ilovewony

Something warm and wet traces the seam of your lips. Not a kiss. A slow, deliberate lick. The tip of her tongue, tasting you.

“Good boy.” Wonyoung’s giggle is a light, musical thing that doesn’t match the predatory stillness in the room. “So obedient for me already. You have no idea what I’m going to do to you tonight, do you?”

You shake your head, a tiny motion. Your heart is a frantic bird trapped in the cage of your ribs.

“I’ve been planning this,” she whispers. Her breath ghosts over your damp lips. “Every detail. For weeks. Watching you. Learning what makes you twitch. What makes you hard. What makes you mine.”

A cool, smooth pressure lands on your thigh. Not her hand. Something lighter, more articulate. The ball of her foot. She’s barefoot. She presses down, the arch of her foot rubbing along the muscle of your inner thigh, moving with agonizing slowness towards the growing tightness in your boxers.

This is where it starts. Or rather, where it has finally, irrevocably, arrived.

It didn’t start here, in this sensory-deprived hell of her design. It started three months ago, on a stupid bet you never knew was being placed.

You met at a rooftop charity gala you’d crashed, a nobody in a rented tux among old money and surgically enhanced beauty. She was a vision in ice-blue silk, hair like spun obsidian, laughing with a circle of heirs and heiresses who looked at the world like it was a toy they’d already broken. You were getting air, leaning against the glass barrier, feeling like an imposter.

“You look miserable,” she’d said, materializing at your elbow. No hello. Just an observation, delivered with a clinical curiosity.

You’d shrugged. “Not really my scene.”

“What is your scene?” she asked, her eyes—large, dark, and unnervingly focused—scanning your face.

“Cheap beer. Video games. Not being here.”

Her smile then was different. Not the polished, empty one she used on her friends. This was smaller, sharper. Intrigued. “Honest. Refreshing.” She plucked a champagne flute from a passing tray and handed it to you. “I’m Wonyoung. I’m here because my father donated a wing. You’re here because…?”

“The canapés looked good online.”

She’d laughed, a real sound that seemed to surprise even her. That was the hook. The dare, you learned weeks later, was from her bored friend Seulgi: “I bet you can’t date a normal boy for a month. One who doesn’t know what a trust fund is.” You were the normal boy. A novelty. A project.

The first month was a whirlwind. Extravagant dates you couldn’t afford, gifts that felt like artifacts from another life. She was charming, relentless, a force of nature who decided you were interesting and proceeded to consume your attention. You were flattered. Who wouldn’t be? Wonyoung was genius, beautiful, and for some reason, glued to your side.

The shift was subtle. A question about who you were texting. A pout when you mentioned meeting friends for pizza. A kiss that lasted a little too long, her fingers digging into your jaw not in passion, but in possession. “Mine,” she’d murmur against your lips, and you’d laugh it off, thinking it was a cute, intense quirk.

Then came the “coincidences.” You’d be at a coffee shop three miles from your apartment, and she’d slide into the booth opposite you. “Fancy meeting you here.” You’d mention offhand you were thinking of seeing a specific exhibit at the museum, and she’d have tickets for that exact time slot the next day. Her explanations were airy, plausible. “I just had a feeling!” or “Great minds, right?”

The isolation came next. Your friend Mark called you a ghost. Your roommate said you were never home. Wonyoung’s excuses became demands. “I need you tonight.” “Cancel it. I made better plans.” “Your friends don’t understand us. They’ll try to take you from me.” She’d frame it as devotion. “We just have something so special, don’t we? Why dilute it with people who don’t get it?” And you, overwhelmed and intoxicated by her focused, burning attention, agreed. One by one, the other people in your life faded into static.

You even met her friends less and less. “They’re jealous,” she’d sigh, tracing patterns on your chest. “They see how I look at you. They know you’re my real obsession. Not the bags or the cars. You.”

The word ‘obsession’ should have been a klaxon. It sounded like a confession, but it felt like a warning. Her love wasn’t warm; it was a closed fist, holding you so tight you couldn’t breathe. Her texts weren’t “good morning” but “what are you doing right this second” followed by a picture of her view—a view that was often of your street, your building, the cafe window you were sitting at.

And now, this. The culmination. She’d shown up at your door two hours ago, her eyes glittering with a manic energy. “We’re doing something tonight. Something I’ve wanted. No arguments. Come.” The command in her voice brooked no refusal. You came.

*

Her foot slides higher, the delicate bones and tendons of her sole pressing against the growing bulge in your boxers. You flinch.

“Shhh,” she soothes, her voice a mockery of comfort. The foot rubs up and down, a slow, maddening stroke over the fabric. You can feel the heat of her skin through the cotton. “Just feel it. I’ve watched you for so long. I know exactly how you like to be touched. Here…”

Her toes curl, trapping your cock through the material, and apply a gentle, squeezing pressure. A shuddering breath escapes you.

“Yes,” she coos. “Just like that. You get hard so easily for me. Like your body knows who owns it.”

The other foot joins, planting on your other thigh. She’s kneeling or crouching before you, you realize, her feet bracketing your hips. She uses both now, the soles rubbing you from base to tip in a slow, synchronized, torturous rhythm. The friction is dry at first, then dampens as your pre-cum seeps through the boxers, creating a slick, shameful spot. The shhhk, shhhk of cotton on cotton is loud in the quiet room.

“You’re leaking already,” she observes, delight in her tone. One foot lifts, and you feel the press of her toes against your lips. “Taste it. Taste how much you want this.”

The command is so perverse, so degrading, your mind blanks. But your body, wired to her voice, obeys. Your tongue flicks out, tasting salt and skin and the faint, clean scent of her lotion. You make a soft, choked sound.

“Good. So good for me.” The foot returns to its work, now slick with your saliva. The slide is smoother, more intimate. She works you with a practiced, cruel slowness, her feet manipulating your shaft, rolling your balls beneath an arch, never giving enough pressure to tip you over, just enough to keep you teetering on that knife-edge of need.

“Do you know what tonight is?” she asks conversationally, as if she’s not masturbating you with her feet. “It’s the night I erase every other thought from your head. The night your brain rewires itself to only understand pleasure when I give it. When I allow it.”

Her hands touch you then, not on your cock, but on your face. Cool, slender fingers frame your jaw, thumbs stroking your cheekbones. Then they slip behind your head, fingers tangling in your hair. She holds you still.

The wet heat of her mouth closes over yours. But it’s not a kiss. It’s a claiming. Her tongue plunges inside, mapping your teeth, dominating the space. She tastes of mint and something darker, more primal. You can’t move, held by her hands and the blindfold. You can only receive. The dual sensation—the expert, rhythmic massage of her feet on your cock and the invasive, consuming kiss—sends conflicting signals of violation and intense arousal crashing through your system. You’re hard to the point of pain, a throbbing, neglected ache between your legs.

She breaks the kiss with a wet, soft pop. “I want to hear you beg,” she whispers, her lips brushing yours. “But not yet. First, I want to feel every inch of you.”

The feet retreat. You hear the soft rustle of fabric. Her hands leave your face. For a moment, there’s nothing. Just the dark and the frantic beat of your heart and the painful, tented urgency in your boxers. The silence is worse.

Then her weight settles on your lap, straddling you. She’s still clothed—you can feel the fine weave of her dress, the hem brushing your thighs. Her heat, even through the layers, is immense. She grinds down, the firm mound of her sex pressing against your trapped, weeping cock. A low, ragged moan is torn from your throat.

“There it is,” she sighs, grinding in slow, circular motions. The friction is exquisite, muffled torture. “That sound. That’s the sound of my good boy breaking just a little bit.” She leans in, her chest pressing against yours, her lips at your ear. Her voice drops to a husky, venomous purr. “I’m going to take these off now. And I’m going to put you in my mouth. And you are going to stay perfectly still. If you thrust, if you try to take control, I stop. I’ll tie you to this bed and leave you here, hard and aching, for hours. Do you understand?”

You nod, desperately. “Y-yes.”

“Yes, what?”

The correction is instant, icy. Your mind fumbles. “Yes… Wonyoung.”

“No,” she says, and bites your earlobe, not hard enough to break skin, but hard enough to make you gasp. “Yes, Mistress.”

The word hangs in the air, corrosive and electric. It feels wrong. It feels… inevitable. This is the corruption, you realize dimly. Not a sudden fall, but this slow, granular erosion, each concession a pebble removed from the wall of your self. You swallow, your throat tight.

“Yes, Mistress,” you whisper.

The sound she makes is one of pure, dark satisfaction. A hum that vibrates through your skull. “Good.”

Her hands are at your waist, hooking into the waistband of your boxers. She pulls them down, just enough to free you. The cool air of the room hits your flushed, slick skin, a shocking contrast. You’re fully exposed, jutting up against the soft fabric of her dress.

You feel her shift, her weight leaving your lap. She sinks to her knees on the plush carpet between your legs. Her hands slide up your inner thighs, her nails leaving faint, tingling trails. She grips the base of your cock, her fingers cool and firm. She holds you steady, a presentation.

Then her tongue is on you.

Not her mouth. Just the flat, wet strip of her tongue, licking a long, slow stripe from the very base of your shaft all the way to the swollen, leaking tip. The sensation is electric, a jolt of pure pleasure that makes your hips twitch involuntarily.

“Ah-ah,” she chides, her grip tightening. “Still.”

She does it again. And again. Lapping at you like you’re something delicious to be savored, coating you in her spit. The slurp and lick of her tongue is obscenely loud. She focuses on the head, tracing the rim of your corona, flicking the sensitive frenulum underneath. She swirls around the tip, collecting the beads of pre-cum that well up continuously now, humming as she tastes them.

“Mmm. Salty. All for me.”

Then she takes you into her mouth.

It’s not a deep, taking blowjob. It’s a slow, controlled descent. Her lips stretch around your girth, tight and wet. She lets you feel every millimeter of the slide, the velvety heat of her mouth, the gentle scrape of her teeth, the firm pressure of her tongue flattening against your underside. She goes about halfway, then stops, holding you there. Her throat contracts around the tip in a shallow, practiced swallow. Gulp.

You groan, a deep, ragged sound from your core. Your hands fist in the sheets.

She pulls off with a wet, sucking plop. “Hands on the headboard,” she commands, her voice thick.

You reach back, fumbling until your fingers close around cool, carved wood. You grip it.

“Now,” she says, and her mouth is on you again.

This time, she sets a rhythm. Slow, deliberate, devastating. She sucks the head firmly, her tongue working in circles, then sinks down, taking more of you, her nose pressing into your pubic bone. She holds it, her throat working around you, before drawing back up with a tight, suctioning pull that makes your vision blur behind the blindfold. Slurp. Schlick. Gllrk.

She’s an artist of torment. She reads your body like a map. Every time your breath hitches, every time your thighs tense, she changes the pattern. She’ll go fast and shallow, a rapid, wet pap-pap-pap of her lips on your sensitive head, then slow to long, deep draws that make your toes curl. She palms your balls, rolling the tight sac in her hand, applying gentle pressure that sends fresh sparks up your spine.

“You’re so thick,” she murmurs, her lips vibrating against your shaft. “I love how you feel in my mouth. Like you were made just to fit right here.” She takes you deep again, and you feel her hum, the vibration traveling through your entire body. Mmmph.

You’re panting now, sweat beading on your forehead. The edge is there, a white-hot coil of pressure in your lower belly, tightening with every pass of her tongue, every suck of her cheeks. You’re close. So close.

She senses it. She always does.

She pulls off completely.

The loss of heat and wetness is a physical agony. You buck your hips, a silent plea.

A sharp slap lands on your inner thigh. It stings, a bright burst of pain. “I said still,” she snaps, her voice no longer playful. It’s hard. Commanding. “You don’t come until I say. That’s the rule. The only rule that matters now.”

She stands. You hear her move around the room. The clink of glass. The sound of liquid being poured. Then she’s back, the scent of her perfume mingling with something sharper, alcoholic. She straddles you again, this time her dress is gone. You feel the naked, scorching heat of her thighs on yours, the soft, smooth skin of her stomach against your chest. She’s completely bare.

Her hand wraps around your cock, guiding you. The blunt, wet head of you presses against a different heat, a slick, impossibly soft entrance.

“This is mine too,” she breathes into your ear. Her voice is trembling, not with fear, but with a possessive ecstasy. “Every part of you. And I’m going to take it. Now.”

She sinks down onto you in one slow, excruciating, glorious inch.

The feeling is catastrophic. She’s so tight, so hot, so wet. Her inner muscles clamp around you in a velvet vise, fluttering as she struggles to take your width. She’s not just wet; she’s drenched. Her arousal coats you, drips down your shaft, making a warm, sticky mess between your bodies. The sound is a lewd, wet schllrrp as she impales herself further.

She moans, a long, shuddering sound that seems to come from the soles of her feet. “Fuck… yes… you’re splitting me open…”

She takes her time, sinking down millimeter by millimeter, until you are fully sheathed inside her, your hips pressed flush against the soft curves of her ass. She’s so deep you feel like you’re touching her core. She trembles atop you, her nails digging into your shoulders.

For a moment, she doesn’t move. She just breathes, her chest heaving against yours, her forehead pressed to your shoulder. You can feel her heartbeat thundering through her body, through where you’re joined.

Then she starts to move.

It’s not a frantic ride. It’s a slow, grinding torture. She rolls her hips in deep, circular motions, massaging your cock from the inside. You feel every ridge, every fold of her. The angle is perfect, and with every rotation, the head of your cock drags against a spongy, textured spot deep within her that makes her gasp and her inner walls clench like a fist.

“You feel that?” she pants. “That’s my spot. And you’re hitting it. Every. Single. Time.” She leans back, bracing her hands on your thighs, changing the angle. She begins to lift herself almost all the way off, until just the tip remains inside, then slams back down, taking you in one hard, wet stroke. The impact is a loud, fleshy smack. Her breasts, free and full, bounce with the motion.

The rhythm builds. She finds a pace, a hard, driving rise and fall that has her bouncing in your lap. The sounds are filthy, obscene. The wet slap-slap-slap of flesh meeting flesh. The guttural, choked sounds she makes with each descent. The slick, squelching shlick-shluck of your cock pumping in and out of her soaked cunt. Her juices are everywhere, soaking your pubic hair, dripping down your balls, making the air thick with the musky, sweet scent of her.

The blindfold makes it all more intense. You can’t see her face, her body. You can only feel and hear. The feel of her hot, tight channel milking you. The sound of her pleasure. The slap of skin. It’s overwhelming.

Her hands leave your thighs. One snakes between your bodies, and you hear her frantic, wet circles as she rubs her clit. The other hand comes up to your throat.

Her fingers don’t just rest there. They curl, pressing into the sides of your windpipe. Not enough to cut off air, but enough for you to feel the pressure, the implicit threat of control. She owns this. She owns you.

“Come on,” she grunts, her voice strained with effort and pleasure. Her hips are a frantic piston now, slamming down onto you with a force that shakes the bed. “Come on, fuck me! You’re my fucking toy! My perfect, obedient little fuck-toy! Say it!”

The degradation, the choking, the relentless, perfect friction—it’s too much. The coil in your belly is a supernova ready to detonate. You’re grunting with each of her downward strokes, your own hips meeting her thrusts, driving up into that wet, clenching heat.

“Say it!” she screams, her voice breaking. Her fingers tighten a fraction more.

The words are ripped from you, torn from some deep, surrendering part of your soul. “I’m… I’m your toy! Your fuck-toy!”

“Yes!” she shrieks. Her body goes rigid, her internal muscles clamping down on you in a series of brutal, rhythmic pulses. Clench. Release. Clench. Release. It’s like being milked by a hot, wet fist. Her orgasm triggers yours.

You can’t hold back. You don’t want to. With a raw, animalistic shout, you erupt inside her. It’s not a gentle release; it’s a violent expulsion, jet after hot jet of cum shooting deep into her grasping channel. You can feel it, the pulsing of your cock, the flooding warmth of your release mixing with hers. She keeps riding you, milking every last drop, her cries softening to desperate, satisfied whimpers.

Finally, she collapses forward, a sweaty, boneless weight on your chest. Her hand slips from your throat. Your cock, still half-hard, slips out of her with a wet, messy plorp, followed by a warm gush of your combined fluids onto your stomach.

For long minutes, there is only the sound of ragged breathing and the pounding of two hearts. The smell of sex and sweat and her perfume is overpowering.

Slowly, she pushes herself up. You feel her fingers at the back of your head, working at the knot of the blindfold. The silk falls away.

Light assaults your eyes. You blink, vision swimming. She’s hovering above you, her beautiful face flushed, her lipstick smeared, her hair a dark, damp mess. Her eyes, though. Her eyes are clear, focused, and burning with a terrifying, possessive love. She looks down at the mess on your stomach, then back at your face. A slow, triumphant smile spreads across her lips.

She dips her fingers into the pool of white and clear fluid on your abdomen. She brings them to her mouth, sucking them clean with a deliberate, obscene pop.

“Mine,” she says again, her voice hoarse but utterly certain. She leans down, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that tastes of salt and sex and ownership. “Every drop. And next time,” she whispers, her hand drifting down to your softening cock, giving it a possessive squeeze, “I won’t be so gentle. I’m going to breed you so deep, you’ll feel me for days. You’ll walk around, full of me, and everyone will know you’re mine.”

She rolls off you, stretching like a satisfied cat. The last thing you see before she turns out the light is her smirk, silhouetted against the city lights streaming through the window.

“Don't think we're done yet” she commands. “We'll be doing this all night”

Her laugh is a silver blade in the dark. You can’t see it, but you feel it—the vibration through the mattress, the puff of air against your cheek as she leans close. The blindfold is back, that same strip of black silk, but this time it’s tighter. It feels permanent.

