or:
ELEGIES to forget all these metaphors for fucking
read on fanprose (better dividers)
7k words
sohyun x male reader
Your coffee, she says. Sliding it to you.
Spat in?
Of course.
And it's flawless, because she makes it flawless - which is the true cruelty of it.
You reply: for the record, I poison the food, trace amounts, bioaccumulative. you'll go quietly in your sleep the week before you become partner, and i'll be left to grieve into your half of a security deposit
we are never seeing that deposit again because you put your fist through the drywall demonstrating a rear naked choke
You said you felt unsafe walking to the subway
I feel unsafe walking to the kitchen, thank you very much. She turns a page she was reading - now drink your spit.
Gladly
You'd had this apartment since you were both broke - instant-noodle broke, splitting one metrocard broke, the sort of broke that's almost fun in the rearview because you survived it by the skin of your teeth.
Now she bills more in an hour than the rent. You do something with capital you've stopped trying to explain at parties - rather, take a middle distance, talk about all the publishing companies you've sponsored. exclaim books aren't dead after all! [1]
[1] of course, the irony of it is that they are, kind of dead
The radiator finds a new place to leak everyday, the second bathroom is a closet on account of all the pipe failures - and you have to pass by her bedroom to go to the bathroom. You'll take your grim - as she says - 4-in-1 facial cleanser, moisturizer, toner, window cleaner beside her 70 products to - as she says, to look like a porcelain cup. Either of you could leave tomorrow. But you don't.
I'm making you a tinder profile you say, taking her phone off the counter, sliding in the code to her phone.
I don't need a profile
You need a life. Or, at minimum, an orgasm that isn't self-induced.
She scoffs at the answer, still focused on the book -
You read aloud what you type in: emotionally available between the hours of never and also never.
Keep going. I'm aroused.
Lawyer, with three working holes
She sets the book down - this is how you know you've drawn blood - give me the phone
Make me
You had reserved a restaurant for the two of you, this new restaurant that was supposed to be great according to 15 google reviews who probably were the owner's extended family - doing their due diligence to make sure that this specific child doesn't become the family disappointment.
As always, the food comes out less than satisfactory; all the dishes are doused in butter; and the salad section was the most calorically dense section of the menu. You whisper about how much better you can make each of these dishes back home - and she'll agree, for once:
You ruined restaurants for me. I used to enjoy being disappointed by the $20 millennial man-bun burger. Now there's a douchebag at home who makes a great burger.
my pleasure with a smile.
She's scrolling tinder, still scrolling ever since the morning. Look at this, look at what's available to me. This one opened with the word 'yes'.
Atleast he's confident about it.
Oh please... she sighs, and this one wanted to know - whether i would rather have one thumb for a tongue or a tongue on every finger.
What did you land on. I think the tongue on every finger -
Nothing! It's so impractical, i'd rather think about - i don't know, vigorously masturbating.
You choke on some food you were actively chewing on, and she giggles - of course she does - and this one spelled 'pussy' wrong, this one wrote 'wyd 2nite' and I just have to scoff - how lazy do you have to be. It is ONE keystroke. T-O.
She drops the phone facedown, Who raised these men. Who looked at a child and thought: i will release this, unfinished, into the apps.
You'd know more about raising them, if you'd dated more than one person since the Pleistocene.
Atleast I committed, you - you just find anybody to fuck around with. She points at you, still chewing the complimentary bread - there was that one with the lululemon workout gear, said that's her sexpertise - she mimics a gag - then the DJ. The other DJ. Then I think there was another fucking DJ. I just genuinely -
Respect the hustle, Sohyun.
Respect the hustle? Your dick has commitment issues.
You laugh, and she's laughing too, the helpless one she hates, hand over her mouth, a soft cackle, perfect, uneven teeth showing - and you pay before she can fight you about it.
There's a dress shop two blocks down, on the way back to your apartment - and there's a green dress of something very expensive, to which she slows just a tad for -
You: Try it.
No thanks. It's ten thousand dollars with a tag.
So is everything you own. And then, you can't help it, it's right there - you lower your voice into something oily, shriveled, all menace, Let your uncle get it for you.
Absolutely not, strike it from the record
Uncle's had a very good quarter sweetheart. You pat a pocket. Uncle wants to see you in the green one.
I will call the actual police, I will have you locked up in maximum security - but, that laugh, she can't help herself, laughing into her hand - ...does uncle want to come in - watch me try it?
And for once, neither of you has the line to pull back.
...That got away from us, you manage, like something's lodged in your throat
That got away from you. She says. Buy me the dress, uncle. I've earned it.
Of course. You buy it.
The weekend arrives with the both of you brushing in the same bathroom, the only usable bathroom. She gargles, lets the foam clear away before slotting a length of floss between her teeth - By the way, I've a date today
With a... functioning human being?
His name is Mark. He used a semicolon correctly, nearly proposed on the spot.
So he's unemployed
He's a structural engineer, building the finest bridges.
Man who builds bridges and stays punctual - sounds like you matched with linkedin premium.
He's nice. Two long relationships, both ending kindly. Tips like he's apologizing for capitalism.
...So a serial killer?
He's just nice, man. She moves to throw the length of loss away.
Nobody's just nice. 4 months later the neighbors will find the crawlspace. You amble a comb through your hair. and then, I'll say I told you so.
She presses an index finger into your gut and you reflexively jolt - save this barking for later, uncle.
You move into the living room, waiting for Sohyun to get ready. You didn't get to see her in a green dress yet -
Uncle, I'm ready. She says, behind the door.
This uncle bit is getting old, Sohy - She comes out, the green dress skims her curves, the v-neck that presses her cleavage together, gleaming hair, glowing skin, plump lips -
Eyes up here mister.
Right. Get a hold of yourself - yeah, it looks great. Like, I don't know, it's like an accidentally sexy librarian.
Your eyes are fixed to my cleavage, I'm not even sure if you got the full view.
You did, you definitely did. This is, without a doubt, the hottest woman you've ever seen.
Now, help me zip up this thing.
There's the long bare reach of her back, you drag it up slowly, the zipper is small and your hands are big and you don't want to waste a moment of counting all the moles on her back.
I'm sorry but there won't be a person left in this city who hasn't looked down the front of that dress you say, pulling the zipper by parts.
Here I was, hoping the one exception was you.
Afraid not. You move some hairs away from her nape to get the zipper fully closed.
And she turns again, the dress comes out even more pressed to her curves, and that v-neck, god almighty. She steps into the heels -
I'm picturing it, you - a human - and this... linkedin premium.
God please no
I'm picturing it - two barbie dolls in the dark, knocking smooth plastic parts together. You say, vulgarity be damned.
Please stop talking - a familiar twitch to her mouth, god what you would do to continue living with her.
He won't get anywhere regardless, you add, holding out her coat unasked. Ten years with one man, a year of nothing since: there are cobwebs in there.
You know what's charming about the women you date? she says, taking the coat. How they all vanish after exactly one dinner. Like you're running a very tidy little murder operation
You know what's charming about the men you date? They don't exist. Mark is the first confirmed sighting. That's a million dollar sighting. Rarer than bigfoot.
Mark exists.
We'll see if he survives contact. Go easy on him, castrator
Don't need to go easy, dahmer. He's structurally sound. She slings a bag over her shoulder. Dont wait up.
You wait up, badly: lights off, a finance newsletter open on your phone that you're not reading, slouching on the couch like a man who is definitely not watching the door, ambling away the scalding minutes.
The lock turns at around eight PM. She comes in on the green dress and a drunk smile -
So, you say
So. She drops her shoes
How was Marco
Mark - she says, with emphasis - was wonderful.
And something about it feels wrong. Like swallowing something that's whole, cratering its path through your esophagus. Wonderful how, be specific, treat it as a deposition.
He's funny, actually funny, she pads into the kitchen, where you've already moved, filling two glasses of wine - we didn't stop talking. Three whole hours of talking, they flipped the chairs onto the tables around us.
Insufferable
There's a second date, a sip from the wine, a gentle smile on her. You wouldn't know the feeling.
Conversation's never been my deliverable.
No. I've seen your deliverable. It leaves before the coffee and changes its phone number
It leaves satisfied, you gesture, A courtesy Mark may never trouble you with
She hops up onto the counter, legs swinging in a gentle rhythm. And that dress - your dress, your genuinely terrible idea - pressed high to her thigh, all pretense of hem gone, riding clean all the way to the upper -
You'd buy it anyway. You'd buy it on leverage you don't have -
Oh please, monk of the orgasm temple. She scoffs. "Satisfied." Then tips her head, lowers the lashes, entering this little play that she imagines your women sing: I see you across the bar and - gosh (this emphasis on the trashiest possible gosh) - you really want me to put my tongue there!? I've never done that before. Sweet as a song. Does that play? On the book-illiterate?
Devastatingly so, you say. You should audition to be one of these... book-illiterates. I'm always casting.
No thanks. I've got a second date to look forward to.
Do you even get to the regular stuff, you ask, or do you have to bury the body first?
Now - she aims the empty glass at your sternum - you're trying to get me worked up.
You retrieve the glass, but up close she's all wine-warmth, hot perfume, the gentle trace of another man's cologne, and your body, traitorous as it is, gets worked up.
Oh my god. she says, looking down, radiant, with a ticking-time-bomb of a laugh - is that what I think it is?
Quickly, try to play it off - Don't flatter yourself, I was outside for a while and walked past alot of women - and she catches the lie like it's nothing, scoffing: You walked past, maybe, a leaking radiator.
The radiator's been forward lately. I haven't wanted to make it weird.
Should've seen it sooner, looks like we're arranging the date soon for the radiator fucker, she rules.
Oh, but I'm shy - an awful pitch to your voice.
And there's this soft silence, like nothing's wrong in the world - and Sohyun's grinning at you, wine marking her lips a tad darker, like you could just -
She tilts her head, openly appraising - I've always had a soft spot, she murmurs, for the small and the weak.
There's nothing small about me
You bring your dick up an awful lot. She slides off the counter and lands close. I wonder what that means.
It means you keep looking. I knew you would.
I wanted a visual, she says, It'll be giving me nightmares for weeks, thank you very much.
And then nothing's said. Kitchen too small, this green dress too close, the fact that you've got a hard-on to her and she... Fucking. Knows.
Goodnight, Dahmer she brushes past - because she has never once let you have the last move - and goes down the hall to her bedroom
And you're fine.
Completely fucking fine.
A month passes, Mark, the angel Sohyun's in love with has her busy on the weekends, letting her experience the city for what it's worth, letting her live a life she's missed out on for years.
He texts you on a Tuesday. Apparently I've been dating your roommate a month and never once bought her roommate a drink. Let me fix that - Friday? Sohyun's in, obviously.
You go to hate him - an agenda that Sohyun is already aware of. They're already there in the corner booth, two of them sitting next to eachother - and Mark rises to shake your hand. Tall and good-looking, how cliche - like he's never been escorted out of a holiday party by the shoulders.
You came. Mark says. Sohyun bet me twenty you'd bail.
I should have. I had a flawless evening of resenting you from across the city already booked. You slide in across from them.
So, you say. Bridges, tell me about the one that collapsed. The bodies, all the bodies.
None of mine have collapsed
That you know of.
He won an award, Sohyun interjected.
An award for a bridge that hasnt failed yet - committee's bold then. Waitress brings a beer, foam leaking at the top, and you take a sip - Personally, cantilevers - I say as a layman - overrated.
Overrated how. He gives a pleasant smile
The general load -
You don't know what a cantilever is.
I know it's a kind of bridge
It's mostly a kind of shelf. And he's kind about it, which is just unsufferable. You just came to find something wrong with me.
A felony. An ugly walk. An ugly way of chewing. Maybe you cheer for Arsenal. You reply, suavely.
Sorry to disappoint.
It's enraging. I keep waiting for you to mention the women in the well.
No well, he mock-sighs. HOA's strict.
It's the moment you tip - Has she told you what she actually does? She castrates men for a living. It's all framed back home.
And Sohyun - careful all night, porcelain-beautiful, hair curled to perfection - It's family law, castration for itemization. There's a huge difference.
Then she adds: Don't let him do the wounded act by the way. He's a "venture capitalist" and calls it a vocation.
I also keep a few dying publishers as pets, you tell Mark.
Sohyun, not missing a beat, There's a working theory. I won't bore you with the evidence but it has to do with organs.
There's no evidence. You point at her, then finally finishing the rest of the beer. It's all gone, mysteriously.
Mark interjects: They're not dying, though, the publishers. A little lost.
Oh, they're dying, you and Sohyun say, at the same time, in almost the same key - the both of you laugh.
That's the first time you feel him fall behind. He laughs too - but it's lagged, late.
You always look like you're one step off a knife fight, she tells you.
I'm delighted to be here, actually. Means I'm not off evicting some single mother from a shelter.
That was an accident.
Hmm.
There was a - Mark starts. - a shelter?
Long story, you and she say, in unison, and don't tell it.
He sits back a little.
You mention you came straight up from the office and she says she didn't realize they let people jaunt back and forth over the River Styx[2] like that, and you say there's a small toll, it's all very very very civilized, and Mark says the cross-town traffic this time of night is honestly murder -
[2] Sohyun's foul mouth comes up with a brilliant joke: that you are dead, but you still walk back and forth over the River Styx, which is the boundary from the living world and the underworld in greek mythology. Curse her!
and hears himself, and stops. Lays an arm along the booth behind her, losing the ability to time himself, and just watches. Like this girl was nothing like what he was looking at, something nearer to wonder, a man at the aquarium glass.
She laughs, turning mid-laugh to bring him in, asking isn't this funny, and finds him already looking at her, gone soft and far off, and the laugh snags in her throat.
Mark calls for the check - On me. Least I can do. For the floor show.
Laying -
drunk off my tits
the wine we spilt painting the ground
there's a barrier that jives around his warm face
And I notice then, you could
ruin my life
Chapter 2:
A day later,
You get home, you spot a bottle of something brown open, shining on the island. You're good at connecting dots. There were peonies scattered on the floor (Mark is the one to end things with flowers, pleasant as always).
And she's drunk enough to reach for the old shtick. So. Who's the lucky sixty-nine-year-old you've been ruining lately?
My aunt.
Your aunt's dead.
Which would explain why she's been so pleasantly quiet in bed.
She laughs, then she stares at the open window, ruminating:
I had someone. He left his contacts wilted on the bathroom counter, fossilized into half-globes. I'd come home and want to hear about his day - I mean I really wanted to, almost fetishistic, kiss what was left of the razor burn on his neck. He made the worst scrambled eggs. Rubbery, every morning, and I ate them every time. She turns around: ten years of rubber eggs.
What about you, she asks.
I had a woman. You take a sip of the brown she was drinking. She used to argue about the doneness of pancakes and then put her hands up my shirt and call the whole morning menial, and I'd ask: what purpose do we serve. The answer was always: I'm fine right here.
She sits, lets her head rest back against the cushion. Everyone wants somebody to understand their personality and their childhood and what each of those things has done to the other one. That's the scam of it. You show your pale underbelly, turn your ribs inside out, fashion your whole interiority for them and beg them closer, closer than that, even closer - and they get close enough, and then it's - they're already on the other side, and everything's over.
She picks up the bottle and sips. I feel like an alarm. Wailing. That's the humiliation of wanting. Capitalists fooled us into thinking wanting is shameless. Love takes you to shame two times over. 10 years. A scoff at the number.
You're not an alarm.
That's very funny. She stares past you, calculating the whole of you. A lawyer and a venture capitalist with Beckett on the shelf. He'd write us as two people in bins.
I once saw a pigeon on its back, she says. Alive but dying. It blinked at me, tire-smirched, blood-grizzled. I didn't do anything. I should've stepped on its brain. You know why that's sad? Pigeons know how to hurt but don't know how to sin. She drinks. I'm not sad about me. I get exactly what I deserve.
What do you deserve. You ask.
I don't know. Everything terrible. A man who makes bad eggs.
She's close enough now that you get the liquor and under it the her of her, the scalp, the skin, and you think of the skyscraper poem your ex wrote: how we overextend our necks staring at something enormous, like those mornings when someone's still asleep and their face is so calm and wantless and they're not even being a person yet and they're so perfect you want you want you want.
Do we ask the earth for permission? she says. Do we? There are little arachnids living on our eyelashes right now, clearing our pores and mating under the full moon, and their whole lives depend on us, and they never asked and we never asked - do, we, as arachnids, need permission from our earth?
No.
You press a hot hand to her stocking-clad thigh. She presses a flat hand to your chest, slips a whole hand in between the buttons of your shirt, spreads her fingers over the heartbeat.
Do you feel that, you say. Do you feel what you're doing to me.
You hold her hand there until the urge to kiss the fingertips wins - pen-worn hand, redness at the tips from gripping the legal pad all day, nails short and practical. You lift it, kiss one fingertip, and she makes a sound, this small mewl, and leans forward, mouth to your chest through the shirt, your neck, your jaw. You hold still. If you move you'll move wrong. You'll break whatever calculus she's built in her head to let this happen.
How am I supposed to not want you, you say.
What's the difference between you and other men. They're all horrible.
I'm horrible. But I'm here.
Don't be full of yourself. She pulls you in by the tie. You're preposterous
Her fingertips find a piece of twine protruding from a button and incise it. Your mouth on her shoulder. Her spine under your palm. The heft of her hair hooked left, more kisses, the tendon on her neck, the jaw, her mouth again, and she pulled you by the the tie, left and right, kissing whatever remained unkissed - a gesture so old, as old as the grandmother who named an ocean on her grandfather's wrist, who kissed each knuckle, who drew an island into his palm and told him which parts they would share and which they would leave alone - the open brown, the Francis Bacon print on the wall, and to think of her holding you down tugged up the wire of every species on this earth, not the electric inventions, something bigger, a fevered movement across the world, all the trees at once turning dewy -
nothing else matters at all.
stomach-churning pulses grinding through your intestines - and she's between your legs, pressing your legs apart, pulls off her dress shirt, her skirt, all that's remaining: nude bra and panties.
There's a soft unsteadiness in her, the alcohol, the need, the want all combining into this weak-knee'd unsteadiness - you hold her smallest fingers, steady her.
Did you jerk off thinking about me? she asks.
All the fucking time.
She smirks, sinking to her knees, hands bracketing the heat of your thighs. Her hands twist into your trousers.
I want to taste you, the weight of you on my tongue, the stretch. The heat of your cock.
She gently pulls down your trousers all the way, hands tracing the heat of your thighs - ignoring the obvious, the trapped heat.
She reaches up, still kneeling, finds the first button of your shirt, let's a hand go under to feel your warm abs as she unbuttons with one.
Did you do this with Mark, you say.
A smile on her - No, no I didn't. Are you glad?
You sigh with relief -
She grins, splays a hand on your chest, all the buttons off, the heartbeats -
do you feel it Sohyun - do you fucking feel it - you're driving me insane.
She takes a deep breath, breathing you in, the cologne melting off with your sweat, and you dot kisses on her scalp - that flowery shampoo, that smell that's hers, distinctively.
She's easing the lid open on you, finding the kinks in the armor. dotting kisses on your pecs, sitting up, still on her knees, pressing her fingers into soft spots and hard spots alike. She runs her palms down your thighs, closer to your cock, back up again.
You pull her hand into you, hand on her cheek, tilting her head up and pressing your lips onto hers, tonguing at her. Retaliation beckons: she palms your cock, rubs her palm over the heat, working the thin fabric for all it's worth.
She leans forward as she curls fingers over the band of your boxers, kissing the V of your waist, and she trails lower, closer to the heat. And you're pulsing, barely keeping it together and she lets your cock rest next to her neck -
it's so fucking hot
I know, please. you barely let out
please what?
stop fighting me, you're torturing me.
She presses a kiss on the first thick inch she sees:
You're granting me all this control - second inch, fingers curling on the base of your cock. kissing the inches, all the way - and the fingers - wrapped all the way around the thick of it.
it's hard to even close around it. And she's almost relieved.
It's hard to breathe, do you tell her that? Do you tell her that she's ruining you with just her hand staying static around your cock? That her little kisses are already taking you to that extreme?
You're twitching. A venom to her voice.
What do you want? your hands turning white gripping the couch.
I want you to fuck me. fuck my throat, turn me into a whore. I've all this control and it disgusts me.
But before you could process any of it, the sickening thrill of it: she grips harder, lets you throb in her hand, the burn of your cock; and leans forward, dragging her tongue flatly from base to tip in a wet line.
Your thighs tick forward.
And she mewls: I want more of that
She shifts higher, brings her mouth to the head of your cock and lets saliva drip along her tongue.
Pushing, letting it glance unevenly over the head - she flattens her tongue again, drags it over your cock, drags her fingers oh so soft. All this slick, the twist of her wrist, the second hand now closing in around the head of your cock, fist curving tighter over the sensitivity as it slips through all her spit.
And you're losing it: she's turning her wrist near the top, letting it meld into her soft tongue, letting your thick cock hit her tongue once or twice then not again and you can't fucking take it:
please
what?
please - what more can you say? She's trying to end you and it's all self-fulfilling.
you dig your palms into your eyes trying to process, you're already on the edge, twitching, weeping pre-cum onto her tongue and she's taking it all like it's everything to her. like the tears of weeping angels.
Another hip twitch -
this salty-sweet tang of your precum, you're so adorable. And she drags both fists up, spreading the remaining precum all over your cock -
Her mouth connects, sucking hard at the head, gripping tigher with her hands, lips stretched, mouth wide, as she sucks and tries to swallow more of you.
She pops off gently, getting breaths in, letting your weeping corded cock rest on her red-hot lips, before swallowing you back down, all the way until the head of yours bumps the back of her throat.
Relaxes - enough to breathe just a little, your cock still taking space in her throat - pulls your hand all the way to her hair, letting it entangle.
Sohyun's spit-slick, hand lands on top of your hand. And she presses down, like demonstration -
but you yank back, and a girlish yelp leaves her -
You finally coil enough power to get a turn. You pull her up by her armpits - and how light she is, like a fucking doll - you rip the stockings underneath her skirt, let two thick veiny fingers enter her sopping wet pussy.
clit rolling against your rough palm, the wet satin of her panties barely there.
And you scrape your teeth over her neck, sucking a mark onto her, as she bounces desperately over your fingers.
such a little thing, locking her waist into you as you push your fingers even deeper. two fingers trying to tear off her bra. two breasts pressed to your face, a nipple in your mouth.
made to fit me.
Cunt squelching on your palm, head dropping back. And you're sick with it, pulling her underwear to the side to watch her cunt weeping on your fingers.
Kissing all over chest, marking her up with your mouth.
On the bed, you think, sink inside her -
but you grab your cock anyway, dragging your head along the slippery pink of her pussy, and Sohyun moans - all sorts of needy that makes your cock throb, weep outside her.
sink on me, princess.
She sinks, forehead pressed to yours, and she's trying -
Feeling her, the wet and slick and tight - the spasm of her cunt, the clench, the leak of her arousal down your veiny cock.
You're fucking her raw, without a condom, rutting up into her, again and again, and she pushes back gently, trying to find a pace that doesn't utterly ruin her and you're chasing her, fucking her deeper, ruining her little pussy.
Until she presses a soft hand to your shoulder, leaning back, face flushed, nipples pink and hard, stomach tensed.
Stare at her - how fucking ruined she is: swollen lips from sucking your cock like it was made for her, sweat beading down her forehead - god is the sweat running down her face. You kiss the salt-worked forehead - a moment of softness.
Then she rolls gently, slipping a hand between her legs, past your thumb resting on her clit, onto the soaking mess of her, that hot pink mess that she's responsible for -
let me hear you, you growl, to her collar, kissing the blooming hickeys you left earlier.
grab at her hips, sit straighter, pull her into your body, let her wrap her hands around your shoulder - grasp at levity as this goddess is cock-drunk off you, still rolling, offering her clit to your thumb.
And she pants.
Clinging onto you.
letting her sopping cunt cling onto you like this was fucking prophecy - it's hot - sweat beading along your back, between your bodies, sticky - the wet noise of her cunt being excavated by a cock a smidge too large.
You're both close, these petty uncoordinated movements making the orgasm closer - sensitivities reaching an opus - only these little shifts of her hips - the urge to stretch this moment for as long as possible
And only then: the quietest orgasm, stuck to the top of her breasts, barely hanging in there, her waist locked between your thick forearms, cum spreading, filling in whatever was left between you.
poems for fucking:
romantic walks up your arm with my lips
dinner on your collarbones, a bottle of wine paper bagged
somewhere on your ribs
I want to see your city, and by don't take me home just yet
I really mean:
Let's share a whiskey, take the train over your city, spot the pennies lodged between the pavement - let's make sure every part of your skin's been kiss-bitten
and that'll take us a while
and if it means anything at all,
putting a stamp upside-down means I love you
and I would turn over every post office in the world
just to show you how much I care.
You wake to the cold half of the bed, and the rest of it makes a grim kind of sense: she's gone. Most of her stuff is still here, her shoes, but her daily shoes - gone.
You call, and it rings and rings until the call cancels - you text and the delivered stays there.
It's a Saturday. There's nowhere a person needs to be on a Saturday - but she's a workaholic - and the dots connect: you drive to her firm.
The weekend guard waves you up on account of being acquainted with Sohyun. And you get to the floor where she's usually working, and there she was, through the glass - neat-clothed, glasses on her, working hard on a case you'd never understand.
She looks up and clocks you, immediately bolting to the men's restroom - not toward the elevators or the stairs. And you go in after her -
Sohyun. I just want to talk
God, listen to you. "I just want to talk" Do you have any idea how many women have said that to your back while you looked for your shoes?
Yes. I'm aware of the irony, it's why I'm standing inside your firm at eight a.m instead of pretending you don't exist.
There's nothing to talk about. We were drunk, it was -
There was a shuffle outside the door - an employee? - but before you could look back, she pulled you by your tie into one of the stalls.
And you were dangerously close to her, her face, this face you've been in love with since forever. The one face that you cannot imagine living without - Listen, you try to say -
and she's off the tiles, fist in your tie, pulling you down, kissing you. Shut up.
You take her face in both hands, gently, and hold her back just far enough that the kiss can't keep doing the talking.
I'm not leaving. I'm going to be the worst thing that ever happened to your avoidance. Kiss me to keep me quiet all you like. I'll enjoy it, I'll still be here when you open your eyes.
Her hands press against your shirt, head pressed to your sternum. She stays there for a moment.
Starts kneeling -
Sohyun. You catch her hands. You dont have to -
I know. She looks up, Let me.
The Castrator, who has never once knelt to a man in her life, lowering herself to the tile of the worst room in the building.
You put a hand in her hair, to hold. The dots connect.
Daddy, she mewls.
Hands in your lap.
There's no sympathy for her. You're in this cramped bathroom with her, your groin pushed up to her face, and all she can say is: Daddy.
Open your mouth
Through the small opening in her mouth, you slot in a finger, trace the lower lip and upper lip - gather spit from the tip of her tongue to glaze her lips.
Wider. You say.
She's just sitting there, rubbing her thighs together - like she isn't so fucked and slippery in her underwear that just a small touch could make her cum - that you pressing a finger into her mouth - letting her throat close around that digit - wouldn't make her burst into decibels and let the whole town know that you are fucking her dumb.
She's staring at how you unbutton your pants. Button by button, all the way until your cock's out half-mast diagonal to her face and she's fucking drooling. Slowly moving forward and you pin her head to the wall of the bathroom stall.
How do you want this dick?
Like how you fucked all those other girls.
You think I'm not enjoying every moment with you? That day, we fucked like lovers. You cup her cheeks with one hand and her glazed lips point out duck-like. I'll show you what I like.
You bundle two fingers - index and ring - down her mouth, until her throat closes and she half-gags. Eyes fill with these tears and she tries to straighten herself. Fingers still down there, and it makes it hard for her breathe but -
She's fucking climaxing, barely keeping her hands on her lap. A breathless moan escapes her and you take this opportunity to let your fingers in deeper. Her chest jerks, a tear goes down her left cheek as your knuckles bump her teeth.
Roughly: good girl.
White-knuckled against her spit-trickled dress shirt that won her millions in lawsuits. Just then, you pull your fingers out, and she finally gets to swallow down.
You should be able to price anything. Be cutthroat about it, hedge your potential losses, then hedge on top of them - that's the only way to win. You've seen people go full-in, bet their futures on a life they so desperately deserve and by the end of it, they're lost souls, begging for the past. You thought it made you the only adult in the room. Then the day after that you came inside her and everything crumpled.
Your spit-slick fingers wrapped around your cock and you fisted it gently, just inches away from her mouth. She couldn't help but move forward, but you pin her head again and she's completely mindless - obeying any mechanic of hers that'll grant her a feather of stimulus. You tap your cock against her tongue. You could see the way her lips twitched to close, but she seemed to contextualize enough to know that anything that you didn't allow would be swiftly punished. And maybe now everything was dawning on her:
That you enjoyed sex with her rather than the opposite - that it's supposed to be as intimate as the day you came inside her.
Because this? This was heady, broken, and embarrassing - and all of it was happening in her own office bathroom that she shares with subordinates. One mistake and she's kicked off the ladder. And yet:
I want all of it. I want it. I want it.
You could see how her cloudy eyes mechanized - she was about to cum again - you let your tip on her tongue and she's already around the cycle again. You press the heft of your shaft into her mouth and push in gently. Push in gently because she already came, push in gently because you want to savor - for a few moments longer - how she crumples under you.
You're gentle with it, letting her set the pace, letting her get breaths between strokes. She anchors herself, and this control you give her makes her shiver - even the way her throat clenches when she goes too fucking deep.
She pulls back to breathe, a strand of saliva still connects your tip and her lower lip. And she's staring at the corded red-tipped shaft, speechless.
Stand up
She does, her skirt crumpled just a way's up. She's expectant, wanting something. But this wasn't a day for her wants.
You grab the waistbands of her panties and nylon, pull it down midway and her pussy's just glistening - all-pink, heady, musky, almost pulsing.
Hold your skirt up
And she does, further surrendering to your hand around her throat. And everything was a bit clearer:
You began fisting your spit-slick cock again, pointed down to her panties. Another embarrassing and heady position she can't seem to get enough of: Her eyes are full of will-you's and wants that she can't act on. You press a thumb over her pulse - grunting more hunch-backed trying to not spray your cum too early - and you tighten, tighten until she grips your forearms and loses her breath for just a second - then you release. There's this rush of inhales and exhales as she catches some air and you repeat the choke - until, just until, you press harder than you've done before - her legs going loose, eyes going to back of her head - and you cum all over her panties. Cloudy liquid dotting her skirt, the floor, the nylon , the front of her pussy, and all over the panties.
Fuck.
Is all she says, can say. You pin her jaw to the side so that she can't look at you, only the door, the cruel door that may open for a coworker - and you jolt closer, scooping a bit of your cum and letting two fingers enter her just then. And she's already climaxing, screaming in her own hand.
This is what happens when I do what I want.
Your nose is buried into her exposed throat and your fingers throttling her pussy. your callused hand scraping the hood of her clit, your hooked finger rubbing that spot that makes her legs splinter half-way. You take your fingers out and mash the front of her pussy with the heel of your palm before going into her again. She's rolling with how your cum-slicked fingers penetrate her.
Her body finally gives out and that's when you hug her, your fingers still slotted into her.
In truth, I can't fuck you the way I fucked these other girls. Your fingers finally slow their rolls. I want to enjoy my time with you, not treat you like trash.
And her reply, as best as it could be presented: a wet kiss, hands wrapped around you, grasping the hair behind your head.
Her kiss fluttered gently as you finally let her have one final climax.
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You woke with a stinging sensation in your head, little transparent worms wriggling through your vision. You did not register where you were, almost amnesic, soft bedding atop you, a plush pillow behind your head and a heavy-weighted notebook lying on top of the blanket. You picked it up:
READ IN CASE YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING.
Minji. The first time you saw her, she was sitting underneath a streetlight, reading, of all places, in Manhattan. No one stops to sit and read here. And you saw her there, a book about something with her legs crossed just slightly, all you wanted to do was make love to her. Buy her coffee, maybe, as hedge.
Everyone's busy with something, pricing their organs for their mid-life subsidies, for example; but her, she was sitting still in time, scarf looped over her neck enough times to fall in love. Around her the world pulsed, and she was still, making your heart sputter into little pieces of dynamite - pop, pop, pop! - covering your cheeks in red. And you had the audacity to ask what book she was reading - she said, Faulkner, an oldie but a goldie. And you never wanted to kiss someone so badly.
Eyes like the pools that girls would get naked and swim in. That mouth. You asked her where she was going and she said Nowhere, really - you were struck by how beautiful that answer was. How rare. Almost criminal.
So this is a poem for the woman sleeping next to you, who you have already forgotten, which I am sorry about, which is exactly why I am writing this. It's hard, married life and she hates your antimemetics job to death, but this is for life, she says, and then she kisses your temple, and the memories come rushing back.
I hope reading it rearranges that forgetful brain of yours. I hope it runs its fingers through your hair while she sleeps next to you.
Do you realize you're sleeping next to a goddess?
Good. Now kiss her after this poem is over. Don't put the notebook down and go pour coffee. Kiss her. Because she's the summer rain, the first kiss while the fog slowly clears. Stand at the edge of the world and kiss her until you realize that kiss could be the last, and then kiss her some more.
Her name is Minji.
Her name is Minji.
Her name is Minji.
You looked to your left. She was sleeping, facing you, one hand curled under her cheek, a t-shirt too large - which could mean that she stole it from you - and maybe, just maybe, the one she stole from you because it smelt like you, and maybe now, years later, it smells only like her.
You curl the page back
---
Another poem:
When she's asleep
and the night pours through
and the moon looks palpable through the window
almost poking in
I imagine you, Minji, your curved sleeping body to be the nest of our ship
---
Another page
I'm so sorry Minji
It's hard, all this forgetting
and misremembering and all this writing
I'd ask you the pain of me forgetting
and you say ten out of ten
and it'd break my heart
the richter scale will tell you how
hard it is to recover from an earthquake
and i can only imagine how hard a ten
must feel.
I'm so sorry for forgetting all the time.
---
This time, a poem written by Minji.
Why do you always forget, I say.
And you'll say back: just leave
But I love you.
and what if i leave first?
I will starve.
what if i find another?
I will die.
--Minji (check page 83)
---
You flip past many references, all the way back to page 83:
There's a small inline written by Minji: references handed out to every Antimemetics Division employee
REF: J-007
Containment: J-007 is kept in vault 9082A at the Secondary Archive building. This containment unit is medium-security. A 5 x 5 x 5 cuboidal room clad in layers of cement and electromagnetic interference shielding.
Security personnel have routinely lost their memory posted outside the containment unit. The shielding is 80% defective.
J-007 is a self-keeping secret, otherwise known as an antimeme. Information about the nature, physical appearance as well as its nature, is self-classifying - unable to be produced.
How J-007 was originally acquired is unknown. It was one of the earliest caught antimemes, hence its early number.
it is not indescribable, nor invisible; individuals are perfectly capable of entering J-007's containment unit and observing it, taking mental or written notes, making sketches, taking photographs and even making audio/video recordings. An extensive log of such observations is on file. However, information about J-007âs physical appearance âleaksâ out of a human mind soon after such an observation.
Individuals tasked with describing J-007 afterward find their minds wandering and lose interest in the task; individuals tasked with sketching a copy of a photograph of J-007 are unable to remember what the photograph looks like, as are researchers overseeing these tests. Security personnel who have observed J-007 via closed-circuit television cameras emerge after a full shift exhausted and effectively amnesiac about the events of the previous hours.
Who authorised the construction of J-007âs containment unit, why it was constructed in this way, and what the purpose of the described containment protocol may be are all unknown.
Despite J-007âs containment unit being easily accessible, personnel at the Secondary Archive uniformly claim no knowledge of J-007's existence when challenged.
All of these facts are periodically rediscovered, usually by chance readers of this file, causing considerable alarm. This state of concern lasts minutes at most, before the matter is simply forgotten about. A great deal of scientific data has been recorded from J-007, but cannot be studied. J-007 may present a major physical threat and indeed may have killed hundreds of personnel, and we would not know it.
Certainly, it presents a major memetic/mental threat, hence its (tentative) Δ categorisation. At least two attempts have been made to destroy J-007, or possibly to move it from containment to another Archive Facility, meeting failure for reasons unknown. Addendum, 2226-11-10: It is hypothesised that J-007 was never formally acquired by the Organisation and is in fact an autonomous agent, inserted at Black River by an unidentified third party for the purpose of silently observing or interfering with other entities, the Organisation itself, or XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. No action to counter this potential threat is suggested, or indeed theoretically possible.
Antimemetics Division employees find their memory most harmed when observing Unknowns; security personnel, require minutes to forget - employees need merely seconds.
Take the rule of memetics: the more you observe memory, the more you seek to observe ideas, the faster you lose them. There is a great evil in this world.
---
You shuffle your head above the pillow, pulling yourself up by parts. Your memory already foggier than the moment you woke up, which shouldn't be possible, the only one thing you remember was Minji. You turn your head left, towards her.
She wakes by parts, the sound of an early stretch, a hand finding your forearm, then the eyes, opening onto you. Those eyes, pools that girls swim in.
You read it?
I did.
All of it?
Not all of it, just a few pages.
Good. It's overload if you read too much of it at once.
Patient as always, she comes closer, dots a kiss on your shoulder, lets her hand find your heartbeat.
Mm, eggs?
Eggs sound good.
---
She said she'll take an hour to grab groceries. Maybe ninety minutes if she passes by the bakery, kissing your jaw at the door and saying don't be stupid.
You wash the breakfast plates, finish the coffee, take the equipment out from under the bed.
The home rig is half-size of the lab's. A black headset that loops around the temples, three sensor pads to apply behind each ear, battery pack the size of a deck of cards. There's a film of vaseline on the pads, you touch and feel how worn the pads are -
This was frequent.
You sit at the kitchen table, open the notebook to the working pages, ones with the red tab. The protocol entry:
MEMETIC MEMORY HEADSET - EXCLUSIVE PHYSICAL AND MENTAL CONNECTION CHANNEL FOR DIVISION EMPLOYEES
PROTOCOL AMNESIA: If clarity arrives sharper than usual - if the work begins to flood and a presence begins to speak - STOP. Do not answer it. Do not look at it. DO NOT TRY TO TOUCH IT. DO NOT TRY TO TOUCH ANYTHING.
Take Amnestic-3 (in your right pocket), take the pill and bite down and let the powder swell on your tongue. Wait 90 seconds.
Take Mnestic-2 (in your left pocket) silver gelcap. Swallow. wait 90 seconds - memories from the past 12 hours will flood in.
Take Amnestic-3 again, to forget the past 16 hours. Same dose until the rig powers down.
Clarity is then reduced by 1% and you'll be released from the cloudy arena of J-680.
--Minji
You wonder how many other entries she has been quietly updating, behind your back, to make sure you keep finding what you need.
You put the cuff on. The pads stick behind your ears with a small adhesive lick. And you start it.
---
A grey field starts to envelop the room, your breath slows.
There is a man at the other end of the table. There, in a chair across from you, hands folded on the wood. He is old, bearded, greyed out. Wearing a distressed coat weary with dirt. Around his neck is a scarf. You know the scarf - the scarf you wrote about when talking about Minji - Looped over her neck enough times -
He smiles. Quite a morning
You don't answer, the protocol entry incised between your hands.
Your wife saves you, the man says.
She saves you every morning. She hands you the notebook. She turns to the page with the poem. You read it and kis her. She has been waking up to a man who does not know everyday. She does you good. She is, in a literal sense, immune to you.
She is the summer rain, the man says. She is the first kiss while the fog slowly clears.
He has the fucking poem - you stand suddenly, reaching into your left pocket to reach for the amnestic-3, crushing it between your teeth and letting it dissolve, reaching for the mnestic-2 to grasp as a reminder to take it when you go amnesic.
He is visible through your hand. You close your eyes. He is still there, projected on the dark inside your eyelids, calm.
Stand at the edge of the world, he says, and kiss her until you realise that kiss could be the last.
You look at the table. The phone is there. You press Minji's name in the favourites.
It rings on the counter, three feet from your hand, where she left it before she went to the bakery.
Of course.
Of course.
You set the phone down.
She'll be home in forty minutes, the bearded man offers, helpfully.
You do not answer.
Do you know what she's getting at the bakery?
You take the mnestic-3
You remember Minji.
Minji.
Minji.
...
Minji.
---
Last night, near midnight, bodies swelling against eachother:
The kiss gets harder, heavier, hungrier. You kiss her like you're about to devour her, your hands screwed tight on her lips, shifting down her ass, gripping on because Minji can't possibly stay still under you.
She snakes her fingers between your bodies to get at your belt, wants more skin on skin, wants to feel you against her, wants you, your burning heat to brand her entirely.
There's a muted clink of metal, she's working your belt while you kiss her and steal her breath, lips stinging slightly between short intervals of air.
Next thing she's yanking the belt, slipping to the floor, a loud thunk. And she's on her back, you're pushing between her legs and your skin is on hers and you're savoring the gasp of her surprised exhales.
You're hot and heavy, the shifts into her hips has her wrapping her legs around your waist and pushing her hips to meet whatever stimulus you mercifully offer. She's gripping at your arms, her spine bends into those notes and her moans are an orchestra to you.
You nip at her jaw, suck at her neck, arms tensing around her head, hand curling onto her hair, and she's -
oh fuck, fuck - speechless. You on top of her, your hips rolling against the slippery wet of her underwear, the heat of you and the painful brush of your zipper everytime she grinds back against your rolls.
She reaches between you again - and you're sensitive: fuck, gently, Minji, fuck - but she's restless - pushing down your pants, graceless, far enough to see the desire between your legs and it's fucking terrifying how much you want her-
I need you so fucking bad.
And she's narrating it all - take, take me then, fucking ruin me. You brace back over her, catch her swollen lips, rolling against her cunt and it's pure fucking perfection.
Minji wraps her warms around your neck, mouth slipping over her cheek because just can't fucking stop the fuck that breaks out of her. And your body, what's between your legs, all but stuck and soaked to slippery oblivion against her cunt and the damp cotton of yours -
It's so fucking good, god please - it's all a blur out of her mouth.
It's so easy to imagine it now, how it would - how it will be when you take her. You braced on one forearm, the other gripping at her thigh, her ass cheek, pulling her lower body higher so each thrust of your hips, each grind of you covers more of her cunt.
Groping her ass cheek, long enough to curve around the entire cheek, brushing the bare, slipping wet of her that's leaking and slicking between her thighs as you brush her sex and it's
ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod
Your fingers brush lower, slipping so close to that aching heat inside her begging to be resolved and she fucking whimpers under the pressure, arching her hips, trying to get that finger closer -
Mouth on her neck, pulling a mark out that makes her lose breaths, teething sharply at it, before you lick at it, kiss her pulse, her collar, the thin intimate skin between her breaths. Kiss all wide and hungry for skin.
Your lips brush the hard of her nipple -
How much have you been thinking about this.
You're not looking at her - grips the flex of your shoulders, the nape of your neck, scratching your scalp - and it's all but: all the fucking time, all the damn time.
you surround a nipple now, flicking a tongue over it, spine bending movements that sends her in a thrall - she's gasping, pressed to the sky.
You finally leave her some breathing room, your mouth leaving her shiny nipple, the skin surrounding her nipple shining like gold.
You're sensitive you finally say, stopping nearly all movement.
what the fuck she replies
oh? do you need me to continue, take you oblivion?
And she can barely form a sentence, whining, rolling the wet of herself onto you, your underwear damp from her grinding. You shift back, kneeling, gripping her hip, trailing upward to her body, her chest, palming a breast, biting a kiss right on the skin under her breast.
You're so wet. you say, and it's so obvious, you caress a breast, feeling that rapid heartbeat.
You lean down, hands over her hips to hold her still, and you press a kiss to her navel, scraping teeth all the way until -
ohgod.
tell me what you want. i need you to say it.
Minji bites her lip, hips inching up towards your mouth no matter how much she tries to keep still. A hand still entangled in your hair, scraping your scalp like: you know what I want, comeon, just please, you know what i want.
You lean back, looking down at her in the dark. Your hands curling around the sides of her underwear on her hips. Your knuckles hot on her skin. Her sex throbbing. A shiny wet mark on her hip from your mouth, her pulse beating beneath it.
Minji grips at the duvet, twisting the fabric, can't keep still while your eyes sink over her body, her toes digging into your thighs, your hips, sliding off and pushing out over the bed before coming back to curl her toes on your thighs.
Please she begs, hips twitching, a shine on the inside of her thighs that's all her own slick arousal. Isn't that enough? Can't you see how much she wants it? Isn't it all dripping and smeared between you?
fucking hell, her bare sex is exposed - glistening shine - and your knuckles go white trying not to dive in while pulling off her underwear. Look at you
You lean forward and her core clenches, the shine of her cunt shifts - open-mouthed, you come close enough to press a kiss, but you don't - a soft flick against her clit and she's writhing.
so fucking pretty
You lean back to pull off the rest of her underwear, pushing your hands into the inside of her thighs, this time, with an intention to ruin her. And you sink lower, watching her eyes, pressing a finger on the inner curve of her thigh, close enough to her cunt that she's fucking crying for relief.
pleasepleasepleaasepleaseplease
You flash a smile until your mouth is on her, tasting her, savoring her cunt, pressing hotly to her.
And she's so fucking sweet, you're chasing the taste, flicking over her clit, sealing your mouth over it, sucking at it, the pull of her mouth making her spine bend like nothing, making her hips roll like that could possibly save her. You curl your arms under her, thighs wide so you can devour her easier. And her foot lands on your shoulder, toes curled, the other sliding desperately across your side.
You press a tongue to her cunt, licking over it, around it, back up to her clit, until you press your tongue inside her. Your hands tighten on her ass cheeks, over the span of them, and you groan when she pulls you by the hair to take you deeper into her cunt.
You pull her a little higher, the pressure of your mouth heavier, tongue flicking her clit in a maddening rhythm and encouraging the twitching, needy roll of her hips against your mouth.
You suck at her clit again, urging her hips to roll faster. Hot and wet. Pooling all between her hips, like a fucking dam, lighting her up -
She's coming apart at the seams, every nip of your teeth over her clit makes her arc higher, until she's throwing one arm back to brace against the headboard, and she's riding your face like you don't even need to breathe.
which... fair.
Can't focus on anything until she feels your finger, pressing just against the clenching, empty, leaking spread of her. A slippery wet stroke over her before you press your finger just a little -
Minji cries out, her hips twitching down and it slips a little further inside of her and she's -
Please - Minji cries, trying to roll her hips lower, but your grip is too tight, your tongue rolling against her clit as you suck it, the pressure so perfect that she's sobbing; your finger stroking over the needy empty place she wants you so desperately to fill, before you're tucking the tip of your finger back in and she's -
Breaking open, that strung tight ache inside of her unravelling in a hot, spine-arching rush. body tensing, strung tight like a bow and then easing into a trembling mess; she sobs and twists her fingers into your hair so tight it has to hurt you, but all you do is groan, licking her up, chasing every drop, every hip twitch and jerky, shaking jolt of her body.
Oh my God, Minji sobs, turning her face into the pillow that she's somehow gripping onto and doesn't remember reaching for; her thighs trying to close around your head, her cunt spasming against your finger, still hooked inside of her.
You press a hot, open-mouthed kiss just above her clit and she jolts, whimpers and then cries out as your finger slips a little deeper inside of her while her body is still burning and shaking from her orgasm.
She whines when you nip her clit with your teeth, your voice rough: fucking perfect -
It's too much, sheâs gasping into the pillow, but you aren't stopping and she thinks to shove you away just so she can fucking find her mind but you're sucking at her clit again and she's left writhing and squirming beneath you.
It's too much and you don't stop, no matter how Minji whines as she presses her hand against the top of your head, her limbs unsteady and weak, her thighs shaking as they try to close. You smile against her - she can feel it, the slip of your lips - before you're holding one thigh wide with a grip and licking her up.
Wait- she gasps, but you work her back up so quickly that the tensing of her arms turns into a tremble, turns into curling toes, turns into her pressing both her hands into your hair to push you off but all she ends up doing is twisting them in as you suck at her clit, your finger pushing deeper, just enough that when her cunt tightens on the next stroke of your tongue, Minji can clench around it -
She sobs, breathless, her spine arching, her hips twitching to press down, her body seeking more, more stretch, more pressure, more -
And then your finger sinks deeper, deep enough to pull desperate noises out of her; pushing in and then slipping back out to spread more of that slick over her cunt for you to lick up and drag over her clit in a maddening pattern.
