Untitled

As you hear the footsteps go from one stall to another you freeze, hand hovering over the coil of the XLR cable your boss told you to grab from the makeshift equipment room. It just so happens the room is pulling double duty as the members' prep area.

Who's stupid fucking idea was this?

The muffled bickering continued to come from the changing stall on the other side of the room.

You knew it was just Chaewon and Kazuha left to argue in there since you saw Yunjin, Sakura, and Eunchae already on set for the shoot ten minutes ago. From what you were hearing it was probably going to be a while before the other two joined them.

"Turn around, let me see the tag. Yeah, see? Backwards. You’re fucking hopeless."

"Shut up. Just help me get them off. Or on. Whatever. Fuck. Just fix it before my circulation gets cut off permanently."

Shhh-wip. They were definitely coming off.

Just focus on your job, that's all you should do. You pretend to untangle the cable in your hands to keep your mind occupied while the sounds from the stall become more and more distracting.

"They're soooo tight. I feel like I'm being vacuum sealed. Is this supposed to happen? Does Lululemon hate me?"

"It’s compression wear, unnie. It’s supposed to be tight," Kazuha teases. "They're just letting it sit on your hips like a pair of low rise pants. Are you going for a Y2K vibe or something? You have to pull them up more."

"Excuse me? I've been trying to pull them up! They won't move. It's stuck right here...uhn...on my thighs."

"Let me do it. You’re weak."

"Hey! I am not weak, I’m just...ah! Okay, watch your nails!"

"Stop wiggling, you’re making it worse. Just let me get the these up... there. See?"

"Oh my god, that feels so much better."

"Good. Now check the seam. Is it straight down the middle?"

"Middle of what?"

"Your butt, Chaewon. The seam. It needs to be centered or it'll look weird on camera."

Silence stretches for a moment, followed by the sound of more shuffling.

You swallow hard, staring at the wire in your hands as if it holds the secrets to the universe.

You are a professional.

You are part of the production staff.

You are here to move cables and set up lights, that's all.

Nothing else.

You are definitely not here to eavesdrop on two of the biggest celebs in the country discussing their butt seams.

"I don't know, it feels... crooked. Like, one side is riding up more than the other. Can you see it?"

"I'm looking. Turn towards the light so I can get a better look at it."

"The light? How's the light going to help? It's been flickering all day Kazuha."

"Just turn. Okay? Wait, I see what you mean. They are bunching up right here." A loud slap echoes through the stall, the sound of skin hitting skin. You jump, nearly dropping the cable. Is that what you think it was? "Right on your ass." Yeah, it was.

"It's bunching up?" Chaewon sounds horrified. "Why is it doing that? I thought these were expensive!"

"They are expensive. That’s why they fit like a glove and you just have to learn how to wear them. Hold still. Let me try to smooth it out."

"Ow... don't pull so hard!"

"I’m trying to fix it. Just chill the fuck out. I think it'll smooth out if I pull them up higher."

"Higher? They can't go any higher, if they get pulled up anymore, I’m going to get split the fuck in half."

You stare at the closed curtain that's serving as the door. The pop-up stall is just a metallic frame wrapped in grey velvet that doesn’t reach the floor letting you see two sets of feet shuffling around beneath the gap. Not like you're looking or anything.

You should leave.

Grab the cables and walk out the door. Just go back to the set, let them figure out what's going on with those leggings in peace. Unfortunately, or fortunately, your feet feel like they’ve been cemented to the floor.

"It's still not right, ughhhhh. There's no way I can go out there like this. The camera is going to pick up every little wrinkle and I'm going to get so much shit for it. I can already see the tweets."

"It’s not that bad, but you’re right. It’s being a little... problematic. I think we need a second opinion. Or a third set of hands."

"A third set of hands? Who's? Eunchae is gone. Yunjin is probably out there yapping to the director. Sakura is probably back to playing her Switch."

"There’s staff outside, right? I heard footsteps earlier."

You hold your breath. She heard footsteps earlier, YOUR footsteps.

"No, absolutely the fuck not," Chaewon balks immediately. "I am not asking some random fucking staff member to come inspect my butt. That’s embarrassing. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen."

"It’s just clothes! Nothing more. We need the fit to look perfect. Director-nim is going to have a cow if we show up late to the shoot because you're self conscious about a seam." Kazuha gets louder. "HEY! Staff member! Can you come help us for a sec?"

"Kazuha, no!" Chaewon hisses.

Too late. The call has been made. You stand there, paralyzed, wondering if feigning sudden deafness is a viable career strategy. The velvet curtain parts a fraction, and Kazuha’s face peeks out. She spots you instantly, standing near the equipment rack like a statue in a museum.

Maybe she won't notice if you don't.... move.... a.... muscle.

"Oh, good," she says, a relieved smile breaking across her face as she waves you over. "You! Please, come over here. We have a code red, a fashion emergency."

You quickly glance at the exit, it’s twenty feet away. You could probably make it. If that's what you want to do.

"Please," Kazuha now pouting. "Chaewon is panicking and I’m losing my mind. We just need a quick check on the fit."

You're just helping them out, that's what you're boss would want you to do right?

Nodding slowly, you force your legs to move toward the stall. "I... I can help? What do you need?"

Grabbing your wrist the moment you're within range Kazuha pulls you into the stall. It’s cramped with a full length mirror, a small bench, and now there's three people fit into a space meant for one. It's so much hotter in here.

Chaewon's standing with her back to the mirror, looking over her shoulder with a face full of panic. Her outfit is... well, it’s hot... you mean a lot. She’s wearing a long-sleeved black bodysuit that hugs her torso like it's painted on, disappearing into the waistband of the black leggings you've been hearing so much about. Wonder where that goes. The leggings are indeed tight, very tight, sculpting her legs in a way that should probably be illegal. She looks incredible, but she also looks like she’s about to fight a ghost.

"Tell me I'm not crazy," Chaewon says the moment the curtain slides shut behind you, trapping you inside. "Look at this. Do you see that? Right there on the left cheek?"

Turning slightly she points to the back of her thigh.

Your brain short circuits and you have to force your jaw not to drop from the situation you find yourself in.

You are in a small, enclosed space with two insanely attractive women, and one of them is asking you to inspect her ass. HER ASS.

Just be cool, just be cool. You got this.

"It’s... bunching up," Kazuha explains off to the side, crossing her arms. She’s wearing black Lululemon shorts and a simple white tank top, looking effortlessly cool compared to Chaewon who is currently losing her mind. "The seam isn't sitting right either. We've tried pulling them up, smoothing them out, everything. But it keeps bunching up."

Clearing your throat you hope your voice doesn't crack. "It... uh... it looks like the sizing might be a little off?" It cracks. Fuck. "Or maybe the cut?"

Chaewon groans, dropping her head forward. "I knew it. I knew I shouldn't have had that extra water this morning. I'm bloated. I'm a potato."

"You're not a potato," Kazuha rolls her eyes, stepping forward. Looking at you, dead serious. "Can you just... check? Tell us if it's noticeable from a normal distance. Like, if you were standing behind me in line at a cafe, would you point and laugh?"

"I wouldn't point and laugh," you stammer, feeling your face heat up. "I'm not a monster."

"Good to know," Chaewon mutters, though she shoots you a small, suprisingly genuine? smile over her shoulder. "Just be honest. If it looks bad, tell me. I'll change. I'll wear something else, fuck it I'll wear sweatpants. I don't care."

"Okay," you manage to say. "I'll... take a look."

You step closer. Did the A/C break or something, it's so hot. Chaewon turns to face the mirror, her back to you. The seam in question runs vertically down the center of her ass.

What...

An...

Ass...

Sure enough, you see the problem, they are definitely bunching up on her left cheek and the seam is all sorts of fucked up.

"See?" Chaewon asks, now whispering. "It's tragic."

"It's barely noticeable," you lie, leaning in slightly to inspect it without actually touching. "It's just... what happens with this kind of fabric." What are you saying, you don't know anything about fabric. "Maybe if you move the waistband a bit?"

"We tried that," Kazuha chimes in, moving to stand on Chaewon's other side, looking at your reflection in the mirror with a playful smirk on her face. "You're being very polite. Just be honest. It's okay to say it looks weird. We’re all friends in here. Well, maybe acquaintances is the better word. Acquaintances who are trapped in a box together."

Just act like you know what you're talking about.

"I think it just needs to be smoothed out," you suggest, gesturing vaguely at the offending area acting like you have any sort of idea of what you're saying. "We should adjust the waistband first to get the seam lined up and then to get that bunched up part smooth we should pull the fabric around it to get rid of it. Then from there work our way up and smooth out anything else while making sure that seam is lined up right." There's no way that word vomit made any sense.

Kazuha nods. "That makes sense." HUH?

Looking at Chaewon, she says, "Just let him... err... let us try. You’ve been pulling at it for five minutes and it’s only getting worse. A fresh pair of hands might help."

Chaewon hesitates, her eyes meeting yours in the mirror. Despite you knowing her, knowing?, as someone who seems super confident all the time, you can see how nervous she is now. "Okay," she breathes out. "Deal, but be easy on me, I’m a delicate."

"Right, I'll be gentle. Got it."

Kazuha snorts. "Don't worry, she usually likes it rough... OWWW! What the fuck Chaewon?"

Chaewon elbows her in the ribs, hard. "Ignore her. She's crazy. Just... fix it."

You step in closer, invading her personal space getting so close close that you can see the hard work she's put into her body thanks to the skintight bodysuit. So close that you can now smell the hint of her perfume.

Just be cool.

Reaching out, your hands hover for a split second before making contact with the fabric.

It’s warm. That’s the first thing that you notice as you place your hands on her hips, your fingers splaying out over the waistband. Chaewon tenses up instantly as she tries to hide a gasp.

"Sorry... cold hands."

"It's... fine... just... do your thing."

Gripping the waistband, you try to ignore the fact that you are essentially holding her hips. WHAT? "Ready?"

"As ready as ever."

As you twist the waistband, the seam falls into place, it actually works.

"First part done." Continue to act cool, you got this.

As you line up where to pull to get rid of the bunching you sense Kazuha watching you like a hawk from the side. Don't fuck up, don't fuck up, don't fuck up.

"Make sure you pull it tight," Kazuha instructs. "Like, really tight."

You pinch fabric right in the area right below where her thigh meets her cheek making Chaewon shiver.

"You good...?" you ask, pausing.

"Yeah," she squeaks. "Just... go ahead."

As you pull the fabric down it stretches easily, sliding over her skin as the bunching goes away. Now for the last part.

"Okay, now you just have to make sure everything is smoothed out," Kazuha commands. " Work your way up and do it slowly to make sure that seam doesn't budge."

You start to slide your hands back up using your palms to smooth the fabric against her skin as you go, making sure it lays flat. Your hands graze over the swell of her ass, her ass is ridiculous. Hyper aware of every inch of contact, the friction of your skin against hers even though a thin layer of spandex is in the way gives you goosebumps.

"Is that... is that better?" Chaewon asks, barely whispering.

"ALMOST," you say way too loudly. "There's still a little bit of a twist right here."

Your hands are currently cupping her ass, your fingers digging in slightly to adjust the seam, you're basically manhandling her as you try to iron out the wrinkles in her leggings with your bare hands. Is this actually happening, like what the fuck?

"Here," Kazuha says as she steps up behind you. Reaching out, covers your hand with hers on Chaewon’s left cheek. "Push it like this. You have to really get in there to make sure it stays flat."

She presses your hand harder into Chaewon’s flesh. "Unnf!" Was that a moan? Chaewon clamps her mouth shut, her eyes squeezing shut in the mirror.

"Kazuha!" she chokes out. "Too hard!"

"That's how you do it though!" Kazuha laughs, squeezing your hand before letting go. "Feel the difference?"

Right.

Adjusting your grip, your thumbs press into the crease beneath her cheek. You can feel the heat radiating off her, and you’re pretty sure your face is bright red.

"Like this?"

"Mmm," Chaewon hums as her head drops forward. "Yeah. That feels... that feels good... I mean right. Yeah... right."

"Don't encourage him," Kazuha teases, leaning in closer to inspect your work. "Okay, looking better. Just keep... smoothing it out. Up and down. Work it out."

You do as you're told for what felt like an eternity as tried to smooth things out as best as you could. Am I just giving her a massage at this point? Chaewon made it seem that way with how flustered her reflection looked and how her breathing started to get more and more shallow. Then, out of nowhere, she shook it off.

"You know I think I'm... it's good, actually," Chaewon mutters, though her weight shifts slightly into your palms. "Problem solved."

"Nice work," Kazuha chirps, stepping back to cross her arms. "See? Teamwork makes the dream work. Now we just need to..."

Before she can finish the thought, her hands shoot out, wrapping around your wrists.

"Wait, we missed a spot. On the waistband."

"On the waistband?"

"Yeah, see right here," she explains, guiding your hands higher, forcing them up the curve of Chaewon's backside until your fingers are gripping the waistband again. "It's bunching up here now. We need to fix it."

"Kazuha, what are you..." Chaewon starts, but it's too late.

Kazuha suddenly yanks your hands downward, pulling the waistband down Chaewon's hips and dragging it all the way down to her thighs in one go.

"OHMYGOD!" Chaewon yelps, instinctively arching her back to stabilize herself.

OHMYGOD. There, just out in the open, is Chaewon's ass, completely bare save for the thong back of her black bodysuit disappearing between her cheeks, leaving absolutely nothing to your imagination. You can see that her skin is so smooth, her ass round, so fucking round...

and firm...

and tight, you mean right...

right in front of your growing fucking bulge.

"My bad," Kazuha shrugs, not sounding sorry at all. She releases your wrists but leaving your hands hovering there, almost cupping Chaewon's cheeks. "Slippery little devils, aren't they?"

"You did that on purpose!" Chaewon accuses, twisting around to glare at her groupmate. The movement jiggles her entire body in a way that makes your throat close.

"I was just helping," Kazuha defends with a wicked grin. "Besides, look at how smooth that area is now. Flawless."

You are frozen.

Look away, apologize, maybe if you literally pass out you can escape this. Your eyes are glued to the sight in front of you. It’s magnificent, might be... no... is the greatest thing you've ever seen. It’s also career suicide.

"Are you just going to stare?" Chaewon asks breathless and flustered. "You can... help pull them back up. Or something."

"Right," you choke out. "Yeah. Pulling. Them. Up."

Reaching for the waistband pooling around her thighs your knuckles graze the bare skin of her ass. You hook your fingers into the waistband, preparing to hoist it back up, but the angle is awkward, you’re too close to her.

"Use both hands," Kazuha says, moving to stand behind you now, crowding your back, her chest pressing against your shoulder blades. "Get a good grip. You have to really yank it."

"I'm trying."

Shifting your stance, you lean forward, bringing your hands down to the waistband at her thighs. As you squat a little to get better leverage, your right hand slips and your palm definitely doesn't find the spandex. Instead, it slides right up the middle, grazing the thong.

HER THONG.

It’s not just warm.

It’s wet.

You freeze. As your eyes snap up to Chaewon's reflection in the mirror her face is now bright red.

She saw you feel it.

She knows you felt it.

"Fuck," you whisper, snatching your hand back like you touched a stove. "Sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"It's fine," Chaewon says quickly, too quickly. She clears her throat, turning her face away from yours. "Just... hurry up and fix it, okay?"

"Wow," Kazuha breathes against your ear, having not moved away at all. If anything, she's pressed even closer. "That's... interesting. You having some technical difficulties there, Chaewon-unnie? Or are you just enjoying the help?"

"Shut the fuck up, Kazuha," Chaewon snaps, but there's no real heat in it. Just panic. "It's just... nerves. The... shoot. You know how I get... right?"

"Nerves?" Kazuha laughs. "I don't think nerves get you wet like that, unnie. That's a whole different kind of feeling you're having."

"Look..." Chaewon says looking at you in the mirror, her eyes pleading. "Can you just... can you not say anything about any of this? Please?"

"I won't," you promise, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I swear. My lips are sealed."

"That's not the only thing you want from him, is it?" Kazuha teases. She reaches around you, her hand finding your wrist again. She guides your hand back toward Chaewon, not toward the leggings this time, but higher, toward the damp fabric of the bodysuit. "If it's bothering you... we should fix it. Right? He's been a good help so far."

"What are you doing?" Chaewon gasps, watching the reflection. She doesn't move away, she instead actually pushes her hips back, into your touch.

"I'm just helping a friend out," Kazuha says looking at you in the mirror. "Filming a video while she's like this? This wet? That wouldn't work. Help a girl out."

"Help her how?" you ask, barely audible. You know exactly what she's suggesting you do. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?

"Use your mouth," Kazuha whispers, pressing her hips against your ass. "She wants it. Look at her. She's practically begging for it."

"Uhhnnn," Chaewon lets out. She drops her head forward, resting her forehead against the cool surface of the mirror. "God, yes. Okay? Fine. Fuck. Yes. Please. Just... fix it."

Fuck it. Operating purely on instinct now, every rule you've ever learned about workplace conduct has just been tossed out the window into the alleyway behind the studio. You sink to your knees behind her. The view is even more incredible as this angle, her ass with that tiny, wet scrap of black fabric barely hanging on now fully in your face.

"You're sure?" you ask, needing to hear it one last time. No way this is real.

"Do it before I change my mind," Chaewon hisses.

You lean in and the smell of her heat hits you. Fuck... this is real. Fuck formalities. Fuck teasing. You press your face right against her, your tongue flat against her soaked thong.

"FUCK!" Chaewon cries out, her knees buckling bracing her hands against the mirror to not fall.

You lick a long stripe up the center of the fabric, tasting her through it. This is crazy. You want to slide the thong to the side so bad, but it's so hard to pull your mouth away for just a second. Latched onto her, you suck hard, feeling the heat and wetness against your lips.

"Oh my god," Kazuha says from above you, delighted. "Look at that. He's starving, good boy."

Ignoring her, your focus is entirely on Chaewon and her moaning. You can feel her clenching, desperate for more.

"Slide the thong over alreadyyy," Chaewon whines, reaching back blindly. Her fingers scrabble against your hair, then dip lower to the latch between her legs. "Take it off. Do something, just get rid of it. I need... I need your tongue on me."

You take your mouth off, as much as you don't want to. There's a soft click as you unsnap the part covering her core. The thong part of the bodysuit falls away. You don't waste a second and right back dive in, burying your face in her bare folds.

The way she tastes as you lap at her folds, it's insane. You then swirl your tongue around her clit before sucking it. She's sooo wet, so ready, that you feel it on your face already.

"Ahhhh! Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Chaewon's hips buck back against your face. "Yessss! Right fucking there! Don't you dare stop!"

Following exactly what she says, you don't stop, you want to make her fall apart. Your nose presses against her other hole, adding a dirty pressure that makes her gasp, while your tongue fucks her entrance in rapid, shallow thrusts.

"You're making quite the mess," Kazuha observes as you hear her start to move. "Look at him go. He's not even coming up for air."

You try to glance up, your vision filled with the curve of Chaewon's ass. Kazuha is leaning back against the bench, her own Lululemon shorts now pulled down to her knees revealing a white Calvin Klein thong. Her hand is deep down the front of it, moving in slow, deliberate circles.

"Are you seeing this Zuha?" Chaewon pants, her eyes opening to meet her friend's gaze in the mirror. "Are you seeing how fucking good he is at this?"

"Yesss... fuck... it looks... it looks like it feels fucking amazing. He's really into it, it has to feel sooooo good."

"He's soooo...," Chaewon whines, dropping her head again. "It feels so good. I'm not... I'm not going to last long if he keeps this up."

"Don't hold back," Kazuha fingers move faster. "Let him fucking have it. Cover his face."

The dirty talk is spiraling out of control, pushing all of you toward the edge. You double down, sucking on Chaewon's clit with hard, rhythmic pulses. Moving your head down a bit to slip two fingers inside of her, fuck that's tight, you hook them to find that spot that drives women crazy.

"Oh fuckkkkk! Fingers too?" Chaewon screams. "I'm gonna... I'm cumming! Fuck! I'm fucking cumming!"

Her entire body tenses as her back arches and thighs shake. The walls clamp down squeezing so tight around your fingers. She cums as she lets out a long broken moan. You help her ride it out, tongue still deep in her folds until she pulls away gasping for air.

"Hollllllyyyy fuck," Chaewon slides down the mirror until she's crouching on the floor. "That was... that was insane, what the actual fuck? Was not expecting you to be THAT good."

Kazuha pulls her fingers out from her thong, you see how wet they are as moves to stand right in front of you.

You look up at her cleaning your face of Chaewon's juices with your heart still racing.

"I need some help with something too."

Kazuha hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her thong to slide it down her legs before kicking it aside. What a sight. "Stand up... now."

You do.

Kazuha grabs you by the shoulders and pushes you towards the front of the bench. Guess you won't be catching your breath. She then lifts her leg and puts her foot on the bench beside you.

"I now have the same exact problem, think you can fix it like you fixed hers?"

So you do just that, first leaning forward to kiss her lips and then slowly you make your way down her neck before you sit on the ground in front of the bench. Her folds are right in front of you now and she’s just as beautiful as Chaewon. What is your life?

You start licking her, wanting to cover every inch. Kazuha is vocal immediately, her hands tangle in your hair, pulling you closer. Your hands grab her ass to help her maintain her balance.

"Just... like... that," she groans, her head falling back. "Your mouth is... fuck. You're so fucking good at this."

While you're deep in her folds, you hear the distinct sound of a belt unbuckling.

Your belt.

"Look at this," Chaewon murmurs as her face is now near your waist. "Seems like someone's been soooo hard this whole time."

She unzips your pants and yanks them down your legs along with your briefs, freeing your length. It slaps against your stomach. Fuck. Your hips jerk forward and let out a small moan.

"Oh... he's big," Chaewon wraps her hand around the base giving you an test squeeze. "And thick."

"Don't distract him," Kazuha pants, looking down at you. "I'm close."

You redouble your efforts on Kazuha, flicking your tongue rapidly over her clit while slipping a finger inside her the same way you made Chaewon cum. She’s tighter than Chaewon, her muscles grip you like a vice. She grinds her hips against your face, trying to reach the edge.

Then you suddenly have to stop because you feel something so amazing that you feel your soul almost leave your body.

A wet warmth envelops the tip of your length.

You look down just as Chaewon takes you deeper into her mouth as she’s on her hands and knees with her ass in the air. Watching her, she bobs her head up and down your shaft, she takes you so deep. Every time she goes down you feel her throat relax to fit you in and every time she comes up her tongue swirls around your head while you can feel the pool of saliva slowly form around your base.

"Fuuucckkk," you moan against Kazuha's core.

The sensation is overwhelming as you eat out one gorgeous idol while getting the blowjob of your life from another.

"Does her... does her mouth feel good?" Kazuha asks, watching Chaewon work. "Looks like she really... fuck... she really knows what she's doing, she's always told me she's reallllll good at that, no gag reflex at all."

You nod as the words don't, can't, come to mind, as you switch to sucking on Kazuha's clit, grazing it gently with your teeth.

"Ohhhhh! Yesss!" Kazuha cries out. "Keep... keep doing that! Please. Fuck. Fuck, I'm going to cum!"

You keep up the same rhythm, your finger pumping in and out of her as you continue to suck on her clit. Down below, Chaewon's hand is now twisting and sliding up and down your length faster and faster in unison with her mouth. She moans to add even more to what you think is the best thing you've ever felt. Do not cum, you don't want this to end, ever.

"I'm fuck... I think I'm cu... I'm so close," Kazuha's thighs begin to tremble on either side of your head. "Please... please please don't stop doing that, I need this so bad!"

With a final cry Kazuha cums and her juices flood your mouth as you keep her upright through it, still gripping her ass. Never plan on letting go of this amazing ass. Holding your head in place she grinds against you until she's spent.

"Fuckkkkk," she releases her grip on your hair and slumps back against the bench, looking down at you cum drunk. "That was... so fucking good."

You finally let go of her folds. Breathe. You haven't been able to for a while. Gasping for air, your face is slick with a combo of both of their juices. Chaewon is still working your length with all of the enthusiasm. Fuck, you might die right here, right now. She looks up at you and pops you out of her mouth.

"We're not finished yet," pumping your saliva coated shaft with her hand.

She leans forward and runs her tongue up the underside of your shaft to the head and swirls it, without breaking eye contact.

"Are you close? I want... no... need you to cum in my mouth. I want to taste you so bad. Do you think you can do that for me?"

"I don't think so," Kazuha clamps her hand down on Chaewon’s shoulder to pull her back. "Not yet. He not getting off that easy."

Chaewon blinks. "What? That's not fair... ughhhhhhh," actually pouting as she’s dragged away from your lap. "But he's so ready. Look at him."

"Exactly. If he cums now, the fun is over. We can't have that, I don't know about you but I still want to have some fun."

Yep. You're going to die here.

Your length throbs in the open air twitching at the sheer unfairness of the situation. Just beg for mercy, that might work. Kazuha points a finger at the bench.

"Sit."

Fine, if this is your final resting place, so bet it.

The awkwardness in how you scramble and fumble towards the bench with your pants now around your ankles will go down as the most thing to ever happen.

Maybe they didn't see it.

"Good boy," Kazuha says before turning towards Chaewon. "Go on, hop on."

Definitely don't need to tell Chaewon twice. The leggings immediately come the rest of the way off. If only they were that easy to put on. She comes over to the bench and puts her knees on either side of you with her core directly above you tip.

"God, I want you to feel how wet I still am because of you." She reaches down and grips your shaft to line you up with her entrance, your tip now grinding against her slick entrance. God she's still dripping wet. "You feel that? I think I'm ready, hope you are."

"Go on Chaewon, ride him already," Kazuha urges, standing right beside you two, arms crossed over her chest. "Show him how the leader handles it."

"Oh I will." Chaewon sinks down.

She’s tight...

incredibly tight...

but so wet.

You slide in with one smooth, glide.

HOLY FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?

Her walls stretch around you to fit all of you in.

You let out a groan like you never have before.

"Fuckkkkk," Breathe. "You're... just... fuck."

"What? Am I... am I too tight?" Chaewon pitchy and breathless. She starts to move, she lifts her hips up and the drops them down. "You feel so huge inside me."

"Good fucking lord, you feel unreal," you manage to gasp out.

The rhythm set by Chaewon is nothing short of desperate. She braces her hands on your shoulders for, you feel her nails dig in. Her ass slaps against your thighs with every downward thrust. The sound of it. The fucking sound of it.

Plap.

Plap.

Plap.

Your mind processes it in slow motion as you just try to survive.

"Look at that," Kazuha watched intently. She reaches out to poke Chaewon’s bouncing ass cheek. "You're really taking it all. Look at how much he's stretching you out."

"Zuha, don't you dare fucking distract me," Chaewon grinds down harder, making your eyes roll back.

"Distract you? I'm giving you a compliment." Kazuha leans in closer to your face locking into your eyes. "Does she feel good? Is her tight little pussy gripping you tight?"

"Fuck," you choke out, nodding. "So... so so good. Best I've ever felt."

"That's fucking right I am," Chaewon pants. She mashes her chest against yours, seeking out your mouth. You kiss her, messy and wet, tongues tangling as she continues to bounce on your lap.

You can feel the pressure building in your core. Don't know how much longer... so close.

"Fuck... slow down before I cum, I can't take much longer of you going this fast."

"No, that's not allowed, not yet." Chaewon squeezes her internal muscles deliberately.

Your hips buck up involuntarily in response.

"Just hold it a little longer, I'm so close, let me cum first."

"She's sooo demanding today," Kazuha laughs. "Better give the leader what she wants. Grab her hips, help her out."

You slide your hands down her back to grip her waist. Sliding yourself a little off the bench and using your elbows for leverage to thrust up into before she drops all the way down. Yeah this is the spot.

"Ohhhhh myyyyy...! Fuck! That's it... you're so fucking big... fuck!"

The sight of her is something else.

Her flushed face.

Her hair sticking to her forehead.

The way her bodysuit clings to her frame.

"I'm sooooo close... fuck! You ready for me to cum all over your cock! Fuck!"

She slams down onto you one last time. Her entire body seizes up. Her walls pulse around you while she buries her face in your neck to quiet her screams, her breath hot against your skin.

"That's a good fucking girl," Kazuha soothingly pats Chaewon’s back. "There's no way no one else heard how loud you were at all."

"Please just shut up for one sec Kazuha," Chaewon mumbles into your shoulder, still going through the aftershocks. She then looks at you, "Wow. Just wow."

She lifts herself off you slowly, your length sliding out of her with a wet schlick. A string of precum connects you for a moment before breaking. You’re still rock hard, needing to cum, but you know how this is going to go.

"You know what I'm going to say" Kazuha shoves Chaewon gently to the side.

Kazuha turns around shoving that fit ass in your face.

"I want you to watch my ass while I ride you."

She squats all the way down your length to the base.

God how is it this tight. HOW?

"Fuck me, you're so thick."

Kazuha leans back to put her head on your shoulder. She then starts to bounce up and down.

You reach around her body to grab onto her perky breasts. Her nipples are so hard. You pinch them, and she lets out a sharp hiss.

"Harder, I need you to pinch them harder."

You obey and pinch them as hard as you can while she continues to ride.

Watching her ass cheeks ripple every time they hit your thighs is going to be engrained in your mind. She’s incredible.

"Look at us. Two idols, using a staff member like a fucking toy in a changing stall. It's so hot, isn't it?"

"Soooooo... fucking.... hot."

Just thing about baseball or sitting in traffic or LITERALLY ANTYHING.

"Chaewon-unnie, look. Look how much he's stretching me out. It feels so good."

Chaewon lifts her head from her hands, still cum drunk. "It does. He's hitting that same spot he did with me, isn't he?"

"He is. He's fills me up so fucking good. But I need more. I want it harder."

She grabs onto your knees and slams herself down even harder.

PLAP.

PLAP.

PLAP.

In the mirror you see her start to quickly rub her clit.

"Fuck fuck fuck. Yes yes yes yes. Yes!"

You thrust up into her, matching her pace. Every muscle in your body is tense as you try not to cum.

"Come on Zuha," Chaewon encourages, reaching out to stroke Kazuha’s hair. "Cum for him. Soak his cock."

A final, sharp cry then Kazuha gets over that edge. Her back arches against your chest as her orgasm rips through her. She cries out and her walls clamp down.

You freeze, holding your breath.

Not yet, whatever you do, do not cum yet. Don't let this end.

Kazuha slumps against you to catch her breath. It doesn't take that long before she pulls herself off you. Your cock plops out so wet with her. She stands up on shaky legs.

"Fuck, that felt great. How the fuck did you not cum?"

Sweat drips down your forehead. "I'm fucking dying here. I didn't want this to end."

You look at Chaewon, she still has that post orgasm glow. You remember the position she was in when you first entered the stall.

"Get over here." The authority in your tone surprises even you.

Chaewon’s eyes widen. She knows exactly what you want.

"Bend over. Just like you were when I was fixing your leggings."

She bends and sticks her ass out.

"Like this?" she looks back with a smirk.

"Fuckkkkk yes," you growl.

You stand up, finally shoving your pants all the way off. Thankfully not as awkward as before. Linking yourself up behind her, you grip her hips.

"You going to fucking fill me up?" she teases as she wiggles her ass.

"You better believe it."

You push inside.

God it feels so much deeper this way. You bottom out almost immediately, your hips pressing against her ass. Chaewon lets out a loud moan.

You don't wait.

You can't afford to.

You start to thrust, hard and fast.

You take her exactly the way you wanted to since the moment you heard her struggling with those stupid spandex pants.

"Yessssss! Fuck me! Use me!"

The sound of your hips slamming against her ass is so loud. Probably too loud. The stall is shaking with the force of your thrusts.

"Fuck that's hot," Kazuha says from the bench. "Stretch her out. Make her beg for more."

"He's stretching me out so fucking much! It's so deep!"

You reached out, gathering her hair in your fist and pull her head back.

"You like that? You like taking my big thick cock?"

"I love it! I love your fucking cock! It's so thick! It's stretching this tight pussy out so fucking much!" The filth pouring out of her mouth is so dirty, desperate, and it drives you wild.

This is it, you can't last any longer.

"Cum inside me... fuck! Please please please! I want it! I need you to fucking fill this pussy up!"

"Beg for it," Kazuha chimes in. "Beg him."

"PLEASE! Please cum in me! I'm a dirty little slut! My pussy needs your cum! Paint my insides! Own this pussy! It's yours!"

That’s it. That’s the trigger.

"FUUUUUUCCCCKKKKKKK!!!"

You slam your hips against her ass one last time, trying to go as deep as possible. You vision starts to go and your body locks up.

FUCK.

You cum harder than you ever have in your life. It feels like it lasts forever as you flood her with cum. She's squeezing so tight around you, milking you dry.

"Yes! Yes! I can feel it! It... it feels... FUCK... it's so fucking good!" her body shakes violently.

You freeze, you both just freeze, trying to catch your breath.

The world slowly comes back into focus. You pull out and see your release run down her thigh.

"Holy fucking shit."

"Yeah... holy shit."

"Bravo, bravo. What a fucking show," Kazuha quips, tossing a pack of wet wipes from her bag at you.

You catch them even with your still shaking hands. You start to help Chaewon clean herself up when the sound of someone clearing their throat comes from just outside the curtain.

A very familiar, very polite throat clearing.

"Chaewon? Kazuha?" Sakura calls out, cheerful and completely oblivious to the absolute depravity that just went down three feet away from her face. "Manager-nim says we have five minutes until the camera rolls. Are you guys doing okay in there?"

Chaewon’s eyes go so so so wide. She looks at you, then at Kazuha, panic replacing her post orgasm glow.

"We'll be out in a bit Kkura-unnie!" Kazuha yells back, somehow calm as a cucumber. She looks at the two of you and smirks. "We had a... problem with the leggings. We're fixing it now."

"Okay! Don't be late!" You hear her footsteps leave the room and go back down the hallway.

What in the fuck just happened? Did that actually happen?

"We are definitely going to be late."

Chaewon just laughs as she quickly pulls her leggings back up.

I wait, a delicious mix of anticipation and love and lust clouding my brain and my heart, making me appear restless in front of my colleagues as I check my phone again and again, as my boss, Kim Wan-Sun, glowers at me and drones on about something she thinks is important.

Another buzz. I unlock my phone immediately, the chat with Seulgi already open.

“Of course it’s not the wedding dress, silly. It just caught my eye.”

A second text comes from Seulgi immediately.

“Baby, you like me in latex that much?”

I can feel my face blushing and ears getting red over the insinuation of where this conversation may lead, making my body feel warm all over in the middle of the heavily airconditioned room.

“Yes. Buy it, please. Get the entire fit, including the gloves and definitely the boots. Use my credit card.”

I get a notification five minutes later on my banking app, letting me know that the entire outfit has cost me an arm and a leg.

Another photo from Seulgi, showing the full outfit in all its glory, accompanied by a text.

“Got a pair of stockings as well, baby. Thought you’d enjoy tearing into it.”

“Fuck, I am in the middle of a meeting but I can’t focus on anything else, Seulgi. Can’t wait to see you.”

I look at the time, realizing there is at least three more hours before I can get off work without raising any eyebrows, and considering the Seoul traffic, it will take me another hour to get home.

“Just so you know, I am wearing the entire outfit under my overcoat. The latex feels nice on my skin.”

My professionalism, my composure, my ability to stay calm and collected; all shatter with that one text. My desperation to feel Seulgi takes over completely, as I hurriedly send one last text as the meeting nears its end.

“Come to my office, then. I just can’t wait four more hours to see you, Seulgi. Need you ASAP.”

“On my way, baby. Latex is kinda annoying to take off anyway, I’d rather you did that instead of me.”

I smile, the biggest I have ever smiled in front of my colleagues, especially in the middle of a meeting as boring as this one. My boss sighs dejectedly one last time as she sees me glued to my phone, and concludes the meeting. Ignoring everyone, I rush to my tiny room at the almost ignored corner of the office floor, my recent promotion moving me up in the corporate world from an open cubicle in the middle of the floor to a partitioned workspace beside the storage room. I was not the most thrilled getting this space as a reward for my hard work, but man, am I glad that I got this secluded space.

After 30 minutes of me looking at my laptop restlessly, there is a knock on the door. Before I can get up to open it, Seulgi opens the door and enters, her face beaming with the shy, bear-like warm smile that I fell for a decade ago. Her brown overcoat hides the black latex outfit quite well, but as she walks towards me, I see some glimpses of what is underneath through the opening, throwing gasoline over the fire of my excitement.

I hug Seulgi tight as she kisses my cheek, making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside just at the touch of her lips. She pulls back, sees my dumb expression, and smiles again, my hands still on her waist. “I met Wan-Sun unnie on my way here. She already complained about you to me, you know?” She nuzzles my hair, a mix of playful scolding and adoration. “Unnie says you were distracted during the meeting, and I said I am to blame.” Seulgi laughs again, looking at my face. “You’re dumb, you know that, baby? Getting worked up over just a photo.”

