you smile at her, tossing her bra onto the counter. “It’s part of what we do here, we want all our clients to leave satisfied.”
After a second, she bites her lip and nods. Then, she lowers her hands, quickly turning her head aside and avoiding your eyes.
“Water should be hot,” you take only a quick glance at her bare chest before turning towards the shower.
Slowly, you slide your fingers into the waistband of your briefs and slide them down. In the corner of your eye, you can very clearly see Winter’s gaze fixed on your body, but you ignore it. You pick your underwear off the floor and toss it with the rest of your clothes before holding your hand out to help Winter step into the shower.
“You’re allowed to look,” you chuckle as Winter steps past you and under the water.
“Sorry–”
You step into the shower with her and place your hands on her hips. “Look, touch, anything you want,” you add warmly as the water runs down her soft skin. “Slow, fast, something in between, you get to decide how we do this.”
She lowers her gaze slightly.
“Or if you’d prefer,” you slide your hands up her sides and casually press her tits up. “I can also take the lead. What would you like, Winter?”
“I’m… not sure,” she mumbles, watching intently as you rub your hands all over her chest. “Anything, I guess…”
“Anything?” you press your thumbs to her nipples and draw little circles around them. “I’ll need more than that. Tell me what you like.”
“Umm.”
“Alright,” you smile and let go of her tits. “Let’s take a step back. Tell me how you feel right now.”
“How I feel?” Winter repeats. “Uh, nice, I guess? The water feels nice.”
“Good,” you reply encouragingly. “Not too hot?”
“No, it’s just right.”
“Perfect,” you step around her slowly until you’re right behind her, arms wrapped around her waist. “At any point tonight, if you want something, promise you’ll tell me?” you whisper into her ear.
“Okay,” Winter replies softly. “Should I take the rest off?”
“Might as well, there’s not much left,” you slide your thumbs down to her panties and hook them under the fabric.
As slowly as possible, with the water running down her body, you slide her panties down to her ankles, making sure to keep your palms flat against her legs the entire time. Once all the way down, you slowly stand back up, feeling deep into her thighs until your hands rest flat against her ass.
It’s small, perfectly in line with her adorable body, and it’s incredibly soft. Your fingers sink into her ass with almost no resistance. Carefully, you spread her cheeks apart and let go, letting them recoil back together, admiring the soft jiggle. You give her a little pat, not particularly hard, and wrap your arms around her waist again.
“Winter, you have such a lovely body,” you speak into her ear again.
“Thank you,” she takes a small step backwards.
Good, she’s getting comfortable, you think as she presses her soft ass against your body. Your cock twitches at the first contact, pressing slightly between her cheeks.
“Winter,” you decide to try a different, much riskier approach. You lean right up against her ear and whisper. “Do you want me to just skip the foreplay and get on with it? To fuck you? Right here? In the shower?”
Her breath hitches and her whole body freezes. You slip your cock between her legs, resting it against her pussy, squished between her thighs.
She still hasn’t replied, and you’re starting to worry that you pushed too fast. Right when you’re about to slide back, Winter presses her hands flat against the tiled wall in front of her and pushes her hips back against your cock.
“Yes,” she moans quietly, just loud enough to overcome the sound of water hitting tile.
Even though you just met the girl, that ‘yes’ is by far the most conviction she has put into a word.
You take hold of her hips and admire that alluring little arch of her back. Your tip peeks out between her cheeks for a moment before you press on the top of your cock and angle it down. As you’re fumbling around with one hand, you wrap the other around Winter’s chest and cup a breast.
Without even entering yet, just by prodding your tip against her pussy, you know for a fact that she’s going to be tight. You give her a moment as you spread her pussy slowly with your head, easing the tiniest of pumps into her. Once you feel her body warming up, you slip about an inch into her pussy.
She takes a deep breath in and you pause, holding steady. You let go of your cock and reach around her body, taking her other breast into your palm as well. Everything about her is so soft.
“You ready?” you ask, inching in a little more.
“Yeah,” she strains the word before dropping her head down and pushing her hands hard against the wall.
You give her nipples one last little pinch before letting go and sliding your hands to her back; You press down, bending her over a bit more, and ease your hands to her hips.
She’s so tiny in your hands, you can almost wrap your fingers all the way around her waist. And so tight. So unbelievably fucking tight. You’re fighting for every inch.
After a particularly deep push, Winter squeals out. The noise – still cute as fuck – echoes against the tiles, reverberating through the shower. You hold, waiting and observing, giving her a moment to adjust, but she doesn’t share the same patience. She’s pushing her ass back, so you take the opportunity to press in all the way.
She screams again, drawn out as can be, until the scream slowly fades into a moan, and then a quiet little ‘fuck’. Her pussy squeezes hard against your cock, making it difficult to move, but that’s obviously not going to stop you.