God- Minji sobs as your finger slides back in, her hair knotting beneath her head, another orgasm burning between her hips. Her cheeks burning, her toes curling on your shoulders -
---
You pop the amnestic, the foam swelling on your tongue and the memory gets fainter, fainter -
The bearded man is fainter now. Like a slide projection in a brightening room.
I love what she has done for you, he says.
She is the reason there is a you to do this to.
---
The cuff finally ends its intermission, beginning a gentle whirr and the kitchen table dissolves. The walls of your apartment peel away and under you the floor shifts to a wooden deck, and there's water all around you, a lake so dark.
A man is sitting on a thin mattress beside you. He is old - wrinkles all over, maybe upwards of eighty, maybe even ninety - and he looks to be dying, hair thin like spider webs. But his eyes are immensely clear, like he's content.
Reyes, name's Reyes. You're the documentarian they sent?
Yes
Reyes holds up the syringe. The liquid inside is colorless - mnestic X. The failed youth serum. Rejuvenates mind and body by up to thirty years. Also fatal. But I'm immune. There's a glad smile on him.
He injects himself, and the change is immediate - wrinkles pull back, like a face lift but so natural. And he's a man again -
I remember...
You dot on the notebook -
REYES, LAKE, MNESTIC X
What do you remember?
Reyes is looking up at the sky, a bird - bird with immense grey wings, a branch in its bill, then disappears.
There is an entity that your division has never seen. The entity that my division couldn't contain. Back in the golden age of Antimemetic research, when we had a headcount of 578,000.
You only found 80 employees in your notebook - and everything's feeling just a little impossible.
It came at us. We weren't prepared to be attacked directly. It was eating the entire division alive. So hard and so fast that all we could do was self-destruct and take all the amnestic pills we could.
But - a sudden prickle in your brain. Something wrong. The lake is a little too still, like the night sky without stars.
If you know it exists, it knows you exist. The more you know about it, the more it knows about you. If you can see it, it can see you. And it Hates... to be seen.
You look down at your notebook again, the words are smudging -
There's a splash that you look back to, alarmed. But nothing in the lake.
You turn back and his whole body is shaking. Clamping his left eye hard.
Destroying all knowledge of it was the only way to contain it. And restoring my memories was a foolproof way to bring it back.
You reach for your amnestic-3 -
His left eye bulges. A waving black leg coated in dark hairs, forcing its way out through the pupil, and he tries to break the leg, tries to contain it.
What is it? What does it want? Does it have a name?
A n-a number
A second leg slides out through his trachea. Blood spills on the deck, a third leg from his abdomen.
I can't-
There's a drop, you're being dropped, a full 5 second drop into a hammer blow of water, every part of you filled with water, lungs seizing for breath. Reyes is gone, the deck is gone, and you're in water that's deeper than the sun can reach.
Everytime you blink, it'll get closer. Everytime you breathe, you'll know more about it
and it hates to be seen.
You fumble for the amnestic-3, you fingers are going numb and the nails about to fall off but you finally find it and crush it between your teeth, barely swelling from all the water mixed in. You wait, and you wait -
You can't remember anything, but the thing is still there, waiting.
And there's only pain
Pain that strikes your brain, your tendons, the spine, your teeth. You want to die more than you have every wanted anything.
But there's a voice: Swim. Get to the shore first. Then you can die
You begin swimming.
---
You wake in your bed. The ceiling is white. The blanket is pulled up to your chin. There is a heavy-weighted notebook lying on top of the blanket, and a woman sleeping beside you, facing you, one hand curled under her cheek.
You pick up the notebook.
READ IN CASE YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING.
The first page is a poem. A poem about how you wanted to kiss her, Minji so badly.
You look to your left.
She's still sleeping, t-shirt too large, maybe stolen.
You look back at the notebook, flip a few pages until -
If you are reading this, don't ever put on the headset ever again. It's all over. The division is being dismantled. God save us all. - the handwriting is rushed and stamped by the Antimemetics division.
Anna Tanaka and a common lawn chair have a striking similarity: theyâre both so easily folded in half.
***
"Oh come on, I have been around for so many of your firsts," Anna argued.
"That's beside the point," Sooin countered.
"First meeting, first date, first... other things." Her stare was accusatory, and it switched between the two of you, waiting for a flinch.
"Again, I thought you were asleep."
"It's physics, Sooin. If the bottom bunk moves," she moved her hand side-to-side, then moved the other above it, "the top bunk does too. Newton's first law or something."
You couldn't help but stifle a laugh at the pained expression on Sooin's face. You interrupted with a "I'm not sure that's accurate," which, of course, Anna took in stride.
"There was plenty of motion, that's all I'm saying."
"And it's still beside the point," Sooin insisted. "We're not doing that."
How it started isn't terribly relevant, but it's important if you want to understand how this all works. Sooin had actually levied the idea in passing, and that alone is a mistake when Anna is around. She was one of those friends who latches onto every idea and tries to turn it into an event. "So you're saying you don't want a threesome?"
"No, what I said was that if we did it, then it would be awkward with someone we don't know," Sooin continued to explain, this time with her fingers rubbing on her forehead. "I don't want to fuck a stranger."
"So, you do want a threesome?"
"No, I just saidâ"
"I mean, think about it," Anna interrupted, as she made her way across the room to sit with you. "You don't know any other girl willing to do it." She leaned on you as she said it, and you realised you hadn't been much help in the discussion.
"No, I know," Sooin admitted, and it almost seemed like she wanted to convince herself it was a bad idea. "I just think it's weird."
"Why?"
"Well, it's... you." Sooin's eyes glanced between the two of you, as if she was trying to say it without actually saying it.
"What about me?" Anna asked, pretending to be insulted. She rubbed her hand on your forearm - her fingers are light, soft, delicate - like feathers.
"Anna, I just don't think... - Can you stop touching my boyfriend?" Sooin eventually snapped, and you couldn't blame her, given the way Anna was looking at you.
"No," Anna replied, a smirk taking hold of her face.
Sooin held a cold stare at her.
You had to admit, it felt good. Anna was a pretty girl, with an inviting smile and the type of body that always drew eyes. Your relationship with her had been platonic for years; she had grown up with Sooin, and they had been friends for as long as you could remember. Yet, there was always something there. It was intangible and vague. You never truly explored it, but you always felt like Anna had a soft spot for you. You, in turn, had a soft spot for her - which, you assumed, is why you were still sitting there quietly, watching the mental battle unfold.
"Okay, okay. Fine." Anna removed her hand from your arm and her ass from the arm of your chair. She stood up and leaned back against the desk. "Sooin, you're overthinking this. Just because we're close doesn't mean it can't happen." There was something sly about the way she said it. "I'm not going to start hitting on you every day, or anything weird like that. And," her eyes met yours, "the same goes for you, too."
"Can we stop talking about it?" Sooin asked as she fell back into your shared bed. "It's not happening."
***
Of course, it happened, otherwise that day would have faded to obscurity instead of being the start of something that is beyond simple description.
It's the reason you were now watching Anna in a bathrobe, her hair wet from the shower, as she took a seat at the small dining table. Her robe opened just a crack to reveal the full curve of her breast as she sat down. You cleared your throat to signal her to adjust, and her lips curved to a playful smile. "What?"
"Your robe."
She makes a slow blink, and when her eyes reopen, she's looking down at her chest. "Oh, sorry," she says, with a completely emotionless tone. She leaves it just as it is. "Is there any coffee left?
It's not the first time Anna has done this to you. You stare at her, and her stare is locked right back at you. A quiet moment passes between you. You are thinking about what you could say, and you're also thinking about how her skin looked under that damn robe.
"You know there is, you made sure they restocked it yesterday." You glance briefly at the machine on the dresser, a stack of capsules next to it. "Are you asking me to make it for you?"
"I would never ask you to do that." Her face doesn't change, and you find it slightly unnerving. "I'm perfectly capable of doing things myself."
Again, another silence, a stare down. You are actually enjoying this game far too much, and Anna is too. You sigh, "Fine." You get up from the chair and move over to the coffee machine. "How do you want it?"
"I'm flexible."
You know that all too well.
You hit the button for an americano, and then there's a whir, followed by a quiet hiss. Anna is right behind you, and there's that distinct click of her nails hitting the screen as she scrolls through reels on her phone. "So, you've been up a while?"
You turn back to face her. "Not too long. I assume I missed Sooin?"
"Mhm. Have you eaten?"
"No. I said I just woke -"
"Maybe we should go out for some breakfast. There's a place just around the corner," she says, still scrolling. Black liquid pours into the mug on the tray, slowly filling it up.
Anna can be thoughtful. It isn't her usual character, but it happens often enough, especially when she wants something. It's hard to tell if this is the case right now. "Sure."
Her finger stops scrolling. "Really?"
You turn and approach the table, and you take the only other seat, directly across from her. You place the mug just between the two of you. "Sure. Why not?"
"I mean, are you sure?"
"Anna, it's just breakfast. What's with the twenty questions?"
"It's just a bit weird to be going out with you, just the two of us." She puts down her phone. "I just want to make sure you're comfortable."
"Anna, I can see your tits. I think breakfast together is fine."
She chuckles to herself, and she reaches over for the cup. "Oh, I am so sorry. You should probably know I'm not wearing any panties either."
"Do they do brunch?" you ask.
***
Folded in half is now basically a default state for Anna. There's something about her body that just makes her so... malleable. There's probably a better way to put that, a more poetic description of the sort of filthy positions you've found her in. But in your head, that's what it always comes back to. Her body, folded in half, legs all the way up, knees to the sides of her head, her cunt spread open.
She just came all over your cock, and she's a mess. There's a glazed look in her eyes, and she's panting like she ran a marathon. Her body is covered in a thin layer of sweat. "Give me a second," she says, waving her hand in your general direction. "I need to... I need a minute."
You have to admit you're not in much better shape. Your cock aches; it's still buried inside her, and you just want to fuck her some more. You had barely started, but she came quickly; she always does. You wait a little longer, staring down at her. The things you would like to do to her right now... You can feel your cock throb, and a moan escapes her lips. "I said wait," she half pleads, half demands.
You pull out just a little, putting a hand on the underside of her thigh. You're curious just how much you can move her legs, and it turns out it's a lot. She leans her head back and closes her eyes. The heat of her is incredible, and as you slide back in, she lets out a drawn-out, slow moan. "You're going to ruin me," she tells you, a hint of desperation in her voice.
"Thatâs the point." You start thrusting slowly, deliberately.
She's so damn tight. It always feels like the first time with Anna. It doesn't matter how many times you fuck her; she has a way of squeezing you that just drives you mad. Your thrusts become a little more intense, and you can feel her whole, folded body shifting against you. Her breathing is heavy, and you can hear the little gasps, the tiny moans she tries to hold back. "I'm serious," she says. "I can't keep doing this."
That's a lie, you both know it is. She loves this. She loves it when you just use her to get off, and then she loves it even more when you finish deep inside her.
"Quiet now," you tell her, moving her legs further, pressing them down against her chest. You start to pick up the pace, and you lean over her body. You can see her eyes widen, and she tries to pull you down for a kiss, but you just keep pounding her, the angle perfect for both of you.
"Quiet? When you're fucking me like this?" she protests, and then she lets out a yelp, and you know you've hit the right spot. Her eyes roll back a bit. "Ah, fuck. Okay. Okay. I get it." A few heavy breaths and then she moans out, "You want me to take it. That's what you want."
You fuck her harder, your hand moves between her knees, reaching for her throat. Her eyes close, her lips part slightly, and you feel a shudder run through her. You squeeze just enough to cut off her air for a moment; her eyes open, they're glazed over, and she's just looking up at you. She nods slightly, and you tighten your grip just a little more. Her body tenses up, and you know she's close again.
Her breathing becomes more ragged, her legs start to tremble, and her eyes are locked on you. You can feel her cunt tightening around you, and then you release your grip. She gasps for air, her body shuddering as she cums, hard.
She can always keep doing this.
***
It was a week after the first mention of it, and well, Anna was being Anna. She insisted on sitting in the middle. "I just feel safe having the two of you on either side," she had reasoned, and Sooin didn't argue.
"If it makes you comfortable," was all Sooin had said.
That started a weird chain of events. The movie was secondary to Anna's antics. About halfway through the movie, right after some scene of violence, her hand reached over to grasp yours. "I'm scared," she whispered, all feigned innocence.
You looked at Sooin, who seemed far too invested in the movie to be bothered, so you just let Anna hold your hand. Her touch was soft, comforting, and her thumb was brushing the back of your hand. It was innocent enough. Then, when there was a lull in the action, she rested her head on your shoulder. "You make me feel safe," she whispered again.
You just cleared your throat and tried to focus back on the theatre screen, but you could feel her fingers tracing patterns on your hand, and her breath was warm on your neck.
Just ten minutes later, she was up against Sooin, who was now being the comforter. The movie was almost over, and you had a feeling that the post-movie chat was going to revolve around Anna's behaviour.
You were right, of course, and Sooin was the one who brought it up. "You were a bit touchy, weren't you?" Sooin asked as the three of you walked back to the car.
"What?" Anna asked. "I was scared. It was a scary movie."
"It was not scary."
Anna turned to you. "Weren't you scared?"
"Not even slightly." Your answer earned a glare from her, but she quickly recovered.
"I was," she said with a shrug, and then she looked back at Sooin. "But itâs okay because I know you two will protect me."
"Well, maybe you should stop holding my boyfriend's hand then, or I will -"
"Sooin...," Anna started, with that little whine that says she's about to act all cute and apologetic. "I didn't mean anything by it. You know I'm an affectionate person."
"Sure," Sooin answered, unimpressed.
Anna threw a look your way. "It's not a big deal, right?"
"It's fine."Â
Anna smiled. You could feel her relief. "See? It's fine. I was just being a scaredy-cat." She reached for Sooin's hand and squeezed it. "So, are you two going to go home and get a little freaky now?"
"Anna. Don't."
"What? I'm just saying, after a movie like that, I want to release some tension."
"God. Why are you like this?"
"I'm just being honest," Anna shot back.
"Well, keep some of that honesty to yourself."
***
It wasn't exactly freaky, but the implication still carried some weight, because you did go home, and Sooin was quickly on her knees. She was being very enthusiastic, her tongue working you over with desire, her hands gripping your hips. She looked up at you with those big eyes, and she let out a little moan as she took you deeper.Â
"Perfect," you groaned, and she just hummed in response, her hand wrapping around the base of your cock.
You thread your fingers into her hair, just above her ear. There's a nice rhythm to it all. Sooin is always so good at this, and she knows exactly how to get you close without pushing you over the edge. It was she who asked about Anna, though, right in the middle of it. "She was being a bit much, wasn't she?" she said, pulling back for just a second.
"Yeah, maybe a little." You watched as she leaned forward, her tongue making a slow circle around the head of your cock, then she looked up at you.
"Think she was trying to make me jealous?"
"Probably," you said, and it came out a bit strained. Sooin had a way of making you lose your focus. She always looks so damn good when she's down there. "But you don't need to be."
"I'm not. I know you love me." And just like that, she took you back in her mouth, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked. Her hand moved with her mouth, her eyes never leaving yours.
"Fuck. I do. I really do." She went down further, and you felt the back of her throat. You could see her eyes watering, but she didn't stop. She pushed herself deeper, gagging slightly, and then she pulled back, gasping for air. "Are you trying to kill me?" you groaned.
She giggled. "Maybe," she said with a smirk. "Question. Do you think she would be good at this?"
You stared at her, not sure if you should answer. It felt like a trap. "I don't know."
"She has good lips. I bet she would be good." She leaned in and licked the underside of your cock, from the base to the tip. "But I don't think she would put in the effort."
You interjected. "Pillow princess?" It was a joke, mostly.
"I don't think she's selfish, but she definitely likes being pampered." Her hand wrapped around you, stroking you slowly. "I'm more into making you feel good." She looked up at you, a wicked glint in her eyes.
"And you do."
She smiled and took you back into her mouth, her head bobbing at a steady pace. You could feel the pressure building, your breathing getting heavier. She knew it too, and she sped up, her hand moving in tandem with her mouth. The fingers you so carefully threaded into her hair begin to clasp a little tighter. You whispered a warning to her, but she didn't stop; she just kept going, taking you deeper, her throat clenching around you.
You came hard, your hips thrusting forward as you shot your load down her throat. She didn't flinch, just swallowed it all, her eyes closed, and she kept sucking until you were completely spent. She finally pulled back, her lips swollen, and she smiled up at you. "You taste good," she said, licking her lips.
You could barely stand, you felt light-headed, and she just giggled and kissed your stomach. "You okay there?"
"Yeah," you said hoarsely. "Just... wow."
She patted the bed. "Come here, lie down. I want to cuddle."
You took a position behind her, curled in the satin sheets, her back pressed against your chest. You wrapped your arm around her waist, and she rested into you. It was always nice to have Sooin in your arms. She fit perfectly. You held her like that for a while, your breathing finally slowing down, and your heart returning to normal. You were content, happy, and then she spoke up again.
"She's never been with a guy. Doesn't that make it weirder?"
"Hmm?" You mumbled.
"Anna. She's never dated a guy, at least, not seriously. So it's a bit weird that she would want to... You know."
You shifted slightly, adjusting your arm, your hand moving up to cup her breast. "Maybe that makes it less weird? Girl is clearly pent up. She just wants someone she trusts." The words were a bit clunky coming out, but you thought you sounded fairly reasonable.
You could feel Sooin's breath hitch as your hand moved under her shirt, your fingers brushing against her nipple. "That makes sense, I guess. It's still weird to think about. I can't imagine my first time being with two people, one was overwhelming enough."
"I mean, your first time with me was pretty good, right?" You teased her nipple gently, feeling it harden under your touch. You pressed a kiss to her neck, just behind her ear.
"Mmm," she hummed, leaning into your touch. "It was, but you were gentle. I can't see you being gentle with her."
"What's that supposed to mean? I'm always gentle."
She giggled, "You're gentle with me because I ask you to be. But with her..." Her voice trailed off, and she turned her head slightly to look at you. "I think you'd be rough. Would you?"
"Haven't given it any thought."
Sooin sighed. "Right." She shifted a little, her ass against your crotch doing things to your brain. "I see her in practice. Flexible. Maybe I'm not better than a man because I can only think about the positions she could be twisted into."
"Sooin," you feigned a little shock. "Is that what goes on in your head?"
Her skin was warm under your hand, and you felt her body respond to your touch. You squeezed her breast a bit more firmly, your thumb brushing over her nipple. She let out a soft moan. "Sometimes. I mean, you've seen her at the gym. Her body... It's made for that kind of thing."
You were more focused on Sooin's body. Your lips were on her neck, kissing her, nipping at her skin. You could feel her heart beating a little faster. Your hand moved down, sliding under the waistband of her panties, and your fingers found her already wet. "You're enjoying this conversation too much," you whispered in her ear.
She gasped as your fingers pressed against her clit. "Maybe a little," she admitted. "But it's not just that. It's the thought of you two together. I can't help but imagine it."
"Imagine what? Me fucking her while you watch?" You moved your fingers in slow circles, feeling her hips start to move.
"Do you have to say it so... directly?" Her tone was shaky.
You kissed her neck again, and then you pushed a finger inside her. She was so damn wet. "Do you want to watch?"
Her breath hitched. "I don't know. Maybe."
Your finger slid in and out, a little faster now. You added a second one, and her back arched against you. You felt her hand move down, covering yours, pushing your fingers deeper. You recall the initial elimination of Anna as a candidate for your little experiment. "We talked about this, remember? She's too close to us. It's too weird."
"I know, but it's hot to think about," Sooin gasped. "Just... keep doing that."
You obliged, curling your fingers inside her, hitting the spot you knew drove her crazy. Her moans were growing louder, and her legs were starting to tremble. "Tell me what you're thinking about."
Sooin's breath was ragged, and she tightened her grip on your hand. "I'm thinking about you," she said. "Thinking about you fucking her, making her cum. She would look so... happy." Sooin sighed softly as she always does when she's a little shy about moaning. "I like to see her happy."
That last bit made you laugh, and you bit down gently on her shoulder. Your fingers moved faster, and you could feel her getting close. "And you would like it if I made her happy?"
"Fuck," she muttered, her hips bucking against your hand. "I hate how pretty she is. She makes everything look so effortless. It's infuriating." She took in a deep breath and held it, her whole body tensing up. "I'd like to see you break that calm exterior. I'd love to see her squirm for you."
"Like you do?"
She let out a little laugh that blended into a moan. She was almost there; you could feel it. She was squeezing your fingers so tightly. "Just like I do, yes. You make it so good for me." Her words were breathy, and her eyes were closed. "Fuck, I'm going to cum."
"Thinking about Anna?" It was almost accusatory, and you couldn't hold back a smile.
"Yeah," she admitted, a little reluctantly. "Yeah, thinking about you and her, and me watching. It's so fucked up, but it's so hot." Her body tensed, and her orgasm hit her hard. She cried out and shuddered against you. You kept moving your fingers, helping her ride it out, and when she finally relaxed, she was panting. "I'm so weird."
"A little. But it's my kind of weird."
She laughed, turning to kiss you. "I love you."
"Love you too." You pulled your hand from her panties, your fingers still slick with her arousal. You wiped them on the sheets and then pulled her closer, just holding her.
***
You weren't sure how it even started, or why, but after that night, the topic of Anna didn't disappear. Every day she was around, there were more subtle hints. Her hand would find yours, her leg would press against yours, she'd catch your eye and smile. The worst part of it all was that it started to become less about making Sooin jealous and more about genuinely turning you on.
"Have you noticed?" Sooin asked one night, as the two of you lay in bed.
"Probably not what you're thinking."
"Really?" She turned to you, her eyebrow raised. "Because I think she's been pretty obvious."
"I mean, yeah, but I think it's mostly to get to you." You reached over and ran your hand down her side. "I don't think she's actually into me."
Sooin let out a skeptical laugh. "Babe. She's definitely into you."
"I mean, maybe a little," you admitted, "But it's about us, not me. It's just another form of attention seeking. It's her way of feeling wanted by both of us. It's kind of cute, in a weird way."
"She was practically sitting in your lap today." Her hand was on your chest now, drawing little patterns with her nails. "I saw how you looked at her."
"I didn't look at her in any particular way."
"You're a terrible liar." She moved closer, her leg sliding over yours. "I'm not saying it's a bad thing. I know you would never act on it. Not without me." You felt her breath on your neck, her lips just brushing against your skin. "Not without my explicit permission, right?"
"You're not going to give that, are you?"
"Hmm." Her fingers were tracing your abs now, her touch light, teasing. "Not yet. But I like knowing that she wants you."
"That's because you want her."
"Maybe." She kissed your neck, her tongue flicking out just a bit. "And I like the idea of her wanting what's mine."
You let out a low growl, your hand finding her waist and pulling her flush against you. "You're in a mood tonight."
She smirked. "Can you blame me? Watching you two flirt all day is like foreplay."
This was where the seeds were sewn: all these nights where sex was a bystander to your conversations about her best friend. Sooin loved the idea of it, and she loved teasing you about it. She'd watch Anna interact with you, and then she'd bring it up later, always with a sly grin.
"How did she feel in your lap? I know Anna's tiny, but she still has an ass. Did you notice?"
Of course, you did, but you would never admit it. Not then, anyway. "I didn't notice."
"Liar," she would say, and then slip your waistband down and start touching you. Her hand would be wrapped around your cock, stroking you as she talked about her friend's ass.Â
"You like her little tits, too. I've seen you looking."
It was always like this, and you never really stood a chance. Sooin had this power over you, and she knew exactly how to use it. She would describe how Anna might look riding you, how she might sound, and she'd get off on the thought of it.
And then, when your mind is full of all these indecent images, she would bring it back to herself. "But she doesn't have this." She would sit on you and slide herself down, her words giving way to moans. "She doesn't feel like this."
The lines had well and truly been blurred.
You were in too deep, and it wasn't just Sooin who was to blame. Anna had a way of being around that made it impossible not to notice. The way she laughed, the way she walked, the way she would look at you from under her lashes. It was all too much.
Sooin worked her hips, her cunt taking you little by little, until she was flush against you. She leaned forward, her tits pressed into your chest. "Fuck. She'd never be able to take you like this." She kissed you, hard. "I bet she'd be so tight, so fucking tight. Probably wouldn't even last."
"She is pretty flexible though," you muttered against her lips, your hands gripping her ass, guiding her movements.
"Yeah, she is." Sooin's eyes were heavy-lidded with lust. "I'd love to watch you bend her in half."
"Just watch?"
She smirked and sat up again, her hands resting on your stomach. "No," she said simply, making a show of the way she rides you, her thighs flexing, her body moving beautifully. "I would want to join in. I want to feel her tongue while you fuck her."
"She'd like that, wouldn't she? Just being used."
"Ugh, don't say that." Her breaths are shorter, more laboured now. "She'd love every second of it. She loves being the centre of attention." Sooin let out a whine and ground down on you. "Just like how I'm the centre of your attention right now."
Thatâs not entirely accurate.
She was riding you with a passion, her hips circling and rolling, each movement hitting all the right spots. You grab her chest, groping her as she moves, and her fingers dig into your stomach.
"Your cock is so... big," she managed between gasps. "You would stretch her out so good."
"I'd rather stretch you out," you answered, pulling her down for a kiss.
She smiled into it, her pace quickening. "I know. You're so good to me." Her forehead pressed against yours, her breath warm on your lips. "I'd make her watch. I'd make her see how well you fuck me." Your hands were roaming all over her body, pulling her impossibly closer. She felt incredible, every inch of her. "She'd be so jealous."
You squeezed her ass, making her slow down. "Maybe I'd make her clean up my mess."
She moaned loudly. "Fuck. That's so hot." Her eyes were closed, her mouth hanging open. It all became very hard and purposeful, and it drove Sooin insane. You moved from her ass to her hips, completely in control of the beautiful woman above you. "I'm gonna cum," she whimpered, her thighs shaking.
You thrust up into her and could feel her wetness all over you - a warning. "No. Not yet." You grabbed her hips, holding her still, just feeling the way her body clenched around you. She let out a frustrated whine, her nails digging into your chest.
"Please. Please, I need to."
You love her like that. Begging, desperate, it's a side of her that only you get to see. It's one of the many things you adore about her.
"Ask nicely."
Her eyes snapped open, and there was that look, that perfect mix of desperation and desire. "Please," she begged between gasps. "Please, make me cum. I'll be so good for you. I'll let you do whatever you want."
You smiled, and you let go of her hips, letting her set the pace again. She was frantic, chasing her release, her movements sloppy. You could feel it building, and so could she. She leaned down, her mouth right next to your ear. "I want you to fill me up. I want her to see it dripping out of me." Her teeth grazed your earlobe.
It all got a little hectic. Heat radiated from her, and her skin grew a sheen of sweat. Every time she spoke, her voice cracked, and her body trembled. It was beautiful to witness. It wasn't long before she cried out your name, her body convulsing as she came, her cunt pulsing around you. She collapsed on top of you, breathing heavily, her body still twitching from the aftershocks.
You held her close, feeling her heart racing. You could still feel the need to cum, but you held back, wanting to enjoy the moment. You kissed her hair, her forehead, her cheeks. She looked down at you, a lazy, satisfied smile on her lips. "That was intense."
You grinned, "Just what you needed?"
"More than that." She shifted, her body pressing down on you again. "You didn't cum."
"I know. I'm okay."
"You sure?" she asked, moving her hips just a little.
You groaned. "Careful."
She giggled, and she started moving again, slow and deliberate. "I want you to cum inside me."
"And that whole 'I'm ovulating and not on the pill' thing? What about that?"
She placed a finger on your lips, shushing you. "What's life without risk?"
***
Risk. To take risks is to embrace possibilities. Possibility manifested at a cafe table on an idle Wednesday, and it looked like Sooin with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Three light lunches and three matcha lattes were just idle bystanders to the conversation.
"So, how was practice last night?"
"It was fine, just drills and conditioning. Same old, same old." Anna took a sip of her drink, with her delicate pinky pointed out, as always."Why do you ask?"
"I always ask how practice is." Sooin was still watching, her expression unreadable.
"Yeah, but you're being weird about it." Anna had always been a bit oblivious, but she wasn't dumb. She could sense something was up.
"Weird? How was that weird?" Sooin played innocent, her eyes darting over to you for just a second.
Anna looked from Sooin to you, and then back again. Her lips tightened, and she put her cup down. "You always do this. You're being cagey. What's going on?"
"We're just enjoying a nice lunch," Sooin replied, taking a long draw from her straw.
"You can't just sit there and look all... like that, without saying anything." Anna was leaning forward now, her arms crossed on the table. "Spit it out."
You couldn't help but interject. "You do realise we see you all the time, right? It's just lunch."
Anna's eyes narrowed. "I've known you two long enough to know when something is up."
Sooin's foot brushed against yours under the table, and you glanced at her. She was giving you that look, the one that said this was your cue. You took a breath, "You want to know what's going on?"
Anna's eyes lit up, her posture straightening. "Yes. Finally."
You leaned back in your chair, trying to appear casual. "We've been talking."
"About?" She was on the edge of her seat.
"About you."
She blinked, her mouth opening and then closing. "What about me?" It's clear now how she was playing dumb, and it probably should have been at the time. Anna has spent weeks, ever since Sooin made that singular, harmless, off-the-cuff comment about one day trying a threesome, trying to insert herself into your relationship. It had been playful at first, but it got very real. You knew she was interested, Sooin knew she was interested, and yet, in this moment, she was playing coy.
"Well, we were thinking maybe you'd be interested in..." You paused, glancing at Sooin for reassurance. She nodded, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Interested in what?" she was quick to ask, with wide eyes and innocence on her face. After all she has done and said, she was going to make you work for it now. Some people are just like that, and Anna is one of them. She loves the chase, loves to be chased.
Sooin took over. "We were thinking you could join us. You know, for a night."
"Join you?" Anna repeated, her eyes darting between the two of you.
"Yeah, you know..."
"I'm not sure what you mean." She was struggling to hold back the laughter and took another drink to hide her smile. You decided to call her bluff.
"For sex," you said, flatly.
Anna nearly spat her drink out. She coughed, her eyes watering. You couldn't tell if she was acting or genuinely surprised by your bluntness.
"For rough, dirty, 'we're all going to need a shower after' sex," you added, for which you got a kick in the shin.
"Can you keep it down?" Sooin scolded you, half-heartedly.
Anna's face was a mixture of shock and delight. She recovered, setting her cup down carefully. "Are you serious? You two are joking, right?"
"We're serious." Sooin's voice was steady, her eyes on her friend. "But if you're not interested, that's fine too. We just thought..."
Anna's face became a mini panic at the idea of missing out. "No, wait. I didn't say no." She quickly looked at you, a hint of that flirty look returning. "I'm interested. Very interested."
A short-lived game of âwill they, won't theyâ came to an abrupt end. It was a weird mix of excitement and disbelief that danced around the table. Anna was trying to play it cool, but you could see the happiness radiating from her. Sooin was watching her closely, probably trying to gauge if this was a good idea or a terrible mistake. You, well, you were thinking about how the fuck this was actually happening.
"So," Anna said after a moment of silence. "When is this happening?"
Sooin blew on her drink to cool it a little. "Slow it down, Anna. We need to set some ground rules."
She rolled her eyes. "I know, I know. No feelings, no attachments, all that stuff. I can handle it." You laughed, and it earned you a look of mock offence from Anna. "I can," she insisted.
"I'm sure you can, but it's not just about you. It's about all of us." Sooin's tone was firm, but gentle, almost like a mother teaching Anna a lesson in adulthood. "We need to talk about what we're all comfortable with."
Anna nodded, though she looked a little impatient. "Okay, fine. Let's talk. Iâm comfortable with anything."
Anything?
"Not here. Not in broad daylight at a cafe where anyone can hear us." Sooin looked around, as if the entire cafe was suddenly interested in your conversation. Of course, they had no notion of the sordid acts being planned out at table three.
"Tonight," you suggested. "We can all meet up at our place, have dinner, talk, and see where it goes."
Anna's eyes lit up. "Dinner and a show."
"Something like that."
She was practically bouncing in her seat, and she was the first to grab her bag. "I need to go do... things."
Sooin chuckled. "Do you even know what things you need to do?"
"Beauty regimen, exfoliating, maybe find something sexy to wear." She was already sliding her arms into her coat, her words tumbling out a little too quickly. "Oh god, I need to shave my legs." She paused, looking between you both. "What time?"
Sooin checked her phone. "Seven? Does that give you enough time to make yourself all pretty?" she teased.
Anna leaned across the table. "I'm always pretty." Sooin laughed lightly with a shake of her head. "I just need to... you know... prep."
You were sure you would find out what that meant soon enough. It was hard to believe this was actually happening. It felt like you'd been playing this game with Anna for so long, and now that it was real, you didn't know how to feel. It was going to be a very interesting night.
"Seven," Sooin affirmed.
Anna left in a hurry, leaving the two of you alone at the table. The tension was thick in the air, a mixture of excitement and nervousness. You looked at Sooin. "Are you sure about this?"
She sighed, a small smile on her lips. "I think so. It's just sex, right? Nothing more." She reached across the table, her hand finding yours. "I guess it's too late now. You saw how excited she is about a good dicking down. The poor thing."
"Yeah, she was basically floating." You intertwined your fingers with hers, enjoying the warmth of her skin. "And here I thought you'd be more jealous."
"A little." She shrugged. "But I trust you. And I trust her, to some extent." She chuckled. "Plus, it will be fun. Something new."
"Do you think she's going to back out?"
"No way. Anna is too curious, and she's had her eye on you for ages." She squeezed your hand. "I'm just glad we're doing it on our terms."
***
"I knew this was a bad idea," Sooin said immediately following a sigh and accompanying a shake of the head.
"I just don't see the point."
Sooin snapped, "Don't see the point?" Anna responded with a small recoil and a furrow of her brows. There was a purse of her lips in the mild look of offence, as if the whole suggestion was ridiculous. Sooin thrust out a hand, insisting Anna take it as a gesture of acceptance. "He's wearing a condom, that's final."
"That's ridiculous."
This whole argument was happening right over your erect, exposed cock. Sooin sat to your left, Anna to your right; their postures were a mirror of each other. Legs sprawled to one side, resting on their hips, one hand at their side to keep themselves supported, and then the others had met in the middle to jointly caress your cock.
There is an observation that requires a step back to recall - it was so immediately apparent at the time. Sooin wore her casual stuff, opting for the comfort of her grey sweats and her black tank top. The juxtaposition of Anna was comical. She was in the tiniest of black dresses, her makeup was on point, and her hair was flowing in large waves. She was stunning - very clearly putting on a show - but it all felt so out of place in the simple bedroom apartment.
Sooin made the joke almost immediately, commenting on how Anna was treating this more like a date rather than what it was. Though Anna retorted that she just wanted to "feel sexy", and that she was "not used to this casual thing". Either way, she gave Sooin a silent compliment by making herself up, because without a doubt, it was to make herself feel like she was on the same level as your girlfriend.
In the end, Anna accepted her fate, even if she was a little dejected. "Fine," she mumbled, and grabbed the condom from Sooin's grasp just to drop it on the bed by her side.
Sooin's hand, freed by Anna's acceptance, went straight back to your cock. "Shall we continue then?" There was a little bit of sass in her voice. She gripped your shaft gently, her fingers soft and warm, and you felt a sense of relief knowing that the whole condom argument was over.
Anna's hands remained where they were - one on her side, the other in your lap, grazing your thigh. She watched as your girlfriend pumped your cock with lazy strokes. There was a moment of refocusing for her, but soon she was caressing Sooin's cheek with one finger, right up to her ear. She hooked her finger behind it, her nails dragged along the skin as she pulled her face in for a kiss.
They looked great together, the two of them. Their lips met with a tenderness that didn't match the intensity of the situation, but it was intoxicating to watch. It wasn't a slow, gentle kiss, but it was deliberate and teasing. Anna's tongue slipped into Sooin's mouth, and Sooin responded eagerly.
Your cock pulsed in Sooin's grip, and you watched, entranced. You could hear the wet sounds of their kiss, see the way their bodies were slowly gravitating closer to each other. Anna's hand moved from Sooin's cheek down to her shoulder, then down further, brushing over her breast. Your girlfriend pulled back slightly, her breath coming in short gasps, and her hand tightened around your cock.
"Fuck," you whispered, completely unable to tear your gaze from them.
Anna's eyes flicked over to you, a smirk playing on her lips as she continued to explore Sooin's body. Her hand slipped under the tank top, and you could see it moving, the fabric bulging slightly as she worked her way up your girlfriend's stomach. Sooin let out a soft moan, her hand faltering on your cock for just a second.
"She likes that," you said, feeling a bit like a commentator to the greatest show on earth.
"I can tell," Anna replied, low and seductive. She leaned in again, capturing Sooin's lips in another kiss. This time, it was more heated, more passionate; her hand finally cupping Sooin's breast under the top, her thumb brushing over the nipple.
Sooin gasped against her lips. The hand on your cock got a little tighter and faster, her strokes becoming more purposeful. You could feel the pre-cum leaking out, her thumb smearing it over the tip.
Sooin ended the kiss with her teasing, "This is why I dressed comfortably, so I can do this so easily." She let go of your cock, putting both her hands at the hem of her little black top and lifting it over her head. Her body was a familiar sight for you, beautiful and enticing. Her breasts were perky, her nipples hard, as she tossed the shirt aside.
Anna's eyes roamed over your girlfriend's body, a look of pure desire on her face. "God, you're gorgeous." She leaned in, pressing her lips against Sooin's neck, kissing a trail down to her collarbone. She took a nipple into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it. You watched, your cock throbbing, as Anna leaned over you to lavish your girlfriend.
You reached out, your hand going to Anna's back, feeling the curve of her spine through the thin material of her dress. She didn't react at first, but as you slid your hand down to her ass, she let out a little moan against Sooin's skin. Her body was warm and soft under your touch, and you gave her a light squeeze.
Sooin was watching you, her gaze riddled with lust. She gave an approving nod. She bit her lip, then reached out to grab Anna's chin, pulling her face up for another deep kiss. The sight of their tongues dancing together, their bodies pressed close over you, was almost too much to handle. Your hand slipped under Anna's dress, finding the complex lace number she had worn underneath. Her ass felt amazing, the firm flesh yielding under your grip.
The girls broke their kiss, both of them breathing heavily. Anna looked at you, her eyes dark with desire. She said, "That feels so... good. Please, more." She arched her back, pushing her ass further into your hand.
You obliged, your fingers digging in, pulling her cheeks apart slightly. You could feel the heat radiating from between her legs. She was already wet, and that made you groan.
"Someone's excited," you commented from your reclined position, your eyes locked with hers.
"I think we all are," she retorted, her hand moving back to your cock. She gave it a firm stroke, mirroring what Sooin was doing on the other side.
Sooin smiled and then began to move. She stood and took a few graceful steps around the bed before climbing behind Anna. Her hands went straight to the thin straps of her dress and began pushing them off her shoulders. The fabric was a barrier to her, now removed. Her lips found the nape of Anna's neck, leaving a trail of kisses that led over her shoulder. You couldn't make out the whispered instruction into Anna's ear, but it all became apparent.
Sooin knelt behind Anna, pulling slightly at her hip to reposition her, which had you retracting your hand from her ass. Soon Anna was kneeling and being guided down to a position that put her mouth right over your cock. She turned her head to look you in the eye, her lips so close to your tip.
"If this were porn, I'd be making you beg," she said with a smirk.
Sooin scoffed behind her, "This isn't a porno, Anna, you're in the real thing now. Just get his cock in your mouth." She pressed the back of Anna's head down. "No teasing."
Anna laughed softly before she took you into her mouth, her lips wrapping around your head. You gasped, a shiver running through your body. It felt incredible. Her mouth was hot and wet, her tongue swirling around you as she took more of your cock into her mouth.
"Fuck," you breathed out, your hands gripping the sheets. You watched her head bob up and down, her hair falling over her face. Then Sooin's hands were in Anna's hair, pulling it back. She held it in a makeshift ponytail, giving you the most perfect profile shot of Anna's pretty lips stretched around your cock.
"So sexy," Sooin mused, watching Anna work. "You look so good like that."
Anna moaned around you, her eyes fluttering closed. She was amazing - a little sloppy, but she was inexperienced in this. It was clear she wanted to impress, though. Her hand moved to the base of your shaft, stroking what her mouth couldn't reach. The combination of her hand and mouth was driving you wild.
You looked up at Sooin, whose eyes were locked on the sight. She was biting her lip, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her free hand moved between her legs, rubbing herself through her sweatpants.
The room was filled with the wet sounds of Anna's blowjob, her soft moans, and Sooin's heavy breathing. It was the most erotic thing you'd ever experienced. You reached out, your hand finding Sooin's. She took it, intertwining her fingers with yours as she continued to watch. You squeezed her hand, a silent acknowledgement of how incredible this was.
Anna pulled off your cock with a pop, her lips glistening. She looked up at Sooin with a shy smile. "Am I doing okay?"
Sooin laughed softly, her thumb stroking the back of your hand. "You're doing great." Sooin leaned in, and Anna turned her head back to meet her in a kiss. You could see their tongues working together, sharing your taste. It was dirty, hot, and it made your cock twitch.
When they broke apart, Sooin gave Anna a little push. "Let's get you out of this dress, okay?"
There was a small, wordless nod as she let Sooin move her into a straddle of your thighs. It was an odd angle, as your cock was still poised upright and resting against the fabric of her dress right below her stomach. Sooin moved behind her, taking far too much time in sliding the zipper on Anna's dress down.
Sooin disappeared behind Anna, placing a series of kisses over her shoulders and down her back. Anna's head rolled back, the moan coming out was quiet but filled with happiness. As Sooin pulled the dress lower, exposing her back, she murmured into her skin, "You have perfect skin." It was a genuine compliment, which Anna loved, giggling at the soft brush of lips.
"So soft," Sooin went on, pressing kisses down to the centre of her back. "I just want to touch you."
"Please," Anna muttered, her hands limp at her side. The dress begins to slip away. More of her chest became exposed as the small swell of her breasts appeared from the thin fabric. You could see she was wearing that black lingerie of hers, the one you had felt underneath. It cradled her cute little tits perfectly, and she looked delicious. Her body was tight and taut, her skin smooth and creamy. Your hands were itching to touch her.
Sooin let the dress fall further, exposing Anna's toned stomach and the tiny waist. She placed her hands on Anna's hips, her lips continuing to trail kisses over her skin. Anna shivered, her eyes meeting yours. "Touch her," Sooin whispered against her skin.
You didn't need to be told twice. Your hands moved to her narrow waist, which you could almost completely encircle with your fingers. Anna leaned into your touch, her breath hitching as you ran your hands up her sides, your thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts.
"You're so fucking hot,â you told her.
Anna smiled, a little shyly, her cheeks flushing. She closed her eyes, soaking in the attention. Your hands moved to her chest, cupping her breasts through the lace of her bra. They were small, but they felt perfect in your hands, the fabric rough against her soft skin. You squeezed gently, your thumbs finding her nipples, teasing them through the lace.
Anna gasped, her body arching into your touch. Sooin's hands were on Anna's hips again, and Anna's dress pooled at her waist. The contrast of skin against the black lingerie was hot. You could see the goosebumps on Anna's skin, the way her chest rose and fell with her laboured breathing. It made you want her even more.
Sooin moved against her back, her bare chest against Anna's almost-bare back. She reached around, cupping her hands over yours, and together you caressed Anna's breasts. Your girlfriend's chin rested on Anna's shoulder, and her lips were close to her ear. "Do you like this? Do you like how he touches you?"
"Yes," Anna breathed out shakily. "It feels so good."
"You've wanted this for so long, haven't you?" Sooin's tone was so seductive. "You've been thinking about this, about us, about him."
Anna could only manage another, "Yes."
"Tell him what you've been thinking about." Sooin's hands were guiding yours, squeezing and kneading Anna's breasts.
Anna's eyes opened, and she looked right at you. "I've thought about this, about your hands on me, your mouth, your..." She trailed off, her cheeks flushing deeper.
"My cock?" you offered, your hands slipped from beneath Sooin's, leaving her to work alone on her chest. You traced a path down Anna's stomach, fingertips dancing over her skin.
She nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. "Yeah. I've thought about you fucking me. It made me so wet just thinking about it."
"Naughty," you commented, your hand reaching where her dress bunched, just as her hips flared out. You pulled her closer, shifting her so she now sat right on your cock. It disappeared beneath the heap of fabric. Her wetness had soaked her underwear, and you felt it warm against your shaft. "And right now? What are you thinking about?"
"About you," she started, "and me." A beat, then, "And her. I want you both so badly."
"Good," Sooin chimed in, her hands still busy on Anna's chest. Her lips were on Anna's neck again. "You're going to get what you want."
You started to guide her into a soft grind on your cock. Anna was rocking in your lap, and you were able to feel just how hot and wet she was. You moved your hands to her thighs, lifting her slightly to adjust your angle. The pressure of her soaked panties on your bare skin was intense. "Fuck, you feel amazing," you strained.
She didn't respond, just moaned and closed her eyes, her body moving with yours. Sooin's hands moved to Anna's hair again, pulling it back, exposing her neck further. "Open your eyes, look at him," she instructed, giving a little tug on her hair. "Watch him while you hump his cock."
Anna did as she was told, her eyes opening to lock onto yours. The connection was electric, her gaze filled with lust and need. You could see the moment she felt you throb under her, the way her mouth fell open, a soft gasp escaping. It was a sight that would be burned into your memory forever.
The heat of Anna was not an exaggeration - she was practically glowing with sweat and that lustful flush. It was a pretty picture, and it was a realisation. All those images that Sooin put into your mind with her words and fantasies, those are nothing compared to the real thing. You've got two very sexy women on you, and your girlfriend is about as into this as you are, maybe more.Â
It's perfect, and it's about to get better.
Your eyes went to Sooin over Anna's shoulder. She smiled, her eyes shining. Her hands left Anna's hair and moved down her back, tracing the lace of her bra strap, her fingers dipping under the fabric to graze her skin. She bent her head, pressing her lips against Anna's shoulder blade, giving her the lightest of bites. Anna gasped, her hips stuttering.
"It's cute that you got all dressed up for us," Sooin said, her hands moving to the clasp of Anna's bra. "But I think we need to get this off."
Anna's face was a picture of anticipation. She lifted her arms, letting Sooin undo the bra with ease. It fell away, revealing her small, perky breasts, her nipples hard and pink. You could feel your mouth water at the sight. You always figured she'd have pretty breasts, and she did not disappoint.
"Oh wow," Sooin said in a little gasp, her hands immediately moving to cup them. "These are perfect."
Anna blushed, her eyes still on you as she continued to grind her hips against your cock. You wanted nothing more than to take one of those nipples into your mouth. As if reading your mind, Sooin whispered into Anna's ear, "Lean forward, let him taste you."
Anna didn't hesitate; she bent her upper body forward, bringing her chest closer to your face. You wasted no time, your mouth wrapping around one of her nipples, your tongue flicking over it. You sucked gently, drawing it in, and Anna cried out, her hands going to your shoulders for support. Her movements on your lap became more frantic, the pressure of her pussy on your cock increasing.
Sooin was still behind her, her hands roaming over Anna's body, her lips kissing and nipping at her shoulders. The three of you were in sync, moving together. You switched to Anna's other nipple, giving it the same treatment, eliciting more gasps and moans from her.
"You like that, don't you?" Sooin asked with a purr. "You like his mouth on you, his cock under you. You look so sexy like this, so fucking hot."
Anna could only nod, her breath coming out in short pants. She was overwhelmed, and you could see it in her eyes. It was a beautiful sight, her body trembling, her back arching, pushing her tits further into your mouth.
You released her nipple with a soft pop, looking up at her face. "You are so beautiful," you told her, your hands moving to her hips again, guiding her movements.
She leaned in, her lips crashing against yours in a passionate kiss. It was different from kissing Sooin. Anna's kiss was hungry, desperate, her tongue immediately pushing into your mouth. You met her with the same intensity, your hands gripping her hips harder, guiding her to grind faster. It was the kind of kiss that says she needs more.
Your cock was throbbing, the fabric of her panties doing little to dull the sensation of her wetness. You couldn't bear the tease any more.
You broke the kiss, and you started to push her to the side. Sooin was quick to help. Anna was pliant, her body moving as you manoeuvred her onto her back beside you. You sat up, kneeling over her, watching her chest rise and fall rapidly. Sooin clambered to your side, clinging to you and looking down at the horny, quivering mess on the bed.
