Still figuring out how does this work on mobile but yeah!
The spacing is kinda weird and too far apart when I pasted this from fanprose,so yeah
Bombaclaat
Enjoy!
lurker reader🤗
dawg i’m tryna write but i’m horrible
“You really love to zone out do you?” A familiar soft mellow voice beside you startled you.
You finally snap out of it. Ah, where were you again? Why are you staring at the ceiling again? Beige really is a “nice” colour you thought. At least that is what you tell yourself. It’s calm, comforting, and controlled? It’s what the internet told you either way. (You spent an hour discussing colours with Sakura that one time and now you are suddenly able to ‘feel’ the vibe or something?)
Sounds of rhythmic steps echo through the practice room, loud random background music surrounds the room, and chatter between the members resumes. Some even tease you about it, and others even playfully mimic your ‘Zoned Out’ expression.
What’s new? Right?
“My bad Chaewon…still can’t believe I’m doing this assistant manager gig for LE SSERAFIM you know? didn’t really expect my drunken application to get accepted you know?,” You muttered. Just soft enough for it to land on her ears despite the lively and chaotic atmosphere around you.
“You’re doing well, Oppa! Heck for someone who applied to be our assistant manager on a whim, you’re hella good!” Chaewon reassures you with a reassuring pat on your back. Shortly before joining her members back into position. The warm, soft feeling of her small palm lingers for a second on your back. Maybe a second too long—
“Next song please Y/N! I’m all fired up today and I don’t know why!” A loud thunderous voice rattles your eardrums. Who else could it possibly be if it isn’t the golden retriever puppy personified into a human being itself? Yunjin. She hops in place while waving and flapping her arms in your direction, earning a few chuckles and nods from the rest of the group.
“Okay okay, get back to your respective positions girls.
Yah— Eunchae, where did you get the snacks from?” noticing the maknae nibbling something that looked awfully similar to you.
Too late, your not so “secret” stash of snacks is gone. Gone, consumed entirely by an endless black hole(Eunchae’s stomach). Who would have thought that hiding some hella delicious snacks inside the only cupboard in the studio would be a great spot right? (You, duh)
Well, this is your life now. An assistant manager. More like a glorified babysitter. You tell yourself it’s manageable, fun, a job where people would kill to get. In reality? It’s much deeper than that. They need someone to talk to? Where do they go? You.
Someone to give them their emergency snacks? You. Safe to say you’re kinda like a safe bubble for the girls.
Last week, it was supposed to be a peaceful off day. No schedules, no dance practice, just peace.
That’s how it usually goes after all. You’re usually rolled up like a fat burrito in your room. Wrapped in the comfy comforter that Kazuha had recommended to you when you had sleepless and restless nights.
“It helps with the vibes Oppa, try it,” she says. Now you’re using a bright pink comforter that she gave you for bed.
Did it work?
Hell yeah, that’s what you’ve convinced yourself of, at least. (Power of believing or someshit) More like actually being overworked huh? It’s nothing compared to their everyday lifestyle though, duh.
Not to mention, when you got the job, life really loves you huh?
“Congratulations Y/N, you’re hired. As per contract requirements, you’ll be moving in with the girls once you’re ready,” said Mr Kim, your interviewer at HYBE.
Were you freaking out and overthinking like a monkey when you got the “revelation” from Mr Kim?
Yes.
Was your heart pounding and trying to get out of your chest when he asked if you were fine with it?
Hell yeah.
Heck, guess who screamed into his pillow right after the interview and ran laps around the living room to make sure this isn’t a dream?
You.
Living with the girls has been an experience alright. Gone are the days of waking up in your depressing one-room apartment near the outskirts of Seoul. You’re literally getting paid to live with Korea’s top Idols. Lucky bastard much?
Instead, you’re always awoken by the members themselves. Alarms are overrated either way. Or so you thought.
“OPPA—HELP! FIRE!,” A voice awakens you immediately from your ‘peaceful’ slumber. Off days are totally peaceful they say.
In an instant, you lunge out of your bed and rush off to the proclaimed ‘Fire’. Lo and behold, the once pristine kitchen is covered in smoke.
On the stove lies a burnt piece of what you’d assume is a grilled cheese sandwich. Poor thing is drenched in oil, melted cheeses splattering from the pan and onto the stove.
“Sigh,” just a normal day in the dorm you thought to yourself. Casually, you turned off the stove, picked the pan up, and placed it in the sink. Oh if only you could see your own face right now.
Right beside you? Eunchae and Kazuha, the culprits of course. One is using a large pot lid to shield herself from the disaster and the latter is proning on the kitchen floor.
“We were just trying to make you breakfast! Unnie told me you like grilled cheese! It was her idea I swear!,” Eunchae says while giggling and pointing her make-shift ‘shield’ to Kazuha.
“Yah—! Don’t snitch on me!,” Kazuha, still on the kitchen floor, looking up at you with a cheeky smile.
Can’t really get mad right? They’re doing something nice for you. Downsides are that you have a sad excuse of burnt grilled cheese that’s soaked in oil at the sink with that frying pan too.
“It’s okay girls, let’s just order in for breakfast okay? My treat,” you told them as you ushered them to the living room.
“Where are your unnies by the way? Are they still asleep?” you asked Eunchae and Kazuha.
“Ah, Sakura and Chaewon unnies are still probably asleep. Yunjin unnie went out on a quick run, she sent a message in the group chat earlier,” Eunchae explained, while Kazuha nods in agreement.
Pretty much explains how and why the dorm almost got burnt down early in the morning. Leave the two maknaes unsupervised? A beautiful disaster awaits I guess.
Soon, a real disaster awaits alright. You hear fast, heavy steps coming from a room. You can already predict the fussy-ness and the cuteness scolding from who you may ask? Too small to be a threat to you, but feared and respected by her members and others alike. The Ssamachi herself, the one and only.
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The party was getting out of hand, but since it wasn't your house, you didn't really care. You were sure someone had thrown up in the downstairs bathroom, and you'd heard a bunch of plates breaking in the kitchen. So far, it had been a great party.
Well, if the downstairs bathroom was clogged, then you'd have to use the one upstairs. Unless you were going to pee in the yard, which you weren't going to do, you didn't see any other solution.
In the hallway, you ran into someone completely disoriented, asking where Saki was. You had no idea who this Saki was, but you were pretty sure that the girl in front of you was the one who had thrown up in the bathroom. She was completely drunk, staggering as she walked, and her words stumbling over each other when she tried to speak. Her long blonde hair was a mess, and her clothes were disheveled. For a moment you doubted that this Saki was real, but a second later you heard the stranger shout her name and run towards a pink-haired girl who was passed out near the entrance.
Hurrying your pace to avoid wetting yourself, you climbed the stairs to the second floor. Despite being a spacious house, it was quite simple. Just a straight hallway with a series of doors leading to each room. Fortunately, the host's family, whom you didn't even know, had taken the trouble to put a sign on each door indicating which room it led to. That nice touch helped you find the bathroom.
The door was ajar, so you figured no one was inside. You opened it fully and quickly closed it behind you. Footsteps reached you from the stairs, and not wanting to miss out on the bathroom, you rushed inside. The moment you closed the door, you heard someone make a noise of displeasure. For a second, you thought you'd were already drunk because it was impossible for the sound to be coming from inside. But no, your ears weren't deceiving you. There was a girl sitting on the toilet.
"Hey, what are you doing? Can't you see I'm using the bathroom?" the girl scolded you without moving from the toilet. Of course she was going to move, because she was clearly sitting there to use it. Her dress was hiked up and her panties were around her ankles, but the big leather jacket she was wearing prevented you from seeing anything. That, and the fact that her knees were together. Even though she was looking at you, you couldn't tell the color of her eyes because, for some reason, she was wearing sunglasses.
"Sorry," you blurted out, trying to look away.
"What are you doing? Idiot, close the door. Can't you see I'm peeing?" Her noisy scolding made you close the door again, the one you had opened to leave. You felt stupid standing there, unable to leave or even look at her.
"Are you embarrassed?" she inquired, the unmistakable sound of urine hitting the toilet bowl mingling with her words. "Haven't you ever seen anyone pee?"
That wasn't the issue. What bothered you was that you two were strangers. You'd walked in by mistake because she hadn't closed the door properly, and now you were stuck there until she finished. "I don't usually watch my friends pee, and we don't even know each other," you said, trying to distract yourself by looking at the wood grain pattern on the door.
"Is that your problem?" the girl scoffed, bursting into laughter. "My name is Kazuha, though everyone calls me Zuha."
You told her your name, still examining the door with more interest than anyone could ever have on a simple door. You didn't have a cool nickname like hers, so you preferred to keep quiet about what your friends called you.
"I'd rather call you a coward, or a scaredy-cat," she said, ignoring your name. "Because you're afraid to look at me."
"I'm not afraid," you said quickly. "It's just... why would I have to look at you?"
"To prove you're not afraid, duh!" she mocked.
"I told you that I'm not afraid," you said, raising your voice as you turned to face her, just as she insisted. When you turned, you found Zuha looking at you, her sunglasses having slipped down her nose, allowing you to see the color of her eyes. A soft brown that quickly captivated you with its depth. She frowned in an amused expression as the sound of urine returned. She was actually peeing while looking you in the eyes. "Aren't you ashamed?"
"Why? We all pee sometimes. It's natural. Do you have a lighter?" The question threw you off because it came out of nowhere, but you soon realized it was because she'd taken a cigarette from her jacket pocket.
You chose not to answer her question, the first of the two. Instead, you took the lighter out of your pocket and offered it to her, but she put the cigarette to her mouth and leaned toward you in a clear gesture that she wanted you to light it. Giving up, you went over to her to light the cigarette the way she wanted.
The bathroom was far from spacious, so the smell of smoke quickly filled the air. You were about to ask her for a cigarette, but decided it was better to wait until you left to smoke. Instead, you leaned against the door to keep watching her pee, because you had the feeling she'd scold you again if you tried to look away.
Kazuha stepped back, cigarette in mouth, to grab the toilet paper. Holding your gaze to make sure you weren't looking where you shouldn't this time, she wiped herself and threw the used paper in the trash. You couldn't help but notice how beautiful her eyes were. Her face was beautiful in general, but her eyes were what you liked most about what little you'd seen of her.
"Here," she said, offering you the cigarette with the same hand she'd used to wipe herself. You took it without hesitation, ignoring how unhygienic that must be. But you'd drunk quite a bit that night, so your system was probably full of alcohol, which would kill any germs.
You relaxed for a moment, taking a drag of the cigarette. You closed your eyes as you felt the smoke fill your lungs, pondering what you'd gotten yourself into. When you opened them, you found Zuha standing there, her underwear and dress where they belonged. Despite the jacket, you could see how the dress clung almost tightly to her curves.
Exhaling smoke through your nose, you moved to let her approach the sink. Without a word, Zuha lathered up her hands and washed them. After drying them on her dress, she snatched the cigarette from your mouth. There was no point in protesting; after all, it was hers, but you still would have preferred a bit more courtesy. Then she bent down to pick up a bottle of beer and brought it to her lips as she leaned against the bathroom door, but stopped just before it touched them. "Want some?" she asked, offering you the bottle. "Relax," she added, seeing your hesitation. "It's not what you think... Unless you are into that." She said with a broad smile before bringing the bottle to her lips and taking a sip.
"Hheeewww No!" You exclaimed when you understood what she meant. You weren't drunk enough to even consider doing that.
The two of you stood there for what seemed like an eternity, until she finished her cigarette and threw it in the toilet. "Well, are you going to pee or are we going to stay here forever?" she asked casually.
"What? Noooo!" You looked at her, backing away a little, as far as the cramped bathroom allowed. "Get out, I'm not going to do it with you here."
She laughed before answering. "You saw me pee, it's only fair that I see you. It's to even things out."
"But I saw you by accident, it's not the same."
"You saw me anyway, you scaredy-cat." She laughed at you. "Why so cowardly?"
"Why so insistent?" You fired back. "Are you a voyeur or something?"
"I already told you it's the fairest thing to do." She replied, nudging you by the shoulder to get you closer to the toilet. "Hurry up. Saki is waiting for me, and I don't trust Yunjin to look after her. If anything happens to her, it'll be your fault."
You were tempted to tell her that this Yunjin woman was probably indeed in no condition to care for anyone, and that it was already too late for Saki, but you decided that wasn't your problem. Accepting that the quickest way out of there was to do as she said, you stood in front of the toilet and pulled out your penis, making sure Zuha didn't see your private parts. Almost instantly, you felt a weakness in your legs; damn, you really needed to pee. Your bladder was about to burst, which helped you ignore the fact that Zuha hadn't flushed and you were urinating on her pee and cigarette butt.
The sound of urine hitting the polished surface of the toilet bowl and the water filling the small room. You really needed to empty your bladder; you'd had too much beer that night. You closed your eyes and leaned your head back, forgetting everything as the urine flowed, as you released the insistent pressure on your bladder, until something startled you.
"What the hell?!" you exclaimed in surprise when you felt a chin rest on your shoulder and a pair of arms wrap around you from behind. "What are you fucking doing?" you asked, trying to free yourself from Zuha's embrace.
"I've always wanted to know what it feels like to pee standing up," she replied with a laugh as her hands encircled yours. That made you move even more, and you inevitably peed outside the toilet bowl. "Oops! Let me aim properly." To your complete disbelief, Zuha's hands snatched your penis away, grasping it and aiming it at the toilet bowl again. "Come on, pee." She added, noticing that nothing was coming out of your member anymore."
"You're sick, I'm not going to do it." You said, still trying unsuccessfully to free yourself from her grip. Maybe the fact that she was holding your cock so casually was draining your strength, or was it that you didn't want her to let you go?
"Whiny." She whispered in your ear. The closeness allowed you to smell alcohol and something else on her breath, maybe marijuana. But that closeness also let you smell the scent of her shampoo and the perfume she had applied many hours before but that was still present on her skin. It was all an intoxicating mixture. "Come on, don't be like that."
"Can you let go of me, please?" You asked as calmly as you could.
"Just pee and I'll let you go." She replied, moving your cock to undermine her point.
"Kazuha." Her name sounded strange when you said it. "Leave me alone." You sighed "I just want to pee."
"And I want to know what it feels like to pee standing up. We want the same thing." She pressed herself closer to you, making you acutely aware of how her breasts were pressed against your back. You desperately wished this was all a nightmare.
"But you're not gonna be the one actually peeing!" You were already starting to lose patience, but you couldn't see any way to break free from her grip.
"It's the same thing. Hurry up, I have to go."
"Aaaahhg." Fine." You finally gave in to her stupid request, or rather, demand. She simply let out a giggle that you interpreted as a gesture of triumph.
You took a deep breath, trying to relax as much as possible, trying to ignore the fact that a girl you had met just minutes before was holding your penis while you peed. But if you were going to do it, it was best to be calm, so you leaned your head back, resting it on her shoulder, while you pressed down on your bladder. You didn't see it, but you felt and heard the urine leaving your body and falling into the toilet, mixing with what she had done earlier. Before you knew it, your bladder was empty, but now Zuha was shaking your cock from side to side, apparently to dry it out.
This girl was unbelievable. Not only had she forced you to watch her pee, but she'd also forced you to pee in front of her, and, not content with that, she'd insisted on holding your cock while you did it. Right now, she was playfully teasing your cock, moving it like some kind of propeller or something. Add to that the fact that you'd met her less than half an hour ago, and the situation was hilarious.
"Are you a virgin?" she asked out of the blue, still holding your cock.
"What? No. Why did you—"
"You got hard." She interrupted. Only then did you realize that you did indeed have a semi-erect penis. Apparently, all that stupid play was catching up with you.
"Let me go!" you exclaimed, renewing your attempts to break free.
"Heeee! You like the feeling of my hand, don't you?" If everything that had happened up to this point seemed surreal, what came next felt like something out of the stupidest porn you'd ever seen. Without any shame, something Zuha apparently didn't know, she moved her hand over your cock to stimulate your member. Instantly, a shiver ran through your body and an inevitable sigh escaped your lips. "You are a virgin, aren't you?" she mocked as her hand explored your member.
"I'm not!"
"Yes, you are. That's why you were embarrassed to see me pee."
"Noooooo!!!" you exclaimed, somewhat angry but feeling the effects of what she was doing with her hands. "I know a lot about fucking, I've been with a lot of girls."
"I don't believe you. You're a cowardly, lying virgin."
"Fuck you." "You've really lost your mind, you're crazy."
"Do it yourself. If you know so much about fucking, then prove it." Just like that, Zuha let go of your cock and pulled away from you. Your pride was wounded as you immediately started to miss her hand on you.
"What the hell does that mean?" you asked, turning to face her. Only then did you notice how your cock was fully erect.
"Let's do it." She said, biting a nail as she looked at your member. She couldn't help but smile at what she was seeing.
"What do I get out of it?" you asked, ignoring how her hand had returned to your cock.
"My respect, and proof that you're not a scaredy-cat virgin."
"What good is your respect to me? We don't even know each other."
"Suit yourself." She shrugged to emphasize that it was your decision. "Do you think I'm ugly? Oh, I know." "You're gay!" she pointed out, moving her hand faster.
"Damn it, I curse the moment I walked into this bathroom!" you exclaimed, taking a step to corner Zuha between the door and your body. You were already fed up with her games and her teasing; in the short time since you'd met, Kazuha had already managed to push your patience to the limit.
You leaned forward, seeking her lips. She didn't pull away but came to meet you as well. Your mouths melted into a kiss that you both tried to control, but after a few seconds, it was clear she had won. Her tongue invaded your mouth along with the taste of tobacco and beer, as you pressed her against the door. Since she already had her hand on you, you decided it was only fair to do the same, so you gripped her thighs.
Her muscles were toned; the moment you touched them, you noticed how strong her legs were. She must have worked out a lot, and boy, did she ever. If it worked. Your restless hands moved up her body until they grasped the hem of her dress and lifted it with some difficulty because it clung to her skin. Now that her ass was free, you could grab it as you pleased. You held her buttocks with open hands, instantly feeling that they were as firm as her thighs but molded more easily to the insistence of your fingers.
After kneading her ass for a few moments, moments in which your lips never parted more than the millimeters necessary to breathe, you moved your hands to rub her crotch. Your fingers found her center, and even through her panties, you could feel the moisture forming there. You pressed your fingers against Zuha's folds and felt her moan into your mouth. Somehow, that healed the wound that her grip on your cock had left on your pride earlier.
While you caressed her pussy and felt her panties becoming wetter and wetter, she was furiously masturbating you. Her hand moved, squeezing your member, twisting her wrist as she approached the base to generate more friction. It was clear she was an expert at this sort of things.
Wanting to show off your skills and making it perfectly clear you were no virgin, you pulled away from her with difficulty. You knelt in front of Zuha and kissed the inside of her thigh, which made her tremble but also take matters into her own hands. You didn't have to do it yourself; she removed her panties and left them on the sink. You simply smiled because, although you were sure she'd never admit it, you weren't the only one who was hungry now.
Instead of slowly licking between her folds and taking your time as you would have with someone else, in another place and context, you threw yourself headlong into devouring her cunt. You grabbed Zuha by the ass and held on to her, burying your face between her legs. The intoxicating scent of her pussy filled your nostrils and made you salivate. You used that same saliva to help you devour her dripping wet cunt. You must have been doing something right because Kazuha's pussy was completely damp.
Unlike the taste of her mouth, the taste of Zuha's pussy was delicious and intoxicating. Her juices ran down your chin as you devoured her as voraciously as you could. Your tongue went as deep as it could to collect her sweet nectar, your lips sucking on her delicate clit, eliciting moans that she didn't bother trying to stifle except by biting the sleeve of her jacket. Your hands kneaded her buttocks with the same hunger that your lips battled against her petals. Just to see how far she would let you go, you ventured a mischievous finger between her buttocks to caress her back entrance. You withdrew it as soon as you applied a little pressure there because Zuha slapped you on the head, which you interpreted as her not wanting you playing with her ass like that.
To punish you for your audacity, she grabbed your hair and, using the door as leverage, ground her hips against you. You wouldn't normally let yourself be dominated like that, so blatantly, but Kazuha was devilishly hot and had your arousal levels through the roof. Her juices soaked your face completely as she rubbed herself against you, using you like some kind of toy. Surprisingly, you found that you didn't mind, not coming from her at least.
Panting heavily, Zuha released you. Your eyes met once more; those stupid sunglasses still partially hiding her eyes, but that didn't stop you from seeing the flame of lust burning in them.
Kazuha bit her lower lip as she lifted one leg. Your jaw almost dropped to the floor when you saw her raise her foot above her head and hold it with one hand, while using the other to part the lips of her pussy and reveal her throbbing entrance. It was an act that could only be interpreted as an invitation to fuck her. You didn't need anything more than that.
"You're full of surprises," you whispered, a smile spreading across your face. You stood up as if you had springs instead of legs. You found her lips, sharing a kiss and the nectar of her own cunt, while you rubbed the head of your cock against her entrance. Zuha rested her leg on your shoulder as you buried your member deep inside her.
The moans from both of you filled the small bathroom, mingling with the wet sound of skin against skin. You pressed Zuha against the door, partly to help her hold on and partly so you could thrust harder. Your cock ventured as far in as it would go, penetrating her to the hilt, but even then it wasn't enough. Your hands roamed her body, grabbing her ass, kneading her breasts through her dress, or simply tugging at her hair.
She clung to you even tighter, not just with her hands but with her cunt as well. Her wet walls closed around your member, embracing your cock in a warm embrace that seemed to squeeze your flesh. Your head thrust rampantly inside her, molding her body to the shape of your cock, while she received your thrusts with moans.
Having her like this, surrendered to you and to pleasure, felt wonderful. Your chest swelled with pride as you felt Zuha melt in your hands, as someone who until recently was a complete stranger moaned shamelessly into your mouth. You were making it perfectly clear to her that you weren't a virgin and that you knew how to fuck. The way her walls gripped your cock confirmed that you were winning this argument.
You thought about lifting her other leg, holding her up in the air, and fucking her against the door so she'd never forget what that stranger she called a virgin had made her feel, but you couldn't bring yourself to carry out your plan. Her cunt was delicious and addictive, its walls gripping you mercilessly, her moans muffled by your mouth were music to your ears. All of Kazuha was a delight straight from your wildest fantasies.
When you came, you did it resting your forehead against hers, looking into her eyes and moaning. Your throbbing cock shot semen inside her as she came too, spasming and moaning. Her cunt milked you, and you happily gave her all the cum you had, so happy to empty your balls into the hottest, wildest woman you'd ever known. Blessed be the moment you walked into that bathroom.
You carefully pulled away from her, reluctantly wanting to leave the scorching warmth of her hole and mouth. She finally placed both feet on the floor, still leaning her weight against the door. You sat on the toilet, trying to catch your breath. Though relatively brief, the whole thing had felt like running a marathon.
Kazuha smiled at you from the door before approaching you, taking your chin in her hand, and kissing you. This time, it was calmer and more controlled, but still charged with passion. More like what a couple would do, not two strangers in a bathroom that wasn't theirs. "So it turns out you did know how to fuck after all," she whispered against your lips. "You're no virgin," she declared before placing a chaste kiss on your lips. Then she let go of you to adjust her dress and cover her private parts.
"Hey, do you think…" you dared to begin after a few moments of silence between you two. "Could you-" Why were you suddenly so nervous?
"What?" She asked while touching up her lipstick, looking in the mirror.
"I mean-"
"Hoooo! You want my number?" she asked, tilting her head. "Well, yeah, yeah, do you have a pen or paper?" She said, adjusting the neckline of her dress. "Yeah, it's…" You were rummaging through your pockets for your phone when you heard her say, "1-800-you fucking wish, did you get that?" An uncontrollable laugh erupted as she opened the bathroom door. "Call me, hahahaha," she added, blowing you a kiss and winking as she left the bathroom, leaving the door ajar behind her.
You just sat there trying to process what had just happened, with Kazuha's used panties forgotten on the sink as the only memento of this unlikely encounter.
A/N: I just saw all the Zuha content coming out yesterday and suddenly I had the urge to write her. That hot girl Zuha was too much to take, so much that I'm simpin on her instead of Yunjin that is my actual bias.
The worst part about having a slutty best friend isn't that she's a slut.
It's that she's your best friend.
Few people throw a party as iconic as Enami Asa.
Known and hated by her neighbors for the constant disturbance of the peace, the fame of her parties doesn't lie in the organization, the logistics, the setup, or the quality of the drinks, but rather in the complete absence of all that. Being the type of person who skimps on her own birthday cake to invest in booze and whatever cheap substance she can find along the way that'll get you fucked up, an Asa party is always the kind of event that guarantees at least half a dozen memorable moments (all of them for the worst-best reasons imaginable).
The downside, though, is the aftermath; the mess left behind, the rubble of a terrorist attack on every form of public order and decency. And you, being the idiot lovely friend that you are, always stay behind with Asa to help her clean the whole house. Years of friendship and infamous parties and this has pretty much become an unspoken ritual between the two of you.
Although…
Maybe "clean" is an overstatement. Getting the house back to borderline habitable and confirming nobody died in some corner is about the most two drunk people operating at roughly 15% mental capacity can accomplish.
But, as they say, after the storm comes the calm.
With a final pass of the vacuum cleaner, the machine earns its well-deserved rest. You and Asa do too, collapsing onto the couch almost at the same time. The house is, at last, slightly less unsanitary: cups stacked in the sink, the trash bagged in the hallway - along with the three used condoms Asa insisted you!!! pick up - and the floor still sticky with beer, though at least swept. Needless to say, hours of post-party cleaning with alcohol still running through your bloodstream aren't exactly the ideal way to end the night, especially when you nearly puke twice during the process. But, well... who would you be if you left your best friend/birthday girl hanging?
And speaking of her, Asa is sprawled out next to you, head resting against the back of the couch, emptying her lungs in a long sigh of pure exhaustion. Still wearing the same outfit from the party, specifically a short black skirt and a strapless top that made every guy at the party try (and fail) not to stare at her nipples pressing through the thin fabric. Her short dark hair is plastered to the back of her neck with sweat, a few strands escaping to frame her face, the red lipstick still smudged at the corners of her mouth, only one hoop earring remaining on her ear, and her cheeks still flushed from the alcohol and hours of cleaning - this is Asa's final form after one of her parties: gorgeous in her complete state of wreckage.
"Thanks for staying," she murmurs with her eyes closed. "Everyone bailed and left me with this shitshow. You're the only one I can count on at times like this."
"You're welcome. That'll be fifteen bucks," you reply, unlocking your phone.
Asa cracks one eye open just long enough to glare at you.
"Oh, please. Like I'm gonna pay you." She scoffs. "It's my birthday, asshole. Where's my birthday discount?"
"It's four in the morning," you point out, turning your phone screen toward her. "Your birthday's over. Princess privileges have officially expired.”
"You greedy asshole," she laughs, giving your arm a weak slap. "I feed you, I get you drunk, I throw you a party, and you've still got the balls to charge me for helping me clean up? Fine. Don't come crying to me next time you want me to set you up with one of my friends."
You shrug without looking up from your phone, a smirk tugging at the corner of your mouth. Even though the house has finally fallen silent, the bass from the boombox still seems to be rattling around somewhere inside your skull, a noisy ghost that just won't leave. You already know you're gonna wake up with one hell of a headache whenever you finally make it to bed.
The minutes drift by. You mindlessly scroll through your Instagram feed while Asa, slumped beside you, massages her temples with her eyes closed, the two of you quietly enjoying this well-earned lull after hours of drunken mayhem.
"Hey," Asa says into the silence. "By the way... Ahyeon told me what happened between you two."
You look up from your phone and glance over at her. She's sitting sideways on the couch, watching you with a look that's equal parts suspicion and curiosity.
"A lot happened between us. What exactly did she tell you?"
"That you fucked her.”
"Okay." You slip your phone into your pocket. "And?"
"And..." Asa echoes, mocking your nonchalant tone. "She told me you fucked her in the ass, dumbass."
"So? She's the one who asked for it.”
"Fuck!" she groans. "Can't believe Ahyeon got her ass fucked before I did. That was supposed to be me, goddammit!”
You frown, confused.
"Now she's gonna be all smug about it," Asa goes on. "'Oh my God, I've done anal. Look how cool I am.' I'm never gonna hear the end of it.”
"Look, don't know if getting fucked in the ass is exactly a flex, but sure.”
"Doesn't matter. It should've been me," she insists. "I'm closer to you than she is. You should've- Like- We've known each other way longer. Why'd she get to go first?”
"Hold on," you say, turning to face her fully. "I thought you'd already done anal before."
"Oh, right, just because I'm a slut, huh?" She shoots you a look of fierce judgment as if you'd insinuated something - but she is, by the way. She really is. "I know I'm a slut, but I'm not THAT much of a slut, come on! I'm not gonna give my ass to just anyone."
"Really?"
"Dead serious. It has to be someone special."
You take a second to process that. Enami Asa: easily the biggest freak you know. The girl who was literally telling anyone who'd listen just two weeks ago about hooking up with two guys in the same week, whose Amazon cart is perpetually full of brand-name vibrators and whatever other horny shit catches her eye.
And somehow... she's never done anal.
...Huh.
Yeah. You definitely didn't see that coming.
"Special, huh? So what exactly does someone have to have to qualify as 'special' in Enami Asa's book?”
She rolls her eyes at your mocking tone but answers, "It has to be someone I trust. Someone I know won't fuck it up, like, hurt me or whatever. I want someone with experience, who actually knows what they're doing."
"Someone like…?" You leave the sentence dangling in the air on purpose.
Asa bites her lower lip, looking at you with those pretty dark eyes in a way you have absolutely no business finding attractive.
"Like you. Duh.”
And just hearing that, your cock gets hard. Those little words leaving her full lips like that - hushed, almost a secret, as if it weren't the most intimate thing she's ever confessed to you - set your blood on fire.
"Okay, just to be sure: you're asking what I think you're asking?" You look at her, searching her face for any sign she's joking.
"Depends," Asa replies, repositioning herself on the couch to get a little closer to you. "Would you do it?" You have to look away for a second, swallowing hard as you try to process the abrupt turn the night's just taken. "It'd be, like..." she goes on, a filthy smile slowly spreading across those full lips, "the ultimate birthday present. Best one I've ever gotten.”
"And what about that manual orange juicer I got you?" you remind her. "Which, by the way, wasn't cheap."
"And I love it, babe," she says, giving your knee a squeeze. "Gonna be drinking fresh, 100% natural orange juice thanks to you. I'll use it every day, pinky swear. But If you fuck my ass… that'd be an even better present, you know? Think of it as an early Christmas gift.”
You can't help but laugh at how ridiculous this is. Asa just sits there with that smug little smile, calm as the morning light, quietly watching your reaction.
Little by little, it dawns on you that she's not kidding. You let out a sigh, drag both hands over your face, and rub at it, feeling your sanity hanging by a thread - and, at this point, probably your boxers too.
"Fuck, Asa..." you mutter. "You actually wanna do this? Like, right now?”
"Right now," she confirms, biting her lower lip again (at this point it's hard to tell if it's involuntary or intentional). "It's just us two here anyway. And if you want to know something…" She leans toward you. Perfume, sweat, and alcohol scrambling your senses. "Just talking about it is already making me wet," she reveals with a mischievous giggle that makes your cock throb in your pants.
"You can't be serious," you say with a half-suppressed laugh.
Now, take note: to Asa, a challenge is what bait is to a fish. She'll bite every single time - and you swear you didn't even do it on purpose.
"You think I'm kidding? Want me to prove you wrong?"
"No! Jesus Christ, Asa! You don't have to prove any-”
You don't even finish the sentence before she's standing right in front of you, her petite body on full display - much to your libido's delight and your better judgment's despair. To understand your predicament, it helps to know that Asa has always had the kind of body that makes a lot of girls die of envy: slim waist, that natural thinness so many dream of having and proportions so perfect that any outfit looks tailor-made for her. So, naturally, expecting you not to admire the view is asking a bit much.
Without breaking eye contact, she slides her hands to the hem of the black skirt and lifts it slowly, folding the fabric at her waist in an act of provocation that feels downright unfair.
Unfair because she's not wearing panties.
But you already knew that.
Earlier, in the kitchen, when Asa called you to help her, she bent down to grab a case of beer from the back of the fridge and her skirt rode up, you saw everything. At the time, you assumed it had been accidental. A wardrobe malfunction. One of those situations you simply don't mention because it would only embarrass the other person. She didn't even notice you'd seen. You let it go.
Now, staring at Asa's smooth little pussy spread right in front of you, the pink folds glistening with how wet they are, it's obvious that was far from an accident.
Reason finally manages to regain control for an instant, and the conclusion is unavoidable: choosing to throw a party in a skirt with no panties is far too specific to be a coincidence. In Asa's case, it's practically Machiavellian.
Come to think of it, it didn't even make sense that you'd followed her to the kitchen; it's not like she couldn't carry a case of beer to the living room by herself. Everything had been carefully orchestrated. A master strategist in the art of temptation.
Congratulations. Point goes to her.
Enemy neutralized successfully.
"See?" she asks, spreading her legs slightly so you get a better view. "I've been wet for a while now."
There's no way you can argue otherwise. The smooth white skin gleaming under the living room lamp is all the proof needed.
Then she turns around, putting her back to you, and arches her ass out, still holding the skirt bunched at her waist. Her ass is small, proportional to her body, round and firm. She glances over her shoulder, smiling slyly.
"So?" she asks, swaying her hips gently. "Fuckable? I mean, okay, I know Ahyeon has me beat this year. She turned into a total gym rat and somehow ended up with a whole dump truck back there. Ugh, it's so unfair. Her boobs got bigger too. What the hell is she even doing at that gym? Bench-pressing silicone? Steroid squats?” She laughs, but there's a grain of truth buried in the joke. She gives her own ass a little smack. "But…" She smirks. "Mine's still way tighter. And let's be honest…" She grabs her cheeks with both hands. "…this perky little thing has its own charm, right?" She spreads her cheeks apart just a tiny bit, enough to give you a glimpse of the little hole between them. Tight, pink, and seemingly untouched. Looking over her shoulder, she asks: "Wanna feel?"
And with that question, Asa drops you right between Scylla and Charybdis.
The choice between the lesser of two evils. Which, in this case, means either touching your best friend's ass and, at some point, ending up fucking just to put her on equal footing with Ahyeon in this bizarre female sexual rivalry you simply cannot comprehend - running the risk of ruining your friendship for the rest of your lives...
......or playing the prude, refusing a request made in absolute good faith and, for the first time in years, not being there when she chose to trust you.
You keep staring at her there, arched forward, offering herself up, her hands pulling aside her own cheeks. And even with your cock throbbing inside your pants, something tugs you back for a moment.
The choice seems so obvious it somehow loops back around and becomes complicated. Maybe it sounds like some self-righteous bullshit - a convenient little principle to make yourself feel better than everyone else. But over the years, you've watched practically every guy who drifted into your circle take one look at Asa and think the exact same thing. Somewhere along the way, you decided you weren't going to be just another one of them.
Asa always meant more than that. She's someone you actually give a shit about.
Even with the flirting. Even with the pecks at parties that always passed as harmless fun. Even with all the doors she, consciously or unconsciously, left open, you never took a single step further.
But now, between the alcohol, the sight of this cute little ass arched right in your face, and Asa herself practically begging to be touched…
You're starting to reconsider decisions that, up until five minutes ago, seemed non-negotiable.
"Asa..." you murmur. "We're friends. Best friends. You know this could ruin that... right?”
She looks over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow before firing back, "So? Ahyeon's your friend too. Didn't stop you from railing her. Don't start playing the saint with me now, babe.”
"That was different, Asa! Those are completely different situations!"
"Oh, are they? How?"
"You and I are closer," you point out. "I'm probably the only male friend you have who's never tried to get with you. Everyone else already has. I haven't."
"Okay… fair. You never tried." For one brief, beautiful moment, you think reason has finally won, but then the corner of her mouth curls into a knowing little smirk as she adds, "But you wanted to."
You even open your mouth to argue but she doesn't grant you the right.
"Oh, cut the bullshit." She laughs softly. "Don't insult my intelligence. You never made a move because you thought it'd ruin our friendship. Not because you didn't want to." She sways her hips slowly, still arched, holding your gaze over her shoulder. "You don't have to play the gentleman with me. Kinda hard to buy that act when I can see the bulge in your jeans.” The smirk on her lips grows a little wider. “That's one hell of a 'just friends' situation you've got going on. You're rock hard over your own best friend. So disgusting, right?"
You tug at your jeans - not to hide the obvious, but because your cock's starting to ache from being crushed against the denim. Keeping your eyes locked on her mischievous smirk, you shoot back, "Well, kinda hard not to get hard when you're over there wiggling that ass in my face and asking me to fuck you in that dirty little voice of yours.”
"Exactly. So chill out. We both want this. It's not like you're taking advantage of me or me of you. It's just… us. Enjoying our friendship, tightening the bond in a more fun way. It's not gonna ruin anything, okay? I promise. Tomorrow we'll still be besties. The only difference is you'll know what my back door feels like." She rolls her hips again, slower and more hypnotic. "Come on, babe. I wanna feel those big hands of yours all over me."
Your brain isn't really processing anything anymore. It's just taking everything in through a thick haze. This is the final stage of arousal, where thought gives way to pure instinct. You don't even notice your hands reaching out until they're already wrapped around her ass.
In the last flicker of lucidity, a single thought crosses your mind: Maybe Asa's right.
Your hands practically swallow the tight, firm cheeks, your fingers sinking into the soft flesh. You squeeze, feel the springy give beneath your palms, spread them apart and press them back together. Small, round, with her pink little pussy glistening between her cheeks, the skin warm under your hands, still damp with sweat from the party. And once again, your brain simply does not compute that this is your best friend's ass. The one who understands is your body - and by "body," your cock pulsing inside your pants.
"So?" Asa asks, biting her lower lip as she watches your hands knead her ass. "Better than Ahyeon's or not?”
"Can't give you a verdict till I put my cock in," you say, fully surrendered now, giving her ass a firmer squeeze that draws a gasp from her.
"So you're really gonna fuck your best friend's little ass?"
"Yeah," you confirm, holding her gaze. "You got what you wanted, congratulations."
"God, yes." She grins, giving her ass a smug little wiggle. "I was starting to think you were gonna keep fighting yourself all night.
"Yeah, not happening. Now get on all fours for me," you order.
Asa obeys, but shoots you a look over her shoulder. "You're not gonna shove it in all at once, are you?"
"Fuck no. Of course not. You really think I'd go in dry your first time?” You laugh. “C'mon. Arch that ass for me.”
"Oh, thank god." She adjusts her knees on the cushion and curves her back. "Oh, and before you ask - I already prepped. Did the whole routine. I'm spotless. You can eat me out without a second thought."
You laugh as you position yourself behind her, commenting, "You're methodical as fuck when it comes to getting laid."
"I don't half-ass anything, babe," she replies, sounding oddly proud of herself. "If I'm doing this, I'm doing it right. No amateur shit here.”
"Good. I know what I'm doing too. Just relax and let me handle the rest.”
You push the skirt until it's bunched more or less around her waist, her arched ass now fully visible. You lean in and kiss one cheek, then the other, feeling the soft skin against your lips. Lower down, her exposed pussy, looking wetter by the minute, dripping slightly between her thighs.
"You really are soaking wet," you say, dragging your thumb lightly across her pussy lips just to see her reaction.
Asa shudders and pushes her hips back against your hand. "Told you I'm horny as fuck," She doesn't sound embarrassed in the slightest. "I've wanted to give it to you ever since Ahyeon told me everything. I almost snuck off to the bathroom to get myself off like three different times during the party."
"Then we better get started."
Your first move is spreading her cheeks apart with both hands, exposing the tight pink hole between them, clenching slightly at the touch of the cold night air. You lean in and drag your tongue from bottom to top in a single motion.
Asa reacts with a jolt so sudden she nearly escapes your hands, kicking back like a startled pony - however un-erotic that comparison might be. Her legs tremble, her hips twist, and she lets out a sharp little yelp of pure surprise.
"Fuck!" She laughs nervously, gripping the back of the couch. "What the hell was that-"
You hold her hips firmly, keeping her in place, and say, "Hey, don't move. Stay still."
"Sorry. It's just I didn't expect it to feel like that. You caught me off guard," she pants, trying to reposition herself. "Go easy at first, please."
You return with your tongue, slower this time, tracing wet circles over her hole, feeling the ring of muscle clench beneath your mouth. Once you sense she's adjusted to the sensation, you press the tip of your tongue against the entrance. Asa responds with a moan, and this time she doesn't try to escape. Her thighs shake, but she makes an effort to hold position like a good girl.
"Oh, fuck," she murmurs. "That's - god - what a weird feeling. But it's good. A good weird. Keep going, babe."
You lick, suck, work your tongue against her hole the same way you did with Ahyeon last week. Getting everything wet, letting the spit drip down, laying the groundwork. With each pass of your tongue her body responds differently, and gradually the tension in her muscles yields. Asa starts to relax, pushing her ass back against your mouth instead of pulling away from it.
"I didn't know it was this sensitive back there," she says, her breathing starting to hitch. "Like, I'd use a finger sometimes when I was touching myself, but nobody's ever- You know- Done that with their tongue before. Jesus... Fuck.”
"That feel good?” you ask before going back in.
"Mm-hm," she breathes. "A lot. Please don't stop.”
You keep obeying the birthday girl's wishes, alternating between licking her ass and dropping down to suck on her drenched pussy, which makes her moan louder and arch her back deeper. The silence that had filled the living room now gives way to the sounds Asa produces, plus the wet noise of your mouth working on her.
"Are you gonna tell Ahyeon about this?" you ask, glancing up at her.
Asa laughs, breathless, glances back over her shoulder, and grins. "Obviously I'm gonna tell her. Gonna rub it right in her face. 'Did you know he fucked me too? And, just so you know, it was way better. He even came back for seconds.’ She's gonna freak the fuck out.”
You smack her ass, cutting off her smug little laugh. A pink mark starts to appear on the skin almost immediately.
"You're such a shameless little show-off. What kind of girl gets fucked in the ass for the first time and the first thing she wants to do is tell everyone about it?" you ask.
She lets out another little laugh.
"Me."
You shake your head, unable to hold back a smile, then give her other cheek another smack so they're matching.
"Ow!" she yelps, still laughing. "Yeah, I'm a show-off. So what? Thanks to me, you get the privilege of taking my anal virginity. I could've auctioned that off for millions, babe.”
"Yeah, alright, enough jokes. Now I'm gonna start with my fingers," you warn. "Relax for me, okay?”
You bring your index finger to your mouth, get it properly wet, and bring it back to her hole already slick with your spit. You press slowly, feeling the resistance of the tight ring. Asa's body goes rigid like stone.
"Easy," she says, and for the first time, you can hear the nerves beneath all that bravado. "Seriously. Go easy on me. If you hurt me, I'm gonna kill you."
"I got you," you murmur, easing your finger in a millimeter at a time. "Just breathe. Don't clench.”
Gradually she releases the air trapped in her lungs, her body softening, and your finger begins to slide inside slowly, until it reaches the last knuckle. Her hole is absurdly warm inside, clenching around your finger.
"Fuck, you're really tight in here," you comment, moving the finger slowly in and out.
"That's because nobody's ever used it," she says (or tries to. The sentence comes out through clenched teeth). "Everything back there is brand new. Enjoy it.”
You keep working the finger slowly, giving her body time to adjust. Little by little, the tightness gives way, she finally opens up to you, and her moans grow softer and more frequent. When she seems ready, you add a little more spit and bring a second finger in beside the first.
"Ow, ow! Wait," Asa moans, tensing up again. "It's starting to burn."
"I know. But you need to open up, otherwise my cock won't fit," you explain, keeping both fingers still for a moment. "Wanna stop?"
"No, no!" she answers quickly. "Keep going, please. Just go really slow, okay? I'm delicate."
You almost laugh at the audacity.
Returning your attention to Asa's ass, you now move both fingers together, spreading them apart gradually in a scissoring motion, stretching her hole. The moans never stop; they just shift in pitch, low and continuous, following every movement. Suddenly, she reaches one hand behind her, slides it between her own legs and starts rubbing her clit. Her pussy so wet that the sound of her fingers against it is actually audible.
"It's better like this," she murmurs, her fingers circling between her legs. "When I touch myself up front, everything relaxes in the back. Keep going."
Both fingers glide in and out of Asa's ass at a steady rhythm, and she's starting to lose control. Her hand between her legs speeds up, fingers circling her clit in relentless stimulation, and the moans leaving her mouth are growing increasingly unhinged, dangerously loud in the dead quiet of the night. You feel the walls of her hole clamping around your fingers with every motion, her entire body trembling and arching in response.
"Wow, okay... It's starting to feel good now,” Asa moans, pushing her ass back against your hand. "I can feel your fingers all the way up front. I swear, it's like I can feel them through everything.”
"Yeah?" You smirk while rotating your fingers slowly inside her. "You're enjoying having your little hole stretched open, huh?"
"I'm loving it," she admits between short pants. "If you keep this up I'm gonna cum, and I'm not even kidding. Your fingers in my ass and my fingers on my pussy - fuck! - such a hot combo."
But that's not what you want. Without saying anything, you begin pulling your fingers out slowly. Asa notices immediately and protests with a frustrated grunt, her hips trying to follow your hand on pure reflex before she can accept the loss of sensation.
"Nuh-uh," you say. "I want you to cum with my cock in your ass, not my fingers."
Asa looks over her shoulder. Her eyes burning with want, her face completely flushed. "Fuck, babe... then quit teasing and fuck me already.” There's no trace of that playful attitude now. Just the raw, desperate need of a girl who wants her cute little ass fucked. "I'm ready. You got me all opened up. My hole's so fucking wet - just put your cock in me already.”
You push yourself off the couch in one smooth motion. Your thumb pops the button, you yank the zipper down, and in one quick pull, your jeans and boxers are around your thighs. Your cock springs free, hard and throbbing, the swollen head already glistening.
"Come here," you call. "Spit on it."
Asa turns around on all fours on the couch and faces you, her eyes dropping to your cock. Her mouth parts slightly, surprised, and for a moment she does nothing but stare.
"Holy shit," she murmurs. "Ahyeon had this thing inside her?"
"Yeah."
"I get why she was acting all smug afterward,” Asa says, wrapping her fingers around the shaft, feeling the weight in her hand. "No wonder she was walking around with that stupid little grin. You must've fucked her real good... Jesus, this thing is thick.”
"That's why I prepped your hole properly," you reply. "Now spit."
Asa nods with a dirty little grin, gathers saliva in her mouth and spits directly onto the head of your cock, watching hypnotized as it slides down the length. She closes her fingers around it and starts stroking slowly, spreading everything, coating every inch. Her hand moves up and down, squeezing with perfect, practiced pressure, staring at your cock with the focus of someone utterly devoted to it.
"Feels nice in my hand,” she comments, rubbing her thumb across the tip and spreading the precum. "Hard as fuck. Ahyeon knew exactly what she was doing when she decided to tell me, you know? She was trying to provoke me. Made a point of saying your cock was one of the best she'd ever had. Wanted me thinking about the dick that fucked her. My best friend's dick."
"And it worked?" you ask, your cock throbbing in her hand.
"Yeah. It worked," Asa admits, giving one last firm squeeze. "I was so fucking jealous.”
Then she spits again, more saliva running over your cock. Spreads it all with her hand until it's completely slick and shining. Only then does she lift her face toward you, the corner of her mouth pulled up in that mischievous smile you've known for years.
"Like that, daddy?" she asks, putting on an innocence so obviously fake that only a slut like her could pull it off.
You feel your cock jump in her hand.
"Yeah, perfect," you confirm. "Good girl. Now turn back around."
Asa smiles, pleased with herself for finding the right button, and repositions herself on the couch. Her back to you again, knees spread on the cushion, spine curved and her cute little ass arched up. The pink hole slightly open from the prep, still wet with spit. The slickness that dripped from her soaked pussy trails down in thin threads between her thighs.
Behind her again, you hold your cock with one hand and slide the head between her cheeks, grazing lightly against the tight little hole. Asa shudders the instant she feels, for the first time, the real contact of your cock against her ass.
"Hey. Relax."
"I am relaxed, damn it," she shoots back, though her body tells a different story. "Just put it in before I start overthinking it and lock up.”
You press the head against her hole and push slowly. The pressure builds, increases, the ring of muscle yielding millimeter by millimeter, and the sensation is absurd. Tight in a way that makes you hold your breath. Asa makes a choked sound and grabs the back of the couch hard.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" she lets out in rapid succession. "Stop, stop, stop! Don't move! Let me breathe..."
You stop with just the head of your cock inside, feeling her squeeze and pulse around you. Asa breathes deep, her small chest rising and falling with the effort.
"It's thick as fuck," she murmurs. "No fucking way Ahyeon took all of this up her ass. What a whore."
"Wanna stop?"
"No," she answers fast. "No, absolutely not! Just let me get used to it. Keep pushing, but slow. Really slow, please."
You push another centimeter. Then another. Asa's hole opens around your cock, swallowing you slowly, and with each progression she makes a different sound. A moan. A gasp. A quiet curse. For you, the sensation is overwhelming, hot, impossibly tight, her ring clenching behind the head of your cock with every millimeter of advance, it takes a herculean effort to simply not bury the whole thing inside her ass.
"More," she asks when you hesitate. "Put it all in. Slow but all of it. I want to feel your whole cock in my ass."
You continue, millimeter by millimeter sinking into the tightest little ass you've ever fucked, until your hips press flush against her cheeks. Your entire cock buried in Asa's hole, every inch embraced by that hot, pulsing grip. She releases the air from her lungs all at once, her head dropping forward, dark hair hiding her face, sweat trailing down her spine, tracing every vertebra before disappearing into the fold of her waist.
"Fuck," she murmurs. "I feel everything. I feel your whole cock in my ass. God, this is insane - I can't even breathe."
You stay still, letting the moment belong to her as she adjusts. Her hole pulses around your cock, clenching and relaxing in involuntary waves, and gradually the tension in her body gives way. Her thighs stop trembling so much. Her breathing becomes more controlled, less ragged, her body finally settling around you.
"What was Ahyeon like the first time?" Asa asks suddenly, looking over her shoulder, face flushed and expression curious. "Was she like this too? All tense and stuff?”
"She had a little less trouble," you answer honestly, running your hand over her ass, caressing the warm skin. "But that's fine. Everybody's different. You're doing great too."
"Oh, of course she had less trouble," Asa grumbles. "Easier when it's not actually your first time, right?"
"What do you mean?"
"Babe, you seriously think Ahyeon was an anal virgin? Oh, please.” Asa declares, rolling her eyes, and the indignation adds extra color to her already red face. "She'd probably taken it in the ass from half the city before you. She just played innocent so you'd feel bad for her and fuck her. Perverted bitch.”
You laugh and smack her ass hard enough to make a sharp crack.
"Hey, don't talk about her like that. She's your friend too."
Asa moans at the slap but laughs right after, saying, "She is my friend, yeah. But in this specific department she's my rival," she retorts as if it made perfect sense. "I'm well within my rights to question her anal integrity. It's a competition. She started it when she came bragging to me.”
"Stop being so petty, Asa."
"Fine, whatever." She adjusts her knees on the couch, settling in better. "I won't talk shit about your other little slut anymore. Daddy's favorite girl. Happy?”
"Close enough.” You shake your head, laughing.
Asa laughs with you. It lingers for a moment before trailing off into a quiet exhale. She looks down, absently biting the inside of her cheek, and when her eyes find yours again, her face is somehow gentler. Her dark gaze is steadier, more attentive. Slowly, she reaches back and wraps her hand around the wrist resting on her waist.
"Hey," Asa murmurs. "Seriously now... thanks for saying yes to this. This is what I meant before, you know? About it having to be someone special. Someone I trust." She bites her lip, taking a second to find the right words. "You know what you're doing. You're not trying to prove anything. You're not hurting me. You're letting me go at my own pace, and..." She hesitates, then lets out a small, nervous laugh. "I-I wouldn't trust anyone else to put a cock in my ass. That's what I'm trying to say. Yeah. You're... you're amazing.”
You slide your hand along her waist, your thumb tracing slow circles over her warm skin. "That's what friends are for..." you reply. "I guess.”
Asa lets out a short laugh, shaking her head before hiding a smile as she turns to face forward again.
"Yeah, I guess so," she agrees, rolling her hips gently against you, her hole squeezing your cock with the motion. "Anyway, sentimental moment over. Now keep fucking me. Go for it."
"Alright. I'm gonna start moving," you warn.
Slowly, your hips pull back a few centimeters and push forward again. The movement is slow, but the sensation draws a long, deep moan from Asa. You repeat the pattern: pull back, push in. Pull back, push in. Each thrust a little easier than the last, her hole yielding a bit more, molding itself to your cock.
"Yes," Asa moans, pushing her ass back against you. "Just like that, daddy. Put your hands on my waist, hold me tight."
Both your hands wrap around her slim waist. The few times you've touched her there, it was always in innocent contexts: posing together for a photo, guiding her through a crowded party, or in some casual gesture of affection between friends. Now, though, you pull that same waist back against you with every thrust, making her ass collide with your pelvis in a rhythm still slow but firm. Asa's hole is already completely slick, gliding along your cock with an ease that increases with every stroke.
“Fuck my ass, babe,” she breathes through clenched teeth. “Yeah, right there! Fuck - this cock's so fucking good. Now I totally get why Ahyeon acted so cocky. After getting fucked by this dick, I'd be cocky too.”
You drive in deeper and she gasps, then laughs, almost beside herself.
"You like taking it in the ass, Asa?" you ask, gripping her cheek with one hand while you fuck her.
“I fucking love it, she replies, pushing her hips back against you. “I should've let you do this sooner. I thought it'd hurt a lot more, but it feels so damn good. Feeling my best friend's thick cock stretching me open, taking me nice and slow - fuck, it's so damn hot."
You increase the pace just enough to give her something new. The walls of her ass grip your cock with every thrust in a squeeze so intense you need to focus to not lose control. Asa, growing bolder by the minute, grinds back on you, rotating her hips in circles while you pump in and out, and her moans shift in tone, deeper, rawer, even better to listen to.
"Yeah, fuck me like the little slut I am,” she says, glancing over her shoulder for a second just so you can see her smirking. "That's what I am, right? Your dirty little friend taking it up the ass on the couch after the party.”
"You always were," you reply, spanking her ass. "I just never got to see it for myself.”
"And you like what you see?" she teases, grinding harder. "You like fucking your friend's virgin ass? Nobody else has ever had this privilege. Just you, daddy.”
"It's perfect," you admit, driving into her again and drawing another loud moan from her. "You've got the best ass I've ever fucked.”
"Better than Ahyeon's?!" asks eagerly, and you almost laugh because of course she'd ask that while you literally have your cock stretching her ass open.
"No comparison," you answer, and it's the truth. Asa grinds in a way Ahyeon never did, plus her hole is hotter and slightly tighter - now even you're questioning Ahyeon's "anal integrity" (add one more conspiracy theorist to the group).
"Ha, take that, bitch,” Asa declares to no one in particular, looking thoroughly pleased with herself. "Honestly, it's not even fair how much better than her I am at literally everything.”
And while she goes on bragging to herself, your hips never stop working, maintaining a steady rhythm, feeling every inch of Asa's ass clenching around your cock. Her small firm cheeks bounce with each thrust, then spread when you decide to palm both apart with your hands to watch your cock sliding in and out of her. Her hole gapes for a split second with each withdrawal before enveloping your cock again, a sight that is, to be uselessly honest, the most obscene thing you've ever witnessed - not because of what it is, but because it's her.
For a while, you keep fucking her at an easy, unhurried pace, one that doesn't ask too much from either of you. It's almost like tenderizing a cut of meat with a mallet; blow after blow, never rushing it, letting the fibers slowly loosen and surrender beneath each measured strike, until the whole piece grows softer under steady, patient pressure. Every thrust opens Asa up a little more, easing her wider, getting her thoroughly stretched and accustomed to your cock, until it's finally time to give in to the freedom those relentless rolls of her hips and the way she presses her ass back against you seem to be pleading for.
Asa's moans also find their own rhythm: constant, separated only by brief intervals, broken now and then by whatever filth decides to escape her mouth, "Fuck... you're stretching my little ass out so good," she groans, her fingers tightening around the armrest. "It's filling my little hole completely. Can feel you so deep, you know that? Every time you bottom out, I feel every inch of it. It's driving me fucking crazy.”
"You feel so fucking good," you tell your best friend, your hands squeezing her ass. "Now I get why everyone who's ever fucked you ends up wanting more. You're just built for this. Built to be used like a fuck toy - and I mean that as the biggest compliment I could possibly give you."
"And I feel extremely flattered hearing that, babe," she responds looking over her shoulder, face completely overtaken by lust. "Your cock is stretching my whole ass out and I love it, I love being used by my best friend. Give me more, give me every inch of that dick, babe."
