Girl group smut stories (F Idol/M reader)

“How the hell are you tying all these? I can barely get one done, and then I look over, and I see you tossing one after another.” Asa asked as she tried her best to tie the used condom she was holding onto. 

“So what you’re saying is, I’m better with my hands,” Rei replied, stifling a small chuckle. The older woman was referring to a conversation they had been having throughout the day. 

“Whoa, don’t get ahead of yourself. I never said that.” Asa said, still struggling to tie off the condoms. She was growing more frustrated every time she looked over and saw Rei toss another onto the bed. 

Asa had about ten sitting on her lap while Rei only had two left. The pair had been draining people all night long, and during their small break, they had decided to tie each condom they would use as part of their outfit, or lack thereof. After so many rounds, Asa and Rei had long since given up wearing their masseuse uniforms. Now they waited on the edge of the bed, their bodies slick and glistening from the oil they had used. The only part that remained on them was the thigh straps. Asa looked over once more to see Rei hard at work tying each condom around that strap. It was an erotic sight even for Asa. It showed off Rei’s prowess; each one was practically filled to the brim, and Asa had watched each one get filled up. 

It was only a matter of time before Rei finished decorating her thigh strap with her trophies and began helping Asa with hers. “How are you so good at this?”

“Tell me I’m better and I will.” 

Asa huffed; there was absolutely no way she was going to give Rei credit and tell the older woman she was better with her hands. Asa had too much pride in her work. Even if Rei was better, there was no way she would tell her that. 

Rei laughed as she continued working on Asa’s condoms. She loved annoying Asa and making her flustered. “You could just end this all and tell me what I want to hear.”

“Never,” Asa said adamantly. The pair broke into a laugh; they were tired after a long shift. They wanted nothing more than to finish up, shower, and then get some nice sleep in their beds. 

“There we go; now just tie them around the strap.” A familiar ring told the pair that their next customer was approaching.

“Shit,” Asa was trying her best to tie the used condoms around her thigh strap, but much like with tying them off, she was struggling. 

Rei couldn’t help but crack a smile. “I’ll start them off; you just take care of that…unless,”

“Not happening.” Rei giggled as she walked forward, shutting the sliding door in front of Asa. “Really? I’m only going to be like a minute.”

“We’ll see.” Rei brushed down her hair as she took a deep breath. “You just stay back there until you finish up.” 

The room Rei and Asa had chosen for their night of work was split into two sections; the first, where Rei currently stood, looked like a massage parlor. That had been their gimmick, one that at this point had fallen to the wayside as they got tired of dressing and undressing themselves. Rei made sure the massage table was dry and ready for the customer. A thought flashed through her mind, though. She could just plop herself on it and start fingering herself. When you walked in, she’d be caught, and then you could just move on to sex. Rei waved the thought away. She had a job to do, plus with Asa busy in the back, it would give her a chance to use her skills. The older Japanese woman smiled to herself. If she could get you to cum before Asa came out, it would drive the younger woman mad.

Rei had her plan now. She stood in front of the door, rubbing her slick thighs together as she waited for you to appear. “Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up,” she thought to herself. As soon as the door opened and she saw you standing on the other side, she pressed herself against you. “I’ve been waiting for you, mister.” She said, a slight teasing tone in her voice as she pulled you inside. “You really kept me waiting. The table is all set. I just need you to strip out of those clothes, and then we can get started.” You do as she commands, your eyes never leaving her body. You had expected her to be in some sort of uniform, but to see Rei in her birthday suit the moment you came in was something you weren’t going to complain about. You hadn’t even noticed that Asa was missing. You kept looking at Rei’s tits, the soft mounds looking even better considering they were covered in a light layer of oil and sweat. “Now up on the massage table while I get something.” 

You climbed up on the table as she asked, and watched Rei make her way to the nearby counter, your eyes sliding down her pale body until you reached the full round globes of her backside. Your cock twitched at the sight, your heartbeat quickening as Rei turned around, a wide grin on her face as she coated her hands in the massage oil. “You need to do your best to relax. Your whole body is so tense.” Rei giggles as she stands beside you. She places a hand on your arm. “Do you want me to start here?” Her hand moves along to your chest. “Or here?” Rei’s hand continues lower, down your stomach until she reaches the base of your cock. “Or do you want me to start here?” You twitch in her hand, drawing a giggle from the Japanese woman. “Oh, I guess this is where you want it. Well, don’t worry. I’ll take great care of you until my colleague gets here.” 

On the other side of the door, Asa was still struggling with the condoms. “Son of a bitch,” she mumbled to herself, fingers fumbling as she rushed her efforts. She knew exactly what Rei was doing. “No way, I’m going to let her do this,” Asa said. Now that she was in a rush, it seemed like Asa’s hands didn’t want to cooperate with her at all. “Fuck, son of a…” Asa’s struggles seemed to multiply the more she tried to do things quickly. It was giving Rei ample time to work you over. 

You were putty in her hands; Rei wasn’t even trying, but she had you moaning constantly. Her soft, gentle hands moved one over the other as she moved them down along your shaft. It was a constant stream. “That’s it; let all that stress melt away. You know I can’t do this to everyone.” Rei leans in, getting by your ear as she whispers, “I can only do this to guys with really big cocks. It’s turning me on. Do you mind if I give it a quick taste?”

“N-no, please,” you groan. 

Rei smiled and paused, her grip tightening around the base as she inched her lips closer to your slick cock. You watch as she takes a deep whiff, exhaling slowly before wrapping her lips around the tip. Rei’s skilled tongue circles you slowly; her hand begins to move along the remaining part of your shaft. You moan louder than before, the pleasure getting to you. Rei stops before you near your climax, however. She drags her tongue over the center of your cock once more before leaving you. “You go awfully close there,” she says sweetly. “ You saw these, right?” Rei flashes the used condoms tied around her thigh strap, the various colors swinging as she does so. “I want to save them all for a nice big drink at the end of the night. So I’m going to need to put one on you. You don’t mind, do you? A girl needs a nice drink at the end of the night, and I have a special way of putting it on.”

You shake your head quickly. “I-I don’t mind.”  You watch as Rei goes over to the table. She rips open one of the condoms and carefully places it between her lips. She hurries back, trying to hold her smile back as her hands grasp your cock again. The Japanese woman continues where she left off, hand over hand moving across your length. She can feel your cock throbbing, and Rei can’t hide her smile any longer. She leans down and swallows your cock, the condom stretching over it as she moves down your length. She holds the base in place, making sure it doesn’t move an inch. You hit the back of her throat eventually; the pleasure overwhelms you, and you cum. You feel Rei’s hand massaging your balls, her hand gently cupping them, giving them small squeezes as she keeps her lips sealed around your cock. When you finally come down from your high, Rei pulls you out of her mouth. Saliva drips from the corner of her lips.

Asa slides the door open, witnessing the finale of Rei’s act. “There we are.” Her hand moves across your shaft, milking you of the last remaining drops. “I hope you have more to give me; we still have a lot of condoms.” The younger woman’s head dropped for a moment; she was too late. “Ah, who do we have here? Finally ready to join us, Asa?” You turn your head to your other partner for the night. Asa had the same attire, or lack thereof, as Rei. You hungrily look her over; her perky tits glistened from the layers of oil she had used throughout the night. Your eyes move downward, noting her hairless cunt and puffy lips. Rei can feel your cock twitch in her hand. “Oh, looks like someone is excited to have another partner. Do you want to take this one, Asa?” 

The situation amused Rei. By the look in the younger woman’s eyes, she could see Asa needed to let out some of her frustrations. It made her feel giddy; she just loved when a plan came together. Annoying her juniors was something Rei took pride in. She watched as her coworker grabbed your hand and pulled you out of the massage table. “Follow me, now.” Rei did her best to stifle a chuckle; it was always funny to her how Asa handled her frustration. Rei leaned against the massage table, watching as Asa dragged you onto the bed and immediately straddled you. “Aren’t you going to use a condom?” She asked, knowing full well Asa was absolutely going to drain you dry and didn’t care about their little game anymore. 

Asa doesn’t say a word; she merely gets herself ready, rubbing your cock against her went cunt. She hums, enjoying the slight pleasure of it before she sinks onto your cock. Asa cranes her neck back, moaning softly as you fill her. “Oh, fuck,” she mutters under her breath. This was what she needed after being teased by Rei the entire night about who was better at handjobs. Asa places her hands on your chest; they nearly slip off. They were somewhat slick given she had just grabbed your cock. Asa doesn’t waste a second, bouncing on you quickly. You let out low, guttural moans as Asa bounces on your cock. Her tight cunt was squeezing the life out of you.

“C’mon play with my tits,” she mumbles, bringing your hands to her perky chest. You squeeze the soft mounds instinctively, your thumb crossing over her nipples. Asa grips your arms, holding them tightly as she slams herself on your cock. It wasn’t quite the experience you were expecting, but you had no complaints with a woman like Asa fucking herself on you. The only problem you had was the sensitivity. Asa hadn’t let you cool off, and as such you were already on the verge of cumming. “Do it, cum in this pussy.” She growled. The young Japanese woman impaled herself on your length, letting the head sit by her womb as she grinded on you. It felt like you were melting inside her core. It only took a moment before you exploded inside her. “That’s it, fill this little pussy up.” She groaned, continuing to grind on you. Asa could feel your hot cum coating every nook and cranny as it flooded her womb. 

She was far from done, though. As soon as Asa felt your climax come to an end, she lifted herself, leaving just the head inside before dropping back down and beginning to bounce again. The loud claps of her body against yours filled the room. You had completely forgotten Rei was in the room as well; you could only think about the young Japanese woman riding you like you were a toy. 

For her part, Rei was enjoying watching Asa ravage you. She had laid herself on the massage table and began touching herself, fingers dipping into her cunt with the same rhythm of Asa’s bounces. She knew at this point she wouldn’t get a turn with your cock, at least not a satisfying one. 

So, instead she decided to enjoy the show at least. When your second orgasm came, she giggled; your cock was thoroughly painted white now as your previous load leaked out of Asa. While her fingers did feel good, Rei knew she wouldn’t be able to cum like she wanted to. She took a deep breath, smiling at Asa as she straddled your face. “If you’re not going to fuck me, then at least eat me out.” She said softly. Rei firmly planted herself on your face. She knew how long a person could hold their breath on average. She would just give you a chance to breathe then. Your job was to eat her out now.

Rei pressed her soft thighs on either side of your head; they acted as perfect earmuffs. You struggled to do your job, though. Asa was giving you no breaks; you were moaning into Rei's cunt between licks. Your hands slipped down from Asa’s tits, and Rei took them, placing them on her thighs as she grinded her needy cunt against you. 

“Feeling better?” Rei asked, her hand reaching for Asa’s nipple. The older woman trapped the hard nub between her fingers, pulling on it as Asa rode you.

“Mmm, fuck…you,” Asa moaned. She was finally getting close to her climax, and now came along Rei ready to tease her some more. 

“I mean, I’ll let you,” Rei said, sticking her tongue out at her coworker. The older woman placed her other hand on Asa’s toned stomach. “Oh, I can feel him moving inside you. I bet it feels great, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yeah,” Rei twisted the younger woman’s nipple, making her cry out. From under her, you felt Asa’s walls clamping down on your cock. Another load of your cum flooded her cunt because of it. “It feels really good.”

“His cock or being cummed in so many times? You haven’t been able to get any creampies until right now.”

“Both, both feel fucking fantastic.” Asa could feel your cock softening inside her, but she continued to ride you. She reached back, grabbing your balls and giving them slight squeezes, hoping it would be enough to get you hard for one more orgasm. Rei smiled and leaned in, pressing her lips against Asa. The younger woman accepted it. She could feel Rei’s tongue tracing her lips, and she let her in. Rei explored the younger woman’s mouth, forgetting about you for a moment. She rose off your face, letting you catch your breath for a second before setting her ass back down on her seat. Rei could sense you trying your best, the way your tongue smashed against her walls because you were having a hard time controlling yourself due to the pleasure was rough, but she enjoyed it. She was getting close to cumming. 

Asa could feel Rei’s hands wandering around her body, touching and grabbing whatever she could. The younger woman broke the kiss, biting her lip as Rei gripped her ass. “Go on, bounce that pretty ass on that dick,” Rei told her. “I want to see you cum.” Asa wrapped her arms around the older woman, her moans turned into whines as she reached her climax. “Fucking cum on that cock.” Asa cried out as she came on you; her walls had you in a vice grip as they milked you for the last time. Every drop was drained from your body as her walls fluttered around you. You were all certain that if Asa weren’t on the pill, she definitely would’ve gotten pregnant from this. Asa leaned against Rei, her body struggling to support itself. “Such a good girl,” Rei whispered into her ear. 

You all take a moment to catch your breath. Rei was the first to climb off you, turning to see your chin absolutely drenched in her nectar. She leaned down, kissed you, and thanked you for your hard work. “You did great, sir. Did you like our service, too?” You were too weak and tired to say a word. Rei smiled and pinched your cheek. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

The older woman turned to Asa, smiling at her coworker as she helped her off you. Your cum came pouring out of her cunt, what wasn’t escaping from her had already coated your lower half. “It looks like you really drained him. Proud of yourself?”

“S-shut it,” Asa stuttered. Rei let Asa rest on the bed before helping you to the shower. She let you relax in the tub, coming back to her tired coworker. 

“Such a greedy girl, draining our customer of all his cum. You didn’t even let me ride him.” Rei whines; the pout she has on her face quickly shifts to a smile as she stares at Asa, the younger woman’s spread out from fatigue. “Well, at the very least I can have a taste.” Rei straddled the younger woman’s face, holding Asa’s legs apart as she dove in, her tongue diving deep into Asa’s folds. Asa’s legs tensed in her hands as she pushed her tongue deeper into Asa’s cunt, tasting the salty semen she hadn’t gotten the chance to taste. Asa could do very little but lay there and take the tongue lashing. Having Rei’s slick cunt in front of her did have its perks, though. Asa stuck her tongue out and took small licks at it, tasting the older woman's nectar. The pair remained attached until they brought each other to their climax. By then you had finished your bath and left; they hadn’t even noticed your leaving, far too engaged in their current activities. 

When they did finally notice you were gone, the pair laughed. “I think that’s the last one for the day, and I have one more used condom than you do,” Rei said with a smile. Asa’s eyes went wide as she stared at the used condom in Rei’s hand.

“Fuck!”

Rei laughs. “I guess that means you pay for dinner tonight.”

“Noo! That’s not fair, you-you baited me into–”

“I asked you before you started riding him if you wanted to use a condom.” Rei counters, holding her smile, knowing that there was absolutely nothing Asa could do to argue. She had given the younger woman a chance to proceed, and she hadn’t taken it. “Now, there’s a pizza place I really want to go to. I hope you have enough saved up, because it’s really fancy.”

You know this move; known this for more than two years. She has a plethora of ways to make you feel dumb—well, you are; it’s why you’re perplexed how you landed a goddess like Kim Minjeong. There is no argument you’ll win when she starts pulling off the next couple of moves.

“Have you been well?” she quietly asks again; she already knows what she wants to hear, and you’re just catching up now.

“Of… course… not…”

Her lips twist into a crooked smirk; one corner hooks upwards until her tiny nose crinkles. Her head slowly tilts while she looks at you like you are the most pitiful little puppy she has seen this year.

“That’s what I thought, baby.”

“Minjeo—”

“Three months.” Her fingers ponderously slide from your hair down to your jaw. “Three months, and you thought about me every night, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Her hand grips your face tighter. “Say it properly.”

“Every single night, babe.”

“Hm.” She pats your head like the good boy that you are, then kisses the corner of your lips, teasing you just enough to crave and salivate for more. “And what did you do about it, hm? Did you cry?”

“Minjeong…”

“Oh, tell me. You cried a little, didn’t you?”

“I did not cry.”

“Not even one manly tear? Like, into your pillow?”

“Just tell me what you want to hear, babe.”

“I want to hear you say what you did with your right hand every night.”

Her hand slides down your chest, past your stomach, to the front of your pants—where you are incredibly hard against the denim. Her palm adjusts to the shape of your hardening crotch.

“Fucked my own hand thinking about you, babe.”

“Every night?”

“Every night.”

“Mmhm. My poor baby~”

She lifts on her knees. Her tight black silk nightgown slides up her thighs. She reaches for the hem, pulls it over her head in one motion, and her perfect figure reveals itself to you with only her lacy panties protecting the treasure you have long been yearning for.

You have not seen her body in three months, and it is somehow more mesmerizing than you remembered. This is not a fair distribution of biological gifts

Truly, the gods have crafted a perfect being.

“Minjeong—”

“Shhh~”

She lowers herself back onto your lap, feeling the heat of her cunt crowd against the growing erection south of you. She grinds against you slow. Her pink nipples brush your chest through your shirt while her hands gently cradle your face.

“Baby, take this off.”

You pull your shirt over your head. She sighs when your chest touches hers.

“Ugh, I missed this,” she murmurs—then catches herself.

You let out a smirk; ahah, you know this bit. She has been doing it for two years—the nonchalant-I’m-meant-to-be-cool reset. She will do this a few more times before she gives up and lets her true emotions take over.

Almost on cue—“Oh my god, baby.”—there we go.

She reaches down, unbuttons your pants, hurriedly pulls them off along with the rest of your bottom wear, wraps her hand around you; so—fucking—warm, so perfect around your length. Her thumb drags across the tip, and her hand was the only one meant to hold your throbbing cock; so perfectly shaped around it.

“Babe—”

“You want it, baby?”

“Of-fucking-course, babe.”

“How badly?”

“Very.”

“Then say please.”

“God. Please, babe.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me fuck you.”

She scoffs. “Baby, I have been imagining this for three months, you know? I get to be the one doing the fucking, and you just get to be the one apologizing.”

“Apologizing for what, now?”

“For not flying out to Seoul last month.”

“Minjeong, I had work—”

“Apologize anyway.”

“I’m sorry, babe.”

“Mhm. Good enough.”

She pulls her panties aside—does not take them off—and lines her needy slit up; then, sinks slowly. You see your cock slowly disappearing into her cunt, and you feel the slick, velvety, tight walls of her accept you fully. She takes all of you in one long slide, and her breath catches for half a second before she recovers.

“There. That’s better.”

She starts to move, and you feel all of her insides working your cock. Her hand cradles your face, and her eyes are fixed on yours the whole time.

“You missed this?” She susurrates. “You miss making me yours?”

“Yes.”

“Say what you missed the most.”

“I can’t choose.”

“Say them all anyway.”

“Your fucking hot body—” You feel her walls tighten. “—your mouth—” She moans louder on every thrust. “—every fucking part of you that I own.”

Her rhythm falters, briefly for one stroke; then catches it.

“Mhmm. Good.”

She rides you in a tempo that keeps you crazy: Slow at first, then faster. With each beat, her tits bounce, and all you can do is admire the piece of work molded to fit you. Her hair falls into her eyes, her hands produce scratches all over your body, and her cheeks are flushed with arousal.

“Look at me, baby.”

“My eyes are all yours.”

“You’re mine, okay?”

“Of course.”

“Give it some more conviction!”

“My life is all yours, Minjeong, and you are mine.”

“Good boy.”

She rides harder; thighs flexing on either side of your hips. You do your best not to ruin her pace—making sure she feels in control—but your hand goes to her waist without permission.

She grabs both your wrists, pulls them off, then pins them to the bed above your head.

“Nooooo, baby. Did I say you could hold me?”

“No.”

“That’s right.”

She keeps riding you hard, your wrists still pinned. Her mouth is close to yours but not kissing, just trying to catch her breath at every thrust.

“Baby—” Then—small, sudden—her composure cracks. She kisses you: Deep, hungry, and desperate. Her mouth is chasing back the past three months where her lips were looking for yours.

Her hips move faster—she stops pretending; her hands leave your wrists. She wraps her arms around your neck and holds on.

“Uhhh, baby—”

“Yes, babe?”

“I missed you. I miss your stupid laugh.”

“Eh?”

She lets out a giggle in between her sweet moans.

“I miss your dumb jokes.”

“Like the one about the bee?”

“Oh, shut up. You’re ruining the moment.”

“Babe—”

“I missed pretending I hate you. Missed how you take care of me. Missed how you make me feel safe. Missed—”

You cut her off; you kiss her because if she keeps going, you know one of you (mostly you) will start tearing up.

Her lips aggressively kiss you back. Her rhythm hits its stride while her forehead leans against yours.

“Baby, I’m—”

“Me too, babe. Let’s cum together.”

Both of you moan in an imperfect unison; she cums on your cock, and you release every little bit of your seed inside of her—your juices creating a concoction inside of her enough to create new life, probably. She screams onto your neck, and her cunt locks you down and squeezes you further—deep inside of her, filling her the way she has been aching for since Seoul.

“I love you, baby.”

“I love you too, babe.”

She lifts her head, looks at you, and her mouth twists into a crooked smirk again; that same bratty look that never fails to get you in a chokehold.

“Do not tell anyone I said that first.”

“I would never.”

“Good boy.” She kisses you, slower this time. Then, against your mouth: “Now, ruin my life and put a baby inside of me.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

Her susurrations only mean one thing: she’s serious about this.

“You… sure, babe?”

“Do I not sound sure?”

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. 

You pause, get lost in the vast sequin of fine skin laid barren that you’re about to ruin. No corner of her body is left untouched by your hands and lips, blessed by the dim light that’s peeking through the sunroof and windows. From the collarbone to her subtle formation of ribs; she’s bathed in this gentle luminescence in the blue darkness, dipping a tongue to her hipbone, and Minju’s breath hitches closer to her core. 

“Good? Okay?” you ask right above her clit.

