the serum (bimbo, baby!)
day one.
BIMBO SERUM. temporarily transform into the dumbest, sluttiest, horniest version of yourself—results guaranteed every time!
PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS! heavy dom/sub dynamics, tag teaming (top!atz), gangbang, unprotected sex, cnc, consensual drugging, aphrodisiacs, mean doms!ateez. drugged up bimbo reader. disgusting, nasty, probably unethical, but fully consensual. this chapter: above warnings plus rough unprotected vaginal, anal and oral sex. heavy subspace. titles (master & sir) dehumanisation, objectification, bimbofication, infantilisation. extremely degrading and dehumanising language. pussy, ass & face slaps. mentions of pregnancy. one moment of reader saying she can’t take any more and being dismissed, but this is all in line with the scene. she has a safeword and they are monitoring her for any indication that she isn’t managing. none of this is scientifically accurate and this serum does not exist, but just to be safe: DONT DO THIS. this would not be safe irl, and is only okay in fiction. in reality, someone under the influence of substances cannot meaningfully consent.
you have been appropriately warned of the content ahead. your triggers are your responsibility. i am not responsible for the content you consume. i am not your babysitter and hate is blocked and deleted.
words: 10.4k
“Are you serious?”
The disbelief in Hongjoong’s voice isn’t surprising—nor, really, are the astounded expressions on the others’ faces. You expected that. You’d have been a little worried if they hadn’t reacted like that.
Still though, the abounding silence, thick and uncertain, is a bit hard to reckon with. For a moment it makes you anxious—perhaps, you think for a second, you’ve finally pushed too far; finally come to them with something they don’t know how to hold or what to do with.
It lasts all of a moment before you remember.
They want this as much as you do. You can tell. You picked up on the signals a long time ago.
When they’d pound into you with your wrists pinned to the bed and your eyes wide and glassy with submission, and they’d coo down at you, telling you how stupid you are as though it’s the highest praise they can think of. When they’d get you on the edge of orgasm after hours of teasing, and ask you a basic question they know you’re too fucked out to answer just to see you try and fail. When you whimper out that soft, sweet “I don’t know” and they cum faster and harder than they have in weeks.
You know they like you dumb. You know they want you dumber.
You admit, though, this is more than that.
Much more.
You nod, shifting your weight awkwardly between your feet. Trying to seem confident and failing exponentially. “I’m very serious.”
Yunho holds the vial up to his eyes again, turning it in his hands like the words on the label haven’t quite sunk in yet. He doesn’t look particularly eager, but he also doesn’t look…categorically opposed, either. That’s all you’d really hoped for right now, with such an outlandish proposition. His brows furrow, concerned. “Is this safe?”
“Of course,” you say quickly. “It’s totally legit. FDA approved and stuff.”
“Why didn’t I know this was a thing?”
You can’t help but giggle slightly; a smile flickers on his face at the sound. “I mean,” you mumble, “it’s not like there’d be billboards, is it? It’s specialist stuff. You have to really want to find it.”
”Right.” He hums, looking a little less confused than before; the others seem to relax ever so slightly, too, but their eyes still move between the vial and you like they’re still trying to reckon with it; with the fact that you, once so shy and sweet and shaking with nerves when they first met you, could even want, let alone press for this.
You can’t quite believe it, either.
“How long does it last?” Seonghwa’s voice is soft, still a little concerned but you recognise the slight lilt to it that always gives him away—something between interest and excitement and outright arousal.
They may not admit it now, but you all know, really, that if they truly were opposed to this the conversation would have been over a long time ago. Certainly before you went through the entire process of procuring it.
No, they want it, you know they do. But you also know just how much enjoyment they get out of watching you beg. Making you work for it.
“It should last a week,” you say. “But it can be shorter or longer the first time you take it. Depends on how your body adjusts to it.”
“And if it goes wrong?” He presses. “If you react poorly to it or we need you back?”
“There’s an antidote.”
“Where?”
“The box it all came in, in my room. There’s a video, too, on how to use it safely, but they ran a lot of tests on me and there shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Still,” Hongjoong says, finally speaking up again. “You never know.”
“Hence the antidote.”
Yunho presses the vial carefully back into your hand, gently folding your fingers closed around it to make sure it’s secure before pulling away. The small, fleeting touch is as electrifying as it always was. “We’ll need to talk about it more,” he says softly. “Go put this back in the box then bring it all back down here, alright? We’ll have a look at it.”
You swore you wouldn’t get your hopes up, but the familiar tinge to his voice—ordering, not asking—makes excitement pulse instinctively. And the fact that he clearly, as he always does, knows exactly what he’s doing and what it does to you, his words and tone and demeanour all by design, has you verging on desperate.
God, you hope they say yes. And soon.
You run to your room as ordered, retrieving the box and bringing it back downstairs. You hand it carefully to Hongjoong, who places it gently down on the coffee table before turning to you with an expectant look on his face. “Well,” he cocks an eyebrow, “run along, then.”
You hover for a moment, unsure; you hadn’t expected to be sent out. You open your mouth to speak when you’re cut off.
“What are you waiting for?” Wooyoung's voice comes sharp. “You were told to leave. So leave.”
“I—”
“You weren’t asked to talk, either,” he says, cutting you off again. “Are you sure you need this serum? Seems like you’re dumb enough already.”
You see a couple of them bite back a laugh. You hold back a moan. “Take it easy, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong says mildly, but the stern look he sends to the younger man is barely so. Transparently fake. He turns his attention back to you, face all softness now. “Go on, sweetheart. This is no conversation for little girls like you. Go play and we’ll fetch you when we want you, yeah?”
You can’t help but clench a little, thighs tightening against each other. God, the way he talks to you—firm and sweet and condescending—could melt you into a puddle right here on the floor. You’re certain your entire face and chest is flushed, burning as you mumble your assent and scurry out of the room.
You sit down at the table, fiddling with the leaflet in your hand; folding down the corners, over and over again to pass the time. The bold, bright pink letters make your stomach twist in excitement already with the promise of what might—you pray—await you next.
Bimbo Serum. Temporarily transform into the dumbest, sluttiest, horniest version of yourself—results guaranteed every time!
“You need to sign this.”
Jongho slides the sheet of paper across the table towards you. Your eyes filter down the page, slow and sure, as silence abounds.
It’s… thorough. Careful, certainly. Reassuring. You don’t know when they drew it up; half an hour after you were sent away they summoned you back to tell you they were in, and now, a few minutes later, here you are.
That’s just what they do, though, really—what they’ve always done with you. They take care of everything before you even know there’s anything to be done. It’s why you’re so comfortable with the idea of switching your brain off entirely with them—in a much smaller way, you already do.