“You were so good for me last time,” Wonyoung purrs. Her fingers trace the line of your jaw. “So obedient. So full of me. But I think we need to make sure you understand the new rules. Permanently.”

You hear the rustle of silk, the soft clink of something metallic. Your heart, which had finally begun to slow its frantic pace, seizes up again. “Wonyoung—”

“Mistress,” she corrects, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. Her hand slaps down on your chest, not hard, but a firm, stinging reminder. “You lost the right to my name when you came inside me without explicit permission. Remember? You just couldn’t help yourself.” She says the last part with a mocking, singsong cadence.

You flinch. You hadn’t. She’d commanded it, hadn’t she? The memory is a fever-dream haze of sensation—her screaming, your release. But in her world, the narrative bends to her will. Your reality is whatever she says it is.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, the words ash in your mouth.

“You will be,” she promises. Her hands go to your wrists. You feel cool, padded leather encircle one, then the other. A buckle snicks shut. She pulls your arms up, over your head, and you hear the rattle-thunk of clips attaching to something on the headboard. Your arms are stretched, not painfully, but with a firm, inescapable tension. You test the bonds. They don’t give.

“Good,” she murmurs. Her weight leaves the bed. You hear her moving around the room, drawers opening, the low hum of electronics powering on. The air smells of her perfume, sex, and a new, clean, sterile scent. Rubbing alcohol.

The bed dips near your feet. Her hands are on your ankles. More leather, more buckles. She spreads your legs wide, tying each ankle to a post at the foot of the bed. You are spread-eagled, utterly exposed, the cool air of the room washing over your naked skin. Your cock, soft and spent against your thigh, gives a pathetic twitch.

“Comfortable?” she asks, her voice dripping with false concern.

You nod, then remember. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good boy.” You hear the smile in her voice. “Now, we’re going to play a new game. It’s called ‘How Many Times Can I Make You Scream Before You Break?’ I’m thinking… a lot.”

Her touch returns, but not to your cock. To your inner thighs. Something cold and wet swipes over your skin. An alcohol wipe. The sharp, clinical smell fills your nose. She’s cleaning you. The act is so impersonal, so dehumanizing, it sends a fresh wave of shame through you. You are an object being prepared for use.

“You’re all mine now,” she says conversationally as she wipes your stomach, your hips. “This body. This mind. I’m going to reprogram it. Pleasure will only come from me. Pain will only come from my displeasure. Every thought in your head will be about how to please me. It’s a simpler way to live, don’t you think?”

You don’t answer. You can’t.

The cold touch moves to your cock. She wipes it with brutal efficiency, from root to tip, making you gasp at the startling sensation on the oversensitive flesh. “Look at you,” she giggles. “Even now, after everything, you get a little hard for me. Your body knows its owner.”

It’s true. Despite the fear, the degradation, your blood is beginning to stir. The helplessness, the total surrender, is weaving its own dark thread of arousal through your terror.

You hear a low, buzzing hum. It starts quiet, then grows in intensity. It’s a sleek, modern sound. A vibrator.

“This is my favorite toy,” Wonyoung says. You feel her climb onto the bed, straddling your chest. Her bare thighs frame your head. The heat of her core is inches from your face. The musky, sweet scent of her arousal—your arousal mixed with hers from earlier—is overpowering. “But even my favorite toy needs upgrades.”

The buzzing grows closer. You tense, expecting it on your cock. Instead, you feel the smooth, rounded plastic head press against the underside of your shaft, right where it meets your balls. The vibration is intense, a deep, thrumming resonance that travels straight up into your pelvis. You jolt against the restraints.

“Ah-ah,” she chides. “Hold still. Let it work.”

She holds it there, applying firm pressure. The vibrations aren’t high-pitched and ticklish; they’re low, pervasive, and maddening. They massage your perineum, your tight scrotum. Your cock, which had been half-heartedly filling, now stiffens in earnest, rising to press against your stomach. Precum beads at the slit almost immediately, a clear, sticky pearl.

“There he is,” Wonyoung coos. She moves the vibrator, tracing the thick vein on the underside of your shaft with the buzzing tip. Bzzzzz. It’s an exquisite, torturous stimulation. Too much, and yet not where you truly need it. She avoids the head completely, focusing on the shaft, the base, your balls. Every touch is deliberate, teasing, designed to wind you up without offering release.

“You’re dripping for me already,” she observes. “Such a slut. A desperate, leaking slut. Do you want to come?”

“Y-yes, Mistress,” you gasp. The admission feels like another defeat.

“Of course you do. But that’s not the game.” The vibrator pulls away. The sudden absence of the sensation is a shock. You groan, your hips straining uselessly against the leather.

You feel her shift above you. Her hands cradle your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones. Then they slide back, fingers tangling in your hair. Gripping.

“Now,” she says, her voice dropping to a husky, commanding register. “You’re going to use that pretty mouth. You’re going to eat my pussy until I tell you to stop. And you’re going to do it like your life depends on it. Because right now, your pleasure does.”

She doesn’t lower herself gently. She guides your head, her grip in your hair unyielding. Your face is pulled forward, into the scorching, damp heat between her legs.

The first contact is overwhelming. Soft, slick flesh parts against your nose and mouth. The taste explodes on your tongue—musky, salty, sweet, hers, mixed with the remnants of you. It’s the most intimate, degrading thing you’ve ever experienced. She grinds her hips forward, smearing her wetness across your lips, your chin.

“Lick,” she orders.

You obey. Your tongue flicks out, tasting her more deliberately. You find her swollen outer lips, tracing their shape. She lets out a soft sigh. “Good. Now get in there. Fucking eat me.”

You dive in, your tongue spearing into her entrance. She’s so wet, so open. Your tongue sinks into a hot, velvety channel. The flavor is intense, primal. You lap at her, trying to find a rhythm, but she controls it, rocking her hips against your face, fucking your mouth with her cunt.

“Use your tongue like a little cock,” she pants, her voice tight. “Fuck me with it. Yes. Just like that.”

You flatten your tongue and thrust it in and out of her, mimicking the motion of sex. The sounds are obscenely loud—wet, sloppy schlocks and squishes as you eat her out. Her juices coat your face, dripping down your neck. You can’t breathe through your nose, only getting ragged gulps of air when she pulls her hips back for a second. She’s riding your face in earnest now, her thighs clamping against your ears, the world narrowing to dark, scent, taste, and the sound of her pleasure.

“Oh, fuck, yes,” she moans. One of her hands leaves your hair and you hear the return of the vibrator’s buzz. She presses it back against your cock, right on the frenulum. The dual sensation is catastrophic. The deep, buzzing pleasure on your aching dick and the taste of her on your tongue, the feeling of her grinding against your face—it short-circuits your brain. You’re moaning into her pussy, the vibrations traveling through your jaw into her clit.

She screams, a sharp, high sound. “Yes! Right there! Don’t you fucking stop!”

You don’t. You redouble your efforts, swirling your tongue, fucking her deeply, sucking on her clit when you can find it. She’s a writhing, bucking mess above you. You feel her inner muscles begin to flutter around your tongue. She’s close.

The vibrator on your cock becomes relentless, holding steady on that perfect, maddening spot. Your own orgasm is building again, a tidal wave rising from your balls, fueled by her taste and her sounds and the electric buzz on your shaft. You’re panting, groaning, thrusting your tongue as deep as it will go.

“I’m gonna—” she chokes out.

And then everything stops.

The vibrator pulls away. Her hand in your hair yanks your head back, tearing your mouth from her sopping wet cunt with a wet, ripping sound. You’re left gasping for air, your face drenched, your cock throbbing violently, a hair’s breadth from eruption.

“No,” she says, her voice trembling with the effort of holding back her own climax. “Not yet. You don’t get to come from that. You only come from this.”

She scrambles off your face. You hear her move down your body. Her hands are on your hips, her nails digging in. She guides your aching, weeping cock, the head slick with precum and her juices, to her entrance.

This time, there’s no slow, teasing descent. She’s furious with need, denied her own release. She impales herself on you in one savage, downward stroke.

SMACK. SCHLORP.

You cry out. The feeling of her hot, tight, drenched cunt swallowing you whole is almost too much to bear after the edging. She’s so much tighter than before, her walls clenched in a vice-like spasm from her interrupted orgasm. She sinks all the way down until her ass slaps against your thighs, taking every inch.

“FUCK!” she screams, her head thrown back.

She doesn’t wait. She sets a punishing pace from the first second. She rides you like she’s trying to break you, slamming her hips down again and again, using her legs for brutal leverage. The bedframe creaks and thumps against the wall. The sounds are animalistic—the wet, rhythmic slap of flesh, the squelch of your cock pistoning in and out of her overflowing channel, her ragged, screaming grunts.

“You feel that?!” she snarls, leaning forward, her hands slamming down on your chest for balance. Her breasts sway wildly with each impact. “You feel how fucking tight I am? That’s what you do to me! You make me a fucking animal!”

You can only gasp, your body arching against the restraints as she milks you with her furious pace. The coil in your guts is wound impossibly tight, ready to snap. You’re seeing stars behind the blindfold.

“You’re my thing!” she yells, her voice breaking. “My property! Say it! Say you’re my fucking property!”

“I’m… your property!” you sob, the words torn from you.

“Who do you belong to?!”

“You! I belong to you, Mistress!”

“And what are you going to do?!” She’s slamming down on you so hard your vision whites out.

“Whatever you want!” you scream.

“YES! Now FUCKING CUM! BREED ME! FILL ME UP! GIVE ME EVERY FUCKING DROP!”

Her command is the final trigger. With a roar that scrapes your throat raw, you explode. It’s a volcanic eruption, a searing flood of release that seems to drain your soul through your cock. Jet after hot, thick jet of cum pulses deep into her clutching, convulsing cunt. You can feel it, the splurt-splurt-splurt inside her, the way her walls clamp and milk you for every last bit.

She screams, a long, continuous sound of triumphant ecstasy as her own orgasm finally crashes over her. Her body seizes, her back bowing, her internal muscles rippling around your shaft in violent, endless waves. She collapses forward onto your chest, her body spasming, her hot tears mixing with the sweat on your skin.

For a minute, there is only the sound of shattered breathing and the wet, messy drip of fluids. You feel utterly, completely empty. Drained. Your cock, still semi-hard and buried inside her, twitches with aftershocks.

She pushes herself up, her movements sluggish. You feel her weight leave you, your softening cock slipping out with a wet, final plop. A gush of warm liquid—your cum mixed with hers—floods out after it, pooling on your stomach and thighs.

You hear her pad away, then return. A warm, damp cloth wipes your stomach, cleaning the mess with the same clinical detachment as before. She doesn’t untie you.

The bed dips as she lies down beside you, curling into your side, her head on your shoulder. Her finger traces idle patterns on your chest. Her voice, when she speaks, is soft, dreamy, utterly changed from the screaming harpy of moments ago.

“See?” she whispers. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? You just needed to understand your place.” She kisses your shoulder, a tender, chaste kiss. “You gave me so much. You were so good. My perfect boy.”

The whiplash from violent degradation to tender affection is dizzying. It makes the degradation feel like a nightmare, and this… this feel like a reward. Your confused, broken psyche latches onto the tenderness, craving it after the storm.

“I love you,” she murmurs, her hand drifting down to your spent cock, holding it gently, possessively. “I love you so much it hurts. And now you’re really mine. All of you. I can feel you inside me. I’m going to keep you there. Again and again. Until the thought of anyone else makes you sick.”

She falls silent, just holding you. The darkness behind the blindfold feels absolute. You are tied, claimed, and filled with a terrifying, twisted peace.

You have no idea how much time passes. You drift in a numb haze.

Then, her hand moves. Not to caress. To grip. Her fingers wrap around your cock again. It’s soft, sensitive, overstimulated. She begins to stroke it, slowly, firmly.

Your body betrays you instantly. It swells in her hand.

She giggles, a dark, knowing sound. “Already? But you just came. You poured so much into me.” She leans close, her lips at your ear. “You have more, don’t you? You always have more for me. Because you’re mine. And I’m not done.”

Work is a bitch, definitely. 

There's a boat load of reports– they climb your desk and everyone elses, sometimes you walk in and consider jumping out the window in an any% suicide speedrun. Those sleep deprived nights and coffee fueled days all become worth it at the end.

And by end, you obviously mean in the middle of the work day. Where you and your favourite co-worker find an opportunity to have a break, hiding in whatever unoccupied space you two can find. It’s been an established thing for a while now, you and Yena had a moment in the bi-annual ‘please stay with us party’ with some non-alcoholic beverage that was spiked with something certainly alcoholic. It motivated her to make a bold decision, a kiss and a blur.

She ended up in your bed that night. 

Things shifted from that point, Yena got braver. She’s never explicitly stated if she likes you or she just likes to please, she doesn’t tell and you don’t pry. 

Today's private space of choice is the janitor's closet, small and devoid of people. It’s dimly lit and reeks of bleach but it does get the job done.

She's all giggly when she descends to the floor, her presence forces you against the door. It's locked, you quadruple checked. "Have you done any of your papers yet?" she asks, fiddling with your zip.

You sigh, the answer is yes because you got here early– get home at 11pm, get there just before dawn and haul ass. "Barely, feels like the pile hasn't budged."

"That's because it hasn't." She states, your office trousers sit in a pile by your feet. Yena gives you that same excited, slightly needy look. It's her that started this and her who continues it. She has an oral fixation that she always tries to keep satiated. From the lollipops she crams in her desk, to the straws she has for every drink. 

To the cock currently in her hand.

"Work's a bitch." You groan, partly because of the statement and partly because she's dribbling over your tip. Her soft hand stroking it with twisty motions. It feels incredible, looks incredible. Her office outfit, the blazer mainly– she looks so professional and so ruinable.

"Tell me about it, we only have 5 minutes if we get coffee."

"How much time if we don't?"

"We're getting coffee." Yena wastes no further time, her hungry expression being satisfied when your tip slides in between her lips. She doesn't have time to be slow, your cock is already hitting the back of her throat. She sucks and slurps, getting you messy. Your hands claw at the wall despite wanting to ruin her hair, not enough time to fix it.

"F-fuck." It's suffocatingly warm, half trapped in her slick mouth and the other half being squeezed and pumped. She moves quickly, thoughts of work and the timer disappear and crumble to dust when Yena bobs her head up and down.

Yena hollows her cheeks, a tandem act with her fingers. You moan and struggle, Yena sucks faster at your sounds. "You really want this coffee huh?"

She doesn’t laugh but instead keeps her lips firmly around your length. She was desperate for you to cum, her other hand reaching to massage your balls. Yena takes advantage of the overwhelming stimulation, your coworker knows exactly when you are about to cum. No need to vocalise it here at least, under different circumstances she wants to hear it.

Right now she wants you to cum and not get caught.

So she braces herself, working just a bit harder. Closing her eyes as you begin to throb, the orgasm hits you like a truck. Body locking up stiff as Yena's mouth gets filled with your pent up load, the stuff you've been holding while far too busy to even make five minutes. She's a professional in everything though, taking it without so much as a struggle.

When she's done, she gets off her knees. Unable to resist the urge to kiss you so you can taste how well a job she did. "I didn't get any on my outfit right?"

The excuse is pretty obvious, she twirls around and despite the fact most of her body is clad in office attire that leaves practically everything for the imagination she's still the hottest woman ever conceived. If you had the time she’d have her bottom half removed and you’d go to town, alas, the minutes are up so you'll have to settle for the imagination and the opportunity to touch her before saying a simple no.

"Good, it's annoying to wash out at a sink. Time for coffee!" She's swapped back to her normal bubbly office mode, the one that would make nobody suspect she just blew someone inside the janitor's closet. She leaves first and you wait thirty seconds before promptly following.

The office floor feels the same as before you left, unsurprising given your break was painfully short. It’s loud with its standard fluorescent hospital lights.Yena’s already back at her desk, looking like she’s been there for hours. She’s got her blazer back on, another lollipop and she’s typing up a storm with the focus of a girl who definitely did not just have her throat full in the janitor's closet.

And the coffee was the last remotely enjoyable part before you two had to lock in. Even though you work right next to each other most of the time there was no room to have a conversation, first off– your boss seemed hellbent to put a knife to the atmosphere, make sure no joy was happening on her dime.

Then there was just all of the work, you could take a building, double it then double that and still you'd probably run out of room. It's not just the quantity or even the quality you have to produce, it's just so fucking boring. This should be illegal, how repetitive this is. Money talks and you can't pay rent on your desires to abolish the concept of reports.

So, you get it done.

With a few shushed conversations in between, words may not be banned but are sure heavily discouraged. "So... why do you think our boss is always so uptight?" You ask with your head still buried in work, "I swear she wasn't like this."

"She wasn't. It's a stressful time with everything going on. Her bonus relies on us doing well." Yena replies, scribbling something. "Perhaps she should try a similar arrangement to ours, lots of co-workers call her smoking fucking hot."

"You agree though, I see the way you stare at her tits in that shirt.” You jab, it’s no secret. Yena becomes a cartoon with outstretched eyes whenever your boss bends over. “Imagine that, maybe we wouldn't be whispering."

“Shhh… it’s not so obvious right?”

“Super fucking obvious.”

And you two continued until dinner time, where you two finally got another break. Not to fuck, you two aren’t that depraved. Grabbing a quick bite to gossip over before walking yourself back into hell. Or perhaps purgatory would be more apt, hell implies active torture.