You fire off a sequence of faster thrusts and Asa moans loudly with each one, her entire small body rocking on the couch. After several pumps you slow down and stay buried inside her, just feeling her hole pulse.
"Now that you're nice and stretched out," you murmur, giving her ass a slow, affectionate stroke, "how about you ride me for a while? Set the pace. I wanna feel you move however you want.”
Asa's eyes light up at the idea, the answer coming without even thinking, "Yes, daddy!” She beams. "Let me ride your cock for a while. I swear I'll make you feel so fucking good.”
"You know, maybe it's the horniness talking but I like hearing you call me daddy," you admit, running your hand down her back.
"Yeah?" she grins, playful, wiggling her ass with your cock still inside. "Then that's what I'm calling you from now on. Whenever this cock is inside me, you're my daddy. Deal?”
"Deal," you answer.
Holding the base of your cock, you begin pulling out slowly, watching the thick length sliding gradually out of Asa's hole, every fraction of withdrawal drawing a soft little moan from her, the tight ring clinging to your cock as if refusing to let go. When the head finally slips free, her hole winks, clenching and opening to the air. Your best friend's little hole, untouched just half an hour ago, is now flushed, slick, and slightly swollen from your use. Asa keeps her ass arched toward you on purpose, as though she knows exactly where your thoughts have gone.
And she knows it. A dirty little thing like her knows exactly how wrong this is.
Truth be told, that's exactly what turns her on.
"Like what you see?" she teases, giving her hips a playful sway. "That little hole belongs to you now, daddy.”
You don't bother answering her. The look in your eyes already tells her everything she needs to know. Shaking yourself out of the moment, you ease back onto the couch, getting comfortable as your cock stands hard against your stomach, still glistening from her.
Asa gets on her knees on the couch and turns to face you. With one hand on your shoulder she moves and straddles your lap, one knee on each side of your thighs, her slim body with the skirt still bunched at her waist and the strapless top letting one nipple peek out. She looks down at your cock and bites her lip before her hand drops to grab it, positioning the head against the hole that was just fucked. She takes a breath, presses her forehead to yours, and then starts lowering herself slowly.
The tip presses against her entrance once more, her tight ring giving way much more easily this time, though it's still snug enough to draw a long, helpless moan from her. Asa's eyes roll back as half your cock slips inside, her eyelids fluttering while every muscle in her body focuses on not tensing up as you're slowly worked back into her. She keeps lowering herself until she's fully seated, your entire length buried inside her, your hips pressed flush together.
"Holy fucking shit," she moans, trembling on your lap. "In this position it goes deeper. Feels like your cock grew three extra centimeters."
She stays still for a moment, just breathing, letting her body adjust naturally. Then she starts to move. Slow at first, searching for the right rhythm, lifting her hips a few centimeters and dropping back down, feeling every millimeter of friction. Her face twists with pleasure on each descent.
While she finds her rhythm, your hands travel up her body and grab the edge of the strapless top. You yank it down in one go, the fabric sliding smooth on sweaty skin to reveal her tits. Small and proportional to her compact frame, with pink stiff nipples you spent the whole party watching press against the thin fabric.
Asa glances down at herself - still lazily grinding against your lap - and asks with a smug little smile, "So? What do you think?"
"They're cute," you say, your thumbs brushing lightly over her nipples. "They really suit you."
"Right?!" she says, grinning. "Flat is justice, damn it. You don't need huge tits to be hot."
"I've never said otherwise."
"That's why you're my kind of guy," she murmurs, leaning into your touch. "Go on... squeeze them for me, daddy.”
That's what you were about to do anyway. Your hands rise between you, grabbing both tits, fingers working the nipples, and Asa, feeling your touch, closes her eyes and picks up the pace. Her body responds to your touch by rising and falling with more energy, her hole gliding along your cock in a way that makes you clench your jaw. It doesn't take long for Asa to show she knows what she's doing, using her whole body to ride you, especially the strength in her hips, creating those small impacts of skin against skin that echo through the room with every hard drop.
"I bet Ahyeon can't ride dick like this," Asa pants. "Come on, admit it. I ride you way better, don't I?"
"You do," you admit, giving her nipple a squeeze. "Way better. Just don't tell her I said that."
"I knew it! Oh, and wanna hear something funny? Ahyeon actually asked me for riding tips once. Like, she literally asked me how I do it. So I taught her, obviously. I'm a good friend after all."
"No shit?"
"Dead serious. I'm the one who taught her how to ride. And then the ungrateful bitch goes and uses what I taught her to take it up the ass from my friend? The nerve..." Asa sinks lower as she rolls her hips, clenching around you in the process and drawing a groan from your lips. "At least now I'm showing you how it's actually done. My student rode you like an amateur. Daddy's best little anal slut does it like this."
"One of these days you're gonna have to explain this whole rivalry thing between you two," you say.
"Oh, there's a lot of lore behind it," Asa replies, planting both hands on your shoulders to give herself more leverage. "It all started when she stole a guy she knew I had a crush on."
"You never told me that."
"'Cause it's kind of personal. It's between me and her. I'll tell you later."
"When's later?"
"After you fill my ass with cum and I'm sitting on your lap with your cock still inside me. Then I'll stay all cozy with you for a bit, feeling your cum inside me, and I'll tell you everything. Deal?"
You laugh at the sheer casualness with which she says something like that.
"Well... okay. Works for me."
Asa smiles and starts riding you with renewed enthusiasm. Her body never stops moving - her small breasts bouncing softly, her slim waist rolling over your lap. You can tell she's past the adjustment phase now, completely used to taking you, every descent smooth and deep. Never breaking rhythm, she shifts effortlessly between slow circles, straight bounces, lazy rolls of her hips, and short grinding motions, switching from one to the next without missing a beat, and the constant variety is enough to drive you crazy.
"Am I doing a good job, daddy?" she asks between pants, gazing into your eyes.
"You're incredible," you answer, squeezing her waist. "My good girl. Keep going."
"Yes, sir," she says, picking up the pace. "I'm gonna ride this cock until you fill my tight little ass with hot, thick cum. That's what I want for my birthday - an anal creampie from my best friend.”
Then, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, Asa leans in and kisses you. And for the first time in all your years of friendship, it's a real kiss; open-mouthed, her tongue meeting yours, warm, soft, and everything it shouldn't be. Years of quick pecks at parties, affectionate two a.m. texts, and playful flirting never came close to preparing you for this. The reality of her mouth on yours is rawer than you ever imagined. She tastes faintly of alcohol with a hint of something sweet - probably the frosting from the cheap birthday cake she picked up. Her quiet moans melt into the kiss, vibrating against your lips as she never stops moving.
She pulls back just enough to keep her forehead resting against yours, still breathless, her eyes bright as she lets out a dazed little laugh.
"Fuck... I can't even- Like, a few hours ago we were just getting drunk, acting like idiots at my party. And now I'm bouncing on my best friend's dick, calling him daddy." She laughs again, half in disbelief, half completely into it. "But it feels so good. So wrong and so fucking good." She shakes her head with a breathless smile. "I'm so turned on I can't even think straight. Your cock's actually in my ass. Like..." She lets out an unsteady breath, still smiling in amazement. "This is so fucked up. I love it."
"It's fucking insane for me too," you admit, your hand slowly trailing down her sweat-slick back. "You're the one girl I always swore I'd never make a move on. I spent years telling myself our friendship meant too much to risk - and now I've got my best friend riding my cock.”
"So? Regretting all those promises you broke?"
"Not for a second.”
Asa rewards your honesty by grinding harder, deeper, her hole tightening around your cock in a way that makes your hips lift off the couch. The intensity is building, the rhythm accelerating, and her breathing is getting shorter and faster, the climax approaching.
"I'm close," she confesses, gripping your shoulders hard. "Gonna cum, babe. Gonna cum with your cock in my ass - holy shit. Can feel myself tightening up.”
Her hand slips between her legs, fingers finding her clit as she keeps riding you, drawing out a different kind of moan this time - lower, rougher, the kind that only comes when an orgasm is closing in. Your hands stay firm on her waist, lifting her up and pulling her back down with almost ridiculous ease, her light frame making it effortless to set the rhythm. And Asa gives in the way only she can. True to her word, she never does anything halfway. If she's going to feel it, she feels every last bit of it. If she's going to cum, her whole body cums with her.
"Cum for me, daddy," she whimpers, grinding herself back against you as her fingers work her clit even faster. "Cum nice and hard for your dirty little slut of a best friend. The best friend who's been dying to spread her legs for you. "The one who got jealous as hell because Ahyeon got this cock before she did." Her voice catches on a moan. "And now I am - fuck - now I'm taking it so fucking good!" She rocks back harder. "Now fill me up. Fill my ass with every last drop.”
"Fuck... I'm close," you groan. "You're gonna make me cum."
"Yes! Fill me up," she moans, her ass tightening around your cock. "I'm your dirty little slut now. Your slutty best friend who's gonna let you fuck her ass whenever you want. Fill me up, daddy. Please. Every fucking drop.”
She grinds faster, harder, riding your cock with growing desperation, squeezing around you with every thrust. The pleasure has been building for far too long - ever since she lifted her skirt and showed you how wet she was, ever since she told you that you were the one she wanted to fuck her ass. Asa doesn't stop talking. She doesn't stop moving. Her hole keeps clenching and relaxing around your cock in a relentless rhythm, pulling you closer and closer to the edge right along with her.
"Give me your cum, daddy. Give it to me give it to me give it to me-”
You grab her by the hips and pull her down hard, burying your cock to the hilt as you cum. As deep in Asa's ass as you can possibly get. Thick, hot ropes flood her from the inside, each pulse making her hole tighten around you. The feeling is almost unreal. Her impossibly tight ass milks every spasm out of your cock while you keep her pinned against you, holding her there as you empty yourself completely, letting every involuntary squeeze draw out the very last drop.
Asa feels the rush of hot cum filling her ass, unmistakable, flooding her exactly the way she'd begged for. That, finally, pushes her over the edge. It comes in beautiful stages: first, her whole body goes rigid, every muscle tightening all at once. Then she starts to shake - and she really shakes - completely out of control, her thighs trembling on your lap, her hole fluttering around your cock, her eyes rolling back until only the whites show. Her mouth falls open, but no sound comes at first. Then, finally, a long, ragged moan tears its way up from somewhere deep in her chest.
You wrap your arms around her trembling body, feeling her convulse in your lap, and Asa digs her nails into your shoulders, hard enough that she's definitely leaving marks. You can already feel the sting, though the adrenaline dulls most of it. The orgasm keeps rolling through her in waves, each one making her clench around you all over again, tighten all over again, and for a moment it feels like it's never going to end.
But it does. And when it finally does, Asa melts against you. Her forehead comes to rest on your shoulder, her whole body going limp, deflating like a balloon, her breathing so heavy you can feel her chest rising and falling against yours.
"Fuck," she murmurs hoarsely against your neck. "Holy shit... That was- Like..." She lifts her head to look at you, eyes half-glazed, the shock of the ecstasy still there. "I felt it go through my whole body. I'm serious. From my toes all the way to the top of my head. Strongest orgasm I've ever had. Jesus." She lets out a weak, satisfied laugh. "My first time taking it in the ass, and that's what happens. Guess I've been doing sex wrong…"
"Happy to help you find your new favorite hobby," you say, chuckling. Asa smiles.
But she doesn't get up, though. She stays on your lap, your cock still inside her ass, the hot cum filling the space between you just like she said she wanted. Her body feels feather-light against yours, sweat and perfume mingling in the air as her breathing gradually slows, the two of you lingering there without either of you feeling any need to move.
"Hey," Asa says after a while, still leaning against your shoulder. "Maybe this doesn't have to be a one-time thing."
"What do you mean?"
"We could keep doing this. Fuck every now and then." She gives a small shrug. "I think it'd be nice."
"Like friends with benefits?"
"Yeah. Friends with benefits." She looks up at you. "What do you think?" Her hair sticks to her forehead, her lips are swollen, her lipstick completely smeared - the face of someone who just made the riskiest decision of your entire friendship... and doesn't regret it one bit. "No dating, no expectations, no drama. Whenever we're in the mood, it's just you and me. Sound good?"
You don't even have to think. "I'm in."
"Nice," she says with a smile, leaning in to give you a quick peck. "Mind if I stay on your lap a little longer? It feels nice like this. Cozy."
You wrap your arms around her, pulling her small body close.
"Sure. Get comfortable."
"Thanks," she murmurs. "Seriously. This was the best birthday present I could've asked for. Better than the juicer. Better than the party. Better than everything."
"Anytime," you reply, giving her a gentle squeeze. "Anything for the birthday girl."
Asa closes her eyes and snuggles a little closer. The darkness in the room is already beginning to fade, slowly giving way to the pale light of dawn spilling through the windows. Outside, the chorus of city birds is the first ordinary sound you've heard in hours (after what felt like an endless night of Asa's moans) - the quiet prelude to a brand-new morning.
"Daddy," Asa murmurs against your shoulder, followed by a quiet little laugh.
You chuckle too. "Yeah... now that we're not horny anymore, hearing you call me that is kind of weird."
"I know," she says. "Without the whole sex thing, it sounds really fucking weird. Let's keep that one for the bedroom."
"Deal.”
Then Asa's stomach growls out of nowhere, cutting right through the moment. She glances down at it with a look of pure betrayal before sighing.
"I'm starving," she complains. "Burned way too many calories getting my ass fucked. Need a snack before bed."
"I'd offer to order something, but I don't think anything's open yet," you say.
Asa barely hears you, already looking around the room for something.
"Hang on..." she murmurs, frowning. "Where'd I leave the rest of my cake? There was, like, half of it left. I remember seeing it on the coffee table during the party." She points across the room, where the coffee table now sits empty. "Yeah, it was kinda shitty and dry, but it'd absolutely hit the spot right now."
"Hmm," you mumble. "About that..."
Asa goes still on your lap. "What?"
"I'm pretty sure I saw somebody leaving with a tray," you say, trying to piece together the hazy memory. "Must've been around two in the morning. I was in the kitchen grabbing another beer when I saw someone heading out the front door with it."
"Who?”
"No clue. Some guy in a striped shirt. I think he was one of Ruka's friends.”
You watch Asa slowly close her eyes, her face settling into the expression of someone who realizes they're fucked - and not the kind she'd been enjoying five minutes ago. She presses her lips into a thin line, takes one slow breath through her nose, then lets it out through pursed lips, “Fuck.”
Soyeon was bent over on the wooden deck, ass up and face down like a cheap whore. Her grey sweatpants were yanked down around her thighs as a thick, hard cock pushed against her tight little pussy from behind.
“Fuck… wait— you’re really big…” she whimpered, looking back with wide eyes. “Go slow, okay? I’m really tight right now—”
But he didn’t listen. He grabbed her slim waist and slammed into her in one brutal thrust.
“AHHH! SHIT!” Soyeon screamed, her body jerking forward. “You’re splitting me open! It’s too fucking deep!”
He started pounding her hard, his hips slapping loudly against her ass with every thrust.
“Too much… too much! You’re gonna break my pussy!” she moaned loudly, voice shaking. “Fuck— slow down… ahh! No, don’t stop— fuck me harder!”
Her tight walls were clenching desperately around his thick cock as he destroyed her from behind. Soyeon’s eyes rolled back, drool slipping from her mouth.
“Yes! Right there— fuck me like a slut! Harder!” she begged, pushing her ass back against him. “Deeper! Rip me apart!”
He slapped her ass hard and growled, thrusting even faster.
“Oh my god I’m cumming— I’m cumming on your cock!” she cried out, her whole body shaking violently as her pussy spasmed. “Don’t stop! Fill me up! Wreck my tight little hole!”
Even after her orgasm, he kept railing her mercilessly, turning the fierce idol into a drooling, cock-drunk mess.
“Again… I’m gonna cum again— fuck! You’re so deep inside me!” she moaned brokenly, ass bouncing wildly with every savage thrust. “Use me… treat me like your personal fucktoy!”
After 6-months of living together, a rough night out was all it takes for Chaewon to break the invisible boundary with her newly eighteen stepbrother, Daniel.
Writer's note:
This is a classic faux incest story that explore the forbidden theme of step-siblings intimacy, delivered in a First Person POV of our main character, Daniel Han.
No trigger warning since the smut part itself is probably the most vanilla one I wrote so far out of all my works.
Had an idea of turning this one into a series, but let's just see how it goes first.
Also, I just made a fanprose! Find me there; https://fanprose.com/users/grownishhgambino
The space was quiet except for the low hum of the television and the occasional creak of the old couch as we shifted.
Chaewon and I sat side by side, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from her bare thigh where her oversized t-shirt had ridden up. She always dressed like that at home—comfortable, effortless, and dangerously distracting.
We were halfway through another rewatch of Game of Thrones. On screen, Jon Snow was about to kiss Daenerys next to a frozen waterfall after a scenic flight across the north sky. I locked in instantly, tugging a pillow across my chest.
Then, without warning, the screen flickered and changed to some bland nature documentary.
I blinked slowly, then turned my head to the side. Chaewon had got the remote in her hand, her thumb sunk against the button unapologetically.
“Why did you switch the channel? Thing’s just about to get heated there,” I asked.
She didn’t even spare me a glance. “Exactly. And you still have to ask why?”
I huffed at her response, mildly annoyed. “Come on, Chae, it’s just a kissing scene. There’s nothing weird about it unless you want to make it weird. We’re both adults here.”
She finally turned her head, one perfectly arched eyebrow lifting in that signature way that always made my stomach tighten. Her eyes—sharp, hazel, and far too knowing—locked onto mine.
“Is that right now?" she said. "Because to me, it feels like I’m the only adult sitting on this couch right now while you’re a kid who just had his eighteenth birthday a few weeks ago and still acts like half his age most of the time.”
The words stung more than I wanted to admit, mainly due to the unwarranted nature of it. I stayed quiet for a beat, staring at her until the pain faded. The way the lamplight caught on the smooth curve of her neck, the faint flush on her cheeks… it was doing things to me it definitely shouldn’t.
“So you do know my birthday then?” I said, throwing the ball back at her from a different angle.
“Well, how could I not?” she shot back, narrowing her eyes at me. “Our parents literally arranged a whole Euro-trip to celebrate it.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t there, remember?” I leaned forward slightly, unable to keep the edge out of my tone. “You were too busy staying at your friend’s place instead of being present at your brother’s big coming-of-age event that can only happen once in a lifetime.”
Chaewon exhaled sharply, shifting on the couch so her knee brushed against mine. Not sure if it was intentional or not, though it was totally welcomed. The brief contact sent a spark straight through me.
“I was preparing for my exam, you child, not out there partying,” she said, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her voice. “And just to make the crime even less severe; you’re not even my real brother.”
“Don’t say that.” My voice dropped, quieter now. “I still care about you a lot even though we’re not related by blood. I believe that's what are our parents would have wanted anyway when they decided to bring us together as a family.”
Chaewon studied me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind those narrowed eyes.
“And when did I say that I didn't? I was just trying to defend myself since you were trying so hard to guilt-trip me and made me seem like a bad sister for not attending your fancy birthday trip.” She paused to push her hair back over her shoulder, then continued, “If anything, you’re just proving my point of you consistently acting like a child at your supposed grown age, so give me a break, Daniel.”
“Yeah, whatever.” I muttered, my gaze drifting involuntarily to the way her t-shirt clung to her chest as she breathed. “You’d be surprised what this child can do anyway when he does want to act like a man.”
“What’s that?” she asked casually, eyes already back on screen. “You’re speaking in a deep voice, I can’t hear you.”
“Nothing,” I said, playing the innocent. “Can we switch the channel back, please? I think they’ve already done making it out by now. It’s Game of Thrones we were watching, not porn.”
Chaewon let out a soft huff while giving me a lingering look; half-tired, half-suspicious. For a second, her fingers hovered over the remote, and I caught her glance at me again—upstairs, then lower. The silence stretched, charged with everything we weren’t saying.
And the only way to resolve it was by bringing the dragons back on screen—which she eventually did. Thank God. Or damn it?
***
Time slipped away as we kept binging through the episodes. Scenes after scenes blurred together in a constant shift of attention between our phone and the big screen. The living room grew dimmer as the sun dipped lower outside, making everything seemed cozier than it initially was. By the time the credits rolled on the season finale, the house felt even quieter, more intimate. The only sounds were the faint hum of the closing theme and the annoying keyboard-tapping sound from Chaewon’s phone.
I turned my head to say something—and froze.
Her legs were stretched out casually across the couch, almost using my lap as a foot rest. Those tiny rolled-up shorts riding high on her thighs from hours of lounging. The smooth, toned skin looked impossibly soft in the warm, fading light. My gaze lingered a second too long, tracing the curve where her spilled flesh met the hem of the fabric. The dark little mole she got just below her hips staring at me in the size of a quarter, locking my eyes in position out of my own will.
Heat rushed through me, sharp and unwelcome. Fuck. I forced my eyes away, heart pounding.
Chaewon was scrolling on her phone, completely unaware, lips slightly parted in that relaxed way she got when she was lost in her own world. I needed to move before things escalated in my head.
I cleared my throat and pushed off the couch. “Hey, um… I’m gonna call the pizza place for dinner. You want to order anything?”
“No, thanks. I’m going out with a friend later for a little house party,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Might be home a bit late, in fact, so just order for yourself. No need to waste food around here.”
“Alrighty.”
I headed toward the kitchen with my phone and grabbed myself a glass of water, trying to put some distance between us. But for some reason, I felt the urge to be in her hair still, almost like I was craving for her attention as I wandered back to where I came from and leaned against the moulded wall of the living room.
“And, uh… which friend is that again, if you don’t mind me asking? Is it Jennifer? Or Kazuha?”
Chaewon lowered her phone and turned her head around slowly, giving me a look that was equal parts amusement and suspicion. “I beg your pardon, sir? Why do you feel the need to ask me that?”
“I mean, why not?” I said, shrugging my shoulders, “It’s a valid question.”
She tilted her head, studying me with those sharp hazel eyes of hers. The sunset glow caught on her skin and her silky brown hair, making her look even more dangerously beautiful than she already was. I tried not to notice how her t-shirt had slipped off one shoulder. No strap in sight, so that could only mean one thing.
“Think of a situation where you suddenly got kidnapped on your way to the said house party,” I continued, “in which I happened to be the last person who saw you leaving the house. The detectives would definitely want to talk to me in that scenario. And unfortunately, I’d have no useful answers to give them, except maybe for your OOTD and the time of your departure.” I took a sip off my cold glass while approaching towards her in slow steps, being intentionally dramatic for the fun of it, as I then added, “Now that’d be pretty disappointing, right? We’d wish to find you as soon as possible before any ransom demands come in… Or, of course, before they do anything harmful to you. God forbid.”
Chaewon’s lips curved into a slow, skeptical smile.
She set her phone down on the arm rest before hugging the couch to address me, as she said, “I see… So you’re asking purely out of care for my safety, and not because you've taken an interest in my private life or the prospect of hitting on my friends?”
“Absolutely,” I nodded, “Why would you even assume that in the first place?”
“Because you mentioned my friends by name, Daniel, and I somehow don’t remember ever introducing them to you directly,” said Chaewon, her tone cynical. “Care to explain?”
“Oh, well...it's just common knowledge, isn't it?” I replied, trying to act nonchalant with my hand in my hair. “I mean, I’ve seen them two dropping you off here a couple times, and you tag them in a lot of your Instagram posts, so—no detective work done. Just being attentive.”
“Right.” Her tone dripped with playful sarcasm. “Then maybe I should consider blocking you from all my social media accounts before I start getting complaints that you’re sliding into my friends’ DMs soon. Do you think that's necessary??”
“I don’t think that’s necessary at all, no,” I said. “But you do what you have to do. Anything that’ll help my step-sister sleep at night, I won’t stand against it.”
I tried to keep my expression casual, shrugging like the whole conversation barely registered while I savored the undivided attention Chaewon was giving me.
She didn’t say anything right away. Those cute little brown eyes traced my face slowly, almost thoughtfully, as if she were trying to peel back whatever mask of nonchalance I was wearing. The corner of her mouth twitched, just slightly, like she was biting back a comment.
This was fun. Maybe even too fun for my own good that it somehow switched something up inside me. Something bold and dangerous, and this small belief that I might just get lucky today if things continued to go this way.
***
Night settled over the house, the living room now lit only by the glow of the TV and a couple of lamps. With Chaewon gone for her party and the place suddenly feeling too empty, I texted my best friend, Liam, to come over and spend the night with me.
He showed up within the hour, and soon enough we were sprawled on the couch with pizza boxes open on the coffee table, controllers in hand, deep into a marathon session of 2K.
“God damn it, how the hell did that not go in? It was a free layup!” Liam yelled, throwing his hands up in exaggerated frustration.
“Yeah, you need to work on your timing, buddy,” I shot back with a grin. “Instead of just mashing the buttons like a twelve-year-old. There’s levels to this shit.”
“But I didn’t mash the button mindlessly though. I’ve got quick fingers.”
“Yeah. Sure you do.”
We kept playing, trash-talking back and forth until the final seconds ticked down. I drained a ridiculous buzzer-beater right over his player’s head, winning the game in the most classic, humiliating style possible.
“And… boom! That’s game right there, I'm calling it,” I leaned back, laughing. “But seriously, you’re starting to make me feel like I’m way too good at this. Maybe I should even consider going pro e-sports instead of taking the old college route.”
Liam looked at me annoyed. “Nah, fuck you, Danny. You’re not even that good.”
“Exactly. That’s my point.”
We both set our controllers aside and reached for our cans of soda, the room filled with the comfortable silence of full bellies and friendly competition.
Liam took a long sip, then asked casually, “But speaking of college… where’s your sister gone? Is she gonna be home soon?”
I frowned at the random pivot, staring at him absurdly. “Well, uh… she’s out with her friend actually. And I don’t know exactly what time she’ll be back.”
“Oh, okay,” he nodded. “That’s cool.”
Liam tried to play it nonchalantly as he downed his can, though my eyes refused to let him go just yet—not until I received a bit of explanation from him for that pivot.
“So, um… how exactly do those two things correlate again?”
“What two things?”
“My step-sister. And college.”
“Well, she is a college student, no?”
“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure she ain’t the only person you know that’s in college right now, so how come she’s the first thing that came to your mind when I mentioned that word earlier?”
Liam shrugged, a smirk creeping across his face while he leaned over to grab another piece of pizza. “Because she’s hot, obviously.” He paused to take a big bite out of the triangle, then added, “Wait, you don’t mind me saying that, do you?”
“Um… honestly? I don’t know how to feel about it yet,” I told him. “But as long as we keep it respectful, I think we might just be good.”
“Oh, of course, man. I mean that in a respectful way, for sure,” confirmed Liam with a mouthful, completely casual about it. “Though in my mind, I have to admit that I’ve slept with her a couple times already. Just so you know.”
“Wow, okay.” I let out a surprised laugh. “Just after I thought we’re keeping it classy around here, you go ahead and drop the bomb like it’s nothing.”
Liam laughed. “I’m sorry, man. I just feel like, as your best friend, I’d be doing you wrong if I don’t tell you that I’ve been fantasizing about your sister for a good number of months now. We’re bros over hoes, you know that.”
“Yeah… then I guess I appreciate your honesty, Liam. Big time.”
A heavy silence stretched between us for a few seconds. I thought the topic was finally dying, but Liam leaned forward again, eyes bright with curiosity.
“Wait, but surely you did too, right?”
“Did what?”
“Fantasized about your sister.”
I shifted on the couch, suddenly very aware of the half-eaten pizza slice in my hand.
“I mean, your room is literally next to hers,” he continued. “You’ve seen her roaming around the house from day to day in God knows what kind of clothes she wears—or the lack of it. And last but not least, she’s your step-sister. Which means we both know that there’s a sense of novelty and thrill that comes with that label, especially when they look like that.” Liam paused to lick his saucy fingers after taking the final bite, then continued, “So again, on those few good points I just laid out upon us, you need to admit that you must’ve thought about it, right? Sometimes, at least, if not all the time.”
I paused for a beat. My mind flashing back to earlier that evening—Chaewon’s thighs in those tiny shorts, her heaving chest while she laid on the couch, the way her eyes had lingered on me before she left. All of those things suddenly made my throat feel a little tight.
There was no urgency for me to answer that question truthfully, though for some reason, I kind of wanted to do it still. Just to perhaps clear it off my chest.
“Yeah… for sure,” I said. “I can admit to that.”
“I knew it. I fucking knew it,” Liam cheered, grinning like he’d won another game. “Would be way weirder if you didn’t, to be honest. I might have to think twice the next time you invite me for a hang out when it’s just the two of us.”
I chuckled at the comment, but my mind was low-key reeling from everything we’d just put into words. The casual way Liam talked about her stirred something uncomfortable in my chest—possessiveness mixed with guilt, and underneath it all, the undeniable heat of my own thoughts about Chaewon that I could no longer pretend weren’t there.
***
The night was growing late, the living room thick with the smell of pizza and the constant sounds of video game commentary. Liam and I were still glued to the couch, controllers in hand, when I heard the familiar click of the front door unlocking.
Chaewon stepped inside in her grey shoulder-less top. Even from across the room, I could see the stormy expression on her face—tight lips, furrowed brows, shoulders slightly hunched. Her short, brown hair bounced off her shoulder within every stomping step. She didn’t say a word to either of us, but rather just kicked off her shoes and darted inside like we didn’t exist.
Me and Liam followed her until she disappeared into the kitchen before we turned at each other with a knowing look. Something was totally off.
“Damn...How does she look even hotter when she’s off it?” said Liam, mouth hanging open in pure awe.
I smirked at the truthful praise from Liam, already having a plan in mind.
“I’m sure you’d like to know, buddy...” I muttered as I set my controller down and jumped off the couch. “Bathroom break. Be back in five minutes.”
I then grabbed my shirt off the arm rest and dashed towards the kitchen as I put it on a hurry.
Chaewon was at the fridge when I walked in, bending over slightly between the twin, giant doors to locate the alcohol beverages sitting deep in the bottom rack.
I rested my elbows on the cool marble surface of the kitchen island, taking in the view of her round, plump buttocks under those tight blue jeans before I eventually began to address her sorrow.
“You got home early,” I said. “Guess the party didn’t turn out to be that fun then.”
“Oh, shut up, Daniel,” she snapped, barely glancing at me. “I’m not in the mood to entertain your crap right now.”
She then slammed the fridge door shut with an unnecessary amount of force after retaining a nice, cold bottle of Smirnoff in her right, along with a tall wine glass from the upper shelves. Her eyes refused to meet mine as she poured herself a very generous amount of vodka right across me; a borderline reckless behaviour from her side.
“Well, I can see that,” I said. “That’s a full glass of hard liquor you just served for yourself right there. Even a raging alcoholic usually adds some tonic water to balance it out.”
She glared at me in annoyance. “What do you know about alcohol? You’re barely old enough to drink.”
“Exactly. I’m eighteen, about to turn nineteen in a couple months, so yes—I do know a thing or two about alcohol,” I told her with a sense of smug confidence in my voice. “And you’d be surprised what else I know at my young, ripe age. Media exposure is a wonderful thing. Having a working social life makes it even better.”
Chaewon let out an exasperated sigh. For a moment, I thought she might be totally fed-up with me at this point and tell me to fuck off again. But instead, she turned around and grabbed a second glass from the shelf, transferred half of her original portion into it, and slid it across the island toward me—an unspoken invitation for a drink.
Couldn’t say that I saw that one coming.
“Thanks,” I said as I lifted the glass off the marble, “Now you can’t say that I don’t care about your health, because I clearly do.”
She glared at me for a second, then muttered with a subtle shake of her head, “You boys are all the same.”
I took a sip, the vodka burning smoothly down my throat. “We do? In what way?”
She pushed her tongue against her cheek, then answered, “Unserious. Annoying. Hard to read.”
“Hard to read?” I repeated with a chuckle. “Are you sure you’re not somehow mistaking the gender here? Because I’m pretty sure that particular stereotype fits more on the other side of the spectrum.” I paused for a beat after realizing how that may have sounded, then added, “Not saying that I agree with it though, but generally speaking.”
“Well, at least us women don’t usually treat guys like a fleeting form of entertainment, and that stereotype mostly comes from us not being able to confess ourselves directly from time to time. Not because we got too many options on the table,” she shot back.
“So is that what happened tonight?” I asked, voice softening. “He treated you like an entertainment instead of a person?”
She stared at me for a good few seconds, flexing her wrist to get the liquid swirling in her glass while she thought of the next words that should come out of her mouth in a way that she wouldn’t regret later—presumably, of course.
“In a way, yeah,” she said calmly. “We had a pretty good time at the party, but then moments later I saw him putting his hand around another girl’s shoulder as if he didn’t just totally flirt with me a few seconds prior.” She took a long sip, then twisted her face as it flowed down her pipe, then added, “And why am I telling you this again? I don’t know. I’m shocked with myself too, to be honest.”
“I think it’s because you needed to let something off your chest and I happened to be the only one around.” I leaned in a little closer. “But anyway, if you'd allow me to say one thing, then maybe a beer-infused party filled with raving young people isn’t really the ideal place to find a loyal partner. Don’t you think?”
“It wasn’t even that kind of party, you smart-ass. It was a tame one,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And how do you even know there was beer being served?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. It was just a guess,” I said, followed by another small sip of the vanilla liquor. “But an educated one, I might add, given the faint smell of your breath that I managed to catch from here while we're talking.”
Chaewon quickly brought her hand up to check her own breath, her cheeks turning a faint shade of red as she realized I was right. I just stood there and smirked every time I managed to draw that little frowny look up across her face, simply enjoying how cute she looked while watching from a safe distance.
“Whatever. I’m gonna go take a shower now,” she said, clearly embarrassed as she started walking away from the island. “Have fun spending the night with your virgin friend—”
I moved without thinking. Was it the alcohol? I wasn’t sure. But the moment she was about to walk past me, I suddenly had this false confidence to reach out my hand and grabbed her wrist in the middle of her steps; firmly but gently.
She then turned at me with a rather empty gaze after I initiated the contact; not entirely happy, but not clearly resisting it either. Though of course, my limb moved quicker than my mouth did in that little bold act, because somehow I lost the ability to talk once we locked eyes in that intimate angle.
As a result, it took me like a good three seconds or so to eventually snap out of her gaze before casually asking her, “Can I come and join you tonight?”
Chaewon frowned, looking down at my hand around her tiny wrist. “Join me for what?”
“A shower.”
“Excuse me?” she chuckled, eyes widening drastically. “Did you seriously just ask me that?”
“I did, yeah. And I’m being genuine about it too.”
“Is it?” she questioned. “Because you’re holding a half glass of vodka, and I’m kinda regretting my decision to hand it to you just now. I thought you could handle it for how ‘mature’ you’ve been trying to act around me the whole day.”
“Oh, this has nothing to do with the drink, trust me. I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but could never really find the right time to ask.”
“So what makes tonight any different then?”
“Well, let’s see,” I said, holding her gaze. “You’re frustrated. Downcasted. Missing out on company—let alone a romantic one. You came home from a night out reeking of cheap beer, yet the first thing you did was open the fridge and pour yourself a tall glass of vodka. Well, at least until I showed up… then you decided to split the half of it for the sake of your own image. So… yeah. This seems like the right time to ask.”
Chaewon stared at me, lips slightly parted in a visible showing of shock and disbelief from being analytically exposed.
I didn’t look away. My heart was hammering, but I kept my voice steady, my fingers still loosely wrapped around her wrist. The air between us felt electric.
“Right… So you think you’re being smooth here, aren’t you?” she finally said, a mix of acceptance and something else flickering in her eyes. “Offering me company while I’m in a vulnerable state. That’s real charming. I can see you growing into a proper gentleman in a few years to come.”
“So, is that a yes?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she held my gaze, searching for any sign that I was bluffing. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. I could smell the faint trace of beer and vodka on her breath, mixed with her usual subtle perfume.
“Put down the glass, Daniel,” she finally said with a little smirk. “You’ve been missing from the couch long enough—your friend might start looking for you.”
She then pulled her wrist free and headed upstairs without another word. Of course, I didn’t follow her, given that she did not clearly say yes to the proposition.
Though the fact that she hadn’t clearly said no either was enough to leave with me a little bit of hope. A small, satisfied smirk tugged at my lips as I returned to the living room and dropped back onto the couch beside Liam like nothing happened.
“So did you find out?” asked Liam, casually and randomly.
I frowned, turning my head slowly to him. “About what?”
“What do you mean about what—How does she manage to look that hot when she’s angry? We were literally discussing it before you left.”
Bruh. How was this guy my best friend again?
***
About half an hour had passed since that charged conversation in the kitchen. The couple of sips of vodka I’d taken earlier had settled into a warm, fuzzy buzz in my veins. Nothing extreme, but enough to make my reactions feel a little sluggish. I was back on the couch beside Liam, controller in hand, but my performance had tanked hard. For the first time all night, he was absolutely crushing me.
Part of me blamed the alcohol. The bigger part knew it had nothing to do with the drink and everything to do with Chaewon—her flushed cheeks, the way her wrist had felt in my grip, the way she looked at me when she left without saying no.
I tried to stay calm on the outside, leaning back like I was just having an off game. I didn’t want Liam catching even a hint of what had gone down in the kitchen.
“Bro, I told you—you’re not even that good at this,” Liam crowed, smashing buttons with renewed energy. “I’ve just been warming up all night, and now I’m hot as fuck.”
“Yeah, just chill out, pal,” I muttered. “There’s still two quarters left. I might just make a comeback here.”
“Not if you’re playing like this, Danny. Nuh-uh.”
Liam kept going, trash-talking me relentlessly—the same way I’d been roasting him for hours earlier.
“LET’S GOO—I told you, you’re not coming back from this. No chance. I’m fucking him right now,” he taunted after officially beating me in the game. “How does that dunk taste on your stupid head, huh?”
“Not great, buddy. Not great.”
“I’m sure it doesn’t. HA-HA. Loser!”
I barely reacted, just letting the taunts roll off me. Honestly, I could barely focus on the game anymore. My mind kept drifting upstairs, replaying every second of that kitchen exchange. The vodka buzz only made the thoughts hotter, more vivid.
Then my phone vibrated against the arm of the couch. I glanced down casually and saw Chaewon’s name on the screen. A small smile tugged at my lips before I even opened the message.
Chaewon: Send him home and come to my room. Now.
My pulse spiked instantly. I smirked down at the screen, the words hitting me like a shot of adrenaline cutting through the haze. The wait was finally over. After six months of dancing around that fake boundary we’d both pretended to respect—all because of a stupid label—tonight was the night it would break.
Liam then rolled his head suspiciously upon noticing the glimmer on my face. “What..?”
***
“Wait — Dude, at least let us finish the game first. I was leading the score!”
“Nah, we can continue tomorrow.” Liam stared at me like I’d lost my mind as I steered him towards the door. “I’ll let you have the win tonight, alright? No hard feelings. I just got something important to handle right now.”
“Like what?” He frowned, digging his heels in. “We’ve been chilling for the last two hours. You said yourself that you had no plans tonight.”
“Well, I didn’t,” I muttered, quickly slipping my phone into my pocket before the screen lit up again. “Until now.”
Despite his loud protests, I kept gently but firmly shoving him outside into the cool night air. My mind was already upstairs. Liam was saying something about betrayal and “bros before whatever the hell this is,” but I barely heard him.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, alright, buddy?” I gave him the most convincing smile I could manage. “Good night.”
“Fine. But I think I left something on your couch—“
I closed the door on his face before he could finish another sentence, not wanting to waste any more time than I should. The second I heard it clicked shut behind me, I pulled my phone out again. Chaewon’s message was still there, glowing on the screen. She hadn’t deleted it. That meant this was really happening.
I took a deep breath, heart already hammering, and took the stairs two at a time. For the first time in six months, after walking past her door every single day, my pulse was racing like this. The hallway felt unnaturally quiet. I caught myself tiptoeing like an idiot, even though I knew there was no need for that at all.
Her door was slightly ajar.
A small smirk tugged at my lips, believing that she’d intentionally left it open for me. I pushed it gently and stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit by her bedside lamp. Chaewon wasn’t there, but the evidence of her was left on the floor like a murder trail. Her grey top, dark blue jeans, and matching white underwear lay scattered across the carpet near the bed — a trail that made my mouth go dry. The soft sound of running water drew me toward the bathroom door, which was cracked open just enough for me to take a peek.
I held my breath and slid it open, fingers getting a little shaky now out of pure adrenaline rush.
And there she was.
Chaewon stood completely naked in front of the wide mirror, brushing her teeth with slow, casual strokes. Her smooth back, the gentle curve of her waist flaring into full hips, the perfect swell of her tiny but plump ass — every inch of her was on full display. Water from the faucet ran steadily as she rinsed.
Our eyes met in the mirror first before she turned her head slowly at me. Her gaze was steady, almost challenging.
I gulped hard. My cock twitched and thickened instantly beneath my Jordan basketball shorts, the bulge impossible to hide. I didn’t even try to cover it. Not when she was standing there like that — bare, confident, scanning me from head to toe.
“Is he gone?” she asked, voice low and slightly muffled around the toothbrush.
I smirked, my voice rougher than usual. “You bet.”
***
After the brief confirmation of Liam’s departure, I invited myself into the bathroom and moved right up behind Chaewon by the sink counter, pressing my body flat against hers like I was entitled for it. My arms slid around her waist, pulling her close until there was almost no space left between us. The heat of her bare skin soaked through my clothes instantly. My hard bulge nestled firmly against the curve of her lower back through the thin fabric of my shorts.
Chaewon didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned back slightly into the contact, watching me through the mirror with those sharp hazel eyes as my hands began to explore her body like it was a free real estate.
I ran my palms slowly over her stomach, up her sides, cupping the soft weight of her A-cup breasts, then drifting down again to trace the flare of her hips and the smooth skin of her thighs. Every inch of her felt incredible—including the mere scent of her hair that was a mix of pear and freesia—driving me to the absolute peak of my arousal as I took a deep inhale out of it, thanks to my lanky six-foot figure that just towered her naturally as I stood before her.
“Before we go further into this,” Chaewon said, her voice soft but firm, “I want us to make some rules clear.”
“Uh-huh,” I murmured, my lips brushing her ear while I caressed her body. “I’m listening.”
Chloue huffed at my over-excitement, but didn’t stop me from indulging her. “Rule number one; you need to make sure that you wear protection when you go inside me. That’s the most important thing.”
“So you don’t trust my pull-out game is what you’re saying?” I teased. “I’m disappointed.”
Chaewon glared at me through the mirror. The look was meant to be intimidating, but it only made her look even cuter; something that I was already well familiar with about her. I grinned.
She sighed and continued, “Rule number two; no kissing.”
“No kissing? You mean, like, on the lips?” She shot me a deadpan stare, silently implying that it was obvious. Though genuinely, I didn’t think it was at the time. “So how are we supposed to get in the mood for it?”
“Oh, please,” she said, pressing back against my erection deliberately. “As if I can’t already feel how hard you are the way you’re poking on my back right now. Let’s not be greedy about it.”
“Fair enough,” I chuckled. “But without trying to be pushy, may I ask why?”
“Well, because, obviously, kissing feels a little… personal.”
“And me groping your naked body is not?” I said, giving her breasts a gentle squeeze. “I mean, not trying to be an asshole here, but you do realize how slightly laughable that may have sounded, right?”
Chaewon let out an exasperated sigh, though her nipples had hardened under my palms. “The point is, you need to understand that we’re both doing each other a favour here. Which means there should be no real feelings involved at any point that we did this — and that includes before, during, and after.”
“Right,” I said, lips brushing close to her soft cheek, “but who says that kisses always have to be meaningful? It’s just two lips clashing. With a little bit of tongue, if you’re into it. Actors do it all the time, yet you don’t see them ending up dating each other that often.”
“Yeah, well, the problem is I’m not an actor, Daniel. And so I’d only like to kiss the mouth of a person who I at least feel romantically attracted to, which God forbid that person is my fucking eighteen year old step-brother. Do you understand?”
I raised my hands in mock defeat just as soon as she raised her voice by a notch, though only for a few seconds before my itchy little fingers find their way back to her body. “So, um… is there a rule number 3, 4, 5 coming, or was that all?”
“Yeah, there is a last one. And that is to keep your mouth shut about this from absolutely everyone.”
“Well, I thought that one goes without saying.”
“Ideally it should. But given your age and your tendency to act like half of it, I feel like it’s important for me to remind you still, in case you’ve already thought about bragging about this to your friends like a childish little prick you are for the most part that we’ve lived together.”
“Oh, wow… Okay. That feels a little personal.” I grinned against her neck, rolling my hips slowly so she could feel exactly how hard I was in between her crack. “Though I have to say, I’ve never been this turned on from having someone calling me a prick before, so... congratulations, sister. You nailed the foreplay.”
***
By the time we finished laying out the rules, the air in the bathroom was thick with tension. Chaewon had sunk gracefully to her knees on the cool tile floor, and my shorts were pooled around my ankles. Her hungry little mouth was wrapped around my throbbing cock; wet and slick.
She moved with a surprising level of skills and dedication — head bobbing steadily back and forth, taking me deeper with each pass. Her hands rested politely on her own thighs, not needing them for support.
In a way, it reminded me of that one Waka Flocka’s song called No Hands featuring Wale and Roscoe Dash. What a banger. And what a way to learn the true meaning of that iconic hook.
But anyway, the sight of my stepsister on her knees, lips stretched around me, was almost too much. I tilted my head back toward the ceiling, groaning softly. “My word… You’re surprisingly better at this than I thought you’d be.”
Chaewon pulled off just long enough to glare up at me. “Save the comments to yourself, alright? I would much prefer to not receive any praise from you while we do this.”
“Why not?” I smirked, threading my fingers gently through her hair. “You deserve the praise the way you flick them tongue under my tip. It’s clear to me that you know exactly what you’re doing here.”
She let my cock slip from her mouth with a wet pop, a thin string of saliva still connecting her lips to the head. She started stroking me firmly with one hand while staring up at me, equal parts annoyed and flushed. The sight — her messy chin, flushed cheeks, and fiery eyes — was easily the hottest thing I had ever seen.
“Show some love to my balls too, if you will,” I said, voice rough. “They’ve been a bit cold down there.”
And despite the clear sense of vexation on her face from being told what to do, Chaewon leaned in anyway, hesitated for only half a second before sucking one of my sagging balls into her warm mouth. Then the other, swirling her tongue sloppily around them while jerking my spit-soaked cock with long, firm strokes. The wet sucking sounds echoed obscenely in the bathroom as she completely bathed my nuts, getting them shiny and dripping with her precious drool.
Pleasure rolled through me in heavy waves, and I had to grip the crown of of her head to stay upright. When she finally pulled back, my balls slipping from her lips with a soft sound. She coughed lightly and clawed at her tongue with a look of utter disgust, trying to dislodge a stray pubic hair that somehow got stuck on the corner of her mouth.
“Gosh, that’s so gross,” she muttered, twisting her face. “I’m never doing that again unless you shave them.”
“So you’re confirming there’s gonna be again?”
Chaewon glared up at me from the floor — the same sharp, annoyed look she’d given me countless times tonight. It only made me want her more.
She got to her feet, clearly deciding she’d done her part for now. She reached into a nearby
drawer, pulled out a piece of fresh condom, and pressed it onto the palm of my hand.
“Put it on,” she instructed. “I want you to take me from behind while I shower.”
Without another word, she turned away and walked toward the shower booth. Her naked body moving with that natural confidence that I had seen from her everyday, ass swaying invitingly in a way that was guaranteed to keep me rock hard for another hour or so.
I tore the packet with a hungry smirk, staring at it like I had just been handed the key to a golden treasure chest. “Gladly,” I whispered.
***
I rolled the condom down my throbbing cock, then stepped into the shower booth with light, eager steps. Hot water cascaded over Chaewon’s naked body, making her skin glisten. Steam quickly filled the small space, fogging the glass walls and trapping us together in humid heat.
No invitation needed. I approached her from behind and pressed up against her, my hands gripping her waist as my thick, rubberized pole nestled between her ass cheeks. I leaned in, kissing and sucking hungrily at the side of her neck, inhaling her sweet, slightly beer-tinged scent while grinding against her.
Chaewon closed her eyes and let out a shaky breath. One of her arms reached back, fingers threading into my hair as she pulled me harder against her neck.
“So, um… which door am I supposed to enter again?” I whispered teasingly against her wet skin.
“Don’t you even dare think about it, you prick,” she snapped. “That isn’t funny,”
“Well, I was just checking,” I chuckled. “You said yourself that you wanted this whole thing to feel as least personal as possible.”
“You know what else I want? For you to stop talking. Before I have a complete change of mind about this and leave you with that huge boner to take care of by yourself.”
“Okay, darling. My bad.”
I lined up my swollen tip with her slick, pink pussy lips and teased her entrance, rubbing the head up and down her wet slit. She squirmed every time I nudged her swollen clit. Then I pushed forward, sinking into her tight, scorching heat in one slow, deliberate thrust.
“Fuck…” Chaewon moaned, arching her back hard as I bottomed out balls-deep inside her. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, but it wasn’t enough to muffle the broken sounds escaping her.
I gripped her waist tighter and started fucking her properly — deep, ruthless strokes that made her ass ripple with every impact. Water splashed between our bodies as her pussy clenched greedily around my cock. Chaewon pressed both hands against the shower wall for balance, involuntary yelps and moans spilling from her lips with every thrust.
My hand eventually slid up to wrap around her throat, tilting her head back so I could see her pretty face while I railed her like an absolute rabbit. Her eyes were half-lidded, pupil trembling, lips parted in pleasure. Too bad that she prohibited from us kissing, ‘cause *boy*, would I love to have a taste of those luscious little smackers.
But anyway, after a while, I decided to open her up even more by hooking one arm under her left thigh and lifting it high. My other hand pressed against her lower belly for support as I drove into her harder, hitting a new, deeper angle.
Chaewon went up a pitch with her scream — a raw, shocked sound of pleasure she couldn’t hold back. Her arm instinctively found its way around my shoulder for support, now that she was forced to stand with just one leg touching the floor.
“Use the wall, Chae. Plant your foot against it.”
She obeyed with no resistance, bracing her raised leg against the foggy glass, freeing my hand from the weight in the process.
I used the freedom to grab her bouncing tit, squeezing it hard and firm before I buried my face against her neck while I continued to pound into her soaked pussy with brutal, wet slaps. The sound of skin-on-skin mixed with the running water filled the booth, accompanied by her soft, desperate moan.
“Oh my god, fuck—” she gasped as I was moving a little rough, one arm wrapped back around my head, eyes squeezed shut in overwhelming pleasure.
I kept railing her mercilessly, hips snapping forward, cock stretching her tight walls over and over until her legs started shaking. My goal was to make sure that she reached orgasm before I did, otherwise this would likely be a one-time event instead of a repeating one—and judging by the state of her at the time, I thought I might just achieve my goal there.
Eventually, I pulled out from her to give both of us a little bit of a breathing space after the intense sequence.
Though needless to say, the bonding session was far from over as I spun her around and hooked both arms under her thighs. I lifted her effortlessly off the floor, her petite body weighed almost nothing on me.
Her legs spread wide around my waist as I pinned her back against the cold shower wall; probably one of the most intimate positions we’ve done yet so far. And it made me feel a little nervous.
“W-Wait, what are we doing here again?” she breathed, eyes fleeting.
“Uhm… kind of like missionary,” I told her, in the simplest way I could think of. “Just put your arms around and lean back. I’ll handle the rest.”
Chaewon obliged and wrapped her arms around my neck. For the first time, we were directly sitting face to face with her bare pussy hovering right above my hard cock. The closeness made the air felt even thicker than. I stared at her lips for a long second, fighting the urge to kiss her, then lined up and slammed back inside her in one brutal thrust.
She let out a voiceless moan, back arching against the tiles as I started bouncing her on my cock. I fucked her hard in mid-air, using my arms and hips to drive deep into her dripping cunt with every stroke. Her tits bounced wildly between us, water streaming down her body as she clung
desperately to my neck.
The pressure built fast. My balls tightened in between my tired legs. Luckily, I could feel myself closing in.
I pulled out my dick from her, set her back on her feet, and brought her down to her knees with a little tug on her arm. Chaewon didn’t resist by the slightest, fully aware of what was about to come in her way.
I ripped the condom off my aching cock and started jerking furiously right in front of her face.
“You’re fine with me doing this to you, right?” I panted.
“I never said that,” she replied, looking up at me. “But as long as it’s not inside me, I’ll let you have your fun this time. I guess you kinda deserve it.”
I smirked at the confirmation. That was all I needed.
With a deep groan, I exploded. Thick, heavy ropes of cum shot across her pretty face. The first powerful spurt hit right in between her eyes. She flinched and closed them immediately as more cum painted her cheeks, lips. chin and hair. I kept stroking, milking every last drop onto her until it dripped messily down her tits and mixed with the warm shower water.
Chaewon stayed on her knees, face fully covered in my thick load, visibly annoyed but accepting of the generous gift.
“Oh, shit. That was a lot more than I expected,” I said, still catching my breath. “I almost drowned you there, didn’t I?”
“Yeah… Can’t say the same, unfortunately,” she replied dryly, wiping some cum from her eyelid. “Given how lonely and pent-up you are, I already half-expected it to be a pretty hefty one.”
“Hey, I’m not lonely. I just don’t have a girlfriend. Chose not to have a girlfriend.”
“Right, whatever.”
Chaewon stood up slowly, still scraping the cum off her face. She looked understandably a little tired, a little disgusted, but satisfied.
“Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to clean myself up and go to bed, so… kindly grab your clothes off the shower floor and proceed to leave my room in a quiet, respectable manner,” she said. “Make sure you close the door on your way out too.”
“Wait, already?” I argued. “I thought we’re going to have a shower together.”
“Well, we just did. Literally.”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t like a proper shower, was it? My hair is barely wet right now. And so does yours, apparently.”
“You’re right. But I also don’t remember mentioning that I wanted to have a nice hot shower with you when we started this, so stop acting like I owe you an aftercare or something. We both did our parts, and now I’d like to take care of myself alone, if that’s not too much to ask.”
“Wow… okay. I just didn’t realize how cold you can be at times, and that shit kinda impressed me.”
Chaewon turned around and stepped away from the running water to approach me, looking me dead in the eyes with a stain of cum still streaking on her face and hair. “I’m not cold, Daniel. I’m your older stepsister who’s trying to do damage control after we just did what most people would call the unthinkable. So the last thing I want is for us to start scrubbing each other’s body and acting like a real couple — especially while I still have your fucking cum all over me. You understand?”
“Y-Yes, Ma’am. Got it.”
She then returned towards the shower after giving me the good scolding, probably the most intimidating one yet that I’ve received from her in the last six months that we had been living together.
Like seriously, I was a little shook. But that also didn’t take away any bit of hotness that I found on her. If anything, it just amplified it.
Either way, I stepped out of the booth and gathered my damp clothes from the floor, taking my time to get dressed in front of the mirror with a euphoric smile still glued to my face.
At the same time, my eyes refused to leave Chaewon just yet as I watched her glorious, naked body through the fogged glass, hoping that this wouldn’t be the last time that I got to enjoy the view and everything it entailed.
She caught me staring eventually. “Daniel, go.”
I smirked and raised my hands. “Okay, okay, I’m going. Just tying up the lace here.”
She shot me one last annoyed glare, refusing to move an inch until she witnessed me finally stepping out of the bathroom.
Though suddenly, just as I set foot on the carpet outside, a faint creak of the door made me pause and snapped my head to the side. For a split second, I could have sworn I heard faint footsteps retreating down the hallway as I stared into the darkness of the crack, though part of me knew that wasn’t possible since nobody else should be at the house at that moment except for me and Chaewon.
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The late‑afternoon sun slanted through the half‑drawn blinds of Y/N’s modest bedroom, painting warm stripes across the cluttered floor. Posters of Stayc and Fromis_9 clung to the walls like silent witnesses, their glossy faces smiling down from glossy paper—Jang Yeeun’s mischievous wink, Baek Jiheon’s bright, almost‑imperial grin, Isa’s soft, ethereal gaze, and Jisun’s fierce, confident stare. The room smelled faintly of cedar from the old bookshelf in the corner and a lingering trace of vanilla from the candle Y/N had lit earlier, trying to mask the nervous energy that always seemed to hum beneath his skin when he was alone.
Y/N was twenty, lanky but with a hint of muscle from the occasional jog he forced himself to take after school. His hair, a messy tumble of dark brown, fell over his forehead as he leaned over his laptop, the screen casting a pale blue glow that highlighted the concentration etched into his features. He wore a soft, oversized hoodie—and a pair of faded joggers that clung loosely to his thighs. The hoodie’s sleeves were pushed up, revealing forearms that twitched occasionally as he typed, the faint trace of a scar from a childhood bike accident catching the light.