“Yes, I know. I think my IQ falls by 20 points whenever you are near me. I am practically in the negative IQ zone right now, Seulgi.” I squeeze her waist tighter, not able to resist myself from feeling her skin against me.

“Oh, you are restless.” Seulgi lightly slaps my forearm with her gloved hand, which only makes me grab her latex clad body tighter, my face now nestled in the crook of her neck, inhaling her natural scent, mixed with a subtle smell of rubber from the latex itself under her overcoat. I can feel my arousal rising in the middle of my tiny office, the almost distant hum of people working on the office floor feeling like a detail I should not bother myself with, especially when I have a goddess between my arms.

Fortunately, Seulgi’s IQ has not dropped like mine has. She whispers, “Lock the door” to my ears as I already start to kiss her neck softly, pushing me away with a bit of force this time to at least make me come to my senses enough to give ourselves one added layer of privacy. I open the door a bit, looking outside for a moment to make sure no one is near my room, and lock the door.

Just as I turn around, Seulgi presents herself to me with the perfect visage - the black latex dress hugging her upper body tightly, accentuating all of her curves. The black latex dress hugs her torso so tightly it looks painted on, and every tiny breath makes the latex stretch and gleam under the fluorescent lights, making the outline of her erect nipples already visible under the latex. The latex boots end just above her knees, where the black sheer stockings begin. The skirt is ridiculous, short and flared like a tutu, and it barely covers the tops of her thighs. When she shifts her weight the hem lifts just enough to flash a glimpse of sheer black stockings and the simple black panties underneath. The brown overcoat is disregarded on the floor, having served its purpose of covering Seulgi wearing latex from anyone else’s eyes.

I stare. I stare at Seulgi like she is the epitome of every late-night fantasy I have ever had, because she is. Seulgi has shifted from her everyday, clumsy posture to her graceful, dancer’s one, which makes everything much, much better. Back slightly arched, chest pushed forward, hips tilted just so. The latex turns every curve into something sharper, more deliberate. She knows exactly what she looks like right now, she has known from the moment she tried out the dress and sent me the photo. I can see the confidence in the way her eyes flick down to the obvious bulge in my trousers, then back up to my face.

Seulgi’s pride at making me lose my wits conflicts with the sudden shyness across her expression. The same shy, bear-like smile she has given me for a decade is there, mixed with pride, but at the same time, the reality of her dressed sexily in latex in the middle of my office during a workday makes her blush with embarrassment.

“You’re staring again,” Seulgi says in a voice low and a little breathless, but threaded with the same teasing confidence she used in those photos. The latex gloves creak softly as she rests one hand on her hip and lets the other trail down the flared hem of the dress, deliberately drawing my eyes lower. A faint flush rises on her cheeks, her shyness almost winning over, yet she doesn’t look away. “I knew this would get to you the second I put it on. That’s why I sent the pictures. But watching you look at me like this in person…”

The dress leaves nothing much to the imagination, and Seulgi’s arousal at the entire situation is obvious. Her nipples are outlined in perfect, insistent detail against the tight black latex, almost begging to be felt, and the faint sheen of wetness is already visible over her black panties. She doesn’t try to hide any of it. If anything, she stands a little taller, chin tilted, letting me take in every inch of what she chose for me, relishing how feral she can make me.

I stopped thinking the moment Seulgi walked in my office, and now I let my instincts guide my actions fully. My hands find her waist again, latex squeaking under my palms as I grab her waist harder than I had earlier, and I almost carry her by her waist to sit her on my office chair. Seulgi squeals a bit, both in delight and surprise. Her boots click against the floor, as she sits, thighs spread at my sudden movement. The flared skirt flips up as she sits and I drop to my knees between her spread thighs before she can close them, as if I am kneeling in front of everything that will ever matter.

My hands go straight to Seulgi’s thighs, and the contrast is enough to drive me insane. Smooth, warm latex over the top of her boots, then the softer give of the black sheer stockings, then the living heat of her actual skin just above the stocking tops, the heat between her thighs dampened by her black panties. I rub slowly, up and down, feeling how the material resists and then yields. Underneath the latex dress her body is already warmer than usual. I can feel the faint dampness of sweat starting to collect against the inside of her second skin.

“God, you feel…fuck” I do not even finish the sentence, I am not in the headspace to think anymore, this novel sensation overriding my senses. Instead, I just keep touching. My palms sliding over the tight bodice, over her toned abs, my thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts where the latex is stretched thinnest. The material is slick and cool on the outside, but the second I press harder I feel the living heat of her skin underneath. Her nipples drag against the inside of the dress every time she breathes, the light friction turning Seulgi on even more.

Outside the door the ordinary office sounds continue; keyboards clacking, a phone ringing two rooms over, the distant murmur of someone complaining about the coffee machine. It only sharpens the moment, makes me want to focus on Seulgi more. In contrast, as the possibility of us getting caught with my face between her thighs become more and more real with every passing moment, Seulgi starts feeling more shy, more aroused.

Seulgi makes a small, embarrassed sound and tries to close her legs. I gently push them wider again. “Don’t hide, baby.” I say. “You wanted me to see you like this. Let me.”

She bites her lip, latex-gloved hands resting on the arms of the chair, not yet gripping. The gloves make little soft creaks every time her fingers flex. I lean in and press my face against the short flared skirt, breathing her in. Rubber and skin and the faint clean scent of the lotion she always uses, all mixed up in the smell of her wetness. My hands slide higher, under the hem, until my fingers find the waistband of those plain black panties. I hook them and start pulling them down. Seulgi lifts her hips for me without being asked, the latex dress squeaking as it shifts. The panties come off easily. I toss them on the floor, as I inhale the stronger scent of her arousal directly.

The stockings are next. I do not bother being careful, as the stockings were meant to be torn. I grip the sheer fabric at her thighs and tear. The sound is sharp, loud in the quiet room. Seulgi gasps, softly moaning my name once as she grips onto the arms of my office chair. Another tear, then another, until both stockings hang in tatters around the tops of her boots. Her bare, toned thighs are revealed in all their glory under the harsh fluorescent light. The skin of her thighs feel soft, warm, slightly damp with a light sheen of sweat already. I run my palms up the insides of them, feeling the difference between the cool, resistant latex of the boots and the warmth of her inner thighs.

I look up at Seulgi as I keep kneeling. She is watching me with wide eyes, lips parted, her shyness contrasting the blush in her face at having me between her legs, the control she can exert over me through submitting to being pleasured.

“You’re wet, Seulgi, really wet.” I lean in and drag the flat of my tongue slowly up the length of her slit, tasting her properly for the first time today. She is already so wet the first lick comes away glistening. She tastes wet, familiar, slightly sharper from how turned on she is, a taste I can never get enough of. Seulgi’s hips jerk at the sensation of my tongue. A soft, high sound escapes her before she clasps a gloved hand over her own mouth.

I do it again, slower, relishing the taste of her wetness better now. Soft, broad strokes from the bottom of her entrance all the way up to her clit, then back down. I take my time, loving exactly how Seulgi feels against my tongue while she is wearing the latex. Every time she shifts, the dress makes that quiet, wet-sounding creak against the leather of my office chair. As I lick her pussy, my hands travel up over the tight bodice, feeling the heat and the sweat starting to make the inside of the dress slick against her skin. I interlace my fingers with hers, her latex glove against my bare skin, and hold on while I eat her out.

When I finally seal my lips around her clit and suck softly, Seulgi’s frees one of her hands from mine to grab onto my hair. The latex glove squeaks against my scalp. I keep the suction gentle at first, just enough pressure, then flick the tip of my tongue across the swollen little bud. She tastes even better the longer I stay between her thighs. I start alternating; wide, flat strokes that cover everything and lets me taste her more, then point my tongue and push inside her, fucking her with it in short, shallow thrusts while my nose stays pressed to her clit. The wet sounds are filthy in the quiet room.

Outside, someone walks past the door; their footsteps slow for a second as if they might knock, then continue on. Seulgi’s eyes fly open, releasing my scalp so that she can bite down harder on her own gloved finger, trying not to make a sound. I do not stop. I lick deeper, suck harder, use the flat of my tongue to gather every drop of her and then push back inside. As I push my tongue inside her, I can feel how her pussy is trying to squeeze against it, wanting to keep my tongue inside her longer, pulling it deeper. Her thighs start to tremble against my shoulders. The latex dress is growing warmer under my palms, as I feel the sweat collecting now, little slippery patches where the material no longer clings perfectly.

When Seulgi comes, it is with a muffled, broken moan against her own hand, thighs clamping around my head, the latex dress creaking loudly as her whole body tenses. I keep licking her through it, slower now, drinking everything she gives me until her legs finally loosen. The skin of her thighs is flushed and damp under my hands. The contrast between the slick, resistant latex and the soft, heated flesh underneath is almost too much.

I pull back just enough to look at her. Her face is flushed, eyes glassy, the shy smile completely gone and replaced by something raw and hungry. Her hair is a little messy now, soft strands sticking to her sweaty temple. “Turn around, baby.” I say.

Seulgi stands on slightly shaky legs. I spin her so she faces my office desk, then bend her forward over it, her arms balancing over the desk as she arches her back, presenting her ass towards me. The short dress flips up completely. Her bare ass and the glistening mess between her thighs are on full display, a sight I have seen over a thousand times, but never on my desk, never with her wearing latex. I shove my pants and boxers down just far enough, line my hard cock up, and push into her in one slow, deep thrust.

The sound she makes is half gasp, half whimper. I have to grab her hips hard, as my hands keep sliding on the slick latex, so I dig my fingers in until I have a proper grip. The material squeaks under my palms with every thrust. Outside I can still hear the low hum of the office floor. Someone laughs near the printers. It only makes me drive deeper.

“Fuck, Seulgi, baby..” I start moving properly, hips snapping forward, the wet sound of me sliding in and out mixing with the constant soft creak of the dress. Her boots stay planted on the floor. Every time I bottom out, the flared skirt bounces against her lower back. I reach around and squeeze her tits through the latex, feeling the hard nipples drag against my palms. The material is so tight it is almost like touching bare skin, only shinier, warmer, slipperier from the sweat underneath. I can feel the heat of her body trapped inside the dress, the way the latex has become a second, slicker skin. Seulgi’s pussy, somehow tighter and slicker, pulses softly around my cock as I drive into her again and again and again.

“You like this,” I lean forward and say against her ear, voice low. “You like knowing you can walk into my office in the middle of the day and drive me crazy with one outfit.”

Seulgi nods hard, forehead pressed to the desk now. “I do, baby” she whispers. The latex gloves creak as she grips the edge of the desk. “I love how you look at me. I love that I can still make you this stupid after all these years.” She pushes back to meet the next thrust, latex squeaking. “I’m going to keep doing this. Even after we’re married. Even when we’re old. I’m going to put on something like this and watch you lose your mind.”

The promise goes straight through me. I grab Seulgi’s arms, pull them behind her back, and use them as leverage to fuck her harder. The desk creaks under the duress. Seulgi bites down on her lips to muffle her moans, but I can hear her soft moans as I drive into her harder, her pussy squeezing my cock like her promise, never wanting to let me go. Outside I hear two colleagues talking about weekend plans as they walk past. Their voices fade, but for a second I am sure one of them slows. Seulgi freezes for a heartbeat, then pushes back onto me again, daring the risk.

The combination of the tight heat of her raw pussy, the constant slick noise and sensation of the latex, and the way she keeps pushing back onto me is too much. I bury myself as deep as I can one last time, pull out and immediately come hard across the small of her back, painting the shiny black material in thick stripes. Some of it slides down the curve of her waist. The rest stays, white against the glossy black, some getting stuck on the golden zipper at the back of her dress. The latex creaks softly as Seulgi breathes through it.

For a few seconds neither of us moves, too stunned, too ecstatic, too in love. The only sounds are our breathing and the distant office noise. A phone vibrates somewhere down the hall. Footsteps pass again, closer this time, then move on. Then I grab onto the zipper at the back of Seulgi’s dress as she lies down on top of my desk, and start to pull it down.

It comes off slowly. The material clings stubbornly to her sweaty skin, making soft wet sounds as it releases. Once the zipper is pulled down completely, I pull Seulgi up and turn her around to face me. First the top peels away from her breasts, leaving faint red marks where the dress and my hands have compressed her, then down over her ribs, her waist, her hips. When it finally clears her body I drop the dress onto the chair. The smell that rises off her is pure Seulgi mixed with warm rubber and sex. It is the best thing I have ever smelled in my life.

Seulgi lies on top of my desk in nothing but the thigh-high boots and the torn remnants of the stockings. Her skin is flushed deep pink under her breasts and the line around her waist, wherever the dress had been the tightest. Sweat makes her glow under the office lights. Soft, warm, marked, utterly mine. Her hair is more tangled now, soft strands sticking to her neck and temples. I reach up and brush it back, feeling how different it is from the slick latex I have been touching for the last twenty minutes.

I bend myself over Seulgi and start licking. I start at her collarbone, first tugging on the black choker she has on her throat with my teeth, then dragging my tongue through the thin sheen of sweat, then down between her breasts. I lick every red mark my hands have left. The skin is soft, slightly salty, alive in a way the latex never could be. When I reach her shaved armpit I do not hesitate, I press my face into the soft hollow and lick, slow and thorough, tasting salt and heat and her. Seulgi squirms, a startled little laugh turning into a moan. “That tickles—ah—baby, that’s so…”

I do the other side just as carefully, then work my way down her stomach, licking and dragging my tongue over the faint red bands the waist of the dress has left, lower, until I am licking the insides of her thighs clean of the mess we have already made. Her hands stay in my hair the whole time, latex gloves still on, the material squeaking softly every time her fingers tighten.

By the time I climb back up her body, Seulgi is shaking again. I kiss her properly, just the way she loves; deep, messy, open-mouthed, while I guide myself back between her legs. This time I push my cock in slowly, watching her ethereally beautiful face the entire way. Her eyes flutter as I enter her warm, inviting pussy. Her mouth opens on a silent moan against mine as if it is inviting my tongue in, and I oblige by pushing my tongue between her soft, kissable lips. Her soft skin against mine at last, no latex between us except the boots still wrapped around my hips.

I start thrusting in long, deep strokes, keeping most of my weight on my forearms so I can keep kissing Seulgi. Her boot-clad legs wrap around my waist, the smooth latex of the boots sliding against my lower back. Her gloved hands grab onto my forearms. Every time I bottom out she makes a tiny, broken sound into my mouth. The desk shifts an inch with the force of it. I keep fucking her in steady, grinding thrusts, kissing her through every one, tasting the sweat on her upper lip, feeling the way her body opens for me now that there is nothing between us but skin.

“I love you,” she whispers against my mouth, the words almost lost under the wet sounds of us. “Even when you look at me like you’re going to eat me alive.” She smirks against my lips. “Especially then.”

I kiss Seulgi harder, angling my hips so every stroke drags across the spot that makes her thighs tighten around me. I don’t stop. Even as the pressure builds at the base of my spine I keep fucking her in slow, deep, and deliberate thrusts that grind against that same place over and over. Her pussy is so wet, the wet sounds are filthy in the quiet office, but the real torture is the way it keeps grabbing my cock. Every time I bottom out she clenches hard, a tight, rhythmic squeeze that ripples from the base of my cock all the way to the tip, like she’s trying to pull me deeper inside her, deeper than I physically can be. The heat of her is almost unbearable after the slick cool of the latex; soft, living walls that flutter and spasm around me every time I drag back and push in again.

Seulgi’s breath breaks against my mouth. Her gloved fingers dig into my forearms hard enough to leave marks. She comes on my cock with a muffled, broken sound she tries to swallow against my tongue as her whole body locks, pussy clamping down in strong, pulsing waves that milk me in time with her orgasm. The squeezes are so tight and rhythmic I can barely move, but I force myself to keep thrusting through it, short, grinding strokes that drag across her still-spasming walls. Each one wrings another helpless flutter out of her, another soft, high noise she can’t quite hold back, even as my lips press against hers.

I don’t last much longer after that. The feeling of Seulgi coming around me pushes me over. I bury myself as deep as I can and cum inside her with a low groan she swallows with her lips, pulsing hard inside her while her legs stay locked around my waist in the latex boots and her gloved fingers squeeze my forearms hard enough to hurt. Soft skin, soft hair, the lingering scent of latex and sweat and her, everything I have been craving since the first photo hit my phone, while her pussy keeps giving those last, weak little squeezes around my cock, like it isn’t quite ready to let go either as it squeezed every last drop of my cum inside her.

We stay like that for a long time, our foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air, the latex boots still wrapped around me, my cock still inside her pussy - wet and mixed with our cum, the discarded dress gleaming on the chair beside us, and the ordinary sounds of the office continuing just beyond the locked door like nothing in the world has changed. Seulgi eventually gives a small, breathless laugh and nuzzles my nose with hers.

“We’re going to have to be very careful walking out of here,” she murmurs. “I’m still wearing the boots. And I’m pretty sure half the floor just heard the desk moving.” I kiss the tip of her nose, then her lips again, slower this time. “Worth it.”

The vintage clock on the bedside table had a habit of skipping a beat every thirty seconds, a rhythmic hiccup that usually annoyed the neighbors through the thin walls of the apartment. Yuna, however, was currently focused on the sensation of her own heartbeat thumping in her ears, her muscles feeling like overcooked noodles. She tried to lift her arm to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, but her limb felt heavy, as if it had been replaced by wet cement.

"I don't have any power," she murmured, her voice sounding small and breathless. She wasn't talking about the electricity in the room, which was humming steadily from the bedside lamp, but the sheer, physical capacity to move a single finger.

You let out a soft laugh and pulled her closer, the fabric of the sheets damp and clinging to your skin. The air in the room was warm, smelling of salt and skin. "It's okay, baby," you whispered, kissing the crown of her head. "I'll take care of you."

She let out a long, shuddering exhale, sinking further into the mattress. The aftermath of the last few hours had left her completely spent, her body still buzzing from the repeated squirt that had left her gasping and shaking. She looked up at you, her eyes slightly glazed but full of a quiet, contented warmth, leaning into your chest as if trying to merge her heartbeat with yours.

As the silence settled back into the room, punctuated only by that clicking clock, you shifted slightly to get more comfortable. "Babe," you said, your voice grazing her ear, "next month is our anniversary. What do you want?"

Yuna didn’t answer immediately; she simply pressed her forehead against your collarbone, her breath hitching in a way that suggested she was still recovering from the peaks of the last few hours. The silence stretched, not out of hesitation, but because the weight of her contentment was so heavy it felt physical. When she finally spoke, her voice was a fragile thread, barely audible over the rhythmic hiccup of the clock.

"A dinner with you," she whispered, the words trembling. "And shopping. I just want to spend the day... just us."

You felt a small, knowing smile tug at the corner of your mouth. You knew her preferences—the way she loved the ritual of getting dressed up, the quiet thrill of picking out something small and meaningful to keep as a memento of a specific day. You shifted your leg, feeling the lingering dampness of the sheets, and tightened your hold on her. "That's the easy part," you murmured, kissing her temple. "What else?"

She shifted then, her body sliding against yours with a slow, languid friction. She looked up at you, her eyes searching yours with a sudden, focused intensity that cut through her physical exhaustion. "I want you to do something special for me," she said, her voice regaining a bit of its strength, though still shaky. "Something you’ve never done before. Something that... surprises me."

Read more on Kofi

The security breach at the Mnet recording studio had been minor — a sasaeng who'd slipped past the first cordon, made it as far as the green room hallway before security tackled him — but management wasn't taking chances. Not with NewJeans. Not when every comeback meant another tier of fame, another layer of threat.

That's where Y/N came in.

He stood six-foot-four with shoulders that filled doorframes and hands that could wrap around a basketball with fingers to spare. The suit was custom, black, cut to accommodate the thickness of his chest, the width of his back. His skin was deep brown, close-shaved head, a jaw that looked carved from something harder than bone. When he walked into a room, conversations didn't stop — they hushed. People felt him before they saw him.

The girls had been briefed: Y/N, former special operations, private security contractor, nine years of experience. He'd be on the overnight rotation, dormitory security, 10 PM to 6 AM. His presence was non-negotiable.

He took his position in the living room of the dorm — a sprawling seventh-floor apartment in Gangnam with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Han River. The rest of the security detail worked rotations outside, but he was the static presence. The last line.

Hanni and Haerin had gone to bed by eleven. Danielle and Hyein followed by midnight, leaving only the glow of the city through the glass and the occasional creak of the building settling.

And Minji.

She came out of her bedroom at 1:47 AM wearing silk pajamas — a pale lavender camisole and shorts that rode high on her thighs. Her hair was down, dark and straight, falling past her shoulders. She was twenty-two, the leader of the biggest girl group in Asia, and she moved like she knew exactly what every line of her body did to a room.

"You're still here," she said, padding barefoot into the kitchen. Her voice was soft, casual, like she'd just noticed him. She let out a small sigh as she opened the refrigerator, the sound deliberate, theatrical.

"I'm always here," Y/N said from his position by the window. His voice was low, a bass rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floor. "That's the point."

She opened the refrigerator, bent over to look inside. The shorts rode up. The curve of her ass pressed against the silk, and she took her time straightening, a bottle of water in her hand. She twisted the cap off slowly, let the cold plastic touch her lips.

"I couldn't sleep," she said, twisting the cap. "Too much energy."

"Then you should rest."

"I don't want to rest." She walked toward him, stopping a few feet away. Close enough that he could smell her — coconut and shea butter, clean skin, something floral underneath. "What do you do all night, just stand here?"

"Watch."

"Watch what?"

He turned his head, looked down at her. His eyes were dark, unreadable. "Everything."

Minji felt something curl in her stomach. A heat that had nothing to do with the temperature of the apartment. Her boyfriend of two years — a producer at ADOR, soft-handed and careful, always asking permission — hadn't looked at her like that in months. Hadn't looked at her like she was something to be taken.

"What do you see?" she asked, her voice thinner than she wanted.

Y/N didn't answer. He just watched her, his gaze traveling from her eyes to her mouth to the line of her throat, slow and deliberate. She felt it like a touch.

"You should go back to bed," he said finally.

"Or what?"

A pause. His jaw tightened.

"Or nothing. I'm not here to tell you what to do. I'm here to keep you safe."

Minji wet her lips. "And what if I don't want to be safe?"

The words hung between them. She saw something flicker in those dark eyes — interest, hunger, control held in check.

"Go to bed, Minji."

It was the first time he'd said her name. Just her name, no honorific, no formality. Like she was anyone. Like she was his.

She went.

But she didn't sleep. She lay in her bed, thighs pressed together, thinking about the way his voice dropped when he said her name. Thinking about those hands. Thinking about what they could do. She pressed her palm between her legs and sighed into the darkness, imagining those thick fingers instead of her own.

A week passed. Minji found excuses.

Late-night water runs. Forgotten phone chargers. A glass of wine she nursed for an hour while sitting on the living room couch, wearing less and less each night. She'd sigh loudly when she stretched, let the sounds carry across the room.

He never approached. Never initiated. But his eyes tracked her — she felt them like a brand. When she bent to pick up a dropped earring, when she stretched in the kitchen with her arms above her head, when she crossed and uncrossed her legs on the couch, the silk of her shorts doing nothing to hide the shape of her thighs.

He was a statue. Patient. Waiting.

On the eighth night, she came out wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt. No shorts. No bra. The shirt fell to mid-thigh, and the nipples of her medium breasts pressed against the thin cotton. She'd put on lip gloss and a touch of perfume. She'd brushed her hair until it shone.

She walked straight to him.

"I want to know," she said, stopping inches away. Close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. "What you think about. When you watch me."

Y/N looked down at her. His hands were clasped behind his back — military posture, controlled. "You don't want to know that."

"Yes, I do."

"It's not appropriate."

"I don't care about appropriate." Her voice cracked. "I have a boyfriend who touches me like I'm made of glass. Who asks if it's okay before he kisses me. Who finishes in thirty seconds and rolls over and goes to sleep." She was shaking now, the words spilling out. "I don't want gentle. I want—"

She stopped. Couldn't say it.

"What do you want, Minji?"

"Someone to take what they want from me."

The silence stretched. She could hear her own heartbeat. She heard his breathing — slow, controlled, measured.

Then Y/N moved.

His hand came up, caught her chin between his thumb and forefinger. His grip was iron. He tilted her face up, made her look at him.

"You don't know what you're asking for."

"Then show me."

He studied her for a long moment. His thumb traced across her lower lip, pressing just enough to part her mouth.

"If we do this," he said, his voice a low growl, "we do it my way. You don't tell anyone. You don't say no. And when I'm done with you, you crawl back to that boyfriend and pretend nothing happened. You understand?"

"Yes."

"Say it."

"I understand."

"Good girl."

The praise hit her like a shock. Her knees went weak. A soft sigh escaped her lips — the sound of surrender.

He released her chin, stepped back. "Your room. Now. Lock the door behind us."

She led him down the hall, heart hammering. Her bedroom was dark, lit only by the city glow through the curtains. She heard the door click shut, heard the lock turn.

Then she heard his belt unbuckle. The sound of metal sliding through leather. She sucked in a breath.

"Turn around."

She faced him. He stood between her and the door, a shadow against the dim light. His jacket was off. The white dress shirt stretched across his chest, the top two buttons undone. His forearms were thick, veins visible.

"Take off the shirt."

Her fingers fumbled at the hem. She pulled it over her head, stood naked in front of him.

He looked at her. Took his time. His eyes moved from her breasts — medium, full, nipples hard — down the flat plane of her stomach to the dark patch between her thighs.

"On your knees."

She dropped.

The hardwood was cold against her knees. She looked up at him, waiting. Her breath came in shallow pants.

He unbuttoned his pants, pushed them down. His boxer briefs strained against the length of him — a thick, heavy bulge that made her mouth go dry. She could see the outline of his cock pressed against the fabric, the sheer size of it making her thighs clench.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed his briefs down.

His cock sprang free, and she gasped.

It was massive. Twenty centimeters, dark as the rest of him, thick as her wrist. The head was broad and flared, already slick with precum that glistened in the dim light. A thick vein ran along the underside, pulsing. It stood heavy and hard, pointing toward her face like a weapon, like a threat.

"Haaah..." The sigh escaped her before she could stop it. A sound of pure awe.

"You like what you see?"

"Yes," she whispered. "God, yes."

"Open your mouth."

She did. Her jaw dropped, her tongue extended slightly, waiting.

He stepped closer, took himself in his hand, and slapped his cock against her cheek.

The impact was sharp, wet. The thick shaft connected with her skin, leaving a trail of precum across her cheekbone. She moaned.

"That's what you wanted, isn't it? A man who treats you like a hole."

He slapped her other cheek with it, the sound cracking through the quiet room. Her head turned with the impact. She moaned again, louder this time.

"Say it."

"Yes," she breathed.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good fucking girl."

He drew his arm back and slapped her face with his cock again — harder this time, the thick shaft landing across her lips and nose. The impact stung, and she felt her eyes water, but between her legs, her pussy clenched around nothing.

"Look at you," he said, his voice a low growl. "Getting wet from getting your face slapped with a cock."

He did it again. And again. Each slap landed across her cheeks, her lips, her chin. He used the full length of his shaft, from the thick base to the flared head, smearing precum across her face until her skin glistened.

"You love this, don't you?"

"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes, sir, I love it."

"Tell me what you love."

"Your cock. Slapping my face with your cock. Making me your — your whore."

"Whose whore?"

"Yours. Y/N's whore."

He grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back. Her face was tilted up toward the ceiling, her throat exposed. Her cheeks were wet with tears and precum.

"Open wider."

She dropped her jaw as far as it would go. He guided the head of his cock to her lips, pushed past them. The taste hit her tongue — salt and musk, male, overwhelming. He didn't wait for her to adjust. He thrust forward, filling her mouth in one smooth motion.

She gagged. Her hands flew up to his thighs, but she didn't push. She held on, fingers digging into the muscle as his cock slid deeper, stretching her throat, cutting off her air.

"That's it," he grunted. "Take it. Take all of it."

He pulled back, let her breathe for half a second, then thrust again, deeper this time. The head of his cock hit the back of her throat, and she felt her eyes water, drool spilling from the corners of her stretched lips.

"Look at you. Minji the idol, drooling on her knees for a cock. What would your fans think?"

She couldn't answer. Couldn't do anything but take it, her throat convulsing around his length as he fucked her face in steady, brutal strokes. The drool ran down her chin, dripped onto her breasts. The sounds she made — guttural, animal, wet — filled the room.

"Your boyfriend ever fuck your throat like this?" He pulled out, let her gasp for air. His cock was slick with her saliva, glistening in the dim light. "Answer me."

"No," she choked, coughing. "He never—"

"No. He doesn't know what to do with a woman like you." He grabbed her hair, twisted his fist in the dark strands, and yanked her head back. "You need a real man. A man who isn't afraid to hurt you."

"Yes," she whimpered. "Please."

"Please what?"

"Please fuck my throat."

He didn't give her time to prepare. He grabbed the base of his cock and shoved it back into her mouth, but this time he kept going — past her throat, past the point where she'd ever taken anything before. The sheer size of him stretched her esophagus wide, the thick shaft forcing its way deeper than she thought possible. Her eyes flew open, tears spilling down her cheeks before she even understood she was crying.

"Take it," he growled, his voice a low rumble above her. "Take every fucking inch."

She tried. Her throat rebelled against the intrusion, convulsing around the massive length buried inside her. His cock was too thick, too long, and her throat wasn't built for something this size. She gagged violently, her hands flying up to his thighs, nails digging into his skin as her body fought to reject him. But he held her there, one hand fisted in her hair, keeping her locked in place. The tears came faster now, streaming down her face, mixing with the drool that poured from the corners of her stretched lips. "Haaaah... nngh... please..." The sounds were barely human, muffled by the flesh filling her throat.

"You're crying," he said, and there was dark satisfaction in his voice. "Crying because my cock is too big for your little throat. Look at you — Minji, the perfect idol, crying on her knees because she can't handle a real man's size." She nodded frantically, tears and saliva coating her chin, her nose pressed against his pelvis. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. All she could do was feel — the stretch, the burn, the overwhelming fullness of having his entire twenty-centimeter length buried in her throat. "But you're going to take it anyway, aren't you?" Another desperate nod. More tears. "That's my girl."

He held her there for fifteen more seconds, letting her struggle, letting her cry, letting her feel every pulsing millimeter of his cock in her throat. Her lungs burned. Her vision blurred. And still he kept her there, buried to the hilt, until she was completely broken. Then he pulled out slowly, letting her feel every ridge, every vein on the way out. She collapsed forward, gasping, coughing, tears and drool and snot covering her face. Her throat burned. Her jaw ached. And between her legs, her pussy was soaking. He grabbed her chin, forced her to look up at him. "Good girl. You took all of it. I knew you could."

He shoved his cock back into her mouth, deeper than before. Her nose pressed against his pelvis, his balls against her chin. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Her throat stretched around him, and she heard herself making sounds she'd never made before — desperate, pleading sounds — as he held her there, buried to the hilt.

He stayed. Let her struggle. Let her lungs burn. Her hands beat weakly against his thighs.

Then he pulled out, and she collapsed forward, coughing, gasping, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his cock.

"On the bed. Face down."

She crawled to the bed, climbed on, settled on her stomach. She heard him moving behind her, felt the mattress dip with his weight. His hands found her hips, pulled her up onto her knees. Her ass was in the air, her pussy exposed, dripping.

"Pretty pussy," he muttered. He ran a finger through her folds, and she bucked at the contact. She was soaking — her slick coated his finger, glistened in the dim light. "So wet for me. You've been waiting for this, haven't you?"

"All week," she admitted. "Every night. I couldn't — I kept thinking about you. About your hands. About—"

"About my cock."

"Yes. Fuck, yes."

"All week." He pushed two fingers into her without warning, and she cried out, her back arching. "Should have taken you the first night. Bent you over that counter and filled you up."

"Yes," she sobbed. "Yes, please, I need—"

"Need what?"

"Your cock. Please, sir, I need your cock inside me."

He pulled his fingers out and replaced them with the head of his cock. He didn't push in. He just pressed, the broad head stretching her entrance, teasing her. She could feel how wide he was, how much he was going to stretch her.

"Beg."

"Please. Please, sir, fuck me. I need your cock inside my pussy. I need you to fill me up. I need—"

He thrust forward in one brutal motion, burying himself to the hilt.

She screamed.

The stretch was incredible — a burning fullness that pushed at the walls of her pussy, spreading her wider than she'd ever been. She felt him in her stomach, an impossible pressure that made her gasp and moan and claw at the sheets. Her eyes rolled back.

"Fuck," he growled. "Tight little thing. Squeezing me already."

"Haaaah... fuck... oh fuck..." The sighs poured out of her, breathy and broken.

He didn't give her time to adjust. He started moving, long deep strokes that pulled almost all the way out before slamming back in. Each thrust pushed her forward on the bed, her breasts swinging, her moans turning into wordless cries.

He reached under her, grabbed her throat, and pulled her up against his chest. The change in angle made his cock reach deeper, and she felt the head press against something inside her that made stars burst behind her eyes.

"That's your spot, isn't it?" He tightened his grip on her throat, cutting off her air. "Right there."

She couldn't answer. Couldn't breathe. She just nodded frantically as he fucked into that spot over and over, his hips slapping against her ass, the sound wet and obscene.

He released her throat, shoved her back down onto the bed. His hand came down on her ass — a hard, open-palmed slap that echoed through the room. The sting radiated through her flesh, and she moaned into the pillow.

"Count."

"One."

Slap. Her ass cheek jiggled from the impact.

"Two."

Slap.

"Three."

He spanked her rhythmically, alternating cheeks, the impacts landing sharp and precise. Her ass burned. Her pussy clenched around him. She was counting through moans, losing track, starting over.

"Please," she begged. "Harder."

He obliged. His hand came down harder, faster, turning her ass crimson. She was crying now, tears streaming down her face, but she'd never felt more alive. Each slap sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her clit.

"Such a dirty slut," he said, his voice a growl against her ear. "Getting off on being treated like garbage."

"Yes," she sobbed. "I'm your dirty slut. I'm your—your whore. Please don't stop."

He grabbed her hips and fucked her harder, his pace punishing. The bedframe slammed against the wall. She buried her face in the pillow to muffle her screams, but she could still hear the sounds — the wet slap of his cock driving into her, his grunts, her own desperate pleas.

"I'm going to fill this pussy," he said. "I'm going to pump you so full of my cum it drips out of you for a week."

"Please. Please, I want it."

"Too bad." He pulled out abruptly, and she whimpered at the sudden emptiness. "Turn over."

She rolled onto her back. He grabbed her ankles and pulled her to the edge of the bed, spreading her legs wide. Her pussy was swollen, glistening, the lips parted and pink from the abuse. Her slick ran down her thighs.

He climbed over her, positioned himself between her thighs, and drove back in.

This angle was different — deeper, more intense. He leaned forward, his weight pressing her into the mattress, and wrapped his hand around her throat.

"Look at me."

She met his eyes. The dark expanse of him filled her vision — broad shoulders blocking the light, sweat glistening on his skin. She could feel his heartbeat through his palm on her neck.

"You're mine," he said. "When I want you, you come. When I tell you to open, you open. When I tell you to cum—"

He thrust hard, grinding against her clit.

"—you cum."

"Yes," she breathed.

His hand moved from her throat to her stomach. He pressed down, his palm flat against her lower belly.

"Feel that?"

She did. She felt the hard ridge of his cock through the wall of her stomach, a visible bulge that moved with each thrust. The sight of it — the proof of how deep he was inside her — made her moan. Her hand flew down to touch it, to feel the shape of him through her own skin.

"That's me. Right there. You feel how deep I am?"

"Yes. Yes, I feel you."

"Good." He pressed harder, pushing against his own cock through her body. "I want you to remember this. Remember what it feels like to have a real man inside you."

"Fuck... haaaaaah..." The sigh was long and ragged. "I'll never forget. Never."

He fucked her slowly now, each thrust deliberate, grinding against her cervix. The bulge in her stomach moved with him, and she watched it, transfixed, her hands gripping his forearms. She could see the outline of his cock sliding in and out of her body, a constant visible reminder of how completely he owned her.

"Touch yourself."

Her hand moved between her legs. Her clit was swollen, sensitive, and the moment her fingers made contact, she gasped. She circled it frantically, already so close.

"Cum for me."

She didn't need to be told twice. The orgasm crashed through her, her body convulsing, her pussy clenching around him in waves. She cried out his name, the sound torn from her throat. He kept fucking her through it, driving deeper, harder, chasing his own release.

"I'm going to cum in your mouth," he said. "Open."

He pulled out, his cock slick and glistening with her juices. He moved up her body, straddled her chest, and pressed the head against her lips. She tasted herself on him — her slick, her cum, the salt of his skin.

"Open wide."

She parted her lips. He pushed past them, and she tasted everything. He thrust into her mouth, fucking her face as his hips jerked, his breathing ragged.