“Yes,” nods Mnju. The answer itself is a hiss, a vice in her throat. When you look up to her eyes it’s a moment to genuflect: her pools spilling a darkness of want, her breasts heaving up and down. Covering her mouth with her hand and unable to look away. “Ruin me.” 

While there’s a fire lit under your knee, trying to make do with the pain, it wouldn’t matter to you. When she’s looking at you with those lidded eyes, desperate for something that she can’t even find the words to. You can’t help but be adorned in grace with what’s presented to you as a gift between her thighs. Her pussy lips; so pretty and pink and well flushed; suddenly you wished for another chance to take her somewhere else where the light from above can bless her angelic offering. 

You breathe against her, barely, hot and open, see the twitch at her abs. Fuck. She winces when you kiss right above her clit, well aware that she doesn’t need much. Tonge pressed flat in one, gentle swipe upward. Minju’s grip on your hair goes tight, burning your scalp. An encouragement. 

“My god, fuck-” she sighs, and the sounds are a mix of being strangled and relaxed. You keep on lapping her cunt, suck in her entrance and clit - keeping the contact minimal - since you also think it would be overwhelming for her case, contrary to her dripping and soaking the leather beneath her. The taste is already addicting, you have to hold yourself back from shoving your face into her and drink her chalice. Which would be the case had she not clamp her thighs around your head, tensing and untensing; both unbearable and all forgiving with her bucking hips. 

Her head is thrown back when your nose brushes her clit, biting down a finger. She’s cooing with your fingers teasing her entrance, with no resistance as you slip inside that slick. 

“You’re drenched, sweetheart,” you say. Minju is definitely not going to last. With her insides like silk and her walls clenching and unclenching around your finger, her heels are fighting to stay on the seat. She can’t stay still, eyes shut, jaw hanging open. Seething as your nose rubs her clit and you’re dragging a fingertip to one side and letting the pressure sever her legs - the reflex to them being tense through all the shudders and she could only hold for so long. 

“Yes, yes, yes, yes-” 

That doesn’t stop you from licking her clean, even with her hand tugging you off her cunt, shakily. You praise her by kissing her inner thighs and plant a mark before moving up to her stomach, rest your palms along her waist where it stops her stuttering breaths, trying to reset, recuperate. Get her seated before moving around and cradling her head, keep her comfortable and not where any craps would form - the best you could offer in such a cramped space. 

Both of your bodies are hot, and the leather is left with slick and sweat and Minju’s sweet wine, sticking to her skin. You wipe your chin with the butt of your palm and feel let the stubble capture the stray droplets. “Been wanting to do that since last time,” you tell her, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Should’ve just let me suffocate down there.” 

“Shut up,” Minju tells you, curling to your chest. She’s making you want to claim what’s yours, be possessive; let all of these devilish thoughts of her seeking for another person’s warmth or sighing into a mouth that isn’t yours, hear the sounds she makes with you. It’s eating you apart on the inside - only for a second, that is - but you have her here and nobody else does. 

“I could’ve gone easier,” you go on, smirking as your mouth is back on her, paying no attention to Minju’s hands fast to your waistband. Prodding you to be barren like her and if she had a little more strength from cumming so much, she might’ve ripped off your pants in that instant. 

Her determination is something you have to keep getting used to. 

“Minju, we don’t-” 

“I know,” is all she says, biting her lip at the sight of your length resting between her legs. “But I want to.”

You nod. “Okay.” 

Her blessing is all you need to take care of the rest, guiding her one hand to grasp in one place where you’re holding the other. She just smiles into your face and works you up even more as payback for a couple minutes earlier. 

“I can’t believe this cock fucked my mouth up last time,” whispers Minju, just twisting the shaft and making you lose brain cells by the second. Her clumsiness is pretty much out the window, and back in control. “You’re sure you don’t want to shove this thick dick all the way down my throat? Get me real messy for it?” 

“Don’t push your luck,” you groan. An idea to save for later. 

Yet you don’t expect Minju to turn over, pushing herself up with shaking arms; get her palms and knees on the leather, her ass pressed to your groin. Sighing with relief and flipping her hair from one side to the other and with a peek past the shoulder - hooded eyes and everything - like she’s showing you what you have done to deserve her. 

Where your palm splays and pushes her down, granting the arch. A presentation. An offering. Something that God himself had wished he let his good-hearted soul fall into temptation for at least once. It makes your eyesight dizzy: seeing her bent over in the backseat, pussy wet and wanting. But you can’t stop holding yourself back. 

“Min,” you simply say, “Is this okay?” 

She nods in reply, pushing her body back with a deliberate grind of her wet folds to the underside that makes her smile through the absolute fuck of it. 

“There’s nothing more that I want,” she rasps as you toy her with just your tip. “Than for you to fill me up-” 

“Christ.” 

“-and just put me in my place like the naughty little girl you’ve made me become.” 

“We don’t have any history,” you tell her. “Not even in the slightest.” 

“And still.” 

The head of your cock goes in - just that first inch or two - a teaser. You shake. 

“I’m not saying no and neither are you.” She mutters. “Fuck.” 

“Just tell me if it hurts,” you instruct, but she’s just staring at your hands having way too much fun with her hips, that waist. Your hands feel heavy; so is your cock, leaning back with her ass stuck to your thighs, dragging your length to her folds, preparing. You’re certain she could feel you throb between her legs. And once that press finally opens her up, the line of her back sinks forward. “Oh, Jesus.” 

It’s way better than you remembered. God. How excruciatingly tight she was - all velvet and still gripping you vice-tight. Even the audible ‘sclick’ when you drag out for good measure, see the sheen over the ridge and veins. Minju’s holding her breath - knuckles going white as she’s gripping the door handle. It’s slow, the grace period to adjust and find your pace. Nothing more gratifying than to just ravage her ass and chase the heat - like you’d rather die here than to hurt her. 

Minju lets it sit for a minute, all the way down to the base. Rolling her hips around. She moves on her own accord, bending her legs lower to take you deeper. You don’t see her face wince, but the sounds coming out of her mouth encourage you to double down the efforts. “Please- just, let me fucking- god, this fucking cock-” 

She’s sighing, and then she’s moaning; you’re left in awe at the ripples her ass exhibits beneath the noir-like light coming from above. The slide back and forth, seeing your cock disappear and reappear from inside. Her hand slips from the handle, barely holding up by the elbows. Yeah, she wasn’t gonna last long from this. 

Your part fills in the spots where she fails, meeting her moving hips by thrusting with a little force. Not hard. The concept of patience is so important here. Staying firm so that she can throw herself back to your groin. Her head then goes slack. 

“Fuck yourself into me,” you moan in her ear, bent over and letting her have it bit by bit. “You’re so good. Feel amazing- shit-” You want to keep praising her, let that being from within compel you to tell her the things you don’t want to admit. Minju’s mouth drops low again. 

“Yes, yes-” her head turns until the profile is within your vision, breath faltering. “I wanted this- 

“Yeah?” 

“-all fucking day. All fucking week.” 

Anything would be good to hear her keep talking cock-drunk. 

“Your cock- fuck. It’s so good. I just wanted you to ruin me, so badly.”

“How badly?” You kiss her mid-thrust.

She shoves down a ‘very’ right through your throat. 

“That’s my good girl,” you say against her hips. Keeping the pace.

Oh, you know she loves the praise. When the attention is on her. Like the world stops for a second and acknowledge someone like her - the name, the notoriety, the status she exudes - but away from all the glittering lights and from her grooming mother, she’s  riddled down to this: a wobbling head and jerking with every slide in her cunt that sends shockwaves to the rest of her body. You loop a hand to her waist, pull her up to your chest, head leaned back to your collarbone and she’s trying to find some sort of brace; ends up placing a palm on the foggy window. 

Her slick back is flush with yours, her moans rising in octaves. She’s rebounding on your cock and trying her best to not buck over - her walls clamping and unclamping all the same. You pull out and give her these steady strokes, hard and deep, rocking her up with every inch she can possibly take. Minju chokes out a cough, lips to your ear, her hair spilled behind your shoulder, spilling down your neck as well. You kiss the space below the ear - get some of her sweat on your nose. 

Nothing. Could be ever more gratifying than having her like this. All to yourself. 

She’s got her fingers spread over the forearm at her waist, scratching. Something for you to loo over once all of this is finished. Minju’s just whimpering a river of meaningless words and tongues you can’t decipher. “Please, sir. Fuck- my pussy” for one among the few and “god, i can’t believe you- and this cock-” 

“I know, I know,” you’re breathless as ever and her cunt just feels incredible. 

You notice the slack in her neck and she can barely put up with the rhythm at this rate. Her whole body is putty - like she could mold with yours - as if she were a missing piece you’ve been searching for so long, all within arms reach. 

It didn’t really matter about the difference in class, or what she does, who her family is, the last name - it’s just her. Her. 

Minju’s dripping all over your cock that it spreads to your thighs. Taking it well and feeling the full weight of you tearing her insides. “You are- so good, it’s insane-” 

You don’t relent; not now, not ever. Even as her body stills and she’s got an inhale clutched to the teeth. She’s really loose and all she can really do is take these long, deep thrusts until the balls of her eyes roll back. “Minju, this pussy.” 

One more push breaks the shaking on her back, and she lurches forward. There it is again: she’s coming so far down that she’s laid flat on the backseat, helpless as everything crashes down on top of her. Through every wave and twitch and high-pitched whine that leaks out you’re certain that someone might’ve heard in the building nearby. Let it be the residing Father to discover such a sight of defilement - have you and her confess the sins you’ve committed on God’s doorstep. Besides, you’re one step closer to hell while heaven’s still a whole staircase away.  

“Can’t ever get enough,” she coughs out, just barely. You keep on pounding her ass and the pressure’s getting to that point. Fighting every last bit to hold it in, till it becomes unbearable and you’re following her to that high, that sweet chase. 

“Never,” you sigh. “Minju-” 

You flush your hips with her ass, and cum inside her just like that. 

The deep feeling never goes away, as the two of you are left shaking, with limbs tangled and sprawled on the ruined leather when you pull out. Minju’s turned to her side below you, caged by your frame and her arms are to her face. You kiss a shoulder and rub her waist, soothe the bruises and red marks left by your grip, sweeping a few hairs on her back as it’s suffocating your nose. She’s breathing, humming. A delight. “There’s no restraint from you,” she says, in disbelief. “God, that might be worrisome. I can hardly fathom how rough-”

“I try not to hurt you, love. Seriously, you’re a piece of work.” You tell her, stroking her hair. “If I really wanted it, I would’ve finished on your face.”

“You believed me when I said I was on the pill?” 

“Are you not?” 

Minju smirks. You don’t bother asking and focus on being wrung out in a sweat-slicked mess, sated and with the scent of sex filling the car. She shuffles a bit at your front and you just watch her over like some silent protector. That is, what you think you are, maybe. 

“Well,” you breathe, kissing her hair once again. “Minju? Minju.” 

She’s already fast asleep. 

–

“Over here?” 

“Yeah,” Minju points to the right of her, the car rolling along the street. “You can actually just stop right at the front.” 

The car quietly grinds to a halt at the front of a decently looking apartment complex. Which is a bit peculiar; y’know, considering a girl with so much on her bankroll, not to mention the repeating details- 

“Quaint.” you deduce, admiring the bronze glow of the streetlights above. “Not far from campus as well, too.” 

“Yep,” beams Minju. “It’s a friend of mine’s so you shouldn’t have to worry.” 

“Why would I worry?” You laugh. “What you do doesn’t faze me anymore.” 

She just kisses you, taking in your features one last time. “You’re right. Though-” 

“We should be more careful next time.” 

“Yeah, that.” 

You nick your head in lieu of saying ‘get on going’ and she takes the hint. “I’ll see you around, then?” 

Minju dips her head from outside, blinking. “I’ll be in touch.” 

She closes the door and starts to walk up the foyer.

And you just wish to be with her for a little while longer. 

-

(But the question begs: how long? 

How long until you have the capacity to tell her what you (already) know? When would be the next time? When you have to help clean her up and redress, take her back to a place that should be home, though it can’t since that home is tied up with a family name and a mother she can’t fight to escape from. 

Despite that, you’ll rest on the fact that it was nice to play pretend. To let her pretend to be someone without status, to make bad choices, eat at a froyo spot and not tell people to sit where they sit and do what they do. To make you pretend that you’re not alone and you’ll do much better without drinking your sorrows away. 

You’re not sure whether the future lead with her will be enough. 

Yet the past week and a half or two, of crossing paths with Minju, you decide that- 

It’ll be just enough.) 

“Everyone’s paired up,” you try. “Who are you swinging with, I guess is what I’m asking.”

“Oh, none of those people. No orgies for me, either.” She takes a swig of her water bottle and begins to stretch: long legs—as long as her small frame allows for—crew socks, and shoes that look like they have not touched pavement until today. Pink runners because she's got chasing a runner's aesthetic, a runner's physique; everyone here is advertising the stamina, apparently. 

“There’s orgies.” You echo.

“Like once a month.” Every other stretch, her large, branded tee raises enough to get a peek at the compression shorts halfway up her slender thighs.

“Sundays after church, or?”

“That’s when we do brunch,” she says. “There’s a mailing list.”

You scoff. “Fuck off.”

You both laugh and stare at the gathered crowd again. They’re stretching, talking, mingling. It’s a group bonding experience, at its most innocent—little to no subtlety, otherwise. Half of them sport rings, the kind that refer to legal status, yet they’re all a little too cordial with one another. You can spot abnormally comfortably touching and greetings and there’s this general familiarity with some groups of four that really does scream that they’re fucking each other’s spouse.

(Perhaps the brunette spilling all the details gave you a biased narrative, but yes, this is how you find out that the neighborhood running club is a front. When were they planning to outright tell you, exactly?)

“So,” you say, “you’re actually here for the running?”

“I told you, that’s the warmup.”

You realize she’s playing a game, that the answer to your previous question is no, and ask openly: “then, who’s going home with you?”

“Stray dogs like me.” The sunrise hits her face with a strong, orange glow. “Like you.”

~~

The coincidence of convenience isn’t lost on you. Her apartment’s on the way back from the jog and her name is Minjeong; she says it through hurried breaths and it has you realizing that it’s a preview for when she’s on your lap, under your figure—a preview for just about every position and preposition you’ll find yourselves trying later.

You take note of the perspiration on her brow, the light sheen, really. Minjeong doesn’t break a sweat all that much. She doesn’t try to. You remember what she kept insisting on earlier: that the whole running club is a front and that the workout’s just the fucking pregame. It’s not like she needs any extra cardio, either. There’s not forty-five kilos on the woman. You surmise that rather quickly as you carry her through the door. 

“Where?” You ask, coming off of her lips, out of breath.

“Living room's got a sofa," she says, like that works for her, a coffee table and an ottoman too. The rug will be as good a spot as any, comes the implication. 

She has her arms wrapped around you since before you unlocked the door, flipping stray, brown locks out of the way as you step in while looking over her shoulder. It’s a spacious place—makes you wonder about rent, because you always do in this economy, before finding yourself in front of her furniture. Kiss her a little longer before deciding: single seater or sectional? She’d look fucking great in either, wouldn’t she? Flipped over—bent over? Folded. Anything.

Minjeong’s thighs softly fill your palms with their pale and svelte figure; it all feels so tight, toned, yet so, so soft. So nice. You get a thought that she might need a warning label, a sticker of sorts, because it feels like you could break her if you drop her on the couch too suddenly. You’d place it just about anywhere, and it’d say handle with care, and you could see yourself pressing it with your thumb onto that smooth skin of hers to make sure it says there through all the fucking she’s about to go through—that it doesn’t flutter off when it gets fast, sweaty, and the thrusting gets a little unkind for a frame like hers.

You get so lost in the possibilities that she has to grip the back of your hair and rip you off of her lips.

"I know what I look like," she says into your mouth, hand at your nape and lips turning cherry-red. Lets the next kiss extend for a delightful too-long and her eyebrows do this really arch thing when she pulls away. “But I didn’t bring you all the way here just to, like, makeout.” 

Flip a figurative coin. Sectional it is.

~~

(You do have to get back to the group after your little detour, but that’s not the reason it’s all in record time. See: you slot in, and it’s heaven—but don’t take your word for it. 

Her eyes roll back like she hasn’t been stretched like that in months. Minjeong’s pretty vocal about it, too, which you’re certainly not getting over until at least next year. “Oh my fucking god,” she’s barely saying, mumbling, all winded. “Don’t stop.”

And you oblige, obey—can’t really tell in which direction authority’s being exercised. It’s tip-to-base. Lethal for both. She’s been placed on nearly every surface that’s remotely hip-height and convenient and you’ll both agree later that the kitchen island’s probably your favorite.)

~~

The club meets at least twice a week, barring any extracurricular activities, and you're already halfway through your first month. 

That’s four times—you’ve had sex with Kim Minjeong four times.

But you’ve met five, today being the latest. She reads an invite from the club’s mailing list and you’re telling her to not say it so damn loudly. You’re at a restaurant; you’re on a date. To be fair, the wording isn’t explicit, but you’re elbow to elbow with other parties—families, couples, the like—laughing at the event’s theme and all of the innuendos.

Over appetizers, she tells you of all the times other couples have attempted to bring her back to theirs, how hot of a commodity she is. The hotshot twenty-five year old in a sea of marriages averaging over a decade her age.

“You like the attention.” You accuse.

“I—ok.” She’s nonplussed. Sits back. “No?”

“It’s vain.”

Her elbow goes on the counter, chin on the heel of her palm. She puffs her right cheek during the internal debate and you figure it’s a habit; confirm it somewhere down the line after you see it enough times. A cute, pensive pout. “It is.”

“Look at me,” you intone, mocking. “Young, pretty, and so unattainable.” And, credit where credit’s due, she does dress gorgeous. It’s the first time you don’t see her in workout-chic. Has this layered button-down under a polo with the sleeves rolled neatly-not above her elbows. There’s not a single piece of jewelry on her and that’s actually quite lovely. The modish simplicity takes you by surprise. There’s no better way to say it: you’re down bad. The sole leather shoulder bag to accessorize makes it feel like you’re the one tied up on the tanning rack, bound—already dead.

“Mmm, no.” She takes a fry off your plate. “I’m very much attainable.”

“To a select few.”

“To a very lucky few.” She reminds you.

“Lucky me.”

“Glad you’re clued in.”

There’s an eventual turning point where the conversation turns mundane, normal. You’re talking about all the things you have tried before that didn’t quite stick: crossfit, pilates, spin—christ—yoga.

You don’t mention sex, for once: no jokes, no deflecting emotional vulnerability in favor of wry, sexual humor—you talk, and learn more about each other in fifteen minutes than you ever would have otherwise, because the routine of run, fuck, leave was admittedly somewhat impersonal. It’s strange, but it’s the good kind of strange—the usual linear trajectory of meet first, fuck later turned on its head. You’ll be back to fucking each other’s brains out soon enough, anyway. It’s not an unwelcome change of pace. 

“Feels like this is easier,” you’re eventually saying.

“Right,” she agrees. “Just show up and jog.”

“Just show up and jog.”

~~

So you made it back to her place, and you stayed over, and have been for a couple of days. She cleared a drawer for your things, your laptop has a permanent station at the dining table, and you have an inkling that the left side of her mattress already began molding to your shape. 

You’re in that indentation right now.

“Like the way that feels?” She asks.

An affirming nod is all you manage. You’re doing everything in your power—communing with god, with the devil—to not fucking cum.

Her cunt is warm, devastating, and she keeps your tip right at the entrance while her hips continue this slow, subtle motion, circling above ever so slightly.

Every now and then it slips out just enough and, yeah, it’s audible: her arousal, creaming, waiting, equally as needy as you, but still wholly in control. You’re letting her nails claw at your chest and her long, straight locks frame her devilish countenance when she arches forward to let the next few breaths land right on your face. “I’m going to go deeper, yeah?”

You exhale, desperate.

Sinking, enveloping, her hips dip lower, vice-tight and going straight for the kill after way too long of just her hands and mouth and all that damn spit. “I want every last inch.”

~~

“Theoretically, if we were to go to one,” you start.

“So you’re interested.”

You hum tentatively. “No, not like that.”

“Also, we?” Minjeong asks

“Well—”

“I’m your plus one to an orgy?”

You shrug. “Yeah.”

“Cool.” She nods. “Better be.”

“We wouldn’t really join, anyway. The group.” You pick your argument back up. “Think I’d stay on the sidelines.” 

“Voyeur. Kinky.”

“And an exhibitionist,” you add. “By extension.”

“Have you thought about this beforehand or did you just begin to list your kinks when you joined the depravity club?”

“Bit of both. Have to have my reasons now, you know, in case they asked.”

“And you’d be speaking for the both of us?” She starts to air quote. “Yeah, just the two of us. Yep, whoever wants to watch, I’ll be getting bounced on to death over in that corner.”

You think. Add on. “Would you rather show them your ass? While on top.” You’re speaking with your hands, pretend-holding her body towards an imagined crowd. “Or would you rather it be reverse, as in, spread towards them?”

Minjeong stays silent for a while longer than you would have expected; bursts into laughter. “I really don’t know.”

(She’s at the foot of the bed laying horizontal to you, who’s resting on the bed frame. Playfully, she hops over and on you, leg spread right over your crotch and leaning back with her hands by your legs.)

“What do you think will steal the spotlight more? This?” She takes a second, then flips over, putting her butt right on your cock. That underwear is tiny. “Or this?”

~~

Consider the follow-up scene and all of its details: you once heard how a picky eater should try something x amount of times in order to truly discern if they enjoy it or not. The variable tends to differ every time you hear the phrase, and the same concept probably doesn’t wholly apply to the current circumstance, but it's a tangential relation worth noting, nonetheless.

