Last week at the office had been nothing short of hell, and at some point it had even seemed to you that it would never end. The amount of paperwork you had to deal with kept growing, piling up on your desk like dirty dishes in a sink, while deadlines loomed closer with every passing day. And as if that weren’t enough, the new intern had managed to ruin a couple of important documents, forcing you to spend extra hours writing explanatory letters and trying to salvage what could still be saved. All of this required more effort and patience than you had to give, liters of coffee, and what felt like almost a year’s supply of your nerve cells, which decided to leave the chat without explanation. On top of it all, the quarterly report hung over your head like an ominous storm cloud, refusing to be ignored no matter how many times you tried to shove it to the back of your mind.

Your working days gradually bled into long, tiring evenings spent staring at the cold glow of your computer screen in a dark, empty office. At the same time your body was desperately resisting such a  tough schedule, answering with a dull, persistent ache that had settled deep into your muscles and refused to ease, while your lower back had grown so stiff from hours of sitting motionless that even the simple act of straightening up felt like a small, hard-won victory.

By the time you finally made it home, you felt completely exhausted, moving through the apartment on autopilot — keys dropped onto the counter, shoes kicked off without care, the dull stiffness in your lower back flaring sharply with every step toward the bedroom. You barely had the energy to undress properly before slipping under the duvet, hoping that sleep would come quickly and mercifully. 

Yet even as your body began to loosen, sinking into the softness of the mattress, something else stirred beneath the fatigue. A restless, low-burning awareness of the long drought you had pushed aside for days had begun to make itself known again, rising slowly through your body as an unsatisfied heat that lingered low in your belly, warm and  insistent. The quick, hardly enjoyable release you allowed yourself all this time did almost nothing to quiet the restless heat of arousal, leaving you more frustrated than before. 

You woke each morning even more drained than the day before, still carrying both the bone-deep fatigue and that low, nagging ache that refused to leave you in peace no matter how you tried to push them down.

As the most frantic period finally begins to ease, your schedule gradually returns to something closer to normal. However, the damage had already been done. The deep fatigue and that low, nagging ache had settled into your body like something permanent, following you into every moment until you could no longer remember what it felt like to wake up without it.

It was during lunch one day, when the accumulated strain had finally caught up with you and the stiffness in your body had become impossible to ignore, that you told your close colleague how exhausted the last week had left you and how much your back was killing you. 

Gayoung listened to you intently, nodding her head quietly in sympathy when you mentioned your aching lower back and how your bum had literally gone numb from sitting for so long.

"You know, I think you should try a massage. Something deep and gentle that'll definitely help you relax," she said, leaning in a little closer. "There's this place I go to regularly when the pressure gets too much. It's nothing special, in fact, you've probably never even heard of it, but the therapists there are amazing." A small, meaningful smile played on her lips, as she added. “Ask for Yunho. He’s very good with his hands.” 

Jeong Yunho was not at all what you expected when you arrived for your scheduled massage at the spa Gayoung had recommended. He met you at the entrance — tall and broad-shouldered, with a head of tousled black hair that gleamed with quiet richness beneath the soft golden lighting of the lobby, looking more like a model than a mere masseur.

The moment he turned toward you, his face lit up with a bright, boyish smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. He radiated a warmth and light disarming charm that immediately put you at ease; yet beneath it all lay something else — a quiet but palpable air of dominance that made it unmistakably clear you were in the presence of a mature, self-assured man, not a boy. His dark eyes slowly glided over your body, lingering with quiet intent as though he could already see every taut muscle and hidden knot of tension crying out for relaxation. His assessment of you was neither hurried nor rushed, but rather calm and deliberate, sending a small, involuntary shiver through you even before he had spoken a single word.

His attentive gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he dipped his head in a small, polite bow. “Hi.” He said, voice warm and pleasantly soft, yet carrying an unexpected depth that felt almost seductive. “I’m Yunho, your therapist for today. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You managed only a mumbled reply, still slightly dazed by the unexpected beauty of his features. He noticed your reaction but didn’t comment, long accustomed to such things, though the corner of his lips lifted in a faint, knowing smirk. 

“This way.” Yunho stepped aside and with a small, graceful gesture, motioned down the softly lit corridor.

He noticed right away, slowed down without saying anything and looked back at you. When Yunho saw your condition, his expression softened into something quietly understanding.

“Long week?” His voice was soft and warm as he inquired.

"You have no idea." You murmured, your voice was quiet and laced with weariness.  'It was relentless, to put it mildly."

Yunho’s gaze stayed on you a moment longer, his eyes tracing the clear marks of severe fatigue and exhaustion on your face. He found himself thinking how out of place such weariness looked on someone as lovely as you. When he spoke, his voice was low and even, wrapping around you with a calm steadiness that felt almost intimate in the dim light of the empty corridor.

“Don’t worry.” With a gentle pressure, Yunho guided you forward, his large palm resting warmly against your lower back. With every step, his hand shifted slightly, the steady warmth of his palm sending a faint trail of goosebumps rising along your spine. The touch was innocent enough on the surface, yet impossible to ignore.“I’ll look after you tonight. Just relax and let me take care of everything.”

The private suite was peaceful and golden. Warm muted light that spilled from recessed coves along the ceiling and the upper edges of the textured walls bathed everything in a soft, honeyed glow that made the room feel smaller and far more intimate than a typical spa suite which you’ve been to before.

A large ceiling fan turned slowly overhead, its quiet blades stirring the air just enough to carry the rich scent of melting wax mingled with something darker and sweeter like sandalwood and amber.

.

On the low wooden side tables stood clusters of thick candles and smouldering incense, their flickering flames reflected in the glossy, dark surface of the heated massage table. Crystal bottles filled with fragrant oils and creams were arranged neatly beside them, their presence somehow making the space feel less clinical and more sensual. The linens on the table were deep charcoal, heavy and soft, the kind of fabric that seemed more fitting for tangled sheets and passionate caresses than for a simple massage. 

All in all, the entire space exuded a sense of quiet luxury — peaceful yet charged — as though it had been designed for deep, absolute relaxation in more ways than one.

“You can leave your things behind the screen,” Yunho said, offering you a small, gentle smile. “Then lie face down on the table and make yourself comfortable. I’ll return once you’re ready.” With a polite bow, he stepped out and quietly closed the door behind him, leaving you alone in the softly lit suite.

You undressed slowly, neatly folding each piece of clothing with care before placing it behind the screen and returning to the table. The heated surface of the table pleasantly warmed your bare skin as you settled onto your stomach, just as Yunho had instructed. Lying face down and completely naked beneath the sheet, you remained still for a moment, suddenly aware of how vulnerable you felt. 

The intimate atmosphere of the room only deepened the sensation. The soft weight of the linen against your bare skin, the faint scent of oil and melting wax lingering in the air, and the quiet knowledge that Yunho would soon return — all of it made you feel more exposed, more aware of your own nakedness beneath the thin sheet. 

The thought of his large hands moving over your body with nothing between you stirred something deeper, a slow, insistent warmth beginning to gather low in your stomach that had nothing to do with simple relaxation.

A few moments later, the soft click of the door opening reached your ears, followed by Yunho’s low voice.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.” You answered, your voice slightly muffled against the table. “You can come in.”

“Perfect.” He stepped inside and closed the door behind him with quiet care. 

You couldn’t see him, but you could hear the soft sounds of movement — the faint clink of glass bottles, the rustle of fabric, and the subtle shift of his presence as he prepared what he needed. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice calm and reassuring as he rested one warm hand lightly on your shoulder.

“I’ll begin now. Try to relax as much as you can. If anything feels uncomfortable or painful at any point, just tell me, alright? I want you to feel completely at ease while I’m working on you.”

“Yes,” you murmured. “I will.”

The soft click of the oil bottle was followed by the slow, viscous sound of warmed liquid being poured. A faint shiver ran through you as the first hot drops landed on your skin, before a thin, steady stream began to spill across your back and trail down the length of your spine. It gathered briefly in the small hollows of your lower back before continuing its slow descent, leaving a warm, glistening path in its wake. The rich, herbal scent of the oil rose to meet the deeper, earthier notes of sandalwood already lingering in the air, wrapping around you in a heady, sensual haze.

The sensation felt strangely intimate. The heated oil slid over your bare skin in a slow, deliberate caress, heightening every small sensation until every inch of you felt more sensitive, more responsive. It was as though the oil itself was coaxing you open — easing not only the tightness in your muscles, but the deeper, heavier tension you had been carrying for far too long.

Then his hands touched you. They were large and strong, the palms broad and the fingers long and slender, with prominent knuckles and veins that stood out beneath his pale skin. You couldn’t stop the thought from rising — how those same long, graceful fingers might feel if they moved lower, slipping between your legs and sinking deep inside you exactly where you needed them most. You tried to push the image away almost as quickly as it had appeared, reminding yourself that this was neither the time nor the place for such thoughts. Still, the idea lingered stubbornly at the edge of your mind, refusing to disappear completely.

Yunho’s hands moved over your back in slow, confident strokes, spreading the warmed oil across your skin until it glistened beneath his palms. The oil made everything slick and smooth, allowing him to glide effortlessly over your bare skin as he worked the liquid deep into your flesh with firm, steady pressure. He began at your shoulders, his thumbs sinking into the tight knots with deliberate care, and despite yourself, a soft, broken sound slipped from your parted lips as the sensation melted through you.

He paused for a moment, his hands coming to rest on your softly oiled skin. 

“Is this too much?”  Yunho asked in a low, gentle voice. 'I heard you make a sound just now...I want to make sure you're comfortable.”

“No, it’s fine.” You murmured, shook your head slightly against the table. “Everything’s alright, really.  It’s just… I knew my muscles were tense, but I didn’t realise it was this bad.”

'Mmm...' A quiet, understanding hum escaped him. “That happens more often than you’d think.” Yunho pointed out. “A lot of people don’t notice how tightly they’re holding themselves until someone else touches them.” 

Although his words sounded innocent enough, there was a quiet ambiguity beneath them, as though he wasn’t only speaking about the massage, but about another kind of touch entirely — one far more sexual. You turned a little red at the thought and quickly buried your face in the headrest again, trying not to dwell on it as Yunho returned to his work.

His hands began to move again, and this time they felt even hotter against your skin than before. Instead of the focused, targeted pressure from before, Yunho switched to long, sweeping strokes, using the full weight of his palms as they glided in slow, rhythmic waves from the base of your neck down to the middle of your back. The motion was deeper and more encompassing, as though he were trying to soothe your entire body at once rather than chasing individual knots.  Every glide was made effortless by the oil, with his skin sliding over yours in a way that felt almost hypnotic.

The relief came quickly, sinking deep into your muscles. You felt the week’s tension begin to dissolve beneath his magical touch, knots you hadn’t even realised were there slowly unravelling with each careful pass of his fingers. Every time Yunho found a particularly stubborn spot and pressed into it, your body gave a little more, surrendering another layer of stiffness you hadn’t known you were carrying.

The pleasant warmth of the heated table beneath you, the soft golden light filling the room, and the low, steady crackle of the candles all seemed to work in harmony with the slow motion of his elegant hands and his soothing presence, gently pulling you deeper into a state of heavy, luxurious relaxation. Your breathing slowed, your body growing heavier against the linen as the last remnants of tension melted away beneath his caressing touches.

Yunho continued working in silence for a while, letting the steady rhythm of his hands speak for him. At some point, his soft voice joined the quiet atmosphere of the room, pleasantly breaking the silence that had settled between you. He casually asked about your week, and when you offered a tired reply, he responded with a soft remark about how demanding office work could be — how it often left people carrying tension in places they didn’t even realise. The comment was light, but it carried the necessary understanding that made you feel seen. Whilst you were chatting, his long, strong fingers never ceased their movement, continuing their careful exploration as they traced the ridges of tension along your spine and the tight bands across your shoulder blades with focus.

Nevertheless, all the while, behind that professional and charming exterior, Yunho’s thoughts were far from innocent. 

He was enjoying this almost as much as you were — if not more. He couldn’t deny that, to him, you looked incredibly tempting like that, completely relaxed and defenceless beneath his touch. Your body was so soft and pliant in all the right places, warm and lightly glistening from the oil he had worked so thoroughly into your skin, and every quiet, sweet little moan that slipped from your lips whenever his fingers found a stubborn knot only deepened the heat simmering low in his stomach. 

Yunho knew he easily could draw even sweeter sounds from you, especially if his thick cock was buried deep inside that tight, plump pussy of yours. A pussy he suspected had been unfairly neglected, judging by the way you unconsciously clenched your thighs every time his hands slid lower, dangerously nearing to the edge of the sheet.

After a while, a low, almost unconscious hum began to rise from Yunho’s chest, a quiet sound of deep satisfaction that matched the unhurried rhythm of his strokes. The viscous consistency of the essential oil made everything slick and slippery; you could hear the wet, softly sloppy sound of his large palms gliding over your heated skin with every movement, the noise almost indecent in the soothing stillness of the room. 

The more he touched you, the more aware Yunho became of your body's response to him: the subtle shifts of your hips, your heavier breathing and your faint moans, which grew louder as you sank deeper into the haze of pleasure and the tension finally left you. It was becoming harder for him to keep his thoughts purely professional, and the low hum in his chest deepened slightly as his hands continued their slow, deliberate work.

As his hands travelled lower, smoothing the oil along your lower back, he eventually reached the edge of the sheet covering your buttocks and paused. 

“I’d like to work a little lower.” Yunho’s voice remained gentle and polite when he spoke, though there was a subtle shift in its tone — a barely perceptible hoarseness that hadn’t been there before. “Is it alright if I move the sheet down just a bit?” The tips of his long fingers resting lightly at the edge of the fabric. 

You made a small, drowsy sound of agreement, too relaxed to form proper words and too far gone in pleasure to fully grasp the weight of what you were allowing. You didn't think twice about what it might mean to let him see more of your body, because you simply wanted to let these magnificent, talented hands continue to touch you.

He slowly folded the sheet down, as if to give you time to change your mind, before exposing the plump upper curve of your buttocks to the warm air and his dark, hungry gaze. A fresh, generous stream of essential oil was poured over your skin, thick and glistening as it spilled across the roundness of your ass. His large hands followed at once, smearing the warm, viscous liquid over your flesh before sinking his fingers into the soft, supple curves with a pressure that was just a little firmer than necessary.

You hardly noticed the shift in intensity. The relief moved through you in slow, luxurious waves as he kneaded the firm muscle with focused dedication, his palms gliding and pressing in deep, rhythmic motions. Your body felt heavier now, more pliant, the last remnants of rigid tension melting away beneath Yunho’s touch as if by magic, leaving you soft and yielding under his hands.

As Yunho’s hands travelled lower, the conversation between you began to shift as well. His questions grew more personal, each one well-thought-out and laced with a certain undercurrent that made them feel heavier and  intimate than before. You answered them almost without thinking, offering him whatever he seemed to want while your mind remained soft and hazy, lulled by the steady rhythm of his touch and the slow, pleasant warmth spreading through your body.

When his fingers pressed especially deep into a particularly sensitive spot on your lower back, a low, helpless moan of pure pleasure slipped from your lips before you could stop it. A rush of unexpected heat bloomed through your body, and you felt a slow trickle of mucus spill from your little hole as your pussy clenched around nothing. It was so embarrassing, your  body was betraying you in the most undeniable way, and there was little you could do with it. Instinctively, you tried to press your thighs together in a futile attempt to ease the growing tension between your legs, but the movement only made the slickness between them more noticeable.  

Yunho noticed the changes in your condition right away. He repeated the movement with the same deliberate pressure, his thumbs sinking firmly into the small of your back just above the swell of your ass.

“Does it hurt here?” His voice was low and smooth as warm honey as he spoke, the sound wrapping around you while his oil-slick fingers parted slightly as they glided with unhurried precision over the soft, full curve of one cheek and then the next. “Or here?”

“No…” Your reply came as a soft, awkward murmur, as you slightly  shifted beneath his hands. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just… a little more sensitive there, I think.” Your voice betrayed you by coming out softer and more uncertain than you had meant.

He didn’t respond right away. The corner of his mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile as he continued his unhurried kneading, his touch never faltering. He knew exactly what kind of sensitivity he was coaxing from your body, but for now, he allowed you the fragile excuse, his large hands moving over your skin with the same steady, patient care.

Yunho’s gentle hands continued their unhurried descent, his large, warm palms gliding over the backs of your thighs in slow, deliberate strokes. Without asking, he eased them apart a little wider so he could reach the tight muscles of your inner thigh, the movement quiet yet unmistakably intentional, as though he were testing the limits of what you would allow. 

A faint flicker of self-consciousness stirred within you as your body was opened beneath his hands with such ease, and though you tried to remain still, your muscles tensed involuntarily at the sudden vulnerability of the position.

Yunho noticed this subtle shift in you, but he didn’t stop. His touch lighter for a moment, giving you time to settle and get used to it, before he poured another generous amount of warm oil and continued. 

At some point the sheet had slipped away without you noticing, leaving you completely bare beneath his hands. Yunho’s gaze unabashedly lingered openly now, taking in the sight of your naked body and the soft, seductive curves of your figure. From where he stood, he could see the faint, glistening hint of your swollen pussy, already slick and shining with your arousal.

He poured more fragrant oil directly between your legs this time, letting the warm liquid spill thickly over your pretty pussy and coat your plump labia and delicate folds in a glistening layer. The sight of it made his jaw tighten and though he tried to keep his breathing even, you could hear a barely audible, raspy groan as his cock twitched visibly against the front of his trousers.

His hands continued their slow ascent along the backs of your thighs, each stroke gliding higher than the last. The oil made his touch impossibly smooth, and with every upward pass, you became more aware of your own body — of how deeply the relaxation had settled into you, leaving you sensitive in a way that felt almost unbearable. A deep, insistent warmth had begun to gather low in your belly, and with each brush of his fingers, your skin seemed to flush hotter,  sensitive.

Between your legs, a slick, liquid heat was steadily gathering, growing more insistent the closer his hands came. When his fingertips finally brushed the delicate fold where your inner thigh met the edge of your pussy — just the lightest, most deliberate graze through the warm oil — a soft, broken sound slipped from your throat before you could stop it.

One of Yunho’s hands came to rest on the back of your thigh, his long fingers tracing the same path once more, slower this time, as though deliberately testing the limits of your restraint. He could feel the way your body twitched beneath his touch, the heat radiating between your legs growing more pronounced with every passing second. Though his voice remained soft, still wrapped in that warm, boyish tone, something darker had begun to stir beneath it — a low, velvet hunger that made the air between you feel heavier, more charged.

“You’re holding so much tension here too.” He whispered, the calloused pad of his finger resting lightly against that sensitive place. “Right here.” His thumb stroked once, slow and deliberate, over the slick, swollen flesh between your legs. “Would you like me to go deeper?”

A part of you wondered, fleetingly, what the consequences of this moment might be — whether crossing this line would change something between you. But the thought was fleeting, pale in comparison to the raw, aching need that had been building inside you for far too long. Your pussy was so eager, so desperately empty after weeks without being properly filled, that any lingering doubts dissolved beneath the heat of your own desire.

When you didn’t pull away — when your only response was a shaky exhale and the helpless clench of your thighs — something in Yunho settled. The boyish smile faded into something darker, hungrier. His free hand came to rest between your shoulder blades, broad and heavy, pinning you gently but firmly to the table as though he had no intention of letting you escape what was coming.

“I know techniques that reach places most people never touch.” He said, his voice lower now, darker. “Inside. Where you’re really aching.” His thumb brushed over you again, slower this time, the pressure just firm enough to make your breath catch. “No pressure. But I think you need it tonight. I think you need someone to take care of this properly.”

Your hesitant, breathless “yes” was the only answer he needed.

The moment the word left your lips, something in Yunho shifted. The last traces of politeness and professionalism fell away like silk slipping from skin.

His hand pressed more firmly between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned exactly where he wanted you. With his other hand, Yunho poured a fresh, generous stream of warm, fragrant oil directly onto the curvaceous curve of your ass, letting the thick, glistening liquid spill slowly between your cheeks and over your cunt. 

It flowed in warm rivulets, coating your already slick folds and clinging to the peachy, soft halves of your cunt before dripping in slow, heavy drops onto the heated table beneath you. The sound was wet and completely shameless in the stillness of the room.

“Stay just like this for me, pretty.” He said, his voice lower now, rougher, the dominance no longer hidden. His large hand moved over your skin in slow, possessive strokes, spreading the oil as his fingers parted you without hesitation. “Let me take care of you the way you need.”

The sheet had long since been discarded on the floor, and you lay face-down on the heated table, completely naked, your legs parted just enough for Yunho to see everything. He stood behind you, tall and broad, devastatingly handsome in the golden light, his gaze dark with unrestrained hunger as he took in the sight now fully bared before him. Your body lay open and glistening, your delicate folds parted and slick with oil and arousal, the soft, flushed flesh of your pussy on full display in the most lewd and inviting way.

“You’re shaking already, princess.” Yunho dragging two long fingers slowly through your slick labia. “And I haven’t even started the real massage yet.”

His hand — large enough to cover your entire cunt— slid between your thighs from behind and pressing it possessively right against your soft little mound.. He didn’t move at first. Yunho simply held you there, his palm cupping your swollen pussy while his long fingers curled over your plump, soft labia, all smooth and slippery with oil, feeling how hot and wet you already were. 

Then he began to grope you in earnest. He squeezed gently at first, rolling your puffy outer lips between his elegant fingers, massaging them slowly, almost thoughtfully, as though he were learning the shape of your cunt. His palm ground in lazy circles against your clit while his fingers spread and squeezed your labia, tugging them lightly, feeling how soft and slick they were. Every so often he would deliver a light, wet slap to your crotch, the sound filthy and sharp, making your flesh jiggle and sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you.

The sight of your glistening folds, now even more swollen and slick from his touch, seemed to stir something rough in him. Yunho’s breathing grew heavier as he spread your ass cheeks apart with both hands, opening you completely for his gaze. 

“Look at these pretty little holes.” A low, appreciative sound rumbled in his chest. “So tiny and tight… it’s almost a shame they’ve been left empty for so long. But don’t worry, baby. I’m going to take such good care of both of them.” He spat directly onto your pussy, purring contentedly, seeing the warm saliva mixing with the oil and your own wetness, making everything even messier. 

His fingers returned at once, spreading the mess over your folds. You gasped, your back arching as he pressed them against your clit and stroking it with devastating precision.

“That’s it, good girl.” He praised, his voice low and filthy. “Spread those pretty legs a little more for me. Let me feel how badly this sweet little pussy needed to be fucked.”

You moaned helplessly, your hips twitching as you gave in to his touch, your body melting under the overwhelming sensation of being so thoroughly handled. 

“Fuck… this is exactly the kind of pussy I like.” Yunho groaned, his voice thick and low with unrestrained arousal. “So plump and swollen already… so fucking slippery. Look at how it’s dripping down my hand, baby. You’re making such a mess for me.” He kept you pinned beneath his hand, completely at his mercy, while his fingers worked over your cunt with slow, deliberate greed. 

Yunho squeezed and massaged your soft, puffy lips between his long fingers for some time longer, before spreading them open only to watch your empty hole flutter and clench around nothing. 

You couldn’t help but give in. A soft, broken moan slipped from your lips as your thighs parted a little wider of their own accord, your body surrendering to the filthy pleasure of his touch. Yunho noticed immediately. A dark, satisfied smile curved his lips as he slipped his hand beneath your hips and lifted them slightly, angling you higher, presenting your dripping cunt to him like a sweet offering.

The very next moment, two long, slender fingers pushed between your folds and sank deep into you in one smooth, merciless thrust. Yunho groaned at the way your walls gripped him so tightly, immediately curling his fingers hard against that sensitive spot inside you while his palm ground down against your swollen clit. 

He fucked you with expert precision — deep, steady thrusts that dragged along every sensitive inch of your walls, mixed with slow, grinding circles that made your breath hitch. Every time he pulled back, he spread his fingers just enough to stretch you open before sinking back in.

“You’re so fucking dirty for me already.” He rasped, his voice rough with lust. “Dripping all over my hand like a desperate little slut… and I like it even dirtier, baby. I want this pretty cunt messy and loud for me.”

