The mansion smelled like fresh plaster and luxury—the kind of clean that came from never being touched.
Yeji stepped through the threshold, her heels striking the marble like threats. She wore the brand’s autumn preview collection: a silk blazer fitted to her frame, a high-slit pencil skirt, and new-logo heels that clicked with every step. Beneath it all, lace clung to her skin—soft, sheer, commissioned lingerie for a private “comfort assessment.” She hadn't agreed to test it in front of anyone.
The campaign manager had promised a quick tour, a contract finalization, maybe a glass of champagne. She’d expected staff. Stylists. Photographers. Instead, she found one man in the center of the living room, framed by floor-to-ceiling windows and afternoon light.
Tall. Watchful. Wearing a black suit with a silk collar, no tie, and no urgency.
“Miss Yeji,” he said, voice smooth enough to slip into her skin. “You’re punctual. That’s rare.”
Her gaze swept the room. No team. No gear. No escape.
“This isn’t standard protocol,” she said slowly, fingers tightening on her clipboard.
He nodded to the velvet sofa. “It’s part of your brand agreement.”
She didn’t move. “I’ve read it.”
His smile sharpened. “Not page nine. Section C.”
Her breath hitched. That vague line. “Discretionary ambassador duties.”
“You’re wearing the product. You’re representing the brand,” he said, stepping closer. “Now we see if you fit the image.”
“I’m here for a photoshoot,” she snapped, voice brittle.
“Photos come after,” he said, eyes dipping to the hem of her skirt. “This is internal quality control.”
She backed up one step. “I’m not doing this.”
“If you walk,” he said, “we’ll call it breach of contract. The penalty will be public. Career-ending.”
The walls pressed in. She saw the headlines before he touched her.
“You don’t scare me.”
“You should be scared,” he murmured—and caught her wrist.
She yanked back. “Don’t touch me.”
But he did.
She slapped him, and he caught her again. This time, he didn’t let go.
He pulled her forward, spun her toward the couch, forced her down. The clipboard hit the floor with a slap.
“You’re not making me,” she whispered, legs kicking.
“You’re proving loyalty,” he said, his weight pinning her hips. “That’s what ambassadors do.”
She twisted, her voice breaking. “You don’t get to use me like this.”
“I own the campaign. I choose the message.”
He peeled the blazer from her shoulders. The lace underneath glinted in the sunlight.
“No,” she hissed, tears starting.
“Yes,” he said, cold. “You said yes when you signed.”
She struggled harder, but her skirt was already sliding up. Lace torn. Thighs bared.
“Stop—”
He kissed her throat, bit down.
“Say it louder,” he taunted.
“Stop!” she gasped.
“Still not loud enough.”
Her body bucked, instinct firing wild, but he absorbed it like stone—unshaken, unmoved. His hand pressed between her shoulder blades, not with violence but with purpose. Measured. Exact. The velvet beneath her muffled her protest, swallowed her breath, until even her fear made no sound.
"Fight all you want," he said near her ear, voice a thread of silk drawn tight. "No one's listening."
She thrashed again, but his grip didn’t shift. He didn’t restrain her harshly—he didn’t need to. Every movement he made was deliberate, choreographed like he’d done this before. Knew how resistance wore itself out.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. “I didn’t come for this.”
“You came,” he said, fingers brushing her lapel, “wearing lace the brand paid for.”
He reached up slowly, methodically, and undid the first clasp of her blouse. One. Then two.
“You dressed the part,” he murmured. “Now perform.”
She flinched as he spread the fabric, exposing her bra—brand-stamped, sheer, meant for cameras not skin. His fingers brushed over the swell of her breast, not gentle, not rough—just certain. Like claiming a product. Like inventory.
“You feel it?” he asked quietly. “The contract in action?”
She clenched her jaw. Her body didn’t answer, but her skin did—burning under his touch, betraying what her voice wouldn’t allow.
He found her nipple beneath the lace, caught it between two fingers, rolled once.
She gasped—sharp, unwilling—and he smiled against her hair.
“There it is,” he said. “Honest branding.”
“Please,” she sobbed, voice cracking. “Don’t—”
But he was already in her.
She cried out, stiffening. Her hips jerked, fought, failed. The couch creaked beneath them. His grip never wavered.
“You’re just product now,” he said.
She turned her head, tears smudging her cheek. “Don’t cum in me,” she choked.
He stilled. Looked down at her. His breath ragged.
“Say it again,” he whispered.
“Don’t. Please.”
His hand slid around her throat—not squeezing, not yet—just enough pressure to make her still. Not a gesture of lust, but of ownership. A quiet, practiced dominance.
“Don’t mistake this for rage,” he said, voice low. “Rage is noisy. This is precision.”
Yeji froze beneath him, her body locked between velvet and command. Her breath hitched, shallow against his palm.
“You signed,” he reminded her. “You walked in. You knew what wasn’t written.”
He moved again, slow but firm—like someone finishing what was already decided. Her spine arched involuntarily, every inch of her responding in betrayal, in defeat.
Her hands twitched, unsure whether to push or plead.
“You’re not in control here,” he whispered. “Not now. Maybe not ever.”
The chandelier light caught her reflection in the window—eyes wide, mouth parted, body held still by the weight of something she couldn’t undo.
“No,” she cried.
“Yes.”
He groaned as he came, deep inside her, holding her hips down so she couldn’t pull away.
She sobbed into the cushion, body trembling, ruined lace clinging to her skin.
He pulled out slowly. Adjusted his shirt. Smoothed her skirt like nothing happened.
“Photoshoot’s at ten,” he said, stepping away. “Smile like you’ve been satisfied.”
Yeji didn’t respond.