A contract, the title reads, between them and you. “To ensure everything goes smoothly,” Hongjoong adds when you read it aloud. He watches your face carefully; studies it. Searching for the smallest twinge of doubt. He finds none. “The video you gave us recommends it. Give it a read, yeah?”
The words on the page are hot and heavy even read silently, but you force them out from around the lump forming in your throat. You can do this; you want to show them you can do this.
You can’t quite force any kind of confidence into your voice, though.
“Until such time as the serum wears off or the antidote is administered, the submissive entrusts herself to the care and authority of the dominants. The submissive agrees to cede all control, body and mind, to the dominants; in return, the dominants agree to care for and control the submissive responsibly, and accept any and all liability for anything that may occur during this period.”
“Standard stuff,” Jongho says. “Safety things.”
You nod, swallowing, already dizzy. The words turn warmer and fuzzier in your tummy the further on you read. “The submissive accepts that, during the period the serum is in effect, she will have little control or understanding of what is happening to her. She will not be able to make her own choices. She entrusts the dominants to make the right choices for her; in return the dominants agree to keep her health, safety and happiness in mind when making those choices.
“During the period the serum is in effect, the submissive’s sole duty is the pleasure of the dominants. The dominants are under no obligation to provide her pleasure in return.
“The submissive will accept everything the dominants give her. The dominants will never give her more than they know she can handle. If the submissive says her safeword at any point, the antidote will be administered without delay.”
“Well?” San pipes up after a moment. “Do you agree?”
You nod. The tension in your throat is so thick it catches the words as you try to voice them like flies helpless in a cobweb. Mingi curls his hand around yours from where he’s seated next to you. “Breathe,” he murmurs. “It’s just us.”
“Yeah,” you nod. “I— I agree. This sounds good.”
“And your safeword?” Hongjoong prompts. “What is it?”
“Lipton.” The corners of your mouth twitch, a small, nervous smile. It was Seonghwa’s idea—the drink you’d been carrying in your hands the day you met them for the first time. The one you’d nervously sipped at while they spoke; the one he’d barely been able to take his eyes off of as you wrapped your lips around the top.
“Good,” Hongjoong says. Already you see the usual Hongjoong—concerned, almost worrying, a little tense but still calm and collected—fade out and give way to the side he shows only with you.
Scheming. Sadistic. Predatory.
Authoritative, but in a deeper, sicker way than he is with the others.
Fear and arousal crawls under your skin in tandem, a living thing in the bottom of your stomach.
“How do you want to take it?” Jongho asks. “The serum.”
“In a drink,” you reply. “Water ideally. A glass.”
Seonghwa takes the box over to the counter, carefully pulling out the vial and stirring it into the clear water then walking back over to you. He places it down in front of you; the sound of it landing gently on the table makes you jump, already on edge. You don’t miss the way his lips quirk.
“Drink up,” Seonghwa says. A quiet, gentle order. Softness melting away little by little like snow in the sun.
You swallow your nerves and pick up the glass. The liquid is pink now; of course it is, you suppose, isn’t the the colour of bimbos? You hold it up to your lips with a shaking hand—before you can take the first sip Yunho has snatched it from your grip. “You’re shaking,” he says, answering the question you’d no time to ask. “And you want to take it fast. Let me do it for you. Head back.”
With his other hand he cups the back of your head, helping you tilt it back. It collides gently with something large; a soft but solid presence behind you. You recognise the cold steel of Mingi’s rings where his hands reach to cup your chin. Holding you in place for Yunho to put you under.
“Mouth open,” Yunho orders. You part your lips and let him raise the glass to them. The first drop of water comes cold and sweet; raspberry, it tastes like. “Drink.”
He doesn’t go too fast, doesn’t overwhelm you with it but he’s firm, unrelenting. Mingi holds you in place while you swallow it little by little. “That’s it,” he rasps. “That’s a good little girl. Under you go, baby.”
The others watch in silence, unmoving. Hongjoong’s eyes are blazing. Wooyoung curls his hands into fists against the table as your body grows more and more pliant in Mingi’s arms.
“Good,” Yunho encourages. You’re almost finished now and already the effects start to creep in. “Finish it, doll, all of it. Get nice and dumb for us. Stupid and ready for cock, yeah?”
The last drop goes down easier than the first, like your throat’s accustomed to it now—opened up to it. Is that an effect? You don’t know. There was a long list of them, of course—but aside from the list of risks and side effects the doctor has insisted you take heed of, you wanted to keep the specifics as a surprise.
“Let’s go to the living room,” Wooyoung suggests. “We’ll want her comfortable for when she starts going under.”
”Good idea,” Hongjoong says. Yunho and Mingi help you up from your seat, steadying you on your feet when you falter and walking you through before you really know what’s happening. Their grip on you is so firm that you think you could stop walking right now, legs giving out, and you’d still keep moving between them. They walk with you into the living room then step back, silent, watching the way you try to keep yourself steady.
The others get settled, chatting amongst themselves while you stand there aimlessly. You already feel a little dazed; a little lost without their guiding hands. Hongjoong fixes you with an expression that’s half curious, half expectant. “Well?”
“It should start to work soon,” you say softly. “But I’m not sure how long.”
“We’re patient,” Yeosang smiles. “Come here, pet.”
You shuffle towards where he’s sat on the couch and let him pull you into his lap with a small squeak of surprise. His arms wrap around you, his hold firm but gentle; familiar, his hands rubbing small patterns across your skin like he often does. “There we go,” he mumbles. “Relax, angel.”
A few of the others gather around where Yeosang sits cradling you against his chest. Their expressions are gentle, but you see the excitement in their eyes; the tension held tight in their chests like they’re trying to hold themselves back.
They must see the slight confusion on your face, though; must see you wondering why Yeosang seems to be almost trying to soothe you to sleep, because they smile with brief amusement. “The video says you’ll slip easier if you’re comfortable,” Yunho, standing in front of you, explains gently. He reaches down to cup your cheek, smiling when you nuzzle into the touch. “We need you nice and relaxed so you can turn off that brain for us. Get you in your rightful place, hm? Nice and dumb the way you’re supposed to be.”
“She’ll look so pretty with her eyes empty,” Mingi hums. “Nothing on her mind except cock. I can’t wait.”
They’ve always been good at this—talking to you, breaking and wearing you down with their words. Just the low, gentle hum of their voices and the assurance and authority of their words is enough to turn your brain to mush and your limbs to jelly on an ordinary day; pliant and vulnerable and putty in their hands.
Today, though, it’ll be even deeper. You wait expectantly for the fog—or so the leaflet described it—to arrive; for the warmth and fuzziness to creep through your body until you’re enveloped and caught in it like thick smog.