He pulled his fingers out just long enough to spit directly onto your pretty, slutty pussy again, before he shoved three fingers back inside you. This time he fucked you harder, faster, his wrist twisting with every thrust so his knuckles dragged deliciously against your velvety walls. His thumb rubbed merciless, tight circles over your throbbing clit, and with his other hand he pressed firmly against your lower stomach, making sure you felt every deep, filthy stroke inside you.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, your hips rolling back shamelessly to meet every thrust of his hand. The heat in your belly coiled tighter and tighter, your thighs beginning to tremble as your orgasm built with dizzying speed. 

Just as you were about to fall over the edge, Yunho suddenly pulled his fingers out of you.

“Oh, no… please…” You were weeping loudly at the sudden emptiness, but Yunho gave you no time to protest. His hands were already moving, flipping you onto your back with effortless strength. Before you could catch your breath, he caught your legs and pushed them up toward your chest, folding you nearly in half and spreading you wide open for him.

“There we go.” He breathed, his eyes dark and hungry as they dragged over your glistening, oiled pussy. “Now I can really see what I’m working with.” His fingers returned to you at once, sliding slowly over your fluttering folds, teasingly parting your labia with the tips of his fingers.

“This is much better, isn’t it?”  The touch was lighter now, almost lazy, but no less devastating in its precision. “Now I can reach so much deeper… and I can be far more thorough with you.” His voice low and rough with arousal as he looked down at you, with obvious pleasure watching as thick, sticky strands of your mucus, mixed with his saliva and essential oil, stretch from his fingers to your plump snatch as he pulls it away from you.

He proved it immediately.

His skilful fingers pushed back inside you, and from this new position — with your legs folded up and spread wide — the angle was devastatingly different. 

He curled them hard against your front thin wall from the very first thrust, dragging over that sensitive spot with deliberate, merciless precision. His palm stayed pressed firmly against your swollen clit, grinding in slow, heavy circles while his fingers fucked into you deep and steady. 

The new angle made everything feel unbearably intense, overwhelming in the most exquisite way. He could reach places he hadn’t been able to before, and he took full advantage of it — alternating between deep, punishing thrusts and slower, grinding movements that made your toes curl and your breath hitch. Your moans grew louder, more broken, your body trembling in his hold. 

Sometimes he would pull his fingers almost all the way out, caressing the soft, stretched rim of your tiny hole with his calloused fingertips, only to push them back in with a sharp, wet, slurping sound that made your face burn with shame and arousal all at once.

‘I'm close...’ You could feel your orgasm building again, faster this time, the heat coiling tighter and tighter in your belly. 

Your thighs began to tremble in his grip, your walls fluttering desperately around his fingers as you teetered on the edge.

This time, Yunho didn’t stop.

The orgasm crashed over you hard, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your vision blurred at the edges as wave after wave of pleasure tore through you like an avalanche, your body seizing and shaking beneath him. 

You barely registered the broken, sobbing moans spilling from your lips, too lost in the overwhelming rush. He fucked you straight through it — fingers pounding into you at a relentless pace, his thumb rubbing your clit in tight, merciless circles, dragging every last tremor of pleasure from your overstimulated body.

But even after your trembling began to subside, his fingers didn’t leave you.

 “It’s too much…” You whined, overstimulated and trembling, instinctively trying to squirm away from his hand. “Yunho, I...I can’t…” You gasped, your voice soft and shaky. 

Yunho only pressed his large, hot palm more firmly against your lower stomach, pinning you down with effortless strength, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

“Still not.” Yunho growled, his voice dark and thick with hunger as he drove his fingers back into you at a wild, punishing pace.

You cried out, the pleasure bordering on unbearable, your body jerking helplessly beneath him. 

Another orgasm rose far too quickly, your walls clenching desperately around his fingers as the heat inside you coiled tighter and tighter. This time it hit differently — deeper, more violent. Your back arched sharply as you came again, and this time you squirted hard, a powerful rush of wetness spilling out around his fingers, soaking his hand and the table beneath you in a hot, shameless flood.

Yunho let out a guttural, drawn-out moan at the sight, the sound low and primal, as though it had been torn from deep within his chest.

“Here we go, baby. ” He rasped, pulling his fingers out only to rub them rapidly over your pulsing clit and sand overly sensitive folds, splashing liquid everywhere as you kept squirting. “Fuck, that’s it… look at you, making such a pretty mess for me.”

When your body finally stopped trembling, he slowly removed his fingers, glistening with your release. His dark eyes dragged over your wrecked form as he brought those same fingers up to your parted lips, brushing them teasingly across your mouth before sliding them inside, letting you taste yourself on his skin.

“We still have forty minutes left before the end of the session, darling.” His cock, rock-hard and straining against his trousers, pressed heavily against your cheek as he rocked his hips forward. “So… what do you want next?”

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, letting them trail down your throat before sliding them back between your legs, lazily pushing it inside your used cunt.

“Should we keep going right here?” He asked casually, fucking you with slow, shallow thrusts. “Or maybe… here?” Yunho withdrew his fingers again and pressed the slick tips against your delicate, unspoilt asshole instead, rubbing slow, deliberate circles around the tight ring of muscle. “I can be so gentle…” he murmured, voice dropping lower, “or I can finger this tight little ass so deep you’ll feel it for days.”

He brought his dripping fingers back up to your lips once more, pushing them into your mouth so you could clear up the mess you made, while at the same time rocking his hips forward, letting you feel the full, heavy length of his huge cock pressed against your cheek.

“Or maybe...” He continued, voice low and filthy/ “I should massage that pretty throat after all that moaning… help you relax it from the inside with something hot, thick, and much bigger than my fingers.”

You moaned around his fingers, overwhelmed and desperate, your thighs twitching as you instinctively tried to press them closer together. But there was only one answer that truly made your body ache.

“In my pussy.” You breathed when he pulled his fingers from your mouth, your voice hoarse and needy. “I want you in my pussy.”

“That’s a good girl.” Yunho praised, his voice low and rough with approval.

Yunho climbed onto the table with effortless grace, settling between your spread thighs. His hands moved to his waistband, and he pushed his pants down just far enough to free his hard cock and the sight of it made your breath catch in your throat.

He was thick, far thicker than you had expected — with a heavy, flushed shaft that curved slightly upward in a way that promised ruin. The broad head was flushed a deep, angry red, already glistening with precum that slowly gathered at the tip before dripping down the thick length. Prominent veins pulsed along his cock, standing out starkly against the flushed skin, and below hung a pair of full, heavy balls, drawn up tight with arousal. The sheer size of him made your stomach tighten with a dizzying mix of nerves and desperate, aching want.

Yunho wrapped one large hand around his cock and began stroking himself slowly, deliberately, spreading the precum along his length until it shone wetly in the golden light. His eyes stayed locked on your exposed pussy, dark with hunger, as though he was already imagining how perfectly it would stretch around him.

He leaned in closer and dragged the thick head of his cock through your slick folds — once, twice, then again and again. Each heavy slap against your plump flesh sent wet, filthy sounds echoing through the room. He teased you mercilessly, letting the fat head catch against your swollen and still extremely sensitive clit before slapping it down again, watching with dark satisfaction as your body jerked with every impact.

“Look at you.” His soft voice was thick with lust now.  “Twitching like a desperate little thing every time I slap this pretty pussy with my big cock. You want it that badly already, princess? Do you want to see how far I’ll stretch this tiny, tight fuckhole until it swallows me whole?”

He slid the head between your labia once more, this time holding it there, rocking it slowly against your clit without pushing inside. With his other hand, he used two fingers to squeeze your outer lips together, making them plumper so they licked the thick head lewdly with every movement. The sensation was obscene — your soft, slippery folds clinging to him with every slow, torturous drag, increasing stimulation.

Yunho kept teasing you like that, alternating between heavy slaps of his cock against your pussy and long, torturous strokes that never quite gave you what you needed. Your hips began to move on their own, chasing him, silently begging. You could feel how wet you were, how desperately your empty cunt fluttered around nothing, aching to be filled. 

"Please... I need this so much... I want your dick so bad..." A soft, broken moan slipped from your lips as you spread your legs a little wider, giving in to the need that had been burning inside you for far too long. "I'll be a good girl, I promise... You can use me however you want, just fuck me. Please..."

Only when your soft, desperate whimpers turned into broken pleas did Yunho finally give in.

He pressed the broad head of his cock against your entrance and began to push inside. Even after everything his fingers had done, the stretch was intense. A sharp sting accompanied the thick intrusion as your walls were forced to open around him, but the burn was quickly drowned beneath the overwhelming feeling of being filled. 

Yunho didn’t rush. He sank into you inch by inch, groaning low in his throat as your tight heat swallowed more of him. When he was finally buried to the hilt, he stayed there for a moment, letting you feel every thick, pulsing inch of him deep inside you. Its length was so huge, so thick, that the distinct outline of his massive cock was visible against your lower belly. 

Then he started to fuck you.

One of his large hands pressed firmly against your lower abdomen, holding you in place and pressing on the obvious bulge that appeared every time he entered you, while the other kneaded and squeezed your breast, fingers tugging at your sensitive nipple. 

He began with deep, rolling thrusts — long, deliberate strokes that made you feel every ridge and vein dragging along your walls. Gradually, he picked up the pace, his hips snapping forward harder, the wet sound of skin meeting skin filling the room as he fucked you with growing intensity.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, your walls fluttering around his thick cock as another orgasm began to build fast. Just as you were about to tip over the edge, Yunho’s voice cut through the haze, low and commanding.

“Not yet.” He ordered, voice strained but firm. “Hold it. Don't you fucking dare cum without me.” Yunho kept fucking you through the agonizing edge, slowing his thrusts just enough to keep you trembling on the brink without letting you fall. His movements grew deeper, more punishing, his hand pressing firmly against your lower stomach so he could feel every thick inch of himself moving inside you. 

Only when your whole body was shaking and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes did he finally slide his hand down from your breast to your clit, rubbing you with merciless precision.

You came with a broken cry, your entire body seizing up as the orgasm crashed over you in violent, overwhelming waves. Your back arched sharply, your walls clamping down around him in rhythmic, desperate spasms as pleasure tore through you with almost brutal intensity. 

Yunho groaned deeply, the sound low and guttural, raw with pleasure as your cunt milked him through your climax. He kept thrusting, fucking you straight through it, and only moments later he followed — burying himself to the hilt with a low, drawn-out moan as he spilled inside you in thick, heavy pulses. 

You could feel every hot spurt of his cum flooding your insides, so much that it began to leak out around his cock even before he was finished.

When he finally pulled out with a totally obscene, loud slurping, you were left trembling and boneless, your body still twitching from the force of your release. A thick, creamy load of his cum slowly spilled from your used, fluttering hole, trickling down between your cheeks in warm, glistening rivulets.

Yunho watched the sight for a moment, dark eyes heavy with satisfaction, before dragging two fingers through the sticky, viscous mess. He gathered the mixture of your release and his own before bringing them to his mouth, licking them clean with a low, pleased hum.

'Now that...' He said in a husky voice thick with lingering pleasure '...is what I call a really good massage.'

At the reception desk, Yunho casually leaned against the counter with that same warm, boyish smile he had greeted you with earlier, though now there was a darker, more satisfied glint in his eyes as he looked at you.

“So…” He began, tilting his head slightly, causing a few silky strands falling onto his face, giving him a more hot look. “...was everything to your liking? Do you feel better now?”

You paused for a moment, taking stock of your body. To your surprise, there was no trace of the aching stiffness or tension that had plagued you for days. Instead, there was only a deep, pleasant soreness — the kind that lingered after being thoroughly and expertly used. 

“More than.” A shy little laugh escaped you as you reached out and lightly swatted his arm.

Yunho’s grin widened, turning more confident, more knowing. 

“I’m glad.” He said, his voice dropping just a fraction. “You know, we have other ways to help you unwind too, if you’re ever interested. The sauna is particularly good after a massage… very relaxing.” He gestured casually toward the rest of the spa. “Next time...”

But before he could finish, the door to one of the other private rooms opened. Another therapist stepped out, followed by his client, and your gaze drifted toward him almost instinctively — and lingered.

He was absolutely stunning.

Where Yunho carried a bright, approachable charm, this man radiated something sharper, more dark and magnetic. His dark hair fell slightly over his face, framing sharp, expressive features and intense, alluring eyes that held a devilish mischief even in stillness. His build was lean but powerful, and the easy confidence in the way he moved made it impossible not to look. There was something almost feline about him — graceful and sensual, yet laced with an underlying dominance that made your stomach flutter.

Yunho followed your gaze and let out a low, amused chuckle. He tapped the counter lightly with his fingers, drawing your attention back to him. When you looked at him again, he was wearing a knowing smirk, the tip of his tongue briefly brushing over his lower lip.

“So then…” He said, his voice dropped several octaves, sounding more sultry and seductive. “...next time, we can try a different kind of massage. One I usually do together with San."

Heat rushed to your face so quickly you were sure it was visible. Still, despite the blush, you found yourself nodding.

“I’d like that.” You said, quieter now. “Can you… sign me up for another session?”

“Of course.” Yunho replied, his smirk softening into something warmer, though the dark glint in his eyes remained hinting at something a bit more naughty . “I’ll make sure to set something up for you.”

You left the spa a short while later, your body feeling lighter than it had in weeks or perhaps even months. There was still that deep, satisfying ache between your legs and in your muscles, but it no longer felt like exhaustion. It felt like a promise.

And as you stepped out into the evening air, you were already thinking about when you’d be coming back for the next session.

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part I @tiny-apocalypse @captain-joongz @alicedawitchbish @woohwababes @wlv-asteria @wisejudgedragonhairdo @mingisprincesss @lavishloving @teagietots @spooo00oky @sousydive @hwapou @bunnliix @softwsan @mjyungi @fantasy2wonderland @noirsfantasy @cassies-cookies @renaholicss @luffypants @hyukssunflower @watermelon2319 @peachygiku @bunnyxoxodarling @stolasisyourparent @soranosnowbunny @certifiedmoa @sanglix @slvtiny @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @hecateslittlewitchling @xxawl @pastellbunno @starlletsblog @seonghwasstar @hwanring @vtyb23 @pearltinyy @minjaeum @chasevixx @bomi-ja @onedumbho3 @sanglix @cursedeastern @itza-meee @pinkies-things @atinism @mxnsxngie @nenefix-on @therealcuppicake @annafeebou @sharksandminhos @@lixies-pixieboy @@vampzity @0rangemilk @yellow-foxxing @claimmeyourprincess

❣ ℌ𝔬𝔩𝔶 𝔅𝔲𝔫𝔫𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ❣ Part II @unholywriters @hey-syia @hrts4nohee @vnessalau @mlink64 @tessakleine @fr34k4c1dr41n @313hwa @lilyuwon @tiziamattaga @un-knew @wiaxul @siyah-staryis @seonghwasbbgirl @mingisfavgf @bunnyluvr25 @roserperfume @lose-lose07 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @lelaleleb @bubblebisk @silverlight-h @ chloe-elise-2000 @cookiesandcreammy @mxnsxngie @ghostlovesworld @i-love-ateez @mingisprincesss @vampscan @peachygiku @vampqueen777 @miyaluvvsyou @stay-tiny-things @moondanse94 @thyvessel

Chapters (Classes):

Intro

Class One: Sexual Education. Mingi. Making Out For Beginners

Class Two: Sexual Education: Wooyoung. Masturbation for Beginners

Class Three: Sexual Education: Yunho. Fingering for Beginners

Class Four: Sexual Education: Seonghwa. Oral Sex for Beginners

Class Five: Sexual Education: Jongho. Vanilla Sex for Beginners

Bonus Chapter: Sexual Education: Study Session. Review with Wooyoung.

Class Six: Sexual Education: Yeosang. Sex Toys for Beginners

Class Seven: Sexual Education: San. Role Play for beginners.

Class Eight: Sexual Education: Hongjoong. Submission for Beginners.

most likely …

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐖𝐀 ☆

idk what it is about hwa but something about him screams voyeurism to me. i think he’d be the one to bring it up, and i also think he’d share you with every single member if he could. as the oldest, even if he doesn’t share his personal items, something about sharing you gives him a sense of control. he’s always sitting in the corner of the hotel room, watching, analyzing as one of his best friends makes his girl feel good, but also, something about watching two people he loves together, right in front of his face, gets him off. he doesn’t wanna be involved— he wants to sit in his corner and watch, see how you react, see what the others do that he does or doesn’t do, watch how his members fall apart because of you. he’s prideful about it, it’s a way of showing you off, showing his members what they can have for a night but never to keep. he’s never jealous if you cum quick or if you’re screaming for another member, he’s watching with calculated eyes, taking notes, trying to ignore the ache of his cock that he doesn’t touch until he can’t take it anymore.

his favorite person to share you with is san. san is a passionate man in everything he does, his motivation never dies, and god does that statement remain true when it comes to sex. seonghwa is addicted to letting san fuck you, he’s the only member that’s fucked you more than once, hwa is obsessed with how you react for him, how easily you fall apart under his touch, the sounds the two of you make… seonghwa nearly asks for his wrists to be tied to the chair. its impossible not to stroke his cock while san’s eating you out, to not cum at the same time you do, to not drool as he watches the muscles in san’s toned back flex as he fucks you. hwa is a mess in his corner, his lap covered in cum, hand slick and wrist aching while his cock lays flaccid and utterly spent— but he still can’t stop, not when san hasn’t finished yet, not when you aren’t brainless and lifted to that fuzzy space that only san brings you to so easily. seonghwa could watch you for hours, his own personal movie, his favorite part would always be when you twisted your head to stare at him as you came, every single time. seonghwa would die a happy man in his corner if he was watching one of his best friends fuck you stupid.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐍 ☆

san would quite literally do anything his gf asked of him, but i think san is a fucking freak to begin with and watching you with someone else would be a dream to him. he’s obsessed with your pleasure, a demon possessed when it comes to getting you off, there isn’t a day that goes by where you aren’t finishing from some ministrations of choi san. if you even so much as look at another member with lingering eyes he’s on it— he’s observant, he’s horny, and his mind is always going, thinking of something new, trying it out with you, getting you past the finish line with it. san is a quiet man but he’s always storing details away, saving them for later, rewording them into propositions to make you think it was his idea. when san drops the idea of you hooking up with someone else, you’re the one shocked as if he’d just stripped you bare, peered inside your mind, as if all your thoughts were written across your forehead. san doesn’t get jealous, he’d do anything to get you off, and he means that.

san giggled to himself when he watched you approach yeosang in the backlit bar. quiet and meek, san would have never expected yeosang to agree to dance with you— but the blush that crossed yeosang’s cheeks, how his ears tipped red, san knew he was going to have fun with this. san stood with wooyoung as he watched you dance with yeosang, grinding on him, hands around his neck, lips ghosting his skin, san’s pants were agonizingly tight and only grew tighter every time yeosang glanced their way with worried eyes. he didn’t stop, though, he never asked for permission, and for some reason it made san hornier that yeosang knew you called the shots. so when the three of you made it back to your shared place and you sat with your back pressed against san’s chest and yeosang between your thighs, it was no surprise to any of you when san ended up finishing untouched, ropes of hot cum painting your back, sticking your skin to his. it was so hot, hotter than san could have ever expected, too hot to not make the occurrence a regular thing. after that night you invited the rest of the boys to your bedroom, one by one, it became a game to you and san. who could get you off the fastest, who did new things that you could incorporate into your own sex life, who you wanted to invite back into the bedroom. san was always present, always watching, always right there, always touching, always finishing at the same time as you.

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈 ☆

mingi would share the world with yunho, so yungi topping mingi’s gf is so real to me i’m 100% convinced it’s true. unlike the other two before him, mingi is possessive and jealous by nature, he can be shy and insecure, but never when it comes to yunho. he’s third on this list because i think he’d be dating his gf for less than six months before he let yunho get his hands on her, Grade A Lover Boy ™, he’s so open to the idea that he’s the one pushing it to happen— he’s been having threesomes with yunho ever since he started having sex, so when it comes to you, his perfect little girlfriend, why wouldn’t he want to show you off to yunho? he boasts about you all the time, how pliant you are for him, how your pussy is the best he’s ever had, how your body was sculpted by god himself. it makes yunho drool and fills mingi with such a sense of pride he needs to show him as soon as he can, let him experience it for himself, but asking you is the hard part. somehow explaining the relationship between the two without making it sound like he’s objectifying you in any way, because he’s not, you’re the two people in this world he loves the most, and he’s just as confident in yunho’s skills as he is in how he feels about you.

when you agree without a second of contemplation mingi knows he’s found the one. so he invites yunho over to your shared apartment on a random weeknight, a couple glasses of liquor between you to ease your one sided nerves, and you were laid out bare on your mattress before you had a moment to second guess. two huge men towered over you, taking you for everything you were worth, making you finish over and over and over until you had nothing left to give. yunho’s long fingers inside you combined with mingi’s thick, calloused hands roaming across your body, in your mouth, in your hair, when the both of them filled you up, at the same time, you were a sight to be seen by the end, the end that you weren’t sure would ever come. you didn’t want it to, and neither did mingi, who loved everything about it. he enjoyed threesomes with yunho always, but with you, they’ve never been more in tune with one another, it’s never been so intimate. fucking has always been fucking, but with you it was more, it was a dance, a rhythm, a mutual agreement never spoken out loud. mingi’s relationship with yunho changed after that— aspects of your own relationship with mingi changed after that. it didn’t stop with just that one time, neither you or mingi could let it be a one time thing, yunho kept coming over, the two of you kept seeking him out, even when you were in public yunho became regular, routine, never spoken about, only enjoyed.

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 ☆

even if wooyoung is a fucking freak i think this would definitely take him by surprise. i KNOW he is the mayor of freakville and would do anything at any point in time, but i think inviting someone else in, someone he knows so closely, so intimately, might make him double take just for a second. especially because its neither you or him that initiates it, it’s the third party peering in, the third party who has watched you, listened to you, can’t stop thinking about the two of you and wants to join in on the fun. you’re down immediately, but wooyoung…? as much as he would be down for a threesome, inviting a member in makes him think logistics. for once he’s thinking with his brain and not his cock when it comes to you, you’re his, and as much as he loves to show you off, a shred of insecurity lies deep in his gut somewhere. he thinks on it for a total of two (2) days and then he can’t stop thinking about it, what you’d look like under him, what you’d sound like, how he’d look inside you… it’s all too much for him all at once, the realization that he needs it, that he’d beg for it if it came down to it.

but he quickly remembers that it was him the two of you needed that final yes from. seonghwa comes over as soon as he shoots the text and the three of you are stripped bare without as much as hello, wooyoung thinks that maybe the two of you have him beat in freakiness. he doesn’t feel left out for a moment, though, not as seonghwa slips into easily found dominance, giving the two of you instruction, watching you make out sloppily on the bed before he’s pulling you apart and making you obey him. wooyoung’s cock was rock hard the moment he stepped foot into your bedroom, as soon as seonghwa used that voice on him, hitting that sweet submissive spot in his brain he couldn’t always tap into so easily. you were both switches in your relationship, neither of you dominant all the time, usually switching in an out of roles during one singular session, but seonghwa tamed you both with ease and wooyoung ate it up, he was a whimpering mess before he knew it, cock overstimulated and red and angry, laid against his stomach still wet from seonghwa’s mouth as he watched him fuck into you with no mercy— you were a crying, screaming mess, too, already came too many times, yet none of you wanted to stop. seonghwa was toying with you both and wooyoung was obsessed, he let it go on until either you or seonghwa had enough, and it seemed you had the same idea, too. both of you wanting to please him, satisfy him, give him what he wanted from both of you. only on nights where both you and wooyoung were reminiscing particularly hard did you call him and beg him to come over again, to dominate you both, to send you back into that headspace you’d never forget.

𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆 ☆

yeosang is only down here cus i think if you brought it up poorly you’d hurt his feelings. he’s really a chill guy and he’s super versatile when it comes to sex, i think there’s not much that he’d say no to, but he’d definitely have to think it over for a long time before deciding to say yes to opening up your relationship to anyone, let alone another member. you’d have several conversations about it before even thinking about choosing a partner, setting boundaries for one another, what a threesome would consist of, why you’re doing it in the first place. choosing someone was another week-long conversation, going through every single member before deciding on one together, the reasons why you were choosing him, making sure none of this was being easily decided. yeosang is heavily aware that this is a big ask of another member, and he won’t be anything but wise in his choosing, in his intentions. then it came down to actually asking him, the safety of it all, precautions and boundaries, what would actually happen during the encounter. yeosang would want all bases covered before going into it, you’re too important to him to lose, and his members are too important to him to fuck up his dynamic with any of them. it’d be months of just talking and planning before anything actually happened.

the two of you choose wooyoung because he’s the closest to you both, you spend a decent amount of time together just you three, wooyoung going as far as joking that you adopted him to the other members all the time. he’s kind, respectful and light-hearted, you both trust him deeply, and you think you could show him a good time, and vice versa. wooyoung is def thrown off when you approach him with the seriousness of it all, he’s probably like yeah sure and then you two throw a five page long essay about why you chose him and what would happen in said threesome. not really. but it probably feels like that to wooyoung, who’s ready to strip his clothes off when you asked him if he’s open-minded. yeosang is feeling confident when the night finally comes, and falls into pace and rhythm with wooyoung easily, the two of them bouncing off one another and leaving you a writhing mess. it’s a dance of hands and spit and tongues and cum, kissing yeosang while riding wooyoung’s face, blowing wooyoung while yeosang stretches you out, relying on two sets of strong shoulders while they both try to fit inside you, fighting to keep your eyes open to watch as they messily makeout over your shoulder. it was a true threesome; not one of you left out, no one left untouched, wooyoung was exactly what you expected him to be, if not more. it left yeosang feeling so confident that he’s the one to suggest it happen again— after you caught him making out with wooyoung after one too many beers at the bar.

𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎 ☆

jeong yunho is a deeply possessive man, we all know this, and i think there’s only one way this could possibly go. he isn’t possessive out of insecurity or jealousy, but because you’re his, and no one else should be able to see all of you, hear you the way only he gets you. soft and submissive, bendable, pliant, obeying— that’s how he loves you, how he needs you, yunho is dominant, extremely dominant, and when it comes to your sex life, you will not do anything unless he asks it of you, or unless he makes you. so when you make a silly joke about fucking mingi, he takes it personally, he almost spanks you for it— why would you want to invite anyone else into your bedroom? why do you want someone else to fuck you? you had a long session that night, yunho took it upon himself to fuck some sense back into you, because yunho is all you need, jokes or not, you know better than that. as the days followed, yunho found himself daydreaming about fucking both of you, dominating you at the same time, two people crying and begging at his mercy… it was less about sharing you and more about making the both of you his, even if it was just for a night. his cock was standing tall at the thought, he could see it in his head, thinking of his best friend that way opened another can of worms he wasn’t sure he even wanted to act on, so he didn’t. not for months.

then there’s that one time he’s out with you and mingi somewhere completely innocent, like the farmer’s market, somewhere the three of you go often, probably twice a month when your schedules allow. the two of you are deep in conversation standing in front of a fruit stand, and yunho’s speaking to you, trying to get your attention but neither of you hear him, and it pisses him off. he snaps his fingers, something he does to you when you’re lost in a session, when your mind floats away even with all of your training, when he needs you to come back down to earth. but instead of your head snapping up it’s the both of you, with wide eyes and parted lips, waiting for yunho to say something, waiting for instruction. it awakens a feeling he buried deep in his gut that he couldn’t help but get you both in the car and back to your place immediately. the bond the three of you shared has never gone unnoticed in your years of being friends, and that mental link you had was proving itself more than ever now, how both you and mingi went straight to the bedroom, sat yourselves quietly on the bed awaiting yunho’s instruction. it was heaven to yunho, as he instructed mingi on how exactly to make you cum, how to suck on your clit, how to curve his fingers inside you to hit that one spot that made you squirt on demand. it was even better when he instructed you on jerking mingi off, how he held mingi’s hands behind his back, how he made you edge him over and over until he cried, abdomen clenching and sweat beading down his skin. yunho’s favorite was when you both sucked him off at the same time, how your tongues danced with each other on his cock, how you both had that gleam in your eye solely to please him. yunho couldn’t get enough after that— having one person completely submit themselves to him was one thing, but to have two? it’s safe to say that was not the last time mingi was in your shared bedroom with yunho.

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆 ☆

another possessive demon freak is hongjoong! you would piss him off so bad if you didn’t bring this up in a delicate way, honestly even if you did bring it up delicately he’d still prolly be pissed off. i think he’s the only member that would get mad mad tho, like not speak to you or sleep on the couch or something. why would you need anyone but him? he gives you everything you ask for, and it’s still not enough? when would it be enough for you???? it drives him insane for days, bro can’t work because he’s legitimately tripping over you thirsting after another one of his members. plus your sex life is great, he breaks your back every time he fucks you, he doesn’t consider it sex unless you’ve came two or three times. why would you need anyone else??? even if he could accept the fact that you wanted more— he has to come to terms with the fact that he’s to share you? the thought is ridiculous. someone else seeing you spread out, writhing, hearing you, possibly touching you? it makes him homicidal tbh he’s actually fucking crazy. knowing you have exes makes him rage enough, but to willingly let someone else see you is a whole different ordeal.

but he hated the idea of letting someone else watch a little less, so there’s your compromise. you let him choose because he’s insane and he tries to think of someone who would get the most pleasure out of sitting off to the side and just enduring, someone borderline pathetic, someone so horny they’d say yes to everything. naturally his mind leads him right to wooyoung, who said yes in a heartbeat. sat in the corner of the room in a cozy chair, wooyoung already had his pants pulled down to his thighs when hongjoong had just started kissing you. he smiled into your lips, knowing he was putting on a show, pride consuming him at the fact that he got to show this part of you off. as much as he hated the idea initially, he warmed up to it quickly when he realized how desperate wooyoung was, when he saw how badly wooyoung wanted to join in, wanted to be touched… depriving him of that made his cock harder, made him want to please you more, wanted to show wooyoung what he’ll never fucking have. hearing wooyoung whine and moan and gasp whenever he locked eyes with you, when hongjoong made you cum again, it made hongjoong want to work harder, want to make you cum again and again and again, just to hear you, to hear him, to dangle you right in front of wooyoung’s face. hongjoong never thought of himself as an exhibitionist but i think that experience definitely changed his life, and he wouldn’t mind showing you off for someone else again.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎 ☆

tbh i think jongho would be weirded out. he doesn’t see a point in opening up your relationship unless he wasn’t enough for his gf, and at that point he’d just end the relationship lol. if he was invited in to someone else’s relationship i think he’d literally say fuck no. too easy to get messy, for feelings to get involved, what if another member got jealous and couldn’t look at jongho the same way? these guys are his brothers, he doesn’t need to know what the inside of their girlfriend feels like. that’s territory he’d legit never cross. he trusts the members and their intentions but his relationship with them is too important to let a night of fun mess all of that up. but if you begged him for a threesome, like really begged, and strategized in a way that’d leave jongho with no more valid arguing points OR leave him with the feeling of not being enough for you, the one person he’d share you with is hongjoong. hj knows how to keep a secret, he can turn the switch off to separate his feelings, to realize when a situation his purely situational. he trusts hj with every bone in his body, he knows hj would take care of you, and if jongho never wanted to speak about it again he knows hj would never bring it up first.

what jongho has never realized because why would he is how versatile hongjoong is when it comes to sex. when jongho laid down the ground rules hongjoong was respectful, which was the most important thing to jongho, about yours and his boundaries— no kissing, no saying names, no cuddling, no spending the night. everything else was free game, though, and hongjoong took advantage of every unchecked box. it came down to worshipping you, and he was everywhere jongho wasn’t, you wondered if the two even realized the other was there. if jongho was inside you, hongjoong was feeling you up, fingers pressed to your clit, his other hand tweaking your nipples, whispering nasty shit in your ear. if jongho was kissing you he was behind you, licking and sucking down your back, his hands roaming every inch of untouched skin, praising you about how soft you are, how sweet you taste. jongho was pleasantly surprised, hongjoong slipped in like he’d done this a thousand times before, like your pleasure was all that mattered to him, and that was all jongho could ask for, aside from his rules. they totally never spoke about it again tho.

… least likely

masterlist

“Are you serious?”

The disbelief in Hongjoong’s voice isn’t surprising—nor, really, are the astounded expressions on the others’ faces. You expected that. You’d have been a little worried if they hadn’t reacted like that.

Still though, the abounding silence, thick and uncertain, is a bit hard to reckon with. For a moment it makes you anxious—perhaps, you think for a second, you’ve finally pushed too far; finally come to them with something they don’t know how to hold or what to do with.

It lasts all of a moment before you remember.

They want this as much as you do. You can tell. You picked up on the signals a long time ago.

When they’d pound into you with your wrists pinned to the bed and your eyes wide and glassy with submission, and they’d coo down at you, telling you how stupid you are as though it’s the highest praise they can think of. When they’d get you on the edge of orgasm after hours of teasing, and ask you a basic question they know you’re too fucked out to answer just to see you try and fail. When you whimper out that soft, sweet “I don’t know” and they cum faster and harder than they have in weeks.

You know they like you dumb. You know they want you dumber.

You admit, though, this is more than that.

Much more.

You nod, shifting your weight awkwardly between your feet. Trying to seem confident and failing exponentially. “I’m very serious.”

Yunho holds the vial up to his eyes again, turning it in his hands like the words on the label haven’t quite sunk in yet. He doesn’t look particularly eager, but he also doesn’t look…categorically opposed, either. That’s all you’d really hoped for right now, with such an outlandish proposition. His brows furrow, concerned. “Is this safe?”

“Of course,” you say quickly. “It’s totally legit. FDA approved and stuff.”

“Why didn’t I know this was a thing?”

You can’t help but giggle slightly; a smile flickers on his face at the sound. “I mean,” you mumble, “it’s not like there’d be billboards, is it? It’s specialist stuff. You have to really want to find it.”

”Right.” He hums, looking a little less confused than before; the others seem to relax ever so slightly, too, but their eyes still move between the vial and you like they’re still trying to reckon with it; with the fact that you, once so shy and sweet and shaking with nerves when they first met you, could even want, let alone press for this.

You can’t quite believe it, either.

“How long does it last?” Seonghwa’s voice is soft, still a little concerned but you recognise the slight lilt to it that always gives him away—something between interest and excitement and outright arousal.

They may not admit it now, but you all know, really, that if they truly were opposed to this the conversation would have been over a long time ago. Certainly before you went through the entire process of procuring it.

No, they want it, you know they do. But you also know just how much enjoyment they get out of watching you beg. Making you work for it.

“It should last a week,” you say. “But it can be shorter or longer the first time you take it. Depends on how your body adjusts to it.”

“And if it goes wrong?” He presses. “If you react poorly to it or we need you back?”

“There’s an antidote.”

“Where?”

“The box it all came in, in my room. There’s a video, too, on how to use it safely, but they ran a lot of tests on me and there shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Still,” Hongjoong says, finally speaking up again. “You never know.”

“Hence the antidote.”

Yunho presses the vial carefully back into your hand, gently folding your fingers closed around it to make sure it’s secure before pulling away. The small, fleeting touch is as electrifying as it always was. “We’ll need to talk about it more,” he says softly. “Go put this back in the box then bring it all back down here, alright? We’ll have a look at it.”

You swore you wouldn’t get your hopes up, but the familiar tinge to his voice—ordering, not asking—makes excitement pulse instinctively. And the fact that he clearly, as he always does, knows exactly what he’s doing and what it does to you, his words and tone and demeanour all by design, has you verging on desperate.

God, you hope they say yes. And soon.

You run to your room as ordered, retrieving the box and bringing it back downstairs. You hand it carefully to Hongjoong, who places it gently down on the coffee table before turning to you with an expectant look on his face. “Well,” he cocks an eyebrow, “run along, then.”

You hover for a moment, unsure; you hadn’t expected to be sent out. You open your mouth to speak when you’re cut off.

“What are you waiting for?” Wooyoung's voice comes sharp. “You were told to leave. So leave.”

“I—”

“You weren’t asked to talk, either,” he says, cutting you off again. “Are you sure you need this serum? Seems like you’re dumb enough already.”

You see a couple of them bite back a laugh. You hold back a moan. “Take it easy, Wooyoung,” Hongjoong says mildly, but the stern look he sends to the younger man is barely so. Transparently fake. He turns his attention back to you, face all softness now. “Go on, sweetheart. This is no conversation for little girls like you. Go play and we’ll fetch you when we want you, yeah?”

You can’t help but clench a little, thighs tightening against each other. God, the way he talks to you—firm and sweet and condescending—could melt you into a puddle right here on the floor. You’re certain your entire face and chest is flushed, burning as you mumble your assent and scurry out of the room.

You sit down at the table, fiddling with the leaflet in your hand; folding down the corners, over and over again to pass the time. The bold, bright pink letters make your stomach twist in excitement already with the promise of what might—you pray—await you next.

Bimbo Serum. Temporarily transform into the dumbest, sluttiest, horniest version of yourself—results guaranteed every time!

“You need to sign this.”

Jongho slides the sheet of paper across the table towards you. Your eyes filter down the page, slow and sure, as silence abounds.

It’s… thorough. Careful, certainly. Reassuring. You don’t know when they drew it up; half an hour after you were sent away they summoned you back to tell you they were in, and now, a few minutes later, here you are.

That’s just what they do, though, really—what they’ve always done with you. They take care of everything before you even know there’s anything to be done. It’s why you’re so comfortable with the idea of switching your brain off entirely with them—in a much smaller way, you already do.

A contract, the title reads, between them and you. “To ensure everything goes smoothly,” Hongjoong adds when you read it aloud. He watches your face carefully; studies it. Searching for the smallest twinge of doubt. He finds none. “The video you gave us recommends it. Give it a read, yeah?”

The words on the page are hot and heavy even read silently, but you force them out from around the lump forming in your throat. You can do this; you want to show them you can do this.

You can’t quite force any kind of confidence into your voice, though.

“Until such time as the serum wears off or the antidote is administered, the submissive entrusts herself to the care and authority of the dominants. The submissive agrees to cede all control, body and mind, to the dominants; in return, the dominants agree to care for and control the submissive responsibly, and accept any and all liability for anything that may occur during this period.”

“Standard stuff,” Jongho says. “Safety things.”

You nod, swallowing, already dizzy. The words turn warmer and fuzzier in your tummy the further on you read. “The submissive accepts that, during the period the serum is in effect, she will have little control or understanding of what is happening to her. She will not be able to make her own choices. She entrusts the dominants to make the right choices for her; in return the dominants agree to keep her health, safety and happiness in mind when making those choices.

“During the period the serum is in effect, the submissive’s sole duty is the pleasure of the dominants. The dominants are under no obligation to provide her pleasure in return.

“The submissive will accept everything the dominants give her. The dominants will never give her more than they know she can handle. If the submissive says her safeword at any point, the antidote will be administered without delay.”

“Well?” San pipes up after a moment. “Do you agree?”

You nod. The tension in your throat is so thick it catches the words as you try to voice them like flies helpless in a cobweb. Mingi curls his hand around yours from where he’s seated next to you. “Breathe,” he murmurs. “It’s just us.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “I— I agree. This sounds good.”

“And your safeword?” Hongjoong prompts. “What is it?”

“Lipton.” The corners of your mouth twitch, a small, nervous smile. It was Seonghwa’s idea—the drink you’d been carrying in your hands the day you met them for the first time. The one you’d nervously sipped at while they spoke; the one he’d barely been able to take his eyes off of as you wrapped your lips around the top.

“Good,” Hongjoong says. Already you see the usual Hongjoong—concerned, almost worrying, a little tense but still calm and collected—fade out and give way to the side he shows only with you.

Scheming. Sadistic. Predatory.

Authoritative, but in a deeper, sicker way than he is with the others.

Fear and arousal crawls under your skin in tandem, a living thing in the bottom of your stomach.

“How do you want to take it?” Jongho asks. “The serum.”

“In a drink,” you reply. “Water ideally. A glass.”

Seonghwa takes the box over to the counter, carefully pulling out the vial and stirring it into the clear water then walking back over to you. He places it down in front of you; the sound of it landing gently on the table makes you jump, already on edge. You don’t miss the way his lips quirk.

“Drink up,” Seonghwa says. A quiet, gentle order. Softness melting away little by little like snow in the sun.

You swallow your nerves and pick up the glass. The liquid is pink now; of course it is, you suppose, isn’t the the colour of bimbos? You hold it up to your lips with a shaking hand—before you can take the first sip Yunho has snatched it from your grip. “You’re shaking,” he says, answering the question you’d no time to ask. “And you want to take it fast. Let me do it for you. Head back.”

With his other hand he cups the back of your head, helping you tilt it back. It collides gently with something large; a soft but solid presence behind you. You recognise the cold steel of Mingi’s rings where his hands reach to cup your chin. Holding you in place for Yunho to put you under.

“Mouth open,” Yunho orders. You part your lips and let him raise the glass to them. The first drop of water comes cold and sweet; raspberry, it tastes like. “Drink.”

He doesn’t go too fast, doesn’t overwhelm you with it but he’s firm, unrelenting. Mingi holds you in place while you swallow it little by little. “That’s it,” he rasps. “That’s a good little girl. Under you go, baby.”

The others watch in silence, unmoving. Hongjoong’s eyes are blazing. Wooyoung curls his hands into fists against the table as your body grows more and more pliant in Mingi’s arms.

“Good,” Yunho encourages. You’re almost finished now and already the effects start to creep in. “Finish it, doll, all of it. Get nice and dumb for us. Stupid and ready for cock, yeah?”

The last drop goes down easier than the first, like your throat’s accustomed to it now—opened up to it. Is that an effect? You don’t know. There was a long list of them, of course—but aside from the list of risks and side effects the doctor has insisted you take heed of, you wanted to keep the specifics as a surprise.

“Let’s go to the living room,” Wooyoung suggests. “We’ll want her comfortable for when she starts going under.”

”Good idea,” Hongjoong says. Yunho and Mingi help you up from your seat, steadying you on your feet when you falter and walking you through before you really know what’s happening. Their grip on you is so firm that you think you could stop walking right now, legs giving out, and you’d still keep moving between them. They walk with you into the living room then step back, silent, watching the way you try to keep yourself steady.

The others get settled, chatting amongst themselves while you stand there aimlessly. You already feel a little dazed; a little lost without their guiding hands. Hongjoong fixes you with an expression that’s half curious, half expectant. “Well?”

“It should start to work soon,” you say softly. “But I’m not sure how long.”

“We’re patient,” Yeosang smiles. “Come here, pet.”

You shuffle towards where he’s sat on the couch and let him pull you into his lap with a small squeak of surprise. His arms wrap around you, his hold firm but gentle; familiar, his hands rubbing small patterns across your skin like he often does. “There we go,” he mumbles. “Relax, angel.”

A few of the others gather around where Yeosang sits cradling you against his chest. Their expressions are gentle, but you see the excitement in their eyes; the tension held tight in their chests like they’re trying to hold themselves back.

They must see the slight confusion on your face, though; must see you wondering why Yeosang seems to be almost trying to soothe you to sleep, because they smile with brief amusement. “The video says you’ll slip easier if you’re comfortable,” Yunho, standing in front of you, explains gently. He reaches down to cup your cheek, smiling when you nuzzle into the touch. “We need you nice and relaxed so you can turn off that brain for us. Get you in your rightful place, hm? Nice and dumb the way you’re supposed to be.”

“She’ll look so pretty with her eyes empty,” Mingi hums. “Nothing on her mind except cock. I can’t wait.”

They’ve always been good at this—talking to you, breaking and wearing you down with their words. Just the low, gentle hum of their voices and the assurance and authority of their words is enough to turn your brain to mush and your limbs to jelly on an ordinary day; pliant and vulnerable and putty in their hands.

Today, though, it’ll be even deeper. You wait expectantly for the fog—or so the leaflet described it—to arrive; for the warmth and fuzziness to creep through your body until you’re enveloped and caught in it like thick smog.

It starts in your tummy. They notice it before you do—your eyes drooping. Breathing slowing down. Body relaxing into Yeosang’s hold just a little bit more. The distant look in your eyes like you’re a hundred worlds away.

“There she goes,” San coos. He's next to Yunho, you realise. You hadn’t noticed his presence at all. “How you feeling, angel?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to gather your thoughts but they scatter like mice every time you reach for them. Your words are choked, forced out through the thickening fog.

Fuck, it works fast.

“I…I feel…”

Floaty, you want to say. But the words are gone, vanished into thick, hot air. You wrap Yeosang’s shirt around your fists and cling to him like he’s your last lifeline.

“Oh baby,” San smiles. You feel his grip on your chin, soft but firm, tilting your head up to look at him. “Can’t even talk now, hm? Just so small and stupid, aren’t you?”

“No point trying to get her to respond now, San.” Jongho is sat some distance away, watching the scene unfold with well-disguised interest. His voice is mild; eager, clearly, but still unbothered. It’s absolutely delicious. “She’s too stupid to understand anything we say. Just a pair of holes at this point.”

“Three holes, actually,” Seonghwa says. “Baby slut’s gonna want her asshole used too, I’m sure.”

“Of course she will.” San nods appreciatively, his gaze running up and down your body like he’s drinking you in; he grabs one of your tits and pinches at the nipple with enough pressure to make you gasp. “Pretty little holes, aren’t they? All she’s good for. Empty headed little bimbo, she barely even knows who’s touching her.”

He flicks at your forehead as if to prove his point, like he’s expecting to hear the echo of a hollow, emptied out head. It hurts, stings, but all you can do is push your lips out in a soft, pathetic little pout.

“I like her much better like this,” Mingi laughs. “Dumb and docile. Fuck, can I use her first?”

“Not sure it matters,” San says, shrugging a little. “She’ll be stuffed full and leaking soon enough, but yeah, sure Min. I get her asshole first though. Hasn’t been used in a while. I wanna break it in.”

You just watch, silently, as they discuss you and your undoing like you’re not even there. It’s not a conversation you could join in on now if you wanted to.

You hear them, of course; you even understand what they’re saying, but something is different. Distant. Clouded. Like it doesn’t quite reach you on the level it did before.

Fuck, you love this feeling.

Yeosang pushes two fingers past your lips and you accept them without thought, suckling at them like you’ve been starved for it. Drool spills from your mouth and onto your lap but you neither notice nor care.

He does, though. Sees the thoughts slipping from you as easily as if they were never yours to begin with. “That’s it,” he croons. “You go nice and little for me while your masters decide what to do with you.”

Master. It’s not a foreign term to you—Yunho’s known to favour it sometimes, especially when he’s in one of his moods, and though he’d never admit it it always pushes Hongjoong to his orgasm just a little faster.

But now it’s all of them, and so casually.

There’s no pause or focus or fanfare around it; no more attention to it than any other word. It’s just a fact now; a simple one: they’re your masters, with absolute authority and responsibility.

It feels warmer and safer and more thrilling the further you sink into it; you push it out, a whimpered “master” that sits like sugar on your tongue and Yeosang groans. You feel him twitching just slightly against your ass.

“That’s right,” he praises, pressing his lips against your ear. “That’s my name, sweetheart. Our name. You remember that, yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah, master.”

“Good girl.“

Then there’s another hand on you, wrapping around your thigh and squeezing the bare, tender flesh. You try to turn your head to whoever’s just sat down next to you but it just lolls down against your shoulder—too dumb to hold your own weight. Arousal and helplessness twists in your gut in tandem and you hear Yeosang chuckle, lifting your chin carefully in his hands and tilting your head towards the newcomer.

Seonghwa looks beautiful. You forget that sometimes, just how radiant he is; but now with your mind blank and susceptible and unable to process anything but that which is immediately in front of you, it’s all you can see.

He cups your cheeks, held firm between strong, soft hands, and all you can feel or think about is the safety of his touch. Your awareness is still slipping, pushed further and further, the drug still reaching its full power, but that’s the one thing you know for certain, unwaveringly.

Seonghwa is safe. They all are. Even if it takes you a moment to recognise the faces as they appear in front of you, you know they’re safe through instinct alone.

The fact that that safety so often involves breaking you, pulling you apart at the seams and remaking you as they want you, only makes it more real.