To start, her curtains are drawn wide open, hooked at either end. The glass goes floor-to-ceiling and you can’t deny that view—of the city, sure, but also of Minjeong, on her knees and laser-focused, hand pretty and veined and going blissfully fast over your throbbing length—this squelching fist that drips spit straight onto carpet. 

Okay, the x count goes to one.

(Exhibitionism, apparently. It’s in front of the whole city, so it counts, no? There’s other buildings that are perhaps in line with how high up her place is, and the afternoon sun is shining into the apartment.)

Right. There she goes with that little moan of encouragement. Minjeong looks up, expectant, and her tongue’s out for the sake of performance. Ok honey, ouch.

You cum, all over that.

A sunbeam goes straight into your eyeball and, simultaneously, another rope shuts her eyelash to a close. It’s not really pretty, objectively. Sexually, it’s very fucking hot. Read: context-appropriate kind of filthy. She’s getting deservedly hosed.

(The rest goes everywhere, by the way: on her hair, her left cheek; runs liquid down to her chin. It’s tough to make it out in the heat of the moment. Maybe you’re going blind. She spits shallow when the concluding sprays make their way onto her tongue because you keep going far beyond your usual volume.)

“That’s—” Minjeong is covered, glazed, and entirely dumbfounded. She spits again, and cups her palm under her messed-up face to minimize the damage on her rug. “Are you good right now? What the fuck.”

You crack up. Breathing’s still catching up and you could lose your footing from a light breeze. “Oh my god.”

Spot her index swiping whatever it can off her sealed eyelid. “You are ridiculous.”

“Sorry,” you respond, sarcastic. “Didn’t want to drop the ball with your little experiment.”

“This is literally the most,” she says while standing up. “You have ever cummed.”

Her face glistens; you feel like laughing some more. It truly is incomprehensible. 

“Gets turned on by showing off,” she sorta says to herself. “Cross that one off the list.”

Your rebuttal’s a quick and punctuated jab. “Sorry, honey.” You hand her a stray shirt for, you know, all that. “Will you be able to cum for a second time or do I have to finger you against the glass for it again?”

Yeah, that’s how it went, three fingers in and knuckle-deep. Her cunt stretched oh-so divine. 

Spot the eye roll Minjeong gives you once enough white is swiped off her gaze. Ah, there—it’s not faux annoyance or ridicule that she’s looking to counter you with. She ponders on it for, like, a second too long, and her lips purse to subdue that pretty little naughty smile but the fucking way her body rolls into you starting from the womb when she inhales has you considering just how long your cock can stay hard to give her pussy another go, another orgasm, another round of her cheek—this time, cum-stained—against a window pane that points at two p.m. traffic.

“Gotcha.” You place a hand on her cocked hip and half-spin her frame towards the city. She doesn’t meet your eyes or dare to acknowledge it. How coy. “Open.” You instruct, and her legs follow suit, spread wide and keep straight. 

It goes without saying but you cum for a second time in under two minutes and Minjeong catches up to you in even less than that.

~~

“I have rooftop access, pool and all,” she says some sleepless night later. 

There’s a blanket in the middle of her living room and too much takeaway for two. All you do is nod, mouth full, and offer a hand to help her stand.

It’s open twenty-four seven, which further clues you in to her elusive net worth—leisure of the wealthy and carefree.

“I’m never up here,” Minjeong remarks, windswept.

Below, a metropolis draped dark and neon all the same. It’s well past bedtime for the working class—the streets are just that much calmer, nicer. You’re able to see a decent chunk of your biweekly circuit from where you stand. 

Oh, important note: it’s not like you’ve been attending, as of late.

The small fee goes to waste when you pitch in for the usual group snacks and drinks and whatever else they decide to charge you for. You’ve been running the route with Minjeong, alone, enfolding further into that routine, or haphazardly falling for it: the scent in her sheets, of her shampoo; and, yeah, it’s been cute, but, it’s good to remember that you’ve also been keen on putting on a pseudo-anonymous show in front of her neighborhood and delighting yourselves in that newfound chemistry, however debased, demented. 

You speak before a gust of wind whisks the thought away: “I think I really fucking like you.”

Realize the sentiment lands warm because even her eyes are smiling out at the view. She then laughs, mostly inwards. “I called you a stray dog.”

“You can call me—” take hold of her hands and have them meet and wrap around your neck. “Whatever the fuck you want.”

And, yeah, you’ll continue finding that balance along the way: the cute-hot, love-lust. You’ll oscillate, sink into the whirlpool of fucked-out adoration and heartstring-wringing devotion. Her gaze is fucking devastating and your fingers get lost in their favorite part of her back. 

You’re pointing out the fact that Sakura just got home, not looking away from the monitor in front of you, fingers tapping away rapidly at your keyboard. “And I thought you were finishing up that hat?”

“I would’ve, but I didn’t get to run by the store for some yarn earlier,” she says, moving to sit down on the bed behind you. “Wanted to change up the last bit of it with a different color.”

“Want me to drive you?” You dying in game gets you the opportunity to pause it, spinning your chair around to face her. “We could stop by somewhere for dinner and–” You pause, breath taken away from what you’re witnessing. “Whoa.”

Sakura plays with a few strands of her hair. “You like?”

You’re blinking, a loss of words and idiotically staring dumbfounded at her. “Like?” you repeat, staring at her twirl pink in her fingers. “I love.” Ignore the fact that what she has on can be considered black lace bra on black lace top damage to your brain, pink hair has never suited her more. “I thought you weren’t gonna redye it?”

“I changed my mind. The color was lightening up–” she explains, leaning back and propping herself up with her hands. “And I think it suits me.” She does this cute head tilt, nerdy smirk combo that gets you internally swooning your heart off seeing it. “Don’t you think?”

“Think the color’s made for you, sweetheart.” The smirk softens to a shy smile.

“You don’t have to flatter me that hard, honey.” A hair tuck in between, eyes turning to crescents with that grin you love gracing her features.

“What, I can’t tell my sweet, adorable girlfriend is beautiful?” you tease, sliding your chair forward and closer towards her. You use the bed as a stopper, and you end up right next to Sakura, your arm reaching out to play with her hair yourself, caressing her locks before squeezing her cheek gently. “My cute, pookie bear of a girlfriend–”

“Stop!” She swats your hand away with a giggle, and yet she inches closer to you, the sweet citrus scent of her perfume invading your sense of smell, a furthering of causation for you to fall all the more deeper into her intoxicating allure. “You’re so–” She shakes her head, finger jabbing you in the rib with a faux sound of exasperation.

“Lovable?” You cup her cheeks with one hand and squish her face.

“Annoying.” She rolls her eyes at you, letting out a smile when you squeeze her cheeks like a cute little stress ball. “Go back to your game, you annoying little shit.”

“And here I thought you were bored,” you tease, raising an eyebrow with yet another squash of her cheeks.

“I am bored,” she answers. “But it’s not like I got anything better to do.”

“You sure?” 

“Yes, doofus.” She pushes you away, hard enough that it sends your chair sliding backward back to your desk. “Go play, I’ll be here.”

You glance back at Sakura, who decides to get comfortable at the bed. “You sure you can see that far?”

She answers with a wave, telling you that the monitor’s big enough for her to watch; cinematic moves, parrying, dying and all when she lets out a laugh after a few minutes of you fighting the boss and losing.

“It can’t be that hard, hun,” she says, the fight restarting from the beginning for the fifth (or was it sixth?) time. “Can’t you dodge instead?”

“Dodging is for pussies.” You take a breath, the screen turning to black as it loads the fight again. 

Sakura giggles, hearing her say that dodging is for the ‘smart people’ as she stares at another sequence of you trying to parry the boss play out. “We might need a tip jar for the amount of times that girl tells you to parry it.”

“I am parrying it, sweetheart.” Cue yet another death screen.

You click on restart. “Not well enough, honey.”

“You try playing it and see what happens,” you retort, doing what you’ve considered the optimal (it wasn’t, and that’s why you kept on dying when you found out) first turn to get the most damage on the boss.

You hear her shuffle around the bed. “I’m good.” Dull, quiet thumps of her feet hitting the carpet follow and Sakura appears right next to you, leaning against your chair to take a closer look at watching you fail to beat this stupidly shitty boss. “Keep going, it’s fun to see you rage.”

Let out a calming sigh, take another whiff of her perfume to recenter yourself, and you lean forward.

That’s the thing with Sakura. She doesn’t need to say or do anything to get you motivated. Her existence alone gets you feeling like you can climb Mount Everest without all the fancy gear from top to bottom in a day. Of course that’s delusion speaking, but man can do many things when the love of his life is cheering him on by his side.

Considerably easily too, when your eyes are being drawn away from the game and into the black hole of a chest that she has. Her fault, you reason, when she decides to do the ever so simple action of leaning into the monitor and having her tits almost shoved into the side of your face (not that you’re complaining, that’s heaven wrapped in lace and Sakura’s embrace) since she wanted a closer look.

More power to her, since you’re getting a closer look at her tits underneath all that black lace. (Have you mentioned how crazily obsessed you are with Sakura’s tits before?)

It throws you off your game completely, the soft, full pair of breasts enclosed under layers of dark fabric luring you in, your attention moving away from the game and onto her chest. Which, can you really blame yourself when it’s right there, a breath’s length away from your mouth.

Causes you to lose again, though the rage is gone, replaced with this hyperfixation on her. The deep pull that her tits are causing irreparable damage to the way you think, and you would love nothing more than to lean in and rest your face, let out a sigh and smile when the cushions of her chest pillow on your face.

Christ, you should start a religion dedicated to them.

That all goes out the window when Sakura asks you something about the game, and you’re stuttering out an answer. Random things about the boss come out of your lips, why you’re fighting it, what’s the whole reason with this party in particular to use against the boss, some other random bullshit fact about the game—and while she leans back against the desk and listens with the soft, lovable look on her face, she’s also seeing through all your words with a follow up:

“You do know I was asking about why you’re using the keyboard and not the controller, right?”

The blank look on your face once the fact that you missed her question entirely registers results in a teasing smile to form on her face, finger tapping your nose; fingers wrapping around your cheeks to squeeze softly. “Distracted again?”

“A girl rubs her tits on a guy’s face, anyone would be,” you say, shrugging your shoulders. Your reply makes her scoff, the smile turning into a grin as a finger hooks on the neckline of her top, giving it a tug.

“What, you wanna play with these again?” She makes an effort to pull it down, exposing the black lace underneath (trust yourself when you say that it’s a completely fucked up thing to do when you’re already so down bad for this woman) and you can’t help yourself from ogling.

Her chest has its own gravitational pull, you swear.

“If you’re offering,” you start, scooting yourself over with the chair to sit in front of her. “I’m not saying no.”

She hums, biting her lip to stop the excitement from bleeding through her features. It doesn’t work, of course, seeing her fingers play with the hem of her top. “What about your game?” She makes this innocent little glance back to your monitor, until her gaze turns back to you with this smoldering heat.

“Sweetheart, do you really want me to keep playing?” Your hands rest on the waistband of her pants.

“Well–” Sakura drags it out, straightening up from the desk. “I am bored.” She takes a few slow steps away from you, hands on her top. Swaying her hips as she plays with the fabric before she pulls them up, that defined line of her back showing bit by bit along with her unworldly waist that your hands are yearning to have a hold of.

Brings it to her chest, up her shoulders, off her body and onto the floor, where her hands come back to that snatched waist, feeling herself up; running them through her skin, going higher to the straps of her bra. Pulling them up, letting a strap fall down her shoulder, head turning to hit you with a look that screamed for you to take her—add to that her hips swinging around and for the love of everything unholy you are going to get on your knees just to beg for her to turn around.

And when she does—fuck, when she did you gained tunnel vision, fixated on the one final layer of lace that would ascend you to Elysium. You’re salivating, surely, at this point, and it’s only adding fuel to her flame, her finger letting the strap snap back in place.

Sakura’s asking you so much with so little done; lips curling into a smirk here, a brow raising there, her arm wrapping around her chest to give it a little push and her chest gets fucking bigger and all you can think of is your need to worship her lips, her skin, her tits—

The straps loosen on her collarbone, and the only thing that’s keeping it on her body is her forearm, and an idea; one that will get you on your knees.

“What do you say, hun?” She keeps a hand on the lace while she lets the straps come off her arms, and her teeth biting down her bottom lip does nothing to stop the exhilaration on her face.

“Come play with me?”

Walking backward, a finger on the strap replaces the hand keeping the lace up, baring her soft, large tits to you and your mind comes to the one rational thought that you can properly articulate:

God bless this woman.

You get up as soon as her feet hit the edge of the bed, and you’re on her just as the lace falls down to the ground. Her giggles as she gets tackled on the mattress is music to your ears, and you manage to say the words that will never stop being a fact.

“God, I love you.”

“I know, hun,” she says, hands cupping your cheeks. “You say it all the time.”

“And I’m never gonna stop saying it.” You’ve leaned forward, lips pressing against hers with all the devotion and desire you have for this woman, and she responds in kind. 

There isn’t a need for her to say those words back, not when you know in your heart that she feels the same. Her actions dictate them instead, hands on your shirt, tugging away at the cloth. 

You pull away only when the necessity arises—when the need to breathe comes, your shirt needing to come off, looking down to unbutton her pants. And when you sadly have to, your peppering kisses everywhere you can on her.

Peck her cheeks, mark her neck, nibble her earlobe. It’s a siren song of breathy moans and cute little whines sent straight into your ears, and you do everything in your power to hear more.

“Here–” Sakura grabs a hold of your hair, directing you to where she wants you to be. Your enthusiasm betrays you, the objects of your obsession served to you on a silver platter as you latch on to a tit, sucking eagerly. “That’s it, hun–”

You're biting down on her nub, eliciting a gasp from her, hands cradling you closer to her bosom; free hand continuing to pull down her pants, her legs helping you tug them down and off her, black silk the only thing left on her body, your fingertips running up her legs, thighs, waist, breast.

Give her other nub the same devotion—kissing it lovingly, play with the hard, pink pebble with your fingers and give it a pinch before coming down to kiss the pillowy flesh, revering them with muted groans that vibrate into her chest, and Sakura is enjoying every single second of it.

Hearing the cute whines that she makes, loving your mouth all over her body, her breathy pleadings of more, yes honey, please; that sweet, filthy version of her I love you’s when Sakura keeps you close to whisper them in your ear as you nibble on her teat.

It has you throbbing under your shorts as you grow messier, her breasts end up lathered in your spit, marks, and love when your mouth comes out to meet hers, the giggles that come out of her making you inch away with a smile. “What?”

“This isn’t what I had in mind when I asked to play,” she teases, resting her hands on your shoulders.

“And what did you have in mind?” Fingers come down to your chest.

“Oh, you know–” Gives you a push, and you’re giving way for her to straddle you, and Sakura is a marvel to gawk at—the smirk adorning her face along with the pink hair that fits her oh so perfectly, her tits red and raw from your efforts, waist that mold to your hands like it was made for you.

And she wonders why you keep reminding her of the fact that you’re head over heels for her.

“Was hoping we could do this instead.” She turns around, back facing you, jutting her ass wrapped in black panties, and as much as you are utterly addicted to her chest, her ass is a thing of beauty in of itself. “Might even get you to shut up.”

She’s shaking it inches away from your face, and you’re licking your lips (getting ready to eat her out and to hold yourself back, of course). “What, don’t want me to tell you that I love your ass?”

“I know you love it.” Her fingers make quick work of your shorts, and you're throbbing in her hands, leaking when she lazily pumps you. “Why do you think I’m asking you to eat it?”

“God.” That alone gets you pulsing around her hand, fingers inches to take her panties off already. You’re reaching up, running your hands over her ass, giving each cheek a squeeze. “What would I do without you, sweetheart?”

Her head turns around to face you, tongue sticking out teasingly. “Jerking it off by yourself?”

You let out a chuckle, playfully smacking her ass. “Ha, ha.” You rub the spot where your palm hit, leaning in to peck the red mark. “You’d be doing it by yourself if I wasn’t here either.”

“Guess I’m lucky I have you, don’t I?” Sakura giggles, blowing you a kiss before she heads back down. Feeling her hot breath on your length, your fingers hook into the lace and pull it aside, her pussy glistening and looking positively enticing to shove your face into.

“Think I’m the lucky one,” you mutter, thumb spreading her ass apart, admiring the way her folds open up. You take hold of her hips, pulling them back towards your face and your tongue gets its first delicious taste of her cunt just as her mouth envelops your cock. 

And she tastes as mind blowing as she looks, tongue enjoying every single second it’s in contact with her pussy. Fingers digging in her cheeks to spread them apart to savor all of her, and she’s pushing back against you, even as she bobs up and down your shaft.

It’s making you both groan, both so preoccupied with each other that the noise only adds to your enthusiasm. Sakura starts to hit all your weak spots, tongue lapping against your tip, taking it back in her mouth to swirl it around and getting your legs to twitch at the pleasure. Fingers stroke your length, and the little hum she makes around you starts to make you lose control.

You’re reigning it back in, wanting to stay in her ass as much as you could, so you increase your fervor; tongue pressing flat against her slit, licking upward until you press into her, pushing yourself in her wet cunt. 

There’s a long, drawn out moan that Sakura lets out when you do, getting her to pop off of you, a hand to stroke you replacing her mouth as she whimpers. “Hun–”

You don’t understand a single bit of what the hell she’s trying to tell you, your need to drink up more of her nectar. A hand comes underneath to press against her clit, and she’s cursing in the air when the gentlest of pressures start to meet that little nub.

“Oh, fuck–” Sakura’s back on you with a vigor that would’ve gotten you on your knees with how her lips are sealed tight around your cock, the pressure getting the hold you have on her hips to grow firmer.

It’s a competition, at this point, to see who can get each other off first. And you’re matching her tempo; frigging her clit, kneading that ass of hers in your fingers while you drink in all the drip that comes into contact with your tongue. 

She’s grinding her ass against your face, taking you deep in her mouth and staying there until she gags, pulling away to trace your length down while she pumps. “Close?”

You pull back. “Are you saying or asking?” She doesn’t need an answer, when it was already throbbing in her hands.

“Mostly asking.” She gives your tip a sloppy kiss, tongue teasing the slit and making you hiss. “Maybe a little bit of saying.”

You don’t believe it for a second, seeing as she’s leaking all over you, thumb playing with her folds. You hum your disapproval, squeezing an asscheek. “Doesn’t look like it to me over here.”

“Yeah?” Her fingers tease all over your dick, nails raking gently around your thighs, coming to cup your balls. “Better get back and finish the job, hun.” She wiggles her ass, and that’s all you need to see for your mouth to press back against her cunt, pushing a finger inside her, and she’s so wet it gets you adding another one to fuck her with.

Your head is dizzy from everything she has; the divine taste of her juices, the soft press of her ass against your cheeks, that damnable mouth of hers sloppily making out with your cock.

Holding it in no longer becomes an option, and you’re losing yourself in the fog of it, desire and need and Sakura the only thing that you can comprehend. Her name comes out of your mouth like a prayer, fingers pumping into her faster, tongue finding her clit as your thumb starts circling her tight, little hole.

“Oh my god–” You know it’s a weakness of Sakura’s, playing with her asshole, and her words turn into shrieks when you press inside her pucker, chanting swears as her thighs start to tremble and press against your head. “Fuck, hun, you–”

Her head lolls to the side, her pants tickling your cock as she starts to convulse, thighs suffocating you, her walls clenching around your fingers as she floods your mouth, lapping it all up as you keep going, prolonging that high as long as you can. 

Sakura gets you back, hands pumping away aggressively, forcing you to follow her, and all you can do is comply.

“Kkura, I’m–” 

It all comes exploding out of you, moaning into her sopping cunt as she takes the first shot of your load into her cheek, hips bucking against her hand. She takes your tip in, taking the rest of your spill into her mouth as you pulse into her warmth. 

Her fingers keep pumping away, milking you for everything you’re worth, Sakura’s throat never ceasing to swallow your cum. Bobbing her head leisurely, a content moan at each batch that she receives until you’re all spent.

You’re left leaving kisses all over her thighs as you feel the aftershocks begin to leave you, and when she releases you from her lips, she moves herself to the side, sprawled in the bed.

“That was cheating, you know,” she mutters, head looking up (or was it down?) at you. “Playing with my ass like that.”

“Like you didn’t enjoy it.” You manage, breathing deep, fingers caressing her thighs. 

Sakura lets out a chuckle, slapping your leg. “Shut up,” she giggles, her tongue darting out to lick at the rope of white staining her cheek. She moves, shakily managing to move towards you, your arm wrapping around her shoulder when she drapes herself over you.

Her lips meet your chest, her fingers drawing circles as she lets out a pleased sigh. “Love you,” she mumbles, nestling deeper in your hold. “Teach me how to play that game of yours later?”

“Sure, sweetheart.” A laugh seeps through you, letting out a grin and kissing her forehead. The soft smile that graces her features when you do gets your heart melting, her eyes closing shut as she settles in your hug.

You know the answer.

“Yuri.”

“Oppa—”

You freeze on the fourth step down; the box shifts in your arms.

“Are you really going to leave without saying anything?”

You turn, and she’s standing in the doorway, wearing the hoodie you were looking for that was supposed to be in the box—you did not know she still had it.

“Yuri.”

“Are you really going to leave without saying anything?” She repeats herself. Didn’t have to; but it is something—it is everything—it is the only thing she can muster.

“It’s easier this way.”

“For who?”

You can’t answer.