It starts in your tummy. They notice it before you do—your eyes drooping. Breathing slowing down. Body relaxing into Yeosang’s hold just a little bit more. The distant look in your eyes like you’re a hundred worlds away.
“There she goes,” San coos. He's next to Yunho, you realise. You hadn’t noticed his presence at all. “How you feeling, angel?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to gather your thoughts but they scatter like mice every time you reach for them. Your words are choked, forced out through the thickening fog.
Fuck, it works fast.
“I…I feel…”
Floaty, you want to say. But the words are gone, vanished into thick, hot air. You wrap Yeosang’s shirt around your fists and cling to him like he’s your last lifeline.
“Oh baby,” San smiles. You feel his grip on your chin, soft but firm, tilting your head up to look at him. “Can’t even talk now, hm? Just so small and stupid, aren’t you?”
“No point trying to get her to respond now, San.” Jongho is sat some distance away, watching the scene unfold with well-disguised interest. His voice is mild; eager, clearly, but still unbothered. It’s absolutely delicious. “She’s too stupid to understand anything we say. Just a pair of holes at this point.”
“Three holes, actually,” Seonghwa says. “Baby slut’s gonna want her asshole used too, I’m sure.”
“Of course she will.” San nods appreciatively, his gaze running up and down your body like he’s drinking you in; he grabs one of your tits and pinches at the nipple with enough pressure to make you gasp. “Pretty little holes, aren’t they? All she’s good for. Empty headed little bimbo, she barely even knows who’s touching her.”
He flicks at your forehead as if to prove his point, like he’s expecting to hear the echo of a hollow, emptied out head. It hurts, stings, but all you can do is push your lips out in a soft, pathetic little pout.
“I like her much better like this,” Mingi laughs. “Dumb and docile. Fuck, can I use her first?”
“Not sure it matters,” San says, shrugging a little. “She’ll be stuffed full and leaking soon enough, but yeah, sure Min. I get her asshole first though. Hasn’t been used in a while. I wanna break it in.”
You just watch, silently, as they discuss you and your undoing like you’re not even there. It’s not a conversation you could join in on now if you wanted to.
You hear them, of course; you even understand what they’re saying, but something is different. Distant. Clouded. Like it doesn’t quite reach you on the level it did before.
Fuck, you love this feeling.
Yeosang pushes two fingers past your lips and you accept them without thought, suckling at them like you’ve been starved for it. Drool spills from your mouth and onto your lap but you neither notice nor care.
He does, though. Sees the thoughts slipping from you as easily as if they were never yours to begin with. “That’s it,” he croons. “You go nice and little for me while your masters decide what to do with you.”
Master. It’s not a foreign term to you—Yunho’s known to favour it sometimes, especially when he’s in one of his moods, and though he’d never admit it it always pushes Hongjoong to his orgasm just a little faster.
But now it’s all of them, and so casually.
There’s no pause or focus or fanfare around it; no more attention to it than any other word. It’s just a fact now; a simple one: they’re your masters, with absolute authority and responsibility.
It feels warmer and safer and more thrilling the further you sink into it; you push it out, a whimpered “master” that sits like sugar on your tongue and Yeosang groans. You feel him twitching just slightly against your ass.
“That’s right,” he praises, pressing his lips against your ear. “That’s my name, sweetheart. Our name. You remember that, yeah?”
You nod. “Yeah, master.”
“Good girl.“
Then there’s another hand on you, wrapping around your thigh and squeezing the bare, tender flesh. You try to turn your head to whoever’s just sat down next to you but it just lolls down against your shoulder—too dumb to hold your own weight. Arousal and helplessness twists in your gut in tandem and you hear Yeosang chuckle, lifting your chin carefully in his hands and tilting your head towards the newcomer.
Seonghwa looks beautiful. You forget that sometimes, just how radiant he is; but now with your mind blank and susceptible and unable to process anything but that which is immediately in front of you, it’s all you can see.
He cups your cheeks, held firm between strong, soft hands, and all you can feel or think about is the safety of his touch. Your awareness is still slipping, pushed further and further, the drug still reaching its full power, but that’s the one thing you know for certain, unwaveringly.
Seonghwa is safe. They all are. Even if it takes you a moment to recognise the faces as they appear in front of you, you know they’re safe through instinct alone.
The fact that that safety so often involves breaking you, pulling you apart at the seams and remaking you as they want you, only makes it more real.
“Sweet thing,” Seonghwa murmurs. “You gone nice and stupid for your masters?”
You moan. “Master…”
His lips curl, a small, leering smile. “That’s it,” he coos. “Our good girl, finally understanding what her purpose is. Took you long enough, didn’t it?”
You whimper, feeling strangely chided; you’re not sure what you’ve done to earn his ire, but that’s the tone—sweetly condescending but with a sternness and a danger that drips from every word—that he uses when you’ve fucked up and are about to be punished.
Yeosang clicks his tongue, but not at you. “Hwa, don’t scare her. She’s so little now, she doesn’t understand you’re just teasing.” He pats your head gently; he seems to delight in the way your expression stays unchanging like you haven’t even noticed. “Hwa was just joking, sweetheart,” he tells you. “He’s not mad at you for taking so long to accept you’re stupid, baby. It’s perfectly normal not to want this; to keep trying to use your brain ‘cause you can’t accept you were never meant to. But you’re so good for finally figuring it out, honey. So clever, baby.”
You start to whine after a moment, though you’re not sure why exactly; there’s a discomfort, an unsettled feeling brewing in your stomach now that you don’t understand. All you know is you want it to stop. You want your masters to fix it. “Hwa,” you sob. “Master.” You clutch your stomach with shaking hands and he presses his own hand atop them, comforting.
“Oh baby,” Seonghwa coos. “Does your tummy hurt, sweetheart?”
You blink, processing. Was it that obvious? “Y-yeah…” You hiccup.
His expression softens further. His eyes do the opposite. He takes his hand away to push two fingers into your mouth and lets you suckle at them like a newborn kitten; your body relaxes a little, though not much. A temporary soother. “That’s it,” he hums. “Feel better?”
A little, you think. But not nearly enough. The pain’s gone from biting to throbbing but it’s still there, still hurting. Your eyes are welling up and you shift uncomfortably in Yeosang’s lap; you feel him hardening beneath you but you’re too unsettled and…and off to process it or what it means. Seonghwa pulls you off of him and into his lap, cradling you against his chest and bouncing you on his knee. “It must be so painful,” he says, all sympathy. “Do you know what it is?”