Anna lay there, propped up slightly by her elbows, her eyes darting between the two of you. You reached out, your hands finding the bunched dress, tugging it down and off her long legs, discarding it to the floor. You finally saw the apex of those long legs, and that pretty, damp black thong that clung to her shape. She looked delicious, a perfect little treat.
You left her there, kissing Sooin instead. You took your girlfriend in your arms, her naked breasts pressing against your chest. She responded eagerly, her tongue meeting yours, her hands roaming over your back. Your kiss became heated, and you found your hand slipping between you both, grazing down her stomach to the band of her sweats. Your fingers dipped below it, finding the top of her underwear. She was as wet as Anna, if not more so, her arousal coating your fingers instantly. She moaned into your mouth, her hips rocking into your touch.
You broke the kiss, a playful smile on your lips. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
Sooin giggled, her hands going to the waistband of her sweats, pushing them down, taking her underwear with them. "I am," she admitted, kicking the clothes away. "I love seeing you with her, seeing how much she wants you." Her hand wrapped around your cock again, giving it a firm squeeze. "And I can't wait to see you inside her."
You groaned, her words sending a jolt of lust through you. Your hand left her wetness, moving to the back of her neck, pulling her in for another kiss. It was short, a quick press of lips, before you moved away, turning your attention back to Anna, who was watching you both with wide, lust-filled eyes.
Her legs are spread ever so slightly, and you can see the dark spot on her panties. You looked at her face, her cheeks flushed, her lips swollen from your kiss. You moved between her legs, your hands on her thighs, pushing them further apart. She looked up at you, a mix of anticipation and nervousness in her eyes. She gave a small nod, her silent consent to go further.
You placed your palm against her core, your fingers pressing against the soaked fabric. She let out a shuddering breath, her hips lifting slightly, seeking more pressure. You rubbed her through her panties, feeling her heat, the material becoming even wetter under your touch. "So fucking wet," you murmured, your eyes locked on her face, watching her reactions.
"Only for you," she replied breathlessly, her hands gripping the sheets. "I've been this way for so long, just thinking about this moment."
Sooin moved up behind you, her hands on your shoulders, her breath warm on your neck. "Pull them to the side, you're so good with your fingers."
You grinned, doing just as she said, your fingers hooking the side of Anna's panties, pulling them aside to reveal her glistening pussy. She was bare, her folds smooth and pink, her clit already swollen with need. The sight of it made your mouth water. You wasted no time, your fingers sliding through her wetness, finding her entrance. She was tight, so fucking tight, and the thought of your cock being in there, stretching her, had you throbbing.
You pushed a finger inside her, and her cry was sharp, her back arching off the bed. "Oh my god," she gasped, her hands scrambling to find your arm, holding on tight. "That feels so fucking good."
Sooin's hands were on your chest now, her body pressed against your back. "Is she tight?" she asked.
"Very," you answered, your eyes still on Anna. You started to move your finger in and out of her, feeling her walls clenching around you. She was so responsive, her body writhing, her cries of pleasure music to your ears.
"Another," Sooin suggested, her lips brushing your ear. "I want to see her take more."
You obliged, adding a second finger, stretching her further. Anna's eyes rolled back, a long, drawn-out moan leaving her lips. "Yes, yes, fuck, more," she chanted, her hips moving to meet your thrusts.
You curled your fingers inside her, searching for that special spot, and when you found it, she choked on a sob, her body trembling violently. You rubbed against it relentlessly, your thumb finding her clit, circling it in time with your fingers. "That's it, let go for me," you urged her, watching as she teetered on the edge.
Anna's head was thrashing side to side, her hair a mess around her, her chest heaving. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm going toâ" Her words cut off into a choked scream as she came, her pussy clamping down on your fingers, her body convulsing under you. You continued to fuck her with your fingers, drawing out her orgasm, until she collapsed back on the bed, a panting, whimpering mess.
You pulled your fingers out, coated in her arousal. Sooin immediately grabbed your wrist, bringing your fingers to her mouth. She licked them clean, her eyes fluttering shut as she tasted Anna on your skin. "Fuck, she tastes amazing," she commented, before pulling you in for a deep kiss.
You could taste Anna on her tongue, and the thought of it, of the three of you sharing this, had you groaning into the kiss. Sooin pulled back, her eyes glazed with lust. There was a moment of understanding between the two of you. Words unsaid but communicated nonetheless. A mutual appreciation, for each other, for Anna, for this moment, and the decision to make it happen.
"That was so easy, Anna," you quipped.
Anna just laughed breathlessly, her eyes still closed, a satisfied smile on her lips. "I don't care," she hummed lazily. "That was amazing."
"It's because she doesn't do this stuff," Sooin offered. "Her poor pussy isn't used to this kind of attention."
Anna opened her eyes, a haze to them. "I have done it before. It's not a totally foreign concept to me."
"By yourself," Sooin teased, her hand moving back to your cock, stroking it slowly. "That's not the same thing. This is different."
Anna propped herself up on her elbows again, her eyes following the movement of Sooin's hand on your cock. "It is," she agreed. "And I want more of it."
Sooin smirked. "I thought you might say that. Now where did you... Oh." She picked up the condom she had handed to Anna earlier, and it earned a sigh from the girl on her back.
Anna just watched as your girlfriend rolled the condom onto you. There was a sense of eagerness on her face, but also a bit of a pout as if the barrier between her and you was a crime against her enjoyment. You couldn't help but chuckle at her expression.
"Oh, come on. It won't be that bad," Sooin said, noticing her friend's displeasure. She moved out from behind you, letting you settle between Anna's legs. "In fact, it will be just fine." She lay down beside her best friend, her arm going under Anna's head, cradling her. "It will be worth it."
Anna relaxed slightly, her hand reaching out to brush the hair from Sooin's face. "I know," she whispered, her eyes moving back to you. "I just want to feel him." Her legs shifted, her thighs parting further, inviting you in.
You took the invitation, positioning yourself between her legs. Your cock brushed against her wet pussy, it was not a sensation you were used to feeling, the rubber being the only thing separating your flesh from hers. You pressed forward, the head of your cock catching at her entrance. Anna's breath hitched, her eyes locking with yours.
"Slowly," Sooin reminded you softly, her hand trailing down Anna's stomach, her fingers tracing patterns on her skin. "She's so small, don't hurt her."
You nodded, taking a deep breath. You pushed forward slowly, the head of your cock entering her. The tightness was incredible, her walls stretching to accommodate you. Anna's mouth opened in a silent gasp, her eyes wide.
"Fuck, you're tight," you ground out, the sensation almost overwhelming. You pulled back slightly, then pushed back in again. Just the tip in and out, teasing her, letting her get used to you. "You're doing so well," you encouraged her, your hands on her thighs, keeping them spread.
"She is, isn't she?" Sooin's hand was between you and Anna, her fingers playing with her clit. "But you're big, even I struggled a little the first time."
Anna let out a strained laugh. "I'm fine," she insisted, her hips moving, trying to take more of you. "Just... keep going."
Sooin giggled, her fingers working faster on Anna's clit. "Eager little thing, aren't you?"
You pushed in a bit more, half your cock now inside her. She felt so good, so hot and tight. The way her body was responding, the little noises she was making, it was driving you crazy. You wanted to bury yourself in her, to fuck her senseless, but you held back, taking it slow. You knew you had all night, and you wanted to make this last.
You pulled out again, then pushed in a little further, your eyes glued to where your body met Anna's. It was the sexiest thing you'd ever seen, her pussy stretching around you, her body taking you in, all while your girlfriend's hand was on her. You felt a sense of pride, of power, and it was intoxicating.
Sooin takes Anna's lips in a kiss, silencing her cries as you push further into her. Anna's hands gripped your arms just a little tighter than you held her waist. Her body was trembling, her skin flushed. Sooin's hand left her clit, moving up to her breast, squeezing and teasing her nipple. "You look so fucking hot like this, taking him in," she murmured against Anna's lips.
Anna's reply was a moan, her hips bucking against you. Two of the prettiest girls you have ever seen were just making out while you sheathed yourself in one of them. It's what a dream is made of - an incredibly horny, depraved dream.
"You're doing so well," you told her as you reached a limit inside her. You couldn't get the whole thing in; she was too small for you, but you were pretty fucking close. The feeling of her tight little body around you was mind-blowing. "God, you feel amazing."
Anna's eyes opened, and they were full of tears; her face contorted with pleasure. "More," she begged. "Please, more."
You were fucking her, much to the approval of Sooin, who had taken to verbally encouraging her. "That's it, take it, take all of him." Her hand was back on Anna's clit, rubbing her in tight circles. "He feels so good, doesn't he? So big, so deep."
"Fuck, yes, so good," Anna cried out, her body moving with yours. Her nails were digging into your skin, her legs wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer. You set a steady rhythm, your hips rocking back and forth, your cock sliding in and out of her tight channel.
Sooin put a hand on Anna's, prying it from one of your wrists and then took control of your hand. She took it away from Anna's waist and slipped it between her legs. Her pussy was dripping wet, your fingers sliding through her folds easily. She moaned into the kiss she shared with Anna, her body shuddering.
"Fuck her and fuck me," she ordered.
You didn't need to be told twice. Your fingers found her entrance, pushing inside her with ease. She was so wet, so warm, and her walls immediately clamped down on your fingers. You matched the rhythm of your cock in Anna with your fingers in Sooin. They exchanged breathy moans, their bodies moving, one to meet your thrusts, the other to meet your hand.
"So fucking hot," you grunted, your body working hard, sweat dripping down your back. The dual sensation, fucking one while fingering the other, was mind-blowing. You couldn't believe this was happening, that you had these two gorgeous women at your mercy, that they wanted this as much as you did.
Anna came first, her body arching off the bed, of course, a writhing mess as she did. Her pussy clenched around your cock like a vice, and she went back into that breathless scream that strained her throat. Her hands gripped the sheets, her legs tightening around you, pulling you as deep as she could take. You didn't stop, fucking her through her orgasm, the feeling of her pulsing around you pushing you closer to the edge.
She collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving, her eyes closed. You slowed your movements, giving her a chance to recover, but your fingers continued to thrust into Sooin. She was still kissing her friend, softer now, gentler.
You looked down at Anna, her face blissed out, her skin flushed with a sheen of sweat. You felt a sense of accomplishment, knowing you had made her feel that good. You carefully pulled out of her, sitting back on your heels.
Sooin's eyes followed you, her gaze dark with desire. "My turn.â
You nodded, pulling your fingers from her. Sooin climbed over the limp Anna, on all fours and presenting herself to you, but when she noticed you started to unroll the condom so you could fuck your girlfriend right, she stopped you. "You're not done with her yet, so leave it on."
You let out a groan at this, which Sooin ignored and lowered herself so that she was lying on top of Anna, their bodies pressed together, her ass in the air. She reached back, spreading her cheeks with one hand, exposing her pretty, wet cunt.
"Now fuck me," she commanded, looking over her shoulder at you.
You didn't need to be told twice. You lined your cock up with her entrance, and with one smooth thrust, you were buried inside her. The difference between her and Anna was stark. Sooin was wetter, more familiar to you, and so much more receptive. The sounds she made were music to your ears, her body moving back to meet your thrusts.
"That's it, fuck me," she moaned, her head dropping into the crook of Anna's neck, where she was kissing her there while her hands roamed over her body. "You feel so fucking good."
Anna, though a little out of it, was not idle. Her hands found Sooin's cute ass, squeezing and spreading her, giving you a better view of your cock sliding in and out of her. "So hot," she murmured. "So fucking hot."
The sight of the two of them together, so intimate and sexy, was too much. You were pounding into Sooin, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. Sooin was being vocal, her moans and cries of pleasure only adding to the experience.
You took one of Anna's hands, holding it as you fucked your girlfriend. Her fingers intertwined with yours, her eyes on yours, a small smile on her lips. "You're so good at thatâŠâ
You squeezed her hand, your other hand gripping Sooin's hip, pulling her back onto your cock. "Lot of practice," you replied with a grin on your face.
Sooin's head lifted, her eyes meeting Anna's. "He's got a magic cock," she said between moans. "I don't know how I'm still standing sometimes."
Anna laughed softly, her free hand moving to Sooin's hair, stroking it gently. "Lucky girl."
You looked down, where your shaft disappeared into Sooin, and below that was Anna's cunt, still leaking her arousal onto the sheets. It's a sight that's now committed to memory. You pulled out from Sooin, lowered yourself slightly, and pushed your cock back into Anna.
You split your time between the two of them, alternating your thrusts, fucking them both with deep, steady strokes. Sometimes it was just Sooin, and she was a mess of screaming and dirty talk, but when you found your place back inside Anna, she was the perfect contrast - quiet, intimate, and grateful. Sooin would hold her, whisper in her ear, and tell her how good you feel, how sexy she looks, and how much she loves seeing you like this. Anna would kiss her and softly moan and tremble.
It was the kind of experience that made you wish time would just stop and let you enjoy it forever.
But, like all good things, it had to end. You could feel the familiar tightening in your balls, the pressure building. You were close, so close, and you needed to cum. You were deep inside Sooin, her pussy milking your cock, her body begging for your release.
She could sense it; she always can. "Take it off," she moans.
"But, you said...," you began, slowing down.
"Take it off."
"But, Annaâ"
"Please take it off," Anna begged, her hand still holding yours. "I want to feel you."
A unanimous decision, but it required a break in the action. You pulled out, the rubber still on. You sat on your haunches, looking down at the two girls, who turned their heads to look at you. They looked so fucking sexy together, their bodies entwined, their faces flushed, their eyes full of lust. Sooin shifts a little, moving from her full-mounted position and pulling one of Anna's long legs around her waist.
They were eye to eye, and Anna placed a tender kiss on your girlfriend's lips. Sooin pressed herself against Anna's cunt, and a soft sigh came from them both as they began to rub against each other. A beautiful sight to behold.
You gave them this moment.
Sooin fucked her best friend like that. She was a goddamn expert. Her hands were on Anna's hips, grinding her cunt into Anna's as she worked her over. Anna was so responsive, her hands clutching at Sooin's back, her mouth open, her cries growing louder. "Oh fuck, that's... that's..."
Sooin was relentless, her hips moving in a steady, sensual rhythm. Her hair fell around her face, her lips parted, her eyes locked onto Anna's. "I have wanted to do this for so long," she confessed. "You have no idea how many times I've dreamed of this."
Youâre rolling the condom off your throbbing cock.
"Me too," Anna gasped. "God, Sooin, I'm going to cum again." She was right on the edge, her body taut, her breath coming in short pants. She reached up, pulling Sooin down for a kiss, their lips crashing together in a clash of desire and need.
You watched them cum together, their bodies shuddering, their cries muffled by each other's mouths. It was the hottest thing you'd ever seen, and it took everything you had not to cum right there, untouched. You waited, your cock throbbing painfully in your hand, as they rode out their shared orgasm.
When they finally broke apart, they looked over at you, both panting, their eyes hazy with post-orgasmic bliss. "Come here," Sooin beckoned you, a lazy smile on her face.
You moved to her, climbing over them, your cock poised at Anna's sensitive cunt. Free of the rubber cage, you pushed into her bare, feeling her walls clench around you. She was so hot, so wet, and so unbelievably tight. You started to move, your strokes deep and measured, savoring the raw feel of her pussy.
Sooin rolled off, lying beside you and watching with a satisfied grin. "That's it, fuck her. Feel her around you."
At this point, Anna was a fucking mess. Her head was thrashing from side to side, her hands gripping the sheets, her body moving with yours. You leaned over her, your hand on her stomach, holding her down. You could feel every inch of her, every twitch and quiver of her pussy, and it was pure heaven.
"So good," you grunted, your hips pistoning, your cock hitting deep inside her. You were so close, your orgasm building like a storm inside you.
"Cover her pretty pussy for me," Sooin commanded, her hand moving between her legs, playing with herself as she watched. "I want to see you paint her, to make her ours."
That was all it took, your orgasm tearing through you with a force that made you see stars. You pulled out at the last second, your cock spurting thick ropes of cum all over Anna's stomach and pussy. You were shaking with the intensity of it, your breath coming in great gulps as you coated her in your seed. She gasped, her eyes wide as she felt the warmth of your cum splatter over her skin.
Sooin moved in, her hand rubbing your cum into Anna's skin, spreading it over her pussy. "Look at that, so fucking pretty." She took some on her fingers, bringing them to her mouth, tasting you. She hummed her approval, her eyes on you. "My favourite."
You fell back, completely spent, your chest heaving. Anna lay there, a beautiful canvas of your shared pleasure, a content smile on her face. It was a sight that would forever be etched in your mind, the culmination of months of flirting, teasing, and wanting.
But it was also the beginning of a whole new dynamic, a new chapter in your relationship with Sooin and your friendship with Anna.
And honestly, you couldn't wait to see where it would lead. Even as Sooin pulled Anna on top of her, begging her to fuck your cum into her, because the night was nowhere near finished, you realised that this was only the start.
***
It would be wrong to say the frequency of Anna's visits became more regular, because it became almost daily right from the off. She no longer knocks; she just barges in and throws herself on your sofa with a groan. It has almost become second nature for you. You are in the kitchen when you hear the door open and slam shut. You are pouring coffee from your French press, and soon you'll be pressing her up against the kitchen counter.
You were dating Sooin, that remained a fact, and yet Anna felt like she was equally yours now. It was a strange thing, this three-way relationship you had cultivated. Soon it wasn't just a group thing; you and Sooin, you and Anna, Anna and Sooin... all of it worked seamlessly. No jealousy, no possessiveness, just three people who couldn't get enough of each other.
So that's the story of how you ended up on the way to brunch, with your girlfriend's best friend, fresh off the back of folding her in half and filling her up.
a/n: for @mysonesecret challenge on fanprose. I'm still working on Sohyun - don't fret!
-
Lo for hello. Gbye for goodbye. Lv for love. Thx for what should have been about gratitude. He signed letters with half his name. Left thoughts alone - a sentence with the word think and he'd stop right there. He never allowed himself a moment of quiet thought. An entire life of walking along a cliff's edge - arms out, touching nothing, touching no one, and the abbreviations - lo, gbye, lv - balance. If he had let himself wallow on a word, let the quiet crescent of adieu take him, then off the cliff he goes.
The day he killed himself was the day his letters grew large. Letters smattered with Hello for hello. I love you all very much for I love you all very much. These complete sentences that were complete surrenders over and over, a million explosions on paper - lead giving way where his tears landed.
I asked his friend, at the funeral, after the reception, the terrible food, and he replied: what took him so long.
Her fingers tightened its hold on your hand, anchoring, when she finally finished.
-
She was wearing blue sweatpants, the one with the hole near her left knee, braless, hair knotted like those coastlines; pistachio shells between you both on the table, orange peels shaped like bowls and curled like small fists. She moved around the house unencumbered by beauty's cage, which is a thing you would never say aloud because she would hit you with a cushion and she'd be right to.
I'm disgusting. She said, when you looked around at the evidence of your love.
You're not
I'm compost.
Your fingers trace the pallor of her small hand, dainty and you say: the pistachio shells, the orange peels, that hole on your much-loved sweatpants, you think I get the worst of you - I love you. I loved you ever since you began letting the pistachio shells linger longer, the perfect orange peel bowls, entering this animal-you wandering this tall grass arena of ours, because for the first time, you believed in love - as have I.
Her lips land on yours.
It's clumsy and fast - she lands on her back on the counter, and you pull your waistband down; pull her sweatpants just a little over her ass, part her panties to the side to her glistening cunt - and you push in.
Move
You obey, the flutter of her cunt giving way as you thrust up into her. You do it again and she's clenching around like you're meant for her.
Hand dropping between her legs, fingers pressing down in tight circles. Her heels dig in, breasts bounce erratically, and her fingers tangle in your hair.
I love you, you say to her skin. I love you, I love you, I -
And she gushes: back arching off the counter, cunt milking you, soaking your thighs, body trembling. And the sight of her being undone, ruined, that animal-her - you bury yourself as deep as you can go into her cunt. Pulses of hot cum into her.
That she says, was the worst of me
The both of you share a laugh.
-
She let you into her world for a reason - a night, hot and sweaty from coupling bodies together until muscles give out and not the mental urge to kiss every jutting bone of her body, every crease and every hollow, she:
Everytime I'm in an airport. I think to kill the kid stuff, act my number, set fire to the clutter - i'd be beautiful beyond buying, fix my problems with property and fame. Then, I think of you, home with the dog, the windows open as we wake to the dewy air. I want to be back where I am again, go through the whole thing again. We're small and flawed and I want to kiss your moles.
-
He was protecting himself with the short words.
I know.
If he'd ever said the whole thing - he'd have to feel it. The slide of the word - l-o-v-e. lv is quicker than love - luuuuv. She compared the length of the two words.
You could see her breathing, diaphragm expanding. The pleasure of hearing her breathe, of having her under that roof, asleep or almost. The pleasure of seeing her sleep - face gently pressed to the pillow, bare-faced, nostrils sizing up and down, was as precious as that of feeling her live. The aliveness and stillness.
-
I'm not like him. I don't think I'm like him.
You're not.
How do you know.
These forms, you wanted to tell her - sweatpants, shells, knotted hair, stained cotton - in lonely rooms and in hours of weariness, you felt sweet sensations, in the blood, in the heart. The way she sits in a chair with one leg crossed, the way she peels an orange in one long spiral. These things, lighten anything - the heavy of this unintelligible world. And for once, a three word prayer feels as natural as breathing:
I love you, without question.
Perhaps the same circuit went off in her brain: the way you sat, the way you slept, the way you hunch over the computer. And she, too, said:
I love you.
The next day, you went to her uncle's grave. Lived 64 years, a minimal grave placed right to her wife -
who passed earlier.
Do you think I'll be like my uncle if you go?
Possibly. You pull her tighter, hand caressing the wool of her jacket - the calculus changes.
The black-and-white photograph of her uncle and his wife was attached to the granite, before she died - captioned and signed by the uncle 'I love you, I love you, I love you, dear wife. let's have a long life together, dear.' - before she went, he had used the full words of love.
Not lv.
Maybe it's all a cycle, she whispers under her breath.
As a longtime lurker and resident ask giver, will you be dropping Tumblr in favor of your new platform? If not now, then when in the future?
I'm not dropping tumblr for fanprose! I'll continue crossposting because the dopamine of notes and in-line comments from fanprose is double the fun, and incentivizes me to continue writing.
I don't think i'll drop tumblr anytime soon tho - i get cute asks, cute reposts, cute comments, etc.
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"I knew that a girl who wants a girl is a dead idol"
Gawon's Diary 1:
Yes. I would look out the practice room window and count the girls reflected in the glass that once had fives faces and now seemed to have too few. Is that all? No.
There were other attempts, comebacks: stages bright -
and carried away. I didn't know what to do with my hands. I like the feel of my microphone. More than the contract? Yes, and I liked the waiting in the wings, watching the seats fill with people. I liked the eyeliner and hairspray of it, and soft floors in any light. I wanted to be wanted and visible.
That sounds overly desperate - like an idol. And my hands? My hands keep reaching for a girl whose body was warm and is now on the other side of a screen. Her being Anna. Yes. Do I love her? I dont have to answer that. This is where I trot out my sadness. Black coat, black eyeliner, mussed hair. I miss the point: the face in the camera is a little traitor. I want in, I want out, I want the five back. I miss my group.
I stand in front of the mirror with a tape recorder, hoping to catch something. I want to move forward but I can't. Everyone in this group got here somehow and everyone in this group had to leave. So what's left? Sing a song about the room we were in? Hammer in the pegs that affix us to the stage? The voice wnats to be a hand and the hand wants to hold something living. What did I really want? Someone to be seen by. I wanted more. I want what everyone wants.
I raise the lightboard and shine it on the empty practice room. Was there no one else anymore? Left-handed love, right-handed career, there's no pure way to keep both. The company calls and it makes a noise. Anna makes a noise, cinched into my arms. The company tells us to leave and never come back - but Anna is cinched to me - give us a minute, please, give us a minute. We cry on the bathroom floor and it makes a noise. Was there no one else? My hands keep reaching for Anna, and Anna is always on the other side of everything. The hands must land. The hands must land.
I had a dream about Anna. We were in the gold room where everyone had schedules and stylists. Anna was eating kimbap and not making a sound. There's nowhere to go, I thought. Anna said Do you think they'll let us come back? And I said No, and I meant it, and Anna kept eating.
It's all complicated. My dreams, these are dreams I shouldn't be having, I shouldn't have to clean them up like this. A man who's going grey with warm palms and a dead wife is making me...
ego
I had dreams in a row where Anna called, about to call or on the line already - here I am in a wrong room, feeding the wrong life, i still want your gossamer lips, your teething bites on me. I wake up and I remember what she said: have a nice life, have a nice life, forget about me. The tape is already peeling off my walls - when will you come back?
id
I have to get off this train. I wanted to get off right here but I knew the doors wouldn't open because the group is dead. I swallowed alcohol - the group is dead. Anna is a fever I am learning to live with - everything is happening at the wrong end of a very long tunnel.
egoid
I woke up in the morning and I didn't want anything, didn't do anything, couldn't do it anyway, just lay there listening to the hums of the city. I can't write, can't settle, or paint walls and I wake up and the group's still gone. Whatever. Burn the practice room down.
idego
I don't really blame them for disbanding but they can't have my voice back. So, I said, now that we have our dead careers, what are we going to do with them? There's a barstool and there's a train seat, depends on which you sit in, depends on which damn seat you live with.
iidddd eooog
I have coats all over my body, it's November, it's cold, I feel so damn cold. And there's a man at the bar, a landscape full of him. You can sit now, he said. You can sit now. He said that. I had a dream where he said that. I realized I had been standing the whole time.
What did I really want?
Gawon and Anna - lovers. Lovers who broke a group apart. For what? You're unsure - differences, code of conduct, et cetera et cetera - your mind is considering the first option and it's all so demanding that you shuffle back a little.
Why would she have this out.
She could've kept it a secret, yet it's open-faced and the sunlight poured out in this exacting way - as if this was a revelation worth having - Gawon attached to Anna's gossamer lips.
it's all so confusing.
Later you were in her bed, under the sheets. She was on her stomach, your thumb on the ridge of her spine.
'You read it.'
'Yeah.'
'And you didn't say anything. I left it out for you'
She continued, propping herself up on her elbows, 'I thought it'd be easier to - you know - keep it all out instead of explaining.'
You nodded again.
'She's funnier than me, meaner than me. The camera doesn't do her justice - she's a princess on camera. She commanded so much power on her own.'
'So they couldn't drop her.'
'Correct, she was outspoken on creative differences, prioritized her members - humanity over stockholders, as they say.'
'But they gave up on you, you both.'
'Correct too, we were attached to eachother and that was enough.'
She continued, dropped her head further down:
The rest of the members dont talk to us. Anna and I met before. Not to have sex or anything. I'll elaborate on that later - the members dont talk to us. That's important. Anna and I were together because we trained sixteen hours a day and we were told our bodies didn't belong to us and the one person who made me feel like mine did -
is the one person the industry punished me for wanting.
She sat up, the sheet pooled at her waist. The light hit her collarbone - the ridge, the hollow of it, the scars of an idol, these hollow ridges of her collar.
And you know how it ended. Seoul, after everything collapsed. we were lying in bed - like this, almost like this - and I said I loved her. And she said she loved me. But it didn't ring the same anymore. It didn't land right. After all this fighting, we were tired.
Tired beats soulmates.
This performance became a way of method acting to us - sneaking and timing and stealing miutes in practice rooms stippling each other with red kisses underneath the clothes that inched too close to the red blooms we left on eachother. Take away the sneaking, the stakes, the company breathing down our necks? Two exhausted girls in a hotel room who love each other and can't move.
The words kept smudging. I had all this language from the books. I wanted to say: you are the only person who has ever seen me and also the person who cost me everything and I love you, I love - I love you! But what I actually said was: I'm tired.
'And that was it.' You reply.
That was it, she flew back the next morning because all her fashion deals went through and the company had the dignity to not blacklist us across industries. Atleast. I stayed in the hotel room that Anna paid in advance for and I ate ice cream for as long as I could muster. I didn't cry because I thought I'd used it all up.
She turned to you, with those beautiful eyes.
'So now you know. Beyond the diary, beyond the - I loved somebody and the world said no and we broke each other trying to say yes. Right person wrong time but it was all so palpable, so close.'
You pulled her toward you. She came - straddled you, knees on either side, her hands splaying across your warm chest.
She kissed you, her mouth slightly open dragging against your lips.
You were running out of breaths to give to movements that don't kiss her.
Her body rocked just so, her bare nipples pebbled onto your skin, dragged across you; the graininess of her panties rubbing onto you.
'Tell me about your wife.' She gently tongued at your mouth, this fixation that wouldn't leave her.
'You want me to talk about my dead wife while you're - '
'Yes. I want her in the room. I don't want to replace her. I want to be the thing that exists next to her.'
'Her laugh.' You said. 'That involved her whole body. It bent her forward at the waist and she'd put her hand on whatever was nearest. My knee. My stomach.'
'We're all trying to be holy here,' she said into your neck, tongue painting wet stripes along a tendon. Butterflies all throughout your spine.
'Is that what this is.' You reply, holding her tighter, grabbing one breast and gently pinching a nipple - a moan.
'Just mash your lips against me.' Her mouth opened and you took it. Her hips grinded against your tented shaft.
You pressed the waistband down, just enough to get your rock hard erection out, and she similarly shoved her panties aside - pink and wet and honey.
You entered softly, and you held still inside her. Forehead to forehead - her breathing was heavy but she started moving forward, then backward, grinding your cock into her glistening folds.
This rolling motion, hips tilting. 'I make up things that I would never say. I say them very quietly.'
'Say them.' You reply.
'I think about you in the morning before I think about anything else. I think about your hands on the beer glass. I think about the way you told me about the boy and the Pocky and your voice didn't break once - '
She moved faster. Your hands slid up her back, feeling the knots of her spine, the wings of her scapulae, toned, taut; body desperately attached to you.
'I think about your wife laughing and her hand on your stomach and I want to kill the universe for taking that from you. I think - ' her breath hitched, ' - I think about moonlight making crosses on your body and putting my mouth on every one - '
'Gawon - '
'Is that too much to expect?' She was gasping now, the words fragmenting. 'That I would name the stars for you? That I would - take you there?'
You rolled her onto her back without breaking the kiss. You reached down and dragged two fingers through her folds, to feel her hiss, to feel her pebbled clit - the smallest touch making her arch off the mattress.
You pushed your fingers inside her. The first knuckle, the wetness coating it all. Just ah-ah-ah against your mouth.
You pulled your fingers out slowly so you could watch. Her labia parted, pink and dark and glistening, and a thin string of her slick stretched between your fingers and her body. You brought your hand to your mouth and licked her off yourself.
That's mine
Come and take it
She scrambled up and pushed you onto your back. You were already flushed and leaking at the tip and she fragged a finger along the slit to catch a bead on her tongue.
She lowered herself on you. The head of your cock pushing past her, her cunt gripping your shaft like a tight fist.
You grabbed her ass and lifted her up to slam her back down. She began meeting you thrust for thrust, wetness slapping this sickly sweet sound.
You flipped her onto her stomach and drove into her from behind. A meaner angle where you buried your cock deeper, arching her back, balls slapping against her clit with every thrust. Each thrust more wet than the last. You burled over now, your chest against her body and you pressed her hard into the mattress. She moaned these shrill stutters, turning louder when you slotted your fingers on her clit as you gave her one long stroke after another.
Her cunt clamped down on you, violent contractions that milked you from root to tip.
The splash of my tongue, she breathed a broken laugh, I can't believe I'm quoting Siken during sex, this is - this is the most pretentious -
Don't stop.
-melting you like a sugar cube -
You grabbed her cheek and kissed her to finish the line. She moaned into your mouth and her fingernails sank into your shoulders and you held her there, at the top, in that suspended second before you broke inside her - pulse after pulse of hot cum delivered to her womb.
You cooked for her because the kitchen amenities were too good to pass up on. Better yet, she watched you with her legs swinging off the counter barefoot.
Plating for two became a habit again, and tables for two, too. The table cleared itself of books in increments.
One night you were prepping some marinade and she stood behind you, chin on your shoulder, arms around your waist, and she stayed for so long that you thought that she fell asleep.
Gawon
Mm
What are you doing
Just enjoying you
And without a good segue, you:
I want to touch you the way Anna did. I want to try it
Why, was the natural question.
Because you flinch sometimes when I touch a specific spot and I wanted to know if Anna's diligence caught it before I did. And I'd rather know.
It might feel wrong Her hand found your fingers. You're both different, different body, different hands, different ways of -
Of?
Loving
But let's just try. What if it feels right?
Okay, she said.
Now in bed:
'Close your eyes,' you say. 'And tell me.'
She used to start here Gawon said. Her hand founds yours on her ribs and moved it, to the sphere of her breast, to her collarbone, all the way to her nack. 'She'd put her mouth right here,' she pressed your fingers to the spot below her ear, and she'd stay. She wouldn't move for a long time. Until I couldn't stand it.
You pressed your mouth to that very spot.
She made me ask for everything. More patient than you.
You remained, letting your mouth feel the pulse of her neck
Then here, she guided your mouth lower. To her collarbone. She'd bite hard enough to leave a mark that the stylists would have to cover in the morning.
Your teeth grazed her collarbone. And she gasped out a name - half yours, then ending in -na.
Her hands were smaller than yours, she said. These quick hands that knew where to go, pressed up against spots that would stop me from breathing.
Your hand slid down her stomach. Callused against her smooth navel. Her hips lifted - granting invitation.
You were touching her the way another woman had touched her, a map drawn by someone else's mouth, and it should've felt like secondhand desire. But it felt like what it was - pleasing a goddess. Your wife's laugh in your head. Anna's hands in Gawon's mind. All these ghosts sharing the room. Making a room more crowded.
She was wet, breathing these shaky breaths that were for Anna first - now for you. She turned her face to the left, this embarrassment at presenting her wetness, her hips. You sunk in one finger, the pucker of it, the slickness of it - her hips moved in this rolling way. This woman with her eyes closed resolving mistakes with someone else while feeling you - it's insanity exhibition.
She'd use her mouth, Gawon said, to the left, talking to you but not wanting to look for the fantasy. She'd go down and she'd - directly, just directly -'
You tore the blanket away from beneath and your tongue traced the peaks and valleys of her body until you were at her stomach, then her hip, the crease where her thigh met pelvis. She was shaking.
She'd hold my hips down, she said. Because I was impossible to -
You pressed down on her lower navel, just above her wetness - and she groaned - and you didn't let go, pressed harder the harder she shook.
And how the angels sing when entangled with earth
Your tongue met her folds, this too-hot feeling of her pussy - you flick one time and she weeps. It always starts low, this thing, it escalates and unlike the frog-in-bowl experiments she grafts a pillow across her face to stop all this weeping.
You say it's music and she shakes harder.
Her hand found the back of your head, her thighs tightened on the sides of your face.
Diary entry #2:
A woman I loved held my head underwater because she was trying to save me and I deserved it - 'save yourself, save yourself, I'm no good' - I did, and I knew this, and I was ready to drown in that practice room because I wanted to touch her hands and her mouth and her chest and this meant my career was over anyway. I was twenty-two. I knew these things. I knew how to hit a mark, and I knew how to count an eight-beat, and I knew that a girl who wants a girl is a dead idol, unless she keeps her mouth shut, which is what I didn't do, because I am weak and hollow and it doesn't matter anymore.
A dark-haired woman in a hotel room is pressing her lips to the inside of my wrist. She feels everything, keeps her schedule, peels a tangerine all in one go - goes 'let this be a bowl' and we'd laugh - while I sit cross-legged in an oversized t-shirt drinking matcha.
A little death in your resume - the industry on top of you is teaching how to disappear, see you as a piece of real estate, another trainee lying underneath like sacrifice. Building your body into a product, bleach-stained you press forward with a new name, new identity, new soul - and yet I loved you, Anna, I really loved you. Affection degenerates into scandal. A little death in your resume.
Anna says to herself: the girl's no good. The girl is just no good. But she takes me in her arms and pushes my hair around to see if I could ever be ugly to her. But you're beautiful she says to me. Who gets the contract and who gets the flames? Those who can withstand the bleach. I loved and I loved and I met flames that burned me. She holds me she holds me and she holds me. Desire-full hands that drove into my body. Hush, my sweet, Anna says - these scandals are for you.
I wanted to think of myself as someone who did these kinds of things. I wanted to be in love and Anna -
You pulled back. tongue-tired from pressing at her folds, excavating - these glistening folds, sickly sweet honey.
God.
The diary entry you say, your chin resting, blowing these cold winds at her pussy that get her to seize by bits. about the being underwater in that practice room.
I want to know what happened, you add.
One of the members walked in while Anna had me against a mirror - I was buttoned-open and one of my breasts flowed out and it was self-explanatory. The mirror we rehearsed in front of everyday, she wanted to see me naked against this mirror - 'I see you everyday dancing, smiling, frowning, I want to see more' - the member stood there watching, didn't say anything... and left.
And did she tell anyone?
She told a member, they kept it between themselves. They couldn't look at us in the face. The member who didn't know pried and got it - I suppose that's when the rotten interior was exposed. This enormous knowing between us broke loose.
She fell back onto the pillow, her breaths calmer and she let her knuckles rest against her forehead.
There was a day. After the first breakup - the company had put us through this reconciliation process. LIke corporate mediation but for young girls caught kissing. They brought in a consultant to fix the gay out of two idol trainees. She finally laughed - but after, she confronted me telling me that she's no good and I could only see the galaxy in her eyes - we made love that night
And I must say: this... this was it.
I wanted to be held under her. I wanted to drown in everything about her. There was no alternative because of the galaxy in her eyes.
You moved up the bed, laying beside her, pressing a warm palm against her stomach. You wanted to be in love
And she happened to be in the way, she replied, but that wasn't it.
You're hard, she adds.
I'm aware.
She rolled onto, thigh swinging over over you, the heft of her settling right under your shafft. She was still wet, still swollen, her wetness spread onto your still-clothed tip.
I want you inside me.
I thought you were talking about Anna. Is it a guy now?
She giggled, it's an ambiguous situation, let's say
Mm, you reply, a gentle hand on her thigh as she pulled on the waist-band of your garments hastily. Then, moving closer and upward, then: the hiss of first-entering, this slick intermission until she finally sank onto you.
She pressed her hands firmly on your chest.
The consultant came more times. He brought charts and projections on what would happen if this leaked or went public - it was all negative - nothing went up - and ultimately: disbandment. I couldn't care less about money when I saw the stars in her eyes.
She started to move. faltering upward with a gentle moan then sinking back down, slick, tight, hot. Rocking gently, back and forth, her clit grinding into you with each roll.
And the whole time, her breath caught, I'm thinking about the mirror. Anna against the mirror pressing me half-clothed into the mirror, devouring the skin off my bones, pressing blooming purple flowers all over my body.
She leaned down, forehead on yours, bracing herself. Falling hair curtaining her head. Gentle squelches as you held her, pressing gentle kisses on her nose, right on the mole - and her grinning bit.
After all that, when we disbanded, the members stayed back watching, maybe some executives were still there. We both left together, hand-in-hand. It's anticlimactic because after we left we broke up at the hotel. You felt a hot tear down her cheek and connect to your cheek.
She continued, Your breath on my neck like a music that holds my hands down. Your hand went to wipe a tear but she looked into your eyes - the stars that Anna described - Anna was right, Gawon was the most beautiful woman in the world. Her hips slammed down and you groaned and she said -
'I'm here. I'm waiting.'
You flipped her onto her back without pulling out, drove deeper, her legs wrapping around your waist. Her cunt clenched around you, sucking you in. You grabbed her ankle, lifted her leg, and dragged your tongue from her heel to her arch, entire sole. Then you spanked her, while holding her leg up, a sharp crack against her ass cheek that left a red print, and she yelped, bucking into you.
Pulling her closer, chest to chest. You pistoned your cock into her, the whole length of your cock into her tight channel until she began crying out your name, and the fateful -na began disappearing from her vocabulary.
Her nails scored your back as she came - spine curled and you held her tighter, letting her ride it out - until she got over the hump of it and you pressed farther - kissing her cervix until you sprayed your cum all inside her womb. You fell first and she followed, still connected, cum seeping out of her, onto the bed sheets - these stains that marked this day.
You remember everything, she said.
Diary Entry 3
There was sex of course, and fancy clothes - Anna in a hotel room pressing her lips to the inside of my wrist. The two of us in the Aman on the forty-second floor, the outside shrouded in fog as if we didn't deserve any more than the four thousand a night room.
I got into NYU while I was still a trainee. My grandfather: get into a good college, and fuck off with that trainee shit. I wrote the essays. Got in - showed my grandfather that I could get in and that was that - what are you doing? he'd ask and I reply - with the devil on the tip of my tongue - become a kpop idol. He tipped over 7 months later and had nothing else to say to me.
And so, with a failed career I resumed my studies again - a professor said: the camera is a predatory instrument and I thought: I have been a prey.
Anna was in Tokyo by then. Chanel wanted her face, Dior wanted her walk, Issey Miyake wanted whatever was left. Wearing things that cost more than... anything - and god could she walk.
But the clothes. I want to talk about clothes because that's the mess that separated us. She was resilient and head-strong, stippled me across mirrors in front of cameras - but the industry does what it does - it takes a woman who would bleed for her art and makes her obedient to the wrinkle of a blouse.
This twelve-thousand-dollar thing that draped over her naked body was now off and it made me angry - I kissed her and it made me angrier.
Kissing turned to biting. Around her stomach, the soft of it, and she hissed with her hands threading through my hair as if to let me continue - I bit harder, lower, lower than the navel where the muscle was all-taut and firm. She was melting into pleasure. Eros.
Stop trying to hurt me, she said, and I wasn't trying to hurt her, I said, Youre biting me like you want to a piece of me and I said: aren't I. She replied, yes if you want, take a piece. But everytime I get airbrushed I'll think of you and I think that's no good for us, baby. I'll fly to Tokyo tomorrow - and god does it always sting when she says she'll fly to tokyo tomorrow, two days for us please!
She flipped me while I was processing. She was insistent on the hatefuck because I wasn't there and all I did was bite her when she was here.
She said: you wanted to feel something.
I said: anything.
Her free hand lodged itself into my pussy, my legs, and she just went - this entry into me and I was already tearing up - her fingerfucking me like I didn't know her and the first thing I did was hurt her.
I said stop treating me this way and then I came (excuse my hypocrisy) this ugly kind where she held me through it and was still fingering me, hooking into my folds, whispering: my love, my love, if i had you for 2 days you'd be a skeleton. I'd devour you.
I would say: and be inside you for eternity? be processed by you? dont threaten me with a good time.
Realization would come faster than we both wanted it to. Side by side she'd tell me about her next booking: saint laurent.
My face on a building in Paris.
You already have one in Tokyo.
Paris sounds good for change.
I always want to diagnose her emptiness in more ways than one - that I was the context of her life - was she more career-minded? Do I remind her of a time that she'd rather forget - then why does she fingerfuck me within an inch of my life and drink the juices of it?
She kissed my forehead whenever I was thinking that. This maternal thing. And she'd say: i forgive you for biting me and I forgive you for wrinkling my blouse (I was always careful with it) and then she'd stop there and leave.
She'd text in morning time, when I was always busy with study-work she'd pop in at 3 AM and then I'd remember her beautiful face. Oh, Anna. Oh, Anna. Please be frank with me.
I pressed the phone to my chest and I closed my eyes and in the dark behind my eyelids I could see the practice room, the mirrors, the five of us in formation, and Anna's eyes finding mine in the reflection, and the reflection was closer than we were allowed to be, and the distance between the reflection and the real was the distance between the sweet and the bitter, and the distance was shrinking, and the creature was stealing up, limb-loosener, impossible to fight off, and it was already too late, again, always again, and the tired was coming but not yet, not yet, the tired was still miles behind us, and for now there was only the reach, the ache, the beautiful stupid reach across six thousand miles and fourteen hours for a woman who was already living a new life, who was already wearing my bruise under her clothes in a city I'd never seen, who was mine and not mine and never mine and always mine and I was so in love with her my teeth hurt.
I'm so in love with her my teeth hurt.
The hurt is the engine. Remove the hurt and the engine stops and you're just two people in a hotel room who can't move.
Anna came over 3 days later. She was always coming every month or so but only for a day. Gawon was frank with you how they'd spend the time - fucking eachother until their limbs couldn't move but they still had so much to say and resolve, but by then the first class caddy had come to pick Anna up.
Purple-blossomed, bruises that'd heal partway into the long month - and it hurt Gawon to feel totems Anna left behind healing away.
But she was here now and that's all that mattered:
You greeted Anna with a nod and Gawon pulled the both of you to the bedroom.
Let's not waste any time, Gawon said.
Anna kissed Gawon in this tilting way, pressing her hands all between her collarbones to check for a pulse - as this was all real and palpable and she could just - just for a second - find herself in Gawon's arms again. Their mouths met and Gawon's spine softened against your chest and this low sound - a mumble.
Your hands held the waist of Gawon as she found herself melting under Anna - whose fingers now found interest in her hair, pulled it away to reveal Gawon's neck, exposing the side of it, the pulse line - the spot. Gawon tilted her head so far back it rested on yoru shoulder as Anna worked the tender of her neck. The precision of it - she kissed the skin and then opened her lips against her neck and bit. Gawon held the back of your thighs for support.
Anna lifted her mouth away from the bruise she'd left. She pressed her thumb to it, testing.
I can't believe you're so turned on by this. It's a new development. Anna stared at you as she made that comment, Gawon mewled at the comment. Her legs were shaking and already half-way gone.
Anna kissed her again, thumbs under Gawon's jawline, her tongue finding hers. Each time Anna dug deeper, Gawon's fingers dug into the back of your thighs.
And you leaned down to kiss the long line of Gawon's neck. Her sweat, the sweet perfume of her. Your hands traveled up from her waist, counting ribs, lying just on the line of her breasts - another mewl from Gawon. Your hands went back to pull the hem of her shirt up.
You can't help yourself, Gawon said. To both of you.
And this was true: Anna went onto her collarbone, then to the sternum, kissing down the center, leaving this line of kisses between her breasts - your hands came up and cupped them, thumbs over the pebbled nipples. Gawon made this small, broken noise at being at the mercy of both of you.
Hush, my sweet - Anna said - how this love ruined us.
We'll never get used to it. Gawon replied.
Louder.
We'll never get used to - Anna sealed off the last word by kissing her. Then moved down, all the way down the plane of her stomach to her jeans. She pulled the zipper down then whole thing. Anna paused there for a moment, staring at her underwaer.
Anna paused for a second, staring at her underwear. She looked too long and Gawon opened one eye: 'What?'
I'm acclimating, haven't.. you know had sex in a while.
Acclimate faster, please
Please, I flew for hours - I need a minute
Anna, still on her knees between Gawon's legs, hooked a finger on the waistband but didn't pull - she leaned forward, put her mouth on the cotton where Gawon was already wet - and breathed out gently - a no-good gesture that made Gawon weak in the legs.
You are an unserious person
I am deeply serious, I am reacquainting myself with the terrain.
And this terrain... she sighed, will evict you if you dont get on with it.
After another minute of stubborn mouth through cotton, her thumb pressed the cloth into her folds in a slow rubbing motion that made Gawon's hips lift. Your hand slid from under her breast to her throat - Gawon swallowed and halted when Anna finally pulled the underwear down at last.
She tossed it over her shoulder, hooking onto the lampshade -
'It's going to catch fire.'
'It's not.'
She bent and put her mouth on the side of Gawon's thigh -
And maybe it was one of those secret spots that only Anna could appreciate - Gawon's hand found the back of your thigh and closed hard. You made a sound of your own - a small hah at the grip - and Gawon, eyes closed, said sorry but didn't loosen.
You brushed the hairs that fell across her face and Gawon pressed into your palm gratefully -
Good hands, Anna said - Don't get smug she's paying you in attention and she's stingy with it. Stay humble.
You and Gawon share a chuckle - another story that you would have extract from Gawon: the stingy princess.
Anna, finally, went to Gawon's pussy. Another moment of Gawon's knees giving out - this time a small cartilage complaint, a crick that you hadn't heard before. And Anna's hand slid under her knee and lifted it gently aside, thumb pressed into Gawon as she settled her mouth on her clit.
Gawon's head dropped back and you put your mouth on it - the taste of perfume, the salt, the floral of her detergent - you kissed the length of it up to the ear and then
don't - not yet - i'll go too fast.
You went back to the shoulder, mouthing at the mole at the end of her collarbone; your hand moved down to her breast and cupped it, thumb over the nipple in this torturously slow sweep.