You tighten the grip you have on her hips. She senses it immediately and bends over deeper, basically a flat ninety degrees, and her hips press back against your body.
The new angle offers at least some level of ease; You actually feel like you can move now. You give her a couple of quick pumps, intently focused on her reaction.
She takes it well, her cute frame recoiling each time. You give her another couple of pumps, much harder now. She squeals, but still takes it, still pushing her hips back against you.
That’s all you need. You can clearly see Winter’s not the type of girl you ease into it. There’s no need to take it easy, so you’re not going to. You’re going to fuck her tight little pussy as hard as you can, because you know she can take it even if she’s too shy to ask for it. You’re letting her body do the talking, and you know exactly what she’s saying when she pushes her hips back.
You dig your fingers into her sides and start slamming your cock deep inside her. Water starts splashing off her body as you get into a steady rhythm, the claps echoing throughout the entire bathroom, and waves shooting through her soft ass with each thrust.
She’s screaming out, no more inhibition. She doesn’t care about how loud she is, nor should she. No, all she should do is enjoy it, enjoy taking your cock, each and every inch again and again.
The tight squeeze of her pussy feels so fucking unreal. It only gets better when she clamps her legs together, making that tight pussy even tighter, burning hot against your cock. Despite how unbelievably snug her body is against your cock, you have absolutely no problem stretching her out.
Her hands are sliding down the walls of the shower, screeching almost as loud as she is. You’re basically holding her up now by her hips. It’s no issue of course, the girl is tiny. Her tense little pussy is essentially a fleshlight for you at this point, perfectly molded for your cock.
A particularly loud scream leaves her lips and she dips her head down. You can feel her pussy start convulsing, throbbing against your cock. It’s like a massage, it feels fucking amazing, and it feels even better when you give her the last bit of energy you have.
You don’t slow down at all. You keep going, fucking her through her orgasm, fucking her through all the screams and moans. You fuck her as hard as possible until you feel your cock burning up.
There’s a slurry of warmth and pressure building up between your legs. You power through it, ignoring the wobble in your knees, holding on for just another minute.
Almost there.
You’re grunting, slamming your thighs as hard as physically possible into Winter’s ass. Your ears start ringing and your vision is blurring. You feel that last bit of strength leave your body as you enter a flow state.
Winter’s screams muffle, the water fades away, all you hear is the wet sound of your thighs slapping into her cute little butt. Thunderous, echoey, and so, so satisfying. Her pussy squeezes around your shaft one final time before you feel yourself erupt.
A sudden wave of energy flushes through your entire body, head to toe. You slow down drastically, each pump now is full of tenacity, stretching Winter’s tight little pussy to its limit.
You can feel your cum adding to the mess between Winter’s legs, spilling into her as deep as you can push. It’s beyond warm. Your cock keeps shooting, spurt after spurt, fighting through her pussy clamping down.
Slowly, the sound of the water splashing returns. Winter’s screams have been replaced by little whimpers, her legs are trembling, barely holding herself up. As your senses return, you ease the grip you have on her hips, red marks remain to mark your touch. Your cock slowly slips out, relishing in that final squeeze her pussy gives.
“Oh my fucking God,” Winter squeals, eyes shut, legs pressed together. She collapses to the floor onto her knees with one hand pressed against her pussy. “My body… it’s buzzing…”
“How’s the water? Want me to–”
“It’s fucking perfect, leave it,” she gasps, slowly tilting over and leaning against the side of the shower. “Oh fuck it feels so good.”
“Here,” you step in front of her and shield her body from the water for a second. “Open up,” you instruct, pointing your cock towards her face.
She opens her eyes – fully dilated – and immediately moves her lips to your cock. She slips your tip into her mouth and sucks as hard as she can, cheeks hollowed fully, desperate for every last drop of your cum. Drops of water are spilling off her entire body, completely ignored as she uses all her strength to suck your cock clean.
Then, as soon as you grab her hand and place it against the base of your cock, she starts stroking your shaft, squeezing out a few more little gushes. Your legs are wobbling, nearly slipping, and your cock is painfully sensitive to her touch, but you hold on and let her suck to her heart’s content.
You’re doing this for her, not for you, after all. You can’t fall, you must power through.
Only after Winter’s certain there’s no cum left to take, she releases your cock and falls lifelessly back against the tiles. She’s taking slow, deep breaths with her eyes shut tight. The shower is landing on her chest and stomach while her hand wanders between her legs, two fingers slip in.
“Ride it out, do whatever feels right,” you step out of the shower and reach for a towel. “It’ll last for a bit, enjoy the water. I’m leaving the door cracked, just call out if you need anything.”
“Mhmm,” it’s all she can muster now that she has a third finger up her pussy.
Normally you’d stay with her, guide her through the journey, it’s always one of the more unique aspects of the experience. Unfortunately, you have another piece of business to attend to. You quickly finish drying up and wrap the towel around your waist before heading back into the bedroom.