A beat of silence. You stare up at him and suckle at his fingers even more desperately, as if you’re hoping it’ll somehow ease your pain further. He chuckles. “No, of course you don’t,” he says. “That was a silly question, wasn’t it? Little baby doesn’t know anything anymore. It’s emptiness, baby. That feeling in your tummy. Bimbos get it sometimes, when they haven’t been filled in a while. You need a dick in your cunt to make it go away.”
“Emptiness,” you echo. “Why?”
“Why?” He repeats. His lips stretch briefly into a small smile. “Because you’re a slut, baby. A stupid slut. You can’t live without dick anymore. When you don’t have it your body starts shutting down.”
Shutting down? No. Nonono. You don’t want that. You don’t want to die. You need— you need…
There’s low laughter from above you; you tilt your head upwards and see Yunho staring down at you with a gaze that feels predatory. “Look at her trying to use her brain,” he grins. “Trying to come up with a thought. She still doesn’t realise she’s too stupid to do that now. Trying so hard, aren’t you?”
“Hard,” you repeat.
“You’ll feel better when you stop, you know,” Yeosang says gently. “When you give up.”
“She won’t have a choice soon,” Seonghwa smiles. “C’mon, precious. Don’t fight it. You wanted this, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Then let it do its job, honey. You’re doing well.”
He’s still talking, you think, but not to you; you listen to the sound of his voice without processing the words and let it pull you down deeper.
Then it’s silent. You think.
Seonghwa adjusts you so you’re lying on your back and staring directly up at him. He pinches your cheek—soft, gentle, then a little harder. You do nothing.
He pokes your nose with the tip of his finger. Nothing.
Waves his hand back and forth, then snaps his fingers. Nothing.
He smiles. Anticipating. “Okay,” he says. “She’s gone.”
“Let’s put her to use, then,” Yeosang says.
Seonghwa stands, keeping you cradled against his chest, and turns to the others. They’ve edged closer too; like they’re closing in and preparing to strike. “How do we want her?”
“Put her on her knees,” Hongjoong decides. “I want her looking up at us. Wanna see the emptiness in her eyes.”
The noise Yunho makes is guttural. Fuck. You knew he’d be the absolute worst for this. “Let me do it,” he grunts. Your head lolls back when you’re pulled from Seonghwa’s arms but Yunho catches and holds it. He puts you down carefully; you slump a little when he first lets go and he tugs your hair, pulling you up straight.
“No,” he growls. “You hold your weight. Just like this. Keep your head up; I taught you your posture.”
“Easy,” Seonghwa says—he’s laughing, though. “She’s just a bimbo, Yunho, stop expecting so much from her.”
“The serum doesn’t affect her physically,” Yunho argues. He snaps his fingers in front of your eyes just as Seonghwa had done; the response he gets is the same. A slow, soft blink like you haven’t even noticed it. “She knows how to walk and sit and stand, she just doesn’t know that’s what she needs to do. She needs to be told. She’ll keel over in a slump if no one tells her not to. Won’t you?”
He’s looking at you again now. You blink, slowly, then nod. Yunho smiles, gripping your jaw in his hand and tilting it forwards a little, crouching down to meet your eyes. “Hi, bimbo.” His expression is soft; his words purred like praises. “Ready to serve me?”
You grunt, soft. More of a whimper. “Please.”
“Please what?”
“Don’t make her guess,” Jongho snorts. He’s closer now, sounds closer, but you don’t see him. Wait— where even is everyone? You can’t ascertain who’s who and where they are and what they’re doing. All you see is what’s right there in front of you—Yunho, waiting for an answer you don’t have for a question you barely understood.
You expect the slap. You expect the second one too. “Yes master,” Yunho says firmly. “Say it. Show me you know your place.”
“Yes master,” you repeat.
He grins, then hits you again. “That’s my girl. We’re gonna fuck your throat now, you understand? You’re gonna take us all the way in there. Say yes master.”
You nod, blinking. “Yes master.”
“Good. Open your mouth. Wider.” He nods once he’s satisfied; once your mouth is so far open it’s straining your jaw. “Tongue out,” he orders. “Good. Keep it like that. Don’t move it.”
He keeps you there like that for a while—how long exactly you don’t know. Your jaw aches quickly, not intolerable but certainly not comfortable; you feel the saliva gathering on your tongue then dripping out and onto your thighs.
“That’s it,” Yunho smiles. “Drool. That’s how we want to see you. Keep going.”
You don’t really have a choice; still the way his eyes gleam as your thighs get messier and messier makes you fuzzy with pride. Fuck, you didn’t know it was even possible to drool this much. You register, faintly, the others watching you, making comments to each other you can’t hear or understand. “More,” Yunho says. “Make a mess of yourself. Nasty girl.”
“This is how you really want to be,” Yeosang’s voice comes from somewhere behind you, “underneath all the pretending, this is who you are. Dumb and drooling. You weren’t meant for any more than this.”
There’s a hand on the back of your neck, firm but careful, skin soft on yours. “Yeosang,” you murmur.
“Yeah, sweetheart,” he coos. ”You ready to have your mouth fucked? Want master to hold you still?”
“Please.”
He braces two hands around the front of your neck, set under your jaw and holding your head firmly in place. You blink, once, twice, and when you open your eyes again Yunho is sliding his dick past your lips.
He’s already hard; already leaking; Yeosang moves one hand to grip your hair and pulls your head backwards enough for you to look Yunho directly in the eyes.
Yunho is very, very good at playing it cool; at keeping the unbothered, unimpressed demeanour and hiding how affected he truly is.
But over your time with him, with them, you’ve learned to see past the facade. You’ve learned to spot the small signs of pleasure in his face and body and voice; in the way he holds you, talks to you; the way the vein in his neck bulges, Adam's apple pulsing; the way his jaw clenches and his eyes flash when pleasure courses through him.
You’ve learned to find it and use it to guide you to where you want him—to the taste of thick, hot cum dripping down your throat.
He doesn’t ease you into it—he goes straight to the back of your throat like he really doesn’t see you as human at all. Just a fleshlight or a pocket pussy, primed for his pleasure and nothing more. Maybe he’s right to, now at least; with the way Yeosang holds you so firmly in place you have no choice but to take Yunho in his entirety. You gag and splutter and choke around his length every time he hits the back of your throat and none of them acknowledge it at all.
Your vision is blurry, tears welling, then you feel your eyes rolling back like you’ve lost the strength to hold them yourself. You hear Yeosang coo, murmuring something to the others that seems to make them laugh but you can’t quite work out what it is. You just close your eyes and focus on keeping your mouth open; jaw loose so you can take Yunho with minimal pain.
Not that that seems to be among their concerns.
You don’t have to do much—or any—work, with Yunho fucking your throat and Yeosang holding your head in place to stop it lolling back or trying to get away. You just have to take it. You’ve gotten very, very good at that.