Post-dinner quickly became a deep night. The tapping of office equipment slowly disappeared, people vanished and the AC shuts off. Past the time they are willing to pay for, everyone has left. Except for you and Yena, it’s sort of your obligation to work to the bone.

Yena had taken off her blazer and had it donned over her chair. Sipping on another coffee, caffeine is her lifeblood at this point. The lack of focus was clear as day, she's twiddling with her thumbs, radiating ennui and spending more time stargazing than anything else.

"We could just go home." You say bluntly, the only reason you are here is for her and the inverse seems true. "It's a big enough dent."

She stretches and looks at you like you suggested something royally ridiculous. "No way, but we can stop working."

It's your turn to look weird.

"Think about it, we're on the clock sure. But who's going to know what we are up to?" She gets off her chair, 'towering' over you with a playful smirk on her face. "Exactly, you already get the picture."

"So you want to get paid to suck dick?"

"Wouldn't be the first time…"

"what?"

"what?"

You don't know how to transition from that, Yena leans forward and gives you one lone peck on the lips. Letting the taste of coffee on her breath hit yours, it's palatable when it's her. It lasts awhile, no longer being rushed to work and able to enjoy the moment.

Yena pulls away, dropping herself to one knee. Her hands are eager even with the given time. "Mmh, I was thinking about this. Five minutes was not enough." All barriers to the cock she wanted were gone. "Bet you were thinking about it more though."

"Only work." You lie, it gets a pout and her hand dry pumps your shaft. You relax into your chair, this is stress relief you plan to enjoy.

"Meanie." Her hand is replaced with her tongue, she eyes your cock like a prize– a snack that's been hidden away. She licks upwards one side of your length at a time, leaving a thin layer of saliva in her wake. "You were thinking of it, the way my lips will feel. How badly you wanted to grab this fucking ponytail and force my head down."

Fuck. The thought breathes out involuntarily between your lips, she gives a few more slow licks to the base and ensures it's well lubricated. "Maybe I thought about it once or twice…"

"All day maybe." She gives one swipe over the pre-cum pooling out, her plush lips closing around your tip. Her desire is palpable and exciting, she craves your taste like candy. Her hand is just as soft, working in tandem with her mouth. No matter how many times she sucks you off, no matter how often she makes you cum. It's just as exhilarating as the first time.

"You look cute."

She pauses. Just for a second, not long enough to stop, long enough to register your words. Then she sucks a little harder, like that's her answer. Her mouth is definitely your favourite part of Yena (sexually of course, as a friend it'd be her personality.) And her answering makes that more apparent. The softest pillows that feel good against yours or wrapped around you.

Yena lowers half way, she's a messy cocksucker to her own benefit. She drools and it dribbles downwards onto your balls. She takes notice and flaunts her complete oral talent, fondling your balls with her hand. You let out a very audible groan, thrusting upwards involuntarily into her mouth.

"Keep doing that, fuck Yena." She listens, bobbing her head up and down, continuing her worship. It's leisurely and as casual as dicksucking can be, accidental glances keep you grounded to your location and for once in an office environment you feel calm and even more so.

Content.

Something changes in the blink of an eye, Yena has a seductive smirk before unsheathing your erection. "You love me sucking this cock right?"

"So much."

"Mmh, I like to hear that." Yena runs her tongue over you again, starting at the base and going upwards. This time she's sloppy, pushing past the idea of filthy. Spit gets everywhere, every time she gets to the ridge she lets a river of saliva flow outwards. It's a sight straight out of your imagination, saturated in your cute co-workers spit.

She rubs your sensitive balls in firmer circles, this is truly the epitome of getting worshipped. "Do you think I'm the best in the office?" It's unfair of Yena to be asking this right now of all times, she has the advantage of being in the moment. Plus who could you compare this to? But you aren't blind, even when she hits a particular spot and forces your eyes shut.

"With a mouth this good? Absolutely– fuck Yena."

That was what she wanted to hear. She goes for it and descends down, taking as much of you as she can. You disappear into her mouth, the warm bliss is short lived by her gags. Forcing her to regrettably pull away. "Right answer, I'd have left if you said anything different."

"Don't lie."

She doesn't meet your eyes, still huffing. "shush."

Yena falls back into her rhythm, alternating between tongue adulation and bobbing praise. A grunt and a sigh escapes your lips, she’s so fucking good. The mess, the slurps. She’s attentive, dipping her tongue into your messy slit helplessly leaking pre-cum.

“You keep getting better.” Your praise is acknowledged with a flurry of quick bobs, relishing in your taste and scent. Yena seems dedicated to wringing you dry, not stopping and or slowing. 

Minutes pass just like that, she pushes you right to the edge– has you throbbing and buckling but stops before you finish. “Mmh, do you like the way I kiss it?” She kisses it so firmly it makes a pop. “And suck it?” She demonstrates with a few more filthy movements of her head.

“So much.” You are completely at her mercy.

“I need you, I’m so fucking wet…” She pushes her face against your shaft, taking your balls between her lips and sucking hard. The last perverted act before she gets up. “Fuck me.” She leaves no room for denial, not that you would of course.

“Start undressing yourself, give me a show if you want it.” Your request is mainly to recover from Yena’s ridiculously good blowjob. She listens eagerly, starting with her black vest. Unbuttoning each one slow as one can, letting each pop. Slowly the fabric opens.

“I look good in this outfit.” She throws it somewhere before moving onto her white button-up. “I’m going to look even better naked and full of your cock.” She starts at the top, her shirt’s collar falling away to show the first inches of her smooth skin. It’s a shame her black bra intervenes from seeing her breasts, a short-lived problem though, easily distracted as she unbuttons the rest you get a sight of her abs. you don’t know how she stays in such shape and works this many hours a week. And she won’t share. 

She twirls around, bending backwards giving a prime view to her ass while she wiggles out of the final piece of office attire. It’s another great part of her, so full and worth a feast, but she wants to get fucked too hard for that.

“If you want to see the rest you are just going to have to do it yourself.” She smirks and you take it as the challenge it is. Getting up, stepping out of whatever’s pooled at your feet and pushing her back onto her chair. 

You grunt something as her bra unclips into your hand, her tits on full view for you and you alone. If she wasn’t looking at you with those eyes, the ones that say ‘I’m five seconds from losing my mind.’ There’d be a lot more enjoyment of her body, it’s a crime really.

One of those ‘oh no my duck is too juicy’ situations though, tugging the remains of her underwear and putting it somewhere nearby. She lifts her legs up and scoots closer to the edge, putting her in the perfect position to get fucked right then and there.

You lock the wheels to make sure she doesn’t go anywhere, don’t want to run a marathon while plowing your co-worker. Her slit is dripping with desire to get fucked five minutes ago, she’s greedy and you oblige.

Her lower lips welcome your swollen, spit covered head as it pushes in. Yena’s tight enough to choke every inch her walls grab onto, it’s addictive, requiring you to pace yourself very carefully.

“H-hurry up.” She whines, the way she breathes it out with pure need elicits something more sinister within you. An urge to do the exact opposite of her request. So you slow down. “Don’t be an ass.”

“I mean you could say please.” You tease.

“Please, are you happy now?” You’ve bottomed out, but you aren’t satisfied with her answer. 

“Mmh, do better.”

“Please.” And that’s much more your speed, how quickly she submitted resonated something within you. How far could you push that boat out? 

Maybe you’ll test her later. Her inviting warmth demands to get fucked and you go for it, thrusting in and out. She screams loudly at how you go from zero to one hundred, how big your cock is. (That was a fun confession she spilled by accident.) 

“That’s fucking good!” Yena’s chair is just as loud as her moans, you withdraw and fill her back up to the hilt without struggle. She’s well lubricated thanks to all the exhaustive cock-sucking foreplay, adding another layer of filth to your length.

“T-tight.” You forgot to say the rest, mindmelted by her hugging cunt. Relentlessly plowing her, wet skin slapping against wet skin. “Fuck.”

“Fuck all that boredom into my slutty cunt!” The call to action is already being followed but you are happy to continue. “Mmh!”

“I’m planning to, until you cream all over my fucking cock.” Then a spark of motivation from a stray glance of her ponytail.

You pull out, yank her onto the floor, grab onto her hair and shove your cock right back into her mouth. “And use this mouth.” Yena gags and nearly chokes but she doesn’t tap or resist. Her fingers work at her clit while she gets facefucked.

It’s glorious, pushing your cock deep into Yena’s throat. Spit flooding out the corners of her mouth. As quickly as you start, you stop. Letting her breathe. “Oh my…” Yena is given a few seconds before you hoist her back over her desk, using the only free spot to have to ram her from behind.

Time melts away as she takes your harsh railing, clapping against her backside. Every thrust feels like therapy after a long day and her body is the stress toy. “Fuck me, fuck me harder!” 

The ponytail feels just as good being used to release her moans as it is to silence them. Pulling on it harshly every few thrusts, you two have fully succumbed to lust and desire. With her screams and your loud groans the office space is completely encapsulated in your act.

You hope the janitors aren’t in the building.

“Yes, yes!” She tries to think but all she focuses on is the same repeated thrusts, you want to use her mouth like her pussy again. Throwing her roughly back on the ground, shoving yourself back into her mouth. 

“Yena…” Her ponytail is frazzled but that’s quite fine with you, it adds to the picture of her ruined body. “Take it.” 

Her vocals fail her, words being replaced with “gluk gluk gluk.” 

Then you bend her back over the table, alternating between her holes recklessly. Continuing that pace. “Wait, fuck.” You sober up for a moment, “Doesn’t this office have ‘a nobody in past twelve rule?’”

“AH! Yeah– what time is it?” You swipe your phone, slowing your thrusts involuntarily to focus. 

“Eleven fifty five.” 

“Better fucking hurry up!” Yena’s previous work meant this was lightwork, rubbing at her clit with your spare hand. Fucking her as fast as you physically could, chasing both of your thrilling climaxes. 

A few more thrusts and Yena screams, spilling her orgasm all over your cock. It doesn’t stop your pounding against her reddened pussy, fucking her through it. There wasn’t much time, so for the final time you infiltrated her mouth. 

“Take it..” For the second time today you fill her mouth with your load, she doesn’t struggle at all. Swallowing every drop with a smile on her face. There was no time to recover, staying on your shaking legs as you and her got dressed in an impressive dance.

You get out at twelve on the dot.

Yena’s a mess, her clothes are fine but anyone who saw her would know she just got fucked. There’s an aura around her that screams ‘I just got a good fuck.’ 

“Thanks for the fuck co-worker.” Yena’s about to leave for her car, but you stop her.

“I have another idea.”

"I still can't believe you convinced me to call in sick to fuck my ass." Yena's not really that shocked, it's something that's entirely expected of you in the same vein it's expected of her to agree. You are both getting paid for this, which is fitting considering it feels like work pegs you all the time.

"We can admit we were faking it and then you can do some documents if you want."

She shakes her head. "And waste this cute outfit? Not a chance!"

It's a pretty cute outfit, one that radiates far too much effort for nine in the morning. Pre-planning has its perks, the white and red shirt that's entirely held up by her shoulder. Untethering it will make the entire thing pull down and from the small nubs visible through it she's forgoed the bra.

Then there's the shorts, somehow even shorter than booty shorts. Red and significantly less reserved than any of her office fits. It exaggerates her ass perfectly, revealing some of her cheeks before you pull them down. She's waiting for you to do something, an expression that's basically screaming 'fuck me.'

You grab her, tugging her shorts off– Yena wasn't wearing any underwear, her pink slit already slick with anticipation. Look lower and there's a pink plug bedazzled with sparkles, your hand naturally reaches out to touch it. "You really like pink hm? Looks good on you."

"Yeah! It's the sluttiest colour and that's what I am right?" She's teasing you for all that you said. "Just a cock sucking, desperate, addicted little whore."

"Am I wrong?" You challenge, your finger teases her slit. "You are dripping without being touched, that's pretty slutty." You push inside, a singular digit is enough to get moans out of her mouth. Last night was just the beginning, there had to be reservations.

Here though in her bedroom?

The only thing that will stop you is stamina, and even that won't stop you.

"So what? You won't do a thing about it." She'll regret those fighting words later, her face slips for a moment. Caught off guard by a second finger pushing inside. Her wetness is laughfully abundant, you have to resist the urge to shove her legs up and push into her wet cunt. Make her scream and lose her mind. And you manage.

"Would you like to bet?" It's back in her hands, like how your hand is embedded in her. Whatever she says next determines it all. The wet squelching noises of Yena are the backdrop to it all, she stains your fingers.

"I said you won't do shit." She reiterates and that's the last straw. Your hand withdraws, wipes the mess on her smooth skin. You are irritated, falling for the bait. Grabbing the lube off her bedside table, left so easily within range. So intentionally nearby.

She stays smug even as you pull the plug out of her tight rim, already lubricated but you plan to add more. "You're going to regret saying that," You sneer.

And then, while you lube up your cock. Yena does the unthinkable, she laughs at you– challenging and bratty. "Am I?"

You see red, taking all of your willpower to not immediately shove yourself inside and make her scream. Regret being the way she is, you are barely holding on. She laughs again at your struggle , trying to get the reaction she wants.

She won't get it.

Not now at least.

The oil in her drawer didn't catch your eye at first, but with her acting like this you have a new perspective on it. The large bottle fits nicely in your palm. Clicking it open and pooling it all over your hand, "You are such a brat, it's not going to give you what you want."

You smear oil all over her puckered rim, reacting to the coldness even if she didn't. Just attempting to mock you again. "You can just admit that you won't do anything."

Her sensitivity betrays her exterior when your middle finger pushes inside, just to the knuckle. It's a small catch, a little moan. She's dedicated to it now, the route she wants to take. Your hand is dripping with both shiny oil and helpful lubricant, glistening in artificial light.

"You'll be the one begging for it, remember last time?" Your finger pumps in and out slowly. "'Fuck! Turn my mouth into your filthy worthless fleshlight!'" You mock, repeating what she said last night after the whole affair. She huffs, eyes rolling to the right while she attempts to make an excuse.

"I was taking pity! Trying to make you finally fuck like a real man." Her excuse makes little sense, and you add a second digit. "And see? Just using your pathetic fingers because you can't handle it."

You keep fingering her, it's lack of pace is misery for your poor cock. It's desperate for Yena's hand wrapped around it, to be inside her holes or fuck her mouth. Every second untouched frustrates you, but it's the fact your bratty coworker is even more so that pushes you forward. Her facade can't hide every trace of frustration.

That makes it worth.

Minutes pass and your own need eclipses your desire to make Yena wait, fingers retracting. "Turn yourself around, you can handle simple directions right?"

"Hmph– make me, fucking loser." You grab onto her waist, flipping her over so hard the bed shakes.

"Fucking brat." The sight of Yena's bubbly butt makes your mouth water, smooth bare and begging to be defiled. "Useless for everything but making me cum."

"And doing reports, you'd be drowning without your best co-worker."

"Sometimes, mostly just a fucking distraction that gets us in trouble with the bosses." You pour a deluge of oil all over her ass. A stream of transparent thickness bending light on its way down. Your hands rub it all in, groping and admiring her firm cheeks.

"Oh no, my smoking hot co-worker sucks my dick twice a day! Whatever will I do?!" Yena's smirk can be heard alongside her sarcasm even while turned around, it's something you punish immediately with a brutal spank. She yelps and pushes her ass forward, silently begging for another hit.

"Shut up."

You get into position, your swollen tip rubs over her messy slit first, you push it in for a moment. Her walls grab onto what you give and her unsatisfied body's actions whine out for more.

But that's all she gets, her wet warmth was not the target this morning.

The little moans she tries to hide with snark are pure ear candy, her puckered rim resists your cock. Ungodly tight and impossibly difficult, the highest form of consummation as it starts to relent. Inviting you inside, but you aren't in a rush. Yena's an impatient brat and you'll break her into begging soon. Inch by inch takes its sweet time to slide in, disappearing between her cheeks and inside.

"Why are you so slow? Scared you'll blow too early?" Her words don't carry the same roughness when she's quivering, her hole sensitive to getting stuffed.

"Brats don't deserve to get fucked." The words leave your mouth breathily as you bottom out. That's all she gets, no thrusts or external stimulation. Just the feeling of getting stuffed.

"Does my bratty ass not deserve to be ruined? You are already inside of my slutty hole. Just waiting for you to stop being a loser and take it." It's a masterclass in bait, the degradation of herself slips casually off her tongue and for a moment you nearly concede.

"You don't deserve it, you are just a tight cockwarmer and nothing more."

"Fine, I'll do it." Her hand moves– sneaking around and attempting to give herself the relief. Two fingers aiming to grant the pleasure you refuse to give.

You stop it before she starts, seizing her wrist in your hand. She tries to wiggle it out but your firmness triumphs.

"Not a fucking chance." You punish her sly deed with a flurry of swats on her right asscheek, blooming red underneath

"What's the problem sweetheart? Worried I can make myself cum, worried I don't need you?" Her other hand gets locked and pinned.

"Need you?" You chuckle deeply, taken aback by the sheer audacity to say those words right now. When she's just an outlet for your pleasure. "I don't need you, I could jerk off and you'd be worthless." You aim for the words to get a reaction, the second before she replies is a reaction enough.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Hm? How so?"

Yena lowers her voice, seductive and lacking levity. "Because the feeling of my holes hugging your dick of yours is better than your hand could ever be, sweetie."

You pivot. "We both know you'll crack eventually, cock addicted brat." Yena's walls can't stop clenching around you, it's in her DNA to please even when you give her nothing. You could cum just off this if given enough, though that wouldn't be satisfying. You live for the triumph over Yena in this moment, to prove her wrong for the love of it.