On the bed Ningning hasn’t moved an inch, she’s still laying there with her head against the backboard and phone in hand.
“Winter never makes that much noise.”
“Hmm?” you walk towards the bed and feel a sudden rush of shyness. Ningning’s gorgeous, cat-like eyes are scanning your body and she has you flexing every single muscle you have. You’re kinda wishing that you got dressed in more than just a towel.
“And cussing too? Is it supposed to be magic cum or a magic dick?”
“A little bit of this, a little bit of that, you know how it goes,” you shrug and take a seat at the foot of the bed.
She sits up and tosses her phone to the side. “No, actually, I don’t,” she replies casually but with a very subtle hint of seduction behind her words – at least, you think there’s one. “Winter’s the one who planned all of it, I’m just here to fund her little escape.”
“We don’t generally pry into our clients’ private lives–”
“We’re not a couple.”
“Oh,” your lips curl up. “I wasn’t trying to imply.”
“More like a sister, we’ve lived together for years.”
You wait for her to continue, hesitant to overstep. You’re struggling to get a proper read on her, all you’ve really picked up on is that she is obviously beyond rich. The very subtle hints in the way she holds herself, she has an aura of elegance and class that screams ‘I’m better than you’ without any of the distastefulness that usually comes with it.
“I’m–” Ningning starts before being abruptly interrupted by a loud moan from the bathroom. Both of you glance over at the door, and after a couple of seconds another, softer moan comes through. Ningning turns back towards you and laughs. “She’s really enjoying it.”
“I’m glad,” you chuckle while ignoring Ningning taking a quick glance down at your crotch. “It never stops feeling amazing, but that first time can be a lot to take in.”
“Definitely sounded like she was taking it,” Ningning laughs. “It’s so rare for Winter to bring a guy home, but I’ve never heard her get clapped like that.”
She glances at your crotch again and you feel another rush of warmth to your face. There’s just something beyond her sweet demeanor that has you feeling a certain way. You’re just waiting for her to bring it up at this point, but you’ve already convinced yourself that you’re going to be fucking this supermodel of a woman soon enough.
“It’s so refreshing,” she looks up at you again with a smile. “Winter has always been very timid, I was hoping this experience would loosen her up.”
Loosen her up. She’s doing it on purpose.
“I might just have to get her a few more sessions,” Ningning continues slowly, ignoring another moan from the bathroom.
“We’d be more than happy to accommodate, of course. Winter has been a pleasure to work with.”
“Has she? Part of why I’m even here is because I thought I’d have to get it out of you,” Ningning chuckles. “I’m not kidding when I say Winter’s shy, especially with guys, and I’m spending way too much money for her to waste the session.”
She came here ready to fuck you…? You’re surprised you even have the towel wrapped around you at this point, she’s not being subtle about it at all.
“It makes me wonder,” she flips her legs over the edge of the bed and scoots right next to you. “Is it really that special?”
“I’m just going to be super blunt for a moment,” you turn your body slightly towards hers. “I’m supposed to give it to Winter once, and then for the rest of the time it’s up to my discretion. Take it easy, redose, cuddle, I’ve even had one client who just wanted to hold my hand for an hour. We really do whatever the client wants, our goal is satisfaction.”
“Well,” Ningning places her hand on your thigh. “We still have plenty of time, what’s your discretion saying? How are you going to ‘satisfy’?”
“There’s no reason to beat around the bush,” you undo the towel and open it up. “You don’t even have to say it, I can see it in your eyes.”
She reaches for your already-stiff cock and gives it a few slow pumps. “I’ll say it anyway,” she leans in closer. “I want it.”
The corners of your lips immediately pull up. You reach your hand up to the back of Ningning’s head and guide her face down to your lap. She doesn’t waste another second before opening her mouth and wrapping it around your cock. You rest a hand on the back of her head and lay down flat on your back.
She begins bobbing slowly up and down your cock, using her tongue to coat your shaft evenly. Her hand is wrapped firmly around your base, steadying it as she slowly speeds up. The slow and steady pace doesn’t last long, within probably a minute or so she’s already working your cock like an expert.
There’s no doubt in your mind she’s done this more than a few times before. There’s almost no resistance, she’s taking your entire length with such ease. You peak your head up from the bed to take a look, and sure enough there’s no magic going on. She’s just bobbing her head, up and down, lips tight around your cock, effortlessly pressing all the way down to your base each time.
She tightens her lips, really pressing down on your cock now, and you let your head fall back into the mattress. Her mouth is getting sloppy, focused on speed and pressure while adding beautiful little variance to each bounce.
Sometimes taking it all, sometimes only halfway, whatever she’s doing though, it’s fucking working. She’s sending shivers through your spine. It feels amazing, her mouth feels amazing, but it’s not until she lets out the sloppy moans that you really feel yourself getting there.