The familiar taste—hot, salty, thick—comes sooner than you expect it; you hear distantly the sound of Yunho cracking; a strangled, staggered moan, his thrusts getting faster and more aggressive, Yeosang’s grip tightening to hold you firmer against the force of it—then the taste. The reward. Yunho keeps his dick in your mouth, all the way, your face pressed up against his crotch. “Take it all,” he grits out. “Swallow my fucking cum. Don’t you waste a drop.”
“She knows,” Yeosang says coolly.
“I doubt it crossed her mind not to,” Wooyoung, you think, adds from somewhere further. “She’s programmed for it.”
He’s right. You hadn’t even thought to do anything but swallow.
When Yunho pulls out, groaning, you feel cum dripping out of your mouth and down your chin; feel it sitting on your swollen wet lips. Yunho tuts, gathering the cum on your chin with one finger and pushing it back into your mouth.
“I said don’t waste a drop,” he says. “C’mon, stupid. Swallow it, there we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
You nod, dazedly, grunting a little. Yunho pats your cheek. “Good girl.”
There’s hands on you now, more than before, and you feel yourself moving; legs in the air, body turned over, then your face is pressed into the floor and your legs are spread apart. Someone is rubbing up and down the backs of your thighs and a warm, soft palm is cupping your pussy. Oh… that… that feels good. You want more.
You whine, squirming, chasing the slight pressure on your cunt; the hand winds back without a word and lands there in a sharp, scolding smack.
“Bad girl,” Yeosang chides. His finger pushes into your hole, just a little, then pulls back and smacks you again. You whine, crying out, and he clicks his tongue. “So dramatic,” he coos. “Come on, you can handle a few smacks. Don’t act like you’re new to this.”
You nod, grunting, and he hits you again. “Okay, sweetheart,” he croons. “Mingi’s gonna fuck you first. You’ll be good for him, won’t you?”
“Yes’ir,” you mumble, words slurring.
You feel it pressing against your hole; the familiar sensation of Mingi’s hard, heavy cock pushing inside. It’s throbbing, twitching; you can picture the leaking, angry tip pushing past your wet, sticky folds. You squirm, chasing it, trying to push back into it but their hands on you are firm and solid and all you can really do is take it.
“Shit, she’s wet,” Mingi groans, his voice strangled a little. He coos, leaning over you, lips brushing against your skin. “You’re all slippery, baby. Sucking me in so prettily.”
He starts slow. A long, drawn-out thrust, pushing right to your g-spot and staying there. One, two, three, four seconds, each one stretching further and further, then he eases up. Every thrust is harder than the last, building slowly, until his resolve and control seems to crack slightly and he starts rutting into you, fast and sharp and sloppy, like he’s been starved for it.
Your mouth is hanging open, drool dripping past your lips, tongue hanging out of the side like you’ve forgotten what to do with it, forgotten it’s even there. Maybe you have—the only thing you’re even close to conscious of right now is Mingi. His hands, his thrusts, his hips colliding with yours, the sounds of his groans. Mingi fucks you fully and completely, and every thrust feels like a piece of yourself dripping away into his control.
“Shit,” someone hisses. “Look at how she takes it.”
“Is she cumming tonight?” Someone asks.
“Not yet,” comes a reply. “Later, maybe, if she’s good. Bimbos have to earn it; it’s not a right.”
You whine, trying to push your hips backward; Mingi’s hand comes down on the back of your thigh, sharp and stinging, then squeezes the sensitive flesh hard enough to make you sob.
“Look at them,” Mingi grunts. He grabs your hair and yanks it backwards, forcing your head up. “Show them how pretty you are with your cunt full.”
“Mingi,” you mewl. His grip is iron, straining your neck and stinging your scalp, but you’re powerless against it; against him. “Ngh…”
“That’s right,” he coos. “So dumb, aren’t you? Can’t think of anything but dick. Clench around me, don’t you dare let go, you hear?”
You nod, fervent, and he makes a noise of approval, soothing the patch of skin where he’d slapped you.
“I’m going to cum in you,” he says, tone empty. “All the way inside. S’gonna fill up your womb. Wet and messy, just how you like it, yeah?”
“Yes sir,” you squeal. You close your eyes, forcing deep, steady breaths as you await what’s coming.
It comes like a wave—crashing, intense, a warm feeling in your tummy that leaks out of you where you’ve no more room to take it. You feel it dripping out from around his cock, unable to stop it; when he pulls out, grunting something you can’t quite decipher but sounds like praise, a rush of it pours out. He slaps your hole, hard and heavy, making you squeal.
“Dirty,” he says simply. “Good job.”
You feel yourself slumping, legs sliding backwards like they can’t hold up your weight anymore. It’s a slow fall, gradual, but you can’t stop it. It doesn’t really dawn on you to try.
“Hold her up,” someone says. You think it’s San. “She can’t hold her own weight now, hold her up.”
Then there’s hands on you, strong and steady, lifting you up and back into the position you’d been in before; face down, ass up, legs spread. Your entire body feels numb, but at the same time you’ve never been more sensitive; hyper-aware of their touches on your skin and the feeling of your cunt, stuffed full and leaking cum that’s sticking to your thighs.
A warm hand presses against your cunt, another wrapping around your waist. The touch is distant but electric, making you whine, squirming a little. “Shush, baby,” San soothes. “You’re okay. It’s just us. Gonna take such good care of you.”
“San,” you whisper. Fuck—you feel so empty. It hurts.
“I know,” he says. “You liked that? Liked Mingi using your tiny cunt?”
You nod fervently. “Yeah, Sannie.”
“Good girl. I’m gonna fuck your ass now. Gonna take it for me?”
“Take it,” you repeat. You blink, slowly, struggling to find the words—any words. “Gonna take it, master.”
He sounds pleased. “Yes you are.”
There’s a squelching sound, then cold, wet fingers are circling your rim. “Relax,” San murmurs. “You were built for this. Just let it happen.”
His fingers slide past your rim and inside as easily as if you really were made for it. He makes a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and pushes deeper. “That’s it,” he says. “Look at how loose you are. So ready for it, so easy, good girl.”
There’s softness against your face now, softer than the floor at least; Seonghwa is holding you, you realise, his arms wrapped around you keeping you still and your head cradled in his lap. He smiles down at you, patting your hair. “Good girl,” he says. “So brave. Sannie won’t take long.”
“Gonna hurt?” You ask.
“Not too much,” he answers. “Nothing you can’t take.”
“M’kay. You hum, satisfied, nuzzling your face into his lap. He laughs.
San pushes in slowly, at least, though you get the sense that’s more for your preservation than for your benefit. No use playing with something broken, after all.