The box in your arms is not heavy, but the weight it carries goes beyond its physical manifestation. Cardboard, tape, and the five things that were yours: Photographs of her you took with the first Polaroid camera you bought together, letters she sent during the times she traveled for work, a t-shirt you’ve lent her when she got soaked in the rain on your sixth anniversary, concert tickets you’ve collected of the bands you both loved, and the ring you were supposed to propose with just before everything fell apart buried deep inside the rest.

Her eyes linger on the box.

“Please, come inside, let’s talk.”

“Yuri—”

“Please, Oppa. It’ll only take a minute.”

You place the box on the kitchen counter, and her warmth is three steps away. Neither of you moves, and everything that surrounds you smells like all the moments that you’ve spent with her—eight years living together in this apartment.

“At least show me what’s in it.”

“Baby—” You reconsider. “—Yuri, we don’t have to do this.”

“It’s just fair, show me.”

You take the flaps up and reveal the contents of your entire relationship.

“You told me to pack up.”

“I did.”

“Then we don’t have to do this.”

She approaches the counter, and her fingers touch the edge of the cardboard box. She lifts the photograph first, looks at it, then puts it down. She lifts the t-shirt, presses it to her chest, then folds it back. Lifts one of the letters, doesn’t open it, then sets it beside the shirt.

Then she lifts the ring box; her whole body freezes.

“Yuri—”

“When?”

“Yuri, put it back. It’s—”

“Oppa. When?”

“The night before you signed the contract.”

“You were going to propose?”

“Yes.”

“You were—” Tears start running down her face. “—going to propose, and you let me continue telling you I was moving to Tokyo for four years—” Her words stammer. “—a-and you did not say anything?”

“You had already signed and were about to leave in three days. You’ve dreamed about this role, and it was something you’ve worked hard for and waited two years for.”

“And you did not stop me.”

“I did not stop you.”

“You had this ring with you when I told you.”

You don’t answer.

The first year apart got complicated. Both your busy lives ran out of room for each other. Distance pushed you further apart, to the point where arguments were the only time you were still able to talk.

She sets the ring box on the counter between the photographs and the letters. Silence drowns the room.

“Oppa.”

“Yeah?”

“Ask me.”

“Yuri—”

“Ask me now, Oppa.”

“You still have three years left.”

“I don’t care, Oppa. Ask me.”

“You will hate me if I ask you now. What if you regret it?”

“I will hate you more if you continue walking down those stairs. I will regret it more for not letting you know my answer to the question you withheld from me.”

You reach for the box, open it, and pick up the ring.

“Yuri.”

“Yeah?”

“Will you—”

“Of course, Oppa. Of-fucking-course I will give up everything to be with you.”

She kisses you before you finish the sentence. Her forehead is pressed against yours; holds it there as you both gaze into each other’s eyes.

“Say the whole thing anyway.”

“Jo Yuri. Will you marry me?”

“Yes. Yes, yes, yes, and infinite-times-more—yes!” Her lips crash into yours, unfolding you the way you should have unfolded her a year ago.

You carry her small frame, her body fitting with yours—like two puzzle pieces meant to complete a whole picture. You carry her past the box on the counter, past the letters, and the photographs, and the ring; her lips do not leave your neck for a single step. You finally reach the bedroom you helped her paint a lifetime ago; the bedroom you slept in a hundred nights; the bedroom you have not seen in three months.

She pulls her top off, and she’s already naked underneath. Like clockwork your eyes unravel every inch of her body the way you’ve unwrapped every gift box you’ve exchanged every Christmas Eve with her; that small mark under her left breast that you’ve kissed a thousand times because it is one of the many doors to her pleasure; the softness at her stomach that she was embarrassed about in year one and confident in by year three; her collarbone that traces like the first line of a poem you have read too many times to forget.

“Oppa, come here.”

You do, and you let your lips do the pathfinding: you kiss her forehead, the first place your mouth ever went to comfort her—that night she came home from her first failed audition, her mascara running, still in the jacket she wore to the audition. You kiss her cheek, the one that receives the most love because you just can’t stop admiring it—it’s so fucking soft. Her plump lips, a drug you’ll gatekeep ‘til the ends of the earth; so addicting, you’ve had actual withdrawals craving them whenever she’s far; so hers you refuse to even consider any mouth that was not this one. The small mark under her left tit—your starting point. Every long night with her begins there; every one ends with your face returning to it. You put your tongue on it now, and she gasps like it is the first time, because it always is. Her belly that you’ve filled countless times with all her favorite dishes, and just under it, the space you’ve filled countless times with your seed. Then, finally, you kiss both of her hipbones because they are the corners of the space between them—the space where you’ve spent the best hours of your life.

“Oppa?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Did you ever stop—”

You already know what’s in her head. Thoughts that probably bothered her whenever messages went unanswered, or when a day would end, and you’d both notice each other not being a part of it.

“Not for one second.”

“Then why did you—”

You find your way south of her before she finishes her thought. Your lips linger on the inside of her thigh, your tongue grazes the outside of her cunt because you know that the sensation you provide her is something you’ve been selfish about for years. You put your face there, breathe it in, and she smells like her still.

She has been packed away for months, and you unpack her—slowly. Use your tongue to open every entrance that has been closed to you. She has been in a box; you take her out, layer-by-layer, like how you would open a present you did not want to damage. First, unravel her ribbons; you slide down her panties; then you open up the flaps, you spread her legs apart; then you enjoy the gift that’s presented to you.

Your mouth does the unspeakable to her folds, slowly picking them apart in search of her pearl. The sound she makes when your tongue finds the small, hard place at the top of her is the exact same sound she’s let out for years that you can’t get tired of.

“Oppa—please—please, Oppa—”

“I got you, baby.”

In mere seconds, she cums. A stream of pleasure bursts out of her, and she has to grab the sheets to keep herself in place. You hold her thighs open through it, and you do not stop until she is trembling around your tongue; and even then, you kiss her thigh once, twice, three times, before you look up at her.

“Oppa.”

“Yeah?”

“You could’ve just called.”

“I know…”

“You could have just said something—even an ‘I love you.’ Just anything.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve flown home and left everything the next day.”

You climb up her body, you match her state of undress, and then she wraps her legs around you.

“I know that now.”

“Then don’t ever do it again, okay?”

“I won’t.”

“Say it.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You’d like to believe that the people meant for each other are always in the box you were afraid to open. That the hands meant to hold each other are the hands that lift the flaps first. That the eyes meant to see each other look inside without flinching. That the first thing you’d look for is always the first thing you find.

It is what it is.

You are but a man, a living being: flesh, blood, pulse; an internet connection and access to hyper-zoomed photos and slow-motion fancams and excessive manifestos on Chou Tzuyu's legs and Chou Tzuyu’s waist and Chou Tzuyu’s perfect dimples and smile and the golden-ratio proportions; the S-curve, the hourglass of her; none of which get as straight to the point as these carefully curated comments:

notice me mommy

pleeease sit on my faaace

let me dieeeee between those thighs good looooooorrrrdddd

(Or, for the cinephiles: the quote-tweet of a poorly composited clip; one side—Tzuyu shaking ass, the other—a GIF from Mad Max: Fury Road of the guy jumping off a speeding truck yelling WITNESS MEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!

But you know what?

Fuck yeah: witness you, indeed.)

Witness you now, camped out in her dressing room—your home for the past fifteen minutes—listening to the roar of tens of thousands of people bleed through concrete and steel while you wait with your VIP pass and your fast-fracturing patience and your cock heavy and in a far worse state than it was backstage at the Victoria’s Secret show; that had Tzuyu in a number that pushed her tits up so delightfully it crashed their whole website; shopping carts flooded by wishes for cleavage that could look half as glorious as hers.

And then she's there, or here, and you're drafting a manifesto of your own.

“Baby—” is how Tzuyu starts, and all it gets her is a hand around her waist, fingerprints pressed into sweat-slicked muscle, and she just goes with it—lets herself be reeled through the threshold and spun into you until the arrangement goes: 1) the door, 2) her body, 3) your cock, 4) you.

“Hell of a show,” you coo into her ear, pulling out the shiver she's kept coiled tight just for this moment—a pressure valve, a controlled detonation, released the second your thumb presses into the meat of her thigh.

“Baby—” again, and your girl is burning up: stage-lights hot, dimpled cheeks gone rosy red, flushed throat to sternum, wrapped up in what is just a feat of costume design and structural engineering and frankly the pinnacle of human craftsmanship: the leather corset cinched around her chest, doing theological work with her tits; the matching hot-pants sealed over her thighs (likely had to be poured on earlier, left to set, that's the only possibility); the knee-high boots she is absolutely not going to be able to walk out of here in.

She leans anyway—gracing you with more room to work in, rolling herself against you, because there's a countdown until you both have to clear the stadium and it's only hard and fast from here on out.

(Don't concern yourself with whatever wreckage survives into the aftermath, you're not going to see this room ever again, anyway.

Well. Until next tour.)

“Need a minute?” You're busy taking stock: the rapid shallow breaths, the copper-spun hair matted to skin, the sweat tracing her collarbone and running rivers to places you'll find the end of soon.

Tzuyu tilts her chin up, cocks an eyebrow. That stadium-filling smile. So ruthlessly, indiscriminately gorgeous. Real breath-taker, soul-stealer, habitual cock-hardener; your girlfriend (you lucky, lucky fucker). Another grind of her hips against you finds you stretching. “Could you even wait a minute?”

“No, but I thought I'd be polite and ask.” You shrug, bump your hips back, far less graceful and subtle than the little ditty she pulled off; through your denim, dragging across her abs, a point of punctuation on her body. “Consent and all.”

“Oh?” She laughs; small, private, non-transferable to anyone outside this room. Rises on her toes so the tip of your cock drags down to where she actually wants it, takes your face in both hands. “Is this something I'll need to consent to?”

“Just your standard offer for concert aftercare,” you deadpan. “Very exclusive. One provider.”

“That's funny. I don't remember subscribing.”

“Opt-out situation,” you tell her, lips finding the exact junction where salt and sweet meet on her neck. She sighs, end-to-end. “Really have to read the fine print.”

“You know how I am with that sort of stuff.” And it's really something; your Tzuyu underneath everyone else's Tzuyu—stage-beautiful but zero performance left in those to-die-for cheekbones; just her, released and free, origami in your hands, folding like she was always going to—a swan, some sort of songbird, or maybe simply a fucking lawn chair, if permitted. “You get your hands on me and I just can't help but say yes.”

Tzuyu: dressed like this and saying shit like that.

Yes, you both are embarrassingly, irretrievably, categorically gone over each other; and it's your problem, and hers, you've both long made peace with it, ready to be buried in clearly marked graves, side-by-side: here lies Chou Tzuyu and her secret boyfriend who fucked each other well and truly to death.

So, of course you're going to kiss her.

Lips on hers—same every time, new every time—her sighs feeding into your lungs, hands fisting in your shirt, hips translating heat into friction. Her tongue finding yours in ceremonial greeting; sparking up the sign outside, reading: occupied, all yours, always been yours, you just had to show up and smile.

And it's the release from her, all of it: everything that's been pulled taut since soundcheck, since this morning; each glance she's had to swallow, instinct suppressed by choreography and professionalism and forty thousand watching eyes.

The kiss compounds, stacks on stacks. Her leg lifts, hooks behind your shin, grinds the core of her against you—more, wanting more.

You stop yourself. Pull your lips free. The whimper that follows is pitchy and involuntary and criminally cute.

Her bottom lip wobbles, doing its intended and well-documented work on your heart.

“Why?” she asks—genuine, adorable, the whole bullshit shebang—how could you ever deprive an angel like this of such an innocent/filthy carnal desire?

You peel her hands from your neck, leaving them at her sides. Like a good girl, she waits.

Then you slide down to your knees.

The sound she makes could shatter something; it settles for the room's acoustics, forces it into submission, bends it over a knee.

“Ah,” she exhales. “That's why.”

Hotter down here. Always is: down-lights been baking her all night and it radiates off every inch, and at this distance—breathing her in, flooding your airways with the tangy-sugary-rock-salt-fucking-umami-scented compound of Tzuyu after three hours on a lit stage, the heat pooling thickest right at the deep crease where her legs meet. Coherent thought exits the building, it was never given a backstage pass, and the inside of her knee gets an open-mouth kiss—she nearly keels over completely, hands scrabbling for your hair.

“Oh God—” and you can hear the laugh underneath it, the perpetual disbelief at how fast she comes apart. “You have no idea how long I've been thinking about this.”

“I have some idea.”

“Your fault,” she says, and her voice fractures on it—”oh—standing at the barricade, staring at me the whole time; you have a problem you know—always looking at my—”

“Precisely.”

(And permit the detour: just to pontificate about Tzuyu's thighs because they warrant it.

Her thighs are strong. Belonging to both the Goddess and the statue depicting her—inspired by myths, carved out of marble—everyone gets to see the output; nobody gets to feel the mechanism but you. Thousands of hours of training and dancing condensed into lean muscle that locks on either side of your skull and could, if you don't hurry up and get on with it, end you.

But you're with the manifestos on this one—it'd be a perfect way to go. Heat coming off them in waves, obscene against your lips, all that tension gone soft and pliant the second your mouth's on her, flexing when she likes something, gripping when she likes it more—under your palms, against your jaw, clamping over your ears; two years deep and not one degree cooler about it.

Glory, glory, hallelujah.)

Your tongue drags higher. Slow. Taking stock along that honey-gold strip of skin. She tenses under your mouth—quads jumping—and her fingers in your scalp go from grip to claw.

She breathes, “You're unbelievable.”

“I've been told.”

“There's other places for your lips besides my legs you know—ah—”

The rest dissolves: you're busy running your tongue along the seam where leather draws a strict border against the plush of her thigh, finding the points where she's holding the most tension, that make her hips buck up, where the fabric is already warm and damp and about to get so much worse.

It earns you a warning: “You need to get these pants off me.”

“Give me a second.”

“You've had all night—”

“Shh.”

“Shh?”

“Let me appreciate you.”

“That’s what the concert was for, honey—”

“No, that was for everyone else,” you correct her, breathe it straight into the leather. “This—” You make a show of it, the séance you’re performing on your knees, spellbound by the tightest leather on the sweetest body. “These—are for me.”

She manages, barely, “Always.”

You nod, reverently. “So. Shorts. Stay on. For now.”

Tzuyu goes quiet. Breath hitches. Oh, she knows what it means, what you want. It moves through her, settles deep, has her relaxing against the door, parting her legs. “Fine.”

Hands hold her cheeks, digging in, the type of shit you revel in; putting your girl through this. Getting closer, deeper in that crevice, slowly, slowly, slow—until her thighs slap against your cheeks, a clapperboard calling action.

And then you put your mouth on leather. On her.

Sighs—turning into unhinged, sloppy sounds—eke through the gap between her thighs and your ears, knees drawing you in, lethal force, and this is one for the history books, something Darwinian, maybe that grave only has room for one; here lies you, suffocated with the biggest pussy-eating grin on your face, found choking on leather and your girlfriend's cum.

Zero complaints there, anyway.

“Oh fuck—”

“Quiet,” you say into her folds, even though experience tells you this word has had little success with Tzuyu; but, honestly, whatever fuels the kink.

“Trying—” she gasps, hips rolling against your face, proving your point. “But you've got a mouthful of my cunt and you're telling me to keep it down?”

“Mostly leather,” you hedge, but Tzuyu really is grinding hard—hard enough that the heat cuts sharp and precise. Press harder, force out more of these keens, ‘til she has to muffle herself with the back of her own hand.

Kneeling at her altar, getting where she's hottest—tongue dragging up and down the inside, lathering under the seams, working into the gap and getting torturously close; wetness already leaking through, running down; scoop it all up, suck it down, drink your holy communion and cherish every drop.

Exactly what she deserves (Tzuyu, the outfit, these thighs). So, so sensitive, it's so rude—a flicker of your tongue, a press of your lips, pure filth rumbled against her skin and she's gasping, writhing, the idol outline breaking, reconstructing into a shape a bit more pliable, dissolving into a soaked, sweat-drenched mess.

“It's always so easy for you isn't it? Hate how good it is—” and it comes out as a whimper, pleasant, tipsy slurring as Tzuyu's voice pitches higher, higher than please, for God's sake, keep it down this time; the very polite request Nayeon made that you fully intend to break.

Has you questioning the thickness of the door, reminiscing about Osaka, the last stop, when Tzuyu got so obscenely loud that Jeongyeon herself burst in to see if her group's dearly beloved youngest was being murdered—only to be yelled at: get the fuck out, he's killing me with his cock.

These thoughts get pocketed, to be added to later.

Nose pressing hard into the peak of her pussy—taking a long, selfish inhale; fingers holding firm against the muscle, lifting her ass off the door so she can sink further down your face.

“Please,” and she's getting desperate, fingers knotting in your hair, trying to hoist you in. “Take them off—I need your mouth on me, I need to feel you—”

“Not yet,” you tell her again, but she blathers on and on—how Tzuyu always gets—at her best and her worst; a bundle of needs arranged in a neat hierarchy, scratch that: it's just a fucked up ouroboros with your tongue at the beginning and the end and her thick thighs and her full-lipped cunt being looped through in the middle of it all.

With your mouth on her, it always is. Sucking bruises into her long legs, taking the skin between your teeth, marking the softest parts on her body, your declarations, her medals she gets to wear later—this is mine, this belongs to me; next concert she'll be forced into shorts cut far too high to hide them. The idea of it, the zoom on the lenses, the high-definition rendering; they'll see it and they'll figure it out: this goddess belongs to someone.

Her mantra confirms it: “Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck-pleaaaase—”

You don't slow—not yet—not until she's writhing against the wall and her thighs are clenching and unclenching around your head in a rhythm to match the high and whorish sounds slipping from her mouth. You can hear her start to weep, but her cunt is sprouting tears far quicker; against your chin, down your neck, soaking into the collar of your shirt—you haven't even touched her properly yet.

You'll correct that.

You leave her with one final, deliberate, hard suck of your lips against your favourite bruise. Leave the skin red and glowing with your spit. One gratuitous slap against the curves spilling from the back of her shorts, just to see the ripple.

Then you stand.

Tzuyu blinks slow, can't quite land it. She'd glare if she could aim it—slumped against the doorway, fixing on your lips—shiny, wrecked from your project on her thighs—to drag herself level.

Two fingers under her chin, tilting her face until she's looking at you, meeting your eyes—all that dazed awe pointed straight at you. A nod at the vanity in the corner. “Get over there. Turn around. Bend over. Hands on the counter.”

Tzuyu doesn't say a word. Barely breathes.

Bites her lip, nods, and stumbles her way over.

You track her—flushed, a little disappointed that you left enough integrity in her knees to make the trip. The wobble in her limbs, the stripe of sweat running down her spine, the small of her back, disappearing beneath the leather.

Your girl, your performer, your one and only idol; the most out of this world, hand to God, strike you down where you stand, beautiful woman you've ever been in the vicinity of. The outfit on its way to ruin: tight leather still doing its heroic work against her sweaty tits, hot-pants finding darker shades; midnight stained vantablack from your mouth, from her leaking through; hair coming loose—hours to build, minutes to take apart.

She braces herself on the counter, falling forward until her hands land with a soft thump. The mirror stretches across the wall in front of her, fogged slightly at the edges from the heat churning through the room, and she spots you staring through the glass. Gives you a show, whether she means to or not.

You watch her watch you in the reflection—the instinctual arch of her back as you step closer, habit pushing her ass out to receive you. Hands find her hips, thumbs into the sublime belt of skin above the waistband.

A push here and she preens.

Lips back where they belong; dragging up her spine, her throat, up the columns of temples built by worship alone, feeling the foundations, the muscles tense and flex underneath.

Closer and closer, slurping the sticky-sweetness pooling at the crevasse of her neck and shoulder, setting up camp under her ear, before pitching lower to drag over her jaw, her lips slacking open by themselves and you're going to wedge inside—

“Hurry.”

You breathe into her mouth, “What do you need?”

“You,” she sighs, an exhale, a relief. A kiss atop her chin, the tightening of your grip. She knows it's not enough. “Your mouth. Your hands. Wherever. Everywhere.”

“Everywhere? I've only got the two.” Hands drift higher, up her sides, around her back, slowly, torturously slow, working the lacing loose. Not for need of effort—you've long since learned your way around bobby-pins and double-sided tape and enough knots to make you a certified sailor.

“Anywhere—my—”

The final string comes undone. A shrug has the straps off her shoulders and the corset falling, pasties dropping with it. Leaving her bare from the waist up, and you get indulgent with it, take your time. Look up, into the mirror, take it in. Only for a second.

Accounting for all the best decisions in your life, and every past life too; rewards for time spent in previous reincarnations possibly as some celibate monk achieving enlightenment; only to find in the next leap that true nirvana is actually between Tzuyu's legs.

This current incarnation has you discovering exactly how far down the flush goes, splitting the difference between her breasts; the same ones that fill your hands, splay through your fingers—and they rise and fall, shrill inhales making them heave, nipples pebbling at just a brush of your fingertips.

And Tzuyu, finding her words, the simple, single-syllable vocabulary she has for you: “There—more—yes.”

Toying with them, flicking the peaks, waiting for the right stiffness to pinch. Sharp enough to make her hiss, then ask: “Enough for you?”

“God no,”—loud, decisive, helpless. A demand underneath a laugh. “Your cock. My pussy is literally in tears right now.”

You laugh into her shoulder.

“Weeping. It's so tragic.”

“But does it deserve it?”

“I don't—” and she checks your reflection, honestly considering it. “I don't know. But I do know what I'll do to you if we don't shut it up with your cock in the next minute, and it'll be significantly worse than what you're planning.”

That's more than enough of an answer. You step back, admire the damage. “We'll see about that.”

And the gasp when you free yourself—the button, the zipper, the jeans—because she's been so lost in herself that she's only just realising how much of an entire situation it's been for you since the very start.