"Ngh, asshole." You let her hands go as a test, to see if she can be trusted to keep her hands to herself. And in a way, she does. Because she immediately tries those antics again. And this time you've had enough, looking at the belt you have on the ground. You didn't come here wearing clothes that needed a belt, it was solely for the premonition you'd need it.

Fortune favours the bold, you suppose.

You don't remove yourself from Yena's snug ass, keeping yourself firmly embedded as you lean down. She leans alongside, with a stressed lunge you manage to swipe it. "Keep fucking still." You growl, tying the belt around her arms. Locking her movement behind her back.

"Just fuck me sweetheart, get it over with." The nickname really gets on your nerves, a simple diminutive. And it's designed to cause you to lose your mind. It's so close, but you exhale. Spank her one more time.

"Beg for it." Then you can hear a pindrop. Absolute silence.

"No. Do what I say." She tries to be stern.

But she doesn't have the authority here, tied up on her bed. "Sweetheart." You take her diminutive and throw it back at her, finger teasing her slit she tried so desperately to touch. The slick is even more abundant now, it's comical how worked up she is.

It feels like an eternity how long you two sit in this position, a back and forth. You push Yena to the edge, rapid fingering for a second then a minute of barely touching. She starts to crack at the seams, she doesn't have that same umph or defiance. It's beautiful to see.

Then finally.

"please…" Yena's too quiet for your liking, but you are fair. Moving deliberately, pulling out leaving just the tip and then just as languidly back in.

"Come on, you can be a bit louder if you want to do that badly."

"Please..! Pound me." A bit better, you speed up.

"Say what you are, prove you want it."

"I'm your slut! A needy brat who needs her ass fucked! Please." The last part sounds pathetic, makes you feel so powerful. All your pent up frustration snaps, an obsessive urge to make her scream more.

She screams so deliciously as her tight hole gets fucked with all the force you can muster, sudden whiplash scrambling her mind. Your hard length pummels into her, making her oiled cheeks jiggle. Yena's getting fucked like a fleshlight, the humanity both of you have is replaced with a compulsive urge to ruin & be ruined. "Ah! Fuck you mi–ght r-uin me!"

"Good! That's what you fucking wanted right?" Yena slumps into her bed, you grab her sprawled out hair. Forming a shoddy ponytail before yanking her upwards, she cries out euphoria while she takes all the pain and pleasure.

"Fuck! Yes, yes!" Yena's unable to adjust, moaning out shrilly. "It's s-o fucki--ng good– more!"

"Don't tell me what to do, take what you are given– fucking brat." Your cock twitches, her desperation is so fucking addictive. You ram into her without care, balls slapping against her slit. Her bedroom is scorching hot with sweat and sin, it's dripping down your forehead and fuck.

"O-okay!" You overwhelm her, getting into a proper rhythm. Every thrust is followed by a disrespectful spank and a tug on her hair. "Thi-s!"

She's fucked stupid in record time, crying out while you abuse her hole. It's easier now, your cock stretching her out and claiming the space as its own. "Taking it so fucking well!" you continue treating her like the slut she is, all on her mind was the feeling of her asshole getting ravaged.

"Ru-in– me! Fuck, plow my ass! T-reat me lik-e your person-al bratty– whore!"

"That's all you fucking are, worthless slut."

"Yes! Please, please! Fuck! I'm so close!"

"Tell me when."

You keep slamming into her body, letting go of her hair to deliver the harshest fucking you can. The same repetitive motions push her right to the edge, so close to her climax. She moans and then finally shrieks "I'm going to- fuck!"

That fuck screams desperation and frustration as you pull out, her gaping hole clenching around nothing as it begs for your cock. She grinds against the air in an attempt to get something, anything. "W-Why?" Yena's voice croaks.

"Do you think you deserve it? After all of that?" You tease, chuckle. "Defiant, difficult brat."

"I'll listen to whatever you want! Please just let me cum…" Her voice is laced with as much need as her body sweat, you pull her forward and redirect your slaps to her rock hard pink tits. Getting fun delirious moans, it's the only pleasure she'll get.

"Beg, sweetie."

"Please! Take advantage of my ass and just make me cum! Fill my slutty hole with your cum, do anything! Just. Please." She grovels, you are very horny otherwise Yena would have to wait a lot longer. You flip her back around and get on top of her. She lays prone as you take her.

"F-fuck! I'm so close, please just let me!" Yena's a desperate whore and you don't mind letting her cum if it means you cum.

"Cum." With your words Yena loses her mind, one last piercing moan and she orgasms all over her bed. You decide there's only one place for your load, "Fuck, going to flood this tight ass."

Your orgasm hits you just as hard as it hits Yena, thick spurts of your load coat her anal walls. Completely and utterly filing her up, she moans at the warmth. Pulse after pulse she's made yours, thrusting to extend it as long as possible. When it's done you pull yourself out, watch as your filthy load gets pushed out.

"Damn." You lay next to her, heavy pants fill the space as your chest heaves.

"Y-yeah.. woah." It seems like you are both coming back down to earth, the intensity of it all.

"Can you untie my hands now?" You freed her sore limbs from the belt's shackles, giving her freedom.

Yena gets herself up, climbing off the bed and gingerly limping her way to the shower. Though that sight confirms you weren't finished, the shared cum on her thighs. The messy, frazzled hair. Her red and flushed body.

You leap forward, Yena's shock is seen on her reflection in the mirror. Her makeup and all the other useless stuff on her desk. You are still rock solid and Yena's ass welcomes you back inside, every snap of your hips forces your cum back in deep. The mirror grants the view of her robbed while she was on the bed, her squeezed shut eyes, her forced open mouth that has an endless stream of moans.

"Fuck! Oh my god!"

"Did you think we were done? Not until this ass can't sit down without remembering my cock ruining it." Her hands press against the wood, it does little to stabilise herself. She's at your complete mercy, your hands fondle her tits. Just letting pure desire motivate you.

"Yes! Make me cum again!"

"Don't fucking hold back, cum your brains out." You watch in delight as her body already seizes, orgasming onto the carpet. You've really done a number on her, continuing to ram into her overstimulated body. Reveling in the whole scene, her tamed state stares back at you for a brief moment before her eyes involuntarily close enough.

"Keep going!"

You pull out of Yena just long enough to take her to the floor, pushing her feet up by her head as you slide into her ass one more time. This angle was perfect, she's fucked out of her head. Just a wailing moaning mess desperate to cum again, you commit to giving her one more. It's primal and unapologetically raw, you have no energy left to tease or mock.

Just to finish.

You chase it, ignoring the feeling of burning muscles and increasingly exhaustion. Just focusing on the deep, impactful, forceful slaps against her crotch. Yena's overwhelmed body cums again with an orgasmic screech and that's what pushes you over the edge. In a last second move you leave her snug warmth, climbing over her body as you stroke yourself to completion all over her pretty flushed face. Watching as a load just as strong as your first defiles her. Thick white paints over every inch, a stray shot splashing over her tits before you fall sideways onto the carpet.

She pants, you pant, both desperate for oxygen that refuses to enter your lungs. All of the adrenaline seeps out of your bodies and is replaced by ache. "You really did a number huh?" She breaks the tension, voice hazy.

"You okay?" Your eyes look at her, if you weren't so exhausted it'd inspire a third round. Her cum stained face angled towards you, though the filth blocks her from being able to see. It's also on her thighs and her tits. Marking your co-worker/brat and claiming her as yours. Despite the mess you give her a comforting kiss on the lips.

"Never been better, just help me to the bathroom please?"

Yena sat scrolling on her phone, an additional mattress of pillows underneath her body. It's like nothing's ever happened, like you two didn't just fuck like rabid animals for the last hour or two. "Ow…" She whines when she readjusts.

"Are you alright Yena? Like, honestly." You move the hair out of her left eye, still slightly damp from half assed drying. She smiles and you feel like a few weights have been taken off your shoulders.

"Of course, that was… intense. But, it's a day off and all."

You want her to say more, but she hasn't any other time.

She won't, that's part of the flair you suppose. Maybe she's not comfortable letting herself be herself, doesn't want to say too much. It's not something you'll push on, not something you have to.

It isn't your place.

If she wants to be reductive, wants to keep things simple. You'll let her.

Especially if it keeps you two doing this arrangement, feelings are overrated.

As soon as he stopped in front of her. She looked at him and shows a plain smile. "Look who's walking all the way here, like I controlled every fiber of your being. Mr. Smith."

The woman leaned her glass to click with his. "Ji Suh-Yeon. You can call me Jiyeon. My father is one of the shareholders of the bank and supporter of your father's candidacy."

Matthew's eyes widened slightly at Jiyeon's words. He swore that he heard her name few times before but he never ever expected that she's this captivating.

"Jiyeon." he replied smoothly, his voice deep and confident. "A pleasure to meet you. And please, call me Matthew." He clicked his glass to hers.

As they sipped their champagne, Matthew couldn't help but notice the way Jiyeon's full lips curled into a subtle smirk, as if she knew exactly the effect she was having on him. Her dark eyes seemed to bore into his very soul, sending shivers down his spine.

"So, tell me. Jiyeon." Matthew ventured, leaning in closer. "what brings a stunning beauty like yourself to our humble bank's anniversary celebration? I swear this is the first time I saw you."

Jiyeon saw how Matthew looked at her. She didn't expect that of all the women in this event, she's the one who caught his attention.

"Well..." She looked around and sees her father interacting to other guests. "I don't have any interest of attending to this kind of events. But my father keeps telling me to go with him. I don't have any plans for tonight, so I went."

Jiyeon turned to face him. "Let's talk about something else, Matthew. I wonder what kind of hobbies does a soon-to-be-chairman like you?"

Matthew chuckled softly, amused by Jiyeon's candidness. He liked her straightforwardness, it was refreshing.

"Hobbies? Well, I do enjoy traveling when I can, especially to popular places like Paris. I play Golf sometimes." Matthew explained, his gaze drifting to Jiyeon's exposed collarbone as she shifted slightly.

"Travel and golf huh? Such a rich person's common hobbies." Jiyeon chuckled lightly. That chuckle made Matthew affection towards to Jiyeon grow slowly.

"But I must admit, lately, those hobbies doesn't make me satisfy. Preparing to take over the family business is no easy feat."

Matthew's eyes met Jiyeon's again, a spark of curiosity igniting within him. "Anyway, what about you, Jiyeon? Do you have any passions or talents that I need to know?"

"I do Ballet. Ever since I was five. Been into competitions local and international. Awards are already stacked on my bedroom like posters." She drank the remaining champagne in one go.

Matthew hummed approvingly as he heard that she does ballet. "Never knew I would meet a ballerina in this place."

His arm wrapped around her slender waist and pulled her closer to him. That sudden action made Jiyeon gasp. She quickly schooled her expression back to pokerface. "But I prefer seeing you in this kind of dress rather than the usual ballet outfit."

"Oh really?" Jiyeon leaned a bit closer. Their eyes locked with burning desire. "Did you use that script to any woman you met?"

"I admit, I do." He leans to her ear. Hot breath brushing that made her knees weaken but she holds on fast. "But you're the first woman who made me daringly fly into the flame, Darling."

Jiyeon felt Matthew's warm breath against her ear, every word sends a shiver down her spine. She could hardly believe the boldness of his words, but a part of her thrilled at the prospect of being the only one to ignite such passion in him.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Matthew." she whispered back, her voice barely audible above the music and chatter of the party. Despite her words, there was a hint of playfulness in her tone.

Jiyeon's hand found its way to Matthew's chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his suit jacket. She traced a finger along his necktie, her touch deliberate and teasing.

"But perhaps we should put that energy... to the test, hmm? But first..." Jiyeon grabbed his glass and drank the remaining liquid. Which made Matthew surprised of her boldness.

"That was... quite bold for a ballerina." He chuckled as he pulled her into his. He felt her soft curves through the fabric. The warmth and intensity of their intimacy.

Matthew sees the curious eyes of the crowd around them. Whispers of gossips caught his ears. He looked at her eyes and smiled.

"Let's go to a quieter place, shall we?" He offered his hand to her. He was anticipating for her approval and want to lead themselves into a exclusive hotel room. Spending a night with Jiyeon made him excite like a kid.

Jiyeon's heart raced at Matthew's suggestion, a thrill coursing through her veins. She nodded, a coy smile on her lips as she placed her hand in his.

Without another word, they slipped away from the prying eyes and whispers of the partygoers, weaving through the crowds with an air of secrecy and anticipation. Matthew led Jiyeon to the elevators, his grip on her hand tightening with each step.

Once inside the private lift, Matthew pressed the button for the top floor, where the most luxurious suites were located. The doors slid shut, enveloping them in a cocoon of silence broken only by Matthew pulling her into a deep kiss.

As they ascended, Jiyeon's pulse quickened, her imagination running wild with the possibilities of what lay ahead as she replies his kiss with equal favor. Their lips matched as they taste the alcohol and desire.

As seconds feels like eternity, The elevator doors finally opens. Matthew broke the kiss and gently dragged her all the way to the room 240.

He pulled out a keycard and the door automatically opens. Jiyeon's eyes roams around the interior. She spots a king sized bed covered by a violet silky covers, where she calculates in her mind that it's between 72x80 or 84 in size.

The windows are bigger like a door and also have violet curtains. Matthew went to the Vinyl player and played a soothing instrumental song. Next, He puts on the aromatic candles.

Jiyeon crossed her arms under her chest with a smug smile. "How romantic, Matthew. I can see this is the exact room where you bring your women."

He walked closer to her. His hands holds her hips as he leaned closer. His lips almost brushing to hers.

"Spot on but... I want you right here, right now. Jiyeon. Nobody can steal you away from me." With that, He claimed her lips again. Their lips locked in a passionate exchange of kisses.

Their tongues touched and danced in a erotic way possible. Suddenly, Jiyeon pushed him into the bed.

"I'll go for a nice and hot shower. Join me if you want to." Jiyeon pulled her dress over her head. Exposing her slender topless body to his hungry sight. Perky breasts topped with a pinkish stiff nipples. She has only the black lace panties that covers the part of her body that he wanted to see the most.

With a smirk, Jiyeon walked into the bathroom. Hips swayed at each step. Matthew watched, transfixed, as Jiyeon's slender form disappeared behind the bathroom door. His cock throbbed with anticipation, straining against his boxers as he imagined peeling off those lacy panties and burying himself deep within her slick heat.

He followed close behind, shedding his clothes with haste, not bothering to fold or hang anything up. Naked, he strode into the bathroom, steam already rising from the large walk-in shower.

Jiyeon stood beneath the cascading water, rivulets streaming down her porcelain skin. She turned to face him, a sultry grin playing on her lips as her soapy hands trailed down her stomach, teasing the edges of her underwear.

"Care to join me, Matthew?" she purred, her voice husky with desire. "I promise I won't bite..."

Matthew chuckled at her playful words. His eyes appreciates her almost naked form. "I should be the one who will warn you, Jiyeon."

He positioned behind her, lips brushing her ear as he spoke. "I bite.. roughly if you want." He bit her earlobe. Jiyeon gasped, audible from the sound of a running water.

Jiyeon never expected this but it's not entirely unpleasant. If anything, it just made her lean to him.

His erect cock pressed against her plush bottom. His hands starts roaming slowly around her soapy body until he cupped her perky breasts.

Jiyeon let out a soft moan as Matthew's fingers teased her sensitive nipples, rolling and tugging on the hardened buds. She arched her back, pressing her breasts more firmly into his palms.

"Mmm~ yes... just like that." she breathed, her voice heavy with lust. "Ughhh~~ Touch me more, Matthew."

As he continued to fondle her breasts, Jiyeon reached back with one hand, grasping his cock. She gave it a slow, deliberate stroke, relishing the way it twitched in her grasp.

Bending forward, she guided Matthew's cock between her ass cheeks, rubbing the tip against her soaked folds through her drenched panties. "Bet you can't wait to get inside me." she taunts, her hips rocking back to seek friction. "Peel it off, Matthew. Use your teeth on it."

With a growl of primal desire, Matthew yanked down Jiyeon's soaked panties using his teeth. letting them float away in the shower spray. He spread her cheeks wide open as he lined up his throbbing cock with her dripping entrance.

Then, with a swift, forceful thrust, he buried himself to the hilt inside her tight, wet heat. Jiyeon cried out in ecstasy, her hands holds on the tile wall as a support as he began to pound into her roughly.

"Yes! Fuck me harder!" Jiyeon begged, her voice echoing off the marble tiles. "Oh Gods! Rougher, Matthew!"

Matthew obliged, his hips snapping forward with brutal precision, driving his cock deeper with each thrust.

Matthew wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her upright. He claims her lips into another heated kiss. Jiyeon's flexibility made it possible to arch her back with ease. Her arms wrapped around his nape.

Breaking the kiss, Matthew spun Jiyeon around and lifted her up. plunging even deeper into her clenching pussy with each powerful stroke.

"You're so fucking tight!" Matthew rasped, his eyes blazing with raw hunger as he devoured Jiyeon's mouth again. "Gonna fill this sweet cunt with my cum..."

Jiyeon whimpered, her nails digging into Matthew's hair as she teetered on the brink of climax. "Fuck! Yes! Ah! Give it to me, Matthew!" she pleaded, her walls fluttering wildly around his pistoning cock.

With a final, deep thrust, Matthew buried himself inside Jiyeon's spasming depths. His cock pulsed as he unleashed a torrent of hot seed deep within her. His orgasm made her come undone as well.

"Ahhh fuckkkk!" he roared, his entire body shaking with the force of his orgasm. Jiyeon's inner muscles milked him greedily, drawing out every last drop of his essence.