Both sisters had a habit of teasing Y/N about his not‑so‑secret crushes on their older group mates, Isa and Jisun. Isa, the elegant lead vocalist of Stayc, possessed a quiet grace that made her seem almost untouchable; Jisun, the charismatic rapper and dancer of Fromis_9, radiated a bold, unapologetic confidence that drew eyes wherever she went. Y/N would often find himself stealing glances at their photos on his phone, heart fluttering as he imagined what it would be like to stand beside them, to hear their laughter, to feel the heat of their presence. The sisters, ever observant, would catch him in these moments and pounce with a blend of affectionate ridicule and teasing that left him flustered and red‑cheeked.
On the screen, a timeline of clips unfurled: short, edited fap challenges featuring the Stayc members—Isa’s sultry hip roll during a dance break, Jisun’s fierce eye‑contact during a rap verse, and, most prominently, her safety shorts hugging her tight plump ass while performing their signature song as a unniversity festival.
Y/N’s fingers flew over the keyboard, trimming frames, adjusting contrast, adding a subtle vignette that made the members’ skin glow under the imagined stage lights. He bit his lower lip, a habit when he was both excited and anxious, and let out a quiet, almost inaudible sigh as the preview played—a loop of Yeeun’s hair flip, slowed down, the way the light caught the sweat on her temple, the way her lips parted just enough to reveal a flash of pink.
He was so absorbed in the rhythm of the edit that he didn’t hear the soft creak of the hallway floorboards outside his door. He didn’t notice the faint scent of jasmine that seemed to drift in with the breeze from the open window—a scent that always accompanied J when she was near. He was lost in the world of pixels and fantasies, a place where the idols he adored could be bent to his will, where he could make them do exactly what he imagined in the quietest, most secret corners of his mind.
Just as he was about to add a final touch—a soft glow to accentuate the sheen of sweat on Jang Yeeun’s neck in the hair‑flip clip—a sudden, sharp creak echoed from the hallway. The door to his room swung open without warning, and there, framed in the doorway, stood Jang Yeeun.
She was wearing a loose, white oversized tee that hung off one shoulder, revealing the strap of a black sports bra underneath. Her shorts were short, frayed at the ends, showing off the toned length of her legs. Her hair, usually tied back for practice, was loose today, cascading over her shoulders in waves that caught the fading light and gave her an almost halo‑like appearance. She held a mug of steaming tea in one hand, the other resting casually on her hip, her eyes narrowed just enough to convey a mix of amusement and suspicion.
Y/N’s heart leapt into his throat. The laptop screen flashed the edited clip of Yoon’s hair flip, the slowed‑motion version glinting with the sweat on her temple, the way her lips were slightly parted. He froze, his hands hovering over the keyboard, the mouse cursor blinking impatiently on the screen.
Jang Yeeun stepped inside, closing the door softly behind her. The scent of her tea—jasmine with a hint of honey—mixed with the faint aroma of his own vanilla candle, creating an intoxicating blend that seemed to thicken the air. She glanced at the screen, her eyebrows rising in a playful, knowing arch.
“Well, well,” she said, her voice low and teasing, “look what we have here.” She took a slow step forward, the floorboards sighing under her weight. “Editing fap challenges of your favorite Stayc members, huh? Guess you really are a… dedicated fan.”
Y/N swallowed, his mouth dry. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, the pulse pounding in his ears. He tried to speak, but his voice came out as a hoarse whisper.
Jeeun’s gaze flicked to the laptop, then back to him, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You know,” she continued, voice dripping with mock innocence, “if the fans found out you were making… 'personal' edits of their idols, they might not be too happy. Imagine the comments, the hashtags… #CreepyFan, #BannedFromFanmeets.” She let the words hang, her eyes sparkling with a mixture of mischief and something else—perhaps a flicker of power, of knowing she held a lever over him.
She took another step, closing the distance between them until she stood just beside his chair, her shoulder brushing against his arm. The contact sent a shiver down his spine, the fabric of her tee soft against his skin. She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear once more, the jasmine scent enveloping him.
“Unless,” she whispered, her voice a sultry purr, “you’d like to make a deal. Keep this between us, and I’ll make sure you stay on the guest list for the next Stayc fanmeet. No bans, no creep labels… just… a little… favor.” She paused, letting the implication sink in, her lips grazing the shell of his ear as she added, “Or… I could just tell Jiheon how many edits you have of her Hayoung unnie on your 'secret' folder."
Y/N’s mind raced, a storm of fear, excitement, and disbelief swirling inside him. The sisters’ teasing had always been playful, but this—this felt like a line crossed, a threshold where teasing turned into something more tantalizingly dangerous.
Jang Yeeun pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, her dark gaze holding his, unblinking. The room seemed to shrink to the space between them, the world outside fading into a hum of distant traffic and the low thrum of the refrigerator. She waited, her expression a blend of challenge and invitation, the tease now edged with a promise that made Y/N’s heart hammer against his ribs.
"Fine, what do you want from me, evil one?" Y/N replies defensively.
"What do you like so much about Yoon unnie anyways? And your obsession with Chaeyoung unnie, what is that one about? Do you just dream about fucking all of my unnies? God, you're such a creep."
"That's not something you need to know. Just name your price and get the hell out so i can finish this edit, my fans are waiting for the next upload."
"You have fans? I guess i shouldn't be surprised that there are more creeps like you staring at our asses every performance. I bet you're thinking about Chaeyoung unnie's big boobs, am i right? I saw the way you were staring at her that day at the Yonsei unni festival."
"Why? Are you jealous that everyone prefers her big boobs since yours haven't grown in the last 3 years?"
J jumps at you and tries to kick you in the back but you're too fast and move out of the way just before her right leg makes contact with the back of your chair. "Hehe, i knew that would get to you Yeeun-ah. And don't worry, i'm sure nobody is staring at your ass, or whatever you want to call that little behind of yours. So, name your price, what do you want in return for not telling on me? Cause there's no way i'm missing the next fanmeet."
"Umm, this is gonna sound really weird…Oh, i can't believe i'm about to say this…but, i need some kissing practice and you're the only guy i know.."
"Wait, what???" Y/N replies shocked
"You heard me, i've never kissed a guy before and i have a guy friend from a school group that keeps flirting with me and i think he might ask me out and i want to be prepared."
"Isn't this something that girls usually practice with each other? You have Jiheon noona or your dear Chaeyoung unnie, go practice sucking face with them.."
"Uhh, you're such an asshole Y/N. And plus, i've already done that with Jiheon unnie when i was 16, but now that she has a boyfriend i can't keep asking her to help me practice, and it's not like i can just go around the dorm kissing my unnies, now can i? I'm not 14 anymore."
"I'm still not kissing my step-sister, that is just weird, plus what if our parents catch us?"
"Don't be such a loser, nobody is going to catch us, we will do it later tonight after they've all gone to sleep. Nobody will know. Or should i tell Jiheon unnie about the metronome moaning 'edits' you were making about her Hayoung unnie? You know she's the sweetest person ever right? And you're just out here making highlights of her bending over like a huge creep."
"Fineeee, fine. I will help you. Just shut up already, you're giving me a huge headache. Can't believe you and noona came out of your mom, she's the sweetest and you're the biggest pain in the ass. I will do it. But you can't tell anyone or my reputation in the kpop club at school will be ruined."
"Don't you mean boosted? And what reputation do you have nerd, you got a D in P.E. class and you're in a kpop club with 3 other weirdos. I think your 'reputation' will be fine."
"Whatever, just get the hell out of my room already."
"See you tonight at 11 pm in my room, Jiheon will be out with her boyfriend on a 'date'."
"Okay, now just go and don't let the door hit your 'enormous' behind."
"Uhh, i can't believe you're the only normal guy i know. Men are the worst."
"Yeah, like you're all sunshine and rainbows."
The house had gone quiet after dinner. The parents were out for the weekend, Jiheon had left earlier with her boyfriend, and the only sounds left were the low hum of the air conditioner and the occasional creak of settling wood. Y/N waited until he heard the front door click shut behind Jiheon before he moved. His pulse was already quickening at the thought of what he had agreed to do.
He padded down the hallway in bare feet, the soft carpet muffling his steps. When he reached J’s door he hesitated for only a second, then pushed it open. The room smelled faintly of her perfume—something sweet and floral—and the bedside lamp cast a warm pink glow over everything.
J was already there, sitting cross-legged on her bed. She wore a cropped pink top that clung to her torso and stopped just above her navel, leaving a generous strip of smooth midriff on display. Below that, a pair of tiny pink lace shorts rode high on her hips, the delicate fabric stretched tight over her curves and barely covering the tops of her thighs. Those thighs looked even more incredible than usual, toned and soft at the same time, the lace hem riding up every time she shifted.
Y/N closed the door behind him. J looked up, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. Neither of them spoke at first. They simply watched each other across the short distance of the bed. The air between them felt thick, charged with the memory of the afternoon’s blackmail and the new, unspoken promise that had brought him here.
After a long moment J uncrossed her legs and scooted closer. The mattress dipped under her weight. She lifted her right hand and placed it gently against Y/N’s left cheek, her thumb brushing the corner of his mouth. Her eyes searched his for any sign of hesitation, then she leaned in.
Their lips met.
At first the kiss was soft, almost experimental, but Y/N leaned into it immediately. He shifted nearer on the bed, his right hand sliding up to cradle the back of J’s neck, fingers threading lightly through her hair.
His left hand found her left thigh and began a slow, steady rub from knee to hip and back again, feeling the warm skin and the faint texture of the lace where the shorts ended. J made a quiet sound against his mouth and pressed closer, her own hand sliding from his cheek to his shoulder.
The kiss deepened quickly. Tongues brushed, breaths grew heavier, and the careful distance between their bodies vanished. Y/N’s hand on her thigh moved higher, fingertips slipping just under the lace hem before retreating again in a teasing rhythm. J’s fingers tightened on his shoulder. Their mouths moved hungrily, wet and insistent, until they finally broke apart, a thin strand of saliva stretching between them before it snapped.
“Wow, that was really good, Y/N. You really knew what you were doing,” J said, voice a little breathless, lips shiny.
“Well, I’ve had a little practice. I’m not a total nerd like you think I am. Plus, there have been a couple of girls in this kpop club and they were very impressed that I was your brother,” Y/N replied.
“Step brother. And did you really make out with them for being my brother?” J asked.
“I guess they had some initiation to complete and I was more than happy to help out, as you can see,” Y/N said.
“Uhh, you’re still an asshole Y/N, but I’m glad I could help out,” J replied.
She glanced down. The front of Y/N’s shorts was tented unmistakably, the thin fabric doing little to hide how hard he had become. J’s eyes widened slightly, then a slow, mischievous smile curved her mouth.
“Looks like someone else is happy to see me,” she said.
“Ohh, that. Yeah, it happens in moments like that, I can’t control it,” Y/N said.
“I’ve never seen one in person before. Would you mind showing me?” J asked.
“I don’t know about that Yeeun-ah. Kissing a couple of times is one thing, teaching you about the birds and the bees while giving a 'hands-on' tutorial wasn't part of the deal. We really shouldn’t cross that line,” Y/N answered.
“Why not? It seems like you’re dying for relief and I want to see it,” J said.
She placed both hands on his chest and gave a firm push. Y/N fell back onto the mattress, the sheets cool against his skin. J crawled forward on her knees until she was straddling his thighs. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of his shorts and began to tug downward, the elastic stretching as she pulled.
As she released his member from the confine of the shorts, J was shocked at how long and thick it was (7 inches), it looked so alive and like it had a mind of it's own.
She touched Y/N's cock with her cold hands which made him shiver. she gave his cock a few tugs and leaned in closer.
"I wonder if it tastes as bad as people say" she said.
"Umm, what are you thinking Yeeun-ah? I thought you just wanted to see it." Y/n said
"I did, but now it's making me even more curious. What if i see one on my date and i don't know what do you with it. I would be so embarrassed."
"You've never seen one before? Y/N asked
"Of course not, i've never kissed a guy before, remember? Sumin unnie had a toy just like it but she never taught me how to use it."
"Sumin had one just like this one??? That's very interesting. Would be such a good idea for an edit." Y/N replied
"Are you really thinking about making your dirty little fap challenges right now? When i'm literally touching your cock? J replied enraged
"You're right, you're right, i'm sorry. So what do you want to know?"
"Like, what do i do with it? How would i know what feels good for him?" J asked
"Well, you can try rubbing it little, then look at his expression. See if he likes it. If he wants you to go faster. If he wants you to use your mouth too." he said
"My mouth??? Like licking it?" J asked nervously
"Yes, J. Like licking it. Try it."
J goes ahead and gives Y/N's dick a few long strokes and that draws a whimper out of him, then J does it again but even faster. "Was that good?" she asks
"That was very good J. Now you can try your mouth too if you want."
"Okay, i guess." she replies
J kisses Y/n's cock a couple of times then puts the tip in her mouth and licks a little pre cum off the top which draws another moan from Y/N.
"It's not bad honestly. But it is pretty dry and salty." J says
"You could spit on it, you know."
J spits on Y/N's cock and puts him back in her mouth, then starts to lick him up and down, squeezing his balls a few times which only makes his cock more desperate for release.
"You're doing so well, noona. Keep going." Y/n says between moans.
That only encourages J to try and go even deeper, sucking more of his cock until it hits the entrance to her throat, which makes her gag and backs off coughing in response.
"It's okay, you're okay." Y/n says as he gently touches J's left cheek. "You were doing so well Yeeun-ah. I'm proud of you."
That seems to bring out a smile from J. "I really wanted to make you feel good for agreeing to help me, but i couldn't go any deeper. I'm sorry, Y/N." she says
"It's okay, noona. I was really enjoying it. It is getting a little late and Jiheon noona should be back from her date soon. I should go back to my room."
"You're right, it's almost midnight, she should be here soon. Plus our parents might check on us. Thank you for teaching me a few things. I really had fun."
Y/N got up from the bed, pulled up his shorts, then leaned in and gave J one last passionate kiss, turned around and went back quietly into his room.
After he got back to his room, just sitting on the bed, replaying that night's activities in his head. Cock still hard and in need of release. He opened up his "collection" on his laptop, scrolled down to a recent fancam of Jisun unnie and finished the job.
Anna was the kind of student who naturally drew attention wherever she went. With her graceful presence, expressive cat-like eyes, long dark hair, and effortless elegance, she carried herself with a quiet confidence that made people admire her without even trying. Despite her popularity on campus, Anna had never been interested in romance—until the first day she stepped into your history lecture. The moment you began speaking with calm authority and genuine passion for the past, something inside her changed. It wasn't a passing crush; it was love at first sight, and from that day forward, her heart belonged to you.
Every lecture became the highlight of her week. She always arrived early, choosing a seat where she could watch you explain centuries of history with infectious enthusiasm. While the other students hurried to leave after class, Anna often lingered behind, pretending to organize her notes just to hear you answer a few extra questions. She admired not only your intelligence but also your kindness, patience, and the quiet warmth you showed to every student equally.
"But wouldn't the logistics of the supply chain have made that specific treaty impossible to maintain?" Anna asked, her voice cutting through the end-of-class chatter with a calculated clarity. She wasn't looking at the textbook; she was looking directly at you, her chin tilted just enough to catch the light.
You paused, capping your marker and glancing at the slide. A small, appreciative smile tugged at your lips. "Now, that is a genuinely good question, Anna. Most people overlook the maritime constraints of the sixteenth century." You stepped closer to her desk, leaning in slightly to point out a map detail, oblivious to the way her breath hitched or the way her fingers tightened around the edge of her notebook.
For Anna, those few seconds of focused attention were the only currency that mattered. She didn't need the validation of the other students who were already halfway out the door; she only wanted the specific, scholarly approval that lived in your eyes. As you explained the nuance of the trade routes, she nodded along, though her mind had drifted from the history of spice trades to the way your voice softened when you were thinking deeply.
The following weeks became a choreographed dance of academic curiosity. Anna began spending her weekends in the archives, digging up obscure citations and primary sources that she knew would pique your interest. She didn't just want to be a good student; she wanted to be the only student who could challenge you, creating a private intellectual dialogue between the two of you that felt, to her, like a shared secret. These exchanges were the highlights of her day, a series of small, earned victories that kept her coming back to the front row of your lecture hall.
However, the reality of your life was a constant, silent presence in the room. It was the gold band that caught the light whenever you gestured toward the whiteboard, and the framed photograph of your spouse that sat modestly on the corner of your desk. Whenever Anna caught a glimpse of it, a sharp, familiar ache settled in her chest—a feeling of jealousy toward a person she barely knew, but a recognition of the boundary that stood between her and the life she imagined with you.
"The archives are technically closed on Tuesdays, but the curator is a friend of mine who owes me a favor involving a very rare map of the Levant," you mentioned casually, glancing up from your notes as Anna approached your desk.
She didn't flinch at the mention of the rule-breaking; instead, she leaned in, her expression one of delighted curiosity. Over the next few weeks, these "extracurricular" research trips became a ritual. What started as a quest for primary sources on the Mediterranean trade morphed into a series of long, wandering conversations that drifted far from the sixteenth century. Anna had developed a talent for the conversational pivot—starting with a question about your academic influences and sliding, with a seamless grace, into questions about your favorite childhood memories or the books you read for pleasure when you weren't grading papers.
"You have a very specific way of describing the architecture of the Renaissance," she remarked one rainy Tuesday, her voice barely a whisper in the hushed atmosphere of the library. "It's so romanticized. I wonder if you've always viewed the world through that lens, or if someone specific encouraged that side of you?"
The question was a probe, a gentle fingertip testing the boundary of your professional perimeter. She wasn't asking about your thesis anymore; she was asking about the architecture of your heart. You found yourself smiling, the kind of genuine, warm expression you usually reserved for your inner circle. "My grandmother was a painter," you replied, pausing to consider the question. "She taught me that the beauty of a building isn't in the stone, but in the light that hits it at four in the afternoon."
Anna lingered on that image, her gaze shifting from the ancient manuscripts to the way the dim library light caught the gold band on your finger. "You're very patient with people," she noted, her tone shifting to something softer, more intimate. "I imagine that's why your home is such a peaceful place. Do you find that the quiet of your private life helps you handle the chaos of the university?"
"It’s a necessary sanctuary," you replied, your voice echoing slightly in the vaulted silence of the archives. You didn't move away, but you did shift your weight, subconsciously creating a fraction of distance that Anna felt like a physical wall. "Between the faculty meetings and the undergraduate crises, having a place where the world just stops is the only way to stay sane. My spouse is the anchor for that. They have this incredible ability to make the rest of the world feel like background noise."
Anna nodded, her expression a mask of polite interest, though the word *anchor* felt like a weight pulling her under. She had spent months meticulously crafting a version of herself that was indispensable to you—the brilliant pupil, the intellectual peer, the only person who truly understood your passion for the Levant. Hearing you speak of your home life with such effortless contentment was a reminder that there was a whole dimension of your existence where she didn't even exist as a footnote.
"Do you think the peonies are too cliché, or is there a timelessness to them that I'm overlooking?"
The text arrived on a Thursday afternoon, punctuating a lecture on the Fall of Constantinople. You didn't have to look at the contact name to know it was Anna; she had a way of phrasing things that made even a question about floristry feel like a thesis defense. The exchange of phone numbers had happened organically a month prior, born from the logistical necessity of coordinating archive hours, but it had quickly evolved into a digital tether. Anna had become a constant, gentle hum in the periphery of your day, a stream of consciousness that flowed from complex historical queries to the mundane frustrations of her dormitory life.
For Anna, the shift was a strategic victory. She had transitioned from the front row of a lecture hall to the palm of your hand. She began sharing the small, jagged edges of her day—the frustration of a broken coffee machine, the anxiety of a looming deadline, the way a certain song made her feel inexplicably lonely. By offering these fragments of her vulnerability, she had carved out a space for herself as more than just a star pupil. She was becoming a confidante, a sounding board, a presence you relied on for a different kind of intellectual stimulation—one that was personal and immediate.
You, in turn, found her perspective refreshing. There was a youthful, unfiltered honesty to her taste that you sometimes felt you had lost in the sterilized environment of academia. When you were planning your anniversary or searching for a birthday gift that wouldn't feel repetitive, you found yourself typing her name into your messages. It felt innocent, a mentorship that had expanded into a friendship. You trusted her eye for beauty and her instinct for the poetic, never realizing that every time you asked for her help in surprising your spouse, you were handing her a map of the very love she wished she could replace.
One evening, the conversation shifted from the domestic to the existential. Anna had sent a photo of a rain-streaked window, followed by a message: Everything feels so temporary today. Does that ever happen to you? The feeling that you're just a guest in your own life?
"You're thinking too much again," you replied, leaning back in your office chair as the blue light of the screen illuminated the deepening shadows of the room. It was a gentle rebuke, the kind of playful nudge that had become the baseline of your digital shorthand. "The rain has a way of making the world feel like a melancholy novel, but remember that even the most temporary storms eventually run out of water."
Anna didn't reply immediately. The three dots of her typing indicator appeared, vanished, and reappeared several times, as if she were editing a confession in real-time. When the message finally arrived, it was shorter, stripped of its poetic armor: What happens when the storm is the only thing that makes you feel alive ?
The weight of the question hung in the air, vibrating with an intensity that felt slightly too heavy for a Thursday night. You paused, your thumb hovering over the screen. For a moment, the professional distance you maintained—that invisible line between professor and pupil—felt dangerously thin. You recognized that specific brand of collegiate angst, the yearning for something profound and unattainable, but with Anna, it always felt more focused, more intentional.
"I don't care if she's a prodigy. I don't care if she's the next great historian of our generation."
The voice didn't come from a lecture hall or a quiet archive; it came from the kitchen, sharp enough to slice through the comfortable silence of the evening. Your wife, wasn't screaming—not yet—but her voice had reached that vibrating frequency that signaled a total collapse of patience. She was standing by the counter, your phone lying face-up between you, the screen still glowing with a notification from Anna about a particular translation of Petrarch. For months, youe wife had played the part of the supportive partner, smiling when you mentioned Anna’s brilliance, but the small things had been accumulating like sediment. The way you checked your phone during dinner, the way your face lit up when mentioning a "breakthrough" in the archives, and the subtle, pervasive presence of a young woman who seemed to occupy every spare thought you had.
The explosion happened over something trivial—a misplaced comment about Anna's "incredible intuition"—but it was the catalyst for everything. your wife finally let it all out, her frustration spilling over in a torrent of words that left you breathless. She wasn't accusing you of an affair in the physical sense, but she was accusing you of an emotional migration. She spoke of the loneliness she felt even while sitting next to you, the sense that you were mentally drifting toward a version of yourself that only existed when you were talking to Anna. The anger was raw, born from a place of deep insecurity and a love that felt threatened by a ghost.
The silence that followed her outburst was deafening. You looked at your wife—really looked at her—and saw the genuine hurt behind the anger. The realization hit you with the force of a physical blow: in your quest to nurture a student's mind, you had neglected the heart of your home. The academic thrill of being admired by someone like Anna had blinded you to the slow erosion of the sanctuary you had once described as your anchor.
You didn't defend yourself. There were no arguments to be made about "professional mentorship" or "intellectual kinship" that could outweigh the tears now shimmering in your wife's eyes. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your voice cracking as you began to apologize. You begged for her forgiveness, your words tumbling out in a desperate rush, asking for *merci*—for mercy—on the only relationship that truly mattered. You held her hands, ignoring her initial attempts to pull away, and promised her that the boundaries would be rebuilt, stronger and more rigid than before.
"The syllabus is the law of the land, Anna. Please refer to the rubric for the grading criteria."
The words felt like cold stones being dropped into a well. You didn't look up from your desk as she stood there, her presence a fragrant, silent plea that used to make you smile. Now, it felt like a liability. You kept your gaze fixed on the stack of essays, the red pen in your hand acting as a barrier between your world and hers. The warmth that had once colored your interactions—the shared jokes about the Levant, the playful nudges about her overthinking—had been systematically replaced by a sterile, professional courtesy. You weren't being unkind; you were being a professor. And for Anna, that was the cruelest thing you could possibly be.
The digital tether was the first thing to snap. For weeks, the steady hum of her messages had been the background noise of your life, but now, the notifications sat unread for hours, then days. When you did reply, the poetic flourishes were gone. Her existential questions about the temporary nature of storms were met with concise, academic answers. *“It’s a common theme in Romanticism; perhaps you could explore that in your next paper,”* you wrote, effectively killing the intimacy of the conversation and relocating it to a grade book. You could almost feel her confusion through the screen, the way she must have stared at the blue bubbles, wondering which version of you had suddenly decided to vanish.
In the lecture hall, the choreography changed. You no longer lingered by her desk to discuss the nuances of maritime constraints. Instead, you began ending your classes with a brisk, "That's all for today," and moved toward the door before the first student could even stand up. You stopped catching her eye during your more passionate tangents. When she would raise her hand, her expression a mixture of hope and desperation, you would call on someone else—someone who didn't make your heart race with a mixture of guilt and nostalgia. You treated her like any other name on a roster, a tactical erasure that left her drifting in the periphery of your attention.
Anna didn't handle the silence with her usual grace. The quiet confidence she had carried since the first day of class began to fray at the edges. She still arrived early, but she no longer sat in the front row; she moved back, as if trying to gauge the exact distance at which you stopped noticing her. Her questions became shorter, stripped of their intellectual playfulness, and her gaze, once an invitation, became a haunting search for a sign that she still mattered. She began to linger even longer after class, her notebooks clutched to her chest like a shield, waiting for a moment of softness that never came.
Anna had stopped trying to win your heart through the archives; instead, she had decided to wage a war of attrition against your composure. She arrived at the lecture today wearing a white ribbed tank top that left very little to the imagination and a denim mini-skirt that seemed more suited for a beach club than a windowless history hall. She didn't sit in the back anymore. She had reclaimed the front row, leaning forward with her elbows on the desk, her chin resting in her palms, watching you with a predatory intensity. She knew exactly why you were staring at the whiteboard, your eyes fixed on a sentence about the Ottoman Empire as if it were the most fascinating piece of prose ever written. She could feel your avoidance, and to her, that tension was a different, more electric kind of intimacy.
A/N: Pinkkura continues to cause irreparable damage to me, and the concert clips certainly did not help.
Fanprose link here.
Enjoy.
“Hey, hun?”
“Yeah, sweetheart?”
“I’m bored.”
Well, isn’t this a case of deja vu.
You’re pointing out the fact that Sakura just got home, not looking away from the monitor in front of you, fingers tapping away rapidly at your keyboard. “And I thought you were finishing up that hat?”
“I would’ve, but I didn’t get to run by the store for some yarn earlier,” she says, moving to sit down on the bed behind you. “Wanted to change up the last bit of it with a different color.”
“Want me to drive you?” You dying in game gets you the opportunity to pause it, spinning your chair around to face her. “We could stop by somewhere for dinner and–” You pause, breath taken away from what you’re witnessing. “Whoa.”
Sakura plays with a few strands of her hair. “You like?”
You’re blinking, a loss of words and idiotically staring dumbfounded at her. “Like?” you repeat, staring at her twirl pink in her fingers. “I love.” Ignore the fact that what she has on can be considered black lace bra on black lace top damage to your brain, pink hair has never suited her more. “I thought you weren’t gonna redye it?”
“I changed my mind. The color was lightening up–” she explains, leaning back and propping herself up with her hands. “And I think it suits me.” She does this cute head tilt, nerdy smirk combo that gets you internally swooning your heart off seeing it. “Don’t you think?”
“Think the color’s made for you, sweetheart.” The smirk softens to a shy smile.
“You don’t have to flatter me that hard, honey.” A hair tuck in between, eyes turning to crescents with that grin you love gracing her features.
“What, I can’t tell my sweet, adorable girlfriend is beautiful?” you tease, sliding your chair forward and closer towards her. You use the bed as a stopper, and you end up right next to Sakura, your arm reaching out to play with her hair yourself, caressing her locks before squeezing her cheek gently. “My cute, pookie bear of a girlfriend–”
“Stop!” She swats your hand away with a giggle, and yet she inches closer to you, the sweet citrus scent of her perfume invading your sense of smell, a furthering of causation for you to fall all the more deeper into her intoxicating allure. “You’re so–” She shakes her head, finger jabbing you in the rib with a faux sound of exasperation.
“Lovable?” You cup her cheeks with one hand and squish her face.
“Annoying.” She rolls her eyes at you, letting out a smile when you squeeze her cheeks like a cute little stress ball. “Go back to your game, you annoying little shit.”
“And here I thought you were bored,” you tease, raising an eyebrow with yet another squash of her cheeks.
“I am bored,” she answers. “But it’s not like I got anything better to do.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, doofus.” She pushes you away, hard enough that it sends your chair sliding backward back to your desk. “Go play, I’ll be here.”
You glance back at Sakura, who decides to get comfortable at the bed. “You sure you can see that far?”
She answers with a wave, telling you that the monitor’s big enough for her to watch; cinematic moves, parrying, dying and all when she lets out a laugh after a few minutes of you fighting the boss and losing.
“It can’t be that hard, hun,” she says, the fight restarting from the beginning for the fifth (or was it sixth?) time. “Can’t you dodge instead?”
“Dodging is for pussies.” You take a breath, the screen turning to black as it loads the fight again.
Sakura giggles, hearing her say that dodging is for the ‘smart people’ as she stares at another sequence of you trying to parry the boss play out. “We might need a tip jar for the amount of times that girl tells you to parry it.”
“I am parrying it, sweetheart.” Cue yet another death screen.
You click on restart. “Not well enough, honey.”
“You try playing it and see what happens,” you retort, doing what you’ve considered the optimal (it wasn’t, and that’s why you kept on dying when you found out) first turn to get the most damage on the boss.
You hear her shuffle around the bed. “I’m good.” Dull, quiet thumps of her feet hitting the carpet follow and Sakura appears right next to you, leaning against your chair to take a closer look at watching you fail to beat this stupidly shitty boss. “Keep going, it’s fun to see you rage.”
Let out a calming sigh, take another whiff of her perfume to recenter yourself, and you lean forward.
That’s the thing with Sakura. She doesn’t need to say or do anything to get you motivated. Her existence alone gets you feeling like you can climb Mount Everest without all the fancy gear from top to bottom in a day. Of course that’s delusion speaking, but man can do many things when the love of his life is cheering him on by his side.
Considerably easily too, when your eyes are being drawn away from the game and into the black hole of a chest that she has. Her fault, you reason, when she decides to do the ever so simple action of leaning into the monitor and having her tits almost shoved into the side of your face (not that you’re complaining, that’s heaven wrapped in lace and Sakura’s embrace) since she wanted a closer look.
More power to her, since you’re getting a closer look at her tits underneath all that black lace. (Have you mentioned how crazily obsessed you are with Sakura’s tits before?)
It throws you off your game completely, the soft, full pair of breasts enclosed under layers of dark fabric luring you in, your attention moving away from the game and onto her chest. Which, can you really blame yourself when it’s right there, a breath’s length away from your mouth.
Causes you to lose again, though the rage is gone, replaced with this hyperfixation on her. The deep pull that her tits are causing irreparable damage to the way you think, and you would love nothing more than to lean in and rest your face, let out a sigh and smile when the cushions of her chest pillow on your face.
Christ, you should start a religion dedicated to them.
That all goes out the window when Sakura asks you something about the game, and you’re stuttering out an answer. Random things about the boss come out of your lips, why you’re fighting it, what’s the whole reason with this party in particular to use against the boss, some other random bullshit fact about the game—and while she leans back against the desk and listens with the soft, lovable look on her face, she’s also seeing through all your words with a follow up:
“You do know I was asking about why you’re using the keyboard and not the controller, right?”
The blank look on your face once the fact that you missed her question entirely registers results in a teasing smile to form on her face, finger tapping your nose; fingers wrapping around your cheeks to squeeze softly. “Distracted again?”
“A girl rubs her tits on a guy’s face, anyone would be,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. Your reply makes her scoff, the smile turning into a grin as a finger hooks on the neckline of her top, giving it a tug.
“What, you wanna play with these again?” She makes an effort to pull it down, exposing the black lace underneath (trust yourself when you say that it’s a completely fucked up thing to do when you’re already so down bad for this woman) and you can’t help yourself from ogling.
Her chest has its own gravitational pull, you swear.
“If you’re offering,” you start, scooting yourself over with the chair to sit in front of her. “I’m not saying no.”
She hums, biting her lip to stop the excitement from bleeding through her features. It doesn’t work, of course, seeing her fingers play with the hem of her top. “What about your game?” She makes this innocent little glance back to your monitor, until her gaze turns back to you with this smoldering heat.
“Sweetheart, do you really want me to keep playing?” Your hands rest on the waistband of her pants.
“Well–” Sakura drags it out, straightening up from the desk. “I am bored.” She takes a few slow steps away from you, hands on her top. Swaying her hips as she plays with the fabric before she pulls them up, that defined line of her back showing bit by bit along with her unworldly waist that your hands are yearning to have a hold of.
Brings it to her chest, up her shoulders, off her body and onto the floor, where her hands come back to that snatched waist, feeling herself up; running them through her skin, going higher to the straps of her bra. Pulling them up, letting a strap fall down her shoulder, head turning to hit you with a look that screamed for you to take her—add to that her hips swinging around and for the love of everything unholy you are going to get on your knees just to beg for her to turn around.
And when she does—fuck, when she did you gained tunnel vision, fixated on the one final layer of lace that would ascend you to Elysium. You’re salivating, surely, at this point, and it’s only adding fuel to her flame, her finger letting the strap snap back in place.
Sakura’s asking you so much with so little done; lips curling into a smirk here, a brow raising there, her arm wrapping around her chest to give it a little push and her chest gets fucking bigger and all you can think of is your need to worship her lips, her skin, her tits—
The straps loosen on her collarbone, and the only thing that’s keeping it on her body is her forearm, and an idea; one that will get you on your knees.
“What do you say, hun?” She keeps a hand on the lace while she lets the straps come off her arms, and her teeth biting down her bottom lip does nothing to stop the exhilaration on her face.
“Come play with me?”
Walking backward, a finger on the strap replaces the hand keeping the lace up, baring her soft, large tits to you and your mind comes to the one rational thought that you can properly articulate:
God bless this woman.
You get up as soon as her feet hit the edge of the bed, and you’re on her just as the lace falls down to the ground. Her giggles as she gets tackled on the mattress is music to your ears, and you manage to say the words that will never stop being a fact.
“God, I love you.”
“I know, hun,” she says, hands cupping your cheeks. “You say it all the time.”
“And I’m never gonna stop saying it.” You’ve leaned forward, lips pressing against hers with all the devotion and desire you have for this woman, and she responds in kind.
There isn’t a need for her to say those words back, not when you know in your heart that she feels the same. Her actions dictate them instead, hands on your shirt, tugging away at the cloth.
You pull away only when the necessity arises—when the need to breathe comes, your shirt needing to come off, looking down to unbutton her pants. And when you sadly have to, your peppering kisses everywhere you can on her.
Peck her cheeks, mark her neck, nibble her earlobe. It’s a siren song of breathy moans and cute little whines sent straight into your ears, and you do everything in your power to hear more.
“Here–” Sakura grabs a hold of your hair, directing you to where she wants you to be. Your enthusiasm betrays you, the objects of your obsession served to you on a silver platter as you latch on to a tit, sucking eagerly. “That’s it, hun–”
You're biting down on her nub, eliciting a gasp from her, hands cradling you closer to her bosom; free hand continuing to pull down her pants, her legs helping you tug them down and off her, black silk the only thing left on her body, your fingertips running up her legs, thighs, waist, breast.
Give her other nub the same devotion—kissing it lovingly, play with the hard, pink pebble with your fingers and give it a pinch before coming down to kiss the pillowy flesh, revering them with muted groans that vibrate into her chest, and Sakura is enjoying every single second of it.
Hearing the cute whines that she makes, loving your mouth all over her body, her breathy pleadings of more, yes honey, please; that sweet, filthy version of her I love you’s when Sakura keeps you close to whisper them in your ear as you nibble on her teat.
It has you throbbing under your shorts as you grow messier, her breasts end up lathered in your spit, marks, and love when your mouth comes out to meet hers, the giggles that come out of her making you inch away with a smile. “What?”
“This isn’t what I had in mind when I asked to play,” she teases, resting her hands on your shoulders.
“And what did you have in mind?” Fingers come down to your chest.
“Oh, you know–” Gives you a push, and you’re giving way for her to straddle you, and Sakura is a marvel to gawk at—the smirk adorning her face along with the pink hair that fits her oh so perfectly, her tits red and raw from your efforts, waist that mold to your hands like it was made for you.
And she wonders why you keep reminding her of the fact that you’re head over heels for her.
“Was hoping we could do this instead.” She turns around, back facing you, jutting her ass wrapped in black panties, and as much as you are utterly addicted to her chest, her ass is a thing of beauty in of itself. “Might even get you to shut up.”
She’s shaking it inches away from your face, and you’re licking your lips (getting ready to eat her out and to hold yourself back, of course). “What, don’t want me to tell you that I love your ass?”
“I know you love it.” Her fingers make quick work of your shorts, and you're throbbing in her hands, leaking when she lazily pumps you. “Why do you think I’m asking you to eat it?”
“God.” That alone gets you pulsing around her hand, fingers inches to take her panties off already. You’re reaching up, running your hands over her ass, giving each cheek a squeeze. “What would I do without you, sweetheart?”
Her head turns around to face you, tongue sticking out teasingly. “Jerking it off by yourself?”
You let out a chuckle, playfully smacking her ass. “Ha, ha.” You rub the spot where your palm hit, leaning in to peck the red mark. “You’d be doing it by yourself if I wasn’t here either.”
“Guess I’m lucky I have you, don’t I?” Sakura giggles, blowing you a kiss before she heads back down. Feeling her hot breath on your length, your fingers hook into the lace and pull it aside, her pussy glistening and looking positively enticing to shove your face into.
“Think I’m the lucky one,” you mutter, thumb spreading her ass apart, admiring the way her folds open up. You take hold of her hips, pulling them back towards your face and your tongue gets its first delicious taste of her cunt just as her mouth envelops your cock.
And she tastes as mind blowing as she looks, tongue enjoying every single second it’s in contact with her pussy. Fingers digging in her cheeks to spread them apart to savor all of her, and she’s pushing back against you, even as she bobs up and down your shaft.
It’s making you both groan, both so preoccupied with each other that the noise only adds to your enthusiasm. Sakura starts to hit all your weak spots, tongue lapping against your tip, taking it back in her mouth to swirl it around and getting your legs to twitch at the pleasure. Fingers stroke your length, and the little hum she makes around you starts to make you lose control.
You’re reigning it back in, wanting to stay in her ass as much as you could, so you increase your fervor; tongue pressing flat against her slit, licking upward until you press into her, pushing yourself in her wet cunt.
There’s a long, drawn out moan that Sakura lets out when you do, getting her to pop off of you, a hand to stroke you replacing her mouth as she whimpers. “Hun–”
You don’t understand a single bit of what the hell she’s trying to tell you, your need to drink up more of her nectar. A hand comes underneath to press against her clit, and she’s cursing in the air when the gentlest of pressures start to meet that little nub.
“Oh, fuck–” Sakura’s back on you with a vigor that would’ve gotten you on your knees with how her lips are sealed tight around your cock, the pressure getting the hold you have on her hips to grow firmer.
It’s a competition, at this point, to see who can get each other off first. And you’re matching her tempo; frigging her clit, kneading that ass of hers in your fingers while you drink in all the drip that comes into contact with your tongue.
She’s grinding her ass against your face, taking you deep in her mouth and staying there until she gags, pulling away to trace your length down while she pumps. “Close?”
You pull back. “Are you saying or asking?” She doesn’t need an answer, when it was already throbbing in her hands.
“Mostly asking.” She gives your tip a sloppy kiss, tongue teasing the slit and making you hiss. “Maybe a little bit of saying.”
You don’t believe it for a second, seeing as she’s leaking all over you, thumb playing with her folds. You hum your disapproval, squeezing an asscheek. “Doesn’t look like it to me over here.”
“Yeah?” Her fingers tease all over your dick, nails raking gently around your thighs, coming to cup your balls. “Better get back and finish the job, hun.” She wiggles her ass, and that’s all you need to see for your mouth to press back against her cunt, pushing a finger inside her, and she’s so wet it gets you adding another one to fuck her with.
Your head is dizzy from everything she has; the divine taste of her juices, the soft press of her ass against your cheeks, that damnable mouth of hers sloppily making out with your cock.
Holding it in no longer becomes an option, and you’re losing yourself in the fog of it, desire and need and Sakura the only thing that you can comprehend. Her name comes out of your mouth like a prayer, fingers pumping into her faster, tongue finding her clit as your thumb starts circling her tight, little hole.
“Oh my god–” You know it’s a weakness of Sakura’s, playing with her asshole, and her words turn into shrieks when you press inside her pucker, chanting swears as her thighs start to tremble and press against your head. “Fuck, hun, you–”
Her head lolls to the side, her pants tickling your cock as she starts to convulse, thighs suffocating you, her walls clenching around your fingers as she floods your mouth, lapping it all up as you keep going, prolonging that high as long as you can.
Sakura gets you back, hands pumping away aggressively, forcing you to follow her, and all you can do is comply.
“Kkura, I’m–”
It all comes exploding out of you, moaning into her sopping cunt as she takes the first shot of your load into her cheek, hips bucking against her hand. She takes your tip in, taking the rest of your spill into her mouth as you pulse into her warmth.
Her fingers keep pumping away, milking you for everything you’re worth, Sakura’s throat never ceasing to swallow your cum. Bobbing her head leisurely, a content moan at each batch that she receives until you’re all spent.
You’re left leaving kisses all over her thighs as you feel the aftershocks begin to leave you, and when she releases you from her lips, she moves herself to the side, sprawled in the bed.
“That was cheating, you know,” she mutters, head looking up (or was it down?) at you. “Playing with my ass like that.”
“Like you didn’t enjoy it.” You manage, breathing deep, fingers caressing her thighs.
Sakura lets out a chuckle, slapping your leg. “Shut up,” she giggles, her tongue darting out to lick at the rope of white staining her cheek. She moves, shakily managing to move towards you, your arm wrapping around her shoulder when she drapes herself over you.
Her lips meet your chest, her fingers drawing circles as she lets out a pleased sigh. “Love you,” she mumbles, nestling deeper in your hold. “Teach me how to play that game of yours later?”
“Sure, sweetheart.” A laugh seeps through you, letting out a grin and kissing her forehead. The soft smile that graces her features when you do gets your heart melting, her eyes closing shut as she settles in your hug.
I stepped into the apartment three months ago, my heart still hammering against my ribs at the absurdity of it all. The rent was astronomical, far beyond what a normal person should pay for a shared living space, but this was not a normal situation. This was Jihyo's apartment. Park Jihyo. The leader of TWICE. The woman whose voice had soundtracked my late nights and whose smile had lit up screens I stared at for far too long. When the listing appeared, when I realized it was genuinely her, genuinely the opportunity to share oxygen with her daily, I signed the lease before rational thought could intervene.
The first three months dissolved into something more comfortable than I had any right to expect. Jihyo's schedule was merciless, a revolving door of tour dates, Music Bank shoots, fan meetings that sent her stumbling home at hours when the city had gone quiet. She needed someone to water the plants, to accept packages, to make sure the gas was off and the doors were locked. I needed proximity. It was an unspoken contract that worked.
Every morning became ritual. I would wake in my small room, the one adjacent to hers with only a thin wall between us, and I would emerge shirtless. Just shorts. Sometimes black, sometimes grey, always loose enough to sleep in. I would pad barefoot across the hardwood, open the curtains to let the morning light flood the living room, and collapse onto the couch with my water bottle. Jihyo had seen me this way dozens of times. She never commented, never seemed to notice the bare chest, the sleep-mussed hair, the way my shorts rode low on my hips. She would emerge fully dressed, hair done, face composed, and we would exchange pleasantries like normal roommates.
I assumed she was comfortable with it. I assumed wrong.
The morning it changed began like any other. I woke to the grey light of dawn filtering through my blinds, pulled on my black shorts, and nothing else. The fabric sat low on my hips as I walked to the kitchen, retrieved my glass from the cabinet, filled it with cold water from the fridge. I was mid-sip, my throat working against the chill, when I heard the distinctive click of her bedroom door.
She emerged.
The glass slipped from my fingers, not falling, but my grip loosening enough that water sloshed over the rim and splashed onto my bare chest. I choked, sputtering, the liquid going down the wrong pipe as I stared.
Jihyo was not wearing a shirt.
She was not wearing anything on her upper body at all.
Her breasts were bare, full and heavy and unencumbered, moving slightly with her steps. The morning light caught her skin, highlighting the soft weight of them, the darker circles of her areolas, the way they swayed as she walked without a hint of self-consciousness. Below, she wore only black panties. I recognized them immediately, the memory surfacing unbidden, the same pair she had worn in Hawaii for her birthday trip, the photos I had seen online now nothing compared to the reality three feet from me.
She moved as if she were fully clothed. As if this were normal.
"Morning," she said, her voice casual, melodic. She didn't look at me. She walked past me toward the kitchen, her bare feet silent on the floor.
I wiped water from my chin, my throat working. "Jihyo... what..."
She opened the fridge, the light illuminating her torso, casting soft shadows beneath her breasts. She hummed, a tune I didn't recognize, and pulled out a bottle of water. She twisted the cap, took a long drink, her throat moving, water spilling slightly from the corner of her mouth. It traced a path down her chin, her neck, and dripped onto her chest. She didn't flinch. She reached for a tissue from the counter, the motion making her breasts lift and shift, and she wiped at the moisture, the tissue dragging across her nipples, her skin.
"You're staring," she said, finally looking at me. Her eyes were bright, amused. Not ashamed. Not even slightly.
"I... you're..." I couldn't form words. I looked away, my face burning, my shorts suddenly feeling tight and constricting. "What are you doing?"
"Getting water," she said simply. She leaned against the counter, her hip cocked, her breasts resting against her ribs. "Is that not allowed?"
"You're naked," I managed, still not looking, my voice coming out strangled.
"I'm wearing underwear," she corrected. "You're practically naked too. I've seen you in those shorts every morning for three months. What's the difference?"
"The anatomy," I said, finding some semblance of logic. "It's different. I'm shirtless, you're... you're topless. It's not the same."
She pushed off the counter and walked toward me. I heard her footsteps, felt her presence before I saw her. She stopped in front of the adjacent couch and sat down, crossing her legs. The position did nothing to hide her; if anything, it framed her differently, the softness of her stomach, the curve of her hip, the way her breasts settled against her body.
"I know about anatomy," she said, her voice dry. "I took biology. But I also know about equality. You walk around here every morning, half-naked, comfortable as you please. Why can't I?"
"Because..." I had no answer. I turned my head, risked a look at her. She was watching me with an expression I couldn't read, challenge mixed with something else. Something curious.
"Because what?" she pressed.
"Because it's distracting," I admitted.
She smiled. It wasn't shy. It wasn't coy. It was confident, powerful. "Then that's your problem, isn't it? I'm comfortable like this. If you're not, that's on you."
Something shifted in my chest. The shock was fading, replaced by something warmer, something that pooled in my gut. I smirked, the tension breaking into something else entirely. "I've got no problem," I said, my voice steadier now. "But isn't it a bit much? For a Saturday morning?"
"Why? Because it's unexpected?" She leaned back, her arms spreading along the back of the couch. The motion lifted her breasts slightly, presented them to the room. "I think we've been tiptoeing around each other for three months. I think it's exhausting. I think..." she paused, her eyes meeting mine, "I think we should stop pretending."
"Pretending what?"
"That we don't notice each other. That this is just a roommate situation." She tilted her head. "You applied for this apartment knowing it was me. I accepted you knowing you were... you. Let's stop acting like we're strangers who just happen to share a bathroom."
The air in the room had changed. It was charged, electric. I could feel my pulse in my throat, my wrists, lower. "So what do you propose?"
She thought for a moment, her finger tapping against her lip. Then her eyes lit up with mischief. "A challenge. Tomorrow's Sunday. We both have the day off. We spend it completely naked. Not a single piece of clothing. All day. Whoever gets uncomfortable first, loses. The winner decides what the loser has to do."
"You're serious."
"Deadly."
I looked at her, at the bare skin, the challenge in her eyes. "You're on."
The night before Sunday, Saturday evening bled into the apartment with the sound of keys in the lock. I was on the couch, shirtless as had become my habit, when Jihyo stepped through the door. She was still in her outfit from the Barrel photoshoot, some combination of denim and fabric that looked expensive and uncomfortable, her hair styled within an inch of its life, makeup still perfect despite the long hours.
She kicked off her shoes without looking at me, walking past with a mumbled greeting, her body language radiating exhaustion. "Long day," she said, not a question.
"Go change," I told her. "You look miserable."
She paused, looked at me, and something in her expression shifted. Remembered. "Right. Give me a minute."
She went to her room. I heard the rustle of fabric, the snap of a bra being unhooked, the whisper of clothes hitting the floor. When she emerged, she was wearing only pink shorts.
Cotton, simple, riding low on her hips. Her breasts moved freely as she walked to the kitchen, her nipples slightly hardened from the air conditioning or the transition from the hot outdoors.
She retrieved a bag of chips from the cabinet, tore it open, and ate standing at the counter, her back to me. The muscles in her back shifted, her shoulder blades moving, the dimples at the base of her spine visible above the waistband of her shorts. She finished a handful, licked salt from her fingers, and turned.
"Tomorrow," she said, before walking back toward her room. She stopped at the threshold, looked back at me over her shoulder. Her hair was coming loose, strands falling around her face. "Remember? It's tomorrow. Let's see who breaks first."
Sunday arrived with sunlight that seemed too bright, too exposing.
I woke early, my stomach tight with anticipation. The apartment was silent. I pulled off my sleep shorts before leaving my room, standing in my doorway completely nude, my cock already half-hard from the thought of what was coming. I took a breath and walked out.
Jihyo's door opened at the same time.
She was wearing the pink shorts. Nothing else. Her breasts were bare in the morning light, the nipples darker than I remembered from the glimpse before, slightly erect from the cool air. She looked at me, her eyes dropping immediately to my hips, to what hung there between my legs.
"Let's start," she said, her voice steady. "Shall we? Or if you're uncomfortable, we can stop it right here."
I scoffed. The sound came out braver than I felt. My fingers hooked into the waistband of my shorts, and I pulled them down in one motion. My cock sprang free, fully hard now, bobbing slightly as I stepped out of the fabric pooled at my ankles. I kicked them aside and stood there, naked, exposed, my arousal evident and unapologetic.
Jihyo's eyebrows raised. She looked me up and down, her gaze lingering on my erection, on the way it stood out from my body, thick and veined. "Impressive," she said, and there was no mockery in it. Just observation.
Then she hooked her thumbs into her pink shorts and pulled them down. They fell to her ankles, and she stepped out of them, kicking them toward me playfully. She was bare now, completely, her pussy exposed. The hair there was neatly trimmed, a dark triangle that drew the eye, the lips slightly parted, glistening faintly with arousal she didn't bother to hide.
"Now we're even," she said.
The day stretched before us, endless and charged.
We moved around each other in the kitchen, the space suddenly too small. I was at the counter slicing an apple when she came to get coffee. She reached past me, her bare arm brushing mine, her breast pressing against my bicep as she stretched for a mug. She didn't apologize. She didn't move away. She ground the beans, the machine whirring, and when she turned to wait for the coffee, her hip bumped my ass.
"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all.
"You're in my way," I said, but I didn't move.
She stayed there, pressed against me, her soft skin warm against my backside. I could feel the curve of her hip, the swell of her stomach, the way her breath moved her chest. I turned slightly, and my cock brushed her thigh. She didn't flinch.
"Excuse me," I said, my voice rough.
"You're excused," she replied, and took her coffee to the living room.
I followed, my erection leading the way, unashamed. I sat on the couch, the leather cool against my bare skin, and I spread my legs wide. The position opened me completely, displayed everything. I placed my hand on my cock, not stroking, just holding, resting it there in plain view.
Jihyo sat on the adjacent couch, her coffee cup in both hands, her legs crossed. The position gave me a view of her pussy, the folds visible, the pink flesh between her thighs. She sipped her coffee, her eyes flicking to my hand, to my cock, then back to the TV.
"You going to do something with that," she asked, "or just hold it like a security blanket?"
"Waiting for you to break," I said.
She laughed, a real laugh that made her breasts shake. "Not going to happen."
I started stroking. Slowly, my fist moving up and down my shaft, the friction building. I watched her watching me, her eyes following the motion of my hand, the way my thumb swirled over the head, spreading the bead of moisture that had formed there. I made it obvious, made noise, grunting slightly as I worked myself, the wet sounds of my hand on my skin filling the silence.
She didn't look away. She finished her coffee, set the cup down, and stood. She walked to her room, her ass swaying, the muscles in her back flexing. She returned holding a box of tissues.
"If you make the table or the couch dirty," she said, setting the tissues on the coffee table between us, "I'll kill you."
Then she walked back to the kitchen, her hips rolling, and placed her cup in the sink. The sound of porcelain against porcelain. The water running. She was washing it, her back to me, her ass presented to the room as she bent slightly to reach the faucet.
I kept stroking, kept watching, kept waiting for her to crack.
She didn't.
The hours passed in a haze of naked proximity. We ate lunch at the small table, both of us nude, passing dishes, our legs brushing underneath. She dropped a napkin and bent to retrieve it, her ass in the air, her pussy visible from behind, the dark cleft between her cheeks. I watched, my cock throbbing against my stomach, and she stayed bent longer than necessary, looking back at me with a smirk.
"See something you like?"
"Just admiring the view," I managed.
She straightened, sat back down, and ate her sandwich as if she were fully clothed at a business lunch.
By evening, the tension had become a physical thing, a weight in the air. I was in the living room, pretending to read, my cock still hard, still ignored, when I heard her in the kitchen doing dishes. The water running, the clink of plates.
I stood. I walked to the kitchen doorway and watched her. She was at the sink, her back to me, her hair tied up in a messy bun that exposed her neck. Her back was beautiful, the line of her spine, the way her waist narrowed before flaring into her hips. Her ass was round, perfect, the dimples at the sides visible as she shifted her weight.
I approached slowly, my bare feet silent. I stopped behind her, close enough that I could smell her shampoo, her skin. I stepped forward until my cock pressed against the cleft of her ass, the length of it nestling between her cheeks, the heat of her skin against mine.
"Oh," I said, my voice dripping with false innocence, "sorry, Jihyo. I didn't mean to touch you—"
She pushed back.
Her ass pressed firmly against my cock, her cheeks parting slightly around my shaft. She ground back, a slow, deliberate rotation of her hips that dragged her skin against my length. She turned her head, her profile visible, her lips curved in a smile.
"Were you saying something?" she asked.
She pressed back harder, rubbing against me, using my cock to pleasure herself, the friction building. I groaned, my hands coming to her hips, gripping her, pulling her harder against me.
"I was saying," I managed, my voice strained, "that I think you lost."
"Did I?" She turned fully, twisting in my grip, and her mouth found mine.
The kiss was not tentative. It was not gentle. It was the explosion of three months of tension, of mornings and evenings and stolen glances. Her tongue invaded my mouth, her hands came to my chest, her nails digging in. I groaned into her, my cock trapped between us, pressed against her stomach.
She broke the kiss, her breath coming fast. "Help me with the dishes," she said, her voice husky.
"What?"
"Help me." She turned back to the sink, her ass pressing against me again, but this time she reached for my hands, pulled them around her, placed them on the plate in the soapy water. "Guide me."
I moved behind her, my chest to her back, my cock nestled against her ass, and we washed the plate together, my hands over hers, slippery with soap. When the plate was clean, set aside, my hands didn't return to the water. They moved up, cupping her breasts, lifting their weight, my thumbs dragging across her nipples.
She gasped, arching back against me. "Yes."
I squeezed, my fingers digging into the soft flesh, rolling her nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, pulling them, elongating them. She moaned, a sound that vibrated through her chest into my palms. She turned again, and this time the kiss was desperate, her hands in my hair, pulling, her teeth nipping at my lower lip.
"Table," she gasped between kisses. "Now."
I lifted her. My hands went under her thighs, and I hoisted her up, her legs wrapping around my waist, her pussy grinding against my stomach, leaving a trail of wetness on my skin. I carried her the few steps to the dining table and set her down on the edge, the wood cool against her ass.
I kissed her neck, my mouth trailing down, tasting the salt of her skin, the perfume at her throat. I moved lower, my lips finding the hollow above her collarbone, the swell of her breast. I took her nipple into my mouth, sucking hard, my tongue flicking against the hardened peak, my hand kneading the other breast, switching back and forth, worshipping them, the weight and softness of them, the way they filled my hands and mouth.
She moaned, her head falling back, her hands gripping my hair, holding me to her. "Don't stop," she breathed.
I moved lower, my mouth tracing a path down her sternum, her ribs, the softness of her stomach. I dipped my tongue into her navel, felt her muscles contract, heard her gasp. I kept going, my hands pushing her thighs apart, opening her to me.
Her pussy was beautiful. The trimmed hair glistening with her arousal, the lips swollen and parted, the pink flesh inside visible, wet and inviting. I could smell her, musky and sweet, and it made my cock throb painfully.