“Sweet thing,” Seonghwa murmurs. “You gone nice and stupid for your masters?”

You moan. “Master…”

His lips curl, a small, leering smile. “That’s it,” he coos. “Our good girl, finally understanding what her purpose is. Took you long enough, didn’t it?”

You whimper, feeling strangely chided; you’re not sure what you’ve done to earn his ire, but that’s the tone—sweetly condescending but with a sternness and a danger that drips from every word—that he uses when you’ve fucked up and are about to be punished.

Yeosang clicks his tongue, but not at you. “Hwa, don’t scare her. She’s so little now, she doesn’t understand you’re just teasing.” He pats your head gently; he seems to delight in the way your expression stays unchanging like you haven’t even noticed. “Hwa was just joking, sweetheart,” he tells you. “He’s not mad at you for taking so long to accept you’re stupid, baby. It’s perfectly normal not to want this; to keep trying to use your brain ‘cause you can’t accept you were never meant to. But you’re so good for finally figuring it out, honey. So clever, baby.”

You start to whine after a moment, though you’re not sure why exactly; there’s a discomfort, an unsettled feeling brewing in your stomach now that you don’t understand. All you know is you want it to stop. You want your masters to fix it. “Hwa,” you sob. “Master.” You clutch your stomach with shaking hands and he presses his own hand atop them, comforting.

“Oh baby,” Seonghwa coos. “Does your tummy hurt, sweetheart?”

You blink, processing. Was it that obvious? “Y-yeah…” You hiccup.

His expression softens further. His eyes do the opposite. He takes his hand away to push two fingers into your mouth and lets you suckle at them like a newborn kitten; your body relaxes a little, though not much. A temporary soother. “That’s it,” he hums. “Feel better?”

A little, you think. But not nearly enough. The pain’s gone from biting to throbbing but it’s still there, still hurting. Your eyes are welling up and you shift uncomfortably in Yeosang’s lap; you feel him hardening beneath you but you’re too unsettled and…and off to process it or what it means. Seonghwa pulls you off of him and into his lap, cradling you against his chest and bouncing you on his knee. “It must be so painful,” he says, all sympathy. “Do you know what it is?”

A beat of silence. You stare up at him and suckle at his fingers even more desperately, as if you’re hoping it’ll somehow ease your pain further. He chuckles. “No, of course you don’t,” he says. “That was a silly question, wasn’t it? Little baby doesn’t know anything anymore. It’s emptiness, baby. That feeling in your tummy. Bimbos get it sometimes, when they haven’t been filled in a while. You need a dick in your cunt to make it go away.”

“Emptiness,” you echo. “Why?”

“Why?” He repeats. His lips stretch briefly into a small smile. “Because you’re a slut, baby. A stupid slut. You can’t live without dick anymore. When you don’t have it your body starts shutting down.”

Shutting down? No. Nonono. You don’t want that. You don’t want to die. You need— you need…

There’s low laughter from above you; you tilt your head upwards and see Yunho staring down at you with a gaze that feels predatory. “Look at her trying to use her brain,” he grins. “Trying to come up with a thought. She still doesn’t realise she’s too stupid to do that now. Trying so hard, aren’t you?”

“Hard,” you repeat.

“You’ll feel better when you stop, you know,” Yeosang says gently. “When you give up.”

“She won’t have a choice soon,” Seonghwa smiles. “C’mon, precious. Don’t fight it. You wanted this, didn’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let it do its job, honey. You’re doing well.”

He’s still talking, you think, but not to you; you listen to the sound of his voice without processing the words and let it pull you down deeper.

Then it’s silent. You think.

Seonghwa adjusts you so you’re lying on your back and staring directly up at him. He pinches your cheek—soft, gentle, then a little harder. You do nothing.

He pokes your nose with the tip of his finger. Nothing.

Waves his hand back and forth, then snaps his fingers. Nothing.

He smiles. Anticipating. “Okay,” he says. “She’s gone.”

“Let’s put her to use, then,” Yeosang says.

Seonghwa stands, keeping you cradled against his chest, and turns to the others. They’ve edged closer too; like they’re closing in and preparing to strike. “How do we want her?”

“Put her on her knees,” Hongjoong decides. “I want her looking up at us. Wanna see the emptiness in her eyes.”

The noise Yunho makes is guttural. Fuck. You knew he’d be the absolute worst for this. “Let me do it,” he grunts. Your head lolls back when you’re pulled from Seonghwa’s arms but Yunho catches and holds it. He puts you down carefully; you slump a little when he first lets go and he tugs your hair, pulling you up straight.

“No,” he growls. “You hold your weight. Just like this. Keep your head up; I taught you your posture.”

“Easy,” Seonghwa says—he’s laughing, though. “She’s just a bimbo, Yunho, stop expecting so much from her.”

“The serum doesn’t affect her physically,” Yunho argues. He snaps his fingers in front of your eyes just as Seonghwa had done; the response he gets is the same. A slow, soft blink like you haven’t even noticed it. “She knows how to walk and sit and stand, she just doesn’t know that’s what she needs to do. She needs to be told. She’ll keel over in a slump if no one tells her not to. Won’t you?”

He’s looking at you again now. You blink, slowly, then nod. Yunho smiles, gripping your jaw in his hand and tilting it forwards a little, crouching down to meet your eyes. “Hi, bimbo.” His expression is soft; his words purred like praises. “Ready to serve me?”

You grunt, soft. More of a whimper. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Don’t make her guess,” Jongho snorts. He’s closer now, sounds closer, but you don’t see him. Wait— where even is everyone? You can’t ascertain who’s who and where they are and what they’re doing. All you see is what’s right there in front of you—Yunho, waiting for an answer you don’t have for a question you barely understood.

You expect the slap. You expect the second one too. “Yes master,” Yunho says firmly. “Say it. Show me you know your place.”

“Yes master,” you repeat.

He grins, then hits you again. “That’s my girl. We’re gonna fuck your throat now, you understand? You’re gonna take us all the way in there. Say yes master.”

You nod, blinking. “Yes master.”

“Good. Open your mouth. Wider.” He nods once he’s satisfied; once your mouth is so far open it’s straining your jaw. “Tongue out,” he orders. “Good. Keep it like that. Don’t move it.”

He keeps you there like that for a while—how long exactly you don’t know. Your jaw aches quickly, not intolerable but certainly not comfortable; you feel the saliva gathering on your tongue then dripping out and onto your thighs.

“That’s it,” Yunho smiles. “Drool. That’s how we want to see you. Keep going.”

You don’t really have a choice; still the way his eyes gleam as your thighs get messier and messier makes you fuzzy with pride. Fuck, you didn’t know it was even possible to drool this much. You register, faintly, the others watching you, making comments to each other you can’t hear or understand. “More,” Yunho says. “Make a mess of yourself. Nasty girl.”

“This is how you really want to be,” Yeosang’s voice comes from somewhere behind you, “underneath all the pretending, this is who you are. Dumb and drooling. You weren’t meant for any more than this.”

There’s a hand on the back of your neck, firm but careful, skin soft on yours. “Yeosang,” you murmur.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he coos. ”You ready to have your mouth fucked? Want master to hold you still?”

“Please.”

He braces two hands around the front of your neck, set under your jaw and holding your head firmly in place. You blink, once, twice, and when you open your eyes again Yunho is sliding his dick past your lips.

He’s already hard; already leaking; Yeosang moves one hand to grip your hair and pulls your head backwards enough for you to look Yunho directly in the eyes.

Yunho is very, very good at playing it cool; at keeping the unbothered, unimpressed demeanour and hiding how affected he truly is.

But over your time with him, with them, you’ve learned to see past the facade. You’ve learned to spot the small signs of pleasure in his face and body and voice; in the way he holds you, talks to you; the way the vein in his neck bulges, Adam's apple pulsing; the way his jaw clenches and his eyes flash when pleasure courses through him.

You’ve learned to find it and use it to guide you to where you want him—to the taste of thick, hot cum dripping down your throat.

He doesn’t ease you into it—he goes straight to the back of your throat like he really doesn’t see you as human at all. Just a fleshlight or a pocket pussy, primed for his pleasure and nothing more. Maybe he’s right to, now at least; with the way Yeosang holds you so firmly in place you have no choice but to take Yunho in his entirety. You gag and splutter and choke around his length every time he hits the back of your throat and none of them acknowledge it at all.

Your vision is blurry, tears welling, then you feel your eyes rolling back like you’ve lost the strength to hold them yourself. You hear Yeosang coo, murmuring something to the others that seems to make them laugh but you can’t quite work out what it is. You just close your eyes and focus on keeping your mouth open; jaw loose so you can take Yunho with minimal pain.

Not that that seems to be among their concerns.

You don’t have to do much—or any—work, with Yunho fucking your throat and Yeosang holding your head in place to stop it lolling back or trying to get away. You just have to take it. You’ve gotten very, very good at that.

The familiar taste—hot, salty, thick—comes sooner than you expect it; you hear distantly the sound of Yunho cracking; a strangled, staggered moan, his thrusts getting faster and more aggressive, Yeosang’s grip tightening to hold you firmer against the force of it—then the taste. The reward. Yunho keeps his dick in your mouth, all the way, your face pressed up against his crotch. “Take it all,” he grits out. “Swallow my fucking cum. Don’t you waste a drop.”

“She knows,” Yeosang says coolly.

“I doubt it crossed her mind not to,” Wooyoung, you think, adds from somewhere further. “She’s programmed for it.”

He’s right. You hadn’t even thought to do anything but swallow.

When Yunho pulls out, groaning, you feel cum dripping out of your mouth and down your chin; feel it sitting on your swollen wet lips. Yunho tuts, gathering the cum on your chin with one finger and pushing it back into your mouth.

“I said don’t waste a drop,” he says. “C’mon, stupid. Swallow it, there we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You nod, dazedly, grunting a little. Yunho pats your cheek. “Good girl.”

There’s hands on you now, more than before, and you feel yourself moving; legs in the air, body turned over, then your face is pressed into the floor and your legs are spread apart. Someone is rubbing up and down the backs of your thighs and a warm, soft palm is cupping your pussy. Oh… that… that feels good. You want more.

You whine, squirming, chasing the slight pressure on your cunt; the hand winds back without a word and lands there in a sharp, scolding smack.

“Bad girl,” Yeosang chides. His finger pushes into your hole, just a little, then pulls back and smacks you again. You whine, crying out, and he clicks his tongue. “So dramatic,” he coos. “Come on, you can handle a few smacks. Don’t act like you’re new to this.”

You nod, grunting, and he hits you again. “Okay, sweetheart,” he croons. “Mingi’s gonna fuck you first. You’ll be good for him, won’t you?”

“Yes’ir,” you mumble, words slurring.

You feel it pressing against your hole; the familiar sensation of Mingi’s hard, heavy cock pushing inside. It’s throbbing, twitching; you can picture the leaking, angry tip pushing past your wet, sticky folds. You squirm, chasing it, trying to push back into it but their hands on you are firm and solid and all you can really do is take it.

“Shit, she’s wet,” Mingi groans, his voice strangled a little. He coos, leaning over you, lips brushing against your skin. “You’re all slippery, baby. Sucking me in so prettily.”

He starts slow. A long, drawn-out thrust, pushing right to your g-spot and staying there. One, two, three, four seconds, each one stretching further and further, then he eases up. Every thrust is harder than the last, building slowly, until his resolve and control seems to crack slightly and he starts rutting into you, fast and sharp and sloppy, like he’s been starved for it.

Your mouth is hanging open, drool dripping past your lips, tongue hanging out of the side like you’ve forgotten what to do with it, forgotten it’s even there. Maybe you have—the only thing you’re even close to conscious of right now is Mingi. His hands, his thrusts, his hips colliding with yours, the sounds of his groans. Mingi fucks you fully and completely, and every thrust feels like a piece of yourself dripping away into his control.

“Shit,” someone hisses. “Look at how she takes it.”

“Is she cumming tonight?” Someone asks.

“Not yet,” comes a reply. “Later, maybe, if she’s good. Bimbos have to earn it; it’s not a right.”

You whine, trying to push your hips backward; Mingi’s hand comes down on the back of your thigh, sharp and stinging, then squeezes the sensitive flesh hard enough to make you sob.

“Look at them,” Mingi grunts. He grabs your hair and yanks it backwards, forcing your head up. “Show them how pretty you are with your cunt full.”

“Mingi,” you mewl. His grip is iron, straining your neck and stinging your scalp, but you’re powerless against it; against him. “Ngh…”

“That’s right,” he coos. “So dumb, aren’t you? Can’t think of anything but dick. Clench around me, don’t you dare let go, you hear?”

You nod, fervent, and he makes a noise of approval, soothing the patch of skin where he’d slapped you.

“I’m going to cum in you,” he says, tone empty. “All the way inside. S’gonna fill up your womb. Wet and messy, just how you like it, yeah?”

“Yes sir,” you squeal. You close your eyes, forcing deep, steady breaths as you await what’s coming.

It comes like a wave—crashing, intense, a warm feeling in your tummy that leaks out of you where you’ve no more room to take it. You feel it dripping out from around his cock, unable to stop it; when he pulls out, grunting something you can’t quite decipher but sounds like praise, a rush of it pours out. He slaps your hole, hard and heavy, making you squeal.

“Dirty,” he says simply. “Good job.”

You feel yourself slumping, legs sliding backwards like they can’t hold up your weight anymore. It’s a slow fall, gradual, but you can’t stop it. It doesn’t really dawn on you to try.

“Hold her up,” someone says. You think it’s San. “She can’t hold her own weight now, hold her up.”

Then there’s hands on you, strong and steady, lifting you up and back into the position you’d been in before; face down, ass up, legs spread. Your entire body feels numb, but at the same time you’ve never been more sensitive; hyper-aware of their touches on your skin and the feeling of your cunt, stuffed full and leaking cum that’s sticking to your thighs.

A warm hand presses against your cunt, another wrapping around your waist. The touch is distant but electric, making you whine, squirming a little. “Shush, baby,” San soothes. “You’re okay. It’s just us. Gonna take such good care of you.”

“San,” you whisper. Fuck—you feel so empty. It hurts.

“I know,” he says. “You liked that? Liked Mingi using your tiny cunt?”

You nod fervently. “Yeah, Sannie.”

“Good girl. I’m gonna fuck your ass now. Gonna take it for me?”

“Take it,” you repeat. You blink, slowly, struggling to find the words—any words. “Gonna take it, master.”

He sounds pleased. “Yes you are.”

There’s a squelching sound, then cold, wet fingers are circling your rim. “Relax,” San murmurs. “You were built for this. Just let it happen.”

His fingers slide past your rim and inside as easily as if you really were made for it. He makes a noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and pushes deeper. “That’s it,” he says. “Look at how loose you are. So ready for it, so easy, good girl.”

There’s softness against your face now, softer than the floor at least; Seonghwa is holding you, you realise, his arms wrapped around you keeping you still and your head cradled in his lap. He smiles down at you, patting your hair. “Good girl,” he says. “So brave. Sannie won’t take long.”

“Gonna hurt?” You ask.

“Not too much,” he answers. “Nothing you can’t take.”

“M’kay. You hum, satisfied, nuzzling your face into his lap. He laughs.

San pushes in slowly, at least, though you get the sense that’s more for your preservation than for your benefit. No use playing with something broken, after all.

It’s not the first time you’ve let them in your ass, but it always feels that way. They’re just big, and your hole is so small and unaccustomed to it that they essentially have to hold you down to prevent your body from fighting back on instinct. But it always feels good, they make it feel so good, and there’s something inherently demeaning about it to you that oddly gets you off.

Even as a punishment, it still makes you hot.

Like that time when you’d been getting a little too big for your britches, when you’d started talking back and challenging them and trying to take more than they were giving you, more than you’d earned, so they’d sentenced you to a week of anal only in an attempt to put you back in your place. The emptiness in your cunt had been painful then, not even allowed to be touched—Yunho took to taping over it when he fucked you just to rub salt in the wound—but the feeling of being stretched and stuffed in a hole you’d never had even an inclination to explore yourself, and having your pussy completely ignored in the process, was thrilling enough to make it bearable.

Still not a punishment you’re particularly eager to repeat, though.

There’s voices, soft and sweet and cooing, talking you through it as San bottoms out; hands in your hair and on your skin soothing the painful stretch that even gallons of lube couldn’t completely white out. You’re chewing on something, you realise; Seonghwa’s pants, you think, where your face is held securely in his lap. He doesn’t mind, though—your oral fixation, that need to have something in your mouth, is something they’re well aware of. Something they themselves nurtured and cultivated and encouraged.

For a while, you were fairly certain they were trying to convince you you’d die without their cocks in your mouth. You’re ashamed to say that it very nearly worked.

“This tight little asshole.” San’s voice is rough, low; you can tell he’s gritting his teeth, jaw clenched, and it makes you rather proud, knowing you’re affecting him in this way. You love pleasing them—being good and tight and warm around their cocks.

San starts sliding in and out, not quite slowly, but slow enough that you have a little room to adjust to it. Seonghwa is talking to you; you hear his voice, low and close and comforting, but you don’t know what he’s saying. You don’t think you need to; he sounds kind, he sounds safe and he sounds warm, and that’s enough to make everything else easier.

After a while, when your hole has adjusted to him and the stretch is less overwhelming, you manage to take in your surroundings a little more. Not clearly, but more; Seonghwa holding you in his lap, cradling your head, fingers pushing in and out of your mouth lazily. His dick, hard and pulsing, pressed against the side of your face through the fabric of his pants.

The others gathered around. Mingi, already hard again, stroking himself to the sight of you. Yunho filming, phone in hand.

You smile for the camera. He grins.

“How does it feel?” Seonghwa asks. “Is Sannie fucking you good, baby?”

Right as he speaks San pulls out almost all the way, only to force himself back in again, hard and sharp and sudden; you scream, almost blacking out, the pain and the pleasure too much to take. Seonghwa’s pants feel wet now, probably covered in your tears and snot and drool, but he doesn’t care. He never has—this isn’t the first time you’ve soaked through their clothes. Drool, cum, even your piss on occasion—sometimes you think they’re trying to force you to make as much of a mess as possible. You definitely think it gets them off faster when you do.

“God, look at her face.” Wooyoung’s voice comes like a moan, or a whine—loud, a little shaky, like his composure is breaking. “All blissed out. And loving it, loving getting passed around like a little hooker.”

“She basically is one,” Jongho says. “Or a sugar baby or something. We take care of everything for her, give her everything she wants, pay for everything—she just has to look pretty and bend over.”

“I guess she is one, then. Geez, how dirty.”

“She’s dirty,” Yunho says. “But she’s ours. We like her like that.”

“We do,” Wooyoung agrees. He sounds thrilled—exhilarated just from seeing and talking about you like this. “Dirty but ours, I like that.”

“She takes it so fucking good,” San grunts. He lands a solid smack on the back of your thigh, then another—you barely even register it. He groans. “Like a fuck machine, with her head empty like this. Wish we could keep her like this forever.”

“I’m going in her mouth,” Jongho says suddenly. “Can I go in her mouth?”

“Of course,” Hongjoong says. “Wooyoung, film her from the front. I want to remember all of this.”

You’re adjusted again, head lifted, placed down on something; then something big and hard and warm is pushing past your lips. There’s a mumble—you catch the words that trick with her mouth and saw it in the video—then something pokes at the top of your jaw, a finger you think, and your mouth falls open by itself. All the way. And stays there.

Another effect, it seems like.

“There we go,” Seonghwa coos. “God, what a great little serum this is. Really primes you for a fucking. Keep your mouth open like that, we’ll close it when you’re done.”

You don’t feel like you have a choice. You honestly don’t know if you’d even know how to close it properly.

Jongho’s hands fist into your hair, gripping tight as he starts to thrust. He’s big, thick, and accommodating him is always a struggle—tonight, though, it feels a little easier. A little more natural. As he forces himself to the back of your throat, holding you there until you start to splutter, you feel like this is what you were meant to be.

Is that an effect of the serum, too?

Jongho rarely cums in your mouth. He much prefers to do it on your face or your chest; to see you defiled, to see you messy and covered in his cum, your skin sullied with it, smearing with the sweat and drool that’s tricked down to your chest.

Tonight he does the same; he goes for your chest this time, pulling you up by the hair to get a good aim before thick ropes of cum start to land between your tits. You push your chest out, eager for more, eager to catch it all, and he grins.

“Nasty,” he says. “And all mine.”

“How much more can she take?” Hongjoong asks. “She seems lucid still.”

“She does,” Wooyoung says, and he doesn’t sound pleased. “San, fuck her harder. We need her dumber than this.”

San grunts, obliging; his hand presses down on your mouth, pulling your head back and muffling sounds you barely register making. He’s leaning over you now, it seems like; his lips graze over your ears, nipping and catching the skin on his teeth. “Take it,” he grunts. “No noise. No thinking. No struggling. Just go limp and take it.”

You nod; he rewards you with two fingers slipping into your mouth and pushing down on your tongue. You suck at them frantically, overwhelmed, and he makes a noise of satisfaction. “Just like that,” he encourages. “I’m gonna cum in your ass, bimbo, and you’re gonna hold it there. You’re gonna clench your hole til we can get you plugged up. Yes?”

“Yes’ir,” you slur. “G’na hold it.”

He hums, then his fingers leave your mouth and your head is being pressed against the floor, held in place by a pressure on your head you can’t identify, and you’re completely trapped, completely immobile as San fucks you towards his orgasm. You can always tell when it’s coming; he starts whining a little, his grunts and moans going higher as he chases pleasure. His thrusts do the opposite—they get harder, faster, more brutal, less restrained strength and more uncontrolled lust on a level that feels primal.

He cums with a shout, like a roar or a battle cry from the bottom of his chest, rasping and breaking as he fucks you through it.

And then it’s over.

There’s hands on your cheeks, spreading them apart; San’s dick is a solid presence in your hole until he starts to pull away, sliding out slowly and steadily like he’s easing you into (or out of, in this case) it. “Hold it,” he murmurs. “Clench.”

You do. You only have to for a second or so; then there’s something else, something cold and wet and metal pressing in, and you recognise it as your favourite stainless steel buttplug. You hope it’s the one with the jewel on the end; the pink sparkly one that always makes you feel dolled up. You love it so much you sometimes forgo panties or even clothes altogether when you’re wearing it, just to show it off to them as much as possible.

“Pink?” You ask as it settles into place. A warm hand rests on your cheek and someone laughs, knowing exactly what you’re asking.

“Yes, baby,” Yunho says. “Your favourite pink plug. You look like such a little princess.”

You smile; a weak, dazed, dumb smile, your eyes half shut, and someone laughs. Maybe more than one.

“How do you feel?” Seonghwa asks. “Tired? Need a break?”

“No,” you reply, suspiciously quickly. “No, sir. Need… keep going.”

“Feeling empty again, aren’t you?” He smiles. “The plug’s not doing it for you? Need a cock to keep you calm?”

“Please.”

“Is she still wet?”

Your hips are lifted up, aching pussy lips spread apart, warm fingers running through your folds, then a noise of confirmation. “Dripping.”

“Turn her over,” Seonghwa says. “She’s been in this position for long enough. We’ll put her on her back.”

It’s Wooyoung who was behind you, you find out when you’re turned over; he looms above you now with spark and intention in his eyes. He swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, and his nostrils flare.

All but taking a bite out of you.

“I’ll tell you something,” he smiles. “I never thought the sight of Jongho’s cum could make me so turned on.”

“Jesus,” Jongho laughs. “Shut up and fuck her, man.”

Wooyoung huffs, rolling his eyes, lips puffed out in an exaggerated pout. “Fine,” he says, drawing it out a little.

Your legs are lifted up and wrapped around his waist, interlocked against his back. Your hips are pulled upwards by the position so they’re just about level with his crotch. “Keep your legs here,” he instructs. “Say yes master.”

“Yes, master,” you echo, obediently. He locks one hand under you, holding your weight by the waist, and spits on the other. Then again. And again—rubbing it up and down his shaft each time until it’s wet and slippery.

You’re still wet too, you can feel it—though maybe that’s cum dripping out of you, to be fair—but still you feel relieved.