Truthfully, you were hoping you’d get to fuck this one, but after feeling her mouth on your cock you’re more than content. She knows how to suck it, how to make it feel good, doing more than just the motions.
The sound of her working your cock is one thing, but the sound of her enjoying your cock is a whole different story. You know why she’s sucking you off, your pleasure really isn’t her priority, yet she’s tricking your brain into thinking it’s the only priority.
Who fucking cares if she’s using you. This supermodel of a woman, you’d let her use you, you don’t care. Even with eyes shut, you can see that gorgeous face, and you can imagine your cock stuffing that pretty little mouth of hers.
You’re already getting there. It really hasn’t been very long, but you can feel your cock pulsing. You feel it twitching. Pressure is building at the base, you’re so close.
A soft grunt escapes your lips and Ningning uses it like fuel, speeding up and tightening her lips again. She’s going full speed now, using her whole body to suck your cock. Each bob of her head now goes all the way down, her hand has also moved aside to rest on your thigh. Her lips are slamming into your crotch, and you can feel your cock hitting the back of her throat.
She’s gagging hard, sloppy and wet, echoing through your ears. She can feel it, she knows you’re close. She wants it. She needs it.
Then, suddenly, right when you feel yourself about to bust inside her mouth, you hear a soft little ‘Ning?’ come from the bathroom.
Ningning lifts her mouth off your cock with a frustrated little pop. She quickly wipes her lips with the back of her hand while sitting up and fixing her hair. You’re not sure exactly what’s going through her mind right now, but there’s an intense cock-hunger behind her beautiful eyes that wasn’t nearly as intense earlier.
“What is it, dear?” Ningning asks as she leans backwards on the bed, propping herself up with both hands behind her back as Winter enters the bedroom. “You forgot your clothes.”
You sit up as well and see Winter completely nude, water still dripping off her body.
“How much time do we have left?” Winter asks, completely unphased by her own nudity – so much for being timid.
“As long as you want, what do you need?” Ningning answers with a bit of breathiness to her voice. “You have time, right? We can extend?” she turns to you.
“Absolutely, and don’t worry about that,” you reply, chest heaving up and down and cock still throbbing. “We want to make sure you leave satisfied today, especially since it’s your first session.”
Winter walks over to the bed and drops to her knees in front of you. Her eyes are still fully dilated, the effect of CUM2A hasn't even begun to wear off. She looks up at you while fumbling for your throbbing cock.
“Am I allowed–”
“Yes, of course,” Ningning cuts her off.
Winter doesn’t seem to notice, or perhaps doesn’t seem to care, but you can tell Ningning is at least a little bit annoyed that she’s not getting a taste of her hard work. You reach your arm over and wrap it around Ningning’s waist as Winter takes your cock into her mouth.
“It’s fine,” Ningning reads your mind before you can say anything.
Honestly, all you can think about is how she looks hot as fuck when she’s angry. Not that she’s truly angry, at least you don’t think she is, but her sharp expression accentuates it and makes her sexier than ever. You find yourself leaning in towards her slowly.
She matches your move and tilts her head to the side, closing her eyes slowly as she pushes her mouth against yours.
You enter a state of bliss. All of a sudden, Winter’s mouth on your cock feels all the more sensational. How kissing another girl can have such an effect on the blowjob is not really understood, but it is. You end up leaning in deeper, bringing a hand behind Ningning’s head to pull her in, while your other palm lands flat on the top of Winter’s.
With eyes closed and Winter’s little slurps filling your ears, you swirl the tip of your tongue with Ningning’s. Everything ends up meshing together, blurring the lines of reality. You feel it coming quickly – mostly thanks to Ningning’s work earlier – but it still feels like it’s dragging on. You’re probably only kissing Ningning for about ten seconds before you feel your cock twitching inside Winter’s mouth.
It goes on for a few more seconds while Winter stays steady, throating your cock as deep as she can go. And those are the best few seconds ever. It’s fucking incredible, right on the edge. Your cock is absolutely primed to erupt, any second now. You break off the kiss with Ningning and shut your eyes tight, persevering through the last couple of seconds you have before pressing your hand down on Winter’s head.
She pulls back initially, struggling and gagging on your cock, but immediately her entire body calms down as that first gush shoots down her throat. You can feel her mouth relax and loosen up around your cock. She gets more comfortable as each gush of cum flows into her, and soon she has no problem with your entire cock resting in her mouth, spilling white warmth down her throat.
You let go on, appreciating each and every gush of heat shooting through your shaft. Slowly, you blink your eyes open to see Winter’s lips glued tightly against your tip, her eyes closed and face calm. Next to you, Ningning is watching intently as her friend swallows up all of your cum, and that cock-hunger in her eyes just moments ago seems to be replaced by curiosity.