She lay silent, mascara streaking down her cheek, the mansion echoing around her.
Can you please do g!p yeji and she’s really into breeding her cute femme gf after she sent pictures of herself in a cute little dress which was yejis fav and yeji was still in the car driving home from work you keep teasing her till…
my weakness...
»» now playing ♪ 'bout to get up on that ass right now
It started with a mirror selfie, just your thighs in that soft pink-colored dress Yeji bought for you months ago. Tight on your waist. Short. Just a little ruffled. Her favorite.
Then you followed it with a video. Biting your lip. Twirling in it. Sitting back on the bed and spreading your legs just a little.
By the time she was halfway home, stuck in traffic and gripping the wheel until her knuckles turned white, Yeji’s cock was painfully hard under her pants.
You:
Babyy, remember this cute dress you bought for me? I’m not wearing anything underneath... I want your cum inside me.
Her jaw clenched. Her foot hit the gas—impatient to be at home as fast as she can, swore to herself that she will fuck you right. You were done.
Then the door slammed. She didn’t even announce herself, just dropped her keys and stormed into the bedroom.
There you were.
Perched on the edge of the bed like you had no clue Yeji was so fucking needy because of you, soft thighs pressed together, that sweet dress looking wonders. A playful smile on your lips like you didn’t just edge her through a 20-minute drive.
“Stand up,” Yeji ordered, voice low, rough.
You rose slowly, batting your lashes. “You like it? I wore it just for—”
Her hand grabbed the back of your neck and shoved you onto the bed, your front hitting the sheets with a gasp. “You think you can tease me all day and not get bred full like the slut you are?” she growled against your ear, already hiking your dress up around your waist.
“No panties, huh?” Her fingers slid between your folds, already slick. “Of course not. My needy woman just begging to be knocked up.”
You whimpered, pressing your hips back. “Yeji, please—”
Her cock was out. Heavy, throbbing, flushed tip already leaking. She didn’t wait. Not tonight. Not when you’d been acting like this. She spat on her cock once, lined it up with your dripping hole and slammed in with one brutal thrust that knocked the air from your lungs.
“Yeji!”
“I'm gonna fuck you good, baby...”
Her hips snapped into you, relentlessly. The sound of skin slapping filled the room, her cock bottoming out over and over until you were a moaning mess, gripping the sheets like they’d save you.
“Look at you,” she groaned, watching the way your ass bounced with every thrust. “So tight, fuck, squeezing me like you want me to cum inside.”
“I do,” you cried out, voice high and desperate. “I want it, Yeji, please fuck me...”
“Oh yeah?” Her hand grabbed your hair, yanking your head back as she pounded you harder. “Want me to fill this little cunt up? Huh? Want to walk around leaking my cum for days?” your knees were wobbling, carrying your weight as Yeji fuck into you over and over again.
“Yes, yes! Please, Yeji, make me yours...”
That did it. She shoved you flat, holding your hips down as her thrusts turned sloppy. Then with a deep, guttural groan, she buried herself fully and came inside you—hot, thick sticky cum that made you clench around her, gasping at the stretch, the heat, the way it filledyou.
Yeji didn’t pull out. She stayed there, cock twitching inside your spent pussy, panting against your back. Then she whispered into your ear:
“Keep the dress on. I’m not done.”
Yeji’s breath was still ragged against your back, her cock twitching inside you, buried to the hilt. Her cum was stuffed deep but not deep enough. Not when you were clenching like you wanted to be filled again.
She pulled out slowly, watching a thick string of white drip from your needy hole. You whimpered and your body arched.
“Flip over,” she murmured, voice low and raw with hunger.
You obeyed on shaky limbs, body trembling, dress bunched at your waist, cunt sticky with slick and cum. You looked up at her—flushed, ruined, needy and Yeji smiled like she was innocent.
“Look at you,” she whispered, crawling on top of you. Her cock dragged over your thigh, glossy with your wetness and her cum. “You were made for this.”
Yeji leaned down, pressing her lips to yours—soft, slow, almost loving. Her fingers cupped your face while her cock rubbed against your folds, teasing that overstimulated little clit. Her tip bumping against your hole. She kissed you again, deeper this time, tongue sliding into your mouth while her tip bumped your clit, again.
You gasped, hips jerking. “Yeji…”
She smiled against your lips. “You feel so good, baby.”
Her kisses trailed down to your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. Every inch of skin she kissed, her hips pressed in tighter, her cockhead dragging through the mess between your legs.
“You feel that?” she whispered against your neck. “That’s me. That’s how good I'll make us feel.”
You could feel it, her thickness nudging your hole, smearing her cum back against your folds. Yeji was teasing you on purpose. Letting your body beg without words and then, she shoved back in.
You cried out, nails digging into her back as she bottomed out again, hot and deep and pulsing. Her hips rolled slow this time, deliberate, grinding her cock right into your sweet spot.
“Mmhm, there we go,” she moaned. “That’s my girl.”
Her lips returned to your neck, sucking marks into your skin while she rocked into you again and again. Not fast. Not yet. Just deep, thick strokes that made your toes curl and your back arch.
“You wanna be filled again?” she whispered, dragging her tongue over your throat. “Do you want to be mine, baby?”
You nodded desperately, sobbing into her shoulder. “Please, Yeji... please, I need it, I want you so much.”
“Yeah?” Her hand slid under your thigh, hiking it higher to fuck into you deeper. “Then take it.”
And she did. She gave you everything—every drop, every inch, every kiss that tasted like obsession. And when she came again, it was with your name on her lips and your cunt stretched tight around her cock, just like how she liked it.
Because in that little dress, all pretty and perfect just for her, you were hers to ruin.