It’s not the first time you’ve let them in your ass, but it always feels that way. They’re just big, and your hole is so small and unaccustomed to it that they essentially have to hold you down to prevent your body from fighting back on instinct. But it always feels good, they make it feel so good, and there’s something inherently demeaning about it to you that oddly gets you off.
Even as a punishment, it still makes you hot.
Like that time when you’d been getting a little too big for your britches, when you’d started talking back and challenging them and trying to take more than they were giving you, more than you’d earned, so they’d sentenced you to a week of anal only in an attempt to put you back in your place. The emptiness in your cunt had been painful then, not even allowed to be touched—Yunho took to taping over it when he fucked you just to rub salt in the wound—but the feeling of being stretched and stuffed in a hole you’d never had even an inclination to explore yourself, and having your pussy completely ignored in the process, was thrilling enough to make it bearable.
Still not a punishment you’re particularly eager to repeat, though.
There’s voices, soft and sweet and cooing, talking you through it as San bottoms out; hands in your hair and on your skin soothing the painful stretch that even gallons of lube couldn’t completely white out. You’re chewing on something, you realise; Seonghwa’s pants, you think, where your face is held securely in his lap. He doesn’t mind, though—your oral fixation, that need to have something in your mouth, is something they’re well aware of. Something they themselves nurtured and cultivated and encouraged.
For a while, you were fairly certain they were trying to convince you you’d die without their cocks in your mouth. You’re ashamed to say that it very nearly worked.
“This tight little asshole.” San’s voice is rough, low; you can tell he’s gritting his teeth, jaw clenched, and it makes you rather proud, knowing you’re affecting him in this way. You love pleasing them—being good and tight and warm around their cocks.
San starts sliding in and out, not quite slowly, but slow enough that you have a little room to adjust to it. Seonghwa is talking to you; you hear his voice, low and close and comforting, but you don’t know what he’s saying. You don’t think you need to; he sounds kind, he sounds safe and he sounds warm, and that’s enough to make everything else easier.
After a while, when your hole has adjusted to him and the stretch is less overwhelming, you manage to take in your surroundings a little more. Not clearly, but more; Seonghwa holding you in his lap, cradling your head, fingers pushing in and out of your mouth lazily. His dick, hard and pulsing, pressed against the side of your face through the fabric of his pants.
The others gathered around. Mingi, already hard again, stroking himself to the sight of you. Yunho filming, phone in hand.
You smile for the camera. He grins.
“How does it feel?” Seonghwa asks. “Is Sannie fucking you good, baby?”
Right as he speaks San pulls out almost all the way, only to force himself back in again, hard and sharp and sudden; you scream, almost blacking out, the pain and the pleasure too much to take. Seonghwa’s pants feel wet now, probably covered in your tears and snot and drool, but he doesn’t care. He never has—this isn’t the first time you’ve soaked through their clothes. Drool, cum, even your piss on occasion—sometimes you think they’re trying to force you to make as much of a mess as possible. You definitely think it gets them off faster when you do.
“God, look at her face.” Wooyoung’s voice comes like a moan, or a whine—loud, a little shaky, like his composure is breaking. “All blissed out. And loving it, loving getting passed around like a little hooker.”
“She basically is one,” Jongho says. “Or a sugar baby or something. We take care of everything for her, give her everything she wants, pay for everything—she just has to look pretty and bend over.”
“I guess she is one, then. Geez, how dirty.”
“She’s dirty,” Yunho says. “But she’s ours. We like her like that.”
“We do,” Wooyoung agrees. He sounds thrilled—exhilarated just from seeing and talking about you like this. “Dirty but ours, I like that.”
“She takes it so fucking good,” San grunts. He lands a solid smack on the back of your thigh, then another—you barely even register it. He groans. “Like a fuck machine, with her head empty like this. Wish we could keep her like this forever.”
“I’m going in her mouth,” Jongho says suddenly. “Can I go in her mouth?”
“Of course,” Hongjoong says. “Wooyoung, film her from the front. I want to remember all of this.”
You’re adjusted again, head lifted, placed down on something; then something big and hard and warm is pushing past your lips. There’s a mumble—you catch the words that trick with her mouth and saw it in the video—then something pokes at the top of your jaw, a finger you think, and your mouth falls open by itself. All the way. And stays there.
Another effect, it seems like.
“There we go,” Seonghwa coos. “God, what a great little serum this is. Really primes you for a fucking. Keep your mouth open like that, we’ll close it when you’re done.”
You don’t feel like you have a choice. You honestly don’t know if you’d even know how to close it properly.
Jongho’s hands fist into your hair, gripping tight as he starts to thrust. He’s big, thick, and accommodating him is always a struggle—tonight, though, it feels a little easier. A little more natural. As he forces himself to the back of your throat, holding you there until you start to splutter, you feel like this is what you were meant to be.
Is that an effect of the serum, too?
Jongho rarely cums in your mouth. He much prefers to do it on your face or your chest; to see you defiled, to see you messy and covered in his cum, your skin sullied with it, smearing with the sweat and drool that’s tricked down to your chest.
Tonight he does the same; he goes for your chest this time, pulling you up by the hair to get a good aim before thick ropes of cum start to land between your tits. You push your chest out, eager for more, eager to catch it all, and he grins.
“Nasty,” he says. “And all mine.”
“How much more can she take?” Hongjoong asks. “She seems lucid still.”
“She does,” Wooyoung says, and he doesn’t sound pleased. “San, fuck her harder. We need her dumber than this.”
San grunts, obliging; his hand presses down on your mouth, pulling your head back and muffling sounds you barely register making. He’s leaning over you now, it seems like; his lips graze over your ears, nipping and catching the skin on his teeth. “Take it,” he grunts. “No noise. No thinking. No struggling. Just go limp and take it.”
You nod; he rewards you with two fingers slipping into your mouth and pushing down on your tongue. You suck at them frantically, overwhelmed, and he makes a noise of satisfaction. “Just like that,” he encourages. “I’m gonna cum in your ass, bimbo, and you’re gonna hold it there. You’re gonna clench your hole til we can get you plugged up. Yes?”
“Yes’ir,” you slur. “G’na hold it.”
He hums, then his fingers leave your mouth and your head is being pressed against the floor, held in place by a pressure on your head you can’t identify, and you’re completely trapped, completely immobile as San fucks you towards his orgasm. You can always tell when it’s coming; he starts whining a little, his grunts and moans going higher as he chases pleasure. His thrusts do the opposite—they get harder, faster, more brutal, less restrained strength and more uncontrolled lust on a level that feels primal.
He cums with a shout, like a roar or a battle cry from the bottom of his chest, rasping and breaking as he fucks you through it.