"Cum for me, sir," she said as best she could around his cock.

He groaned, a deep animal sound, and she felt his release hit the back of her throat — thick and hot, pulsing in waves. She swallowed, took every drop, her tongue working his shaft as he emptied himself into her mouth. His cum coated her throat, and she swallowed again and again.

When he pulled out, she kept her mouth open, showing him she'd swallowed it all. A string of cum connected her lower lip to the head of his cock.

"Good girl."

She smiled, drowsy and content. He moved off the bed, found her discarded shirt, and tossed it at her.

Over the next three weeks, Minji learned what it meant to belong to someone.

They met every night. Sometimes in her room. Sometimes in the storage closet off the practice studio. Once, in the back of his blacked-out SUV, parked in an underground lot while cameras swept the floors above.

He taught her things she'd never known about her own body. How much she could take. How much she could beg for.

She learned to kneel without being told. To keep her eyes down unless he commanded otherwise. To present herself — spread, exposed, ready — the moment he walked through the door.

He tied her wrists to the headboard with silk scarves. Bound her ankles to the footboard, spread so wide her hips ached. Blindfolded her with a strip of black satin, leaving her in darkness, vulnerable, every nerve alive and waiting.

"You don't know what I'm going to do," he said, his voice coming from somewhere to her left. "You don't know if I'm going to fuck you or hurt you or leave you here."

"Please," she said, her voice small. She could hear her own heartbeat in the darkness.

"Please what?"

"Please do something. Anything. I can't — I hate not knowing."

"I am. I'm making you wait."

She heard his footsteps circle the bed. The creak of the floorboards told her where he was. She felt the breeze when he moved past. Smelled his skin — cedar and musk and something darker. Her breath came faster.

When he finally touched her, her whole body jerked. His hand on her thigh, callused and warm, sliding up to her hip. She gasped.

"You've been thinking about this all day, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"Thinking about my cock."

"Yes."

"Thinking about me filling your throat. Your pussy. Making you cum until you can't move."

"God, yes."

His hand cupped her pussy, his fingers sliding through her slick folds. "You're soaked. Just from my voice."

"Because I know what you can do to me. Haaaaah... I know what you're going to—"

"You know what I'm going to do tonight?"

"No," she gasped.

"I'm going to make you forget your own name. I'm going to fuck you until the only word you remember is mine."

He pulled his fingers out, and she heard the sound of his belt unbuckling, his pants dropping. Then the head of his cock pressed against her lips, and she opened for him without being told.

"Good girl. You're learning."

He fucked her mouth while she was still blindfolded, his hands gripping her hair, guiding her pace. She couldn't see how much she was drooling, but she felt it — the wetness running down her chin, pooling in the hollow of her throat. She tasted herself on him, tasted the precum leaking from the head.

When he came, it was down her throat, and she swallowed every drop. Then he untied her, flipped her onto her stomach, and fucked her until she screamed his name into the pillow.

Those first weeks were a blur of pleasure and pain. He introduced her to things she'd only read about in dark corners of the internet. He made her say degrading things and found that they made her wetter. He spanked her until she couldn't sit comfortably during recording sessions, and she loved the secret ache.

One night, he didn't fuck her immediately. He laid her out on the bed, spread her legs wide, and knelt between them. The air was cool against her wet skin, her pussy already glistening from anticipation.

"I want to watch you fall apart from my fingers first," he said, his voice low. "Before I put my cock in you. I want to see what your pussy does when I touch it just right."

"Yes, sir," she breathed, her thighs trembling.

He pushed two thick fingers into her pussy without warning, curling them upward immediately, searching. She gasped as he found the rough patch on her front wall — a spot that made electricity shoot through her entire body. Her back arched off the bed.

"Right there," he said, his voice full of dark satisfaction. "I felt that. Your pussy just clenched around my fingers."

"Haaaah... yes... right there..."

He worked his fingers in and out, pressing hard against that spot with each stroke, his palm grinding against her clit. The sounds were wet and obscene — her slick coating his hand, dripping down his wrist. Her hips bucked against his fingers, chasing the pressure.

"Please," she gasped. "Please, sir, I'm — I'm close —"

"I know you are. I can feel you tightening."

He curled his fingers harder, pressing deep into her g-spot with relentless precision. His thumb pressed down on her clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. She felt the pressure building — that strange dam about to burst, different from a normal orgasm, deeper and more terrifying.

"Let go," he commanded. "Squirt for me, Minji. Show me what my fingers can do to you."

She screamed as the pressure released. A hot stream shot from her pussy, soaking his hand, his forearm, the sheets beneath her. Her body convulsed as wave after wave poured out of her — not cum, but something else, something clear and hot that kept coming. Her pussy clenched around his fingers, milking them, as the fluid sprayed across his skin.

"Fuck, yes," he growled, watching the fluid cascade down his wrist. "Look at you. My fingers made you squirt. These two fingers right here." He curled them again, pressing into her g-spot, and another wave shot out of her. She sobbed, her legs shaking uncontrollably.

"Haaaah... please... I can't —"

"You can. One more."

He pressed harder, faster, his fingers a blur inside her. Her third orgasm hit before she was ready, another gush of fluid soaking the bed, dripping down her ass, pooling beneath her hips. She collapsed, trembling, her pussy still clenching around nothing, her thighs soaked.

He pulled his slick fingers out slowly, letting her watch the strings of fluid connect his skin to hers. Then he brought them to her mouth.

"Taste yourself."

She opened her lips and sucked his fingers clean, tasting her own sweetness mixed with his skin, her eyes never leaving his.

"That's my girl," he said, stroking her hair. "Now I'm going to fuck that sensitive little pussy until you forget your own name."

"Stand against the wall," he said one night. "Arms up. Palms flat."

She obeyed. The plaster was cool against her naked breasts. She heard him moving behind her.

"You've been a good slut tonight."

"Thank you, sir."

"I think you deserve a reward."

He grabbed her hips, positioned himself, and slid into her from behind. She moaned, pressing her forehead against the wall.

"But first — repeat after me."

"Anything."

"I am Y/N's personal whore."

"I am Y/N's personal whore."

"I exist to serve his cock."

"I exist to serve his cock."

"My pussy belongs to him."

"My pussy belongs to him." She was crying now, but she meant every word.

"Good girl."

He fucked her against the wall until she came, her legs shaking, her palms sliding down the plaster.

Minji's boyfriend called every night around eleven.

This had been true before Y/N. It remained true after. The phone would ring, and she'd answer, and they'd talk about his day, his work, his frustrations with the new girl group he was producing. He never asked about hers. Never noticed the rasp in her voice, the way she kept her answers short. The way she'd sigh when he talked about himself for too long.

Tonight, Y/N was behind her before the call connected.

She was on her knees on the bed, facing the wall, her phone propped against a pillow. The screen glowed with her boyfriend's face — soft features, tired eyes, the same sweater he'd worn in every call for a month. Behind her, Y/N's hands gripped her hips, his cock pressed against her wet entrance, the head sliding through her slick folds.

"Hey, baby," Minji said, and her voice was steady. The trick was keeping it steady.

"Hey. You look tired."

She was. But not for the reasons he thought. She felt the head of his cock pressing against her entrance, teasing, not pushing in yet. Just letting her feel the threat of it, the promise.

"Long practice," she managed. "The new choreography is killing me."

"I told you, you work too hard. You should rest."

Behind her, Y/N pushed in — just the head. She bit her lip, hard enough to taste blood. His cock stretched her slowly, inch by inch, and she had to concentrate on keeping her face neutral, her voice even.

"It's just — haaaah —" The sigh escaped before she could stop it. She covered quickly. "Just exhausting. The practices go so late."

"Are you okay? You sound out of breath."

"Fine. Just tired. Haaaaah..." Another sigh. She couldn't help it. Y/N was pushing deeper now, his thickness spreading her walls apart, and every inch made her want to moan.

"You keep sighing," her boyfriend said, his brow furrowing. "Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." Her voice pitched higher as Y/N buried himself to the hilt. She gripped the sheets, her knuckles white. "Just — haaaah — relaxing. Finally sitting down."

"Your mom asked about you," he said, thankfully changing the subject. "She wants to know if you're coming to the family dinner next week."

"Tell her... tell her I'll try." Y/N pulled back slightly, then forward, a slow deep stroke that pushed the air from her lungs. "I have — haaaah — schedules. I don't know if I can."

"Again? You missed the last three."

"I know. I'm — haaaah — sorry. I'll try harder."

Y/N started moving in earnest, his thrusts slow and deep, designed to push the air from her lungs without letting her cry out. Her mouth opened in a silent moan. She forced her eyes to stay on the screen, to keep her face neutral.

"Why do you keep sighing like that?" her boyfriend asked, his eyes narrowing. "You sound... I don't know. Distracted."

"Just — haaaah — tired, baby. Really tired. The practices are — ah — intense."

"It sounds like more than tired."

Y/N fucked harder, his hips slapping against her ass with wet, muffled impacts. The sound was obscene, and she knew — she knew — he could hear it through the phone if he was listening closely. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple.

"I'm fine," she said, and it came out as a gasp. "Just — haaaah — really hot in here. The AC is broken."

"You said that last time. Maybe you should see a doctor."

"Maybe. Haaaaah..."

The rhythm was punishing now. Y/N's cock drove into her g-spot with every thrust, and she felt her face starting to contort. Her eyes wanted to roll back. Her tongue wanted to loll out. The ahegao was coming, and she couldn't stop it.

"Minji? Your face looks weird. Are you okay?"

"Fine!" The word came out too sharp, too fast. She forced a smile, but her pupils were disappearing, rolling up into her skull. "Just — haaaah — stretching. You know how — haaaah — stiff I get after practice."

"I guess. You sure you're not sick? You look flushed."

"I'm — haaaah — I'm sure."

Her jaw went slack. Drool started to escape the corner of her mouth. She caught it with her tongue, but more followed. Her eyes rolled back until only the whites showed, her face a perfect mask of mind-breaking pleasure. She was barely holding on.

"I need to — haaaah — I have to go. Early call tomorrow."

"Already? We've only been talking for — what was that sound?"

"What sound?"

"That... wet sound. Like slapping."

Her heart stopped. "Nothing. Just — haaaah — the fan. Old fan. Haaaaah..."

"It sounded like —"

"I really have to go. I love you. Bye."

She ended the call before he could respond.

The moment the screen went black, she dropped the phone and screamed. Her face snapped into full ahegao — eyes rolled back, tongue lolling, drool running down her chin — as Y/N grabbed her by the hair and fucked her into the mattress.

"That was beautiful," he growled, yanking her head back. "Talking to your boyfriend with my cock in your pussy. All those sighs. Did he know? Did he fucking know?"

"No," she sobbed. "He didn't — he couldn't —"

"I think he did. I think he heard every wet slap. I think he knows his girlfriend is a slut for a thick black cock."

"Yes," she cried. "I'm a slut. I'm your slut."

"Say his name."

"Who?"

"The boyfriend. Say his name while I fuck you."

"J-Jungho," she choked out, her face still twisted in ahegao, drool pooling on the pillow.

"And whose pussy is this?"

"Yours. Fuck — yours, sir."

"Tell me who you belong to."

"You," she sobbed. "I belong to you, Y/N."

He pulled her up, wrapped his hand around her throat from behind, and fucked her harder, deeper. Her face was fully contorted now — ahegao, eyes rolled back until only the whites showed, tongue lolling out, drool running down her chin and dripping onto the sheets. She was a mess. She was beautiful.

"You're going to cum for me, and you're going to call my name while your boyfriend's picture watches."

"I—"

"Cum. Now."

The orgasm ripped through her, violent and total. She screamed, a raw sound torn from her throat — not his name, not any word, just a primal cry of release. She felt his hand tighten on her neck, felt his cock pulse inside her as he came, hot and thick, filling her pussy with rope after rope of cum.

When he pulled out, his cum dripped down her thighs in thick white streams. He pushed two fingers into her, scooping it up, and brought it to her lips.

"Clean."

She opened her mouth, sucked his fingers clean, tasting both of them together. Her eyes stayed on the phone screen, on her boyfriend's smiling face.

"Good girl," Y/N said, stroking her hair. "You did so well."

The missionary sessions became her favorite.

She didn't know why — maybe because she could see him. The full weight of him, the dark expanse of his chest, the concentration on his face as he fucked her. She could watch his muscles work, watch the sweat bead on his skin, watch his jaw tighten when he was close. She could see the want in his eyes.

He had her on her back, legs hooked over his shoulders. His cock drove into her at an angle that made her see stars, the head pressing against her deepest, most sensitive places. Each thrust made her gasp.

His hand found her throat.

"Look down," he said.

She did. She saw the bulge in her stomach, the hard outline of his cock moving beneath her skin. It was unmistakable — a ridged shape that rose and fell with each stroke. He pressed his palm against it, pushing down, and the pressure made her gasp.

"That's how deep I am. You see that?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Oh god, yes."

"This is what a real man feels like."

Her hand moved down, pressing against his, feeling the shape of him through her own body. The intimacy of it — the proof of how completely he filled her, how he reached places inside her she didn't know existed — made her sob. She could feel the head of his cock through her own belly, could trace its outline with her fingertips.

"You're going to feel this tomorrow," he said, his hips moving in slow, brutal thrusts. "Walking around with your members. Smiling for cameras. And you're going to remember my cock inside you."

"Yes."

"And you're going to smile wider, because you know something they don't."

"Yes."

He reached down, found her clit, and pinched it between his fingers. Hard. She gasped and bucked.

"Cum for me."

She did, her orgasm crashing through her like a wave. Her pussy clamped down on him, and he followed her over the edge, his cum flooding her, dripping out around his cock.

But he didn't stop.

He kept fucking her, even as she whimpered from oversensitivity, even as his cum turned to white froth around his shaft. He fucked her until he was hard again, until he was ready to fill her a second time.

"You said you wanted to feel it," he said. "So feel it."

He fucked her for two hours. Made her cum seven times. Filled her pussy, her mouth, the space between her breasts. When he was done, she couldn't walk. Could hardly speak. Her legs were jelly, her throat raw, her pussy aching and full.

She lay in the center of the bed, covered in sweat and cum, her body marked with fingerprints, her ass still red from spanking, her throat bruised from his grip. She was a masterpiece of use.

But this time, something different happened. As her pussy clamped down on him and her orgasm crested, she felt a pressure building — a new kind of sensation, deeper than any climax she'd had before, like a dam about to burst. Her body tensed, her back arching off the bed. "Please," she gasped, her voice high and panicked. "Something's — I don't know what —"

"Let it go," he said, his voice low and commanding. He thrust harder, his cock driving into her g-spot with brutal precision. "Let it go, Minji. Don't hold back."

She screamed as the pressure released. A hot stream of fluid shot from her pussy, soaking his stomach, the sheets, her own thighs. She squirted — hard and uncontrollable, her body convulsing as wave after wave of liquid poured out of her. She'd never done that before. Never even knew she could. The fluid ran down her ass, pooled beneath her hips, soaked the bed in a dark wet patch. "Holy fuck," he growled, watching the liquid cascade down his abs. "Look at you. Squirting all over my cock like a good little slut. Did your boyfriend ever make you do that?"

She couldn't answer. Couldn't do anything but lie there, trembling, as the last waves of fluid dripped from her swollen pussy. Her thighs were soaked. The sheets were ruined. She shook her head slowly, tears of overstimulation running down her temples. "N-no," she managed. "Never." He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. "That's my girl. My perfect little squirter. Only I can make you do that."

He stood over her, still hard, his cock coated in a mixture of their fluids. It glistened in the dim light, thick and dark and utterly spent-looking, yet still erect.

"You need one more."

She looked up at him, exhausted but hungry. Her eyes were glassy, her lips swollen. "Please."

He climbed back on the bed, straddled her chest. His cock hung heavy above her face, thick and dark and still slick from her pussy. She could smell herself on him.

"Open."

She opened her mouth. He pressed the head against her tongue, and she tasted everything — his cum, hers, the salt of his skin. Her eyes fluttered closed.

"Look at me."

He pulled out slowly, and she felt his cum leaking out of her immediately — thick white streams running down her inner thighs, pooling on the sheets beneath her. He knelt between her legs, watching it drip out of her swollen, reddened pussy. The sight of his seed spilling from her body made him hard again instantly.

"Look at that," he said. He pushed two fingers into her, scooping up a generous amount of his cum, and brought it to her lips. "Open."

She parted her lips, and he pushed his fingers inside. She tasted herself and him together, the mixture warm and salty and intimate. She sucked his fingers clean, her eyes never leaving his. "That's what a real man leaves inside you," he said. "Not that boyfriend of yours who finishes in thirty seconds and rolls over."

She swallowed, her tongue working the last traces of his cum from her lips. "I want more," she whispered. "I want to feel it dripping out of me tomorrow. I want to walk on stage and know I'm full of your cum. I want everyone to know — even if they don't — that I'm yours."

She opened them. Met his gaze.

"Deepthroat yourself," he said. "Show me you want it."

She grabbed the base of his cock with both hands and guided it into her mouth, pushing past her gag reflex, taking him until her lips met her fingers. She held him there, her throat convulsing around him, tears streaming from her eyes. She didn't fight it. She let it happen. Let him fill her completely.

He let her stay. Let her struggle. Let her prove herself.

Then he came, hot down her throat, and she swallowed it all. Her throat worked around him, milking every drop.

"Good girl," he said, pulling out. He stroked her hair, a gesture that was almost tender. "You did well."

She smiled, drunk on endorphins and exhaustion and the feeling of being owned. Her hand found his, squeezed it.

"Tomorrow?" she asked.

"Tomorrow."

The affair continued through the next comeback, through the music show wins, through the variety show appearances, through the international flight to Tokyo.

Y/N went wherever NewJeans went. He stood in the shadows of concert venues, watched her from backstage, his eyes tracking her through every performance. In the daylight, he was professional, distant, the perfect bodyguard. No one suspected.

And every night, she came to him.

The dynamic deepened. He learned her limits — and pushed them. She learned his tells — and tested them. They developed a rhythm, a language of dominance and submission that required no words.

Sometimes he made her crawl across the hotel room to him. She'd get on her hands and knees and cross the carpet, her breasts swaying, her eyes on the floor. She'd stop at his feet and wait.

"Good girl. Now worship."

She'd take his cock in her mouth without being told how, and she'd do it until he was satisfied.

Sometimes he made her stand against the wall, arms above her head, and wait while he decided what to do with her. She'd stand there for ten minutes, twenty, her muscles trembling, her pussy dripping onto the floor. He'd walk past her, ignore her, make her wait longer.

"Please," she'd whisper.

"Please what?"

"Please touch me. Use me. Anything."

Sometimes he made her repeat degrading phrases — "I'm Y/N's personal whore," "I exist to serve his cock," "My pussy belongs to him" — until she believed them.

And she did believe them.

Because he'd shown her what she was. What she needed. The part of herself she'd buried under years of idol training, public smiles, and the careful, gentle hands of a boyfriend who didn't understand what she really wanted.

She was a woman who needed to be broken before she could feel whole.

And Y/N was the only man strong enough to do it.

One night in Tokyo, he had her on her knees in front of the hotel window. The Tokyo skyline spread out below them, a million lights glittering in the dark.

"Look at that," he said, standing behind her. "All those people down there. They have no idea that NewJeans' leader is on her knees, naked, waiting for my cock."

"Haaaaah... no, sir. They don't."

"Touch yourself."

She reached between her legs. Her fingers found her clit, and she moaned.

"Show me how wet you are."

She pulled her fingers away, held them up. They glistened with her slick, strings of it connecting her fingers.

"Good fucking girl. Now open your mouth."

She did. He leaned forward and slapped her face with his cock — once, twice, three times. The thick shaft connected with her cheek, her lips, her chin. She moaned with each impact.

"You love being my little cock-sleeve, don't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then prove it."

She opened her mouth wide, and he thrust inside. She took him down her throat without hesitation, without gagging. She'd learned. She'd become what he needed her to be.

She stood on stage in front of 30,000 fans, the lights so bright she could barely see past the first row. Her body moved through the choreography automatically, sunbaes and gestures and smiles that she'd practiced a thousand times.

Under her skirt, she wore nothing.

Y/N's cum dripped down her thigh.

She'd knelt for him before the show, in her dressing room, the door locked, the clock counting down. He'd fucked her throat, filled her mouth, made her swallow. Then he'd pushed more into her pussy, pulled her skirt down, and sent her to perform.

"You're going to be on that stage," he'd said, "smiling at your fans. And every time you move, you're going to feel me dripping out of you. You're going to remember who you belong to."

She hit the final pose, the crowd roaring. The lights were hot on her skin, the sound deafening.

Her smile was radiant.

And inside, where no one could see, she was his.

She thought of his hands. His voice. The way he said her name. The way he took from her exactly what she needed to give.

“I...am… so... so... sorry…” Dahyun enunciated. Making sure you heard every ounce of regret behind each word. The moment you entered the home you two built, she ran to you. Worriedly telling you about what happened earlier with John; the man who had his way with the woman of your dreams while you sat back, and stroked your cock in the tiny cube your company had the guts to call an office.

The windows were spotlights. Her spotlight. The afternoon's sun painting her golden like her confession was some best selling novel instead of betrayal.

She had on fresh clothes. The clothes that probably smelled like their shared scent were gone. She probably burned them. Ridding you the chance to know how she smelled like getting fucked by a real man. Good riddance.

"I- I promise it was a mistake" she said that like she were begging. Begging you to hear her out. Begging you to stay. Begging you to stop making that unreadable face.

Begging you to stop being so far away from her like she was strapped with a bomb. But there was no bomb. Just remorse, and truth.

Your silence makes her go for broke. Leaping at you to close the gap in your relationship, making you crash against the door, ringing steel and oak that cuts through the peace of the apartment complex.

Dahyun buries her face on your neck, wetting it with her sob. Unable to look you straight in the eye as she pleads with skin, with warmth, with her lithe figure that she knows you know fit perfectly in your frame like a puzzle piece.

She was practically molding her flesh with your work clothes. Her thighs on yours. Head on your neck. Arms on your chest. And crotch on...

"John was a mistake. A mistake that..." Her sin gets stuck in her throat.

"A mistake that wont ever---" She backs her midriff off your crotch

"Wont ever----" The sentence dies off.

Your lungs deflate like Exodus as she suddenly grabs your cock.

Your eyebrows furrow, and you were about to scold her for thinking that sexual favor would get her out of this.

But you didn't. For her eyes held curiosity laced with accusation. She finally looks up at you, showing you puffed eyes. Peering like she studied the windows to your soul.

Then she looked down to what her hand felt. Hardness.

Her eyes narrow as she feels the outline of your member. The cogs in her brain start to work, and so does her hand. Tentatively pumping you in shallow closed-fist strokes.

"John... he- he used me."

Pulse

"Took advantage of me"

Pulse

"Baby... he made me cum..."

That was your limit, and your zipper knew it too, clinking. Faint. Struggling to contain what new length you've reached.

The remorse starts leaving her face. Replaced with shock. Each pulse, each truth your body revealed dropped her jaw lower. Discovering what pleasure you found from her sin.

You had nothing. Absolutely nothing. For you knew that your body spoke louder than whatever words you could put together.

Dahyun closes the gape in her mouth. And with calculated movement, she brings your hand to her face. Slowly. Akin to testing waters. Cupping it with closed eyes. Cupping it so dearly you'd think you were holy. She smells your knuckles. Her forehead wrinkles at the smell of fax machine ink and an honest day's work. Seconds entailed. Ones that she stretched. Pausing time so she could hear what truth pulses on your wrist.

The agony in her face had long since past, replaced with duty, and a determination you've only seen backstage when TWICE was still active.

Dahyun guides you to the bedroom. Getting on her knees to trek the duvet as she pulls you to lay.

No more words. No more tears. Just duty.

You've never seen your sweet little tofu like this before. The girl who giggled everytime you kissed her. Your pillow princess that always felt the need to ask permission to be the little spoon.

No.

This was a different girl.

Confident.

Evident by her spreading your legs so she could use your thigh as her seat.

She undoes your zipper. Taking her time with each tooth. Click, click, click.

With her off hand, she grabs your chin. Demanding your gaze as she fishes for your cock.

"Tell me how you feel... about your woman being taken"

You look away. Clinging to what pride you had left, until she uses her thumb to trace your crown. Practically purple. Longing for her touch ever since this afternoon.

Your face contorts to the friction of soft thumb on rigid flesh.

Yet. Still no reply on your end.

"Baby" she drags her manicure on your tender cock to get your attention. Making you hiss, and return her gaze, witnessing her knowing smirk.

"I promise never to do something like that ever again..." Dahyun said that like she didn't regret it, all the while taking her time to drag the soft of her hand across your length. From the very tip of your engorged head, to the deepest depth that the fat of your base allowed her to push down on. "but something tells me you don't want that..."

"That you don't want me to be your pure Tofu" stroke

"monogamous..." stroke

"only yours..." stroke

"You want to share me, dont you?"

You've been made. You cuck.

She revealed more of the afternoon to you in excruciating detail while jerking you off. As hot as it was, you can't help but shift expressions. From frustration of her soft handjob, to a face that's starting to realize that she didn't know about your front row seat via the doggy cam.

She picks up on that. You see it in her face. Doubt mixing with the fear of losing someone she loved... The same face she had finding out some members were leaving JYPE way back when.

So she doubles down. Stroking you with a close grip. Harder. Almost desperate. While the other hand kneads your balls.

“This is still my favorite cock, Y/N oppa... Not John's who made me cum" your heart skips a beat

"Nor the landlord who lowers our rent... nor the janitors' who turn a blind eye for association dues..." full pause went your pulse.

This woman... not only did she admit further promiscuity, but she broke your word as a man—effectively nulling your promise to pay for every single cent of this place.

Never in your wildest dreams nightmares did you think that your wallet would ever work together with your girlfriend's holes to pay for this place. The broken promise. The treachery.

Your guts tighten, tugging your dick to stand acute. Almost flat on your belly. To which her hand never disconnects from your cock.

She spent hours jerking you off as she spat molten words of treachery that should've pushed you out the door. Not cum like a fucking fire hose.

-----

Under the refuge of the night. You lay in bed. Still.

Sifting through her hair like it untangled your feelings. Your heartstrings play dissonant chords while you allow even the moon to touch your lady laying on top of you, painting silver trimmings on her body.

"Dahyun... I'm so lost..." you told the lady laying atop you. She finished drawing nothing on your chest by sealing it with a kiss. Dahyun looks up to meet your eyes. And finds your hand without even a glance. Cupping it. Locking it. Like a promise.

She waited. Savoring the seconds it took for your heart to settle.

"I'll guide you through this" she simply said.

You chose to believe her. As she had nothing but adoration behind those tight peepers of hers.

"Did... did you... really fuck the Janitors?... And the Landlord?..." you looked away. This was all too new for you after all. "Is that why they keep staring at your ass when you're not looking?"

She didn't answer that. Making you drop your gaze and see her blushing. Hiding behind balled fist.

"N-no... DO THEY REALLY CHECK ME OUT? I ONLY SAID THAT TO GET YOU TO CUM." she was nervously giggling.

"How did you even kn--"

She traps your query with a kiss.

"Because your heart spoke to me" and there she goes again replacing the sun with that smile. That wide one that makes her look like a bean.

She hits your chest "Yah. I am not a bean" Dahyun stays her hand. Feeling the thump of your heart.

She then lay the side of her head on your chest like every thump of it was a language only she could decipher...

"Baby?... I don't want YOU to pay for everything around here." she gets up on her elbows "I want US to pay for everything. Together."

You were about to go on another one of your spiels. 'I want to treat you like royalty' 'I want to keep my promise' this that and the other thing, to which she seals your rant with a finger on your lips. Stopping you before you could start.

She lifts her eyebrows. Hinting at the possibilities. You start putting two in two together.

"What were you thinking?" you asked. Your new-found fetish beating out your principles as a man.

"Well? Remember that promotion they didn't give you last week?" she shows that idol smirk—the one you thought was reserved for freakishly spotting cameras, shining like it'll spot yet another. Soon. Very soon.

"You willing to bet your boss is a ONCE?"

--------------------------------

The next morning was like any other. Teeth brushed. Body bathed. Clothes picked out. But this time around? You were the one staying home, and she was the one going to the office.

"Okay baby, let's go through the plan one last time." you said as you helped her dry her hair.

She clears her throat. "My man" God, that phrase made your shoulders feel weightless. She smiled at that; you being all too easy to read.

"My man... THAT I LOVE... has been passed over for a promotion time and time again. And just last week, the position he's yearned for was filled by some outside hire—who knows nothing about the company despite being an up and coming prodigy scouted by all the headhunters in Seoul---" you cut her off.

"Yeah, maybe don't remind my boss about the credentials I'm up agaisnt."

"Babe, do you really think your boss will notice a word when I'm wearing THIS?" she gets up and turns, letting her free-flowing skirt give you a flash of her white panties. Easily. It was practically a belt. It wasn't clothing, it was sexual harassment waiting to happen. And the idea of it stirs your loins.

"Can't forget about this, right babe?" she said, wearing glasses that reads RayBan at the side of the frame.

-------------------------------

You counted the minutes before she got back. She was late. And every second made you think of all the possible reasons as to why. An hour, maybe two, passed before she finally got home.

"MISSION COMPLETE, BABY" Dahyun ran to you in a hug, letting you smell her after-sweat mixing with someone else's perfume. Before you could let a word out, she leads you to the bedroom with tons of kisses on your face. She pushes you to sit on the bed while she navigates her phone to open up the Meta Glasses app. She hands you her phone and sits beside you so you could watch together.

"He was so easy to get hard. So so easy. So so fast…" Your boss's age comes to mind. And her words nibble at the feet of a brewing fear..

"He was so excited. So raw. With a cock barely bigger than my hands" her gentle words tie around your neck like a noose. Dahyun kept gnawing at your ear while her hands fiddle to press play.

Her heels click and clack the floors you've trudged through a million times already. The stains, the cracks, the dirt trapped between the lines that separates the tiles. Never did you think you'd view them through her eyes. Walking toward the goal of fucking another man to get you the promotion you claim you deserve.

It wasn't hard to distinguish where your boss's office was. Only a select few was valued in your company. And management made sure the difference between the likes of you and the likes of them were distinct. The upper management's offices all look the same. Heck, even the door. Everything seemed normal at this point.

Dahyun lets herself in to get a scope of the landscape. And you peer at the familiar room layout. Wide area, grand windows, carpeted floors, and a cherry wood table at the center of it all. Fat and scotch brown, adorning curves that didn't need to prove itself as fine craftsmanship.

'Wait a minute...' you thought.

Dahyun explores with slow curiosity. The camera panning with every turn of her head. This is truly the office layout of your dreams... too much like it, in fact....

The voice in your head gets interrupted by her shaky camera work

Dahyun gets on her tippy toes to sit atop the cherry wood table. She grabs the glasses and lets you see what your boss will see once he enters. All of her. Soft cotton long sleeves up top. And below? Practically nothing. Panties barely covered by her flowy skirt. Nothing else. Not even shame. "Let's hope he's a ONCE, baby"

Click went the door. Sounding like the pin of a grenade.

"Fuck." your boss said, followed by heels of shoes sounding faster and stronger and closer to your girl.

She bites her lips at the sight of him, while the glasses were still angled for you to see her instead of your boss.

A clearer background shows. And you notice the bookshelves, hollow. The walls, clearly repainted. The floors, all too clean for your boss's nervous pacings.

Your gut tells you something was wrong, but your cock blocks it out. Add Dahyun's hand tracing the pipe-shaped hardness behind your house shorts.

"I'm happy that that's your reac--mHPPh" he lunges, causing her to drops the glasses on the table, not letting you see anything past her hips up. Hips and thighs that your boss was already busy kneading. Mandhandling.

You didn't didn't need visuals to know that your boss was devouring your woman like he was trying to suck out her soul.

His lust was immediate, you could tell from the audio alone. You didnt need to see it. But God did you want to.

Dahyun kissed your cheek with equal frenzy as you tune into the video on her phone. "By the way? Your boss was ONCE." She smiled agaisnt your skin.

"What the hell is a ONCE." he said in a hurry. Then unbuckled his pants in a hurry. Spread your girlfriend's legs. In. A. Hurry. As he works his pants off, he crouches, finally revealing his face. Smug. Young. Definitely not your boss's. Your thumb presses pause so hard and so fast that you almost cracked the screen.

"BABY..." Your world flips. This wasn't your boss.

"bABY!... YOU FUCKED THE WRONG GUY... I TOLD YOU WHICH OFFICE RIGHT?!" you raised your voice in panic. You weren't mad. Maybe your cock was, sure, but you more so concerned. All her efforts poured down the drain.

"Yes you did... but your boss said that firing this clown would cost your company an arm. And promoting you would cost a leg. Baby I threw everything at your boss, but he said if he agreed to our terms, there would be no more company for you to supervise... so..."

"You made Keith quit"

She bites your earlobe softly. And she slowly drags her teeth away from it. "Exactly."

It made sense.

But sound logic didn't make you the stop feeling like shit.

Because first he took your promotion. And now, your girl.

Dahyun's smile twitched like she was fighting for it to not crook. Like she knew this twist would make this sweet all the more bitter. More interesting.

With deft hands, she resumes the video and takes off your shorts and boxers. Fast. Scrunching, and scratching courtesy of her manicure. The one she told you she had gotten done so she looks prettier for your boss. A treat reaped by the man you hate the most in the office.

"Ooh myyy, babyyy" she purred. Seeing your cock. So wet and fat and constantly streaming precum. Begging for attention. She moaned with every bead of arousal you leaked. "Ooohhh my my my~"

You were about to whine with how she merely stared at your erect cock, until she looks back at the video.

Dahyun strokes Keith's cock. Harder and harder she went. Not because he was hot—he was. This wunderkind doesn't shut up about his gym sessions—but because he was... not gifted... Her strokes were not ones to please a lover. No. It goading. And expectant. Like she was demanding more, but was far too polite to ask 'this was it?' outright.

Like on queue, she palms your heated balls with her frigid hands. Dragging up and down on sync with the way she gave Keith a handjob. She palmed you so hard that your cock stuck to your belly. So hard that your pubes tugged and hitched and "Fuckkk"

She treated your words like the gun that starts a race. Making a fucking mess on your cock. Her fist closed around your tip and recklessly spread friction and precum all across your shaft. Up and down. She abandons video Dahyun's pace. Her handjob rung squelch noises across the room. Each stroke more uncaring of the filth she's making than the last.

You notice her eyes peeking sideways, checking the video yet again.

"Mmmhh now the nipples, slut"

Your blood burns at his derogation, but it reaches boiling point once she follows his instruction.

Both in the video. And onto you.

Keith was tall. Taller than you. So Dahyun didn't need to hunch so awkwardly to have her tongue play with his hairy nipples, all the while the love of your life never forgot to keep jerking this jerk's cock.

Actions she bring to life by making you experience it first hand.

"NnGHHHH" came your whining, as this was your first time with this sensation. You felt so sensitive. Your flesh crawls into goosebumps. Your short hairs stand as your Dubu introduces you to a new realm of pleasure thanks to your rival Keith.

Keith... Your mind was blendered at this point. Brain stem tugged at every which way. Not knowing if you should thank the rat bastard or shove his ass to the ground. Your eyes cross. But here goes the video again pulling you back to Earth.

Slap slap slap slap slap went his cock on her entrance. Giving you a hint of how wet the both of them were. Your girl, and your rival.

She gets on top of you like a good cowgirl. Slowly descending. Your wetness mixing with hers as you part her innie pussy. She moans. And your lungs rattle anger. For right now, she sounded exactly like she did in the video. Hinting that her satisfaction with you only equaled her satisfaction with Keith.

"Can you feel it?" once fully bottomed out, she rocks her hips in small circles. "Can you feel the indentation his cock left inside me?"

"Feel it baby, feel how much deeper you can reach compared to his crooked cock" she fucking worshipped your length, but the face she made said otherwise. Her legs quiver with hardship as she ascends.

"Feel the details of his cock etched into me... Feel how... You're bigger. And yet he STILL got to fuck me." she slammed herself down. Your balls hitting her thick tofu thighs.

Keith had the upper hand, for in the video, your girl was letting him rut and rut and rut like a fucking dog burying a bone.

She ascends yet again.

"Totally not embarrassing, right?" slam, then up again

"That someone so inferior is treating me like you would" slam.

"Or maybe, like John would" that was the last straw. Before the former TWICE member could slam back down, you hold the swell of her hip to stop her. And you fucking impale your cock inside her.

She moaned. Or at least she tried. For all she could procure was a soundless scream as you claim her.

"Like I would" you reaffirm. Accepting that John absolutely wrecked your girl yesteday. It lit a fire inside you. A fire that aims to to cauterize John's indelible name off her mouth.

You angle, making sure that you pierce that 'indent' that she claims Keith left. "Keep those legs steady baby" you said through grit teeth, as you rub and rub and rub Keith's claim in her insides.