You catch it all: the drag of her tongue over her lips, the bite that follows. The shudder, the pupils flooding dark when she sees you.

You say, “You did this.”

“Are you ever not so—” She fumbles, forgetting her words when she watches you step closer, resting the length of you atop her ass with a definitive slap. “So full.”

You lift her, adjust her so she's as tall as she can be—the heels help but don't have her quite high enough for your nefarious ideas; you hold her whole weight in your hands.

She reads your mind, tilts her head back against your shoulder and says, “Go on. Take me.”

Reaching around, popping the button of her shorts, the shudder as you drag them down, her drenched panties with them—over the swell of her hips, down her thighs, force them over the boots until she can kick them off and land them somewhere behind you.

And then it's just her, Tzuyu in knee-high boots and nothing else, long limbs bare and red and littered with your branding; red highlighted against cream, glistening from the slick and the spit.

You step forward, position, aim, level yourself with her. Thumbs press into her ass, parting the valley of her cheeks, edging her knees slightly apart. Fingers firm around her waist, holding her in place, the squeeze of her thighs.

You slide right between them.

“Oh my God—” Her head lifts, eyes clenched shut, fingers scrambling at the counter, knocking over all the pieces that helped put her together hours before, sending them tumbling to the floor. “Always so thick between my thighs.”

You groan, grunt, can't help it—the first slide is unholy. You see it all, watch it through the mirror; the head of your cock emerging from between her locked legs, coming out the other side slick and dark, and it's heat and softness and smooth all around, her cunt lathering you as you push through.

Slowly, carefully, the friction easing with every pass; the schlick sound of it filling the entire room.

“It's going to ruin me,” Tzuyu realises, feeling the way you throb between her, engorged and fighting against the grip of her muscles. “When this gets inside me it's going to fuck me up, isn't it?”

You pass by the rhetorical, focused on setting a rhythm. Something slow, paced, plenty of room to drag achingly along her cunt, let your cockhead push against her clit and force a bit of pressure with each thrust. And Tzuyu responds in kind, finds the motion at once—rolling her hips when you press forward, polishing your thickness with her juices, your cock properly lacquered and stained in budding girlcum.

“Your thighs,” you breathe into her ear, pulling her back against you, catching in the glass two people with unflinching grins on their faces, utterly fucked out of their minds. “Always showing them off, stadium after stadium, leaving them on everyone's mind. You know how many people are probably choking themselves over you right now, yeah?”

“I only care about one,” Tzuyu murmurs back, eyes blinking closed and open again, as if to double-check, maybe it's a dream, maybe the wrecked visage reflected in front of her is too blissful to be true—some bizzaro-doppelganger that just happens to look like her except in her sluttiest, most honest form; tall and proud and tits on display, nipples like pendulums with every thrust, swinging up and down.

“And look at them now. So perfect around my cock,” you grit out, her thighs twitching around you as if they have a mind of their own, pressing you in from either side, God. “It's genuinely insane.”

And the sigh, the quiver, the shudder when you tell her:

“You're made for this, Tzuyu.”

“I know,” she says, words turning into mud; formless, less coherent the more you push. “I know—it's so right. Feels so—fuck—you feel so good. This is all I've been thinking about since—”

“All show.”

“Before then,” and she smiles, laughs, because she has a secret she's been holding. “I knew it. Knew when they showed me this outfit. This ridiculous corset. Those tiny, tight shorts. I told the stylist straight away—this outfit is perfect.”

The smile, pure innocence concentrated into a lie that you almost believe. She rolls her ass back against you, dips her hips into that dangerous vector; the one where her thighs clench and angle your cock higher, where the head of your cock brushes against where she's most swollen, most shamelessly soaked; drinks down the look in your eyes when she does it again and again and again.

“Perfect to be ruined. Perfect to get fucked in. Perfect to make my thighs look so good for you.” The noise you thrust out of her next—a grunt, a throat cleared—enough to get the next words out clean: “Now tell me it was enough to get you to fuck me properly.”

You answer with speed—with force—pushing your cock right through, forcing her clit to flicker roughly, a guttural 'Christ'—from someone's lips—hers, yours, you can't parse it—as your hips piston right into her ass.

“Faster—I'm—” she starts, but you know; because you're melding at this point, sharing one mind, one slick, urgent rhythm that makes the vanity, the mirror, the bottles, the whole stadium seem to rattle.

Knuckles turn white, she's meeting you thrust for thrust now, pushing back against you; each and every time—cock slides through the squelch-smack-sploosh of it, head bumping against her clit, an obscene little kiss with each pass, a call met with a response in the form of a jerk or a whine or just the squeeze of her around you to let you know that yeah, she gets the message.

“Holy—close,” she gasps, grabbing the word and holding onto it like a lifeline—through the thrusting, the trembling thighs and ragged breaths and the way she's so wet your cock is just dripping with it. “So close, so close, don't stop—please—”

Not in a million fucking years.

You reach around, fill a palm with her tits, squeeze, pinch, bring her closer and twist just right to have her body in fits; a seizure that makes her knees buckle together and your vision blur for an instant—but it's enough.

She lifts up—higher, goes to the tops of her toes, as tall as her heels would allow, coming off your cock, letting the tip drag down to land at the centre of her, across her folds—settling against the only place it really belongs.

“Oh-wait-God-fuck-I'm-not—”

You pull her down, push right through that blistering-hot cumhole and thrust hard all the way in, full-length, every thick inch fed to her greedy cunt, and Tzuyu screams.

“God-yes-fuck-you—” and the expletives that follow, something filthy and loud that can't be stopped by any number of walls—and the one thought in your mind that isn't some variation of holy-shit-Tzuyu's-ridiculously-wet-cunt-is-choking-my-cock knows Nayeon's going to have some words about this later.

But her pussy pulses, fights your cock thrashing against its walls; Tzuyu snapping shut around you so hard you can barely move, and she cums and cums and cums; her head thrown back, hair draping over your shoulder; wailing, moaning, cursing your name and your cock and your ancestors and the fact that this is only the first time you've made her cum today and you owe her so, so much more.

Squeezing and wrenching and desperately trying to milk you with every devastating method it has in its arsenal—but you don't fall with it, you don't finish it.

Yeah, God, of course you want to, you're right there, legs dangling off the cliff—but you're not done with her yet, not even close.

So you just hold her against you, let her shake, let her cunt flutter so heavenly around your shaft, her abs flex and quiver under one palm, her heart leaping out of her chest and through the lovely tit you've got a firm grip on. Let her drool onto your shoulder, tongue, mouth gone slack and eyes glassy, looking up at you because it is—reliably, catastrophically—and it bears repeating—every goddamn time.

You twist her, cock slipping out a few solid inches and she makes a sound of loss that would fit in a funeral dirge; but yeah, you just want to kiss her, something rough and claiming, to help her swallow the broken sobs she's still making.

And she kisses you back, desperate, like she wants to hurt you with her tongue and her lips, teeth catching your lower lip; hands, fingers, fingernails clawing at your skin and your hair and there really is only one thing left to say:

“Inside me,” she spits into your mouth; words of a woman who is owed a grand railing and is ready to call in the whole account, backdated to the day you met, “I need your cum inside me. Now.”

She reads the stupid smirk on your face. Bites your lip again.

Again: “Now.”

You step back, length completely sliding out of her; cunt-drool keeping you tethered to her pussy lips.

Tzuyu groans, nearly collapses against the mirror.

“Then earn it, Tzuyu.”

There's little room left for grace, you manage what you can; an awkward-four-legged crab walk because Tzuyu's still shaking and needs you to support her weight as you collapse onto the couch.

A thud and you're seated, Tzuyu falling into your lap; your flawless girl, tits level with your lips, thighs bracketing either side of yours, cunt juice streaming down the plane, and her hands on your shoulders, bracing for what's next.

“Needed this,” Tzuyu sighs; cradling your head closer to her chest, welcoming the tongue that snakes out, rolls around a nipple, the teeth grazing the sensitive slope of her tits.

You jerk your hips, drag your cock through her folds—not inside, not yet—and she grits out your name. “I know.”

“No—you don't,” she tells you, smile on her face, wistful and pretty and she's just melting into your hands on her hips. “You know how hard it was to not go looking for you? All day I thought about—fuck—thought about finding you. Getting on my knees,” she closes her eyes, bringing herself back to some half-remembered dream. “Wanted to take your cock deep and drink you dry and fill my belly full of your cum—but I had to stop. Do you want to know why?”

You don't need to respond; you know the real answer, can feel it thrumming through her.

Tzuyu nods, slow, languid. Leaning in, dipping her head, breath hot against your jaw like she's letting you in on a private confession, something she'd only admit through the longest, sweetest torture. “I wanted you desperate. Hard all day. Needed you thinking about nothing else but me and my mouth and my cunt and my thighs.”

Your cock's fighting your own willpower, levelling with her entrance, you can feel the pulse of her meeting your throb; beads of precum slitting out of your cockhead ready to make the leap into her cunt. It's a game of millimetres at this point—a slip of your hands, a twitch of her hips, a slight fucking breeze; all it would take to break her.

“So I think I deserve a reward—for being so good for you, don't I? Or maybe you're mad at me for not taking your cock sooner—you can tell me I've been bad, that I need to pay you back, that I owe you—” Tzuyu's lips skate across your chin, doing their wicked work, inhaling every wisp of desperation and pure insatiable need that's been simmering underneath your skin all day. “Please, go ahead and put me in my place.”

“Fine.”

A forced exhale—wind knocked out from her lungs and into yours; cunt parting around you hot and slick and Jesus Christ she's so fucking tight, but you drive through it, wrenching her down while forcing yourself up and by the time you're fully hilted there's just one high, continuous sound she's making—a choir of wails, sobs, cries; a blissful chorus.

Her hips tilt to draw you deeper, thighs locking around your waist and there's the whole of your interior life, mind returning to one reliable verdict—you can't help it—death, taxes, and the combination of both when you collect what you’ve been dying for from Tzuyu's tiny, pink pussy and fill her so completely she can launch a one-woman investigation into the existence of the afterlife herself.

And you know her, know your girl, she wants to be more eloquent about it, wants to find a better way to convey how good you're railing her right now—so easily, firm quick strokes gliding in and out of her blistering cunt; guided by your hands holding her waist steady, but all she can manage is the high-level shit, the words that don't really matter but the effort to make them is Herculean nevertheless: “There—God—there—fuck—please—fuck—fuck—fuck—”

You hold her, fuck into her, just watching her—this ideal idol, letting your thighs slap against hers, punishing the muscle; absorbing all the details, the classified information that never leaves your desk.

Her face when you bottom out; the squeeze of her eyes, the slacking of her jaw, this euphoric grin dancing across her lips. Her tits and their heft, the bounce with every stroke—putting a hand back on one, filling your palm whole; the thought there—did you mold them, or were they tailor-made for you—or really, who gives a fuck because a squeeze makes her squeal so delightfully and you know that if you roll it she'll clench, cunt will pulse once, twice, around you and her head will drop back and she'll tell you again—

“More—there—”

“Yeah?”

And mumbling, fumbling around the back of her pretty head, sorting through all the things that may have existed there before you started filling it with thoughts of your cock, diving deep for the words and somehow managing to string them together—”Both—please—your hands, mouth, whatever—touch me more—”

You return your teeth to the other and her volume pitches; whips its way around the room, like it's searching for the cracks, the little gaps under the doorway so it can sneak into the corridor, down the hall—reaching for someone, anyone who can acknowledge how thoroughly you satisfy Chou Tzuyu's cunt.

“Your cock is so damn good,” she breathes; and that's all there really is, plain and simple, the why of it all.

What you've always known—sure you're helplessly, embarrassingly, probably-going-to-ask-her-to-marry-you-eventually down bad for her, even though you both know that you really are.

It's this—pounding Tzuyu's insides and being thanked for it. Her grip, her heat; not just her tits, her whole body, glorious thighs and all; engineered with this application in mind; an absurdly deranged thought to conjure—a decade of discipline, of investment, liquidated against your cock; an endpoint to just bounce mercilessly.

You remind her of it too: “Forty thousand people,” you mark the record into the underside of her tits.

“Please—”

“Every single one of them.”

“I know—please—I know—don't stop—”

“Going home right now,” you drive into her, shattering her on the downstroke, coming back together when you pull her up, just to break her into pieces again when you impale her completely. “Dreaming about these thighs—this body—this tight cunt stretching around me so nice.”

She's just properly gushing now, unashamedly messy with it; from her cunt, down your cock, past the crevasses of her thighs slapping on top of yours and ruining the couch below, but so what, sell it online or something; a Tzuyu-fied cum-stained couch; the sweaty outlines of your fucked, formless bodies on the cushions, would make a great centrepiece in any international gallery.

But anyway, back to the obvious: “It's all fucking mine,” and before you even have to tack on the end of it the question, Tzuyu's already picking up what you're putting down—

“All of it,” she says, just holding herself by your shoulders now, digging herself in, fastening herself down for the storm, “Yours”—once, pounded out of her—“Yours”—again, but broken, shattered; losing its footing in her lexicon. “Only you—only for you.”

And the other thing, what's left when it all slips: the composed, picture-perfect idol facade vacated, checked out, no lens in the world able to catch what's underneath. Just her and her wanton needs—fucked raw, fucked hard, wrung dry and left boneless. If she can walk or make words, or remember her name after this you've fucked up, because this was always her scheme: she chose the outfit, laced herself up in straight-up mainlined sin knowing you'd tear it off, spent all those hours on that stage with this exact destination in mind; so, yeah, hurry the fuck up—pick up the pace.

The couch jostles, fights the wall behind it, the carpet underneath. Something crashes to the floor, rolls off a table, never even mattered. Tzuyu stops holding back, the words come out clean, no longer minced; it was only ever a matter of time, because she's finally getting what she needs and yeah, the whole room, all of backstage, her groupmates down the corridor; no doubt are all well fucking aware.

A problem for later, you suppose.

“They can't imagine,” she says, unique to just her when she's at the end, more coherent, not less. “My tiny pussy—filled so—fucking—deep,” breathlessly, urgently, getting off on saying it, getting off on knowing it's getting you off too, “Stretched—ruined—a big cock full of cum saved just for me.”

Using her in every way girls like her should never be, but pussies like hers are built for—fucktoy, fleshlight, cocksleeve on long legs—holy fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I deserve it—don't I? A nice load, deep inside,” whimpering, proper quiver in her lip, and a last beg for good measure; loading her ammo, cocking her gun, finger on the trigger, “Can't stop—like that—don't you dare—”

Like you could—”Not going anywhere,” you remind her, holding on to where she's flickering between hard and soft; Tzuyu, hot as fuck all over and even hotter when she cums and tells you—

“Harder—”

Trying to—

“Fuck me—”

You're there—

“Please—please—please—”

She only needs to ask once because her cunt is divine, wrapped around you and leaving you with nowhere to go but up and down, back and forth; fucking her with nothing but terrible, wonderful intention until your hand is under her hip, slapped across her ass, forcing her to change the angle so she goes completely rigid and oh—oh—oh fuck—

“So—gah—good—”

Running straight through it—keep the angle; drive harder. The arch of her spine, lifting herself up, abs peeling off your waist and there's a gap, the opportunity—thumb back on her clit and she's clenching around you in warning pulses.

Thighs locking around your waist, hairline fractures in your hipbones, her body winding up—she's—you can feel her everywhere.

A wet choke, a stunned gasp, cunt swallows, gushes, inks something with her cum down the veins of your cock and she says it in case you miss it—

“Fuck—how the fuck do you make me cum so—”

Hitting her, tearing her apart—long, so loud—like she never stopped, and maybe she hadn't; been on that frequency since you first pushed inside her, and it'd make sense—her pupils at that dreamy sheen, stars in her eyes, shot into the stratosphere on your cock—and yeah, you'll take it, die with it, leap off the truck and declare WITNESS MEEEEE for all to see.

But she's not done. Yeah, she's fucked open and out, but her pussy's got other ideas, and her mind's on the same wavelength.

“Yours,” she says, fierce, needy, petulant; the princess turned brat, a rare, precious occurrence. “Give me yours—all of it—now—please—inside—”

And she keeps demanding, the sounds getting worse and better simultaneously; run out of proper onomatopoeia for her cunt on your cock, inventing brand-new ones to make up for it; her moans are climbing back up to join the fray. Despite it all, despite that she's just cum, she's oversensitive, rattling with it, but still taking it anyway, pulling it from you—gorgeous in every way, every inch, every configuration—what you get when you take Tzuyu from the stage and fuck her this hard and for this long and she clearly does not give a fuck that she's literally crying for your cock and cum and cannot stop—

“I'm begging for you to—”

“I'm here,” and her pussy milks it out of you, twists, pulls, grips—long rolling quivers around you. You're sunken deep into her, can't move, can't do anything but twitch and you don't know when you started but you're kissing her hard, groaning into her throat and following her over.

In the midst of it, cock spasming inside her, detonation on either side of your timeline—was there a before, is there an after? Or is there just this, now; soul leaving your body and flooding this ludicrously tight, hot cunt and—where were you again, what's your fucking name even—do you even care to find out because this gorgeous, unbelievable, unreal girl has got you in the sweetest embrace, lips, arms, pussy and all; clearly working through her own aftershocks, draining every last drop and stray thought out of you, and it goes on and on, and her legs are holding you there and it goes on a little longer.

White—at the edges, her cunt, your vision, it's all the same at this point; just fucking it all into her, stuffing her full, bulging her tight belly with you whole; all of you, all of the future yous too and what do you have to say for yourself:

“Take my fucking cum, Tzu—”

And what does she have in response?

“So much—all mine—God, fill me, please—”

It comes back gradually.

Names, places, details colouring the edges.

Tzuyu—small, floating on air, hovering on your cock, eyes half-lidded, glazed, satisfied; something that leans narcotic. Faint tears tracking down her cheeks, somehow reaching your tongue, or it's her sweat, or yours; but it's just hot and salty and that just about sums up the both of you.

You feel her heartbeat coming down against yours; survey the damage, the mascara that survived an entire concert but couldn't make it past this, the hair that's been reset and tangled and still looks wonderfully her. The corset was left by the mirror. The shorts surrendered somewhere close by.

“Could you ever—” Tzuyu comes to life, first to speak, let you know that she's still with you in the land of the living. “Fuck me normally?”

You laugh. “What's that like?”

“Like, leave me with some dignity.” She shifts; the ooze of cum, the exaggerated pornographic audio that accompanies it as it seeps out around the seal of her perfect plump pussy-lips glued to your cock proves her point.

“Sounds boring.”

“It would leave us with a lot less explaining to do,” she says, and you're already on clean-up duty, thumb to her cheek, wiping away the stragglers there; piece-by-piece, reassembling this demolished dream of a girl.

“To who?”

Tzuyu gives you a look.

“I think we're well past that,” you say, rattling down your list; “Nayeon, definitely. Sana can't say shit after what she got up to in Paris.”

“I know, but—”

“Momo literally fist-bumped me in the hallway and said, See you in Valhalla, brother,” and that has Tzuyu snorting into your neck, adorable, winning, her; still all wet and shaking and in tears from how hard she came.

Another lazy squeeze of her walls around you, habitual milking at this point, and she sighs, repeating, “Valhalla, Christ.”

“Legitimately.”

And she tests her muscles around you again, intentionally this time, and you throb back, and you're steering the car back onto the road now, putting things back on the most obvious paths—”You're going to give me a reputation.”

“It'll look great alongside mine,” you muse, drag your palms up those thighs once more, thumbing the damage, the territory marked and yeah; the stylist, make-up artists, she's gonna get a real talking to. “We can compare notes.”

She adjusts, twists; obscene, and more of your load starts to run, messy, dripping down her folds and onto your lap, waiting to be fucked right back into her; it's an intersection of indecency—pretty, fucked-up, dangerous.

Tzuyu in a nutshell.

Noticing: “You're still hard.”

Noticing back: “You're still sitting on it.”

Rolling her hips once, experimental, having you both groaning, moaning in stereo. She reads your face and knows what's coming next.

“How long do you think before Jeongyeon comes knocking again?” And it's already published by the time you say it—posted, trending, bookmarked—out there to be read and thumbed through—she's giggling all girlish and cute, you're laughing dark and low; she's getting flipped onto her back, pressed into the couch cushions that once had bigger aspirations than this.

Those thighs—again; downright incredible things, run out of words to bless them, just holy fuck do they spread so nicely, automatically falling open, heels in the air, knees hooked high over your shoulders. Tzuyu, Tzuyu, Tzuyu—built to be handled exactly like this.

A look in her eyes, the adoration there, the only lovers left alive of it all, the I'll hold your hand and jump off the cliff with you if you'd just lead me, has you thinking all sorts of romantic shit: I love you, marry me, let's maybe finish up by doing something dumb to make this something permanent.

But the comments are in your head again, so:

“I'm going to die between those thighs.”

Tzuyu cocks an eyebrow, you're just reciting the obvious. “Good.”

“Yeah?”

“I'll sit on your face in the afterlife too.”

“Hell of a way to spend eternity,” and you're already moving, laughing, tongue wrestling her down but there's no need, she was, is, always has been; apparently forever will be even after you're bones and dust—yours.

Hand on her thigh, one last time for good measure, pressing your fingerprints into the give of it, stamping off on a job well fucked, and she has to say: “Baby, you are so, ridiculously—”

You don't answer, electing to focus on thrusting back into her.

Fuck being humble, you are giving her the works, pumping in and out of her at paces you've only dreamed of reaching.

Her back arches as you grab at her hips, keeping her still as she squirms.

Her cunt is so fucking wet on your cock, it's pure agony, Pleasure's incarnate as it draws you back in with every pump.