When she's close. She'll try to push you off. Don't let her. Anna said
He doesn't need to know that
You always push us off when you're close. You've done it to every -
I'm going to murder you
Later
Anna went back down on her, as did Gawon's grip on the back of your thighs. Your hand kept on her breast, mouth at her shoulder, and Anna did whatever Anna did - a thing you could not see but the way Gawon reacted: spine going liquid, legs giving out, and at one point, tried to push Anna off, threading fingers through her hair.
But Anna held her wrist: See?
Shut up
Anna continued until Gawon shuddered throughout her entire body - a signal now to stop before she goes insane.
Anna came up, wiped her mouth on her wrist.
I want both of you. Gawon finally said.
Pulling Anna toward herself, positioning Anna's hand on her navel.
Back?
Back.
You sure? You ask.
Yes. Stop asking.
Gawon got a bottle of lube and pressed it into your palm. And Gawon, kissed you gently - I want this.
You nodded, her hands went to your waistband pulled out your shaft - and let the lube drip as she massaged it into your cock before finally turning around to Anna, whose lips were turning purple from how hard she was biting.
Anna's hand arrived between her legs - two fingers poised to enter, a thumb over her clit. Then slowly, Anna pushed her fingers in - Gawon hissed tilted forward and that's when you began pressed into her asshole.
Pressing in stages. You were being careful, and Gawon felt this, and her hand came back to find your hip and pulled you in another quarter-inch, impatient with your carefulness. Anna, watching her face at two inches' distance, made a low sound of recognition.
there she is
shut up
She does this thing with her chin. She lifts it half an inch, signals being taken care of. I'm surprised by how long her chin's been raised this entire time.
You are doing this to torture me Gawon replied, embarrassed
You're right, I am doing it to torture you.
You were all the way in. Gawon's hand on your hip, her other arm curled around Anna's as she worked her fingers into her pussy. Your mouth at the nape of her neck, leaving faint blooms as you began to move, very slightly, and Anna adjusted to your rhythm.
Your hand had moved from her hip to her waist to her ribs to the underside of her breast, cupping it from below, your thumb stroking the side-swell in time with the roll of your hips into her ass. Anna had her mouth on Gawon's mouth intermittently, not kissing so much as breathing against it, catching sounds as they came. Gawon was making a continuous low sound that was nothing.
You pulled back slow, the head of your cock remaining inside the tight ring of her ass. Her gripping you, slick with the lube you worked in earlier. The taut grip. You slammed in again and Gawon cried into Anna's mouth. The shaft of your cock withdrawing slowly, glistening then slamming back into the hot velvet. Grabbing her ass hard enough to leave prints. And Anna matched your pace, fingers into Gawon's sopping cunt working her over to heaven.
She came again, into Anna's mouth. Anna held her through it and then said, into her jaw, 'enough?' and Gawon nodded without opening her eyes, and you stopped on the moment Anna stopped. You stayed inside her another minute because she had not asked you to leave. Pulled out in the careful reverse of entry.
The three of you sprawled across the bed with Gawon between you two.
The lamp did not catch fire, despite the cotton flag still hung on it, slightly askew. Anna, lying beside Gawon now, looked up at the lamp.
Gawon: Try him
No. What the fuck?
Why not?
That's... yours to deal with, and I like girls - if you haven't got the memo, Gawon.
Anna was sitting up now, sheet at her waist, bit gently swollen from how hard she'd been biting it.
And? Are you admonishing my tastes.
Not admonishing, what I see now is a man.
and
I like girls.
Anna...
Fine. Alright. Come here Anna gestured you over. You closed the last of the distance and she placed her cool palms on your cheeks to pull you in - and kiss you.
It was the first time that Anna kissed you.
This is how Gawon bends me, dear.
Her mouth tasted of Gawon, and you could observe the habits of hers to complement Gawon: she leaned the opposite way that Gawon kissed, and the way her tongue moved - she was good, of course she was good at it, but took a much more standstill approach to kissing. Maybe Gawon was the initiator of it.
Anna's hand moved from your face to your chest. THen pushed you onto your back, swinging a leg and was above you, straddling you.
Look at her Gawon said to you Look at her face - this is vindication
Gawon, I will kill you.
Gawon smiled. Anna bent, kissed your sternum first. She was smaller than Gawon, her mouth was slightly warmer, teeth sharper.
Her hair spilled across your ribs and you pressed a hand into her scalp, to reassure her. Anna, without lifting her face, reached up and took your wrist to the side where she wanted it.
Mouth on the hip bone now, she was taking her time, holding your cock with a soft grip, breathing humid breaths. Then: her lips kissed the tip of your cock before descending, just below the tip, suctioned well.
Gawon made a soft sound of recognition, hand between her legs.
Anna pulled back. Held you at the base. Looked at your cock with this expression of interest.
What, you said.
Dont rush me. I flew for hours and now I have a dick in my mouth. The day's been a journey. She licked a stripe up the underside. I'm going to need feedback. I dont have native speaker's intuition here.
You're doing fine, Gawon said from behind her, fingers still moving lazily between her own thighs, He's gripping the sheet.
That could mean anything: pain, pleasure, existential dread.
Its not pain, you said.
Then stop making that face. You look constipated.
You offer a quick laugh and Anna laughs in turn, her tongue still grazing your cock, but with a grin.
Men concentrate with their whole skull. It's horrifying. She play scoffed then took you in her mouth again. Tonguing at the frenulum, suctioning off the tip - your hips lifted off the bed and Anna had to press you back down while using the other hand to hold the base of your cock.
Gawon crawled closer, watching Anna form inches away.
She's better than she thinks, Gawon said.
I can hear you replied Anna
Good. You've always underestimated it.
My mouth has done fine.
Yes, in a career of kissing girls. This is... a sideline.
Anna pulled off, wiped the corner of her lips with her thumb and pressed it to Gawon's tongue - which she gladly took - Stop making me regret sucking a dick.
Im providing moral support
You're shit at it.
Gawon grinned. She leaned forward and kissed the head of your cock, quickly, a small wet press. Then she kissed Anna's mouth. You watched them kiss over you, both their faces inches from your body, and the visual short-circuited something in your chest. Anna pulled Gawon in by the jaw and kissed her deeper, tongues visible for a second before they sealed, and your cock was between them, pressed against both their chins, abandoned temporarily in favor of each other.
You two are going to kill me, you said.
Gawon broke the kiss and looked at you. 0
That's the idea, she said, and pressed your cock into Anna's mouth again, feeding it to her, her fingers wrapped around the shaft, guiding.
Gawon whispered into Anna's ear, directing her with her hand on your shaft: slower, slow down, he likes it when you twist at the top, yeah, there, hear him?
You made a sound that came from the soul.
Heard, Anna said, muffled.
Gawon kept her hand on the shaft, stroking what anna's mouth couldn't reach and pressed her lips against the side where Anna's were stretched. Both their mouths on your cock, one on the tip, one on the side, then trading, this sharedness, they kissed around you, against you, your cock as a surface their mouths met on.
Im going to
Not yet Gawon's hand squeezed the base, and your climax retreated by steps.
That's cruel, Anna said as she pulled off.
You just deep-throated a dick. Gawon replied, you kiss girls for a living.
Dedication to your happiness. I'm selfless. Also does he use your shampoo?
Yes. forty seven dollars down the drain.
Can we stop talking about shampoo, you finally add.
He's impatient, Anna said
He's always impatient. Showed up the moment I sent him a letter, paint pants, one in the morning.
Anna laughed. I understand now
Understand what?
He's a person you can make a house out of.
Cryptic, but okay. Gawon replied.
I'll explain later. But now, I'm going to - she swung her leg over and pointed at you - ride you. Because Gawon wants to see it and I want to give her soemthing to see.
She was wet, had been for a while and it was obvious the moment she pressed her folds to the tip of your cock, sliding along the length of you without taking you in, this slowness, the folds gently catching on the veins.
How do you want me, she said
However you're comfortable
Anna rose up on her knees. Reached between her legs and aligned your cock to herself. Then, sank the first inch. Her jaw clenched.
Oh, she said.
She's saying you have a great cock, Gawon said.
Im going to seriously kill you.
Another inch down and her breaths went shallow, hands on your chest, fingers spread, nails gently digging into the muscle of your chest. Her hips tittered until Gawon held Anna from behind. Gawon consoled her: Breathe and move when you're ready.
I'm ready.
You're clenching, relax Gawon said, gently steering her down until she hissed at how deep your cock was in her pussy.
Right there, feel it?
Anna looked at Gawon again, kissed her. She was just a woman on top of a man she barely knew, being held by the woman she'd loved for eight years.
She started moving. A rhythm that was rough and imprecise, thighs slapping against yours. Pussy working you down. Gawon's hand slid from Anna's hip to between her legs, down to her clit and she began rubbing.
Fuck, ANna said, Fuck off
There she is with the chin.
I swear to god, Gawon -
Gawon pressed harder, and Anna's moans turned shrill. Grinding now, messy, desperate, chasing a sensation that broke her piece by piece. You held her hips as she pathetically ground her pelvis against you.
Then: cumming with her eyes open, and she was looking at Gawon over her shoulder, mouth open, inviting her to kiss her as she experienced bliss - after all, she still loved Gawon.
Well, she said. Her voice was wrecked.
Well, Gawon said.
I'm not changing my orientation.
Nobody asked you to.
But that was. She looked down at you. At where you were still inside her. Substantial is accurate.
Gawon rolled toward you. Her hand found your cock, still hard, slick with Anna. She stroked once, twice. Then she crawled over you, straddled you, sank onto you in one smooth motion without preamble, without adjustment. Her body knew yours the way a key knows a lock.
Gawon rode you with her eyes on yours. SHe braced her hands on your chest and moved in these deep rolls that became native to Gawon. Sloppy and urgent, hips stuttering, working your cock into her body, letting it find that specific spot that makes her cry out in bliss. Anna sat up and held her form behind, but Gawon didn't look at her, she arched but her eyes still stayed on you.
Wet heat still sheathed around you. Then your cock slipped free as she lifted herself off.
Lay down
You let yourself fall backward as Gawon watched. Your erection stood straight up, veined and hard, swollen. She lifted her own right foot and placed the sole flat against he underside of your cock. She pressed up, mashing your shaft against your lower belly, The arch of her foot cradled your glans for a second before the heel pressed against the head of your cock. Precum smearing across her soles.
She brought her left foot up too and trapped the cock between both soles. Squeezing them together and sliding them up and down yoru shaft in a rough rhythm. She spat down to relieve the dry heat. She was fucking you with her foot now. Sole pressing hard down on your lower belly with each downstroke. Head disappearing between her feet over and over.
She sped up when you were right on the edge. She stopped pressing your shaft down to let your shaft sit upright as she pressed her big toe on the slit of your tip before you started releasing rope after rope of cloudy cum all across her soles.
Anna was staring.
What was that?
What was what.
with your feet -
It's a foot thing. Dont make it weird.
It's objectively weird.
You never asked.
Asked? Who asks for that?
He likes it. It happened once by accident and he made a sound and I thought: oh. and then i did it again and it became a thing.
a thing.
a thing.
You two are disgusting
Thank you, replied Gawon
Wasn't a compliment.
It's always a compliment coming from you.
Anna sighed, Go to sleep. Both of you. Before someone deploys another appendage.
Gawon placed her head on your chest, and the both of you fell gently to sleep.
By morning Gawon was still at your side. But she handed you her phone to let you see what she'd been looking at:
Gawon,
I have been trying to write this for too long. What I needed was to be at thirty thousand feet and figure out what to say to the person I love most in this world about why I cannot love her the way she needs. Not in the way that builds a home.
I've been rationing myself out to you, I haven't been truthful. And the truth is that I was afraid. I was afraid that if I opened the bottle all the way, what came would not be love anymore. It would be need. The same need that broke us apart at the hotel. But scars stay longer than I thought.
Here is what the Greeks knew about desire that I have spent years refusing to learn: you can only want what is gone. Desire is for the missing thing. The woman on the other side of a practice room mirror who you can see but cannot touch because the entirety of a company is between you, that was desire.
I wanted you most when I couldn't have you. In the practice room at three in the morning when the mirrors showed our reflections closer than we were allowed to be. In hotel rooms where we had blocks of time for eachother. Sweet then bitter. The sweet first because it's less surprising. Then bitter, which crushes your soul.
I loved you bittersweet.
The bitter was this: I was most myself when I was reaching for you and least myself when I held you. The secrecy, the minutes we had in closets and the simple not-touching in public - that was all the fuel. And when the company closed all of that for us, allowing us to finally be there for eachother - it was all gone.
I know how this sounds. I know it sounds like I'm saying I only loved the chase. The chase was the shape of our love. Other people's love is shaped domestically. Ours was shaped in all the bad ways: 3 AM hatefucks and a company who wanted us dead. That shape was beautiful. I will defend that shape until I die. But you cannot live inside one like that. You can write about it in a diary, but you cannot make a life in it.
You tried. I watched you try, you had an unfinished apartment waiting for me. But what restarted while I was gone was your life.
You sat next to a man in a bar.
That's living, Gawon. That's the house. I know you think you can live in both, I know you think thtere is a version where I come back every few months and we sit on opposite ends watching terrible netflix shows and pretend what we are is friends who once, incidentally, destroyed a five-person career over the inability to keep our hands off each other.
I am tired. Not of you, never of you, of the reaching, of the wanting that comes back everytime i see you, it crushes me - it really does. Always again, and again, and again - and I cannot do it anymore.
Tired beats soulmates. I know that's ugly but it's true. The love was light but everything else weighed us down and we couldn't move.
Wanting you was a beautiful cage but I am out of the cage. Let me be out.
Everyone needs a place. And it shouldn't be inside of a ruin. Your walls are yours now. You're painting them, or you will, perhaps he'll hold the tray, maybe he'll do the corners wrong and you'll have to fight about it and it'll all be ordinary and you will finally, for a second, love the ordinariness of love. This will be love that you deserve, Gawon. I cannot chase you any longer because it'll ruin the both of us. I can ruin myself by myself, but I cannot stand ruining you. Live this ordinary love.
I am the broken half that will break the other. You found a normal half. Please keep me away.
I want you to know that I threw the key away. I don't think I'll be able visit again but we'll see. I looked at it before throwing it away, it had your address stamped on it and I cried because you gave it to me before I even asked. I wanted to keep it, Gawon. I wanted to keep it, but I'm dangerous.
Someone will find it. Someone will try it on every door in the building and it won't open any of them. Or maybe it will open one and someone will walk into an apartment and find a woman with paint on her walls and a man asleep in her bed and two chairs at a kitchen table and eggs burning on the stove and a life so ordinary it could make a dead girl weep.
That's my wish for you.
You need to stop wanting me because I will always want you. If you step forward I remove the hairs off your face and find you as beautiful as the day I lost you and I'll break you. So stop wanting me. I will never text again.
Let the ice in your palm melt, let it melt, let the water run through your fingers and into the ground and let the ground have it.
I love you. I will always love you. I loved you bittersweet and the bitter won and the sweet is what I'm leaving you with and tired beats soulmates. I'm sorry, but it does.
LE SSERAFIMâs Huh Yunjin and MEOVVâs Lee Gawon x Male Reader
2.8k words
Title Inspired by The 1975âs Sheâs American
A/N: Part of @woollypoison's prompt event! The ending's a little rushed lol, sorry about that.
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Being a gold-badge tennis umpire is, obviously, not simple, especially when you're the youngest one to ever do so. (The entire neighborhood came over to your house to celebrate upon the announcement.) Sure, the federation give you the women's matches. It's shorter during the Grand Slam, they said, but the sheer concentration needed is still pretty damn daunting. It took some time before those raised-by-television ticks are gone, but you made it, eventually.
Before every match, you have to learn about your playersâstyle of play, cultural background, temperament. You've seen the racquet breakers. You've seen the profanity merchants (yes, you can curse in over twenty languages, that's one of the perks). You've seen the sweet-mouths. A lot you've come across during the first year you've officiated, and that has expanded your worldview by a lot.
â
A grunt, service.
The tennis ball bounces off from the racquet, flying over the net to the other side. Your eyes follow, fingers tapping on the armrest. It ricochets off the acrylic surface once.
A groan, forehand groundstroke.
The ball darts back to the opposite side. It hits the ground once; the sound echoes through the court. The seats are filled. There has never been any vacancy from the semi-finals onwards. The crowd is silent during the rally, locking their eyes on the ball. They are composing themselves well.
A cry, two-handed backhand.
The players' benches are full of belongingsâtowels, spare racquets, water bottles. Both of them don't seem to be the dazzling type with their possessions. The clouds make way for the not-really-summer-but-not-quite-autumn sun to stare down at the people below. Glistening skin. Loud breath. Squinted eyes. That's New York September for you.
The rally goes on. Both women voice with each of their hit. The sounds of the shots intersect with the movements. Your eyes focus on the ball intently, watching for an error. The ball seems to handle itself well, though, always landing inside the lines. It's probably twenty strokes already.
Then, a slice. The green ball floats awkwardly over the net. It lands inside the service box, bouncing forward shorter than it should. Loud thuds of the steps reverberate through the arena. A reach, defended. It flies over the net, albeit weakly. Then, a sprint. A slide. A remarkable volley. Oh, no chance of defending that.
"Forty, fifteen," you announce, and an applause follows.
â
Now, the benefits of being a gold-badge umpire aren't as prestigious as everyone makes it. You still have to cover the expenses for your trip first. The food is edible. There's no protection from the dipshit players on the courts. The salary is pretty much what you'd expect from a standard job. It's not that great.
You get this, though, at least.
Gawon's head is thrown back as your tongue drags along her neck, gathering the saltiness of her post-game sweat. Being slightly shorter than her makes it easier to do so. The nape is at your tongue level. Her body shudders every time your flesh plants itself on her skin, accompanied by a guttural groan with each lavish. The scent of her is overwhelming, yet so intoxicating. A hint of that player. What's her name again?
That doesn't matter, just lick Gawon's neck.
On your back, Yunjin digs her hand under your shorts, running her fingers along your perineum, starting from the base of your balls to the rim of your asshole. You spasm with each touch, barely controlling your moans from reaching the outside of this damp, heated locker room. Her tongue laps the side of your neck, savoring the late summer taste on your skin. No player is going to have the Tropical Boy title, because this young little referee is having it.
"You do this often?" Gawon asks, fingers digging into your scalp. She cut her nails, obviously, a standard for athletes.
"Once a month," you huff. It's an honest answer, just that you don't know how to classify it as: usually or sometimes or seldom. It's definitely frequent enough for you to come across an array of female players, at least.
"Slut," Yunjin scolds. Her hand grips on your balls tightly, making you squirm between the women. And of course, she giggles.
Gawon yanks your head away from her neck, boring her eyes into yours. There's nothing but lust on her faceâthe wanting eyes, the shaky breaths, the lip lick. Yunjin's still on your neck, getting that saline dripping down your skin from sitting in place for two hours, lazy ass. Her grip on your testicles loosens, going back to teasing your taint and keeping you on the edge.
Suddenly, Gawon presses her lips on yours, a little chapped. Her hand grips your hair ever so tightly, burning your scalp with her sheer force. The pain is always worth it, of courseâmixing your sweats together, tasting that body salt lingering on your players' bodies, inhaling the scent of their perseverance from the last two hours. You're so much of a whore for it.
Yunjin pushes forward, teasing the edge of your boxers along with your shorts, threatening to pull them down in a single swoop. She runs her fingers towards your front. Oh, how you shudder when she grabs your length from the back. Yunjin then starts to rub your cock softly, all while planting her tongue on the back of your neck.
"I wonder what ITF would say if they know that one of their umpires is a sweat-obsessed whore," Yunjin coos, making sure to take a swipe at the tip of your cock. Your frame jolts in response. You know she's smiling, she always does.
You can feel Gawon slightly grinning against your lips, a more devilish one than that of Yunjin's. Her tongue attacks the inside of your mouth so easily, making you melt within her embrace. She's just so good at this. The sloshing sound of the kiss rings inside your ear. It's pretty ugly, nothing majestic like in the movies, but it feels like heaven.
Her hands slide into the space between you and Yunjin, landing on your plump ass. Gawon then gives the pair a squeeze, and you can only moan softly under the kiss. How nice it feels to be handled like this, and she shoots back at you, "God, your ass is just so, ugh, fuckable. Fucking dump truck of an ass."
Again, you just whimper whorishly into her mouth.
In a sudden, Yunjin pulls your garments down. They pool idly at your ankles. Your cock springs free in front of Gawon, so excited, as sweat falls onto the ground. Gawon hastily wraps around your cock with her gorgeous handâlong fingers, cut nails, rough palm. It's everything you want in a playerâproper for a threesome session. Gawon takes a swipe on your tip, and this time, you feel the cold of your arousal smearing your head.
"Such a slut," Gawon sneers against your lips, rubbing the top of your cock with her thumb. She then pulls back from the searing kiss, taking a look at your twitching length in her hold. "A referee shouldn't be this leaky. You need more self-control."
"There are no regulations on that," you retort, shrugging. "You don't like leaky dicks?"
From behind, Yunjin is observing the exchange. She laughs occasionally at your banters, intersecting with licks on your neck that make you shudder.
"Too easy to be exploited. You'll sway too easily," Gawon says sternly, but she lets go of your hair, kneeling. Her hands rake on your shirt as she moves down your body, until her face is just right in front of your cock. The intoxicating scent of her body is gone, but your cock in her mouth is a pretty good exchange.
At the same time, you can feel the absence of Yunjin's tongue, replaced by the hot breaths against your ass. She spreads your cheeks open slowly, exposing your heaving hole to the heat.
"Yum."
And Yunjin's tongue dive into the between of your plumpness, tasting the fever that has been building up for the last few hours. You cover your mouth tightly as the wet flesh touches the rim of your asshole.
Gawon says nothing, instead envelops your cock with the warmth of her mouth. She makes sure to keep her tongue dragging against the underside of your shaftâmore cum upon orgasm this way.
Your hands press onto the back of the women's heads, burying them in your sweaty body. Oh, to have your cores stimulated like this. You wish you could just do this fucking forever.
â
It's a wonder how nobody has come into this room for the last ⊠how long has it been?
The room is definitely hot enough to keep Yunjin's body sweating. God, the smell of her cunt is just the fucking best. Your hand grips onto the side of her thick thighs. Her skirt blinds you from your surroundings completely. The inner shorts are gone; she might give them to you if your tongue is good enough. To wake up every morning and inhaling in her essence is justâ
"Your tongue is just the fucking best, baby," Yunjin rasps, gyrating her hips on your mouth recklessly, spreading her tartness on your lips as you lie on the bench. Her hand grips onto the top of your head. You feel the crushing weight of her body on your lips. No relenting, of course. You're eating her pussy until she becomes a fucking faucet.
Yunjin isn't the only one who's enjoying your body, though.
Gawon's hand presses hard on your ribs, all the while impaling her pussy with your throbbing dick over and over. You feel her skin tremble on top of your chestârhythmic. It's thrumming through the dust surrounding you. Her walls clench and heave and contract around your manhood. There's not a single ounce of oversensitivity plaguing beneath your skin after that dumping inside Gawon's mouth. Fuck, it feels too good. Those moans are a songâstuttered, airy, yet so consistent. Her shorts are probably somewhere in the room. You're being a good boy; she'll let you take it home. Your frame is taking a lot. But if that means your cock will pulse inside Gawon's cunt, and your tongue will dance on Yunjin's clit, you're more than happy to trade in your remaining years.
"Whore."
Gawon's word spurs you on, of course, and Yunjin is the victim of it. Your tongue works harder on Yunjin's swollen nubâsucking, nibbling, tugging on it. Your fingers penetrate her tight asshole with ease; the sweat helps a lot, and Yunjin can do nothing but convulsing on top of your face.
"Fuck, baby," Yunjin whines. Her clit pulses against your tongue in that rapid tempo you've always known. "Your mouth can do more than calling for outs, huh?"
She's close.
You don't reply, now pushing with your tongue into Yunjin's cunt. Your nose presses against her hair. She cries out in ecstasy, trembling and writhing on top of your head. Your thumb moves towards rubbing her clit frantically. Her moans grow louder and more chaotic with each passing second. You're ready to take her nectar, all of it, mixed with her filthy sweat, and you're going to love it.
Gawon ups her ante, grinding on your cock even faster. Her sweat falls on your dampened body, marking you as hers (co-opted with Yunjin). You're doing well, almost perfectly even, judging by those frenzied moans leaving her lips. The room is just their moans at this point, and you're more and ecstatic that they're the product of your doing.
"Mmm, yes, I'm fucking close, baby," Yunjin shouts. The slickness of her nectar and athletic filth drips down your cheeks. You're definitely not washing your face for a few days. Her tempo reaches its peak. Your lips can barely catch her movement, and she's not going to stop until she cums.
"Don't you fucking dare leave me behind, slut," Gawon huffs, slapping your waist to remind you of her presence. It's like you're forgetting her. She's lighting your nerves aflame! "Better breed me with this baby batter."
No pulling out.
Yunjin's moan climbs the scale. Her hold on your head trembles. She's going for itâto use your face as her canvasâand you're going to let her do it.
"Fuck!"
From your experiences, Yunjin's mouth is going to make an "O" shape. Her eyes will roll up in pure bliss. Maybe her tongue will even loll off her lips. You're pretty certain of those.
Though, what is definitely going on is her folds gushing clear liquid on your face. Her entire frame is shaking, spasming in a certain rhythm. You open your mouth wide, taking in her taste. It's saline, a unique kind of saline, and it's fucking delicious. Oh, you're drinking her filth gleefully.
"Drink it, baby, fuck, and tell me what it tastes like."
Yunjin continues to ride your face away with no caution. The spurts slowly subside. Shame. You cling on to the last remnants of her essence desperately, so eager to drink in as much as you can. Your tongue reaches for her core, getting that heavenly taste from the source. When the cascade stops, you can only lap at her sensitivity, and Yunjin lets out an wild wail, unable to stand against your lavishing any longer.
"Baby, baby, I-I can't âŠ" and Yunjin detaches herself off your needy mouth. A string of something stretches between your lips and her wetness. God, you're such a whore for her pussy.
Light hits your eyes again, letting you watch Gawon's elated face. Her head tilts up. Her eyes are shut. Her mouth opens slightly, letting out those sinful moans and have them bounce off the walls. She's hugging you tightly with her walls, attempting to coax another wave of cum out of your balls.
"That was good," Yunjin says on your side. Her sweat falls down on your frame as she wipes her forehead with her hand. Indeed, you stick your tongue out for her taste. A little difficult with Gawon riding you, though.
"You really are a sweat slut, aren't you?" Yunjin coos, before kneeling down close to you. "Open your mouth, then."
She then hovers her sticky fingers over your mouth, slowly descending into it. The salty taste of her skin hits your tongue as you wrap your lips around her digits. And god, she just tastes so fucking good. You really are a whore for it.
"Bitch," Gawon huffs. Each contact of your thighs reverberates through the steamy room. Your body strains and jerks under her. Yunjin's fingers are silencing you, at least, lessening the risk of people entering.
Gawon's signs intensify. Her moans reach higher notes. The arms on your ribs are trembling. Her breathing quickens. She's close.
Gawon is not the only one close to bursting. You can feel the pulsing of your cock within her cunt. Your lips suckle on Yunjin's fingers more and more fiercely. That familiar feeling is building up inside your loins. You're close.
"I-I'm cumming, Gawon," you rasp with Yunjin's finger inside your mouth. Your hands go for Gawon's lean waist, brushing your thumbs against the lower swell of her chest.
"Don't fucking pull out. Don't fucking pullâ"
The first of her juice touches your skin. Her face lights up in ecstasyâmouth agape, eyes shut, breathing halts. The entire body of hers freezes, unable to find any word to describe the state of her own heaven. Her cut nails dig into your flesh harshly. Oh, she's loving this. She's loving your cock.
You follow suit. The second orgasm of the day crashes over your body. You writhe under the immense pleasure, cock pulsing inside the warm, velvety walls of Lee Gawon's cunt. Your eyes roll to the back of your head with Yunjin's digits inside your mouth.
"My goodness, it's coming out so much. It's hitting my womb so well," Gawon sings.
You gradually come down from your peaks, moans grow quieter and quieter. Gawon merely sits on you with a cock inside of her pussy, drizzling globs of cum into her wet, pretty insides. You just bred her good.
Yunjin pulls her fingers out of your mouth, leaving you feeling empty again. Gawon lifts herself off you, sending that oversensitivity all over your body. Strings of your sticky cum connects your cock and her puffy cunt. What a sight.
"Since you bred me a little too good, I'll give you my sweaty, smelly shorts. How does that sound, huh?" Gawon asks. Your cock leaves her with a small pop.
"Mine too," Yunjin adds. "Don't wash it, baby."
This is one of the easiest questions you've ever gotten in your life.
Thereâs no flaw to this: attempting to dance with Anna yet again.Â
She says youâre getting better, beaming her smile and acting as if all of this wasnât a ruse to shield the burgeoning urge to touch each other beneath the underlying veneer of romanticism.Â
The term âRomanticismâ might be a stretch in itself - at least you seem to believe so; who knows, youâre enamored in the classics - the art it presents.Â
Itâs another subject you want to learn more about.Â
â
âReady?â Anna asks you, anticipatory.Â
You nod in compliance; the routine finally begins:Â
First step: your right foot goes forward, Annaâs goes backwards - sheâs one to seek first when you least expect it, falling under introspection-
Step two: left foot goes to the side - Anna, like always, is adamant to introduce a new concept to you she discovers-Â
Step three: right foot follows same pathing as the left - itâs something new (plausible), plus itâs something youâll find intriguing (perhaps), and lastly I appreciate you trusting my ideas, a lot-Â
Step four: left foot backwards, and Annaâs foot does your pathing now - and it adds the suggestion of how she paints these expressions - these stepping stones into her heart-Â
Step five: right foot goes to the side - and youâre feeding into the curiosity because of the wanting to go beyond the nearness of each other-Â
Final step: left foot trails behind - then suddenly, once the tensionâs thickened to a point where itâs nearly suffocating, inches away from closing the space; you break away from kissing her, and the loop repeats-Â
Like a neverending record - going on forever and ever; which in itself, is also a dance. You dance with Anna hoping to have the waltz embedded into the learning algorithm. Hope to eclipse the feelings, dangerously calculated to an eventual outcome. Before the new mission parameters were delivered, you browsed through Annaâs tarot cards since most of the checks were already completed by then. Diagnostics and readings were leveled; other amenities were stored properly. Youâre coworkers, crewmates, two beings longing for warmth. Your reflection doesnât see you any different.Â
You remember the first time Anna offered to dance. Ignorant and dismissive aside, you couldnât bring yourself to match her gaze. And itâs not often that you would dilute time into anything else outside of protocol, for one thing.Â
At times, Anna would wander in the ship with her mind clouded with slumber and darkness, wearing her fleetâs blazer or some dusty jacket over her sleepwear - considering the Primrose was cold, and (as youâve deduced) the nights were colder. Itâs especially a rarity to see Annaâs bare shoulders, let alone the chapped lips up close and in detail, or question the thought that it's worrying to study her in a more intimate appearance.Â
Sheâs not an object subjected for your pleasure. You know this well enough, and itâs all the more reason to not delve beyond that conclusion.Â
Youâve exceeded in doing so. Countless cycles lost in the vastness of space until you felt her tongue clash against yours. Mistakes like that are what makes us human.Â
Passionate. Engulfing. It had those two characteristics and so much more. Why wouldnât it have more? Itâs easy to notice in the exchanges you two share: explain to me how we get ahead of ourselves is one of the many caveats she presents, and soon your composure warbles away from common sense and nothing seems to compute. You have a hard time picking up the semantics and decoding because some of the terms are indiscernible, trying to process and understand. Another slow waltz, maybe. Donât hide. Itâs futile to try. Kiss me.Â
Once everything eases, and the sweat subsides on the shores of skin faded into the covers of her bed. Your mouth slacks, frozen. Annaâs paintings: with a boat and two figures sitting inside, on the endless ocean, give a close interpretation of the threshold waiting to be passed - the Primroseâs mission, to be exact.Â
Though Annaâs paintings are her stories - her soul, and youâve looked there rather than her eyes. Found desperation and desire to escape. Left her quarters riddled with in her taste, and stare deep into the reflection of the mirror and feel the sticky gloss on your cheek.Â
Youâve processed (and stabilized) the state of elation. Straying away from comfort you deemed as âunstableâ. Though some aspects were appropriate, change was always an incalculable factor, therefore: unstable. States on the brink of war and terror were unstable. Unstable synapses firing in your brain seeing Annaâs nightgown in its sheer appearance. You have trouble computing the idea of her - how you want her, and quite literally: all of her.
-
(Hereâs what you did since the kiss: going through the log of reports and requests that were for her eyes only. Countless days and hours in the mission and Annaâs been far removed in being professional (and luckily, itâs just you and the computer receiving these messages):Â
> status report, Anna Tanaka, quoting on the screen: "unfortunately ive decided to not care and will not read the attachments sent to me.âÂ
> service inquiry, Anna Tanaka, about the sudden drop in oxygen levels, quoting: âso what if i donât breathe, one of us will be alive anyway.â
> mission advisory, Anna Tanaka, at approximately 00:00 hours, quoting: âwhat if we just steer this fucking ship off into the burning sun representing our love, huh?âÂ
You are both idiots. As Anna would allegedly claim.)
â
Thankfully, youâve disciplined yourself in running through the usual checks, rather than acting like you donât know whatâs going on.Â
In your discovery, this wouldâve been the perfect time to do that order from a few megacycles ago: get in the spacesuit and fix that shitty panel that kept blinking on the monitor while getting tangled with the cable while laughing with Anna about how dense you were about your emotions; say a shitty comeback about Annaâs bedside manner and justify the warning was from a few scrapes of damage left by the small debris when traveling through the rings of Indiga (eloquently summarized in your readings back to mission control): âwe had to adjust our course to help compensate for the trajectory of the planetâs ring pathway.âÂ
Once that was done, now you could debug the Primroseâs balance from the cockpit. No way to tell when you might make landfall at the next world nearby. What might happen when Anna steps off the ramp without any protective gear on; finds out the ground is incredibly toxic, and melt right off the face of the planet.Â
â
Anna insisted on going outside, but you rejected the suggestion and took her place instead.Â
Venturing into an atmosphere mixing the pressurized gas of the decompression chamber - the sub-zero temperatures acting as a good barrier to start in creating space. New objective: distance yourself ; keep focus and all thoughts rational.
You wander and think while crossing the icky, green fog blending into the hills.Â
In doing so, you helplessly think about her.Â
â
When you return. Sheâs wearing the same nightgown from before.Â
âYouâre back!â Standing in the middle of the sliding door watching you dust off the collective dirt on your arms. âDo you wanna practice dancing again?âÂ
Twisting your gaze, she leans forward, the strap skating off her shoulder. Itâs a brief moment in the dialogue - the one running through your head, frozen at the request. âI think you got it this time.â Annaâs so willing - I know, Iâm overbearing, letting you do these things out of tempo as weâre kissing, so please- I beg- and sheâs frightfully intentful in making it worse.Â
Intentful for one thing, yet thrilling for someone like her to be ambitious - making you fold in a game of poker while she held her hand (a pair when you bought her bluff), and itâs simple to deduce all other hypotheticals as well. Sheâs a bug in your line of code, manifested to to defy all rational calculations. How she easily reads what you tell - even more horrifying to be solved and understood.Â
She makes you feel like a human being; help defy your maker that much more difficult.Â
â
So, again-Â
Youâre dancing with her. She praises the improvement, humming. Youâre not stepping on her feet as much compared to the first time. Every step and move is carried with precision, sometimes hazy and fritzing the logic; falter one motion, and your hand slides lower to the divots on her back.Â
âI still have trouble understanding,â you tell her, âThe significance of dancing on Toyama.âÂ
Anna slots herself at your arms and middle, blinking. She doesnât say anything to answer, going through the steps, saying, âitâs an intimate connection with the person you like.âÂ
Swaying left, then right, your feet do the same. Her skin touching feels electric. âSomewhat answers my question,â you drawl, hesitant, âdoesnât help the prolonged eye contact, though.âÂ
âLike what you see?âÂ
âIâd prefer to consider it uncouth.âÂ
Anna shelters her smile. âHere I thought wearing this gown would get you more curious.âÂ
Your foot skates forward on accident. Faltering. Stumbling. This dance, you presume, isnât entirely subtle - the same could be said for coming up with a lousy alibi, too - but it would be extremely unordinary for either of you to take the long way âround in the space with each other. Any flash of impatience simply taints the comforting moments, and youâre not willing to try.Â
âYou still believe Iâm not bad news for you?â She asks, pressing closer; your hand holding hers and the warmth so close. A finger brushes her cheek and the touch sensitive, makes you wonder about the adversities her mind and figure has gone through to get to this moment. I couldâve fucked you off if I wanted to, she probably wouldâve said, the weight frugal and heavy in her words. You blank out and donât actually answer, which leads to Anna lecturing another lesson: âIn Toyama,â she starts, âdancing has a very special meaning, one that transcends beyond connections. Itâs dangerous to the point that the practice had to be prohibited by the nation.âÂ
Though you shake your head at that. The State didnât have a say in this setting at all. You ponder and get inquisitive. âWhy would it pose a threat in the first place?âÂ
âUnity,â answers Anna. âWith dance-â lifted into a spin and your raised arm, and the surroundings start to blur in your optics, âitâs not just the bodies joining as one. Your hearts, too. Linking that forms a bond, and binds all of us together. Yet the State seems to think otherwise.âÂ
âDestabilization and discord, yes?âÂ
âNot exactly. I was thinking more of being- intimate,â she chuckles. âThink of it as dissension and intimacy going up against facism. Weâd be probed by others because itâs so foreign.âÂ
Here your feet and hers start to mirror. Then the thought of being intimate creeps into your mind, how your build isnât meant for it - the design is flawed - you canât help but feel automatically dejected because of it. Being curious about yourself has left you so disappointed that it canât even be self-pleasure let alone masturbation. Your body is desperately wanting to be something more than just an object at rest - something more, something that can not be at rest.Â
Tilting your gaze, Anna reflects. âMaybe the Higher One is seething at us making the most of this journey,â you smirk.Â
âI believe so. They canât relate to us,â she says. âWeâre impossible to punish, and willing to defy; every step in dance is just a symbiosis of angling the bodies together, counting and feeling the music-âÂ
âThere you go again, Anna. God, you really canât help yourself.â You huff, which rewards a hearty laugh out of her.
âWhat?! Did you hear what you just said?â You notice the twinkle in her brown eyes when she knows sheâs unbearably bewitching. âIâve been teaching you the wrong thing - do you see your feet? Why are they matching mine? Theyâre both the same?âÂ
âI find the humor to be confusing, still.âÂ
âYouâre still stuttering behind me, and listening to my terrible rendition of reciting literature,â says Anna. âI find you to be adorable and want to show my affection by never losing you.âÂ
You agree. Of course I donât want you to let go of me, but the physical aspect of your body and hands meeting hers is still a work in progress. Which can also be noticed in being gullible to her antics and the ugly handwriting of practicing Kanji she wanted you to try every now and then.Â
âThe letters change the whole meaning of the word,â you say. âNow I know thereâs a difference between âgoâ and âkoâ depending on the context.âÂ
Annaâs laugh fills your ears. âI commend you for the effort.â Her heels are above the floor with a chaste kiss to your lips - deliberate, but full of life, she couldâve worn a different garment without being aware of shifting fabric morphing to her figure. Itâs that, and how she wouldâve done a different activity rather than dancing without welcoming the risk. You try your best to guess her next move before she makes it, which ends up failing every single time.Â
At the corner of your eyes: memories of a time long past, the blend of thick and thin lines tearing like a faulty television screen. Flickers, youâve deduced. Visions of a love finally found - a love finally complete.Â
One step to the side, then back. Your frame bends to her will and you wished it was the shipâs hull instead, because it was pointless to compute. For someone that isnât really you - it can be discouraging as a clone-Â
To hell with all of that.Â
âDo that again,â Anna instructs, requesting a spin.Â
And you comply.Â
Her dress slithers off at the shoulders, uncovering skin healed from scratches and bite marks. Holding back was an option you deeply thought about, and mightâve been the right choice the other night. You did hold back and restrain from doing any more damage, but the urge can easily break like glass, and things like that are meant to be destroyed.Â
The first spin request flows her hair so nicely, and you repeat the same move because itâs enjoyable. Because sheâs beautiful. And because this moment might be captured in this floating time capsule across space. Her firm body against fragile threads; the move slips the strap down to her arm. Anna giggles. Tugs it back with two fingers onto her collar.Â
Aw. You see her eyes dart at the porcelain skin. I meant to do that.Â
You pull her close. Raise her left hand to your right. âYouâre not fooling anyone,â she announces flatly.Â
âWhat?âÂ
Annaâs eyes squint, âStaring at what happened. I saw that,â itâs a careless praise.Â
âWhy yes,â you nod proudly. Explaining isnât a thought when youâre deeply influenced (and to her eyes, she finds you cuter like this). Being irrational is also against your logic, but itâs really nothing but these ideas: pinning Anna to the wall behind you and kissing her, or getting her on your lap (to kiss her) before she drops to her knees (and spreading your legs); the simplicity of yielding to addictive temptation fueled by her intentions, strip her singular garment and watch as the color blossoms on her skin.
Itâs all leveled. Youâre swaying one side of the room with her. Left foot out, right foot follows. Right foot out, left foot follows. Continuously. There isnât a reason for you to keep your mouth closed around her, and soon you feel your voice tightening with one end grasping to rational thought, as the other tied between Annaâs fingers.Â
She sees it in your face; the lump forms in the throat. âHaving fun, my love? Happy?âÂ
âVery,â you say. Grinning, drunk on her uplifting gaze. âNot sure how much I can keep myself together.â
Being honest can also be a mistake, too.
To that, Anna smiles: she knows, and itâs horrifying. âBecause you want me,â she deduces, guiding your arms down to her hips. You hold them there. Itâs awfully cute how she has to get on her tiptoes to try to whisper. âThe tensionâs rising higher between us, yes?â
âItâs because,â you sigh, âyouâre incapable of persuading.â
Your name rings through your ears, every tap of her fingertips is a new surge of electricity. Soon her palm is on your cheek; you keep staring down. âHey, hey- my eyes are here.â
The fine beauty is all in the details: the gentle blush canvased across her cheeks, the humble glow on her chest; with the cool air running through the hull, her nipples poke through the nightgown. Behind those pretty lashes and eyes is a constellation thatâs gentle and inviting. The real fine beauty above everything is the balance of arousing need she exudes that seems to match, well- yours.Â
Anna taps your cheekbone, giggling. âItâs impressive that youâre failing to realize the effect I have on you.â She makes you feel small - not in fear, but in the rush of reality. âYour gambit rarely succeeds in holding up to mine; with my desires, at least.â
Here - the lingering thoughts of regret are snuffed out. Youâve played her games full of deception and bluffs over the little things, and this wasnât any different. When you finally speak, your jaw is trembling. âIâve done my best to- stay composed and professional.âÂ
Despite this, Annaâs face winces; her body seizes as she starts to break. âThis again,â her voice seethes, âif you really stopped giving a fuck about control, you would push me down, rip off my skirt, we would both get the same thing in the end.â
You stop her movements, and the dance ends. The grip on her wrist grows steel tight. âAnna,â and her eyes roll back at the hiss passing your teeth. âGod- fuck. How can you be so fucking straightforward?â
âBecause I am,â she answers, pushing off. Not meeting her in the eyes is equally painful. âMind you, that wasnât a request. Iâm being vocal about what I want- what Iâm begging for.â Memories come flashing back in flickers: you, spent, uncontrollable - this revolving game with Anna; like the main rockets shot the Primrose deep into the unknown corners of space, there wasnât a way back home to where things were normal - and honestly, why should either of you care?
You and her canât help yourselves. Unbridally kissing with flung arms over each other.
The only thing you hear above the smacked lips is the occasional beeping of the flight controls. This new abode - now one with the stars.
Her lips push you back and youâre matching it. Two days ago, Anna was ecstatic to discover your tongue; feel the subtle clack of teeth - her lovely laugh when sheâs riddled with bite marks after figuring out all the forms your bodies meld together. Even now - itâs an unknown concept in itself, still- that control was still a possible option to consider.
âItâs not fair - how perfect you are,â praises Anna, thumb grazing beneath your eyes. âWhy are you so-â
âYouâre beautiful, itâs fucking absurd,â you compliment. Simple, for one, but it makes her smile brighter, and the talk is pointless when all you want to do is make out with her.
Anna gets you good with her mouth. How they slot themselves against yours, easy to pass air between them before itâs all suffocated in teeth and tongue. The only thing that splits your being apart is the fact that you canât sweat and she can. You have an automated pulse, unlike hers which is real. Blood does not rise in your skin compared to Annaâs; you canât resonate the same electricity flowing through her body at the merest graze of your fingers that makes her shudder-
Thereâs a reason to be vocal here, to communicate. Actually, you should communicate and speak up; since you havenât a clue what youâre doing at all.
You pause and pull back. âWait,â you slip out in a rush, âwhat are we even doing?â Anna sighs with an inward lip, catching the spit left behind on her chin. âWhat do you think weâre doing? Being straightforward. Intrusive- shit, when isnât a time where I wanted to keep kissing you?â
âMaybe we- ugh.â No point in reasoning: you have to shut her up. âIâm not even sure about-â
âSo what if weâre overcomplicating it, hm?â
âIf we are-â her lips are back smacking in between words, âthere wouldnât be a reason to reflect on it at all.â
âThatâs it,â says Anna. Kissing you fervently. âI want this- let me-â Itâs impulsive - infectious, even. It doesnât click in your mind once sheâs pinned you to the beam of the cargohold, raising your arms. You let that happen. Are you allowed to want it? Would you be okay to rethink your existence and your place in this life? Giving everything beyond your body? For her? Plus- isnât she your fucking captain?
The conversation bleeds into physical touches. Perhaps your questions may serve more purpose through your bodies, but you find a pointless question worth asking: âis this okay for me? To do this?â
âKiss me again. Hard.â Anna commands. You kiss her, she kisses back. âTouch me. Play with my body.â Her mouth presses to yours once more. âReject this if you want, Iâll keep begging, please-â she stops halfway and meets your eyes, âmake me yours, as you never want to let me go-â
âWhat do you want, sweetheart?â
âFuck me. I want you to fuck me.â Pinching the hem, and all you see is the skin of her exposed thigh. âThis is the right way to wear this, for your information.â
She lifts the fabric like itâs the final barrier of your restraint.
Annaâs tongue slips into your mouth sweetly, fingers joining yours. Sheâs putting everything on the balls of her feet and submitting you to her will. All of your thoughts - your words; hell, you could even include the whole damn ship with it - these pretty, meaningless thoughts quell within your throat. Nothing could ever predict this, the shifting dynamic in the rising power and diminishing submission, just the pure desire and lustful look beneath those eyes.
Her leg slots between yours. Mistake #1: you slip down the wall. Mistake #2: youâve fallen to the floor where Anna has to kneel (on your lap). Her body has a mind of its own when she settles down and the dress is spread between her thighs and the fabric rises at the crease of her leg. Past the harsh liplocks, the teeth get involved, biting. Accidentally first and soon on purpose. You like to brand her body that way, tug the roots of her hair and hear her gasp into your mouth.
âBed- I need you in my bed, now.â Anna says with urgency. The catch here is that she doesnât move nor allow you to move. Judgment is a small choice, but itâs nowhere to be found: neither logical or one to seek an agreement towards. Planning could never happen even if you tried. The same could be said for the ideas since theyâre fizzled into kisses once you breathe a single word, laced in the dripping spit on your chins or suffocated in your throats entirely. Your mouths are one way to be inside each other.
The floor remains cold, uncomfortable. Not having Annaâs mouth on yours or the other way around for a few seconds - by your shared preference - is much, much worse that itâs not even sought after.
â-pretty, so pretty,â you praise - and, possibly the only thing you can say to Anna. She shuts you up. Stop- stop talking. I fucking need you.
Finding the breakthrough, and thereâs a middle ground: your leg high up the opening where she hunches over to your chest, gasping in reverence. Finally. Her teeth find places on your neck and shoulder to bite. Sheâll taste iron and polyethylene, but in the subconscious, youâll feel it; unlike the other memories in movies and polaroids and the many, many emotional breakdowns youâve experienced in this spot before - the moment is warm, and very comforting. In its full, real rawness.