I started at her knee. I kissed the inside of her thigh, high up, close to where she wanted me but not there yet. I moved to the other thigh, doing the same, teasing, making her wait. She whimpered, her hips lifting, trying to guide me.
"Please," she said, and the word broke something in me.
I licked her. A long, slow stroke from the bottom of her slit to the top, my tongue flat, dragging through her folds, gathering her taste. She cried out, her hands flying to her own breasts, squeezing them, her back arching off the table.
I did it again, and again, finding her clit with the tip of my tongue, circling it, flicking it, sucking it into my mouth. She was loud, uninhibited, her moans filling the apartment, echoing off the walls. I speared my tongue into her entrance, fucking her with it, feeling her muscles contract around me, then returned to her clit, alternating, driving her higher.
"Inside," she begged. "Please, I need you inside."
I stood, my cock bobbing, heavy and hard. I positioned myself at her entrance, the head of my cock kissing her wetness, sliding through her folds, coating myself in her. I looked at her, at her flushed face, her parted lips, her breasts heaving with her breath, her legs spread wide for me, her pussy open and waiting.
I pushed in.
She was tight, hot, slick. She enveloped me, her muscles gripping me, pulling me deeper. We both groaned, the sound mingling, becoming one noise of pure pleasure. I bottomed out, my hips pressed against hers, my cock buried to the root inside her.
I started to move.
Slow at first, long strokes, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back in, feeling every inch of her around me, the way she gripped me, the wet sounds of our joining filling the room. She wrapped her legs around my waist, her heels digging into my ass, pulling me deeper, harder.
"Faster," she demanded.
I obliged. I picked up the pace, my hips snapping against hers, the table creaking beneath us, her breasts bouncing with each thrust, the sight of them hypnotic. I leaned down, captured a nipple in my mouth again, sucking hard as I fucked her, the dual sensation making her scream.
I could feel her tightening around me, her muscles fluttering, her breath coming in gasps. "I'm close," she warned. "Don't stop, don't stop, please—"
I didn't stop. I fucked her through her orgasm, my hand between us, my thumb finding her clit, rubbing it in tight circles as she came apart beneath me. She cried out, her back arching violently, her nails raking down my back, her pussy clamping down on my cock in rhythmic waves that milked me, threatened to push me over the edge.
I pulled out before I came. I wasn't done with her yet.
"Bedroom," I growled. "Couch. Now."
I lifted her again, my cock sliding against her stomach, wet with her, and carried her to the living room. I set her down on the couch, the same couch where we had spent the day tormenting each other, and she immediately turned, presenting herself to me on her hands and knees, her ass in the air, her pussy visible from behind, swollen and dripping.
"Like this," she said, looking back at me. "Take me like this."
I lined myself up and pushed back in, the angle different, deeper, hitting places that made her cry out immediately. I gripped her hips, my fingers digging into the soft flesh of her ass, and I fucked her hard, the sound of skin slapping against skin loud in the room, her breasts swinging beneath her, her hair falling around her face.
I reached around her, my hand finding her clit again, rubbing it in time with my thrusts, feeling her build again, feeling her start to shake. "Come with me," I commanded. "Come with me now."
She did. Her second orgasm was harder than the first, her body convulsing, her pussy squeezing me so tight I saw stars, and I couldn't hold back anymore. I buried myself to the hilt and came, my cock pulsing, shooting deep inside her, filling her, my groan torn from my chest, my body shuddering against hers.
We collapsed together onto the couch, a tangle of limbs and sweat and cum. I was still inside her, softening but not leaving, my chest to her back, my arms around her, my hands cupping her breasts. We breathed together, hard and fast, the air cooling our skin.
"So," she said, her voice hoarse, "who won?"
I laughed, the motion making my cock slip out of her, making us both gasp at the loss. "I think we both did."
She turned in my arms, facing me, her legs tangled with mine. She kissed me, soft now, gentle, her hand cupping my face. "Roommates with benefits," she said. "Like that movie. Friends with benefits."
"Just sex," I agreed, though we both knew it was already more. "Whenever the mood strikes."
"Whenever," she confirmed, her hand drifting down between us, finding my cock again, already stirring at her touch. "Which might be sooner than you think."
I groaned, capturing her mouth again, ready for round two, the deal forgotten, the challenge won by both of us, the apartment filled with the sounds of our new arrangement.
It’s one thing to be playing strip blackjack with your roommate for the fun of it, bored out of your mind because the semester’s over and the both of you decided not to go back to your hometowns for reasons out of both your control. It’s another to be playing strip blackjack when you’re down to your boxers and she’s still somehow halfway to getting into her birthday suit.
You probably should’ve told her to take off her jacket and all the accessories she was wearing. Having each one as an individual piece of clothing is the most bullshit excuse you’ve ever heard, more so when you realized she has earrings and socks on.
“Oh come on,” she starts, throwing her hands up in the air. “Are you that scared of me seeing your dick? It’s not that small from what I remem–”
“Fuck you.” You send a middle finger her way. “I'm on eighteen and you’re on fifteen. You hit.”
Playing safe normally isn’t what you prefer doing, the need to throw down another card tempting you. But the odds of getting anything below a three is so goddamn miniscule, you’d be guaranteeing your loss.
And this is not how you thought having Sooin see you naked after God knows how long would go.
Sooin grabs the stack of cards, taking the first off the deck. She doesn’t flip yet, only placing it down next to her two fours and a seven. “I bet this is a six,” she says, tapping on the card.
“And I bet that it’s anything but a six,” you counter, and she graces you with a laugh.
“Willing to bet your boxers on that?” she asks, nodding to said clothing. Your last line of defense to your dignity, pride, ego. But if that saying about a good defense is a good offense applies here, then you might as well use it to your advantage.
“You willing to bet your entire top off for it?” you counter, leaning back on your chair. It’s a gamble, not one you’re sure she’ll bite on, yet you’re desperate. In dire need of a hail mary, and this—this is your one shot to getting it.
Besides, seeing her tits is a major plus.
“Bitch, I’ll bet everything I’m wearing it’s a six.” The way she sounds so confident about it makes you think she’s somehow rigged the deck when though you’ve been the one that’s been shuffling it since the beginning of this whole thing.
She does the job for you, when she slams the cards down on the table. Crossing her arms and smirks at you.
“I’ll even bet something better for you,” Sooin starts, her legs crossing, and the smooth expanse of her skin starts to entice you, her shorts riding up and showing even more of those thighs. “If I don’t get a six, I’ll be free use for you for the entire week,” she states, the glee in her face dropping an offer that only the devil would ever give. “And we got all week.”
“Sooin, what the fuck–” You’ve known this woman for years, since she barged in your life as your roommate in the middle of your sophomore year and called the supposed guest room as hers. With the amount of shit the both of you have gotten up to with all that time—the rare sex with her included—this has got to be the most dangerous thing she’s ever done. “You don’t offer that up like it’s nothing–”
“Sure I can,” she says, rolling her eyes at you. “We’ve fucked before, what’s so difference about this?”
“We don’t have to be betting shit like that.” You dodge the question, your own legs cross to hide the growing erection in your pants. “We can stick to clothes–”
“Boring.” Her fingers twirl around the curls of her hair. “You need some spice in your life. Some flair. And I’m offering it to you.” Her head tilts. “‘Sides, when was the last time you got laid? Was it that Chaeyoung girl–”
“Chaewon,” you correct, shaking your head. Now she has you hooked on the deal being offered. Your entire wager flipped on you, and you can’t tell if she’s being serious or not. “And that’s pretty rich coming from you.”
“Whatever her name is–” She shrugs, avoiding your own question by picking up one of her cards and tapping it on the table. “I’m here offering you a once in a lifetime deal. And we’d both be happy at the end of it.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Anytime you want.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Anywhere you want.”
Taptaptaptap—
“Anything you want–”
“If you don’t get a six,” you enunciate, syllable by syllable. “You’ll just–what, do as I say?”
“If I don’t get a six,” Sooin repeats, hand pausing the drumming of the paper. “I’ll do whatever the fuck you want. No holds barred. No questions asked. You can have me on my knees right now if you win–”
“Jesus Christ, Swim.” Your palm meets your face, in complete disbelief of what she’s saying. You sigh, real fucking deep, gaze going up to the ceiling for a moment, trying to think about the whole thing. Yet your mind’s already made up, and all you can do is ask about the one thing that you’re sure will happen.
“And if you do pull a six?”
“Then you be free use instead.” The answer is instant, and that is where she gets you. When you think about it, it sounds like a win win situation. “Actually, let’s make this easier for the both of us.”
So nice of her, you think.
“If you have a worse hand than mine, you lose.” That’s mildly easier, but still impossible. Besides, only the crazy ones would ever think of hitting on an eighteen. “And the same goes to me.” She points to the one face down on the table. “Shittier hand than yours, I lose.”
“This has to be bait.” The comment slips out, airing out the first thing that came to mind hearing the terms.
“It’s not.” The look of disbelief on your face makes her gape at you. “I’m not joking, it’s not.”
“Sure, and you didn’t rig the deck so you win again.”
“I didn’t rig jackshit, thank you very much. You need to believe in the heart of the cards.”
“Whatever you say, Yugi,” you chuckle. You glance at the deck, and that top card is begging you to take it. Get the whole thing over and done with, the result be damned.
Though, there is an instance of—
“What happens if we both go over?”
“Easy.” She shrugs. “Then we both win.”
Your head leans back in surprise. “How the hell does that even work?”
“I get to fuck you whenever, you do the same. It’s not rocket science.” Another shrug. “Your other head would do the thinking.”
“And I’m starting to think you’re the one who needs to get laid,” you comment, and she graces you with a smirk.
“It’s a win win type of deal.” She ignores the dig, propping her chin up with her hand. “Just depends who wins more.” She gives you a pointed look. “So, you in or out?”
Sooin’s not wrong. It is a win win deal, and you’d be an idiot not to take it.
You sigh.
“Fine.”
Your hand grabs the card, sliding it off the stack and placing it next to your two cards. “Who goes first?”
“Same time?” Sooin asks, fingers ready to flip the card on her side.
You nod, hand prepped to do the same. “This is insane, you know,” you mutter, licking your lips. Foot tapping rapidly—in anticipation or nervousness, you don’t know—and shaking your head at her. “Absolutely fucking crazy.”
“You can always back out.” She takes her time with it, pushing the edges up slowly, her gaze focused on you rather than on the piece of paper in her hands. “Or are you really a pussy?”
Well, those are some fighting words. And you didn’t get raised like a bitch to back off.
“Just fucking do it already, Sooin.”
She smirks, and with a flourish, she turns it over faster than you can. Your eyes land on her hand, and lo and be-fucking-hold, it’s a goddamn eight.
Everything rushes at you, all at once—relief, shock, joy, unease. It’s all there, because on one hand, you just won a bet against Sooin. On the other, the bet’s stipulations scare the utter life out of you.
“Would you look at that,” Sooin scoffs, grinning at you. “We both lost.”
You blink, and you look down to your own hand.
Twenty Eight.
Heart in the fucking cards your ass—
“No fucking way that just happened.” She huffs a laugh, staring at your hands. “Did we seriously both fucking lose?”
“You’re the one that said to believe in the heart of the cards,” you retort, shaking your head at how things have ended up.
“You know what?” She stands up, picking up the cards and fixing them up back into a single deck. “I’m going to hold up my end of the deal.” Doesn’t even let you soak it in, simply takes your hand away from you and places it back onto the set. “That better be the same for you too.”
“What the fuck does that mean–”
“It means,” Sooin cuts you off, placing the deck neatly on the center of the table. “I’m going to be riding the fuck out of you tomorrow. Or, you know–”
She gives you an innocent smile, as if her words are to become a common occurrence in your household for the week. She bends down, her lips so close to whisper temptations in your ear. Whatever you want, she says, your name rolling past her lips. “All week long.”
Leaves you with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the shoulder as she heads to her bedroom. Doesn’t bother waiting for a response, instead settling for a—
“Goodnight!”
While you’re over here slumping on your chair, staring at her door and shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.
What the hell did you get yourself into?
—
Sleeping late came naturally to you.
The mental gymnastics you’ve done to convince yourself that everything Sooin said was some sick prank she’s pulling on you, that you’d be waking up to another normal day with her, lazing about and wasting another day doing nothing along with all the other reasons you tell yourself—made you lose your mind trying to instill all of that in your head.
Add to trying to understand why Sooin started that bet at all when she really didn’t have to, aside from the obvious one that your brain is telling you isn’t at all the reason, and you’re almost to a point where you need to admit yourself to a mental asylum trying to figure it out.
You’re almost glad that this didn’t happen during exam week, or else you would’ve been failing all of it left and right with the lack of sleep. Or stamina, if Sooin really was serious.
Which she wasn’t, of course.
You don’t know if you can stop yourself from taking advantage of the bet if she ever gave you any form of a go signal. And if she was, you know she would do the same.
Still, all those days trying to survive the term has made your body’s alarm clock ring, causing you to wake up in the early hours of the morning thinking that there’s some eight o’clock lecture you need to be up for. While you could always stay in, as there is nothing to wake up to this early for the next few weeks, your stomach rumbling tells you otherwise.
So here you are, dragging yourself to the kitchen to make some instant coffee that barely turns you into a functional human being, a bowl of cereal made while you wait for the kettle to heat the water. You would have loved to have some bacon and eggs but alas, someone forgot to do this week’s groceries.
Eventually, Sooin comes out of her room looking the complete opposite of you. It says a lot already, considering you look like a dead man walking and she slept like a baby last night. Arms stretching out as she walks towards you, slumping on the chair opposite of you. Greets you with such energy you’d think she isn't the Sooin you know.
And yet she is, staring at you eating your bowl miserably, a smile on her lips as she leans back on the chair. “You look like shit,” she muses, and she doesn’t need an answer from you to know why.
“Didn’t get much sleep last night.” You play along with it, pretend that everything about last night doesn’t have you in a chokehold.
“I bet.” Her elbow rests on the top back of her chair. “Need a little pick me up?”
She’s dangling the entire thing in front of you, gauging to see just how far you’re willing to keep up with this charade. And if you weren’t so mentally exhausted you could have—should have—said no outright, trying to prevent the impending roller coaster that’s coming your way. And yet your brain decides to make things as ambiguous as possible.
“The coffee can do.” You nod to the kettle, where you are waiting for the stupid thing to finish heating up.
“You sure?” She raises an eyebrow, her eyes glances at the kettle herself. “I’m available to help out, if you want me to.”
The wording isn’t lost on you, making you smile as you raise a spoon full of cereal and milk. “Yeah, Swim. I’m sure.”
She grins, her mouth opening to speak until the kettle finally pings. The both of you take a glance at it, steam rising out of the opening. You move to handle it, but Sooin tells you that she’ll do it instead. Need a cup myself, she says as she passes by, leaving you to eat your cereal in peace.
You take the moment to take a few more spoonfuls as you think up ways of conveniently not run into Sooin for the week, but living with her makes that a daunting task. Being a shut in is always an option, but you’d go insane doing nothing in your room eventually. Or go out everyday until the week ends, check out the mall or go on a quick adventure out of town somewhere.
You can feel your wallet begging you not to do it, making you wonder if you can find another part time for a week at some cafe or convenience store. Whatever to get you out and about and not being with Sooin twenty four seven.
Not that you weren’t against the whole thing. Hell, you want it. In the face of last night, anyone would be stupid not to accept it. Much like you are being an idiot about it.
It’s almost like a slap in the face, when you realize that you could’ve had her on her knees right about now.
The doubt slowly begins to leave your mind, when all the signs point towards Sooin taking it seriously come filling in. You’re being a complete dumbass—no, more than that for wasting a perfectly good night’s rest in exchange for losing your mind for something that really, really should not have been worth losing sleep over.
You’ll be losing sleep over fucking Sooin instead.
The chair you’re sitting on gets pulled away from the table, and the soft, warm weight of Sooin straddles you. Her arms wrap around your neck as she takes a spot on your lap, not allowing you to leave.
“Sooin, what are you–”
“I won last night too, you know.” Her hips roll against yours, making you clench your teeth and tense up. A quick glance tells you that she’s taken her shorts off, leaving her in just her panties and a shirt tight enough to let you know she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath. “And since you won’t start, I figured I would.”
She pulls you in for a kiss, and everything you thought of—the denials, the doubt—fully goes out the window when you can finally have a taste of her lips once again. And she’s a force of nature, infecting your mind and body with an overwhelming sense of Sooin; how she smells, her grinding on your cock, her lips exploring yours for the first time.
“You taste like milk,” she says, a quiet chuckle coming out of her as your hands find her waist. She keeps her pace tortuously slow, your cock twitching and aching and wanting more.
“I did just have cereal.” Stating the obvious, obviously. “What else did you think I’d taste like?”
“I don’t know–” she teases, arms coming down to undo the tie of your shorts. “But I’d be happy to find out. We have all week, remember?”
You raise your hips, helping her fish your cock out from your clothing. “Right,” you sigh out, her hand caressing your length, lightly gripping it and giving you a few exploratory pumps. “All week.”
Sooin smiles, pecking your lips once more. “There he is.” She straightens up, her hand finding a rhythm in her strokes, and your cock hardens at her touch. “Guess a woman’s touch makes you fold quick, huh?”
“Shut the fuck up, Sooin,” you laugh, a hand coming down to squeeze her thigh. “I can feel you dripping through your panties, you know.”
“Blame a girl for finally being able to fuck her roommie again, why doncha.” Her words make you the last time you two fooled around.
“I don’t remember that.” You do. Of course you do. It was a drunken affair on both your ends because of some party she was attending at her rich best friend’s house on the other side of town. You weren’t even supposed to be there, but someone apparently needed to pick her up. One thing led to another, and you’re waking up on her bed, tangled in her sheets.
“That’s a shame.” She knows you’re lying. You both acted like strangers for a better part of a month, and the only thing that got things back to normal was yet another party.
Sooin pulls her panties to the side, lining herself up with your dick. Circling her wet folds around your tip, getting you slick with her juices as she slowly plunges down on you. “Here’s a reminder then.”
A deep moan rumbles out of you, head tilting back as her heat begins to wrap around your length. “Jesus, Sooin–” Your grip on her hips grow firmer, your eyes watching her face morph into an expression of such pleasure that the only thing you can do is stare and admire every small microexpression she makes.
“God, I’m going to enjoy this,” Sooin sighs, eyes fluttering shut for a moment when she nearly bottoms out on your shaft, her walls hugging you so fucking tightly. “Sit back and enjoy, yeah?”
She takes a minute to get used to you filling her, let you stretch her out and leave you simmering in her heat. Doing these little rolls of her hips that gets you twitching inside of her, moans coming out of the both of you. “Missed this filling me up so fucking well–”
“So you did just want to get laid,” you tease, taking your hands off her momentarily to push them underneath her shirt, wanting to feel her skin instead of fabric. “Could’ve just asked.”
A scoff escapes her, her fingers giving your scalp a quick tug. “Excuse me for not wanting to get in between you and that Chaewon chick–”
“Sooin, nothing happened.” Her questioning look makes you repeat your words.
“Uh huh.” She presses her weight down on you, bottoming out and taking your entire length. You let out a groan, eyes closing at the sheer pressure of her cunt taking you. Another tug of your hair gets you quickly opening them back up. “And I didn’t watch you mope around the day after.”
“What? No–” You shake your head, confused to where the hell she was trying to take this conversation. You would think she would prefer that you focus on her considering your balls deep in her cunt, and yet Sooin continues to surprise you. “She was just a fling, okay? Nothing else happened.”
And she was. You met her at a party, you two had sex, you went your separate ways. You moping around the day after was because even after getting laid, it didn’t change the fact that you flunked your exam before it. It’s a miracle you managed to tell her all of that while her pussy pulses around you, her grinding on your cock making you stutter your words.
Fingers tap on your neck, her gaze narrowing at your explanation. “So you don’t have feelings for her?” She slowly begins to bounce on your lap, and the insanity of what’s happening right now is starting to get to you. Interrogated about some girl while getting fucked by your—well, an important girl is something to cross off the list.
“Sooin, we fucked. That’s it.” You squeeze her hips, biting your lip at the sensation of Sooin clenching around you. “Can we pl–please go back to focusing on this?”
She doesn’t answer you. At least, not verbally. Her rhythm goes faster, harder, fucking herself on you like she’s chasing her own high. Her weight presses down on you, pulling herself close to your chest, her breath hot in your ear as her moans consume your senses.
“You fucking focus,” she mutters, her hold on you tightening, ass dropping down on your lap. She’s insatiable, so much more different than the last time. Frantic in how she rides that you can barely hold on with your life. “Just–sit still, stay hard, and make me cum you son of a–”
It’s sending you to the edge fast, barely being able to hang on. Even when you’re trying to hold off and fight back against what your body is demanding you to do. Sooin's increasingly erratic movements; bouncing and grinding and fucking herself on your cock until all you can think of is filling her with your load.
“Don’t think I can, Swim.” It comes out shaky from you, amidst all Sooin’s moans and skin against skin hitting against each other. Arms wrap around her waist, pulling her in and saying her name. Sooin, Sooin, Sooin please—
“Go ahead.” Her words are a shot to the brain, an unraveling of your entire nervous system and turning a singular thought into reality.
“Cum inside me.”
It’s stupid how quickly you crumble at those words. Your mouth finds her neck, biting down gently as your cock unloads inside her. Each spurt comes with a content moan from Sooin, singing straight into your ears. Euphoria consumes your senses, nipping and marking her neck as your eyes threaten to roll back from the pleasure.
“That’s it,” she coos, her grip vice-like around you, each throb of your cock filling her cunt full of your load. She puts her entire weight on you, unable to leave her warm embrace as you try to fuck your load deeper into her. “Fucking needed this–”
Sooin bites her lip, savoring the entire thing, basking in the afterglow of it all. The grin on her face tells you exactly how much she’s enjoyed it, and you can only imagine what else you’ll be looking at for the rest of the week.
“So,” she starts, lips finding your cheek to leave a gentle little peck. “Coffee?”
You chuckle, licking the spot where you’ve left a red mark on her neck. “Sure, Sooin.” Watch her slowly pull away, your cock leaving her walls and letting the cum that you’ve dumped inside her to spill down to the floor.
Neither of you do anything to clean it up right now, considering—
“Coffee sounds great.”
—
You don’t see Sooin until the late afternoon, coming back to your apartment after a day of finally doing her turn to do the groceries. You would’ve tagged along if not for the fact that you had to do the laundry this week around, and pair it up with helping her stock the cupboard full of what she bought and you’re sinking down on the couch.
“I don’t think we needed that much for this week,” you complain, eyes staring up at the ceiling. Buying almost double of what you two normally get makes you wonder where the hell she got enough cash to buy that, but her reply gets you to scoff in disbelief.
“Supermarket had a sale,” she grunts, sliding down next to you, head on your lap as a makeshift pillow. “Thought it’d be smart to buy as much as I can.”
“Your wallet agree with that?”
“Nope.” She pops the syllable, taking out her phone, tapping away at the screen. “Not like my wallet can’t handle it. At least we won’t have to worry about things here for a while.”
A while is an understatement. She bought enough for you both to stop buying any essentials for a month. And while you know she can afford much more than that, you had to convince her that you're not going to freeload off her in your own place.
Because for all the oddest reasons, the fact that she has fuck you money to spend yet only splurges it on things she likes is such an odd combination. Exactly how she ended up taking your guest room instead of getting her own place.
You remember her words clear as day. Too expensive and high maintenance. Which is, again, a weird thing to say when she can pay people to handle it for her, but she says it's for her own good more than anything. Gotta learn to be independent some day, might as well be now, she said.
“Look at you, being a responsible adult,” you tease, finger reaching down to poke her cheek. She immediately swats it away with a roll of her eyes.
“Fuck off,” she chuckles, eyes never straying from her phone. “We’ve been needing to stock up on all that stuff anyway.”
“I don’t think we needed that much instant ramen though.” Your gaze flicks to the stack of it by the counter. “Seriously, that might be a little too much.”
“To you, maybe,” she says, turning her phone horizontally. “I’ll be eating some too, you know.”
“You mean all of it?” The light jam of her elbow to your ribs gets you laughing.
The conversation ends there, and the only thing left to fill the empty silence are the shooting that comes from her phone and whatever it is that you’ve decided to watch on the TV. It stays like that for a while, and your boredom continues to grow at each passing second, each passing commercial, each movement of Sooin’s head on your lap—
The thought of asking her to, you don’t know, do something to her sounds inane. Breakfast’s events come flooding your memories, and as much as you want to do the same thing to her, you want to test the waters first.
Your arm comes to rest at her stomach, playing with the hem of her top. It gets her to flinch in surprise, gaze flickering up to you.
“What are you doing?” There’s a knowing glint in her eyes; one that tells you that an answer doesn’t need to be told, when she already has an idea of what you want. An eyebrow raises when you slowly drag your fingers upward.
“Nothing,” you say, resting your palm on one of her breasts, covered in layers of fabric. Your eyes are still watching the television—some old cartoon about a cat and mouse—while your fingers play around her chest. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Sooin lets out a scoff, biting her lip to stop the grin on her face as she comes back to her phone. “Do what you want.”
Well, alright then.
Your hands wander; kneading her breasts with light squeezes, running your hands through the curves of her body. They eventually find themselves pushing under her top, wanting to feel the smooth expanse of her tummy up to her tits.
She doesn’t make a single complaint throughout, allowing all this to happen. When you run up and down her body, all she does is let out these hums. When your fingers pull her bra down so that you can play around with her nipples, her legs squirm and push together.
And when you ask if you can use her mouth, she hits you back with another question:
“Are you asking or telling?”
A quick tug of your drawstrings, a little repositioning of Sooin’s head as you take your cock out, already at half mast, and pointing it to her mouth, tongue out and waiting. “I’ll be quick,” you say, a laughable lie as you know you’re going to be taking your sweet time with her.
She does fuck all about it, keeping on with her game as your hand rests on her hair as you thrust languidly into her wet mouth. Your shaft growing to full length the longer you stay inside her throat, and she shifts to get into a more comfortable position. As comfortable as she can get, having a cock in her mouth while her hands are busy playing.
Her cheek bulges, her throat takes you deep, her tongue flattens under your length. Yet her eyes never stray from her phone, hearing the sounds of combos being hit and encouraging cheers from her phone. She mutters words you barely understand, and as much as you want to pull out and ask, she hasn't told you to stop.
That only gets you to push it further, a firmer grasp on her head to drive your hips forward. Spit begins to accumulate around her mouth, dripping down to coat you; a sound akin to a whine vibrates around your shaft as her focus on the game breaks.
Her head fights back against your pushes for a moment, your grip relaxing to let her talk. “Let me finish this match first,” she mutters before her lips meet your tip, wrapping around you and keeping you in her mouth.
It’s absurd, how warm her mouth is. Managing to get you squirming without moving an inch, only the sliding of her tongue up and down the tip of your cock. Tongue swirling and cheeks hollowing gets your thighs flexing from the sheer pressure that she’s inflicting upon you. Your fingers come back resting on her hair, gripping her dark locks, wanting—needing to take back control.
So you do. Hands start to push and pull her around your cock, and she’s spluttering; fingers stumbling around her phone, causing it to fall down to the couch. They find your thighs, steadying herself as she manages to fall down to her knees, using her mouth for the sinful pleasure that she offers. Even with the spittle that starts to fall down her chin, the glare that her eyes are piercing you with, and the slight whine she makes as you so rudely interrupt her game, she makes no movement to stop you.
Hell, it feels like she’s leaning into it. Decency thrown out the window as more drool comes to coat your cock, bobbing her head faster than the pace you’ve set. The annoyance in her eyes fading away for this hunger that you’ve caused.
And you relish in it. Your hips thrust up just as her head comes down, your moans and praises of her lips meshing with the dirty noises that she creates, pushing you further down to your end.
“Sooin–” Your head leans back, hissing in a breath when you make her take you deep, throat convulsing around you. The sheer suction makes you weak, your thighs shaking, the grip on her head loosening. Sooin takes it as a chance to pull away, and you’re already missing the warmth of her lips around you.
“Don’t tell me when,” she says, stroking you with both hands and all that spit on your length makes it feel all so much better than it should. “Just cum in my mouth whenever, alright?”
Sooin takes you back in, and it’s taking everything in your power not to cum right then and there. Her enthusiasm is starting to take control, shining in her eyes and in her actions when her pace grows feral. The squelching and sucking grows insistent, getting your legs to lock up and grow rigid around her frame.
Your hands can’t stop themselves from taking hold of her hair, your breath ragged as you thrust into her mouth. Wanting some semblance of dictating when you inevitably let your load flood her, you take the reins back from her and start to pound away at her tight, wet throat.
Stopping has left your mind; the only thing that needs to be done is feed her your cum, using her mouth as she wants you to—as much as you can for the whole thing. And that single realization gets you to emptying your seed straight into the back of Sooin’s throat.
Each single pump of your hips elicits a moan from you, her hums at every pulse of your cock vibrating around your length. She takes every shot of your cum without complaint, milking you for everything you’re worth. Swallowing it all, even when some manage to spill over, leaking down her lips as the remains of your load begin to tide over.
Sooin makes a slow journey upward, releasing you with a wet pop. “Someone was pent up,” she teases, swiping what she couldn’t swallow off her chin and thumbing it into her waiting mouth. “You made me lose my game, by the way.”
“Yeah, well,” you breathe out, watching her run her tongue across your length, cleaning up any spit and seed that’s coating your length. “Pretty sure you can win the rank back easy.”
Her eyes roll, shaking her head at you with a smile. “Sure, I can.” She taps your cock against her swollen lips, giving the head a chaste kiss. “Can I go back to playing, or do you still need me here?”
“You and your games, Sooin.” Nodding at her with a chuckle, she gives you a few taps on your thigh before she rises up from the floor. Walking away from you for the moment to wash her hands, she comes right back to lay her head on your lap, phone in her hand and continuing her game.
As if she’s ready for you to do the same thing all over again.
The next two games she played resulted in her getting a day ban from going idle too much on ranked games. You tell yourself it wasn’t your fault that it happened.
Not at all.
—
The kiddies gloves come off after that, and the both of you decided to take full advantage of the situation you’ve ended up in. Your reluctance to follow through with this whole free use bet slash arrangement’s faded, and now every waking hour or so is spent with your cock inside of Sooin in some way, shape, or form.
You were eating dinner when Sooin got on her knees to blow you under the table, making sustenance a forgotten necessity in favor of the carnal pleasures of bending her over the table and railing a load into cunt instead.
She’d be in the shower sometime after, and she’s trying to ignore the fact that you jumped in with her, wedging your cock in between her thighs. Lathering her hair up with shampoo as you thrust between the heavenly flesh that she’s blessed with. Painting the shower wall with your cum just as she starts to soap herself up, and you join her in taking a shower after.
Can’t say you two didn’t take an hour in there, considering she wanted a round getting pounded. You’re surprised that you still had hot water by the end of it.
Her bed’s been shared by the both of you by the time you two were heading to bed, Sooin making you remember just how good of a lay she was by wringing a load out of you, the view of her ass rippling as she rides you making her achieve her goal embarrassingly quickly.
And you get her back by waking her up that morning with gentle kisses planted across her neck, your hands roaming around her body and ending up between her legs, two fingers knuckle deep inside her. Getting the sheets wet and ruined by the end of it, and you two end up complaining about who’s gonna do the laundry for it (you will).
The second day was infinitely worse than the first one, when breakfast became brunch due to Sooin wanting you on your knees, eating her out as an alternative to the morning coffee you two normally make. It ends up with the two of you swapping places, using her throat and coating her face with your cum at the end of it.
In reality, it ended when she was fucking herself on your cock right next to where your coffee was brewing, back arched and bucking back against you. It left the both of you tired, and how brunch was the only thing that made the both of you pause.
Absolute fucking degenerates, and it’s only been day two out of seven.
Which was why you invited Sooin out to pay her back for everything she bought by taking her to the mall and—
“Anything I want?” She doesn’t believe you when those words come out of her mouth. Not with how ‘frugal’ you are, or however she puts it when all you actually do is build up your savings.
Excuse you for being a responsible adult.
“Within reason,” you correct, hands on your hips, stern face and all. “I’m not as rich as you are, Miss Bottega Veneta.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She waves you off, already turning around and walking away from you. “Come on, I know just the place where I can mooch off you.”
“Please don’t tell me it actually is Bottega Veneta.” You can hear your bank account crying out in protest inside your wallet. Quickly catching up to her, you two walk to the elevator. “I literally can’t afford that type of thing.”
“Relax,” Sooin laughs, pressing the up button. Your eyes glance up to the top, where the arrow lights up. “We can check out the department store first. I can probably get something in your budget, you stingy fuck.”
The elevator dings open, conveniently empty. “I’m not stingy,” you refute, entering the elevator first, finger pressing the fourth floor while Sooin follows suit, leaning back against the wall. “I’m trying to budget things. You know, like any adult would?”
“Oh come on–” She’s rolling her eyes at you with a grin. “We’re in college. We can afford to not be adults sometimes.”
“You can,” you argue, hands in your pockets, turning to face her. “I’m on a scholarship and you’re rich enough to probably buy this mall.”
“Let’s not go that far.” Her tone makes you think otherwise, because for all you know she actually could right this second. Another ding rings out, and the elevator doors swing open to your floor. “Come on–” She’s hooking her arm around yours. “Let’s go, Mister Sugar Daddy.”
“What the fuck did you just call me–”
The next hour consisted of you following Sooin around, browsing through the numerous bits and bobbles, clothes and accessories, doodads and thingy-ma-jigs that get her attention. Started off with checking out a new set of tableware (which was maybe needed), to a new TV (definitely not needed), whatever new phone just released (“Sooin, you just bought a new one.”).
You end up by the mattresses, where Sooin jokingly said about buying a king size so that you two can actually fit in the bed and then some. As to which you replied by asking her how the fuck you’ll fit the damn bed into either of your rooms.
And when you start walking towards the clothing section, the oddest combination of dread and excitement settle in your body. Not because you were scared of what Sooin would choose to try out (seeing her in a bikini would be a dream come true for you) but of what she would try to pull with you knowing the bet.
Because you just know she’s going to pull some shit that might get the both of you kicked out the store and the mall.
So when she picks out a few clothes and heads to the fitting room to try them out, it’s no surprise when you get pulled into one of the stalls when no one was watching. You almost let out a yelp but her hand covering your mouth muffles the noise.
Sooin shushes you, a finger on her lips, waiting for you to show some semblance of relaxing before pulling away to close the door behind her. Hanging up the clothes on the wall rack, you were about to ask her the most obvious question on the planet, yet she speaks before you do.
“You know why I pulled you in here,” she states, pulling her jacket off and adding it to the rest of the clothes that she might not ever try out.
“In public?” Because of course you have to ask the second most obvious question.
“We have a room that can be locked and it’s big enough for two,” she answers, pushing you down to the small little chair tucked away in the corner. “Private enough for me.” She’s on her knees, fingers making quick work of your belt buckle and your zipper. One quick tug and she has your cock in her hands, at half mast and lazily stroking you with a sensual smile and a raise of her brow. “Relax, I picked the furthest room for a reason.”
“Couldn’t wait for us to get home before we do this?” It’s not a complaint so much as it is an observation. Your hands are already moving to weave through her locks when she takes you in her mouth, cock slowly growing harder in her mouth.
“We can do it quick,” she mutters, almost inaudible when her lips stay attached to you. “‘Sides, ever wanted to see ourselves fuck?”
Your eyes glance towards the wall, glass ordaining and reflecting you both; Sooin blowing you zealously, that smoky look she gives you through the mirror making you throb in her mouth. Scoffing and shaking your head, a grin begins forming in your features. “Fuck it.” You nod to the wall. “Up against the mirror, Swim.”
Sooin grins, standing up and turning around to face the mirror. Her hands rest on the wall, chest flush against it as she pushes her ass back against you, the shorts she has on pulled down to her ankles along with her underwear to show that beautiful, beautiful fit ass of hers that are paired with her toned legs that you’re wishing would be wrapped around your head again.
Oh, well. Much important matters at hand right now, such as rubbing your tip against her dripping folds. It gets her wiggling her ass back at you, Sooin’s heated gaze through the mirror telling you to hurry the fuck up and dick her down.
You’re pushing in, warm, wet heat enveloping your every inch and a soft moan escaping her lips. Letting yourself be taken away into the tight vice-lip grip she has on you until you bottom out against her the plush cushion of her ass.
Allowing yourself to take your time with her, even for just a small moment, you pull back, taking inch by inch of your shaft out of her until the very last possible moment where you could ram back in, and gasps and grunts begin filling the small space.
She grows louder first, the dirty curses and quiet gasps that can no longer be contained make you thrust faster, pound her harder until the sounds of your skin hitting hers begin to join. And even with the danger of getting caught, her eyes continue to plead with you.
More.
Your grip on her waist tightens, and you’re hammering into her without a care in the world. The sounds no longer matter to you, nor do the dangers of someone unlocking that door and finding you both.
The only thing that’s important to you is to have Sooin leaving this room satisfied and possibly unable to walk, and you’re damn well going to make sure that happens.
You reach out, a palm moving to cover her mouth as your strokes become faster, angling yourself higher to deep that spot that gets Sooin to fall apart in your arms. And you feel the change happen; her moans become loud whines, arm gripping up to yours in an attempt to hold herself together.
Yet you don’t want that. What you want is for her to become undone and flooding your cock with her juices, so you lean in close. Hot breath tickling her ear as you whisper those wants of yours and making them into reality.
She’s quivering in your grip, her eyes shutting tight as your words start to dirty her already filthy mind. “Fuck–” Her voice comes out muffled in your palm as you continue to spout out for her to cum on your cock, to make her wet the floor with how much she’d be squirting all over you.
It does a number on you too, when you feel her walls clench around you so fucking tight that every thrust is a battle of your willpower. She spurs you on, driving you forward into this animalistic urge to rut into her cunt until you spill your cum inside her.
And when her eyes snap open, you can see the need clouding them. The shrill scream that comes out of her is barely contained by your hand covering them, and she’s trembling in your arms, tightening up around your cock that the next thrust in sends you straight spiralling into your orgasm.
Each messy thrust you make spills more of your load inside her, her own dripping down her leg as you trap her between yourself and the wall. You’re leaving pecks on her neck as you fuck your cum inside her, taking your palm away from her mouth, her satisfied sighs music to your ears.
“That was–” You take a deep breath, inhaling her scent; the post-sex smell of her skin that’s bundled with the powdery notes of her perfume calming you down. “Fuck.”
“That’s what we did, yeah.” Her hand comes up to scratch the back of your head, massaging your scalp. “Still think that bet was a mistake?”
“I think we’re a little past that, Swim.” You gently remove yourself from her, and white starts to drip down her legs. “What you might want to ask yourself is if you still want to try those clothes.”
“Nah.” She pushes herself off the wall, fingers coming down to take a dollop of your cum. “Did you have to cum so much?” Even with her complaint, she’s taking it into her mouth for a taste. “Now my panties are gonna be ruined.”
You’re tucking yourself back into your trousers back up, shrugging at her. “Wonder who I have to blame for that,” you say, and that incites a chuckle out of Sooin.
“Right, my bad for wanting a quickie,” she replies, pulling her underwear and shorts back up. “I’ll be sure to tell you to cum down my throat next time so we don’t mess up more of my clothes.”
She gently shoves you away, shooing you off the stall first with a playful smirk. “Head back to the mattresses, I know what I want to get.”
“Sooin, we don’t have space for a bed.”
“Yeah, we do. We’ll just throw away our old ones.”
—
Depending on how you look at it, things either got better or worse the longer the week went on.
Nothing productive has happened inside your apartment the moment you two managed to fit a King size bed into your room, and if there was, it wasn’t for long once one of you got hold of the other.
Getting woken up every morning by her wet mouth enveloping your flaccid length, throating you until you blow a load straight down her stomach or being awake enough to pull her up and get her riding you in bed has become a daily occurrence.
Your breakfasts, lunches, and dinners all end up a messy affair, with her getting you to eat her out or you getting her on her knees after eating. Which oftentimes lead to someone getting bent over or fucked on the chair.
And don’t even get started on when it happens before you two eat. That only gets you even hungrier for food, and even more starved to continue fucking after.
The risque and riskier kinks start happening, when she gets you to plow her right in front of the apartment window, not a care in the world whether anyone sees or not. And you get right back when you get her to suck you off in the apartment stairwell after grabbing dinner outside for once.
“You know that there’s a camera watching us, right?” she asks, not a hint of concern in her face as she follows you to the letter, knees hitting the floor and hands playing with the button of your pants.
“The same camera that we’ve been telling the landlord’s broken?” Your hands pull her hair into a makeshift ponytail. “Yeah, I know.” And you’re fucking her face until you paint her pretty face in streaks of white.
Sooin’s uncaring of it in the end, your cum dripping down her face as you walk back up the steps, onto your floor and into your apartment. The sight has you immensely fucked in the head, and that gets her fucked somewhere in the apartment again.
You two just do it anywhere, everywhere. Not a single place in your apartment is unsullied, a single area in your apartment building untouched. The rooftop, the parking lot, the fucking lobby—you’re not even sure how you managed to get away with that without getting caught.
You’re sure Sooin finds ways to, of course.
The pair of you keep on going and going and going, the days blurring by full of the filthiest sex you’ve ever had in your entire life. Your dick has never felt more thankful while simultaneously begging you to take a fucking break because really, when are you not fucking Sooin nowadays?
It’s second nature at this point. Wake up, fuck, eat, fuck, take a nap, fuck, do some chores, fuck, sleep—it’s a whole process that runs on either one of you telling the other how they want to get laid, where she wants your load, why you’re asking her how foldable she is or the like.
There aren't even any sort of verbal cues anymore. Simply walk up to the other and do what sort of debauchery in mind, finish and go back to whatever it was you were doing.
That last part might need some work, considering neither of you can successfully do that.
Jerk off to her face while she’s playing another game on her phone and watch the cum splatter all over her cheek, stain her hair, have it drip down her phone and all she’ll get angry about is the last bit because she lost her game, that stress released by having her bouncing on top of you until she cums.
Sooin on the phone with one of her friends (you can’t be sure whether it’s Anna or Gawon) when she spots you walking out of your room one morning, gesturing for you to get between her legs and eat her out. You’re amazed at how composed she sounded all throughout, especially when you turn her legs into jelly at the end and the most she’s ever let out was a scream that she disguised by saying that there was a mosquito in the room.
Fucking her in an alleyway on the way home from having lunch at the local ramen shop, the sun in the air adding the high of getting caught up a notch. Getting her on her knees to swallow your load right before you two would’ve gotten caught by some random passerby.
Her getting back at you with the magical treat of her mouth, sucking you off while you drove home. Almost ended in a disaster if you hadn't pulled over in time, another batch of your cum sent straight into her gullet.
Can't go an hour go by without one of you getting handsy, and it's like an average day for you now. Part of your daily life, constantly having sex with her, being readily available to fuck and get fucked.
And to think you were against this whole thing at the start.
So when the last day comes by and you’ve fucked another load into her while she did the dishes, you’re left asking:
“What happens when we wake up tomorrow?”
Sooin pauses, blinks, shrugs. “Dunno,” she answers all casual-like. “What do you want to happen?”
It’s unfair how she leaves the ball in your court. Like she wants to hear your answer before she commits to hers, pretending to not care when she doesn’t bother to even look at you, her attention on the television playing some movie.
“Well,” you ponder, pursing your lips in thought. “We’re either gonna keep fucking or we go back to not fucking.”
“That’d be a shame.” She points the remote to the TV.
Your head turns toward her. “What would?”
“Not fucking.” The channel swaps. “We should keep it going.”
“What?” It’s the fact that she looks so unbothered that’s making you question how serious she is. You sit up straighter, entire chest tilting toward her now. “You’re serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Her knuckles rest on the side of her head. “We’d probably need to stop with the random quickies when the semester starts, and it’s not like we can’t go back to not fucking with the amount of sex we’ve had the entire week.”
Your jaw hangs low, unsure of what to say. Thanks Sooin, that’s such a good idea. Maybe we should also put a label on us too? Sounds like such an insane thing to pull, and you’ve grown quiet to the point that Sooin takes a glance at you.
“You don’t gotta say anything.” She nudges you with her elbow. “It’s a good thing we got going. Long as you’re good, I’m good.”
“And that makes us, what–” You shake your head. “Fuck buddies?”
She laughs. Says sure, it’s not like she’ll be looking for anyone else when she’s got you. Long as you don’t go looking for no Chaewon’s or Chaeyoung’s or whatever name they got she’ll be a-okay.
And you’re scoffing, smiling and agreeing to the whole thing with a kiss to her cheek; getting her to roll her eyes at you and give you another, harder nudge with her elbow.
“Okay, man,” she chuckles. “The kiss was a bit much.”
“Oh come on–” you let out a laugh. “You can take my cum on your face but you draw the line with a kiss on the cheek?”
“Well, when you put it like that–” Sooin lands her gaze on you, smile playing on her lips, mischief in her eyes. “It does sound a little stupid, doesn’t it?”
She closes the distance between you, pressing her lips against yours for a quick kiss. “Happy?”
“Yeah, Swim.” You tap your finger between your lips. “Maybe one more for good measure?”
A shove. “Don’t push it, asshole.” A beat passes. Her hands fumble around your sweatpants.
“We can do one more round for the road.”
—
When the morn comes around after a late night of getting Sooin to ruin the bedsheets again (you’ve discovered that she’s a squirter when you pound her ass up, face down), you wake up to a Sooin-less bed, and that alone gets you up and about. Spot her eating a sandwich with some strawberry jam filling, fighting to stay awake as she stares at her laptop.
Greet her a good morning and sit down next to her on the couch. “What’s got you up so early?”
“Gotta get my schedule sorted out,” she mumbles, taking another bite of her bread. “Why didn’t you tell me we already could?”
“I did.” You slide down the sofa, getting more comfortable. “Like two days ago.” You’re not about to tell her that you reminded her of it while she was getting fucked on top of the laundry machine, of course.
You know when your life is on the line.
She lets out a groan, complaining about her classes being so early, getting the shitty professors and the shitty schedule and all you can think about are her luscious thighs peeking underneath your shirt she has on.
Reaching out, fingers resting on the soft skin, caressing upwards to feel more; all to be stopped with a slap on the wrist.
“Not now, dude,” she says, her hand coming back to slide a finger across the touchpad. “I really want a decent schedule for next semester.”
You blink. Your brain catching up to what you’re body is doing and you remember:
Right. Bet’s over, no more fucking for the fun of it and all the shenanigans that it entails (shame, you’ll miss it immensely). It’ll be a smooth transition (it won’t, you’re already suffering withdrawals not being balls deep inside her right now) from not having sex all the time.)
“Alright, alright,” you relent, taking a glance at the kitchen counter. “Want some coffee?”
“Please,” she replies, making you groggily stand up to make two cups. She stops you with a glance and your name, making you turn back to her.
“Fuck me when I’m done with this?”
You chuckle, roll your eyes and wave a hand in the air.
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Tags : Cheating, Stealing someones Boyfriend, Fake Friend, Bathroom Sex, Over The Top Moaning, Facial, Cum Drinking, Obsession, Obsessive Love, Jealousy, Hickeys, Marking, Manipulation, Manipulative Girl, Mating, Rich Girl, Drama
Words : 9,712 Words
The café smelled like roasted espresso beans and the faint vanilla of Yujin’s perfume. She sat across from you, her fingers wrapped around a ceramic mug, steam curling upward in lazy spirals. Her eyes—god, those eyes—crescented into half-moons as she laughed at something you’d said, something stupid about the barista’s mustache, and you felt that familiar warmth bloom in your chest. The one that made you forget words. The one that made you stupid.
“You’re staring again,” she said, tucking a strand of caramel-brown hair behind her ear.
“Can’t help it.”
“Creep.” But she smiled when she said it. She always smiled when she said it.
Two months. Two months of this—of Sunday morning café dates, of her head on your shoulder during late-night bus rides, of her fingers tracing absentminded patterns on your palm while she talked about her art history classes. Yujin was the kind of beautiful that didn’t announce itself. It crept up on you. The way her nose crinkled when she concentrated. The way she bit her lower lip when she was nervous. The way she said your name like it was a secret only she knew.
And then there was Wonyoung.
Wonyoung, who had been Yujin’s best friend since middle school. Wonyoung, who had stared at you a beat too long the first time Yujin introduced you three weeks ago. Wonyoung, who kept finding excuses to touch your arm, your shoulder, your back. Who texted you at odd hours with questions that felt like traps. Who looked at you like you were a puzzle she was itching to solve.
You’d tried to ignore it. Told yourself you were being paranoid. But last Thursday, at Yujin’s apartment, Wonyoung had “accidentally” walked in on you changing in the bathroom—door locked, she’d claimed it must be broken—and instead of apologizing and backing out, she’d stood there. Just for a heartbeat. Just long enough for her gaze to drag down your chest before she laughed and closed the door.
You hadn’t told Yujin. What were you supposed to say? Your best friend is being weird and I don’t know why. It sounded pathetic. Paranoid.
But today. Today you’d decided.
“Yujin,” you started, and your voice came out rougher than you intended. “I need to talk to you about something.”
Her smile faltered. “That sounds serious.”
“It’s about Wonyoung.”
The smile didn’t just falter—it dropped. “What about her?”
You leaned forward, elbows on the table. The wood was sticky with old varnish. “She’s been… I don’t know how to say this without sounding crazy. She’s been acting weird around me. Getting too close. Touching me. Saying things that feel… off.”
Yujin’s brow furrowed. “Wonyoung? No, she’s just friendly. She’s always been like that.”
“Friendly is one thing. This is different.” You reached across the table, your fingers brushing her knuckles. “I think she’s trying to—I don’t know—cause problems. Between us.”
“That’s insane.” But there was a crack in her voice. A hairline fracture.
“Is it? She walked in on me in the bathroom last week. The door was locked, Yujin. She unlocked it somehow. And she just stood there.”
Yujin pulled her hand back. Her jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I didn’t want you to think—”
“Hey, lovebirds!”
The voice cut through the café like a scalpel. Bright. Sharp. Deliberately cheerful.
Wonyoung.
She was weaving between tables, her pleated skirt swishing against her thighs, a cardigan draped over her shoulders like she’d stepped out of a luxury ad. Her hair—black, glossy, falling in sheets past her shoulders—caught the light. She looked like a painting. The kind that made you uncomfortable and you couldn’t explain why.
“Yujin told me you guys were here,” Wonyoung said, sliding into the booth next to Yujin without asking. “Hope you don’t mind. I was in the neighborhood and I’m starving.”
Yujin shot you a look—apologetic, confused, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface. “I texted her earlier. Before we talked. I forgot.”
Of course she had. Of course.
Wonyoung picked up a menu, her eyes flicking to you over the laminated edge. “You look tense, Y/N. Everything okay?”
“Fine.”
“You sure? You’ve got that little vein thingy.” She pointed at her own temple. “Right here. Pops out when you’re stressed.”
“I’m fine.”
She shrugged, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “If you say so.”
The next twenty minutes were a slow-motion disaster. Wonyoung dominated the conversation, her laughter too loud, her anecdotes too long, her hand landing on your forearm every time she made a point. Yujin grew quieter. You could see it happening—the way she retreated into herself, the way her eyes darted between you and Wonyoung, the way her fingers started picking at a loose thread on her sleeve.
You needed to get out. Just for a minute. Just to breathe.
“Bathroom,” you muttered, sliding out of the booth.
The men’s room was cramped and smelled like industrial cleaner and stale piss. You gripped the sink, stared at yourself in the scratched mirror. Your reflection looked haggard. Pale. The vein on your temple was, in fact, popping out.
You splashed water on your face. Counted to ten. Told yourself everything would be fine. You’d talk to Yujin later. Alone. You’d make her understand.
When you walked back to the table, everything had shifted.
Yujin was rigid. Her knuckles white around her mug. Her eyes—those eyes that had crescented into half-moons twenty minutes ago—were wet. Red-rimmed. Fixed on you with something that looked like fury.
“Yujin? What’s—”
“Don’t.” Her voice cracked. Splintered. “Don’t you dare.”
Wonyoung sat beside her, one hand on Yujin’s shoulder. Her face was a mask of pained innocence. Her lower lip trembled. She looked like she might cry.
“What’s going on?” Your stomach dropped. Plummeted. Somewhere in the vicinity of your shoes.
“She told me.” Yujin’s voice was barely a whisper. “She told me what you did.”
“What I did? I didn’t do anything!”
“You tried to kiss her.” Yujin’s hands were shaking now. “At my apartment. Last week. When I went to get takeout. You tried to kiss my best friend.”
The words didn’t make sense. They bounced off your brain, refused to land. “I—what? No. No, that’s not—Wonyoung, what the fuck are you talking about?”
Wonyoung flinched. Flinched, like you’d raised a hand to her. “He cornered me in the kitchen,” she said, her voice small. Fragile. “He said… he said you wouldn’t mind. That you’d never know.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want to hurt you, Yujin. But I couldn’t keep lying.”
“She’s lying!” Your voice came out louder than you meant. Heads turned. “Yujin, she’s fucking lying. I would never—I didn’t—”
“Then why did she say it?” Yujin was standing now. Her purse clutched to her chest like a shield. “Why would my best friend since middle school make up something like that?”
“Because she’s trying to ruin us! That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier! She’s been—”
Splash.
Ice water. Right in your face. Right in your eyes, your nose, your open mouth.
Yujin set the empty glass down on the table. Her hand was steady. Her eyes were not.
“You’re an awful guy,” she said. Quiet. Final. Like closing a book.
“Yujin, please—”
But she was already walking. Already halfway to the door. Already gone.
The café was silent. Staring. The barista’s mustache twitched. Someone’s spoon clinked against a saucer.
And Wonyoung—
Wonyoung was smiling.
Not the pained, innocent mask from a moment ago. Something else entirely. Something that made your blood go cold and hot at the same time.
She waited until the café door swung shut behind Yujin. Waited until the murmurs of other customers resumed, until the attention shifted away from your dripping face and your shaking hands and your eyes that were—god, were you crying? You were crying. When had you started crying?
“Oh, sweetheart.” Wonyoung’s voice had changed. Dropped. The innocence sloughed off like a snake shedding skin. “You really thought you could warn her? Thought she’d pick you over me?”
You couldn’t speak. Your throat had closed up. Your chest was a clenched fist.
She stood. Slow. Deliberate. Her heels clicked against the tile as she rounded the table. Click. Click. Click. Each step a punctuation mark.
Her fingers found your chin. Tilted your face up. Your cheeks were still wet—from the water, from the tears, from the absolute wreckage of the last three minutes.
“That girl,” Wonyoung murmured, her thumb brushing the corner of your mouth, “is so fucking dumb. Not even wanting to hear the guy who she said was the man of her life.” She cupped your face now. Both hands. Her palms warm against your jaw. “But I’m not Yujin, Y/N.”
She leaned closer. Her breath ghosted over your lips. Vanilla. The same perfume as Yujin. She must have borrowed it. Or stolen it. Or—
“I know what I want,” she whispered. “And I know how to get it.”
Your brain was screaming. Sirens. Red flags. Every instinct telling you to push her away, to run after Yujin, to fix this, fix this, FIX THIS—
But your body wasn’t moving.
Wonyoung’s smile widened. “There we go. That’s better. I’ve been waiting weeks for you to look at me like this.”
“Like what?” The words scraped out of you. Raw.
“Like you’re terrified.” She pressed her thumb against your lower lip. “And a little bit turned on.”
“I’m not—”
“Shh.” She pulled you up. Up, out of the booth, your legs unsteady beneath you. “We’re going to the bathroom.”
“What? No—”
“It wasn’t a question.”
She dragged you. Actually dragged you—her grip surprisingly strong on your wrist, her stride confident, weaving past tables and chairs and the mustachioed barista who suddenly found the pastry case fascinating. The women’s bathroom door swung open and she shoved you inside and locked it behind her.
The fluorescent light was harsh. Humming. The tile was pink—a weird, outdated pink that reminded you of your grandmother’s bathroom. There was a potted plant in the corner that looked like it had been dead for months.
And Wonyoung was pressing you against the sink.
“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” Her hands were on your chest now. Palms flat. Fingers splayed. “Since the first time Yujin brought you to game night. You were wearing that stupid flannel. You made some dumb joke about Monopoly. And I thought— that one. I want that one. ”
“Wonyoung, this is—”
“What? Wrong?” She laughed. It was a bright, sharp sound. Genuinely amused. “Yujin thinks you tried to kiss me. She’s probably crying in a taxi right now. There’s nothing left to save, baby boy.”
Baby boy.
The word hit you somewhere low. Somewhere you didn’t want to acknowledge.
Her fingers found the hem of your shirt. Tugged. “Let’s see what you’ve been hiding under all these layers.”
“Wonyoung, stop—”
Rrrrrip.
The sound was obscene in the small bathroom. Cotton tearing. Threads snapping. Your shirt—your favorite shirt, the one Yujin had bought you for your birthday—hung in tatters from your shoulders.