Her cries of pleasure bounce off the walls of your room, drowning out the sounds of Keith railing your beloved.

"MY LEGS ARE ON FIRE" she screamed. And she was right. You see her legs spasming as they were hooked on Keith's elbow and shoulder.

"THEY WERE. THEY REALLY WERE, BABY, I'M SO SORR--" her legs give out, the sear of lactic acid on her thighs and quads were all too much, causing her to spear herself on your cock. The unguided descent made her spine quake like it threatened to crumble, as your cock threatened to pierce her cervix right through.

While you? Your heart tinged. For her legs had strength for Keith, but only enough for Keith. Like he had drained her strength and left you with nothing.

That didn't sit right with you, so without undoing your connection, you flip her. Missionary, like in the video. Two can play this game. You place the phone next to her head and you roll your hips like you've never before. Exploring her sex like you've never before. Making her pleasure your mission like you've never before.

Your ass cheeks tighten with the way you hoist every enter. Digging through her floor and ending it with a cock flat on her cervix. "nnGHH, NNGHHH"

Your exits weren't reprieve, they were extensions of your intention. To pleasure. To love. To mark every inch of her sex like you were branding her. Rather than pulling back, you were widening your legs. Squishing her perineum using your base. Physics did the work, as the cramped hole caused your cock to scrape her roof. "FUCKK"

Dahyun cussed with your every repeating motion. "FUCK. FUCK. FUCK."

"I'M YOUR MAN, KIM DAHYUN" you said that like she didn't know. Like you didn't say it every time you bed her. You were right to do so though, as this pottymouth wasn't the same Catholic woman you fell for. And you made sure to introduce your new self to her new self.

"fUCK... FUCK FUCK FUUh----" her insides shut around you so tight that it felt like she's squeezing you out. Making you pump all that much harder. The noises she made weren't hers anymore. It was satisfying violence. Like glass shattering. Similar to the image you thought you've accurately painted of her.

She gripped the sheets at first, then the pillows, then the headboard. Anything to root her onto reality. Her hands looked like they were swatting the air violently, unknowing what to use as an anchor—for each of your hurried thrusts caused beautiful ripples onto her pudgy white thighs. Heavenly turbulent.

"H- H- H- " she had nothing left but tentative huffs of air rid of profanities, saving her breath to stay conscious. "Where, baby?

"Where can I cum?"

"Where can I cum?"

You ask the same question as the phone. Making you finally look up at it again after what felt like hours of rutting your girl.

Dahyun puts a hand on Keith's defined abs to stop his pumpings.

An action she mimics on your less-chiseled tummy. The only difference was her face... or rather... mask...

In the video, she had on the same mask she wore yesterday. You remember, right? The mask she wore as John turned her into his toy. One of concern, but with eyes so epicly dilated that its curving into hearts.

But you weren't Keith. So you hold her down. And ;ock her hips around your waist, so you can freely piston her to chase your ending. Your panting mixed with laughter cause you are a petty petty man. You wanted to experience something Keith never will.

You were almost there "I'm gONNA fUCKING PAINT YOUR INSIDES KIM DAHY--"

"w-WAIT!" you heard her video self protest, to which Keith replies by swatting your girlfriend's hand away and grab her hips. Same as you were doing right now, but without warning. Without the need to verbalize your claim on her body. There was no pettiness. He just took what he wanted the same way he did your job. Rocking his hips as he deposits his seed deep inside your Kim Dahyun.

His conservative length led to his cum leaking out so easily. So fast. You mightve wanted to paint her insides, but Keith? Keith painted her thighs with the way his spunk dripped down on them. Like some sick perk of having a small cock.

That visual didn't push you off the edge, it SHOVED you to oblivion. Straining your balls so hard that the line between pain and pleasure began to fade, and you cum ropes, strings, and fireworks inside your girlfriend. Cock pressing hard to push inside her limit. Until her insides tell you that this was as deep as her biology went. Cock pressing like you're coping that 'at least Keith's small cock never got to taste her womb.'

But you knew.

You knew that you'll have to 'experience something Keith never will' another day. Cause tonight, you are on equal footing with him—creampie-ing the love of your life. Despite how much longer your cock was.

.

.

.

.

.

.

The video ends. Frozen at the last frame.

The room only sounds chased breaths.

You still had your softening cock deep inside her. Locking your offsprings in this former idol.

Dahyun had on the most whimsical face. Proud. And satisfied. Like she asked for everything and got everything.

None of the footages ever showed this. All of her snow white self in the most wrecked of ways. Hands up. Sweat shining sheens on her pits and tits and tummy and oh God you've never seen her look so willingly vulnerable. Unguarded, by choice. To you. And only you.

You feel butterflies mob your stomach. Like this was the first time you've seen Kim Dahyun. The real Kim Dahyun.

With locked hips, you bend down. Gently. Shy. Like this was the first time you two ever had sex. First time to have her face to face. Your lips travel around. Chin, cheek, temple, forehead.

She giggles at the suddenly shy stance that her stud took tonight. So she takes initiative. Grabbing you by the shoulders and kissing you to seal the night.

Your slumber had tough competition tonight.

For this Dahyun was surreal reality. One that you never knew you dreamed of.

I wrote this a lot longer than my past smuts since I feel like I owe that to all the people who—after all this time—are STILL waiting for part 2🤣 TMI: I was actually on the heels of doing something so irritatingly convoluted and complex until I realized that I should erase everything and write something that would satisfy me, not scrutiny. I hope this was worth the 2 years, 10 weeks, and 2 days wait!

That was probably what had him waking up almost every night. His wife always seemed to find an excuse not to have sex, and Jae was tiring of being rejected. Until he figured out what was wrong, a quick jerk would have to do, and he'd be able to fall back asleep, somewhat satisfied. He tried not to allow the thought that someone in his wife's tennis club was taking his spot in bed, but it wouldn't have surprised him all that much.

Jae closed the door behind him silently and sidled out into the hall. Everybody else would be fast asleep. His daughter Da-ah was in her junior year of college; her door was closed and 300 miles away until the summer. Jinwoo, his twenty-three-year-old son, stayed home for a while as he saved money to move out on his own. The boy slept like a rock and could be heard snoring through his half-open door.

The room before the stairs was Wonyoung's, his youngest daughter, and the bright spot in his life. Jae's dark-haired teenager took after her mother, thankfully only in her looks. She also played tennis in high school and competed at a pretty high level. Jae loved Wonyoung with all his heart and spoiled her every chance. On her eighteenth birthday a few weeks ago, he'd bought her a costly tennis racket and made her swear not to tell her mother. Wonyoung readily agreed, holding the racquet against her chest and squeezing it tight as promised.

At an age when most of her friends complained about their fathers, how strict they were, or the intolerable grounding they had to endure, Wonyoung felt completely contrary. Every minute she could, she spent with her dad. She tried to take an interest in the things he liked: cars, electronics, and such. And he did such a fantastic job being a part of her interests that many of her friends were jealous that her dad spent so much time with her.

But Jae worried about Wonyoung sometimes. His daughter was getting prettier and prettier every day, and she didn't seem to understand how that changed how men and boys looked at her. Her older sister Da-ah certainly didn't set a great example, and now some of the outfits that Da-ah brought home from college were also starting to show up in Wonyoung's repertoire.

His teenage daughter was 5'8" with black hair and big brown eyes. Tennis had slimmed her body, and her affinity for lying out in the backyard had tanned her skin wonderfully, despite his protests for her to take it easy. From all the times he'd carried her to bed at night, he knew she weighed less than 100 lbs. When he started to worry about her was a few years ago when her breasts developed. Now she was sporting a C-cup, even larger than her mother's and impossible not to notice. Since she'd begun imitating her older sister, the tight cotton tank tops and V-necks constantly reminded him that he should keep his eye on her.

Not that he minded… as Jae reached the bottom of the stairs he realized all the thoughts of his baby had made his cock grow to its full length. He needed a glass of milk, a cookie or two, and then maybe a hot shower while he took care of his not-so-little problem. He'd try his hardest not to think of Wonyoung while he stroked, but knew from experience that it wasn't such an easy feat.

They were very close, Wonyoung and her father. Though he didn't like to admit it, Wonyoung had been a source of comfort while the intimacy with his wife had been dying down. Having his beautiful daughter snuggled up to him on the couch as they watched TV or shared a long conversation about nothing during a car ride made things far easier, and he loved her for it. If only Wonyoung shared his bed every night, he'd have a perfect relationship. The thought of Wonyoung in place of his wife, making love to her…Jae shivered.

From time to time, there was tension between Jae and his teenage daughter. He prayed that Wonyoung didn't see it as sexual, but he knew better. Just last week, she had been lying with him on the couch wearing very little. He'd tried to explain to her why she shouldn't wear clothing like that, but it was more difficult to say so without telling the innocent little brunette that it was he she had to be more decent around.

Her tube socks that day, a tiny pair of cotton shorts, and a shirt that, no matter how many times he tried to fix, kept slipping down over her shoulder and dominated his thoughts as they watched TV together. The exposed skin was already too much for him, but when Wonyoung had tried to move around on the couch, she had unknowingly brushed her hand right against his crotch. It was enough to make his cock jump to attention and, terrified that his daughter would discover it, he abruptly got up and walked out of the room. Even when he returned, he had to keep his daughter at a distance, though she quickly tried to cuddle up with him without the slightest concern for how she might be affecting him.

Sometimes his affection and the resulting thoughts he had about his teenager made him feel guilty. But Jae felt turned on when a pretty cashier touched his hand as they exchanged bills, or he heard a sexy voice on the phone; he resolved to stop beating himself up over it. Occasionally, his mind was going to places he hadn't asked it to, like right now when he remembered his daughter in her bathing suit as he passed it hanging on the railing to dry. God, did she have an unbelievable body, if only he could get his hands on her… all over her… He buried the thought and reminded himself that his cock was thinking for him at the moment. He reasoned that he'd probably hump a wall in his state right then.

To Wonyoung, her father was also the best part of her day. He just understood her better than everyone else. Despite what he said, everyone in the family knew she was his favorite. He never seemed to yell at her like he did with her other two siblings. Especially Jinwoo, they sometimes got in some screaming matches that scared her.

Her dad was a big and strong man, with hair that showed just a hint of gray with his age. All her friends swooned over him. Whenever they knew her dad would be around, her friends always seemed to put extra care into their appearance. Wonyoung frequently had to endure her friends flirting with her father or bending over at the car window when he came to pick her up so he could see down their shirts.

"Hi, Mr. Jang," they'd say in a sing-songy voice. Especially Yujin! Though she was Wonyoung's best friend, Yujin always turned gaga whenever Wonyoung's father was around.

"He's hot, Wonyoung. Any one of us would love to have him all over us like he is with you. Get over it!" Yujin would say whenever Wonyoung complained.

Wonyoung didn't ever agree out loud, but there was no denying some of the things they said. Of course, she knew he was a good-looking man; she was the one who spent so much time around him. He had a broad chest, and she could feel it when she laid her hand and head against him on the couch at night. He worked out often, and she knew that because he would chase her around the house when he came home, all gross and sweaty from the gym. His handsome face did little to reveal his age: forty-three with the spirit of a younger man.

He was the only boy, well… man, who gave her attention simply because he loved her. The boys at school only came near her when they were trying to touch her butt or put their hands on her boobs. Even her male teachers would leer at her when they thought she wasn't looking. Ugh… she often came home and ran to her daddy's arms to feel something real for once.

Wonyoung was a good girl and daughter, but her friends' words sometimes made her think… Every once in a while, she noticed her dad looking at her lovingly, making her feel tingly. She didn't mind having his eyes on her, though perhaps she should have, and occasionally she sought it out by wearing things that she thought made her look sexy or even a little slutty. She hoped her father didn't think less of her for it, but sometimes she just couldn't help around him.

That night, Wonyoung had stayed up late binge-watching a TV show on her computer. Hours after everyone had gone to sleep, she was still awake. A racy scene in the show made her fingers practically guide themselves under the covers to her panties. It wasn't very graphic, but as she heard the female character panting and watched the couple having 'sex' on screen, she knew she was getting turned on.

Wonyoung had never had sex before, and she didn't think she'd know how to properly. The pretty brunette had only ever kissed a boy, and she let one other touch her breasts over her shirt. But both boys had turned into super-jerks shortly afterward, telling everyone about their accomplishments with Wonyoung and making her the talk of the rumor mill at school for a few days each time. Of course, her father had been there to make her feel better when she got home, but she'd decided to keep boys her age at a distance since then.

So as Wonyoung's fingers found her panty-line and pried underneath, she did so without much knowledge of how to make herself feel good. A couple times, when she was turned on, Wonyoung had been able to rub the outside of her pussy until she had a short but rewarding orgasm. Last week, she had done so after a long night of cuddling with her dad, and had felt guilty afterwards knowing that he had played a part in her arousal. This time, after she had tried unsuccessfully for a few minutes, Wonyoung decided to try something new.

Yujin had told her that she should try using a vegetable. Wonyoung knew that was how sex worked, but for a long time she had felt guilty even touching herself, let alone sticking one of her mom's cucumbers up there! But now she was just too horny and very curious so she decided to take a look in the fridge.

The cute brunette walked on tiptoes to her door and opened it as quietly as possible. She wore a pair of cotton underwear when she'd gone to bed, but she had pushed them off in her heated frustration. Now all she had on was a white cotton tank-top, and though she considered going back to her bed to find her panties, Wonyoung felt sure she would be alone for as long as it took to get to the kitchen and back.

So she closed the bedroom door behind her and tiptoed down the stairs toward the kitchen. Wonyoung listened closely to the quiet of the house and, hearing nothing, went as quickly as possible to the fridge. It was dark in the house, with only the light from the clock on the microwave to illuminate the nearby space. Wonyoung almost knocked a vase to the ground, but steadied it before it fell.

'Phew,' she thought, shivering with a little chill as she felt the cool night air on her naked bottom. She had been so wet that her inner thighs were damp; had thinking about her daddy made her so horny like that? Wonyoung didn't always feel guilty when her father entered her thoughts inappropriately. Occasionally, she told herself that fantasizing about him wasn't wrong; she couldn't act out her thoughts. Plus, there was no way her father would ever reciprocate, even if she wanted him to.

Her little pussy felt even colder when she bent over to look in the vegetable drawer of the fridge. From behind the tiny brunette would have looked incredible, her legs held together and bending at the waist, naked bottom and her cute, bare pussy where anyone could see.

Still groggy as he walked down the stairs, Jae rubbed his eyes and yawned. But no matter how tired he felt, Jae knew he'd have trouble sleeping until he carried out this frustrating nighttime routine. He barely opened his eyes, knowing the house backwards and forwards as he did. When he finally came to the fridge, it didn't appear odd that it was already open. He was half awake and only had one thing on his mind: to take a big swig directly from the milk carton like his wife hated. Jae simply grabbed the handle of the open fridge and swung himself around it lazily, precisely the way he scolded his son for, to get a look inside.

Wonyoung was rummaging deep in the drawer when her fingers finally found what she was looking for, it was the perfectly sized… ughhhHHH

Bent at the waist the way Wonyoung was, her tiny young pussy couldn't have been in a more perfect spot.

As her father came around with one hand on the door and the other rubbing an eye, his erection couldn't have pointed any more directly.

He hadn't seen her there… he hadn't been looking for anyone there, but as soon as Jae's feet squared off toward the open fridge, he felt her. There was no mistaking that he had just come to a halt with his cockhead securely inside a wonderfully warm and tight pussy.

"Ouuuuuuwwwahhhh…" Wonyoung whined. She couldn't make sense of what had just happened and couldn't form words to protest. One second, she was searching in the fridge, and the next, she felt very intense pressure from the very spot she had been touching minutes ago. She could feel pain there, too, and it had happened all at once.

Jae's mind was still foggy, and the sudden change in sensation to his hard member made him throb, and his mind lost its place in time. The very intimate position in which he now found himself made him assume he simply hadn't checked to see if his wife was asleep when he got out of bed, and now he was finally getting the relief she'd deprived him of.

He hadn't been inside her in far too long, and seeing that she had yet to complain about the surprise sex, he made an impulsive decision to give in to his desires. Jae reached down and wrapped his hands around her bare hips; it wasn't like her to sleep bottomless, or with the sexy little tank top she now wore, but he wasn't going to complain. With a gentle push of his hips, Jae sank further into her.

"Nooooo…owwwfuuuuck!" Wonyoung cried.

"Bab,y please…it was an accident, I promise…but we haven't had sex in weeks." Jae pleaded

Wonyoung froze, her father could feel her go stiff through his palms, which were needily feeling her hips and tiny butt. Suddenly, she realized what had happened. Her father had accidentally put his penis inside her and now he thought Wonyoung was her mother. What's worse, Wonyoung could feel that her little pussy was so wet her father had slid into it easily.

She didn't know what to say. Her father had paused after pleading to continue, and Wonyoung was speechless. When she had been quiet for a few seconds, still bent over with her hair obscuring her face from his view, Jae took her silence as enough consent for him to finish his plunge into her.

"Noooo… stoppp," Wonyoung begged. Her father only did so when he'd sunk his entire cock into his daughter's young sheath. She felt so tight bent over like that; Jae made a mental note to fuck her in this position more often.

"But honey… You feel so good… I'll be quick, I promise." Jae continued. He was nearly buried in her. Hoping to convince her to submit, Jae pushed hard against her backside and forced his head to seek just a bit deeper.

Wonyoung felt him shove further and her untouched pussy throbbed with pain and unknown feelings as a result of being stuffed full of her daddy's cock.

"Nooo daddy… it's me… oooughhhh… It's Wonyoung."

Jae had only been half listening. The broken words coming out of her mouth hadn't registered, but the unfamiliar tightness of her pussy and the smaller, more toned nature of her backside was further confusing his addled brain. Jae withdrew his cock from his daughter's tight quim and was about to penetrate her for the second time when he heard:

"No daddy, pleaaassse!" Wonyoung muttered, her voice betrayed by the feelings her father's cock was causing her. "You can't, Daddy… It's me… your daughter."

Jae heard her this time, but he couldn't have heard right. Then again, something hadn't felt quite right when he first entered her, and her skin was smoother, her body more youthful. He reached down, palming the vicinity of Wonyoung's breast and lifting her upright so he could see her face. He didn't dare remove himself from inside of her; he couldn't bring himself to do so, regardless of the truth.

He hadn't misheard her. As he lifted his teenage daughter so that her hair fell around her shoulders, he recognized her face immediately. Suddenly the fact that her pussy had felt twenty years younger and her body more lean and seductive made sense. He had, only in unspoken fantasies, imagined what it would be like to make love to his beautiful daughter. Now, in the lone light of the open refrigerator, he was mistakenly penetrating her as he'd only dreamed.

Jae had stopped pulling out of her so that his tip now pulsed with excitement just beyond her pink lips. Wonyoung could feel her daddy there, a wider part of his manhood holding her quim open to him. She prayed he would remove himself and then explain to her, as he always did, that everything would be okay.

With his hand upon Wonyoung's pert breast and his other on her naked hip, it simply wasn't an option to stop. He was already committing incest. Jae had been buried inside his little eighteen-year-old once; what difference did it make in doing so again? Holding tight to his baby girl, he buried his waiting cock in one slow but steady thrust.

"MMmmmmphh… no Daddy, no!" Wonyoung pleaded as she felt her father fucking her again. "Daddy, I'm a virgin, you have to stop…ooouuuuw!"

"Oh Wonyoung, Daddy didn't mean to… ughhh," he sighed as his pelvis once again met his daughter's petite backside, "it was an accident baby… I didn't… ughhh… see you there."

Wonyoung felt her father pull out halfway and then shove back into her as he spoke. Jae knew what he was doing was wrong, but his morals were being battled by the warm entrenchment of his rod inside Wonyoung's teen pussy.

"It's okay, Daddy… I know you didn't mean to, but you have take your penis out of me… mmmhh… before you take my virginity."

Jae looked down between them at where his cock was halfway inside Wonyoung. He could see a small amount of blood from when he'd first encountered resistance at his daughter's hymen. Her years of tennis had probably made it so her cherry wasn't entirely obstructing her entrance, but there was no doubt that when he'd first entered her, he had taken his youngest daughter's virginity.

"Honey, you aren't a virgin anymore now," he told her definitively. He let the words sink in and couldn't help himself moving as slowly and imperceptibly as possible so he could feel the walls of Wonyoung's unclaimed pussy stimulating his cock.

Wonyoung cooed, she could feel her daddy's penis still moving inside her, "Oh no Daddy… did you take my virginity, are you sure?"

"Yes, baby, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to."

The evidence of Wonyoung's virginity wasn't the only thing that Jae had noticed as he looked down at their incestuous connection. It was also hard to miss that his pretty teenager was soaking wet. Her juices had coated his rod thoroughly and were dripping down around his full balls. The realization surprised him and again he thrust upward into Wonyoung's quim in lust.

"If you're sorry dad… oooouummph… why do you keep fucking me? You're cock is too big daddy…oooooo… it hurts me"

Her father was surprised to hear Wonyoung say those dirty words, but far from chastising her. Jae was getting less and less subtle about continuing to chase the pleasure his tiny daughter's quim was giving him.

"Wonyoung, your little pussy makes my cock feel very good… ohhh… it won't hurt as much if I just fuck you a little more honey" his hips slapped against her buttocks and Wonyoung could feel her father prodding her deep enough to encounter resistance inside her.

His hands started to wander around Wonyoung's chest. The friction his fingers were causing by rubbing his fingers over her nipple with the cotton tank top between made her shiver involuntarily.

"But you can put your thing in mommy's pussy… ohhh shiiiit… You can't put it in mine. You could get me pregnant, Daddy!"

Jae stood his daughter up straight and slid his hand from her hip to the hem of her shirt. He didn't want to ignore the pleading of his baby girl; he hadn't even dreamt of deflowering her. But now that he had, Jae couldn't help himself. He could still feel his daughter's opening leaking with desire, and it gave him hope that he might win her over.

"Your mom doesn't let me anymore honey, and you are so much more beautiful than she is…" he told her truthfully, "you can only get pregnant if I cum inside you honey… ouhhhh… I promise I won't!"

Wonyoung felt him shoving his big cock into her again. She'd lost count of how many times he'd plunged into her now, but she was tingling from the inside out between that and the sweet compliment he'd paid her.

She could feel her father's hands getting bolder. One of them had found its way under her shirt and was moving its way up her flat stomach to her boobies. When he reached there, he hesitated with his thumb and forefinger, making a half-circle under her breast. As Wonyoung held her breath she felt her father move his hand so he was cupping her tit fully and testing its weight. Finally, he took her nipple between his fingers and squeezed gently; Wonyoung mewwed in response.

"Oh God, Daddy…" Wonyoung moaned as she felt her father urging his cock in and out of her.

She felt bad for him that her mother had not allowed her wonderful father any relief for many weeks. He was desperate enough to seek it from his daughter, though he may have mistakenly done so initially.

As Wonyoung's father was fucking her as gently as he could stand from behind, she could feel the shock and pain of losing her virginity to her father begin to subside just as he had promised. It was being replaced by something she had never felt before: a building pressure each time her father sank into her.

"Mnnnhhh… what if someone sees… unnnhhh…" Wonyoung complained, "you should stop now, you shouldn't fuck me anymore daddy… oooumpph…" No matter what she said, Wonyoung's pussy was drenched and her moans indicated to her father that if he continued she was going to experience her first orgasm by penetration.

His hands were roaming around, one on her tit and the other massaging the soft flesh around her hip. Her daddy was manhandling her, much different from how he usually held her as they fell asleep watching TV.

Twenty minutes ago, her father had crossed her mind more than once as she touched herself in the quiet darkness of her room. She had been thinking of him when she reached into the vegetable drawer in the fridge. She'd wondered what vegetable would be most similar to her father. Now that he was fucking her, she was pretty sure that nothing in the fridge was large enough to match him.

Wonyoung knew it was wrong; she knew she should push her father off and stop the incest they were committing right away. Why did she stay? Wonyoung wondered what her friend Yujin would say. She was always talking about how hot her daddy was and how bad she wanted him. Did Wonyoung want him too? Is that why she was starting to excitedly anticipate each time his cock would again be snugly thrust inside of her after withdrawal?

"Fuck daddy! You're cock is huge…" he was increasing the vigor of his thrusts, grasping her hip tightly and making sure he was into her before pulling back out. "Be careful dad please… unnhhhh… it hurts more when you fuck me harder!"

"Is this okay, baby?" Jae asked his daughter. He slowed down the pace but still savored the feeling of filling the tiny brunette completely again and again.

"Yes daaaad… uhhhh uhhhh… that feels much better."

He was surprised to hear his little girl finally yielding, and her wet pink pussy was still easing his repeated entry. The sounds of the house were always soothing to Jae: the drone of the fridge compressor, the click of the air conditioner turning on, or the breathing of his sleeping family. But the sounds coming from his teenage daughter were more wonderful to him than anything he'd ever heard… her labored breaths… the swishing of her tight pussy as it accepted his pistoning cock and the quiet whimpering as she felt a man's cock inside her for the first time.

Jae had been there for all of Wonyoung's firsts: her first steps, her first words, her first day at school. He'd held her when she got hurt or when she got a bad grade or whenever he felt his wife was being too harsh with his little girl. He had been there for Wonyoung's first break-up, even when she bought her first bra. Now Jae was always going to be his daughter's first time with a man, and the knowledge that he was claiming her bare, untouched pussy by reaching places with each thrust into her that no man had ever been before… the truth of it was the amazing beyond words.

For years, he'd looked on as Wonyoung became the beautiful girl she was today. In the dressing room, she'd asked how multiple bras looked when he took her to the mall to try them on. He shouldn't have been looking at his young daughter, but with her perfect globes nestled inside the supportive cups, even then, her body was a sight to behold. The thought that she would become such a gorgeous young daughter scared him… He loved her completely, beyond compare, and only dreamed that a man would be deserving enough to have her someday.

Now as he looked down, the dimples in her back where he'd pushed up her shirt and curve of her hips… he gasped… he couldn't believe he was the man fucking his daughter.

"Ohhh fuck… Daddy keep fucking me… ohgod…" she was forgetting to resist now, "you feel so good in my pussy dad."

Jae had felt so guilty when he realized for sure that it was his daughter whom he'd buried his cock into. Even more so when he discovered that he'd taken her virginity as well. But now… now that she was asking him to continue.. she wanted him to keep fucking her…

Jae established a good rhythm and could feel his little girl leaning backward to help him. In short order, he could tell that his teenage daughter was going to have an orgasm. She was breathing more heavily, crying out more needily.

"Ohh fuck… I feel strange… ouuuhhh… wai,t Daddy… hold on…"

But Jae knew what to do, and soon his little girl would be cumming on his cock just the way he wanted her to. He continued to push into her folds and prod her deep within.

"Ohh fuckkk… oh Daaad… "

Wonyoung's knees went weak. Her father supported her while continuing his unrelenting thrusts into her pussy. Her mind was suddenly white, and she felt pins and needles in all of her extremities. She howled

"Ohhhhhh Daaaaaaaaddyyyy."

It was like nothing Wonyoung had ever felt before. Her father had shoved into her and stayed there as she rode out her newly discovered orgasm. She felt so incredibly full. Her body seemed to conduct electricity through thin wires stretching from her fingers to the tips of her toes and all leading back to the apex point of pleasure behind her eyes.

Jae's cock throbbed as his little girl curled her toes against the hardwood floor and reached back clumsily for some kind of hold on him. He loved watching his daughter climax and simply savored the sight of her quaking in front of him, not to mention the way her virgin walls were clenching him as she did. Though her father's cock fit perfectly inside Wonyoung, she was even wetter than before and her juices were dripping from within her.

For the first time, Jae decided to remove himself from his daughter's drenched tunnel. She stood, but only with the support her father gave her. He turned Wonyoung towards him, her head hung low. With a finger at her chin, Jae lifted his daughter's head to look into her eyes.

She looked so pretty, a light sheen of sweat on her brow and flushed cheeks. Wonyoung kept her eyes closed for a moment, but they weren't angry when she finally opened them. They weren't hurt or sad or anything he had expected. Wonyoung had pleaded with him to stop, but as she came back to the world from an earth-shaking orgasm, Wonyoung was glad her father had kept fucking her.

She only looked a little embarrassed, like she hadn't expected to see so much pleasure from having her virginity taken by her father.

"I love you, baby," he told her.

Wonyoung looked at him closely, her big brown eyes holding his gaze for long enough that he was desperate to know what she was thinking.

"I love you, too, Dad."

He kissed her on the cheek, right next to her lips, and lingered there. Wonyoung felt him hesitate and brought her lips close enough to kiss him. Simultaneously, they closed the gap between them and brought their mouths together. Wonyoung kissed her father hungrily, thanking him for the beautiful feelings he'd shown her.

Each peck, each explorative placement of his lips on hers, Wonyoung understood why she wasn't upset with her daddy for continuing to fuck her when he did. Wonyoung's friends seemed to love her father and didn't know him half as well as she did. He was the best father a girl could have, and he was handsome to boot. So many times she had thought of him, alone in her bed at night, but she didn't ever know how he could make her feel. The tingling surface of her skin and her sensitive pussy was more than she had ever dreamt of. Now that she had the chance, why shouldn't she willingly accept her father? Nobody had to know… Wonyoung shivered at the taboo thoughts.

Their tongues darted out to meet each other. Wonyoung didn't have much experience kissing boys, but she loved kissing and making out with her dad. Jae felt like a teenager again and found his hands moving of their own volition to feel the tiny frame of the teenager in his arms. He wanted to be inside her again, but only if she chose to this time.

When her father's hands once again found her perky breasts under the shirt, Wonyoung knew he wanted her to take it off. She readily lifted her arms above her head, surprising her father with her willingness. He quickly obliged her, pulling the shirt off and revealing her young tits to him.

God, she was so gorgeous and irresistible, and her breasts were more prominent and shapelier than her mother's. Jae put his hands on her, and Wonyoung watched closely as they roamed all over her.

"You're so beautiful, Wonyoung," he told her, "and you made me feel wonderful, honey."

As Wonyoung was looking down she caught a glimpse of her father's cock again. It WAS large, and it was silvery with all the wetness she must have covered him in. It was sticking straight upward, and she could feel it bobbing against her leg at a pace that must have been his heartbeat.

"Why is it still so big, Dad?"

"Because I am so turned on looking at you. I'm thinking about making love to you, sweetheart."

Wonyoung shrugged with embarrassment. In doing so, she looked adorable, and her teardrop breasts shook with the motion of her shoulders.

"You want to fuck me again don't you daddy?"

Jae felt guilty. Hearing the naughty words from his little girl's mouth made the deed very real. Still, he shook his head, 'Yes.'

Wonyoung may have been inexperienced, but she knew how dangerous it would be for them to have sex again. In class at her high school, the book showed her how to find out when her period would come and when she was most likely to become pregnant. If she was doing it right, she was right at the best time for her daddy's sperm to find her egg and make her pregnant. And the book had also said always to use protection, like a condom or birth control, and she wasn't using either one.

"What if I just put my mouth on it?" Wonyoung suggested. She felt his penis throb perceptively when she did.

"You like that idea, don't you, Daddy?"

Wonyoung proceeded to get down on her knees and gingerly take her father's erection in her hand. She could still feel her stickiness on him, and she knew more was coming from deep within her.

Wonyoung tested the head of his cock at her lips, looking up at him with her pretty eyes and hoping she did a good job. Slowly she opened her mouth and took in the head of her cock. She sucked on it gently, not minding at all that she could taste herself on him.

The little brunette tried to emulate what her father might have felt when he had his big penis inside of her; she encircled his shaft with both hands and moved them up and down while she lapped at his tip. Her father moaned.

"Oh, honey, you're doing wonderful," he said as he tossed his head back.

Wonyoung sucked on him and tried her best to take more into her mouth. She knew that some girls could take the whole thing, but hard as Wonyoung tried she could get less than half of her father's cock in her mouth. She wondered what it would taste like if he squirted his white stuff into her mouth.

Wonyoung sucked and stroked and like an angel she praised her father with her mouth. He did his best to watch her, though she made him feel so wonderful that he could barely stand at a few points. When he did look at her, the image of her perched in front of him with his cock in her mouth and looking up at her with her soulful, innocent brown eyes…it would be burned in his mind forever. He told her that his daughter was doing a wonderful job for her first time. But hard as she tried, and beautiful as she looked kneeling, Jae had one thing on his mind.

"Baby," he beckoned her, "stand up, let me see you again."

She obeyed him, arising so that her breasts brushed against his abdomen as she did. After admiring her for a few more seconds, Jae wasted no time lifting his daughter onto the island and she knew immediately by the proximity of his cockhead to her entrance what his intentions were.

"Daddy," she warned, "I don't think you should fuck me anymore, it's too risky."

"I promise, sweetie," her father sounded desperate again. I'll be very careful. If I'm very careful, you won't get pregnant. Cross my heart."

"I don't know, Daddy," she continued to protest, "I don't think we should, it's too dangerous right now for my fertility cycle. We'd be in so much trouble!"

"I know, honey, how about I just put the tip in you for a minute?" Jae negotiated. He was already prodding his daughter's mound with his large head, and Wonyoung was beginning to wish he would press harder and keep making her feel good. For a brief moment, the thought of her father's penis shooting his warm sperm into her pussy entered Wonyoung's conflicted brain. She knew it was even more wrong than having an orgasm or sucking her daddy's cock, but what would it feel like? Wonyoung loved her father more than anybody, even her mom; what if he did get her pregnant? She was so confused and wasn't supposed to want it, but this night was unlocking feelings she'd never conceived of before.

"Okay, but only for a minute, right?" Wonyoung relented. She didn't want to sound as eager as her body felt.

Jae didn't respond with words. The waiting had nearly driven him to madness. He pushed his tip against Wonyoung's still very wet lips. They parted and allowed his head to pop into her entry. Once again Jae had the thought that he'd never feel something so good as being inside his daughter's little pussy.

"Ouuwwh, Daddy!" she cried, feeling him inside her again. Her father's tip alone felt bigger in their new position. It hurt a little, but still she watched intently as he withdrew his tip and pushed it into her again. Both gasped as he did so, listening to each other and feeling everything from their incestuous connection between them.

Jae removed and replaced his tip in his teenager's pussy enough times that she lost count. He had gone on longer than promised but wasn't done yet.

"Ohhh fuck Dad," she whimpered, "it feels terrific now!"

Wonyoung's mouth had brought him close, but Jae needed to come more than he ever had before in his life. He dared push his cock a little further into his daughter. She noticed immediately, but assumed it was only an accident.

When he did it again, Wonyoung called him out.

"…Fuuckk," she blurted, "Daddy, you promised."

"I know baby, just a little more!"

Maybe Jae had intended to keep his word, but once he felt her tiny channel more deeply wrapped around his cock, his promises began to evaporate.

He pushed into his daughter again, and then deeper, and then withdrew, and then thrust back in. In a few moments he was fucking his youngest daughter along the full length of his cock. Wonyoung, for all her protest, could not hide how much pleasure it was giving her,

"Oooohhhh Dad… mnnnh fuck… It's so big…"

She certainly didn't sound like she wanted him to stop, and Wonyoung's feet were wrapped around her father's tight core. His abs rippled as he fucked her deeply and ever so gently her heels were pulling him in. She watched in wonder as the tip of her father's penis would peek out from between her lips and then the whole thing disappear entirely into her. She couldn't believe it fit. She lost track of time, but when she looked back at Jae's face, she could see him cringing and focusing hard.

"Okay, Daddy, shouldn't you stop now?"

Instead, she felt him grab on tightly to her hips and squeeze. Wonyoung put her hands on his strong chest, not knowing whether she wanted to push him away or hold on tight. He was much too strong for her; she could do nothing but accept the deliberate thrusts of her father into her. Her hands felt his manly chest instead, the hair upon his pecs and the dampness of sweat from fucking her so well. Did he know how badly she wanted him to continue? Should she keep protesting?

As he held on tightly, Jae could feel his orgasm building. He watched the soft spot between her hips mounding as he buried his cock in her fully before removing it. Her melodic panting and moaning were beginning to be too much for him.

"I'm almost there, sweetheart."

"Alright, dad, please… ouuumphh… It's too risky!"

Wonyoung felt her father pick up speed for a few more thrusts until he squeezed her hips tight and began to tense.

Then she knew what was happening.

"Daddy, no!"

Jae went stiff as soon as he was buried in his young daughter's pussy. He gladly released a first, powerful jet of sperm into Wonyoung's womb. It immediately gave his daughter a jolt. Then another, and another; his tip painted the little girl's walls, her cervix and everywhere it could with his forbidden cum. Whether he had promised to or not, the intensity filling the beautiful teenager felt unquestionably right.