As the final couple of spurts leave your body, Winter slowly lets your cock slip out of her mouth and rests the side of her face against your inner thigh. Her eyes are still closed as she nuzzles her cheek against your body, wrapping both arms around your leg and squeezing tightly. There are little moans that almost sound like a little purr, and her body’s vibrating against your skin.
You’re thoroughly drained at this point, but you see Ningning eyeing the tiniest bit of cum left on your cock.
“You’ll still feel it a little bit,” you whisper breathily, “go on, give it a try.”
Ningning stares at you for a second, contemplating, before nodding and bending over your lap. She sticks her tongue out and slides it up your cock. She gives it a few more licks, from base to tip, with her eyebrows furrowed. Then, she sits up straight and stares at you, and right when she opens her mouth to speak, she freezes.
Her eyes go wide and her open mouth slowly mends into a little smile.
“It’s that fast?” she mumbles.
“Well, something about the lipophilic nature–”
“Shut up,” Ningning giggles.
You smile at her and start running your fingers through Winter’s hair while she continues to snuggle with your leg. “Sorry, I know people don’t really care how it works,” you chuckle. “And that’s just a little taste, imagine what this one’s going through,” you pat Winter’s head.
“Winter!” Ningning pokes the little girl’s cheek. “How do you feel?”
“I love him,” Winter purrs with her eyes still closed. “I’ll suck his cock forever.”
Ningning rolls her eyes but she’s still smiling when she turns back to you.
“I guess we’ll be booking a follow-up for her,” she laughs and stands up. “I’m gonna go do that while you…” she broadly gestures towards Winter who has started kissing your thigh. “Yeah, you deal with this.”
“Sure,” you laugh and gently rub Winter’s head. “They’ll help you at the front desk. And also, book yourself an appointment too. I’ll have them prioritize it.”
“Definitely, thank you,” Ningning bends over and kisses your cheek. “Just send her out whenever she’s done, I’ll pay for whatever extra time it takes.”
—
“She was cute.”
“Seriously,” you put down your wineglass and roll your eyes at Karina. “I take you to the nicest steakhouse in the city and you’re bringing up clients?”
“What? We can’t talk about our day?” Karina scoffs, staring down at her plate. “Do you think I care that you fucked the cute girl or something?”
You don’t answer – it’s obviously a trick question.
“Because I don’t,” Karina continues, biting a piece of steak off her fork. “I just didn’t like how smiley you were after.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re upset because I was happy?”
“Yes,” she doesn’t even miss a beat.
“Karina my love, explain that to me.”
She takes her time to chew the next bite, staring up at you with her cheeks puffed out in the most adorable way imaginable, a stark contrast to the darker and more mature styling she chose for her makeup tonight. After a slow, exaggerated swallow, she opens her mouth to respond.
“Clients can make you happy, but you should be happier with me.”
“Sweetheart, you make me happier than anyone else.”
“Shut up, that sounds fake,” she takes another sip of wine and slams the glass down on the table.
“I don’t believe for a second that you’re mad at me,” you say calmly. “Care to tell me what’s actually on your mind?”
“We’ve been going over the possible Yuri replacements.”
“Ah–”
“Why do we even need more girls?” Karina interrupts, hitting her fist on the table. “Are Miyeon and I not enough to get your stupid cum out?”
“We’ve been over this, Miyeon can’t work full-time for us.”
“So what? I can just–”
“Like earlier today?” it’s your turn to interrupt. “Karina, I love you, but you’re better suited for your current position.”
“Fuck you,” she spits.
You roll your eyes with a smile and turn your attention back to your food. The two of you eat in silence for about ten seconds or so before Karina speaks up again.
“There’s one I like, she’s also into data analytic stuff.”
“Is that so?”
“She won’t be able to stop by for like another week, she’s out of town,” Karina continues. “Promise you’ll put in a good word for her?”
“What’s her name?” you ask as you take the last bite of steak. “And is she cute?”
“Why the fuck does it matter if she’s cute or not,” Karina slams her fork and knife down.
“You still haven’t told me her name.”
“Yeji,” Karina snaps at you. “And yes, she’s cute as hell.”
You reach over the table and steal a fry from Karina’s plate. “Did that really need to be so difficult?”
“Maybe I’ll just tell her to stay away.”
“Sure, if you want.”
“Why do you hate me?” Karina rests her chin on her hands and pouts at you.
“Are you done with that?”
She shoves her plate across the table and makes a very audible little ‘hmmph’.
“Karina,” you start cutting a piece of her steak. “Believe it or not, I don’t hate you.”
“Really? Do you love me?”
“Yes, I love you.”
“When you’re fucking cute clients, do you wish they’re me?”
“Uh–”
“Just shut the fuck up and say you love me more than our clients.”
“I obviously love you more than our clients.”
“See, did that really have to be so difficult?”