And then it’s over.
There’s hands on your cheeks, spreading them apart; San’s dick is a solid presence in your hole until he starts to pull away, sliding out slowly and steadily like he’s easing you into (or out of, in this case) it. “Hold it,” he murmurs. “Clench.”
You do. You only have to for a second or so; then there’s something else, something cold and wet and metal pressing in, and you recognise it as your favourite stainless steel buttplug. You hope it’s the one with the jewel on the end; the pink sparkly one that always makes you feel dolled up. You love it so much you sometimes forgo panties or even clothes altogether when you’re wearing it, just to show it off to them as much as possible.
“Pink?” You ask as it settles into place. A warm hand rests on your cheek and someone laughs, knowing exactly what you’re asking.
“Yes, baby,” Yunho says. “Your favourite pink plug. You look like such a little princess.”
You smile; a weak, dazed, dumb smile, your eyes half shut, and someone laughs. Maybe more than one.
“How do you feel?” Seonghwa asks. “Tired? Need a break?”
“No,” you reply, suspiciously quickly. “No, sir. Need… keep going.”
“Feeling empty again, aren’t you?” He smiles. “The plug’s not doing it for you? Need a cock to keep you calm?”
“Please.”
“Is she still wet?”
Your hips are lifted up, aching pussy lips spread apart, warm fingers running through your folds, then a noise of confirmation. “Dripping.”
“Turn her over,” Seonghwa says. “She’s been in this position for long enough. We’ll put her on her back.”
It’s Wooyoung who was behind you, you find out when you’re turned over; he looms above you now with spark and intention in his eyes. He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, and his nostrils flare.
All but taking a bite out of you.
“I’ll tell you something,” he smiles. “I never thought the sight of Jongho’s cum could make me so turned on.”
“Jesus,” Jongho laughs. “Shut up and fuck her, man.”
Wooyoung huffs, rolling his eyes, lips puffed out in an exaggerated pout. “Fine,” he says, drawing it out a little.
Your legs are lifted up and wrapped around his waist, interlocked against his back. Your hips are pulled upwards by the position so they’re just about level with his crotch. “Keep your legs here,” he instructs. “Say yes master.”
“Yes, master,” you echo, obediently. He locks one hand under you, holding your weight by the waist, and spits on the other. Then again. And again—rubbing it up and down his shaft each time until it’s wet and slippery.
You’re still wet too, you can feel it—though maybe that’s cum dripping out of you, to be fair—but still you feel relieved.
Wooyoung tends to bottom out quickly; he’s not the type to go slow, not the type that really can once he’s finally sunk himself into you. You’re just too warm, too soft, too tight; he needs all of him inside as soon as he gets a taste of it.
His other arm wraps around your waist, too, holding you up the same way, taking the pressure off you to hold your position as he starts to fuck you.
It means the only thing you have to think or care or be aware of is what you’re feeling now—his bruising grip on your skin, his cock buried in your sensitive cunt and slamming against your g-spot like he has something to prove.
“Smile, baby,” he says; it takes a moment for the words to register. “You’re still being filmed, pretty girl. Gave the camera to Jongho. Say hi.”
You don’t know where to look—or how to look, at this point; you whine helplessly, desperately, and someone laughs then gently grabs your head and tilts it to the right.
Sure enough, there he is—pointing the phone directly at you. You stare at it, blinking slowly; your body moves and jerks violently with every thrust, and you feel your tits bouncing up and down with the movements.
Jongho is staring at them, blatantly. You smile.
“Baby,” Wooyoung says, a little firmer now. “I told you to say hi to the camera. Wave, or something. Stop being stupid.”
Oh, yeah. “Hi,” you squeak out.
“There we go.” Jongho’s eyes flicker upwards to meet yours, then return to the phone screen, monitoring the video. “Sweet little pornstar. She can lift her legs higher, Wooyoung.”
You can; you’ve worked on it with them. Wooyoung grabs your legs where they’re wrapped around his waist and lifts them higher until they’re slung over his shoulders and hardly any of your body is on the ground except for your head.
It’s like you're floating—but it’s anything but gentle.
And he gets so much deeper like this
“H-hurts,” you whine. “A-ah, Woo, it hurts.”
“Does it?” He asks lightly. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself, though.”
“She loves it,” San says. “Don’t listen to her, Wooyoung, she doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’s just babbling ‘cause she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Just look at how wet she is; making a mess all over the place. That doesn’t come from anything but pleasure.”
Wooyoung groans. “You’re right. And she’s fucking clinging to me, too. Tightens every time I hit the spot. You’re not slick, bunny.”
You never really have been—not with them, at least. They’ve always had a talent for that; their ability to read you, to understand and unravel you even when you’d rather they didn’t, was one of the things that drew you to them.
You’re not certain how much time passes like that; you, spread out, folded almost in half and entirely helpless; Wooyoung’s fingers digging into your waist as he pushes in and out while the others spit praises and dirt and filth at you. You lose track of what they’re saying or doing; all you can do is take and feel and float on the feeling.
You’ve never felt less in control of yourself. You’ve also never felt less of a need to be.
Everything about this—the helplessness, the loss of control, the care, the weightlessness of having nothing on your shoulders—feels like what you were meant to be.
“She’s still going deeper,” someone hisses. “Fuck, how is she still going deeper into it?”
“That’s it.” Seonghwa’s voice is close enough and gentle enough in that distinctly Seonghwa way for you to distinguish. “Keep slipping. Sink into it baby, good girl. So dumb, aren’t you?”
“Dumb,” you repeat. “H—Hwa, I—”
“I know,” he hushes you. “You’re making Wooyoung feel so good, baby. Taking it like such a little champ.”
“So good,” Wooyoung grunts. “Fuck, I love you.”
Even after taking Mingi, the stretch of Wooyoung’s dick inside your cunt burns and stings only just short of painfully. His grip on you hurts as well, fingers digging into fragile tender skin without care, but there’s too many things happening to your body right now to focus too much on any in particular.
“Hold on.” Seonghwa’s palm presses against your cheek, then two fingers push past your lips and into your mouth. You suck at them, instantly and instinctively, and he coos. “There we go,” he hums. “Something to suckle on.”
“She needs something in her mouth, huh?” Someone says, laughing lowly.
“She needs it even when she’s not drugged up,” Seonghwa replies. “But this… look at her, sucking away at it. She looks so innocent you almost forget she’s being fucked open right now.”
“I’m about to cum,” Wooyoung says suddenly, voice straining.