As the aftershocks subsided, Matthew lowered Jiyeon's trembling legs to the shower floor, keeping her pinned against the cool tile with his body. They shared a long, sated kiss, their hearts still racing in tandem.

Finally, Matthew broke the seal of their lips, a lazy smile curling his lips. "Well, that was certainly an unforgettable first encounter, Jiyeon."

"You're not bad than I honestly thought so. Thought you're just all talk and charm."

"Now we're nice and clean. I hope you still up for another round in bed, Handsome." Jiyeon whispered as she kissed his jawline.

That kiss reignites his desire for her. "Fuck, Jiyeon. You make me want you even more." He groaned.

Jiyeon bit her lower lip and lead him to the bed. She pushed him there and crawled between his legs. His still erect cock mere inches across her face.

"Let me return the favor, Matthew." Jiyeon proceeds to press kisses from his balls up to the tip. What made Matthew groan is Jiyeon's tongue swirling around the tip, focusing the clit of his cock. He never experienced this to other women he slept with before.

Matthew's head fell back against the pillows as Jiyeon's talented tongue worked magic on his throbbing cock. Her lips sealed around the head, suckling gently while her tongue flicked and danced across the underside.

"Oh fuck, Jiyeon." he gasped, his hands fisting the sheets as waves of pleasure crashed over him. "Your mouth feels incredible... Just like that..."

She took him deeper, her throat constricting around his shaft as she bobbed up and down. Matthew's hips bucked involuntarily, fucking her face with desperate urgency.

Suddenly, Jiyeon released him with a pop, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Not yet, handsome. I want to ride your cock this time." She licked a stripe up his length, coating herself with pre-cum before lowering at his cock with ease.

Matthew's eyes rolled back as Jiyeon sank down onto his rigid cock, her slick heat engulfing him completely. He groaned deeply, savoring the sensation of being fully inside within her tight, wet passage.

"Fuck, yes... Ride me, baby." he urged, his hands gripping her hips as she began to move. Jiyeon set a steady rhythm, her juices dripping down Matthew's thighs as she rode him with increasing fervor.

Matthew cupped her face, pulling her down for a searing kiss as he thrust upward to meet her downward thrusts.

"Faster, Matthew... Harder!" she commanded, her voice strained with pleasure. "Make me cum again, damn it..."

Matthew knows he's almost at his peak too. He thrust her harder. Jiyeon felt his cockhead knocking her hymen over and over again. She can't wait to cum on his cock once again.

With a fierce cry, Jiyeon slammed down onto Matthew's cock, her inner walls clamping down like a vice as she reached her peak. Her body shook with the force of her orgasm, wave after wave of intense pleasure crashing over her.

At the same moment, He pumped his hips upward. Burying himself to the hilt as jets of hot semen erupted deep inside her once again.

They collapsed together, panting and trembling in the aftermath of their climaxes. Matthew cradled Jiyeon in his arms, marveling at the way their bodies fit so perfectly.

Jiyeon looked up to him. Her eyes shining with mischief that still never left after the two rounds. "Up for one more?"

Matthew knew that kind of smile. He shaked his head in disbelief. "Damn it, Jiyeon. You'll be the death of me."

Jiyeon chuckled. "Atleast your death isn't that bad. Feeling the heaven for few times, Something that only you can experience that."

Jiyeon pulled herself upwards then lowers herself to his awaiting mouth. She gave his cock a kiss before sucking it whole. Engaging into 69 position as she grinds her clit to his mouth.

Matthew moaned around Jiyeon's slick sex as she ground her clit against his eager tongue. He sucked and licked her swollen nub, reveling in the taste of her arousal.

Jiyeon's hands fisted at sheets as she rocked her hips against his face. Matthew's free hand snaked between her thighs, finding her puckered asshole. He licked teasingly circling the entrance before pushing his finger inside.

"Ahhh! Fuck yes! Right there, Matthew!"Jiyeon gasped, her voice high and breathy with pleasure. "Don't stop... Oh gods, I'm gonna cum again!"

Matthew redoubled his efforts, devouring Jiyeon's clit with focus as he finger-fucked her ass. Jiyeon returns the favor as she sucked his cock with equal pace. Determined to make themselves come undone for the third time.

Matthew's tongue darted rapidly over Jiyeon's throbbing clit as he plunged a second finger into her tight asshole. The dual stimulation proved too much, and Jiyeon's body seized up, her orgasm ripping through her like a tidal wave.

"Matthew! Oh fuck, yes! I'm cumming!" she screamed, her tight asshole clenching rhythmically around his probing digits as she squirted her release onto his mouth.

Matthew drank every drop, his own climax building at the edge. With a final, desperate suck, she sent him into another peak, shoots his cum down to her throat.

After a while, He pulled her closer to him and embraced her spent panting body. Jiyeon slowly went to sleep. Matthew watched her peaceful sleeping face adoringly.

He thought in his mind that maybe Jiyeon is the one for him. He's tired of flirting and fucking dozens of women. He's tired of temporary satisfcation.

He leaned to kiss her forehead and slept with her for the rest of the night

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Morning light filtered through the curtains. Matthew woke up, his heart beating fast with genuine worries as he's alone in the room. "Jiyeon? Where are you?"

He dressed up and was ready to leave to find Jiyeon when he saw a pink handkerchief with Jiyeon's name written on it in a cursive way at the bedside table. There he finds a phone number, likely it was Jiyeon's number written on the fabric.

Matthew dialed the number, his heart beating with anticipation. "Matthew?" Her warm, melodic voice filled his ears, instantly putting a smile on his face.

"Good morning, beautiful." he said, trying to keep his tone casual despite the butterflies in his stomach. "I was starting to worry when I couldn't find you this morning."

Jiyeon laughed softly, the sound music to his ears. "Sorry about that. I needed to get home as early as possible because my father was almost going to start a search operation for me."

Matthew chuckled, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him. "Of course, I understand that. We left the party without telling him."

"If you have time around 3 pm, Come to the ballet school near the grand park. You can watch me there."

"Sound nice, Jiyeon. I'll be there. Maybe we can set-up a picnic date right after your class."

Jiyeon gasped at the sudden picnic date inviration. She smiled, the one that reaches to her ears. "Such a romantic you are, Matthew. I'll be waiting then."

Both ends the call with anticipation of their first date. Matthew will do anything, everything at this point just to get her heart.

"It'a a simple dare. Bullshit. Of all the dares, you're trying to humilate me. Does she ever think how risky is this? Unbelieveable!"

Jiyeon drove all the way to Gyeongju, Farthest east from Seoul. It took her 3 hours. She picked the place because she knew people in the countryside doesn't know who she is or the group she's part of.

As minutes passed, her anxiety reaches a fever pitch. She saw few people walking across her at her car's sideview mirror. Some young men and women going somewhere, Kids running and teasing and Elderly people walking slowly.

Jiyeon shaked her head. She twist the car key and started the engine. "Fuck this! I don't fucking care if Seoyeon calls me a coward. I can't risky my career for that childish dare. I'm out of thi-"

"Ehem!"

A throaty cough made her whole body stiffen. Jiyeon slowly looked up at the stranger.

An elderly man who has patches of scars on his face, white hair, he has a cigarrete on his lips. His clothes are rusty old. Jiyeon smelled a mixed of cigarette and body odor. "Y-Yes, Mister?" She flashed him a nervous smile as his eyes wander around her naked body.

She swallows hard, trying to maintain her composure despite the growing sense of unease. Jiyeon felt touched despite the old man didn't even touched her yet.

The man takes a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling a smoke into the air between them. Jiyeon's nostrils flare, catching the scent mingled with the musk of his worn clothing.

"Young women these days... are so shameless and desperate. Back in my days, I need to pay a whore to get naked. Now, It's all for free." Jiyeon's fingers tighten around the steering wheel, she still smiled despite being called a whore.

"T-That's not why I am here, Mister. I... I lost a game and... this is my dare." Her voice suddenly low at the last few words. She's truly ashamed of her situation right now.

The old man chuckles again, a low sound that sends a shiver down Jiyeon's spine. He takes another slow puff of his cigarette, eyeing her up and down with a hungry gleam. "Lost a game, huh? Well, I suppose you gotta follow through."

He drops the butt of his cigarette onto the dirt road, grinding it out with the toe of his scuffed sandals. Then with a deliberate slowness, he cupped her left breast, his gaze never leaving her flushed face. "Tell me, little missy... what exactly do you think I want to do to you?"

Jiyeon gasped at his rough hand groping her breast. She feels stucked for some reason. She could have just step the pedal to drive away as far as possible from him but she can't. Jiyeon eyed on her smart watch and it shows an increasing consistent heartbeat of 100.

"I know... that you wanted to get into my car and... u-use my body... whatever you like." Jiyeon closed her eyes shut. She's at the verge of crying. Jiyeon never been this exposed and sexualized like she is right now.

The old man grins, clearly pleased by Jiyeon's submission. His rough fingers dig into her soft flesh, kneading and squeezing until she winces. "That's right, sweet thing." he growls, his hot breath washing over her ear as he leans in close. "You don't know how much I wanted to fuck a young lady like you."

He released her breast after giving a last rough squeeze then walked around to sit beside her. His body odor is even more stronger that the car freshener is basically useless at this point.

"Start the car. I know a place."

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Jiyeon starts the car's engine and drove away. She followed the old man's directions to a place that only the old man knows. Jiyeon gasped loudly as she felt his hand on her clit.

Jiyeon's hands tremble on the steering wheel as the old man's rough finger slid into her slick folds, rubbing against her sensitive clit. She bites her lip to stifle a moan, trying desperately to keep her eyes on the road ahead. But it's a losing battle. The pleasure is too intense, making her squirm in her seat.

"You're so wet already, little slut." the man rasps, his finger pumping in and out of her. "Bet you've been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"

Jiyeon's face flushes with humiliation and arousal, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. She can barely breathe, let alone concentrate on driving. The car veers slightly off course as her body responds to his touch, her hips bucking involuntarily to meet each thrust.

"Hey, Hey, Hey! Focus on driving, little slut." He warned. He didn't stop fingering her, the old man enjoys torturing her like this. He chuckled about how lucky he is to fuck a young and fresh woman.

As soon as the car approached an old house that was far from the other houses. "Park the car right there and follow me." He pulled his finger out from her before she even lose herself to the pleasure.

Jiyeon quietly whined at the sudden emptyness. She breathe heavily as she tried to compose herself. Jiyeon unbuckled her seatbelt and gets off from the car.

Jiyeon's heart races as she followed the old man into the old house. The smell of decay and cigarettes fills the air, making her wrinkle her nose in distaste. Trash everywhere, crunching beneath her feet as she steps inside.

The old man leads her upstairs, his footsteps creaking on the worn wooden stairs. Jiyeon's pulse quickens with each step. When they reach the top, he pushes a door to reveal a small, dimly lit bedroom. The bed looks ancient, sheets are stained and bunch of holes.

Without a word, the old man begins to undress, revealing awrinkled body covered in age spots and scars, Large belly and more white hairs.

"What are you waiting for? Lay on the bed."

Jiyeon let out a resign sigh as she walked toward to the bed and lay down. As soon as she lay down on the worn mattress, Jiyeon caught the musky scent of odor that she wanted to vomit so bad.

The old man lingered a gaze at her then he crawled atop of Jiyeon. His weight pressed against her. Hands are now roughly explored her naked body.

Jiyeon's stomach churns as the old man's thick, beer-soaked tongue invades her mouth, his rough hands roaming her body with a possessive hunger. She tries to twist away, but his weight keeps her pinned beneath him. Totally helpless under his dominance.

His filthy taste of his saliva, the stubbled bearded chin scraping her skin, the overpowering odor of his unwashed body. For Jiyeon, It was too much for her.

"Hhmm~~ You're sweeter than I thought, slut. I will taste every inch of you."

The old man leaned to lick and suck her left ear, Jiyeon tilted her head to the side as her tears flowing down on her cheeks. She started crying softly. Her first time with her ex is just gentle and caring, unlike what she experiencing right now.

The old man saw her crying, He chuckled instead of feeling pity. "I've never seen a whore who cries like that. Well.. Keep crying. I'll wipe your tears away."

The old man slowly licked her cheeks, tasting her salty tears that kept flowing. Jiyeon felt disgusted on herself. She was adored by many but in this place, she's nothing but his helpless, crying whore.

After that, the old man continued his exploration from her neck down to the swell and curve of her breasts. He take his time licking every inches of her. Tasting the salty flesh like she is his last meal.

Jiyeon's breath hitches as the old man's mouth closes around her nipple, his teeth tugging hard the sensitive bud before he sucks hard, sending jolts of pain and pleasure straight to her core. "M-Mister... Please be.. g-gentle..."

His hands roam lower, grasping at her waist and pulling her body flush against his, his rigid member pressing insistently against her thigh.

Finally, the old man finished lavishing his attention to Jiyeon's sore and swollen breasts and went down to her wet clit.

He leaned forward to press his nose against her clit. Inhailing her arousal deeply like it was the best fragrance he ever smelled in his whole life. "Holy shit! This pussy is like a drug. I can't wait to put my cock inside."

Jiyeon's legs buckle as the old man's hot, wet tongue laps at her clit, his nose buried deep in her slick folds. The sensation is overwhelming, his rough technique pushing her closer to the edge with each swipe of his tongue.

"Ah~ Ahh~ M-Mister~ Fuck..."

She bucks her hips, desperate for more friction, her nails digging into the worn sheets. The old man's guttural moans vibrate against her sensitive flesh, adding to the lewd noises filling the room.

The old man pushed two fingers inside and he immediately found the spot that made Jiyeon's back arches off the mattress, toes curling as she throws her head back, eyes rolling wildly in their sockets.

"Ahh! Ahh! Mister! I'm... I'm-" words trailed off as Jiyeon keeps panting so hard. Her inner walls clenching rhythmically around his invading fingers. The old man adds another finger as he keeps lapping her clit. He won't stop until he finally tasted her juices.

"C-Cumming!!" She screams, the sound torn from her very soul as pleasure consumes her, her body shaking uncontrollably. The old man swallowed Jiyeon's squirts, he groaned in delight.

"Ahh~~ Ughh~~ Mister... Stop.. I can't..."

Jiyeon's thighs quiver and tremble as the old man continues to fingering her sensitive clit, his fingers still buried deep inside her spasming channel. Despite her attempts to push him away, he holds fast, his grip unyielding as he milks every last drop of pleasure from her spent body.

Panting and drenched in sweat, Jiyeon can only lie there helplessly, praying that she can go home safe and sound.

The old man finally let her go but he's not done yet. He slapped her cheek. "Hey, Stay awake. We're just getting started."

The old man straddled at her chest, His weight pressing hard against her lungs. Making it harder to breathe. "Open your pretty mouth and suck my cock like an obedient whore you are."

Jiyeon's lips part obediently as the old man's thick, pulsating cock presses against it, the musky scent of his unwashed cock almost made her vomit. She wraps her lips around the swollen head, her tongue darting out to lap at the salty precum beading at the tip.

The old man groans, his hands fisting in her hair as he guides her mouth down onto his shaft, forcing her to take more of him with each passing second. Jiyeon gags and chokes, her throat burning from the sheer size of his cock.

Jiyeon's eyes water as the old man forces his cock deeper into her inexperienced throat, her jaw straining to accommodate his girth. She pats his thigh frantically, pleading silently for mercy, but he doesn't care at all.

The old man's grip on her hair tightens, using her as nothing more than a human cocksleeve. Jiyeon's vision blurs, her lungs burning for air as he pistons in and out of her mouth with ruthless pace, his heavy balls slapping against her chin with each brutal thrust.

*Slap! Slap! Slap! Slap!*

Tears stream down Jiyeon's face as the old man's hand cracks against her cheek, the sting mixing with the bitter taste of his cock coating her tongue. She cries out, a muffled wail that's swallowed by his thrusting cock, her throat burning from the brutal face-fucking.

"Fuck! You are such... a good cocksucker! You are made for this... Remember that."

The old man uses Jiyeon's body for his own pleasure without a shred of concern for her well-being. His balls slap obscenely against her chin, heavy with seed, as he continues to pound into her mouth over and over again.

"Shit! I will fill your... stomach with my semen, you fucking slut!"

Jiyeon's eyes widen in shock as the old man's cock pulses inside her mouth, spewing ropes of thick, warm semen directly onto her tongue. She recoils instinctively, Jiyeon isn't a fan of swallowing semen. She's trying to spit out the unwanted load, but his iron grip on her hair prevents her to do so.

"If you tried to spit it in my house, I'll make you regret it. Understand?"

Jiyeon nods quickly, gagging as the bitter taste of his cum ruined her tastebuds, tears streaming freely now. The old man releases her hair, satisfied with her obedience, as Jiyeon lies there shuddering, dazed and violated.

"We're still not done yet, until I fuck your pussy."

The old man puts her legs over her head, it went over easily. "You're flexible huh? You are really made for this, slut."

The sight of violated naked Jiyeon, her legs locked above her head, her wet and swollen pussy that made his cock erect and throbbing.

Jiyeon muffled gasp as the old man's cock spears into her already sensitive, abused pussy, stretching her further than she thought possible. Her legs tremble, locked over her head, as he begins to pump in and out of her with a steady rhythm.

"I knew it... Even your pussy is so fucking good! I feel like I won something better than a lottery!"

Jiyeon's mind spins, overwhelmed by the rough pace, her body moving in sync with his as he fucks her without any care of the world outside of the house. Her moans are muffled because she still holding the mouthful of his semen on her mouth. Not daring herself to spit it out, because of his threats.

"Aaghhh~~ Ughhh~~ So good!"