“With you, it always is,” you finish the last bite of steak and push the plate back towards Karina. “Alright, shall we?”
The two of you, mostly Karina, finish the rest of the wine together. It’s probably a mistake, but Karina’s usually pretty good with her alcohol so you just let it happen. It’s also not worth the effort arguing with her.
After that, you quietly pay the check and leave a very generous tip. It’s the least you can do considering they have a private room for you at a moment’s notice whenever you ask. While it’s generally not a problem to eat in public, it does carry some risk at a restaurant of this calibre, private rooms are just easier.
Your clients would have no problem affording it, and you prefer not to run into them in public. It’s the risk you run by taking Karina to the fanciest restaurants in the city. The girl has expensive tastes. Not that you really mind, money isn’t much of an issue at the moment.
Through the backdoor, you and Karina quietly exit into the parking garage where the valet is holding your keys. Karina, despite her moodiness at the table, has her arm around your waist. She’s a bit unsteady, most likely because of all the wine, and she’s holding onto you for support.
You sit her down and close her door before walking around, leaving the valet a tip, and taking a seat. Karina has already slumped over the center console and is taking heavy breaths.
“Are you alright? I did say you should slow down on the wine.”
“Yeah, but we both know I don’t listen to you enough.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” you shift into drive and place your hand on her back, patting gently. “Hold on sweetheart, it’ll just be a few minutes.”
You begin driving through the empty streets, taking a bit of extra caution to drive smoothly. Karina lifts herself up from the middle and slumps over towards her door. You glance over and it’s obvious she’s struggling.
“Would you be upset if I threw up in your car?” she mumbles.
“I’d prefer if you didn’t, but I’d probably get over it eventually,” you pull over to the side of the road and park. “Alright my love, let’s go for a walk.”
She groans softly as you get out of the car and carefully help her out as well. You wrap your arm around her waist and drape her arm around your neck, slowly walking her towards one of the benches in the nearby park. It’s completely empty and quiet outside of Karina’s breathing as you place her onto the bench.
“There’s a new girl tomorrow,” Karina mumbles quietly as you wrap your jacket around her shoulders. “I don’t like her.”
“And why’s that?” you ask as you bend down and loosen the straps of her heels.
“How am I going to get back to the car?” she frowns at you.
“I’ll carry you, it’s fine,” you slip the heels off and gently rub her feet. “The new girl? Why don’t you like her?”
Karina leans back against the bench and closes her eyes as you massage her feet. “She’s too pretty,” she sighs softly. “If you bring her onto the team, I don’t want you fucking her.”
“Jesus, is that really something you’re worried about?” you chuckle.
“We have two girls on the team right now and you regularly fuck both, three if you count Yuri,” Karina says with a slight slur to her voice.
“To be fair I don’t generally fuck Miyeon, she’s way more professional than you.”
“Whatever,” Karina scoffs. “I just… I don’t want you fucking this one in the office. Do it somewhere else.”
You lift her feet up and take a seat on the bench next to her, placing them in your lap and continuing the massage. “This is so strange coming from you.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Good, because I’m not,” she sits up a bit and looks into your eyes. “Is it really unfair of me to ask you not to fuck her near me?”
“Oh my… Karina I don’t even know who this girl is.”
She drops her head back down to the bench and looks up at the stars. “Her name’s Anna, and I know for a fact you’re going to hire her,” she sighs, taking in the lights above. “She’s literally perfect, and she fits your stupid cute criteria too.”
“I don’t have a cute criteria–”
“Shut up, yes you do.”
There’s really no point arguing it. You’d never admit it, but she kinda has a point, you like working with cute girls. It certainly helps when it comes to the unique job requirements.
“Anyway, don’t give her the office next to mine,” Karina sighs again.
“You don’t even know if I’m going to hire her yet.”
“Did you not hear me? I said she’s perfect. If you don’t hire her I’m going to slap your dick off.”
“Kinky.”
“Speaking of kinky,” Karina lifts herself up. “Wanna fuck in the park?”
“And have you throw up on me? Maybe tonight we just–”
“How fucking dare you?” Karina reaches forward and slaps you across the cheek – it’s not a hard slap at all, very light, but it echoes through the empty park. “You’re rejecting me?”
“You’re drunk.”
“And your cum helps with the hangover,” she presses her feet down into your lap against your crotch. “Also, I’m feeling a lot better, I promise.”
“Be honest with me for a second,” you lift her feet off your crotch. “Is there any world where you accept ‘no’ for an answer right now?”
Karina climbs over your lap and straddles it, holding your face in her hands.
“Of course, consent is important,” she smiles at you. “But you already said you’d fuck me tonight, so here we are.”
The problem is that it’s Karina, and Karina is really fucking hot.
“I hate you, you know that?” you reach down and start unbuckling your pants.