But you can't cum yet, not after all the times your girlfriend has milked your cock dry without her finishing. You can't go through fingering her again to completion as your spent cock flops lifelessly on your pelvis.

"I t-turned you into a good little fuck, didn't I?" she teases, but her face is anything but composed. Her chest, her perky little tits bounce with the huff and puffs of her chest.

It only eggs you on, you lean forward a bit so you're over top of her, ram her from a better angle.

Her hands jump to your back, grasping, clawing at it in pleasure. She's most definitely drawn blood with her scratches. Worth it. Especially with that look on her face, mouth hanging agape, eyes screwed up in pleasure.

You've fucked her enough to know that pace isn't the only thing that matters. There are other things to look for, and when her pussy clenches even tighter, you know to prop yourself up, opt for slower, deeper thrusts. You also know to take a thumb, reach it down to her sopping wet cunt, find that stiff little clit you and flick.

Her hands, now at her side find the bedsheets and clench, her body trembles and her pussy squeezes you so hard you almost pass out.

But you don't, you thrust triumphantly knowing this is the third time tonight you've made her cum on your cock.

She lets out a squeal, all high and hoarse as her whole body convulses.

You still adminster soft pumps until her pussy ceases its tension, then you fall back onto the bed.

She's laying there, still a little out of it, and to say your cock is throbbing would be a gross understatement. It's writhing, your balls are so full of cum the head is nearly leaking. But your stamina is waning.

"Shit, Yeji," you utter, still shocked at not only how damn hot she is, but how well you've performed tonight.

You should know better to count Yeji out.

Her cat-like eyes are back, looking at you with something that signals trouble.

She crawls over to you, body still trembling but still, she's as commanding as ever.

She crawls up between your legs, never breaking eye contact.

"Y-yeji," you moan as her mouth engulfs your tip. "Give me a minute," you say, despite the cum in your balls stirring, almost escaping as her lips suction you.

She lets it out with the softest little pop. "You've been such a good boy. Maybe I'll give you a reward."

Her spryness returns, and when she spins and positions herself, you almost cry of happiness.

She's on her knees, face planted into the sheets, eyes still turned back towards yours.

"Yej— are you serious?"

Her hands are stretching her ass cheeks to reveal her tight little asshole.

"Take my ass."

You get up shakily, still apprehensive, but when she smirks at you, bites her lip and says "take it," you oblige.

Your grab your cock, positioning it at entrance. Just feeling it on your tip is dizzying. Her body tenses as you rub it there. She nods lovingly towards you, and you push.

The tightness is overwhelming, you push past resistance until you slip in. If her cunt has the softnesss of clouds, her ass is a thunderstorm of pleasure. Every inch deeper sends a jolt of electricity, of pure pleasure right up your spine.

Your balls are nearly bursting, they urge you to go faster, but she's so damn tight that you might just break her if you do.

She's spreading her ass even further, her breath keeps catching in her mouth as she tenses.

"Ohh— oh my… god, babe!"

Hearing it doesn't help you focus. You barely bury yourself halfway before you have to slide out.

"Your asshole feels so fucking—"

"Fuck me," she huffs.

You chance going a little faster, a little deeper, and her hands leave her ass, one finding her pussy to rub again.

You must be in heaven, you must have God given strength to not have released swaths of semen into her tight little hole, and soon, through her wriggles, you bury yourself all the way into her.

It's ascending, the feeling, the pleasure. You've been sitting with it, unreleased for like, half an hour now, and you swear you can see clearer. You prop a leg up, and even that movement threatens your release, but it works to give traction to your thrusts.

She is positively ruined now, one arm limply at her side, other weakly rubbing her pussy as you rail her asshole.

Look, it's not like you're not ruined either. The ascension is gone, and you're almost blinded as you feel her cervix convulse through the walls of her ass.

You're thrusting with abandon now, revelling in your reward as with an almighty gasp she cums, knees giving out as her body goes limp.

You too give your final thrusts, leaning forward and burying yourself as deep as you can before pleasure ignites your every nerve on fire and with a deafening cry, you spurt into her ass.

It feels like it lasts a lifetime, you propped up, cock buried in her ass as it fills it with cum. It's too much, still being lodged inside of her, and when you pull out, you spurt more over her toned back. Your hands find her asscheeks, groping them as your final spurts paint them too.

You collapse beside her, gasping for air. She lazily crawls up, nesting herself in the nook of your arm.

"That was fucking, amazing Yeji."

She lets out a breath, kissing your chest in acknowledgement. The kisses climn up to your cheek, before that tone is back, not tired and spent but eager and wanting.

"Are you ready for your reward?"

"T-that wasn't the reward?"

"Oh honey," she settles right beside your ear, "that was just the start." With surprising strength she heaves the both of you up from the bed. "Put on something nice."

"Where are you taking me?" you ask as she stalks off to her wardrobe in a hurry.

She turns back wearing that picture perfect fucking smile. "Heaven."

---

When she said 'heaven', you didn't expect vice and sin.

The nightclub, 'Hell's Place', booms its music, shaking you to your core. Even louder, somehow, are the heaps of fans recognizing Yeji, screaming her name, pushing past each other just for a view.

But she ignors it all, dragging you further into the club until a locked door.

"Alright, Yeji?" a staff member asks, unlocking it.

A shabby little staircase leads up to: vice and sin.

Still dragging you by the arm, the upper floor isn't loud and disorienting, it's full of important looking people doing less than important things. Even then, it's luxurious, velvet couches, black marble table tops.

Powder lins the card topped tables where men with rings and slick backed hair shout obscenities and exchange money, girls walk around in lingerie, stealing attention while quietly slipping forgotten bills into their pantyhoses.

Yeji turns, sultrous look on her face. "Welcome to Club Heaven," she smiles, dragging you further in.

"Was that… was that Chaeyoung and Mina?"

"Ahh, they're here all the time. Wanna go say hi?"

"They look a little busy." Indeed they were, Chaeyoung lay nearly upside down, hips lifted into the air so that her only contact with the couch was with her neck, and Mina's tongue was jammed so far up her asshole you were almost jealous.

Almost, because Yeji nudges you again. "Good, and you will be too."

"W-what the hell is this reward, Yej?"

Further up you go. "Wanna take a guess? It's something you've wanted even before you met me."

"Something I've wanted? A treehouse?"

"Yeah, I brought you to the underground idols hub for a treehouse," Yeji rolls her eyes. "No, it's this."

Yeji pushes a door open, and inside isn't vice or sin, you decide; it's heaven. Chaeryeong lay woozy on the couch, naked, spent, cum droobling all over her tight little frame. and next to her, a man sits, head thrown back in pleasure as a woman kneel in front of him, head bobbing up and down.

There's no pretense, no room for congratulations in this reward. Yeji simply walks over to the girl, and like the leader she is, grasps her by the hair and pushes her to you.

"Go play with him," she orders, getting to her knees in front of the other. "He deserves it."

The sight of Yeji plunging her hot little mouth onto the others thick cock almost makes you mad, almost makes you storm him with your fists, but now Yuna is in front of you, crazed look in her eye like she needs to replace the cock that was ripped from her mouth.

She does, however, seem to recognize you.

She shows you this by pouncing. So much for wearing something nice, Yuna's hands rip the trousers off your body.

"Don't pay attention to my Unnie," she huffs, pushing you back onto the couch. Your pants are off and your cock is hard for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. "You've always wanted to fuck me right?"

She wastes no time, doesn't leave room for an answer before her mouth wraps around you. The pleasure is unimaginable, the way her mouth suctions onto your tip. She lets it out, slurping up every ounce of saliva she left there.

"Wasn't I your bias before you started dating Yeji?" she says it so matter-of-factly, so confidently as her tongue slides up the underside of your length. "Yejin tells me all the time whenever she goes down on me, that you're always watching my fancams."

She's not usually like this, you've been dating Yeji for 3 years now, and everytime you hang out with Yuna, she's normal. But, when in Heaven, you reason.

Your eyes don't know what to focus on, Yeji's hair grasped by Mr. Muscles over there as he bucks up into her throat, Chaeryeong, now conscious and fingering herself as she watches, or Yuna, now taking your cock down deeper.

Okay, you folded, the way Yuna's throat closes around your cock like the perfect little sleeve is mesmerizing, not to mention how she simply refuses to break eye contact with you.

Her face as she's suctioning your cock is otherworldy, hollowed out cheeks, mouth almost springing so it stays latched to your manhood.

"You taste like Yeji-unnie," she moans, as if that fact alone gives her physical pleasure. She sits up, turning around to show her wide, oh so sexy hips. "Let's change that, shall we?"

She climbs up on the couch, legs on either side of you before lowering herself onto your waiting member.

"Nngh, shit," she moans as she takes your throbbing tip. "Yo-you feel even better than him," she gestures lazily towards Yeji and Mr. Muscles.

The sight of Yeji, now taking him doggy style eggs you on. You grab Yuna by her thick meaty thighs, positioning her so her back is leaning on your chest, and fucking pump. You pump and pump and pump into her tight little pussy as she screams in pleasure.

If Yeji's cunt is perfect, a hole molded to your cock, Yuna's is a cave waiting to be conquered. It wraps around you, her walls fighting you in places which only makes you want to pound her harder.

"Y-you feel so fucking good, Yuna."

"N-nngh, is it like y-you've always imagined?" she groans. "Does it feel as good as you thought? Fucking my tight little pussy?"

"I-it's so fucking good!"

She's barely keeping it together, you can feel the sweat of her back rub against your chest before she turns her head towards you, tongue lolled out like it doesn't know what to do and you kiss her.

It's hot and it's passionate, but it's not love, not filled with emotion like your kisses with Yeji are, and you don't know if that makes it more or less hot.

You can hear every squelch, every slap of skin on skin while you pound her, and it's almost too much for your already spent cock to handle.

You pull, cock wet with both of your juices. You lift her off of you standing up and tossing her onto the bed. She wordlessly climbs onto her knees, arms rested on the backrest, wide, breedable hips and sopping wet cunt towards you. Fuck.

She her head. "How'd you manage? I've been wanting this for so long, but Yeji's so possessive over you."

You prop one leg up onto the couch beside you, and thrust back in. You grunt, and her breath hitches.

"Nngh, fuck Yuna— I fucked her in the ass," you pound proudly. "I made her cum with my cock in her ass!"

You feel Yuna's walls tighten at the information. The slap that echoes from you pounding into her like this is louder than the club downstairs.

"H-holy shit, keep going," she strains. "Did you really? S-she only lets us fuck her ass."

Hearing this is enough to push you over the edge. Your pounding harder, and Yuna can feel it. You can tell by the way she turns excitedly, those eyes still crazed as she pushes her hips harder into you.

"That turn you on? Oh, the amount of times Lia has strapped on for her, pounding her until she's screaming."

You pump and pump.

"Not to mention Ryujin," Yuna continues through her moans. "Ryujin likes to tie our leader to the bed, fuck her ass until she's it's red and raw— nngh, just like that, fuck."

"Fuck, Yuna, I'm cumming," you groan as you attempt to pull out.

Yuna backs her hips into you as you do, and you burst into her, spilling all your hot load you thought exclusive to Yeji into her. She continues backing into you, microthrusts as you pump load after load into her.

She slowly eases off of your cock, and with a squelch, heaps of your load spills from her cunt. She collapses back onto the couch.

She eyes you, body failing after your wild night, but a look of disappointment recaptures your attention. "We're not done yet, I still haven't finished." Her fingers plunge into her pussy, pushing your juices further into her.

"H-holy shit, Yuna."

Before you can make another move Yeji is back, hands on your shoulder, pulling you into a kiss.

Yuna crosses her arms sulkily.

"I'm back," she says. "How was Yuna?"

"Good," you grunted. "And how was Mr. Muscles over there?" you gesture to the guy, who now has Chaeryeong's pussy covering his face.

"Ohh, is someone jealous?" she kisses you again. "Since when were we exclusive? He tried to fuck my ass, and well, that's only for you and the girls."

You pull her close by the hips. "Damn right it is," you plant another kiss."

"Unnie, that's all well and great, but, we weren't finished here," Yuna pouts.

Yeji drops to her knees in front of Yuna. "I think I'll be taking my boyfriend back for tonight, but I'll take care of you."

Yuna bites her lip, cheeks going scarlet.

"Do you want your Unnie to take care of you?"

Yuna uncrosses her arms as Yeji saddles up on the floor, inches away from Yuna's cunt.

"Yuna, use your words. Do you want your leader to suck the cum of her boyfriend out of your naughty little cunt?"

Yuna's facade breaks. "Yes, Unnie," she moans.

Yeji wraps her arms around Yuna's thighs, plunging her face into Yuna's cum filled cunt. The salacious sounds of Yuna, moaning all high and bratty, and Yeji, positively slurping on her fill the room, invigorating your cock once again.

Yeji, as if she knows, pushes her hips out for you.

It's a different feeling, fucking Yeji here, while she slurps your seed out of Yuna's squirming body.

It's probably better. Her tightness is mid-dizzying, and you should've known better than to compare Yuna's pussy to hers. Yeji's was simply made for you. It's pleasure beyond physical, it ignites your soul.

Yun's head is rolled back, squirming, hands flying around like she doesn't know what to do with them, from squeezing her own tits to grasping Yeji's hair.

And you pound Yeji, every thrust shoving her tongue further into Yuna until her face is a mess of Yeji's slickness, her own saliva, and your cum.

You well up whatever stamina you have left, and pound into her.

The room is a mess of moans and slaps, before Yuna, all high and unfocused, screams. She cums into Yeji, covering her face with even more liquid, and you too are approaching your limit.

You feel the familiar tightening in your pelvis, before releasing whatever semen your body can scrounge up into Yeji again. The bodies in the room are slick with sweat and cum, and you fall, no collapse back onto the floor, muscles seizing up.

You faintly see Yeji climb up to Yuna, kissing, sloppily swapping the liquids still in her mouth, and you can't help but faintly wonder if your girlfriend could win a sex marathon. It's your last thought before exhaustion takes you.

It's short lived, though, you're shaken awake and you can still see Yuna and Yeji frenching. Chaeryeong climbs atop you.

"You're not finished yet, are you?"

It’s one thing to be playing strip blackjack with your roommate for the fun of it, bored out of your mind because the semester’s over and the both of you decided not to go back to your hometowns for reasons out of both your control. It’s another to be playing strip blackjack when you’re down to your boxers and she’s still somehow halfway to getting into her birthday suit.

You probably should’ve told her to take off her jacket and all the accessories she was wearing. Having each one as an individual piece of clothing is the most bullshit excuse you’ve ever heard, more so when you realized she has earrings and socks on.

“Oh come on,” she starts, throwing her hands up in the air. “Are you that scared of me seeing your dick? It’s not that small from what I remem–”

“Fuck you.” You send a middle finger her way. “I'm on eighteen and you’re on fifteen. You hit.”

Playing safe normally isn’t what you prefer doing, the need to throw down another card tempting you. But the odds of getting anything below a three is so goddamn miniscule, you’d be guaranteeing your loss.

And this is not how you thought having Sooin see you naked after God knows how long would go.

Sooin grabs the stack of cards, taking the first off the deck. She doesn’t flip yet, only placing it down next to her two fours and a seven. “I bet this is a six,” she says, tapping on the card.

“And I bet that it’s anything but a six,” you counter, and she graces you with a laugh.

“Willing to bet your boxers on that?” she asks, nodding to said clothing. Your last line of defense to your dignity, pride, ego. But if that saying about a good defense is a good offense applies here, then you might as well use it to your advantage.

“You willing to bet your entire top off for it?” you counter, leaning back on your chair. It’s a gamble, not one you’re sure she’ll bite on, yet you’re desperate. In dire need of a hail mary, and this—this is your one shot to getting it.

Besides, seeing her tits is a major plus.

“Bitch, I’ll bet everything I’m wearing it’s a six.” The way she sounds so confident about it makes you think she’s somehow rigged the deck when though you’ve been the one that’s been shuffling it since the beginning of this whole thing.

She does the job for you, when she slams the cards down on the table. Crossing her arms and smirks at you. 

“I’ll even bet something better for you,” Sooin starts, her legs crossing, and the smooth expanse of her skin starts to entice you, her shorts riding up and showing even more of those thighs. “If I don’t get a six, I’ll be free use for you for the entire week,” she states, the glee in her face dropping an offer that only the devil would ever give. “And we got all week.”

“Sooin, what the fuck–” You’ve known this woman for years, since she barged in your life as your roommate in the middle of your sophomore year and called the supposed guest room as hers. With the amount of shit the both of you have gotten up to with all that time—the rare sex with her included—this has got to be the most dangerous thing she’s ever done. “You don’t offer that up like it’s nothing–”

“Sure I can,” she says, rolling her eyes at you. “We’ve fucked before, what’s so difference about this?”

“We don’t have to be betting shit like that.” You dodge the question, your own legs cross to hide the growing erection in your pants. “We can stick to clothes–”

“Boring.” Her fingers twirl around the curls of her hair. “You need some spice in your life. Some flair. And I’m offering it to you.” Her head tilts. “‘Sides, when was the last time you got laid? Was it that Chaeyoung girl–”

“Chaewon,” you correct, shaking your head. Now she has you hooked on the deal being offered. Your entire wager flipped on you, and you can’t tell if she’s being serious or not. “And that’s pretty rich coming from you.”

“Whatever her name is–” She shrugs, avoiding your own question by picking up one of her cards and tapping it on the table. “I’m here offering you a once in a lifetime deal. And we’d both be happy at the end of it.” 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Anytime you want.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Anywhere you want.”

Taptaptaptap—

“Anything you want–”

“If you don’t get a six,” you enunciate, syllable by syllable. “You’ll just–what, do as I say?”

“If I don’t get a six,” Sooin repeats, hand pausing the drumming of the paper. “I’ll do whatever the fuck you want. No holds barred. No questions asked. You can have me on my knees right now if you win–”

“Jesus Christ, Swim.” Your palm meets your face, in complete disbelief of what she’s saying. You sigh, real fucking deep, gaze going up to the ceiling for a moment, trying to think about the whole thing. Yet your mind’s already made up, and all you can do is ask about the one thing that you’re sure will happen.

“And if you do pull a six?”

“Then you be free use instead.” The answer is instant, and that is where she gets you. When you think about it, it sounds like a win win situation. “Actually, let’s make this easier for the both of us.” So nice of her, you think.

“If you have a worse hand than mine, you lose.” That’s mildly easier, but still impossible. Besides, only the crazy ones would ever think of hitting on an eighteen. “And the same goes to me.” She points to the one face down on the table. “Shittier hand than yours, I lose.”

“This has to be bait.” The comment slips out, airing out the first thing that came to mind hearing the terms.

“It’s not.” The look of disbelief on your face makes her gape at you. “I’m not joking, it’s not.”

“Sure, and you didn’t rig the deck so you win again.”

“I didn’t rig jackshit, thank you very much. You need to believe in the heart of the cards.”

“Whatever you say, Yugi,” you chuckle. You glance at the deck, and that top card is begging you to take it. Get the whole thing over and done with, the result be damned. 

Though, there is an instance of—

“What happens if we both go over?”

“Easy.” She shrugs. “Then we both win.” 

Your head leans back in surprise. “How the hell does that even work?” 

“I get to fuck you whenever, you do the same. It’s not rocket science.” Another shrug. “Your other head would do the thinking.”

“And I’m starting to think you’re the one who needs to get laid,” you comment, and she graces you with a smirk.

“It’s a win win type of deal.” She ignores the dig, propping her chin up with her hand. “Just depends who wins more.” She gives you a pointed look. “So, you in or out?”

Sooin’s not wrong. It is a win win deal, and you’d be an idiot not to take it.

You sigh. 

“Fine.”

Your hand grabs the card, sliding it off the stack and placing it next to your two cards. “Who goes first?”

“Same time?” Sooin asks, fingers ready to flip the card on her side. 

You nod, hand prepped to do the same. “This is insane, you know,” you mutter, licking your lips. Foot tapping rapidly—in anticipation or nervousness, you don’t know—and shaking your head at her. “Absolutely fucking crazy.”

“You can always back out.” She takes her time with it, pushing the edges up slowly, her gaze focused on you rather than on the piece of paper in her hands. “Or are you really a pussy?”

Well, those are some fighting words. And you didn’t get raised like a bitch to back off.

“Just fucking do it already, Sooin.” 

She smirks, and with a flourish, she turns it over faster than you can. Your eyes land on her hand, and lo and be-fucking-hold, it’s a goddamn eight.

Everything rushes at you, all at once—relief, shock, joy, unease. It’s all there, because on one hand, you just won a bet against Sooin. On the other, the bet’s stipulations scare the utter life out of you.

“Would you look at that,” Sooin scoffs, grinning at you. “We both lost.”

You blink, and you look down to your own hand.

Twenty Eight.

Heart in the fucking cards your ass—

“No fucking way that just happened.” She huffs a laugh, staring at your hands. “Did we seriously both fucking lose?”

“You’re the one that said to believe in the heart of the cards,” you retort, shaking your head at how things have ended up.

“You know what?” She stands up, picking up the cards and fixing them up back into a single deck. “I’m going to hold up my end of the deal.” Doesn’t even let you soak it in, simply takes your hand away from you and places it back onto the set. “That better be the same for you too.”

“What the fuck does that mean–”

“It means,” Sooin cuts you off, placing the deck neatly on the center of the table. “I’m going to be riding the fuck out of you tomorrow. Or, you know–”

She gives you an innocent smile, as if her words are to become a common occurrence in your household for the week. She bends down, her lips so close to whisper temptations in your ear. Whatever you want, she says, your name rolling past her lips. “All week long.”