Wonyoung’s eyes went dark. Hungry. Her tongue darted out to wet her lower lip.
“There it is,” she breathed. Her fingernails traced down your chest. Light. Feather-light. Leaving trails of heat in their wake. “Yujin never mentioned you had abs. Selfish girl. Keeping this all to herself.”
“She’s not selfish, she’s—”
“She’s gone.” Wonyoung’s voice hardened. “She’s gone and I’m here and I’m going to give you something she never could.”
Your back hit the mirror. Cold glass against your shoulder blades. Wonyoung’s hands were everywhere—your chest, your stomach, the waistband of your jeans. Her mouth found your neck and she bit down.
Hard.
You gasped. It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t not pain. It was something in between, something electric that shot down your spine and made your fingers curl against the edge of the sink.
“Mmm,” she hummed against your skin. “You taste better than I imagined.”
“You imagined—?”
“Oh, baby boy.” She pulled back just enough to look at you. Her lipstick was smeared. Her pupils were blown wide. “I’ve imagined everything.”
Her mouth crashed into yours.
It wasn’t a kiss. It was an invasion. Her tongue pushing past your lips, her teeth catching your lower lip, her hands fisting in what remained of your shirt. She kissed like she was trying to consume you. Devour you. Leave nothing behind.
And your body—traitor, traitor —responded.
Your hands found her waist. Her hips. The curve of her ass through that stupid pleated skirt. You didn’t remember deciding to touch her. You were just touching her, your fingers digging into the soft fabric, pulling her closer.
She moaned into your mouth. The sound vibrated through your teeth. “Mmmnpfh—yes, yes, that’s it. Touch me.”
Her skirt rode up. Your hands slid under. Her skin was hot. Burning. You felt the lace edge of her panties, the swell of her ass, the way she ground herself against your thigh.
“You’ve been so good,” she panted, breaking the kiss. A string of saliva connected your lips before snapping. “So loyal. So devoted. And she threw you away in two seconds flat. Didn’t even let you explain.”
“She was upset—”
“She was stupid.” Wonyoung’s hand dropped to your belt. Unbuckled it. Metal clinking. Leather sliding. “And I’m not. I’m not stupid, Y/N. I know exactly what I want.”
Your jeans hit the floor.
“Time,” she whispered, her fingers hooking into the waistband of your boxers, “for me to steal your kiss.”
She pulled them down.
“And your virginity.”
Her smile was a knife.
“Baby boy.”
Your cock sprang free, already half-hard, already betraying you in the most fundamental way possible. The cool bathroom air hit sensitive skin and you shivered.
Wonyoung looked down.
And her composure cracked.
“Oh,” she breathed. Just that. One syllable. Reverent. “Oh, you’ve been holding out on me.”
She dropped to her knees.
The pink tile must have been cold against her bare legs. She didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were level with your cock, her breath coming in little puffs that ghosted over the tip. Making it twitch. Making it ache.
“Look at this,” she murmured. Her index finger traced a vein along the underside. Feather-light. Barely there. “Yujin never mentioned you were packing, either. What a waste. What an absolute waste of a perfectly good cock.”
“Wonyoung, I don’t think we should—”
“Shut up.”
Not cruel. Just matter-of-fact. Like she was telling you the weather.
“You can pretend you don’t want this,” she said, her fingers wrapping around the base. Testing the weight. Her thumb circling the head. “You can pretend you’re a good boyfriend. But your cock doesn’t lie, baby boy. Your cock is very, very honest.”
She wasn’t wrong.
You were fully hard now. Throbbing. The tip flushed and slick with a bead of pre-cum that Wonyoung studied with clinical interest before smearing it with her thumb.
“I’m going to suck your cock now,” she announced, like she was reciting a grocery list. “And you’re going to watch. You’re going to watch me choke on it. And you’re going to think about how Yujin never did this for you. How she never got on her knees in a public bathroom and worshipped you like you deserved.”
“She—we hadn’t—”
“You hadn’t fucked yet?” Wonyoung’s eyes widened with genuine delight. “Oh, that’s precious. That’s absolutely precious. All this time, and she never once wrapped her pretty little lips around this gorgeous cock?”
Her tongue darted out. Licked a stripe up the underside. From base to tip.
Your hips bucked. Involuntary. Completely beyond your control.
“Slllrk.” The sound was wet. Obscene. She lapped at the head like it was a melting ice cream cone. “Mmm. Salty. I like it.”
And then she took you into her mouth.
Not gradual. Not tentative. She swallowed you whole, her throat opening up, her nose pressing against your pubic bone, her gag reflex apparently nonexistent.
“Glrk—mmmm—glrk—”
The sounds were filthy. Wet. Choking. Her throat constricted around your cock, muscles rippling, and you had to brace yourself against the mirror to keep from collapsing.
Her head started to move. Back. Forth. Her tongue working the underside, her cheeks hollowing, her lipstick smearing across your shaft in streaks of red.
“Fuck,” you breathed. The word escaped before you could stop it. “Fuck, Wonyoung—”
She pulled off with a wet pop. A rope of saliva connected her lips to your cock. “There you go. There’s the reaction I wanted.” Her hand replaced her mouth, stroking fast and slick and tight. “Say my name again.”
“Wonyoung—”
“Again.”
“Wonyoung—”
“Louder.”
“WONYOUNG.”
The name echoed off the pink tile. Bounced off the dead plant. Ricocheted through your skull.
She smiled. “Good boy.”
And swallowed you down again.
This time was different. Faster. Desperate. She sucked like she was trying to pull something out of you, her head bobbing furiously, her saliva dripping down your balls, her fingernails digging into your thighs. The sounds— glrk, slosh, splrt, glrk —filled the bathroom like a pornographic symphony.
Your hand found her hair. Tangled in the black sheets of it. You didn’t mean to pull. You pulled anyway.
She moaned around your cock. Vibrations shot through your shaft and up your spine and into the base of your skull.
“I’m—Wonyoung, I’m close—”
She pulled off immediately. “Not yet.”
“What?”
“I said not yet.” She stood, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her lipstick was destroyed. Her hair was a mess. Her eyes were wild. “You don’t get to cum until I’m wrapped around your cock. Until I feel you pulse inside me. Until I’ve marked you so thoroughly that Yujin can smell me on you from across the room.”
The mention of Yujin’s name was like ice water. For a moment—just a moment—clarity cut through the fog.
“This is wrong,” you said. “She’s your best friend.”
“She was my best friend.” Wonyoung’s hands were at her waist now. Unzipping her skirt. Letting it pool at her feet. “Past tense. The moment she chose to believe me over you—the moment she walked out that door—our friendship ended. And something else began.”
Her panties followed. Black lace. Drenched at the center. She stepped out of them, kicked them aside.
“Now.” She grabbed your cock. Squeezed. Hard enough to make you gasp. “Are you going to argue some more? Or are you going to fuck me against this sink?”
You should have argued. You know you should have argued.
But the skin of her thighs was slick with her own arousal. And her scent—musky, salty, something dangerously addictive—filled your lungs. And her hand was guiding your cock between her legs, and she was so wet, so impossibly wet, the lips of her cunt parting around your tip like they’d been waiting for you—
“Shlrrrp.”
The sound of your cockhead pushing into her. Just the tip. Just an inch.
Wonyoung’s head fell back. Her mouth opened. A sound came out that wasn’t a moan or a gasp but something in between, something that started low and climbed octaves until it was almost a whine.
“Yessssss,” she hissed. “Yes, that’s it. Push inside me. Fucking push.”
You pushed.
Her cunt was tight. Unbelievably tight. Hot and wet and gripping, the walls of her pussy fluttering around your shaft as you sank deeper, inch by agonizing inch. Her inner muscles clenched and released, clenched and released, like her body was trying to milk you before you’d even started moving.
“Slosh—schlick—splortch—”
The wet sounds of her arousal squelching around your cock. Obscene. Amplified by the bathroom’s acoustics. You could hear every drop of her cunt’s lubrication being displaced by your intrusion.
“Look,” she commanded. Her hand grabbed your jaw. Turned your face down. “Look at my pussy stretching around your cock. Look at it. ”
You looked.
It was obscene. Beautiful and obscene in equal measure. Her outer lips—puffy, swollen, a shade of pink that bordered on red—gripped your shaft like they were trying to swallow it. Her inner lips, smaller but no less eager, fluttered with each tiny movement. A trimmed strip of black hair adorned her mound, neat and deliberate, guiding your eye downward to where your bodies joined.
And above it all, her clit. Engorged. Peeking out from its hood. Glazed with her own slick.
“You’re inside me,” she breathed. “You’re inside Wonyoung. Not Yujin. Me. Say it.”
“I’m inside you.”
“Say my name.”
“I’m inside you, Wonyoung.”
“Now fuck me. Hard. I want to feel you in my throat.”
You grabbed her hips. Fingers sinking into soft flesh. And you fucked her.
Not gently. Not sweetly. You fucked her like you were trying to punish her—or yourself—or maybe both. Your hips snapping forward, your cock driving deep, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing off the walls.
Pap. Pap. Pap. Pap-pap-pap.
“Yes, yes, fuck yes,” Wonyoung chanted. Her fingers scrabbled at your shoulders, your chest, her nails leaving red crescents on your skin. “Harder. Harder. Break me. I want to feel this tomorrow. I want to feel you for a week.”
The sink dug into your back. The mirror fogged with your combined breath. You could see yourself in it—a distorted reflection of your own face, eyes wild, mouth open, sweat beading on your forehead.
And Wonyoung, her back arching, her tits still trapped in her blouse but bouncing with every thrust, the fabric straining against her nipples—hard, visible, outlined against the cotton like they were trying to punch through.
“You want to see them?” She noticed you looking. Noticed you noticing. “Go ahead. Rip it off. My clothes are already ruined anyway.”
You didn’t need to be told twice.
The blouse tore like paper. Buttons popped. Scattered across the tile like little plastic raindrops. Her bra followed—one sharp tug and the clasp snapped, the cups falling away, her tits spilling free.
They were perfect.
Round. Full. Pale skin with blue veins visible beneath the surface like rivers on a map. Her nipples were dark—darker than you’d expected—and erect, the areolas crinkled tight from arousal. They bounced with each of your thrusts, a hypnotic rhythm that made your mouth water.
“Suck them,” she demanded. “Bite them. Mark me. I want hickeys all over my tits. I want Yujin to see what you did to me.”
You bent your head. Took one nipple into your mouth. Sucked.
Glk-glk-glk.
The sound of your mouth working her breast, your tongue swirling around the stiff peak, your teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. Wonyoung’s response was immediate—a full-body shudder, her cunt clenching around your cock so hard you saw stars.
“Yes, yes, mark me! Suck harder! I want bruises!”
You sucked harder. Your cheeks hollowing. Your jaw aching. Meanwhile your other hand found her free breast, your fingers finding her nipple and pinching—twisting—pulling.
“Oh fuck—fuck—BOTH nipples, oh my god—”
Her cunt gushed. Literally gushed. A fresh wave of slick coating your shaft, dripping down your balls, splattering on the bathroom floor. The sound was unmistakable—a wet sqqquelch that seemed to go on forever.
“Did you just—”
“Almost,” she panted. “I almost came. You have no idea what you do to me. No one’s ever—I’ve never been this wet before.”
You pulled out. Just for a moment. Just to see.
Your cock was glistening. Coated in her arousal from base to tip, thick and translucent, strings of it connecting you to her like some kind of obscene web. Her cunt looked even more obscene—gaping slightly now, the hole you’d made visible, her lips puffy and flushed a deep, angry red.
“Don’t stop,” she whined. Actually whined. This woman who had been so composed, so calculating, so in control—now reduced to begging. “Please don’t stop. Put it back in. Fuck me. Fuck my pussy. Fuck it until I can’t walk.”
You slammed back inside her.
No pretense this time. No hesitation. Just pure, animal fucking. The kind that made your thighs burn and your lungs ache and your brain go blank.
Slap-slap-slap-slap-slap.
The rhythm was punishing. Brutal. Her tits bouncing wildly, her head thrown back, her mouth open in a silent scream. Your balls slapped against her ass with each thrust, heavy and full and aching for release.
“Choke me,” she gasped.
“What?”
“Choke me. Please. I want to feel your hand around my throat while you fuck me.”
Your hand moved before your brain caught up. Fingers wrapping around the column of her neck. Not squeezing—not yet—just resting there. Feeling her pulse hammering beneath your palm. Feeling her swallow.
“Harder.”
You squeezed.
Her eyes rolled back. Her tongue lolled out—long and pink and glistening. Drool leaked from the corner of her mouth, trailing down her chin, dripping onto her chest.
“Glrk—yes—glrk—”
The sounds she made were inhuman. Choked and wet and desperate. Her cunt clenched around you in rhythmic spasms, the walls of her pussy rippling, massaging your cock in waves.
And still you fucked her.
“I’m close,” you gritted out. “Wonyoung, I’m going to—”
“Cum inside me. Fill me up. I want to feel it. I want to walk out of here with your cum dripping down my thighs. I want to leave a trail of you all the way home.”
“But—birth control—”
“Not on it. Don’t care. Cum inside me. Do it. ”
The words shattered something in you.
Your orgasm hit like a freight train. Not gradual—not a building wave—but a sudden, explosive detonation at the base of your spine that radiated outward, consuming everything. Your vision went white. Your ears rang. Your cock pulsed—once, twice, three times, four times—each spasm pumping rope after rope of hot cum deep into her cunt.
“Splurt—splurt—splurt—”
You could hear it. Could feel it. The wet, rhythmic pumping of your seed flooding her pussy, filling her up, painting her inner walls white. It kept going—more than you thought you had in you—until your cum was leaking out around your still-buried cock, dripping down her thighs in thick, pearly rivulets.
Wonyoung’s orgasm hit a heartbeat after yours.
Her eyes—already rolled back—went completely vacant. Her tongue lolled further out of her mouth. Her whole body convulsed, seized, shook like she’d been hit with a live wire. Her cunt clamped down on your cock with brutal force, the contractions so strong they almost hurt, milking you, pulling every last drop of cum from your spent shaft.
“Sqqquirt—gush—sploosh—”
Fluid sprayed from her. Not urine—something else, something clear and odorless, something that splattered across your thighs and stomach and dripped onto the bathroom floor. Her whole body shook with the force of it, her legs giving out, her weight collapsing against you.
You caught her. Barely. Your own legs threatening to buckle.
For a long moment, neither of you moved.
You stayed inside her. Still hard. Still buried to the hilt. Her cunt still fluttering weakly around your cock, little aftershocks of pleasure rippling through her walls. Your cum—a slick, warm presence—pooled between your bodies, a shared secret.
“Slosh…”
The sound of you shifting inside her. The sound of your mingled fluids, thick and viscous, squelching with the movement.
Wonyoung’s eyes fluttered open. Dazed. Glazed. A smile spread across her face—slow and lazy and utterly satisfied.
“That,” she whispered, her voice hoarse from choking, “was worth the wait.”
She pulled back just enough to look down. To watch your cock—still half-hard—slide out of her used cunt. A flood of cum followed. Thick and white, gushing out of her gaping hole, trailing down her inner thighs.
“Look at that,” she breathed. “So much cum. You really filled me up, baby boy.”
She dragged a finger through the mess. Collected a glob of your mixed fluids. Brought it to her lips.
And sucked it clean.
“Mmmm.” Her eyes fluttered closed. “We taste good together.”
You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. Your brain was static, white noise, the hum of the fluorescent lights.
Wonyoung reached for her skirt. Stepped back into it. Didn’t bother with her panties—just kicked them under the sink and smoothed down the pleats. Her blouse—what was left of it—hung open, her marked tits on full display. She didn’t seem to care.
“Here’s what’s going to happen now,” she said, her voice calm. Collected. As if she hadn’t just been choking on your cock five minutes ago. “You’re going to go home. You’re going to think about what happened here. And you’re going to realize something.”
She stepped closer. Pressed a finger to your chest. Right over your heart.
“Yujin was never right for you. She was comfort. She was safe. But I’m what you need.”
“I love her,” you managed. Weak. Pathetic.
“You loved a version of her. A version that threw you away the second things got hard.” Wonyoung tilted her head. “I would never throw you away, Y/N. I just proved that. I fought for you. I took you. And I’m not giving you back.”
She leaned up. Pressed a kiss—soft, almost tender—to the corner of your mouth. Then your jaw. Then the hollow of your throat, directly over the hickey that was already darkening into a bruise.
“Go home,” she repeated. “Clean up. Rest. Because tomorrow…”
Her smile sharpened.
“Tomorrow, round two.”
She unlocked the door and slipped out, leaving you alone in the pink-tiled bathroom with your torn clothes and your shaking hands and the smell of sex heavy in the air.
The fluorescent light buzzed.
Somewhere in the distance, the café door chimed.
And you were still standing there, your cock wet with her cum and your own, when your phone vibrated in what remained of your jeans pocket.
A text.
From Yujin.
I’m sorry.
Two words. Trembling on the screen.
Then:
I want to talk. Can we meet tomorrow?
Your hand shook as you stared at the message. The bathroom mirror reflected your face—your marked throat, your swollen lips, your eyes that looked like they belonged to a stranger.
And from outside the door, just barely audible, came the distant sound of Wonyoung humming.
The bar was dim. Not romantic-dim, just sad-dim—the kind of lighting that made everyone look like they were attending their own funeral. You sat in a corner booth, the vinyl seat sticky beneath your thighs, a half-empty glass of whiskey sweating onto the scarred wooden table. You didn't even like whiskey. But ordering it felt appropriate. Penitent. Like flagellation in liquid form.
Yujin sat across from you.
She looked wrecked. Her eyes, usually bright enough to power a small city, were puffy and red-rimmed. Her caramel-brown hair hung limp around her face, unwashed, unbrushed. She'd chewed her bottom lip raw—a nervous habit you used to find endearing. Now it just looked painful.
Neither of you spoke for a long time.
The bar's jukebox wheezed out some forgotten country song. Glasses clinked. Someone laughed—a sharp, too-loud bark that made Yujin flinch.
"I'm sorry," she finally said. Her voice came out scraped. Raw. Like she'd been screaming. Or crying. Or both. "I'm so sorry, Y/N."
You didn't answer. Didn't know how. The whiskey glass was cool against your palm. Condensation dripped down your fingers.
"I should have listened." She reached across the table, her fingertips brushing your knuckles. Hesitant. Like she wasn't sure she still had permission to touch you. "I've been thinking about it all night. About everything you said. About Wonyoung. And I started remembering… things. Little things. The way she'd always find excuses to be around when you were there. The way she'd dress differently. The way she'd—" Her voice cracked. "God, I'm so stupid."
"You're not stupid."
"I am. I threw water in your face. In public. I didn't even let you explain." Tears spilled over her lashes. Tracked down her cheeks. "I believed her over you. My best friend over my boyfriend. What kind of person does that?"
The whiskey burned going down. You welcomed it. "She's been your friend since middle school."
"That doesn't matter. It shouldn't matter. I should have trusted you." Yujin's hand closed around yours. Squeezed. "Can we—can we fix this? Can we try? I'll talk to Wonyoung. I'll set boundaries. I'll do whatever it takes."
Whatever it takes.
The words hung in the air between you. Heavy. Accusatory.
Your chest tightened. Because you knew—you knew—that the next words out of your mouth would destroy her. Would destroy everything. But she deserved the truth. After everything, she deserved that much.
"Yujin." Your voice came out wrong. Hollow. "There's something I need to tell you."
Her hand stilled. "What is it?"
"I…" The words stuck in your throat. Your tongue felt too thick. "Last night. After you left the café. Wonyoung and I…"
You couldn't finish. Didn't have to.
Yujin's face went through stages. Confusion. Disbelief. A slow, creeping horror that drained the color from her cheeks and left her looking like a ghost. Her hand withdrew from yours. Slowly. Like touching you had suddenly become dangerous.
"What?" The word was barely a whisper. "What are you saying?"
"I fucked her." The words came out blunt. Brutal. No way to soften them. No way to make them hurt less. "In the bathroom. After you left. She—we—I fucked Wonyoung."
Silence.
Absolute, crushing silence.
Yujin's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound came out. Her eyes searched your face—looking for the joke, the lie, the misunderstanding. Finding nothing but the truth.
"You…" She swallowed. Tried again. "You had sex with Wonyoung? My Wonyoung? My—" Her voice shattered. "When? When did you—how—"
"Right after you left. She dragged me into the bathroom and she—" You stopped. How could you explain it? How could you make her understand something you didn't understand yourself? "I was upset. I was crying. And she just… she was there. And she—"
"Stop." Yujin held up a hand. Her fingers trembled. "Just stop. Please."
"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't—"
"Didn't what? Didn't mean to? Didn't want to?" Her voice rose, cracked, splintered into something jagged. "You could have said no. You could have pushed her away. You could have—"
"I know." Your eyes burned. "I know. And I didn't. I don't know why. I don't—"
"You don't know why?" A laugh burst out of her—ugly, disbelieving, soaked in anguish. "You don't know why you stuck your cock in my best friend? That's your excuse?"
There was no excuse. You had none. You sat there, gutted, while the woman you loved stared at you like you were a stranger. Like she'd never known you at all.
"I should go," you said. Pushed yourself up from the booth. "I shouldn't have—I'm sorry. I'll go."
"Wait." Yujin grabbed your wrist. Her grip was desperate. Fierce. "Wait. Don't—don't leave. I'm angry. God, I'm so angry. But I'm also—I'm the one who left first. I'm the one who didn't believe you. If I had just listened, none of this would have—"
"Don't." You pulled your wrist free. Gently. "Don't make excuses for what I did. You didn't make me fuck her. That was me. That was my choice."
"Was it?" Yujin's eyes searched yours. "She cornered you when you were vulnerable. She manipulated both of us. She—"
"Y/N! There you are!"
The voice cut through the bar like a blade through silk. Familiar. Sweet. Deadly.
Wonyoung.
She appeared at the edge of the booth like an apparition. Dressed in a black minidress that hugged every curve, her hair cascading in glossy waves past her shoulders, her lips painted a deep, bloody red. She looked immaculate. Untouchable. Like she'd stepped out of a magazine spread titled "Women Who Will Ruin Your Life."
And she was smiling.
"Wonyoung." Yujin's voice had gone flat. Cold. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same thing." Wonyoung's eyes flicked to you, then back to Yujin. Something sharp glinted in her gaze. Possessive. Territorial. "Meeting up with my boyfriend without telling me? That's not very nice, Yujin."
"Your—" Yujin stood up. Her chair scraped against the floor. "Your boyfriend? He's my boyfriend. He's been my boyfriend for two months. What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Was your boyfriend." Wonyoung slid into the booth, pressing herself against your side. Her arm looped through yours. Her breast pressed against your bicep. "Past tense. After what happened last night, I think we can all agree that things have changed."
"You—" Yujin's hands were shaking. "You fucking bitch. You planned this. You planned all of this."
"Planned?" Wonyoung's eyebrows rose. "I didn't plan anything. I just saw what I wanted and took it." She turned to you, her fingers trailing up your chest, her touch proprietary. "Speaking of which—I've been texting you all morning and you didn't reply to me at all. You know mommy is really, really needing that D, right?"
The word hit the table like a grenade.
Yujin made a sound—something between a gasp and a choke. Her face had gone white. Paper-white. Her eyes were huge, glistening, fixed on Wonyoung with an expression of absolute devastation.
"Mommy?" The word came out strangled. "You call her—he calls you—"
"That's between us." Wonyoung's smile was a knife. "You lost the right to know what goes on between us when you threw a glass of water in his face and walked out. Now. We should be going."
She tugged your arm. You didn't move.
Your eyes were on Yujin. On the tears streaming down her cheeks. On the way her chest heaved with silent sobs. On the absolute wreckage of her heart, written plain across her face.
"Y/N." Wonyoung's voice sharpened. "Let's go."
"I—" You looked at Yujin. At the woman who'd made you laugh until your stomach hurt. At the woman who'd traced patterns on your palm during bus rides. At the woman you'd been falling in love with, slowly and then all at once. "Yujin, I—"
"Please." Yujin's voice was tiny. Broken. "Please don't go with her. Please. I love you. I love you and I was stupid and I'm sorry and please, please don't—"
"She doesn't deserve you." Wonyoung's lips brushed your ear. Her breath was hot. Her perfume was intoxicating—something dark and expensive that made your head swim. "She threw you away. I picked you up. I worshiped you. I made you cum so hard you couldn't see straight. Did she ever do that? Did she ever get on her knees for you? Did she ever beg for your cock?"
Your cock twitched. Traitor. Fucking traitor.
"Come home with me." Wonyoung's hand slid down your chest. Down your stomach. Stopped just above your belt. "I'll make you feel so good, baby boy. Better than last night. Better than anything. I'll let you do things to me she never would. I'll let you destroy me."
Deep in your chest, something warred. Your heart screamed one thing—stay, comfort her, fix this, you love her, you love Yujin, you've always loved Yujin. But your body… your body remembered last night. Remembered the way Wonyoung's cunt had gripped your cock like a fist. Remembered the sounds she'd made—glorious, filthy, desperate sounds. Remembered the way she'd looked at you like you were a god.
"Y/N, please." Yujin's hand reached for you. Trembling. "Please. I'm begging you."
You looked at her hand. Looked at her face. Looked at the woman you'd thought you'd spend years with.
And then Wonyoung's fingers curled around your jaw. Turned your face toward hers.
"Eyes on me," she murmured. "You don't need her anymore. You have me. And I'm so much better."
Her lips brushed yours. Soft. Teasing. Promising.
"Let's go."
She stood. Pulled you with her. Your legs moved without permission—following her, trailing her, abandoning Yujin at the booth with her tears and her shattered apology and her outstretched hand that slowly, slowly fell to her side.
The bar door swung shut behind you.
Outside, a supercar idled at the curb—low and sleek and black, its engine purring like a predator. Wonyoung clicked a key fob and the doors lifted upward. Gull-wing. Of course. Because she couldn't do anything without making it a performance.
"Get in."
You got in.
The interior smelled like leather and Wonyoung's perfume. The seats hugged your body. The dashboard was a constellation of glowing instruments. She slid into the driver's seat, her dress riding up her thighs, revealing a flash of black lace that made your mouth go dry despite everything.
"Seatbelt," she said. Not a request.
You buckled it.
The engine roared. The car surged forward, pressing you back into your seat. Through the window, you caught one last glimpse of the bar—of Yujin stumbling out the door, her face a mask of grief, her hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes meeting yours for one terrible, eternal moment.
Then the car turned a corner. And she was gone.
"She'll get over it." Wonyoung's hand landed on your thigh. Squeezed. "They always do."
You didn't answer. Couldn't. Your throat was closed. Your chest was a hollow cavity where something vital used to live.
"Don't be sad, baby boy." Her fingers crept higher. Stroked the inseam of your jeans. Found the growing bulge there and pressed down. "I'm going to make you forget all about her. I'm going to make you forget your own name."
The drive was a blur. Wonyoung drove the way she did everything—elegantly, dangerously, one hand on the wheel and the other on your crotch. She ran red lights. Swerved between lanes. All while her palm ground against your cock, coaxing it to full hardness, her nails tracing patterns through the denim.
"How did you find me?" The question scraped out of you.
"Easy." She glanced at you, her smile sharp. "After I fucked you senseless last night, I installed a tracking app on your phone. Took me thirty seconds while you were still trying to remember how to breathe."
"You what?"
"Don't act so shocked. I told you—I know what I want and I know how to get it. You're what I want. So I'm keeping tabs on you. Literally." She squeezed your cock through your jeans. "Besides, you should be flattered. No one's ever wanted you badly enough to track you before."
The penthouse elevators opened directly into her apartment. No hallway. No foyer. Just doors sliding apart and suddenly you were standing in a living room that looked like it belonged in a architectural digest—floor-to-ceiling windows, white marble floors, furniture that cost more than your annual salary.
But Wonyoung didn't give you time to admire the view.
Her hands were on your chest the moment the elevator doors closed behind you. Shoving. Hard.
You stumbled backward. Hit a wall. Hit a doorway. Hit something soft and massive and—
The bed.
King-sized. Draped in charcoal silk sheets. Pillows piled high like clouds.
"Finally." Wonyoung climbed onto the bed, straddling your hips, her knees pressing into the mattress on either side of your thighs. The hem of her dress rode up. Higher. Higher. The black lace of her panties—drenched already, you could see the damp spot, could smell her arousal, musky and sharp and fucking intoxicating—pressed against the bulge in your jeans.
"I've been thinking about this all day." Her fingers found the buttons of your shirt. Popped them. One by one. Methodical. "Thinking about your body. Your cock. The way you felt inside me."
Cool air hit your chest. Then her mouth.
She didn't kiss—she devoured. Her lips attacked your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat. Her teeth scraped. Bit. Sucked. Leaving marks—purple-red bruises blooming on your skin like flowers.
"I'm going to mark every inch of you," she murmured against your sternum. "Every. Fucking. Inch. So when you look in the mirror tomorrow, all you see is me."
Her mouth moved lower. Her tongue traced the ridge of your pectoral. Her teeth closed around your nipple.
Sllrrk. Sllrrk. Glrk.
The sound of her sucking your nipple. Wet. Hungry. Her tongue swirling, her lips sealed tight, her cheeks hollowing as she pulled. The sensation was electric—sharp and hot and directly connected to your cock, which throbbed painfully against your zipper.
"Fuck—"
"Mmm." She released your nipple with a wet pop. A string of saliva connected her lips to your chest. "You like that? You like when mommy sucks your tits?"
"Yes—"
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I like it."
"Good boy." She attacked the other nipple. Same treatment—sucking, biting, licking, her tongue flicking the sensitive peak while her fingers twisted and pinched the one she'd already abused. Slrk-slrk-slrk. The sounds were filthy. Wet. Amplified by the acoustics of the massive bedroom.
Your hips bucked. Involuntary. Your cock grinding against the heat between her legs.
"Eager." She pulled back. Grinned down at you. Her lipstick was smeared. Her hair was wild. She looked feral. Gorgeous. Terrifying. "I like eager. But we're doing this my way. Which means I'm in control. Which means you stay still while I mark you up like the good little toy you are."
Her mouth returned to your body. Neck. Shoulders. Chest. Stomach. She left hickeys everywhere—dark, angry bruises that would take weeks to fade. She bit your hip bone. Sucked a mark into the V-line above your jeans. Licked the trail of hair below your navel.
"Sit up." She pulled back. "Take off your shirt. The rest of it."
You obeyed. Your ruined shirt joined the growing pile of clothes on her floor.
"Now watch."
She stood. Reached behind her. Unzipped the black dress. The fabric slithered down her body, pooling at her feet like a shadow made liquid. Underneath, she wore a black lace bra and the matching panties you'd glimpsed in the car. Her body was flawless—toned thighs, a narrow waist, tits that overflowed the cups of her bra, spilling pale flesh over black lace.
"You're staring." She unhooked the bra. Let it fall. Her tits bounced free—full and round, her nipples dark and already erect, the areolas crinkled tight. "You can touch them. Later. First—"
She hooked her thumbs into her panties. Dragged them down her thighs. Stepped out of them. Kicked them aside.
Her cunt was beautiful. There was no other word. A neat strip of trimmed black hair above the mound. Outer lips plump and puffy, already swollen with arousal. Inner lips—smaller, pinker—peeking out, glistening with her slick. Her clit was visible, peeking from its hood, engorged and begging for attention.
"Now." She dropped to her knees at the edge of the bed. Her hands found your belt. Unbuckled it. Unzipped your jeans. "Lift your hips."
You lifted. She peeled your jeans down. Your boxers followed. Your cock sprang free, slapping against your stomach—fully hard, the tip flushed purple, pre-cum beading at the slit. The shaft was veined and thick, curving slightly upward, the weight of your balls heavy and full beneath.
"There you are." Wonyoung wrapped her fingers around the base. Squeezed. A bead of pre-cum welled up and she caught it with her thumb, smearing it across the head. "I've been thinking about this cock all day. Couldn't concentrate on anything. Couldn't think about anything except how it felt stretching my tight little cunt."
She leaned forward. Her tongue darted out. Licked the slit.
Schllrrp.
Salty. Bitter. You watched her eyes flutter closed, watched her savor the taste like it was fine wine.
"Mmmmn." She licked again. Longer this time. From base to tip, tracing the thick vein on the underside. "So good. So fucking good. I could lick this cock for hours."
Her mouth opened. Wider. Wider. She took the head between her lips, her tongue swirling around the crown, dipping into the slit, lapping up the pre-cum that leaked steadily now.
"Suck it properly." Her voice was muffled. She spoke around your cock like she was talking to herself. "Suck it the way it deserves. The way Yujin never did."
The mention of Yujin's name was a needle in your chest. But the pain was distant. Drowned out by the feeling of Wonyoung's mouth sliding down your shaft—glrk, glrk, glrk—taking you deeper, deeper, until her nose pressed against your pubic bone and your cockhead bumped the back of her throat.
"Glrk—glrk—mmmnnn—glrk—"
She held herself there. Impaled on your cock. Her throat constricting around you, muscles rippling, massaging your shaft in waves. Her eyes—watery, mascara starting to run—stared up at you. Daring you to look away.
You couldn't.
She pulled back. Slowly. Her lips dragging along your shaft, her tongue pressing hard against the underside. When just the tip remained in her mouth, she sucked—hard—her cheeks hollowing with the force.
SLLLLRRRP-POP.
The sound of her releasing your cock was wet and obscene. A rope of saliva connected her lips to your tip. It stretched. Snapped.
"Fuck," you breathed.
"Language." She grinned. "But yes. Fuck. That's exactly what we're doing."
Her hand replaced her mouth. Stroking. Fast and slick and tight. "You like mommy's mouth on your cock? You like the way I choke on it?"
"Yes—"
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I like it. I like your mouth on my cock."
"Good boy." She squeezed harder. Pumped faster. "Now tell me—who has the best mouth? Me or Yujin?"
"I—she never—we never—"
"Oh, that's right. You never even got a blowjob from her, did you? Poor baby. All that time, and she never once got on her knees for you." Her tongue lapped at the head. Quick. Teasing. "Her loss. Because I'm going to suck this cock until your balls are empty. Then I'm going to ride it. Then I'm going to suck it again. We're not stopping until I say we stop. Understand?"
"Understand."
"Good."
She swallowed you again. This time there was nothing gentle about it. She fucked her own face with your cock—bobbing furiously, her saliva dripping down your shaft and pooling in your pubic hair, her throat making wet choking sounds that filled the room. Glrk-glrk-glrk-glrk. Her hand pumped whatever wouldn't fit in her mouth. Her other hand cupped your balls, kneading them, rolling them, tugging gently.
The pressure built. Low in your gut. Hot and tight.
"I'm close—Wonyoung, I'm—"
She pulled off immediately. "Not yet."
"But—"
"I said not yet." She stood. Climbed onto the bed. Pushed you flat against the mattress. "You don't cum until I'm wrapped around your cock. Until I've milked every drop out of you into my cunt. Until you've filled me up so full it leaks out of me for days."
She swung one leg over your hips. Straddled you. Her cunt hovered above your cock—so close you could feel the heat radiating from her, could see the slick glistening on her inner thighs.
"You're going to watch," she said. "Watch my pussy swallow your cock. Watch me take what I want."
Her hand wrapped around your shaft. Guided you to her entrance. The swollen lips of her cunt parted around your tip—schlrrrp—the sound wet and eager. She didn't sink down. Just held you there. The head of your cock nestled inside her, gripped by her inner muscles, while the rest of your shaft throbbed in the cool air.
"Please—"
"Please what?"
"Please, Wonyoung. Fuck me. Ride my cock."
"Since you asked so nicely."
She dropped.
Schlunk.
One motion. One fluid, brutal motion that impaled her on your cock. Her cunt swallowed you whole—every inch, every vein, every throbbing pulse of your shaft buried inside her in a single heartbeat.
"FFFFUUUUUCK." Her head fell back. Her mouth opened. Her tongue lolled out—long and pink and glistening. Her eyes rolled backward, the whites showing, her lashes fluttering. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, you're so deep. You're in my fucking stomach. I can feel you in my throat—"
Her cunt clenched around you. Rippled. Milked. The walls of her pussy were hot and wet and impossibly tight, gripping your cock like a fist, the inner ridges massaging your shaft with every tiny movement she made.
She started to move.
Not gentle. Not slow. She rode you like she was trying to break you—her hips slamming down, grinding, circling. Pap-pap-pap-pap. The sound of her ass meeting your thighs. Wet squelching sounds—splortch, schlick, squelsh—as her cunt gushed around you.
"Look at my tits." She grabbed them. Squeezed them together. Her nipples—dark and swollen—pointed at you like accusations. "Look at them bounce while I ride your cock. Bounce. Bounce. Bounce. Every time I drop down on this thick fucking dick, my tits bounce. You like that? You like watching mommy's tits bounce?"
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
"Good. Because they're going to bounce a lot. I'm going to ride you until my thighs give out. Until my cunt is sore. Until you've cum inside me so many times you can't remember what your own name is."
The first orgasm built fast. Too fast. Her cunt was too tight, too wet, her rhythm too punishing. You felt it coiling—pressure in your balls, heat in your spine, electricity in your skull.
"I'm cumming—Wonyoung, I'm—"
"Do it. Cum inside me. Fill me up. Now."
Splurt. Splurt. Splurt. Splurt.
Your cock pulsed inside her—violent, desperate spasms that pumped rope after rope of hot cum into her cunt. She kept riding through it, her hips never slowing, her pussy milking every drop. The sensation was overwhelming—pleasure so sharp it bordered on pain, your cock hypersensitive, each stroke sending jolts through your entire body.
"Yessssss." She hissed the word. Her nails dug into your chest. Raked downward. Left red scratches on your skin. "Yes, fill up mommy's cunt. So much cum. I can feel it. So warm. So thick. Keep going—keep fucking pumping—don't stop—"
Your orgasm subsided. But she didn't stop riding.
"Round one," she panted. "That was round one. We're doing this five times. Five loads. Five creampies. I want to be so full of your cum that it's dripping out of me for a week."
She kept moving. Kept grinding. Your cock—still hard, still buried inside her—twitched with oversensitivity. Every nerve ending screamed. But she didn't care. She leaned forward, her tits pressing against your chest, her mouth finding your neck.
"Round two," she whispered against your skin. "Let's go."
She rode you slower this time. Grinding. Circling her hips. Her pubic bone pressed against yours with each rotation, her clit grinding against your skin. Her breathing grew ragged. Her moans grew louder.
"Yes—yes—right there—don't stop—"
Her fingers found your nipples. Pinched. Twisted. Hard. The pain mixed with pleasure, blurring the lines until you couldn't tell them apart. Your hips bucked up into her, driving your cock deeper, and she screamed—a high, keening sound that bounced off the walls.
"Cum with me," she gasped. "Cum with me, baby boy. Fill me up again. I'm so close—so fucking close—"
Her cunt clamped down. Convulsed. Her orgasm hit—she squirted, clear fluid gushing from her, splashing across your stomach and thighs. The contractions of her pussy triggered your own release—your second load pumping into her, mixing with the first, filling her up until cum leaked out around your still-buried cock.
Splurt-splurt—schlosh—gush.
"Oh god, oh fuck, oh god—" Her tongue hung out. Her eyes rolled back. Her whole body shook. "Two—that's two—three more—I need three more loads—"
She collapsed against your chest. Panting. Her cunt still fluttering weakly around your cock. Your mixed fluids—cum and her slick and her squirt—soaked the silk sheets beneath you.
"Give me a minute." Her voice was slurred. Drunk with pleasure. "Just a minute. Then I'm riding you again."
The minutes blurred. Time lost meaning.
Round three: She flipped onto her back, pulled you on top of her. "Fuck me missionary. I want to see your face when you cum inside me this time." You drove into her—hard, deep, your hips slapping against hers. Splap-splap-splap. Her legs wrapped around your waist. Her heels dug into your ass. Her cunt gripped you like it never wanted to let go. When you came—your third load pumping into her—she watched your face the whole time. "Beautiful," she whispered. "You're so beautiful when you cum."
Round four: She bent over the edge of the bed. Ass up. Face down. "From behind. I want to feel you in my stomach." Her cunt looked obscene from this angle—puffy lips spread wide, your cum leaking out of her gaped hole, her clit swollen and red. You slammed into her. Harder than before. Brutal. Pap-pap-pap-pap. She screamed into the mattress. Her fingers clawed at the silk sheets. Her cunt squelched around you—splortch, schlick, squelsh—each thrust forcing more cum out of her, dripping down her thighs. When you came—your fourth load—you grabbed her hips and held yourself deep, pumping your seed directly against her cervix.
Round five: She was exhausted. You were exhausted. But she wouldn't stop. "One more. Give me one more. I need it. I need to be so full of you that I can't walk straight." She climbed on top of you again. Sunk down on your cock—schlunk—a wet, filthy sound. Her movements were slower now. Weaker. But no less desperate. She rode you until you both came together—your fifth orgasm, your fifth load, her third squirt of the night. The fluids pooled on the bed. Soaked the mattress. Filled the room with the smell of sex.
When it was over—when she finally collapsed beside you, her body limp and trembling—neither of you spoke for a long time.
Your cock was still half-hard. Still leaking. Your balls ached—empty, drained, wrung out. Your entire body felt like it had been used. Which, you supposed, it had.
Wonyoung curled against your side. Her head on your chest. Her leg draped over your thighs. Her cunt—still leaking your cum—pressed against your hip.
"Mine," she murmured. Already half-asleep. "You're mine now. All mine."
Your eyes grew heavy. The exhaustion was absolute. Bone-deep. You couldn't have moved if the building caught fire.
Sleep pulled you under.
You didn't hear the camera shutter.
You didn't see Wonyoung lift her phone. Didn't see her angle it carefully—her face pressed against your sleeping chest, your neck covered in her hickeys, your bodies tangled together on the ruined sheets. Didn't see her smile as she opened her messaging app.
Didn't see the photo send.
Didn't see the text that followed: "Thanks for delivering your boyfriend to me."
And somewhere across the city, in a small apartment with the lights off and the curtains drawn, Yujin's phone lit up on her nightstand.
Here we are with Taeyeon! She wanted to thank everyone with a special art show.
2.5K
Taeyeon x Mreader
Rushing around from room to room, Taeyeon could feel the sweat on her skin. She had no idea that it would be so hard to run an art show. The scale of her project wasn’t big; at least that was what she told herself, but anyone working as part of this event would tell her it was.
At the moment, the idol was checking everything, making sure not a piece was out of place or crooked. It certainly didn’t help matters that despite that being her role, she couldn’t help but move things from one room to another, then back again when she didn’t like the result. Taeyeon needed everything to be perfect. She knew that all eyes would be on her when the show really got started, but she still couldn’t help being picky. “Ma’am, you really need to get changed; the show is going to start soon… and maybe take a shower.” The last comment earned a giggle from Taeyeon. She and her assistant had been working closely for the past few weeks to get this art show together. It was an earned jab at Taeyeon.
“Okay, okay, I’ll go freshen up,” Taeyeon said, brushing her hair down. “One thing before I go, however.”
As if reading her mind, the assistant answered, “The centerpiece is ready. Once you and your partner are ready, you can press the button, and you’ll pop out the top.” Taeyeon giddily nodded and headed to the back, showering as quickly as she could before going into the dressing room where she found her partner for the night.
She licked her lips as she laid eyes on you. “Ooh, aren’t you just perfect.” She cooed, her eyes glued to your cock.
“I could say the same to you. Now, I do have a question. How did you want to do things out there? Your team said they would give me the details, but they never did.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about that. You know the basics of the job, and the best part about this “art show” is you can go with the flow.” Taeyeon walked over to you, placing her hand on your flaccid cock, stroking it slowly as she continued. “What you need to know is we’ll be on a platform a little higher than everyone in attendance. We’ll come out, and you’ll be right behind me, this nice thick cock between my legs.”
“For someone who was worrying about how everything looked, you are surprisingly relaxed about this.”
“Well, sex gets messy. I don’t really have to worry about making it look good. Especially when people tend to like it dirty, now, I should really get dressed.” Taeyeon turned around and grabbed the clothes she would be wearing. It wasn’t much in reality, just a lingerie set. A lacy black bra, crotchless panties to match, along with stockings and a nice pair of heels was what she decided on. It was nothing too extravagant; knowing the mess she was going to make, she didn’t want the hassle of cleaning it up after.
Once she was dressed and had her makeup on, Taeyeon led you down a small tunnel onto the platform in question. “Ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you said, taking a deep breath before placing your cock between her soft legs. You ran your hands on her silky black stockings as she pressed the button and you began to go up. You slid your hands up to her waist as you began to appear to the crowd. You saw their jaws drop.
“Welcome, everyone!” Taeyeon shouted. She rubbed her legs together unconsciously, making her coo. “You special bunch are here for one reason, my ‘artshow.’ You must’ve all noticed that all of you are some of my biggest fans. I thought I would reward that with a special preview. Everyone after this won’t get to see this. You all get to watch me in my most intimate moments, and you will get an invitation for something else. You’ll just have to stay until the end to find out, though.”
This was everything Taeyeon had envisioned. She moaned softly as people watched from all angles. Taeyeon’s body tingled, not just from the slight pleasure she felt from your cock rubbing against her folds but from being watched. Taeyeon pushed out her chest and rested against you. “Do whatever you want,” she said softly. You took the offer without question.
You snaked your hand along her body, one making its way toward her covered breasts while the other went south. You could hear Taeyeon’s breath hitch as your fingers found her exposed clit, the small circles you did around the sensitive nub made her voice come out for everyone to hear. Your other hand pulled on one of the lacy black cups, exposing her left tit to all her invited guests. Your hand cupped the soft mound. You squeezed it tightly, letting her flesh fill in the space between your fingers. Your index finger remained right over her rosy nipple. You looked over Taeyeon’s shoulder and glanced at her breast. Her areolas were a little bigger than you had expected; as you looked at them, though, your mouth began to water. You reached over and pulled the other cup down.
You pressed her tits together, rubbing her hardening nipples together; the temptation to take them into your mouth started to build. You wanted to turn her around and pick her up right then and there, but you understood that would be rude to all the guests. Even though you had the liberty to do so, you decided to feed everyone. Your hands slide down Taeyeon’s toned sides and settle at her waist. You slip your cock between her legs a few more times before prodding at her entrance. While you teased her cunt Taeyeon reached for tits, squeezing each mound as she leaned forward. She wanted everyone to get a good look at her in such a lewd position. They had probably imagined her like this before, and now they were getting the chance to watch it happen.
The idol’s eyes fluttered as she felt you push inside. Her jaw dropped as a long moan came out of her. Taeyeon tried to quiet herself, biting her bottom lip. Her efforts were in vain, though; you drove your entire length into her slick cunt. Taeyeon’s head shot back as she cried out from the pleasure. Your cock had disappeared in her body. Her legs shook; she could see everyone staring at her. It wasn’t just the men with lust in their eyes. She could see a neediness in the women in attendance.
You moved your hands to Taeyeon’s upper arms, holding her tightly as you began to thrust. Taeyeon’s shining hair covered half her face as she took your cock. “Y-you're all welcome t-to touch yourselves,” she said, stuttering as her mind went blank. Taeyeon could feel herself getting wetter; her mind began to fill with thoughts of each person touching themselves at the sight of her being taken. Man or woman, she imagined them all touching themselves, cumming at the sight of her. As soon as she spotted a man actually doing it, a wide smile spread across her face. “Oh, that’s it!” She yelled, “Touch yourself to me. Let me see you stroke that cock.” The usually refined idol was beginning to drool as she stood on her raised platform. One might’ve mistaken her for a sex-crazed pervert if they hadn’t known what was going on.
All the dopamine going through Taeyeon’s system led her to an early orgasm. Her legs shook violently. This was probably the strongest orgasm she had ever had. Her mind was completely blank as you continued your thrusts.
The way her cunt was clamping down on your cock, there was no way you weren’t going to take advantage of it. You sped up, sending your thick cock crashing into her womb. “M-more!” Taeyeon managed to mutter. You glanced at the crowd as you took Taeyeon, noticing her antics getting everyone invested. More people were touching themselves, eyes mostly glued to either the vulgar expression on her face or her swinging tits. You slipped your arms under Taeyeon’s, pulling her back so the people could get a better look. With every thrust from you, her tits swung, smacking against each other.
Taeyeon turned her head, moaning her head off as you pounded away at her body. “K-kiss me,” she mumbled. You followed along, forcing your tongue inside. Even as you locked lips, Taeyeon glanced at the crowd, growing increasingly turned on as some people began stripping off their clothes. She managed to get one of her arms free from your grasp and brought it down to her clit, rubbing it furiously. Her moans turned into whines as she came again, her hips thrusting forward, her warm walls clamping down on you once more. You drag your length out of Taeyeon. The older woman nearly collapses on the platform, but you manage to keep her standing. You turn her around, grabbing one of her legs and bringing it to your side. Your hand slides along her smooth-toned legs until you reach her ass. You grip it tightly, then reach over with your other hand to grab the other cheek. You lift Taeyeon and slide her back along your cock.
The idol wraps her hands around your neck, holding onto you as you begin thrusting again. You slide one hand along her cheek before pulling it away. You bring it back down on her ass quickly, the loud clap of your hand striking the soft flesh filling the room. Taeyeon’s pale skin starts to redden soon after. You deliver more strikes to Taeyeon’s rear as you bounce her on your cock. She leans in, moaning into your ear as she’s driven crazy. Each strike to Taeyeon’s ass leaves it redder than before; your handprints start to become part of the canvas at some point.
When Taeyeon comes for a third time, you’re at your limit. “Where do you want it?” you ask quietly.
“Inside, inside,” she repeats. “Then I’ll suck you dry for one more.”
“If that’s what you want.” You reply. You bring Taeyeon down, holding her against your crotch. She leans back as she cries out. She goes so far back that she sees some of her guests cumming onto their hands. She might’ve been upside down, but it was a sight she couldn’t mistake. It only made the feeling of being pumped full of your thick cum all the better. She locked her legs around you, pushing you deeper until your cock stopped throbbing inside her.
You let Taeyeon down; her legs are too weak to hold her up, so she sits down in front of you, legs pressed together in hopes of keeping you warm cum inside. Taeyeon pulls you aside, making sure everyone can see what she is about to do. She smiles warmly at everyone before turning her attention back to you. Her hand wraps around your shaft, stroking it slowly as she inches closer to the tip.
The idol takes a deep breath, the heavy scent of sex filling her nostrils as she dives in, her lips spreading across your cock as she takes you inside. Taeyeon's lips form a tight seal around you. She bobs her head slowly, her tongue lapping at every inch of your shaft. You watch the older woman turn her head to the side, letting the tip of your cock rub against the soft inside of her cheek. You make her skin bulge, the lewd sight enough to make some guests climax as they imagined Taeyeon doing that to them. The sultry look in Taeyeon’s eyes made women’s knees weak. They pictured her eating them out with that same expression.
When Taeyeon turns back to you, she pushes deeper, audibly gagging as you hit the back of her throat. She holds onto your thighs, squeezing them as she slams her face into your crotch, facefucking herself until she feels your cock begin to throb. Deep down, she feels the temptation to drown herself in your cum, wanting the warm, thick liquid to slide down her throat. She resists. Taeyeon would settle for tasting it off her skin after. For now, she pulled away and leaned back, stroking your cock. The anticipation was killing her. She could feel your cock throbbing; it was about to blow. She shut her eyes and stuck her tongue out as she waited. The first shot made her twitch as it landed flush against her closed eye. She continued to jerk you off, the rest of your orgasm, landing in various places. Some shots covered her face or got in her hair, while others landed on her chest and the final few on her stomach.
You moved behind Taeyeon. She nuzzled your cock against the side of her face as she looked at the horny crowd in front of her. “Thank you for coming, everyone,” she said with a giggle. “I hope you enjoyed our show.” Taeyeon slid her hand down to her slit, rubbing it as cum flowed out of her. “I have one request for everyone. As I said before, I know you’re all big fans. You got to see a side of me no one ever will. I want to see that side of you all too. Please go around the gallery and take a look at all the pieces on display.” Taeyeon pauses for a moment, her lips curling into a big smile. “While you’re looking at your favorite pieces, I want you to cum on them. I want you all to paint them. Semen or squirt, I don’t care. I want you to show me just how much you love me. And, who knows, I may come around and let you try the real thing.” As soon as those words were spoken, the lift began to lower. Taeyeon waved goodbye to her guests; once she was out of sight, she let out a relieved sigh. She was still on a high from the experience.
Taeyeon turned her head and kissed the head of your cock, before looking up at you. “And thank you, mister, for such a good experience. I made a really good choice with you. I might have to take you back home with me.” Slowly, Taeyeon rises to her feet.
“I’m glad you had as good a time as I did.”
“It was more than good.” Taeyeon pats your chest softly and kisses your cheek. “And don’t you dare leave. I definitely want you to come home with me.”
“I’ll wait; now you should go see your guests.” Taeyeon smiles and leaves the area, heading out to the gallery where she finds what she hoped for. Men and women cumming on her pictures, painting them well. Taeyeon did as promised as well, letting some take turns with her before things devolved and not a single cock or cunt was left untaken. As Taeyeon lay in a puddle of cum at the end of the night, she could only think to herself about how she’d have to do this again.
Yeah, okay, whatever—you'll admit it: you're obsessed with Tzuyu's thighs.
It is what it is.
You are but a man, a living being: flesh, blood, pulse; an internet connection and access to hyper-zoomed photos and slow-motion fancams and excessive manifestos on Chou Tzuyu's legs and Chou Tzuyu’s waist and Chou Tzuyu’s perfect dimples and smile and the golden-ratio proportions; the S-curve, the hourglass of her; none of which get as straight to the point as these carefully curated comments:
notice me mommy
pleeease sit on my faaace
let me dieeeee between those thighs good looooooorrrrdddd
(Or, for the cinephiles: the quote-tweet of a poorly composited clip; one side—Tzuyu shaking ass, the other—a GIF from Mad Max: Fury Road of the guy jumping off a speeding truck yelling WITNESS MEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!
But you know what?
Fuck yeah: witness you, indeed.)
Witness you now, camped out in her dressing room—your home for the past fifteen minutes—listening to the roar of tens of thousands of people bleed through concrete and steel while you wait with your VIP pass and your fast-fracturing patience and your cock heavy and in a far worse state than it was backstage at the Victoria’s Secret show; that had Tzuyu in a number that pushed her tits up so delightfully it crashed their whole website; shopping carts flooded by wishes for cleavage that could look half as glorious as hers.
And then she's there, or here, and you're drafting a manifesto of your own.
“Baby—” is how Tzuyu starts, and all it gets her is a hand around her waist, fingerprints pressed into sweat-slicked muscle, and she just goes with it—lets herself be reeled through the threshold and spun into you until the arrangement goes: 1) the door, 2) her body, 3) your cock, 4) you.
“Hell of a show,” you coo into her ear, pulling out the shiver she's kept coiled tight just for this moment—a pressure valve, a controlled detonation, released the second your thumb presses into the meat of her thigh.
“Baby—” again, and your girl is burning up: stage-lights hot, dimpled cheeks gone rosy red, flushed throat to sternum, wrapped up in what is just a feat of costume design and structural engineering and frankly the pinnacle of human craftsmanship: the leather corset cinched around her chest, doing theological work with her tits; the matching hot-pants sealed over her thighs (likely had to be poured on earlier, left to set, that's the only possibility); the knee-high boots she is absolutely not going to be able to walk out of here in.
She leans anyway—gracing you with more room to work in, rolling herself against you, because there's a countdown until you both have to clear the stadium and it's only hard and fast from here on out.
(Don't concern yourself with whatever wreckage survives into the aftermath, you're not going to see this room ever again, anyway.
Well. Until next tour.)
“Need a minute?” You're busy taking stock: the rapid shallow breaths, the copper-spun hair matted to skin, the sweat tracing her collarbone and running rivers to places you'll find the end of soon.
Tzuyu tilts her chin up, cocks an eyebrow. That stadium-filling smile. So ruthlessly, indiscriminately gorgeous. Real breath-taker, soul-stealer, habitual cock-hardener; your girlfriend (you lucky, lucky fucker). Another grind of her hips against you finds you stretching. “Could you even wait a minute?”
“No, but I thought I'd be polite and ask.” You shrug, bump your hips back, far less graceful and subtle than the little ditty she pulled off; through your denim, dragging across her abs, a point of punctuation on her body. “Consent and all.”
“Oh?” She laughs; small, private, non-transferable to anyone outside this room. Rises on her toes so the tip of your cock drags down to where she actually wants it, takes your face in both hands. “Is this something I'll need to consent to?”
“Just your standard offer for concert aftercare,” you deadpan. “Very exclusive. One provider.”
“That's funny. I don't remember subscribing.”
“Opt-out situation,” you tell her, lips finding the exact junction where salt and sweet meet on her neck. She sighs, end-to-end. “Really have to read the fine print.”