Wooyoung tends to bottom out quickly; he’s not the type to go slow, not the type that really can once he’s finally sunk himself into you. You’re just too warm, too soft, too tight; he needs all of him inside as soon as he gets a taste of it.

His other arm wraps around your waist, too, holding you up the same way, taking the pressure off you to hold your position as he starts to fuck you.

It means the only thing you have to think or care or be aware of is what you’re feeling now—his bruising grip on your skin, his cock buried in your sensitive cunt and slamming against your g-spot like he has something to prove.

“Smile, baby,” he says; it takes a moment for the words to register. “You’re still being filmed, pretty girl. Gave the camera to Jongho. Say hi.”

You don’t know where to look—or how to look, at this point; you whine helplessly, desperately, and someone laughs then gently grabs your head and tilts it to the right.

Sure enough, there he is—pointing the phone directly at you. You stare at it, blinking slowly; your body moves and jerks violently with every thrust, and you feel your tits bouncing up and down with the movements.

Jongho is staring at them, blatantly. You smile.

“Baby,” Wooyoung says, a little firmer now. “I told you to say hi to the camera. Wave, or something. Stop being stupid.”

Oh, yeah. “Hi,” you squeak out.

“There we go.” Jongho’s eyes flicker upwards to meet yours, then return to the phone screen, monitoring the video. “Sweet little pornstar. She can lift her legs higher, Wooyoung.”

You can; you’ve worked on it with them. Wooyoung grabs your legs where they’re wrapped around his waist and lifts them higher until they’re slung over his shoulders and hardly any of your body is on the ground except for your head.

It’s like you're floating—but it’s anything but gentle.

And he gets so much deeper like this

“H-hurts,” you whine. “A-ah, Woo, it hurts.”

“Does it?” He asks lightly. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself, though.”

“She loves it,” San says. “Don’t listen to her, Wooyoung, she doesn’t know what she’s saying. She’s just babbling ‘cause she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Just look at how wet she is; making a mess all over the place. That doesn’t come from anything but pleasure.”

Wooyoung groans. “You’re right. And she’s fucking clinging to me, too. Tightens every time I hit the spot. You’re not slick, bunny.”

You never really have been—not with them, at least. They’ve always had a talent for that; their ability to read you, to understand and unravel you even when you’d rather they didn’t, was one of the things that drew you to them.

You’re not certain how much time passes like that; you, spread out, folded almost in half and entirely helpless; Wooyoung’s fingers digging into your waist as he pushes in and out while the others spit praises and dirt and filth at you. You lose track of what they’re saying or doing; all you can do is take and feel and float on the feeling.

You’ve never felt less in control of yourself. You’ve also never felt less of a need to be.

Everything about this—the helplessness, the loss of control, the care, the weightlessness of having nothing on your shoulders—feels like what you were meant to be.

“She’s still going deeper,” someone hisses. “Fuck, how is she still going deeper into it?”

“That’s it.” Seonghwa’s voice is close enough and gentle enough in that distinctly Seonghwa way for you to distinguish. “Keep slipping. Sink into it baby, good girl. So dumb, aren’t you?”

“Dumb,” you repeat. “H—Hwa, I—”

“I know,” he hushes you. “You’re making Wooyoung feel so good, baby. Taking it like such a little champ.”

“So good,” Wooyoung grunts. “Fuck, I love you.”

Even after taking Mingi, the stretch of Wooyoung’s dick inside your cunt burns and stings only just short of painfully. His grip on you hurts as well, fingers digging into fragile tender skin without care, but there’s too many things happening to your body right now to focus too much on any in particular.

“Hold on.” Seonghwa’s palm presses against your cheek, then two fingers push past your lips and into your mouth. You suck at them, instantly and instinctively, and he coos. “There we go,” he hums. “Something to suckle on.”

“She needs something in her mouth, huh?” Someone says, laughing lowly.

“She needs it even when she’s not drugged up,” Seonghwa replies. “But this… look at her, sucking away at it. She looks so innocent you almost forget she’s being fucked open right now.”

“I’m about to cum,” Wooyoung says suddenly, voice straining.

“Then cum,” Seonghwa responds. His tone is light, and his eyes don’t stray from you, watching the way you suck at his fingers whilst Wooyoung starts to speed up again. You whine loudly at the new sensations, not really understanding them, and Seonghwa runs his other hand across your hair tenderly. “Almost there,” he murmurs. “Wooyoung’s gonna fill you up, keep you nice and warm. Maybe he’ll give you a baby, too. Would you like that, honey?”

You nod, moaning at the thought of it; of being full and swollen with their seed, of being knocked up, of carrying their child. Fuck, you want that so fucking badly. Seonghwa grins; there’s a dry laugh from somewhere too far for you to really comprehend, but it sounds like Yunho. You think. “Seonghwa, don’t say these things while she’s drugged up. She doesn’t know what she’s agreeing to.”

“She’s fine,” Seonghwa dismisses him. “We have her on birth control anyway. It’s just talk, isn’t it, sweet girl?”

You nod again, and Seonghwa smiles, seeming satisfied. Just as he does, Wooyoung shouts, sharp and strangled, and heat spreads in your lower tummy. You squeeze your eyes shut, mouth falling open around Seonghwa’s fingers, riding it out as Wooyoung fucks you through his orgasm. There’s low voices talking you through it, but you don’t know what they’re saying. You don’t care. Everything feels static, your legs locked around Wooyoung’s shoulders, the pleasure that’s been slowly building in your tummy while you were too cock-dumb to comprehend it finally breaking through the haze and making itself known. Fuck, your entire body feels electric, buzzing; you whine, a strangled sound, just as Wooyoung starts to pull out.

He does it slowly. Dragging it out like he’s torturing you on purpose. By the time he’s pulled out completely, a rush of fluid spilling out of you after him, you’re sobbing around Seonghwa’s fingers. Lips press against your forehead, kissing your flushed, sweat-soaked skin, and you cry weakly against it.

“Hwa,” you whimper.

“I’m here,” he hums. “Oh darling, were you feeling good? Did you finally remember you can cum too?”

“Yeah,” you wail. “Hwa.”

“I know,” he croons. “Oh, you poor little thing. Woo was so mean, pulling out just as you were on the edge, wasn’t he?”

“Tummy hurts,” you sniffle. “Need to…”

“You’ll be okay. I’m sure someone will help you.”

“Empty,” you say dazedly. Everything is blurry, fuzzy, out of focus. “Hwa.”

You’re lifted then, strong arms picking you up from where you’re spread out and defined in a heap and planting you gently down on Seonghwa’s lap. He takes his fingers out of your mouth and uses them to rub lazily at your pussy, gathering the mess between your folds, then pushes them back into your mouth again. It tastes salty, creamy; a little bitter. You lick it up like you’re fucking starving.

“She could live off this,” someone says. “Look at her, she loves the taste.”

By the time Seonghwa’s fingers are finally clean, nothing more for you to lick up no matter how hard you try, your eyelids are heavy, heavier by the second. Only then do you finally notice how exhausted you really are; how it’s seeped into your bones and sunken into your skin like a parasite you can’t rid yourself of.

Your pussy is still throbbing, though. Wetness still slides down your thighs. Your mouth still tries to pull Seonghwa’s fingers in deeper so you can choke on them against the back of your throat.

“Confusing, huh?” Seonghwa hums. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s just your special medicine doing its job. It makes sure you’re always ready to be fucked; keeps you loose and wet and begging for it, stops you from tightening up again. That’s the last thing we’d want. You’re alright.”

Oh. That explains it; why the stretch when they slid in, while still noticeable, was easier and less painful than usual; why it’s felt like your holes were lubricating themselves; why you’ve been so fucking needy for it no matter how fucked out or exhausted you are. It all makes sense now.

“You’ll be throbbing all week.” Hongjoong comes to sit next to your head, crouched down, running his hand across your forehead. You whine, reaching for him—you miss him, and you love him, and he’s always so warm and patient and he always fucks and touches and disciplines you just the way you need it, and has he been very involved this evening? It doesn’t feel like it—but your hands are too heavy to hold yourself. Hongjoong, always knowing what you need, takes your hands in his and holds them to his chest himself.

You can feel his heart beating through his shirt. Feel his warmth; the outline of his muscles constricting as he breathes in and out. You sigh, contented, and he smiles. “You’ll be throbbing all week,” he says again. “Even when you’re sleeping. To make sure you don’t get any ideas about telling us no. Keeps you ready for it. You’ll be able to ignore it most of the time; not that you’ll need to, though. We’ll be keeping you very well fucked this week.”

“All week?” You echo, your voice barely a murmur. “Th…throbbing all week?”

“Sounds scary, huh?” Seonghwa chuckles. “You’ll be alright. That’s just how bimbos are made. It’s part of your biology, honey.”

“Are you throbbing now?” Hongjoong asks. Before you can answer—try to, at least—he presses his hand against your cunt, cupping it in his palm and fingers. It’s when he pulls away, nodding, a curious hum from between his lips, that you realise it wasn’t a question for you. Phew. “You are,” he says. “Little pussy is pulsing. Like a heartbeat. She could take more easily.”

“Ay, she’s sleepy though,” someone says. Cold fingers pinch at your cheeks, making you wince. “Shouldn’t we let her rest?”

“She hasn’t even cum yet.”

“She doesn’t need to,” Seonghwa says. “And it won’t make her feel any better anyway.”

“I say she cums tomorrow. Or today, if we decide to keep fucking her.”

“I agree with Yunho.” Hongjoong puts your hands back down, tucking them against your chest, but doesn’t let go. Just holds them there, rubbing small circles into your skin with his thumbs. “There’s no reason for her to cum before we’ve all had a turn. Is there, baby?”

You’re just staring at him. He clicks his fingers, right in front of your eyes; you jump slightly, delayed a little, then nod. “There we go,” he laughs. “See, even the whore agrees.”

Your eyelids are drooping now—but with everything lagging like this, you don’t realise until everything fades to black. You frown, brows furrowing in confusion, trying to catch up, and they laugh.

“Oh, look at her. Did we tire her out that much?”

“Poor thing’s dozing off.”

“No wonder. She’s taken a lot.”

It’s Seonghwa, as it quite often is, who makes the final decision. You’ve noticed the eldest two are also often the most level headed, and the rest of them seem to defer to them on that basis as well. “We’ll let her sleep,” he says. His voice is quiet, soft, like he’s trying not to wake you, but it brokers no room for argument. “She agreed to let us use her when she sleeps, too, but this is the first day. She needs to adjust. She’ll take the rest of us in the morning, then we can think about letting her cum. Alright?”

By the time the others answer, you’re already out like a light.

merry christmasssss my babies!! there wasn’t as much hongjoong as i’d have liked in this chapter, but he’ll be featuring prominently in the next one!! as will all the others

“S-Sir, I just—“

Another crack of his hand across your cheek interrupts you, a whimper bubbling up from your throat, “Shut the fuck up. I’m not done talking. Does it look like I’m done talking?”

You don’t answer this time, but it appears that wasn’t the correct answer because he hits you again and scoffs, “I expect an answer when I ask you something.” You try to ignore the small part of your brain that hasn’t been reduced to a version trying to be a good girl for him when it says that he’s contradicting himself, that he’s not being fair.

Yunho’s never fair, you reconcile with yourself, and that’s the way he knows you both like it.

“N-No, ‘m sorry, you weren’t d-done,” you shudder out, looking up at him with teary eyes and the pout that usually makes him coo softly and praise you for being such a cute puppy for him.

This time it doesn’t, and if you hadn’t already realized he was in a meaner mood tonight, that would have done it.

“You’re not gonna get anything from me by pouting. In fact, why are you even trying?” He looks down at you where you sit on your knees, some kind of a judgy sneer on his face that is way hotter than it should be, “Shouldn’t a good puppy just take what she’s given with a smile?”

You nod immediately, trying to fix your face and wipe the pout off of it, “Yes, sir.”

You watch as his sneer softens and he tilts his head slightly before he crouches in front of you, taking a small strain off your neck from having to look up as he towered over you. You think he might be nicer to you, might give you a little grace, so you’re waiting for whispered saccharine words and you’re only left with that familiar sting of disappointment when he speaks, his voice firm and unforgiving.

“Then do it.”

His words are so different than what you were expecting that you guess your brain lags a little, and Yunho takes no nonsense, not even a little hesitation when he gives an order, so he’s quick to backhand you and roughly grab your cheeks again, his face so close to yours that you feel his breath fan across your face when he speaks next, “I said smile. You agreed that a good puppy smiles when its owner gives them attention, right? So when I tell you to smile, I better see all fucking thirty-two. Do you understand me?”

You nod rapidly as best you can with him still holding your jaw, and he removes it to lean back slightly to appraise your smile that follows, big and toothy and not at all meeting your teary eyes.

He thinks he likes that the most, though, the evidence of your submission so plain in the way you try to stretch your lips around a smile even when you’re close to tears from his abuse.

“That’s a good puppy,” he finally gives you the praise you were craving, but it’s immediately followed by another harsh slap to your opposite cheek. You gasp before forcing your head to look back at him as he rises to his full stature again, “That’s for making me tell you twice. I’d tell you to listen better next time if you don’t want to be hit, but we both know you do.”

You can’t really dispute that. You remember the first time he’d hit you, you were already so far gone that it didn’t even embarrass you when you moaned and begged him for more.

Yunho had this surefire certain way to dumb you down with only a few words or a look or a slap. At first, you felt a little sheepish at how pathetic he could make you, but that was gone quickly when he told you if you ever tried to shy away or be anything less than a crying mess for him, he’d take you over his knee and spank you until you remembered just who it is you’re daring to hide in front of.

Yunho’s hand smooths over your hairline, slowly forcing your head to look back up at him, neck craned all the way, “Just like that, there you go,” you revel in the soft, praising tone he says it in, a more sincere, dazed smile spreading across your lips before you realize it, and you almost gasp when a small smile of his own mirrors yours.

“How’d I get such a sweet girl, huh?” He praises softly, and it seems like it’s not as much for you as it is for him, as if he’s realizing just how lucky he is despite the fact that he’s always telling you how fortunate he knows he is outside of your scenes. His hand comes down from your hairline, instead coming to pinch at your raw, red cheek the same way people do when they just find someone too cute to resist, enjoying the way you try to suppress your wince at the contact. Yunho grins as he speaks again, gentle and sweet in a way that you know you have to savor, “Always listening to me, giving me such pretty smiles all the time. You’re such a good puppy, baby.”

“Thank you, sir,” you’re quick to respond, not having forgotten your rules, but he seems especially pleased, like he hadn’t expected this, like you exceeded his expectations.

He was almost looking forward to getting to smack that cute, dazed smile off of your face if you forgot, ready to see the way his fast changes in demeanor fog your mind like it always does.

“Look at you, baby,” he commends in a whisper, his fingers dancing gently across the angry skin of your cheek, and the stinging soothes you in a way you hadn’t expected, the pain serving to pull you back into reality. You’re grateful for it, knowing you have a tendency to get lost in your own head, and that always gets you in trouble, “Who knew you actually had a brain in there?”

You look up at him from your knees, admiring the way his black satin button-down pulls around his chest, tie resting in the middle of his chest. You’re distracted when his hand falls from your cheek and starts to work at his belt instead. You’re not sure if it’s his training or pure instinct that makes you sit up a little straighter, excitement pooling in your gut right alongside your arousal.

He never usually gives you his cock until much later. You must really be impressing him today, and that makes your heart flutter. You think at this point in your life, nothing makes you happier than pleasing your owner like this.

“You know what good puppies like you get, hm?” The tone of his voice told you he wasn’t expecting an answer but you knew it anyway: a reward. You try to calm the raging butterflies in your stomach, beyond pleased with yourself for winning his favor so early in the night. “You want your owner’s cock, baby?”

You nod so fast he thinks you might get whiplash and he laughs at you. You really can be such a puppy sometimes, perking up and panting when offered a treat.

Yunho slips his cock out of his slacks and you swear drool starts to pool shallowly in your mouth. Your eyes trace the veins along his shaft, following them from the base to his leaking, red tip. Without your permission, your mouth falls open automatically, tongue lolling out.

You hear his laugh and you look back up to his face as he smooths his hand over your hair again, this time gathering a handful at the crown of your head. “So perfect, aren’t you?” He shifts his hips a bit closer to your lips, only letting you wrap your lips around the tip before he’s pulling away again, using his hand in your hair to keep you from chasing it.

He does this a few more times before a dry, frustrated sob slips from your mouth and you look up at him pleadingly. Yunho only laughs in your face, finding some kind of cruel pleasure in denying you what you so badly want.

Then, suddenly, his grip on your hair tightens and he slides home, tip pressing insistently at your throat in a way that makes you splutter and gag around his cock. You seem to forget everything you’ve learned at the suddenness of it all, trying to drag in a breath through your mouth and it only makes you cough around him.

“Suck it right,” he huffs, like he’s more upset you’re putting all the time he spent teaching you to waste. “You wanted it so bad and now you’re gonna pretend you don’t know how to suck dick? After all that time I spent training you?”

The flames of embarrassment lick at your cheeks that are now home to two burning sensations instead of one, and you feel like you have to work twice as hard to prove yourself. You try your hardest to relax your throat and hollow your cheeks, reveling in the soft, praising hum he gives you when you do.

That’s all the confirmation he needs that you’re ready before he’s drawing his hips back, thrusting roughly down your throat as he sets his pace. “Fuck, there you go, baby. Knew I didn’t waste my time training your throat.”

He continues his self-indulgent pace and you are sure not to look away from his face as he does, breathing through your nose. The last time you looked away from him when he fucked your face, he spanked your ass raw as he claimed you must have been imagining it was someone else fucking your face even though you both knew that wasn’t true. He acted as if it was the only reasonable explanation anyway, ignoring all of your pleading and insisting that you just forgot, content to beat you until you admitted to what wasn’t true.

You really don’t know what possesses you, but all you knew was that his praise had built your arousal impossibly high and your neglected core was practically screaming at you to give it something, anything. Your hand shifts from where it lays on your thigh, fingers only briefly getting to press at your clit through your panties before a boot comes down on your hand and he’s shoved himself impossibly deep down your throat, your nose pressed against his pubic bone.

Pain shoots white hot up your arm and you let out a pathetic scream around him, which only causes you to gag and cough again. His boot presses down harder at your wrist, twisted at such an awkward angle between the bottom of his shoe and the floor. “I know you know better than that, are you trying to piss me off?”

After a long, excruciating moment, he eases his boot off of your wrist and you almost want to cradle it to your chest, but you know better. Instead, you bring it stiffly to rest in your lap like you know he wants.

Yunho pulls your mouth off by your hair rather roughly, and you know that means he expects an answer, so you take two insufficient gulps of air before the words are rushing out of you, broken and pathetic, “N-No, ‘m sorry, s-so sorry, I don’t know why—“

“Of course you don’t know why. Do you know anything?” Yunho sneers at you again, flicking your forehead as if to emphasize just how empty it must be. “What am I even supposed to do with a slutty puppy who can’t follow directions? Especially when she likes to be hit?” It didn’t even seem like he was talking to you anymore, sighing more to himself than anything, but the words still make your knees press harder together despite yourself as he speaks, “Maybe I should just leave, tie you up and let you sit here and suffer— hey.”

Clearly you weren’t as sneaky as you thought you were being, if you thought at all before doing something stupid like that, because he kicks at your inner thigh roughly, shoving his boot between your knees and forcing them harshly apart. A slap follows, rougher than any of the others so far, and you whimper as your head snaps to the side, tears spilling freely over your waterline now. “If you keep testing me, I will fuck you up. No more little slaps or spanks, I will beat you fucking bloody. Say you understand.”

“I un-understand, I understand, ‘m sorry,” you cry, fingers curling into your palms where you force your hands to stay on top of your thighs. You want to wipe your tears, but you know he would consider that as ‘testing him’. He’s been over that with you, insisting that you have no right to try to fix the mess he’s made of you.

“Not good enough. Say, ‘I understand Daddy will beat me if I test him again’.”

You try your best to repeat it to him coherently, and you think you manage even though you stuttered and gasped and sobbed your way through the sentence. Yunho seems to think you managed, too, because he sighs as if this was just exhausting for him, “Good to see at least some of your training has stuck.”

As you take a long moment to attempt to slow your breathing and stop the flow of your tears, he takes a step back and sighs, his fingers coming up to hook into his tie, loosening it as he speaks, “What do you think you deserve tonight, after the way you tested me?”

You weren’t stupid, even if your recent choices might say otherwise, so you let out a trembling breath before you say, as much as it pains you to, “N-Nothing, sir.”

“Nothing?”

You shake your head in response, words stuck in your throat.

“Mm, you’re probably right. ‘S a shame, too,” he lets out an annoyed breath, fingers pulling his tie completely free now, pulling it up and over his head, “I mean, really, what’s the point of having a pathetic little slut at my disposal if she’s not even getting my dick wet?” The words are degrading, even to your ears, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you listen to him continue with an exasperated breath, “Y’know, if I can’t get the puppy I have to listen, maybe I should get another—“

As if his words weren’t enough to scare you, he even takes a half-step toward the door.

“No!” You’re yelling out before you can stop yourself, panic clawing at your heart at the idea of being left behind. You shoot forward, tugging at his pant leg pathetically, shuffling forward on your knees only slightly. “No, please, Daddy, you can still use me!”

Yunho appraises you, and inwardly, he almost considers himself a saint for letting your insolence slide, because you know better than to speak out of turn or move from where he put you. He only gives you grace because he knows how the fear and desperation tear at you. Hell, that was the whole reason he said it in the first place; you’re so pretty when you’re scared, and he’s told you as much.

“Hm?” He finally offers after a long moment, enough time for you to second guess yourself and brace for the hit that never comes, “Isn’t that more of a reward for you? Are you saying you do deserve to be rewarded for your behavior?”

“N-No, sir! You— you don’t have to let me cum, I just w-wanna make my owner feel good!”

Yunho literally can’t stop the coo that falls from his lips. He didn’t expect that from you, didn’t expect for you to surrender your own pleasure so plainly just to be allowed to be able to please him. Just like he can’t let bad behavior go unpunished, he can’t let exemplary behavior go unrewarded, so he reaches forward to caress your cheek again, watching as you melt into the touch and nuzzle into his palm.

“Sometimes you make it so hard to remember you’re a good pup at heart, but you really are, aren’t you?” You nod at his words the best you can without straying from the warmth of his palm against your cheek. He smiles softly and swipes his thumb against your cheekbone, bending down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. You keen, obviously, and it almost causes you to miss his whispered order, “Go bend over the bed for me, baby.”

You rise from your spot on shaky legs, knees aching slightly from how long you stayed on them, even against the padded carpet. Bending your upper half over the mattress, you settle your weight on your elbows and wait. You stay there for a while, trying to listen for movement behind you, and you even consider turning your head to see for yourself, but you know that would probably sour his mood again.

You don’t have to wait much longer, though, thankfully, because you feel his hands sliding up your ass, tracing the hem of your panties before he hooks his fingers under it, sliding them down to your knees.

“There’s my pretty girl,” he praises as he spreads you open and admires you, the way you’re so soaked for him. You hope he gives you his cock then, but instead he pulls his hands away and shuffles slightly behind you before he demands, “Hands.”

A whine gets caught in your throat at the realization, but you pull your elbows out from underneath you either way, now face-first in the mattress as you fold your hands behind your back, surrendering them to him.

He hums his approval, and he starts tying your wrists together with what you think is the tie he’d taken off earlier. Once he finishes, he tugs roughly at the bindings, huffing out an amused breath when you let out a pitched whimper at the way the pressure forced your shoulders in an awkward position.

The next thing you feel is the head of his member sliding up and down your slit, catching on your clit in a delicious but fleeting way and then dipping slightly into your entrance. You can’t help the way you squirm, trying to rock your hips to get the friction you crave.

His hands come to clamp down on your hips and hold them still, and he thinks you should be grateful that that’s all you got. When he speaks next, his tone makes as much clear, a low timbre that holds a note of challenge in it. “It’s not for you, is it? This is for me, for you to make me feel good, remember?”

“Mhm, y-yes, sir.”

“Yeah? You do?” He waits for you to nod the best you can with the side of your face pressed into the mattress before he continues, “Then stop squirming and wait.”