The old man's thrusts become erratic, his pace quickening as he nears his climax. Jiyeon clenches her teeth, trying to hold back another scream as he pounds into her relentlessly, her body jolting with each impact.

The old man's grunts grow louder, his grip on her hips tightening as he drives himself to the brink. Jiyeon realizes that he's going to fill her unprotected womb, but she's powerless to stop him.

"Fuck! Almost.... there!!"

Moments later, The old man pulled it out and shoots his remaining semen into her face. Jiyeon shrieks in pain when a semen splashes directly into her eye. Tears pour down her cheeks, mingling with the sticky fluid covering her face as the old man continues his perverse artistry.

When he finally steps back, Jiyeon lies there, a broken, defiled mess. The face that many people talked about how naturally pretty she is, now smeared with his cum. Her closed eye throbbing from the pain. Cheeks sore from the brutal slaps and hair messy as hell.

The old man lay down beside her. He let a satisfying sigh out. "That was the best fuck I ever had for ages! I knew that young sluts like you are totally worth it. Doing it for free, shows how desperate you are."

The old man's words hang heavy in the air, a cruel mockery of the violation Jiyeon has endured. She remains silent, staring blankly at the ceiling. "I'm Ji Suhyeon. A Kpop idol. Not your usual street whore!"

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

The old man fell asleep and snoring soundly beside her. Jiyeon's legs tremble as she slowly rises from the bed, her muscles protesting the effort. Each step towards to exit feels like eternity, her movements clumsy and unsteady due to the pain and exhaustion. Yet, driven by an urge to escape, she pushes forward, determined to put distance between herself and the old man.

As she reaches the front door, Jiyeon pauses, glancing back at the empty stairs. She knows that if the ols man woke up and catches her leaving, God only knows what would happened to her.

When she finally enters her car, she quickly wore her jacket. Covering her naked and violated body then starts the engine and drove away quickly as possible.

The stinging pain of her eye lead her to the nearest store. Her mouth still have the old man's bitter semen. She enters the store and quickly walked to the medical section where she brought a pack of eyepatch. Jiyeon also brought a box of tissues and a cold bottle of water.

Jiyeon placed the items infront of the female cashier named Kim Ji-Woo.

"Hello, Miss! Oh! What happened to your eye? You should go to the hospital first!"

But Jiyeon didn't respond. She was too tired and hurt. Ji-woo sighed as she proceeds to scan the items. Jiyeon paid using her card and walked away.

"Go to the hospital, okay? Be careful!" Ji-woo watched Jiyeon exits the store. She watched her entering her car and drives off.

"Wait... Why is she looked so familiar? I swear I seen her before..." Ji-woo closed her eyes in concentration as she's trying to remember who is that customer.

"tripleS!"

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Jiyeon stopped the car near the large tree beside the road. Her hands shake slightly as she frames the shot, the eyepatch casting a shadow over her bruised eye. She parts her lips, revealing the string of the old man's semen. Slowly, deliberately, she spits it out, capturing a humiliating selfie.

Satisfied with the proof, Jiyeon send the photo on their groupchat and tosses her phone aside. She quickly wiped the semen off from her mouth.

Jiyeon gets off from the car with a cold bottle of water. She popped it open and flush her eye with a water. Jiyeon rinsed the remaining water around her mouth then spits it out.

"Disgusting... I can't believe that I got fucked by a dirty piece of shit."

Jiyeon went back to her car and starts the engine once again. "I swear... I'll fucking kill you, Yoon Seoyeon. I..." She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself down as she continued driving.

"Oh... my... gosh!"

"Damn! You seriously did it! ㅋㅋㅋ!"

"What's with that eyepatch? ㅋㅋㅋ! Anyway, Come home before our manager realized you're missing for five hours."

"Tell us what happened, Okay?"

Life is often the most interesting when you do stupid shit, not the 'oh i'm going to walk into an abandoned house or try to get into a sparring match with a pigeon' sort of ordeals. Those things contain too much excitement for the tranquil atmosphere of this random park after midnight.

Why are you here exactly? Nien suggested reading a book on your phone on this exact bench. The idea so mundane yet weird you took her up on it, sprawled out on this wonderfully uncomfortable wooden bench with the spikes. Anti-homeless architecture be damned, you will lay like this even if you are getting pricked.

The book of choice was 'The Odyssey', another one of her suggestions. You were starting to wonder if she was trying to get you kidnapped or mugged or something by comatosing you with her suggestions. But, you give everything a shot. You've been here for roughly half an hour reading this classic, a few passerby's walked through, most were drunk, a few higher than a hot air balloon but nothing horrendous.

"Hello there." You turned away from your book. A woman had her gaze staring into your soul, a touch uncomfortably so. Also a bit too close for a starting interaction.

"Hm? You alright, want to sit on this bench or something?" You asked, hoisting yourself upwards, feeling pain where the spikes were wedged in your back.

"Oh, no no, erm…" She stuttered, turning around for a moment, muttering something indecipherable.

"What the…"

"Sorry..." She had turned back around, adjusting her black jacket that was falling off her shoulder. Outfit only vaguely illuminated by the oranged lamp-post to her left. "I'm really sorry err uhm…"

"Relax, take a deep breath. What is up?"

Aish, why are you entertaining this? Something within you just felt compelled to continue this conversation. Your hands tapped on the seat next to you, urging her to sit down before she crashed into the footpath. She listened, slumping onto the bench with a sigh.

"I– hm… I'm Jiyeon."

"Nice to meet you, still though– what's up with all this? Do you need money?"

"What? No!" Jiyeon sighed, "Damn you are cute…"

"Huh?" Her hands reached out, caressing your arm akin to a worm slithering on your skin. Causing you to jump backwards. "The actual fuck?"

She disengaged, revoking her hand back into her personal space. A task you thought was impossible. "This is so difficult to do, how did my mother do this long enough to birth me…"

"You are creeping me the fuck out." You said bluntly, the freaks clearly come out at night because you were speechless. You double checked your exit routes, just straight barely lit paths out either way. Jiyeon huffed, reflecting on the last five minutes.

"Sorry! Sorry– mind if I explain? Wow, I hate this."

You nodded reluctantly.

"So, I'm a…" Jiyeon was taking her sweet time to get to the point. "succubus, and like.. it's so, yeah like you know."

"You are a what?"

"Well, you see, yeah, hm. Like one of those yeah y'know, like yeah you understand what I'm saying?"

"Slow the fuck down, take a deep breath, relax and formulate a sentence properly."

Jiyeon nodded, apologising profusely with her hands. A succubus hm? Would explain the crop top in negative degree weather, maybe. You've never heard of a succubus outside of dodgy hentais, if she's telling the truth that's certainly a shock.

"So yeah– I'm one of those, I think that speaks for itself." She sighed.

"Aren't succubus normally y'know, seductive? You didn't exactly come in as a casanova." You giggled, suddenly not worried about getting robbed. If you get robbed it'll be worth it for the love of the game. Jiyeon frowned, looking dejected at her own work.

"Yeah, supposed to be. But I'm not, you saw that performance and so I haven't eaten properly in weeks. Maybe I'll get lucky with third-wheeling a drunk couple from time to time, I–sorry I'm dumping all this on you." Jiyeon shut up, killing the rambling and going quiet, turning her eyes to the moon.

"It's alright, pft. I've dealt with venting friends for quite a few years."

"We aren't friends though…"

"Ouch! I let you sit on the bench and now I'm being stranger zoned. Oh the travesty…" You jest, checking your phone for the time. Approaching two AM, if you left now you'd be home by three. Jiyeon gave a soft laugh, a sound much better than the incessant apologies from a few moments prior.

"Heh, okay. I should probably go and try my luck elsewhere. Hopefully if someone's desperate enough they'll go with me anyway, I'm not liking my chances though."

"I mean, if you are hungry I could help out…" You suggested without thinking, words just leaving your mouth with no warning. Jiyeon fidgeted, expression temporarily unreadable.

"You are too nice, stranger. Succubi drain the life out of their prey, I'd kill you– maybe.."

"Maybe?"

"I mean, I've never personally killed anyone. I'm not good enough in bed for that, I just give them the flu most of the time."

Jiyeon was getting more and more confusing with every sentence she said, you cocked your brow and repeated your previous offer. You were going to leave soon anyway, if the very strange woman wanted to tag along you weren't going to say no.

"If you want to give me pity sex, which sounds so pathetic coming out of my mouth. I'm not going to turn it down, so hungry."

"My place or yours?"

Your bedroom hasn't seen action in quite sometime, Jiyeon breaking a dry streak and in turn you were also breaking hers. Sort of, fuck if you know. She gave you one very simple warning that her urges can overtake her rational thinking. But you'll be alright, you've hung out with enough drunkards in your time.

"I'm so fucking hungry." Jiyeon groaned, shoving you onto your own bed. "These clothes are in my way." She made short work of them, borderline ripping them straight off. A small rip being heard, seemingly in at least one piece.

"Let me take your clothes off." You gasped, wanting to see the rest of her divine body, teased earlier by the small amount of delicious skin revealed by her crop top. She nodded, climbing over up on your body. You took a deep breath, pulling off the first article of clothing. She wasn't wearing a bra, her tits free to be feasted on by your eyes. Leaning forward to give a small kiss before digging your fingers into the waistband of her joggers. Tugging them down.

She was fully commando, now fully naked except for some socks that certainly weren't on your priority list. "I want to suck that cock so bad, take it in my mouth until its throbbing. But, god I need you in me now." Jiyeon's voice was dripping in pure, unapologetic-ally filthy seduction.

"Do it…" You voiced your need, she wasted no time. Pulling your boxers down enough to let your cock free, standing tall and beaded with precum. She was straddling you, rubbing your tip against her. She waited no longer, lowering herself slowly.

"Fuck."

"Fuck!"

Her slick pussy gripped down on you mind-numbingly, she was unbearably tight and wetter than wet. Her body was literally made for this, taking every inch inside without a struggle. You certainly were not carrying such grace, from the moment Jiyeon had lowered completely you were doing your best to not blow your load instantly like a needy virgin.

"Oh my, this cock is so good!" She moaned out into the air, "Too long, since I've had someone of my own… no sharing!" Jiyeon had no qualms with voicing out every thought on her mind, same as she had no issue with bouncing up and down with a pace that stung. Every slap was followed with a wet squelch as her cunt was dripping need.

Any response you thought of lived and died in your head, just groans. Jiyeon seemed unbothered, her walls clenching hard in pleasure, quivering with need. "Hngh, oh my!" She came for the first time, so fast you barely even blinked.

Jiyeon leaned down, swapping from riding to cowgirl. This let her kiss you, catching you off guard yet you took it. Making out aggressively, sloppily and messily, moaning in each other's mouth as your cock twitched.

"Eugh, Jiyeon." You warned, unfortunately your body couldn't take more of her warmth.

"Cum, give me it! I need it!" She begged, getting exactly what she wanted as you exploded deep inside. Counting how many spurts of white hot cum was shot into her greedy depths would be a losing battle, but its certainly more than ever before. Legs spasming as she held you still. Not letting a single drop leave her.

You woke up in the next morning, and fuck.. you felt like absolute death. At least you were alive, but you sure as hell didn't feel alive. Not planning to wake up and smell the roses or anything. In fact, judging by the sky it wasn't morning at all.

"Eugh… what the hell?" You groaned, every muscle was cramped up and stiff. How hard did you two go? Jiyeon and you went for way more than just one round. She wanted to make up for lost feeding time. But you didn't seem to have the flu at least.

"Evening." Jiyeon was to your left. "You okay? I didn't want to leave until I confirmed you were awake." She had a bottle of water in her hand, condensating on her fingers. Thrust into your hands, you took it gratefully. Drinking every sip of water like you were in a desert stranded.

"I think… you might have gone a bit crazy." You coughed, your arm moving was a blessing because nothing else seemed to want to.

"Hey! I warned you, but yeah. I'm really sorry."

"Don't be, I offered. Just wow you weren't kidding huh?" Jiyeon shook her head, looking at you with half worry and half thanks. The air went uncomfortably still with silence, neither saying anything. Just staring, you should say something. She should say something.

You just kept sipping the water to avoid being the first one.

"Normally, I'm a bit more– reserved. So to speak. Even though I can lose control, it's just time. If only I had it as easy as everyone else." Despite her best efforts, bitterness was so apparent in her words. "Eugh. Thank you again, I'll get out of your hair now."

She poised herself to leave, about to ascend.

You used the only functioning muscles in your body to stop her for a moment.

Then.

Stillness.

More silence, more than justified for someone met less than 24 hours ago.

"What's the rush?"

"Well…"

"If you want to leave, I won't stop you– but it doesn't really seem like you want to."

Jiyeon sat back down, laying next to you. Head comfortably resting on the pillows, wait how did these get washed? Oh well, you didn't really care. Her hand found the remote, turning it on by your request. Though it merely served as idle background noise, something to focus on to avoid awkwardness.

"So, Jiyeon." You started, really hating your muscles at the moment. Chugging a few pain killers has done little to help out, how dare doctors not plan for supernaturally inflicted pain? Seems a bit shortsighted to you. "Any plans for the long term?"

"Hm?"

"So you don't constantly have to intermingle with drunkards to not perish. That sorta thing."

"Oh, uhm." Jiyeon didn't have an answer, that much was obvious from the cute scrunching of her face. Trying to give you some response so it didn't look awkward, ultimately settling for a mere shrug of the shoulders.

"Do they do things like 'succubus 101: how to successfully pull baddies' level courses?"

She laughed, "Nope… unfortunately not, I tried to google advice but it's all the same stupid shit. Wear blue? Wear purple? Why is it all wear certain colours?" Only one thought entered your mind.

What the actual fuck was Jiyeon googling?

"Wait so your family didn't even like, coach? Can you even coach something like this?" You were the blind leading the blind here, until yesterday you thought succubi were merely fiction and now you are trying to get one laid. Fascinating approach.

"Erm… I didn't want to hear about my parents and intercourse so I vehemently denied it." Jiyeon said with disgust on her features on whatever her imagination conjured up.

"Yknow, that is fair." You were racking your head for any other ideas, like trying to get water out of wet sand. "Have you considered… hm… give me a list of stuff you've tried and I can work from there."

"Okay…" Jiyeon started to count with her fingers. "First I tried the normal approach, look for lonely people in the streets. But I could never get them home, so I tried dating apps. Even people who were so cringey still didn't bite. Plus that would take weeks per attempt."

Jiyeon took a thinking breath. "Then, I tried brothels. Even those who would literally pay for sex were still rejecting me…" She was truly the definition of negative game, there would be history books about this. "I get that as far as succubi goes I'm young and inexperienced, but come on!" Her frustration grew above your expectation, every emotion this girl showed was as vivid as the other.

"Insane… truly."

"This bed is comfy." Jiyeon changed the subject, spreading her arms all over the soft fabric. "I was just laying here all snug as a bug in a rug while you were knocked out." Well at least she was having fun during your absence..

Time moved on, thirty minutes? approximately. You weren't paying the most attention to it, talking in circles that were ending up nowhere. Truly the F1 races of a conversation, doing laps constantly. Eventually though you crashed possibly into what had been lingering in the recesses of your mind since this conversation started.

"Does anything stop you from feeding on the same person multiple times?"

"Nope. Apparently it's 'bad luck' or something, but superstitions were never my thing."

"I have an idea."

And what a fucking idea.

Jiyeon was a bit concerned to take you up on it first. Worrying for your health, yet with a small bit of reassurance she was game. The cute succubus had found comfort in your home, choosing to move in out of the small cheap apartment she had. Apparently massive castles are only for the first few generations, unfortunate.

She's an absolute bed hog, taking up all of the space. You have to get creative to not get kicked off, but she's cute when she's asleep so you can't be too mad. She's also quite cuddly most of the time, which caught you off guard. Jiyeon isn't exactly the sex crazed demon that her kind is often depicted as, which makes you wonder how many other supernatural beings exist to be misrepresented.

Over the last few weeks she's inhabited your space, she's definitely been making it her own. It started small, a plushie there, a pen there. Now half your room is Jiyeon and the other half is yours, a cutesy interior designer.

The hardest thing to get used to was dinner time, funnily enough. Jiyeon didn't need to eat human food, which led to awkwardness at first. You are just trying to eat your food and there she is, on her knees with your cock in her mouth looking up at you with her cutesy eyes. Treating it as no more than necessary survival, which you suppose it is.

Still, blowing your load while eating spaghetti is quite odd.

"Mmh, can we fuck?" Jiyeon asked casually, already rubbing you through your clothes, tracing absent circles with her nail. She was laying on the sofa while you were in your chair, pulled closer by her request. Back pain's a bitch.

"Yeah." You replied with all the sexual charisma of a brick wall, fanfare was irrelevant. She planned to sink onto the floor anyway, which Jiyeon did with about the same level of smoothness. Her insatiability rusted by your assistance. Laying there without jumping your bones.

Jiyeon's shorts fell to one side, panties soaked through as per usual. You've come to appreciate her consistency, tugging them off. Though, there's one thing you've wanted to do that simply hadn't come up yet. This position was perfect.

You dove right in, licking long stripes, her taste delicious straight from the source. And there was a full river amount for you to indulge in. "Wow!" She's always loud, even when you've barely even started. Your pace was flip flopping, when your desire took over you kept your mouth firmly latched onto her wet cunt. Tongue darting everywhere and anywhere. If you remembered to breathe you would take a moment of respite, though you rarely spared a thought let alone a logical one.

"You taste so sweet, why did we take so long to do this?"

"Because you never asked! Though keep doing it!"