---
A/N:
Uh, so I'm totally a liar when I was asked about what I'm posting next. Regardless, here it is. This feels like a little bit of a filler chapter, not too much plot advancement, but it's supposed to help explain how the business kinda works and stuff. Also, obviously foreshadowing some upcoming chapters.
Question, next chapter is going to feature some stuff that I won't spoil, but do you guys want it to open up with a Karina sex in the park scene? The only reason I didn't include it here is because I kinda wanted to keep the attention on Winter for the most part without diluting the post with too much smut. Of course next chapter has to involve the promise OC made to the 2kim household as well as some other stuff, but I'm happy to include a Karina scene with it!
Anyway, love you guys, stay safe, enjoy the holidays. Expect more posts somewhat soonish maybe, I still have a few that are super close to being finished. Comment/DMs/asks always open as you guys should know by now. <3
tags : BWC, Creampie, Anal, Double Vagina, Double Anal, Squirting, Golden Shower, etc.
Karina and Winter sat in their agency’s meeting room as their manager shared exciting news. As Coca-Cola’s global brand ambassadors, they had received an exclusive invitation to watch the 2026 FIFA World Cup match between Czech Republic and South Korea from the VIP section.
Their manager explained the schedule for the day, including the red carpet appearance, media interviews, and promotional activities with Coca-Cola. Karina listened carefully while taking notes, and Winter expressed her excitement about experiencing the atmosphere of the World Cup for the first time as a brand representative.
“We need to show a bright and energetic image that matches both Coca-Cola and the spirit of football,” their manager said. The two members discussed ideas for their outfits, greetings to fans, and possible content they could share on social media during the event.
Karina mentioned that she was looking forward to seeing the passion of the football supporters, especially with South Korea competing on such a huge stage. Winter agreed and said that she hoped the Korean team would deliver a memorable performance in front of fans from all around the world.
After finishing the meeting, the two idols thanked their manager and left the room with smiles on their faces. The invitation was not only a chance to enjoy a world-class football match, but also an important moment for them to represent Coca-Cola at one of the biggest sporting events in the world.
At their residence, Karina and Winter were busy packing their clothes, accessories, and necessities for their upcoming trip to the 2026 FIFA World Cup. They laughed together while discussing their outfits, completely unaware that a serious conversation was taking place elsewhere.
Meanwhile, their manager received a private phone call from a high-ranking official of the Korean football association. The official claimed that the upcoming match against the Czech Republic was already expected to end with South Korea’s victory and mentioned that a special gesture would be expected afterward as a consolation for the Czech players.
The manager immediately felt uncomfortable with the request and questioned whether involving Karina and Winter in any unexpected arrangement was appropriate. He initially refused, explaining that his responsibility was to protect the artists and respect their professional boundaries.
However, the official continued to pressure him by offering a large amount of money and promising additional benefits for their agency. After a long moment of hesitation, the manager’s judgment began to waver, and he eventually accepted the secret agreement, deciding to keep the matter hidden from the two idols.
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There's something so cathartic about watching royalty fall from grace.
You and Winter had the pleasure of breaking in Her Majesty Wonyoung just last week—a wondrous memory you’ll probably treasure for some dramatic temporal hyperbole. It truly was a momentous event, though: this meticulously orchestrated seduction that felt like the pair of you were defiling some ancient place of worship. And though she was every bit the freak you suspected she was beneath the couture and the poise, even in her most wanton moments, Jang Wonyoung maintained at the very least some semblance of her regal air.
Which is what makes it so very gratifying that An Yujin has decidedly not:
“Yes! Please! Right fucking—Oh my God—Right fucking there, Minjeong.”
It’s just another lovely weekend for you and your girlfriend, your mutual sexcapade having bore some particularly luscious fruits this time around: An Yujin, the people’s princess, as you like to call her, coming completely and utterly undone in front of you. Winter has a pair of her fingers pistoning in and out of Yujin’s tight cunt—sweet, slick sounds erupting from the incessant union.
Coming into this, you’d expected a certain performative resistance—something akin to the brat act at the very least. An Yujin of all idols: this powerhouse of charisma and charm—you’d be hard pressed to find anyone who wouldn’t think she’d be a hard nut to crack. She owns every room, every camera flash, every breathless cheer from the head-over-heels fans. At least, that’s the public script—the one you studied. But here, it seems, in the private, sweat-slicked “comfort” of you and Winter, that script is ash. She’s pliant, desperate, a masterpiece of submission. And it’s Winter—your Winter, who blushes when you compliment her, who squeals your name in bed—who is orchestrating her ruin. She’s the one with the fire in her eyes, the bite to match the bark, fingers working till all Yujin sees are stars and all she can remember is this pleasure.
Seems she’s halfway there already.
“Don’t stop, please don’t fucking stop,” Yujin gasps, timbre a far-cry from the usual husk. “Feels—oh my God—feels too good, Minjeong, your fingers—fuck—” Her own fingers scramble at the sheets, twisting the fabric into similar ruin.