It’s all you can do to offer a small ‘mhm’, and usually he’d tell you to use your words, but he didn’t seem to concerned with anything other than your pussy right now. He slides in with one sharp thrust, fully sheathing himself inside of you so suddenly that it makes you scream into the sheets, fingers wringing together behind your back.

“Fuck, s’perfect. Your cunt was made for me, wasn’t it?”

You nod dumbly into the mattress, mouth open and offering a feeble ‘uh-huh’, drool slipping from the corner of your mouth and wetting the sheets.

Of course he expects an answer when you’re most clearly dumb and floaty, the sadist he is, “Answer me. Say, ‘my cunt’s made for Master to fuck’. Go on.”

“My— My cunt’s f’r Master to fuh-fuuuck,” You last word drags when he rewards your attempt with a thrust that somehow had his tip nudging right at your g-spot right away. You start to think you really were made for him.

“There you go,” he praises under his breath, leaning over to splay his hand across the exposed side of your face, pressing it harder into the mattress as he sets his punishing pace. He spanks you, a lot lighter than you know he could have, and urges you more gently than he could have, too, “Arch some more f’me, pup. I know a slut like you knows how.”

You follow the instructions the best you can once they manage to make it through the haze of subspace. Yunho watches where you connect as he thrusts into you, then to your fucked-out face where he’s shoving it roughly into the sheets, and he can’t decide which sight he prefers.

Time kind of blends together as he fucks you, your brain feeling overwhelmingly empty apart from the intrinsic need to please him. Eventually, he snaps you out of the haze when he reaches forward again, wrapping one hand around your throat and hauling you up.

Yunho ignores your squeal as he yanks you into him, your bare back meeting the satin of his shirt, which only serves to remind you just how clothed he is and how naked you are. It’s humiliating in that familiar way you’ve come to enjoy.

His other hand comes to press right above your pelvis, holding you still to meet his pace that he never lets falter. The new angle has you squealing again, squirming against his hold because it’s suddenly too much. Your climax is building too quickly and you think if he continues you won’t be able to stop it.

“Sir, sir—“ you gasp out, trying to warn him that you’re close as if he didn’t already know, as if he doesn’t know your body better than you do. He flexes his fingers around your throat, not quite choking you yet even though you know he would.

“Cum, baby,” he whispers in your ear and it’s so soft and so far removed from what you’d expect him to say that you almost think you’re hallucinating.

He wouldn’t really say that, would he? Not when the whole reason he’s even fucking you is because you surrendered your orgasm? But if he really did say it, it had to be a test. He’s testing me, you think, don’t do it, don’t be stupid, don’t be gullible.

Yunho forces himself into you once more before he stills, especially rough this time in the way his tip collides with your cervix.

“Stupid bitch,” he spits, and there’s a genuine venom in his voice that you rarely hear unless you really mess up. He reaches around you to slap your face, and even if the angle of it is a little awkward and it doesn’t allow him to actually put any real force behind it, you can tell just by his voice that he really is pissed, “Here I am, being a nice fucking owner, letting my slut cum even when she doesn’t deserve it, and you fucking ignore me? You think that’s smart?”

“N-no, ‘m sorry, I thought you were tricking me! Y-You—“

“Shut up before you say some stupid shit that makes me fuck you up.” He’s almost nice with his warning, considering he knew you were about to blame him for your actions and that was a line you couldn’t uncross.

Your orgasm has long since fizzled away, but it’s not far away when he starts thrusting again, rougher than before, if possible. You try your best to listen as he speaks, not wanting to make a similar mistake to the one he’s still scolding you about, “If I tell you to cum, you do it, right then, not a second later. I don’t care what you think, I don’t care even if you’re right and I was tricking you. You cum anyway, and you deal with the consequences of failing your owner’s test, because you do what I fucking say above all else. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, yes, sir, I understand!” You sob into the air, your head resting back against his shoulder as he continues his brutal rhythm, his fingers tightening around your throat to press at either side, cutting off your air supply.

“Then you’ll cum right now, if you don’t want to find out what I’m like when you really piss me off.” Yunho says it low and dangerous with his lips against your ear.

The combination of his words, the black spots spreading at the corners of your vision, and the way the head of his cock collides with your g-spot every time he sinks home is enough to make it impossible to disobey his command even if you were stupid enough to try.

Your eyes roll back as your orgasm washes over you, and as soon as it does, he releases his hold around your neck and lets you fall back to mattress. The headrush that comes with having access to oxygen again so suddenly, along with the way he doesn’t pause his thrusts, makes your orgasm genuinely unreal, leaving you shuddering and crying into the sheets.

The pleasure eventually bleeds into pain, overstimulation making your cries escalate into wails when his pace doesn’t falter, still chasing his own release.

“S’too mu—“

You try to plead, try to earn his pity, but he’s quick to interrupt you, his voice breathy and pinched as he gets close, “Shut up. You got yours, baby, lemme get mine.”

Sobs fall freely from your lips, but you don’t try to speak again, ignoring your overstimulation in favor of pleasing your owner.

Yunho bends over you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he lets out a drawn-out moan when he finishes, thrusting into you a few more times to ride it out as he spills his cum in you.

The rest kind of bleeds together as you try to catch your breath, eyes closed and mouth open in a way that you’d probably think looks dumb if you were able to see it yourself, but you still feel the ways he cares for you. You feel the way he slowly pulls out, the way he unties your wrists and leaves tender kisses along the reddened skin, the way he runs a damp rag along your core, cleaning you up. You feel the way he gingerly moves you to lay properly in the bed, head resting safely on the pillow.

You blink slowly back into full consciousness when Yunho is pulling the comforter over you. When he sees you’re back in the land of the living, he pauses, setting the comforter in your lap instead of pulling it to your chest like he’d planned, “You want a bath, baby?”

You shake your head. That sounds like a lot of work right now and the bed is so comfy. “Not right now,” you mumble, throat slightly raspy. You wade through your thoughts in search for the words that convey what you want, and you finally find them, “Jus’ want you.”

Yunho hums, scooting closer to you where he was already sitting in the bed next to you. He lands a few sweet, chaste kisses on your cheeks, your nose, your lips, before he speaks, “You’ve already got me, angel.”

The haze still lingers slightly, but not enough to stop you from letting a dopey smile spread across your face, nodding slightly.

His hand comes to tuck your hair behind your ear, seeming to examine your expression more closely, “Was that too much, baby? The slapping, the things I said? You know if it was, you can tell me.”

No matter how many times you assure him this is what you like and you enjoy it everytime he does it, it seems that his worries of really hurting you or your feelings are ever present. It’s not like they’re only your kinks, either, the reason you both even do this is because he came to you about it first, but his love for you far outweighs any fucked-up fantasy of his. He thinks he’ll always worry.

You shake your head, expending what feels like all of your energy to lean up and press an equally chaste kiss to his lips, “Loved it, Yuyu.”

Yunho chuckles softly, closing the distance to continue peppering kisses all over your face, “‘Course you did,” he says between pecks, “S’cause you’re perfect.”

masterlist

You wake up in Mingi’s bed, held in his arms; one of his hands rests on the back of your head, cradling it against his chest while the other is curled around the curve of your ass.

He’s still fast asleep, soft snores just audible in the morning quiet, but that’s okay. You’re not in a hurry. You’re sure whoever wakes up first (because you doubt it’ll be him) will come and get you and put you to use.

It’s a little bit frustrating waiting for them, though, when you’re wide awake and programmed for one thing and one thing only.

The need starts in your tummy, just like yesterday. Like a low hum; a buzz that hardly registers but makes you squirm without realising, toes curling, breathing a little shallower as you try to resist it.

Someone is coming soon. They wouldn’t leave you alone like this.

Mingi grunts softly, shifting in his sleep; his hand moves from your ass to a little lower, to the tops of your thighs, and slots into the gap between them. His fingers brush against your clit, just briefly, barely enough to count as a touch—but that’s all it takes.

All it has to, when you’re desperate for their touch and unable to formulate any thoughts beyond it.

You clench your thighs together, like you’re trying to trap his hand there, then shuffle down a little, so his fingers are pressed up properly against your clit. Wow. Hngh… You tense then relax, moving back and forth, up and down until the buzzing in your tummy begins to satiate—as it does, though, it spreads, until your whole body is alight with it.

It’s like… you don’t know, exactly. It’s like drinking seawater or something—the more you have, the more your body needs it. Quenching your thirst only intensifies it.

This isn’t enough. You need more than his fingers.

You manage wriggle yourself out of his hold and wrap your legs around his thigh. It’s thick, muscular, peeking out of where his loose shorts have ridden up to his hips. There’s more than enough for you to satiate yourself.

There must be, right?

You don’t ease yourself in this time; you can’t. You just hump and hump and hump, grunting and whining and crying into Mingi’s chest, until you start feeling the way you want to, you start getting where you want to be—

Then his leg moves away, so quickly it feels like whiplash, and his hand is on your throat. Tight. Strong. Dwarfing you. Your head is on the pillow, turned uupwards and Mingi is hovering there above you—wide awake. Eyes dark and narrowed, all strictness and severity and lust.

“You needy little bitch,” he spits. “Fucking me in my sleep. Fucking whore.”

“I…” You don’t know what to say, of course, how could you, but still you try. You’re cut off before it can go either way.

“That wasn’t fucking, Mingi.” Your eyes flicker towards the door, where the newer, lighter voice comes from; Hongjoong stands there in the open doorway, arms folded across his chest, staring you down with an expression that feels half stern, half amused. You whine, wanting to reach for him or run to him, but you don’t remember how to. He sees you looking at him, longing for him, and his lips quirk—a smile, except there’s no warmth or fondness or kindness. Just intention. Just knowing. Just leering. “Hi, bimbo,” he says. His gaze moves back to Mingi. “She wasn’t fucking you in your sleep, Mingi. That’s what humans do. She was humping you, like a dog. Weren’t you, bitch?”

You don’t reply; it doesn’t even register that you should. Mingi’s other hand, the one not on your neck, winds back and smacks your bare, desperate pussy. “Answer him,” he grits. “You dumb bitch, you answer your master when he asks you a question.”

“Ah,” you squeal, crying out again when he lands a second, third, fourth slap directly on your hole. “Ah, master, I— yes, sir. Yes I was, I was humping him, sir.”

Only once you finally answer, your words stammered and broken up by your cries of pain with every smack, does Mingi stop his assault on your cunt. He smiles, all gentleness now, and rubs your stinging pussy where he’d smacked it. “Good baby,” he purrs. “You always take punishment well, don’t you my girl?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, nodding enthusiastically.

You see the movement from the corner of your eye; feel Hongjoong’s imposing presence getting closer and closer until he’s right there next to you and peering down at you, staring at your stinging cunt like he’s analysing it. “Does it hurt?” He asks. You nod, and he breathes out a low laugh. “Good,” he nods. “That’ll teach you.”

“Joong,” you whine.

He raises an eyebrow amusedly. “Yeah?”

You whine again, wriggling a little. “Touch?”

“You want me to touch you?”

“Please.” You’re close to sobbing now just from the desperation you feel for him.

He doesn’t touch you, though. Instead he laughs, and his hand lands on your thigh hard enough to make you yelp. “No,” he says. “You don’t tell me what to do. Get her up, Mingi. She’s gone too long without being used, she’s obviously forgotten her place.“

“Well, we can fix that.” There’s a hand in your hair now, tugging you upwards and out of bed then pushing you to the floor, sending you stumbling down onto your knees. They’re towering over you now, staring you down; Mingi kicks lightly at your knees to force them apart. “Fix your posture,” he says, and you do. “Good. Open your mouth.”

He’s sliding past your lips before you’re conscious of it; hard, throbbing, leaking a little as he pushes to the back of your throat. He stretches your mouth, your jaw straining, and the stubble that’s starting to grow around the base rubs uncomfortably at your skin. It’s sore, prickly, itchy—you barely notice. Not like this. Mingi goes fast, hard, so hard it stops even really mattering how you take it; not when his grip is so firm on your head and there’s another in your hair, and one hand on your shoulder, and— who is touching you where? Who’s talking, voice low, words indecipherable but cruel and demeaning just in the way he spits them? Fuck, you— you—

There’s a groan, a strangled sound, and then your throat is warm and filled and there’s a salty taste on your tongue. Your head is pushed forward so it’s against Mingi’s crotch and stomach, his pubes pressing into your skin, then you’re pulled off of him so fast it feels like whiplash.

“Say thank you,” Hongjoong orders.

“Thank you,” you whisper. Mingi tucks his dick back into his pants, still half hard, and slaps your flushed face. The sound is sharp and wet, your skin soaked in your sweat and his. “Good girl,” he grunts. “You want her now, Hongjoong?”

“Sure,” Hongjoong shrugs. “Haven’t gotten my dick wet yet. You.” He clicks his fingers, then points downwards. “Roll over. Ass up. Let me see your asshole.”

Your cheeks are pulled apart when you obey, firm fingers digging into your flesh; the cold air hits your puckered hole, still sensitive, and makes you shiver. Their gazes feel just as biting.

“Looks loose,” Mingi says. “Well-fucked.”

“San always opens her up nicely. Pass me the plug.”

It’s not your favourite pink one, you can tell as it presses up against your hole; this one is pink too, actually, like a lot of the toys they’ve bought you, but it’s silicone, a little easier going in despite being slightly larger than the steel one.

It also gets… even larger.

It’s an app on their phones, you think. They’ve never told you outright, but one of them always seems to be on their phone right when it changes size inside you.

“We’re gonna plug you up again, baby,” Hongjoong tells you. “Make sure you stay open for us today.”

They’ve used this plug a few times before, especially when they first started fucking your ass—when it was still impossibly tight and could take hours to open up, so it was easier to just keep you open if they were planning on fucking you again later.

You weren’t ready for the steel one at first; you needed something gentler. One that could shrink down when going in then gradually increase inside as you adjusted to it was the perfect solution.

But since you graduated to the steel one, to your favourite one, you haven’t used this one very much—if at all. You frown, unsure; suspicion must be written on your face, because Mingi snorts. “We’re not planning anything,” he says. “You need something gentle after yesterday. You had an entire cock in your ass, remember?”

“She probably doesn’t,” Hongjoong says. The plug is snug in your ass now; it’s comfortable, as much as the steel one, but knowing there’s not a pretty pink gem at the end of it, shining between your pretty plump cheeks, admittedly gets you down a little bit. They always tell you how pretty you look with it in, what a lovely little surprise it is to see the jewel glimmering at them when they pull your cheeks apart. “Mingi’s right though, honey. The steel one’s a little too big and rough for your poor little hole now. We had to take it out last night because you seemed uncomfy with it. You haven’t had your ass fucked in a while, we need to be careful. We’ll stretch you out with this plug, maybe our fingers, and then you can have your favourite one back, okay?”

“And cock?” You ask.

Mingi grins. “And cock,” he confirms. “You want it bad, don’t you?”

“Mm.”

“Serum wouldn’t be working if she didn’t want it,” Hongjoong says. “I’ll be writing a letter of complaint if she manages to want anything but cock this week.”

You just watch them as they talk, silent, gaze moving between them like a kid waiting for the adults’ attention. Hongjoong grabs your ear, not gentle but not quite rough, and pulls you up to your knees; you wobble a little at first, unsteady, but manage to balance yourself.

“There we go,” he smiles. “There’s my pretty plugged up puppy. You ready to play?”

“Play?” You repeat.

“Yeah, honey, play. You know what that means?”

You nod, dazedly enough that they can tell you’re not sure if you mean it. Hongjoong breathes out a laugh and pats your head gently. “Silly thing,” he muses. “You’d say yes to anything like this. Spread your legs.”

A hand, Mingi’s based on the size of it, comes to rest on your head, pushing down to gently press it into the floor, immobilising you. You part your legs as instructed, and Hongjoong’s hands clamp down on each of your thighs, squeezing, the pressure just enough to make you whimper in pain. He responds with a swat, sharp and heavy, against your pussy. “Shush,” he says mildly. “Good girls don’t complain. Your master’s gonna fuck your pussy now, take it for me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree.

He presses two fingers into your hole, already slicked up and leaking slightly; a couple of pumps to loosen you up are all you seem to need, because his dick pushes in soon after without resistance.

Hongjoong is big, they all are, and it always stings a little at first, but your pussy adjusts to him soon enough; enough for the pain to dissipate into a dull, distant stretch you’re not quite conscious of. “Fuck,” he grunts, gripping your ass cheeks in his hands as he starts to move. “Fuck, that’s perfect. I swear she was fucking made for this.”

“Yeah?” Mingi laughs. “She feel good?”

“She feels fucking amazing,” Hongjoong says. His hips buck as he speaks, unsteady for a moment, like his control was briefly wavering before he got ahold of it again. “She’s everything like this. Tight little cock sleeve.”

“Hurry up and fill her up,” Mingi replies. His hand fists into your hair, pulling your head up, forcing you to look at him. “Keep your eyes on me,” he says. “Good girl. I want to watch you. Wanna see your face while Hongjoong stretches you out. He’s big, isn’t he?”

“Big,” you repeat. You stare at him, your eyes wide, glassy, teary. Empty. Your mouth is half open, jaw slacked, like you’ve forgotten how to close it. Maybe you have. Mingi holds it in his hand, the blunts of his nails digging into your cheeks. “Th-thick,” you say.

“That’s right,” he smiles. “Clever girl, baby, you’re right. Hongjoong is so thick, he stretches you so nicely, doesn’t he? Does it sting?”

“Yeah,” you whine, though you’re not really aware of the feeling, your answer born more from instinct than from any conscious thought. “Stings. Too— big, Minnie, so big.”

“Yeah, sweet girl,” Mingi says. “So, so big. Bet it hurts, huh? Such a good girl, hurting so prettily.”

“You’re staying so still,” Hongjoong groans. “Fucking— shit. She’s squeezing the life out of me. I’m not gonna last long.”

“You don’t need to,” Mingi says coolly. “You’re not tryin’ to make her feel good, you’re just getting yourself off.”

Hongjoong doesn’t reply; just grunts, a low, strained sound, all hoarse and chesty and pent up. His grip on you tightens, gripping the meat of your hip where he’s holding it in handfuls. He’s saying something, something low under his breath, but you can’t make out what it is.

He shouts when he finishes; so do you, the warmth and the fullness as he unloads into you overwhelming. He stays inside for a moment, just breathing, hands resting on your hip where they’d been gripping you so harshly before, then pulls out. “Good girl,” he says. “You okay?”

You just grunt. Hongjoong laughs, patting your butt, then Mingi’s hands are hooking under your arms and pulling you up to your knees, then to your feet. “Can you stand?”

You grunt again. He snorts.

“Come on, baby,” Mingi says. “You need to go to the bathroom before breakfast.”

He says it like it’s obvious, but you pause, taken aback, as though it isn’t. Because to you, at least, it really wasn’t.

Oh yeah, you think. You’d forgotten about that. Only once Mingi said it did you realise you actually do need to pee; only then did you notice the pressure in your abdomen, tight, almost burning, that now has you shifting from foot to foot.

And you didn’t even know until he said it.

The thought sends a shiver down your spine; that you’re so deep into subspace, into this serum, that you can’t even pick up your body’s signals anymore.

He leads you to the bathroom by the hand, then down to the kitchen. He tugs you along a little bit, when he first starts to walk, a silent reminder to follow, but after that you're just trailing behind him, bare feet padding quietly against the floor like a loyal pet.

They’re all there already; Mingi settles you in his lap, holding you tight, a strong arm around your waist and pressing against your tummy to hold you gently in place while he feeds spoonfuls of cereal into your mouth. Your body seems to almost give up as soon as you’re sat down, like the moment you’re held in his arms you forget you have to hold yourself up at all; your head comes to rest against his shoulder, comfortable, no need to hold your own weight, and every now and then Seonghwa reaches absentmindedly from where he’s sat beside you to rub the at back of your neck, grounding and calming and domestic.

“Good girl,” he hums. “You’re eating so well, aren’t you baby?”

You grunt, nodding; Mingi smacks your thigh with his free hand. “Manners,” he grumbles. “Seonghwa asked you a question.”

“Sorry,” you say. You whine at the pain, at the embarrassment of being scolded in front of the others despite how often that happens, and Mingi rubs at the red mark soothingly. “Yes’ir, Hwa, m’eating well.”

“Is it yummy?”

“Yummy,” you echo.

Mingi holds the spoon in front of you, a few inches from your face, like he’s teasing you; you lean forwards trying to reach it, and you almost lose your balance; he tightens his hold on you, panicked, cursing under his breath. “Easy,” he hisses. “Fucking hell, girl, you’re getting your food. Where’s your patience?”

“Sorry,” you mumble.

He taps your thigh gently, then lets his hand run up the length of your torso until it reaches your neck. And for some reason, it’s only then, only the feeling of his hand, the contact of his bare skin on yours, that makes you realise that you’re entirely, completely naked.

You’ve done this before; spent the day naked in the house, sometimes as a punishment, as a tactic of humiliation meant to put you back in your place, and sometimes just for fun. For the game. Usually it’s a little bit cold; usually you feel goosebumps on your arms and the hairs on your body standing up on their ends. Today, though, you don’t feel any of that. You just feel Mingi; his hand, the warmth of his skin, palm slightly calloused, the familiar weight of his touch.

He’s so big. Over time, as you’d gotten used to having him with you, you’d almost forgotten how large he really is; how strong, how heavy. It’s in moments like this, when he’s touching you, when he puts a bit of pressure behind it, when you feel the strength and the weight he’s holding back, that you really feel the truth of it.

He feeds you the rest of your breakfast carefully, slowly, slapping your thigh again when you get a little too eager. He wipes your mouth when you’re done, collecting the milk that’s dribbled down your chin a little on his thumb then pushing it past your lips. “Lick it up,” he mumbles. “Suck.”

You suckle at it happily, eyes half closed, until he takes it out, a trail of your saliva following it as he pulls away. “Messy girl,” he tuts. “Let’s take her into the living room. Nowhere to fuck her in here.”

He stands without a word, and if the others respond to him, you don’t hear it. You let your head fall into the crook of his neck, lips pressed against his warm, soft skin. You realise, after a moment or so, that you’re suckling at it. Mingi pulls you away by the hair as he sits down, grinning, and slaps your cheek not nearly hard enough to count. “Needy,” he says. “Christ. Had a hell of an oral fixation before, but this has just compounded it, hasn’t it?”

He puts you down for a moment, next to him on the couch, shushing you when you whine and try to crawl back into his lap. “One second, honey,” he says. You watch as he walks to the other side of the room and pulls open a cabinet; when he comes back, it’s with a bottle of water in his hands.

“You need to drink lots of water,” he says, putting the bottle down on the side table. “The serum can dehydrate you, because it makes you so wet all the time that all the liquid in your body goes straight there. It was in the video. You need to drink.”

He doesn’t really need to explain, of course; he could have just told you what was going to happen and you’d have nodded along without thinking. Of course you would have—right now, you don’t even know how to think.

If you did, maybe you would have realised you were being lied to. That there was nothing in the video about drinking. But you don’t need to know that. Mingi’s just having his fun.

He pulls you into his lap, not roughly, but not really carefully either. He presses the bottle to your mouth, murmuring small praises when you instinctively wrap your lips around the brim, then tilts you backwards a little bit to make it easier for you to swallow. “Drink up, bunny,” he says. “I’ll take care of your little cunt.”

You stop listening after that; your eyes start to close a little, drooping down far enough for the room to get a bit blurry. Mingi’s hand travels downwards, moving over your tummy, then down your thighs and slipping between them; he cups your pussy for a moment, a warm, gentle pressure that, when you’re this needy, hurts like he’d wound his hand back and slapped it. You whimper, pushing your hips out to chase the pressure of his palm against your cunt and he lets you, watching silently, a small smile on his lips as you squirm and struggle in his hold.

But he doesn’t help you. For a while, at least.

Mingi isn’t a cruel man, nor an oblivious one; he knows how much you need it right now, how much it probably hurts not to have your pussy filled or serviced or touched in any meaningful way. And he hates, more than anything else, to see his little girl suffer.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like to watch you squirm. There’s nothing wrong with that—you’re not being harmed, you’re not in any real distress, and the only reason you’re in any kind of pain right now is because you’re all drugged up on a serum you begged for. And you signed a contract, too, clearly stating that, for the next week, your only purpose was to pleasure them. A contract that clearly stated they were under no obligation to grant you any kind of pleasure in return. All he’s doing is honouring it.