âBaby,â Anna groans. She says the pet name in a string of others amongst the actual one. The real name is really the only secret of yours she has some relent towards. You realize Annaâs small frame: how the slopes of her ribs deviate and the vertebrae compressing when sheâs tense, the fragility of it is reckless against yours, and your hands are having a fun time in the forward and back movement, grinding.
You keep kissing Anna, kiss her to the point where she can barely breathe and her voice doesnât go beyond a whimper. Nibble her bottom lip, then the skin around it. Her nails, although chewed, would mark indents of crescent moons into your back or create sketches of red - or youâd wish thatâd be the case if you had skin like hers, but sheâll leave her scars elsewhere. Studying her expressions lost in the rapture of you is enough; the grind on your leg is already enough. The desire she exudes is purely authentic, unadulterated, clearly seen in the places she wants to seize- itâs fucking you up. Youâre belittled to nothing but a person with disintegrating ideas you once thought about her: how these assumptions may all be a façade, these contradictory wishes, you being too dull, too cold or insensate, too- artificial.
Anna cums. She cums all over your leg. The second it happens surprises you both. Your uttered name is no more than a sound following a seeping moan into your chest. Her head falls forward: shattered, breathless, her body goes loose; her sobbing eyes and cunt wetting you, her delicate fingers, and that dangerous, dangerous mouth - itâs- a lot, too much, unbearable, you hold her, hold her up until-
âFuck. I-â she sputters, tense at the shoulders. âWhy am I-â All of a sudden, sheâs- laughing? âIâm the worst. Iâm a fucking whore.â
Hesitant to move, you keep your hands to her hips. Blotches of a light purple will blossom in the form of your fingertips. Youâre stuck processing the entire occurrence still. âWell thatâs-â you barely get out (and your voice is static), â-adorable. Very adorable of you, Anna.â
âYeah,â says Anna, shaikily. âSorry, uh- I didnât mean to do that. On you.â
You purse your lips, smirking. âJust taking care of things.â
Anna lets the rest of the weight fall onto you. She likes to hit your forehead with her own; for affection. Exhaustion is a quiet intimacy, and you breathe her in, observe (omit the interaction) the beads of sweat and little baby hairs on her hairline, the cute blush of pink below her eyes, the tiny hairs sheâs missed while shaving. The strings on her dress from behind are tangled in a disorganized web: meticulous, but the former since it was impossible for it to be done by her hand. Before the program, you learned that her mother was a seamstress - pledging to an endeavor of exploration in the Primrose with a blank map into the unknowns. You assume she wanted to feel sexy (sometimes). Like she knew that touching herself would be a surefire way to pass time, and youâre curious enough to find more secrets about her.
There were countless times when the secrets were revealed. There was always a reason behind them; learning how an orgasm was plausible enough for Anna to call herself a whore, for example, and while the term may be loaded, itâs possible to think that thereâs more to the word. Reasons for behaviors tend to have thorns, and (complexity aside) itâs the best judgement to never expand on them.
Annaâs second kiss is quick. Heavy. Sensual. Dials back the desperation, lets the intimacy simmer there, separating when she can and joining when sheâs ready for more, not closing her eyes all the way. Her hand cradles your face before it drifts down to your chest, the fine muscle at your abs, staying there. Slowly. Graciously. Unintentional.
Her fingers skate over where the sensation of touch is still foreign. Diverted away from how she holds your face, Annaâs presence is a binary yes or no with no nuance or eroticism. She breathes color into aspects where they lack, and itâs the irony in your tragic existence: the cryptic soldier riddled with trauma youâve adopted would have yearned for the goodness between her thighs, in the same fashion youâve shared the longing for a dysphoric body like hers, if only you could feel anything.
Unlike that version of you in a past life, youâll abstain from making the same mistake and leap at the chance to live through your partner, and itâs a choice you wonât regret making.
Anna rejected any kind of that delirious thought. âJoin me, on my bed. Please, I need you,â she says. Her voice is spent. It takes nearly the little strength she had left, hobbling and soon crumpling in a way her dress exposes the remaining arousal stained on her legs.
Fuck. You rasp in deprecation. âAnna. Anna?â
No response.
âAnna?â Anna repeats.
Your mouth slacks. Being clinical about sex wasnât the best case to carry on from committing such an act, but for insurance. âHey. You have to tell me- and I understand if youâre feeling hesitant, but-â your hands are doing this gesture like youâre explaining complete nonsense, and maybe it is complete nonsense. You canât talk dirty to the girl for your life- âmay I- and how you say, perhaps clean you up with consent?âÂ
Anna laughs, incredulous. She gives an âwhy do you even have to ask so cutelyâ face. âAre you kidding?â The eye smile and shattering grin is teetering towards insanity, and her voice trembles. âLook at me.â You blink through it. âLook at what you did to me- honey, Iâm fucking dripping-âÂ
Impulse floods your brain like an ocean sinking you to the bottom. Freezing awkwardness creeps in at the same time. Thereâs no denying it: you want to taste her. Pick her up from the floor and fling her into the mattress and feel her quivering cunt throb over your tongue. Things would be a lot easier to take your cock inside her on the matter - but your fingers will have to do for now - a lazy attempt where the memories of your prior versions have had the same feeling too-
-then it all spins in your head.
Annaâs palm flat on your chest, pushes you upright. âStop.â Fuck- you didnât mean to- that wasnât supposed to happen. Did you fuck up?
âYouâve got something there,â she points. âOn your leg.â
You part your legs further as she kneels to lick her own cum off your thigh.
The sound released from your mouth exemplifies the break in composure. Youâre sure it echoed into the ship. Itâs just the two of you, after all. The overarching notion of subtlety - if any remained - dissipates into the air. Slow, intimate, romantic sex is fun and unattainable until itâs a thing you no longer want - even when your figure is hollow and all you can do is fuck your psychology into her till her body breaks. Sex is another way of communication; to fuck with someone equally as itâs fucking them. The dynamic resets; a passion reignited. You grasp at Annaâs hair. âLook at you, just a fucking-â and whore would be too on the nose, too nice. Slut is a good reach, but the intent is deep in the actions (and embarrassingly so), she grins right back.
âBaby.â Anna calls, playful. Sheâs pretty when sheâs on her knees. âWe do it your way. How âbout I clean you up and have my own fun-â it stops short with a hum and a bit lip, youâre smiling along with her, absurdly. Someone like her can be embarrassing without bite, but she lets it be known. Youâre both idiots; sex is a silly thing to inherit, and thatâs exactly how this will go.
âYes please,â you confirm - itâs improv at this point, fancying a gamble and nervous about what's to come. âPlease.â
The script flips. Annaâs tongue laps the spot where her clit would be, but itâs your cock. She lifts back, slightly. Her kisses are wet and real. Now your arousal is the gravity and past the event horizon, succumbing to its merciless pull.
You struggle to believe this is fiction. Watching Annaâs face, when she lets you see it, one full of curiosity that you disregard the deficiencies of your body, leave it as your cap on her nightstand the next morning. Youâll come back to get the insecurities later, when everythingâs settled.
Anna peppers a kiss to your underside, her breath canvasing the crown. Some of her slick is still on her chin and now on the shaft (another believable fiction, if you will). She doesnât use her hands (not yet), and has her way of working you up with just her mouth, like a toy. You stare right at the impasse of her sweet lips past the tip and halfway, and you donât tense. The more she sinks, the more spit sprinkles down her neck and onto the fabric every time she gags . She knows to keep you here for an eternity, and she might just do that. Hell, the silence you had earlier returns in your throat, harboring a newly refined tension.
âGod, do you realize how good you taste right now?â Anna asks (again, believable) - and sheâs aware that itâs rhetorical. Fantasizing your being in an actual body with a beating heart (this is a small testament to your dilemma); if Anna truly loved you - sheâs yet to say it, but there is no other explanation - if she loves you, she does- she will.
(At the same moment: a gate appears. The point of origin, and you donât question it. Now wasnât the time to think back the life before-)
Anna spits on your shaft, her hand coming into play. âIs this okay? You didnât move.âÂ
Youâre not entirely there, and sheâs right. The image of the gate goes to the back of your mind, looking at Anna. She has a hand under her gown, fingering herself. Indulgence with her is shameless, and pitifully adorable; she knew it wouldnât take her that long to resort to such lengths. This is also the first time youâve seen her where the roles are reversed, where sheâs got her head between your legs and not the other way around: purely genuine the way her mouth feels around you.
Itâs new. Of course you fucking like it.
âGood?â asks Anna, thumb tapping your slit and a thick bead of precum weeps.
The slight slide of her palm leaves you in a breathless response. âFuck.â Say something else, goddamit. Sure, itâs unoriginal, for how youâre uncovering these masked emotions. Youâre begging- like her, sighing in rapture, humming in this somber swan song. âAnna, god-â Donât stop. You begged to keep going.
Anna then spreads your thighs wider. Your head hits the wall. Her droolâs coated all over your cock. Moaning is all you basically do underneath her hand.
You donât feel anything; this doesn't affect you (well; itâs making you shiver - which, in turn - itâs affecting you). Her: spit-stained all over her gown, wearing it in a way thatâs more intimate than being naked. In whatâs another handiwork well crafted by her standards: the fact she hasnât revealed much (yet). Sheâs being cruel, you think. The squelch of her folds parted by her fingers makes you ball your fists, almost to make the polyethylene tear when the purrs from her throat bombard your cock, how sheâs only doing this to painfully remind you of how delicately you want to fuck her. You realize, when she cups your balls with her other hand-
âDoes this feel good?â She murmurs into your tip, corkscrewing the sensation.Â
Yes. The nodding is actually pathetic. Youâre losing grip between fantasy and reality; itâs incredibly easy how that happens, like jumping off a cliff or setting your body on fire.
âMy good baby,â Anna praises, swallowing your tip between her lips. âShould I keep going?â
âYes, yes,â youâre saying, and she never fails to submit you to her will. Thereâs a groan and maybe a holy fuck-
Her grip tightens. The shift from friction to slick wriggles your spine, arching in a sense of cumming had you imagined the experience to go this way a few nights ago. You have pieces scattered - between machine and repurposed flesh - not far from their origin; with those parts making you flawed, it motivates you (in that human nature) to seek that.
âMy lovely girl,â you compliment Anna, stroking her hair as she bobs down. A surprise on her end, sending vibrations along your shaft. Easy to tell sheâs enjoying this as well, but will somehow find an excuse to say otherwise, be in denial-
Tell me, tell me how good this feels, she might say, or have already said. Tell me how much of a fucking slut I am for you.
Anna pops her mouth off, licking her lips. âDonât be so tense,â she tells you, her tone dazed, ârelax, okay? Just- let me have this. Donât force it further. I want you to fall.â
(You think back to the gate; failing to understand it still, but itâs not the first time youâve set foot here. Despite its grandeur appearance being unknown, you do know this: itâs a cornerstone to the person (rather, persons) you mightâve been before. At times, the bleeding memories, triggered by chance or in a random instance, and youâve felt the thought swallow you whole. Love, sadness, and anger, adjacent with a gunshot wound, tattered skin torn from stained metal, leaving you in an anguish so pure it emulates the form of a primrose. Itâs always dangerous to stand in this headspace - and the pleasure was always a perilous catalyst.)
Once past that barrier, the separation between you and your previous versions stretch and thin, divided in the conflict of perception and transformation. That too, is a dangerous game, but with Anna she instills you with such confidence; youâve learned through her, youâre allowed to want, and harness that want. Her, the idea of her, her body, her being- itâs a rope falling short out of your reach, a hope to grasp your mind back from above and onto her hands and lips-
âAnna, god- youâre so good at that,â you moan when she has her lips pressing right at the base, swirling her tongue underneath. An affirmation made true ascending fiction. When she moves her eyes, adoring, proffering, its perfection in all rights. Youâve seen so many expressions from her; hereâs one more for you.
Fall for it, Annaâs eyes tell you, fall for me.
Anna gasps off with strings of spit and precum laced on her mouth. âI know you love when I do that, please- keep telling me.â Oh, youâre in love with her, but the conclusion isnât absolute; an answer to an inevitable question. Fucking is equal as living in the present, dancing with no grace is equal as to not dancing at all.
You are going to be a mess; a mess with her.
You will experience the highest of highs in this endless journey with her, and eventually-
Youâre going to gracelessly fall from everything.
â
(Your subconscious slips into a momentary dream again, replaying multiple occurrences:Â
memory playback #1: (target breaker five seven twelve jack) SOS, danger, achtung, error error error - a phrase called upon the last time you truly wanted to be free. You taste a tinge of gunmetal in the kiss. Amidst the desecrated land where peace hardly rests on the crushed stone. Youâve had ideas of crushes before but they never burned or ripped your heartstrings apart like this.
memory playback #2: water fills the space where the concrete once stood. A haven- the place where all the nightmares have failed to touch. You fall into the ocean, drown in both exhaustion and exhilaration. Soon, youâre cradling Gawon, on her back, watch her hair blossom into a halo over the saltwater, ignore the fact you might be sinking as you both kiss and kiss and kiss recklessly, see the flame beneath her shimmering eyes and when she finally cums you both feel human-
memory playback #3: Gawon leads you to a greenhouse (rather, whatâs left of it) near a library; a moment passes, and all of your fractured shards are their own being, in multitudes: your genderbent body next to her female body, the faint hum of the cicadas in the distance subjected to their own repertoire. You wonder if this is what real love feels like-Â
-but you also think: are you really worthy enough to be cherished for one so filled with such faults?Â
memory playback #4: her long, dainty fingers carve into your back the same fashion yours did to her waist. These scars are going to last forever and somehow youâre okay with it. Itâll be the same as hers. The claws of war never asked permission to ruin your body but Gawon did it anyway, fueled by lust and worry mixed in her eyes. How desperate they were, as sheâll deliver the killing blow with the singular bullet in the chamber-Â
memory playback #5: her hand claims your neck as she sinks onto your cock, suffocating you until thereâs resistance - like youâre her sacrifice in a ritual. She swipes a line of red on your cheek and the clutch on your heart is nearly lethal-Â
memory playback #6: smoke fills the air across ruined infrastructures, old base camps, even the bombarded bunkers. Small pebbles of rubble fall from your back until itâs against the concrete, Gawonâs mouth attacking you viciously (plus thereâs never been an instance where you two have fucked if it wasnât laced with an ounce of desperation). Her tongue clashing yours, forcibly hollowing your cheeks with every suck and all you want is to reciprocate the same feeling, please her, share this feeling, to revel in the connection and disparity of your bodies communicate, shove a few fingers deep in her cunt and fuck your cum into it the next, call her everything but sweet- you fucking slut, my good little girl-
âNow now, puppy,â Gawon tells you, palm flat against your mouth, her hot cunt pilfering whatâs left for the taking with your cock, caressing her walls over every possible inch she can get, âiâm allowing you, itâs okay. Letting you fill my pussy. How much it wants your fucking cum-âÂ
Oh, itâs twisted. You have to look at her; youâve got no other choice. She tips your chin up with a finger and it barely does anything with her gyrating hips, grinding the length down until it pokes her womb. Gawon hasnât even lifted her hips once, yet the edge would be damming had it been the other way around with the thrusts, but youâre close. She pulls a lock of hair over her ear as she sinks for another kiss, and your legs are fucking shaking; most of the sounds coming out of you are inhumane, let alone robotic. âTell me what you want,â she hushes, whimpering - the blade cuts both ways.Â
âGod-â you say, itâs muffled into Gawonâs hand. âJust do it, please. You want this just as badly as I want it,â and the merciful act she commits is raising her hips and feel the weight of her ass slam back down to your balls.
And the next thing she does which may seem unnecessary (but it rewires your brain chemistry because of how dashing she looks doing it) is with the finger to the corner of her mouth and gazing down with every pleading blink you give her - each time you beg or say please and fight against her pressure, arch your back while the waves of pleasure get more treacherous to handle. You canât breathe with every impasse and slam of her cunt gliding and grinding until she finally has what she wants inside her womb.)Â
You blink and suddenly the world shifts again. Anna, oh fuck. Your back arches with hers, then you hunch forward into her chest, pulling her with you to the floor. Soft skin riddled in bruises and clenched fingers. Then thereâs the heaving and your voice tearing between breaths, spilling out curses the same rate as Anna would in a normal conversation (but it gets a laugh out of you, adorably) - while all of this may be silly, settling with ease: the accomplishment of diving into your bodyâs memories without staying in one headspace (a major plus), sharing this pleasure with Anna (an even better plus). To your best judgement, thereâs no plausible reasons in your system that could explain cumming mush-fucked brain out on the floor; itâs enticing, fuck- you wonder the indulgence, how long it took to get your cock spent.Â
A blessing it can be, to have someone like Anna take up your attention for that long. Maintaining that from the very beginning: that first cycle where the Primroseâs hyperdrive was primed and ready, staring into space with the biggest smile imaginable; to be so forward in creating the everlasting loop of you; in this space where it takes two, to become one.
(memory playback #7: âDonât be surprised by this,â Gawon tells you offhandedly, even though the tears streaming down her face says otherwise. âBut Iâm an idiot for being in love with you.â)Â
Itâs a lot to handle, for sure. âAnna,â you groan. Sheâs on you still, with the slightest move of her hips and you canât stop your legs from shaking, warming up her cold body the only way she knows how (because she really- really, canât help herself in embedding you inside) and the floor grows colder and âAnna,â with a lot more urgency, since her chest is to yours and her hips are elevated. âFuck- baby, Iâm- Iâm gonna cum in you.â
âI know,â says Anna, lips hot to your ear. âI love it when youâre like this: so perfect for me and ready to burst.âÂ
You reach for something, anything to grab - for your hand to clutch on as her hot cunt grinds through your load filling her up, and Anna takes it upon herself to use her own hand to hold yours. Her fingers still slicked from touching her folds, and youâre grinding teeth to keep yourself sane instead of cleaning them dry. All you can do is lay there and feel her fuck herself on your cock like a toy, petting you, praising, calling you these sweet names, tracing the line of your jaw.
âChrist. What have you done to me?â You chuckle, defeatedly. Thereâs a stutter in the sentence. Almost resonating Annaâs emotions - very cutely, too.
âRefining your brain chemistry,â she suggests. Blowing into your ear to mask the sound of your cock gushing into her pussy. âItâs a long and arduous process. Not as easy as wind passing through the ears.âÂ
âCan you like-â thereâs a choke and a laugh, â-shut the fuck up?!â Absurd as it mightâve sounded, youâre aware what she meant: her blowing you on her own bed before falling onto the floor and fucking without a second thought; your coworker, your captain- cumming inside your fucking captain - okay, thereâs a lot to unpack, but you sigh tirelessly. âHow long has it been since we-â
âFucked?â Anna looks at you funnily, because your circadian rhythm wasnât something to be questioned nor talked about. âGive or take an hour or two,â giggling with a finger between her teeth. Adorable. âThat was nonstop, by the way.âÂ
âAnother round, then?â you say. Rolling your eyes in embarrassment. âMaybe if we have a sliver of self control the break would have come sooner.âÂ
âUgh, how scandalous,â Anna coos. You realize that sheâs got your cock inside her still, unwilling to move. Basking in the light afterglow. Comparing sex to a beaming moonlight or orgasms to waves isnât remote, but the shores of oblivion arenât that damning if sheâs sharing the same burdens as you.Â
âOh please,â you whistle, poking Annaâs belly. âSomeoneâs a little hungry.âÂ
âYeah that,â she replies, kissing you. She kisses you again. Both of your bodies are spent and heavy. âWhy is it that when Iâm this riled up, and Iâm having an angry craving because of it. What am I supposed to do?âÂ
You smirk, let your head hit the cool floor, tilting your chin by Annaâs fingers until she slips a thumb between your lips in the hope the taste stays. âA tragedy,â you breathe. âEven Sisyphus or Odessyus can resonate.âÂ
âSwan,â grumbles Anna. âI could hop back on your cock if I wanted to, but Iâm doing everything to hold myself back.âÂ
âCommiseations to you for being so highly restrained,â you drawl.Â
Anna refutes by pecking you on the forehead before she loosely rises to her feet. You admire her responsibilities in not letting lust take over her body - as you remained motionless to not grab an arm and tug her down. From the floor, you see Annaâs legs: her knees, specifically, how theyâre tainted red and look battered, impressed at the functionality of them since the recovery would take a while after what you two did. Your cock doesnât flex, but it does.Â
âLeave me here,â you then say, as a request, quick to answer Annaâs tilted brow before she messes up in asking it. âYou said you were hungry, so if you stay here, one of us is going to break, and youâll be sad and even more hungry and the next round is gonna be terrible and youâll get in a more pissy attitude.âÂ
Anna goes motionless, flaring her nostrils but exemplifying the due diligence. âYou can kiss your sleep schedule goodbye, then.âÂ
âFine by me, hehe-â you smile. âAnna, youâre amazingly beautiful. Did I ever tell you that?âÂ
âLittle dove,â she answers with a lowered gaze, on one knee - both of you know that one more move or touch would be paramount to disregard basic needs and thrive in the exploration of your bodies. âGod- fuck. You really gone and done it-â her hands are on her head, âNo, stop. Donât do this.â Itâs taking everything in her brain power to resist. âI need to eat, shower, and clean up the quarters. We have a lot to do tomorrow, and on our next location so why donât we just go rest-âÂ
âI need my midnight cravings,â you then offer, fingers trembling at the graze of her cheek. âI need- everything that has to do with you, please.âÂ
You watch Anna stumble back and trip on your cap, bracing an arm to the hallway. âI- oh!â sheâs smiling with her head to the beam. âI canât with you - being so fucked beyond belief. I really canât do this- oh my god, ugh. Why are you like this? Why am I so hungry? I swear I can eat on my own without you spoonfeeding me!?â Sheâs rambling and the voice fades (thank goodness) down the walkway- âAlso I am very capable of keeping myself accountable, babe. I promise!âÂ
âWell, yes.â You call back thinking sheâd hear it. âWhatever you think, love.â The pet name teeters off your tongue for the first attempt, but you decide to let it stick. âWhatever you like.âÂ
â
On the occasion youâre not all over Anna and vice versa, the bearings remain with you.Â
While taking advantage of the shipâs free time, youâve found yourself theorizing a plethora of questions worth reflection. Maintenance on the vessel can only go so far (guidance controls are repaired too late, or perhaps without enough care, especially with Annaâs cum still warm on your lips). Personas begin to split, what once felt like a first thought now revealing itself as a connection steadily withering with each cycle. The prevailing sexual tension; the constant are-you-or-are-you-not, has passed. What remains is a return to the first square of restraint, stripped of ambiguity. For future reference: productivity is no longer optional; youâre expected to fulfill the subpar tasks left behind when desire stopped pretending it was direction.
The tension being studied: is it viable? compatible? sustainable, even. Whether it's worth conjuring up a label that substitutes romance or solitude or just pure, unadulterated sex because the both of you have literally nobody else? Will there be a moment when this has to be addressed, or the eventual confession that escalates to something more? Anna, sharing her art, for one. Will she carry on curating such pieces or use the art to replace the time in fucking? That would be the case if she did - you love her works. The expression it possesses. Teaches anew.Â
More on the study: would she sketch or paint you? How would you look in one of her artistic creations? Would it be a gaze from a direct mirror, an interpretation, how evocative could you become, a perfect version she envisions you through her eyes? If you proposed the idea of painting you like a bionic human, would you look like Sooin? Sure, it could compensate for the memories, I suppose. They have little significance, you canât remember whoâs who and whatâs real; in the end: you are you and why (no seriously, like- why) is it that thereâs a resemblance of Gawon with Anna?Â
â
(Youâll leave it off as this:Â
one: youâre fucked in the head.Â
two: maybe Sooin [or Gawon] is fucked into your frontal lobe.Â
or three: your brain is fucked.Â
Itâs one of the three, you know that much.)Â
â
Not long after, Annaâs made it to the dining quarters - your dining quarters, as youâd coin it. Shared spaces and all. Couples have that aspect, usually, you overthink it from time to time.Â
âHi,â you greet her, casual, nonchalant, nicking your shoulder into the wall because of how pretty she looked. Itâs worth mentioning: âYou look good. Like- really good. How is that possible?âÂ
Anna, on the other hand, leans back on the kitchen counter with an egg sandwich, her fair skin shining and glistened with spit, her nightgown in place (despite the annoyance of not being able to rip it off her. She quirks the corner of her mouth before biting. âI didnât think of myself that much, if weâre honest. Never was the type to stand out over the others.âÂ
âThatâs a matter of perspective, maâam,â you reprimand. A good tip in the personal scale of your deteriorating thoughts. âIâd be an exception, because itâs you; the woman I love? a gravity I fail to escape from? youâre beautiful.Â
She pouts. âSo youâre one to say I was a slut before we did what we did?âÂ
You canât afford to fall into old habits. Anna nibbles another piece off, and considering how poor youâve been carrying out orders, itâs critical to maintain her routines and needs. So you carefully continue: âNo. Not exactly, but that also means-âÂ
âYou and your tangents,â Anna shrugs. You see the opened bag of tangerines, peeled and eaten halfway. That does beg the question, but you donât address it. Given the travel time in space and with the amenities overstocked with the same kinds of foods that exhibit redundancy, and bland as they are - okay, you decide to let it pass and move on. âYou love talking about these things and I love to listen,â she lifts a hand forward, seeing that your face remains unchanged. âWhy donât you indulge me in your thinking?âÂ
Ugh, sheâs unbearably cute.Â
âOkay,â you say. Composure is broken glass beneath your bare feet and you donât even have feet to begin with. âRight- my point is, and Iâm motivated to belittle you in all the ways you like-â Anna tilts her head with curiosity, and youâre failing to keep this deliberate and chaste, but- âwords like whore and slut, or-âÂ
âIf they fit the mold, and said âmoldâ being me?â Anna assists in the connection.Â
â-yeah, and youâre completely fine with it? None of those things affect you in any way, shape, or form?âÂ
Silence falls between the two of you. âBack in Toyama, most of the girls said those kinds of things- to me. Calling me a lowlife, a slut, whore, a pretty pick-me girl - I mean, I was a whore at some point back then,â she says. Ketchup drips down to her breast and she swipes it on a finger, licks it clean. âI may or may have not written about my teachers and classmates - in a sexual manner-â you bite your lip at her stifled laugh, â-until someone found my stuff when I was away.âÂ
âDoesnât mean you had it coming,â you reply.Â
âBut then I thought: if people who claimed to be not a whore are willing to treat whores as such- whatâs so bad about it? Itâs not my fault theyâre spiteful because they canât relate. What if I want to be a whore, huh? At least that was until the conversation veered off into the freaking space project-â her arm falls with a scowl on her face, accusatory, and you feign ignorance. â-and thatâs just a roundabout way of how you were with me.âÂ
âFinish that sandwich first and then weâll have another go,â you supply a reminder.Â
âWhy donât you eat it for me instead?Â
âWould you rather ache on an empty stomach while I dick you down? Or have enough energy to suck me off while I wrap your hair nicely into my fist? If you donât take care of that, you're going to be disappointed one way or another, so which one will it be?âÂ
Anna then bites another piece of the sandwich. âAlright. As I was saying: those girls were idiots. Calling me a slut or a whore is a compliment, and whether or not I am one-â she glances again with food in her cheek, â-you should know with the cum on your thigh and my lips on your cock after. It isnât really all science, just look at me. Look-â and she slips a hand under her gown, showing the soaked fabric, â-well, itâs been a little while since that, yeah.âÂ
You can see her eyes move at a frantic pace, the neurons firing every bit of electricity from her brain, then she lets another drop of ketchup fall on her chest. A few more to follow. âAh,â she sighs. âNeeds more water.âÂ
It makes you consider: the option to surender and push her body down and fuck her over the sink like she deserves it. Sheâs a mess. Youâre the same, but youâre able to make more of a mess with her. How good she could look squirting like a faucet and getting the cabinets wet - another tangent to daydream about, the potential your asymptomatic self could handle. You are both idiots, idiots in love with wants that are albeit predictable. By now you shouldâve checked the thrust capacities in the primary boosters, but you couldnât be bothered with something so boring if it wasnât for you spending another second with her.Â
âYou- I canât. Youâve got issues, Anna.âÂ
âIâm an undeserving bitch,â she tells you. âYou have the personal account first-hand; I got the evidence. Itâs gone through all the checks. My pussy and your cock are going to have a very constructive discussion.âÂ
That turns the gears in your head. âUhm- fuck. So. Iâm just gonna completely ignore what you just said, but this exchange will be brought up in the next debrief.âÂ
âWhat is that gonna do? Scare me? Fuck if I care. Do it anyway.â Anna laughs, loudly. âMaybe the universe will finally realize how fucked we both are.âÂ
âOh, Iâm perfectly fine, thank you.â Itâs an announcement that goes over her head. âSane for that matter. I havenât a clue what you were talking about just now.âÂ
âSane, my ass. You didnât act like this when you were breeding my pussy the other time,â she says (it short-circuts your brain a bit, too). âLetâs do this. A litmus test to assess how your brainâs holding up. Take this.âÂ
She tosses you a pack of fruit snacks. Technically speaking, youâre not built to eat most foods, but thereâs an exception for a few bites here and there - and thank the maker for understanding that food is fuel, and the acquired tastes for a bionic also gives meaning for a molecular analysis. A part of you wonders whether someone has moved the heavens and earth to grant you as much humanity as possible. On the other hand, youâre torn to be content or deep in thought, but this is natural to think deeply about your personal ethics. None of that mattered, anyway. You nibble down a piece or two. Er- at least make it look like you are. You do get through the package with no problem, but the juices are squished out and required a little bit of tongue and sucking at the bottom-Â
âGreat, Iâve got this to deal with.â You laugh, wiggling the bottom of the plastic.Â
âAww, a baby canât finish their food,â says Anna. âIâll give you another pack.âÂ
âWhy waste your nourishments on me?â You ask. Itâs unwarranted. Considering the percentages diluted to your space travel (Anna having a fit because the unit had to be down to an even number ever since she cried - well, ugly cried - about how unfair it was for you two to be shipped off into nowhere, and that you understood perfectly). If anything, youâll stretch out the rations for another four to five thousand cycles, just before you activate the slate protocol and go into status back into the magnetosphere.
Once thatâs all done: it would be a few more cycles after adjusting course to compensate for the dip in starboard trajectory, return to Toyama and spend the first night back in an alleyway making out just right outside the naval base. Anna wouldnât be hungry, and youâd be reassigned sooner or later.Â
All of these tangents, broken down like a square root but none show a result of stability. Technical difficulties and maintenance serve a good distraction of fucking her - a mistake on your own part by following her to the mess before she finished her meal, but you didnât have a subroutine for that in the first place. Youâre a fool thatâs led into the whimsical panache and desire from your best friend cumming into your mouth and standing across from her talking about groceries while the overarching topic was about being accountable with basic needs. Itâs only natural; normal even. Gawon or Sooin would applaud the both of you.Â
Your name rings through your ears, Annaâs high-haltered tone another hymn to repeat again and again (and itâs delightful when she says it). âWho cares if the spreadsheet for the amenities has my name on it. Youâre welcome to take some, too yâknow. Itâs not like the fleet views you as damaged goods, huh?âÂ
She has a point, it makes you think. âIf anything, I wanna gift you nice things, too because-â you pause and look, â-seeing you happy makes me complete. Who knows, Iâm only speaking half the truth here.âÂ
âHalf the truth like this last piece of grape? Or my breadcrumbs?âÂ
âI was thinking maybe a little of the asparagus-âÂ
âAn asparagus eating swan?âÂ
âNow youâre just speaking nonsense,â you sigh. âIâm thinking of one full grape. Even the whole sandwich.âÂ
âAll of the crumbs fall off the crust in the sandwich.âÂ
âThatâs not- okay. You know, Anna- forget it. A swan is elegant when they have all the attention on them.âÂ
âI told you this!â Anna exclaims, squinting her eyes. âBut you deserve all the attention, too! You canât keep giving me everything. Let me do the same for you.â Her chin dips, a smirk forms. âHow good youâd look with a collar- OOH. Even a rope around your neck.âÂ
âAnna-â you choke. Nothing would ever push you over the edge of a mineshaft unless it was pure sex talk. âGod. Why do you even- for fuckâs sake, Anna. Holy shit-âÂ
She snorts. âBe a good lapdog and fuck me yourself.âÂ
Forget logic. Impatience triumphs common sense. You bolt across the dining area and press her to the fridge, ready to reign fire with your mouth-Â
âNow now, sweetie,â says Anna who stops you with a finger to your lips and before you could put your tongue to good use. Her voice is firm, serious, looking you in the eyes through the heavy breaths. âYou didnât let me finish my snack.âÂ
Like a fucking musician, playing you as some instrument, controlling you like a servant pet. âAnna,â you rasp, graveled. âI swear- Iâm gonna be insane if you donât- Let. Me.âÂ
âHush.â A dismissing command. âDo pets speak? Or do jesters play when theyâre not asked to? Sit down, now.âÂ
You take a step back, defeated, shuddering. Sheâs managed to break you. This part of the script wasnât in your hypothesis filed in the âmess hall scenarioâ. The fact that she could even act like this despite the lacking ability-
One push of her hand has you stumbling to the chair. Anna walks from the fridge, letting both straps of her dress fall from her shoulders, revealing her tits. She smiles, laughs at you to make the image less obscene (but not by much). âYou look tense.â No fucking shit, youâre thinking, of course I look fucking tense. âBe my little songbird, honey. Sing all the sounds you want. I just want to have my fun before I ruin you.âÂ
You stare at her with a parted mouth. âSure,â you say. Switching to another topic would be a viable option here. âAllow me to add,â and the hint of being a fearful avoidant rises with the sentence, âan idea Iâve been contemplating about you.âÂ
Anna opens another pack of fruit snacks. An impulse spikes deep in your consciousness; it papers over your cracking persona. Having settled in the psychoanalysis of this exchange wouldnât last another second without the urge to not think but do. âFor one to bear such thoughts in this condition,â she tells you. âIt intrigues me.â
âLike you, I have my limits when itâs relevant.âÂ
She mumbles the same sentence, probably in annoyance. âAs if you werenât the one in heat and wanted to get on me right away-âÂ
âYou donât have the warrant to make that accusation,â you grit. âI donât break. Easily. âÂ
âAnd yet you were,â she retorts and your expression matches against her relent. âWhy would I care? This is me taking care of my needs, without your deliberation. Contemplating about what, exactly?âÂ
âA person- a person that I remember-â you stop short. Most conversations like these should be civilized. You are civilized beings having dinner - and the topic that usually returns to the table is often engaging. âItâs-â you breathe again, âwith these fragmented memories, they just exist, right?âÂ
So, that washes away the nervousness even Anna has no idea about from earlier, but you add: âIt was, and why I had- enjoyed that-âÂ
âMy, are you shy from what we did?â asks Anna. âIs the brain reduced to mush during sex? Or how I grinded on your leg and cumming-âÂ
âIâm being serious. If I canât hold myself back-â you smirk at the thought, â-okay. The whole point Iâm trying to make is that while we do that, I realize that my past self was in love with another woman.âÂ
âReally?! Hell yeah! Thatâs good!â Anna exclaims, undeterred. âI hope they fucked, too.âÂ
âDefinitely, and I think with those blips of memories is a chemical reaction waiting to happen. Because whoever I remember-â you wave your hand to your face, â-and I know her name, but it feels invasive from time to time, seeing these memories, and theyâre starting to creep in while we fuck.âÂ
âHang on,â Anna shakes her head, biting down a piece from the fruit pack. âShould I be upset by this?âÂ
âNo- not really. You shouldnât,â and you see Annaâs gaze soften. Itâs sobering (for all the sexual tension built between the two of you) she doesnât let it slide if sheâs aware of a problem. Youâll provide the explanation: âThat being said, I-âÂ
â-looked into my inner self and found a caveat,â she says.Â
âAnd I wanted to forget about that past self, rather to be present, in this body, with you.âÂ
âI appreciate your concern. If it makes you feel better, Iâm not mad at you for that. Weâre just managing as we go. Rendering how complicated it may be.âÂ
âI feel the same,â you reply. âBelieve me- it felt good. And youâre right, thereâs a limit how much my body can take, and the sex is good and my previous clone is the same as me- so it makes sense; but at the same time, it isnât entirely mine - to also add, when we talked about the Ship of Theseus, Anna, I know that look youâre giving. I wanted to hear your- thoughts.âÂ
âYes,â Anna crumples up the foil in her hand, âWe can go through your manual. Maybe run through the directives and experiment what you like?âÂ
You emit a deep breath, keeping composure - as in: you need her on your lap, bind your wrists together - not yet. âGoing by the manual isnât technically sex education. Youâre not supposed to fuck your bionic companion,â you cough, clutching your chest. âThings like that are off the books and shouldnât be addressed in the mission logs.âÂ
âShit,â says Anna. She laughs at this (and, endearingly): âIf thereâs someone we know that was experienced at overlooking the black ink and redacted texts-âÂ
âUnprofessional- weâre unprofessional,â you dismiss with a smirk, to which Anna matches. âProspective, actually. If I can get myself off from these memories, we can also toy with the idea of conducting you into the mix-âÂ
â-this is so hot coming from you-âÂ
Anna hears you out: âLike- itâs a recurring trial, each with a different result at the end. For every time we-â your jaw slightly drops and forms a wicked grin, â-when we continue to practice unsafe sex-âÂ
She puts her hands on your face, forcing you to look up. âWhy is it youâre making this sound like itâs a one-off?âÂ
âAbsolutely not,â you answer, a little too quickly. If anything: iâm helpless here, falling into an admiration i cannot seem to escape, you think - and having that in mind, you carry forward. âI- I canât really be sure. I want you so bad that itâs fucking up my cognitive functions. Now- can you just finish your fucking food?!âÂ
âSafe to say youâre dying to have me. Push me on the counter with that cock of yours?â Anna tuts. âYou can be a good puppy and wait. I know your body likes to suffer.âÂ
Having someone who understood you so well leaves you stripped cold. Youâre not the kind to shiver, but the instinct persists. When the night falls, well- the period of your inner circadian rhythm which Anna claimed to be your âsleep cycleâ convinced you to call it like hers as âbedtimeâ - another ritual youâve attempted to grasp. Thereâs no reason to create a protocol in the Primrose where the temperature drops enough to suggest mending bodies together to produce warmth, but you have.Â
(âIâve always wanted to live in a burning planet,â Anna had said to you one time, shuddering next to you all thanks to your alterations, and even implementing seasons; dancing in the rain, and creating a makeshift nightstand so that the gentle radiance greets her sloping cheeks every morning - a gift that had always left her in tears at times.)Â
To circle back: you want her, badly. Patience is running a thin line and all it takes is one hasty movement to unravel everything at once. With the benefit of hindsight, you often catch yourself in depreciation (spilling curses in a comical manner) over how the relationship with Anna would never change. Out of the many stories she shared with you, she claimed: âyâknow i could never tell when other people were flirting at meâ to which you chuckled at that, sitting together in the cockpit and doodling constellations - in all the things of friendship-wise. Who knows. You couldâve kissed her then along with countless other times after.Â
Time doesnât dwindle away into a black hole, but the uncertainty sucks the life out of you. Getting older was a guarantee; not just in your bodies, but in the aging metal around you. The Primroseâs missions are an odyssey of their own; so is challenging the antiquated sense of moralities every now and then. How dehumanizing, it must be for all the âwhat ifâsâ. In the end: you are you and the choices you make are almost calculated, even if Anna was old-fashioned with her arts and books and ideas to understand.Â
(She asked another time: you know about Swan Lake by Tchaikovsky? Or the Shakespearian tale of Macbeth? And while watching the gray colored screen late into the night through a voice: âBut now I am cabined, cribbed, confined, and bound into saucy doubts and fears.â)Â
Anna slants her head - the conversation's gone dry again. âYou blanked out,â she assesses. âDid you have another flash of memories just now?âÂ
To play into the question: yes, you did have memories of that past life, remembering her- and maybe itâs tragically romantic. âYou finished. And we havenât gotten to kissing yet. I wonder why.âÂ
âYou and I are both messy. A pair of fucked up beings in this universe,â she supplies. Handing you the foil to toss away in the garbage bin behind you. âLuckily itâs something we can fix together.âÂ
âAnd you mean-âÂ
âExactly what I mean. Come get me.â Anna commands, acting like you needed a trigger word to not jump on her for over an hour. It comes off as a surprise on her end that you do the opposite: walking over with a gentle push back into the fridge and kissing gently. There isnât an explanation of the rush in lifting her up the metal with your neck in a figurative leash (a metaphoric tether, but it ties the connection down seamlessly), and sheâs hot and light in your fingers, and thereâs a reaction bubbling in your emotional cortex.