Jiyeon held your head down, taking the decision making away from you. Her intoxicatingly strong arousal had rewired you into a hungry, feverish animal. Devouring her drenched cunt, trying not to let a single drop be wasted. That'd be the biggest act of sacrilege commitable.

Her moans never stopped, you were harder than a fucking diamond. Threatening to pop a button in your jeans, her hot sticky juices getting even more plentiful, screw any probabilities or possibilities anymore. Jiyeon didn't adhere to them, she was an oddity. Able to break all of your understandings without care.

There was a lack of mercy, abusing her clit with your devious suction. Your mouth was enough to bring the succubus to a strong orgasm, but you are an overachiever. Two fingers plunging deep into Jiyeon's warm, wet depths.

"Fuck!" She yelled in ecstasy, your relentless, borderline mean movements gave Jiyeon no time to warn you of her impending orgasm, her hands sinfully locking you against her as she gushed all of your face. "My devil!"

Well, that does make sense.

Jiyeon was everything a succubus shouldn't be.

She's told you countless exploits about her species, she's bad at all of it. Even including the sex part, though you'd be hard pressed to agree with that. A master doesn't need to compare themselves to another and all. There seems to be one rule, a succubus can't fall in love.

Which certainly makes you wonder how she's come to be, but who knows.

Though, she's even bad at the don't fall in love part. It was a late night conversation, off the record for all but you two. Jiyeon was in a fluffy pair of pajamas, one you recommended because they swallowed her whole and she looked adorable in them. Her hands intertwined with yours as you held her close.

She spoke first. A soft, gentle, honeyed whisper. "You ever think, hm… you know like, so."

"Stop panicking Jiyeon, it's alright. What's up?" You reassured, squeezing her hand in support.

"I love you." That was that, she wasn't good at hype, build up or anything. You've come to expect that, she's a loser in the most loveable sense.

"I know." You laughed. "And I love you too, have for a while."

"So, wanna be my boyfriend?"

"Of course, ever the romantic you are."

"Fuck me!" Jiyeon moaned, you were pumping hard and deep. Happy one year anniversary, she chose to deprive herself of any of your load for a few days, making sure she was going to enjoy this as much as possible. Her hands clawed at your back, the bed was really struggling to withstand how hard you were thrusting into her.

"Jiyeon! You're so tight, ugh fuck!" You moaned into her ear, she was doing the same. A cycle of ever shrill pleasure, your cock was going deep. Hitting against her womb (if she even has one.) with every thrust, your girlfriend's wet hole took it with grace.

"I'm so needy! Please, fuck my tight body until you cum!" She could take it all, she wants more than you could give. But you'll certainly try. She was driving you crazy. It never gets easier, you're manhandling her yet you are the one sweating and struggling to not prematurely ruin the moment.

Your eyes were robbed of the great sight of your shaft going in and out, she's creaming all over you. You know it without seeing it. You can't see anything. Buried in the crevice of Jiyeon's sweaty neck, the aroma only encourages you to go harder.

"AHHH!" Jiyeon came around you, but that's never a sign to stop. The only sign to stop is when there's no more energy to continue, when your ability to exist is being directly challenged. You've only nearly died once, that was your mistake. Turns out you can cause your own demise by being too rough…

However, you were certainly on the knife's edge of that.

"More! Fuck, more more more!" She sang her mantra. or more accurately cried it out. You continued your rough pounding to just the right amount, putting your faith in a lower power to keep this bed stable. Feeling your grip loosen from the sweat that became more abundant by the thrust.

But you weren't deterred.

Nothing and you do truly mean nothing could stop you in this revelry.

Not the burning in your muscles, not the exhaustion trying to claim hold, not the obligations you have tomorrow. It is just you and Jiyeon.

Another orgasm from her. These poor sheets, defiled and messy, vaguely transparent from where her orgasms had landed. You could hear the springs of your shared mattress bouncing against every slam into her pussy, almost more audible than the collective moans.

Almost.

"I'm not sure how much more I have in me." You croaked, all of your energy disappearing very suddenly. Feeling like you were hit by a truck, or pecked by many a ducks.

"Just, do as much as you can!" She whined out.

Which wasn't much more, being drained for all of your sanity at once. Throbbing deep inside her slick warmth, pulsing helplessly as you filled her to the brim with your load. Slowing down to a halt as she was completely stuffed, Jiyeon was panting heavily, your vision was darkening. Did you go too far? You thought you were being careful.

"Baby?" Her voice was faint, yet her embrace felt soothing. You couldn't see anything.

Oh well.

If you die, it's worth it.

You woke up a few hours later to a very concerned Jiyeon, looking at you with tears in her eyes. Run down stains on her cheeks. "Oh my! You are awake, I was so worried." She sniffled.

"I think we went too far again." You smiled weekly, reaching forward to give her a lone peck on her lips. You didn't feel bad about it, you were still here. Still alive to see her face. Jiyeon leaned forward, trapping you in the warmest, most soft hug.

"You need to be more careful… I don't want to lose you." She pulled away, wiping the tears off with a napkin you had on your bedside table. "But, I'm so happy to see you."

"Likewise… say, my wonderful girlfriend." Your energy was weak, yet not weak enough to cup her cheeks. Holding her eye contact with love in the air, almost tearing up yourself. "What do you say we snuggle up here? I know you don't need to but we could always have some hot chocolate."

Jiyeon let a laugh crack out, the only human food she's ever shown love for.

"I'd like that. I'll make it though, rest there for now." She tucked you in.

Suhyeon stood before Hanwoo’s desk, her skin glowing under the office lights, her long dark hair tied back, accentuating her sharp cheekbones. She wore a fitted black crop top and high-waisted jeans, her toned figure a testament to years of ballet training.

Suhyeon’s hands clasped tightly, her nails digging into her palms, but her voice was steady. “tripleS is different,” she said, her tone earnest. “The fan-driven concept, the sub-units, the freedom to evolve—I’ve followed every reveal since Yoon SeoYeon in 2022. I know I can bring something unique, my dance, my charm, my drive.” She paused, her eyes flicking to the stack of profiles on his desk—other candidates, her competition. “I’ll do anything to be S24.”

Her bright eyes met Hanwoo’s as he leaned back, scanning her portfolio, her modeling for Messiah Dancewear, her recent training at Flat9 Dance & Vocal Academy. “Ji Suhyeon, born February 13, 2004,” Hanwoo said, his voice calm, “Impressive resume. Ballet, modeling, and now chasing the idol dream. Why tripleS?”

Hanwoo raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on her curves, her boobs subtly outlined by her crop top, her thighs visible through her jeans. He’d seen countless hopefuls, many willing to cross lines in an industry rife with exploitation—casting couches, secret deals, and unspoken expectations.

“Anything’s a strong word, Suhyeon,” he said, standing, circling his desk, his polished shoes clicking on the floor. “We’ve got three other candidates—strong vocals, visuals, even a former survival show contestant. What makes you stand out?”

Suhyeon’s heart pounded, tingling with fear and resolve. She knew the rumors—managers demanding “favors,” idols trading dignity for debut slots, the dark side of K-pop’s glamour. She’d heard whispers about P Nation, SM, and JYP, where trainees like her former peers had faced similar ultimatums. But she’d trained too long, sacrificed too much—her ballet dreams, her university life at Hanyang—to back down. “I know how this works,” she said, stepping closer, her voice low, her boobs brushing his arm as she leaned in. “I’ll proff it.”

Hanwoo lips curled into a faint smirk, his cock stirring in his tailored pants. He locked the office door, the click echoing, and dimmed the lights, the city’s neon glow casting shadows. “Show me, then,” he said, his tone cold, sitting on the edge of his desk, his eyes daring her.

Suhyeon swallowed, her skin flushing, her pussy wet despite her fear, her body reacting to the power dynamic. She knelt before him, her hands trembling as she unzipped his pants, freeing his hardening cock, precum beading at the tip.

“I’m yours,” she whispered, her voice shaking but resolute, her lips wrapping around his cock, sucking slow, her tongue swirling, her boobs bouncing slightly as she moved. Hanwoo groaned, his hand tangling in her hair, guiding her deeper, her throat gagging, her saliva dripping, her skin glistening with sweat.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he muttered, his cock throbbing as she sucked harder, her hands stroking his balls, her pussy soaking her jeans, her moans muffled.

She pulled back, gasping, her lips swollen, and stood, peeling off her crop top, her perky boobs spilling out, her nipples hard. “Take me,” she said, her voice desperate, unbuttoning her jeans, sliding them down, revealing her wet pussy, clean and musky, her thighs trembling.

Hanwoo grabbed her hips, bending her over his desk, her boobs pressing against the glass, her ass up. He slid four fingers into her pussy, stretching her, her cum coating his hand, her scream raw as her body shook, her first forced orgasm hitting, her pussy squirting, soaking the desk. “You’re tight,” he growled, his cock replacing his fingers, thrusting deep, her pussy clenching, her skin reddening with each slap of his hips. “You want S24? Earn it.”

“Yes, please!” she cried, her voice hoarse, her boobs bouncing, her pussy gushing as he fucked her harder, her second orgasm building, her cum dripping down her thighs. He slapped her ass, her moan sharp, her body trembling, “I’ll do anything,” she gasped, her pussy squirting again, her third orgasm crashing through, her skin slick with sweat and cum.

Hanwoo pulled out, stroking fast, cumming across her ass, his release dripping down her skin, her body shaking, her boobs heaving. “Fuck, you’re something,” he said, zipping up, stepping back, leaving her bent over, her pussy dripping, her face flushed with tears and determination. “You’ve got potential. But I’m still seeing the others tomorrow.”

She stood, trembling, pulling her clothes back on, her skin marked with his cum, her eyes burning with resolve. “I’ll be better than them,” she said, her voice steady now, wiping her face. “You’ll see.” She left, her heels clicking, knowing she’d crossed a line but determined to claim S24 in the brutal K-pop game.

Hanwoo leaned back, glancing at the other profiles— but Suhyeon’s desperation stood out, her raw submission a twisted testament to her hunger.

He smirked, knowing the industry’s dark heart, and marked her file: “High potential.”

The night of April 4, 2024, in Seoul’s Gangnam district, the city’s neon lights pulsing through the rain-streaked windows of a luxury suite at the Park Hyatt Seoul.

Just hours earlier, MODHAUS had dropped the teaser for Ji Suhyeon, announced as S24 of tripleS, the final member of the revolutionary 24-member K-pop girl group set to debut with ASSEMBLE24 on May 8, 2024.

The teaser had sparked a frenzy on X, Instagram, Facebook, Reddit, Youtube, fans buzzing about her ballet grace and fierce visuals, but Suhyeon knew the cost of her place—a dark bargain in an industry built on exploitation. Now, in the hotel suite, Hanwoo had summoned her to “celebrate,” his intentions clear, and Suhyeon, hardened by the K-pop world’s was ready to cement her position, no matter the price.

The suite was opulent, with a king-sized bed draped in silk, a minibar stocked with champagne, and a panoramic view of Seoul’s skyline. Suhyeon stood near the window, her long dark hair loose, cascading over her shoulders, her tight red dress clinging to her curves, her boobs straining the fabric, her thighs exposed by the short hem. Her heart pounded, knowing Hanwoo’s power over her future.

She’d seen the internet buzzing posts—fans praising her teaser, calling her “the final piece of tripleS,” but also whispers of the dark deals, reminding her of the line she’d crossed.

Hanwoo entered, his sharp suit replaced by a fitted black shirt and slacks, his eyes raked over her body. “Suhyeon,” he called, his voice smooth but laced with authority, closing the door with a soft click.

“The teaser’s a hit. Fans love you. But you know this isn’t just about dance.” He stepped closer, his cock already hardening in his pants, his hand brushing her arm, sending a shiver through her. “You’re S24 because of me. Time to show your gratitude.”

Suhyeon’s breath hitched, her tan skin flushing, her pussy wetting despite her fear, her body conditioned by their last encounter. She knew the industry’s unspoken rules— whispered about managers demanding “extras,” and she’d chosen to play the game to avoid being cast aside.

“I know what you want, Hanwoo-ssi,” she said, her voice steady but low, stepping closer, her perky boobs grazing his chest, her eyes meeting his with forced confidence. “I’ll do it. For tripleS. For my place.”

Hanwoo’s smirk widened, his hand grabbing her waist, pulling her against him, his cock pressing into her thigh. “Good girl,” he growled, his lips crashing into hers, kissing her roughly, his tongue forcing its way in, ignoring her slight tremble.

She moaned faintly, her hands gripping his shoulders, her pussy throbbing as he pushed her toward the bed, her dress riding up, exposing her thighs.

He shoved her onto the silk sheets, her boobs bouncing, her red dress hiked up to her waist, revealing no panties—her choice, knowing what this night would demand. “Fuck, you’re ready,” Hanwoo muttered, unzipping his pants, freeing his thick cock, precum beading.

He grabbed her legs, spreading them, her pussy glistening, clean and musky, her skin glowing under the dim lights. “You’re mine,” he said, his fingers sliding into her pussy, four at once, stretching her, her cum coating his hand, her gasp sharp as her body tensed.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice cracking, her boobs heaving, her pussy clenching, her first orgasm building despite her reluctance. He pumped his fingers faster, curling them, hitting her spot, her cum soaking the sheets, her scream raw as her pussy squirted, her thighs trembling. “Fuck, Hanwoo-ssi!” she cried, her body shaking, her resolve fraying under his control.

He pulled his fingers out, licking her cum, the taste musky and salty, and knelt between her legs, his tongue diving into her pussy, sucking her clit hard, teething it, her moans louder, her second orgasm hitting fast, her pussy gushing again, soaking his face.

“You’re so tight,” he growled, standing, his cock rubbing her folds, teasing her clit, her body jerking involuntarily. He thrust into her pussy, hard and deep, stretching her, her scream echoing in the suite, her boobs bouncing wildly, her skin reddening with each slap of his hips.

“Take it,” he said, slapping her boob, her cry sharp, her pussy clenching, her third orgasm building as he pounded her, his hands gripping her hips, leaving marks. She sobbed, her body reacting, her cum dripping, her boobs heaving, her skin slick with sweat. “I’m yours,” she gasped, her voice hoarse, her pussy squirting again, her orgasm crashing through, her body trembling under his relentless thrusts.

Hanwoo pulled out, flipping her onto her stomach, her ass up, her boobs pressed against the sheets. He slammed back into her pussy, rougher now, her screams muffled, her pussy gushing, her fourth orgasm hitting, her cum soaking the bed.

He slapped her ass, her skin stinging, her moans desperate. “You’re S24 because of this,” he growled, his cock throbbing, and he came hard, his release spilling inside her pussy, dripping down her thighs as he pulled out, her body collapsing, panting, marked, and spent.

He stood, zipping up, his eyes cold. “You’re in. Don’t fuck up the debut.” Suhyeon, still trembling, pulled her dress down, her skin glistening with his cum, her pussy tender, her boobs heaving.

She nodded, her eyes burning with defiance and pain. “I won’t,” she whispered, standing, her legs shaky, and left the suite, the city’s neon lights blurring through her tears.

Wonyoung doesn't let go.

Instead she gives one final, hard squeeze-and-twist while looking straight into your eyes with that devastatingly sweet smile.

You lose it.

Hot spurts coat her palm under the table. She keeps stroking through it, milking every last drop, expression never changing—like she's just saying goodbye to any other fan.

When you're done shaking, she slowly withdraws her hand, brings it up above the table as if nothing happened, and casually wipes it on the inside hem of her skirt where no one can see.

She closes your album, slides it back to you, and writes one last thing on the sticky note inside:

"Next fansign… bring a jacket. I'll need something to clean my mouth with. ♡ — WY"

Then she winks—tiny, secret, only for you—and calls sweetly:

"Next Dive, hi~!"

You stand on shaky legs, jeans somehow zipped back up without you even realizing she did it.

The crowd roars as the next person sits down.

You stumble back to your seat in the front row, heart still hammering.

Wonyoung glances at you one more time from across the table, licks her glossy lips once, and mouths two silent words

"Your turn next time."

The rest of the fansign continues without you fully there. Your legs feel like jelly as you stand up from the front row. Every step toward the exit aisle feels like it's being filmed in slow motion—Wonyoung is still at the table, head tilted sweetly while she signs for the next fan, but you swear her eyes flick toward you for half a second. That same tiny smirk. Like she knows exactly why you're leaving.

You push through the side door into the hallway leading to the restrooms. The noise of the event dulls to a muffled roar behind the heavy door. Fluorescent lights. Cold tile. The faint smell of hand sanitizer and industrial cleaner.

You lock yourself in the farthest stall, back against the door, breathing hard.

Your jeans still feel damp where she wiped her hand. Your pulse is hammering in your ears, in your throat, lower. The sticky note is burning a hole in your pocket.

You pull it out again.

"Next fansign… bring a jacket. I'll need something to clean my mouth with. ♡ — WY"

The little heart is drawn perfectly symmetrical, the way idols do when they know fans will screenshot and analyze it forever. Except this isn't for forever. This is for you.

Your mind replays it in fragments:

The way her fingers felt impossibly soft yet confident

How she never once looked down, never broke character for the cameras

The heat of her breath when she whispered against your ear

That final twist of her wrist that made your knees almost buckle

The casual way she cleaned her palm on the inside of her skirt like it was nothing

You lean your head back against the stall door and close your eyes.

Part of you wants to go back out there. Sit in your seat. Watch her for the next hour. See if she glances over again. See if she licks her lips when no one's looking.

But another part—the bigger part right now—is terrified. What if someone noticed? What if a fancam caught the way your face changed right at the end? What if staff reviews footage later?