Your awareness seems to slip again after a while, the water starting to drip down your chin where you couldn’t keep it all in your mouth; he takes the bottle from your hands, setting it down, and rewards you with the slightest increase of pressure against your cunt. Enough for him to feel your entire body relaxing, your breathing calming, distressed whining fading into quiet gasps and soft whimpers. Enough for you to clamp your thighs together to trap his hand against your cunt and go positively dizzy with pleasure.

“There we go,” he murmurs, voice thick. “That’s my girl. You’re so easy, aren’t you? Just pathetic.”

“Sir,” you whine. “Sir, please, in—”

“In?” He asks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

The sound you make in response could only be described as a sob; small, soft, but as guttural and desperate as any wail. You both know you’re in no place to try and explain anything to them, and Mingi’s using that knowledge as a weapon.

His other hand finds your face, squeezing your cheeks then slipping two fingers into your mouth. “Here, baby,” he smiles. “You suck on these for a bit. You can pretend it’s a little cock, hm? I know it hurts, not being filled, I’m gonna help you, honey. I was just enjoying watching you squirm a bit.”

Then, finally, as promised, he slips three fingers past your folds and into your cunt. It’s wet already, of course, almost obscenely so, and they slip in with an ease that would be embarrassing if you were conscious of it—still, though, somehow, your walls cling to his fingers like they’re trying to squeeze the life out of them. It’s a marvel to him, to all of them, how tight you are all over, no matter how loose they’ve fucked you, no matter how many big, thick, pulsing cocks and toys they’ve shoved into you without caution.

To Mingi, it’s just further evidence that this state, of being completely unaware and out of it and only good for and needing one thing to survive, is the way you were always meant to be.

“You’re such a nasty little baby,” he coos, all fondness. His fingers move in and out of your mouth in time with the ones in your pussy, and he won’t pretend not to take pleasure in the way your eyes water when he hits the back of your throat. “Yeah, what a good girl. And I bet you’re still not fucking satisfied like this, are you? How many cocks will you need before you stop squirming?”

Your hips buck against his hand and he smiles, rubbing his thumb in circles over your clit. “Like a doll,” he murmurs. “You’re a little sex toy, aren’t you?”

You nod, groaning, drool spilling out past his fingers and pooling on your bare chest. It’s a lewd, messy, debasing sight. Mingi adores it—you’re not present enough to even register it. He pushes his fingers deeper, so they’re pushing against your g-spot and his knuckles are pressed against your wet, sticky folds. You choke, crying out, spasming around him; your legs clench and unclench, toes curling as you try to withstand the pressure.

“M-Mingi!” You squeal, the words muffled around his fingers. “Gonna— cum!”

“Oh, you are?” He croons. “Are you gonna make a mess, baby?”

You nod desperately, fervently. “G-gonna!”

“So naughty,” he tuts. “Such a bad girl, getting everything wet. Go ahead and do it then. Push yourself over the edge.”

He curls his fingers, just a little, but it’s enough; you cum with a cry, a strangled, broken noise from the bottom of your throat. Your whole body is shaking, but Mingi holds you still, the fingers in your mouth moving to hold you by the neck as the fingers in your pussy keep pushing in and out, fucking you through it.

It’s wet, messy, just like he says. You don’t remember the last time you came this hard. This… everywhere.

“Oh fuck,” Mingi groans; his voice cracks a little under the weight of arousal, the weight of what the sight in front of him is doing to him, so it comes out sounding more like a whimper. “Baby. You just fucking squirted. Everywhere. Jesus Christ, you’ve never squirted that much. Not even close.”

You’re breathing heavily, starting to fuss as you come down; he moves the hand on your neck back to your mouth, pushing his fingers past your lips and cooing when you start to suckle instinctively at them. “Oh, look at you,” he says. “Just a little kitten, aren’t you, suckling away. Good girl.”

He adjusts you slightly, sitting you up and tucking your head into the crook of his neck, fingers still pushed into your mouth down to the knuckle. Your inner thighs are drenched, juices dripping down and soaking his pants, and your pussy is still twitching, clenching around nothing, already hungry for more. He pats it gently, laughing when you jolt and whimper at the contact, then pulls away.

“You’re a good little girl,” he gruffs. “Just need to be serviced time to time. Keeps you pliant, huh?”

“Sir,” you mumble around his fingers.

“Right here, pretty.”

You don’t hear the footsteps approaching the living room, nor do you notice the new presence in the doorway. It’s only the sound of laughter, low, mocking, that makes you lift your head slightly from Mingi’s shoulder.

You must have been crying, you realise, because your vision is blurred, the sight of Jongho as he approaches you marred with tears. “Fucked out already?” He asks. “What did it take, a finger?”

“Three fingers,” Mingi says. “Three fingers in her cunt and she was squirting everywhere. Soaked the shit out of me.”

“I can see that.” Jongho sits down, behind where you’re cradled sideways in Mingi’s lap, and pats your hair. “I wonder how long she can stay still with just fingers in her mouth.”

“Her ass is plugged too,” Mingi says, “so she’s not empty, exactly. But it won’t satisfy her for long.”

You feel yourself drifting in and out, not quite of consciousness but of something; you make a small noise, a little whine, like you’re making sure the men surrounding your body aren’t forgetting your presence. Mingi just laughs, stroking your cheek. “I’m sure she’ll be squirming again soon enough,” he says. “And even if she doesn’t, someone will be wanting to fuck her. That’s what’s important this week; her use to us.”

Jongho hums his agreement. There’s movement behind you, the sound of something being picked up and then Mingi’s fingers are being pulled out of your mouth and the brim of the water bottle is pressing against your lips again. “Drink,” Jongho orders lowly. “Just a little. You lost all your juices just then, baby.”

You don’t know how long you stay like that, suckling silently, but when Jongho pulls the bottle away the others seem to have joined you too, and then you’re moving again, shifting; lifted off of Mingi’s lap and put down in Jongho’s. He settles you with your back to his chest, pulling your head down to rest on his shoulder and shoving two fingers into your mouth. “Suck,” he says, although you already were.

He holds your legs apart with his own, spreading you open, rubbing his finger against your soaked sensitive cunt. “Look at this pussy,” he hums. “It’s still dripping. Hole is fluttering when I touch it even a little bit.”

“Because she’s fucked out and needy,” Hongjoong says, matter of fact, barely sparing a glance in your direction. “She probably needs to be filled again.”

“Do you?” It takes you a moment to realise Jongho is talking to you; only when he slaps your cheek, not hard enough to be punishing but enough to hurt, does your mind start to catch up.

Yes, yes, you need to be filled again. You really need it, you’re so empty right now, and it hurts, it hurts so much that you—

You’re nodding fervently, whining, squirming until Jongho stills you with a hand splayed across your stomach, pressing down. It stops you from struggling, his strength nothing you could ever reckon with, but the pressure just makes you needier. “Please,” you whimper.

“We’re not fucking you right now,” Jongho says mildly. “Do you need to be filled?”

“Yes sir.”

He glances at someone, and you hear someone getting up and leaving then returning. Jongho shifts you a little, moving you a little further down so your head is level with his chest and your pussy is pushed out a little, facing the others. They’re staring right at it. You catch Yeosang’s eye but he just smiles, tilting his head and murmuring something to San.

The feeling of something pressing against your cunt—cold, thick, silicone—pulls your attention away. You look down just in time to watch as Jongho slips the head of your dildo—the thick, ridged one they favour when they’re in a hurry to prep you—inside you. It fills you instantly, no easing you into it this time; if it weren’t for Jongho’s strong, firm hand on your tummy you’d probably have wrung yourself off of his lap from the shock of the intrusion. You gasp, hissing, legs tensing and he just shushes you, rubbing your tummy tenderly and soothingly as he starts to move the toy in and out. “You can take it,” he coos. “You’ve taken bigger than this.”

“Much bigger,” someone adds—Wooyoung, you think, but you can’t say for certain. “She’s being dramatic.”

“She’ll settle soon,” Jongho says. “When she gets used to the feeling again.”

You think they’re talking among each other now, certainly you hear voices, but as the toy pushes deeper you struggle to tune into anything but that; to notice or feel anything but the thick silicone pushing out against your walls. You’re hypersensitive now, having only just cum, and the feeling of being held still in Jongho’s arms, fucked open on a toy—the sound, the smell of sex and sweat and need surrounding you—makes everything else seem quieter, muted, insignificant. You know Jongho is affected too; you feel his length hardened and pushing against your back and twitching against you when you squirm or shudder or squeal and press your face into his chest so the sounds are muffled.

“She can’t take it,” Hongjoong says, more commentary than concern. “She’s already breaking again.”

“No, she’ll take it,” Jongho replies. He slows down, a milder pace, just as deep but a little easier to bear. The hand on your tummy relaxes too, his grip loosening some, but his hold is still firm. “Relax,” he mutters. “This is just to settle you.”

There’s a movie playing now; you hear the opening theme, something low and melodic and far away, only just permeating through the haze. Your eyes are half closed, face nuzzled into the meat of Jongho’s arm, teeth sunk into the flesh, hard enough to be just on the edge of drawing blood but not quite over the line. He doesn’t seem to mind. He’s not paying you all that much attention at all.

You’re not sure how long he keeps you like that. You try to follow the movie, but nothing the characters do or say makes sense or even registers with you. The dildo is still moving in and out, at the same slower pace, but it pushes in firmly, pressing against your g-spot without gentleness or compromise. Soon enough you can feel it in your legs; the need and arousal spreading through your body down to your toes. Your thighs are clenching and unclenching, toes curling against the couch cushion, and your eyes have rolled all the way back.

You hardly register it, each time they press the water bottle to your mouth and tell you to swallow. You don’t notice it until there’s something tight and heavy starting in your tummy and pressing against your cunt.

Even like this, you recognise this pressure. This feeling. It comes on so quickly you don’t have the time to stop it.

You whine, shaking your head; your legs try to press themselves together but Jongho’s arm is in the way, blocking them, and if he realises what’s happening he seems to see little reason to care about it.

“S-Sir,” you gasp. “I n— I need—”

“What?” He coos. The dildo doesn’t slow; you’re not sure if it’s just how desperate and helpless you feel right now, but you think it might actually be speeding up. “What is it, doll? You’re not liking this? I thought you needed your holes filled?”

“Need,” you nod. “Pee—”

“Pee?” He repeats. The next thrust of the dildo is harder, faster, almost punishingly so, then it sinks back into its usual rhythm as if nothing happened at all. “No, honey. You don’t need to pee, you need to cum.”

“No,” you sob, shaking your head. You know what cumming feels like, what squirting feels like, and that’s not this. You need to pee.

“Poor thing,” Hongjoong says from somewhere further away. “She doesn’t understand what’s happening to her body, does she? Can’t accept she’s not in control of it anymore.”

“Listen to me,” Jongho tells you. “Sex toys don’t piss. That’s nasty. Sex toys squirt. That pressure you’re feeling right now—that’s cum.”

You know it’s not. Jongho speeds up, the dildo suddenly moving faster, harder, every thrust hitting you exactly where you don’t want it—where you can’t take it. You can’t. You’re going to—

“If you think it’s piss, then prove it,” Jongho says coolly. “Let go and piss all over me like a dog, if you’re so sure. Come on.”

You don’t have a choice—you last a few seconds, it feels like, and then you can’t stop it anymore. It comes suddenly, a fast intense stream that makes your thoughts white out for a moment, legs tense and seizing up, hips bucking through it. You think you scream at some point—you know for a fact you’re sobbing as you come down.

The dildo doesn’t stop. Jongho laughs. “You’re filthy,” he says. “God, look at you. My whole lap is covered in it. What do you think, baby, is it piss or squirt?”

“There’s one way to find out,” Mingi says. “Make her taste it.”

The words don’t reach you, of course, but they reach Jongho. The dildo stills inside you, then pulls out and presses against your lips. “Open your mouth.”

His finger is digging into your jaw again, pressing at that little sweet spot that had made you open up yesterday, and the moment your mouth falls open the dildo is pushing past your lips and settling on your tongue. You close your eyes, jaw going slack around it, and suck at it eagerly; Jongho’s other hand is rubbing at your pussy soothingly, cupping your head and pressing against your clit without breaching you as you swirl your tongue across the silicone.

“This is fucking crazy,” Mingi says. “Sucking on her own piss and she doesn’t even care as long as she’s got something in her mouth.”

“Well?” Jongho asks. “What do you think, bimbo? Piss or squirt?”

You hadn’t even noticed the taste. You just let your head fall against Jongho’s chest, a stray tear still sitting half-fallen on your cheek, and let yourself slowly collapse until all of your weight is pressed against him.

“She doesn’t care,” Mingi laughs. “She probably doesn’t even remember what you said to her.”

“Alright,” Hongjoong says. “She’s gone long enough without a cock in her. We should get her filled up before she forgets what she was made for.”

“I’ll take her cunt,” Jongho says. “Is her asshole okay?”

“I’ll check,” Mingi says. “Give her to me.”

He sits down next to Jongho, and the next thing you’re conscious of is his hand running down the back of your thigh, slow and soothing like he’s trying to calm you down. “Easy,” he murmurs. “That’s it.”

You’re bent over his lap, you realise. Your toes are still curled and you think your legs are shaking too. Mingi’s hands move to your ass, pulling your cheeks apart. “Doll,” he says, one hand moving to pat your lower back. “Reach back and hold yourself open for me.”

“She’s not gonna know how to do that,” Hongjoong says. “Let me.”

When Hongjoong’s hands are on your cheeks and holding them apart, Mingi moves to rest one hand on the back of your thigh while the other presses down on the base of your plug. “Oh, look,” he hums. “I almost forgot we’d had her plugged up.”

He taps at it a few times, then his fingers are wrapped around the base and slowly pulling it out. You gasp at the sensation, leg kicking slightly against the couch, but they pay you no mind. It comes out with a quiet, wet pop.

“Let’s have a look,” Mingi says. “Alright, sweetheart. We’re just gonna make sure your asshole is ready for us. Be a good girl.”

He presses a finger, wet, coated with spit, to your rim and breaches it ever so slightly. “What do we think?” He asks. “She loose enough?”

“Push deeper,” Hongjoong says. “We won’t be able to know until then. If she’s too tight she’ll need more stretching.”

“Don’t think she will be,” Mingi replies, pushing his finger further in until it’s down to the knuckle. “Look at it, all sloppy and needy. I think I still smell San’s cum on her.”

“We cleaned her out after last night,” Hongjoong says. “But you’re right. I don’t think she’s had long enough to tighten up yet. Try another finger.”

“While you do that,” Jongho says, “I’m gonna go get changed. Little fucking piss baby’s soaked my jeans through.”

“Poor thing doesn’t know any better,” Hongjoong clicks his tongue. He watches as Mingi pushes another finger into your hole; the sight of your rim contracting around him and pressing against his fingers like it’s trying to trap them there has him biting down a moan. Fuck. If he’d known about this serum he’d have made a bimbo of you months ago. When it wears off he’s gonna paddle you for keeping it from him for this long.

“I think she’s good,” Mingi says. “Good job, sweetheart. You kept your hole all nice and loose for us. Joong, you want it?”

“Yeah, put her on all fours,” Hongjoong says, just as Mingi sits you up, eyes still closed, the toy still in your mouth. “Jesus, she’s still sucking that fucking dildo?”

“She needs something in her mouth,” Mingi says. “She doesn’t even know what she’s doing right now. Fuck, it’s like having a kid, isn’t it? You gotta do all the thinking for her.”

He positions you as he speaks, your ass high up in the air and your weight pressed onto your forearms. He lets you rest your head against the floor, putting a pillow under your face; you’re still sucking at the dildo as Jongho comes back through.

“She ready?” He asks. He’s in sweatpants now, the front already tenting with the outline of his boner.

Hongjoong nods. “Have at it. Which hole are you going for?”

“Cunt,” Jongho answers. “Might stick a few fingers in her ass too. She makes the most distressed little noises when you go in there.”

“She does,” Hongjoong agrees. “And the rest of you?” He asks. “You just gonna stand around like perverts?”

Oh yeah. The rest of them. You forgot they’d even come in. With your head held against the pillow, Mingi’s hand on your neck immobilising you, you can’t see where they are, what they’re doing; you suppose it doesn’t matter, though, because your holes are being filled and you’re being a good, pliant fuck toy for them. That’s what’s important.

Jongho’s hands are cold when they press against your cunt; it makes you jolt slightly, whining, and he laughs. He spreads you open with his hands, then there’s a low whistle and what sounds like laughter from somewhere further away. “Fucking hell,” Jongho says. “This might be the most used up, sloppy little cunt I’ve ever seen. Not even sure it’s worth fucking in this state.”

“Give it a spanking and it’ll tighten up,” someone says.

Jongho stills for a moment, then his hand comes down once, twice, three times against your cunt; you shriek, toes curling, crying out around the dildo; Mingi tightens his grip on your neck to keep you still. “Stop your squirming,” he grunts. “S’your fault for having such a nasty cunt. Should be ashamed of yourself.”

A finger pushes in, dry, and you whimper, pushing back against it as much as you can; Jongho puts a hand on your hip to keep you still while he pushes in. “That’s better,” he says. “You were right, Yeosang, her cunt tightens up when it’s hurting, like it’s trying to keep me out. Like it’s afraid of me.”

“How’s it feel now?”

“Well, tighter,” Jongho says, slipping in another finger. “Still sloppy, though. You can tell she’s been used today, dirty girl.”

“We keep you well fucked, don’t we?” Hongjoong asks. He’s crouching by your head now, smoothing your hair down with his hand. “Stay still for Jongho, sweetheart. You know it’s easier when you stay still.”

Luckily for you, Jongho’s never really been the type to drag it out; he’s never liked delaying it just to toy with you the way some of the others do. He pushes in all the way, straight away, and by the time you’ve processed the intrusion he’s fucking you with full force, full speed, full strength. He doesn’t speak, but you can hear his breaths, deep and laboured and heavy; you feel his hands on your waist, a finger circling your rim then slipping inside, his cock stretching you open around the shaft; you feel your cunt contracting, tightening around around him, his dick twitching inside you when he pauses his thrusts to take a breath. “Fuck,” he grunts. “Fuck.”

“Does she feel good?” Someone asks.

“Fucking crazy,” Jongho answers. “Jesus Christ. Sloppy and used up but she’s still squeezing the life out of me, fuck. She still feels like a virgin.”

“Put another finger in her ass,” Mingi says. “I wanna hear her squeal.”

Jongho obliges, pushing another finger past your rim; you make a noise that’s half gasp, half cry, something hollow and raw and scratchy, like there’s something clawing at the inside of your throat. “Fuck,” Mingi groans. “Yeah, that’s it. Another, Jongho.”

“Fucking hell, Mingi, she’s gonna tear,” Jongho argues. He’s thrusting again, slower now but just as deep; savouring you, savouring the feeling rather than chasing the high.

“She’s not gonna tear,” Mingi replies, his tone dismissive. “We’ve been training her ass for months, she’ll be fine.”

“She had a plug in her ass all morning, too.” That sounds like Yunho. “She’s already stretched out.”

Jongho tests it out, tracing your rim with his thumb while he keeps pumping two fingers in and out. The contact makes your hole flutter slightly, tensing around him then relaxing some. “Yeah,” he says. “I think you’ll take another.”

Something wet lands on your hole; spit, you realise, then another wad, and another, then another finger is pushing in lubricated by it—and when it reaches the knuckle, three fingers now stuffed all the way inside you, you do squeal; loud and strangled and desperate, legs kicking against the floor. The pillow is wet, you realise, spit and drool and snot sinking into the fabric and rubbing uncomfortably against your skin. Jongho’s hand lands on the back of your thigh; you barely react.

“Tighten up,” he orders. “Clench your cunt a little so I can fill you up.”

You obey; it’s a command you’re used to by now, spat out when they’re on the edge, or when they’ve been fucking you got a while and you’ve forgotten how to keep yourself well presented for them, or sometimes simply because they love the way your body obeys them automatically. You don’t even think about it anymore; your pussy just contracts of its own accord.

Jongho doesn’t take long; it doesn’t feel like it, at least. Someone is stroking your hair, slipping two fingers into your mouth and pressing them against the back of your throat; sucking at them, trying to breathe around them, gives you something else to focus on, a distraction from everything Jongho is doing to you. It makes everything a little easier to take. When he cums, it’s with a low grunt, guttural, his fingers digging into your hips to anchor you in place as he fills you up.

Jongho’s loads are always big; hard and fast, easily enough to overflow until it drips out of your hole and down your thighs. He stays inside while he finishes, while he goes soft inside you; you feel his seed leaking out around him. His fingers aren’t in your ass anymore, you notice. You don’t know when he took them out.

You whine when he pulls out, the sudden emptiness making your head spin; your hips push back a little when he moves away, like they’re trying to follow him, and he laughs lowly. “Poor girl,” he murmurs. He runs his hand across your cunt, rubbing soothingly at the wet, swollen folds and your sensitive hole. “Is there no dick in your cunt now, baby? Does that make you sad?”

“Hurts,” you sniff. Your hole seems to twitch, clenching around nothing, as if to prove your point.

“You’ve got cum leaking down your thighs,” Mingi says. “And in your hole, too. That’s really not enough?”

You whine, shaking your head. “Empty.”

“Pathetic.” You’re lifted up and settled in Mingi’s lap, still on the floor, your back against his chest, your head lolling to the side slightly until he carefully lifts it back up and pulls it into his chest. “Alright, honey,” he says. “This is what’ll happen. We’re gonna get you a bath, all cleaned up, ‘cause you look a fucking mess right now. So we’re gonna clean the cum out of your hole and get you all nice and fresh for us. Yeah?”

You mumble something that’s meant to sound vaguely like ‘yeah’ but comes out more like a soft, tired hum. You feel yourself shifting, then you’re being lifted again and carried out of the living room. You frown for a moment, not sure what’s happening, where they’re taking you, if they’re gonna fill you up again, until you remember what Mingi said about a bath. Oh, yeah. You need to clean up. Good girls are always clean and fresh and nice to look at—not used up and sloppy and covered in cum. Seonghwa taught you that particular mantra.

You’re already half asleep when they lower you into the tub. They arrange you carefully, weight resting against the backrest with your head cradled carefully and steadily as they rub the warm water into your joints, between your thighs, reaching into your cunt to clean out any of the cum that’s still lingering inside. They wipe your face, too, using a wet flannel to clean the tears and drool and snot that’s dried against your skin; someone’s humming, you think, a low soft sound. It only serves to put you to sleep.

You’re in the living room when you wake up. On the couch, where Mingi and Jongho had held you before; this time it’s Seonghwa cradling you, your head against his chest and your legs curled up and resting against his side. He’s reading something on his phone; further away, others are having low, quiet conversations amongst themselves.

It’s San who first notices. “She’s up,” he says; Seonghwa shifts you slightly in his arms.

“So she is,” he says. “Morning, pretty girl. You have a good rest?”

You nod against his chest. All you can think about right now is the fact that his hand is resting on top of your thigh, right where it starts to curve into your hip, and how warm and soft and strong his hand is and how close it is to your pussy. Fuck, you want him in your pussy. When was the last time you had him in there?

“Her cunt is crying again,” Seonghwa says. “Already needy. Powerful little serum, that is.”

“Nah, that’s her,” Yunho says. “She’s always been desperate for it. Serum just brought out her true self; the whore she actually wants to be.”

Seonghwa presses his palm against your pussy, just enough pressure to make something spark in your stomach; you buck against it, chasing sensation, and he chuckles. “No shame,” he mutters. “D’you want something in you, honey?”

Yes. Fuck, yes. You whine, nodding fervently, and Seonghwa winds his hand back and lands it against your bare cunt. It sends a current of pain and arousal, borderline electric, through the entirety of your body. “Okay,” Seonghwa says. “I’ll put you on my cock for a while, keep you calm. Hold on.”

He shifts, lifting you up a bit so he can shove his sweats down enough to pull out his dick. It’s already half hard, pre-cum smeared around the tip where it had been rubbing against his pants. He lowers you slowly, taking his time; you feel his tip pressing against your hole then sliding in. It’s a stretch, certainly, but there’s no resistance; your hole is already wet, opening up when he presses against it like it’s welcoming him inside. Like it knows its only purpose right now is to be fucked open.