You kiss her without letting go. From your eyes itâs romantic; in Annaâs - itâs undetermined. Her skin heats up like the sun greets her eons ago. Her body shudders; riddled with goosebumps.Â
âI like this. You. I like you. I love how fun this has become,â you admit, forehead to forehead. Anna smiles, softly; creasing skin in corners all over her face and eyes. More. Previous impulses course through your mind: her voice drenched with at the need of you on her bed, falling soon after and fucking on the floor the next. Her slick mouth working your cock to the back of her plush throat; touching, grasping, needing the sensation and warmth in each other, for something to hold once everythingâs reduced to dust-Â
Toyama is a long way from you two, a mere dot among the stars. Even if those who knew you, or knew of you could see what you have become, they would look with such judgement. What Anna had as baggage here has either been lost in the blanket of space or hidden with the many other regrets she carries. If this floating asylum is the only place where you could have mutiny. If her longing for home has equaled the distance.Â
Anna kisses you; much, much more gently. Youâre all soft lips and battered hearts. Suffice with another memory: the fear of intruding a sacred ground, letting love succumb you over with all its might, and how youâve let it die at your hands.Â
âBaby,â she coos. âTell me what it is. What do you want?âÂ
Keep her hands on you; kiss me softly, then harder. âPointless wants, theyâre stupid- illogical. One word doesnât get the point across. âI need your body against mine.â Artificial canât match authenticity. âMake me go insane and have you feel the same way.â Youâre a hopeless romantic. âMake love with me until our arms and legs are aching-â and once more, you hold back on confessing the truth. It hasnât been that long since the first kiss, so this is a bit of a rush, going into things recklessly.Â
But when has that ever stopped you from feeling so good about it?Â
Intent and desire burns deep into your nerves and heart, flashes of your past life bends the perception of whatâs real and what isnât. The thrill of your body being lit on fire from artillery strikes or when you sank to the bottom of the ocean. There was also the time where there was a singular bullet in the chamber, and spinning around the old glock fueled more excitement once the barrelâs to the side of your head, waiting for the hollow, audible âclick!â when the gun didnât go off. Nothing scared you that much and that was the empowering (or frightening) part you miss.Â
(memory playback #8: Gawon runs ahead of you to an end where thereâs no return and a crossroad that alters fate. Sheâs got a cigarette to her teeth and offers it between her fingers, gazing tenderly. You dance with her and the heart in your chest feels like itâs going to be pierced from your ribs. When you think about her, you fail to cry. The red ribbon around her neck is on your wrist and the scent of her hair is all but ash.Â
memory playback #9: The grief you carry is unexpressed love, without a receiver. It leaves your body, like a flock of doves creating a constellation into the sunset, greeting the stars for her, searching for their lost companion they wish to love and cherish.)Â
âI care a lot about you,â Anna rasps into your cheek. âI really do, believe me.â She understood your internal conflict, and perhaps it's this moment where you could finally make peace with it: letting Sooin and Gawon cuddling past the gate now shut in your head. In another life (that past life), your intimacy is the same as theirs, and the kind youâd want to keep close. Youâre entranced into another slow dance with Anna, one without music, holding her in a tempo thatâs a little too slow, locking lips again and again, and that would be more than enough.Â
âYour happiness will always matter more to me than my own,â you tell her. Heresy in its true form, but youâre honest, and that isnât made more obvious than embracing each other in the kitchen. Your hand sinks to her side. Risky. Some of her hair is covering her ear: even more risky. You want to keep charming her.Â
She looks down to your fingers at her thigh, tensing and giving at the feel. âThis is okay, right?â you ask, knowing very well thereâs one answer you want to hear; longing (basically yearning) for Anna to say it.Â
Anna nods in approval. âMmm, I-â You can tell she wants more - more of you. Yet you play into the teasing. Surrendering isnât the only way to get power, and pushing her buttons doesnât always have to be the endgame. Her eyes dart from one end to the next, and the reactions are cute to see up close. She gets pulled closer at her own pace; a loose arm pressuring around her once you settle back on the chair and (finally, at long last) in your lap. Between the short asphyxiations, you know sheâs ready, bestowing the responsibility back to you - aware of how this game is being played, and while sheâs completely flustered and plastered pink on her face, she goes along with it: âWhy donât you tell me more?âÂ
âShow me more of those old western films youâve been watching. Paint cute things all you want,â you answer. Right away, these are foolish things. âCook those meals from home. Look up at the stars and fall face first into the planets that we explore.â Oh, youâve got the saccharine plot all set up, but it widens the grin on her face while sheâs dripping between her legs.Â
This side of you is the most raw and inescapable version youâve ever been, and Anna has had her fair share of going through these phases, and while youâre rattled in dread of being more explicitly, you perch on her ear: âand please, I want you to teach me more of these dances,â and youâre sure the answers will come as they go.Â
âDancing has a sensual approach to it,â says Anna, seeing through the facade. âOnce you see past the veneer, the art transcends to a whole lot more.â This has you smiling like an idiot, and you canât stop it from happening. The additional, and hilarious fact of you wanting to canvas her body more than what space has to offer - but sheâs here on your lap and so close to your heart. The line of her collarbone, the small beauty marks sprinkled on her shoulder and chin and ear, her firm mounds; a small hint of her nipple peeking above the gown and the strap to her arm.Â
âAnna,â you call out to her; her hand guides yours to her breast before she responds. Forces your fingers to clutch and grasp as she barely does anything to stay still. âAnna. Can- please. I know-â youâre pushing it, itâs driving you insane, circling her nipple and not even giving a pinch.Â
âYou donât have to fucking ask,â she grits, but itâs mixed into her whimper. âI swear- Iâm gonna have to toy with myself if youâre not going to do it for me-âÂ
Pinch.Â
A press, pull, then a little flick. Soon your tongue will do the same. âBecause youâd rather use your hands than mine? I guess my hand will have to do while you take care of that.âÂ
âOh please. I can touch myself at the thought of you whenever I fucking want,â she groans, shivering when you have a hand to her shoulder keeping her in place. âYou donât even know about the time I laid on the table and fucked myself in the hopes of you seeing and taking care of my problem-âÂ
âHuh-â you drop the act, slightly. âWhen did you- what?âÂ
âWhat? No- I mean, I just grinded against the corner. And maybe the chair that youâre sitting on right now. Okay, look- Iâm just- fuck!Â
You laugh into her neck. âWhen did you even do it? And whyâd you keep that from me?âÂ
âA while ago. Probably the first few cycles into our mission period. I even had it journaled in.â Anna beams. âCan you just fucking touch me already?!â
The inner curve of your thumb and finger moves up to the crease of her hip and leg, then her stomach, then the underside of her breasts, all the nooks where you can touch. âDo tell, Anna,â you propose, indulgent. âWhat was the appeal?âÂ
âThat youâd drop to your knees and proclaim the same desperation you have for me,â she answers. âUse me like a toy, and just rail me on the table with a hand to my neck and-â a gasp once your thumb flicks her pretty little clit. â-you just fucked me senseless. God, I beg-âÂ
Your mouths are clashing again. Thereâs been too much of the talking and less of kissing. The both of you arenât sure what youâre doing. A finesse of feeling her body, you assume. You also presume thereâs an optimal route to explore her body - to hell with going by the book, youâve no need for it. Anna wants to be touched; she likes to be touched. Her body is going to be pliant and soft and youâll love nothing more than to lick the sweat of her waist and feel the friction get together - okay, stop fucking overcomplicating it. Worship your lover with all your might. The drunk pleasure will happen regardless.Â
âDonât- donât,â Anna shoves a whine down your throat. âIf you think about stopping, Iâm going to make you crazy about me-â she begs, and her character finally breaks into impatience. Sheâs got two fingers deep in her cunt, fucking herself.Â
âLook at me, honey-â she hisses, pathetically. âYouâre only holding yourself back.â The next thing she does is lift the same hand from her legs, slipping those same two fingers into her mouth.Â
â
Time waits for no one, not even you.Â
Her hot lips laving yours enough to make you lose it even more. She doesnât play nice (but she never played nice.) Annaâs face is difficult to read; is it control? rapture? ruin? or perhaps gratification? Too much to tell, and thereâs a lot of ground to cover. A winner like her takes it all and the loser - unfortunately, has to fall and suffer. You have your directive, and thereâs the added order of acting on whatever she bids you to do. Her puffy lips coat your cock delicately, tongue stroking the roof of your mouth as she lets her hips settle on the length.Â
âHow much do I have to do to make you- ugh!â She grits, grasping your neck soon after. Because the concept of power is somewhat new to her and sheâs got her priorities straight. âDo me a favor: get the fuck on the table.â
(You believed it at first of her not having the authority to rest it heavily on your head - but god, youâve never been proven so wrong.)Â
Her knees creak the wood once youâre laid on your back, peppering trails of spit from her waist down between her legs. Thank the creator for compensating; being able to respond to the wetness was one thing that couldnât deliver in terms of granting you the five senses, but you make do. Annaâs leaning forward, bending. Most of her gownâs been discarded, revealing skin. Your optics canât process all of the new pieces of information all at once-Â
âI like where you are,â she hushes, the breath alone shouldâve made you shiver. âAlways willing to submit.âÂ
Youâve never wanted to breathe so desperately in your life. Feeling the weight of her hips crushing your face.Â
Whatâs more rewarding than the skullfuck is the constant grazing of Annaâs cunt brushing against your lips. Sheâs rubbing her clit too, the poor needy thing. As much as youâd love to keep this going, to satisfy your own needs, thereâs a bedside rule left unsaid: to return the same subservience.Â
Annaâs so close to cumming. That, at least, until you bite her inner thigh.Â
Itâs met with: âAh-!â And Annaâs body convulses, scowling into your eyes. Temporary. This is fun, and you know she doesnât want to stop.Â
âSatisifed?â You ask, eyes lidded.Â
âLove, you- oh. You have no idea.â Sheâs starting to break. You notice sheâs overly strung out on her own confidence; like you, she needs to have her buttons pushed.Â
âOh my god. Youâve wanted to do this on me for a while now, havenât you?âÂ
Anna winces. âMaybe. Whoâs to say?âÂ
âYou and your fantasies. I love to see you try.âÂ
Her face falls flat, determined. She wonders on something for a moment, disregards the second thought and does it anyway: shoving her whole ass across your face and making you suffocate. Even better: her hand grips the edge, you brush your tongue deeper into her. The wood creaks and the servos in your jaw are trying to accommodate as her makeshift vibrator-
âAnna,â you muffle, then the eyes go back to your head. âMmmf-âÂ
âYes, right there- that,â she groans. âGod-âÂ
She lifts and you hold her thighs where they are. âYou are something,â you praise. âHow is that youâre this sexually precious?âÂ
âWhat about you? Is it too much?âÂ
âNonsense,â you answer. Her being concerned is thoughtful. âYouâre doing just fine. I mean- we did fuck on the floor the other time-âÂ
âAnd it wonât be the last,â she replies. âWe finally have more use of our time now.âÂ
âSlow is steady,â you remind Anna. Unsaid words are carried through expressions. Youâre too drunk on Annaâs essence seeping out her legs, so youâll keep the talking to a minimum and kiss her (other) lips.Â
âBaby, baby, baby, oh my-â Next her hands dig into your scalp, and judging from the reaction alone itâs only stimulating her mind more, slipping out words and each utterance more incoherent than the last.Â
Nothing could stop your tracing tongue dancing on her cunt, switching the flick at the slightest pitch change. The mission hasnât changed. Itâs always been the same since the beginning, only now where you and her have come to realize that to truly survive-Â
You both need each other.Â
Sensory inputs are overloaded with data: at the graze of your nose to her clit, the nibble of her inner leg, the shimmy of her hips and once sheâs had enough, you force her to take more. A tap of her clit when she lets you breathe. Another one earns a whimper. Sheâs a molten mess in your hands.Â
She grabs your cock and it throbs. âTease,â she groans with her head back, biting her bottom lip. You want to test the limits of how much she can handle; where she can keep her head leveled before losing it completely. Once again: she shudders, swiveling your length, and you look up earnestly with your mouth to her folds. Any more forms of contact could legitimately kill her (and thereâs another directive to unpack for that matter), suck her dry before she even has the chance to recover. How you could give her that dream of railing her on the table, but youâll hold back. Annaâs legs shudder when your breath meets her cunt.Â
âAnna,â you say, and itâs wonderful to say her name while being under, âjust let me- relax, babygirl. Give yourself to me. I promise to take care of you.âÂ
Youâve got the intent down to a âTâ. Itâs just you: this model, her lover, her toy. She doesnât even let you off once sheâs moved down to your hips, her hot cunt just within reach of your tip. Which was safe to say: she couldnât wait or take it anymore. When the thick tip pushes her folds, her body shakes; the expressions are amazing. You want to see more of them.Â
The pleasure is sharp enough for you to sit upright and in the present. You kiss her, kiss her head, shove your hand deep into her scalp so your mouths stay touched. Her fingers corral your neck, your back - you can do better than that - tensing the line in your bodies to an unknown measure, something that can be learned errorlessly. âHey,â you shudder, filling the whole length inside her. She doesnât move. Youâve got your hands to her hips and take up the gaps in her mind; makes her gasp.Â
âMy good girl too fucked out? Need me to get you going since you almost came?âÂ
Her head tilts, sheâs cock-drunk. Perfection.Â
âItâs you,â cupping your head, âthis pretty face, and this fucking cock-â she sputters, the grip getting tighter motion picking up in waves. âPlease, fuck me. I beg- Iâm fucking ordering-âÂ
She knows you canât be hurt, and only one of you is going to be sore.Â
âShh, I know hun,â you coo, hoisting her hips up and yanking them back down with a little more force. You have no regard for the things around you: the wood creaks against the metal flooring; Anna knocks over a cup off the tabletop; your hips thrust upward into her heat. Itâs gotten you both delirious. Youâre sitting up, licking the beads of sweat off her breast; brush your cock where her cuntâs the hottest.Â
You know so much but also so little. Thereâs a nibble here, you mightâve sucked her nipple a little too hard, donât give her time to breathe as she rides you, and sheâs smiling through it. Granted, neither of you are inexperienced with this whole concept of fucking, but thereâs so much to learn regardless; thereâs you: split between memories and the remorse of a body that was never your own; her, and her intimate experiences in the past sheâs never breathed a word about. If anything, the closest youâve ever approached the topic was one of those conversations where time seems to stand still in the vastness of space - answering the question about her past and all of the events before with âlook, I had nothing else to lose, so why stick around when thereâs nowhere else to go or turn to?âÂ
Even now, thereâs a covered painting in this room Anna does while she eats. She never gives you a straight answer about it, and there really isnât anything you could do to make her budge and open up, but thatâs fine. The tension in the air is thick and heavy just like her body as she grinds her hips to yours, and she could be setting aside her emotional baggage to never be spoken about again.Â
Annaâs face buries into your neck, fingers clenching into your hair. Her pussy is tethered to your cock and each slam down is another pull of reality bringing you back. You could just draw it to simply losing your being to the person you love.Â
âSo deep. Itâs so, so deep,â she moans, and you focus on her voice as it makes you remember where you are. You grip her ass the same way hers did around your neck - an unspoken message to share on what feels good and where to keep her keening. Communication here can be fallible: youâre mindful that Anna never answers the questions truthfully or ignores you, and how her past could never be addressed in the corners of darkness; youâre aware that saying nothing oppresses your free will; despite this, itâs just how things are between you and Anna.Â
But maybe you should focus on this plane of existence. Anna has both the beauty and flaws and the big plus is (you also have your own faults) that you canât help being in love but feign from the admission. Your skin doesnât bruise as easily compared to hers, as well as respond to toxic environments since you canât feel pain. Thanks to her, youâve learned the aspect of pleasure while stimulating your own learning synapses; with your thumbs to the crease on her legs, keeping her there, flexing your cock deep inside to her walls and focus on her lips clashing to yours. Sheâs a slick and gushing mess.Â
You also recall an instance where Anna put a book down and said: âfor erotica, why are they doing so much into detailing the feeling of oneâs cock inside their lover?â Then she stemmed it off into saying a cock isnât the only appeal for a womanâs pleasure and all of a sudden you donât recall much.Â
The bruises across her legs are starting to bloom in reddish-pink. More decorations to deviate from the usual purple youâve seen on her that suit her state more or less. Sheâs leaking on your artificial shaft, insistent for all of it. It earns her another deep thrust upward, a few bites to her neck, hot breaths into her mouth: these things you want to leave as many as you possibly can so that they serve as reminders of an intoxicating poison sheâs taken whenever sheâs bathing or doing the little makeup. What would be even better: if she got herself off to ease her mind off of this.Â
It hasnât even been that long; probably a few weeks since she asked you to dance. Yet the both of you have been forever changed. Who knows what will become of you when this comes to pass: something new - or whole, even. You can be adamant about where you kiss her; youâll also learn her preferred fragrance, and kiss more of those bitten lips. She might teach you new things: like how to braid her hair, come up with a theory to create a body that can withstand time - and it could be drawn up as a failure, but everyone has their end, right? When you and her cease to exist, this spacecraft will live on possibly through someone else.Â
Annaâs cunt clenches around your cock. Her tight little hole is the only stimulus keeping you focused. She moans, a little erratically. Keeping your head leveled may be easy, but you donât fight her clawing hands. Youâve felt like this before, and the memories of that form in waves, encroaching the imaginary sand around the island, but itâs yours to share, and youâre going to sink beautifully.Â
âLouder,â you say. âMoan for me louder, sweetheart.âÂ
She angles your chin up, devilishly grinning. âTry me,â is where she settles with.Â
You lift and meet her in the middle with a heavy upstroke. Thereâs tears seeping from the corner of her eyes - like paint being rubbed down on a palate. Sheâll commend her own effort, but thereâs the fleeting restraint of ruining her more when she says so.Â
You fuck her harder once her legs wrap around your hips, incessantly begging. Her moans are mixed with whimpers and whines and you could feel your head go hazy. Thereâs a memory you recall where the sky flashes white from blue and the world was never the same after that. Your memories of love and yearning are here; pure and impure in ways that make up your existence.Â
Stiffening and sweating both have their characteristics, those where they grow all the same. Itâs preposterous that fucking her would be an experience- let alone, how youâd be wanting to have these feelings again and again within these confines of this home away from home. Anna was always complicated, but youâve dealt with it.Â
She mewls into your neck and it's a sound youâre familiar with. âLet me hear you,â you offer, a last gasp for restraint. If her hand were a rope, she knew youâd jump at the first opportunity to tie yourself to it like a collar. Your fragmented self would only thrive with these memories, and not wither down to a selfish being hidden underneath your skin.Â
I hope my life will matter to you someday, you remember telling her the first few weeks on this expedition - a mere fantasy to delude yourself that she could, but itâs never been more true.Â
Anna whines when the head of your cock brushes right to her womb. Her fingers claw the polyethylene on your collar, wincing. Itâs still a beautiful sight to behold.Â
(memory playback #10: the spray paint in your hand is tossed from a bombed out wall: âyou may forget but let me tell you this: someone in some future time will think of us,â a mantra that speaks high of the future, what might come after death - and you share a kiss, another prayer for what higher being may be observing with the stars, and thereâs another kiss, then another, then another, then-)Â
Your tongue slips out of Annaâs mouth, and the kiss ends. She can taste herself - off of you, with those plush lips, how easy it can really be to fall into her heart. Her toffee eyes are just eyes, but they see you as you are. Itâs daunting to be known, how frightening it is to be accepted, alone. Youâve seen terrors before, and so has she. Through it all, itâs love that can transcend for those who can no longer speak.Â
Itâs a funny thing, really.Â
Maybe one day youâll watch her fall off the ramp and youâll run after her on a beach with two sunsets. Make love to her on the sand and learn a little more about her then and there. Simple things like loving her can bring ease; free from all pain, guilt, and shame. Thereâs no point in thinking twice.Â
Despite this, Anna tells you to, âplease keep fucking me,â and you do. Thereâs a more dignified approach into how youâll have sex with her; ideally, a fashion that doesnât nearly kill her. Youâve memorized every corner and crevice of her body in a short amount of time. It's like a second reflex. Pumping her full of your cock she has to sit up straight by your hand as her limbs try to tangle around where she can cling.Â
âGonna cum?â You ask, slowing the pace.Â
Annaâs face pulls another wince, then relaxes. âYouâre-â and sheâs laughing through it, settling on your shaft. âYouâre going to fucking kill me, maybe,â leaning into shoulder. âIâve made you cum, so it should be similar, we just have to try-âÂ
You lean forward and lay her back, piercing her womb. She didnât want you to take it easy - this is what she wants, but the sex was always a form of strategy and compromise. Her cunt makes this unholy noise, and sheâs gushing more by the second. Anna gets too ahead of herself, too fast, and she bucks in reflex while your cock slips out and sheâs squirting into your hips. You grab your length and wriggle it back on her folds, thereâs more. Sheâs a dripping, leaking mess and her legs are shaking.Â
âAnna, god. Anna, oh my god-â you gasp. Sheâs blabbering nonsense, biting into her wrist, spazzing out from the pleasure. Those marks on her arm will be there for a while, and youâll have to treat those accordingly once all of this is finished. Youâll always submit to the aftercare even if you resign from doing it initially; for no reason - which may be a different case - but it doesnât stop you from saying: âOh, my sweet thing. Cum for me. Slut.â Love in this sense can be ferocious. She canât even breathe with you pilfering her mouth and cunt at the same time.Â
She mutters your name down your throat, voiced in a way so elegantly that it's like sheâs singing in appraisal: cumming over your cock. Her teeth clack against yours and she screams, choking as you hold her down by the neck. For how brutish you may be, itâs justified to how much sheâs loving this version of you. You would love to hold her up by the waist and fuck her to the brim on this table; exhaustion isnât a concept thatâs applied to you, but your alternating thrusts from slow to fast makes it all worthwhile. Yet pain is a human feeling and your hips actually hurt and youâre panting and the wrongdoing washes down like a waterfall it hurts-
âPlease, please, please-â she pleads, weeping. âDonât- wait, okay. We need to- I canât go on like this-âÂ
So you comply once the thrusts have been made. Once the cum settles deep inside her, the romance lingers: youâre cradling her in comfort (unlike those times where life hung on a thread; the many what-ifs), sliding your cock out and seeing a glisten of white seep out of her opening, where sheâs warm and you want to keep her that way.Â
Itâs also easy to stay close to her, and never let her go. Easy to be attentive and be accepting of her like she is with you. And it dawns, cruelly: sheâs all you have left and- youâve let it pass. Weathering that in your mind helps you stand stall against the tide.Â
Annaâs lip wobbles, âSlut. You said âslutâ to me.â She hasnât stopped; seen with a hand to her chest and the other between her legs. âWhat have you done-âÂ
âDid you like it?âÂ
âI did.â She says while struggling to get up. âIn the moment it was-â and the sigh she makes is hellishly pleasing, the devil would be proud. Oh fuck, she mouths repeatedly, pressing her hand to her thighs. âYouâre so good.âÂ
âGlad it was- enjoyable,â you say, helping her up and sheâs still close to you. Kissing your neck softly. And it connects: exhaustion. Youâve had sex with Anna more frequently in the past few hours since youâve started dancing, and itâs been a while since you two have relaxed. Utensils have fallen to the floor, thereâs a print of sweat on the table from her back and shoulders; her knees a bruised (again), you donât recall smacking her ass, and the fucking marks-
Anna kisses you again and holds her side, smacking her lips. âI need water,â she pouts.Â
You thumb one of her bruises. âI can get you a cup if youâd like.âÂ
She meets your eyes, dreamily blinks. Even with her messy hair and blushed skin it doesn't set in on how you and Anna fucked on the table in the dining quarters. You help her down and give her a cup, seeing the water stream down calmly. She looks at the liquid, contemplating. And you realize sex has that effect indeed.Â
âWe need to have more control,â Anna concludes. âThis can be a serious problem.âÂ
âThe sex of the mess?"Â
âYou wanted me so bad that I can barely walk,â she tells you, trembling so much you swoop in and help her up. âThis needs to be addressed later. And we have to make ground rules. Because if not, Iâm going to end up dead and youâre gonna fuck a dead corpse-âÂ
She hears you sigh and chuckle, stopping her train of thought. âBefore we can acknowledge the other issues, thereâs cleaning up and walking back to bed. The list goes on if you want me to continue.âÂ
âI should have you carry me,â says Anna. âFolded me up akimbo and so pretzel-like. My bones are mush. My brain is mush. Iâm gonna have an osteo condition now thanks to you-âÂ
Executive decision: âLetâs get you to bed, honey.âÂ
You swoop Anna off her feet. A closer look at her features: the fluttering lashes and small blush she applies when she can make you stare a little longer at her than she liked - considering how itâs a smeared mess and perhaps you did fuck a little too much. Appealing as it is, you like her pampered more than the latter.Â
âYou are okay, yes?â Itâs worth the curious inquiry.Â
âAside from paralyzed from the waist down,â she jokes, âI guess you can say that Iâm in good shape.âÂ
âThe offer still stands for treatment, maâam. A suggestion, after all.âÂ
âI am okay. Thank you for asking,â she smiles brightly at you. âSweaty, messy. The usual deal. Also you came in me. Twice.âÂ
âWe should be more mindful next time,â you say, laying her back on the bed. After all the attempts from earlier, youâve finally made it. Itâs a small win to log in your books. Definitely worth taking.Â
âHey,â Anna grabs your wrist, unwilling to let you leave. âYou know: we just fucked.âÂ
âMind I add more than once, too?âÂ
Anna purses her lips. âAnd you feel, okay?âÂ
You ponder for a second. âExhilirating, aside from being messy and such.âÂ
âMe too. Not to mention sore-âÂ
âYep. Even the sore part.âÂ
âGod I feel amazing,â Anna huffs. âHow long should I wait before we try it again?âÂ
âYouâre just asking for another go at me, really? Whatever happened to resting, Anna.âÂ
Anna laughs, slapping your arm. âCouldâve just taken me to the shower, silly. Grab my washcloth and run it through some water. Thatâll do for now.âÂ
â
(Thereâs an afterglow this time around - different from the other times youâve seen it up close. A calming presence, a little more sensual. And it tugs at your core when you reach the bathroom, keeping the door ajar so she can see you in her peripheral. The washcloth goes warm in your hands - per her request - and the door closes back to her room.Â
Itâll never be the same from this point on, and itâs something youâve settled with.)Â
â
Anna calls you over once sheâs recovered, coming out of the bathroom not long after. She slips out of her bath towel, and this is the second time youâve seen her naked. âYouâre not going back to your pod, right?âÂ
âYou propose that we are-â and your hands are out to divide the syllables: âsl-eep-ing to-ge-ther.âÂ
âPrecisely. Do you want to sleep together?âÂ
âFollow up question: can we sleep together?âÂ
You freeze. âSomething I believe we can try.âÂ
âI agree,â Anna concedes. âNow that I think about it, fucking on the bed wouldâve been a lot more comfy.âÂ
âAnna, apologies.â You kneel at her feet before the bed. How badly you can crumble at the touch of her hand to your chin. âPromise that we shouldnât be as rash.âÂ
Anna shakes it off. âGood fucking luck to us. We were always rash to begin with.âÂ
âChange can occur at any time.âÂ
âCustomarily, sex has its own ecosystem,â she says, drying the ends of her hair. âWhen weâre done, we should have all the spots covered in the ship where we havenât like âhabitually fuckedâ in the next couple cycles.âÂ
âYouâre asking for a deathwish if youâre wondering if we fuck in the decompression chamber.â And Anna shares a smile. âMaybe somewhere we can easily relax and donât have to move as much.âÂ
âThe cockpit?â she sighs. âRomantic. But- I suppose that would be nice.âÂ
âMhm?âÂ
âYeah.â Anna replies, kissing your shoulder. âFor the record: youâd make a fantastic lover. Date worthy.âÂ
While your reaction might be off-putting and bewildered, itâs easy to conclude that youâre blushing over the compliment. Then past the wave of happiness is despair, and here youâve learned that the emotions boil over to something more solemn, regretful. You sniffle. That in itself is foreign to you, balling your hands into fists and not meeting her eyes. You actually go quiet.Â
Anna leans over with concern. âHey- did I mean to make you confused?âÂ
âIâm not even sure myself,â you answer looking over.Â
âHow do you feel right now?âÂ
âCanât put it to one thing. Reminiscing for no reason- mourning as the other thing, I-â you cough, pinching your forehead. âI shouldnât be regretful- okay. Anna, can we-âÂ
She doesnât let you finish and tugs you over further to her bed. A few moments pass with you two figuring out the small arrangement. But then you see the inside of her bunk more and notice the new details about her: a sakura flower drawn to remind her of home, the faded polaroid of her first day in the academy.Â
âYouâre surprisingly warm,â says Anna while nestling to your side. âAs if youâve done this before.âÂ
âIâve learned a few thing or two.âÂ
Anna hums, unconvinced. âIs that so?âÂ
You kiss her hairline, pull her closer. Safe to assume that sheâs comfortable. Her arm goes across to your left. You breathe in relief. âWould be lying if I said I didnât practice,â you answer. âEmotions are one thing; though, if it werenât the movies we watched together. I would be lacking in the intimacy category.âÂ
âYouâre already exceeding my expectations,â Anna ends off with. âI knew youâd like those movies.âÂ
â
Later, she switches the lights off. Well aware of what you want to keep sacred. Youâre her saving grace, a blessing sheâd never expect to have.Â
When you two kiss again, it feels deep into the shrouded darkness.Â
â
(memory playback #11: When you meet Gawon for the first time, youâre treating a wound to your stomach and have become numb to the medicine spray. Somewhere in a city of Aurelia you kiss her through a rusted blackbox recorder; look up from the wreckage and mark your love with bombs and paint before the waters get too tepid just on the surface. Maybe the roots will grow deep through the water, and you think a slit throat would be the solution for your pierced heart-Â
final playback: âI love you too. I hope you know that,â you say. Holding each otherâs face dear in the chaos of war. Her trauma is equal as yours and itâll burn you two up like the rest of the world-)Â
â
You learn again:Â
Annaâs quarters (along with her bed) is in complete disarray. Sheâs got the blankets covering the vents; her pillows are smushed into a heap and thereâs so many things here that are out of place in the ship. In her case, she never really understood the sleep subroutines you deal with. Despite how smart she is studying astrodynamics, it does not show in engineering. All the more reason to write little post-it notes everywhere on the ship to keep her from not fucking things up.
In the end: itâs really cute.
You place an unfinished canvas on the easel, she hugs you from behind.Â
Thereâs a simplicity to this.Â
âI love the whole idea of you,â she says, pulling your chin to her. âMy cute big owl, hm?âÂ
âTake it that youâre okay?âÂ
âDear, Iâm fucking sore.â Anna groans, begrudgingly. âBlame my own arrogance that we wonât be able to do it again for a few days.âÂ
âPushed your luck and see what happened? How many orgasms did you have?âÂ
âYou made me cum four times,â she counts on her fingers. âI made you cum half of those times. But seriously. We need to have an intervention about those dreams of yours. Theyâre wickedly fucked up.âÂ
To that, you smile. Actually, you laugh. Itâs not in your code to elicit such a reaction, and the leniency needs to be reviewed. Youâve kept your guard up, but Anna has managed to melt you down to a puddle of metal. Change isnât instantaneous - let today be the nexus of a psychoanalysis that may take days- week- or even months to figure out. A relationship doesnât happen like the big bang, obviously, but itâs good to have a theory about it.Â
âWhat else did you see?â You ask. âHow fucked up were they?âÂ
âSomeone thatâs obsessed,â she answers. Finger to her lip. âIssues and things that we need practice on. Thatâs what I think.âÂ
You square shoulders, crossing arms. âElaborate.âÂ
âImagine a parallel world. Where everything is perfect, and we wouldnât have any baggage to carry, sharing the simple life that weâve dreamed of having. With the best part being the fact that it never ends.âÂ
Itâs worth imagining. âRight,â you say. âOur reality isnât like that, sadly.âÂ
Anna rolls her eyes, slumping her back. âUgh, I had a feeling you were gonna say that.â Humbling, for one, yet she flashes a smile nonetheless. âEveryoneâs always told me that I dream too much. Dream, dream, dream. Never wondering about the âknownsâ of our world. Makes me feel stuck.âÂ
âYou can dream with me,â you reassure. âthatâs one of the reasons why Iâm in love with you.â âI admire these aspirations.âÂ
She hugs you, yawning. âOkay,â she hums. âPromise me youâll watch?âÂ
And youâll keep this star closer with the cosmos.Â
///
a/n: sorry for the mini hiatus. i have one thing to say:
we are so freaking back.
:')
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1.3k boner fueled haze with sideward philosophical considerations.
a/n: This might be the dirtiest thing I've ever written lmaoooo, randomly wanted to write today. Also, I decided the mechanics of typing quotation marks is just annoying... let me know if it's too hard to read. It's so much easier for me if I can write like this T-T
-
Daddy, she mewls.
Hands in your lap. You reply.
There's no sympathy for her. You're in this cramped bathroom with her, your groin pushed up to her face, and all she can say is: Daddy.
Open your mouth
Through the small opening in her mouth, you slot in a finger, trace the lower lip and upper lip - gather spit from the tip of her tongue to glaze her lips.
Wider. You say.
She's just sitting there, rubbing her thighs together - like she isn't so fucked and slippery in her underwear that just a small touch could make her cum - that you pressing a finger into her mouth - letting her throat close around that digit - wouldn't make her burst into decibels and let the whole town know that you - her dependable assistant - is fucking her dumb.
She's doing this to prove that she's listening - that she can be... good. Her own idea of being better for you - this twisted idea.
She's staring at how you unbutton your pants. Button by button, all the way until your cock's out half-mast diagonal to her face and she's fucking drooling. Slowly moving forward and you pin her head to the wall of the bathroom stall.
How do you want this dick?
Like how you fucked her.
And this 'her' is the mystical idea - Sohyun thinks you fucked that other girl so much better than you fucked Sohyun. That in her twisted world, the way you fucked Sohyun wasn't the same as that girl.
And you keep telling her:
You think I'm not enjoying every moment with you? That day, we fucked like lovers. You cup her cheeks with one hand and her glazed lips point out duck-like. I'll show you what I like.
You bundle two fingers - index and ring - down her mouth, until her throat closes and she half-gags. Eyes fill with these tears and she tries to straighten herself. All the while, your fingers are still down there, and it makes it hard for her breathe but -
She's fucking climaxing, barely keeping her hands on her lap. A breathless moan escapes her and you take this opportunity to let your fingers in deeper. Her chest jerks, a tear goes down her left cheek as your knuckles bump her teeth.
Roughly: good girl.
White-knuckled against her spit-trickled dress shirt that won her millions in lawsuits. Just then, you pull your fingers out, and she finally gets to swallow down.
There's this unscrupulous contradiction you keep thinking about: you read about the dadaists and about how they contradict everything they see and you thought: what a bunch of fucking clowns. About how the world's at peace and the dadaists would actually want war rather than peace and all of it was so incorrigible - so unfathomable. Until you met Sohyun, this trailblazing lawyer in need of an assistant who would do her grunt work. The internship experience seemed great and all but the days were hell. An attitude that betrayed her beauty (or supported it). By the 3rd week you were telling your parents that you'd rather become a line cook than anything ambitious, anything that could take them out of suburban mortgage hell. Then the day after that you came inside her and everything crumpled.
Your spit-slick fingers wrapped around your cock and you fisted it gently, just inches away from her mouth. She couldn't help but move forward, but you pin her head again and she's completely mindless - obeying any mechanic of hers that'll grant her a feather of stimulus.
You tap your cock against her tongue. You could see the way her lips twitched to close, but she seemed to contextualize enough to know that anything that you didn't allow - would be swiftly punished. And maybe now everything was dawning on her:
That you enjoyed sex with her rather than the opposite - that sex may not be just about desperation and grisly bounces and broken penises (oh the horror!) and hoarse-broken throats. That it's supposed to be as intimate as the day you came inside her.
Because this? This was heady, broken, and embarrassing - and all of it was happening in her own office bathroom that she shares with subordinates. One mistake and she's kicked off the ladder.
And yet:
I want all of it. I want it. I want it.
You could see how her cloudy eyes mechanized - she was about to cum again - you let your tip on her tongue and she's already around the cycle again. You press the heft of your shaft into her mouth and push in gently. Push in gently because she already came, push in gently because you want to savor - for a few moments longer - how she crumples under you.
You're gentle with it, letting her set the pace, letting her get breaths between strokes. She anchors herself, and this control you give her makes her shiver - even the way her throat clenches when she goes too deep has that particular tremor.
She pulls back to breathe, a strand of saliva still connects your tip and her lower lip. And she's staring at the corded red-tipped shaft, speechless.
Stand up
She does, her skirt crumpled just a way's up. She's expectant, wanting something. But this wasn't a day for her wants.
You grab the waistbands of her panties and nylon, pull it down midway and her pussy's just glistening - all-pink, heady, musky, almost pulsing.
Hold your skirt up
And she does, further surrendering to your hand around her throat. And everything was a bit clearer:
You began fisting your spit-slick cock again, pointed down to her panties. Another embarrassing and heady position she can't seem to get enough of: Her eyes are full of will-you's and wants that she can't act on. You press a thumb over her pulse - grunting more hunch-backed trying to not spray your cum too early - and you tighten, tighten until she grips your forearms and loses her breath for just a second - then you release. There's this rush of inhales and exhales as she catches some air and you repeat it - until, just until, you press harder than you've done before and you cum all over her panties. Cloudy liquid dotting her skirt, the floor, the nylon , the front of her pussy, and all over the panties.
Fuck.
Is all she says, can say. You pin her jaw to the side so that she can't look at you, only the door, the cruel door that may open for a coworker - and you jolt closer, scooping a bit of your cum and letting two fingers enter her just then. And she's already climaxing, screaming in her own hand.
This is what happens when I do what I want.
Your nose is buried into her exposed throat and your fingers throttling her pussy. your callused hand scraping the hood of her clit, your hooked finger rubbing that spot that makes her legs splinter half-way. You take your fingers out and mash the front of her pussy with the heel of your palm before going into her again. She's rolling with how your cum-slicked fingers penetrate her.
Her body finally gives out and that's when you hug her, your fingers still slotted into her.
In truth, I can't fuck you the way I fucked her - whatever mystical conception of you have of her. Your fingers finally slow their rolls. I want to enjoy my time with you, not treat you like trash.
And her reply, as best as it could be presented: a wet kiss, hands wrapped around you, grasping the hair behind your head.
Her kiss fluttered gently as you finally let her have one final climax.
I love you.
a/n: let me know if yall want the au I came up with that sets the background of this story lmao.
I'd assume you already know this one is coming. So, Ontology, well i kind of finished that one way quicker than i expected myself, i guess because it's a Gawon fic, well a Barney's comeback - Gawon fic which is even better as it is. First of all, the warning, i think you could've spare that and just say Grieving death and give us an early false warning just to play with our feelings even before starting the reading.
Alright, gonna try to keep it short-ish from here. Well first of all the grieving part was honestly pretty gloom ( i guess as it should be ), then to that little boy and the pocky thing, good lord that one was quite something too, feels like a random extra jab out of nowhere but hey all the doom and gloom kind of serving as the unexpected bridge to build a connection was... well it was something.
Above it all, got to say love just how romantic it gets, the buildup from there is just so lovely, the uneasiness, the shadows of her lingering around, the little revelation from the bar guy, then the knob consultation, like, considering it was not even that long of a buildup, but the pacing just felt right, it felt just enough to justify all the feelings leading to the final act.
Which leads to that damn text, like, wow? Having that prolonged text of self reveal and confession, just basically opening herself fully there and all, the little different things in people combining, i mean that text alone was kind of hopelessly romantic in its way, add to that how she responded with it was supposed to be a loser text, where she'd expect it to be read later not sooner and all, just those little moments felt so cute and sweet and everything, combined with how damn good you made the dialogues flow, the exchanges and all making it even cuter.
Have i mentioned how i loved the way you described her too? Especially with those big eyes because my lord does she has such a beautiful eyes. The little moment at the end where she saying she's not leaving was really cute too. Also, love this sort of format, where the smut is just the cherry on top? Like, especially with you i can just sit and read like 20-30k words of just dialogues and stuff and it will still feel very seamless, but still, the sex itself was rather cute(?) considering how kind of desperate she is for it after the unexpected "showing up after i sent that loser text at one in the morning" stuff. It is at this moment my train of thoughts come to a sudden stop and i'm not sure if i can finish my yap well or think if i have said my piece well enough.
Did i say i'll keep it short? Oh well. But hey, once again, SO DAMN HAPPY TO HAVE YOU BACK AGAIN BARNEY! If there's anything better aside that you finally came back, with a Gawon fic, well it has to be the "Part one of two". Can't wait for the next part but of course take your time with it.
Yeah my train of thoughts are gone. I lied about keeping it short. Welcome back. Much love and take care Barney đ
Oh shin-nim... you are so perfect đđ
Half the reason i came back was because of you. In hindsight the doom and gloom would've settled better if i'd included gawon's back story from the second part in the first part (she was grieving about her career - grief unites you both together and you both move on!). But honestly thanks for reassuring me. I lost alot of momentum from the previous year and writing felt a little hard but comments like these just make my entire year, especially from you - shin-nim!!!!
LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU LOVE YOU
am I tweaking or what happened to the chaewon fic? that was such a good story and I was looking forward to the next part... unless you're working on it? đ đ đ
There was another ask that asked about the chaewon fic so here it is!
I'm actually pretty embarrassed by my own writing as time progresses, and the chaewon one was a purge including some other fics... I might keep up the chaewon though cause it was pretty well liked (i think??)
For now... idk, I might just write a single that replaces the chaewon-sized black hole i decided to tear into my masterlist
One must admire your monkish habits: your devotion to a closed loop of domestic stations that lead nowhere and end at the beginning. Your legs still carry you because your body remembers what the soul has abandoned; and the body, unlike the soul, does not require reasons.
The lacquer smudged into the wood floor beside the bed in an accident you no longer remembered the circumstances of but you had once, in the early months, tried to scrape away with a butter knife before stopping midway through in a kind of dismal un-moving horror, a revulsion at your own hands, at the efficiency of how a body can remove totems she left behind.
The remaining smudge was half-removed and half-preserved and, like an argument, interrupted and never resolved - which in this case was better than resolving: you can remember, everyday, that lacquer, her favorite lacquer.Â
The closet was the next totem. You opened it and stood inside the frame of it - because it wasnât luxuriant enough to be walk-in, just frame-in - and breathed. It was lavender and coffee, still. Still! It was fading, but you did the load-bearing mechanics of making sure the air outside and the air inside donât mingle. Of course, these load-bearing mechanics were keep-sake insurances of making sure you donât give way in the closet and weep with her fabric stippled to your face. [1]
[1] Which had happened, more than once.
Sheâd sold most of her clothes in secret to pay for the treatments. The remaining few hung like survivors at a reunion where most are gone. [2]
[2] Like the year-ends of AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) meetings, the remaining few with hair barely attached to their scalps. Of women and men alike - all red-eyed - sobriety takes a toll as any other substance.
In the kitchen remains her broken plates. She had broken them on the infirm day of ârealizingâ, âdawningâ, that this wasnât ordinary - her arms just gave way. You kept them the way you kept everything she left: totally indiscriminate. Everything in the same place as she left them; if you begin forgetting, let there be totems.
The tupperware she left in the fridge. Her last meal, the one she couldnât finish, still inside, and you opened the fridge and looked at it every morning. No mold and no smell. You did not believe in signs but you didnât throw it out either, and in it lies the difference: a territory of half-belief half-not so all-consuming that entire religions were founded, and you, a man who read the entire discouraging bibliography of Western Thoughtâą on the subject of death and its aftermath, could not place yourself with any confidence. The tupperware was simply there and that was that - to adjudicate.
Beyond totems, a coworker had recommended Vietnamese coffee on account of your comments on low energy (his recommendation goes: âThis will fuck you up. Seriously, for cardiac events only.â And thatâs all you needed, really.)Â
Of course: it did nothing. You drank the bitter of it at the counter, standing and not sitting at the table for two. The whole emotional calculus of sitting on the table for two was exhausting and destructive so you opted to just stand. It wouldâve made her laugh, this blunt solution.
She had a laugh that involved her whole body, a laugh that bent her forward at the waist and put her hand on whatever was nearest - your knee, your stomach, your shoulder, your forearm. And because the laugh was like that, it conscripted you - you joined her to laugh at whatever. Her laugh was the last thing you heard in your head at night. It remained itself, unlike the perfect song which eventually dis-morphs and degrades. And this was either a mercy or a cruelty that you couldnât decide on. Her whisker-touched smile still lives in your mind endlessly.Â
You drove across town to see her. It was muscle memory, this track. Like it were on rails or those toy trains that you had to pull off the track just to keep them from moving in that particular way. Past the elementary school where someone had misspelled CONGRATULASHIONS on a banner that no one had removed.
And this was a fact that you and her talked extensively about. Like the âwicked bibleâ, in which the word 'not' was omitted from the seventh commandment: âThou shalt commit adultery.â The printers were fined and most copies were destroyed. She laughed about this extensively, her hand was on your belly so you laughed about it too.
Past the Presbyterian church whose sign read GOD'S LOVE IS UNCONDITIONAL but whose parking lot was gated and locked on weekdays, a contradiction you had pointed out to her once in the passenger seat and she had laughed, that laugh, bending forward, her hand on your knee, and you would give anything, anything, your hands, your degrees, the entire corpus and every footnote you'd ever written about it, for that laugh, for the fact of her diaphragm contracting, for the air that came out of her and hit the dashboard and fogged it for a half-second in January, proof of breath, proof of life.
The cemetery was simple. It had none of the Baroque funerary elements, the weeping angels and obelisks and mausoleums built on the scale of modern-age buildings, that the Europeans enjoy as architectural entitlement. Someone with a worn-down clipboard sketching his children had designated it (it was a simple flat land) for the storage of the dead, and the dead, being dead, had not objected.
In all honesty, it was a fairyland. The grass moved in a single direction, always shimmering. Just the light, the grass and the quiet.
You brushed the night dust off the stone with your palm. You rearranged some flowers the strong wind had shifted.
âHinton,â you said.
The bird - a handsome blue jay - on the branch above you tweeted. It was probably experiencing zero spiritual continuity with your dead wife. It wanted seeds or it wanted a different branch.
âHe got drunk at his own birthday. Classic. John and I set up this surprise for him, collectorâs editions of the board games he plays - you know Hinton, the way he is about board games, the obsessive joy - you wouldâve said we spoiled him.â
You pulled up a blade of grass. Split it down the center with your thumbnail.
âI drove him home and he went into one of his drunk rambles - he was like: âyouâre the best friend ever, and Iâm sorry for being such an unreliable junior. Please forgive me.â It was a whole thingâŠâ you showed a grin, âIâll talk to him today. Heâll probably hide from me in the breakroom like last time.â
'Anyway.' You brushed the grass off your palms. 'I'm trying. You told me to move on so I'm - I don't know. I'm moving somewhere. Not sure it's somewhere good, probably more like moving around⊠but I'm moving.'
You touched the top of the gravestone. 'I'll come back Thursday. Same time.'
You stood, took one look at the grassland - the blades still synchronized, leaning east - and walked back to the car.
-
Work.[1]
[1] Where, among other things, you are technically required to sit in a chair that a facilities team selected from a catalog in that has never been comfortable for anyone, and where the same three people microwave the same fish every Thursday, where your manager sends emails at midnight with the subject line 'Quick thought' that are never quick and never just one thought and are torture-like-borrowed-from-Hubei-province. You survive this, and you survive managers.
After work you made the familiar turn away from home opposite your home. Toward a bar with no legible sign, or a sign so rain-damaged it had become a Rorschach test. You saw Reilly's. Hinton swore it was Kelly's. The barkeep, when asked, said:
It didn't matter.Â
You parked a short distance away. There was parking closer, by the trees, but you liked to walk. Taste the town air. Let the breeze move through your hair, down your back.
The bell above the door rung, the barkeep nodded, and a few regulars glanced your way, grinning, throttled by their own worries.
You ordered some beer. Grabbed a napkin to fold into disarray and disfigure.
An unfamiliar face on the stool next to you. A girl. Beautiful, but that's not what you noticed first. What you noticed was that she sat down like someone who'd been walking a long time - this tired huff of a person without energy.
'Vodka with Coke Zero,' she said to the barkeep.
Coke Zero?
Not even a real Coke with vodka? She's cutting sugar on a vodka coke. She wants to get drunk but she doesn't want the calories. Or she wants to get drunk and wants to taste nothing while she does it. Or, and this thought arrived without permission: somebody had trained her, at some point, to read everything that entered her body at the molecular level. Just a hunch.
'It's something I developed early on,' she said. Not to you exactly, to the irreverent watchers in the void.
'People give a side eye - or cant help it - when I order it.' She turned now. 'I just like to explain myself.'
'Right.' You took a sip. 'So what brings you here. This is a mid-career panicked people's gathering zone.' You offer the appeal of a bar in layman's terms.
'My career is over.' She picked up her glass when it arrived. Held it but didn't drink, more like staring into it, just a hint off the color of cola. 'I'm arguably deeper into it than you are.' A slight grin from her.
You offered one back. A smaller, more defiant one.
The ambience filled the space between you: it was quiet for a while, someone fed the jukebox, someone else laughed too loud at nothing.
'I like hearing stories,' she said.
'Hm?'
'Tell me a story. I came to this bar for a reason.'
'For stories.' You reply, unmoved.
'Yeah. You 'mid-career panicked people' (air-quotes) have the best ones.'
'What, you want me to tell you about my office life? My daily wars with the printer?'
'Come on.' She took a sip now. Finally. 'You know what I'm talking about. Drink more beer and talk to me.' She set her glass down. 'You people and your privacy. Hmph.'
You took a longer sip this time. Set the glass down. Looked at the counter, at the grain of the wood.
-
A decade ago and then some, when you were around 17, you were an intern at the local konbini, working the register. It was an old town and you needed cash to see your friends. The town was what it was: old people getting older. The days of today no different from the days of then.
You helped old people, mostly. They couldn't see a meter ahead. They moved as slow as weather.
Your manager worked the back. Drank, smoked, handled storage. He stayed out of everyone's way and everyone stayed out of his. Another clerk worked beside you, a much older man who was, from the outset, cruel. Someone who had hardened into meanness the way a bone sets wrong after a bad fracture.
Once, a boy came into the store. Clothes dirty. Hair past his ears, tangled. He went to the middle aisle, the half-priced day-old section, and picked up some food. His sleight of hand was poor. You could see his wrist dip toward his pocket.
He was stealing.
But it was out of the clerk's line of sight. And you didn't say anything. [1]
[1] You must add that this was a period of great ideological upheaval in your life. You were exposed to a greater array of people, cultures, ideas. And the idea of a small boy fending for himself by stealing out of the day-old section was the just the idea that seemed to be your way of "fighting the system".
He paid for the items outside his pocket and left (a common way of pretending you were there for those specific - barely a dollar in total - items).
This became routine, he showed up regularly, but the cash he carried seemed to thin each time. The bills more run-down. The coins fewer.
By then you'd been dating your wife for about a month. When she heard the story, her heart broke at the possibilities. A world that excluded children in need. And without needing to think much about it, she intervened.
She followed him. Found where he lived: a run-down apartment complex. Other children running in and out through a side entrance. That was all the information she could gather that day.
Then one day, one horrible day, you couldn't block the clerk's view. The boy pocketed something and the clerk saw it happen. He jumped the counter and tackled the boy. Yelling, furious, but not punching - for what it was worth.
The clerk had his arms wrenched behind his back. You don't remember the order of things. Adrenaline had eaten the sequence. Somehow you got the clerk off and took the boy.
And then the boy told you everything.
He was living with his brother and sisters in an apartment with no lighting, no heating, no anything - they weren't old enough to actually pay the utilities. Their mother had been a sex worker who got pregnant one too many times; but had changed her life, yet the reputational damage in patriarchal Japan was too deep. No employer would take the chance, she moved across the country to find work. Labor, service, anything.
For a while she sent money; envelopes, sometimes just bills folded into notebook paper. The boy used it to take care of his family. He told you he'd bought a small piano for his older sister. She'd been saving for one. A really small one.
Then the envelopes stopped coming in and the worst case scenario came to fruition: disappearance.
You thought about jail. Too many things had gone wrong in sequence. Day after day, one thing after another.
You offered help - money, groceries⊠even adoption - he refused.
The only thing he accepted: you'd leave food at the back door of the konbini. So that's what you did. Every shift, you told the manager you were clearing old inventory. It was almost always perfectly fine food, just a day past its label. You collected a bag and brought it to the back door. He'd be there. You set the bag down. He picked it up. Neither of you said much.
She hadn't interrupted once. Her glass was half-empty. She hadn't touched it since you'd started.
One day their entire family came into the store. You saw them through the automatic doors. A small procession, close together. The boy, his brother, his sisters. And next to him a girl, slightly older, slightly more composed. She didn't look like she lived with the rest. She had jewelry on, a heavy bag that etched its weight on to the shoulders of her clothes.
Only the boy and the girl went into the aisles. A minute later he came to the register carrying at least a dozen boxes of strawberry Pocky. The chocolate-covered kind. He set them on the counter one at a time carefully.
The girl paid. She had the money folded in her palm. She'd been holding it the whole time. You didn't understand yet.
Weeks later you pieced it together. From fragments. From neighbors in the complex. From absence:Â
The smallest sister had died. You never learned how. After that it was no longer possible for them to go on as they were. They would all dissolve into the orphanage system they once escaped from. An abandoned family whose only structure was proximity, whose only comfort was staying together, had been broken from the inside.
The Pocky was their final meal together. A dozen boxes of strawberry Pocky, paid for by the older girl who wasn't even in their family. [2]
[2] An artificially produced box of chocolate-covered biscuits that is a snack for most was an unfathomable luxury to them.
And that was the humble goodbye.
The apartment was empty, the nearby vicinity that you and your girlfriend spent hours carefully observing was also empty.
But he left you something. Because he couldn't read, he couldn't write a letter. What he left was a note card. Their family tree, not larger than a few lines. It traced back only to their great-grandfather. It was provided by the government. You could tell by the creases, he'd been carrying it a long time.
-
You looked at her. She hadn't moved, two thin lines ran from her eyes past her jaw, dried partway from not wiping, leaving faint salt tracks on her skin.
'That's⊠heartbreaking.'
You reached into your coat pocket and fished out your wallet. Some maneuvering later you slid the note card onto the bar, his family lineage in ink, names he couldn't read of people who were permanent. You had laminated it years ago but the edges had gone to that opaque whiteness that laminated things get when the plastic starts to give. Then you pulled out a small box of chocolate-almond Pocky.
'Since you extracted my best material,' you said, tapping the box, 'I'm making you eat this.'
She let out a breathless laugh with closed eyes and more water pushed to her eyelashes. She grabbed a cocktail napkin and dipped the corner to her eyes, makeup still fine, and hitched her stool a little closer and pulled a stick from the foil.
'Not the strawberry?'
'They were out today, I made do.'
You tipped a biscuit into your mouth, she ate hers in two quick bites.
'And no signs?' she asked after a while, looking at the ceiling, blinking too much. 'Nothing from them since?'
'Nothing. They vanished into the system, the place they spent their entire time running from.'
You took another sip from the beer. The chocolate and the almonds mixed with the hops - terrible combination but it grounds you.
You traced the handle of the mug. 'So, your turn, give me something.'
She sat up and started tearing the napkin into strips. 'You know what's embarrassing? You'd think I'd have a vault. I aggressively interrogate every stranger I sit next to. I'm a parasite. But my own life?' She shook her head. 'Barren.'
'I don't believe you.'
'It's true! My little sister can't stand me because I spent my sensitive years scolding her instead of being a human being. And I've been trying to fix it by buying her favorite salt bread every time I see her and she still treats me like I'm collecting a debt, which, okay, fair. I have a degree in media and communications from NYU. I buy hand creams that cost too much. That's it, that's the whole person, fully accounted for.'
'I wholly reject that.'
'Reject away. I'm twenty seven years old and my biography fits on the back of a receipt.' She sighed. 'My life hasn't happened yet.' She tilted her head and squinted at you. 'Yours clearly has. You've already gone grey.'
'I have not gone grey.'
'You have. There.' She pointed at a spot above your ear.
'That is the lighting in this bar, which, as we've established, is terrible.'
'It's not the lighting.' She pulled out her phone and flipped the camera and held it up to your face with the prosecutorial confidence of someone presenting exhibit A. 'Look at that - right there - look at it.'
You looked. There it was.
'Forensic evidence.' She said.
'You're dismantling me.'