Wonyoung tried to be mad at him, but before she could scold him or yell or even try to push him off, the hot, forbidden sensation of what she knew was her father's semen made her quake from the inside out. Like before, Wonyoung's body trembled, her skin crawled and her insides squeezed more cum from her father's buried cock. It was the most wonderful feeling, and her second orgasm rocked her more powerfully than the first. It was so wrong that her daddy's cum squirting into her was making her quake with so much pleasure.

Jae shakily withdrew an inch of his embedded member from his daughter's insides and then roughly pushed it back in. His cock emitted another rope into her fertile and unprotected womb.

He had never felt so invigorated and so satisfied, and Jae was quite certain that he'd never cum so much in his life as he just had inside his daughter. Wonyoung wrapped her arms around his neck when her orgasm had struck her and was, willingly or not, still quivering as the last bit of her father's seed dribbled from his head and topped off her overfilled pussy.

His daughter held onto him, overwhelmed by the climax she hadn't expected and the incestuous load she now carried inside her. The sheer amount of it, and the feeling of her father's cum was unlike anything she'd ever felt and still his hard cock was filling her the rest of the way.

"Daddy…you promised," Wonyoung pouted as she met his eyes with hers.

"I know, baby, you were just too sexy… I had to!" Her father reasoned.

She was still mad, though his tactics to win her weren't completely lost.

"You lied to me! You said you wouldn't cum inside my pussy and then you came so much!"

Wonyoung was right; he could feel his semen all over his buried rod. He knew that if Wonyoung had been telling the truth, his little swimmers would soon make their way even deeper into his daughter, and she could conceive his child. He looked down to see it.

Jae pulled his cock, still hard, from within his daughter's sensitive hole, watching her tremble as he did so. As soon as his head was revealed, white, milky cum pushed its way around him. As he fully disengaged, his load cascaded from within her deflowered pussy.

Wonyoung's eyes went wide.

"Oh my God, Daaaad! There's sooo much!" She sounded more amazed than upset.

"Quick, daddy, get it out before I get pregnant!" Wonyoung cried, reaching down to where his cum was dripping from within her.

Jae took his daughter's hand tenderly instead, "It's too late for that, honey."

Wonyoung felt so conflicted. She was worried, but only because people like her mother and that awful teacher in her sex education class told her she should be. Yet her daddy didn't look worried at all. As he took her hand and pulled her up toward him, Wonyoung was already feeling much better. They kissed lovingly, neither fully believing the wonderful, forbidden, and life-changing thing they'd just shared.

"What should we do, Daddy?"

Jae looked down at his daughter's young and freshly-fucked opening. Seeing that his cum was about to flow onto the granite countertop, Jae made a quick decision. He'd only once accomplished it with his wife, but he thought his odds were better with a beautiful girl whom he loved far more. Could he fuck his daughter again while his defiant member bobbed, still rock hard, tantalizingly close to Wonyoung's cute little slit?

Jae dared to scoop up the stream of his cum that had leaked out with his cock head and push it back into his daughter's pussy. He was too turned on to stop fucking his beautiful little girl yet. She shrieked with sensitivity.

Usually, even the faintest touch would send a shiver up Jae's spine, and it did, but he kept fucking her. Feeling the lubrication of his fresh cum easing his path into his daughter he decided to press on.

"Ohhhhh Daddy… ohhh pleaaase… It's too sensitive… fuckkkkk!" his little girl cried.

Jae had been here before, and his desire to follow through prevailed. He cringed and he bucked, but he was determined to fuck his little Wonyoung until he was utterly spent. It was not long until he could feel his balls, unbelievably, building toward a second consecutive orgasm.

Wonyoung had been so overwhelmed by her father's actions that she hadn't the chance to look, but when she finally did she could tell that her daddy was going to cum inside her again, and so soon after he just had the first time!

"Ohhhh fuck daddy… twice?" Wonyoung was about ready to pass out. "You can't cum in my pussy again!"

He didn't answer, with a labored series of grunts and moans, Jae once more buried his cock as deep as it would go and unloaded another sizable amount of semen into his little girl. Jet after jet, he added his cum to her already charged insides. He held her tight and Wonyoung watched him intently as he came. Though he was doing exactly what he'd promised not to, seeing her father so wholly give himself into his desires, and knowing that she had been his lover through it all, warmed her more than the multiple loads of her father's seed she now held within her.

Before he allowed his whole body to go limp, Jae lifted his baby off the kitchen counter and lay down on the nearby area rug with her on top of him. He didn't pull out of her. He didn't want to ever again.

Wonyoung and her father lay in the dark for an untold time. As they drank each other in, the teen's soft breasts pressed against Jae, and he felt her breathing deeply. She seemed tinier when draped over him as she was. His baby girl… completely naked and still with his softening cock inside of her… the thought was incredible to behold.

The young brunette propped her head up on her hands, the hairs on her father's chest tickling her palms. She looked up at him. She could tell he was utterly drained, and she could feel his cum slowly making its way out of her sore pussy.

"You're bad, daddy!" Wonyoung said.

Jae opened his eyes and peered down at her. Expecting her to be upset, or sad, or something of the like, he was surprised to see a naughty grin on his pretty daughter's face. Confused, Jae furrowed his brow and replied:

"You're not mad at me?," hoping she wasn't.

"Wellllllllll…" she teased him, tilting her head and making him wait for her answer, "you did take my virginity, daddy…"

"I know, baby, I had no idea… I didn't even know it was you… I never would have…"

"Hmmmph!" Wonyoung interrupted, "You never would have? You seemed like you liked fucking me Dad…"

She was goading him now. That girl he knew was a little rambunctious, definitely with a naughty streak.

"I see the way you look at me sometimes. I'm not stupid, Daddy." He didn't know what to say to his little girl, but she was right. "I think about you sometimes, too, Dad…"

Jaee raised his eyebrows, "You do?"

"Every once in a while… when I'm in bed and can't fall asleep. My friends talk about you all the time, I can't help it!" she told him. Knowing that his daughter thought about him that way made the fact that he'd just fucked her seem a little better. "But I never thought you would put your big thing in me when I was just looking in the refrigerator, like totally out of the blue!" she exclaimed.

"I swear it was an accident, sweetheart, I didn't mean to startle you," Jae reiterated

"And what about all this cum daddy? It's dripping out 'cause you put so much in me! Was it an accident when you came in my pussy…? TWICE!?" He could tell now that she was just playing with him. She reached between them where it was seeping out of her. Jae watched, incredulous, as she took a finger and swept some of it from the stream that had made its way out from her tight little tunnel. Without hesitation, she brought it up, looked at it curiously, and then popped her finger in her mouth, tasting it and swallowing his excess semen like it was no big deal.

Jae looked at her sideways, "Okay, maybe that wasn't an accident…" he admitted, "but you don't look so upset, baby."

Wonyoung smiled, licking her lips. "…maybe because I'm not."

Her father smiled too. He slid her little body up so her lips could meet his, and they kissed. Firs,t Wonyoung just pecked at him, but shortly thereafter, they were making out again and playfully dancing their tongues about. When they broke apart, Wonyoung laid her head next to her father's.

"You know I'm not on birth control, right, Daddy?"

"Yes, I know." Jae said with an 'oops' look on his face.

Wonyoung giggled, "And you still squirted all that sperm in me, even when I told you how easily I could get pregnant?"

"Yeaaah… I did, didn't I?" Jae replied playfully.

"Hmmm…" his little girl sighed, "That would be so naughty, wouldn't it, Dad? You could have gotten me pregnant already!"

The possibility didn't scare him like he thought it would. An image of Wonyoung, his favorite daughter, with her beautiful black hair and brown eyes staring at him, the bulge of his child in her belly. She would look so lovely with that tiny body and his baby inside of her.

"We can go to the store tomorrow if you want, sweetie. We can get a pill that makes sure you don't get pregnant."

"Oh," Wonyoung said, sounding disappointed. Or…? " she asked nervously.

"Or what, honey?" Jae asked, totally confused.

"What if I don't take the pill?" Wonyoung said with an embarrassed shrug. She hoped her father wouldn't be mad at her suggestion.

Wonyoung thought he looked surprised, but then his eyes were full of love. "Well…I don't know… I mean I…" Jae stuttered, feeling smitten that his daughter would suggest something he'd only fantasized about.

Wonyoung thought it was cute that her dad was trying to pretend when she could so clearly tell that the thought appealed to him. "I guess we'd wait a little while. You'd miss your period, your belly would grow, and then we'd know you're carrying your daddy's baby."

Wonyoung's brown eyes were opened wide, waiting for him to say more. The corners of her mouth turned upward, and she looked adorably curious. Jae could hardly say no to his little girl, but this was entirely different. Thoughts were racing through his head, not least of which how wonderful it felt to have his naked little daughter draped over him as they spoke; that he'd never have another child with his wife; that he fully intended on fucking Wonyoung every chance she allowed him. If she was willing, she'd be perfectly fertile and healthy to make a baby with him.

"Do you think you might want that Wonyoung?" he paused, "I know you'd look so pretty with our baby growing in your belly."

Wonyoung giggled and bit the tip of her finger. "I think I might, Daddy, but I don't know for sure. It makes me so happy thinking about it that I'm tingling, but…" She was obviously working hard to wrap her head around it.

"You don't have to decide no,w honey, and nobody would know for a few months," Jae assured her.

Wonyoung knew that she loved her father more than life itself. For month,s she had been taking on her mother's role in his life, and she did so knowingly. He had confided in her, held her like a lover when she was down, even taken her out on dates. She was now awakened to the thought that she could truly be her daddy's forever. Her mom couldn't have her father's babies anymore, but she certainly could. Wonyoung was starting to allow the thought that she wanted to, badly.

"I graduate soon, daddy," she reasoned, "would anybody at school have to know?"

"No, sweetie. It could be our secret." He couldn't believe he was considering it.

"And then what?" Wonyoung continued.

"And then… well…" her father looked deep in thought. I don't have it all figured out yet, Wonyoung, but I'd do anything for you, no matter what."

Wonyoung felt so completely enveloped in his love that she ached for him. Her little pussy was much too sore to accept him again that night, but Wonyoung had never felt such desire for a man before then. It was as if their little accident had brought out a part of her she never knew existed, locked in tight by her virginity: the part that wanted her daddy to be her lover, to be his again and again, and to become pregnant with his child whether the world said she could or not.

"How about we talk about it more in the morning?" Jae suggested.

"Okay, daddy, but we'll have to be extra careful." Wonyoung was very surprised and felt lucky nobody had heard them making love. Most of her family were heavy sleepers, but she had certainly been making a lot of noise as her father impaled her in the kitchen. It was also funny to Wonyoung that she suggested being careful when so much good had come from her father not being careful, cumming in her vulnerable little pussy with no condom.

They kissed again. It was a long one, and different than before. They both intended to build upon an unspoken promise of more, a deeper love. Wonyoung knew she wasn't supposed to feel that way about her father, and Jae about his little girl, but neither cared. Taking their relationship to such heights had primarily been by accident. But the sexual tension between them had been broken by the forbidden seed Wonyoung carried inside her, and they kissed with an unhinged passion most could never know.

Jae picked up his daughter easily. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, and he slowly carried the cute brunette up the stairs toward her room. They could both feel his cum seeping from Wonyoung, telling definitively of their act. Their naked bodies holding each other tight and the looks they exchanged were evidence enough.

Jae gently sat his daughter on the bed, and she held on tight, not wanting him to leave her. She watched lovingly as her father pulled the covers back and slipped into bed with her.

"I love you so much, Daddy," she told him sincerely. I was nervous at first, but I don't regret anything that happened."

"I love you, too, baby, and I want you to know that I will be here to ensure everything turns out okay."

"I know you will," Wonyoung said adorably, holding her father tight as she drifted off to sleep.

Not long into her slumber, she felt her father leave quietly. Feeling hurt, she reasoned that he probably needed to return to her mother's bed so they wouldn't get found out. Still, she felt jealous, wanting him only for herself.

But the door to her room opened again, and back came her father.

He saw her eyes open and hurt. " You thought I was leaving you, didn't you, sweetie?"

"I know you need to, I just don't want to sleep without you tonight," she admitted.

"I had to clean up our little mess," he explained, holding up their discarded clothing. "…probably not a good thing for your mother to see our clothes all over the floor or how wet you made the kitchen table, right?"

Wonyoung smiled guiltily, "Definitely not! I suppose I shouldn't tell her that daddy came in my pussy without a condom on TWO times tomorrow at breakfast?"

"No, you probably shouldn't mention that," Jae laughed. He wrapped his arm around his naked daughter and pulled her tight to him. "Now get some sleep, honey."

Wonyoung cuddled up to him with the biggest smile on her face. A naughty little part of her hoped that he meant to get some sleep because she would need it. Her recently filled pussy was still recovering, but Wonyoung knew she'd want her daddy to fuck her again before too long.

Jae had fallen asleep deep in thought, planning what to do next. With his beautiful daughter nuzzled against him, he felt certain that everything would be different. They had a whole new life ahead of them.

Im Yeojin was sleeping soundly underneath my arms, her tiny little frame curled up like a kitten against my side. She looked so soft and squishy, with her cheeks pressed against my ribs and a tiny, cute pout on her lips.

Yet underneath that cute furball was an eager and now cock hungry little girl constantly pouncing on my dick! I thought, Jeez! What did I do to turn this innocent looking idol into a little sex addict? I thought, did I really just spent nearly two days fucking this girl like there was no tomorrow? I may not have a fight announced yet, but I've never taken a leave of absence in the gym just to be in bed with a girl, a girl like Im Yeojin.

I thought, Man. How did it come to this? It was last  Friday night when I got a call out of nowhere. It was an unknown number, a possible prank or scam call waiting to be taken. But when I took the call, I recognized the voice immediately. It was Im Yeojin, the tiny little idol who professed her love to me back in February.

I made her wish come true that day, showing up into her show where I offered her a Valentine’s date later on. I didn't think I would get laid with an idol later on, she was my first and so far my only kpop artist that I shared a bed with, unless you count Heize Noona. I haven't heard from her since then.

A few months went by and I suddenly got a call from the small bean and she was crying on the phone. Gosh, I could never forget the sadness in her voice when she told me her story. She and her groupmates had just left Blockberry Entertainment, their agency and they all had to leave their rented apartment suddenly.

The girls went through different places just trying to get by and Im Yeojin was at a park with a stroller bag that had all her belongings. I thought, Shit! I couldn't just leave that girl out on the streets! She was too small and so far away from our home city in Daegu.

I had to let the girl in. The moment I saw her on that park bench, I couldn’t help but reach out to her, hugging her like she was the little sister that I never had. She was a crying mess, a tiny, shivering ball of anxiety and heartbreak, and the thought of her being alone in Seoul made my chest tighten. So, I told her to stay with me. I didn’t care if the paparazzis found us. I just wanted to make sure she was safe.

I wasn't surprised if taking her in would lead us to fucking later on. What did surprise me however was the sheer audacity and eagerness she had displayed ever since we did the first round. The first round led to another, then another, and another, to the point where I asked myself, Oh shit, what day is it already?

I took a peek at my digital clock where it said 05:15 AM, 2023-06-18, Sunday. Fuck! Has it really been that long already?!?! Two fucking days?!?! I thought, Shit! When was the last time I did all nighters? The kind that says I didn't leave my house because I was fucking for two days straight?

"Oppa..." Yeojin’s voice suddenly drifted through the air, a tiny and sleepy whisper.

She stirred against me, rubbing her eyes with her small fists and blinking up at me with those big eyes that looked far too innocent for the things we just did for nearly forty-eight hours.

"Morning, Sweety..." I greeted her back.

I kissed the girl's head, my arms finally cooperating as I snuggled the little girl tighter. Her small body was like a life-sized plushy, she probably is one if you asked me. Yeojin hummed, her face rubbing against my chest like she was trying to merge herself into my skin. It was kind of crazy to think that just a few months ago, she was a cute and polished idol on a screen, and now she was just a sleepy, messy-haired girl in my bed.

"Mianhae..." She said suddenly.

"Are you really gonna say that again?" I couldn't help but chuckle, knowing this was probably the Nth time she had apologised for coming into my turf.

"But I am, Oppa... I got you absent because of me..." She whimpered.

"I promise I won't be long... I'll head back to Daegu after lunch and-... Mmmh..."

I silenced her with a kiss. I thought, Gosh, even after all that's happened, this girl was still so timid. It was kind of adorable, really. Her lips tasted like sleep and sweetness, and the way she melted into me made my heart flip. She was so tiny that I felt like I could just swallow her whole if I wasn't careful.

"No rush... Don't be in a hurry, Sweety..." I uttered.

I promised to keep this girl safe. I'll do anything to get her out of harm's way. Not even an army of tabloids can stop me from taking care of her. I'm a fighter, and my biggest fight right now is making sure this girl has eaten and gets home safe. I can't let her feel alone in the city. She's just a small bean who needs a place to belong, and for now, my arms were that place.

And that was when our lips met once more, deeper this time, the kind that says I need you like I can't breathe. I flipped the girl over and got on top. This was probably the infinite time I found myself in this position.

I stole a glance at my mirror and I still could not fathom the sheer size difference of me. She was so small, her head barely aligned past my shoulders, my neck nearly folded in half just to reach down to kiss her lips like they were lures trying to pull me deeper into a dream.

"Ah..." She shivered when my tip touched her clit.

It was a sound that I should've been familiar with already at this point. I should've known already how she would respond to my touch like that. Yet every time she did, my body just reacted.

I pushed in without question. This was how my body reacted ever since I had her underneath my sheets! She was like the most forbidden secret I had access to. The sheer size of her small cunt made me feel like a monster, a giant pushing himself deep inside a human female who just so happened to be shorter than your average college student.

I thought, Fuck me! She had the tightest cunt ever! Literally! Even after all the pounding I gave her, Yeojin's snatch still felt like our first time, the very first entry when I broke her hymen and took her into womanhood!

I look down where the sight of what I see would rile any man up. Her stomach bulged up when I fully filled her clit. I was deep inside this girl's womb, my tip breaching way too far ahead from where her cervix was supposed to be. She was everything that felt so wrong yet so right!

"Oh my god, Yeojin..." I couldn't help but mutter.

After everything we've been through, you'd think her sanctum would've moved an inch to accommodate me. But no! They stayed exactly where they were, her walls clamping down on me tighter than any chokehold that I knew. To say I was in utter pain would've been an understatement, but Yeojin's cunt was the kind of pain I was willing to thrust myself back into.

"Oh my g-god... O-Oppa... S-So... Good..."

She whimpered when I started to move. The girl reacted at the slightest inch of movements. God, she was so small and so sensitive that even the slightest millimeter of friction caused her to clench harder around me.

I started slowly, deliberately so. No frantic pounding yet — just a gradual, deep roll of my hips, sinking into her inch by inch until I bottomed out again. The sight of it all was fucking obscene! My dick looked so big disappearing completely inside her little frame, the bulge in her lower stomach rising visibly with every careful thrust. She was impossibly tight, tighter than any woman I'd ever been with.

Even after two straight days of this — after I'd already stretched her out over and over — her cunt was still gripping me like a vice. It’s like she was custom-made for me, her tiny little frame struggling to take every thick inch of me yet greedy for more at the same time.

"Fuck... Yeojin," I groaned, my voice strained as I held myself deep inside her, letting her adjust. 

"How are you still this tight?" 

She whimpered beneath me, her small eyes glassy and half-lidded, cheeks flushed pink. 

"B-Because... Oppa is so big..." She responded, her voice a broken little mewl. 

"It’s like... Oppa's splitting me open... every time..." 

I pulled back almost all the way, watching her tight entrance stretch around my shaft, glistening with her arousal, before sliding back in just as slowly. 

The drag was exquisite — her inner walls dragging along every vein, fluttering and squeezing in waves as if her body was fighting to keep me inside. Because of her size, I felt everything: the way her cervix kissed my tip when I was fully seated, the subtle bulge moving under her soft skin, the way her thighs trembled and tried to close around my waist but couldn't because I was holding them open.

I kept the pace gradual, savoring it. Long, deep strokes that made her gasp and shudder with every thrust. I'd grind against her clit at the end of each one, watching her back arch off the bed, her small breasts jiggling slightly with the motion. 

Her whole body was so responsive — every little movement from me sending visible ripples through her. A slight increase in pressure and her toes curled. A deeper angle and her voice cracked into that high-pitched whine I was now addicted to.

"You're taking me so well, Sweetie," I murmured, leaning down to capture her lips in another kiss while I rocked into her steadily. 

My larger frame completely covered hers, my weight pressing her deeper into the mattress. Yeojin moaned into my mouth, her legs wrapping around me as best as they could — they didn't even reach all the way around my back. 

"Oppa... more... please..." She was panting now, her small hips starting to lift to meet my thrusts. 

The contrast between her innocent, sleepy face from moments ago and this cock-hungry expression made my blood run hot. I thought, Shit! I'd turned the shy idol into this, and she was loving every second of it! I started picking up the rhythm, still controlled but deeper, letting the wet sounds of our bodies meeting fill my room. Her tightness never eased — if anything, the more I fucked her, the more she clamped down, like her body was trying to milk me dry. 

“Ahhh!!! Oppa!!! Oppa!!!” 

She was screaming now! I still found it rather odd that I haven't had someone come knocking on my door for a noise complaint! I was sure the decibels of Yeojin's voice and the constant hard slaps I've given her ricocheted throughout my unit. I do not recall the landlords telling me that the walls were soundproof.

I could feel her getting close already, her walls pulsing rhythmically around me, her breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

"That's it, baby," I growled softly against her ear, one hand sliding down to hold her tiny waist, my fingers easily wrapping most of the way around her. 

"Cum for me. Let it all out..."

Her whole body suddenly tensed beneath me like a bowstring pulled taut. Her small frame locked up completely as the orgasm slammed into her. 

“Oppa—! I’m— I’m cumming!! Ahhhh!!!”

She came hard, her voice screaming my name. 

Her walls clamped down around my cock in powerful, rhythmic spasms, fluttering and milking me with unbelievable strength for such a small girl. Her body convulsed violently under me — thighs shaking, back arching sharply off the bed, and her toes curling tight. 

I felt a hot flood of her juices gushing around my crotch, squirting messily with every pulse as she kept cumming and cumming, soaking my abs, her own thighs, and my already ruined sheets. Her stomach bulged even more with each involuntary clench, her sensitive little cunt gripping me like it never wanted to let go.

God, it was all too much! Her own peak triggered mine in an instant — that vise-like squeeze, the heat, and the way her small frame thrashed pushed me straight over the edge.

“Fuck— Yeojin—!” I grunted deeply, hips jerking forward as I buried myself as deep as I could go. 

My cock throbbed hard inside her, pulsing powerfully as I started to burst. I felt the thick ropes of me flooding her insides, her womb specifically. I couldn’t feel myself stop — wave after wave pumped into her until it was leaking out around my shaft, mixing with her own juices.

I stayed there, buried deep and grinding slowly through the aftershocks, savoring how her small cunt kept fluttering weakly around me even as we both came down. My heart was pounding like I’d just finished 10 rounds of MMA. Hell, it was more than that already at this point!

I thought, Fuck… how many times have I filled her up already? I thought, still panting as I looked down at her blissed-out face. Has it been at least a dozen loads? Or maybe even more? I’d lost count already somewhere between the endless rounds — morning, afternoon, and deep into the night. 

Every time I pulled out, my cum would drip from her swollen little cunt, only for me to push it back in with my fingers or my cock minutes later. And now another one was flooding her womb.

I couldn't help but sense a dark thrill through me. She was so small, so fertile… What if she was actually pregnant? It has been nearly two days and this girl has promised me to take the pill. Yet I haven't even seen a glimpse of her taking up anything.

“Yeojina… Please… Can we just-...”

“Fuck my ass…” She said suddenly.

“Take my ass too, Oppa… Please… Fuck me there as well…” She replied.

I thought, Oh God… Not there as well…

Remember when I said Yeojin's cunt was the tightest thing I've ever felt? Well guess what, I lied…

If navigating Yeojin's cunt was like driving a manual sedan through rough terrain, navigating her ass was like driving a manual pickup through a shanty town like in Brazil.

That level of tightness was something that questioned my life's decisions. As heavenly as they may have felt, the grip of her rectum was so tight I thought she’d cut off my dick at some point. Imagine having to tell the doctors that…

And yet before I could even protest, the girl managed to push me off my side where there was enough space for her to roll on her bottom and present her tiny little ass to me. Those buns of hers were plump for someone her size. She reached back with one hand, spreading herself shyly, her puckered little hole visibly twitching.

I swallowed hard at the sight of it. 

“Yeojina, you sure? We’ve already gone so hard…”

“Yes, I'm sure, Oppa…” she whimpered, wiggling her hips back toward me. 

“I promise this is the last…” She insisted.

“Oh, you better…”

That was all it took for me! One last hurrah and I'm legit tapping out! I positioned myself behind her, gripping her narrow waist with both hands. Even like this, our size difference was fucking ridiculous! It's like I was Francis Ngannou looming over your average girl, my cock looking unrealistically thick against her small entrance.

And with that, I pressed my swollen head against her rectum, rubbing it in slow circles to spread the slickness. She shivered hard, letting out a soft, nervous moan. Then, I pushed forward gently at first, just the tip. 

But FUCK BRO! The resistance was immediate! Her asshole was even tighter than virgin-tight! It clenched instinctively against the intrusion like it was trying to push me out. It took real pressure — slow, steady pressure — before the head finally popped inside with an audible wet sound.

“Ahh—! O-oppa… S-So big…” she gasped, fingers clawing at my sheets.

I groaned deeply, the feeling overwhelming. I've said this many times, but her ass was unbelievably tight — tighter than anything I’d ever felt! The ring of muscle gripped the head of my cock like a hot burning rubber band, squeezing rhythmically as she adjusted. 

Millimeter after millimeter, I worked my way deeper, watching her tiny hole stretching obscenely wide around my shaft. The heat of it all was so intense, the friction so painful because of how good it felt. Every inch deeper felt like her body was fighting me, the walls rippling and clamping down in waves that made my vision blur.

“Shit, Yeojin… Y-Your ass… Y-You're… F-Fuck… This better be the last…” I muttered, voice beyond strained. 

Halfway in and I already felt like bottoming out. Her tiny body trembled beneath me, soft whimpers and gasps spilling from her lips with every tiny thrust forward. 

And after what felt like forever, I thought, Finally! I had truly bottomed out — my hips flush against her soft ass cheeks, my entire length buried inside the hottest, tightest hole imaginable.

I stayed there for like a long moment, trying to let her adjust. The grip was so strong like she was trying to pull me even deeper. And when I finally started moving — slow, careful rolls at first — the drag was both exquisite and brutal at the same time.

“F-Feels so full… O-Oppa… S-So deep…”

Every withdrawal felt like her ass didn’t want to let me go, and every push back met that same vise-like resistance, the tight ring stretching and squeezing along every vein. I let the girl moan loudly at her own accord, pushing back against me despite the intensity. 

I leaned over her completely, my chest against her back, one arm wrapping around her tiny frame as I started fucking her a little harder, still controlled but deep. I thought, Shit! This was heaven and hell wrapped in one tiny perfect package!

I stayed buried to the hilt inside her impossibly tight ass, the heat and pressure so intense it made my vision swim. Every slow roll of my hips dragged that burning-hot ring of muscle along my shaft, the friction exquisite and almost too much at the same time. Yeojin’s small body trembled under me, soft, broken moans spilling from her lips with every careful thrust.

“Fuck, Yeojin… you’re perfect,” I groaned against the back of her neck, one arm locked tightly around her tiny waist. 

“I love you, Sweety… Oppa loves you… Remember that…” I added.

“I love you too, Oppa… I love you—” She sobbed, her voice cracking as the intensity built. 

I sped up just a little more, my hips snapping forward, her little ass starting to feel more like jagged rocks. 

“Oppa—! I’m— I’m cumming again—!”

Before I could react, her ass suddenly clamped down hard, fluttering and spasming wildly around my cock as she came hard. The contractions milked me mercilessly, the heat and pressure finally tipping me over the edge.

“F-Fuck— Yeojin—!” I roared, burying myself as deep as I could go. 

I felt my dick throbbing violently, thick ropes of cum flooding her tight little ass in heavy, endless pulses. I kept grinding against her, filling her completely while her thin body trembled and squeezed every last drop out of me. The feeling of it all was overwhelming—her tiny frame shaking beneath mine, both of us locked together in the same blinding peak.

We stayed like that for a long moment, panting, my larger body draped protectively over her smaller one. I pressed soft, lingering kisses to the back of her neck and shoulder, still buried deep inside her.

“I love you,” I whispered one more time, voice low and sincere. 

“I love you too, Oppa…” she whispered back, exhausted but content, her small hand reaching back to find mine.

I stayed inside her a few more seconds, savoring the residual flutters of her tiny ass around my cock. Then, slowly, carefully, I pulled out.

The moment the swollen head of my cock finally slipped free, the sight that greeted me stopped me cold.

Im Yeojin was an absolute mess.

Her plump little ass cheeks were flushed and slightly spread, her freshly used hole gaping just a fraction from how thoroughly I’d stretched it. Thick, creamy ropes of my cum immediately started leaking out of her rectum in heavy, slow drips, trailing down the soft curve of her ass cheeks and dripping onto the already ruined sheets. 

Some of it had already mixed with the earlier mess still coating her swollen pussy and inner thighs—my previous loads that had never fully dried, now joined by fresh cum sliding down from her ass and coating everything in a shiny, sticky glaze. Her tiny hole twitched weakly, pushing out another thick glob that slowly oozed down toward her used cunt, connecting both entrances in a filthy white trail.

She looked thoroughly claimed. Completely wrecked. So much for her idol image…

My cum was everywhere—on her ass, dripping from her pussy, and smeared across the soft skin of her thighs and lower back. The size difference only made the view more obscene: such a small body marked by me.

I swallowed hard, still catching my breath as I stared at the wreckage I’d made of her.

“Fuck, Yeojin” I muttered, voice rough. “Look at you…”

She let out a soft, tired whimper, still face-down and trembling slightly, too spent to even close her legs. I finally reached out and gently stroked her back. 

“Alright… That’s enough for now. Let's REALLY get cleaned up now…”

***

"Woah! Neomu masisseo!" Yeojin chirped as I watched her slurp on her ramyeon like the cutest little thing, like she did not just make me go 2 more rounds on her in the showers.

"Guess we did end up getting that ramen after all..." I joked back.

Meanwhile, as I ate, my thoughts were still at the fact that I just spent forty-eight hours in a state of total delirium. It wasn't just the sheer frequency; it was the intensity. This was like my fight with Liam Harrison back in Bangkok minus the head concussions.

It was SO not like this when I had Yooa Noona last year. I took my time with her and actually took breaks. But Yeojin, oh dear. I could only wonder how much did her Unnies really know their maknae?

"So, I'll see you next week?" She suddenly inquired, waking me from my thoughts.

"Y-Yes, Sweety... At least I have a reason now to visit home once in a while..." I replied.

I let out one loud sigh of relief, the exhaustion finally waning down as I finished my bowl in one go.

"So what's it going to be, Yeojin? What are you gonna do after this?" I inquired.

The girl didn't respond, not yet. She contemplates for a while, her small chopsticks pausing mid-air as she stared into the depths of her leftover broth.

"I really don't know, Oppa..." She simply replied.

"I'll figure things out back home and decide if I'll try to be a singer again or just move on and do something else entirely." She added.

There was a silence that settled between us, heavy and thick, as the reality of her situation drifted back into the room. The highs of the last two days were now fading, replaced by the cold truth that she now had no contract and no home.

"You'll figure it out... If you need anything, call me okay?" I say as I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her to my side.

I give the girl a kiss on the side of her head. I didn't mind if the paparazzis were there. She was not an idol now, just an ordinary citizen, a cute and sexy one rather.

"Thank you, Oppa... For everything..." She whispered, leaning her head against my shoulder. 

I could feel her trembling slightly, not from the cold or from the aftermath of the sex, but from the sheer instability of her life. One day she was center stage under blinding spotlights, and the next, she was a displaced person sleeping in my bed, her entire career erased in a whirlwind of legal battles and corporate greed.

"Cha... Let's get you home... Your train's nearly there…”

Notes: I know there have been plenty of folks that asked for this. Now you’re gonna get it. These will be my stories for Han Eunsu while his series is on hold.

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He pushed through the glass doors into the lobby, the cool air conditioning a relief after the heat outside. The elevator doors stood open, and he stepped inside, shifting the boxes to free one hand so he could press the button for the fifth floor. Before his finger could reach it, a tall figure slipped in at the last second.

She was striking. At 5'8", her long legs were on full display in tight running shorts that hugged her hips and thighs. A cropped tank top clung to her torso, damp with sweat from her morning run, the fabric slightly translucent in places where it stuck to her skin. Blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, strands sticking to her forehead and neck. Her cheeks were flushed, and she breathed a little heavier than normal, but her energy radiated outward like sunlight.

"Ohh, 5th floor? You must be the new tenant. The landlord mentioned something about a guy moving to our floor yesterday," she said with a bright smile, pressing the button herself. "It's not everyday we get a new neighbor. I'm Somi by the way."

Y/N looked up from the boxes, and his gaze lingered. She was beautiful in a way that felt effortless—tall and athletic, with curves that the running clothes accentuated rather than hid. Sweat glistened on her collarbones and trailed down between her breasts, visible where the tank top dipped low. Her legs were toned and smooth, the muscles shifting as she shifted her weight. He couldn't help but stare for a moment longer than polite.

Somi noticed immediately. Her lips curved into a teasing grin. "Caught you looking, newbie. Like what you see?"

Y/N met her eyes without hesitation. "Hard not to when you're standing there looking like you just stepped out of a fitness magazine. The sweat seems to make your skin glow."

She laughed, a clear, energetic sound that filled the small elevator space. "Bold. I like that. Most guys get all shy and stare at the floor. You're moving in today, right? All those boxes scream 'first day chaos.'"

"Yeah, just got the keys this morning," Y/N replied, adjusting his grip on the stack. "Figured I'd get everything up before it gets too late."

"Smart. The elevator can be slow sometimes, especially when everyone's coming back from work or the gym. I'm Somi, by the way—wait, I already said that. Night-shift bartender at Dusk till Dawn in Itaewon-ro. You know the place? Neon signs, loud music, drinks that make you forget your problems until the next morning."

"Heard of it," Y/N said. "Sounds like the kind of spot where the bartenders keep the energy high."

"Exactly. That's me—energetic, flirty, and always ready with a smile. Or a wink if the tip's good." She leaned against the elevator wall, one leg bent slightly, the shorts riding up just enough to show more skin. Sweat ran down her inner thigh, and she didn't seem to mind the way Y/N's eyes followed it. "So, what's your story? College kid? You look about twenty."

"Just admitted to Yonsei University" he answered. "Creative Technology Management. Didn't want the dorm life, so here I am."

"Yonsei, huh? Fancy. Creative tech—sounds like you could build apps or design experiences or something. Bet you'll be busy with projects. But don't forget to have fun. The fifth floor has a reputation for that."

The elevator dinged as it reached the fifth floor. Somi stepped out first, turning to face him with that same teasing expression. "I live in apartment 509. Right down the hall from wherever you're headed. See you around, newbie. I have a feeling you'll enjoy living here. Especially with neighbors like me."

She gave him a playful wink, then turned and walked toward her apartment, her ass swaying in the tight shorts, the fabric clinging to every curve. Sweat made the material darker in spots, outlining the shape of her body as she moved.

Y/N watched her go for a second before heading the other way to his own unit. The hallway was clean, with soft lighting and the faint smell of cleaning products. Doors lined both sides, some with welcome mats or small decorations. He found his apartment, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

The space was empty except for the basic fixtures—a small kitchenette, a living area, and a bedroom with a bed frame already in place. He spent the next four hours hauling boxes up from the lobby, making multiple trips in the elevator. Each time he passed Somi's door, he wondered if she'd come out again, but the hallway stayed quiet. By the time he finished, sweat of his own dampened his shirt, and his arms ached from the weight. He set the last box down in the living room and took a breath.

Unpacking took another couple of hours. He sorted clothes into the closet, set up his laptop on the small desk, arranged books and tech gadgets on shelves. The apartment started to feel like his—posters on the walls, a few personal items scattered around. When he finally finished, the clock showed early afternoon. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

Y/N grabbed his keys and headed out, locking the door behind him. The building felt alive with the sounds of other tenants—music from one apartment, laughter from another. He took the elevator down and stepped out into the Seoul streets, the sun still high overhead. He wandered a few blocks, looking for a place to grab lunch, eventually spotting a small diner with a cozy interior and the smell of grilled meat wafting out.

Inside, the diner was half full. He chose a booth near the window and ordered a simple meal—bulgogi with rice and kimchi. While waiting, he glanced around at the other customers. That's when he noticed her.

Hanni sat at the counter, finishing what looked like a pastry and coffee. She had a professional yet approachable look—dark hair tied back neatly, wearing a clean chef's jacket over casual pants. Her posture was relaxed, but there was an air of precision about her, like someone used to working with delicate ingredients. She caught his eye and smiled politely.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked, sliding off the stool and approaching his booth. "The counter's getting crowded, and you look like you're new around here."