Leaves you with a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the shoulder as she heads to her bedroom. Doesn’t bother waiting for a response, instead settling for a—

“Goodnight!”

While you’re over here slumping on your chair, staring at her door and shaking your head at the absurdity of it all.

What the hell did you get yourself into?

—

Sleeping late came naturally to you.

The mental gymnastics you’ve done to convince yourself that everything Sooin said was some sick prank she’s pulling on you, that you’d be waking up to another normal day with her, lazing about and wasting another day doing nothing along with all the other reasons you tell yourself—made you lose your mind trying to instill all of that in your head.

Add to trying to understand why Sooin started that bet at all when she really didn’t have to, aside from the obvious one that your brain is telling you isn’t at all the reason, and you’re almost to a point where you need to admit yourself to a mental asylum trying to figure it out.

You’re almost glad that this didn’t happen during exam week, or else you would’ve been failing all of it left and right with the lack of sleep. Or stamina, if Sooin really was serious.

Which she wasn’t, of course.

You don’t know if you can stop yourself from taking advantage of the bet if she ever gave you any form of a go signal. And if she was, you know she would do the same.

Still, all those days trying to survive the term has made your body’s alarm clock ring, causing you to wake up in the early hours of the morning thinking that there’s some eight o’clock lecture you need to be up for. While you could always stay in, as there is nothing to wake up to this early for the next few weeks, your stomach rumbling tells you otherwise.

So here you are, dragging yourself to the kitchen to make some instant coffee that barely turns you into a functional human being, a bowl of cereal made while you wait for the kettle to heat the water. You would have loved to have some bacon and eggs but alas, someone forgot to do this week’s groceries.

Eventually, Sooin comes out of her room looking the complete opposite of you. It says a lot already, considering you look like a dead man walking and she slept like a baby last night. Arms stretching out as she walks towards you, slumping on the chair opposite of you. Greets you with such energy you’d think she isn't the Sooin you know.

And yet she is, staring at you eating your bowl miserably, a smile on her lips as she leans back on the chair. “You look like shit,” she muses, and she doesn’t need an answer from you to know why. 

“Didn’t get much sleep last night.” You play along with it, pretend that everything about last night doesn’t have you in a chokehold.

“I bet.” Her elbow rests on the top back of her chair. “Need a little pick me up?”

She’s dangling the entire thing in front of you, gauging to see just how far you’re willing to keep up with this charade. And if you weren’t so mentally exhausted you could have—should have—said no outright, trying to prevent the impending roller coaster that’s coming your way. And yet your brain decides to make things as ambiguous as possible.

“The coffee can do.” You nod to the kettle, where you are waiting for the stupid thing to finish heating up.

“You sure?” She raises an eyebrow, her eyes glances at the kettle herself. “I’m available to help out, if you want me to.”

The wording isn’t lost on you, making you smile as you raise a spoon full of cereal and milk. “Yeah, Swim. I’m sure.”

She grins, her mouth opening to speak until the kettle finally pings. The both of you take a glance at it, steam rising out of the opening. You move to handle it, but Sooin tells you that she’ll do it instead. Need a cup myself, she says as she passes by, leaving you to eat your cereal in peace.

You take the moment to take a few more spoonfuls as you think up ways of conveniently not run into Sooin for the week, but living with her makes that a daunting task. Being a shut in is always an option, but you’d go insane doing nothing in your room eventually. Or go out everyday until the week ends, check out the mall or go on a quick adventure out of town somewhere. 

You can feel your wallet begging you not to do it, making you wonder if you can find another part time for a week at some cafe or convenience store. Whatever to get you out and about and not being with Sooin twenty four seven.

Not that you weren’t against the whole thing. Hell, you want it. In the face of last night, anyone would be stupid not to accept it. Much like you are being an idiot about it.

It’s almost like a slap in the face, when you realize that you could’ve had her on her knees right about now.

The doubt slowly begins to leave your mind, when all the signs point towards Sooin taking it seriously come filling in. You’re being a complete dumbass—no, more than that for wasting a perfectly good night’s rest in exchange for losing your mind for something that really, really should not have been worth losing sleep over. 

You’ll be losing sleep over fucking Sooin instead.

The chair you’re sitting on gets pulled away from the table, and the soft, warm weight of Sooin straddles you. Her arms wrap around your neck as she takes a spot on your lap, not allowing you to leave.

“Sooin, what are you–”

“I won last night too, you know.” Her hips roll against yours, making you clench your teeth and tense up. A quick glance tells you that she’s taken her shorts off, leaving her in just her panties and a shirt tight enough to let you know she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath. “And since you won’t start, I figured I would.”

She pulls you in for a kiss, and everything you thought of—the denials, the doubt—fully goes out the window when you can finally have a taste of her lips once again. And she’s a force of nature, infecting your mind and body with an overwhelming sense of Sooin; how she smells, her grinding on your cock, her lips exploring yours for the first time.

“You taste like milk,” she says, a quiet chuckle coming out of her as your hands find her waist. She keeps her pace tortuously slow, your cock twitching and aching and wanting more.

“I did just have cereal.” Stating the obvious, obviously. “What else did you think I’d taste like?”

“I don’t know–” she teases, arms coming down to undo the tie of your shorts. “But I’d be happy to find out. We have all week, remember?”

You raise your hips, helping her fish your cock out from your clothing. “Right,” you sigh out, her hand caressing your length, lightly gripping it and giving you a few exploratory pumps. “All week.”

Sooin smiles, pecking your lips once more. “There he is.” She straightens up, her hand finding a rhythm in her strokes, and your cock hardens at her touch. “Guess a woman’s touch makes you fold quick, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up, Sooin,” you laugh, a hand coming down to squeeze her thigh. “I can feel you dripping through your panties, you know.”

“Blame a girl for finally being able to fuck her roommie again, why doncha.” Her words make you the last time you two fooled around. 

“I don’t remember that.” You do. Of course you do. It was a drunken affair on both your ends because of some party she was attending at her rich best friend’s house on the other side of town. You weren’t even supposed to be there, but someone apparently needed to pick her up. One thing led to another, and you’re waking up on her bed, tangled in her sheets. 

“That’s a shame.” She knows you’re lying. You both acted like strangers for a better part of a month, and the only thing that got things back to normal was yet another party.

Sooin pulls her panties to the side, lining herself up with your dick. Circling her wet folds around your tip, getting you slick with her juices as she slowly plunges down on you. “Here’s a reminder then.”

A deep moan rumbles out of you, head tilting back as her heat begins to wrap around your length. “Jesus, Sooin–” Your grip on her hips grow firmer, your eyes watching her face morph into an expression of such pleasure that the only thing you can do is stare and admire every small microexpression she makes.

“God, I’m going to enjoy this,” Sooin sighs, eyes fluttering shut for a moment when she nearly bottoms out on your shaft, her walls hugging you so fucking tightly. “Sit back and enjoy, yeah?”

She takes a minute to get used to you filling her, let you stretch her out and leave you simmering in her heat. Doing these little rolls of her hips that gets you twitching inside of her, moans coming out of the both of you. “Missed this filling me up so fucking well–”

“So you did just want to get laid,” you tease, taking your hands off her momentarily to push them underneath her shirt, wanting to feel her skin instead of fabric. “Could’ve just asked.”

A scoff escapes her, her fingers giving your scalp a quick tug. “Excuse me for not wanting to get in between you and that Chaewon chick–”

“Sooin, nothing happened.” Her questioning look makes you repeat your words.

“Uh huh.” She presses her weight down on you, bottoming out and taking your entire length. You let out a groan, eyes closing at the sheer pressure of her cunt taking you. Another tug of your hair gets you quickly opening them back up. “And I didn’t watch you mope around the day after.”

“What? No–” You shake your head, confused to where the hell she was trying to take this conversation. You would think she would prefer that you focus on her considering your balls deep in her cunt, and yet Sooin continues to surprise you. “She was just a fling, okay? Nothing else happened.”

And she was. You met her at a party, you two had sex, you went your separate ways. You moping around the day after was because even after getting laid, it didn’t change the fact that you flunked your exam before it. It’s a miracle you managed to tell her all of that while her pussy pulses around you, her grinding on your cock making you stutter your words.

Fingers tap on your neck, her gaze narrowing at your explanation. “So you don’t have feelings for her?” She slowly begins to bounce on your lap, and the insanity of what’s happening right now is starting to get to you. Interrogated about some girl while getting fucked by your—well, an important girl is something to cross off the list.

“Sooin, we fucked. That’s it.” You squeeze her hips, biting your lip at the sensation of Sooin clenching around you. “Can we pl–please go back to focusing on this?”

She doesn’t answer you. At least, not verbally. Her rhythm goes faster, harder, fucking herself on you like she’s chasing her own high. Her weight presses down on you, pulling herself close to your chest, her breath hot in your ear as her moans consume your senses. 

“You fucking focus,” she mutters, her hold on you tightening, ass dropping down on your lap. She’s insatiable, so much more different than the last time. Frantic in how she rides that you can barely hold on with your life. “Just–sit still, stay hard, and make me cum you son of a–”

It’s sending you to the edge fast, barely being able to hang on. Even when you’re trying to hold off and fight back against what your body is demanding you to do. Sooin's increasingly erratic movements; bouncing and grinding and fucking herself on your cock until all you can think of is filling her with your load.

“Don’t think I can, Swim.” It comes out shaky from you, amidst all Sooin’s moans and skin against skin hitting against each other. Arms wrap around her waist, pulling her in and saying her name. Sooin, Sooin, Sooin please—

“Go ahead.” Her words are a shot to the brain, an unraveling of your entire nervous system and turning a singular thought into reality.

“Cum inside me.”

It’s stupid how quickly you crumble at those words. Your mouth finds her neck, biting down gently as your cock unloads inside her. Each spurt comes with a content moan from Sooin, singing straight into your ears. Euphoria consumes your senses, nipping and marking her neck as your eyes threaten to roll back from the pleasure.

“That’s it,” she coos, her grip vice-like around you, each throb of your cock filling her cunt full of your load. She puts her entire weight on you, unable to leave her warm embrace as you try to fuck your load deeper into her. “Fucking needed this–”

Sooin bites her lip, savoring the entire thing, basking in the afterglow of it all. The grin on her face tells you exactly how much she’s enjoyed it, and you can only imagine what else you’ll be looking at for the rest of the week.

“So,” she starts, lips finding your cheek to leave a gentle little peck. “Coffee?”

You chuckle, licking the spot where you’ve left a red mark on her neck. “Sure, Sooin.” Watch her slowly pull away, your cock leaving her walls and letting the cum that you’ve dumped inside her to spill down to the floor.

Neither of you do anything to clean it up right now, considering—

“Coffee sounds great.”

—

You don’t see Sooin until the late afternoon, coming back to your apartment after a day of finally doing her turn to do the groceries. You would’ve tagged along if not for the fact that you had to do the laundry this week around, and pair it up with helping her stock the cupboard full of what she bought and you’re sinking down on the couch.

“I don’t think we needed that much for this week,” you complain, eyes staring up at the ceiling. Buying almost double of what you two normally get makes you wonder where the hell she got enough cash to buy that, but her reply gets you to scoff in disbelief.

“Supermarket had a sale,” she grunts, sliding down next to you, head on your lap as a makeshift pillow. “Thought it’d be smart to buy as much as I can.”

“Your wallet agree with that?”

“Nope.” She pops the syllable, taking out her phone, tapping away at the screen. “Not like my wallet can’t handle it. At least we won’t have to worry about things here for a while.”

A while is an understatement. She bought enough for you both to stop buying any essentials for a month. And while you know she can afford much more than that, you had to convince her that you're not going to freeload off her in your own place.

Because for all the oddest reasons, the fact that she has fuck you money to spend yet only splurges it on things she likes is such an odd combination. Exactly how she ended up taking your guest room instead of getting her own place.

You remember her words clear as day. Too expensive and high maintenance. Which is, again, a weird thing to say when she can pay people to handle it for her, but she says it's for her own good more than anything. Gotta learn to be independent some day, might as well be now, she said. 

“Look at you, being a responsible adult,” you tease, finger reaching down to poke her cheek. She immediately swats it away with a roll of her eyes.

“Fuck off,” she chuckles, eyes never straying from her phone. “We’ve been needing to stock up on all that stuff anyway.”

“I don’t think we needed that much instant ramen though.” Your gaze flicks to the stack of it by the counter. “Seriously, that might be a little too much.”

“To you, maybe,” she says, turning her phone horizontally. “I’ll be eating some too, you know.”

“You mean all of it?” The light jam of her elbow to your ribs gets you laughing.

The conversation ends there, and the only thing left to fill the empty silence are the shooting that comes from her phone and whatever it is that you’ve decided to watch on the TV. It stays like that for a while, and your boredom continues to grow at each passing second, each passing commercial, each movement of Sooin’s head on your lap—

The thought of asking her to, you don’t know, do something to her sounds inane. Breakfast’s events come flooding your memories, and as much as you want to do the same thing to her, you want to test the waters first.

Your arm comes to rest at her stomach, playing with the hem of her top. It gets her to flinch in surprise, gaze flickering up to you.

“What are you doing?” There’s a knowing glint in her eyes; one that tells you that an answer doesn’t need to be told, when she already has an idea of what you want. An eyebrow raises when you slowly drag your fingers upward.

“Nothing,” you say, resting your palm on one of her breasts, covered in layers of fabric. Your eyes are still watching the television—some old cartoon about a cat and mouse—while your fingers play around her chest. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Sooin lets out a scoff, biting her lip to stop the grin on her face as she comes back to her phone. “Do what you want.” 

Well, alright then.

Your hands wander; kneading her breasts with light squeezes, running your hands through the curves of her body. They eventually find themselves pushing under her top, wanting to feel the smooth expanse of her tummy up to her tits.

She doesn’t make a single complaint throughout, allowing all this to happen. When you run up and down her body, all she does is let out these hums. When your fingers pull her bra down so that you can play around with her nipples, her legs squirm and push together. 

And when you ask if you can use her mouth, she hits you back with another question:

“Are you asking or telling?”

A quick tug of your drawstrings, a little repositioning of Sooin’s head as you take your cock out, already at half mast, and pointing it to her mouth, tongue out and waiting. “I’ll be quick,” you say, a laughable lie as you know you’re going to be taking your sweet time with her.

She does fuck all about it, keeping on with her game as your hand rests on her hair as you thrust languidly into her wet mouth. Your shaft growing to full length the longer you stay inside her throat, and she shifts to get into a more comfortable position. As comfortable as she can get, having a cock in her mouth while her hands are busy playing.

Her cheek bulges, her throat takes you deep, her tongue flattens under your length. Yet her eyes never stray from her phone, hearing the sounds of combos being hit and encouraging cheers from her phone. She mutters words you barely understand, and as much as you want to pull out and ask, she hasn't told you to stop.

That only gets you to push it further, a firmer grasp on her head to drive your hips forward. Spit begins to accumulate around her mouth, dripping down to coat you; a sound akin to a whine vibrates around your shaft as her focus on the game breaks.

Her head fights back against your pushes for a moment, your grip relaxing to let her talk. “Let me finish this match first,” she mutters before her lips meet your tip, wrapping around you and keeping you in her mouth.

It’s absurd, how warm her mouth is. Managing to get you squirming without moving an inch, only the sliding of her tongue up and down the tip of your cock. Tongue swirling and cheeks hollowing gets your thighs flexing from the sheer pressure that she’s inflicting upon you. Your fingers come back resting on her hair, gripping her dark locks, wanting—needing to take back control.

So you do. Hands start to push and pull her around your cock, and she’s spluttering; fingers stumbling around her phone, causing it to fall down to the couch. They find your thighs, steadying herself as she manages to fall down to her knees, using her mouth for the sinful pleasure that she offers. Even with the spittle that starts to fall down her chin, the glare that her eyes are piercing you with, and the slight whine she makes as you so rudely interrupt her game, she makes no movement to stop you.

Hell, it feels like she’s leaning into it. Decency thrown out the window as more drool comes to coat your cock, bobbing her head faster than the pace you’ve set. The annoyance in her eyes fading away for this hunger that you’ve caused. 

And you relish in it. Your hips thrust up just as her head comes down, your moans and praises of her lips meshing with the dirty noises that she creates, pushing you further down to your end.

“Sooin–” Your head leans back, hissing in a breath when you make her take you deep, throat convulsing around you. The sheer suction makes you weak, your thighs shaking, the grip on her head loosening. Sooin takes it as a chance to pull away, and you’re already missing the warmth of her lips around you.

“Don’t tell me when,” she says, stroking you with both hands and all that spit on your length makes it feel all so much better than it should. “Just cum in my mouth whenever, alright?”

Sooin takes you back in, and it’s taking everything in your power not to cum right then and there. Her enthusiasm is starting to take control, shining in her eyes and in her actions when her pace grows feral. The squelching and sucking grows insistent, getting your legs to lock up and grow rigid around her frame.

Your hands can’t stop themselves from taking hold of her hair, your breath ragged as you thrust into her mouth. Wanting some semblance of dictating when you inevitably let your load flood her, you take the reins back from her and start to pound away at her tight, wet throat.

Stopping has left your mind; the only thing that needs to be done is feed her your cum, using her mouth as she wants you to—as much as you can for the whole thing. And that single realization gets you to emptying your seed straight into the back of Sooin’s throat.

Each single pump of your hips elicits a moan from you, her hums at every pulse of your cock vibrating around your length. She takes every shot of your cum without complaint, milking you for everything you’re worth. Swallowing it all, even when some manage to spill over, leaking down her lips as the remains of your load begin to tide over.

Sooin makes a slow journey upward, releasing you with a wet pop. “Someone was pent up,” she teases, swiping what she couldn’t swallow off her chin and thumbing it into her waiting mouth. “You made me lose my game, by the way.”

“Yeah, well,” you breathe out, watching her run her tongue across your length, cleaning up any spit and seed that’s coating your length. “Pretty sure you can win the rank back easy.”

Her eyes roll, shaking her head at you with a smile. “Sure, I can.” She taps your cock against her swollen lips, giving the head a chaste kiss. “Can I go back to playing, or do you still need me here?”

“You and your games, Sooin.” Nodding at her with a chuckle, she gives you a few taps on your thigh before she rises up from the floor. Walking away from you for the moment to wash her hands, she comes right back to lay her head on your lap, phone in her hand and continuing her game.

As if she’s ready for you to do the same thing all over again.

The next two games she played resulted in her getting a day ban from going idle too much on ranked games. You tell yourself it wasn’t your fault that it happened.

Not at all.

—

The kiddies gloves come off after that, and the both of you decided to take full advantage of the situation you’ve ended up in. Your reluctance to follow through with this whole free use bet slash arrangement’s faded, and now every waking hour or so is spent with your cock inside of Sooin in some way, shape, or form.

You were eating dinner when Sooin got on her knees to blow you under the table, making sustenance a forgotten necessity in favor of the carnal pleasures of bending her over the table and railing a load into cunt instead.

She’d be in the shower sometime after, and she’s trying to ignore the fact that you jumped in with her, wedging your cock in between her thighs. Lathering her hair up with shampoo as you thrust between the heavenly flesh that she’s blessed with. Painting the shower wall with your cum just as she starts to soap herself up, and you join her in taking a shower after.

Can’t say you two didn’t take an hour in there, considering she wanted a round getting pounded. You’re surprised that you still had hot water by the end of it.

Her bed’s been shared by the both of you by the time you two were heading to bed, Sooin making you remember just how good of a lay she was by wringing a load out of you, the view of her ass rippling as she rides you making her achieve her goal embarrassingly quickly.

And you get her back by waking her up that morning with gentle kisses planted across her neck, your hands roaming around her body and ending up between her legs, two fingers knuckle deep inside her. Getting the sheets wet and ruined by the end of it, and you two end up complaining about who’s gonna do the laundry for it (you will).

The second day was infinitely worse than the first one, when breakfast became brunch due to Sooin wanting you on your knees, eating her out as an alternative to the morning coffee you two normally make. It ends up with the two of you swapping places, using her throat and coating her face with your cum at the end of it.

In reality, it ended when she was fucking herself on your cock right next to where your coffee was brewing, back arched and bucking back against you. It left the both of you tired, and how brunch was the only thing that made the both of you pause.

Absolute fucking degenerates, and it’s only been day two out of seven.

Which was why you invited Sooin out to pay her back for everything she bought by taking her to the mall and—

“Anything I want?” She doesn’t believe you when those words come out of her mouth. Not with how ‘frugal’ you are, or however she puts it when all you actually do is build up your savings. 

Excuse you for being a responsible adult.

“Within reason,” you correct, hands on your hips, stern face and all. “I’m not as rich as you are, Miss Bottega Veneta.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She waves you off, already turning around and walking away from you. “Come on, I know just the place where I can mooch off you.”

“Please don’t tell me it actually is Bottega Veneta.” You can hear your bank account crying out in protest inside your wallet. Quickly catching up to her, you two walk to the elevator. “I literally can’t afford that type of thing.”

“Relax,” Sooin laughs, pressing the up button. Your eyes glance up to the top, where the arrow lights up. “We can check out the department store first. I can probably get something in your budget, you stingy fuck.”

The elevator dings open, conveniently empty. “I’m not stingy,” you refute, entering the elevator first, finger pressing the fourth floor while Sooin follows suit, leaning back against the wall. “I’m trying to budget things. You know, like any adult would?”

“Oh come on–” She’s rolling her eyes at you with a grin. “We’re in college. We can afford to not be adults sometimes.”

“You can,” you argue, hands in your pockets, turning to face her. “I’m on a scholarship and you’re rich enough to probably buy this mall.”