'How old are you?'
'Thirty.'
'Thirty⊠huh.'
'What does huh mean.'
'It's paradoxical. You have grey hair but you're -' She put the phone away and looked at you properly. 'You're conventionally⊠attractive - which I realize is a weird qualifier.'
'It's a hell of a qualifier. Conventionally attractive. I haven't heard anything like that in years.'
You turned forward and leaned into the bar and took a long sip.
'Don't let that be the case,' she said.
-
'So,' Gawon said.
'So.'
'What about your wife?'
The jukebox switched tracks and the bassline rattled up through the wood of the bar into your forearms.
'She's not around.'
She stopped tracing her glass. 'I pry too much. I'm sorry.'
'She died,' you said. 'Two years ago. She was sick for a long time before that, years, and then the doctors gave her two years and she died in two years. No miraculous survival. A cruel linear fate, if you will.'
She didn't say anything. She picked up one of the napkin strips she'd been tearing and folded it in half, then in half again, pressing the crease with her thumbnail.
'People always want to know about the end,' you said. 'Like if they know how it ended they can file it and move on. But the part that stays with you is the middle. The eighteen months where she was still walking around and eating cereal and making fun of me for how I loaded the dishwasher, except now there was this calendar behind everything.'
'What do you mean?'
'I mean she did the same things but they had dates on them now. She'd hold a mug of coffee and I'd think: she's holding a mug of coffee and she has fourteen months left. She'd fall asleep on the couch with the TV on and I'd carry her to bed and I'd think the number; every time, the number was always in the room.'
Gawon had stopped folding, the strip of napkin was between her thumb and finger, half-creased.
'What was her name?' A flash went across her eyes, realizing some etiquette she'd crossed, 'Sorry, it's instinct.'
'Jiwoo. And she was sick.'
'You're very precise about it.'
'I've had practice. People ask, and you develop a version that has the most information density.'
'Is this the optimized version?'
'The long one takes two years. This one, maybe twenty words or so. True distillation.'
She laughed, then didn't, and the not-laughing was louder than the laughing. She set the napkin strips parallel to each other on the bar, a small row of them, evenly spaced.
'I had a tape recorder when I was nine. I walked around recording everything. I thought if I collected enough of the world it'd make sense to me.'
'And it never made sense,' you finish her sentence.
'I'm twenty-seven and I'm stillâŠ'
'At least you upgraded to interrogating strangers in person.'
'Lateral move at best.' She bunched up the strips and balled them together neatly.
'You're not a parasite,' you said. Because you could see her thinking it.
She blinked, 'What?'
'The self-loathing. I can smell it in the air. You sit down next to a stranger and call yourself a story vampire and probably a myriad of things less-vocalized. But you're a good listener, among other things.'
'That's -' she started.
'And you're disgustingly educated.' You pause, 'Meant to be a good thing.'
'I know.' She was turning the balled napkin around in her fingers, this tight little sphere.
Then she set the napkin ball on the bar and pushed it a few inches toward you, this little offering, and left her hand there.
You looked at the napkin ball, and then at her hand resting next to it on the wood, and then you put your hand next to hers. Close enough that the sides of your pinkies were almost touching, this near-miss of contact, and neither of you closed the gap. Her fingers were cold from holding her dead vodka for the last hour and yours were warm from the glass and you could feel the difference in temperature without touching.
She closed it - her fingers on the knuckles of your hand.
You looked at her hand on your hand and then up at her face. She had been turning toward you in degrees all evening, a few degrees after the konbini story, a few more after the Pocky, and now the rotation was complete, the full face, and the full face was the one that should've garnered millions of fans, should've been plastered across billboards and the like: the strong jaw and the enormous eyes and the honey skin and it couldn't be undone by a coat collar any more than it could be undone by an ocean.
You looked at her and she looked at you, and whatever was happening in that look went on for a period of time that you would not be able to report accurately to anyone afterward, and you thought about leaning forward, and you could see that she was thinking about the same thing.
She jerked her hand back. Some uncomfortable ring in the air, suddenly exposed.
'I'm -' she cleared her throat, suddenly hyper-aware, the men arguing behind you, the clinks of pints, blush-full. She grabbed her phone on the counter, the screen lighting up in that unforgiving white, her eyes crumpling just a tad. 'It's late. I should go. I have a⊠thing.'
'Right.' The cold rushed back to fill the space. You slipped your hand back into your coat pocket. 'A thing.'
'It was nice meeting you.' She was already standing, shrugging her bag onto her shoulder, tossing a crumpled twenty-dollar bill onto the bar. She didn't look you in the eye. Couldn't.
You paid the tab and tipped the barkeep with the $20 she left. You drove back home, never did your steering wheel feel so damn cold.
-
A few days pass in anticlimactic routine: the smudges and scraps left behind by your wife; the boring morning routine, without fail: scrambled eggs more rubbery than anything else, tie that pulls your collar a smudge too tight, a burgeoning rash that becomes the bane of your day; the boring drive there and fro; but there lived a single thought: her. Just her in your mind. A human mind suffering nothing tastes something and it's in a death spiral: her and her and her smudged all over your mind.
By lunch, you catch yourself rewinding a moment: the way her thin fingers held your beer mug, how it slanted just a bit due to the weight of it in her enclosed fist. You shake it off. By dinner, it's back: her big eyes staring right into you, her praline lips slightly coloring the edge of the mug. By the end of the day you're not thinking about her so much as you're failing to think about literally anything else.
A distinction that drives you delirious in-place.
But as things go, she'll become as boring as the rest of your routine - her lip smears, her eyes, her jaws, they'll all be as old as yesteryear's yesterday!
Three weeks pass like this, in this paradoxical anticipatory cluster-fuck that your life's turned into. Your eyes flit towards nooks she may reside in, crannies where she could be wandering. No luck.
The bar's on the radar now, standard Friday protocol, your life's out of balance and yet your routine never flails. You park by the tree, cram your keys in your pockets (this you never used to do, cram everything in anything and find yourself a minute or two earlier than routine.)
The bell rings and the familiar air surrounds you. You pass into the sunken floor, and sit on the cushioned seat that you adjust a few levels lower (even lowering your seat reminds you of her, how she sat a few levels higher on the chair. You sipped beer and looked at the chair for a good half-hour after she left.)
The barkeep set a beer in front of you without asking. You held it and looked at the toothpick cylinder that seemed to never finish (or be used), the steady lines ingrained into the table -
'Hey. Where's the lass?' You look up and the barkeep's looking at you, towel in hand cleaning the inside of a large mug.
'Sorry?'
Where's the lass? He repeated again - a bar's a deceivingly loud place, not a sensory deprivation tank but a sensory deprivation furnace.
'She's gone. I mean - I don't really know.'
'Pity,' he held the mug to the light, squinted, resumed wiping. 'She was a good tipper; we don't get good tippers 'round here.' He looked pointedly at your coat. 'I take a peek of your pockets and it's as if there's nothing there at all.'
You offered a laugh, 'That actually begs the question: have you seen her around here?'
'Sure did -'
'When?' The words come out rushed.
'Two weeks ago. Around that timeframe.' He set the mug down, inverted it on the rubber mat. 'I see too many faces to pin it exactly. She was here -' He pointed at the stool she'd sat on, the one next to yours, and for a second the gesture made the empty seat worse. 'Drank some beer. Left it half-full.' He put his hand on his chest. 'Now that really broke my heart, I'll tell you.'
'She left it half-full?'
'Half a perfectly good pint. Just sitting there. I nearly held a funeral.' He picked up another glass. 'And she left fifty as tip.'
'Fifty?'
'Fifty.' He said it with the quiet satisfaction of a man recounting a religious experience.
'It's what I deserve serving you tight-pocketed bastards.' He belly laughs this time.
You grin back. Then: 'how was she?'
'Looked great. Bloody supermodel, everyone's taking a look at her. Respectfully, of course.' He paused. 'Respectfully-adjacent. This is still a bar.'
'Right.'
'Funny thing.' He leaned on the counter, thick forearms plodding on the table, 'she asked about you.'
Your eyebrows jump, mouth turning into a line. 'She asked about me.'
The barkeep continued, 'I told her your routine, when you come and all the details - probably what you wanted anyway.'
'Yet you haven't seen her since?'
'Nope.' He picked up the towel, folded it - halved, halved again. 'Gone.'
He moved down the bar toward a regular whose glass had been empty long enough to warrant a grievance. You stayed on your stool, traced the mug, let the seat beside you, the one raised a few levels higher, stay in your vision.
It drives you beyond crazy.
--
Saturday. You woke up into the natural circuit: lacquer, closet, plates, then the fridge.
You opened the closet this time. The lavender was almost gone.
Reading. You leaned into the soft leather couch, just worn in enough. You held the spine of a large book, slightly giving way, crusty from the glue that didn't set properly, a certain charm you enjoyed. You flipped pages, the smell of the library through each one.
Laundry. You had a lot of dark clothing that had to be washed. Most of your wardrobe was dark; in hindsight buying clothes that you thought to be mellow has turned into an eye-sore: black on top of black.
Outside, grass, birds. It's all routine, until you heard this pressured howl from the bathroom. The pipe under the sink, the joint where copper met the shut-off valve corroded into a hairline fracture. It was weeping, hissing water. You hadn't bothered to check because the light had given off the same mellow hiss. But it was un-ignorable now, the fracture expanded, the wood of the cabinet floor that received the drippings dark and swollen, a faint mildew marking its presence.
You twisted the rusty valve at the joint until the beading and the hissing stopped. You stood up, the cuffs of your shirt now falling slowly down the length of your arm, beads of water that gave off the scent of rotten wood dripping down your fingers.
You cleaned yourself up and drove to the hardware store. Near the same lot, close to a familiar light and tree that held that nearby lot. You told an employee you recognized, who has this misfortune of prescribing flex tape to any and all complications because the store hadn't bothered to train him. He disappeared into the back to presumably grab flex tape.
You waited in plumbing. An aisle full of copper joints, PVC elbows, rubber gaskets. Another employee came through pushing a tall ladder cart stacked with inventory boxes, the kind that fills an aisle like a wall.
You stepped to give space. You let out a sudden breath before your lips clasped shut.
She was on the other side. She wasn't looking at you, opposite in fact. She was already holding a door knob and tape. She was wearing the same coat, her hair pulled back this time.
The ladder cart passed and took the wall with it and now there was nothing between you and her except eight feet of linoleum and a shelf of reduced-price caulking guns.
The PA system was listing a sale on exterior paint, a child was screaming about something two aisles over, and a rattle of the ventilation unit that been especially worse in these microseconds.
She turned to reach for something in the shelf behind her and her swept across the aisle the way eyes do in a hardware store. [1]
[1] Beyond fathers, the hardware store is a place of mystique and mystery. A place of banality and stale nothingness. You must swipe your eyes across every shelf because some item was misplaced by some bored child that carried the drill to the caulk section.
And in this banality, she met your eyes. The door knob was in her hands, tape in the other.
How to describe the moment a face you've been assembling from fragments, disassembling them all over again - lip-smudge on a glass, knuckles on a counter, the pitch of that deep laugh - suddenly coheres into an actual person. There's no word.
'Hi,' you said. Which wasn't exactly the best thing to say, but what else? You met somebody you thought about 24/7 and she's just there. She was even prettier than before, maybe because everything else was getting fried under 7,000 lumens of commercial lighting and she was just resistant.
'What are you doing here.'
'Pipe broke under the sink, the valve area corroded into some - ' Out of words, you imitate a burst of water with your hands.
She blinked, twice, rapidly. 'Plumbing supplies?'
'I'm waiting for an employee who went into the back fifteen minutes ago and may have died there.'
The ends of her lips tipped upward. She held up the door knob. 'Mine fell off.'
'It just fell off?'
'The whole knob. It's been loose since September. I've been meaning to fix it but one day⊠well today⊠it just fell off.'
'Which door.' You ask.
'Bathroom, I've been closing it with a towel wedged under the gap. It works, but I decided that I wanted to be a person who fixes things. The evidence is not compelling, I know.' She said, with tape and a door knob in her hands.
And thus: blissful awareness, you were standing in a hardware store in the clothes you'd been doing laundry in, cuffs damp from the pipe, holding nothing, caught in the wild by the person your mind had been coring itself around for three weeks.
And the setting was PVC elbows and caulk and under square-ceiling'd bright lights that did no good for complexions.
'You - ' her eyes traced over you again, your messy clothes. 'You look like you were in the middle of something.'
'I was in the middle of a Saturday.'
And here is where a different man - a man less soldered into routine, a man whose every gesture hadn't been load-tested against the possibility of feeling something - would have said: have dinner with me, come back to the bar, sit next to me, don't leave this time. [2]
[2]A different man would've at least had dry clothes on, no matter the instance.
Instead you looked at the door knob in her hand, 'That's the wrong size.'
'What?'
'For an interior door. That's exterior hardware. The bore's too wide - it won't seat right.'
She turned it over, 'are you sure?'
'I know a lot of useless things. Knobs happen to be one of them. Well, it depends if the whole thing fell off or just the knob.'
'Just the knob.'
You stepped closer and pointed at the shelf lower than the one she was looking at. 'This one - ' You ended on a note that was higher than how you intended for it to end. Because of the simple fact that you were closer to her. Close enough to smell the citrus in her perfume, the shampoo that smelled just like honey.
She grabbed a knob that was the same color and compared them, and put back the one that was bigger. 'This one.'
And you wanted to say seventeen things and answer in a thousand ways.
She turned to face you fully. Like at the bar (when her salt-tracked eyes stared at you fully - brilliant, brilliant, brilliantâŠ)
'Thank you,' she said. 'For the knob consultation.'
'Any time.'
'I should - '
'Yeah.' [3]
[3] What's different here: there's no alcohol. Let it be clear: the anonymity that you had at the bar was no more. You are two people who shared a beautiful evening, and have been building private mythologies around each other for three weeks⊠and there you are, both, in-the-flesh. Dry, physically, sure. Internally? Hell no. All of this intensity is funneled into the knob consultation. You teach her about passage sets because you cannot say what you really want to say. She listens with too much seriousness becauseâŠ
She retreated to the end of the aisle. She left just like the way she did at the bar. But there wasn't a bell above the door this time, no crumpled twenty on the counter.
'Sorry about the wait.' You turned towards the voice, it was the employee. 'We had to dig through overstock.'
Strangely, he got the right item: the valve kit. You went back home and fitted the new valve, tightened it until the beading and hissing stopped. You washed your hands, you ate something you wouldn't remember eating, laid back into the couch to read a book whose spine was giving way.
You read until you were drowsy and headed to bed. But you were woken up by a late message:
-
[number redacted] 1:09 AM:
I keep starting this wrong. I wrote four versions and deleted them, and I'm now writing about deleting them - which is 100% worse. This sort of meta-writing has always been a chore for me - I watch, I am invisible, it's hard to write about myself. But just because I'm invisible doesn't mean I don't exist, but still, there is no valid way to test it. Is there?
Because my life goes like so: I fall asleep on the train home from "work" but I get home anyway. I close my eyes and nothing happens. I close my eyes every now and then, just to test the waters, and find I'm still moving, being moved, walking through the turnstile with my eyes closed, held up and carried along by the routine. Am I invisible?Â
The lights flicker and the wheels clack. No one on the train can tell who's driving, so I let go of the imaginary wheel. I lean back in my plastic seat and let my shoulders drop. In the seat across from me, a man is reading something on his phone. His hands look familiar. And the woman standing by the automatic doors - her jaw, the set of her jaw strikes something deep inside me. Look at the grey at the temples of the guy in the coat two seats over! I know that grey! I've seen that grey on somebody else's head! All these parts trying to assemble themselves in front of me, as if to say let me in, I'm still here, hello hello, you know me, you know - I spent my life without making a mark - and then you sat next to me and looked at me, and now i can't ride a train without seeing you everywhere, which means I was seen, which means I exist in someone else's story, which means I'm not invisible anymore.
So here's the deal: I'm not invisible. You are proof of it.
Here I am in my apartment with the blue tape on every wall and nothing painted, waiting for you to find me. I could pretend I'm writing to everyone - assume a middle distance and transcend myself - but I'm writing to you and you know it.
There was one time, we were at the bar then, and you had just gone somewhere inside your head - I could see it happen, the departure, mid-sentence - and I almost said where did you just go? but I didn't because I was already somewhere too. It doesn't always matter where we are but here I am and I say hello, sitting next to you this time, just pretend I'm sitting next to you this time, please. You would like it here. Maybe you would like it here. I think that maybe you would like it here. There's painter's tape on the light switch and the spackle's the wrong grade and⊠and all these books have been slant-wise because I had been meaning to give you that one book that held the structural stability of an entire shelves worth of books⊠but you would like it here.
I work my jobs, I take my trains. Button the coat and go to work, unbutton the coat and go to sleep. I sleep. I dream. I wake. I collect. I get out the napkin and start writing down the things that affix the meaning to the evening, the inner life to the barstool, the names to the faces. I float too much to settle in the actual world. I envy your routine but that's the deal - you're a Friday and I'm a bar and when I try to guess your trajectory I end up telling my own story -Â
my own story⊠isn't that crazy?
But you are my stranger and I think about you sideways daily. Sideways because I have to cast it out in all directions, hoping it bounces off something and eventually finds you. You and your stool and your lager and your coat pockets that apparently contain nothing, if the bartender is to be believed.
I asked him for your number. I told him not to tell you, which is childish, and I'm sure he hasn't told you. It's been in my phone for eleven days, unsaved, filed under cowardice. (You alone can make eleven days feel like a year or two. I used to sleep eleven days! [1]) I've been rereading the evening. I think it's about me in a way that might not be flattering, but that's okay. We dream and dream of being known and then finally someone sits next to us and listens and we bolt. We leave a twenty on the bar and bolt. Anyway: story received, story kept. You looked at me long enough to see something underneath the prying. Thanks. Sometimes you get so close to someone you end up on the other side of them.
[1] subject to hyperbole. i dont sleep that much. im sure you know it's sarcastic but just in case, just in case.
So here we are: me being here and you being off the map and me sending this across the wires and hoping to be received. You're making me work for this and that's okay too. I was pushing too hard, asking too much, and you let me anyway, and yes, this has been the shape of it all along: a place for the story to land, the airport of someone else's listening.
The question I keep asking myself is do you have a real reason to send this and can you prove it? And of course there is no definitive answer. A sensible person would do the math. A sensible person would weigh the facts and arrive at a conclusion. People, they make it up as they go along. They find connections between things where there aren't any. They get strange about it, they refuse to call, they take it deep inside themselves and fold it into something unrecognizable and then they set it down on the table. Or they send it as a text to an unsaved number at one in the morning.
I had a tape recorder when I was nine. I walked around recording everything - the kettle, my sister fighting with the remote, traffic from the window. I thought if I collected enough of the world I could play it back and it would make sense. It never made sense.
That's what I do. I sit next to strangers and I press record and I leave. The leaving is the easy part. The part after the leaving - where the tape keeps playing even though you've pressed stop - I have no practice in.
Of course, I wonder if you think about it too, which is, really, beside the point. I don't do this to be thought about, I do it because the evening keeps getting bigger in my memory - really, unmovable - and that's just what happens.
So here we are again, words on a screen, the voice that wants to be a hand, the bridge with no opposite side. You're the only one. Sure, we invent each other. We agreed to that somewhere between the Pocky and the lager. Stranger and bartender's regular, Friday and the rest of the week. We do what we do and what I do is put the words on the screen and stare at them.
So here you are, reading this, expecting something. A reason perhaps, or an apology for bolting. You're ready and I'm ready too. Have you been waiting long? I've put it together for you, bundled it all up, because it's nice to put yourself inside someone's phone at one in the morning, like origami cranes and family trees and fifty-dollar tips. Here is a place for it to happen. A place where I can say it:
I'm not invisible. You are proof of it.
If you want, we could sit somewhere again. I'm good at sitting somewhere. You seem to be too. [2]
PS: the bartender gave me the exact times you come into the bar. I waited on a Friday where you were supposedly there. I sat in the car for about 20 minutes before bolting back home. Then I did it again. Your routines are rubbing off on me.
-
[2] I really had to add a Richard Siken reference into this fic. I bundled it up and made it specific to this story but I highly recommend reading the original. Here it is[https://web.archive.org/web/20211127225334/http://sporkpress.com/2_1/Pieces/Siken.htm]. Tears and more tears.
-
How many read-throughs did it take? Gawon sent you a thousand-word-and-then-some letter that held everything she ever held in these meek eleven days which held years for her. Years!
You can already imagine Gawon in the kitchen - or her voice ringing from the kitchen, spreading jam on that slighty burnt toast (because of course your charmful toaster is a little old-fashioned and selective with its burning) - and you're in your boxers and a t-shirt that has her perfume all over it. It's a living thing at this hour.
Utterly enthralled. A way to put it.
Then:
[number redacted] 1:21 AM: apt 4F at hannam residences
She sent her address.
You put on pants that were on the couch, your renovation pants. Paint-struck and everything else on it. Who gives a fuck. She's in the kitchen and you're in your boxers.
You picked up your keys and forgot your jacket. The November air hit like feathers. You drove fourteen minutes or a few seconds. You brain had read the letter, processed it and resigned then and there - what remained was a man in a car following the GPS voice.Â
It was a gated community. A slight drive up a hill. The gate opened anyway and there was nowhere to scrutinize where you were going with renovation clothes. There was no signage: only sleek limestone and tall windows that somehow had obscured the inside fo the apartments.Â
You parked your car in some discrete corner and moved across the units. The inside emanated that same sleek-style. Single orchid on a table that looked more expensive than it should've. You walked past the unmanned concierge desk, into the elevator that moved without a sound. Onto the fourth floor.
The hallway carpet ate your footsteps, must've been deeper than the sole of your shoes. 4A, 4B, 4C, all between large expanses of abstract art - what looked like Egon Schiele dupes but very well might've been the real pieces. You stopped at 4F. The door had a brass knob, just something you noticed.Â
You knocked.
There was airtight silence, nothing. It took longer -Â
the lock turned and the door swung inward and she was standing there in a t-shirt that ended just above the top of her thighs, barefoot on dark hardwood, hair down, holding her phone in one hand with the screen still lit - your conversation still open, that selection to delete the message still there.
She looked at you. At the jeans with the drywall dust and pain. The absence of a jacket. At the fact of you, standing in her hallway - routine man, never missed an hour out of routine - twenty-two minutes after she'd pressed send, hours after when you usually sleep.
'Hi,' you said.Â
'No'
'No?'
'No, you're not - you can't be here. That's not - I just sent that.'
'I know. I read it.'
'You read it and you drove here?'
'You put the address in the text.'
'The address was a - that was decorative! That was for ambiance! You were supposed to save it and think about it for several days and then maybe - we go our separate ways.'
'Your theory of mind needs work,' you joke, 'you sent the message and then the address. How can I not come?'
'Because one in the morning is when coward send things! That's the whole point of one in the morning! You send the thing and you go to sleep and you build your defenses in the daylight like a normal person!'
You looked at her, then to yourself. Pointing with your whole hand at what you're wearing - what pants were available, painted, maybe ripped, everything in between.
She stared at you, bit the inside of her cheek, looked at the ceiling as if there was a teleprompter there.
'Those areâŠ' She stepped into the door, one hand on the frame; pulling your wrist, 'come in before one of my neighbors calls someone.'
You stepped inside. She was right in front of you - undone at one in the morning - and behind her was lengths of painter's tape that had their edges peel off from not being used. And on the bathroom door, the correct knob lay seated - almost flush - a degree or two off, someone watched a tutorial and gotten close enough.
'You installed it,' you said.
She followed your eyes to the bathroom door. 'It took me forty minutes and a youtube video. The man kept referring to the screwdriver with its government name - phillips something something.'
She continued, 'it's crooked but it closes. I don't need it to be level, I need it to not fall off again while I'm in the shower, which is the bare minimum I'm asking of the objects in my life right now.' She walked past you to the kitchen - an open thing, marble island, fridge with its own weather system - and she picked up a glass that had been sitting there, which meant she'd been standing in this kitchen holding water before you knocked.
'Do you want something? I have water. I have some lager - the same lager.'
'The same lager?'
'I believe I made it clear, very clear, in a thousand-word-and-then-some letter at one in the morning, that I collected everything from our evening.' She opened the fridge, reached in. The inside was clean, organized. A whole pack of lager, unopened was the outlier. She'd bought it and never touched it.
She slipped you a bottle and a bottle for herself.
You sipped. It had, somehow, tasted better. Everything tasted better, the air, the beer, the residual citrus. Something more lucid to it, maybe it was the night, maybe it was Gawon.
'Verdict?'
'Better than the bar's.'
She grinned at that.
You looked at the taped wall. 'I was thinking about that door knob. But it seems you resolved that on your own. When did you do all this?' You point.
'July.'
'July.'
'Yes. The manifestation of procrastination. In my defence, though, I bought the tape. I bought the primer, I bought a roller and one of those little trays and I even bought the weird angled brush for the corners, because the woman at the store said corners are where amateurs fail, and I thought, right, I am not going to fail at corners. I was very precise with how I taped and then looked at all the tape and never touched the primer.'
She said this all in one breath.
'Your letter,' you said.
'We could also not.'
'The train part.'
'I described you as a composite corpse assembled from the body parts of subway passengers. I remember. Like organ harvesting. But I think there's relevant context before I -'
'You're not insane. Far from it. It made sense.'
'Made sense how?'
'I'd rather not say.'
'You fragment me into a composite corpse as well?'
'That's one way of putting it.'
'Which parts?' A grin appeared on her. Relieved, perhaps.
'Your fingers on the beer. The glass tilted because your hand's too weak for the mug.'
'That mug could house a family of four. It's a war crime.' Her hair fell forward over one shoulder, this dark curtain.'
'You should know,' she said, 'that I almost didn't send it. I wrote it in the Notes app. Which is where things go to die. I have forty-seven notes in that app and not a single one has become anything; grocery lists that I forget to consult the moment I enter the supermarket; ideas for prose; a pros-and-cons list about cutting my hair that I consulted for three months before making a decision I immediately regretted.'
She picked up the water glass. 'The point is, the app is a graveyard. The letter should've stayed there.'
'It didn't.'
'Because at twelve-fifty in the morning I moved it from the Notes app into the text field and the text field had this energy to it, I felt compelled to press it, it was like a jump pad. Once I pressed it, I tried my damned-est to delete it instantly. I caught my breath by reading it over and over and then you showed up before I went through with it.'
She continued, 'you coming was not part of the decision tree. The branches are: you text back something kind in the morning and we have a polite exchange and then slowly, tastefully, never speak again. And one where you don't reply and I delete everything and learn a valuable lesson about the Notes app being the correct final destination for my feelings.' She paused. 'There was no branch where you show up.'
'And yet.'
'You came.'
'You know why.'
'I want to hear a reason that isn't the letter. The letter is a thousand words of me being -' she waved her hand, 'unwell. Give me a reason that has nothing to do with the letter.'
You looked at the tape on her walls. The edges curling where the adhesive had given way a few months ago.
'The door knob,' you said.
'What?'
'At the hardware store. You were holding the wrong knob and I told you it was exterior hardware and you grabbed the right one and left. And I stood there in an empty aisle holding nothing and I thought: she's going to go home and install that by herself. She's going to watch a tutorial and get it a degree or two off and it's going to close but not perfectly and she's going to decide that's good enough.' You looked at the bathroom door, the knob seated almost flush. 'And I wanted to be there for that. Which is a stupid thing to want.'
She stared at you.
'That's your reason.'
'That's a reason.'
'That's -' she pressed her lips together. Looked at the ceiling. Blinked more than once. 'That's a really good answer and I need a second.'
'Take your time.'
'I'm going to stand here and be furious that you out-answered me in my own apartment after I wrote you the most embarrassing letter in the history of digital communication and you show up and say "door knob" and it's better than everything I wrote. That's -' She came around the island. Stood on your side now. 'That's not fair.'
She was close enough to see the goosebumps on your forearms where the cuffs were rolled. The strand of hair had fallen across her face again, the same one that had been refusing to stay put, and you reached across and pushed it off her face, finally, this stupid strand, and tucked it behind her ear and your thumb stayed on her cheekbone and she closed her eyes.
'You must've been cold,' she said.
'Yes.'
'It's November.'
'I know what month it is.'
She opened her eyes. She was looking at your arms, at the small hairs standing from the cold, and you were looking at her looking at your arms, and neither of you was looking at each other's face.
She kissed you first. The sequence is unreliable because what actually happened was she got closer to touch your arm to measure the frozen of your arm and then the glass of water got knocked by someone's elbow and when you tried to catch it your arm wrapped around her waist and the glass rolled off the counter and hit the floor and didn't break because of course she owned the kind of glasses that don't break, and the water spread across the hardwood.
She tasted like the beer, the faintest trace of toothpaste, that weird all-encompassing perfume that swallows you whole. Your hand went to her jaw - that jaw, the one you've been eyeing at the bar table - it was warm and sharp and -
She pulled back. Enough to speak.
'Your hands are freezing.' She smiled, 'is there anything you did bring?'
'Myself.'
'Insufficient.' She kissed you again. Her fingers in the collar of your t-shirt, grasp-tight, like she'd been thinking about this for years, she pulled back again. 'This is a terrible shirt.'
'Because you sent me a sincere letter that turned my brain into mush; I did not have the mind for a wardrobe. Can we stop reviewing my outfit?'
'It's just cute how you chase my lips.' She blows at your lips, a grin.
You kissed her to shut her up, which didn't work, because she laughed into it - this full sound that vibrated against your lips and accidentally filled both your cheeks with air so you had to let go just a bit.
Your hand went from her jaw to the back of her head, the split between hair and skin in the back.
'Couch,' she said.
'Where.' You make a breathy inquiry into her mouth.
'Behind you. The - just move back a little, just reverse straight.' The geometry of the maneuver was stupid and graceless and at one point your calf hit the coffee table and something on it - book, books, whatever - slid and toppled and then the backs of your knees hit the couch and she was above you, one knee on either side, the oversized shirt tenting around you both.
She looked down at you. You looked up at her. Her hair fell forward and curtained the sides of your face and the whole apartment disappeared. Her face in the frame of dark hair, her moles, her nose, her everything - god, she's just too beautiful.Â
'Hi,' she said.
'Hi.'
You put your hands on her waist. The shirt was thin and through it you could feel the heat of her, the ribs, the expansion of her breathing. Just a little shaking.
'Okay,' she said. 'Now take off the pipe pants. They're ruining my couch.'
You did. Standing there, in her apartment, at one-something in the morning, stepping out of painted jeans in front of the woman you mythologized.
Gawon looked at your boxers, looked at them for a long time.
'Plaid boxers,' she said. 'You drove across town, in November, without a jacket, to see a woman who wrote you a love letter, and you're wearing plaid boxers.'
'They were on top of the pile.'
'The audacity.' But she was grinning. She pushed you gently back onto the couch. Knees on either side of your lap, her face level with yours. 'I believe you now - about the rushing.'
Her breathing had changed to a slower register.
'What else do you do,' she said. 'I sent you a thousand-word letter about trains and the interior of my psyche. You know everything about me. Well, except for the fact that I used to be an idol.' She paused, trying to gauge what you were thinking.
'It's a shame you've short-circuited me down to my last two brain cells, otherwise I'd be more interested in that idol story of yours.' Your face got closer, until your noses were touching and you leaned just part-way, this slotting way, to kiss her again. And again. And again.
'Did I tell you that I read?' You add between the kisses.
'What book?'
'It doesn't matter what book. It's a page issue. I'm stuck on a page. Was.'
'Mhm.'
'I'm past that book now.'
She nodded during one of the kisses, 'That's progress.' In this serious, adorable way.
'It was a long book.'
'You're a slow reader.' She put more emphasis into her grasp around your neck. 'I'll wait.'
You kissed her harder. She leaned into it, her weight shifting. You ran your hand along her spine, each vertebra viscerally real under your fingers.
'Bed,' she said.
'The couch.' You insisted back.
'The couch was fine before.' She extended her hand. 'Get up.'
You took her hand. She pulled you up, stronger than she looked, and led you down the hallway past the books and the blue tape.
Every door in her apartment was slightly open, every one. The front door had been open when you arrived. The bathroom a crack open. And the bedroom door at the end of the hallway, not enough to see inside but enough to say I didn't close this, I left it for you, I left every door tonight slightly open. She really put her all into this.
You pushed it open. The bedroom was enormous. More windows, floor-to-ceiling, more city. The bed was wide and low and white and half-unmade, as if she inhabited just a part of it and that was the only unmade part. The way light pooled across made it look like art.
She stood in the doorway behind you.
'I wasn't expecting you to come. By the way.'
'We've done this bit.'
'We'll keep doing it. It's a good bit, it's unbelievable, really.' She replied back with a grin.
She walked past you to the far side of the bed. Her side. Looked up at you across the white expanse of sheets. In the window-light from the city her skin held a blue tint, a coolness, and the shadows found the hollows of her collarbones and the ridges of her shoulders and the way she demurely held her forearm to barely - just barely - cover her nipples and the line where her underwear met her hip and you stood there in plaid boxers at the foot of a stranger's bed in a building you'd never been in, in a neighborhood you'd never visited, and the feeling was vertiginous, the feeling was standing at an altitude you hadn't expected.
You got on the bed. Crossed it on your knees. She just sat there on the edge, and when you reached her you put your hand on the side of her face, thumb on her cheekbone, fingers in her hair, and tilted her face up toward yours.Â
You caught her lips gently.Â
'I was invisible - ' you kissed her again. Seeing her lips unspooled, accelerating, each clause folding itself into each velvety note - it's unendurable.
She grabbed the back of your neck with both hands and pulled you down and you went. Onto the white sheets, into her side, her body warm and real and breathing hard against your mouth. Legs wrapped around and her heels pressed into the backs of your thighs and it was totality: every square inch that could touch was touching, and through the thin two fabrics that were quickly becoming redundant - touching, rubbing, all-wet.Â
'You're a fast reader all of a sudden.'
'I found a good book.'
She laughed into the kiss. Her hands went to the waistband of your bxoers and yours went to her hips and the last of the fabric came off in this artless, graceless way where your boxers got stuck on your thighs and she had to stop kissing to stare down for a visual indicator of how 'off' your boxers were, and you did the same, less gracefully, maybe fully ripping her panties off, it didn't matter: two people are just trying to get to each other and cotton is in the way. That way. It's all-becoming.
It was all skin. On these white sheets, you pressed into the honey of her body, her neck, her wetness gathered the underside of your shaft. You pressed deeper and Gawon groaned with pleasure, she bit the skin of her index finger as you pressed deeper - not yet penetrating; shifting your hips into languid strokes that teetered on her wet folds; this perfect muffled sigh of wet flesh. And her pelvis began moving, just so, just so - her velvety folds molding on the underside of your shaft.Â
'Condom.' You groan, you barely get out. Her pussy's choking you - choking every nerve of yours that even a bundle of syllables becomes harder than everything to get outâŠ
' - don't have - ungh.'
And this is where the moral calculus begins: you're inside of her home, you didn't bring anything except yourself - she's partial to how you are you and that got you in her bed, rubbing your cock against her pussy - and now you haven't the grace to even have a condom on you. Shame, shame!
Gawon held the back of your neck again, and whispered, as low as her fucked-up nerves allowed: 'it doesnt matter, it doesnt matter, i dont even care if you come inside.'
And so this is the dilemma: what is the point of this moral calculus if she doesn't care about anything but you? You are you and you can fuck me like that. That you're gonna enter her with no barrier, that you might even come and paint her cervix and she'll allow that?Â
The lips of her sex, plump now, parted and glid against the rigid length of you again. Smooth, soft, some silky resistance. with each grind the delicate hood of her clitoris would catch - just a bit - and tug against the base of you, drawing a sharp gasp from that was swallowed by your mouth. [1]
[1] To the unimaginative mind, she's saying every word in the dictionary to deal with her own orgasm on the precipice, you're bringing her over the edge, then pulling her off that cliff and then dropping her lower. Sadistic!
She was so wet, a slick dew that gathered and spread. Your own flesh pressed and straining upward - schlick schlick and some oh fucks - into the slick groove of her. The crown of your shaft, would catch the edge of her opening with each roll, nudging, spreading her apart, breaking her apart - that cliff she's barely an ankle above the falling line. And the only sound is this moist squelch of two sets meeting and parting, meeting and parting, the sticky-softness of condensation building between bodies making parting from skin harder - colder.
Her hands tightened on your shoulders, and she said. 'Fuck me. Please'
'But'
'I don't care, I'll carry your baby.'
You entered her. Her breath caught halfway, the arch of her back that was processing just the tip. You listened to the arch calm down. Pressed forward in increments. Felt her open around you in degrees, accompanied by these desperate mewls against your collarbone. You kissed her ears and entered deeper into her.Â
She shook and vibrated and lost her voice when you were fully inside her. You held still, forehead to forehead, and her mouth was slightly open, breathing in - something that had nothing to do with lungs.
'Okay?' you said.
She opened her eyes, they were glassy and enormous and so close you could see yourself in them.
She pulled on your shoulders, and gave a wavering kiss that broke when you pulled out inch-by-inch. You moved and her hips, tilted just a little, meeting you part-way. Her hands slid from your shoulders down to your back, fingernails digging deeper - it was pain for another morning.Â
You hit her deeper and faster, into her slick-strung insides that grasped and clung and slid. And she was speechless, she tried - opening her mouth to let out words that didn't form. You repeated these thrusts, her hands went back around her pillow, breasts jumping in-parallel your thrusts, her neck-line taut and catching the blue night.
She got louder, these girlish moans that grew more frequent, closer together, overlapping. But her hips moved faster - and at one point you had to catch up to her! - and the bed frame creaked luxuriously - aristocratically, this creak of expensive joinery under unexpected strain. And she said, of all things, 'the bed's recording this too' and you laughed into her mouth.
You felt her intensify in the particulars - the way her eyebrows strained and the muscle of her arm strained as she grasped the pillow tighter than before, you caught one nipple in your mouth between the thrusts - now obscenely automatic - you kissed the curve of her top breast, the upper-top of it, then even higher, and she giggled: 'you're gross'. So you bit down just a tad, another girlish yelp before you went straight back to her mouth.Â
'Don't stop,' she said. Barely audible. 'Don't - '
'I'm - '
The orgasm ripped through her entire body. First at the hips: light spasms that halted the moment the orgasm travelled up her spine, then the reality of it: her mouth let out the syllables 'I'm cumming' as if wasn't the most obvious little thing. And she let out this fractured exhale, all-ragged, breaking, on something - could've been your name.
Her legs shook again. Her folds squeezed and you could feel it around your cock. Her thighs were tight around your waist.Â
'Keep going.' She said.
'I should - ' Well you should stop. Anything more and you'll -
Her heels pressed deeper into the small of your back.Â
You buried your mouth in hers, tonguing at her before you entered all the way to the hilt, kissing her cervix. Your bodies were damp now, hints of citrus, coffee by the bedside, the smell of sex and orgasms in the air. You moved faster and she was mouthing these fragments - yes and there and I've got you and stay. and that's what you did, thrusting into her, grasping at her breasts, fucking into her pussy, bruising her cervix, crushing her like she wanted you to.Â
Then you felt it, the ultimate urge to let loose. You pulled out as quickly as you could, the slick of her pussy connected the head of your cock by a strand and you fisted your cock until you blasted all over her belly. Drops of your cum had landed on her folds, glazed, pink and white and honey.Â
It was an emergency obviously, and yet, she pressed her fingers into her pussy, bringing her fingers up, testing the elasticity of the fluid and pressing it on her tongue - tasting it - before pushing the rest into her folds.
for fuck's sake this woman is gonna end you. You fell to her side, breathing hard as she was, ribcages expanding in and out in this atmosphere of heat and sex.
'Still there?' Her fingers traced the area where your heart was.
'Still there.'
'Good. I need you alive.'
'That's the bar? Alive?'
'For you, sure, that's the only requirement - everything else is a bonus.' Her finger traced a circle on your chest. 'Some bonuses are more generous than others.'
'Are you grading right now?'
'It's a⊠holistic evaluation.'
'And?'
'Above average.'
'Above average. I swear you were crying from pleasure.'
She slapped you lightly on the shoulder, 'Better than average. Statistically anomalous, even. I'd need a larger sample size to confirm but the preliminary data is -' she rolled over to your side, thigh on top of your thigh, a kiss on your shoulder, 'substantial.'
'You're making dick jokes in bed.'
'It was intended to be statistical. The phallic interpretation is entirely yours. I can't control where your mind goes.' She kissed your collarbone. 'But yes.'
You laughed and she turned it into a kiss on your lips. And she settled deeper, burrowing, pressing into you the way she pressed open books into damage.
'I'm not leaving, just so you know,' she said.
'I can tell.' You tried to move a leg and she tightened her grasp.
'I happen to want to be exactly here where I want, so I'm not moving. I'm a barnacle.'
'How romantic.'
'Really, I'm a romantic person. I write letters about imagining a cut-up version of you on trains; that's the Gawon experience, you signed up for this.'
You wrapped your arms around her, the whole ridiculous barnacle arrangement, her legs knotted in yours, her arms cinched around your ribs, her face buried in your chest.
'You're mine,' she said. 'I don't care that it's been an hour and a letter and two beers. You're mine. I'm keeping you.'
'Obviously.' She tightened her grip. A full-body squeeze, every limb. 'And now I'm fused to your chest in my own bed at two in the morning and you're inside me and I'm on earth. I'm on the ground. I'm so on the ground right now.'
'I'm floating. Just a little. Not too much.' You reply.
She held you, her heartbeat on your ribs. Your hand in her hair. Her breath on your skin in a rhythm that was calming. Gentle inhales and exhales.
'For the record,' she murmured, eyes closed now, words going soft, 'the preliminary data really is exceptional. The sample size issue stands. We'll need to replicate. Repeatedly. For scientific integrity.'
'How repeatedly.'
'Extensively.' A pause. Her voice almost gone. 'Longitudinally.'
'That's another -'
'Go to sleep.'
She fell asleep on top of you, on you; the full weight of her, which was not much, which was less than you expected, but which pressed you into the mattress with a force that had nothing to do with mass and everything to do with the fact that she was here and real and breathing gently into your chest. Her cold feet pressed against your shins. Still cold, even now, even after everything, as if her feet existed in a separate climate zone and no amount of anything could fix it.
A/N: So I'm back! I've actually been doing great. I know absence is a bit of a bad sign but honestly this year has been shaping up to be my best ever (my prime!!!). I have a lot of time in my hands and it turns out that the stress (from other factors) was actually fueling my output last year. So this year: low cortisol poasting... thanks to everyone that waited!!
About the work: this is part 1 of a 30k. I decided that the second part needed a lot of work. I might upload it a few weeks later or months later... we'll see.
Also apologies for the wonky formatting. Obsidian markdown does not translate well to a direct copy-and-paste it seems. I might edit it in the future but i wanna get this stinking mess out already!!!
Categories | mistress!Gawon, sub!reader, body writing
You're always missing her, in some way, some form. No hour of the day is spent not lamenting her absence, although temporary. Whatever happens, Lee Gawon is always on your mind.
If you didn't want to upset her, you'd say how much you envy the staff surrounding her for most of the day. They get to be with her longer than a lustful night, attending to her hair, face, and lips. They have the blessing to see her behind the scenes, and not merely on a digital screen, from which she seems so close, but so far away.Â
How do you, with your role as her shadow, stray apart from her?
Yeah, thatâs right: you're kind of her shadow. No, scratch thatâyou are her shadow, from head to toe. Usually, with other celebrities of esteemed status like Gawon's, it's the girl who gets coined as male celebrity's tail slash girlfriend. Male wrestler's fuckbuddy. Male idol's rumored fling. Male actorâs femme fatale lead. But with Gawon, the media holds a different kind of respect. If you look past the camera flashes and headlines, youâre almost certain itâs fear. She made sure to instill that through her years in the spotlight.
The press tried to invent Lee Gawon. But she made clear she wasnât just Chloe Lee the dancer or the lookalike of a boy group member she now overshadows. Gawon is her own personâshe's the ambassador, model, actress, founder, and so much more. Any name attached to her is lucky to even be within her proximity. Â
Perhaps that is why the press, both local and international, only know you as miss Leeâs boyfriend. Youâre her accessory, could be a bracelet with how you hang on her forearm at events. Youâre her bodyguard, looming over her when you gather her stuff from her Porsche. Hell, with the way sheâs got you wrapped around her finger, youâre her pet.Â
It's safe to say that you might like it that way, as humiliating as it sounds.Â
That's how you felt when she asked you to call her "Mistress."
You | 9:41 PM, SAT | Gawon
You | 9:41 PM, SAT | where are you
Mistress | 9:43 PM, SAT | Nearly there, babe.
Mistress | 9:49 PM, SAT | I'm here :)Â
You practically rush to the door. Your hands trembling, you open the door of the mansion you share with her, and there stands Gawon.Â
She's wrapped up in the most expensive furs, dressed from head to toe in the newest line she's representing. Her ruby red lips are painted with Prada lipstick, enough to match the color of blood.
"Mistress." You bow. Fur meets your rough skin as you help Gawon out of the coat. You're always there to help her out. You're hers, aren't you? That's your job.
"Sweetheart," Gawon says back, smiling. She eases herself out of the furs and kisses you on your mouth. "How have you been?"
You can't say anything understandable if she's holding your chin like that, or when her shadowed eyes are coaxing you into a battle of wills. "G-good," you stammer out, nevertheless.
"Just good?"Â
"I missed you all day, Mistress. When you came home, it all became perfect."
Gawon nods understandingly. "I thought so," she remarks, with a soft nuzzle of your nose.Â
All that's left on Gawon's tall, slender body is her black suit and blazer. The tie looks especially attractive on her, but you have a feeling that it doesn't solely belong to her necklineâit has other unfulfilled purposes. Other plans dreamed up by Gawon in that gorgeous head.
You're correct, for one of those signs is her heels remaining on her feet. Gawon takes good care of her shoes. Theyâre polished by well-paid maids and kept safely in her closet. So if she keeps them on during the night, it means something. Theyâre the prophecy foretelling your fate for the night.
"Did you see my pictures, baby boy?" asks Gawon expectantly. She's walking down the carpet to the living room, where soft cushions are prepared for her to rest her busy frame on.Â
Seen them? You savored them. Consumed them as a wolf would a lone rabbit. Held onto them like a lifeline, like you were on the edge of a cliff.
As her boyfriend, you got to have a sneak peek of her new covers and pictorials, and the most recent one she came home from is your favorite yet. Probably the best, if you really think about it.
It's the colors differing perfectly together that seal it for you. The red background matches her lips, posed in serious, plump lines before a lipstick curled in her hands. However, there's the ebony darkness of her hair and makeup to take notice of, and the untainted white of her suit. They're all strong colors, portrayed steadily by one of the most learned models in the industry. You're proud of how she posed for it; the result looks beautiful. She is beautiful.
"I⊠I loved them, Mistress," you admit. Your cheeks fill with colored adoration. "I looked at them all day."
"Thank you. I brought home the lipstick they got me, and I want to try it with you."
"M-Mistress?"Â
Gawon chuckles prettily. When she smiles, the intimidating aura of her face dissolves into a fox-like adorableness. Her eyes crinkle and her brows, usually dark and strong, knit together in laughter. She could be adorable, honestly. But of course the departure of the sweet moment is hastened, with only a tiny smile remaining post mortem.Â
"Not in that way," she clarifies. "Just⊠trust me on this, please?"
You're hesitant. What would she do with you? What if you don't like it?
"If you don't want to try it, we won't," says Gawon softly.Â
"I want to do it," you say all too quickly. Because there isnât a thing you wonât do for her. Not one.
"Thank you. Bedroom?"
"Yes, Mistress."
The paced clicks of Gawon's white heels follow you from behind. She strolls through the mansion as if its luxuries hold no extraordinariness that sets it apart from a flea market rag doll. Then you remember: that's Gawonâs reality. The tiger skin carpet and chandeliers are things she's worked hard for and lived with for years only barely longer than the ones she spent climbing up to her status now. She comes from old money but now it overflows in several accounts. She was born rich and will die rich.
Speaking of, climbing all the way upstairs in heels seems tedious. There's a reason why your special bedroom is on the first floor.
There's also a reason why the bedroom is this wide, and has a closet of that size. And it doesn't store just clothes.
"Lie down, honey," coos Gawon. "And take off your clothes."
You obey, and she immediately undoes the knot of her white tie. You shiver, although you've become acquaintances with the centralized wind of your home and Gawon's. Her tie slithers around your joined wrists. It traps them behind one of the decorative bars of the headboard. You don't bother struggling; you know your place well enough to understand it's below her.