Y/N gestured to the seat across from him. "Sure, go ahead."

She sat down, setting her coffee cup on the table. "I'm Hanni. Pastry Chef at the restaurant just around the corner. Off for my lunch break right now. You?"

"Y/N," he said. "Just moved into the apartment complex a few blocks back. Fifth floor."

Hanni's eyebrows rose slightly. "Really? I live on the same floor—apartment 504. Small world. What brings you to Seoul?"

"College," he replied. "Yonsei University. Creative Technology Management."

"Impressive," she said, taking a sip of her coffee. "Creative tech sounds very cutting edge and innovative. Bet you have some interesting projects lined up. I'm more on the food side—pastries, desserts, things that require patience and a steady hand. The restaurant I work at does high-end French-Asian fusion. Lots of delicate plating and unique flavors."

They talked easily. Y/N described his move-in day, the boxes, the elevator ride. Hanni listened with interest, asking questions about his studies and offering tips about the neighborhood—best coffee shops, quiet study spots, places to avoid during rush hour. The conversation flowed naturally, touching on Seoul's vibrant food scene and the mix of old and new that defined the city.

At one point, Somi came up in the chat. Y/N mentioned the tall blonde he'd met in the elevator.

"Yeah? Tall. Blonde. Long legs to die for? Did she also flirt with you?" Hanni asked, a knowing smile on her face.

"As a matter of fact she did," Y/N answered honestly.

Hanni chuckled softly. "I wouldn't get my hopes up, that's just how she is with everyone. She has to be 'extra' friendly at the bar where she works, also serve everyone in sexy outfits. Keeps the tips coming, you know?"

They finished their meals while continuing the pleasant chat. Hanni shared stories from the kitchen—burnt sugar disasters, perfect soufflés, late-night experiments with new recipes. Y/N talked about his expectations for university life, the freedom of living alone, and his plans to explore the city. Time passed quickly, the diner filling with more lunch crowds before thinning out again.

Eventually, Hanni checked her watch. "Break's almost over. I need to head back to the restaurant."

Y/N nodded. "Yeah, I should get back to the apartment too. Still have some unpacking to finish."

They stood up together, paid separately, and stepped out into the street. Hanni gave him a friendly wave. "See you around the building, neighbor."

Y/N watched her walk away before turning in the opposite direction, heading back toward the apartment complex. The sun had shifted slightly, casting longer shadows on the pavement. He reached the building, rode the elevator up to the fifth floor, and unlocked his door once more.

Inside, the apartment felt familiar already. He closed the door behind him, the sounds of the city fading into the background. The boxes were mostly unpacked, but there was still work to do.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, reflecting on the day—the energetic encounter with Somi, the easy conversation with Hanni, the start of something new in this Seoul apartment on the infamous fifth floor.

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The first time Anna threw a drink at him, Y/N sat in the driver's seat for a full minute with bourbon dripping off his jaw before he reached for the glove compartment and pulled out a napkin.

She watched him in the rearview mirror, waiting. Looking for the flinch. The crack. The thing that would make this interesting.

He wiped his face, folded the napkin precisely, and asked if she'd like him to drive her home.

"I'd like you to remember your place," she said, and the click of her compact closing was the period at the end of the sentence.

That was eighteen months ago.

---

The Anna mansion sat on three acres in the richest district of Tokyo, a modernist monument of glass and steel that looked like a spaceship had mated with a museum. Y/N parked the black Lexus in the circular drive every morning at seven, and every morning he waited. Sometimes fifteen minutes. Sometimes an hour. Anna was never on time because time was something other people kept for her.

She emerged on this particular morning in a cream silk blouse and a black pencil skirt that stopped just above the knee. Her hair was cut sharp as broken glass, dark angles framing a face that would have been beautiful if it ever did anything except sneer. She was small — barely five-two in heels — and her body was the kind of narrow that designers built samples for. Small breasts, no hips to speak of, a waist you could almost circle with two hands. Rich girls starved themselves into these shapes, Y/N knew. They called it discipline.

"Open the door," she said, not a question.

He opened the door.

She slid in without looking at him. Her phone was already in her hand, her attention already elsewhere. Y/N closed the door, walked around the hood, settled into the driver's seat. The leather was cold. November in Tokyo smelled like wet concrete and coal smoke.

"Anna Tower. And don't take the Ginza line. The traffic yesterday was inexcusable."

"The expressway had an accident, Miss Anna."

"I didn't ask for an explanation. I asked for results."

He pulled out of the drive. In the rearview mirror, her face was a pale oval in the gray morning light, bent over her phone. She'd been like this since he started — contemptuous, dismissive, cruel in the casual way of someone who had never been told no. At first he'd thought it was an act. A rich girl performing superiority because she didn't know any other way to be. He'd watched her with waitstaff, with the mansion's housekeeper, with the security guards at her father's building. She treated everyone the same: like furniture that occasionally talked back.

But over time he'd learned to read the patterns. The cruelty was worse on days when her parents called. Worse on anniversaries of things she never mentioned. Worse when she was hungover, or lonely, or had spent another weekend in her cavernous house with no one to talk to except the staff she paid to tolerate her.

None of that made it easier to swallow.

"You're driving too slow."

"The speed limit on this road is forty kilometers, Miss Anna."

"I'm aware of the speed limit. I'm telling you to exceed it."

"That would be unsafe."

She laughed — a short, flat sound with no humor in it. "Unsafe. That's rich, coming from a man who drives a hundred thousand dollar car for a living. You must feel very important behind that wheel. Big strong man in his little black uniform. Tell me — do you jerk off in here when I'm not around? Is that why the seat's always warm?"

Y/N's hands tightened on the wheel. One rotation. Two. Then he relaxed them.

"No, Miss Anna."

"Pity. You could use a hobby."

He drove her to Anna Tower. He opened her door. She walked past him into the glass atrium without a word of thanks. He watched her go — the sharp shoulders, the expensive shoes, the small tight ass in that pencil skirt — and told himself the job paid for his mother's dialysis. Told himself that was the only number that mattered.

---

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and wilting chrysanthemums. His mother was propped against two pillows, her thin hands folded over a paperback romance novel she'd read four times already. She smiled when he walked in, and the smile made him ache because it was the same smile she'd given him when he was seven years old and scraped his knee and she'd held him until he stopped crying. She was smaller now. Frailer. Her dark hair had gone gray in patches, and the skin around her eyes had creased into a permanent softness that looked nothing like defeat but something close to it.

"You look tired," she said.

"I'm fine."

"You always say that."

"Because it's always true."

She patted the bed beside him. He sat. The mattress was thin and the pillowcase had a faint yellow stain that the hospital laundry couldn't get out.

"How was work?"

"Work is work."

"Does she still...?"

"Don't worry about it."

His mother's hand found his. Her fingers were cold, the nails brittle from months of medication. "I worry about you more than I worry about me. That's my job. That's been my job since the day you were born."

"Then do your job and rest."

"Rest. That's all I do." She laughed, and it turned into a cough, and he held her hand through it and felt the small tremors run up her arm into his chest. "I was thinking about your father today."

"You don't have to think about him."

"I know. But I was remembering the way he used to hold you. Big hands, and you were so small. He'd lift you up and you'd laugh — that baby laugh, the real one — and he'd look at you like you were the most precious thing he'd ever seen. Before he left. Before he... stopped looking at us at all."

"He was a coward."

"He was a man who couldn't handle what life gave him. You're not like that. You're the strongest person I know."

Y/N looked at their joined hands. His mother's wedding ring was loose on her finger now. She'd lost weight she couldn't afford to lose.

"I'm going to get you better," he said.

"I know."

"I mean it. I'll do whatever it takes."

She squeezed his hand. "I know you will. That's what scares me."

---

Three days later, the pattern escalated.

It happened on a Tuesday, after she'd spent the morning at a board meeting she'd been forced to attend. Her father had called at six AM, barking orders through the speakerphone while Anna held the device away from her ear, her face a mask of cold fury. She hadn't spoken a word during the drive.

When they reached Anna Tower, she didn't get out immediately. She sat in the back seat, her hands folded in her lap, staring at the back of his head.

"You know what he said to me?" she asked, her voice flat. "He said I embarrassed him in front of the board. I didn't say a single word the entire meeting. I sat there in my expensive suit and smiled at old men who've been fucking the company since before I was born. And that embarrassed him."

Y/N said nothing.

"I asked him to remember my birthday next week. Do you know what he said?"

"No, Miss Anna."

"He said he'd have his assistant send a gift. His assistant." She laughed, the sound hollow and sharp. "I'm his daughter and he's outsourcing my birthday to a woman who doesn't know my middle name."

The silence stretched. Y/N kept his hands on the wheel, his eyes forward.

"I hope you don't have children," she said, her voice dropping. "I hope you never bring a child into this world just to abandon them. But you probably will. Men like you always do. You'll get some girl pregnant, promise her the world, and then disappear when it gets hard. You're all the same."

"That's not true."

The words came out before he could stop them. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, Miss Anna."

"No, no. You said something. Say it again."

"I said that's not true."

"Prove it."

"I don't have to prove anything to you."

She smiled — a thin, mean smile. "You're right. You don't. Because you're my driver. And drivers don't talk back. Drivers sit in their little seats and do what they're told. You forgot your place."

She opened her purse, pulled out a bronze paperweight she'd taken from the boardroom — a heavy thing shaped like a bull. She held it up.

"Open your mouth."

"What?"

"Open your mouth. I want to see how much you can take before you break."

He stared at her. Her eyes were bright, hard, cruel. She was testing a new game.

"Miss Anna, I don't think—"

"You don't think. That's the problem. Open your mouth or I'll have you fired today."

He opened his mouth.

She pressed the bull against his cheek, grinding the metal into his skin. The edge bit. He tasted blood.

"See?" she said, her voice soft. "You can take it. You can always take it." She pulled the paperweight away, examined the small smear of red on its edge, and dropped it back in her purse. "Drive me to the boutique. I need a dress for a party I don't want to attend."

He drove. The blood dried on his cheek. She didn't mention it.

---

The hospital bills arrived on Thursday. Y/N sat in his small kitchen, the papers spread across the table like a map of his failures. The dialysis was helping — his mother was stronger this week, her color better, her laugh less wheezy — but the cost was a number that grew no matter how much he paid.

He worked the math three times. Each time, the result was the same.

At this rate, he'd be in debt for the next fifteen years.

He folded the bills, put them in the drawer, and drove to the Anna mansion to pick up Anna for a dinner party in Roppongi.

She was wearing red. A dress that clung to her narrow frame like paint, showing off the sharp lines of her collarbones and the small curve of her breasts. Her heels were high enough to make her legs look endless. Her makeup was flawless. She looked like a painting of a woman who had never been touched by anything ugly.

"Don't embarrass me tonight," she said, sliding into the car. "Park where I tell you. Wait where I tell you. Don't talk to anyone."

"Yes, Miss Anna."

"And if my father calls, tell him I'm not available."

"If your father calls, I'll transfer him to your phone."

She looked at him in the rearview mirror, her eyes narrow. "Did I stutter?"

"Your father owns the company I work for, Miss Anna. I can't refuse his calls."

She laughed, the sound brittle. "You're afraid of my father. That's precious. You should be more afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid of either of you."

The words hung in the air. She stared at him, her expression unreadable.

"Good," she said finally. "Fear is boring."

---

The dinner party lasted four hours. Y/N waited in the car, scrolling through his phone, reading about new treatments for kidney disease he couldn't afford. The November air seeped through the window seals, carrying the smell of rain and exhaust. He drank coffee from a convenience store cup and watched the restaurant's entrance.

When she finally emerged, she was drunk. Not the playful kind of drunk — the mean kind. Her heels clicked unevenly on the pavement, and her escort — a man in an expensive suit who looked like he'd been carved from marble and self-regard — had his hand on her elbow, guiding her toward the car.

"Here she is," the man said, his voice smooth and condescending. "Your charge. Try to keep her upright."

He handed Anna to Y/N like she was a package. She stumbled, caught herself on Y/N's chest, and looked up at him with eyes that didn't quite focus.

"Kenji," she said, the name dripping with contempt. "He's been trying to get in my panties for six months. Tonight he finally got to touch my elbow. Progress."

"Goodnight, Anna." Kenji walked away without looking back.

She watched him go, her expression unreadable. Then she turned to Y/N.

"Drive me home. I need to vomit."

He opened the door. She climbed in.

---

She didn't vomit. Instead, she sat in the back seat with her head against the window, her breath fogging the glass, her mood cycling through anger and self-pity like a weather system with no center.

"My mother called," she said. "She's not coming to Tokyo for Christmas. Something about a merger. She's been saying that for four years. The merger that never ends."

Y/N said nothing.

"I asked her if she remembered what I looked like. She said she had a picture on her desk. A picture. Not me. A picture."

"You're talking to me, Miss Anna. Why?"

The question slipped out. She looked at him in the rearview, her eyes sharpening.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean you have friends. You have people who get paid to listen to you. Why are you telling this to your driver?"

She was quiet for a long moment. The car hummed through the wet streets.

"Because you don't want anything from me," she said finally. "Everyone else wants something. Money, connections, my body, my name. You just want to survive. There's something clean about that."

"Clean."

"Dirty, then. But honest. You hate me, and you don't try to hide it. That's more than I get from most people."

"I don't hate you."

"Liar."

He pulled up to the mansion gate. The driver's window rolled down, and the security guard nodded, recognizing the car. The gate swung open.

"You're not what I expected," she said, as they rolled up the drive.

"What did you expect?"

"Someone who would quit. Someone who would hit me back. Someone who would prove me right about men." She laughed, the sound hollow. "But you just take it. Like a saint. Or a fool."

"Maybe I'm both."

"Maybe you are." She opened the door before he could get out. "Seven tomorrow. Don't be late."

She walked inside. The door closed.

Y/N sat in the car, his hands on the wheel, and thought about the bottle in his glove compartment.

---

Three nights later, she went too far.

It happened at eleven PM, after a charity gala where she'd spent six hours drinking champagne and making the catering staff cry. He'd waited in the garage of Anna Tower, scrolling through hospital bills on his phone, calculating numbers that never quite added up.

She stumbled out of the elevator with her heels in one hand and her phone in the other, her hair disheveled, her mascara smudged at the edges. Drunk. Not the first time.

He got out, opened the door. She ignored him, climbed in, and dropped her phone on the seat. Then she looked up and her eyes focused on him with the particular clarity of someone who had been looking for a fight all night and finally found a target.

"You're late," she said.

"I've been here since six, Miss Anna."

"Then you should have come inside and gotten me. I was bored. Do you know how boring those things are? A hundred rich people jerking each other off about how generous they are. And my father couldn't even show up. Sent a check. Like that makes up for it. Like anything makes up for it."

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry. You're always sorry. It's your favorite word, isn't it? Sorry, Miss Anna. Sorry for breathing. Sorry for existing." She leaned forward, and the champagne smell was thick on her breath. "You know what I think? I think you're not sorry at all. I think you sit in this car every day and hate me. I think you imagine all the things you'd like to do to me. I can see it in your eyes. That quiet little hate. It's pathetic."

He said nothing.

"Drive me home. And try not to fantasize about crashing the car and killing us both. Though I suppose that would be the most excitement I'd get all month."

He pulled out of the garage. The streets were wet with a fine mist that hung in the headlights like static. Anna leaned her head against the window, her breath fogging the glass.

"My mother called today," she said, to no one. "She's extending her trip. Again. Says the London office needs her. She's been saying that for four years now. You know what I think? I think she just doesn't want to come home. I think she and my father built this whole empire so they'd have an excuse to never see each other. And I'm the inconvenient byproduct they forgot to write off."

Y/N said nothing.

"I'm talking to you. Answer me."

"What would you like me to say, Miss Anna?"

"I don't know. Something interesting. Something that isn't 'yes Miss Anna,' 'no Miss Anna,' 'sorry Miss Anna.' You're a person, aren't you? You must have thoughts. Opinions. Tell me something I don't know."

He checked the rearview. She was watching him, her chin propped on her hand, her eyes glassy and mean.

"My mother is dying," he said.

The words came out flat. He hadn't planned to say them. They just... arrived.

Anna blinked. For a moment, something flickered in her face. Something almost human.

Then she laughed.

"Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you? Everyone's mother dies. It's the most boring tragedy in the world. Do you think you're special because you've got a dying parent? Welcome to the club. We don't get T-shirts, but we do get to watch them rot in hospital beds while we go to work and pretend everything's fine."

The car slowed at a red light. Y/N's hands were white on the wheel.

"You know what your problem is?" she continued, warming to her theme. "You think suffering makes you interesting. It doesn't. Suffering just makes you weak. And weak people bore me. You've been boring me for eighteen months. Every single day, you sit in that seat and take it, and I keep waiting for you to do something — anything — that proves you're alive. But you never do. You just take it. Like a dog. A pathetic, obedient dog."

The light turned green.

"I'm not going to cry for your mother," Anna said, settling back in her seat. "I hope she dies in pain. I hope you watch her go and there's nothing you can do about it. Maybe then you'll finally grow a spine."

Y/N drove.

He drove through the gate of the Anna mansion. He parked in the circular drive. He got out, walked around the car, and opened her door.

"Same time tomorrow," she said, stepping past him. "Don't be late."

She walked inside without looking back. The door closed. The lights in the mansion's foyer flicked on, then off.

Y/N stood beside the car in the misting rain for a long time.

Then he got back in the driver's seat, opened the glove compartment, and looked at the small bottle he'd been keeping there for two months.

Midazolam. He'd gotten it from a friend who worked in veterinary medicine. Liquid, fast-acting, undetectable in alcohol. He'd bought it the same week Anna had thrown a fountain pen at his head, catching him above the eyebrow, leaving a cut that bled for twenty minutes. He'd sat in this car with blood running down his face and thought about his mother. Her hospital bills. Her soft hands. Her faith in him.

He'd told himself the midazolam was insurance. Something to have. Something to hold. He'd never planned to use it.

He held the bottle now, and his hands were steady.

---

The next morning, he picked her up at seven. She was in a worse mood than usual — he could tell by the way she slammed the door, by the way she didn't even bother to look at him. Her phone buzzed constantly. She ignored it.

"Mother again," she said at one point, holding up the screen. "Seven missed calls. You'd think she was planning my funeral."

Y/N said nothing. He drove.

They stopped for coffee at her usual place — a boutique café that charged twelve dollars for a latte she'd take two sips of and throw away. He waited in the car. When she came back, the cup was in her hand and she was already scrolling through her phone.

"Ginza. There's a boutique I need to visit."

"Yes, Miss Anna."

He drove. The city moved past the windows in sheets of gray and neon. Rain streaked the glass.

At the boutique, she spent forty-five minutes trying on clothes while sales assistants hovered nervously. She bought nothing. She complained about the quality, the service, the lighting. She walked out without tipping the girl who'd brought her seven dresses.

"Pathetic," she said, sliding into the car. "Everything in this city is pathetic."

He drove her to lunch at a members-only restaurant in Roppongi. She drank three glasses of wine with her salad. By the time she came out, her balance was unsteady and her eyes had that blurred edge.

"Take me home," she said. "I'm tired."

"Yes, Miss Anna."

He took the longer route. Not to the mansion — to his house. She didn't notice. Her head was lolling against the window, her eyes half-closed. The wine had made her sleepy. She wasn't watching where they were going.

"I hate him," she said, suddenly. "My father. I hate him more than anyone in the world."

Y/N said nothing.

"Do you hear me? I said I hate him."

"I heard you."

"He doesn't even know me. He doesn't know anything about me. He thinks he can just... send money and that makes up for it. Like I'm a bill. Like I'm an invoice he pays once a month." She laughed, the sound wet and bitter. "I'm twenty years old and I've never even..." She stopped. Shook her head. "Never mind."

"You've never what?"

The question slipped out. She looked at him in the rearview, her eyes narrowing.

"Never had anyone who actually wanted me," she said, the words slurring at the edges. "Not for me. Just for the name. The money. The fucking trust fund. Do you know how many men have tried to get in my pants? Hundreds. Every party, every gala, every charity event. And not one of them wanted Anna. They wanted the Anna name. They wanted the corporation, the inheritance, the legacy." She laughed again. "At least you don't want anything from me. You just take the abuse and show up the next day like a good little dog."

The car turned onto a street she didn't recognize.

"Where are we going?"

"A shortcut."

"There are no shortcuts to the mansion from here. Turn around."

"Just relax, Miss Anna. I know what I'm doing."

She sat up straighter, her eyes sharpening with suspicion. "Turn the car around. Now."

"We're almost there."

"I said turn around—"

He pressed a button. The child locks clicked.

Anna's face went still. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing you didn't ask for."

"I didn't ask for anything. I'm telling you to stop this car."

"Eighteen months," he said quietly. "Eighteen months of your bullshit. The drinks. The pens. The insults. My mother is dying and you —" His voice cracked, just a little. He steadied it. "You said you hoped she died in pain."

Anna's hand was on the door handle, pulling. The lock held.

"Let me out. Right now. I'll have you fired. I'll have you arrested. I'll ruin you."

"You can't ruin someone who's already at the bottom."

He pulled into the driveway of his house — a small, weathered structure in a neighborhood of similar small, weathered structures. The porch light was off. The curtains were drawn.

Anna was screaming now. Her voice was high and thin, the voice of someone who had never in her life been genuinely afraid.

He parked, turned off the engine, and sat for a moment with his hands on the wheel.

"I'm sorry," he said. "But you asked me to do something interesting."

He opened the bottle of midazolam, and he turned around.

---

She fought. He'd expected that. What he hadn't expected was how easy it was to overpower her. She was ninety-five pounds soaking wet, and the alcohol had made her clumsy. Her fists beat against his chest, his shoulders, his face. He caught her wrists, twisted them behind her back, and held her while she screamed into the leather seat.

"Please — please don't — I'll do anything, I'll give you anything, my father will pay you —"

"I don't want your father's money."

"Then what do you want?"

He didn't answer. He found the vein in her neck — thin and blue and pulsing — and pressed the needle in.

She convulsed. Her eyes went wide. Her mouth opened and closed twice, like a fish gasping on dry land.

Then she went limp.

He carried her inside. She was lighter than he'd expected. Her small body fit against his chest like something fragile, something that could break if he held too tight. He laid her on his bed — a twin mattress on a metal frame, sheets his mother had bought three years ago at a department store sale.

He bound her wrists to the headboard with rope he'd bought two months ago. Her ankles to the footboard. He did it methodically, carefully, checking each knot twice.

Then he sat in the chair beside the bed and waited.

The clock on his nightstand ticked. 11:47 PM. 11:48. 11:49.

Anna's chest rose and fell. Her makeup was smudged from the tears and the struggle. Without the sneer, without the contempt, she looked young. She looked like a girl who had never been held.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a second vial.

Aphrodisiac. He'd researched it carefully — a compound that increased blood flow, heightened sensitivity, pushed the body into a state of arousal it couldn't control. The effects would last hours. She would feel everything. She would want everything, even as she hated everything.

He filled the syringe. Calculated the dose.

Her eyes fluttered.

He pressed the needle into her arm and pushed the plunger home.

---

Anna woke to heat.

It was the first thing she registered — before the pain in her wrists, before the confusion of the unfamiliar ceiling, before the terror — the heat. It bloomed in her stomach, low and deep, spreading outward through her thighs, her chest, her face. Her skin felt too tight. Her clothes felt like sandpaper.

She tried to move and couldn't.

The ropes bit into her wrists. She pulled against them, and her hips arched off the mattress involuntarily as the movement sent a spike of something — pleasure? — through her core.

"What did you do to me?"

Her voice was hoarse. Her throat was dry.

Y/N sat in the corner, watching. A small camera was set up on a tripod beside him, its red light blinking.

"I gave you something," he said. "Something that will make this easier for both of us."

"Untie me. Right now. If you touch me, I'll —"

"You'll what?" He stood. Walked toward the bed. "You'll call the police? You'll have me fired? You've already done all of that, Anna. You've done everything you could to me. Now it's my turn."

"My father will—"

"Your father isn't here. Your father is never here. I know more about you than he does, Anna. I've been watching you for eighteen months. I know you eat the crusts off your sandwiches. I know you cry in the car when you think I'm not looking. I know you're a virgin."

Her breath caught. The heat in her stomach intensified, coiling, demanding.

"How do you—"

"I can see it in the way you move. The way you flinch when someone touches you. The way you talk about men like they're predators." He sat on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped. "You're twenty years old and no one has ever touched you. Isn't that right?"

She didn't answer. Her jaw was clenched so tight her teeth ached.

"I'm going to touch you now," he said. "And you're going to hate it. And you're going to love it. And I'm going to record every second."

His hand landed on her knee.

She flinched like she'd been burned. But beneath the flinch — beneath the fear and the fury — her body leaned into the touch. The aphrodisiac was already working, flooding her system, turning every nerve ending into a raw wire.

"No," she whispered. "Please. Don't."

He pushed her skirt up. Her thighs were pale and smooth, slightly parted. The heat between them was visible — a flush that spread from her knees to the crease of her hip.

"I know you don't mean that," he said. "Your body is already saying yes."

She squeezed her eyes shut. A tear escaped, tracking down her temple into her hair.

"I hate you," she said.

"I know." His hand slid higher. "But that's not going to stop this."

---

He took his time undressing her. Not because he wanted to be gentle — but because he wanted her to feel every second of it. The slow unbuttoning of her blouse. The revelation of her small breasts, her pink nipples hard and tight from the cold and the drug and the fear. The way her breath quickened when he pulled her panties down her thighs.

She was perfect in the way expensive things are perfect — polished, curated, untouched. Her body was slim and smooth and hairless, the body of a woman who had never had to work for anything and had never wanted anything enough to reach for it.

Her pussy was bare, the lips pink and swollen. Wet. The aphrodisiac had done its work — she was already slick, already ready, her body betraying her in ways her mind couldn't control.

"Look at you," he said. "So wet. And I haven't even touched you yet."

"Fuck you."

"That's the idea."

He positioned the camera closer, adjusting the angle to capture her face, her body, the spread of her thighs. She turned her head away, but he caught her chin, forced her to look.

"I want you to watch," he said. "I want you to remember this."

He pushed her legs apart, baring her completely. His thumb found her clit — small, tight, hidden beneath its hood. He pressed.

A sound escaped her. A high, thin cry that was half protest and half need. Her breath caught, and then a low moan slipped past her lips — a sound she couldn't stop, a sound that made her cheeks burn with shame even as her hips tilted upward, searching for more of his touch.

"That's it," he murmured. "Let it happen."

He worked her slowly, circling the tiny nub with his thumb while his fingers explored the wet heat of her entrance. She was tight. So tight he could barely slide one finger inside. She gasped, her back arching, her bound hands clenching into fists. Another moan escaped her — louder this time, a trembling, broken sound that vibrated in her throat.

"You've never had anything inside you," he said. "Not even a finger."

"I s-said fuck you—" But her voice cracked on the last word, dissolving into a helpless whimper as his finger pushed deeper.

"Your body says something different."

He added a second finger, stretching her. She cried out — a sharp, keening sound that turned into a long, shaking moan as the stretch sent waves of heat through her pelvis. Her hips bucked, caught between the instinct to escape and the instinct to push into the sensation. The aphrodisiac was burning through her now, turning every touch into pleasure, every thrust into a desperate, building need that made her moan without permission.

He fucked her with his fingers until she was dripping — until her slick ran down his hand, wetting the sheets beneath her. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each exhale carrying a soft moan, her head thrown back, her throat exposed. Her eyes were half-lidded, glassy, lost somewhere between resistance and surrender. A low, guttural sound rolled out of her chest — ahhh, ahhh, ahhh — in rhythm with his fingers.

"Please," she said, and he couldn't tell if she was begging him to stop or to continue. Her voice was wrecked, raw, thick with a need she'd never known.

He pulled his fingers out. She whimpered at the loss — a desperate, animal sound that made her bite her lip in shame.

"Not yet," he said. "We're just getting started."

He stood and unbuttoned his pants. His cock was hard, thick, the head flushed dark. He wrapped his hand around it, once, slowly, letting her see.

"I'm going to take your virginity now," he said. "And I'm going to record it. And afterward, you're going to remember who did this to you. Every time you close your eyes. Every time you touch yourself. You're going to remember me."

She shook her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks. But between her legs, her body was open and waiting, slick and glistening and hungry. A small moan escaped her lips, unbidden.

He positioned himself between her thighs. The head of his cock pressed against her entrance, nudging at the tight ring of muscle.

"Look at me."

She wouldn't. She couldn't.

He grabbed her chin, forced her gaze to his.

"Look at me, Anna."

Her eyes met his. They were terrified and hateful and full of something she didn't understand.

"Good girl."

He pushed.

The sound she made was not human. It was raw and animal, a cry that tore out of her chest as his cock forced its way into her body. She was so tight that every inch was a battle — her virgin walls clenching against him, resisting, even as the aphrodisiac made her cream around the invasion. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream, and then a long, sobbing moan poured out of her — oh god oh god oh god — her voice breaking on every syllable.

"Fuck," he breathed. "So tight. So fucking tight."

He sank all the way in, his pelvis pressing against her thighs, and held still.

She was shaking. Her whole body trembled, tears running in rivers down her temples, her breath coming in small, broken gasps that were half sob and half moan.

"I-I can feel... I can feel you inside me..."

"Yes." He pulled back, then thrust forward. "You can feel me."

The motion was slow, deliberate. He watched her face as he moved — the way her eyes went wide, the way her mouth fell open, the way her body began to respond despite everything. The aphrodisiac was relentless, turning the pain into heat, turning the violation into a terrible, undeniable pleasure. A low moan built in her chest, rising in pitch with each thrust.

Her hips began to move. Small, involuntary rolls, meeting his thrusts. Her moans grew louder, more desperate — nnnnh, yesss, ohhh — the words slipping out before she could stop them.

"That's it," he breathed. "That's it. Let yourself feel it. Let me hear you."

"No— I don't— I can't—" But even as she denied it, a long, shuddering moan rolled out of her, her voice climbing higher, her body betraying every word.

But she could. Her pussy was clenching around him, milking him, pulling him deeper. Her bound hands pulled at the ropes above her head, but she wasn't trying to escape anymore — she was bracing, holding on, riding the wave of sensation she couldn't control. Her moans turned rhythmic, matching his thrusts — ah-ah-ah-ah-ah — her voice rising and falling with each stroke.

He increased his pace. The bed creaked beneath them. The camera's red light blinked, recording everything. Her moans became cries — sharp, broken sounds that filled the small room.

"I'm going to cum inside you," he said. "I'm going to fill this tight little rich-girl pussy with my cum. And you're going to take it."

She shook her head frantically. "No— you can't— it's my first time—"

"I know. That's the point."

He drove into her harder, faster, his rhythm breaking as the pressure built in his balls. She was crying openly now, but her hips were meeting his thrust for thrust, her body chasing a climax it hadn't asked for. Her moans were incoherent — a stream of pleasepleaseplease oh god yes don't stop that poured from her lips without her permission.

"Please—" she sobbed. "Please I'm— I'm going to— I can't stop it—"

"Don't stop it. Let go."

She came with a scream that shattered against the walls of his small bedroom — a high, keening wail that went on and on, her voice cracking and breaking as her body convulsed around him. Her pussy clamped down in rhythmic pulses that pulled him over the edge with her. He groaned, his hips slamming forward, and emptied himself inside her — hot, thick ropes of cum flooding her virgin womb. His own groan mingled with her scream, a guttural, animal sound of release.

She trembled beneath him, her chest heaving, her eyes staring at the ceiling with an expression he couldn't read. A final, soft moan escaped her lips — a trembling exhalation that sounded almost like relief.

He stayed inside her for a long moment, catching his breath. Then he pulled out. His cum was already leaking from her, a white trail running down her thigh onto the sheet.

"The camera got all of that," he said.

She didn't respond. Her chest was still heaving, small aftershock moans pulsing through her throat.

He switched positions, turning her onto her stomach, pulling her hips up. She was limp, unresisting — the fight drained out of her, replaced by the chemical heat that still burned in her blood.

"Open your mouth."

"No."

He grabbed her hair, pulled her head back. "Open. Your. Mouth."

She opened it.

He guided his cock — still wet with her arousal and his cum — past her lips. She gagged immediately. Her eyes watered. Her hands, still bound, beat against the mattress. But as he held there, a strange, muffled moan vibrated around his shaft — her body's involuntary response to having him fill her throat.

"Relax your throat," he said. "Breathe through your nose."

She couldn't. The length of him filled her mouth, pressed against the back of her throat. He held there, letting her struggle, letting her choke. But beneath the gagging, he could hear it — a desperate, humming moan that she couldn't suppress, her hips grinding against the mattress as the aphrodisiac kept her burning.

"You wanted interesting," he said. "Here's interesting."

He fucked her mouth. Slow and deep, each thrust hitting the back of her throat, forcing her to take all of him. Saliva ran down her chin, mixed with tears and the slick of his previous release. The sounds she made were wet and desperate — gurgling moans that vibrated around his cock, her throat working to accommodate him.

He came down her throat with a groan, holding her head in place while she swallowed convulsively. A long, muffled moan escaped her as she swallowed, her throat muscles milking his release. She coughed when he pulled out, gasping for air, her face a wreck of tears and spit and cum. Even through the coughs, a low, broken moan escaped her.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Good girl. One more round."

He laid her on her side, lifted her top leg, and pressed his cock against her other hole — the tight, forbidden ring of her ass.

"No," she said, the word barely a whisper. "Please. Not there."

"Beg me."

"...Please."

"I don't think you mean it."

He pushed. Her body fought him, her muscles clenching desperately against the intrusion. She screamed — a raw, broken sound — as he forced his way into her, the tight heat of her ass gripping him like a vise. The scream dissolved into a long, shuddering moan as the aphrodisiac transformed even this violation into something her nerves coded as pleasure.

"God, you're tight everywhere," he muttered. "Little rich girl, taking it in every hole."

He fucked her ass the same way he'd fucked her cunt — slow at first, then faster, building toward another release. She was sobbing into the mattress, her body wracked with involuntary shudders as the aphrodisiac turned even this into something her nerves couldn't distinguish from pleasure. Her moans were muffled by the pillow, but he could hear them — desperate, keening sounds that climbed in pitch with every thrust.

Her face — when he turned it toward the camera — was the face of someone who had left her body behind. Eyes rolled back. Mouth slack. Tongue lolling. The ahegao of complete psychological surrender. A low, constant moan poured from her open mouth — unnnnhhhh — a sound of pure, mindless sensation.

He emptied himself inside her ass, filling her a second time. Her body jerked with each pulse, a sharp cry escaping her lips. Then a third creampie in her pussy, still dripping from the first. She moaned through it all — long, helpless sounds that filled the room.

By the time he finished, she was a wreck. Rope burns on her wrists. Cum running down her thighs. Mascara tracking black rivers down her cheeks. And still the heat burned in her blood, keeping her trapped in a state of aching, endless need. A soft, keening moan escaped her even as she lay still.

He untied her.

She didn't move.

He put a blanket over her body — a small mercy — and sat in the chair beside the bed, watching her breathe.

The camera was still recording.

---

She woke at dawn.

The first thing she registered was the pain — a deep, bruised ache between her legs, in her throat, at her wrists. The second thing was the weight of the blanket, and the unfamiliar smell of the pillow, and the sound of someone breathing beside her.

She turned her head.

Y/N sat in the chair, watching her. A laptop balanced on his knees.

"Good morning," he said.

She tried to speak, but her voice was gone. Her throat was raw.

He turned the laptop toward her. The screen showed a video file, paused on a frame of her face — mouth open, eyes rolled back, cum running down her chin.

"You're very photogenic," he said.

Her stomach dropped. The terror she'd been too drugged to feel the night before crashed into her now, cold and sharp and absolute.

"What are you going to do with that?"

"Whatever I want." He closed the laptop. "You're mine now, Anna. And here's how this is going to work."

She listened, and the world went small around her.

He told her the terms simply, clearly, without cruelty and without kindness. She would continue to be his. She would come when he called. She would do what he asked. If she refused, the video went to her father, to the press, to every news outlet in Tokyo. The Anna Corporation had enemies. The Anna heiress being fucked like a cheap whore by her driver would be a very profitable leak.

"You'll keep your job," he said. "You'll keep your life. Nobody has to know. But when I want you, you come. Understand?"

She stared at him. Her body was a ruin. Her mind was a blur of heat and shame.

"Understand?"

"...Yes."

"Good girl." He stood. "Now get dressed. I'll drive you home."

She sat up slowly, holding the blanket to her chest. Her thighs were sticky with his release. The marks on her wrists were darkening to bruises.

"You're a monster," she said.

"Maybe." He picked up her blouse from the floor and handed it to her. "But I'm the monster who knows all your secrets now."