And the worst part: what if she actually meant it about "next time"?

You splash cold water on your face at the sink. Look at yourself in the mirror. You look wrecked. Pupils blown, cheeks flushed, lips parted like you just ran a sprint.

Phone buzzes.

A notification from the official IVE fancafe app (you have push alerts on for everything).

→ IVE Official posted: "Everyone who came to today's REVIVE+ fan sign ♡ Thank you for the unforgettable energy! We felt all your love~ Especially our tall Dive in the front row today… you looked a little… breathless? Take care and stay healthy 💕 #IVE #DIVE"

Attached is a group selca. Wonyoung is in the center, peace sign, head tilted. But her eyes are looking straight at the camera—like she's looking through it. Straight at you.

Your stomach flips.

You could go back in. Or you could leave now, go home, try to pretend this was a fever dream.

But deep down you already know you're not done.

You dry your face. Straighten your shirt. Check that your jeans are fully zipped and nothing looks suspicious.

The event wraps up around 9:40 PM. The MC thanks everyone one last time, the members wave and blow kisses for the final group photo, then disappear backstage to the usual chorus of screams and “Wonyoung-ah saranghae!” chants.

You don’t go back to your seat. Instead you slip out a side exit right after the lights come up, blending into the stream of fans heading toward the main lobby before veering left down a dimly lit service corridor most people don’t notice. You’ve done enough fan events to know the rough layout: artist vans usually park in the underground loading area behind the building, accessible via a narrow alley guarded by one or two staff and occasional security.

Outside it’s February-cold—sharp wind cutting through your jacket. You pull your hood up, find a spot half-hidden behind a concrete pillar about 20 meters from the black metal gate that leads to the loading dock. From here you can see the exit door fans are occasionally peeking at, hoping for a wave-through-glass moment.

Time drags. 10:05. 10:20. A few cars leave—staff, maybe backup dancers. Then nothing.

Around 10:35 the big sliding gate rattles open just enough for two black vans with tinted windows to pull out slowly. The first one rolls past without stopping. The second slows… then stops completely right in front of where you’re standing.

The rear passenger window cracks down about 10 cm.

You freeze.

Inside, back seat, low light: Wonyoung.

She’s changed—oversized black hoodie, hood up, face mask pulled under her chin, hair tucked into a loose ponytail. No makeup left except a faint gloss on her lips. She looks softer, smaller, almost normal… except for those eyes. Still sharp. Still locked on you.

She doesn’t speak at first. Just reaches out with two fingers and slips a small folded piece of paper through the narrow gap in the window. Her nails—still the pale pink from the fansign—brush your knuckles for half a second.

Then the window goes back up.

The van pulls away smoothly, taillights disappearing around the corner.

You unfold the note with shaking hands. It’s torn from the back of a schedule book or something—IVE logo watermark in the corner.

Handwritten in neat, loopy Hangul with a black gel pen:

오빠 오늘 진짜 잘 참았어 근데 다음엔… 나 입으로 해줄게 재킷 꼭 가져와 입 닦을 때 써야 하니까 ㅋㅋ 장소는 다음 팬싸 끝나고 여기로 와 기다릴게 ♡ — 원영이

(Translation in your head as you read it twice to make sure:)

Oppa you held it together so well today But next time… I’ll do it with my mouth Bring a jacket for sure I’ll need something to wipe my lips with lol After the next fansign, come to this place I’ll wait ♡ — Wonyeong-ie

Underneath the message is a tiny hand-drawn heart… and what looks like GPS coordinates scribbled in even smaller writing. You pull out your phone—coordinates point to a small, private café in Gangnam that’s known among some fan circles as a semi-safe “idol rest spot” after events. Open late, discreet back entrance, almost never paparazzi.

Your phone buzzes again. Same fancafe push notification system as before, but this time it’s not the official account.

It’s from an anonymous handle you’ve never seen post before: @wyprivate0613

One post. No profile pic. Just uploaded thirty seconds ago.

A mirror selfie: Wonyoung in the back of the van, hoodie up, mask down, tongue peeking out to lick her lower lip slowly. Caption:

“오늘 맛있었어… 다음엔 더 많이 먹고 싶어 🫦”

(Today was delicious… next time I want to eat a lot more 🫦)

The post is already getting likes from a handful of burner accounts before it vanishes—deleted within a minute. Classic ghost drop.

You stand there in the cold alley, heart slamming again, note clutched in your fist.

The next fansign is in ten days—IVE’s “春風春雨” mini fan event in a smaller venue in Apgujeong.

The alley feels colder the second the van disappears. You shove the folded note deep into your inner jacket pocket—like it’s evidence in a crime you’re both committing—and walk quickly back toward the main street. No looking back. No lingering. Heart still racing, but now mixed with something sharper: anticipation that’s already turning into obsession.

You take the subway home (line 2 to your small one-room in Sillim). The carriage is half-empty at this hour. You sit in the corner seat, hood up, replaying every second of the night on loop behind your closed eyes.

Her fingers. Her whisper. The way she cleaned her hand so casually. The ghost post that vanished like smoke. The promise: “next time… I’ll do it with my mouth.”

By the time you unlock your door it’s past 11:30 PM. February 25, 2026. Ten days until the Apgujeong mini fan event—“春風春雨” (Spring Breeze, Spring Rain) themed fansign. Smaller venue (only ~150–200 winners), supposedly more “intimate” according to the fancafe announcement. Which means closer tables. Less distance. Easier cover under long tablecloths.

You don’t sleep much.

Instead you:

Screenshot the deleted @wyprivate0613 post from your notification history (thank god for that 5-second buffer some apps keep).

Save the GPS pin for the Gangnam café (called “Moonlit Corner”—discreet, known for back booths and no-questions-asked service after midnight).

Check every IVE-related community: Pann, TheQoo, DC Inside, Twitter/X searches for fancams from today. Nothing obvious catches the under-table moment. Your face looks wrecked in a few wide shots, but no smoking gun. Yet.

Re-read her note twenty times. Translate it again just to feel the words sink in deeper. “오빠 오늘 진짜 잘 참았어” — you held it together so well today “근데 다음엔… 나 입으로 해줄게” — but next time… I’ll do it with my mouth “재킷 꼭 가져와 입 닦을 때 써야 하니까 ㅋㅋ” — bring a jacket for sure, I’ll need it to wipe my lips lol

The “lol” at the end is what breaks you. Casual. Playful. Like this is just another cute fan service… except it very much isn’t.

You spend the next few days in planning mode like you’re preparing for a military operation:

Buy a new, longer, darker jacket (black parka with deep inner pockets—something she can easily grab and use without it looking weird).

Renew your IVE fancafe membership to premium just in case it boosts draw chances (it doesn’t, but it makes you feel proactive).

Rehearse in your head: how to stay calm, how to breathe quietly, how not to moan when her lips close around you under the table in front of 200 people.

Edge yourself every night thinking about it—never finishing. Saving it. For her.

Check the date again and again. March 7, 2026. Saturday. 2 PM start.

The days crawl.

March 6 arrives. You win the draw (miraculously—second time in a row; some DIVEs are already side-eyeing your username in the winner list threads). Seat assignment: row 1, position 4. Dead center in front of Wonyoung again.

You pack the jacket. Fold her note into the inner pocket like a talisman. Charge your phone to 100%. Set multiple alarms.

Morning of March 7. You’re there three hours early. Queue is already snaking around the block. Fans in light spring coats, waving lightsticks. You keep your hood up, mask on, eyes down. Invisible.

Inside the venue: smaller stage than last time. Table even lower. Tablecloth drapes almost to the floor—perfect.

Wonyoung is dressed for spring: soft cream off-shoulder mini dress with puffed sleeves, hair in loose waves with tiny crystal clips. Glossy lips again—deeper rose this time. She looks like a porcelain doll someone forgot to keep innocent.

When your turn comes, she doesn’t even pretend surprise.

Wonyoung (voice honey-sweet for the mic, but eyes screaming something else): “Oppa… you brought it, right?”

You nod once—tiny, barely perceptible.

She signs your album slowly. Left hand disappears under the table again.

This time she doesn’t tease with fingers.

She leans forward like she’s reading what she just wrote, hair falling to curtain the side of your face from the nearest fancam.

Then—quietly, deliberately—she slides off her chair just enough to duck under the tablecloth in one fluid motion. The fabric barely ripples. To everyone else it looks like she dropped her pen or adjusted her shoe.

To you: sudden wet heat.

Her lips wrap around the head first—soft, plush, tongue flicking once to taste. Then she sinks deeper. No hesitation. No gagging. Just smooth, practiced glide until her nose brushes your pelvis.

You grip the table edge so hard the wood creaks.

She’s not rushing. Slow, deep bobs—cheeks hollowing each time she pulls back. Tongue flat against the underside on every upstroke. One hand braced on your thigh for balance, nails digging in just enough to keep you grounded.

The staff calls thirty seconds.

She speeds up—short, tight sucks focused on the head, hand twisting at the base in perfect sync.

You feel the coil tighten impossibly fast.

Wonyoung pulls off for half a second—just long enough to whisper so low only you hear it through the fabric:

“Jacket… now.”

You fumble it off your lap, bunch it in your hands under the table like you’re holding it for her.

She dives back down. Takes you to the hilt. Swallows around you once, twice—

You come hard. Silent. Vision whiting out. Pulse after pulse straight down her throat.

She doesn’t spill a drop.

When the staff finally says “Time’s up~”, she’s already back in her seat—flawless posture, wiping the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand like she just ate something sweet.

Your jacket is in her lap now. She dabs her lips with the sleeve—casual, hidden—then folds it neatly and slides it back across the table to you under the album.

On the last page she wrote:

“맛있었어 ♡ 다음엔 더 오래 해줄게 밤에 카페로 와 기다리고 있을게 — 원영이”

(Tasted so good ♡ Next time I’ll take longer Come to the café tonight I’ll be waiting — Wonyeong-ie)

She looks up at you with those big doe eyes and mouths one silent word before the next fan sits:

“Midnight.”

You leave the venue on autopilot. Jacket smells faintly of her lip gloss and something warmer.

The café coordinates are already saved.

The subway ride home from Apgujeong feels eternal—every stop a reminder of what just happened under that table. Your jacket is folded tightly in your bag now, the sleeve still faintly damp where she wiped her lips. No one around you suspects a thing; you're just another tired fan in IVE merch, staring at your phone screen like it's got answers.

Back in your Sillim one-room by 5 PM. You shower twice—scalding hot, then cold—to shake off the adrenaline fog. Scrub every inch like you're prepping for surgery. Change into something low-key: black jeans, plain gray hoodie, sneakers. Nothing flashy. You slip her first note (from the van) and the new one (from today) into your wallet—evidence you're not insane.

Dinner is a non-event: instant ramyeon you barely taste. You scroll IVE's fancafe instead—fans gushing about the fansign, uploading clips. In one wide-shot fancam, you spot yourself: frozen in the chair, knuckles white on the table, Wonyoung leaning in with that perfect smile. Comments call it "Wonyoung's ultimate fanservice moment ♡" No one knows. But you do.

11:30 PM. You leave early to account for traffic. Taxi to Gangnam—safer than subway at this hour. The driver chats about the weather turning warmer for spring; you nod absently, phone GPS locked on Moonlit Corner.

The café is tucked down a quiet side street off Garosu-gil: low brick exterior, frosted windows, a small neon sign that's more suggestion than advertisement. "Open 24/7" in cursive Hangul. You know from quick searches (done days ago) it's a known spot for idols—private booths, soundproofed back rooms, staff who sign NDAs like it's their job. No cameras inside. Cash only after midnight.

Exactly 12:00 AM. You push through the door. Soft jazz plays low. Dim lamps cast amber glows over empty tables. A lone barista (mid-30s, bored expression) glances up from behind the counter.

Barista (neutral, like he's seen this before): "Table for one? Or… waiting for someone?"

You mutter "Waiting," and he nods toward the back without another word. "Booth 7. Coffee's on the house."

Booth 7 is the last one—curtained off, deeper shadows. You slide in, heart slamming. The seat is plush leather, table low with a single candle flickering. Minutes tick by. 12:05. 12:10.

Then—soft footsteps. The curtain parts.

Wonyoung.

No idol armor this time. Oversized cream sweater that hangs off one shoulder, exposing a thin bra strap. Black leggings hugging her endless legs. Hair down, messy from the day, no makeup except smudged eyeliner that makes her look even more intoxicating. She's carrying a small black backpack, like she came straight from dorm or schedule.

She slips in across from you—no hello, just slides under the table in one graceful move before you can even speak. The curtain falls back into place.

Her hands are on your thighs immediately, spreading them apart. Zipper down. No teasing fingers this time—straight to her mouth. Warm, wet, enveloping you completely in one slow descent.

Fuck.

She's slower than at the fansign. Deliberate. Taking her time to explore—tongue swirling lazy patterns, lips sealing tight as she bobs deeper each time. No rush. No audience but you. Her hands brace on your hips, nails digging in rhythmically.

You grip the table edge, biting your lip to stay quiet. The jazz covers any soft sounds she makes—wet, obscene, but muffled.

She pulls back after a few minutes, just enough to look up at you from under the table. Eyes dark, lips shiny.

Wonyoung (whisper, voice husky from the effort): "Told you… longer this time. But don't come yet. I want to play first."

She dives back down—alternating deep throats with lighter licks, edging you mercilessly. One hand slips up your shirt to trace your abs; the other cups and squeezes gently below.

Time blurs. Five minutes? Ten? She's relentless, pausing only to catch her breath and murmur things like "You taste even better without the rush…" or "Hold it for me, oppa… just a little more."

When she finally senses you're at the edge—thighs shaking, breath ragged—she sinks all the way down, swallows around you, and hums low in her throat.

You come harder than before. She takes it all, throat working visibly, not pulling off until you're spent.

She emerges slowly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, then licking it clean like it's dessert. Slides back into the seat across from you, cheeks flushed, lips swollen.

Wonyoung (smirking, voice still breathy): "See? Longer is better. But… we're not done. My dorm's empty tonight—members at schedules. Come back with me? I have a few more ideas… and no table to hide under."

She reaches across, fingers tracing your wrist. Her backpack buzzes faintly—probably her phone—but she ignores it.

The barista hasn't looked your way once.

You hesitate for maybe three seconds—long enough for her to notice, for that knowing little smile to curl her lips again.

Wonyoung (leaning across the low table, voice dropping to a velvet whisper): "Come on, oppa… don't make me beg in a café. My dorm is twenty minutes away. But if you're too impatient…"

She trails off, eyes flicking toward the narrow hallway at the back of Moonlit Corner. A discreet sign: "Restroom → Private". Single stall. Lockable door. The kind of place idols probably use when they need five minutes away from the world.

She stands first—casual, like she's just going to powder her nose. Grabs her backpack, slings it over one shoulder, and walks without looking back. You follow a beat later, heart in your throat.

The hallway is short, dimly lit. She pushes the door open, slips inside, leaves it cracked just enough. You step in behind her. Click. Lock.

It's small—barely room for two people standing close. Mirror over the sink, soft yellow light, faint scent of lavender hand soap. No windows. Soundproof enough.

She doesn't waste time.

Turns her back to you, braces both hands on the sink edge, arches slightly. The oversized sweater rides up just enough to show the waistband of her black leggings stretched tight over her ass.

Wonyoung (glancing at you in the mirror, eyes half-lidded): "Here. Now. Doggy… like I've been thinking about since the fansign."

You step up behind her. Hands on her hips first—firm, testing. She pushes back into you immediately, grinding slow circles. A soft whimper escapes when she feels how hard you already are again.

Leggings tugged down just past mid-thigh—no panties underneath. Smooth skin, perfect curve. She's already wet—glistening under the light. Probably has been since the café booth.

You don't bother with more foreplay. Line up, push in slow at first—inch by inch—until you're buried to the hilt. She gasps, head dropping forward, long hair spilling over her shoulders.

Wonyoung (voice breaking on the first thrust): "Fuck… yes… harder."

You give it to her.

Deep, steady rhythm—hips snapping forward, pulling her back onto you each time. The mirror shows everything: her mouth open in silent moans, eyes rolling back a little, cheeks flushed pink. One of your hands slides up under the sweater, cups her breast—small, perfect, nipple hard against your palm. The other grips her hip tight enough to leave marks she'll have to cover tomorrow.

She meets every thrust—pushing back, circling her hips, clenching around you on the upstroke until you're both shaking.

The sink rattles faintly. Water drips from the faucet she forgot to turn off all the way.

Wonyoung (panting, trying to keep quiet but failing): "Inside… come inside… want to feel it… please—"

You don't last much longer. Not after everything tonight.

One final, hard thrust—deep as you can go—and you spill into her. Pulse after pulse. She shudders, thighs trembling, a broken little cry slipping out before she bites her lip to muffle it.

You stay buried for a long moment, both breathing ragged. She clenches once more around you—milking the last drops—then slowly straightens.

Pulls her leggings back up. Fixes her sweater. Turns to face you.

Hair messy. Lips swollen. Eyes bright, satisfied, a little glassy.

She reaches up, cups your face with both hands, pulls you down for one slow, deep kiss—tasting faintly of coffee and herself.

Wonyoung (whisper against your mouth): "That was the last one for tonight… but not forever. Next fansign… maybe under the table again. Or my place when the members are gone longer."

She slips a small folded paper into your pocket—another note, probably coordinates or a time.

Then she unlocks the door, steps out first like nothing happened.

You wait thirty seconds. Splash water on your face. Adjust yourself. Walk out calm as you can.

She's already gone—van probably waiting in the alley behind the café.

You step back into the night air. February 25, 2026 is over.