“Let’s not go that far.” Her tone makes you think otherwise, because for all you know she actually could right this second. Another ding rings out, and the elevator doors swing open to your floor. “Come on–” She’s hooking her arm around yours. “Let’s go, Mister Sugar Daddy.”

“What the fuck did you just call me–”

The next hour consisted of you following Sooin around, browsing through the numerous bits and bobbles, clothes and accessories, doodads and thingy-ma-jigs that get her attention. Started off with checking out a new set of tableware (which was maybe needed), to a new TV (definitely not needed), whatever new phone just released (“Sooin, you just bought a new one.”).

You end up by the mattresses, where Sooin jokingly said about buying a king size so that you two can actually fit in the bed and then some. As to which you replied by asking her how the fuck you’ll fit the damn bed into either of your rooms.

And when you start walking towards the clothing section, the oddest combination of dread and excitement settle in your body. Not because you were scared of what Sooin would choose to try out (seeing her in a bikini would be a dream come true for you) but of what she would try to pull with you knowing the bet.

Because you just know she’s going to pull some shit that might get the both of you kicked out the store and the mall. 

So when she picks out a few clothes and heads to the fitting room to try them out, it’s no surprise when you get pulled into one of the stalls when no one was watching. You almost let out a yelp but her hand covering your mouth muffles the noise.

Sooin shushes you, a finger on her lips, waiting for you to show some semblance of relaxing before pulling away to close the door behind her. Hanging up the clothes on the wall rack, you were about to ask her the most obvious question on the planet, yet she speaks before you do.

“You know why I pulled you in here,” she states, pulling her jacket off and adding it to the rest of the clothes that she might not ever try out.

“In public?” Because of course you have to ask the second most obvious question.

“We have a room that can be locked and it’s big enough for two,” she answers, pushing you down to the small little chair tucked away in the corner. “Private enough for me.” She’s on her knees, fingers making quick work of your belt buckle and your zipper. One quick tug and she has your cock in her hands, at half mast and lazily stroking you with a sensual smile and a raise of her brow. “Relax, I picked the furthest room for a reason.”

“Couldn’t wait for us to get home before we do this?” It’s not a complaint so much as it is an observation. Your hands are already moving to weave through her locks when she takes you in her mouth, cock slowly growing harder in her mouth. 

“We can do it quick,” she mutters, almost inaudible when her lips stay attached to you. “‘Sides, ever wanted to see ourselves fuck?”

Your eyes glance towards the wall, glass ordaining and reflecting you both; Sooin blowing you zealously, that smoky look she gives you through the mirror making you throb in her mouth. Scoffing and shaking your head, a grin begins forming in your features. “Fuck it.” You nod to the wall. “Up against the mirror, Swim.”

Sooin grins, standing up and turning around to face the mirror. Her hands rest on the wall, chest flush against it as she pushes her ass back against you, the shorts she has on pulled down to her ankles along with her underwear to show that beautiful, beautiful fit ass of hers that are paired with her toned legs that you’re wishing would be wrapped around your head again.

Oh, well. Much important matters at hand right now, such as rubbing your tip against her dripping folds. It gets her wiggling her ass back at you, Sooin’s heated gaze through the mirror telling you to hurry the fuck up and dick her down.

You’re pushing in, warm, wet heat enveloping your every inch and a soft moan escaping her lips. Letting yourself be taken away into the tight vice-lip grip she has on you until you bottom out against her the plush cushion of her ass. 

Allowing yourself to take your time with her, even for just a small moment, you pull back, taking inch by inch of your shaft out of her until the very last possible moment where you could ram back in, and gasps and grunts begin filling the small space.

She grows louder first, the dirty curses and quiet gasps that can no longer be contained make you thrust faster, pound her harder until the sounds of your skin hitting hers begin to join. And even with the danger of getting caught, her eyes continue to plead with you.

More.

Your grip on her waist tightens, and you’re hammering into her without a care in the world. The sounds no longer matter to you, nor do the dangers of someone unlocking that door and finding you both. 

The only thing that’s important to you is to have Sooin leaving this room satisfied and possibly unable to walk, and you’re damn well going to make sure that happens. 

You reach out, a palm moving to cover her mouth as your strokes become faster, angling yourself higher to deep that spot that gets Sooin to fall apart in your arms. And you feel the change happen; her moans become loud whines, arm gripping up to yours in an attempt to hold herself together.

Yet you don’t want that. What you want is for her to become undone and flooding your cock with her juices, so you lean in close. Hot breath tickling her ear as you whisper those wants of yours and making them into reality.

She’s quivering in your grip, her eyes shutting tight as your words start to dirty her already filthy mind. “Fuck–” Her voice comes out muffled in your palm as you continue to spout out for her to cum on your cock, to make her wet the floor with how much she’d be squirting all over you. 

It does a number on you too, when you feel her walls clench around you so fucking tight that every thrust is a battle of your willpower. She spurs you on, driving you forward into this animalistic urge to rut into her cunt until you spill your cum inside her.

And when her eyes snap open, you can see the need clouding them. The shrill scream that comes out of her is barely contained by your hand covering them, and she’s trembling in your arms, tightening up around your cock that the next thrust in sends you straight spiralling into your orgasm.

Each messy thrust you make spills more of your load inside her, her own dripping down her leg as you trap her between yourself and the wall. You’re leaving pecks on her neck as you fuck your cum inside her, taking your palm away from her mouth, her satisfied sighs music to your ears.

“That was–” You take a deep breath, inhaling her scent; the post-sex smell of her skin that’s bundled with the powdery notes of her perfume calming you down. “Fuck.”

“That’s what we did, yeah.” Her hand comes up to scratch the back of your head, massaging your scalp. “Still think that bet was a mistake?”

“I think we’re a little past that, Swim.” You gently remove yourself from her, and white starts to drip down her legs. “What you might want to ask yourself is if you still want to try those clothes.”

“Nah.” She pushes herself off the wall, fingers coming down to take a dollop of your cum. “Did you have to cum so much?” Even with her complaint, she’s taking it into her mouth for a taste. “Now my panties are gonna be ruined.”

You’re tucking yourself back into your trousers back up, shrugging at her. “Wonder who I have to blame for that,” you say, and that incites a chuckle out of Sooin.

“Right, my bad for wanting a quickie,” she replies, pulling her underwear and shorts back up. “I’ll be sure to tell you to cum down my throat next time so we don’t mess up more of my clothes.”

She gently shoves you away, shooing you off the stall first with a playful smirk. “Head back to the mattresses, I know what I want to get.”

“Sooin, we don’t have space for a bed.”

“Yeah, we do. We’ll just throw away our old ones.”

—

Depending on how you look at it, things either got better or worse the longer the week went on.

Nothing productive has happened inside your apartment the moment you two managed to fit a King size bed into your room, and if there was, it wasn’t for long once one of you got hold of the other.

Getting woken up every morning by her wet mouth enveloping your flaccid length, throating you until you blow a load straight down her stomach or being awake enough to pull her up and get her riding you in bed has become a daily occurrence.

Your breakfasts, lunches, and dinners all end up a messy affair, with her getting you to eat her out or you getting her on her knees after eating. Which oftentimes lead to someone getting bent over or fucked on the chair. 

And don’t even get started on when it happens before you two eat. That only gets you even hungrier for food, and even more starved to continue fucking after.

The risque and riskier kinks start happening, when she gets you to plow her right in front of the apartment window, not a care in the world whether anyone sees or not. And you get right back when you get her to suck you off in the apartment stairwell after grabbing dinner outside for once.

“You know that there’s a camera watching us, right?” she asks, not a hint of concern in her face as she follows you to the letter, knees hitting the floor and hands playing with the button of your pants.

“The same camera that we’ve been telling the landlord’s broken?” Your hands pull her hair into a makeshift ponytail. “Yeah, I know.” And you’re fucking her face until you paint her pretty face in streaks of white.

Sooin’s uncaring of it in the end, your cum dripping down her face as you walk back up the steps, onto your floor and into your apartment. The sight has you immensely fucked in the head, and that gets her fucked somewhere in the apartment again.

You two just do it anywhere, everywhere. Not a single place in your apartment is unsullied, a single area in your apartment building untouched. The rooftop, the parking lot, the fucking lobby—you’re not even sure how you managed to get away with that without getting caught.

You’re sure Sooin finds ways to, of course.

The pair of you keep on going and going and going, the days blurring by full of the filthiest sex you’ve ever had in your entire life. Your dick has never felt more thankful while simultaneously begging you to take a fucking break because really, when are you not fucking Sooin nowadays?

It’s second nature at this point. Wake up, fuck, eat, fuck, take a nap, fuck, do some chores, fuck, sleep—it’s a whole process that runs on either one of you telling the other how they want to get laid, where she wants your load, why you’re asking her how foldable she is or the like. 

There aren't even any sort of verbal cues anymore. Simply walk up to the other and do what sort of debauchery in mind, finish and go back to whatever it was you were doing.

That last part might need some work, considering neither of you can successfully do that.

Jerk off to her face while she’s playing another game on her phone and watch the cum splatter all over her cheek, stain her hair, have it drip down her phone and all she’ll get angry about is the last bit because she lost her game, that stress released by having her bouncing on top of you until she cums.

Sooin on the phone with one of her friends (you can’t be sure whether it’s Anna or Gawon) when she spots you walking out of your room one morning, gesturing for you to get between her legs and eat her out. You’re amazed at how composed she sounded all throughout, especially when you turn her legs into jelly at the end and the most she’s ever let out was a scream that she disguised by saying that there was a mosquito in the room.

Fucking her in an alleyway on the way home from having lunch at the local ramen shop, the sun in the air adding the high of getting caught up a notch. Getting her on her knees to swallow your load right before you two would’ve gotten caught by some random passerby.

Her getting back at you with the magical treat of her mouth, sucking you off while you drove home. Almost ended in a disaster if you hadn't pulled over in time, another batch of your cum sent straight into her gullet.

Can't go an hour go by without one of you getting handsy, and it's like an average day for you now. Part of your daily life, constantly having sex with her, being readily available to fuck and get fucked.

And to think you were against this whole thing at the start.

So when the last day comes by and you’ve fucked another load into her while she did the dishes, you’re left asking:

“What happens when we wake up tomorrow?”

Sooin pauses, blinks, shrugs. “Dunno,” she answers all casual-like. “What do you want to happen?”

It’s unfair how she leaves the ball in your court. Like she wants to hear your answer before she commits to hers, pretending to not care when she doesn’t bother to even look at you, her attention on the television playing some movie.

“Well,” you ponder, pursing your lips in thought. “We’re either gonna keep fucking or we go back to not fucking.”

“That’d be a shame.” She points the remote to the TV.

Your head turns toward her. “What would?”

“Not fucking.” The channel swaps. “We should keep it going.”

“What?” It’s the fact that she looks so unbothered that’s making you question how serious she is. You sit up straighter, entire chest tilting toward her now. “You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Her knuckles rest on the side of her head. “We’d probably need to stop with the random quickies when the semester starts, and it’s not like we can’t go back to not fucking with the amount of sex we’ve had the entire week.”

Your jaw hangs low, unsure of what to say. Thanks Sooin, that’s such a good idea. Maybe we should also put a label on us too? Sounds like such an insane thing to pull, and you’ve grown quiet to the point that Sooin takes a glance at you.

“You don’t gotta say anything.” She nudges you with her elbow. “It’s a good thing we got going. Long as you’re good, I’m good.”

“And that makes us, what–” You shake your head. “Fuck buddies?”

She laughs. Says sure, it’s not like she’ll be looking for anyone else when she’s got you. Long as you don’t go looking for no Chaewon’s or Chaeyoung’s or whatever name they got she’ll be a-okay.

And you’re scoffing, smiling and agreeing to the whole thing with a kiss to her cheek; getting her to roll her eyes at you and give you another, harder nudge with her elbow.

“Okay, man,” she chuckles. “The kiss was a bit much.”

“Oh come on–” you let out a laugh. “You can take my cum on your face but you draw the line with a kiss on the cheek?”

“Well, when you put it like that–” Sooin lands her gaze on you, smile playing on her lips, mischief in her eyes. “It does sound a little stupid, doesn’t it?”

She closes the distance between you, pressing her lips against yours for a quick kiss. “Happy?”

“Yeah, Swim.” You tap your finger between your lips. “Maybe one more for good measure?”

A shove. “Don’t push it, asshole.” A beat passes. Her hands fumble around your sweatpants.

“We can do one more round for the road.”

—

When the morn comes around after a late night of getting Sooin to ruin the bedsheets again (you’ve discovered that she’s a squirter when you pound her ass up, face down), you wake up to a Sooin-less bed, and that alone gets you up and about. Spot her eating a sandwich with some strawberry jam filling, fighting to stay awake as she stares at her laptop.

Greet her a good morning and sit down next to her on the couch. “What’s got you up so early?”

“Gotta get my schedule sorted out,” she mumbles, taking another bite of her bread. “Why didn’t you tell me we already could?”

“I did.” You slide down the sofa, getting more comfortable. “Like two days ago.” You’re not about to tell her that you reminded her of it while she was getting fucked on top of the laundry machine, of course.

You know when your life is on the line.

She lets out a groan, complaining about her classes being so early, getting the shitty professors and the shitty schedule and all you can think about are her luscious thighs peeking underneath your shirt she has on.

Reaching out, fingers resting on the soft skin, caressing upwards to feel more; all to be stopped with a slap on the wrist.

“Not now, dude,” she says, her hand coming back to slide a finger across the touchpad. “I really want a decent schedule for next semester.”

You blink. Your brain catching up to what you’re body is doing and you remember:

Right. Bet’s over, no more fucking for the fun of it and all the shenanigans that it entails (shame, you’ll miss it immensely). It’ll be a smooth transition (it won’t, you’re already suffering withdrawals not being balls deep inside her right now) from not having sex all the time.)

“Alright, alright,” you relent, taking a glance at the kitchen counter. “Want some coffee?”

“Please,” she replies, making you groggily stand up to make two cups. She stops you with a glance and your name, making you turn back to her.

“Fuck me when I’m done with this?”

You chuckle, roll your eyes and wave a hand in the air.

Asa lowers her shoulders just a little, but it does so much more than a subtle movement should ever have the power to do. Now isn’t that the understatement that underpins it all. Fine details and mildly-reserved seduction cooked into the drop of a shoulder, the hike of a leg, the tilt of her hips. It’s Asa’s modus operandi, and you’re her favourite victim.

“Not like you ever cook.”

Avoiding the questions. Gaslighting. This woman has a game to play, and you’re part of it. If you were ever unwilling, you would be dragged, kicking and screaming, into it.

You are never unwilling.

"I baked you a cake."

"Yeah, well, I'm a little distracted here."

"What's distracting you?"

"Oh I don't know... Maybe my girlfriend? Up on the counter? Ass in the air and back arched, wearing some little black leather shorts?"

"Just eat the damn cake."

"I'm thinking about it."

"Yeah?" Asa shoots you a sly smile, biting on one of those long black nails in a way that communicates an opening into a mind you're all too familiar with. Devilish looks with a sinful mind - there's always something in there. "Well, I know you're a messy eater; hope you plan on cleaning up once you're finished. There's a lot of cream filling inside."

Yep, that’s something, alright.

She's doing that thing again - tugging on the little invisible string around your heart, forcing it to thump faster. You swallow thickly. You're walking closer, focusing on her lips as she speaks again.

"And, well, it is your birthday..."

Your birthday. You're too distracted by the fact she's pressing her chest to the counter, deepening the arch of her back even further and lying her face against the smooth surface. Her cute cheek squashed against the marble, dark eyelashes fluttering upwards as she looks at you through them. The way she's wiggling her hips slightly, back and forth, in those tight shorts...

"My birthday," you echo her words.

She's sliding her hand over her thigh now, fingertips pressing into the pale skin. She grips, and she squeezes and fuck -

"Mhm," she's smiling, "so you're allowed to have your...cake. Indulge a little. Eat it up."

Those catty eyes are trained on you as she presses her hand further down. You're standing at the counter now, chest heavy and struggling with each breath. A figurative growl from somewhere deep inside you as you catch her wrist, pulling it away from where it's getting dangerously close to her crotch.

"Let me." You tell her, taking in yet another shaky breath. "Let me...enjoy it how I want to."

Her eyes widen with excitement as she pushes her hips back and, fuck, that’s too hot. "That's the spirit, birthday boy. Do what you want."

"You're really the best girlfriend," you begin to tug the shorts from her hips, watching her skin rise with goosebumps as your fingertips brush over her - subtle things. "You know that?"

"Yeah, well." Asa bites her lower lip for a moment before letting it slip free. "I love spoiling you."

You pull the tight fabric over her ass and the soft flesh spills out, plump and fucking perfect.

"Your ass..." You can't help it. You have to grip it. You drag your fingertips across her skin. It's so perfectly smooth and inviting and...

Her throat rumbles with a laugh. "You act like you've never seen it before."

You dive in without thinking, lips immediately pressing to the skin, teeth grazing, tongue sneaking out to get a taste. Her little whimper makes you want more.

"I like it." You tell her against her flesh. You pepper kisses down to her thighs before pulling back. "Every time is like the first time."

"Cringe," she mocks.

"Hey, it's my birthday, remember? You can't be mean to me."

She lifts a brow. You duck your head down again, allowing your teeth to dig into the skin. Her breath hitches. You smile against her, pulling back, watching the way the spot turns a delicate pink colour. You take your time, letting your hands wander her ass, watching the way her flesh reacts. You slide your palm down her thigh, and she rolls her hips, trying to chase the touch.

"Please..." Asa's breathless, her voice filled with want, "just... eat the cake already." Her tone is playful, but there is something about the edge that makes you think she's really trying to hold back. That she wants you more than she's letting on.

"It looks so pretty." Your fingers move, sliding over her bare pussy, just peeking through the gap at the top of her thighs. You prod your fingertips inside, finding her wet already. Of course she is. Then there's the moan.

Asa's moans - you could wax lyrical about them. You could write sonnets and songs and poetry about them. You want to record them sometimes, just so you can listen back whenever you want, but then you remember just how easy it is to elicit new ones. There's always something so playful about them, even when they're low and gravelly. It's like she's laughing a little as she moans, like she's having so much damn fun.

You place a hand on each cheek. Your birthday cake, in all its glory, is laid out on the counter for you. You lean in, dragging your tongue up from her slit and resting your face between those pert little cheeks.

Fuck, she's sweet - sweeter than the cake you're ignoring, and she smells so good. Her whole body just has this way of making you want to bury your face into any part of her that you can and just melt away into her.

You're tasting her sinful little hole, ass pressed back against your face, and her moans are growing louder. You're swirling your tongue against her. Her fingers grip at the edge of the counter, and she's pushing back more and more.

Eating her ass is one of your favourite things in the world. In part because of her reaction, which is always perfect, and partly because of her taste. The way she wriggles and tries to control it and can't help but just give in to the pleasure of it all. You're rock hard already, and your cock is pressing against your pants.

You pull back, taking a moment to grip her cheeks and watch them spread, spitting on her hole, watching the way her body shivers. You press your thumb to it, and it succumbs to the pressure, swallowing it whole.

Her moans are endless, and she's trying to roll her hips, to fuck back against your finger. You work your thumb inside, and she reacts in all those dirty little ways you can never forget. Her whole body is shivering, and it's honestly the hottest thing you've ever seen in your life (and Asa has given you a whole catalogue to choose from).

"Oh my god," her voice is strained, "please, just... My ass... Oh..."

You have to bite back your laugh, simply because you can't help but find her so endearing. Her cheeks are flushed, and you know if you could see her face it would be bright red. Her hair is damp at the temples with sweat. You move your thumb in and out of her slowly.

"Please what, babe?" You ask.

She's burying her face into the marble; it’s a ridiculous thing to try, but this girl is so used to being face down in the bed that muscle memory kicks in when the brain goes to mush. "Don't make me say it."

You use your free hand to smack her ass, just once. She whimpers. "Say it."

"No!" She huffs. There's a moment of silence where you keep fucking her with your thumb. You hear her suck her teeth. Finally, she relents. "Eat my ass and make me cum. Please."

You let out a knowing laugh. "Good girl."

You're not sure what you enjoy more: making her cum or making her beg. You lean in again - another taste. Her back arches beautifully. Your cock is aching. You work your mouth against her over and over.

You press your middle finger against her cunt, sliding it inside with no resistance. She's gripping it as her wetness leaks down your hand. The moans are getting out of control, her body shuddering and jerking. You feel her tighten around your finger.

"Already?" you ask, and she does not like that.

Asa pushes her face up and off the counter, her whole body trembling. "You're just... fucking good."

That makes you grin. You press your finger deeper, curling it in her, and she's practically screeching now, and despite the description, it’s a blessing to hear. You keep your mouth buried against her asshole, fucking her with your finger, picking up speed. Your cock is straining in your pants, your balls aching. You can't wait to slide your dick into her, which is utterly relatable.

"Oh my god," she's panting hard, her fingers straining where she grips the counter, "oh my god, oh my god... Yes, right there, right fucking there! Don't stop, don't stop..."

It's when she starts cumming that you start lapping up all the cream, sucking her into your mouth. Her pussy is pulsing around your finger. You hear her hit the counter with a dull thud, and it's followed by her hitting her open palm against it repeatedly.

"So good," her voice is a breathy whine, "so, so good."

You keep moving your finger inside her until the fluttering stops, her whole body relaxing into the counter. You pull back and look at the mess you've made. A sheen of sweat on her skin. Her cheeks red from the way you've so roughly spread them.

"Happy birthday to me," you say, as you unbutton your pants.

There's a little chuckle from Asa. She turns her head, her eyes slightly glazed. "That good, huh?"

"You have no idea," you take your cock out, sighing with relief, "can't wait to sink into you."

She's smiling. "My favourite part."