She took the blouse. Her hands were shaking.

For the first time in her life, Anna had nothing to say.

---

The first week passed like a wound healing wrong.

She showed up for work every morning at seven. He opened her door. She slid in. They drove in silence through the wet Tokyo streets. At the end of the day, he drove her home. She got out. She didn't say thank you. She didn't say anything.

But on Friday night, his phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number — her personal line.

What do you want from me tonight?

He stared at the screen for a long moment. Then he typed back: My house. One hour. Wear a skirt.

She arrived at eight. She was wearing a gray wool skirt that hit just above the knee and a white blouse buttoned to the collar. Her hair was pulled back. Her face was bare — no makeup, no armor.

She stood in his doorway, shivering in the November cold, and looked at him with eyes that were hard and terrified at the same time.

"I'm here," she said. "What now?"

He stepped aside. She walked past him into the small house, her heels clicking on the worn floorboards. She looked around at the sparse furniture, the faded wallpaper, the single photograph of his mother on the shelf.

"This is where you live," she said, not a question.

"This is where I live."

"It's small."

"It's mine."

She turned to face him. Her hands were clasped in front of her, her knuckles white.

"Are you going to hurt me?"

"I'm going to use you. Whether it hurts depends on you."

She nodded slowly, as if she'd expected that answer. Then she reached up and unbuttoned her blouse, one button at a time, her eyes never leaving his.

"Is this what you want?"

He crossed the room, took her chin in his hand, and tilted her face up.

"This is what you owe me," he said. "Every time you opened your mouth, every time you threw something at me, every time you made me feel like I was less than human — this is the payment. And you're going to pay until I tell you to stop."

A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn't wipe it away.

"Kiss me," he said.

She blinked. "What?"

"You heard me. Kiss me."

She stared at him. Her lips parted. She leaned forward, hesitant, and pressed her mouth against his.

It was stiff, awkward, a closed-lipped press of flesh against flesh.

He pulled back. "That's not a kiss. That's a surrender. Try again."

She swallowed. Her hands were shaking. She leaned in again, and this time she opened her mouth, her tongue touching his lower lip, tentative and terrified.

He grabbed the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, and kissed her back — hard, deep, his tongue forcing its way into her mouth. She made a small sound, a muffled protest, but he held her there, taking what she offered, taking more than she offered. His tongue swept against hers, demanding a response, and slowly — hesitantly — she gave it. A soft moan vibrated against his lips as her tongue touched his.

When he pulled back, she was gasping, her lips red and swollen, her eyes wet.

"Better," he said. "Now get on your knees."

---

She dropped to her knees on the worn floorboards. The posture came naturally, as if her body had been waiting for someone to tell her where to put it. Her hands rested on her thighs. Her head was bowed.

He unbuttoned his pants. His cock was already hard, thick and aching from watching her submit.

"Open your mouth. Wide."

She opened. Her tongue was pink, her lips wet. She looked up at him with eyes that were full of hatred and something else — something that looked almost like anticipation.

He guided his cock into her mouth, feeling the heat of her tongue, the scrape of her teeth as she tried to adjust. He held still, letting her get used to the weight of him, the taste.

"This is what your mouth is for now," he said. "Not insults. Not cruelty. My cock. Understand?"

She made a sound — a muffled, submissive moan that vibrated around his shaft. He couldn't tell if it was agreement or protest. He didn't care.

He fucked her mouth slow and deep, watching her struggle, watching her eyes water, watching her throat work as she tried not to gag. Spit ran down her chin. Her hands gripped her own thighs, nails digging into the fabric of her skirt. But beneath the struggle, he could hear it — a low, desperate moan that she couldn't suppress, her body responding to the invasion with a traitorous pleasure.

He came with a groan, filling her mouth, watching her swallow because she didn't have a choice. A soft, defeated moan escaped her as she swallowed, her throat working around his release.

"Clean me," he said, holding his cock in front of her face.

She leaned forward, her tongue swiping along the shaft, lapping up her own spit and his release. Her eyes were glassy. Her cheeks were flushed. A quiet moan hummed against his skin as she cleaned him.

"Good girl. Now take off your clothes and get on the bed."

---

He took her three more times that night. Each time, she resisted less. Each time, her body responded faster, the heat building in her chest, her pussy wet and ready before he even touched her. Her moans grew louder with each round — more desperate, less ashamed.

The first time, he laid her on the bed and fucked her slow and deep, watching her face contort with reluctant pleasure. Her breathy moans filled the small room — ohhh, ahhh, yes — her hips rising to meet his thrusts.

The second time, he bent her over the edge of the mattress, driving into her from behind while she pressed her face into the sheets. Her moans were muffled but unmistakable — long, trembling sounds that vibrated through the mattress.

The third time, he pushed her against the wall, lifted her leg, and fucked her standing up. Her back scraped against the cheap wallpaper. Her ankles locked around his waist. Her nails dug into his shoulders. Her moans were loud, unrestrained, bouncing off the walls — yes yes yes oh god yes — her voice climbing higher with each stroke.

"Cum," he ordered. "Cum on my cock, right now."

She came with a sob, her body clenching around him, her head falling back against the wall. Her moan stretched into a scream that broke and cracked and dissolved into helpless, shuddering gasps. He followed a second later, pumping into her, filling her again.

He pulled out and watched his cum drip down her thigh.

"You're not on birth control," he said.

She shook her head, still breathless, still trembling from the aftershocks.

"Good."

Her eyes went wide. "You can't—"

"I can do whatever I want. That was the deal."

She stared at him, her face pale. But she didn't argue. She didn't fight. She just stood there, cum running down her leg, and looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite read.

---

The second week, he made her come to his house during her lunch break.

She arrived in her corporate clothes — a black blazer, a white blouse, a pencil skirt that stopped at the knee. She looked like she was there for a business meeting. He met her at the door, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her inside.

"I don't have long," she said. "I have a meeting at two."

"You have an hour. I'll use it well."

He bent her over the kitchen table, pushed her skirt up, pulled her panties down, and fucked her from behind. She gripped the table's edges, her knuckles white, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps that quickly turned into moans.

He reached around and found her clit, rubbing hard circles while he thrust into her.

"Cum," he said. "Cum for me."

"I can't— not like this—" But her body was already winding tight, her moans quickening, her voice climbing.

"You can. You will."

She came with a cry that she muffled against her own arm, her body shuddering, her pussy clenching around him. The moan was bitten off, swallowed, but it escaped anyway — a high, keening sound that she couldn't contain. He followed, filling her again, pressing deep to keep his cum inside.

He pulled out, grabbed her chin, and kissed her hard — a messy, open-mouthed kiss that tasted of salt and sex and submission. She moaned into his mouth, her body still quivering.

"You taste like me," he said against her lips.

She didn't answer. She just stood there, her skirt bunched around her waist, his cum leaking down her thigh, and let him look at her.

---

The third week, she started to change.

It was subtle at first. She stopped flinching when he touched her. She stopped crying during sex. Her body began to lean into him instead of away.

He was fucking her on his bed, her legs over his shoulders, his cock buried deep inside her. Her face was flushed, her eyes half-closed, her mouth open. Her moans were different now — not forced, not reluctant. They were hungry. Hungry and desperate and real.

"You like this," he said. It wasn't a question.

She didn't answer.

"Tell me you like this."

"No."

He slowed his pace, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in, agonizingly slow.

"Tell me."

"I—" Her breath hitched. A long, shaking moan escaped her. "I don't—"

He pushed harder, hitting a spot that made her gasp, her moan spiking into a cry.

"Tell me the truth."

"Yes," she said, the word torn out of her. "Yes, I like it. I fucking hate you and I like it." Her voice broke on the last word, dissolving into a moan that was almost a sob.

He kissed her — deep and brutal — and she kissed him back. Her tongue met his. Her hands tangled in his hair. Her moans poured into his mouth. For one moment, they weren't captor and captive. They were just two bodies, hungry and desperate and lost.

He came inside her, and she held him there, her legs wrapped around his waist, not letting him go. A long, satisfied moan rolled through her as she felt him pulse inside her.

---

The first time he slapped her, it was for talking back.

They were in his living room. She was kneeling on the floor, her skirt pooled around her hips, his cock in her mouth. She'd been doing well — taking him deep, breathing through her nose, keeping her hands clasped behind her back the way he'd taught her. Soft moans hummed around his shaft as she worked.

Then she pulled off, looked up at him, and said, "Is this all you've got? My father fucks me harder than this, and he doesn't even know I exist."

The words landed like a blade.

His hand moved before he thought about it. The slap caught her across the cheek, sharp and loud in the small room. Her head snapped to the side. Her hair flew across her face.

She turned back slowly. Her cheek was red, her eyes wide and wet. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth where her teeth had cut the inside of her cheek.

He grabbed her jaw, forced her to look at him.

"You don't talk about your father. You don't talk about anyone. When you're on your knees, you belong to me. Understand?"

She stared at him. Her lip was trembling. But something else flickered in her eyes — something that looked almost like relief.

"Understand?" he repeated, his voice harder.

"Yes," she whispered.

"Good girl." He wiped the blood from her lip with his thumb. "Now open your mouth."

She opened. He slid back inside, and she took him without a sound, her eyes never leaving his. A low, submissive moan vibrated around his cock as she began to move, her tongue working him with a new intensity.

---

That night, after he'd sent her home, he sat in his kitchen and stared at his hands.

He'd never hit a woman before. He'd never wanted to. But when she'd said those words — my father fucks me harder than this — something had snapped. Not at her. At the thought of her father. At the thought of all the men who had failed her, used her, abandoned her.

He was one of them now. He'd joined their ranks.

The thought should have bothered him more than it did.

---

The fourth week, he drove her home after a session, and she didn't get out of the car immediately.

She sat in the passenger seat, her hands in her lap, her body still loose and warm from his touch.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Ask."

"Why do you keep your mother's photograph on your shelf? She's dying. Doesn't it hurt to look at her?"

He was quiet for a moment. "It hurts more not to."

She nodded slowly. Then she reached over and put her hand on his. Just for a second. Then she pulled away, got out of the car, and walked inside without looking back.

He watched her go, and something in his chest shifted.

---

The fifth week, he fucked her in the car.

It was late. They were parked in the garage of the Anna mansion, the engine off, the windows fogged. She was straddling him in the driver's seat, his cock buried inside her, her small breasts pressed against his chest.

She was riding him — slowly, deliberately, her hips rolling in a rhythm she'd learned from him. Her head was thrown back, her throat exposed, her breath coming in soft gasps that built into moans. Her voice echoed in the enclosed space, bouncing off the windows.

"You're going to cum," he said. "And then you're going home to your empty house, and you're going to think about me."

"I always think about you," she said, and the words sounded surprised, as if she hadn't meant to say them. Her moans quickened, her rhythm breaking.

He grabbed her hips, drove up into her hard, and came with a groan. She followed a moment later, her body clenching around him, her nails digging into his shoulders. Her moan was long and loud, filling the car, fogging the windows further.

She stayed on top of him, her forehead resting against his, their breath mingling in the dark.

"What's happening to me?" she whispered.

He didn't answer. He didn't know how.

---

The sixth week, he fucked her in her own house.

It was the first time he'd been inside the mansion since the night he'd abducted her. She led him through the darkened hallways, past rooms full of art he couldn't name, up a staircase that curved like a spine.

Her bedroom was enormous — a king-sized bed with white linens, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, a walk-in closet the size of his entire apartment.

She stood in the center of the room, looking small and lost among all that luxury.

"I've never brought anyone here," she said. "You're the first."

"Does that scare you?"

"Yes."

"Good."

He crossed the room, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. She melted into him, her body soft and yielding, her mouth open and hungry. A soft moan escaped her as his tongue found hers.

You sat at your home working through Tokon souls combos when you got the call 

“You go for Hugo,” you answer.

“Huuugooo,” you hear a familiar whine. 

“Yeah Karina,”

“I need you to fuck me…” Karina responds 

You sigh and say, “um why?”

Karina whines before saying, “your hot best friend tells you she needs to fuck you and your first question is why?”

You roll your eyes and spit back, “no my first question is what the fuck is happening? My second question is why?”

Karina laughed then said, “okay Hugo well if you must know I’ve been feeling this weird sensation in my stomach and I have been thinking about you coming over to my place bending me over and fucking taking me all over the apartment,”

You won’t deny the deal sounds enticing but Karina’s your friend and…hold up she just sent you something.

You unlock your phone to see Karina with one hand in her snatch and the other groping her tit,

“Hugo pleassseee. I neeeeed yoouuu,” Karina whined over the video. You watched with an unbearably hard errection and considered your options.

A minute passed and then another video sent. You open to see Karina moaning your name in desperation as she cums. The choice was made for you. You texted her on my way and she sent you voice memos of her fucking herself while moaning your name.  

You arrive at her place 15 minutes later when you open the door you see her laying on her couch hand knuckle deep inside her.  The eroticism is muted by the desperation and anguish on her face. You approach her carefully and she opened her eyes. 

She lifts herself so she can straddle you and groans “Hugo please I need you inside me,”

You wish you had but more time to think before she takes you to the base. 

Karina screams in relief as she bottoms out. You groan feeling her walls mold themselves to you. Karina breathes and her mind clears. 

“Fuck you feel so good inside me.” She says

You look into her eyes as you look into hers and she says, “did you wishing willow me?”

You stare into her eyes hazed over with lust and respond “you’re joking right?”

Karina smiles and says. “I woke up feeling hot and bothered and no matter how much I cum I need more. I figured my friend who’s always talking about his crush on me did something,”

You laugh and say, “so you’d think I’d waste giving up the ability to open and close portals just to have you horny for me,” you say as Karina rides you.

A full bellied laugh escapes Karina’s lips sending her into a weird position on top of you that sends both of you to orgasm. You both moan and say “holy fuck!” Before you paint her walls white.

Afterwards the two of you just look at each other and just start laughing. For like a full minute. After that Karina gets up and says, “thanks Hugo. I needed all of that,”

You nod and say “anytime,” 

Karina walks over to her phone and says “I’m ordering pizza you want anything”

“Oh Chicken and Artichoke,”

“Ewww,” Karina responds

“Don’t knock it till you try it,” you shoot back.

Karina stares at you orders a Hawaiian pizza, pepperoni, chicken and artichoke, and fried chicken.

“I forget you eat like a pro athlete,” you tease. 

Karina turns to you and says, “don’t say that,”

“Why not it’s mean as a compliment,” you challenge and Karina pouts 

“I know you mean it to be like that but it always makes feel bad now and i don’t know why.” Karina cries

“Well I’ll try to be more complimenting when I speak,”

Karina groans and says, that’s not the issue,”

“Yu Jimin what’s going on with you today. First you ring me up for a booty call and now…oh…okay,”

Karina turns at you and says, “what is it?”

“Karina where are you on your cycle?” You ask

“I don’t know you think I have time to keep track of that during all the other shit I have to deal with?” Karina responds pissed

You sigh and say, “okay whatever” 

Karina looks at you and says “no no wait I’m sorry,”

You sigh again and say, “come here,”

Karina scurries over to you before sitting in your lap. She nestled herself in close before looking at you with an adorable smile. You hold her close to a she cooes happily. 

Eventually she goes to sleep in your arms. You sigh for a third time considering how did you end up being this megastar’s “emotional support fuckbuddy,”

When the pizza finally arrives you put your pants back on and grab the order despite Karina, whined and bemoaned . You grab the pizza before closing the door and returning to Karina. 

“Yay food,” she says as she grabs the box on the top.

She opens the chicken and artichoke pizza and groans. 

“Of course this would be on top,” she says dejected.

You laugh as she takes out a slice bites into and stares at you,

“How is it?” You ask.

A personal rule of thumb; a code, if you will: keep the alcohol consumption to a minimum, two to three drinks at best. 

It’s been roughly over two and a half hours since you showed up and the gathering began, and the idea of going back to the bar for a fourth or fifth or sixth was becoming highly likely. Something easy to down - definitely not a Whiskey, but you’d wish - although there’s hardly a complaint with a draft beer. 

In a sober blessing, there’s a haven with an open bar present at university occasions. Granted, the Kim-Park estate would’ve splurged a little more in owning the whole place but everyone does like to indulge their drinks from time to time. 

Someone smacks your arm from behind, breaking the trance. “Hey- you’re not blanking out on me, are you?” Roh Yunah called your name a couple times but you obviously misheard; you missed the conversation that was clearly no interest in. Hence the circle of eyes are all zeroed in on you, eight pairs a piece. 

Yunah arches her brows with a smile, but there’s a forced aspect within her. Always trying to push the right buttons as your senior; plus knowing when and what to say in lightening the mood. Her veneers may feel casual, but it’s unnaturally terrifying. 

“Sorry,” you say, apologetic with the lift of the glass. “It’s been a long day for me, well- for all of us.” You’re lucky enough to have a few smiles returned soon after. One person sips into their red wine. 

“He means well,” Yunah says on your behalf, “This one is a little timid in stepping out of his comfort zone.” A turn to the group and they all laugh, a miracle action, but maybe an in-joke that you’re secluded from. She sighs, nodding somberly. “Moka loved attending these galas. Though, I can only say so much about missing her.” 

Yunah mentions it painfully slow; the tone eerie like trying to break the news to a broken child. 

Everyone around you has a sympathetic shine in their eyes, humming and shaking their heads. You can’t hold yourself back in looking at each individual, feel the heartbeat in your chest thrum louder, pounding your ears. Like hearing your name would send you ages back, turns the pit in your stomach into a full on black hole. 

None of these people have a single idea about Moka. 

You swallow the anger down; Moka despised these events, and you want to shove Yunah to a wall making her pay. 

But, you’ll take it with as much light as you can, force a smile into the next topic. The pain is still fresh despite being a little over a year - the wound still fresh at the mere mention of her name. It seeps, then stings, pooling blood over and over and over. Some days the pain is unbearable, a constant reminder of her presence enough to send the mind reeling; on other occasions, you’d wish she were still here and on separate paths. 

You think to yourself: one more drink wouldn’t hurt. 

It takes most of your body to sift through the crowd surrounding the bar; the heat too suffocating and the press of people enough to roll your eyes at the masks being worn currently. A quartet of guys block your pathing, oblivious. Drinking away laughs which should make you more pissed off. You try to make way with an arm, but get shoved from behind on accident. 

Unfortunately, the man swivels around on edge. These kinds of people are the opposite of your liking: in preen-upped suits and with wavy combovers. The tie is neat around his neck and there’s an obvious vein popping out meaning: definitely pissed off. A few men also notice the incident - some still laughing at another joke that’s clearly unrelated. 

Grad students and their prestige, on the bankroll of their parents and got a sizable trust fund in their backpocket to be set for life without the worries of student debt. Studying in degrees that probably won’t matter to them since it’ll be a nice mark of pride hung on the wall twenty to thirty years from now. 

He curses you out in front of his so-called friends. You scoff at that. 

“Just trying to pass through,” you’re saying, hand up in defense and clearly in the wrong. Had it been you from a year prior, a fist would probably be thrown already. Honestly, the glass in your hand needs another refill. 

The guy just mocks you and sizes up to your front. It’s awfully pathetic how people have to resort to actions like these. In turn, he bumps to a girl behind him, knocking out her drink with glass shattering to the floor. 

More heads look over and the guy is getting pulled by his colleagues. Servers rush in to fix the mess, picking up the shards and wiping the spilled wine. A cue for you to go on your way, getting another glass of whiskey from the bar. 

The short girl with fine, embered auburn hair is weaving through the crowd as well, alone. 

Like a lonely stick flowing down a winding stream. 

–

Out on the terrace; fresh air, granted once the locks click in place and you’re staring out to the distance with the wind passing through your ears. 

It’s quiet, and the feel of winter is still apparent in February. Most of the noise inside has been muffled into the glass, looking below from the balcony with your head to your hands. That is- until there’s a gentle clack of heels behind. 

It’s the same girl from earlier, in all its whiskey brown shade. Besides only seeing her back profile, the presentation is well worth the wait, and she’s beautiful - light pools of amber in her eyes and with a defined arc to her ears. Part of her hair is tied neatly but resting neatly along her shoulders. Her dress is also another: high-collared and revealing at the collar and waist - yet focused on a stain over her thigh. 

You should’ve kept your body against the concrete railing, but you move; met with knitted brows from the woman. 

“Oh- I thought I was-” she stutters, taken aback. “If you’ll excuse me,” clutching the dress a lot tighter in her hand, almost concealing. 

“No, I’m just here,” you say; a hand up in respect. “I was about to be on my way back inside.” 

She glances over rather than giving a response, keeping her attention to her dress. You’re taking a real long look at her before common sense sets in and finally decide to look away. 

Right before you were about to step away, a sigh slips out of her lips; there isn’t any offense to it, at all. 

“Look- would you mind if I can try to help?” You ask, walking over as she gazes up again. Clearly, she’s confused about what’s happening at the moment. 

“I appreciate it, but thank you. Really.” Her voice seems dismissive, but still bearing the casualness of it. Adding an uneasy chill down your spine. 

“To be clear, I was the one at fault,” you say. “A mistake trying to get by the poor lad.” She locks eyes with you again and cocks her head. You’re not showing it, but the move forces your heart to palpitate; in the way she studies you, sending spikes to your stomach. With a deadpan like that there’s a necessity of the silence she’d be happy to fulfill. 

“Most of the guys you taught way back then were usually like that, flying elbows and everything if they’re hit,” she tells you, and it’s a definite ‘oh shit’ moment that sobers you up.

It starts to click in your head piece by piece: “Wait, have we-” 

The lovely woman nods, drawing a light smirk. “I can see the gears turning in your head, sir.” 

“Well if you’re playing the stranger card so casually without ever mentioning my name, but that ‘sir’ wouldn’t be thrown around if it didn’t carry some substance of status, ma’am?” You say, smirking. She giggles at that. 

In a stupid move, you mention your name again; hand out in hope of her reaching for it. 

“I know who you are,” she replies, huffing a laugh out her nose, “Professor.” Dipping her head and flicking her fingers on her dress. Palm to palm, there’s a gentle sturdiness to it, all while being soft. You get caught spacing out - imagining how they’ll look wrapped around your- 

“I’m- I’m sorry. I don’t follow?” 

“You may not remember me, but I’m Park Minju. I had you for a class about five years ago.” Her words are precise, punctual. With a hint of elegance you can’t really seem to capture. 

Appearance-wise, it doesn’t add up. If anything, you’re thinking back to the prior calling of secondary school around that time. Plausible. Yet she’s reasonably old enough. 

“A class, yes. Maybe two. But here I am being subjected to a minor existential crisis thanks to you,” you tell her, sheepish. 

Minju chuckles; there’s that same palpitation like before. You want to have that same laugh ring your ears more and more. See that sweet grin with those beautifully arched cheekbones and ears. 

“If you want to get more- analytical, I suppose. Your lessons about certain philosophical topics were very, what’s the word? Enamoring.” 

Here's the answer. You were thinking close around that time and hoping the math was correct. Now, you’re thinking of throwing yourself off the balcony and forget about any form of hope with this girl: 

“Don’t get me wrong, I was invested in that curriculum,” you laugh, bracing a hand on the sculpted railing. “What killed it for me was the fact that most of the kids’ papers I was reviewing all had a common complaint of how much bullshit I was teaching was hidden between the lines. Can’t blame them, of course. Though it did hurt for a bit.” 

“Hmm, I think it looked like it was one of those other former students earlier tonight,” she looks at the windows inside. “Who knows, maybe they saw your face and threw a fit at the fact that you were still in their life in a different path now.” 

You wince. “Again, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-” 

“You should be,” Minju returns. 

Oh she knows how to rub the crevices in your brain. 

Following a clicked tongue: “What makes you say that?” 

Minju hums; quirks a smile soon after. You nick your head before huffing a laugh, before the ice breaks even more and you’re both laughing. She meets your eyes through her pretty, dark lashes; your heart is performing backflips at this point. 

You can’t get around the fact how she’s so easy on the eyes, that refined coy in the tone of her voice. It’s getting all the plots twisted in your head, and the proximity diminishes between the two of you.

All the more reason to rub your neck awkwardly; Minju looks the other way and clears her throat. 

“For one, you look dashing in that dress. It’s a shame that it got a little soaked,” you say. Ghosting a hand over the opening at her waist, just above the stain. Her arm is quick to hover yours, riddled with goosebumps. It’s cold (obviously), much to the point where the outlines of Minju’s nipples are peaking through the dress; squinting won’t help your case but you’re blinking. 

You sharply inhale, file the picture away from your head. 

In a natural instinct, you strip your blazer off and and straighten it out. “I realize it’s practically below freezing here,” you’re telling her, tongue-ticked. The fit rests on her narrow shoulders and you’re taking a decent step back. Watching her face look confused, pulling her lips inward and accepting the gesture. Oversized was the inevitable conclusion, but at least the warmth was a plus. 

“I didn’t mind, but-” Minju huffs, burying her mouth into the collar. You insist, and she accepts it, giving thanks. 

The gust of wind blows a little more forcefully for a moment, pricking into the skin. You’ve definitely hit your quota for drinks - which equates to being slightly tipsy; drunk, perhaps, or delusional; shit, you’re not even sure yourself. 

“Are you also here for family responsibilities, Miss Park? Or are you actually going to get some benefit in the classes you’re basically going for free?” You ask her. While it’s out of curiosity; you keep wanting to talk to her. The urge to know more grows by the second. 

Minju smirks and nods. “There’s a direction for me.” 

Ah, you acquiesce. She’s still an assignment you’re trying to grade. 

“Something tells me you’re residing in law,” you presume. 

“Actually-” she retorts with knitted brows, tongue to teeth, “-I’m more intrigued in the political science landscape.” 

“Really? I didn’t think my lesson plan back then had too much of a punch in the learning experience.” 

“Well it’s completely the opposite,” beams Minju, rolling her shoulders with pride. “If it weren’t that, I wouldn’t be talking about it with you.” 

“Most of the girls just gave me blank stares while the guys slept through most of the rambling I did,” you breezily say whilst shaking your head. 

“Talking too much was a minus, but there was a plus in other aspects,” she then says. 

“Like?” 

“A thorough outlook from someone that’s-” and her eyes are quick to level yours, with much more refined knowledge and with bare restraint in the attraction - enough to freeze you in place and think back to how she was giving the utmost attention sitting in your classroom, “-well, there’s no better word for it: persuasive.” 

Her voice is basically seeping at the corners, low and driven and all the signs toward dangerous. She’s not gonna stop; you should consider ending the conversation while you can. Though, you don’t and stomach the cluttered air riddled within your neck. 

“Well then,” you say. “I sure hope you’ve been up to par with your current works?” 

Minju bites her bottom lip; widens the opening of your jacket. “Articles, reading, theses, the whole nine yards.” 

“That's all you got? 

You’re seeing nothing but the dark hazel pooling her irises. 

Flaring your voice like that to an esteemed family member that isn’t Minju would probably get you fired, maybe. “Okay? What do you want to know?” 

“It’s an open ended question I don’t have the answer for.” 

She cocoons the blazer around her again, back to the concrete overlooking the estate. “The last thing I read while coming up with a case study was focused on a theory about specific decisions. Meaning how the factor of choice influences us, weighing those choices, even the impulsive ones on instinct. It’s everywhere, even on a much global scale, deliberating with other countries; the movement of products, weapons, transferring prisoners, any and every deal that’s under or hidden beneath the sun.” Minju looks at you with a hint of worry - much like the times she came during lunch break and rambled about the typical drama with her circle of friends and pressing topics that were flagged under the universal policy. 

“Go on,” you tell her. “We’re just up here alone.” 

“I”m conscious about what’s there to gain and lose, depending on the deal or the stake of it. Naturally, people hate to lose. There’s a basic rule left unspoken where it can be differentiated between cognitive thinking and instinct - and it’s seen in games and people with status or power, those who-” her mouth drops, cutting it off accidentally. 

“Interesting,” you say. 

“Besdies that, I think I’ve said too much already,” Minju replies, hiding her chin to the collar. 

You don’t think you’ve said enough. Everything about her is a losing game: from her intellect to her age, and millions of statuses above you to even stand a chance. Her theory is right, thinking about an instinct of wanting her that it’s irrational to think about anything else. 

“No, Minju,” you laugh, breathless, albeit impressed. “It’s amazing what you’ve done with the opportunities. I hope you tell me more down the line?” 

Minju’s eyes flare up, surprised. “Sir- I’m very flattered-

It’s impossible for you to discern whether her cheeks were already in a rosy blush from the cold or from what was said just now. Her cute button nose is also mirroring the same shade - gulping down the urge to kiss that spot. You stare at her bottom lip; she nods in agreement. You could kiss that, too. 

“I think I do get ahead of myself,” she then says, moving her head left and right to disregard the compliment. 

“Now who told you that?” You ask. 

Minju zones out, meets your gaze with a tilt. “Huh?” 

“If you think you’re getting ahead of yourself, then that belief is instilled from someone else,” you say, lips pressed with crossed arms. “Out of everyone, you’re the only one that’s talked about a topic with the most interest. Why let another person determine what you can or can not express; besides, they’re stupid.” 

Minju, again, shoots her eyes down to her toes, shielding her growing smirk. Suddenly, the space between you two is minimized, even when you try your best to keep the space open due to the cold, it’s definitely waking you up from the suffocating party indoors. You notice her hand skate across the concrete, resting on the balcony after a few twitches. 

There’s a literal pull happening here, slowly. Until the both of you are looking out to the vast garden shrouded in darkness ahead, shoulder to shoulder; that is, when Minju faces front and is within extreme closeness of your chest, burrowing like she belongs here, shedding away skin and letting the cold wash her over. Even when the cold is already unbearable, and even so- 

Past the thrums of your heartbeat ringing in your ears, you could hear Minju swallow. Sighing into your chest as if there was a hidden weight finally lifted after so long. 

You don’t stop here. In fact, you don’t even consider stopping yourself at all: leaning down with a slow drag of your eyes to meet hers, gazing down those pretty features. She glances when you treat a loose strand of her hair caught by the breeze, shelf it nicely past the cuff of her ear, grazing your fingernails down her neck. 

Minju tilts her head to open up the space, holding her breath from the sudden touch. 

Then there’s the fuck-up: she doesn’t want this, of course she doesn’t. You pull your hand from her shoulder, draft up the apology in your mind. 

“Wait. We can- just, not here.” She hushes, stepping back with a hand up, scanning through the doors because getting caught would be a shitload of trouble. The tone in her voice drastically switched from being easy and composed - to breathless and on edge. 

“Minju, look- I’m sorry-” you get out, because the wrong idea’s already been shown and there’s a small hope of being able to hide it. 

“No, I’m sorry. It’s not that- I’d just want-” she tries to reason it out, voice low and hesitant. She swallows the lump in her throat, breathes deep after. “We’d be better off away from people that know us, you know?” 

You have a hard time processing what’s happening - probably because most of the blood isn’t going to your head and rather someplace else where the head might be useful in; with your mouth dry and on a similar wavelength to Minju. You feel your pockets again and realize the metal ridges that are typically there are in the coat she’s wearing (and lending). 

“It’s dark, for one. But my car is parked in the lot behind the hall. I- I might’ve had a little too much to drink for another and- oh fuck-” you huff, shaking your head fervently. “Wait- sorry. Don’t you mean drinks? I’m afraid I’m not up to-” 

Minju stops you with a hand to your chest, laughing. 

“You’re not driving home, sir. That’s for sure. I mean if you had a room here at the hotel for the night?” 

You’ve been sucked back to your teens, desperate for a girl that hinders your brain capacity. The good thing is: you’re sober enough to drive the few blocks back to the hotel with the room a couple floors up and there’s also the option to take the woman and fuck her into the backseat of your car. 

It’s a definite psychiatric work up on your agenda. 

“Okay, okay. So you want to-” 

Minju grins, licking her teeth. “The number?” 

“325.” 

“325?” She repeats, eyes shimmering. “You head back there first. I’ll come in fifteen minutes.” 

She’s quick to give back your coat with turning heels, slipping effortlessly through the glass doors. You try to track her silhouette, but watch her fade into the crowd. With her light auburn hair as the fateful magnet you can’t escape from. 

–

Time seems to stretch for as long as it possibly could, dwindling your bits of hope for every second that comes to pass - waiting for someone who may not even matter to you. 

Yet the hints of her scent scattered on your coat, there would be enough confirmation that the whole thing was a measly dream. It’s all stupidity from you: pressing the crease of the covers, hiding a pair of underwear beneath the nightstand; as if the walls in the room were closing in to your deteriorating psychotic episode. Maybe the couch would’ve been better rather than the edge of the bed - you don’t even know anymore at this point. 

All of it could’ve been chalked up as a one-time thing - ostensibly, that would be the best possible outcome: instead of inviting a student who’s clearly years younger back into your room, not after the fact that she’s alluring in all her looks and the slip of addiction in the way she presents herself. 

Minju could be the end of you - in a lot of ways than just one. 

The stupid idea here you come up with: a duo of glasses set on the mini bar - your own concoction of vodka that won’t burn down the throat. Not for the reason to satiate the need of another beverage, but the thought counts. Or so you thought. You’re not in your own head in getting the girl drunk, right? There’s no pressure about it- 

Your neck snaps at the light tapping at the door, three times. Quick enough to pull the door open and see Minju waiting on the other end. Legs crossed and hand resting to her side, dress unchanged; a stupid observation considering how much time’s passed. She still has your coat from earlier. Smiles at you before scanning both ends of the hallway; of course she’d rather save the thought of being caught dead in your crosshairs (let alone- your own fucking hotel room) when there might be other peers nearby. 

Grinning as the short-lived greeting. “Hi,” she sighs, relieved. 

“Someone seems tense,” you say, returning the grin. 

Minju blinks, “So um,” the line of her shoulders loosen in a fast second. “Will you let me in?” 

“Yes, oh my god. Of course, please. Come in,” you nod without a single thought, hastily shuffling your feet across the carpet beneath. Extending an arm to hold the door as she walks in, meeting her nod as she breezes past your proximity. With the door closing behind and it’s just the two of you isolated again. 

She walks to the middle of the room, refined and poised. Like if the world stopped for her and the only thing you can do is to acknowledge her in that moment. Despite how dimly lit the room was, it made her even more strikingly beautiful. 

You think that God himself is urging you to not court her; simply because-

Someone like you doesn't deserve that luxury. 

“I made a simple drink,” you tell her, pointing to the mini bar in the corner before the lamp. “It’s vodka with some soda mixed in to ease the bitterness. Only what the hotel provided, anyway,” you stutter, as Minju notices with a few steps in that direction. To which, she takes the offering. Hiding a scowl after the sip with the glass gently set back to its original coaster. 

While being the idiot that you are, you’re fidgeting your fingers and trying to keep yourself busy in the compact room: requesting your coat back, taking her bag, insisting her to accept a glass of water as the late chaser. 

“Hey,” Minju’s voice cuts through your ears and it stills your heart. That steady timbre, draws your attention back to her, with every step of hers sending blood through your veins invigoratingly fast. One hand is to your shoulder, the other dancing along the tips of your fingers. “I thought you wanted to kiss me now.” 

Well, she’s got you there. 

Fingers intertwined and closing the distance, chest to chest. The mere want clouding your head is just enough to release the nerves and let the intrusive actions take its course. In those doe eyes filling yours; soft, pretty pink lips parted and waiting. She needs this just as much as you do. 

You cup her cheek, gently. She lets the light tilt of her face invoke the message - a final say to reconsider- 

And she doesn’t. 

Her pupils are foggy, blown. The endless abyss beneath them is a mere pool for you to sink into. You’ve got no reasons to meet her lips, but here you are: kissing so carefully, and it’s messing you up. 

That mouth is- so damming and incredibly soft; with a fucked up part of you imagining it just to your liking. Despite the size, they’re addicting to the mix of vodka and ginger ale. You start slow, keep it within the lips. She chases the sensation when you pull back, longing the press more as your nose slides on her cheek, her breasts smothering the cloth on your shirt. 

Yet the way she kisses you is a theory to study - teetering the borderline of needy, and feral. Minju’s not the perfect girl you’ve drawn her up to be. Actually- it’s a kiss with such urgency as she drops her jaw lower, slips her tongue through your lips. You oblige and let her have it, tugging on your bottom lip until she’s making you bleed. In fact: no one has ever kissed you like this since you were young. It’s all confusing, for one; though it’s making you hot and the clutch in your pants even tighter. 

She’s wrinkling your shirt in her fists, swaying her hips in your hands. A slip of the tongue into her mouth loosens her jaw, opens herself wider. You cup her cheek, bend the angle of her neck. The noises she’s seeping are heavenly, the mere sound of it going straight to your cock, albeit from your mouth first. 

Her chest is elevated, heaving. You’re seeing what lies beyond her collarbone, the delicate skin waiting to be defiled. She draws you closer to her neck as she sighs in relief. The pulse point and space behind her ear the only thing Minju can focus on at the moment. Breathing you in; there’s a hint of white sands, a calm sage, something frothy and warm. A sweet spring interlude to a warm summer. 