“You know how I am with that sort of stuff.” And it's really something; your Tzuyu underneath everyone else's Tzuyu—stage-beautiful but zero performance left in those to-die-for cheekbones; just her, released and free, origami in your hands, folding like she was always going to—a swan, some sort of songbird, or maybe simply a fucking lawn chair, if permitted. “You get your hands on me and I just can't help but say yes.”
Tzuyu: dressed like this and saying shit like that.
Yes, you both are embarrassingly, irretrievably, categorically gone over each other; and it's your problem, and hers, you've both long made peace with it, ready to be buried in clearly marked graves, side-by-side: here lies Chou Tzuyu and her secret boyfriend who fucked each other well and truly to death.
So, of course you're going to kiss her.
Lips on hers—same every time, new every time—her sighs feeding into your lungs, hands fisting in your shirt, hips translating heat into friction. Her tongue finding yours in ceremonial greeting; sparking up the sign outside, reading: occupied, all yours, always been yours, you just had to show up and smile.
And it's the release from her, all of it: everything that's been pulled taut since soundcheck, since this morning; each glance she's had to swallow, instinct suppressed by choreography and professionalism and forty thousand watching eyes.
The kiss compounds, stacks on stacks. Her leg lifts, hooks behind your shin, grinds the core of her against you—more, wanting more.
You stop yourself. Pull your lips free. The whimper that follows is pitchy and involuntary and criminally cute.
Her bottom lip wobbles, doing its intended and well-documented work on your heart.
“Why?” she asks—genuine, adorable, the whole bullshit shebang—how could you ever deprive an angel like this of such an innocent/filthy carnal desire?
You peel her hands from your neck, leaving them at her sides. Like a good girl, she waits.
Then you slide down to your knees.
The sound she makes could shatter something; it settles for the room's acoustics, forces it into submission, bends it over a knee.
“Ah,” she exhales. “That's why.”
Hotter down here. Always is: down-lights been baking her all night and it radiates off every inch, and at this distance—breathing her in, flooding your airways with the tangy-sugary-rock-salt-fucking-umami-scented compound of Tzuyu after three hours on a lit stage, the heat pooling thickest right at the deep crease where her legs meet. Coherent thought exits the building, it was never given a backstage pass, and the inside of her knee gets an open-mouth kiss—she nearly keels over completely, hands scrabbling for your hair.
“Oh God—” and you can hear the laugh underneath it, the perpetual disbelief at how fast she comes apart. “You have no idea how long I've been thinking about this.”
“I have some idea.”
“Your fault,” she says, and her voice fractures on it—”oh—standing at the barricade, staring at me the whole time; you have a problem you know—always looking at my—”
“Precisely.”
(And permit the detour: just to pontificate about Tzuyu's thighs because they warrant it.
Her thighs are strong. Belonging to both the Goddess and the statue depicting her—inspired by myths, carved out of marble—everyone gets to see the output; nobody gets to feel the mechanism but you. Thousands of hours of training and dancing condensed into lean muscle that locks on either side of your skull and could, if you don't hurry up and get on with it, end you.
But you're with the manifestos on this one—it'd be a perfect way to go. Heat coming off them in waves, obscene against your lips, all that tension gone soft and pliant the second your mouth's on her, flexing when she likes something, gripping when she likes it more—under your palms, against your jaw, clamping over your ears; two years deep and not one degree cooler about it.
Glory, glory, hallelujah.)
Your tongue drags higher. Slow. Taking stock along that honey-gold strip of skin. She tenses under your mouth—quads jumping—and her fingers in your scalp go from grip to claw.
She breathes, “You're unbelievable.”
“I've been told.”
“There's other places for your lips besides my legs you know—ah—”
The rest dissolves: you're busy running your tongue along the seam where leather draws a strict border against the plush of her thigh, finding the points where she's holding the most tension, that make her hips buck up, where the fabric is already warm and damp and about to get so much worse.
It earns you a warning: “You need to get these pants off me.”
“Give me a second.”
“You've had all night—”
“Shh.”
“Shh?”
“Let me appreciate you.”
“That’s what the concert was for, honey—”
“No, that was for everyone else,” you correct her, breathe it straight into the leather. “This—” You make a show of it, the séance you’re performing on your knees, spellbound by the tightest leather on the sweetest body. “These—are for me.”
She manages, barely, “Always.”
You nod, reverently. “So. Shorts. Stay on. For now.”
Tzuyu goes quiet. Breath hitches. Oh, she knows what it means, what you want. It moves through her, settles deep, has her relaxing against the door, parting her legs. “Fine.”
Hands hold her cheeks, digging in, the type of shit you revel in; putting your girl through this. Getting closer, deeper in that crevice, slowly, slowly, slow—until her thighs slap against your cheeks, a clapperboard calling action.
And then you put your mouth on leather. On her.
Sighs—turning into unhinged, sloppy sounds—eke through the gap between her thighs and your ears, knees drawing you in, lethal force, and this is one for the history books, something Darwinian, maybe that grave only has room for one; here lies you, suffocated with the biggest pussy-eating grin on your face, found choking on leather and your girlfriend's cum.
Zero complaints there, anyway.
“Oh fuck—”
“Quiet,” you say into her folds, even though experience tells you this word has had little success with Tzuyu; but, honestly, whatever fuels the kink.
“Trying—” she gasps, hips rolling against your face, proving your point. “But you've got a mouthful of my cunt and you're telling me to keep it down?”
“Mostly leather,” you hedge, but Tzuyu really is grinding hard—hard enough that the heat cuts sharp and precise. Press harder, force out more of these keens, ‘til she has to muffle herself with the back of her own hand.
Kneeling at her altar, getting where she's hottest—tongue dragging up and down the inside, lathering under the seams, working into the gap and getting torturously close; wetness already leaking through, running down; scoop it all up, suck it down, drink your holy communion and cherish every drop.
Exactly what she deserves (Tzuyu, the outfit, these thighs). So, so sensitive, it's so rude—a flicker of your tongue, a press of your lips, pure filth rumbled against her skin and she's gasping, writhing, the idol outline breaking, reconstructing into a shape a bit more pliable, dissolving into a soaked, sweat-drenched mess.
“It's always so easy for you isn't it? Hate how good it is—” and it comes out as a whimper, pleasant, tipsy slurring as Tzuyu's voice pitches higher, higher than please, for God's sake, keep it down this time; the very polite request Nayeon made that you fully intend to break.
Has you questioning the thickness of the door, reminiscing about Osaka, the last stop, when Tzuyu got so obscenely loud that Jeongyeon herself burst in to see if her group's dearly beloved youngest was being murdered—only to be yelled at: get the fuck out, he's killing me with his cock.
These thoughts get pocketed, to be added to later.
Nose pressing hard into the peak of her pussy—taking a long, selfish inhale; fingers holding firm against the muscle, lifting her ass off the door so she can sink further down your face.
“Please,” and she's getting desperate, fingers knotting in your hair, trying to hoist you in. “Take them off—I need your mouth on me, I need to feel you—”
“Not yet,” you tell her again, but she blathers on and on—how Tzuyu always gets—at her best and her worst; a bundle of needs arranged in a neat hierarchy, scratch that: it's just a fucked up ouroboros with your tongue at the beginning and the end and her thick thighs and her full-lipped cunt being looped through in the middle of it all.
With your mouth on her, it always is. Sucking bruises into her long legs, taking the skin between your teeth, marking the softest parts on her body, your declarations, her medals she gets to wear later—this is mine, this belongs to me; next concert she'll be forced into shorts cut far too high to hide them. The idea of it, the zoom on the lenses, the high-definition rendering; they'll see it and they'll figure it out: this goddess belongs to someone.
Her mantra confirms it: “Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-pleaaaase—”
You don't slow—not yet—not until she's writhing against the wall and her thighs are clenching and unclenching around your head in a rhythm to match the high and whorish sounds slipping from her mouth. You can hear her start to weep, but her cunt is sprouting tears far quicker; against your chin, down your neck, soaking into the collar of your shirt—you haven't even touched her properly yet.
You'll correct that.
You leave her with one final, deliberate, hard suck of your lips against your favourite bruise. Leave the skin red and glowing with your spit. One gratuitous slap against the curves spilling from the back of her shorts, just to see the ripple.
Then you stand.
Tzuyu blinks slow, can't quite land it. She'd glare if she could aim it—slumped against the doorway, fixing on your lips—shiny, wrecked from your project on her thighs—to drag herself level.
Two fingers under her chin, tilting her face until she's looking at you, meeting your eyes—all that dazed awe pointed straight at you. A nod at the vanity in the corner. “Get over there. Turn around. Bend over. Hands on the counter.”
Tzuyu doesn't say a word. Barely breathes.
Bites her lip, nods, and stumbles her way over.
You track her—flushed, a little disappointed that you left enough integrity in her knees to make the trip. The wobble in her limbs, the stripe of sweat running down her spine, the small of her back, disappearing beneath the leather.
Your girl, your performer, your one and only idol; the most out of this world, hand to God, strike you down where you stand, beautiful woman you've ever been in the vicinity of. The outfit on its way to ruin: tight leather still doing its heroic work against her sweaty tits, hot-pants finding darker shades; midnight stained vantablack from your mouth, from her leaking through; hair coming loose—hours to build, minutes to take apart.
She braces herself on the counter, falling forward until her hands land with a soft thump. The mirror stretches across the wall in front of her, fogged slightly at the edges from the heat churning through the room, and she spots you staring through the glass. Gives you a show, whether she means to or not.
You watch her watch you in the reflection—the instinctual arch of her back as you step closer, habit pushing her ass out to receive you. Hands find her hips, thumbs into the sublime belt of skin above the waistband.
A push here and she preens.
Lips back where they belong; dragging up her spine, her throat, up the columns of temples built by worship alone, feeling the foundations, the muscles tense and flex underneath.
Closer and closer, slurping the sticky-sweetness pooling at the crevasse of her neck and shoulder, setting up camp under her ear, before pitching lower to drag over her jaw, her lips slacking open by themselves and you're going to wedge inside—
“Hurry.”
You breathe into her mouth, “What do you need?”
“You,” she sighs, an exhale, a relief. A kiss atop her chin, the tightening of your grip. She knows it's not enough. “Your mouth. Your hands. Wherever. Everywhere.”
“Everywhere? I've only got the two.” Hands drift higher, up her sides, around her back, slowly, torturously slow, working the lacing loose. Not for need of effort—you've long since learned your way around bobby-pins and double-sided tape and enough knots to make you a certified sailor.
“Anywhere—my—”
The final string comes undone. A shrug has the straps off her shoulders and the corset falling, pasties dropping with it. Leaving her bare from the waist up, and you get indulgent with it, take your time. Look up, into the mirror, take it in. Only for a second.
Accounting for all the best decisions in your life, and every past life too; rewards for time spent in previous reincarnations possibly as some celibate monk achieving enlightenment; only to find in the next leap that true nirvana is actually between Tzuyu's legs.
This current incarnation has you discovering exactly how far down the flush goes, splitting the difference between her breasts; the same ones that fill your hands, splay through your fingers—and they rise and fall, shrill inhales making them heave, nipples pebbling at just a brush of your fingertips.
And Tzuyu, finding her words, the simple, single-syllable vocabulary she has for you: “There—more—yes.”
Toying with them, flicking the peaks, waiting for the right stiffness to pinch. Sharp enough to make her hiss, then ask: “Enough for you?”
“God no,”—loud, decisive, helpless. A demand underneath a laugh. “Your cock. My pussy is literally in tears right now.”
You laugh into her shoulder.
“Weeping. It's so tragic.”
“But does it deserve it?”
“I don't—” and she checks your reflection, honestly considering it. “I don't know. But I do know what I'll do to you if we don't shut it up with your cock in the next minute, and it'll be significantly worse than what you're planning.”
That's more than enough of an answer. You step back, admire the damage. “We'll see about that.”
And the gasp when you free yourself—the button, the zipper, the jeans—because she's been so lost in herself that she's only just realising how much of an entire situation it's been for you since the very start.
You catch it all: the drag of her tongue over her lips, the bite that follows. The shudder, the pupils flooding dark when she sees you.
You say, “You did this.”
“Are you ever not so—” She fumbles, forgetting her words when she watches you step closer, resting the length of you atop her ass with a definitive slap. “So full.”
You lift her, adjust her so she's as tall as she can be—the heels help but don't have her quite high enough for your nefarious ideas; you hold her whole weight in your hands.
She reads your mind, tilts her head back against your shoulder and says, “Go on. Take me.”
Reaching around, popping the button of her shorts, the shudder as you drag them down, her drenched panties with them—over the swell of her hips, down her thighs, force them over the boots until she can kick them off and land them somewhere behind you.
And then it's just her, Tzuyu in knee-high boots and nothing else, long limbs bare and red and littered with your branding; red highlighted against cream, glistening from the slick and the spit.
You step forward, position, aim, level yourself with her. Thumbs press into her ass, parting the valley of her cheeks, edging her knees slightly apart. Fingers firm around her waist, holding her in place, the squeeze of her thighs.
You slide right between them.
“Oh my God—” Her head lifts, eyes clenched shut, fingers scrambling at the counter, knocking over all the pieces that helped put her together hours before, sending them tumbling to the floor. “Always so thick between my thighs.”
You groan, grunt, can't help it—the first slide is unholy. You see it all, watch it through the mirror; the head of your cock emerging from between her locked legs, coming out the other side slick and dark, and it's heat and softness and smooth all around, her cunt lathering you as you push through.
Slowly, carefully, the friction easing with every pass; the schlick sound of it filling the entire room.
“It's going to ruin me,” Tzuyu realises, feeling the way you throb between her, engorged and fighting against the grip of her muscles. “When this gets inside me it's going to fuck me up, isn't it?”
You pass by the rhetorical, focused on setting a rhythm. Something slow, paced, plenty of room to drag achingly along her cunt, let your cockhead push against her clit and force a bit of pressure with each thrust. And Tzuyu responds in kind, finds the motion at once—rolling her hips when you press forward, polishing your thickness with her juices, your cock properly lacquered and stained in budding girlcum.
“Your thighs,” you breathe into her ear, pulling her back against you, catching in the glass two people with unflinching grins on their faces, utterly fucked out of their minds. “Always showing them off, stadium after stadium, leaving them on everyone's mind. You know how many people are probably choking themselves over you right now, yeah?”
“I only care about one,” Tzuyu murmurs back, eyes blinking closed and open again, as if to double-check, maybe it's a dream, maybe the wrecked visage reflected in front of her is too blissful to be true—some bizzaro-doppelganger that just happens to look like her except in her sluttiest, most honest form; tall and proud and tits on display, nipples like pendulums with every thrust, swinging up and down.
“And look at them now. So perfect around my cock,” you grit out, her thighs twitching around you as if they have a mind of their own, pressing you in from either side, God. “It's genuinely insane.”
And the sigh, the quiver, the shudder when you tell her:
“You're made for this, Tzuyu.”
“I know,” she says, words turning into mud; formless, less coherent the more you push. “I know—it's so right. Feels so—fuck—you feel so good. This is all I've been thinking about since—”
“All show.”
“Before then,” and she smiles, laughs, because she has a secret she's been holding. “I knew it. Knew when they showed me this outfit. This ridiculous corset. Those tiny, tight shorts. I told the stylist straight away—this outfit is perfect.”
The smile, pure innocence concentrated into a lie that you almost believe. She rolls her ass back against you, dips her hips into that dangerous vector; the one where her thighs clench and angle your cock higher, where the head of your cock brushes against where she's most swollen, most shamelessly soaked; drinks down the look in your eyes when she does it again and again and again.
“Perfect to be ruined. Perfect to get fucked in. Perfect to make my thighs look so good for you.” The noise you thrust out of her next—a grunt, a throat cleared—enough to get the next words out clean: “Now tell me it was enough to get you to fuck me properly.”
You answer with speed—with force—pushing your cock right through, forcing her clit to flicker roughly, a guttural 'Christ'—from someone's lips—hers, yours, you can't parse it—as your hips piston right into her ass.
“Faster—I'm—” she starts, but you know; because you're melding at this point, sharing one mind, one slick, urgent rhythm that makes the vanity, the mirror, the bottles, the whole stadium seem to rattle.
Knuckles turn white, she's meeting you thrust for thrust now, pushing back against you; each and every time—cock slides through the squelch-smack-sploosh of it, head bumping against her clit, an obscene little kiss with each pass, a call met with a response in the form of a jerk or a whine or just the squeeze of her around you to let you know that yeah, she gets the message.
“Holy—close,” she gasps, grabbing the word and holding onto it like a lifeline—through the thrusting, the trembling thighs and ragged breaths and the way she's so wet your cock is just dripping with it. “So close, so close, don't stop—please—”
Not in a million fucking years.
You reach around, fill a palm with her tits, squeeze, pinch, bring her closer and twist just right to have her body in fits; a seizure that makes her knees buckle together and your vision blur for an instant—but it's enough.
She lifts up—higher, goes to the tops of her toes, as tall as her heels would allow, coming off your cock, letting the tip drag down to land at the centre of her, across her folds—settling against the only place it really belongs.
“Oh-wait-God-fuck-I'm-not—”
You pull her down, push right through that blistering-hot cumhole and thrust hard all the way in, full-length, every thick inch fed to her greedy cunt, and Tzuyu screams.
“God-yes-fuck-you—” and the expletives that follow, something filthy and loud that can't be stopped by any number of walls—and the one thought in your mind that isn't some variation of holy-shit-Tzuyu's-ridiculously-wet-cunt-is-choking-my-cock knows Nayeon's going to have some words about this later.
But her pussy pulses, fights your cock thrashing against its walls; Tzuyu snapping shut around you so hard you can barely move, and she cums and cums and cums; her head thrown back, hair draping over your shoulder; wailing, moaning, cursing your name and your cock and your ancestors and the fact that this is only the first time you've made her cum today and you owe her so, so much more.
Squeezing and wrenching and desperately trying to milk you with every devastating method it has in its arsenal—but you don't fall with it, you don't finish it.
Yeah, God, of course you want to, you're right there, legs dangling off the cliff—but you're not done with her yet, not even close.
So you just hold her against you, let her shake, let her cunt flutter so heavenly around your shaft, her abs flex and quiver under one palm, her heart leaping out of her chest and through the lovely tit you've got a firm grip on. Let her drool onto your shoulder, tongue, mouth gone slack and eyes glassy, looking up at you because it is—reliably, catastrophically—and it bears repeating—every goddamn time.
You twist her, cock slipping out a few solid inches and she makes a sound of loss that would fit in a funeral dirge; but yeah, you just want to kiss her, something rough and claiming, to help her swallow the broken sobs she's still making.
And she kisses you back, desperate, like she wants to hurt you with her tongue and her lips, teeth catching your lower lip; hands, fingers, fingernails clawing at your skin and your hair and there really is only one thing left to say:
“Inside me,” she spits into your mouth; words of a woman who is owed a grand railing and is ready to call in the whole account, backdated to the day you met, “I need your cum inside me. Now.”
She reads the stupid smirk on your face. Bites your lip again.
Again: “Now.”
You step back, length completely sliding out of her; cunt-drool keeping you tethered to her pussy lips.
Tzuyu groans, nearly collapses against the mirror.
“Then earn it, Tzuyu.”
There's little room left for grace, you manage what you can; an awkward-four-legged crab walk because Tzuyu's still shaking and needs you to support her weight as you collapse onto the couch.
A thud and you're seated, Tzuyu falling into your lap; your flawless girl, tits level with your lips, thighs bracketing either side of yours, cunt juice streaming down the plane, and her hands on your shoulders, bracing for what's next.
“Needed this,” Tzuyu sighs; cradling your head closer to her chest, welcoming the tongue that snakes out, rolls around a nipple, the teeth grazing the sensitive slope of her tits.
You jerk your hips, drag your cock through her folds—not inside, not yet—and she grits out your name. “I know.”
“No—you don't,” she tells you, smile on her face, wistful and pretty and she's just melting into your hands on her hips. “You know how hard it was to not go looking for you? All day I thought about—fuck—thought about finding you. Getting on my knees,” she closes her eyes, bringing herself back to some half-remembered dream. “Wanted to take your cock deep and drink you dry and fill my belly full of your cum—but I had to stop. Do you want to know why?”
You don't need to respond; you know the real answer, can feel it thrumming through her.
Tzuyu nods, slow, languid. Leaning in, dipping her head, breath hot against your jaw like she's letting you in on a private confession, something she'd only admit through the longest, sweetest torture. “I wanted you desperate. Hard all day. Needed you thinking about nothing else but me and my mouth and my cunt and my thighs.”
Your cock's fighting your own willpower, levelling with her entrance, you can feel the pulse of her meeting your throb; beads of precum slitting out of your cockhead ready to make the leap into her cunt. It's a game of millimetres at this point—a slip of your hands, a twitch of her hips, a slight fucking breeze; all it would take to break her.
“So I think I deserve a reward—for being so good for you, don't I? Or maybe you're mad at me for not taking your cock sooner—you can tell me I've been bad, that I need to pay you back, that I owe you—” Tzuyu's lips skate across your chin, doing their wicked work, inhaling every wisp of desperation and pure insatiable need that's been simmering underneath your skin all day. “Please, go ahead and put me in my place.”
“Fine.”
A forced exhale—wind knocked out from her lungs and into yours; cunt parting around you hot and slick and Jesus Christ she's so fucking tight, but you drive through it, wrenching her down while forcing yourself up and by the time you're fully hilted there's just one high, continuous sound she's making—a choir of wails, sobs, cries; a blissful chorus.
Her hips tilt to draw you deeper, thighs locking around your waist and there's the whole of your interior life, mind returning to one reliable verdict—you can't help it—death, taxes, and the combination of both when you collect what you’ve been dying for from Tzuyu's tiny, pink pussy and fill her so completely she can launch a one-woman investigation into the existence of the afterlife herself.
And you know her, know your girl, she wants to be more eloquent about it, wants to find a better way to convey how good you're railing her right now—so easily, firm quick strokes gliding in and out of her blistering cunt; guided by your hands holding her waist steady, but all she can manage is the high-level shit, the words that don't really matter but the effort to make them is Herculean nevertheless: “There—God—there—fuck—please—fuck—fuck—fuck—”
You hold her, fuck into her, just watching her—this ideal idol, letting your thighs slap against hers, punishing the muscle; absorbing all the details, the classified information that never leaves your desk.
Her face when you bottom out; the squeeze of her eyes, the slacking of her jaw, this euphoric grin dancing across her lips. Her tits and their heft, the bounce with every stroke—putting a hand back on one, filling your palm whole; the thought there—did you mold them, or were they tailor-made for you—or really, who gives a fuck because a squeeze makes her squeal so delightfully and you know that if you roll it she'll clench, cunt will pulse once, twice, around you and her head will drop back and she'll tell you again—
“More—there—”
“Yeah?”
And mumbling, fumbling around the back of her pretty head, sorting through all the things that may have existed there before you started filling it with thoughts of your cock, diving deep for the words and somehow managing to string them together—”Both—please—your hands, mouth, whatever—touch me more—”
You return your teeth to the other and her volume pitches; whips its way around the room, like it's searching for the cracks, the little gaps under the doorway so it can sneak into the corridor, down the hall—reaching for someone, anyone who can acknowledge how thoroughly you satisfy Chou Tzuyu's cunt.
“Your cock is so damn good,” she breathes; and that's all there really is, plain and simple, the why of it all.
What you've always known—sure you're helplessly, embarrassingly, probably-going-to-ask-her-to-marry-you-eventually down bad for her, even though you both know that you really are.
It's this—pounding Tzuyu's insides and being thanked for it. Her grip, her heat; not just her tits, her whole body, glorious thighs and all; engineered with this application in mind; an absurdly deranged thought to conjure—a decade of discipline, of investment, liquidated against your cock; an endpoint to just bounce mercilessly.
You remind her of it too: “Forty thousand people,” you mark the record into the underside of her tits.
“Please—”
“Every single one of them.”
“I know—please—I know—don't stop—”
“Going home right now,” you drive into her, shattering her on the downstroke, coming back together when you pull her up, just to break her into pieces again when you impale her completely. “Dreaming about these thighs—this body—this tight cunt stretching around me so nice.”
She's just properly gushing now, unashamedly messy with it; from her cunt, down your cock, past the crevasses of her thighs slapping on top of yours and ruining the couch below, but so what, sell it online or something; a Tzuyu-fied cum-stained couch; the sweaty outlines of your fucked, formless bodies on the cushions, would make a great centrepiece in any international gallery.
But anyway, back to the obvious: “It's all fucking mine,” and before you even have to tack on the end of it the question, Tzuyu's already picking up what you're putting down—
“All of it,” she says, just holding herself by your shoulders now, digging herself in, fastening herself down for the storm, “Yours”—once, pounded out of her—“Yours”—again, but broken, shattered; losing its footing in her lexicon. “Only you—only for you.”
And the other thing, what's left when it all slips: the composed, picture-perfect idol facade vacated, checked out, no lens in the world able to catch what's underneath. Just her and her wanton needs—fucked raw, fucked hard, wrung dry and left boneless. If she can walk or make words, or remember her name after this you've fucked up, because this was always her scheme: she chose the outfit, laced herself up in straight-up mainlined sin knowing you'd tear it off, spent all those hours on that stage with this exact destination in mind; so, yeah, hurry the fuck up—pick up the pace.
The couch jostles, fights the wall behind it, the carpet underneath. Something crashes to the floor, rolls off a table, never even mattered. Tzuyu stops holding back, the words come out clean, no longer minced; it was only ever a matter of time, because she's finally getting what she needs and yeah, the whole room, all of backstage, her groupmates down the corridor; no doubt are all well fucking aware.
A problem for later, you suppose.
“They can't imagine,” she says, unique to just her when she's at the end, more coherent, not less. “My tiny pussy—filled so—fucking—deep,” breathlessly, urgently, getting off on saying it, getting off on knowing it's getting you off too, “Stretched—ruined—a big cock full of cum saved just for me.”
Using her in every way girls like her should never be, but pussies like hers are built for—fucktoy, fleshlight, cocksleeve on long legs—holy fuck, fuck, fuck.
“I deserve it—don't I? A nice load, deep inside,” whimpering, proper quiver in her lip, and a last beg for good measure; loading her ammo, cocking her gun, finger on the trigger, “Can't stop—like that—don't you dare—”
Like you could—”Not going anywhere,” you remind her, holding on to where she's flickering between hard and soft; Tzuyu, hot as fuck all over and even hotter when she cums and tells you—
“Harder—”
Trying to—
“Fuck me—”
You're there—
“Please—please—please—”
She only needs to ask once because her cunt is divine, wrapped around you and leaving you with nowhere to go but up and down, back and forth; fucking her with nothing but terrible, wonderful intention until your hand is under her hip, slapped across her ass, forcing her to change the angle so she goes completely rigid and oh—oh—oh fuck—
“So—gah—good—”
Running straight through it—keep the angle; drive harder. The arch of her spine, lifting herself up, abs peeling off your waist and there's a gap, the opportunity—thumb back on her clit and she's clenching around you in warning pulses.
Thighs locking around your waist, hairline fractures in your hipbones, her body winding up—she's—you can feel her everywhere.
A wet choke, a stunned gasp, cunt swallows, gushes, inks something with her cum down the veins of your cock and she says it in case you miss it—
“Fuck—how the fuck do you make me cum so—”
Hitting her, tearing her apart—long, so loud—like she never stopped, and maybe she hadn't; been on that frequency since you first pushed inside her, and it'd make sense—her pupils at that dreamy sheen, stars in her eyes, shot into the stratosphere on your cock—and yeah, you'll take it, die with it, leap off the truck and declare WITNESS MEEEEE for all to see.
But she's not done. Yeah, she's fucked open and out, but her pussy's got other ideas, and her mind's on the same wavelength.
“Yours,” she says, fierce, needy, petulant; the princess turned brat, a rare, precious occurrence. “Give me yours—all of it—now—please—inside—”
And she keeps demanding, the sounds getting worse and better simultaneously; run out of proper onomatopoeia for her cunt on your cock, inventing brand-new ones to make up for it; her moans are climbing back up to join the fray. Despite it all, despite that she's just cum, she's oversensitive, rattling with it, but still taking it anyway, pulling it from you—gorgeous in every way, every inch, every configuration—what you get when you take Tzuyu from the stage and fuck her this hard and for this long and she clearly does not give a fuck that she's literally crying for your cock and cum and cannot stop—
“I'm begging for you to—”
“I'm here,” and her pussy milks it out of you, twists, pulls, grips—long rolling quivers around you. You're sunken deep into her, can't move, can't do anything but twitch and you don't know when you started but you're kissing her hard, groaning into her throat and following her over.
In the midst of it, cock spasming inside her, detonation on either side of your timeline—was there a before, is there an after? Or is there just this, now; soul leaving your body and flooding this ludicrously tight, hot cunt and—where were you again, what's your fucking name even—do you even care to find out because this gorgeous, unbelievable, unreal girl has got you in the sweetest embrace, lips, arms, pussy and all; clearly working through her own aftershocks, draining every last drop and stray thought out of you, and it goes on and on, and her legs are holding you there and it goes on a little longer.
White—at the edges, her cunt, your vision, it's all the same at this point; just fucking it all into her, stuffing her full, bulging her tight belly with you whole; all of you, all of the future yous too and what do you have to say for yourself:
“Take my fucking cum, Tzu—”
And what does she have in response?
“So much—all mine—God, fill me, please—”
It comes back gradually.
Names, places, details colouring the edges.
Tzuyu—small, floating on air, hovering on your cock, eyes half-lidded, glazed, satisfied; something that leans narcotic. Faint tears tracking down her cheeks, somehow reaching your tongue, or it's her sweat, or yours; but it's just hot and salty and that just about sums up the both of you.
You feel her heartbeat coming down against yours; survey the damage, the mascara that survived an entire concert but couldn't make it past this, the hair that's been reset and tangled and still looks wonderfully her. The corset was left by the mirror. The shorts surrendered somewhere close by.
“Could you ever—” Tzuyu comes to life, first to speak, let you know that she's still with you in the land of the living. “Fuck me normally?”
You laugh. “What's that like?”
“Like, leave me with some dignity.” She shifts; the ooze of cum, the exaggerated pornographic audio that accompanies it as it seeps out around the seal of her perfect plump pussy-lips glued to your cock proves her point.
“Sounds boring.”
“It would leave us with a lot less explaining to do,” she says, and you're already on clean-up duty, thumb to her cheek, wiping away the stragglers there; piece-by-piece, reassembling this demolished dream of a girl.
“To who?”
Tzuyu gives you a look.
“I think we're well past that,” you say, rattling down your list; “Nayeon, definitely. Sana can't say shit after what she got up to in Paris.”
“I know, but—”
“Momo literally fist-bumped me in the hallway and said, See you in Valhalla, brother,” and that has Tzuyu snorting into your neck, adorable, winning, her; still all wet and shaking and in tears from how hard she came.
Another lazy squeeze of her walls around you, habitual milking at this point, and she sighs, repeating, “Valhalla, Christ.”
“Legitimately.”
And she tests her muscles around you again, intentionally this time, and you throb back, and you're steering the car back onto the road now, putting things back on the most obvious paths—”You're going to give me a reputation.”
“It'll look great alongside mine,” you muse, drag your palms up those thighs once more, thumbing the damage, the territory marked and yeah; the stylist, make-up artists, she's gonna get a real talking to. “We can compare notes.”
She adjusts, twists; obscene, and more of your load starts to run, messy, dripping down her folds and onto your lap, waiting to be fucked right back into her; it's an intersection of indecency—pretty, fucked-up, dangerous.
Tzuyu in a nutshell.
Noticing: “You're still hard.”
Noticing back: “You're still sitting on it.”
Rolling her hips once, experimental, having you both groaning, moaning in stereo. She reads your face and knows what's coming next.
“How long do you think before Jeongyeon comes knocking again?” And it's already published by the time you say it—posted, trending, bookmarked—out there to be read and thumbed through—she's giggling all girlish and cute, you're laughing dark and low; she's getting flipped onto her back, pressed into the couch cushions that once had bigger aspirations than this.
Those thighs—again; downright incredible things, run out of words to bless them, just holy fuck do they spread so nicely, automatically falling open, heels in the air, knees hooked high over your shoulders. Tzuyu, Tzuyu, Tzuyu—built to be handled exactly like this.
A look in her eyes, the adoration there, the only lovers left alive of it all, the I'll hold your hand and jump off the cliff with you if you'd just lead me, has you thinking all sorts of romantic shit: I love you, marry me, let's maybe finish up by doing something dumb to make this something permanent.
But the comments are in your head again, so:
“I'm going to die between those thighs.”
Tzuyu cocks an eyebrow, you're just reciting the obvious. “Good.”
“Yeah?”
“I'll sit on your face in the afterlife too.”
“Hell of a way to spend eternity,” and you're already moving, laughing, tongue wrestling her down but there's no need, she was, is, always has been; apparently forever will be even after you're bones and dust—yours.
Hand on her thigh, one last time for good measure, pressing your fingerprints into the give of it, stamping off on a job well fucked, and she has to say: “Baby, you are so, ridiculously—”
You sway sideways in your seat as the train lurches forward. The cool air entering through the open window compliments your surroundings: sterile and unnecessarily bright.
It’s not as crowded as it is in the morning. One of the few good things about working late into the night. You look around. Someone’s asleep across from you, another is bouncing their knees, clutching their bag tightly. Another man sighs, loosening his tie.
You do the same.
Your laptop bag rest heavily on your thighs. Your head gently falls back onto the window behind, a gentle thud echoing through the carriage. You close your eyes and let the music hum quietly through your headphones.
Her voice fills your ears.
Warm and familiar.
You can’t help the smile creeping on your face.
You haven’t seen Park Minju in years. In person at least. You watched and voted for her constantly on that survival show she participated in a year or so back. And now you hear her almost everyday since her debut.
Your middle and index fingers tap your bag absentmindedly in time with the instrumental. They alternate, a rhythmic walk across an imaginary E-string. Slow at first. Faster when you get fully immersed in it. Whoever did this arrangement is good. Very good.
It’s catchy and addictive. Something that would make people repeat the song again and again.
Your smile grows wider when you hear her voice again. It’s clear and dreamy, almost honey-like in the way she hits her high notes.
She used to go red when you asked her to sing, and she kept making excuses, stuttering, waving her hands in front of her face like it’s the last thing she wanted to do. You told her it was for your timing—the festival performance, you needed someone to play off. She couldn’t say no after that. You played slower than normal that day. Slower than you needed to.
Back when your hands were callused and smelt faintly of metal strings instead of printer ink and cheap, office coffee.
The thought makes you let out a quiet breath out your nose.
The music is suddenly interrupted by a notification ping. Your eyes open briefly—HYBE Entertainment, subject line: Regarding an anonymous cover. You close your eyes again. Some promotional spam. If it’s important, they can find some other way to contact you.
The music resumes just as the chorus swells louder in your ears, layered vocals wrapping around the infectious beat underneath it. You can make out all the members now, but your favourite is still Minju. Soft and angelic and has an inexplicable way of soothing you.
Your fingers tap harder against your bag, loud enough that the woman beside you glances over briefly before returning her gaze to her phone.
You don’t notice it. Instead, you tap your headphone cup three times, replaying the song. Again and again because you can never grow tired of it.
Your eyes scrunch when you hear your favourite part. The bass here is exquisite, loud enough to feel its impact but it won’t overpower their vocals. It’s subtle. People won’t think twice about it.
Around the fifth play, your phone rings, ruining the experience. You slowly open your eyes, lifting your phone to your eyes.
It’s her brother.
You forcefully exhale, staring at his name for a second before answering.
“What?” The passengers stare at you, looks of disbelief as you answered your phone on the train. You bow your head in apology, cupping your hand over your mouth to continue talking. “Make this quick. I’m on the train.”
“Wow,” your best friend says immediately. “Hello to you too. Didn’t work end like three hours ago?”
You snort softly despite yourself. “Yeah… well… we’re busy these days.”
“When aren’t you?”
You ignore that comment.
The line goes quiet for a moment before he speaks again, more carefully this time.
“Minju was here today. Had dinner with us.”
You freeze.
Minju sitting at the dining table, her elbow resting on the surface with her chin propped up. Her eyes on you as you cut up fruit for her to eat. You knew she was staring, could see her through the reflection on the window. So when you turned, and saw her elbow slip, her eyes forced to look down as her face grew a brighter shade of red, you wanted to laugh. Instead, you gently pushed the tray of fruit in front of her, held out a fork, and waited for her to take a bite.
The speaker announces the upcoming station, muffled beneath your headphones as people are getting up ready to leave. You stay there though, not moving, eyes staring blankly ahead of you.
You swallow thickly before answering. “How is she?”
“Good. Just finished her promotions for the new comeback. You’ve been listening?”
You make a noncommittal sound.
“Anyway, she mentioned they’re going on a tour soon.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhmm. Everything’s pretty hectic for her right now. Apparently their tour director is obssessed with this instrumental cover of their debut song. Is looking for the person behind it.”
Your eyes immediately go to the notification still sitting unread at the top of your screen. You open it, read through it quickly, eyes widening and thumb scrolling faster until you reach the end of the message. You lower the phone slowly.
You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. It’s so cold in the underground, you can see your breath escape you. “That’s nice.”
“It is. Can you imagine being so good that they want you touring with the group?”
“I—I can’t.”
He stays quiet for a beat before whispering. “They’re asking about you again.”
“W—why?”
You hear an exasperated sigh from the other end. “Look—mom and dad miss you, are worried about you. I keep giving them lame excuses like how you’re busy—”
“I am busy.”
“So busy you can’t even visit?”
Silence.
You exhale, caving first. “I’m sorry. There’s no excuse.” The train halts at your station. You get up, check you didn’t leave anything before exiting and making your way off the platform. “I’ll find the time.”
“Just message them every now and then okay? It’s annoying having to answer all their questions about you.”
He hangs up.
The music starts playing through your headphones again. Her voice fills your ears again, soft and familiar, and now you can’t hear it the same way.
Your eyes drop to the notification still sitting open on your screen.
----
You step out into the streets, pulling your coat tighter against the cold. It’s empty, different from the mornings where people rush around to catch the train or flag down taxis but you’re used to this by now.
Your headphones starts beeping before dying.
“Dammit.”
You pull them off your head, letting it rest loosely against your neck. It’s quiet, something you’re not quite used to, always with your headphones on. Without them, the city feels eerie, like it’s been deserted.
You continue towards your apartment—until a familiar melody drifts through the steam of a nearby red tent food stall.
It’s her voice, stripped of its crisp sound you usually hear in your ears, mixing with the smell of tteokbokki and seeping through the red tent walls. You stop, your heart doing a strange, slow roll in your chest, and for the first time in years, you realise that you aren’t just listening to her, but you’re standing in the world she conquered.
You stay just outside of the tent, hidden from the owners , listening to her songs accompanied by loud food orders, and the clink of soju bottles against each other. A small smile tugs at your lips.
When she started auditioning, she always came to you after. Despite telling you she didn’t want you waiting outside, her face would light up seeing you there. She’d talk with her hands when she was excited, gesturing wildly about what she’d fix next time, barely pausing for breath. You never had to say much. Just listen while she figured it out herself.
You start walking again, the city feeling a lot smaller now.
You eventually make it to the crosswalk, pausing at the red light. Sixty seconds until you can cross. A bright light catches your attention and you look up to the advertisement board 30 feet in the air to see… her. Minju. Posing for an internationally recognisable clothing brand.
Warmth spreads across your chest.
She’s so different from a few years ago. Light makeup across her features and someone’s taught her how to pose for the camera. The clothes look expensive on her. Or she makes them look expensive, you’re not sure. They look good on her, better than good. The accessories—earrings, rings, bracelets—look like they’re worth more than your annual salary.
She’s thinner than you remember, paler too. Your heart aches at the thought of her overworking herself.
Underneath all that though, you still see glimpses of the girl from high school. The small part of her lips, like she’s halfway between a wide smile and a pout. And her ears. Almost elf-like. Protruding in such a way it’s become her most distinct feature.
Her eyes were puffy, the last time you saw her. Her head was down, like she was afraid to look at you. She would swing on the heels of her feet, occasionally brushing her hair to hide her ears that grew more and more red the longer you stared. Her hands were tight behind her back, like she was gripping something tightly. You never asked what it was.
The crosswalk light turning green breaks you out of your reverie. You look down, and see people walking towards you, and when you look back up to the screen above, she’s gone, replaced by a watch advert you don’t care for.
You shove your hands in your pockets, crossing the road, your mind racing with the email from earlier.
A familiar scent hits you. Citrus. Your head snaps back immediately… it’s not her. Just someone with the same shampoo as her.
Of course it wasn’t her. Why would it be? But the mere thought of her here hurts you more than you realise.
You could see her again.
You pull out your phone, opening the email again, thumb hovering over it.
----
The chair squeaks whenever you adjust your position, your bass rests on your thigh, and your hands are a bit sweaty as you continue tuning and plucking at the strings to get your calluses back. The other musicians tuning their own instruments, assistants running back and forth with items and clipboards, the rehearsal room already humid despite the AC running.
The door behind clicks open and the girls walk in, all casual and bare-faced. The scent reaches you first before anything else. Citrus. You look up from your bass, your eyes finding Minju. She’s the last to enter, dragging her feet along the polished floor, dropping her bag unceremoniously at her seat and heads to the snack bar at the far wall. You watch as her pale hand reaches out for a bottle before turning to her members.
“Does anyone want a bottle?”
All their hands shoot up. She grabs them one at a time, cradling them against her chest. Your eyes stay on her as she waddles her way to her position, the sound of tuning, the AC and the conversations between assistants fading out into a muffled blur. She yawns as she slowly hands them out, her eyelashes bright with tears. Your eyes travel lower, watching how the skin over her throat pulls tight, and the tendons in her neck flex as her mouth opens wide.
You’re so focused on Minju, watching as she flops onto her chair, that you don’t notice that you’re being watched. Your eyes follow the bottle as she hands it to Yunah. Your eyes connect with Yunah’s. There’s a knowing smirk on her face.
Your breath hitches, face flushing red as you look at anything but them, eyes going back to your bass, hands fiddling with the tuning pegs.
In your peripheral, you see Yunah shuffle on her chair, closer to Minju, the bottle covering her mouth as she leans over and whispers something, pointing with her eyes. Minju casually looks over. And her whole body goes rigid. You can’t look at her. Even when she abruptly stands from her chair, chair scraping back. Even when her mouth opens and closes without anything coming out. Your eyes stay on your bass.
Everything stills around you, her manager confused at her behaviour while Yunah laughs, legs lifting off the floor, hands clutching at her stomach.
Minju’s face burns a furious, bright red, bowing in apology to everyone before awkwardly sitting back down. She takes her bottle and unscrews the cap, taking huge gulps as the flush spreads to her ears. She gasps as half the bottle empties and her free hand goes to her hair, fingers threading them, combing them to cover her elf-like ears.
The rest of the girls start looking at you, giggling, and pushing her shoulders, making fun of her. Even your band members start looking, and you can’t help the flush darkening on your cheeks.
“Alright! Let’s get this rehearsal started!”
The director’s voice booms out of the speaker, his breathing caught by the microphone pressed against his lips.
You steal one more look at Minju, catching her looking back at you. Your eyes soften, mouth curling into a quiet, familiar smile. She smiles too, small and shy, as her eyes fall to her lap, playing with the bottle in her hands.
Her heart is loud, hammering against her ears, muffling the instructions from the director. Only when Yunah softly shoves her shoulder does the spell break. She grabs the microphone angling it closer to her mouth just as the rehearsal officially begins.
----
The high-octane energy from the start of the rehearsal dwindles to a slow, almost lethargic vibe. Your fingers are red and raw from the constant strumming and chord progressions, and sweat falls into your eyes and the nonstop action. Mistakes have become commonplace, from both sides. The crisp and professional backing from the band becomes dragging and lazy, and the girls are missing their timings or pitching wrong.
The fluorescent lights above become blinding, the incessant hum of the AC a nuisance especially due to its ineffectiveness. You pull on your shirt a couple times, to get air flowing across your body but it’s no use. You look around and everyone is in the same state. Yunah is falling asleep, and Wonhee is leaning up against Moka.
A heavy sigh from the speakers above turns your head towards the director, pinching at their nose bridge. “Alright. Let’s call it a day. Good work everyone.”
The second the microphone switches off, Minju slumps off the chair, collapsing onto the floor, resting her head heavily on Yunah’s leg. She lays there, a big yawn escaping her before she had time to cover her mouth with her hand. Her nose wrinkles, and her eyes squeeze into crescent shapes as she buries her face into Yunah’s thigh.
When she opens her eyes again, she sees you, your face soft and calm despite the matted hair on your forehead. Neither of you break eye contact, her breathing slowly becoming laboured just as her hands start fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt. Her eyes travel lower, stopping at your fingers and how red they are, the calluses she’s used to seeing in high school gone.
Their manager enters the room, clapping her hands, ushering them up on their feet. “Let’s go! The van’s waiting.”
You stay seated, even as the other members begin unplugging their instruments, putting them in their cases, rolling the cables into a tight spool before handing them to the assistants. Your eyes stay on Minju, as she’s pulled to her feet by Yunah, clumsily falling into her. You smile despite yourself, one hand moving to grab your guitar case beside you. Your fingers flip the latch up just as a band member pats your shoulder on their way out, gently placing your bass inside.
You look up as people begin filtering out, saying their goodbyes as you bow to each and everyone of them. The room grows quieter and emptier with every second. Until it’s just you and Minju, who stayed back, tying shoelaces that didn’t need to be tied. You look back down to your case, pushing the latches down, securing the case. You stand, eyes closed, hands at the small of your back as you stretch for a few seconds.
Your eyes open just as Minju finishes tying her shoelaces. She stands, dusting her knees off before hurriedly walking to you before her manager sees. You glance at her from the corner of your eye. She’s not looking at you, eyes trained on the floor as she makes her way over to you. There’s something in her hand, white and torn. Her fingers graze your palm before you can register it, leaving behind a small, torn corner of the lyric sheet.
Your head turns, following her as she walks to the exit, stopping briefly to look back at you. Her eyes intensely gaze back at you, cheeks flushed pink. There’s no smile on her face, her lips a thin, tight line, and her jaw is set.
Your hand tightens its grip on the piece of paper.
She turns back to the door and exits without another word.
You bring your hand with the paper up, slowly unfurling your fist and the paper inside. Scrawled in her rushed, yet familiar handwriting is a phone number. Her new phone number. And underneath that, a single time.
Your thumb gently traces the ink.
11:30PM
----
The bedroom door slams heavily shut. One hand grabs one end of the towel draped over your shoulders, rubbing the back of your head furiously. Your room is dark, save for the warm, yellow light from your bedside lamp and the cold, blue light from your phone as it vibrates awake on your desk. You pull the towel from your shoulders, throwing it into the hamper before making your way to grab your phone from its charger.
You glance at your phone. 11:25PM. Five minutes left. You’re pacing back and forth, going through what you’re going to say.
How have you been?
No. You’ve been following her since her debut, got updates from her brother. That wouldn’t work.
Your heart rate starts picking up, your phone slightly slipping from your grip with how clammy it’s gotten. You’re still scripting the conversation in your head, but every option feels forced or awkward. Like you’re strangers.
Your eyes travel back to your nightstand as your alarm clock flips from 11:25 to 11:26. Four minutes left. The silence in your room is heavy, suffocating, and is measured by the agonising slow crawl of the seconds ticking along.
The overhead departure board. The 5:45PM train to Seoul, already pulling in.
Her small shoes enter your vision. You look up. She’s bundled up in a new thick coat from her parents and a red, woolly scarf you bought her last year. You look at her face, at the small tears threatening to fall from the corner of her eyes, to her nose and her ears, both red from the cold winds.
You took one step forward, gently taking hold of the scarf, pulling it off her before adjusting its length.
“Seoul can be very cold. Make sure you dress warmly.”
You loop the scarf around her neck, your knuckles brushing her skin beneath her jaw—a touch that left her skin burning.
“And make sure you eat properly. Call me if you need any money.”
You don’t rush. Your fingers expertly tuck the loose ends over her chest, smoothing the fabric down until she’s bundled against the cold air.
“I’ll answer the phone. No matter what.”
Your eyes travel to hers. She hasn’t said anything but she’s staring at you intensely, as if she’s trying to memorise every little feature of your face: where your dimples are when you smile or your laugh lines around your mouth. Your hands and your eyes travel down her arms. You see her hands, hidden behind her back, her knuckles gripped so tightly around an envelope that they’re turning white. You squeeze her arms, your eyes finding her face again. Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, just as she averts her gaze elsewhere.
The alarm on your phone rings violently in your hands. 11:30PM. You take a seat on the edge of your bed, clearing your throat.
You hit dial.
And she answers the phone on the very first ring.
“Hi.”
“Hi.”
The silence stretches. Everything you had scripted evaporates at her first word.
“So—”
“How—”
You both pause mid-sentence, both cutting yourselves off. You feel your ears go red as you stare at the blank wall ahead of you.
She’s moving. You can hear rustling from the other end of the phone before she speaks again. “You go first.”
“Uh…”
What do you say?
“Y—Yunah… she was staring at me a lot during rehearsal.”
A muffled, embarrassed groan comes through the speaker.
“Th—that’s just how she is. She likes to tease me all the time.”
“Ah… okay.” You lean back until your shoulders hit your mattress. “So… are you two close?”
A pause.
She pulls the blanket over her head, phone sandwiched between her pillow and her ear in the dark. “Yeah… really close.”
“What did she whisper to you to make you stand straight up like that anyway?”
Minju freezes, remembering Yunah’s teasing comments about you. She tucks her legs closer to her chest, pulling more of the blanket over her. She forces her voice to sound casual whilst hiding her racing heart. “I… rather not talk about it.”
You smile softly. You want to probe further, but you’ll let it go. For now.
You spin on your bed until your head falls on the foot of the bed and your feet plant themselves on the wall just above the headboard. You close your eyes, breathing deeply before opening them again at the ceiling. It’s really white.
“Are they taking care of you? Properly?”
She doesn’t answer for a beat.
“Yes… we’re fine.” She hesitates, a small crack in her voice tells you she’s exhausted. “I have them. And the other groups. We all take care of each other.”
Her thumb moves to her mouth as she starts biting her fingernail. You’re quiet on the other end. She’s not sure if you believe her.
She turns again in her bed, lying on her front, head poking out of the blanket and her feet swinging in the air.
“Your hands… they were really red today. The calluses are gone.”
A self-deprecating chuckle filters through the phone. “Typing on keyboards isn’t the same as plucking strings.”
Another stretch of silence. Minju bites her lip, and an uncomfortable ache hits her chest when she realises you’re hurting yourself to be here.
“It’s okay. A few more rehearsals and they’ll get better.”
“R—right.”
The door to her room swings open, banging against the wall. “Unnie.”
Minju’s eyes widen underneath the blanket, her feet stop swinging, and her heart rate picks up. Panicking, she covers the microphone, whispering frantically, and breathlessly.
“I have to go. Someone’s here.”
“Okay. Goodn—”
The call abruptly disconnects with a dull click. You let the phone fall onto the mattress beside you as her voice echoes in your ear, a sharp contrast to the absolute silence in your dark room.
----
You push the door open to the now familiar rehearsal room. It’s early, barely 2:00PM. You hope to get some practice done before the session begins.
You’re wrong.
Minju and the others are already here, an hour early before the start time of 3:00PM, huddled together in a small circle on the floor. Your eyes find her instantly, just as she covers her mouth, laughing at something Moka said. The corners of your mouth curve upwards at how carefree she looks. Grey pullover hoodie, hood up, the fabric bunching behind her ears.
You walk to your seat, bowing to those who caught your eye, swinging the case onto the chair before unclasping the buckles. You pull your bass out, and when you look up, she’s already looking back at you. Her eyes soften, a small, quiet smile on her face.
You go to give her a subtle nod, but before you can, your peripheral vision catches Yunah, leaning back on her hands with a sly, knowing smile plastered across her face.
You look away instantly, clearing your throat while pretending to adjust your amp. Walking off to grab a stand from the corner of the room. Pulling the music sheet from your case. Flipping through the pages to find where you left off the day before.
Minju watches your head drop, fixated on the sheet music as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. She bites the inside of her cheek. Even from here, even with her glasses, she can see the light, pink flush crawling up the back of your neck.
“Minju, you’re not even listening,” Moka nudges her shoulder, breaking her concentration, returning her to the circle.
“I am,” Minju lies softly. Both her hands move inside the kangaroo pocket, to the small packet of flesh-coloured band-aids and the small tube of ointment. Her fingers play with them, turning them over as she figures out the best way to give them to you. Her heart hammers against her ribs, loud enough that the girls might hear. She glances at Yunah, who still sports that insufferable, knowing smirk.
Her eyes return to you as she gathers a breath, and pushes herself off the floor.
The laughter in the circle dies instantly. Four pairs of eyes track her as she slowly makes her way to you with an awkward, exaggerated gait, lifting her hip just to drag her unresponsive foot forward. She doesn’t look at them but the heavy weight of their silence feels suffocating. Her eyes stay fixed on you the whole way.
Her sneakers squeak against the polished floor, the noise tearing your eyes away from the sheet music and towards her approaching form. She watches as you smile that smile that gets her heart beating and her brain dizzy, your dimples softly coming out.
You stand just as she reaches you. Her hands, still in her pocket, pull out the ointment and band-aids, holding them out to you with outstretched arms. You look down at them before looking back at her face, bright and pink, and her eyes, stuck on you.
“For—for your hands. Your fingers. Tips.” She takes a deep breath, face hotter than before. “For your fingertips.”
You open your palm and stare at your fingers. Still red but the pain is mostly gone now. The calluses are starting to form.
“You—you need to take care of yourself. Your fingers aren’t used to the bass strings yet.”
You reach out to take them. Your fingers slide against hers. Her skin is soft. Yours aren’t. Your hands completely overlap hers, your palm pressed flat against her knuckles, fingertips gently grazing at her wrist. Her breath hitches, throat closing up as she stands there, frozen, eyes locked on your joined hands.
You don’t say anything. Staring at your hands, you tighten your grip on her ever so slightly, your thumb unconsciously caressing her fingers. Her hands are small and thin and pale compared to yours.
A sharp cough catches your attention. You look past Minju’s shoulder. At Yunah staring dead at them, eyes wide and alert and pointing to the small group of staff in the corner of the room, still oblivious at what’s happening.
Your eyes return to Minju, completely entranced by the sight of her hands in yours, not blinking the whole time. You gently kick her shoe.
“Hey,” you whisper, voice low and urgent. “Go back. They’re looking.”
Minju blinks once. Twice. Three times before nodding frantically, the flush reaching her ears as she reluctantly slips her hands out of yours, leaving the ointment and band-aids, and hurrying back to the circle.
The second she takes a seat, the other four girls swarm around her instantly, shoulders pressed together, forming a wall against the curious eyes of their manager. They whisper-hiss, bombarding her with frantic questions.
“What was that? You looked like you were about to faint.” Moka whispers.
Yunah smiles knowingly. “You got him a gift already? That’s bold. Even for you.”
Her head turns to each and every member as they ask their questions or make their statements. She pulls her hood down, hiding her red ears and crimson cheeks.
“You got it all wrong! He’s… he’s my brother’s friend. I’ve known him since I was young. That’s it.”
They all go quiet, exchanging looks between each other before they all turn to you, blowing on your fingers as you apply ointment to them.
----
“Alright everyone! Good job! See you next week.”
You all collectively release a sigh of relief.
The jitters from the first rehearsal sessions are gone, the pain in your fingers fade thanks in large to the band-aids. The rehearsal was much better. You smile whenever they hit their runs, laugh quietly with the band when one of them makes a mistake before nailing it with the next attempt. You’re more in sync now, and for the first time in a long time, you feel like you can breathe.
You unplug your bass from the amp, laying it gently into its case. When you look up, they’re all staring at you, whispering into Minju’s ears as her face gets redder and redder.
They were staring at you a lot during the session. You wouldn’t have known if your shoulder wasn’t nudged by the guitarist beside you. He pointed with his chin to the other side of the room, to Yunah staring at you like a hawk, a small smirk plastered on her face. Or to Moka, who would turn smiling as soon as your eyes lock on hers.
“I think they like you.”
You laugh it off, looking back down at your bass. When you look up discreetly at Minju, she’s never looking at you, always at the floor or the director or the lyric sheets. You notice, however, throughout the session how her face burns bright, and the amount of empty water bottles scattered around her feet.
You lock the case, closing the clasps before rising to your feet, looking towards her. They’re all still looking at you, heads tilted, mouths parted like they want to ask you something.
“Good luck. See you at the next session.” You bow before them, turning and walking out the room.
The heavy, rehearsal room door clicks shut behind you, cutting the low murmur from the studio. You sling your bass case over your shoulder before making your way towards the elevators. You roll your shoulders, stiff after the 3 hour session, your fingers throbbing slightly under the band-aids, but as you ride the elevator down, the tension in your chest begins to subside. You smile at your reflection in the elevator doors. The rehearsal went well. The music finally working.