"You're okay with your feet being tied, too, I presume?"Â
She's done it millions of times: holding your arms and legs back until they're numb under her control, using them to keep you still. But still, Gawon wants to know if you're comfortable.Â
"Y-yes, Mistress," you reply.
Gawon smiles appreciatively. The blazer slips off her arms, leaving her in a formal tube top with transparent straps. She cares not for the price of the designer blazer, especially not when she's tying their sleeves around your feet to the footboard. Sometimes her resourcefulness is way off the charts.Â
"What are you gonna do to me?" you ask. There's a perfect blend of fear and excitement in your trembling voice. You can see the way it turns Gawon on; she bites her lower lip as if she craved to draw blood as red as her lipstick from it.
Gawon lowers herself beside your ear, her words leaving your hands and spine chilled:
"Remind you who you belong to."Â
"Mistressâ"
"Shhh."Â
The young woman leaves kisses along your naked thighs. There's a trail of red shaped to the form of her heart-resembling lips. It marks the path of her love.Â
It makes you shake in anticipation, and she's only building up more of the suspense. As if rehearsed, perfected days prior to this, she parts your legs a little.Â
"Such a pretty cock," she says. "It's all mine, no?"
Hard to confirm when she's kissing its underside, but you do it anyway. Whatever circumstance a situation throws at you, you fight it to answer Gawon.
Her pink tongue caresses your sensitive dick. She licks and laps and sucks, and she's not even sucking it yet. It makes you feel weak, but you always are with her. It's nothing new, nothing out of the ordinary, but it still makes your heart burn with lust.
Gawon licks a sharp stripe under your cock, making your breath catch on nothing. Her lipstick decorates your tip as she suckles on it. She remains determined to caress what's beneath your cockhead with gentle laps.Â
"So delicious," she murmurs. "Think I want to ride it, baby boy. But I think your cute face will do first."
"Yes please, Mistress."
"Say that you're mine first."
"I'm yours." It's nothing short of the truth.Â
Gawon brings out her lipstick. You gasp when the glossy tip glides along your thighs in measured lines. So that's what she was talking about.
You look down. She's written "Mistress' Baby Boy" on your skin. And she's only getting started.
"Say it again," she orders. Her breath is hot; sheâs getting off on this as much as you are. Thereâs a reason she started this gamble.Â
"I'm yours, Mistress."
There she goes again, writing on your body another varied form of possession. Soon, she's decorated your legs with several of them: prettiest boy; Mistress' only; most perfect cock. You appreciate the flattery nevertheless.
"Good.â She's done with writing on you. For now.Â
Her dress pants slip down her milky legs. You watch with morbid fascination. Watch how the silk drags down paleness that almost matches its color. See how the bareness of her full thighs release themselves from her panties, and close around your head as she sits on your face.
You know what to do, and you know exactly how Gawon likes it. You lift your chin higher to lick at her core, but not quite letting your tongue enter her. She moans instantly, her weight breaking down harder on your face. You're glad to be burdened by it. It's more of a blessing, really, when you consider how much she's dripping, as if she were waiting for this all day.
Maybe she was.
You tease her silken hole and slide the tip of your tongue up her slit until it tickles her clit. Gawon squirms down on you in response. The hold of her thighs around your head becomes stronger, and you take that as an obvious sign that you should obviously go on. Maybe even take it up a notch, which is why you go through with sucking on her bundle of nerves rather than merely considering it.
It's one of Gawon's few weak spots, speaking in both sexual and industrial terms. But of course, you know all about it. How could you not when she pushes her core onto your face harder?
"Oh fuck, baby boy," she moans. "You're so good to me."
When she tastes like heaven, you're bound to be. Her beautiful taste pours into your mouth and has you licking inside her grasping hole for more. There, you lap your tongue against her textured walls to find some of her weak spots. Press against it when you successfully find one, causing Gawon to suffocate you with her creamy thighs and stealing your breath with how she weighs her pussy down on you.
If this is how you die, it's completely fine by you. Having Gawon's glorious ass sitting on your face and her delicious cunt grabbing your tongue for it to stay are all you need to go out happy. Savor it all. Caress her clit with your tongue right before capturing it between your lips and assaulting it with violent suction. Let saliva and juices drip down on you with no care in the worldâthis, this right here is heaven. Only difference between your mistress and the heaven in the clouds is that here, the pleasure matches one you could go to hell for.
Gawon dizzies you with her swaying hips. "Fuck, baby," she says loudly. Playing with her tits below the white tube top, she gyrates her core on your mouth harder. "I'm so so close, baby boy."
Her folds parted to welcome your eager tongue. They close the entrance to imprison you. It's a trap that you enjoy being tricked into as you draw several forms inside and on her sensitive nub.Â
In a way, you've trapped Gawon, too. For once, the tables are turned around and you have her under your control although you're underneath her. Your mouth is a dangerous predicament, and you still knowingly assault her with it.Â
Just look at the way she gazes down upon you, with shadowed, hooded eyes, and hear the way she whispers, "Please, baby, that's itâkeep fucking my pussy like that, Mistress is so close, she's going to cum all over your pretty little faceâ"
It only takes one-after-the-other suckling on her clit for Gawon to bite what she barks. Juices no longer drip only into your mouth, but everywhere. Unladylike screams fill the room as she squirts her delicious juices on your face. The pillow suffers some of the damage, but it's your neck and chin that's fully attacked. You have to close your eyes just in case her cum wanders too far.
Nevertheless, you don't stop tonguefucking her.Â
"Yes, yes, that's it," Gawon gasps. Her little broken stammers are everything to live for. "Keep doing that, yes⊠oh shit, you're so good at thisâ
"Shit, fuck, too much!"
Usually, you'd stop at the time she says that, but there's too many pros to continue. If you just kept sucking at her perfect pussy, you'd garner more of her cum, plus the possibility of her thighs actually crushing your head. So, albeit her cries, you continue.
"Oh god, fuck." Gawon throws her head back. "Alright, I'll let you have this one, baby boy. But if you do, I won't, fuck, get to ride your pretty cock."
That's an insanely clever way to get you to stop. If there's anything you craved more than her juices in your mouth, it's them on your cock instead.
Gawon giggles in satisfaction. She's sliding off your face, graceful even after getting eaten out. She's graceful anyway even in the most odd situations. It's her brand, to be brief: being the closest thing to a goddess arriving in the mortal world, being the democratic Aphrodite. She still carries it in the bedroom.
Her throne is the little space between your thighs and your cock, which allows her to be so close to engulfing you in herself, but not quite. The smile on her face tells you that yes, she does indeed know how it works, which just so happens to leave you both breathless and in awe of the woman in front of you.
"How should I deal with you, sweetheart?" Gawon asks. She wraps her fingers around your rod and jerks it up and down.Â
"Please, mistressâŠ" You try to say more, but you end up silent.
"Yes? Oh, I see. You want me to fuck your big cock with my thighs, huh?"Â
As if to demonstrate, Gawon presses her beautiful legs around your dick. Her white, soft flesh stimulates you and has you thrusting up into them. The slick from her earlier orgasm helps your pumps smoothen, and coats your shaft with more than just your own precum.
"Yes, mistress," you say.Â
Gawon smiles and tightens the hold of her thighs together. She pushes you down on the bed, telling you that this is a job she'll lead by herself, as she does everything, and bounces on your lap. Her perfect ass ripples as she does, and you can feel her slick folds tease your sensitive flesh. If you're not mistaken, that's her clit grinding on your erection while she fucks you with her thighs, too.
"Gawon, fuck."
"You're forgetting who I am here, sweetheart." She says it gently, but her eyes tell a different story. They tell you of a warning. "What do you call me again?"
That slip-up was on you. You were too wrapped in the embrace of her heat along that you dropped the honorifics. "Mistress, I'm sorry."
"Good. I knew you could do it." Gawon kisses you. "I think my baby boy deserves to fill his mistress up now. Make her cum around his big cock.â
No more abstinence. No more holding back. Those are habits whose deaths took a lot of time, but hey, here you are now. You yield to the temptation. You forget about your dignity, your shame, your life. You pour out every dirty little thing you have thought of doing to Gawon while you stared at her pictures, and she takes it gladly.Â
Your cock is lodged in her cunt immediately. You could almost scream. Sheâs completely tense around your girth but oh-so-wet. And oh-so-fucking-tight. Gawon is the definition of sex itselfâit's in the way she does everything: the bounce of her thunderous thighs as her legs weaken from the stretch, her quivering yet sinful moan, her hard nipples. Her toned, creamy thighs locking you in for the ride is just a bonus.
You take the labor to pull yourself up and kiss her all around her beautiful face, worshipping her as you would a deity (oh yes, Gawon counts as a deity, with all that shiny long hair, strong brows, and sculpted nose. The only thing anchoring her to this mortal realm is you.) Her sweet lips are addictive, but a close competitor is her collarbone. Itâs sharp and deep, looking like it can cut through your mouth if you dared kiss it. Thatâs a risk youâre willing to take. You can lick and nibble at that and her neck all day. But even feeling it with your thumb feels forbiddenâeven in sex, in the dark of the night, she holds an aura that prohibits anyone from touching her, and if anyone gets a chance to, they're extremely lucky.
She reminds you of how lucky you are everyday. Not everyone gets to fuck the Lee Gawon.
You live for the sounds she makes as you suck without boundary on her breasts. Your tongue laces her neck and jaw with slick saliva, one of the steps in your desperate plan to get approval from her. Her appreciative moan, although hot, still lacks for you. So, you draw your hips far backwards and drive them deeper. Gawon gasps in surprise, her clit swollen and pulsing against you.Â
You can feel her breaths grow shorter, rougher, and you go on with licking and sucking, multitasking with how you're still steadily thrusting into her beautiful cunt. God, she really does need to remind you of your place. You forget yourself when she fucks you like this. She makes you want more.
"S-so down bad for me, huh?" Gawon laughs. The sharp protrusion of her wrist bumps into your temple as she strokes your hair. She does it gracefully, adoringly, as if she were holding a pet. Itâs damn close. "Fuck my pussy like that, show me no other boy can fuck me like you can."
She moans at your cock twitching inside her. Thereâs a glint of amusement in her brown eyes. "Oh, you like that? Being talked to like you're my fucking slave? Is that what you want?"
Your cheeks are red. She's figured you out. She always does. It's her habit to pick you apart and put your pieces together in a picture you never knew you could form.
She starts to move her curved hips in between gasps of gratification. Her hard nipples press against your chest. You groan beneath her and she clings to you harder, rocking your member inside her cunt desperately. The hard shape of her abs shows how much sheâs working for it. Theyâre flexed and drenched in sweat.
âMistress,â you whisper into her hair. Pepper the white land of her neck with swift kisses, withholding the urge to bite down on it because you remember your place now. You remember what this is for. âYouâre so fucking wet.â
The two of you grind and moan against each other, desperate body upon another desperate body. Her strokes rhythmically slam you against the mattress. You would have groaned painfully if her lips werenât on top of yours. As soon as they mush against them, she devours you. And it feels literal; her teeth sink into your lower tier while her tongue actively laps at your mouth, as if she were trying to collect your complete taste without leaving a drop behind. Sheâs eating you alive. Each moan mixed with her heavy pants of pleasure gets lost in the eclipse of your lips.Youâre starting to get breathless, but youâre not passing up the opportunity to stay inside Gawon, or to hear her beautiful sounds extracted from her pretty mouth and caused by the steady thrusts.
You can feel her pussy shiver around you. Sheâs so close. You donât dare fight the restriction on your wrists but itâs in this moment that you desperately wish you could touch her. Your mouth can only do so much. Leaving hickeys all over her skin canât possibly match the feeling of squeezing her ass, pulling her closer, or holding her miniscule waist.
But youâre hersâyouâll trade your pleasure for Gawonâs even if itâs killing you.
You let her ride you for a few more, desperate moments until she collapses. Her cunt pulses through each heavy wave of her orgasm. She moans loud next to your ear when you chase your own high. The sticky mess of your orgasms stains the expensive threadcount.Â
But soon, Gawonâs French tip nails stop digging into your back painfully. Your wrists are free from their fabric prison. Your mistress is finally spent. She rests her cheek on the flat of your shoulder and sighs in satisfaction.Â
In the window, youâre able to watch how she fixes herself properly on your lap and closes her eyes. Gawon is yours as much as you are hers.
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You knock once or twice on the big white door, the kind that promises something beyond a measly, high-end hotel room.
The only thing to get you here in the first place was a text needing no extra thought:Â
still left me out to dry, i see how it is :// <3 đ
â
Granted, it's been a few days after the message.
God forbid the efforts to come crawling back to her would make anyone insane for that matter - considering the occasion she was at and the amount of prestige it carried.Â
The wonders of fashion shows: glamorous in all its might; the kind that would put her on the map.Â
When that door swings in, she doesnât really need any further introduction:
âKept ya waiting?â asks Momo, hand sliding up the frame and flaunting an elbow on her hip. Taking her downtime to the usual standard of Hirai Momo she stunningly owns you know all too well. That trademark head tilt and simple smirk -Â a small telltale of which you wonder if the sun shouldâve stayed along the horizon just a little longer for someone like her.Â
âPlease,â you say, following her in as she walks backwards, eyes trained well on your stature. Attentive- too attentive. As if she wants something. âIf I really despised your guts, youâd have a restraining order from me already.âÂ
âYet here you are,â she replies, letting you fill the opening in front. A familiar proximity you catch yourself in with not just her - but with Dahyun, Sana, Tzuyu, and freaking Jihyo of all people at times. Thereâs a pattern to be drawn in this. Somehow you havenât sensed it yet.Â
âHere I am,â you repeat. And thatâs the usual track, unfortunately. From every angle, youâre recalling the recent escapades youâve done with her. How the lingering thought of omitting any idea of her from your mind was forever the impossibility. Youâre keeping it slightly professional with your hands behind your back, the posture upright.Â
âIâm in a sour mood with you,â Momo then says, swiveling her body into the wider space of the hotel room - a recurring solitude thatâs considered one of her many homes. âHanging me out just because youâre a little scared? Whatâs Dahyun gonna do? Dismember me?âÂ
âYouâve seen her angry,â you laugh, settling your bearings and sitting on the edge of her bed. âTrust me, Iâve had to do a lot so she wouldnât kill you instead.âÂ
âSo what? Itâs not like youâre being put on trial - having a little fun. Get a little scandalous from time to time.âÂ
âMomo-âÂ
She laughs, fingernail to her lip. The neat pink and white robe sheâs wearing is molding to her figure. Especially with the âVâ neck cut: it does everything to exemplify her tits.Â
âGood things come with time,â you say. To that, Momo rolls her eyes. Sheâs smirking at the loose sentence - since she knows her word will be more superior to yours.Â
âYou could say the same thing about your cock,â she then says, fiddling with the bow at her middle. âThat and your charm- I mean, seriously. Iâm jealous of Dahyun sometimes. How sheâs managed to keep you all to herself.âÂ
âI could propose that we have an intervention together.â Your expression lights up slightly when you look up, full of Momoâs star-studded, sly gaze, the dreamy lashes she bashes over yours that really shine when sheâs glowing in the low lights. The illuminating ambience of yellow and orange mixed in the background. In the late hours of the evening above the busy streets and meeting atop the clouds. âTalk about the many, many issues you and I have going on. One where we draw the line of who gets the final say; oneâs word over the others.âÂ
Momo pouts at that, defeated. Or at least thatâs what she wants you to think. âNot even gonna let me persuade you into changing your mind?âÂ
âDepends.â Youâre lazily holding her ass, probably on purpose. Every move from this point on wonât be managed by your words. Now that your mind is made up and thereâs nothing left to say. âWhatâs in it for me?âÂ
She unties the ribbon of her robe, and lets it fall onto the floor.Â
Thereâs a lot of questions as to why you did what you did - why you keep doing it. Why you spend a good amount of your schedule doing the devilâs work with every sin committed enough to place you at the top of his list. Sheâs partly the reason youâve been in this position over and over and over. A recurrence of the sweet libations offered by her are an addiction of their own. Her words are one thing. Her body-Â
(Well, letâs just say that the company knew what they were doing when she flew out to do this gig.)Â
Sheâs coated in grey with leopard prints canvasing the fabric. Most of the seams are at the right tightness that forms her silhouette in curves you didnât think were possible. You note the second layer beneath and a nice contrast of that fluffy pink bra on her chest - where the small gems were neatly placed and the pendant is buried right at her cleavage.Â
Oh, sheâs model material for sure. Thereâs no denying that. You donât need to think back on all the brands proffering for her signature. The selling point was pretty much the given factor.Â
Youâre no different than any other person cordially invited to fashion week. With the observing eyes showing and the parted mouth as a plus.Â
Momo looks the part: the fuckable girl everybody wants.Â
Though, youâre a cut above the rest, because youâre the only one who knows her well.Â
(How much she likes it when you fuck her rough, pull her hair back and into the mattress, pin her arms on the wall trying to brace the impact of your cock pushing up her cunt; disregard her for anything else. A personal toy for your own disposal. The late night booty call youâll always make time for. The girl whoâll match beat for beat at everything you dish out. She knows no matter how hard you try, thereâs a piece of you that belongs to her.)
âWell?â asks Momo, wiggling her body in your hands. âAny first impressions?âÂ
âIâve got a lot on my mind,â you say, enamored, tapping the groove on beneath her bottom by reflex. âLike they really didnât have to capitalize on your ass like this-âÂ
âBless the stylists,â she replies, lowering herself slightly so only your eyes are full of her cleavage. âBonus goes to the cameras for getting the angles right.âÂ
âNow Iâm starting to wonder-âÂ
âHow could a wonderful girl like me be able to pull off a look like this?â Momo laughs, cradling your head as you breathe her tits in. A terrible habit, but itâs a natural instinct given the features. âI mean- Jihyo fits hers very well. And if you think back to Nayeonâs Louis Vuitton towel-âÂ
âI can go down the list over and over,â you say with a palm between her legs, pressing roughly; she seethes. âThough, Iâm off the clock currently.âÂ
âI figured, but-â she chuckles, reaching over for her phone while you observe her movements.Â
The screen lights up, eyes darting up and down with record pace. A part of you assumes that sheâs sending a message to one of the other girls you work with as a way to stir the pot and spice up the competition- maybe. Yet her lip-biting grin is impossible to interpret.Â
â-thought I might show you this.âÂ
For a better lack of response: youâre just left speechless.
Then, you helplessly look up as she wiggles the phone in her hand, eyes and mouth sharing the same smirk. âAwwww. Whatâs the matter? Cat got your tongue?!â
âIâve been reduced to staring at this point.âÂ
âAs you should,â says Momo, beaming with victory. âHavenât you been getting my texts?âÂ
âYouâre aware of my policy when Iâm working: permanently on do not disturb.âÂ
By punishment: Momo lays claim at the scene of the crime with her lips. Normally, she would bend to your will, take her time; usually, thatâs not her style, but that soft side is an exclusivity on days where she can let her walls crumble for a rare moment. Her lips are always sweet, carrying the kind of kisses that would sweep anyone off their feet or rewire their brain. Though, thereâs a sense of urgency behind this, as if it was something long overdue.Â
Her arms slither around your neck, straddling your thigh. You hold her close with one arm while the other acts as a support behind you, leaning back.Â
She smiles into it, taking ownership. You try to utter a response but itâs swallowed down your throat and her fingers claw deep into the scalp. Thereâs only one way where this was going: one of you is going to be ruined by the other.Â
Momo pulls your lip - a slight pinch with her teeth, and your hand shoots for her hip as a sign of restraint. Drawing back with lidded eyes; the gentle swipe of her tongue, savoring the taste. The grasp of your fingers doesnât faze her at all.Â
âHolding yourself back, are we?â She asks, fanning her breath across your sloping cheek. Ghosting your head while her arms press inward - pushing up her tits. âI thought you were able to handle this-âÂ
âOh, Iâm sure,â says Momo, settling on top of your hips, inhaling sharply as the pressure from the seat of your pants pulls her head back. âGod- youâre gonna drive me insane if you donât get your fucking bottoms off right now-âÂ
You help her arms up, motion them to the straps of her outfit. She lowers the first layer below her tits; that neat, pink push-up bra would leave you ogling for hours if she just had that by itself. Thankfully, sheâs got the bodysuit to her waist, ruffling her hair nicely to her shoulders with a lean to the right.Â
An opening for the next move: kissing her neck. To that, she presses you in while her other hand grasps her left breast, grinding against your hips while the shivers work their way up her body.Â
âSo eager- and forward,â she breathes, airing a laugh. âFuck, Iâm jealous of Dahyun when you touch her the way youâre touching me-âÂ
You bury your nose into her cleavage, lick the beauty mark above her left tit. Looking up earnestly.Â
Momo holds an expression over you. Intrigue, for one. Teetering deeper into insanity, as another. Seeing her slack mouth is enough to tell you she couldnât comprehend just how much missing you had been driving her crazy. She winces when youâre happily biting away at her skin.Â
âWait.âÂ
The puckering pop of your lips echoes into the walls of the room.Â
Momo freezes for a second, which isnât like her. A smirk breaks from the corner of your lip while you stare up, and she gets thrown off by the person hidden deep beneath your eyes.Â
Gyrating her hips to yours, her mouth twitches. You lick your lip. Anticipating the next move.Â
âThis poor kitty too stunned to speak?â You ask.Â
The girl in your lap hovers a hand above your face, her thumb tapping your lip. This is the kind of power that women dream of over a man. Itâs one of the few moments that rewires brain chemistry for a second. You lick the pad of her thumb and watch as her brows arch in surprise.Â
âI could never tell if you right now is for show or itâs actually for the things I want you to do to me,â says Momo, eyes trained when her thumb slips between your lips, unable to move from this position. âJeez. Itâs actually like- really bad. How dangerous you can be.âÂ
âIt isnât just me,â you say.Â
âNo I know, but-â and Momo is caught of guard when youâre catching her off guard with the next move: pulling from the neck and getting those perfect lips of her in the right place - where they belong - with more reverence into the feel and every audible smack getting more addicting than the last. Her palm rests on your cheek and your hand slides down the firm line of her back, stopping at the one of the two dimples right above her ass. Itâs an unrefined tension, a forsaken oath left unspoken; the mere infidelity of it should be enough to make you single after this. Though, Momo sucks on your lower lip and youâre sure that the pit in your stomach deepens; a cable waiting to snap; when it does, itâll flare up every nerve end in your body, making the synapses grow more desperate.Â
âBut what?â Itâs a taunt, and itâs all certain this girl is going to lose it.Â
âYouâre never easy,â she sighs, in a gruff tone that rolls nicely with her register in all the things sultry and begging for more. Her nails scratch the ends of hair behind your neck. âIt hasnât even been that long since our last meeting and youâre driving me insane.âÂ
Your hand makes its way down her bodysuit in response to her rocking body as her mouth stays to your neck. The fabricâs gotten more damp compared to a few minutes ago, but the friction of your fingers will soon add to that. Itâs similar to operating through fog - figuring out where her cute little clit is and when you guess the general area: right above the wetness, you press down and Momo sighs in relief.Â
âHavenât even got to the best part yet,â you groan, âand youâre already dripping before this is even off.âÂ
âIt isnât just me,â Momo says in a subtle callback. She lowers the clothing to her waist, revealing that same pink, fluffy bra. Her hand goes back, unclipping it in this well-practiced party trick. Youâre left staring again when she pulls it from the middle band and out, letting it fall to the ground. At the same time, your tongue immediately darts for her nipple. âI can tell youâve been wanting this too-âÂ
With little control she had left, Momo slips your hand inside her body suit in guidance, where your fingertips swipe against her folds, and that makes you notice one thing:Â
âNo panties during the runway performance? Oh you had this planned all along, huh?âÂ
Momo bears no response, a crack in her facade when your mouth stays on her breast and keeps your fingers still to her shifting hips. Sheâs already gotten you this close away from Dahyun that every second spent with you is an advantage.Â
Her whole body shivers in pleasure. The only language she can speak at this time is in tongues, mixed with sighs and pants and pleas and more moans.Â
Youâve got your whole hand between her legs beneath the bodysuit, and how she wished it was your mouth instead, but sheâll be content with just this. These circling fingers and slipping between her folds, her thighs press against yours, longing for that release.Â
As if she deliberately planned (which is unlikely, but the possibility isnât entirely out of the question) for you to come all this way to see her. With that cryptic text and that extremely fuckable outfit that the stylists have blessed her in. But you know well that Momo (most of the time) doesnât think things through. For this instance, youâre convinced that has.Â
âPlease, baby. More-â she begs. And her yelp is a nice noise to her when you bite on her nipple.Â
âIâm gonna-âÂ
âMhm?âÂ
âYouâre gonna make me fucking cum-âÂ
The desperation rises with her body, only staying with your gravity and grasp on her. Her mind canât keep up with your efforts. Once the moment of bliss finally strikes through her body, she hardly contains the sensation tearing through her body.Â
Momoâs cunt quivers as she cums on your fingers, seething a breath between her teeth when the butt of your palm grinds against her sensitive clit. Her forehead rests on the top of yours as she hunches forward, prolonging the orgasm youâve gifted her.Â
âLook into my eyes, Momo.â You order. âI wanna see my pretty girlâs face after cumming.âÂ
She lifts her head- slightly. Oh, you know sheâll listen to the praise when she deserves it. This girl heaving and parting her mouth low as she feels your fingers slip inside for more fun. Momoâs quick to get her arms wrapped around your head, suffocating you with her tits. Not that youâre complaining, of course. But her weight might tip you over if you get caught in the moment.Â
Then, you noticed she hasnât complied with the instruction. Which earned her a slap to her thigh, and her skin newly marked red.Â
âDoes my slut have to be told what to do again?â You tell her, harshly kissing her neck and leaving an obvious bruise with your teeth.Â
Momo, as eager to inflate that being shrouded deep in your mind, nursing that ego. She listens.Â
Thereâs this state of elation thatâs experienced with her, how much control youâre willing to give her with cuffs around your wrists, only to switch it around and have a makeshift bind made with your belt with her hands behind her back as you pound her into the mattress. Or, slapping her face with fingers wrapped to her neck. It can get raw, then sensitive: sheâs a walking sex magnet and it wouldnât take much for you to bury your cock deep into her wanting, open cunt in the exact way she wants you to.Â
Thereâs a keepsake in that regard. As fucked up as it may be.Â
That street goes both ways.Â
âBaby- mmmm, fuck.â A rasping Momo breathes, trying to stay composed as you mark up her neck. Lathering up a layer of spit on her porcelain skin, mixed with the blemishes of reddish pink spread across her chest. âI canât wait anymore.âÂ
âUse your words, bun,â you play into the exchange, hushing her with another assault of love-bitten kisses.Â
She cups your face, biting her lower lip. You see her eyes flick back to the head of the bed. For a second, youâd want to follow her words - her orders - but youâre reminded: she made you come to her. Now she has to work for her long awaited reward.Â
âI thought you were capable of using your mouth to speak, hon.â You taunt, lightly grabbing her chin and pulling her closer. âUnless youâre trying to use that mouth for something else.âÂ
âYes. Yes,â answers a needy Momo. âIf you let me- I can only say please-âÂ
âThen get on the bed.â Is what you tell her.Â
Youâve never seen Momoâs eyes light up with so much excitement before. Then again, youâve caught that same spark in many moments: like the first time she lured you away from Dahyun and had you moaning her name not long after. It shouldâve been the last time, too. Then, it started to turn into a pastime.Â
She shifts from your lap to the front of the bed. Each movement of her arms and legs, so meticulous and fluid which fit her dancing appearance. Resting nicely on her stomach and head perched to her elbows. The back of her bodysuit is in view from above, and it highlights her ass exceptionally. You canât help but stare again.Â
âSomeoneâs been waiting.âÂ
âCanât you tell?â Momo asks, sticking her tongue out. âIt was all I could think about earlier.âÂ
âUh huh.âÂ
âIâm serious!â She exclaims, leaning forward and burying her nose against the fly, inhaling. âBesides, you were getting hard while I was grinding earlier. And god I can even catch the smell. Your pants arenât even off yet.âÂ
âMind giving me a hand, sweetheart?âÂ
Momo, dutiful as ever, reaches for the seat of your pants as you get your hands to the belt buckle. Like a practiced duet between two performers: sheâs got your zipper between her teeth and her shimmering eyes can be seen in the dimmed hotel lights.Â
One layer, then the next. You keep your hands to Momoâs as she bites your waistband and pulls it down after. With your cock springing out to her cheek, brushing the tip of her nose to the underside and lowering her eyelids as she lets her face get the feel for it.Â
âFinally,â she breathes, thoroughly examining the length. Her personal (and favorite) toy. You can recount the number of stories sheâs told you, fantasizing how much you wreck her with this one âcharmâ. Itâs too known; all too well.Â
The tip of her tongue sweeps the base, and you feel those plump lips kiss a vein. On varying occasions, Momo would get right into it, forcing your cock deep into her throat and letting you fill that hole for your own pleasure. Though tonight, she wanted to savor what sheâd been missing out on for the past couple weeks. Despite being the unlikeliest characteristic, Momo takes you by surprise again and again.Â
Her lips and tongue only spare you a mere second or two before theyâre back on the skin of your shaft. Coating it with her spit and getting you wanting for more. Â
Soon, sheâs got the lovely duo of her finger and thumb, barely wrapping the root. You let go of her other hand and she cradles your balls. Heavy, you hear her say, but most of it is muffled as she presses a nose right at the middle ridge.Â
God, itâs an act in reverence. Your knees buckle at the weight of her touch. She eggs on with the teasing: only slipping the head of your cock between those thick, pouty lips and letting the tip of her tongue slash the underside that straightens the length on reflex. Momoâs edged you like this before, in a litmus test of sorts. Always wanting to try new things and each and every single of them has nearly killed you (and her both) in the process.Â
âMomo-â you slip, palming her cheek as she sucks harshly on the underline. âWeâll be here all night if you keep this up.âÂ
âThatâs the plan,â she laughs, grazing her teeth with that damned smile. Legimately: fuck her. And you will. âJust wanted to show you how much I missed my toy.âÂ
âYouâve got a problem.âÂ
The girl at your cock spits on it. âCould say the same thing to you.âÂ
You hold her jaw, guiding the cock with her hand attached to the right angle. âShh,â you coo, biting your lip because the mere thought of holding back would only make it worse. âBe a good girl and open up for me.â At this point, Momo makes a gaze when she looks up, and itâs a similar gaze that she has for concept teasers: the blown-out-smoky-eyes kind of expression, like sheâs aware of the effect she has on people. The ungodly things that they would do to get a girl like her in this position. Hereâs the worst part of it all: sheâs right between your legs and fingertips, and she smirks. Lowering her jaw - and only her jaw.Â
Slotting your cock into her slack mouth is utter perfection. The girl gags for a second; expected, and you adjust with a slight pull back out. Adjusting her head, she sleeves your cock into her throat again, and itâs effortless.Â
Her hands are back to the sides of your thighs, nose to your groin. The sound she emits from her vocal chords onto your cock is heavenly. A struggle of breath mixed with a cough, which only led to soaking the length more with spit.Â
You watch her take her time getting used to your length. Holding your breath, flexing the muscles in your stomach. She wants to make sure the tip of your cock is tucked into the deepest part of her mouth, to the point where the rest of the room fades toward blackness, and Momoâs head is the only thing you see in your blurred vision. Yet she looks up, dragging your tip against the inside of her cheek and itâs an image you want to treasure forever.Â
Bless this girl and her practice; the gag-reflex is practically nonexistent. Sliding you out of her mouth before she finally lets her mouth do the rest of the work.Â
She hums when your fingers comb her hair in purchase, adding the bonus of gripping where you know her preferred tension. A heavy sigh passes your lips when her tongue sweeps the underside, right where the flick meets the tip of your balls. âMy god, Momo. Fuck- just like that,â you rasp, barely keeping it together as your hips buck forward.Â
Momo gasps for air, taking your shaft and slapping the weeping tip across her wet lips. âHmm I know youâve been missing this too. I just canât help it. You have the greatest cock I have ever seen.âÂ
Cradling her head, she takes care of the rest as she holds you back in her salivating mouth. If the heat was already this good. You could start to imagine how it would feel to be wrapped around her walls in the next few minutes. But for now, the tension and release of her throat contracting and her clenching tongue is good enough. The womanâs brows knead in determination, focused on massaging your cock in the back of her throat.Â
The only thing thatâs keeping you standing is the foot of the bed against your knees. Makes you stand against the tide of Momoâs perfect mouth. Sheâs having all the fun in the world, keeping her lips where you want them to be and ruining you from the inside out. Itâs a practiced rhythm, and youâre palming her neck and cheek; feel the graze of her nose to your waist in a seamless motion.Â
âGood slut,â you hiss, keeping her head in after thereâs an audible click in her throat. Thereâs that tongue again, flicking in all the ways you love and like.Â
âMmfmhf.âÂ
Momo taps your thighs, granting her the ability to breathe again. A thread of spit forms from your tip connecting to her upper lip. She licks it off along with your soaked cock. You discard your blazer and the rest of your dress shirt underneath, toss it off aside for her to wear once all of this is over.Â
âYouâre not done yet, are you-âÂ
She shuts you up with her throat begging for more, burying your cock once more and gripping your thighs ferociously. You hear her mumble a sentence of sorts along the lines of âiâm not letting you relax just yetâ but all could be heard is the sloppy suck-licked mixture of her lips and tongue, moaning over your length that spikes the nerves in your muscles.Â
âMo-â you barely get out of saying, but Momo mumbles a âmhmâ instead and sheâs nearly getting you there. âYour fucking mouth, I swear to god-âÂ
The hums and slurps only get louder.Â
She might just siphon the fun out of this if she doesnât stop.
And the worst part of it all?Â
She keeps going.Â
You grip her jaw and drag yourself out of her face. In doing so, you huff at the graze of her teeth, resisting the slip out to the best of her ability. She loses; you twitch as the tip hits the pad of her tongue and bottom lip, and she smirks.Â
Her head lowers right beneath your cock. Fixated on the bead of precum peaking at the slit. You see her eyes cross, and she doesnât stop smiling at the sight of it. Licking it clean off as a small appetizer for her (eventual) hard-earned reward.Â
âYou taste good,â she praises, and you stop her from treating her mouth to your balls.Â
âIâm done going by your way,â you tell her, patting her cheek to which she bites her lip at the feeling.Â
âParty pooper. You were enjoying it. I saw your face. How much you missed my filthy mouth.âÂ
âThat fucking mouth of yours will kill someone if you donât control yourself.âÂ
âWhy would I have control in the first place?â Momo asks, closely matching your height as she brings herself to her knees on the mattress. âIâd rather have no restraint if it brings out the best in people, no?âÂ
You clutch her neck again, and her hand clasps your wrist. Keeping it there. âYouâve got a fucked up sense of character.âÂ
âSana calls you âdaddyâ from time to time,â she replies. âDo you want me to start calling you that as well? Or what are you gonna do about it?âÂ
Momo brings her face closer to yours, just inches away from your lips. Your hand is still attached to her throat. The proximity can lead to another kiss, and it almost gets there - almost. But you push her back to the bed, tug the makeshift leash which is one of her legs, turn her around so her backside is now to your hips. That remarkable ass is all you want to see and hold for days.Â
âI think I know what I have to do to knock some sense into you,â you say, feeling out the fabric of her bodysuit, stopping at a spot right close to where her seeping cunt resides. She seethes at the feeling of your fingernails finding a hold in the ridges, yelping at the tear of threads that reveal another hole for you to fill.Â
But itâs met with another surprise-
âCâmon Momo,â you chuckle in disbelief, not because of the image thatâs in your eyes, but the fact that she would be the kind of person that would go to such lengths to do it. âYouâre telling me you had a buttplug up your ass during the entire performance?âÂ
While youâre trying to come to grips with the sight of her perfect, pretty pink cunt, itâs highlighted with an obvious object protruding Momoâs ass cheeks right above it ; shining with a glossy metallic finish, but itâs Momo-ified to her standards: molded into a heart with her member color of dark pink.Â
Gratuitously fucked up, could be the best way to describe this girl.Â
âI wanted to try it out,â Momo responds, wiggling her ass in front of your cock. Her back arches deep as her arms splay flat on the covers. âNayeon made a bet with me and I lost. That was punishment.â She looks over her shoulder and flicks her hips up and down. A tease that goes on endlessly. âI can see the gears turning in your head, lover boy.âÂ
You puff your cheeks and pull a flat-lipped expression.Â
âI was gonna keep sending you pictures to spite you. Because you never see them, anyway. Dahyun has you wrapped around her finger as it is.âÂ
âWell then,â you say as you take a knee, eyes full of Momoâs hands on her ass, spreading her plugged pucker and cunt. Itâs a gratifying art to admire. The girls you oversee - each of the nine bringing their own charm to the table, masterfully created and tilting your head in angles where your neck might break through all of the melting. She shifts her hips side to side with your fingers attached - you never want to let go. âConsider you have my full attention.âÂ
âThen what are you waiting for-â she spits midway when your tongue gets that first, satisfying lick of her folds. âUgh. Fucking finally.âÂ
The mere thought of Momo in this state is pure debauchery. None of that could be exemplified with every lap your mouth makes to her sweet pussy. Like sheâs a forbidden apple in the Garden of Eden and you canât help but submit to that low saccharine tone she speaks in: praising and moaning one moment, cursing your being the next if she doesnât get what she wants.Â
âFor the record,â you're breathing hot over her cunt, biting one of her folds as another taunt. âYou rode my face the last time you had a fashion schedule.âÂ
Momo rolls her head around, planted to the comforter. âYeah, and I had your cock in my hand as a punishment. What about it?âÂ
Your nose fills the space, and the tip of your tongue messes with her clit. She curses again, loudly. Her attitude unravels more and more by the second. It could be enough, but it isnât.Â
âHow many more times can you say âfuckâ in a single sitting, hm? Think you can hold it together while I split you apart?âÂ
âOh please.â She looks over her shoulder; the curve on her spine only curls further. âI donât need to answer that for you.âÂ
Right when she tries to rise from the bed, youâre quick to push her back down; take the reins in her hair, and pull. Momoâs eyes flutter in surprise, but it can be easily read that itâs all an act of what she expected of you.Â
âWhat does my perfect whore want from me?âÂ
âTo bend me over-â followed by an audible slap on her ass, where the first mark of red forms. âAnd fuck me- fuck me full, again and again. Make me your cumdump and mess up this pretty pussy with your cock.âÂ
God.Â
God help you.Â
God help her.Â
Everything about her is a calling you fail to ignore.Â
You rest the head of your cock underneath her weeping entrance. Sheâs close, so close. The restraint is eating away at both of you for holding back still.Â
Until you carefully weather the worry away, pushing your tip past that first press of her folds. Watching the line of her shoulders tense even tighter at the first thrust. Drag back for good measure, get your bare length wet and ready with her slick, and push harder the second time around.Â
âFuck!âÂ
âMy god,â you breathe, angle her ass higher at the press of her beck. âTight.âÂ
Momoâs body follows on its own accord, her walls clenching tight around your shaft. You make do by spreading her legs wider, perch the hips at an angle where you can rut your cock in the deepest part of her cunt; figure out the precision first, then let it be sloppy after. The one-two combo of her ass and pussy will make up for the slack when your brainâs been reduced to mush and all there is to focus on is pounding her enough for the other guests to hear.
You lean forward, let your cock push itself to the hilt by her entrance, reach for her tit and pull.Â
But the slide out is just as rewarding as thrusting back in. Every pleasurable inch almost makes you think twice on whether you want to take away this sensation from her.Â
âBaby - âswear to god- fuck-âÂ
She shudders when your tip is nestled right between her puffy folds, gasping. Her whole ass wobbles. Itâs incredible.Â
âAtta girl,â you croon. Kissing the line of her back - everything else is blurry but sheâs giving you the only lifeline youâll ever need.Â
Thereâs a moment of pride when you push back in again, hard. Momoâs head flicks back in whiplash. Writhing in the feeling a bit considering how long itâs been since she last took your cock, but itâll come to grips sooner than you think - you know that much.Â
Every impact you dish out is rebounded well with Momoâs bouncing pair of her cunt and ass moving in a staggered combo: her ass to your hips with her pussy following the next second. You hear her swallow more air as an attempt to shelter the moan rumbling in her throat, but itâs pointless. The anchor your hands have to her hips, resting in the groove where the tops of her thighs meet keeps you in place - a press that pushes her deeper into the mattress beneath. A maneuver that is perfected when Momoâs face is looking down, and her ass is offered up to you; grazing her walls to that sweet spot where the nerves throb a little more roughly.Â
âIâve got you. Iâm here,â you mouth into her shoulder blade. Thereâs only one thing she wanted you to do: to use her. A far cry in the form of a cryptic message and all you could think about was her immaculate figure and curves flaunted for everyone to see, but sheâs yours. Oh, sheâs so yours.Â
Your hand can only support you so much, so the next option to resort on is hooking to her waist, listening to the thick groan when the angle doesnât change and youâre still rucking that sweet spot where youâve figuratively killed her over and over. Her knees are about to give too; the press of her ass on your cock makes you throb harder.Â
Momoâs hand reaches for your neck, sobbing. Thereâs a laugh mixed into that as well. You can tell her eyes are closed and mind is blown, fucked.Â
âLike this,â she says, gritting her teeth when you suddenly slow the pace, give her these singular thrusts of your hips: (not) nice and slow. âFucking use my pussy like this.âÂ
âYeah? Is this what you wanted?â You manage, caught off guard as her body twists, kissing your lips. âDo you realize how good you look when youâre like that?âÂ
She goes limp, panting. You grind your cock against her walls slowly still; hands canvasing her back and waist, feeling out those same curves youâd want to kiss and lick until she tells you to stop. Then Momo mumbles into the duvet, âi know you love how my pussy takes your cock,â and all you give her is a sigh of disbelief.
You stop your movements as Momo does the work for you, pushing her ass back to your groin and overachieving with a similar wiggle from earlier. The next best thing you can get around by is cupping the swell of her ass, have the skin ripple before you meet her halfway and fuck upwards, watching your cock get coated with her essence even more.Â
âItâs so fucking thick inside me- jeez.â Momo grits, and every curse she spits is more punctual than the last. âMy perfect pussy good enough for you, pretty boy?âÂ
âThat fucking mouth of yours,â you spit and your voice is coarse. Matching Momoâs antics.Â
âThen fuck me more,â she tells you, lips slipping against your cheek. The skin contact is way past electric - getting more and more desperate. âWant you to own this cunt - âcause itâs all yours.âÂ
âYou have no idea,â and this comes after you bury your dick in the hottest part inside her, make her body stiffen and youâre pushing her further into the mattress. âHow absurd you are- this fuckhole, Momo. My god-âÂ
At this point, the front of her body is flushed with the comforter, pinning. An angle where the pressure around your shaft is just at the right level where every slip and drag back would be enough to drop a load inside - itâll happen, but you struggle to believe how much she clenches even tighter.Â
âBaby,â breathes Momo. There isnât much she can do in this position, feeling her cunt full of your cock.Â
Frankly, she just has to lay there like a good slut. Youâre telling her this as the pace gets more primal, reduced to a pure instinct. Momoâs eyes meet yours for a quick second: blown out and past the threshold of the first of many orgasms youâve fucked her through.Â
Only to watch her hide and muffle her voice into the pillow. This version of Momo is where you like her best. Belittled and disregarded as a pure vessel of pleasure. Get off with her holes and claim her for the night before reality sets in come the next daylight.Â
Her moans and sighs clash inconsistently. Your hand flushes with hers as it grips the covers. âSo good; so fucking good - I canât believe this cock isnât even mine. What the fuck - you selfish motherfucker. Fucking me like you mean it because itâs too addicting to forget-âÂ
Well, yes.Â
Sheâs right.Â
âMy lovely doll getting her pussy stretched out? Cute.â And your mind is trailing to a knifeâs edge, watch as a layer of white forms on the top of your cock. Giving you more finesse into the slip in and out in one continuous flow. âYouâre just saying nonsense, hun.âÂ
âPlease- please-âÂ
Sheâs beyond savoring the feeling. The only reason youâre here in the first place was to get her off. Yet that sword is piercing her as it is the same for you.Â
âBreathe for me, Mo,â you murmur, licking her ear. âLemme fuck this cunt for you, okay? Relax.âÂ
Momoâs hand places yours to her face, sucking on a finger to satiate her heaving exhales. Her mouth parts with the tilt up and hook to her neck. âNeed you, need your cum. Please, baby. Itâs yours. So yours. This fucking cunt is all yours.âÂ
âYeah?âÂ
âWant you to burst,â she sputters. On the precipice of falling off that edge even more.Â
Suddenly, you stare at Momoâs back as the rest of her body tenses, reaching that high. The shrieks she makes aren't like her, but thatâs all credit to your hard work. You notice the buttplug again, just right in the middle where it covers her puckered asshole, blocking it. She tenses even more when you press on it, and her whole figure just spazzes out of control.Â
âFu-fuck! Right there! Right there, right there, right there-âÂ
âWhere should I-âÂ
Momo grabs your arm as her cuntâs bottomed out; the flex of your embedded cock could only prolong the release as much as it could, and the seized muscles in your hips and legs keeps you still. âInside,â she whispers, ânowhere else.âÂ
But-Â
You have other ideas.Â
In a fast act, you pull the buttplug out of Momoâs ass. Her hole swollen and opened up well once it was deprived of metal bead that sheâs been hiding. You pull your cock and aim it at the spot above; the first rope going through and the second immediately after. Part of your brain short-circuts and snaps back into consciousness as your load gets pumped into her uncovered asshole.Â
âOh my god,â Momo gasps in pure disbelief, biting her lip and humming at the threads of white being plastered in her asscheeks. âYou dirty fucking boy,â she says coyly.Â
You gaze on her face and watch the flush of pink come back to her, then fixated on the sudden wave of heat all over the head of your cock, trying to stay the course in each sinking inch as Momoâs ass takes in all the length. Youâre leaking white from the tip still, and itâs equally cruel when youâre spreading her pussy lips below and circling it to overstimulate.Â
âFuck- Momo. Your ass - holy shit.âÂ
âCanât help yourself to gape me,â she shudders. âFucking your cum into my perfect little ass; never wanting to pull out?âÂ
But your brain can only handle so much of the new sensations to your nerves. Your cock is bathed in white, vanished into the lovely canvas of Momoâs irresistible ass. When you eventually slip your cock out of her ass (and press into her folds for good measure), your eyes kind of just- stay there as the first glob leaks out of her cheeks, dripping onto the covers.Â
Momo lays there, zoning out as you fall right next to her on the bed, fingers grazing the tip of her chin. âYou - have got serious issues.âÂ
She laughs at you. âYeah, but what else is new?â Kissing one of your knuckles - maybe two. Youâve got a thumb to her plump lips and there isnât really anything else left to say about it. âI donât mean what I say when youâre railing me from behind.âÂ
âSlut,â is what you end with.Â
âOh but you love me.âÂ
â
(In standard Momo fashion:Â
Youâre hiding a smile when she pushes you out of the hotel room. Staring at your disheveled hair and rumpled dress shirt with your blazer hung to your shoulder. She didnât even bother tying up that robe, and the tits and waist are like another pair of eyes lasering you as well.Â
âWhat if someone sees you like that?âÂ
âWhat if they see us?â Momo huffs, unimpressed. âThat article is gonna burn one of our careers and it is for damn sure it isnât yours.âÂ
Looking around, thereâs no one to be seen down the long winding hallway. âBe lucky that no oneâs watching.âÂ
âDonât fucking jinx it?âÂ
âOnly saying it if you want to see me again.â
Momo, being Momo, walks out on her tiptoes. Sheâs good at faking the part of being the calm-hearted, pretty girl where you know itâs completely the opposite. Youâve told her many times. Everyoneâs told her the exact same thing - though she does it anyway.Â
She lifts herself up to kiss your lips. No need for her nor your hands as theyâre bound to your back, since sheâs got that natural rule to always be gravitated by you.
âI couldâve sworn I sent you flowers before the show, no?âÂ
The girl pouts, humming a long tone. âIâm just messing with you. Of course we did.âÂ
âJust making sure,â you smile.
Momo goes for one more kiss - because she canât help herself. âIâll see you soon, okay?âÂ
You nod, because the assurance is more sobering than the guilt. Even with the girl who has the biggest doe eyes youâve ever laid on, she still manages to create some sort of lifeline:Â
âThanks for coming over. And-â right as she steps back into the room for the night, thereâs a pause with her hand on the door. As if there was something holding her back. To which she says:Â