Winter never ceases her thrusting, but dips her head, pressing soft open-mouthed kisses to the quivering skin of Yujin’s inner thigh. She leaves a trail of them: constellations of devotion and possession along that smooth, toned expanse. Marks, that say mine, I did this, I conquered her.
It’s a damning sight, really, that you never let this dominant side of Winter out into your one-on-one sessions, because you’d be lying if you said the way she takes charge doesn’t turn the ever-loving fuck out of you. You’re simply enamoured with the way she treats her: not a single inch of that perfect pussy going untouched as her mouth moves to engulf that pretty clit. The reversal is dizzying. The shy girl is the general; the superstar is the yielding territory. It throws you so far off-balance you have to grip Yujin’s hip just to remember your own role in this.
You yourself aren’t exactly twiddling your thumbs, dick forever imprinting itself into the shape of Yujin’s asshole. You’re practically mesmerised—this time by the way she looks with your dick disappearing into her, the way she pursues that senseless endeavour to keep her moans in check, the way she—God—she really is just stupid pretty. And now, she’s got her head thrown against the bed, back and neck arching as your joint assault with Winter keeps her quite literally on her toes.
And if her body wasn’t making it clear just how good she was feeling, then her voice most certainly is:
“Fuck—fuck—fuck—fuck,” she repeats over and over and over again, eyes glued shut as she revels in the symphony of pleasure the pair of you have composed just for her.
“You make my ass feel so fucking full—,” she directs at you first, prompting you to fuck her just that little bit harder, “—Your fingers are so perfect for my pussy,” she continues for Winter who curls just that little bit tighter, “—You’re gonna make me cum,” she finishes for the both of you, and the statement becomes prophecy:
“You’re gonna make me cum so fucking hard.”
It takes you a bit by surprise, honestly, just how absolutely fucking filthy Yujin is. It’s not like she’s been spurred on by dirty talk from you or Winter, either—no demands for her to beg or “tell us how good you feel”. You wonder whether the fucking is just that good—a transcendent experience that shatters her normal vocabulary, or, like Wonyoung before her, An Yujin is just another sex-crazed freak hiding in plain site, waiting for the right combination of your dick and Winter’s mouth to bring out her true nature. You decide, with a surge of possessive pride, that it’s probably a wicked, perfect combination of both.
And seeing her so utterly lost in the feeling, so beautifully debauched, sparks a reciprocal need in you to affirm her. You lean forward, your voice competing with the sound of your own body meeting hers. "That's it, Yujin. Such a good girl for us. Taking us so well."
Minjeong pulls back for a breath, her chin glistening, and adds her own praise—tone softer, but no less intense. "You're so beautiful like this, Yujin. Perfect. Absolutely perfect." The praise seems to get to her, moans pitching ever higher.
You lock eyes with Winter over Yujin’s trembling body, a silent, wicked agreement passing between you. You both know the game.
"Better than Wonyoung," you say.
“Better than Anyone,” Winter adds.
It’s a lie, of course. A delicious, cruel, and utterly necessary lie. Wonyoung was a fucking revelation, a depraved masterpiece in the sheets. But you pour every ounce of conviction you have into the words.
“You’re the best girl we’ve ever had together,” you continue as Winter returns to her feast, worshiping Yujin’s body with a devotion that sells the fantasy. “Our perfect, perfect girl.”
It's a worship of her body, yes, but also of that sweet surrender, the curl of the toes, the ravaged screams of complete bliss. You’re deifying her debasement, and she’s accepting the crown you offer with a shuddering, whole-bodied keen.
And so maybe there is some truth to the lie, because somehow you feel her clench even tighter, moan even louder, show an impossible level of arousal in the way her whole body shakes as she narrates her own undoing:
“You two are so good—so fucking good—so fucking amazing with your mouth and your fingers and your dick and you’re—oh god—please make me cum, please make your good little girl cum please make me—”
She’s cut off by her own screams, you and Winter sending her above and beyond cloud nine as you continue to fuck her from here to the ends of the Earth.
That doesn't stop you from hitting a button on your phone, though.
“One minute, thirty-three seconds,” you announce all casual, your hips never ceasing their rocking.
Yujin’s too fucked out to hear you, of course, but Winter’s straight up ignoring you.
“Earth to Minjeong?” you call out, still pumping in and out of the convulsing Yujin.
“That’s fantastic, honey,” she idly replies, engrossed in the remnants of Yujin’s orgasm.
You roll your eyes—she always did have a thing for her.
“Relatively slow, anyway,” you muse to no one in particular as you pull out and join Minjeong on cleaning this filthy princess up.
*
A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed this little snippet double header. Next up is a long-form solo fic for Winter. Expect it on her birthday.🤍