“Then cum,” Seonghwa responds. His tone is light, and his eyes don’t stray from you, watching the way you suck at his fingers whilst Wooyoung starts to speed up again. You whine loudly at the new sensations, not really understanding them, and Seonghwa runs his other hand across your hair tenderly. “Almost there,” he murmurs. “Wooyoung’s gonna fill you up, keep you nice and warm. Maybe he’ll give you a baby, too. Would you like that, honey?”
You nod, moaning at the thought of it; of being full and swollen with their seed, of being knocked up, of carrying their child. Fuck, you want that so fucking badly. Seonghwa grins; there’s a dry laugh from somewhere too far for you to really comprehend, but it sounds like Yunho. You think. “Seonghwa, don’t say these things while she’s drugged up. She doesn’t know what she’s agreeing to.”
“She’s fine,” Seonghwa dismisses him. “We have her on birth control anyway. It’s just talk, isn’t it, sweet girl?”
You nod again, and Seonghwa smiles, seeming satisfied. Just as he does, Wooyoung shouts, sharp and strangled, and heat spreads in your lower tummy. You squeeze your eyes shut, mouth falling open around Seonghwa’s fingers, riding it out as Wooyoung fucks you through his orgasm. There’s low voices talking you through it, but you don’t know what they’re saying. You don’t care. Everything feels static, your legs locked around Wooyoung’s shoulders, the pleasure that’s been slowly building in your tummy while you were too cock-dumb to comprehend it finally breaking through the haze and making itself known. Fuck, your entire body feels electric, buzzing; you whine, a strangled sound, just as Wooyoung starts to pull out.
He does it slowly. Dragging it out like he’s torturing you on purpose. By the time he’s pulled out completely, a rush of fluid spilling out of you after him, you’re sobbing around Seonghwa’s fingers. Lips press against your forehead, kissing your flushed, sweat-soaked skin, and you cry weakly against it.
“Hwa,” you whimper.
“I’m here,” he hums. “Oh darling, were you feeling good? Did you finally remember you can cum too?”
“Yeah,” you wail. “Hwa.”
“I know,” he croons. “Oh, you poor little thing. Woo was so mean, pulling out just as you were on the edge, wasn’t he?”
“Tummy hurts,” you sniffle. “Need to…”
“You’ll be okay. I’m sure someone will help you.”
“Empty,” you say dazedly. Everything is blurry, fuzzy, out of focus. “Hwa.”
You’re lifted then, strong arms picking you up from where you’re spread out and defined in a heap and planting you gently down on Seonghwa’s lap. He takes his fingers out of your mouth and uses them to rub lazily at your pussy, gathering the mess between your folds, then pushes them back into your mouth again. It tastes salty, creamy; a little bitter. You lick it up like you’re fucking starving.
“She could live off this,” someone says. “Look at her, she loves the taste.”
By the time Seonghwa’s fingers are finally clean, nothing more for you to lick up no matter how hard you try, your eyelids are heavy, heavier by the second. Only then do you finally notice how exhausted you really are; how it’s seeped into your bones and sunken into your skin like a parasite you can’t rid yourself of.
Your pussy is still throbbing, though. Wetness still slides down your thighs. Your mouth still tries to pull Seonghwa’s fingers in deeper so you can choke on them against the back of your throat.
“Confusing, huh?” Seonghwa hums. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s just your special medicine doing its job. It makes sure you’re always ready to be fucked; keeps you loose and wet and begging for it, stops you from tightening up again. That’s the last thing we’d want. You’re alright.”
Oh. That explains it; why the stretch when they slid in, while still noticeable, was easier and less painful than usual; why it’s felt like your holes were lubricating themselves; why you’ve been so fucking needy for it no matter how fucked out or exhausted you are. It all makes sense now.
“You’ll be throbbing all week.” Hongjoong comes to sit next to your head, crouched down, running his hand across your forehead. You whine, reaching for him—you miss him, and you love him, and he’s always so warm and patient and he always fucks and touches and disciplines you just the way you need it, and has he been very involved this evening? It doesn’t feel like it—but your hands are too heavy to hold yourself. Hongjoong, always knowing what you need, takes your hands in his and holds them to his chest himself.
You can feel his heart beating through his shirt. Feel his warmth; the outline of his muscles constricting as he breathes in and out. You sigh, contented, and he smiles. “You’ll be throbbing all week,” he says again. “Even when you’re sleeping. To make sure you don’t get any ideas about telling us no. Keeps you ready for it. You’ll be able to ignore it most of the time; not that you’ll need to, though. We’ll be keeping you very well fucked this week.”
“All week?” You echo, your voice barely a murmur. “Th…throbbing all week?”
“Sounds scary, huh?” Seonghwa chuckles. “You’ll be alright. That’s just how bimbos are made. It’s part of your biology, honey.”
“Are you throbbing now?” Hongjoong asks. Before you can answer—try to, at least—he presses his hand against your cunt, cupping it in his palm and fingers. It’s when he pulls away, nodding, a curious hum from between his lips, that you realise it wasn’t a question for you. Phew. “You are,” he says. “Little pussy is pulsing. Like a heartbeat. She could take more easily.”
“Ay, she’s sleepy though,” someone says. Cold fingers pinch at your cheeks, making you wince. “Shouldn’t we let her rest?”
“She hasn’t even cum yet.”
“She doesn’t need to,” Seonghwa says. “And it won’t make her feel any better anyway.”
“I say she cums tomorrow. Or today, if we decide to keep fucking her.”
“I agree with Yunho.” Hongjoong puts your hands back down, tucking them against your chest, but doesn’t let go. Just holds them there, rubbing small circles into your skin with his thumbs. “There’s no reason for her to cum before we’ve all had a turn. Is there, baby?”
You’re just staring at him. He clicks his fingers, right in front of your eyes; you jump slightly, delayed a little, then nod. “There we go,” he laughs. “See, even the whore agrees.”
Your eyelids are drooping now—but with everything lagging like this, you don’t realise until everything fades to black. You frown, brows furrowing in confusion, trying to catch up, and they laugh.
“Oh, look at her. Did we tire her out that much?”
“Poor thing’s dozing off.”
“No wonder. She’s taken a lot.”
It’s Seonghwa, as it quite often is, who makes the final decision. You’ve noticed the eldest two are also often the most level headed, and the rest of them seem to defer to them on that basis as well. “We’ll let her sleep,” he says. His voice is quiet, soft, like he’s trying not to wake you, but it brokers no room for argument. “She agreed to let us use her when she sleeps, too, but this is the first day. She needs to adjust. She’ll take the rest of us in the morning, then we can think about letting her cum. Alright?”
By the time the others answer, you’re already out like a light.
merry christmasssss my babies!! there wasn’t as much hongjoong as i’d have liked in this chapter, but he’ll be featuring prominently in the next one!! as will all the others
comments, rbs, general thoughts are always appreciated. :)