The door chimes open to the cafeteria level. You’re greeted by a vast, orange-bathed space from the setting sun. It’s early enough that you’ve managed to beat the usual dinner rush. The tables are mostly empty, and there’s no queue in front of you.
You hoist your case higher on your shoulder before pulling out a plastic tray from the stack. You step up to the first food counter when the distinct, sharp squeak of sneakers echoes around you, followed by a sudden rustling sound and Minju whispering.
“Wait, wait, wait!”
You turn your head just as she stumbles beside you, hands slamming on the stack of trays. She doesn’t look at you, instead turning to look behind her shoulders, eyes widening at the sight. You follow her gaze, to her members hiding behind a plant a few feet back. You see Yunah’s head peeking out, flashing a thumbs up before ducking out of sight, giggling with the others.
Minju turns toward you, eyes wide and throat dry as she tries to speak. “I—”
“You came to eat, right?”
She blinks a couple of times. “Huh? Y—yeah…”
She grabs a tray from the stack and begins to follow you as you slide yours along the rail. You lean over, grabbing stainless steel chopsticks, placing them gently on her tray and yours. You move along, thanking the staff when they hand you the food.
“I—”
You turn your head slightly, your hand reaching for her tray, sliding them both along as you wait for her to continue.
“I had to tell them about you… they wouldn’t stop asking. I’m sorry.”
You snort, grabbing two side dishes, one for each of them. “That explains why they were staring at me.”
She looks up, worried, her hands toying with the hem of her sleeves. “Is that okay? I—I can tell them to leave you alone—”
“I’m more worried about you.” You stop in place, and she bumps into you. “They’re going to ask you about me all the time now. Are you going to be okay with that?”
She opens and closes her mouth a couple of times, both hands gripping her sleeves. Her knuckles turn white, and for a brief moment, you’re reminded of that day on the train platform. She looks up at you again, glasses slightly askew on her face, chin tucked slightly.
“Yes.” It slips out from under her breath, soft and airy but you hear it anyway.
You nod once, dragging both trays along, grabbing everything she loves without asking: kimchi, pickled radishes, beansprouts. Minju stares down at her tray as you work, a hot blush crawling up her neck as she watches your bandaged hand take care of her. The sleek, modern cafeteria dissolves, and for a split second, she’s back in high school, inside the noisy and suffocating cafeteria with questionable food, watching you do the same thing.
The pair of you finally reach the cashier and as you reach for your wallet, Minju reaches out, tapping her card against the reader. “My meals are already covered. This is my treat, Oppa.”
You narrow your eyes playfully at her before jerking your head towards the table. “Lead the way, sunbae.”
“Don’t say that again. Please. That was so weird.”
You laugh, loud and carefree. The few staff that were there all turning to look. You don’t notice, focusing on following Minju to her table.
You gently place your tray across from her. Your bass case slides down your arms, settling beside your chair. Your hand finds the pitcher on the table, and you’re pouring water in a glass for her before she settles on the chair. After placing the glass on her side, you take her plate, cutting her food into manageable pieces without speaking.
She watches you, her shoulders relaxing as she remembers how you used to do the same thing before. Her blush deepens and her hand finds the glass of water, immediately bringing it to her mouth as she takes a gulp. And another. Until it’s empty and she has to refill it.
You just did it. Without her asking.
A sudden burst of giggling breaks the silence. You look up just as Minju slides down her chair, pulling on the chords of her hoodie. Your mouth twitches at the corner as your eyes move above her head, at her members spying on you as they make their way to the cafeteria line. They’re slapping each others’ arms, hopping in place, barely holding it together. Your eyes move to Yunah beside them, corralling them into the line as her eyes stay on you.
Your eyes stay locked onto each other for a couple of seconds. She looks away first.
Her eyes stay on the pitcher, her hands gripping the table as she hears a plate being laid gently onto her tray.
“Eat up.”
She sits up fully on her chair, grabs the chopsticks before taking a bite of her freshly cut food. “They’re really stupid,” she murmurs, her lips curling into a small, fraction of a smile. “I’m sorry.”
You smile, adding more of your food onto her plate. “Don’t be.”
----
Sound engineers and stylists run around you in controlled chaos, last minute checks to make sure everything is perfect for the first night of the tour in Seoul. You feel the roar of the crowd through the walls and floor of the arena, vibrating through the soles of your shoes. The sound eclipses anything you’ve heard before as they wait for the concert to start.
10 minutes to go.
You sit on a heavy travel case just off to the side of the stage, your knees bouncing in a tight, restless rhythm that you can’t seem to stop, your palms damp with sweat that you’re constantly drying with the towel beside you.
A sudden flurry of footsteps turns your head to their manager making last minute requests before moving to the side. You watch as they walk in a single file line, stopping right in front of you, eyes focused, faces set. The comfortable, oversized hoodies and the no makeup look is gone, replaced by pristine stage outfits, and accessories that complement them.
Minju turns her head, eyes finding yours before they travel down to your bouncing knees and your wringing hands. Your eyes never leave her face, at the small jewels adorning just beneath her eyes and her lips, pink and plump.
You had to remind yourself to breathe.
“Nervous, Oppa?”
You almost didn’t hear her, all soft and quiet, a sharp contrast to deafening rumble of the arena. You keep your eyes locked on hers for a couple of seconds, giving her a helpless smile and a small, inconspicuous nod.
She doesn’t hesitate. Reaching into a small, hidden pocket in her outfit, she pulls something small and presses it into your palm, wrapping your fingers around it. Her hands are small but they feel like they encompass yours whole. Minju lingers for a second longer than necessary. You hook your pinky finger around hers like an anchor.
She pulls away just as the director shouts for the band to make their way to the stage. You stand and open your palm to see her favourite sweet strawberry candy, the same ones she had in a jar on her desk back in high school.
A gentle nudge from the drummer has you moving towards the stairs to the stage and you hear sounds of encouragement from the members. You make your way to your position, unwrapping the sweet, popping it into your mouth before picking up your bass.
----
The sound of fifteen thousand people screaming hits you the moment the first note is played. It’s a thrilling yet terrifying energy that pumps directly into your veins, removing any leftover butterflies from your stomach. By the fourth song, you stop counting. Your fingers move of their own accord across the strings, and you no longer need to look at the sheet music, the chords already seared into your brain from all the rehearsals. You aren’t just playing music, you’re flowing with it, following the drums and being completely swept away in the electric energy of the arena.
But no matter how fast you move to a new song or how loud the crowd screams, your eyes always find their way to centre stage.
It’s one thing seeing Minju on your phone screen, dancing to choreo she’s worked on thousands of times or singing against a backing track. It’s another watching her in person, carefree, eyes bright watching the front rows waving their lightsticks and singing along. She sings louder than she ever did in rehearsal, dances harder than you’ve ever seen and you can’t help the eye-reaching smile plastered on your face.
Your eyes stay locked on her form from behind, even as they complete their first ment. The way she’s sipping her water like she’s dying of thirst, her throat bobbing in a rhythm, the water falling to about halfway. How her hands move to her hair, fixing it before adjusting her in-ear piece. You watch as sweat slides down her temple, down to her cheeks, reflecting the bright and heavy stage lights.
Your chest swells at the sight.
The two hours fly by like it's nothing and as they come out again, this time for the encore, wearing their tour merch, you feel the roaring crowd fade. She has little accessories—butterflies—in her hair, and her t-shirt—the same one you’re wearing—hangs off one shoulder, exposing her milky skin.
You don’t listen to what’s happening, you can’t but when she turns to you and starts running, your hand grips the neck of your bass just a little tighter.
“And on the bass!”
That’s your cue. You stand and start playing a riff, the one that got you noticed in the first place. Your eyes close and your head bobs as you feel the crowd roar at the way you play. When you feel a hand on your shoulder, you open your eyes to Minju… right next to you. Her eyes are wide and happy, watching how your hands glide along the strings as she brings her microphone closer. She jumps in front of you, just as a cameraman arrives to capture the moment. Your eyes find her as she begins strumming an air guitar in front of you, laughing and snorting like it was the funniest thing she’s ever done.
And you can’t help the grin that escapes.
You hear gasps and screams from the crowd, and you look behind you at the giant screen. You see yourself and Minju having fun in this little bubble you’ve made for yourself. She’s suddenly beside you again while you were distracted. You watch through the big screen as she makes a heart with your cheeks, much to the delight of her fans and her members.
Your hand slips, and misses a chord.
She’s laughing, doubling over at your mistake before she’s dragged away by Moka back to the centre of the stage.
Your eyes stay on her as you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Your ears feel warm and red as your heartbeat drowns everything out.
You look back down at your strings. Find your place. Keep playing.
But your eyes go straight back to her.
----
The noise from the newly arriving fans dull in this corridor just off the main stage. It’s quiet, no foot traffic whatsoever, a haven to get your bearings straight after slightly overdoing it during the soundcheck half an hour ago.
You jump up on one of the heavy cases pressed against the wall of the corridor, rolling one of your shoulders and stretching out your fingers. There’s a dull ache in your bones, a soreness in your muscles that wasn’t there during the first night at Seoul. You rub your neck with both hands as you hear the faint shouts of the tour coordinators.
The stop at Osaka has been a mess. A late arrival at the venue meant everyone is rushing. Gear has gone missing too, lost in transit from Korea. You feel the tension from the staff, the constant pacing around, the little arguments from the tour director and the managers.
You close your eyes momentarily before opening them at the sound of rushed footsteps.
Minju.
You notice the slight tiredness surrounding her, the slightly heavier layers of concealer under her eyes masking the bags underneath. She’s paler, skinnier too. You don’t remember the last time she or her members had a decent meal. When her eyes find yours, you watch her face relax, her shoulders drooping because she knows she doesn’t have to be the perfect idol in front of you.
You offer her a tired smile, your hand finding its way to your pocket, fiddling with a small box. “That bad, huh?”
She drags her feet as she makes her way towards you. “Some of the makeup has been lost, some of the outfits too.” She takes a deep breath. “The stylists put together something for us but the director isn’t happy about it.” She’s closer now. Just a couple inches away. She lifts her arms up like she’s asking for a hug.
“Uh…”
You hesitate for a moment, and her face contorts, as if she just realised what exactly she was asking. How bad it would’ve been for both of you if you were caught.
You don’t let her pull away.
“Come here.”
She takes the final few steps towards you, walks between your legs as she wraps her arms around your shoulders, yours finding their way to her waist. Your nose presses against the crown of her head. Citrus.
“This reminds me of when we were young.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, voice muffled against your shirt.
“Your mom always likes to tell this story. How you’d find me first before finding her. Or your dad.”
You feel a puff of air against your neck.
“I still do.”
You stop breathing for a second, your heart beating a mile a minute.
“You still do.”
The both of you could’ve stayed like this for five minutes or fifty. But eventually someone would come for her. And take her away.
“I got something for you.”
She lifts her head up, arms still surrounding you, fingers interlaced against the back of your neck. Your arms reluctantly leave her waist. You dig your hands into one of the pockets, pulling out a small box.
You open it for her to reveal a metallic pin in the shape of a duck. “I got it during my free time. It reminded me of you.”
“Because people say I look like a duck?”
It’s your turn to huff air. “Exactly.”
One of her hands leaves your neck, her fingers tracing the pin lightly like it would break.
“I love it. I—”
“Minju!”
You both turn to Yunah, standing there, hands on her waist.
Minju jumps back, her hand grabbing the pin but leaving the box in yours.
Yunah’s eyes travel between the two of you before landing on the box in your hand.
“Did you propose to her or something?”
“I—” You couldn’t get the words out fast enough.
“Whatever. Minju, they’re looking for you.”
“R—right.”
Yunah quickly interlaces her arms with Minju, dragging her off before either of you could explain.
----
Fukuoka. Or is it Manila? You don’t know anymore.
It’s late at night. The perfect time to haul a girl group to their next stop on the tour without the media getting involved. You’re walking briskly to your gate, gritting your teeth as your arm burns from lugging your bass case around. The airport is practically empty. It’s bright and sterile and it hurts your eyes.
You stare ahead of you, at Minju slowing down, separated from her group. You jog lightly to her, telling her to hop onto your suitcase. She hesitates for a few seconds before climbing on, legs wrapping around the handle. You squeeze your case onto her lap before pushing the suitcase towards the gate.
You don’t look at her, can’t look at her as she rests her head against your arm. “Get some rest on the plane.”
She can only hum in agreement, eyes closing as you continue pushing. By the time you reach the boarding queue, she slips off the suitcase and blends back in with her members before her manager can even turn around.
Forty-eight hours later and you’re back in another airport, jetting off to a new country just hours after finishing the concert. The exhaustion isn’t a dull ache anymore but a physical weight. Your eyes travel to Moka, asleep on Yunah’s lap, laying across the chairs in front of the boarding gate.
You see movement in the corner of your eye. Minju’s making her way towards you. Your eyes track her and the way her movements are sluggish, eyes barely open, you know she’s not far away from collapsing in exhaustion. She moves to sit next to you, and you turn away, her head landing softly against your back. Almost immediately she’s asleep, her breathing heavy and steady and you feel her face twitch every few minutes.
For a brief moment, you’re reminded of the bus ride back to her home.
You unfurl your jacket resting on the chair beside you, draping it over your back, covering her from prying eyes and blinding lights.
You don’t move even when your back is begging to be stretched, keen to let her get some rest before the next destination.
By the time the flight number crackles over the PA, she stirs with a quiet groan. She sits up, the tent covering her falling squarely on her shoulders. She wipes at her mouth, staring at your back.
“I drooled on you.”
You move to crouch in front of her, pulling your jacket tighter around her small frame, a soft smile tugging at your lips.
“Don’t worry about it.”
You help her stand, pushing her gently to where her manager is and boards with the rest of the first class ticket holders.
----
London. The last stop.
The cabin is entirely dark, the heavy curtains drawn separating the first class idols from the staff and the band in economy. You look down at your watch. Three in the morning. Everyone is asleep.
Everyone except Minju.
You came back from the toilet to see her in your seat by the emergency exit, legs tucked underneath her with a blanket draped over her thighs. She’s staring blankly out into the night sky, only turning to you when she sees your shadow. She doesn’t tense up, just pats the seat beside her in a silent invitation.
You sit beside her, the sound of snoring and the hum of the plane engines the only thing you hear. She drapes the blanket over your legs before leaning her head against your shoulder. Her breathing begins to slow into that familiar rhythm, warm air blown onto your neck.
As she settles beside you, her hands clinging to your arm, the oversized cardigan shifts, exposing her shoulder and collarbone.
Your eyes track the movement, and as you reach out to return it to its position, your breath hitches.
Fastened securely on the shirt is the cheap, metallic duck pin from Osaka. She’s been wearing it all this time.
You look down at her face, soft and completely defenseless in the dim cabin light, and the lie you keep telling yourself shatters. You’re not doing this out of habit. Not doing this because you’re her overprotective friend from her childhood.
You are completely, dangerously in love with her.
You reach up to turn off the lights. Your hand grips the armrests hard as you listen to her soft snores along with your beating heart.
You don’t sleep the entire journey.
----
Your hand drags along the wall as you make your way back to your hotel room. It’s quiet except for the muffled sounds of your footsteps on the carpeted hallway.
It’s done. The final concert finished. The band wanted to celebrate so you found yourself at the hotel bar, drinking and laughing with more energy than during the concert itself. You’re not much of a drinker, only having one beer before calling it a night at 11:30PM.
You pull your wallet out of your back pocket, taking out your hotel key card before freezing as you round the corner. You hear your heart in your ears as you look at Minju, drowning in a hoodie, standing in front of your door, hand raised like she was about to knock.
She hesitates.
You slowly walk up to her, the soft crunch of your shoe against the carpet alerting her to your presence. You hear a sharp intake, her hand hiding behind her as she turns to face you, back pressed against the door. She watches as you get closer and closer until you’re crowding her, invading her space like you’ve never done before in all the time she’s known you. Minju inhales deeply, a faint scent of beer on your clothes and the heat coming off your body is suffocating.
You stare down at her, waiting for her eyes to meet yours, and when they do, you see it. Her face free of makeup, the heavy bags under her eyes, skin a sickly pale hidden under the hallway light. She’s breathing heavily and there’s a slight wobble in the way she stands.
“Oppa… I’m tired.”
You look at her, really look at her and how she looks smaller than she did on stage. Your hand moves, cupping her cheek through the hoodie, and she stares up at you, releasing a heavy sigh as her glasses slightly lift, relaxing into your hand even as her legs wobble faintly.
Your free hand places the key card onto the scanner, hearing the audible click as you push down on the handle, opening the heavy hotel room door.
Her hands hold onto yours as she slowly steps backwards into the dark room, a sharp contrast from the bright hallway. You walk with her, turning when the door swings shut behind you to lock it. You kneel, untying your shoelaces, pulling off the shoes without any care. Your hands find her shoes as you spin on the spot, untied, no socks, like her coming here wasn’t planned. Her hands find your shoulders gripping them tightly as you lift one foot up, sliding the shoe, and placing her pale foot carefully onto the carpeted floor before doing the same to the other foot.
You slowly rise until you tower over her again. You reach out for her shoulder, your hand slowly sliding down her arm until it reaches her hand, covered by the sleeve of her oversized hoodie. Your other hand comes up, pulling the sleeve up her arm so you can hold her hand.
The room is too dark to see anything, save for the light coming from the streetlight just outside your window but the sharp intake of breath, the too tight grip on your fingers tells you everything you need to know.
You spin the both of you around, and slowly take steps backwards towards the bed, guiding her along. It’s only four or five steps and yet her feet drag along the carpet, and her knees buckling with every footstep. When the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress, you sit down, pulling her even closer until there is nothing but a couple of inches between you, her hands releasing yours, flying to your shoulders. She pushes off your shoulders and sits beside you, shoulders brushing together as the both of you instantly slouch.
Neither of you look at each other. Instead, you face the mirror in front of you, and as she starts speaking, you watch her through it—you take in her legs, skinny and pale, her glasses that are still crooked from when you held her cheek, and her face—gaunt, and completely unguarded.
She continues talking but you don’t hear anything, a painful ache in your chest as you stare at her exhausted frame. And yet, despite all that, she’s never been more beautiful.
You turn to face her, and when you do, her voice filters through your ears, tired and raspy.
“I wasn’t sure I would’ve made it without you.”
She turns to look at you, a small smile on her face that doesn’t quite reach her wet eyes. Her mouth opens again but the words die in her throat as she spots your trembling hand, reaching out to cup her cheek under the hood. This is different. You’ve always been the strong one, the one she could hide behind when things got rough… and you’re trembling.
A single tear slips down her face. Your thumbs catches it, wiping it away slow and featherlight against her cheekbone as you let out a shaky, unraveled exhale.
Your eyes fall from her face, travels along her hoodie until it lands on the metallic duck pin. Your free, shaking hand reaches for it, your thumb rubbing over the metal, mesmerised. And she watches you do it in absolute silence, watches as your eyes soften further at the sight of your gift pinned proudly.
When you lift your gaze to meet hers again, your eyes so wide and deep. She peers into them, feeling herself tear up just at the sight, like everything she wanted was held there, staring right back at her.
The hand on her cheek moves, pushing her hood down, smoothing her hair before both hands gently take her glasses off, setting them somewhere safe. Your hand returns to her cheek as you descend slowly, eyes trained on her pale lips. She inhales deeply, and when you were just a breath away, her eyes close.
You close the distance quick, the kiss more forceful than you intended, moving her head back slightly as you pour everything into it. Her lips are soft against yours, and as she begins pushing back, as her hand fists your shirt tightly and as yours finds the back of her head, you wonder how her lips fits so perfectly with yours.
You pull away and she hiccups, the sound echoing around the room. You can’t help the adoring smile on your face, the dimples prominent on your cheeks. It was only for a few seconds before her hands grab your head, her thumbs digging into the dimples as she pulls you right back in.
You feel wetness on your cheeks. You’re not sure from who. She’s slowly falling backwards, leaning against the headboard as both your hands find themselves underneath her hoodie, your fingers trailing up her waist, finding the warmth of her skin underneath.
Your hands were like fire on her skin slowly pushing the fabric higher and higher until you both had to separate, her arms coming up to assist you in removing the offending item. You pull it off, tossing the hoodie onto the floor and when your gaze returns, her arms are already hiding herself, her eyes looking anywhere but at you.
“Minju…”
She takes a deep breath, her chest rising as she pulls her arms tighter around herself. The room is still dark save for the streetlights bathing her in a white light.
She looks ethereal.
Your thumbs find her wrists, gently caressing the bone before the rest of your fingers wrap themselves around them.
“Look at me, Minju.”
Her eyes slowly find your face. Her heart threatens to break her ribs and the flush on her skin travels everywhere. She feels you pulling her arms away from her chest and she lets you, without resistance.
You drop her arms by her side, taking hold of her waist and pulling her down until she lies flat on the mattress. You just… look at her. At the way her eyes stay trained on you, at her parted lips, releasing her warm breath in the space between you, at the goosebumps littered along her chest.
You carefully crawl above her, catching her lips in yours just as her arms go round your neck, pulling you flushed against her. She moans into your mouth as your tongue enters hers.
But your mouth doesn’t stay there long, moving lower, pressing featherlight kisses on her chin, down her neck. Your breath is warm. That’s the first thing she registers. Warm and unhurried and careful in a way that makes her throat tight, her breathing erratic and shallow, especially when your lips find the swell of her breasts. Her head falls back onto the pillows when you take a stiff peak into your mouth and her eyes shut tight, relishing in the pleasure.
Minju’s spent years imagining this and none of it prepared her for how gentle you are. How you move like you have all the time in the world. Like she is someone worth taking time for. The slow kisses on her ribs, down her stomach and her hipbone as you slowly peel her shorts down. It’s unexpected and expected at the same time. Her heart swells just like that time in the bakery. Except this time, you're reciprocating which is more than she could’ve ever hoped for.
She feels your breath before anything else.
Her hand finds your hair without deciding to.
You can’t help the smile on your face as you continue your work. At the way her hand grips your hair tighter, pulling you closer, at her breathy sighs, muffled by her thighs clamping around your ears. And when you push a finger inside, when her hips lift off the bed and your free hand holds her down, her stomach tensing underneath, something in your chest comes undone. Like a dam has been broken.
It doesn’t take long for her thighs to start trembling, for her moans to turn to whimpers, sharp and loud. The two fingers inside are coated with her, and the hand on her stomach? Moved to one of her breasts, held there by her own. The feeling is so overwhelming, she can’t think straight, can’t get her breathing in order, can’t loosen the grip on your hair no matter how hard she tries. It’s too much. Your fingers, your tongue, your—
“Minju…”
Without warning, she lets go. Her legs have stopped shaking, and the whimper is caught in her throat. Her eyes are wide, her mouth covered by both her hands as she cranes her neck to look at you, still working, still prolonging like you don’t want her to stop feeling this. And when you finally lift your head, and she sees herself around your mouth, she forgets every word.
You pull the hem of your shirt—the merch from the first stop—and you wipe your mouth before pulling it over your head, carelessly thrown somewhere on the floor. The rest of your clothes follow without ceremony and before you know it, you’re over her again, cheeks flushed, sweat forming at her temple and her hair spread across the pillow.
You’re right there. She can feel the heat emanating and twitch as you inch closer and closer. Your rough, callused hand slides along her thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake as you wrap her around your waist, her foot settled on the small of your back. She looks into your eyes, pupils dilated, like your focus is on her and only her. Not idol and bassist.
And not best friend’s little sister.
She nods faintly, giving you permission and as you slowly push in, as she gasps by your lips as you move deeper, you kiss her, catching her moans in your mouth. Your hand leaves her thighs, wiping away the tears as you push all the way in. You wait until she’s ready, watching as she tries to keep her breathing under control.
“Please…”
You start moving, your pace slow because you don’t want this to end. Her nails dig into your shoulders and the noises coming out of her mouth become more frequent and louder the longer you go. You lean your forehead on hers, both of you breathing heavily, mixing in the small space between you. Both your eyes refuse to look away from the other as if all the unspoken words finally have somewhere to live.
She’s getting close, you can feel the way she tightens around you, and you’re close too. You take her lips as you spill inside her and her nails dig deeper into your skin as she follows shortly after, clenching around you rhythmically, taking everything from you.
----
You lift your head to look at the alarm clock on the night stand opposite you.
4:30AM.
You lay your head back down onto the pillow beneath, pressing your nose against the back of Minju’s head, inhaling her scent. She’s pressed flush against you, back against your chest and your arm tightens its hold along her stomach, fingers tracing every inch there is. Her breathing is even, and her soft snores are the only noise you hear. The blanket is draped over both your waists, the room too hot after what happened.
You can’t believe what you did.
And yet.
Knock, knock, knock
The pair of you jolt upright, eyes wide and breathing heavily. You wait a few seconds, swallowing the lump in your throat before stepping out of bed. You pull on a pair of sweatpants before padding your way towards the door, opening it just a crack.
You shut your eyes against the bright light and find Yunah standing there, still in her pyjamas with a baseball cap on, covering her eyes. She tilts her head up, not once making eye contact with you as she speaks into the dark hotel room.
“Minju, you have to leave. Manager’s waking up soon to do room checks, to make sure we’re all here.”
You continue to look at Yunah and she keeps avoiding your eyes as you both hear Minju stumbling off the high mattress, scrambling to find her clothes tossed on the floor. You hear a bang, likely from Minju slamming her shoulder on the wardrobe as she pulls her shorts on, and just like that, she’s running to the door, legs still shaky and sore from the night, hands smoothing over her clothes as she tries to make herself look presentable.
As she reaches the door, Yunah immediately grabs her arm firmly, pulling her out into the bright hallway. You watch as she’s dragged to the elevator and just as she’s about to disappear behind a corner, she steals one last glance at you. Gone is the paleness in her cheeks, replaced by a warm pink flush.
----
“Oh! Oh, look at this!”
Minju’s parents gather around her chair as she shows them photos of everywhere they’ve been. Tourist attractions, the food she ate, even some behind the scene photos of the concerts. You look at the widening smiles from both her parents’ faces and you can’t help the one growing on your own, despite the fact you haven’t stopped wringing your hands since you got here.
It’s only been a week since London and not once have you ever been this nervous having dinner with practically your second family. Your eyes fall to the table at the sharing plate filled with cut up fruit from her mom. You grab a fork, stabbing a piece of pear before depositing it into your mouth, chewing it slow and methodical.
Eventually, you get up, the chair scraping backwards as you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom. When you finish, opening the door to leave, Minju’s standing right there at the entrance. You jump back slightly, her hand finding and gripping your wrist firmly before dragging you into her childhood bedroom, only letting go to close the door behind you.
She turns around, watching you slowly making your way to sit on the edge of her bed like you always do, except you don’t have a bass in your hand and you’re not playing soft background music and she’s not doing homework on the desk by the opposite wall. Instead, you look at her intensely, making her squirm underneath and her face to flush and she pulls her hair in front of her face because everything is different now.
“Are you okay?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
Minju doesn’t answer. Just starts moving, eyes on the floor, pacing the small length of her room, rambling underneath her breath. You had to strain your ears to catch only a few words of what she’s saying—comeback, new choreography, content filming. Her hands start waving around, her quiet steps become loud stomps and you know she’s heated. And she knows she can’t show this to anyone else.
You don’t interrupt. Don’t offer her solutions. Just tracking her with your eyes.
After a couple minutes, you stand, moving yourself into her path. Her eyes are still on the floor when she bumps into you, her forehead against your chest. You wait. Until her breathing evens out and her shoulders sag before wrapping her in your arms, one hand at the small of her back and the other cradling the back of her head against your chest. She’s still talking, muffled in your shirt but even that subsides eventually.
You rest your cheek on the top of her head when you notice it. On her bookshelf, leaning against her action figures is an envelope, worn at the edges, your name written in cursive writing. You lift your head, and she whines at the loss of contact, but you’re squinting to get a better look at it, taking one step and accidentally taking her with you.
“S—sorry.”
You release her head from your chest as she turns in your hold, following your gaze to the letter she’s kept all these years, not touched since the day she left for training.
She pulls your hand off her, walking to the bookshelf, fingers trembling as she reaches for it. She turns to you, back pressed against the shelf as her eyes stay on the letter, unopened.
“I didn’t know what to write so I’m just going to say it. I like you. For as long as I can remember.”
She takes a deep breath before continuing, voice shaky.
“You always made me feel like I was someone worth paying attention to. I just wanted you to know.”
She only looks up when your shadow covers the letter in her hands. You reach for her hand, holding the letter between the two of you.
“You should’ve given it to me.”
She doesn’t say anything, just clutches at the letter and your fingers tightly as she stares into your eyes. You lower your head until your lips are just inches from hers. She takes them in hers, eyes squeezed shut, her other hand finding its way onto your cheeks as you hold onto the bookshelf behind.
You both drop the letter between you, her now free hand finding your waist as you let her pull you closer.
You freeze, pulling your lips away from hers when you hear footsteps just outside her door. She’s still holding you flush against her and you’re still crowding her. You should step back. If they find you like this… but one look into her eyes and you know she doesn’t care if you’re caught.
When the footsteps recede back downstairs, you both huff out a laugh. She’s rubbing your cheek as you pepper her face with small pecks everywhere: nose, eyebrow, forehead.
You whisper against her lips. “Do you want to play LoL?”
She looks at you with wide eyes. “Do you even know how to play?”
You smile, pressing another kiss onto her forehead.
“I thought you said you were going to beat that one game?”
“I just did.” You flop down on the bed next to her, staring up at the ceiling as she continues her crocheting. “Now I got nothing else to do.”
“Don’t you have games that you have to play?” she asks, focus entirely on the yarn in the hands. “You have like, what, ten games you haven’t played yet since the sale?”
“I’m not in the mood to play ‘em.” You let out a deep sigh, fingers rhythmically tapping at the bedsheets. “I don’t even know why I got them in the first place.”
“That’s what you get for buying them all,” she giggles, glancing at her tablet momentarily, holding up the in-progress-cloth. “Why don’t you play that one game?”
“Which one?” You prop yourself up by the elbow, chin on your hand. Watching her fingers deftly weave the wool, admiring how good she looks. Light makeup, glasses that make her look delectably adorable, your flannel over the white top she has on. You’re not sure if she knows that a hint of the black lace underneath is peeking out, but it’s not like there’s anyone that isn’t you have the privilege to see it right now.
“The one with the big number,” she replies, tilting her head. “All about paintings, from what I remember?”
“Oh, that one.” You’re not going to tell her that you bought that game full price and not on the recent sale. A game on the backlog is a game on the backlog, after all. “Maybe I should pick it up.”
“I heard it won a lot of awards,” she adds, face scrunching up cutely when she inspects her work. “And the story’s got everyone hooked.”
“Maybe you can watch while I play?” You grin, knowing that she’ll be taking the controller from you at some point. Even on the intended difficulty, you knew how hard that game was. Add the fact that Sakura gets extremely competitive on wanting to be the best, and you’ll most likely need to add a few controllers to the cart.
“Later, hun.” She smiles, turning to look at you. “I want to finish this hat for Sana first.”
“But I’m bored,” you whine, pleading with your eyes. Silently begging for her to give you some much needed attention.
“You’re so needy today,” she teases, letting out a little chuckle at your dilemma. “Can’t you play it without me?”
“I can, but I wanna play it with you.” That makes her melt, and her hand reaches out to boop your nose.
“Sweet,” she says, making you smile. “I promise I’ll play it with you later, okay?”
“Fine,” you relent, rolling back down onto the bed. Eyes gazing up on an upside down Sakura, who’s gone back to focusing on the yarn in her hands. “Still bored, by the way.”
“I’m sure there’s something you can do,” she says, her tongue sticking out, struggling at this one part.
Her statement gets you to think. No missed chores that you can pick back up, not in the mood to head to the gym after yesterday’s leg day, don’t want to play without Sakura—
Playing with Sakura is a thought. A fun one, upon giving it much thought. You glance back down to where the hint of her bra is peeking out of that tight top she has on, and even your flannel—as loose as it was on her—can’t hide how busty she is.
You move to sit behind her, arms wrapped around her tiny waist. Pulling her close, her arms come up to face level as she leans back against you. The face she must be making would tell you that she has an inkling of what you have in store to get rid of your boredom.
She’ll still ask what you’re doing. Give you that raise of her brow as she gives you a side eye. Roll her eyes at you when you give her a noncommittal answer, like a shrug and a nonchalant “Just watching you do your thing, sweetheart.”
You let your hands slide underneath her top, feeling the milky smooth skin and the contour of her abs, fingers running through the hard muscle. She lets you, of course; continuing on with completing the beige ‘hat’ that you quite can’t tell how far along it is from being one.
Your chin rests on her shoulder, the view of her deep cleavage from the top gets your fingers feeling frisky, and you gulp at the sight. You distract yourself with a whiff of her shampoo and her body wash wafting through your nostrils. It gets you nuzzling into her neck, lips leaving a peck by her pulse, your breath getting her ticklish and getting her to giggle.
“Stop.” The playful way in her tone along with a small nudge of her elbow against your chest tells you otherwise, and your hands come to join. Touching the spots you know where she’s ticklish, getting your fingers stabbing into them lightly that gets her to reveal the melody of her laugh that never fails to get you to smile.
It gets to a point where the yarn falls down to her lap, her own hands trying to get you to stop your assault on her spots. Every giggle, every laugh—it’s intoxicating, such a beautiful harmony that you could never grow tired of hearing.
Doesn’t help that her thrashing to get you to stop is unintentionally making her ass grind against your pants, her short shorts doing wonders for your cock that’s slowly straining against your pants.
Sakura manages to end it, one way or another. In this case she puts her entire weight on top of you, trapping you between her and the bed. She grabs hold of one of your hands, getting you to stop at least half of your tickle attack. With a quick swivel around, she faces you, her messy hair along with the crooked glasses that you’re surprised managed to stay on her face takes your breath away.
God, you could stare at the visage of her angelic features. A goddess, right in your arms—such irresistible pulchritude that you’re even lucky to breathe so close next to. Combined with the fond look on Sakura's face, the softening look in her eyes, the slight shake of her head that gets her hair framing her face.
And that damned smile that gets you all the time.
“Do you have nothing else to do?” she jokes, straddling you properly, her grip on your hand loosening.
The fingers that are on her waist squeeze gently. “Other than doing you, not really.”
Sakura scoffs, rolling her eyes with a grin. “Needy and horny.” She leans in close, her lips inches away from yours. “Whatever will we do?”
“I was thinking if you can maybe, hopefully—” You raise your hips slightly, making her gasp when your erection is against her shorts. “Possibly help me out?”
“After messing up my hat?” You take the chance to look down at what’s happened with her work. It doesn’t look that bad, though that's what your ignorant brain sees. “I should leave you blue balled for that.”
“I’ll make it up to you,” you say, your free hand resting on her thigh, thumb running circles over the smooth expanse under your palm.
She raises an eyebrow. “You don’t even know how to crochet, hun.”
You reach up to fix the pair of glasses on her face. “I’ll buy you new polaroid film?”
Sakura narrows her eyes, humming thoughtfully. Her answer doesn’t come out quickly, as if she was actually debating on whether she’ll take your offer or not. It comes with a mocking sigh followed by a chaste kiss on your lips. “Deal.” She tilts her head, giving you a smirk. “How does my honey want my help?”
“Well–” you start, already dead set on what you want, running your finger down to give her breast a quick squeeze. “These would be fucking amazing on my face, sweetie.”
Another roll of her eyes. “You and your fascination with my tits,” she comments, shaking her head at your antics.
“Are you complaining?”
“Of course not.” Pulling away to sit upright once more, her legs tuck under into a kneeling position, palms tapping her thighs. “Come on, hun.”
You follow her order, laying your head on her soft thighs while she pulls the flannel down her arms, the buttons of her top becoming undone enough to loosen the fabric and give way for her cleavage. You’re already salivating at the idea of what she’s offering, arm wrapping around her waist to pull yourself closer to her chest.
Your other hand reaches up, parting her shirt in the middle, that lacy black bra of hers an even more thought reducing sight on her than you realize. The exposure has you paralyzed, the one and only action you can do is let out a quiet curse at the fact that you’ll be drooling all over those magnificent tits, followed by—
“I fucking love you so much,” you blurt out, gazing up at Sakura’s smug face, the adoration bleeding through her eyes.
“Love you too, you horny little shit.” The nickname gets you both laughing, and it’s such a stark contrast to what both your hands are doing that it’s a wonder how you two can get into these situations. Hers fishing your cock out of your sweatpants, yours pulling her bra to the side to expose the soft, mouth watering flesh underneath.
Her laughs become breathless once your mouth latches on to the pink little nub of hers, suckling on her teat like a baby. Giving them a little nibble as your other hand reaches up to grab hold of her other breast, wanting to give her as equal attention as you can. And even through all those layers, you’ll never get enough of playing with her chest.
Sakura isn’t idle throughout, spitting down her hand and wrapping her fingers around your length, stroking you languidly. It gets you moaning, your hips bucking up at her hand as your eyes close. The sweetheart that she is, helping prop you up with her palm resting at the back of your head too, making sure that you never leave her soft, warm, delicious embrace.
“You look like a baby,” she giggles, turning to focus her attention to your cock. She thumbs your slit at every stroke upward, brushing against your balls when she reaches the base, her fingers hitting your every weakness like she was getting revenge for your earlier actions. “Take your time, honey. I’m not going anywhere.”
The words only spur you on, getting you to suck harder, grope rougher. You’re in a haze of pleasure, the pink nipple you’re nursing tasting so scrumptious that you wonder how much better it would taste like if milk were to ever come out of her breasts. You can only let out a muffled noise at the concept, biting down on her nub.
Her strokes grow faster on your cock, cooing such dirty provocations watching you lose yourself. The seduction in your ear, whispering how nice and hard you are for her, feeling you throb in her hands. Her giggles are temptation symphonized, words of encouragement coming out of her in droves as you worship her. That’s it, honey, you’re doing so good sucking on my tits.
Feeding you more fantasies at every groan you let out, thrusting into her hand in an attempt to chase your release. Growing desperate in her arms, your hunger grows ravenous as you suck fervently on her bud, with the only thing that gets you to stop was a one, simple possibility that she can turn into reality.
“I bet you want to fuck my tits so bad, don’t you?”
That gets you humming excitedly, head nodding, your eyes finally opening to be greeted with Sakura’s gorgeous face—flushed and warm and grinning down at you. You pull away, and if you could get on your knees to beg, you could. “Fuck, please.”
“Stand up for me.” You scramble, your feet hitting the floor in record time, Sakura sitting in front of you by the edge of the bed. She’s biting her lip at the sight of you positively throbbing, leaking precum because of her. “Already so close?”
“Me and my fascination with your tits.” You’re putty in her hands, jerking you off slowly to keep you wanting more. And more she gives, when she’s taking off her glasses and pulling her shirt off her head to expose her bra.
She makes a show of it, pressing them together to remind you just how deep her cleavage can go, of how big her chest is under all those layers of clothing. Baggy, fit, tight—all that doesn’t matter in the face of genetics.
“Starting to think you love my tits more than me,” she says, taking hold of your cock by the base. She gathers drool in her mouth, letting it trickle down her lips and coating your shaft.
“Kkura, sweetie, you know I love you a lot more than your tits, right?” you begin, hands resting on her shoulders.
“Mhmm.” She’s smirking, enjoying you squirm. “Your point?”
“My point is–” You’re interrupted by the softest sensation in the world wrapping around your cock, your words turning into mush when she slips your cock in between her tits, bra still on to entrap you in the pillowy hold. “Oh for fuck’s sake, can I please fuck the utter shit out of your tits?”
Sakura devilishly chuckles, pressing her tits together, the velvety embrace growing tighter. “Love you too, honey.”
You’re fucked stupid, and you haven’t even started fucking her chest yet. She starts it for you instead, fucking your cock on her breasts with this insufferably slow pace, letting another batch of spit down your cock, pooling into her cleavage. And the pressure is intense, thought shattering, god you need to fuck them—
Your hips thrust up, making your tip peek up her breasts. That alone gets your thighs to tremble at the sensation, and you’re biting your lip in a feeble attempt to delay your fate. “Oh my god.” Another thrust, and that unlocks the flood gates. “I’m never gonna leave your tits alone after this.”
“Not like you weren’t already doing that.” She leans down, pressing her lips against your head when you thrust up a third time, and you can only help yourself with a curse slipping out your lips. “Starting fucking ‘em already, hun.” Another dose of spit falls down your cock. “Or are you all talk?”
The pace you set off the bat is harsh; hands gripping her shoulders firmer as your hips snap upwards. The filthy grin on her face as you watch your cock disappear between her breasts adds to the entire sight. Her hands dig down harder on her tits, the embrace impossibly tight that every thrust has the odds of you cumming down her cleavage.
And Sakura has no say as to when you will. She’s given you the reins, letting you whatever you want to her breasts, looking delighted at the mess you must look like by now. You can barely talk, completely taken over by the need to chase that high, and she knows it.
“Cum for me,” she says, those three words making you growl. Your rhythm goes erratic, and you reach up to hold onto the back of her neck. “Come on, honey. Paint these tits that you love so much.”
“Kkura, fuck–”
“Please?” It’s so innocent, the way she says it. Until the next set of words come out of her mouth, and all you can hear is pure, unadulterated depravity. “Need you to mark me with your cum. Want it so bad, please–”
You come down, taking her lips with your own as your orgasm hits, and your entire body is trembling. Your moans grow muted as the first spurt shoots up her breasts and hits her collarbone. The next few pool in her cleavage, a few strays staining her bra with your seed.
Her tongue plays with yours as you glaze her, her hands coming up to hold you upright. Her chest follows your hips, moving up and down your cock, each pulse sending another streak of white across her skin.
By the end of it you’re almost slumped against her, your forehead pressing against hers. Your lips linked with a string of saliva, her breath hot against your face. You can barely stand up, lungs in dire need of air, the only thing that’s keeping you up are your hands on Sakura and her own on your hips.
Sakura leans up to plant a wet peck on your lips before she pulls your cock off from between her bra, ruined and stained full of white. “Look at that,” she breathes, looking down at the mess that you’ve created. “I’ll need to throw this bra away because of you.”
You let out a shaky chuckle. “I’ll buy you a new one.” You move to sit beside her, but the aftereffects of your high cause you sagging into the bed.
“Hun, please.” She turns to you with a playful glint. “You’ll just ruin it again.” Her fingers run down her cleavage, scooping up a dollop of your cum and taking it in her mouth. “Yum.”
Her gaze cast downward, toward your softening cock. She takes a glance up to your face, that playfulness turning dark before she sweeps down to take you in her mouth. Your legs jolt, the sudden sensation of her tongue swirling around your length such an overwhelming feeling. It makes you crave for it when she pulls away just as quick.
“Happy now?” she asks, all casual and smiles. Like you’re not dead on the bed and on life support.
“Ecstatic, sweetheart.” You barely have the strength to reach up and cup her cheek.
Sakura smiles sweetly, taking your hand in hers, her lips kissing your palm. “Want me to get some water for you?”
“Please,” you say, and with another, parting kiss on your palm she stands up—cum painted in her chest, bra utterly ruined, and completely glowing that make you shout out—
“Have I mentioned how much I love you yet?”
“Multiple times, hun!”
As she leaves to grab some well needed hydration, you can’t help but let out a smile.
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You stand there, breathing hard through your nose, looking down at the woman you thought you'd marry.
Minjeong—Winter, the name that used to taste sweet in your mouth—is tied to a chair in the middle of your apartment. Her wrists are bound behind the wooden backrest with zip ties, the plastic biting into that pale, flawless skin she always took such pride in. Her ankles are lashed to the chair legs, spread just wide enough that her little black dress has ridden up her thighs, exposing the lacy edge of something red underneath.
She's crying. Not the pretty kind of crying either—the kind where a single tear traces a perfect line down a porcelain cheek. No, this is ugly crying: mascara streaking, nose running, mouth stretched into a trembling, snotty grimace. Her shoulders shake. Her chest heaves. The little silver necklace you bought her for your one-year anniversary—a dainty thing with a tiny star pendant—glints under the overhead light with every sob.
You feel nothing.
"You can't do this," she chokes out, her voice cracking mid-sentence. "Please. Please, I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."
You don't answer. Not right away. Instead, you walk over to the kitchen counter, where her phone still sits, screen-up, the evidence glowing like a neon sign. Minho's messages. Your best friend since middle school. The guy who stood next to you at your father's funeral. The guy who helped you move into this apartment.
Can't stop thinking about last night. That thing you did with your tongue… fuck.
When can I see you again? Need to feel that tight little pussy wrapped around my cock.
You're his girlfriend but you're my slut. Say it.
And she had said it. Right there in the chat log. I'm your slut, Minho.
You read the messages out loud now, your voice flat, almost clinical. Each word lands like a slap. Winter flinches with every syllable, her crying ratcheting up a notch, her bound hands twisting uselessly behind her.
"Stop," she begs. "Please stop reading them."
"A whore doesn't get to make requests," you say, and the word whore drops from your mouth like a stone into still water.
Winter's face crumples. She's always been beautiful—everyone said so. The kind of beautiful that made strangers stop and stare on the street. That heart-shaped face, those full lips, those big brown eyes that could shift from innocent to sultry in half a blink. Her hair is honey-brown, usually silky and styled, but now it's a mess, plastered to her tear-wet cheeks. Her body is the kind men fantasize about: slim but curved, small breasts that sit high and perky, a waist you could span with two hands, hips that flare just enough to make every dress look sinful.
You used to worship that body. You used to kiss every inch of it like it was sacred.
Now you look at it and see a thing to be used.
"You've been fucking him for four months," you say, stepping closer. Four months of lies. Four months of her coming home late, smelling of someone else's cologne. Four months of her brushing off your concerns, telling you you're paranoid, telling you she loves you. Four months of you feeling like you were losing your mind.
Winter sobs harder. "It was a mistake. It didn't mean anything. I love you—"
The slap comes before you even register you've swung.
Your palm connects with her left cheek, the sound cracking through the apartment like a gunshot. Winter's head snaps to the side, her hair whipping across her face, and for a long, suspended moment there's only silence—her crying momentarily stunned into nothing, your own breathing ragged in your ears.
Then she whimpers, a tiny, broken sound, and you watch the red bloom across her cheekbone.
"I told you," you say, crouching down so your face is level with hers. Your voice is low, almost conversational. "A whore doesn't get to speak unless spoken to."
Winter stares at you, her eyes wide and wet and red-rimmed. There's fear there—real fear—and something else too. Something flickering behind the tears. Confusion, maybe. Or the first spark of something she doesn't want to name.
You reach out and take her chin between your thumb and forefinger, gripping hard enough to make her wince. You turn her face toward you, examining the slap mark like it's a piece of art you've just created.
"You're going to listen now," you tell her. "You're going to listen, and you're going to do exactly what I say, and maybe—maybe—by the time I'm done with you, you'll understand what happens to lying little sluts who think they can betray me."
Winter's lower lip trembles. A fresh tear spills over and rolls down to your thumb.
"I'm going to give you what Minho couldn't," you continue, releasing her chin and standing up straight. You look down at her from your full height, watching her shrink under your gaze. "I'm going to fuck you until you forget your own name. I'm going to use every hole in that cheating body of yours until you can't walk straight. And you're going to take it. You're going to take all of it, and you're going to thank me afterward."
"This is crazy," Winter whispers, shaking her head frantically. "You're not like this. You're not—you're a good person—"
"Good person?" You laugh, and the sound is ugly, hollow, nothing like the laugh she used to coax out of you. "A good person who trusted you. A good person who gave you everything. And what did you do with it, Minjeong? What did you do with my trust?"
She has no answer for that. Of course she doesn't.
You reach down and grab the hem of her little black dress—the one she wore on your double date with Mina and Minho, the one she thought made her look innocent—and you pull. Hard. The fabric tears with a harsh ripping sound, and Winter gasps, her body jerking against the restraints. You keep pulling until the dress is a ruined mess around her waist, leaving her top half bare except for a red lace bra.
"Minho buy you this?" you ask, fingers hooking under one of the straps. "Did you wear it for him?"
Winter shakes her head, but the flush spreading down her neck tells a different story.
"Don't lie to me." You snap the strap with one sharp tug, then the other. The bra goes slack, and you pull it away, tossing it somewhere behind you. "I'll know if you lie. And you really, really don't want to lie to me right now."
Her breasts are exactly as you remember them—small and firm, with pale brown nipples that are already tightening in the cool air of the apartment. They sit high on her chest, the kind of breasts that don't need a bra but look devastating in one anyway. You've kissed those nipples a hundred times. You've cupped those breasts in your hands and told her she was perfect.
Now you look at them and feel nothing but cold satisfaction at the way she shivers under your gaze.
"Please," Winter whispers, her voice barely audible. "Please, I'm sorry—"
"What did I say about speaking?" Your hand closes around her throat—not squeezing, just holding, a promise of pressure. "What did I tell you, Winter?"
Her mouth opens, then closes. She shakes her head, tears still streaming, her breath coming in short, panicked bursts that make her chest rise and fall in a way that would be mesmerizing if you weren't so focused on the terror in her eyes.
"Good girl," you murmur, and something flickers in her expression at those words—something complicated and unwilling. "You can learn. That's good. Because I have a lot to teach you tonight."
You release her throat and step back, taking your time as you circle the chair. She's trembling now, a full-body shiver that makes the zip ties creak against the wood. When you're behind her, you lean down close to her ear, close enough that your breath ghosts over her skin.
"Here's what's going to happen." Your voice is soft, almost gentle, and that seems to scare her more than the yelling ever did. "I'm going to untie you from this chair. You're not going to run. You're not going to scream. You're not going to fight. Because if you do any of those things, I'll make sure every single one of those screenshots gets sent to your parents, your coworkers, your friends. Everyone who thinks you're such a sweet, innocent girl. Do you understand?"
Winter makes a sound somewhere between a sob and a whimper, but she nods.
"Words," you say sharply. "Use your words."
"I understand." Her voice is hoarse, wrecked by crying. "I understand. I'll—I'll do whatever you want. Just please, please don't—"
"Don't what? Don't hurt you?" You come back around to face her, and you smile—a smile that doesn't reach your eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you, Winter. Not the way you think. I'm going to do something much worse."
You pull a small knife from your pocket—a folding blade you've had for years, nothing special, but the way Winter's eyes lock onto it makes it seem like a weapon of war. She goes rigid, her breathing stopping entirely for one long, suspended second.
You cut the zip ties on her ankles first. Then, carefully, you cut the ones binding her wrists. The plastic falls away, and Winter slumps forward, her body sagging with relief even as she keeps trembling. There are red marks on her skin where the restraints dug in. You'll add more marks before the night is over.
"Stand up," you command.
She does. Her legs are unsteady, and she stumbles, catching herself on the arm of the chair. Her ruined dress hangs around her hips, and her naked torso is covered in goosebumps, her nipples hard points that she instinctively tries to cover with her arms.
"Don't." Your voice is sharp enough to freeze her mid-motion. "Don't you dare cover yourself. You didn't cover yourself for Minho, did you? You didn't hide your body from him. So you don't get to hide it from me."
Winter's arms drop to her sides. The humiliation is written all over her face—in the deep flush spreading across her chest, in the way she can't meet your eyes, in the quiver of her jaw. But there's something else there too, something she's fighting to suppress. A flicker of heat in her gaze. A quickening of her breath that isn't just fear.
You've known her long enough to recognize it. Winter has always had a submissive streak, a secret desire to be told what to do, to be overpowered, to be taken. You explored it a little during your relationship—light bondage, some playful dominance—but she always shied away from admitting how much she wanted it.
Tonight, you're going to drag that desire out of her whether she likes it or not.
"Take off the rest of your dress," you say.
Winter's hands move to her waist, fumbling with the torn fabric. She pushes it down over her hips, letting it pool at her feet. Now she's standing in nothing but a pair of red lace panties—the matching set, you assume, to the bra you already removed. They're skimpy, barely-there things, the kind of underwear she never wore for you until recently. You always wondered who she was dressing up for.
Now you know.
"Those too," you say, nodding at the panties.
A shudder runs through her, but she hooks her thumbs into the waistband and pushes them down. The lace slides over her thighs, past her knees, and she steps out of them with the nervous grace of a gazelle. She's completely naked now, her body on full display in the harsh apartment light.
You take a moment to look at her. Really look.
Winter's body is a fucking masterpiece even now, even knowing what she's done. Her skin is fair and smooth, almost luminous under the overhead light, with a small mole just below her left rib that you used to kiss in the mornings. Her waist dips inward, an elegant curve that flares out to hips that have always driven you crazy. Her legs are long and toned from years of dance training, thighs that can grip with surprising strength.
And between those thighs—the part of her that's been betraying you for four months.
She keeps herself waxed clean, a habit she started last year. The mound of her cunt is bare and smooth, the lips just barely visible from where you're standing, a hint of pink nestled between her legs. You can't see much from this angle, but you will. You'll see everything before the night is through.
"On your knees," you say.
Winter hesitates—just for a second, just long enough for her defiance to register—and you see something flash in her eyes. The old Winter, the one who argued with you about everything, the one who could never just submit. But she's fighting herself as much as she's fighting you, and after that brief moment of resistance, she sinks down.
Her knees hit the hardwood floor with a soft thud, and she winces. The position puts her at eye level with your crotch, and she stares straight ahead, her jaw tight, her breath coming in shallow little gasps.
"Look at me," you say.
Slowly, reluctantly, she tilts her head back. Her eyes are still wet, her mascara still a mess, but underneath all that, there's something else. Something that looks almost like anticipation.
"You're going to be my little pet tonight," you tell her. "You're going to crawl when I tell you to crawl. You're going to beg when I tell you to beg. You're going to take my cock in every single hole your cheating body has, and you're going to thank me for the privilege. Do you understand?"
Winter's throat works as she swallows. "Yes."
"Yes, what?"
She stares at you, lost. You let the silence stretch, watching her fumble for the right answer, watching the realization slowly dawn.
"Yes… sir?" she tries.
You backhand her across the other cheek.
The slap is harder this time, snapping her head to the side, and she cries out—a sharp, shocked sound. Her hand flies to her face, cupping the new mark, and fresh tears spill down her cheeks.
"Wrong," you say calmly. "Try again."
Winter is sobbing openly now, her shoulders shaking, her body curled inward like she's trying to make herself as small as possible. "I don't—I don't know what you want—"
"You had a name for Minho, didn't you? When he was balls-deep in this tight little cunt, what did you call him?"
Her face goes pale, then red. The question hangs in the air, ugly and demanding, and you watch her struggle with it. She doesn't want to say it. Doesn't want to admit it. But she's naked on her knees in your apartment, and she knows—she knows—that lying will only make things worse.
"Daddy," she whispers, barely audible. "I called him daddy."
Something hot and sharp twists in your gut. Jealousy. Rage. A sick, possessive arousal that you don't want to name.
"Then that's what you'll call me," you say, and your voice comes out rougher than you intended. "Now. Try again."
"Yes, daddy." The words are barely a breath, but she says them, and her eyes squeeze shut like she can't bear to see your reaction.
"Good girl." You reach down and pat her head, threading your fingers through her messy hair. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Winter shakes her head, still not opening her eyes.
"Now," you say, unbuckling your belt with your free hand, "you're going to show me what that pretty little mouth can do besides lie."
Her eyes fly open at the sound of your zipper.
She watches, transfixed, as you pull your pants and boxers down just far enough to free your cock. You're already half-hard—have been since you first tied her to that chair, if you're being honest—and the sight of your erection makes her breath catch in her throat.
She's seen it before, of course. Hundreds of times. But never like this. Never with fear and shame and something darker swirling in her expression.
"Open your mouth," you command.
Winter hesitates. One last flicker of resistance. One last attempt to hold onto whatever dignity she has left.
Then she parts her lips.
They're the same lips you've kissed a thousand times—full and soft, the lower one slightly plumper than the upper. The lips that whispered I love you in the dark. The lips that wrapped around Minho's cock while you were at work.
You guide yourself to her mouth, rubbing the head of your dick against her bottom lip. A smear of pre-cum glistens on her skin, and she flinches at the contact but doesn't pull away.
"Tongue," you say.
She sticks it out—that small pink tongue you used to find adorable—and you tap the head of your cock against it. Once. Twice. A string of saliva and pre-cum connects you for a moment before breaking.
"Look at you," you murmur, almost to yourself. "On your knees for me. Tongue out. Ready to worship my cock. This is where you belong, isn't it, Winter?"
She makes a small sound—not quite a yes, not quite a no—and you take that as permission to push forward.
The first inch slides past her lips, and the wet heat of her mouth closes around you like a memory. She's always been good at this—eager and attentive, knowing exactly how to use her tongue—but tonight she's hesitant, her movements slow and uncertain. You don't care. This isn't about her pleasure. This isn't about making love. This is about ownership.
"More," you growl, fisting your hand in her hair. "Take more."