Minju’s knees surrender at the sudden graze of your teeth along her throat. Only to find solace in your mouth once more, pushing you to the edge of the bed. It prods the suggestion to bring her to your lap, hitch the dress up to her thigh, the fabric restricting just slightly. This is the window to stop (in which, you don’t want to); however, it’s a snap of common sense away from the addicting heat of her mouth. You swallow on air that isn’t thick with her taste. 

“Wait,” you pause. It's the lifeline of your salvation, “Remind me: how old are you again?” 

She stills, watches as you wipe your chin, huffing. It’s clearly one of the three questions you never ask in conversation, which explains the dirty look that’s given. 

“Minju-” 

“Twenty two. Not that I care, honestly.” 

Your eyes roll back. No need to do the math here. The girl’s got your hands before they could retreat off her body, only hiking up more and more of her dress. 

“Sir, please.” 

Desperation, you conclude. It’s in the way her tone shifts from calm to this. You philosophized that there is an existence of hell, and there’s a certainty that you’ll end up there. Especially with this deity leaning over and kissing you again. Pressing into your mouth sweetly. She meets your eyes, swiping a hair from your forehead. 

“Please,” and she’s saying this with lidded eyes. 

And that’s all the resolve snuffed out of you. 

You’re quick to cup her cheeks and kiss her harshly, with just enough desperation as her. Gasping and laughing when you flip her pretty little body on her back, crawling atop. Every bit of insanity gets worse than before when you part her thighs, push her arms over and around her head when she settles into the duvet. Tongues swiping in a duel with no victor. Your hand shoots for her waist, palm hooking her entire waist. A real live wire, unraveling; her body shivers at the brush of your knee to her thighs, flinching. Everything about her is raw and there’s nothing you can do to save yourself. 

Just as you’re ruining her, Minju’s ruining your attire. Pulling and undoing the buttons of your shirt, loosening the tie. You relax and let her work for it until she can’t, pulling off the shirt and the belt to follow. Soon after, she’s trying to undo herself along with the dress. 

“It’s okay,” you say, kissing a shoulder blade as she turns on her stomach. Watch her sweep the hair to reveal the nape of her neck as the zipper descends. You eventually get to the end where the metal stops above her ass. The fabric grants you more angles of her curves, where the skin is revealed even more with scattered beauty marks. Only for you to notice that she isn’t wearing a bra - but the lacy waistband that’s resting at the lowest point of her hips. “You’re beautiful,” you praise, kissing her spine as the dress gets pulled by your fingers. 

The trail of kisses continues with her . 

“You can tell me to stop,” you whisper. Smiling into another kiss. 

Minju shoves her head into the pillows, shaking. 

“I’m giving you permission to say ‘no’, baby. And I’ll listen.” 

“No.” 

She’s quivering from your weight. You don’t answer, nor can afford to. 

“You really want this?” You then ask. A kiss to a dimple on her lower back.

“Professor-” 

“Use your words, Minju.” Her back arches under you, trying to press her ass on your cock. “I need you to tell me.” 

“Yes,” she sighs, though it comes as a hiss. Exhausted. “I need it- need you.” 

This only makes you realize again, 

You’d never think twice with her. 

Minju sighs in kind when you roll her back up to see her face, clearly wrecked as you are: those puffy, pouted lips and glassy eyes; hair frazzled, and it’s not doing you any good the way she holds it up in a loose ponytail, giving that extra fringe. The strapless dress is falling at her tits, only to realize that she had nothing underneath - a fantasy that you’ve devised since meeting her outside, it’s a real fucking disservice. 

In your eyes, she’s incredibly more perfect than you can theorize: light and toned, porcelain smooth skin. Makes you forget the gap in other places- 

You should feel guilty about it. 

Despite that, she guides your hand to her breast and makes you grip roughly. You scoff at how eager she is and it soon gets buried in your throat how lithe the feel is in your own palm. Like she’s made for you. A quick graze of her nipple to your thumb and she flinches. You try again and it’s the same jolt in her body, inhaling and makes you hiss through the teeth. The responsiveness is more sudden than the alcohol. 

At this point your shirt’s off and Minju’s at your neck, nipping away and will be a real blemish to deal with the morning after. Not to worry - you wanted it. A form of physical proof that shows you let her touch the way she does, reminding you that no other girl in your life has made you feel like this. She squirms when you finally get to her collarbone, see the protrusions of bone along her skin and dance on them with your fingertips with the delicacy of a harp player. Placing a nipple between your lips which prompts her to dig into your scalp with her fingers. 

Your hand slips down to her thigh and rests there, amazed with how smooth the skin at her legs really was. While there were some stray hairs along the surface, as if she’d never shave below the knee, it’s a sickening feeling that’s only deepening with no thought of calming - to claim something you’ve got no rights to.  

And when your fingers stroke over the lace of her panties, they’re wet. Minju’s legs tense at the touch. 

“Good?” You ask, kissing her sternum and making the way down, rubbing circles to her outer thigh and licking her waist. 

“I’ll let you- y’know,” she rasps, gripping more of your hair when your hands rest at the grooves of her thigh. 

Your brows knit together, unimpressed. It’s too easy to have her like this - too easy for her to give herself in such a way and a little too much. She’s been addicting since the second you met her and you start to notice how open- how willing- let alone pliable she’s trying to be. She’s serious, and it’s there. You realize that she’ll take everything so well at anything you dish out at her. 

A subtle bite of her inner thigh, and she softly yelps. “Then let me ask: what do you want, Minju?” 

Her legs twitch again, hand guiding back to the center. 

“A lot of things,” she answers, “Really, like- oh jesus- everything, actually-” 

You nibble at the fabric and she loses it even more. “Is this something you want?” 

Minju does her best to keep cool, and then your nose grazes her core through the lace and you’re whispering these lovely sounds of nothingness. 

“Fuck- sir, yes.” 

You slide her panties off her unbelievable legs and place two fingers over her clit, which makes Minju wince at the first gentle swipe. Learning that it won’t take as much to have her whole body shuddering under you. Once you’ve got a small taste of her, you go back to the gushing heat and let her have it. 

Here, you don’t recall having such a feeling like this before or in past experiences. The fact that she’s unbearably hot, her tightness corralling your fingers, leaking into the bottom of your palm. She’s got her head on the pillow when you move, slowly pumping in pace in and out of her. And it’s in the broken silence of these four walls, the sounds of slick slipping from her cunt - Minju’s covering her pretty face into the rumpled duvet and whimpering. You’re panting into her neck while your fingers continue to work her over. Then her hands are searching for a hold; to your sides, to the sheets. Her waist naturally rocks over with the digits you have inside of her, making her chase with those bucking hips. 

The other remedy you give is a kiss to her pulse. 

Minju glances before she looks the other way, considering that the spot you’re stroking is making her brain mush. Aside from the fact that your wrist is straining between her thighs, you ignore it - the rhythm too good with the noises she’s spilling out from her lips. 

“Relax,” you croon, hand to her stomach and waiting at the hip. “Let me take care of the rest.” 

Minju rasps at the strokes at that sweet spot. While part of you wants to work it through and see how riled up she can actually get - yet it doesn’t seem like she’s the patient type, noticing how close she was within a short span of minutes. Your thumb brushes her clit in circles, and that gets her whimpering at the feeling alone. You long for a look at her face, pressed tightly to the sheets and pillow. She’s helplessly clenching around your fingers that the drag is taking a toll - her back arches, with legs shaking- 

Suddenly, it’s all snuffed out with a stilled gasp. You ignore the tension at your hand, push through the feeling and let the fingers press inside. Minju holds in a breath, knocking the top of her lungs - the contraction enough for you to finally see her expression: a twisted face with knitted eyes shut, bearing the impending wave of euphoria you were about to suck out of her. 

Just like that:

Bliss. 

Minju comes with a pitched shriek. Easing with a clutch to your shoulder and rolling her hips with the dress sifting with her body. Her thighs slam shut and her sensitive clit is light on your fingertip and responsive. 

You kiss her cheek and temple and stroke her jaw. When you finally relieve her of your fingers - sticky and left in her mess, the urge to taste her is all you think about. Sucking them clean and savoring the reward: ravishing, for one, and incredible. “God, darling. You-” 

Her lips press at the tent of your pants, enough to focus back on it. 

“Miss.” It’s the first time you’ve addressed her that way since the party. A little out of character but worth trying, despite her steeled determination and quick hands working down the button and zipper- fingers wrapped around your growing shaft when you realize it’s going to get a whole lot worse-

Your length gets freed from the elastic and it springs right up to her pretty face. It lands on her button nose and she can’t fathom you being nearly the size of her head.  Her tongue is quick to take a salivating lick underneath; swallowing on nothing (again, or- yet, at least). 

As if one hand wasn’t enough, her other joins the fray - guiding you to her parting lips, resting the underside against her tongue. Minju’s eyes watch you stare her down with all the naughty things seeping through your endless pools, sliding the head past her teeth and inhales as a test. The mere wickedness of such a simple action would’ve made you bust on the spot. She has another go and brings the length down her mouth to halfway, and you’re increasingly reluctant to pull out. Yes, her tongue is fucking amazing but if you yield to that single temptation alone, there won’t be enough for when you get inside her folds and it’ll be unforgivable. 

Minju tilts her head and those bedroom eyes are a true devil’s advocate, attempting to slip your tip past her scraping teeth. 

“God-” It only makes you snap and grab her face with both of your hands and push your cock into her throat for a taste. You groan and laugh while sliding out and help her sit up soon after. “You’re wonderful.” 

She lets her tongue flick a vein, a kiss soon after. “Hmm?” It’s an insufferable tease. 

“I would’ve came if you kept doing that.” You then say, cupping her jaw. 

Minju smirks back in satisfaction, and it’s all a jester’s ploy. She lets her face fall one side again with gleaming eyes - confident, arrogant. Like a brat. 

You play kindly and tilt down to kiss her. All of that gaudy assurance disappears when she’s reciprocating and moaning down your mouth. Tangling your fingers to her scalp, take that makeshift ponytail and have a hold for yourself and feel her locks spill over the digits. She’s quick to lay back while you discard your lower garments, Minju slipping out of her panties. Your knee presses her center, smearing. The feel of your cock to her inner thigh makes you leak slightly. 

Her smile goes lazy when your tip meets her folds, in a testy observance. 

“Shit,” you say, groaning. Minju’s barely listening and too fixated at her center. “Fucking christ.” 

“Yeah?” and those damn bedroom eyes of hers aren’t doing her any favors. 

“Left condoms.” You’re stupidly speaking because it’s something you didn’t consider for years. And it wasn’t like you did this often, anyway. 

Minju pouts her lips, still with trained eyes. “It’s okay,” she whispers. Her fucking hips are rolling her cunt on the head of your cock. 

“You sure? What about the pill, at least-” it’s a precaution, not much for her hand wrapped to your shaft and guiding you still. 

“Mhm,” she hums, eager. “I’ll be fine.” 

“I’m just- considerate.” You’re barely registering the fact about ruining her and the chance to fuck her with no safeguards. 

“It’s fine.” She says firmly. It comes off as on edge, annoyance- probably impatient. You take her word for it and go along the way. Kissing her forehead and temple; feel Minju’s breath hitch when the press is made - lining up with no issue and blanking out for a second. 

Minju, from your many conclusions, is: unbelievably-fucking-tight. You don’t see any reason to escape from it, how the slick heat surrounds your length, better than anything you’ve ever felt or experienced. It stills you for a moment, drawing these breaths which should be easy, cupping her head and holding her close. She’s sighing again, eyes shut. Might be a while for her as well. You drag an inch back and hear a shuddered exhale. Which prompts another inch retracted for good measure, and push back in - then another, slowly, this will make you insane. One more thrust siphons a noise from the bottom of her throat; something raw, and cardinally present. 

(She’s everything you’ve wanted - what you didn’t know was needed until you had her.) 

The both of you stay like that, rucking hips and zeroing on each other’s breaths. Until Minju’s dispelled to these semi-hearty sighs - uncrinkling her brows and slacked in pleasure. Her ankle digs to your thigh, a rescue rope of sorts, for you to focus all the way and bottom her out. 

Then her mouth forms an ‘oh’. She shakes. 

In the midst of the building pressure, you’re asking: “How’s that? Okay? Good?” Combing her hair to see her face better; another thrust passing through her and she leans to your palm. 

Minju’s nodding, maybe the only thing she can possibly do at the moment. Her parted lips take yours with arms around the neck, hooking. 

This is a snapshot in your life you want to take and keep forever, recall every sound she’s ringing in your ears, how her hair smells, the way her insides take your cock so well with passing time. Her hips meet yours in the middle, taking your pace deeper. There’s so much time to spend with her; you’d want to stay in her walls forever. 

She’s insisting for more, more. 

“Sir- sir. Please- fuck me-” 

“I got you,” and you do. 

For the first time since meeting her, you’re freely fucking into her with purpose. Every inch that’s buried in her lovely cunt makes her stifle a cry into the sheets, your shoulder, your lips, just anywhere where the noise doesn’t wake the nearby hotel guests. She’s so good on your cock it’s fucking hurting; on the up and down and the slide in and out - the mere forth and back and back and forth with much fervence. 

Minju isn’t there anymore; she’s completely gone. It makes sense for her case because she’s cursing and gasping at the teeth, failing at biting down her moans. Neither of you can help it - the pleasure is good to you both. 

Both of your bodies are flush, moving as one. Every tap of your cockhead inside her is like a gateway to her conscience, joining two heads together. It feels like it; all of your thoughts, claiming and devouring every corner of your brain. Minju’s pitch has raised an octave and it might let alone silence the heavens. 

Your hands are holding you upright, while hers is claiming purchase to your body - like two birds fighting in the air and falling, spiraling to the ground. You take her wrists over her head, push her into the mattress more. She doesn’t even try to return the kiss, all she gives back are more moans against your mouth. 

Those eyes, again. She’s looking at you like it should be terrifying. With those pools so wide and trusting, sucking you in that endless pit of lust and something more dark that would defile all followings of faith. An impossibility to bear, so you settle with her neck and just focus on how close she’s getting, banking she doesn’t even know it herself. As much as you want to keep pounding her for more than a couple seconds, you’re more desperate to watch her crumble beneath you. Rock your hips to hers and feel her clit rub the base - she’s clenching her teeth with eyes closed. 

You keep going with a few more thrusts, as much as you can give her. Her body is basically being pushed up against the mattress and only being yanked back to your cock, meeting her forehead as her orgasm sends tremors to her entire body. Her cunt clenches around you, locking her ankles to your legs. 

Checkmate. 

She’s holding you to the edge - cumming inside with no escape, leaving ropes to her cervix. The quiet room filled with loud gasps and huffs that will surely have noise complaints later, softening to whimpers. 

You collapse on top of Minju, with enough room for her to breathe. Catching your own while your vision comes to. Curse the vertigo, but what good would that bring if it weren’t for the release. She’s shivering to your chest, and every exhale is another shudder of a clattering teeth. You kiss her cheek, then stroke her hair, thumb her hips for a job well done - adoring, in reverence. The mere thought of guilt doesn’t creep in right away, but it will eventually. Right now, all you want is to be close to her. 

Minju hums to get your attention, something content or exhausted, massaging your hair and moving a few stray hairs on your forehead. Completely ignoring the fact that you’re still hard inside of her and she smiles with a bump to her button nose. You don’t acknowledge the lurch your heart gives from the look she’s exuberating, ridding the cobwebs and dust - beating proudly as if to say that “this soul still has some life here”. 

In reluctance, you eventually pull out of her - and the both of you wince at the loss. You move up the duvet to where you both are within the proximity of the sheet draping over. Her exhales are your inhales, and it’s the same the other way; to the point where the air is shared. Minju traces a finger to your face, thumbing wrinkles that would’ve faded at her touch alone - from your forehead, to the defined cheekbones, that jaw. It’s a gentle touch you’ve had in a long while. 

What feels abrupt to an eternity, Minju huffs and sits up slowly, buckling her elbow and coughing. You’re rubbing a shoulder and bridging an arm to hers. “Why not stay?” You ask, seeing her tilt her chin at the question. “I can order us something in the morning,” she listens as you add. “On me. Whatever you’re craving.” 

She smirks - it’s pretty, genuine. That flash of teeth is a sunrise of its own in the long night. Then it switches to something more solemn, not too regretful - you settle for wistful. 

“As much as I want to, I can’t. Really, I’d take up the offer,” Minju tells you. “I appreciate it.” 

While you could feel your heart sink for a second, you nod. The disappointment weighs heavy, and even more heavier as she stands up. Only for you to notice the crimson stain left on the sheets, clearly out of place and defiling the linen. 

“Min- wait. Your legs- or something. Are you okay?” You’re concerned, examining closely. She turns around once her dress is on, reaching for the ruined dress. 

“Huh? Oh. I- Ugh. I should’ve said something-” she stutters, scratching her forehead. 

“It’s fine. Are you- I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

Minju shakes her head in lieu of a ‘no’. 

“Is that normal? For you?” 

You see her jaw flex, shrugging. She’s pulling the dress up to her waist. “I mean, it just sort of happened-” 

Half right she is. It still leaves you confused, and then the notion hits you like a bullet. 

“Hang on-” your heart quivers, anxious. “You actually never-” 

No answer. 

“Really. You’re kidding me.” Both of you know what the conclusion is. “Are-” 

Her eyes roll and nostrils flare. “The answer is yes. Now is it going to be that big of a deal for you? Or can we move on?” She doesn’t flinch at your connecting dots. You’re staring down the smirking girl in a small shock regardless.  

(Here: you don’t actually say it, but the implication was there - she is, or, was, in fact, a little over an hour ago, but there’s no need to go over the details, again.) 

Instead your face is between your palms and the guilt could not have spilled over any quickly. Yeah. You’re definitely gonna live with that for the rest of your life, it seems. 

“Minju- you- I think a heads up would’ve been nice. At least tell me before-” you sigh and there’s no point in thinking what could’ve been done differently. Which begs the questions: would you have really stopped? What would you do if she had told you? Spare her a little more care? Not be as rough? Let alone the fact you went all the way- 

“Listen. Don’t make yourself the bad guy here,” relents Minju, sitting at the desk and beginning to straighten her hair and touch up her lipstick. Looking back over her shoulder, “I wanted it. And, it was good. Simple.” 

“Alright, but look if your first time is going to be somewhat memorable, it should’ve been different,” you sigh, buttoning up your shirt and cuffs before the necktie gets thrown around the collar. “Christ. Who am I even kidding? I was gonna have you in the back of my car if you hadn’t suggested-” and you’re rambling; everything about the plot is so fucked for you while she appears to be completely fine. 

She chuckles; almost in a mocking form. “Did I give any expression that said ‘i didn’t want you to fuck me?’” 

You’ve got your tongue in teeth. It’s unfair for her to be this cruel. 

“Well-” and there’s this quick exasperation of disbelief with a dropping hand, “No, you didn’t. That being said, I still-” 

You watch her walk over to the mattress and lean on your hip, not exactly straddling but still doing enough to keep you dumbstruck and keep your words stuck in the throat as she kisses you earnestly on the cheek, nodding in kind. “Be a dear and zip me back up.” She shifts her head and sweeps a few hairs, then taps your jaw a few times while she turns around. 

Naturally, she’s got all of her hair to the front which reveals her upper back, and you can’t help but wonder how good it’ll look riddled with bruises and bite marks. But that’s just the lust part of your brain doing that while the other is in figurative zombie mode and almost sleepwalker-like - not to mention the guilt and shame and possible court case looming when you finally lock it in place at the top. 

Observant as she loosens herself, patting down areas of her dress to ensure they’re comfortable. She still looks untouched - albeit her flushed cheeks still present and fading, her hair wavy and more weathered compared to her straight and clean picture from earlier. You’re watching the mask she bears finally take shape - so neat and prettily like a well-tailored doll. 

“Maybe a dinner would suffice,” you propose, a first suggestion to compensate for the mess you’ve gotten into. “Doesn’t have to be glamorous, even. I could just give you my number if you’d like.” The sands of time aren't playing kindly to your efforts, and the main crevice between the both of you is only getting larger. 

“Phone. Give.” She commands, extending a hand. You’re patting yourself down only to realize that it was left on the floor with your trousers. Minju watches you over, probably dumbfounded at how stupid you look, but that seems to be okay with her. 

You blink as she presses the screen and saves the contact after, handing it over. 

“Guess this is goodbye,” she softly says to you. As if she signed her life away and seeing you stay as she goes. You ball a fist and relax, settling the urge to pull her back. 

“Good night, Minju.” 

You’re holding the door open as she departs with a faint smirk. It hurts you to see her leave the room - even more when she doesn’t turn back whilst down the hallway - and the door has seen the air filled with a single soul riddled in vodka, santal, and remnants of sex. 

Once everything settles, you change out to a clean shirt, noticing an unfamiliar garment next to the pile of dirty clothes: a pair of lacy panties. You sigh; of course she left it here. Quick to put it away even before the thoughts creep back into your brain. 

–

(When you’re between the pillows filled with her scent, you open up the new contact: 

Minju P. 

Her phone number is quite elegant as her name and look. You smile at that. 

Which only curdles the boiling curiosity even more. A tab with ‘Minju Park Gala’ on the search bar: nothing. ‘Minju Park University event’ added with the date doesn't give you any answers either. Scrolling through a few esteemed articles where she’s credited for a few of them. It’s the same name, but there’s a referral to Minju K. P. There’s something fishy, a fact she left out (maybe on purpose but you don’t want to assume), switching out the P for a K, and vice versa. 

This kicker makes you sit up: ‘Minju K. Park’. A photo is seen in the images on the webpage. She’s younger - only by a few years - sat in front of a woman in the center of the photo. The woman behind has her hand resting to her shoulder; you could feel the weight of it from the aged film alone. 

You clock it from the face first before the info quote: 

Minju Kim pictured with her daughter Minju Park (front) at the opening ceremony of Gillit University. 

“Shit,” you exhale. 

Minju Park-Kim. Kim Minju’s direct successor of the most powerful institutions in leading education, given the article and a little more scrolling to the side. Her mother’s been playing a pivotal role as her main teacher, from the looks of it. 

You spot more photos and see her and the mother across multiple events, some from personal life and at work: she’s poised, a trailblazer in her own right. The catalog goes on for decades, Kim Minju’s personal trophy at the forefront of PR purposes. And her very daughter just lost her virginity in a ritzy hotel to a person who’s years ahead of her while the mother is playing headmaster a few miles away. 

It should make you feel way worse than before. Yet- 

You actually don’t care. 

And shoot a text to her soon after.) 

–

A week passes. You both settle at this dingy place that sells decent ice cream and smoothies - far away from any vicinity where your faces are a familiarity. 

(Yeah, she tells you, let’s go grab something cold while the weather is nipping at our skin. That’s a great idea. You don’t really care. The ideas were spread thin as it is.) 

You’ve had an initial thought of a proper dinner, one well put together with a reservation, a bottle of wine, and the bill going one way. She took her sweet time texting you back. It honestly makes you happy she’s here to go along with the date. 

Everything about it goes against your daily schedule: you’re treating Minju Park-Kim to a sweet treat on a random weekday evening. For any consolation from the last time you and her were together, this was the most mundane thing that should have been done in the first place. Unlike eating each other’s faces off and fucking in the hotel room. (For her first, as well.) 

Regardless of class or status, it would be kind for you to have some sort of sense to learn about the girl some more that doesn't involve railing her hips off with the legs up but- hey, she doesn’t know you found out the truth. 

You order the usual: a double scoop of cookies and cream. She, on the other hand, picks out a nice cherry sorbet. It rests well on her cup and leaves a bit of red on the spoon when she places it there while it melts. See the bottom of her lip curl outward before testing a lick for good measure. 

“Funny,” you breathe, smiling. “You told me that ice cream was your thing.” 

Minju stabs her scoop as an offense. “Accusing me of lying?” 

“Never claimed nor concluded that,” you laugh. “You just look like those workers who scrape gum underneath the lunch tables.” 

“Cookies and cream. Really!? Just go freeze some oreos and save the money.” 

You roll your eyes and snatch her spoon, scooping a nice chunk of yours to offer as a sample. “Have some.” 

Her brows furrow, with a few wrinkles at the top of her nose. 

“It’s not gonna hurt you,” you chuckle. Waving it closer to her adorable scowl, sighing. “For me.” 

She then closes her eyes, parting her lips as the scoop disappears into her mouth. You catch the quick glimpse of her tongue when she gets a bit off of her top lip, licks them soon after. Tongue in cheek, nodding in approval. 

“See?! What’d I say,” you drawl, taking a scoop for your own as a prize. 

“It isn’t that appealing,” replies Minju. While you lean back and drop your shoulders, she takes the spoon and gets another piece for herself. Quick to grab her wrist before the scoop ever got anywhere. 

“Hang on now. When did I say it’s okay to get another one from me?” Right then there’s this look on her face, with pulled lips as if she’s unimpressed while you make another scoop for her to lick of. Two mouthfuls were enough to suffice her, and you have no complaint spooning her bites across the booth. She then stops after the third, grinning with another lick of her lips. 

You’ve drawn up the observation of how pretty she is looking at you like this: the small crescents in her eyes when she smiles, the gentle quirk or twitch of her eyebrow when something is tasty; her light, toffee hair down and resting loosely at the shoulders. The parlor’s small, a quick stop by train on the way to campus - much easier on the eyes, lighter, her head falls like she’s got no worries. 

It’s your act of service to wipe your thumb first before leaning across to smear off the ice cream left beneath Minju’s lips. Her mouth drops before closing again where your fingertip rests on her chin, on the nice little space between. Her smirk forms as a tease and those doting eyes - too bright and inviting and blinking to snap you out of it when the second of staring lingers more than it should. 

She hums in satisfaction, cocking her head the opposite side. 

“I won’t be mad,” and it’s in this telling voice of assurance. “I don’t mind you touching me.” 

Your eyes dart to the window, guilty as charged. Yet you don’t smile or frown, but this mixed reaction of being conflicted. “It’s not that,” you say, placing your cup down followed by clasped hands, “it’s the fact that- maybe we shouldn’t.” 

Minju pauses, reading into the lines. The level of awareness for someone her age should already be developed, and props to her for noticing the cues. “Maybe,” she answers. “No, you’re right. We probably shouldn’t.” 

Facetious, you’ll give her that. 

Though you feel her foot on your ankle under the table and she’s just slowly moving it up and down your shin (mind you: her legs are bare, with that knee length skirt and not giving a shit about the cold weather - it should ring the alarm bells in your head but you choose to ignore it). “Actually, you’re a hundred percent right.” 

You level your heads and let it sit. 

On the other hand, she’s got her hand propping her chin, batting lashes with those wide eyes, with that innocent folly. The fact that Minju’s not doing anything is doing a number on you mentally - thinking that it would be easier this time being around her. There isn’t any alcohol or any bust up with the spoiled kids, nor any excuse to find an out for sleeping with a woman that’s waving all the red flags in your head. No. It’s way worse. Even with the grief and fog of alcohol not in your mind - how clear it’s become of the fact she’s gorgeous and clever; elegant and refined in the manner which she speaks, with those gentle hands and firm knees. Your thumb finds her lips again and remember the feeling of them. Plus, it’s already bad enough you’ve fantasized about her multiple times during the week, even with the missing pair of panties which she also doesn't know about. 

You actually don’t notice her mouth moving, the noise blocked out between your ears. The grin she gives is actually lecherous. 

“I’m sure you have a staring problem,” she tells you. A tease when she drops the ‘sir’ again to grab your attention, the syllables rolling nicely on her teeth. That same pit in your stomach forms once more and you’re clearing your throat. 

“Minju, easy.” It’s a plea, to her - to be the better person between you two. You sigh and wipe your eyelids. “Don’t push it.”

“Mmm? I’m not doing anything,” she relents. God help you. Even if he could, there’s no stopping her foot rubbing your pant leg. 

You look down and flinch at the screech of the chair skating across the floor. She’s startled as well, but blinks through it, indifferent to the smug she held just a second earlier. “Look, this- I don’t think it’s a good-” 

“Idea?” The question Minju asks; shelves a bob at your throat. Her eyes flicker, coldly. Unimpressed. “In all fairness, you asked me. After all.” 

It’s unfair - the feeling of it spilling into your mind all at once - to be so revolting at the actions you’ve committed to be in this position. You knew better (but you didn’t) and still went along with the bad idea, anyway. Playing the paradoxical confusion of not wanting to be close to her but needing her otherwise is daunting. Fearful of getting too close, too fast, dragged by her impending pull and there’s nothing more you’d want than to just submit - which, in a sense, is the right thing to do. 

“You’re right. I did. And-” you solicit for her reply: no answer. To that, you sigh, “I’m ready to take you home, if you’re willing.” Instead, what she does is not say anything, standing up from the table and looking at you from up high before heading for the exit. On the way out, you’re jumbling the set of keys in your hand, following her around to the passenger side to open the door. Too bad she gets there first, quickly pulling and setting herself down with the seatbelt on and knees together. You meet on the opposite end and close the door, too. 

It’s freezing, the gentle chatter of teeth is heard from her as the breaths are clouding the windows. Even with the overcoat, her legs are visible where the jacket parts. The heat gets turned up to the max, lukewarm air only making it colder. Her fingers curl over her thighs. 

“Minju,” you say, hesitant. Her eyes never leave the front windshield. 

Her lips part slightly, drawing a breath in. She holds it, exhaling soon after. Seems like some of the anger has grown on her, written all over her face and shown in the fist - like the color leaving from a shriveling petal. It’s oddly frightening how calm she is. 

She turns to face you and stare right back. “You remember how to get back to my place right?” A simple inquiry with raised brows, lips perched where it doesn’t flex her cheeks. A completely different persona unlike the coyness personality and teasing that you were used to. Yet it all makes sense - with the surname, the royalty it comes with. She’s able to compartmentalize and slip into a skin that doesn’t have an alias or character. 

–

(You find it infuriating, however. 

Not because of the difference in class- no, not that. But the pieces that were slowly picked apart from a world you have no business being affiliated with. A want that’s been simmering since the second you met her. 

The urge to open her up and engorge yourself of the pieces that make her raw, unadulterated. 

Infuriating enough that losing someone like that is worse than any imaginable gain altogether.) 

–

The car hums to life and you’re entranced by her easy eyes.

 In that instant where the silence is only filled with the gentle beats of your hearts, you make a choice. Because that’s what you can do. Because now that you’ve had her, nothing else really matters. If it wasn’t for her, there wouldn’t be anything for you. The choice is apparent when you cross the center console with just enough grace to not scare her. Minju sees this, albeit blatantly obvious, but her eyebrows lift faster than her lips before she could utter a single word. 

Her lips are the same as you remember them from that night. You kiss her gently, hear her softly hum into the touch. She doesn't flinch at your cold hands, cupping her cheek and get your fingers in her hair. Lips sweet as the ice cream you spoonfed minutes ago. The warmth of them makes you forget about the chilly car. It makes you forget about all of that - how deprived she’s been without you, scarfing down air in the gaps and less frantic than the first time. 

Her hands form fists to your coat and she pulls. You don’t fight her when she’s off the seat, moving with a purpose that’s so endearing. Her teeth clash with yours; it doesn’t hurt but you both laugh gently at the moment. She breaks with deep breaths, labored, bumping noses. Making her way to your lap and get her feet under. You pause, pinch her unbelievable waist. Minju forces you to look at her as you scan in an obvious spot: beneath the streetlight and still in a semi-full parking lot. 

You smile, and all she does is place a nice peck to your lips. “You really don’t want to do this here?” She asks, seeing your shaking head and sighing in defeat. Then stumbling back to her seat and shivering on the way down. “It’s not like they’re gonna interrogate us for being in the car.” 

“A lot more serious if it’s a person with a status with someone she shouldn’t be with.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“You basically wanted to hop and get caught on my cock just now.” 

Minju bites her lip at that. It could be the cold or pent-up tension, or both in this matter. She isn’t doing herself a favor when her hand finds its way between her legs. 

 “I know, I know,” you say, chuckling. “Why don’t we find somewhere else more private, okay?” 

–

Neither of you say a word as you’re driving - think of it as some unspoken agreement that was arranged without saying anything. You’re just rolling along with no direction at all, hoping that the landmarks around the town will eventually lead you back to Minju’s estate. 

Minju has her legs spread just slightly, making space for you. Hand to her knee. She’s tracing your knuckles on your other hand that isn’t on the wheel. She’s fidgeting. You play along and slide your hand up and up; you don’t actually see it buried beneath the coat, but the softness grazes the fingertips and the breadth of your fingers take up her whole leg. 

One of her hands finds your wrist, clutching, urging you to move your hand higher. The grip on the steering wheel goes tight as she guides it to her upper thigh and the sensitive skin that resides. It’s a lot on your mind since she’s shaking at your touch. You turn at the road where it breaks into an empty parking lot, no lights hanging overhead. There’s a corner near the building and the only other car that’s in the lot seems untouched; perhaps abandoned for years, maybe. Your hand leaves her thigh and shift the car to park. 

A giggle could be heard from her, following a grin. “What?” 

“Really,” she breathes, sighing as your fingers splay her thigh. “A church?” 

You lift your brows and she mirrors the same expression. Her gaze goes to the window and you follow. 

‘Church of Latter-Day Saints’ is seen on a dimly lit sign, with a dove and cross next to the name. 

You shake your head and grin. ‘Didn’t notice that. Real nice.” 

“We could always look elsewhere-” 

Minju chortles. She lets her head lean to the seat with her eyes on you. 

“You’re inclined to take a little risk, you know. Live without rules?” 

You roll your eyes at that, letting the fact about sleeping with a former student in your car simmer in your head. There would be something said about this, but instead you tap her thigh twice and nod. “Yeah, I could.” 

“There’d be no saving you.” 

“No, there wouldn’t be.” 

She smirks at that, eyes flickering from yours to lips. And she leans in. You think she might kiss here, but she doesn’t. Her hand goes to your cheek and thumbs the skin, observing the structure so carefully before refocusing. 

You lean in to fill the space where she doesn’t and she’s shedding her overcoat, letting it fall to the floor of the seat. Watch as she climbs over the console to the backseat, see her ass in the rearview, skirt riding high up her thighs and the subtle outline of her profile in the darkness. Slotting through the seats easily and turning around to face you. 

Minju sees you follow after, putting your seat forward as much as possible without suffocating your chest to the wheel. You can’t move as nimbly compared to her and hell- even your bones are praying for mercy. 

Slight change of plans, you just open the door and move to the backseat from outside, right next to her. Minju bites down a grin. Her heels are also discarded to the front, knees underneath where she kneels, sensing your pull and taking that warmth. She gives the same look in her eyes as before, like she knows how much you want to kiss her. 

So you get your pair or lips on hers, give each other an easy chase. Opening up at the small increments; sighing, panting, gasping. The heat will make its way eventually, pulling and moving in the little space that you’ve got. You pull her to your lap without leaving her lips, finally having her thighs pressing her properly. It’s amazing how responsive she is, almost natural. For a girl like her to move up in the world with so much simplicity and no struggle - how lived in the unadulterated way she is when you’re together; weak, clumsy knees and smiling with all teeth. 

You believe that everything with her is real. 

Minju’s hissing down your mouth. “More, more, more-” she croons, her hips grinding hard and pulling your shirt. These nice, little hymns of want seeping at the corners. She’s got her skirt rucked around the waist. You slide a hand up her thigh, around to the curve of her ass, the other to her back and keep her from falling. Her lips break the kiss as she strips the baby blue cardigan and shirt in one clean motion - hitting her head on the ceiling but she’s laughing while you’re focusing on her sheer undershirt that barely covers her supple breasts. You could see the peaks of her nipples, leaning down to suck a nub through the clean fabric. 

“God-” she whines, wounding fingers deep into your hair. She hates how good you are at this, indecisive at what she wants; hunching over your head and resting her hips, reaching down to undo the belt between your bodies. “Can’t help yourself, hm?” 

You look up at her, leaving her tits wet and slimy with spit, clearly visible through the fabric. “Let me taste you.” 

She bites her lips at you, holding your face. “You have to ask more politely.” 

“I-” and she’s got a finger to your lips. 

“Ask. Nicely.” 

The gears in your head short circuit; shit. Your pride went away the second you met her on that terrace, and more of it when she walked in your hotel room. 

“May I,” you ask, voice horse and tilting to her tits, biting a nipple. Minju yelps and she can’t give an answer. “Taste you, please. Ma’am.” 

She takes a breath - a shaky one - gets her bottom lip to her teeth, and nods. You help her off your lap and lay her back along the backseat with the little space manageable. Her skirt gets slipped off, which left her in a pair of ruined bra and a soaked bra. She’s quick to take those off l, impatient. Your shirt is also quick to go and the clack of the belt buckle hits the floor, too. Beginning a trail of kisses down her front, each one making her shake more than the last.