You push deeper, and Winter gags, her throat convulsing around the tip of your cock. The sound is wet and desperate, and her hands fly up to brace against your thighs. But she doesn't push you away. She doesn't bite down. She just kneels there, tears streaming down her face, and lets you use her mouth like a toy.
"Fuck," you breathe, pulling back just enough to let her gasp for air before pushing in again. "This mouth. This fucking mouth. You used it to kiss me goodbye every morning. You used it to tell me you loved me. And the whole time, the whole fucking time, you were using it to suck Minho's dick."
Winter makes a muffled sound around your cock—maybe a protest, maybe an apology—but you don't stop. You fuck her mouth in slow, deliberate strokes, watching your shaft disappear between her stretched lips, watching the way her cheeks hollow with the suction.
"That's it," you mutter, hips rocking steadily. "Take it. Take every fucking inch. This is what you're good for, isn't it? Not loyalty. Not love. Just being a warm hole for men to stick their cocks in."
She's crying harder now, moaning around your dick, and the vibrations send sparks of pleasure up your spine. Her saliva is dripping down her chin, mixing with the ruined mascara, pooling in the hollow of her throat. She looks obscene. Ruined. Nothing like the perfect girlfriend you thought you had.
You like her better this way.
After a few more thrusts, you pull out completely. Winter gasps, sucking in air, her chest heaving with the effort of breathing. A thick strand of spit connects your cock to her lower lip, and she stares at it with glassy eyes.
"Crawl," you say, stepping back. "Crawl to the bedroom."
She looks up at you—confused, humiliated, wrecked—and for a moment you think she might refuse. But then she leans forward, placing her hands on the floor, and begins to crawl.
The sight of it hits you like a physical blow. Winter, naked and shivering, moving across your apartment floor on her hands and knees. Her ass sways with every movement, that perfect round ass you used to grab in the kitchen while she was cooking. The curve of her spine dips and rises like a landscape you want to conquer. Her hair hangs down, hiding her face, and she doesn't look back at you.
She crawls past the couch where you used to cuddle for movie nights. Past the bookshelf where she kept her collection of romance novels. Past the framed photo of the two of you at Jeju Island, sunburned and laughing, arms wrapped around each other like you'd never let go.
You follow her, watching every movement, and by the time she reaches the bedroom door, your cock is achingly hard.
"On the bed," you say. "On your back."
She climbs onto the mattress—the same mattress you shared for two years, the one where she first told you she loved you, the one where you planned your future together. She lies back, her hair fanning out on the pillow, and stares up at the ceiling. Her body is tense, waiting.
You undress the rest of the way, shedding your shirt and letting your pants fall to the floor. She doesn't look at you. She keeps her eyes fixed upward, her jaw tight, her fingers clutching the sheets.
"Spread your legs."
Slowly, with all the reluctance she can muster, Winter lets her thighs fall open.
And there it is. The pussy that's been betraying you for four months.
It's beautiful. You can't deny that. Plump and smooth, with delicate outer lips that part just slightly to reveal the pink inner folds beneath. Her clit is a small pearl, half-hidden under its hood, and even from here you can see that she's wet—a glistening sheen of arousal that betrays everything her tear-streaked face is trying to deny.
"You're wet," you say, and it's not a question.
Winter shakes her head frantically. "No. No, I'm not—it's just—I can't help—"
"Don't lie." You kneel on the bed between her spread thighs, your hands gripping her knees to push them further apart. "This cunt is dripping. This cheating little cunt is so wet for me. Does it get this wet for Minho, too? Does it get slick for him the way it's getting slick for me right now?"
She doesn't answer. Can't answer. Her face is burning with shame, her body betraying her with every passing second.
You run one finger along her slit, just barely touching, and Winter's whole body jerks like she's been electrocuted. A strangled sound escapes her throat—half gasp, half moan—and her hips buck upward involuntarily.
"So responsive," you murmur, pulling your finger away. A bridge of her wetness stretches between your fingertip and her pussy, glistening in the lamplight. "So eager. You can pretend all you want, Winter, but your body knows the truth. Your body knows you're a filthy little slut who gets off on being used."
"I'm not—" she starts, but the words die in her throat when you slap her pussy.
Not hard—just a sharp, stinging tap that makes her gasp and clench around nothing. The sound is wet, obscene, and you watch a fresh wave of slickness coat her folds.
"You were saying?"
Winter just shakes her head, biting her lip so hard you're afraid she'll draw blood.
"That's what I thought." You lean down, positioning your face inches from her cunt. You can smell her now—the musky, intimate scent of her arousal—and it makes your mouth water. "I'm going to taste this pussy now. I'm going to lick every inch of it. And you're going to lie there and take it. No coming. Not until I say so. Understand?"
"Yes, daddy." The words are automatic now, almost reflexive, and something dark and satisfied curls in your chest.
You lower your mouth to her cunt.
The first lick is broad and flat, lapping up the length of her slit. Winter moans—a desperate, broken sound—and her hips roll against your face. Her taste floods your tongue, salty and sweet and unmistakably her. You've eaten her out dozens of times before, but never like this. Never with this kind of cold, calculated precision.
You trace the edges of her inner lips with the tip of your tongue, mapping the slick, swollen flesh. She's so wet it's almost dripping, her juices coating your chin and the lower half of your face. Every flick of your tongue makes her twitch and gasp, her thighs trembling on either side of your head.
"You taste like a whore," you tell her, pulling back just long enough to speak. "This cunt tastes like it's been used. Like another man's cock has been sliding in and out of it, stretching it, filling it with cum."
Winter sobs, but her hips keep moving, grinding against your mouth like they have a mind of their own.
You dive back in, focusing on her clit now. The little nub is swollen and sensitive, and when you suck it between your lips, Winter screams. Not a scream of pain—a scream of pleasure, torn from her throat before she can stop it.
"Oh god, oh fuck, please—" Her hands fly to your hair, gripping and pulling, but she can't seem to decide whether she's trying to push you away or pull you closer. "I can't—I'm going to—"
"No." You pull back immediately, and Winter cries out in frustration. "I told you. No coming. Not until I let you."
She's panting, her chest heaving, her cunt clenching on empty air. The look on her face is pure desperation—eyes wild, mouth open, skin flushed from her cheeks all the way down to her tits.
"Please," she begs, and it's the first time tonight she's begged without being prompted. "Please, daddy, I need—I need to come. Please let me come."
The sound of her begging—really begging, not just pleading for mercy—sends a surge of heat through your body. Your cock aches with the need to be inside her, but you're not done yet. You haven't broken her yet.
"You don't deserve to come," you tell her, crawling up her body until you're hovering over her, your face inches from hers. "You don't deserve anything except to be used like the worthless slut you are. But I'm going to fuck you anyway. I'm going to fill this cheating cunt with my cock. And you're not going to come until I give you permission. Do you understand?"
"Yes, daddy." Her voice is wrecked, raw from crying and moaning and screaming. "Please fuck me. Please use my pussy. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Just please—"
You drive into her in one hard thrust.
Winter arches off the bed, a guttural moan ripping from her throat as your cock stretches her open. She's tight—fuck, she's always been tight—but she's also drenched, and the way her walls grip you is almost unbearable. Every inch of your shaft is squeezed and stroked by that hot, wet channel, and you have to stop for a moment just to keep from coming right then and there.
"Look at you," you grit out, pulling back until just the tip is inside her, then slamming home again. The wet slap of your hips against hers fills the room. "Taking my cock like you were made for it. This is what you are, Winter. This is all you are. A set of holes for me to fuck."
She's babbling now, an incoherent stream of apologies and pleas and moans. Her legs wrap around your waist, pulling you deeper, and her nails rake down your back. The pain is sharp and grounding, and you fuck her harder in response.
The bed creaks beneath you. The headboard slams against the wall with every thrust. The room smells like sex—sweat and arousal and the faint lingering traces of her perfume. You watch your cock disappear into her again and again, the slick, pink flesh of her cunt clinging to your shaft every time you pull out.
"Who owns this pussy?" you demand, your rhythm growing punishing.
"You do!" Winter cries, her eyes rolling back. "You own it, daddy! It's yours!"
"Who did you spread your legs for like a cheap whore behind my back?"
"Minho—I'm sorry—I'm so fucking sorry—"
"You're damn right you're sorry." You grab her hips, angling them upward, and the new position drives your cock even deeper. She screams as you hit her cervix, her whole body convulsing. "But sorry doesn't fix anything. Sorry doesn't un-fuck all the times you let him inside you. Sorry doesn't make you any less of a dirty, cheating slut."
Winter is crying again, but her cunt is squeezing you tighter than ever, her hips bucking up to meet your thrusts. The contradiction is beautiful—the way her mind is breaking while her body chases its own pleasure.
"I'm going to come inside you," you tell her, your voice dropping to a growl. "I'm going to fill this unfaithful cunt with my cum. I'm going to pump you so full of it that it drips down your thighs for days. Maybe I'll knock you up. Maybe I'll put a baby in this cheating belly. Would you like that, Winter? Would you like to carry my child while you remember that you spread your legs for another man?"
She doesn't answer with words. She just sobs and nods, her inner walls fluttering around your cock in a way that tells you she's close—so close—to shattering.
"Please," she gasps, her voice cracking. "Please, daddy, I can't—I can't hold it anymore—please let me come—"
You look down at her. At this woman who broke your heart. At this woman who lied to your face for months. At this woman who is now nothing more than a sobbing, pleading mess on your cock.
"No," you say, and you pull out.
Winter's scream of denial echoes through the apartment. Her cunt clenches on nothing, desperate and empty, and her whole body shakes with the force of her denied orgasm.
"Why?" she wails, her hands reaching for you. "Why? I did everything you said—I called you daddy—I crawled—"
"You haven't learned your lesson yet." You grab her hips and flip her over, positioning her on her hands and knees. "But you will."
Behind her like this, the view is devastating. Her ass is round and perfect, pale skin dimpled at the sides, the curves leading down to a cunt that's swollen and slick and begging to be filled. You can see everything—the pink folds, the tight clench of her hole, the glistening evidence of her denied pleasure.
"Hands on the headboard," you command. "And don't move them."
Winter obeys, gripping the wooden slats like they're the only thing keeping her alive. Her back arches, presenting herself to you like an offering.
You position yourself behind her, the head of your cock nudging against her entrance. She's so wet it's obscene—her juices running down her thighs, making everything slick and messy and perfect.
"Beg," you say, not moving.
"Please," she whimpers immediately. "Please fuck me. Please use my pussy. I'm a whore. I'm a worthless cheating whore and I deserve to be punished. Please, daddy. Please give me your cock."
You slam into her from behind, and this time there's no restraint—just brutal, punishing rhythm that makes her scream into the pillow. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh mixes with her cries, and you grip her hips hard enough to bruise. Every thrust drives her forward into the headboard, her tits bouncing, her hair flying, her whole body jolting with the impact.
You're close. You can feel it building at the base of your spine, a pressure that's been mounting since the moment she knelt for you.
"You're going to take every drop," you growl, your rhythm stuttering. "Every single fucking drop. And then you're going to thank me."
"Yes—" Winter sobs into the pillow. "Yes, please, fill me up—I want it—I need it—"
The climax hits you like a freight train.
Your cock pulses inside her, the first jet of cum blasting against her cervix with enough force to make her gasp. You groan through clenched teeth, your fingers digging into her hips as you pump load after load of thick, hot semen into her clutching cunt. You can feel it flooding her—can feel the way her walls milk your shaft, drawing every last drop from your balls.
Time seems to slow. All you can hear is your own ragged breathing and Winter's soft, broken sobs. All you can feel is the wet heat of her pussy, clenching rhythmically around your still-pulsing cock.
When you finally pull out, a gush of white fluid follows, dripping from her stretched hole onto the sheets. Her inner thighs are slick with it. Her cunt is a mess of mingled juices—her arousal and your cum, trickling slowly down her folds.
You reach for the rope beneath the bed—coarse hemp you bought three days ago, after you found the messages, after the plan crystallized in your mind like ice forming on a winter lake. Winter's breathing stutters when she hears the coils scrape against the floorboards.
"What—what is that?" Her voice is wrecked, barely a croak.
"Language lesson number two." You pull the rope onto the mattress beside her trembling body. "Questions are a privilege. You haven't earned privileges."
She whimpers into the pillow, her ass still raised from when you flipped her over, your cum still drooling from her cunt in a slow, viscous trickle that catches the lamplight. The sight of it—that pearlescent white smeared across her swollen pink folds—makes your cock twitch even though you just emptied your balls inside her.
You haven't softened. Not completely. The rage is still there, coiling in your gut like a serpent, keeping you hard, keeping you hungry.
"Sit up."
Winter pushes herself upright on shaky arms. Her mascara has carved black tributaries down her cheeks. Her lip trembles. Her tits—those perfect, perky tits Minho got to see, got to touch, got to suck—rise and fall with every ragged breath. You grab her jaw, squeezing until her lips purse obscenely.
"You cried during that whole fuck. You begged me to stop. But this cunt—" Your other hand drops between her legs, two fingers plunging into her soaked hole without warning. She gasps, her hips bucking involuntarily. "This cunt is still drooling. Still gripping my fingers like it's starving. You can lie with your mouth, Winter, but this slutty little pussy tells the truth."
"I—I can't help—"
"You can't help being a whore. I know." You withdraw your fingers, slick with the combined evidence of your cum and her arousal, and smear it across her lips. "Taste it. Taste what a cheating slut's cunt tastes like mixed with the cum of the man she betrayed."
Her eyes squeeze shut. A fresh sob wracks her shoulders. But she opens her mouth. Her tongue—that pink, traitorous tongue—darts out and licks her lips clean.
"Good girl," you murmur, and the shudder that runs through her isn't entirely disgust. "Now. Blindfold."
You pull a strip of black silk from the pile of supplies you stashed under the bed—Mina helped you shop, her eyes blazing with a fury that matched your own, her suggestions growing darker with every item you added to the cart. The silk is soft, expensive, the kind of thing Winter might have worn in her hair on a date night.
Now it's going to cover her eyes while you destroy what's left of her dignity.
"Lift your head."
She obeys, tilting her chin up, and you wrap the silk around her eyes, knotting it tight at the back of her skull. Her breath quickens immediately—the darkness disorienting her, stripping away the last shred of control she had. Her hands flutter up like she wants to touch the blindfold, but she catches herself, fists clenching at her sides instead.
"How many fingers am I holding up?" you ask, waving your hand in front of her face.
"I—I don't know. I can't see anything."
"Exactly." You grab her by the upper arms and haul her off the bed. She staggers, her knees buckling, but you hold her upright with a grip that'll leave bruises. "You're going to learn what it feels like to be completely powerless. To have no idea what's coming next. The way I felt for four fucking months while you were spreading your legs for my best friend."
"I'm sor—"
The slap lands on her ass this time, a sharp crack that echoes off the bedroom walls. Winter yelps, her body jerking forward, but you yank her back against your chest. Your cock presses against the cleft of her ass, and she freezes, feeling it.
"Did I tell you to speak?"
"N-no."
"Then shut your fucking mouth."
You maneuver her toward the bed, but not onto it. You've got something else in mind. The restraints you rigged earlier—rope loops dangling from the ceiling hook where a hanging plant used to live, back when this apartment was a home and not a crime scene of betrayal—wait like black veins against the white ceiling.
"Arms up."
Winter hesitates. You can feel the resistance in her muscles, the last flickering embers of defiance. Then she raises her arms, and you guide her wrists into the loops, cinching them tight enough that she's suspended, her weight partially supported by the ropes, her toes barely brushing the floor.
"Fuck," she breathes, the word punched out of her as the ropes take her weight.
"Not yet." You circle around to her front, admiring your work. "But we'll get there."
She's a vision. A ruined, debauched, obscene vision. Her arms stretched above her head, her tits lifted and thrust forward, nipples pebbled tight. Her ribs visible beneath her pale skin with every shuddering inhale. Her thighs slick with a mix of her juices and your cum, the evidence of her betrayal and your vengeance glistening in the lamplight.
You step behind her and grab her hips.
"Bend."
"What—"
You shove her forward at the small of her back. She folds at the waist, her ass thrusting out obscenely, her upper body angled down toward the mattress. The new position puts her pussy and asshole on perfect display—a filthy feast spread just for you.
"Hook your ankles here." You tap the spreader bar you positioned earlier, a length of polished wood with leather cuffs at each end. "Now."
She fumbles blindly, her bound hands forcing her to rely on your guidance. You cuff first her left ankle, then her right, spreading her legs wide, opening her completely. When you step back to admire the view, your cock throbs so hard it aches.
Winter's cunt is a masterpiece of debauchery. The outer lips are puffy and dark pink, swollen from the fucking you just gave her, parted just enough to reveal the slick, glistening inner folds. Your cum has been leaking out steadily, a white rivulet tracing down her inner thigh, and her clit is a hard little pearl protruding from its hood, desperate and ignored. Below that impossibly tight pucker, her asshole—a small, pink buttonhole that you've never touched before tonight, that you've never even asked for because you were too respectful, too considerate, too fucking stupid.
Minho probably fucked her here. Probably bent her over just like this and shoved his cock into that tight little hole while she moaned and begged for more.
The thought makes your vision go red.
SMACK
Your palm cracks across her right asscheek, and Winter screams—a raw, startled sound that dissolves into a moan as the sting fades to a warm throb. The pale flesh blooms pink, a perfect handprint rising against her skin.
"Count," you command.
"O-one—"
SMACK
The left cheek this time. She buckles forward, the ropes creaking, her cunt clenching visibly on empty air.
"T-two—"
SMACK SMACK SMACK
Three in rapid succession, alternating cheeks, the sound wet and brutal in the quiet room. Winter's counting dissolves into sobs, her ass glowing pink, then red, the skin hot to the touch when you pause to palm the heated flesh.
"Look at this." You spread her cheeks wide, revealing everything—the slick, puffy folds of her cunt, the tight clench of her asshole, the trickle of cum still seeping from her used hole. "This is what you are. Not my girlfriend. Not Minjeong. Just holes. Just a set of wet, greedy holes that don't care whose cock is filling them."
"That's not—" she starts, but her voice breaks when you press your thumb against her asshole.
"What was that?"
Silence. A shudder. Then, so quiet you almost miss it: "Nothing, daddy."
"That's what I thought."
You release her cheeks and step back, drinking in the tableau. Your cock is leaking pre-cum in a steady stream, the head purple and engorged, veins standing out along the shaft. You stroke yourself slowly, watching Winter's blindfolded head turn at the wet sound of your palm sliding over your flesh.
"You hear that? I'm jerking my cock looking at your ass. That tight little asshole you never let me touch. Did you let Minho fuck you here? Did you let him push his dick into this virgin hole while you moaned like the slut you are?"
Winter shakes her head frantically, her hair whipping across her shoulders. "No—no, I never—we never—"
"But you wanted to." You step closer, pressing the head of your cock against her anus. She goes rigid, a strangled sound catching in her throat. "You wanted him to. Admit it."
"I—" She's trembling, every muscle taut, her bound hands flexing uselessly above her head. "Yes. Yes, I wanted him to. I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry—"
"Sorry doesn't unfuck my best friend, Winter. Sorry doesn't make you less of a dirty little anal whore who would've let him split you open if he'd asked." You spit on her asshole, a thick glob of saliva that lands directly on the tight pucker. She flinches but doesn't pull away. "But I'll tell you what does help."
"What?"
"Me taking what you were going to give him."
You push.
Just the tip—just the fat, slick head of your cock pressing against that impossibly tight ring of muscle. Winter screams, a high, keening sound, her body trying to buck away but finding nowhere to go. The ropes hold her suspended. The spreader bar keeps her legs open. She's trapped, presented, utterly at your mercy.
"Relax," you growl, gripping her hips hard enough to dimple the flesh. "Relax or it's going to hurt a hell of a lot worse."
"I can't—it's too big—please, please, go slow—"
"Slow? You want me to go slow?" You lean over her, your chest pressing against her back, your mouth at her ear. "Did you go slow with Minho? Did you tell him to go slow when he was fucking your cunt behind my back?"
"That's different—"
"How?"
She doesn't answer. Can't answer. You push a little harder, and the head of your cock pops past the first ring of resistance. Winter's scream breaks into something else—a guttural, animal moan that vibrates through her whole body. Her asshole clenches around you like a vice, so tight it's almost painful, the heat of her gripping and releasing in panicked spasms.
"Fuuuuck," you groan, the word dragged out of you. "Fuck, this ass is tight. So goddamn tight. Minho doesn't get to have this. This is mine now. You understand? This asshole belongs to me."
"Yes—yes, daddy—it's yours—oh god, it's so deep—"
You've barely got two inches inside her. But to Winter, suspended and blindfolded and spread open, it must feel like you're splitting her in half. Her inner walls flutter and clench, trying desperately to accommodate the intrusion. You can feel every ridge, every tight band of muscle, every involuntary spasm.
"More," you command, and push another inch.
Winter sobs, but her hips—her traitorous, needy hips—push backward, meeting your thrust. The contradiction is exquisite: her mouth crying no while her body begs yes, her asshole resisting even as it swallows your cock deeper.
"You're taking it so well," you murmur, pulling back slightly, then pushing in again. A slow, shallow rhythm that works her open inch by agonizing inch. "Such a good little anal slut. Did you know that's what you were? Did you know your asshole was made to take cock?"
"No—I didn't—I never—ahhh—"
You bottom out.
Your hips press flush against her reddened asscheeks, your entire length buried in her virgin asshole. Winter makes a sound you've never heard before—something between a sob and a moan and a prayer, her whole body shuddering around you. Her cunt, neglected and empty, drips a fresh gush of arousal onto the floor.
"Look at you," you breathe, marveling at the sight of your cock disappearing into her tightest hole. "Look at this greedy little ass, swallowing my cock like it was made for it. You're so full. Can you feel me in your stomach? Can you feel how deep I am?"
"Yes—fuck—yes, daddy, I feel you everywhere—"
You pull out slowly, savoring the drag of her tight walls against your shaft, then slam back in. Winter's scream echoes off the walls. Her bound hands clench into fists. Her toes curl against the floor.
"That's for every time you lied to me," you grunt, setting a brutal pace. "Every time you said you were working late. Every time you kissed me with Minho's cum still on your breath."
SLAP—your hips against her ass. SQUELCH—your cock plunging into her tight, dry hole, the only lubrication your spit and her body's desperate attempt to accommodate the invasion. GLURK—the obscene sound of her asshole gripping and releasing, gripping and releasing, a filthy rhythm that fills the room.
"Tell me what you are," you demand, your rhythm growing punishing. "Tell me what your asshole is."
"Yours—it's yours, daddy—my ass belongs to you—"
"And your cunt?"
"Yours—"
"And your mouth?"
"Yours—all of me—every hole—I'm your whore—I'm your fucking whore—"
The words tumble out of her in a fevered rush, and you know—you can hear it in her voice—that she means them. Not because she's broken. Not because you've beaten her into submission. But because this is what she's wanted all along. Someone to take control. Someone to use her the way she's always been too ashamed to ask for.
Minho gave her a taste of it. But you're giving her the whole fucking meal.
"That's right," you growl, reaching around to grab her tits, pinching her nipples hard enough to make her yelp. "You're my whore. Not Minho's. Not anyone else's. Mine. And my whores take what I give them. Understand?"
"Yes—yes—oh fuck, right there—"
"You like my cock in your ass, don't you? You like being bent over and fucked like a cheap slut?"
"Yes—I love it—I love your cock in my ass—"
"Say it again."
"I love your cock in my ass, daddy—I love being your anal whore—please don't stop—please fuck my ass harder—"
The begging—genuine, desperate, filthy begging—sends a surge of heat through your spine. You slam into her with renewed force, your balls slapping against her wet cunt with every thrust. The dual sensation—her tight asshole gripping your shaft, her slick pussy lips kissing your sack—is almost too much to bear.
"I'm going to come in your ass," you warn her, your rhythm growing erratic. "I'm going to fill this tight little hole with my cum. I'm going to plug you up and make you hold it inside you all night. You're going to sleep with my seed in your ass and wake up feeling it leak out."
"Do it—please, daddy—fill my ass—breed my asshole—"
The word breed coming from her lips—from prim, proper Minjeong, who blushed at the word penis—pushes you over the edge.
Your orgasm detonates at the base of your spine and rockets through your entire body. Your cock pulses inside her, the first thick jet of cum painting her insides white. You roar—an actual roar, torn from your chest—as you pump load after load into her clutching asshole, filling her deeper than you've ever filled anyone. You can feel your seed flooding her, can feel her anal walls milking your shaft, drawing every last drop from your balls.
"Fuuuuuuck," you groan, collapsing against her back, your forehead pressed between her shoulder blades. "Fuck, Winter. Fuck."
She's sobbing again—but these are different sobs. Quieter. Softer. Almost grateful.
"Thank you, daddy," she whispers, her voice raw and broken. "Thank you for using my ass."
You stay inside her for a long moment, feeling your cum pulse and settle in her depths. When you finally pull out, your cock comes free with a wet pop, and a gush of white fluid follows, dripping from her stretched, ruined hole down onto the floor.
You stare at the mess you've made of her. Her ass is red from your handprints, her asshole is gaping slightly, leaking your seed, and her cunt—her poor, neglected cunt—is still swollen and dripping, still desperate for attention, still untouched since you denied her orgasm earlier.
"Please," Winter breathes, her voice barely audible. "Please, daddy. My pussy—it hurts—I need to come—please let me come—"
You walk around to her front and crouch down so you're level with her blindfolded face. She's a mess—tears and snot and smeared mascara, her lips swollen from biting back screams.
"You want to come?"
"Yes—please—I'll do anything—"
"Anything?"
"Anything."
You reach up and untie the blindfold. The silk falls away, and Winter blinks in the sudden light, her eyes red and glassy, struggling to focus. When her gaze finally finds you, something in her expression shifts. The terror is still there, but underneath it, blazing like a furnace, is pure, unadulterated need.
"Then beg," you say, standing up and walking to the bedside table where you left your phone. "Beg while I record every second of it. Beg while I make a video that proves exactly what you are."
Winter's eyes go wide. The humiliation is written all over her face—in the fresh flush creeping up her chest, in the way her mouth opens and closes wordlessly, in the tremble of her bound hands.
But her cunt—that traitorous, needy cunt—drips another bead of arousal onto the floor.
"I'm waiting," you say, raising the phone.
Winter takes a shuddering breath.
Then she begins to beg.
You stare at the sight, transfixed, as Winter collapses onto the mattress. Her body is limp, her face half-buried in the pillow, her breath coming in shuddering gasps.
"Thank you," she whispers, the words barely intelligible. "Thank you, daddy."
You should feel satisfied. Victorious. You've humiliated her, punished her, claimed her in the most primal way possible.
But you're not done.
You haven't even gotten to the part where Mina exposes Minho in front of the whole restaurant.
And Winter still hasn't come—not once—and her body is trembling with unfulfilled need.
You smile, slow and cold, and reach for the rope you stashed under the bed.
"We're just getting started, sweetheart," you murmur, watching her freeze at the sound of your voice. "We're just getting started."
Your cum is still dripping out of Minjeong's cunt when you reach for your phone on the nightstand.
She lies on the bed behind you—a ruined, trembling mess of sweat and tears and leaking semen. Her thighs are slick with it. The sheets beneath her are soaked. Little whimpering sounds escape her throat, these pathetic half-sobs that hitch and stutter every time she exhales. She hasn't come. You made sure of that. Her pussy is still swollen and aching, her clit a throbbing nub that twitches every time a fresh dribble of your seed oozes out of her stretched hole and slides down across that sensitive little pearl.
You don't look at her. Not yet.
Instead, you scroll through your contacts until you find Mina's name. Minho's girlfriend. The woman who sat across from you at that restaurant two hours ago, her face pale with fury as she scrolled through the screenshots you'd sent her. The woman who agreed—without hesitation—that Minho needed to be destroyed.
She picks up on the second ring.
"Is it done?" Her voice is sharp, eager. Hungry.
"Part of it." You glance over your shoulder at Winter's limp form. "But I've got a better idea. Bring Minho here. My apartment. Right now."
A pause on the line. Then: "He's in the bathroom. Crying like a little bitch. What are you planning?"
"You'll see. Just bring him. And Mina?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't let him say no."
She laughs—a cold, brittle sound that crackles through the speaker. "Wouldn't dream of it."
The line goes dead.
You toss the phone onto the dresser and turn back to Winter. She's watching you now, her eyes glassy and unfocused, her mascara a raccoon smear around her puffy eyelids. Her lips are swollen from your cock. Her throat probably aches from the way you fucked it. And between her legs—god, between her legs she's a goddamn disaster. Her cunt lips are puffy and red, spread slightly from the pounding you gave her, and a thick white glob of cum is slowly making its way down her inner thigh.
"You hear that, sweetheart?" You crawl onto the bed, positioning yourself over her. "Minho's coming over."
Winter's eyes widen. The fog of exhaustion lifts just enough for panic to creep in. "No—please—don't let him see me like this—"
You slap her. Not hard—just a stinging little tap across her cheek that makes her gasp and shut up.
"What did I tell you about making requests?" You grab her jaw, squeezing until her lips pucker. "You don't get to have opinions tonight. You don't get to have dignity. You're a cheating whore, and cheating whores get put on display. Understand?"
A tear slips down her cheek and over your fingers. "Yes, daddy."
"Good fucking girl." You release her and slide off the bed. "Now stay there. Don't move. Don't wipe anything off. I want Minho to see exactly what happens to the pussy he thought belonged to him."
Winter makes a sound—something between a whimper and a moan—but she doesn't move. She lies there, legs still spread, cunt still leaking, and waits.
Twenty minutes pass. You spend them in the living room, sitting in the armchair facing the door, still naked, still half-hard. The apartment smells like sex and sweat and the faint floral perfume Winter wore to the restaurant. You don't bother cleaning up. You want Minho to walk into this. You want the stench of what you've done to hit him in the face the second he steps through that door.
The knock comes at 11:47 PM. Sharp. Three quick raps.
You don't get up. "It's open."
The door swings inward, and Mina shoves Minho through it like she's handling a prisoner.
He stumbles, catching himself on the back of the couch, and for one long moment he doesn't seem to understand what he's looking at. The apartment. The torn dress on the floor. The zip ties still looped around the chair in the middle of the room. And you—naked, lounging in the armchair like a king on a throne, your cock still glistening with the mingled evidence of what you've done.
"Mina said—" Minho's voice cracks. He's a good-looking guy—you've always known that. Tall, with broad shoulders and that stupid chiseled jawline that Winter probably traced with her fingertips while he was balls-deep inside her. But right now he looks like shit. His eyes are red-rimmed. His shirt is untucked. His hands are shaking. "She said you had something to show me."
"That I do." You stand up slowly, savoring the way Minho flinches. "Bedroom. Now."
Minho doesn't move. His eyes dart to Mina, who's standing behind him with her arms crossed, her expression hard as stone. Mina is beautiful in a sharp, angular way—high cheekbones, dark eyes that cut, black hair pulled back in a severe ponytail. She's wearing the same red dress from dinner, and the look on her face is one of pure, vindictive satisfaction.
"You heard him," Mina says, and she pushes Minho forward. "Walk."
He walks.
The three of you move down the hallway toward the bedroom, and you watch Minho's back stiffen with every step. He knows what's coming. Maybe not the specifics, but he knows. The air is thick with it—the scent of sex getting stronger, the faint sound of Winter's uneven breathing drifting through the half-open door.
You push the door open and step aside.
"Go on," you say. "Look at what you helped create."
Minho steps into the bedroom. And stops.
Winter is exactly where you left her—on her back, legs spread, cunt leaking. She looks at Minho, and something in her face just… shatters. Shame. Horror. And underneath it all, that stubborn flicker of arousal that she can't seem to extinguish no matter how hard she tries.
"Oh god," Winter whispers, and she tries to close her legs.
"No." Your voice cracks through the room like a whip. "Keep them open. He's seen your cunt before. What's one more look?"
Minho makes a strangled sound. His hands clench into fists at his sides, and he turns to you with something like fury in his eyes. "What the fuck is wrong with you? What did you do to her?"
"What did I do?" You laugh, stepping closer to him. "What did I do? You fucked my girlfriend for four months, Minho. You texted her—what was it again?—'Need to feel that tight little pussy wrapped around my cock.' You made her call herself your slut. And you're asking what I did?"
Minho's jaw works, but no words come out. His eyes keep flicking back to Winter—to the mess between her thighs, to the slap marks on her cheeks, to the way her tits rise and fall with every shaky breath.
"Sit down," you say, pointing to a chair in the corner of the bedroom. "You're going to watch. And you're not going to move. Mina?"
Mina steps forward, and now you see what she's holding—a small metal device that glints under the lamplight. A chastity cage. Stainless steel, with a tiny padlock dangling from the hinge.
"Pants off, Minho," Mina says, her voice cold and clinical. "Now."
"What?" Minho stumbles backward. "No. No fucking way. Mina, you can't be serious—"
"Four months." Mina's voice doesn't waver. "You were fucking her behind my back for four months. You lied to my face. You told me you loved me. And the whole time you were sneaking off to stick your dick in his girlfriend." She gestures at you with the cage. "So yes, I'm serious. Pants off. Or I swear to god I'll call my brother and his friends and we'll make this so much worse for you."
Minho looks at you, desperate, like maybe you'll stop this. Like maybe the old friendship means something. But the old friendship died the moment you read those messages, and the look on your face must communicate that, because Minho's shoulders slump and his hands move to his belt.
His pants hit the floor. Then his boxers.
His cock is soft—pathetic, really, dangling between his thighs with none of the arrogant confidence he must have felt every time he slid it into Winter. It's average-sized, circumcised, with a thatch of dark pubic hair that looks like it hasn't been groomed in weeks. You feel nothing looking at it except contempt.
Mina crouches in front of him and works the cage into place with practiced efficiency. The metal ring goes around the base of his shaft and behind his balls. The tube slides over his limp dick. She clicks the padlock shut and pockets the key, then stands back to admire her work.
"There," she says. "Much better."
Minho sinks into the chair in the corner, his face buried in his hands, naked from the waist down with that stupid metal cage locked around his useless cock. The cage is small—intentionally so—and you can already see his flesh pressing against the bars as his body tries, instinctually, to get hard.
"Now," you say, turning back to Winter, "let's give him a real show."
Winter tries to crawl backward on the bed when you approach, but there's nowhere to go. The headboard blocks her escape. Her hands scrabble uselessly at the sheets, and a fresh wave of tears spills down her cheeks.
"Please," she whispers. "Not in front of him. Please, I'll do anything—"
"You'll do anything anyway." You grab her ankle and drag her back to the center of the mattress. "The question isn't what you'll do. The question is what I'll do to you."
You position her on her hands and knees, facing the corner where Minho is sitting. She tries to keep her head down, tries to hide her face from him, but you fist your hand in her hair and yank her head up.
"Look at him," you growl in her ear. "Look at the man you threw away our relationship for."
Winter's eyes meet Minho's. The two of them stare at each other—two people who were fucking in secret for months, now exposed and naked and utterly, completely powerless. Minho's expression is twisted with horror and something else. Something that looks almost like pain. Winter's face is a wreck of shame and tears and that stubborn, unwilling arousal that keeps making her cunt clench around nothing.
"I'm sorry," Winter mouths at him. "I'm so sorry."
Minho says nothing. Just sits there, hands gripping the armrests, cock locked in its little metal prison.
"Enough sentimentality," you say. "We've got work to do."
You spread Winter's ass cheeks apart with both hands, exposing everything. Her cunt—still slick and puffy and dripping your cum. Her asshole—a tight, pink little pucker that clenches when the cool air of the room hits it. The skin between her holes is smooth and hairless, glistening with the juices that have been leaking out of her for the past twenty minutes.
Minho makes a strangled sound. The cage rattles as his cock tries—fails—to get hard.
"You never fucked her here, did you?" You run your thumb over Winter's asshole, pressing just hard enough to make her gasp. "You always wanted to. She told me. Begged you for it. But you said no. Said it was too tight. Said you didn't want to hurt her."
You lean down, your mouth inches from Winter's ear, but your words are for Minho. "I'm not scared of hurting her."
Your thumb presses harder. The ring of muscle resists for a moment, then yields just enough for the tip of your thumb to slip inside. Winter moans—a desperate, broken sound—and her hips buck backward, pushing against your hand.
"Look at that," you say, working your thumb deeper. "She wants it. Her asshole is sucking my thumb in like it's hungry for something bigger."
"This is sick," Minho chokes out. "You're sick."
"Says the man who fucked his best friend's girlfriend." You pull your thumb out with a wet pop and line up your cock instead. "Mina, come here. I want you to see this up close."
Mina walks over to the bed, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She stands beside you, arms still crossed, and watches with dark, glittering eyes as you press the head of your cock against Winter's asshole.
"No lube," Winter gasps, suddenly panicked. "Daddy, please, no lube—it won't fit—"
"It'll fit." You bear down, and the head of your cock starts to spread her open. "It'll fit because I'm going to make it fit. And you're going to take it. Because that's what whores do. They take whatever they're given."
The first inch is brutal.
Winter screams. Not a moan, not a gasp—a full-throated scream that rips through the bedroom and makes Minho lurch forward in his chair. Her asshole clenches around you like a fist, so tight it almost hurts, and the friction is almost unbearable. But you keep pushing—slow, steady, unrelenting—and inch by inch, her body yields.
"Goddamn," Mina breathes, leaning closer. Her hand moves to her own throat, fingers pressing against the hollow. "That's… her asshole is stretching so wide."
You look down at where your bodies meet. Winter's pink pucker is stretched into a tight ring around your shaft, the skin blanched white with the pressure. Every millimeter of movement makes her gasp and shudder, her fingers clawing at the sheets, her back arching so deep her spine looks like it might snap.
"Please," she sobs, "please, it's too much—"
"You can take more." You grab her hips and thrust forward, burying another two inches inside her. "You've been taking Minho's cock for four months. You can take mine in your ass for one night."
Winter's response is unintelligible—just sounds, just raw animal noises that don't quite form words. Spit drips from her open mouth onto the pillow. Her tits sway with every shuddering breath. Her ass—that perfect, round ass you used to worship—is stretched obscenely around your cock, the cheeks spread wide, the little hole gripping you like it's trying to push you out and suck you deeper at the same time.
"How does it feel?" You reach around and press your fingers against her clit. She jolts, a strangled cry escaping her throat. "Tell Minho how it feels."
"Full," Winter whimpers. "So fucking full. It hurts—it hurts so good—"
"You hear that, Minho?" You start to move, pulling back until just the head is inside her, then sliding forward again. "She likes it. Your girlfriend—the one you called your slut—she likes getting her ass fucked by me."
Winter's head snaps up. Her eyes meet Minho's across the room, and something in her expression shifts. The shame is still there. The horror. But there's something else now too—something wild and reckless and utterly, completely broken.
"I'm sorry," she gasps, her voice pitching higher with every word. "Minho, I'm sorry—I'm his now—I'm daddy's now—your slut is daddy's now—"
The words hit Minho like a physical blow. He slumps back in his chair, and you see tears—actual tears—starting to roll down his cheeks. The man who stood beside you at your father's funeral. The man who helped you move into this apartment. The man who's been fucking your girlfriend behind your back for four months.
He's crying.
And you don't give a fuck.
"That's right," you growl, picking up the pace. "Tell him whose whore you are now."
Winter is babbling, a stream of filth pouring out of her mouth as you pound into her ass. "I'm your whore—I'm daddy's whore—I'm a dirty fucking anal slut—I love it—I love getting my ass fucked—Minho never fucked my ass—only you—only daddy—"
Mina moves to stand beside Minho's chair. She reaches down and strokes his tear-streaked cheek with one manicured finger, her expression almost tender. "Look at her," she murmurs. "Look at the woman you threw me away for. She's getting her asshole reamed by her boyfriend—her real boyfriend—and she's loving every second of it. Does that make you sad, Minho? Does it break your stupid little heart?"
Minho shakes his head, but he can't tear his eyes away from the bed. From Winter's stretched, stuffed asshole. From the way her body jolts with every thrust. From the obscene, wet sounds of your cock sliding in and out of her tightest hole.
"Mina," he whispers. "Please—make it stop—"
"Why would I do that?" Mina's hand moves from his cheek to the metal cage locked around his cock. She taps it with her fingernail, and the sound is cold and sharp. "You've been locked away. You don't get to participate. You don't get to fuck. You just get to watch. This is your punishment, Minho. Watching another man give Winter what you never could."
You hear all of this from the bed, but you're too focused on Winter to respond. Her asshole has loosened up now, the initial resistance giving way to a slick, gripping heat that feels almost as good as her cunt. You're fucking her hard—really pounding into her now—and with every thrust, her body skids forward on the mattress, her face buried in the pillow, her screams muffled by the cotton.
"Flip her," Mina says suddenly. "I want to see her face when she comes."
You pull out—Winter whimpers at the sudden emptiness—and flip her onto her back. Her legs fall open automatically, and you get a perfect view of what you've done to her. Her asshole is a gaping, twitching mess, the tight ring of muscle now a dark pink hole that doesn't quite close. Her cunt is still leaking your earlier load, a fresh dribble of white sliding down toward her ruined ass. Her face is a mask of tears and drool and smeared mascara, and her eyes… god, her eyes are completely empty. Vacant. Like the Winter you knew has been replaced by something else entirely.
You glance at Minho. He's staring at Winter's gaped asshole with a look of pure, horrified fascination. The cage around his cock is straining now—his shaft trying desperately to get hard, pressing against the metal bars, the head turning an angry purple from the constriction.
"Balls are swelling," Mina observes, pressing her finger against the cage. "Getting all backed up in there, aren't you, Minho? All that cum with nowhere to go. That's what happens when you betray the people who love you. You get locked up. You get denied. You get to watch."
"Please," Minho whispers. "Please, Mina, I'm sorry—I'll do anything—"
But Mina isn't listening anymore. She's watching you settle between Winter's legs, your cock—now slick with a mixture of her ass's natural lubrication and your previous cum—positioned at the entrance of her cunt.
"No," Winter breathes, but her legs wrap around your waist anyway. "No, I can't—I'm too sensitive—I can't take any more—"
"You'll take it." You slide inside her with one smooth motion. Her cunt is obscenely wet, drenched from your previous load and her own denied arousal, and the heat of it is a shock after the tightness of her ass. "You'll take it because I'm going to fuck another load into this cheating pussy. And this time…"
You look over at Minho. Lock eyes with him.
"This time, you're going to come for me. On my cock. While he watches."
Winter shakes her head frantically, but her hips are already moving, already grinding against you, already chasing an orgasm she's been denied for what feels like hours. "I can't—I can't come like this—not in front of him—"
"You can." You fuck into her hard, angling your hips to hit that spot inside her that always made her eyes roll back. "And you will. Because you're not his anymore. You're mine. You're daddy's little cocksleeve. And if daddy says come, you come."
"Minho—" Winter's voice cracks on his name. "Minho, don't look—please don't look—"
But Minho can't look away. His eyes are glued to the place where your cock is sawing in and out of Winter's pussy, the slick, swollen folds gripping you with every stroke, the wet sounds filling the bedroom like obscene music.
"Look at him," you command Winter, grabbing her chin and forcing her head toward the corner. "Look at Minho while you come on my cock. I want him to see your face. I want him to see exactly what he's lost."
Winter's eyes meet Minho's. The connection between them—whatever it was, whatever it meant—fractures in real time. You watch it happen. Watch the guilt and shame and longing on Winter's face transform into something else entirely. Something hungry. Something ruined.
"I'm going to come," she whispers, and the words are almost reverent. "Oh fuck, daddy, I'm going to come—"
"Then come." You fuck her harder. Faster. The sound of your hips slapping against her thighs fills the room. "Come on my cock while your ex-lover watches. Scream for me."
Winter's back arches off the bed. Her mouth opens in a silent scream. And then—
"MINHO—I'M SORRY—I'M COMING—DADDY, I'M COMING—"
Her pussy clamps down on your cock like a vise, pulsing and fluttering in rhythmic waves that milk your shaft from base to tip. Her whole body convulses—legs locking around your waist, fingers clawing at your back, head thrown back so far her throat is a long pale column. A gush of fluid soaks your crotch and thighs—she's squirting, actually squirting, something she's never done before—and the sheer intensity of her orgasm pushes you over the edge right along with her.
You bury yourself to the hilt and explode.
The first pulse of cum blasts against her cervix with enough force to make her shriek. The second floods her channel, mixing with the remnants of your first load and her own copious juices. The third, fourth, fifth spurts seem to go on forever, your balls drawing up tight and emptying everything they have into her clutching, milking cunt.
"Take it," you growl, grinding your hips against hers. "Take every fucking drop."
Winter is still coming—still pulsing around you—her orgasm stretching on and on as your cum fills her to overflowing. White fluid leaks out around your shaft and drips onto the sheets, a spreading stain that smells of sex and salt and possession.
You stay inside her for a long moment, both of you panting, your foreheads pressed together. Then you pull out with a wet, obscene sound, and a flood of mingled fluids follows—cum and pussy juice and whatever else her body has to offer.
Winter lies limp on the mattress, her legs still spread, her holes still gaping, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Her mouth moves, forming silent words. You catch fragments: "Daddy… thank you… your whore… your fucking whore…"
In the corner, Minho is sobbing openly, his face buried in his hands, the chastity cage still locked tight around his useless cock.
Mina walks over to the bed and looks down at Winter with an expression of clinical fascination. "She's completely broken," she says, almost admiringly. "You actually did it."
"We're not done." You wipe your cock on the sheets and stand up, your legs a little unsteady. "Minho hasn't learned his lesson yet."
Minho's head snaps up at that. His face is streaked with tears, his eyes red, his expression one of pure, naked terror. "What—what else could you possibly do—"
"Winter." Your voice cuts through the room. "Crawl."
She moves before she even seems to think about it. Rolling off the bed, landing on her hands and knees on the floor, her cum-leaking cunt still on display, her asshole still gaping and twitching. She looks up at you with those vacant, adoring eyes, waiting for her next command.
Minho stares at her. At what she's become.
"Mina," you say, "I think Minho needs a closer look at what happens when you betray the people who love you. Put him on his knees."
Mina grabs Minho by the hair and drags him off the chair. He lands hard on his knees, the cage rattling against his thighs, and Mina keeps her grip on his hair, forcing his head up, forcing him to watch.
"Winter," you say, stepping closer to Minho's kneeling form, "open your mouth."
She opens it. Wide. Tongue out. Waiting.
You guide your cock—still slick, still half-hard—past her lips and into her throat in one smooth motion. She gags but doesn't resist, her hands coming up to cup your balls, her eyes fluttering closed in something like bliss.
"Look at her," you say to Minho, fucking Winter's face with slow, leisurely strokes. "This is what she is now. A set of holes for me to use. A cumdump that exists to serve my pleasure. You wanted her? You can have what's left when I'm done."
Minho's sobs fade into a low, keening whine. The cage rattles as his body tries, one more time, to get hard. Mina strokes his hair almost gently, shushing him like a child, her dark eyes glittering with satisfaction.
Winter moans around your cock, her throat working, her tongue pressing against the underside of your shaft, and you feel yourself starting to thicken again. Starting to get hard in the warm, wet suction of her mouth.
We're just getting started, you think, looking down at the ruined woman on her knees, the crying man locked in his cage, and the cold-eyed woman who helped you put them both there.
And you smile.
"Round three, anyone?"
Winter doesn't move. Not at first.
Her mouth is still full of your cock, her lips stretched around the base, her throat working to swallow the saliva and pre-cum pooling on her tongue. But her eyes—those vacant, glassy, utterly broken eyes—flick to the side. Toward Minho. Toward Mina. Toward the air between them where something new is about to be born.
You pull out slowly, letting her mouth make that wet, sucking sound. A string of spit bridges your cock to her lower lip, gleaming under the lamplight.
"You want something," you say. Not a question.
Winter nods. Her chest heaves. The smeared mascara makes her look like a doll left out in the rain. "Please," she whispers, and her voice is hoarse, wrecked, barely there. "Please fuck me again."
"Beg better."
"Please, daddy." The words tumble out faster now, desperate, her body swaying forward on her knees like she can't help herself. "Please use my holes. Please fill me up again. I need it. I need your cock inside me—"
"Which hole?"
Her tongue darts out, wetting her cracked lips. "All of them. Any of them. My cunt. My mouth. My—" She hesitates, and something flickers in her expression. Shame. Anticipation. "My ass. Please fuck my ass again, daddy. I want it. I want to feel you stretching me open."
You glance at Mina. She's watching Winter with those dark, calculating eyes, one eyebrow arched, her arms still crossed over her chest. The red dress hugs her lean frame, and the curve of her hip catches the lamplight in a way that would be distracting if you weren't so focused on the woman kneeling at your feet.
"Not good enough," Mina says. Her voice is cool. Clinical. "She can beg better than that. Show us how much you want it, Winter. Show us what a desperate little anal whore you've become."
Winter looks up at you, and for a moment you see the old Minjeong in there—proud, stubborn, the girl who argued with you about everything. But she's drowning in whatever this new thing is, swallowed up by the ruined, leaking, trembling creature she's become.
And then she does something unexpected.
She reaches behind herself with both hands, gripping her own ass cheeks, and pulls them apart. Wide. So wide the skin goes taut, so wide you can see everything—her cunt, still swollen and slick and dripping your cum onto the floor; her asshole, still loose from the fucking you gave it, a dark pink gape that twitches in the open air.
"Please," she says, and her voice cracks on the word. "Please fuck my ass. I'll do anything. I'll be anything. Just please—please don't leave me empty."
The sight of her like that—on her knees, spreading herself open, begging for more punishment—hits you somewhere deep. Your cock twitches, swelling, already half-hard again despite the two loads you've pumped into her body tonight.
But you don't move.
"I don't know," you say, letting the words drag out. "You've already had my cock twice. Maybe you don't deserve a third."
"I do. I do deserve it. I've been bad—I've been so bad—but I can be good. I can be so good for you, daddy."
Mina makes a dismissive sound. "Good? You've been a cheating whore for four months and you think a few rounds of punishment makes you good?" She uncrosses her arms and takes a step closer to Winter's kneeling form. "You want to prove you're sorry? You want to prove you deserve his cock in your ass? Then you're going to have to do something for me."
Winter's hands are still gripping her own ass, still holding herself open. Her eyes roll up to Mina's face, nervous and eager and afraid all at once.
"What?" Winter breathes. "What do I have to do?"
Mina reaches into the small clutch purse she's been holding—you hadn't even noticed it until now—and pulls out something that glints in the lamplight. A cock ring. Steel. Thick. And from the way it catches the light, intentionally small.
"Minho's been sitting over there crying like a bitch," Mina says, turning the ring over in her manicured fingers. "His little cage is keeping him from getting hard, but it's not really punishment, is it? Not real punishment. This, though…" She holds up the ring, letting Winter see how tight it is. "This will hurt. You're going to take his cage off. You're going to put this on him. And you're going to make it tight."
From the corner, Minho makes a strangled sound. "Mina—no—please—"
"Shut up." Mina doesn't even look at him. Her eyes stay fixed on Winter. "You do this, and you can have all the cock you want. You refuse…" She shrugs, the gesture elegant and cruel. "You stay empty. Your choice."
Winter's hands drop from her ass. She stares at the ring like it's a live grenade. Her breathing has gone shallow, her chest rising and falling in quick little bursts that make her tits jiggle. You can see her thinking—or trying to, anyway, through the fog of arousal and exhaustion and whatever's left of her shattered mind.
"Minho…" she whispers, and she turns her head toward the corner where he kneels.
He looks at her with desperate, pleading eyes. His face is a mess of tears, his jaw slack, his whole body slumped in defeat. The cage is still locked around his limp cock, and his balls have swollen against the metal ring, turning an angry shade of purple. "Winter, don't—you don't have to—"
But Winter is already moving.
She crawls. Not toward you. Not toward Mina. Toward Minho.
Her knees make soft thumping sounds against the hardwood floor, and her leaking cunt leaves a trail of moisture in her wake. Minho tries to scramble backward, but there's nowhere to go—the wall is behind him, and Mina's cold laughter is all around him, and Winter is closing in with something feral in her eyes.
"Hold him," Mina commands.
You grab Minho by the shoulders, pinning him against the wall. He struggles, but he's weak—hours of crying and humiliation have sapped whatever strength he had. Winter reaches him and kneels between his spread thighs, her fingers trembling as they find the tiny padlock on the chastity cage.
"I'm sorry," Winter is murmuring, over and over, a broken mantra. "I'm sorry, Minho, I'm so sorry—"
"Then don't do it—" He's crying again, fresh tears cutting tracks through the dried salt on his cheeks. "Winter, please, I love you—I love you—"
The words hang in the air like smoke.
Winter freezes. Her fingers, still wrapped around the cage, go still. She looks up at Minho's face, and for one long, suspended moment, something passes between them. The memory of whatever they had. The secret glances. The forbidden touches. The four months of betrayal.
Then her expression hardens.
"You don't love me," she says, and her voice is steadier than it's been all night. "You loved my cunt. You loved my mouth. You loved sneaking around behind everyone's backs. You never loved me."
She rips the cage off.
Minho yelps as his cock springs free—still soft, still pathetic, the flesh pale and shriveled from hours of confinement. Winter doesn't give him time to adjust. She grabs the steel ring from Mina's outstretched hand and shoves it over the head of his limp dick with a roughness that makes him scream.
"That's not tight enough," Mina observes, leaning against the wall. "Tighter."
Winter's fingers work the ring down his shaft, past the ridge of the head, down to the base. She pulls the adjustment mechanism—a tiny screw that Mina must have designed herself—and cranks it.
Minho's scream this time is animal. Guttural. His whole body jerks, and you have to press harder to keep him pinned. The ring is so tight now that his cock has started to swell involuntarily, the restricted blood flow making the flesh bulge against the steel. His balls look ready to burst. His face has gone white as paper.
"Good girl," Mina says, and her voice is practically purring. "Now back to your master."
Winter doesn't hesitate. She lets go of Minho's trapped cock and crawls back to you on all fours, her ass swaying, her holes still gaping and dripping. When she reaches your feet, she presses her forehead to the floor between them, her hair pooling around her like spilled honey.
"Please," she whimpers. "I did it. I punished him. Now please—please fuck me. Use me. Use my ass. Use whatever you want. I'm your dog. I'm your fucking bitch."
Behind her, Minho is sobbing—great, heaving cries that shake his whole frame. The ring glints around his swollen cock, and you can see the veins bulging, the head turning a deeper, more dangerous purple. Mina watches him with satisfaction, her arms crossed, her dark eyes glittering.
"Look at me," you say.
Winter lifts her head. Her face is a ruin—mascara, tears, spit, cum—but underneath all that, there's something new. Something that wasn't there an hour ago. She's not just broken. She's remade. Whatever you've been building tonight, it's finished now.
She licks her lips and leans forward, pressing her tongue flat against the head of your cock. The contact is soft. Worshipful. She drags her tongue down the underside of your shaft, tracing the vein, then back up to circle the tip. Her eyes never leave yours.
"Please," she breathes against your skin, and the word vibrates through your whole body. "Please, daddy. I'm ready. I'm so ready. Give your dog what she needs."
Her tongue works you with slow, reverent strokes—licking, lapping, bathing every inch of your cock in warm saliva. She takes the head between her lips and suckles, her cheeks hollowing, and the gentle suction makes your breath catch. She's learned. She's learned so fast. No more hesitation. No more resistance. Just pure, desperate worship.
"Fuck," you mutter, fisting your hand in her hair.
Winter moans around your cock, and the sound is so hungry, so grateful, that you feel yourself getting fully hard in her mouth. She pulls off with a wet pop, a bridge of spit stretching from her lip to your tip, and looks up at you with those empty, adoring eyes.
"My ass," she whispers. "Please. I need it. I need to feel you stretch me open again. I need to feel your cum inside me."
"Mina," you say, your voice rough. "What do you think? Has she earned it?"
Mina pushes off the wall and walks over, her heels clicking against the floor. She looks down at Winter—at the woman who was her rival, her enemy, the whore who fucked her boyfriend—and smiles. It's not a kind smile. It's the smile of a woman who's gotten exactly what she wanted.
"She's earned it," Mina says. "But I want to watch up close. And I want him to watch too." She jerks her head toward Minho, still crumpled against the wall, still crying, his cock trapped in its metal ring. "I want him to see every inch slide into her. I want him to hear her scream. Can you do that for me, Winter?"
Winter nods frantically, her hair flying around her face. "Yes. Yes. Whatever you want. I'll scream. I'll scream so loud the neighbors hear. Just please—please let me have his cock—"
You grab her by the hair and drag her toward the bed. She scrambles on all fours, not even trying to stand, her knees thumping against the floor, her tits swaying with every frantic movement. You lift her and throw her onto the mattress face-first, and she immediately positions herself—ass up, face down, knees spread wide. Her hands reach back and grip her own cheeks, pulling them apart, presenting her holes to you like an offering.
"Here," Winter pants, her voice muffled by the sheets. "Take it. It's yours. It's all yours. I'm yours. I'm your fucking dog."