He has you facing him, straddling his lap; he holds your chin in the hand that’s not wrapped around your hip and pressing you down on his cock, forcing you to meet his eyes. You can’t really see him; your vision is blurred, dim, your eyes half closed and already welling with tears, but you see his calm eyes, the slight smile that’s pulling at the corners of his lips. Your head falls forward, chin pressed against your chest; he laughs, squeezing your chin a little tighter then pulling you into him so your head is tucked into the crook of his neck. “Easy,” he purrs. “We’re almost there.”

You feel the moment he gets in all the way, when your ass lands on his lap and his tip is pressing against the deepest parts of you. It’s dizzying, the pressure and the arousal and the sting of the stretch all crashing against each other like waves against a rock and he’s not even moving, just holding you there. When you try to move your hips a little bit, just enough to ease some of the pressure, he tightens his hold on you and cracks his hand down against your ass. “You stay still,” he orders. “I’m letting you sit on my dick so you’ll stop fussing, that’s all it is. It’s to keep you behaving, not to keep you satisfied. Say yes sir.”

“Yes sir,” you repeat.

“If you’re good,” he says, “I might let you get yourself off in a bit. Bounce on it til you cum again. Maybe.”

“Be good,” you nod. “I will.”

“You want something in your mouth?” He asks.

“Please, sir. M’good.”

“Yes you are.” He pushes two fingers past your lips and lets them sit atop your tongue; you suck at them eagerly, drool dripping out around them and pooling on your chest. Seonghwa tuts. “Dirty girl.”

“Drooling again,” San notes. “Just helpless.”

Seonghwa hums. “Should settle her for a bit, though. Hole stuffed and mouth filled, she should be pacified for a while.”

“She does seem relaxed.”

“Yeah, she’s out of it,” Seonghwa smiles, peering down at you. You’re staring up at him now, jaw slacked, a faraway look in your eyes like you’re not really present. “It’s interesting,” he says. “The serum seems to affect her in waves. She’s a little more lucid at times, then she just slips away again.”

“She goes dumber the hornier she gets,” San says.

“She does that anyway,” Yunho snorts. “Serum or not. But yeah, she does go stupid when her holes are full. I think she just needs to be coaxed down a little sometimes.”

“Well, she’s nice and gone now,” Seonghwa smiles. “Settled right down when she was told to. None of that bratiness she has when she’s lucid.”

“If she could just act like this all the time,” San says.

“We’ll train her up,” Yunho responds. “Now that I’ve seen the kind of obedience she has in her, I’m not settling for any of that defiance.”

It’s a wonder, Seonghwa thinks, the way your face doesn’t change no matter what they say about you—like you're not really processing their words at all. He’d wager you’re not; that you’ve slipped so far down that their words are just noise to you now. Like television static or rain against a window; something to soothe you.

You look so sweet like this. So innocent; just a tiny little thing in his arms, in their care, too stupid to survive without them. It almost makes him feel bad for how badly he wants to defile you. For the way that it’s that same innocent look on your face that makes him want to ruin you beyond repair.

He feels himself twitch inside you, his dick responding to the thought of its own accord; your cunt clenches in response to it, tightening around him, but your face doesn’t change. The emptiness in your eyes stays steady, your breathing and your blinking slow and level.

Are you not even registering what’s happening to your pussy anymore; not even conscious of your own arousal? Do you even remember you have a stiff, thick cock stuffed inside your cunt right now?

“So sweet,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek. He pushes his thumb past your lips and lets it sit in your mouth, your tongue poking at it like you’re not sure what it is or what to do with it. “My little girl. You’re so lovely like this.”

He’s pushing his hips upwards before he’s really conscious of it; just his body’s natural response to your tight, warm cunt wrapped around him. This time, you notice; you gasp softly, weakly, a quiet noise that drags out until it’s hardened into a low, desperate groan. Your eyes widen a little, something sparking behind the irises that hints to some kind of awareness of what’s going on now, and your jaw drops further, body slumping against his chest even more than it was.

Yeah, you’ve realised now—your body has, at least. Perhaps it’s the tip of his cock pressing into the deepest parts of you that did it.

His thrusts are slow, lazy, little thought or precision in the movements as there usually is, but he’s still getting deep. You don’t speak, don’t move, but your cunt is pulsing and constricting around his shaft, tightening around him when he pushes in deeper like you’re trying to trap him there. You’re making noise now, too; tiny sounds that you probably aren’t aware of, soft little whimpers and low moans as he fucks you open. He pushes his thumb deeper into your mouth, pressing it down against your tongue; his other hand takes a grip of your right ass cheek, holding it firmly as he moves and using it to guide you up and down on his dick.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Good girl.”

Hands are on your neck now, snaking around from behind you; one of them creeps upwards to beneath your jaw, tilting your head back until you meet San’s gaze—calm, level, fixed on you. Hardly even blinking. Your head is pressed against his stomach, held still, his grip on your neck paralysingly firm as he pushes his thumb past your lips, just as Seonghwa did. “Hi, bimbo,” he croons. “You being fucked good?”

You mumble something around his thumb. He laughs, clicking his tongue. “Oh, you’re just stupid as hell, aren’t you? Just gone. Nothing in your little head except dick.”

Seonghwa’s hips stutter all of a sudden and he groans, breathing out a strained, strangled laugh. “She just clenched, San,” he says. “When you called her stupid. Got even tighter.”

“Of course she did,” San smiles. “She knows what her purpose is. She knows why we keep her, why we take care of her. Because she’s a stupid slut who doesn’t know how to do anything but please. Aren’t you?”

You whine; tears are welling again, threatening to spill, and San just coos. “You can cry, sweet thing,” he says. He knows you’re not holding them back on purpose, of course, you probably don’t have the facilities for that right now, but he says it all the same. “Show us how much it hurts. How full and well-fucked and stupid you are.”

He’s not certain he words register, doesn’t see any sign of it in your face, but it doesn’t take long before you’re letting go; before the tears are slipping down your face and you’re whimpering around his thumb. Just as Seonghwa speeds up, clearly getting close to the edge, his thrusts harder and more rushed now, San pulls his thumb out and replaces it with two fingers; that way, he can press them against the back of your throat with ease and feel the way you fight for breath. It’s getting hard to hold you still against him with the force of Seonghwa’s thrusts; your eyes are rolled back, half closed, and you’re grasping the fabric of Seonghwa’s shirt in tight fists.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” Seonghwa groans, voice breaking, then slams his hand down on your thigh. “Clench.”

You do. Seonghwa damn near weeps through his orgasm.

It takes you a moment or two to realise it’s over; you frown a little, still looking up at San, and your mouth closes slightly. “D-done?” You ask.

“Yeah, baby,” San smiles. “All done. Good girl.”

“Do you want me to stay inside you, honey?” Seonghwa asks. “I’m not as hard anymore, but it’ll keep you full, hm?”

“Don’t think she got any of that,” San says. “But I’m pretty sure if you try to pull out she’ll burst into tears.”

“She’s still pulsing.” Seonghwa laughs lowly, shaking his head like he’s in disbelief. “Still clenching around me. Don’t think her cunt is letting me out anyway.”

“She needs to eat something,” San says. He gently pushes you forwards until your head lands against Seonghwa’s chest; you nuzzle into it, humming contentedly, and San smiles. “It’s been a few hours.”

Has it? You don’t know what time it is, couldn’t even guess; it could be morning just as easily as it could be night. Seonghwa hums, adjusting you in his hold, tapping his hand against your ass. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says. “Get her something light, easy to swallow, I don’t think she can handle much more.”

A few minutes later—but it could equally be seconds, or hours, or days—you’re being moved so you’re held sideways in Seonghwa’s lap, San sitting down next to you, and something soft and sweet is being spooned into your mouth. Oatmeal, you think, with something sweet and syrupy soaked into the grains. “Look at you,” Seonghwa hums, “eating so well.”

“Such a good girl,” San agrees. “That yummy, sweetheart?”

You nod, grunting, swallowing another spoonful; it’s hard to keep it all in your mouth, not quite present enough to hold your jaw shut on your own. It’s dribbling down your chin, coating your lips; Seonghwa clicks his tongue, wiping his thumb over your chin and mouth. “Messy girl,” he tuts. “You eat well, don’t you?”

“Is she done?” You don’t know where Wooyoung came from; if he’s just walked in or if he’s been hanging around in here the whole time, but there’s an impatience in his voice that you just about pick up on. “I want my dick sucked.”

“She’s done,” Seonghwa says. “But I think she needs her cunt filled right now, too. She was getting fussy about it.”

“Put a dildo in her then,” Wooyoung says. “Or someone else can fuck her pussy. I want her throat.”

Seonghwa sighs, rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t protest; he lifts you off of his lap slowly, gradually, trying to make the inevitable shock of emptiness easy on you. You cry out when it happens, tearing up straight away, and he shushes you. “You’re fine,” he says. “Just wait a moment and we’ll get you filled, be a good girl now.”

You’re put onto your knees; Wooyoung takes a fistful of your hair and uses it to keep you upright while he sits himself down, legs spread, and pulls his dick out with his other hand. He lets go of your hair, moving his hand to tap your jaw. “Open.”

Your jaw slacks, falling open, and he slides his dick past your lips and straight to the back of your throat. He’s leaking already, the tip sticky against the roof of your mouth, and his thrusts and loose and sloppy, arousal and desperation evident in every movement. He rests his hand on the top of your head, pulling you back and forth to bob up and down on his length. “Fuck,” he groans. “Yeah, that’s fuckin’ it. Hot little mouth.”

He’s going hard, fast, no thought or consideration for you, but your mouth welcomes him, holds him easily, pulls him deeper, even as drool begins to drip down your chin and pool on your chest; as your eyes water, vision blurring at the edges, and your breaths sound like gasps, gargles, splutters around his girth.

“She’s got a fucking mouth on her,” someone says, sounding impressed. “She even gagging?”

“Barely,” Wooyoung grunts. “Knows how to take it, anyway. Such a warm, tight throat.”

You’re not really thinking anything now; don’t think you could if you wanted to. You’re conscious, faintly, of the feeling of his dick moving in and out of your throat, but not anything else. Not the pressure building in your tummy, tightening every time he pushes your head further down his shaft; the blunts of his fingers pressing against the back of your head; his breathing quickening, getting sharper and shallower as your lips tighten around him. “Fuck,” he hisses. “Jesus, I’m go— I’m gonna—”

“Already?” Seonghwa says.

“Yes, already, shut u—” Wooyoung grunts, eyes squeezing shut; he pulls your head closer to him, dick all the way inside your mouth, you face practically pressed against his stomach as he cums. It’s fast, hot, thick; this time you do choke, gagging, spluttering, but you don’t spit it up. You don’t think you could, with his dick lodged so deep.

“God,” he breathes. “Good girl.”

He moves to pull out, slowly easing your head backwards off of him, but you whine. You don’t have anything in your cunt still, and your ass feels empty too, and if Wooyoung pulls his dick out of your mouth then—

“Okay, woah, easy.” He’s cooing now, laughing; you’re gripping his shirt in tight, desperate fists, clinging to him; he gently grasps your hands in his and eases them off. “You’re fine, honey. Hwa, do we have a dildo she can suck on?”

“Let me go clean it first,” Seonghwa says. “Stay in her mouth for a sec.”

“There we go.” Wooyoung is cupping your face in his hand, his fingers curling with your jaw to rest beneath your chin; he holds you gentle but firm against his stomach, his dick, mostly soft, now resting on your tongue. “Good girl,” he murmurs.

Seonghwa comes back soon enough, the dildo now clean in his hand. They work quickly, efficiently, so by the time you register the emptiness after Wooyoung pulls out your dildo is already sitting in your mouth, big enough to feel full without too painful a stretch. Wooyoung pats your hair, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead, as you’re picked up and settled on the couch in someone’s lap.

“Come here, bunny.” Yeosang’s voice is soft, gentle, but his dick is solid against your back. He doesn’t move to do anything with it, though. Perhaps he thinks you need a rest.

“Sir,” you mutter, the words muffled around the dildo. You move back a little, pressing yourself against his hard-on; he hisses, tensing, his grip tightening around you, but he still does nothing.

“Needy,” he says, no mockery nor praise behind it; just more. Observing.

You whine, pushing back more; Yeosang’s hand lands sharp and heavy on your thigh in warning. “Enough,” he says. “You have a dildo already. Put it in your cunt if that’s where you need to be filled right now, but this isn’t about you. I’m in charge here, and I want to sit with my good girl all fucked out and pliant in my lap. Can you do that?”

You blink, processing his words. He waits for a moment, all patient, then breathes out a laugh. “Right,” he nods. “Yeah. I forgot your brain’s off. Let me dumb it down. If you want something in you, use the dildo. I’m in charge. Understand?”

You reach for the dildo unconsciously, wrapping your hand around the base; Yeosang smiles. “That’s right,” he says. “That’s your dildo. Mouth, cunt or ass, it’s up to you, but it’s all you’re getting.”

“Mouf’,” you slur out; you like it like this, sitting steady in your throat—it keeps you calm, satiated, without stretching or pleasuring you unnecessarily. You’re not certain there’s any point in stretching your cunt out for your own sake; you should keep it for them, you reason. For them to use, or for them to entertain themselves with. You press your head against Yeosang’s chest, sucking harder on the dildo, swirling your tongue around the cold plasticky tip the way they’d taught you to; the way they’d made you prove you could do on this very same dildo before they let you take them in your mouth.

Your training dildo, they’d called it back then. You’d practiced all your skills on it, under their watchful eyes, from sucking to bouncing to simply just taking it. It brings back memories, in a way, having it in your mouth like this. At the very least, it settles you. Stills you. Calms you enough to allow your eyes to slowly start to close.

Yeosang is swaying steadily, rocking you back and forth, his voice a low, distant murmur, words too far to follow.

It’s just as you’re falling asleep that you feel something pressing against your cunt.

“Easy,” someone says. “Get your rest. Keep sucking.”

You do.

you shake your head. “nope.” you shrug and pick up your phone again and start to scroll through your settings apps. “but it’s not a big deal, really, it’s just another thing to cross off the bucket list.”

seonghwa snorts and peeks over to snoop at your phone, to which you angle it away from him with an annoyed scowl. “i think it may be a little more serious than that.”

you type gibberish into the search bar. "why does it have to be serious, hwa? it's just sex."

its seonghwa's turn to scoff this time, and he pinches the skin of your calf, you swat at him with your free hand. but he does it again, and you bite out an irritated "quit it" as he starts to speak again.

"thats a bad mindset to have, y'know that right?" he lowers his voice to that annoying, mothering tone he uses with you when he thinks you're being stupid. "it should never be "just sex."

"okay yeah, but you can't be so picky and choosy all the time. i'm sure ill get with some guy and when he figures it out, he'll work with me or whatever. teach me or something." you speak of it fleetingly, like it was nothing more than a pesky errand.

seonghwa snatches your phone from you and shoves it into the couch cushions, and you sigh loudly.

"some guy?" he questions with a raise of his eyebrow. you move to fish your phone out of the couch, but he reaches out and gently grabs your wrist, encasing it in his slender fingers and rubbing his thumb over your thrumming pulse point.

"why not me?" he speaks lowly, and you snap your eyes up to his. he stares back at you with an intensity that settles low in your gut. his thumb stroked over your inner wrist slowly, and his other hand twitched at his side on the couch.

the air went thick, the quiet of his living room felt encased in a bubble, and the warmth of his skin suddenly burned.

he sees it. your thighs clenching beneath your body, the conflict flashing over your eyes, your free hand digging its nails into the cushion.

when you don't respond, he lets his eyes fall to where his hand held your wrist, watching with illustrated intent as he traces patterns against the fragile skin.

"i could show you, i've always been told i'm a good teacher." seonghwa tickles the skin of your palm with gentle scratches of his nails.

"thats what friends are for, yeah?" he lifts his pretty eyes back up to you, and something else has shadowed over them, and you feel something inside of you crack. you're aware of the way veins in his hands flow prettily under his skin.

the way his collarbones peak through the thin fabric of his shirt. the slick shine on his bottom lip where he licked to wet it. his tongue poked against his inner cheek and his eyebrows raised again to urge an answer out of you.

"c'mon pretty, don't leave me hanging." his voice is softer than usual, a new tone lacing it you've never heard from your best friend, something heated, something needy.

if deciding to have your best friend teach you how to ride dick was a bad idea, then you could mull on it later. because it wasn't long until he was sitting under you on the couch, legs spread nice and wide, his hands pressing into your hips where he held your body above him.

you straddled him, your thighs resting on either side of his, your knees pressed into the rough fabric of the couch cushions. your hands gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into the flesh of the blades.

he looks up at you through his lashes, as if you were a gift from god himself, his eyebrows knit together so prettily. "its fun up there, huh?" he smiles, dragging his warm hands up your thighs, holding you like you might melt and slip through his fingers.

you could barely keep yourself together; he was so deep inside of you. your thighs shook around him, his tip nudging against that spot so sweet and so dirty. his fingers kneaded the flesh of your hips, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth with a quiet moan when he felt your cunt clench around him.

"it helps that you're, ah… so wet…" his voice cracks lightly, his cock twitching inside of you and sending a jolt of pleasure up your spine.

you shiver and grip his shoulders a little harder, and you begin to lift your hips, but his grip on them tightens, and he pushes you right back down until your ass hits his thighs again, and you groan nice and low as he fills you all the way up again.

"no-no-no-no-no, baby, stop. don't lift." he presses his lips to your collarbone and kisses you there softly, running his tongue over the skin warmly. one hand leaves your hip and runs over your waist before he presses his palm flat against your lower back and pushes until you arch a little.

just enough that he somehow slips deeper into you, and you let out a weak whine when his fat tip presses ever harder against that spot.

"grind." he instructs in a gravelly, soft moan. "rock your hips, back and forth. it'll help me hit that spot for you."

you shake and whimper under your breath, but you obey. you gently move your hips forward, and the feeling is immediate, his cock drags against your soft walls just enough that it feels like pure heaven.

you move your hands and card them through the hair at the back of his head, cradling his skull in your arms as you hide your face in the crook of his neck, moaning softly against his skin as you rock your hips, nice and slow.

it helps that he's so big, each roll of your lower body has him slipping in and out of you just enough to stimulate you, but not enough to where you can consider him fucking you. his tip dragging against that spot like a constant button, your legs shaking uncontrollaby and your whine brushing past his ear like a song.

your clit lightly brushes against his abs, where his shirt has ridden up over his lower stomach. he keeps his hand on your lower back, keeping you arched all the while his other hand stays glued to your hips, pushing and pulling on your lower body, helping you grind his cock into your body.

"there, how's that feel, baby? good?" he whispers in your ear, kissing just below your earlobe as he helps you rock your body around his cock.

you nod against his neck, gripping his soft, dark hair harder and choking out a moan when he teases you with a heavy lift of his hips. then you feel as he encases your hips with both his hands again, and gently he lifts your body ever so slightly.

you squeeze his head even harder, seonghwa's soft moans shaking in his throat as he lifts and pushes your cunt back down on his cock in slow, deep intervals. "don't stop rocking those hips, keep fucking me like you want. grind, deep, slow…"

he guides you perfectly, each time he lifts your hips himself it makes you clench around him harder. you start to feel a little desperate, and your hips start to move a little faster, rocking with a little more rhythm, but seonghwa didn't like that.

one hand finds the back of your neck and grabs it firmly, pulling your head away from his shoulder and pressing your forehead to his. suddenly all you can see is his eyes, and it overwhelms you to the point of tears. you whine pathetically when he thrusts his cock up into your pussy so sharply that a drop of drool falls from your lips onto his chest.

"easy…" he grumbles against your lips, his breath fanning over your face in low, heavy pants. "slow down pretty, no need to rush." his nails dig into the back of your neck, and you shiver when he starts to grind his own hips up into you, so deep it has your stomach caving.

"if i wanted you pounded into the floor i would've put you on your back, but i'm teaching you sweetness. listen to me." his eyes fall low-lidded as you resume your slow grinding, and his mouth falls open in a pretty moan when you tighten around him, the sound of your slickness loud in your ears.

"it's your dick right now, baby, use it. do what feels good, but don't lose your head." he keeps up the torturous movement of his hips, a choreographed grind that makes his stomach roll prettily.

he doesn't let you look away, forcing you to lock in on his needy gaze while he keeps you filled up with him, nudging every deep spot, every nook and cranny of your pussy. there wasn't a single space inside of you that remained untouched.

"s, t-too, mm-" you tried to talk, try to tell him how good you were feeling but it came out in slurred babbles, and he laughed at you. his warm breath shudders over your parted lip,s and he nudges his head up, melding his soft lips with yours and kissing you deep and nasty.

his tongue fills your mouth with a purr, curling and essentially fucking your mouth with it. "it's a lot i know…" he whispers into your mouth, interrupting the kiss with a low moan when you clench so hard around him it makes his entire body fuzzy.

he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, letting go with a wet pop and pressing your hips down so hard onto his cock you thought if you looked down you'd see his tip poking through the flesh of your stomach.

"wouldn't have felt like this with anyone else, baby." seonghwa nips at the corner of your mouth, dropping his head to run his warm tongue flat up the front of your throat. "feel how wet you are? no other man will be able to make you feel this good."

his eyes lift as he sucks marks of possession into the skin of your neck, and when he sees a tear slipping down your cheek, he growls low in his throat and jerks his cock up into you rough and deep, and you yelp as the bliss shoots through you.

"oh no, don't cry. it makes me wanna be mean to you, makes me wanna fuck you til it feels wrong when i'm not inside you."

now he wraps his hands around your throat, pressing his thumbs against those soft spots that melt your brain, his eyes darting all over your pretty little blissed out face, his lips brushing against your in a ghost of a kiss.

"now lift, drop, and roll. fuck me, bunny. its yours, use this cock until you're satisfied. make yourself cum for me."

you coudln't disobey if you tried, working your body and focusing on that rapidly tightening knot in your stomach as you fuck yourself on seonghwa's dick, every delicious drag inside of you forcing your eyes to roll to the back of your head.

he doesn't bother to chastise you for breaking eye contact; he knows you're too lost in it to control yourself. he squeezes your throat tighter, your moans coming choked and broken. seonghwa helps push you over that edge, groaning and purring prettily for you, lifting his hips to match your desperate movements.

"i feel you baby, pussy feels so good around me. so warm, so tight." he lifts his head to press his lips to the shell of your hot ears, moaning and sighing as you ride him to high heaven. your head feels fuzzy with the lack of air, seonghwa making sure that the only thing you could think about was his dick working you out.

“cum as much as you need,” he coos in your ear his voice low and breathless, sinking his teeth into the soft lobe. “ride me, bunny, ride me.”

you absolutely lose it, slamming your hips down onto his dick and shattering, dribbling drool in rivers as you cum. he squeezed your throat in pulsing intervals, giving you air, then snatching it from you, rolling his hips up into your cunt and dragging every drop of your orgasm out of your body.

"oh god…fuck." he grumbles in his throat, overwhelmed by how pretty you looked on top of him, blissed out over your warm, gummy pussy squeezing him so tight he almost came inside of you. "such a quick learner, baby."

he drags his hands away from your throat, cradling your head, smearing your drool all over your cheeks with his thumbs, your face hazy and drunk while he rocks his hips into you in painfully slow, high off the way you shake and whimper, your slick sticking to his thighs and his lower stomach, a messy proof of his effect on you.

"did so good beautiful, yes you did." he praises, and yet his hips never stop moving. rolling, grinding, upwards strokes that make you feel helpless, regardless of the fact that he was beneath you.

"think you can give me another one? lesson's not over yet." he bites out, grabbing your arms and dragging your body down so your forehead rests over his shoulder. then he grips your hips, lifts your body up, and shimmies his hips down just enough so he can plant his feet flat on the floor, before he starts to fuck.

hard, deep, powerful thrusts up into your overstimulated cunt that has your moans coming out in staccato chokes.

"you did your w-work, now let me use this pussy." he groans through gritted teeth, and you feel your body erupt into flames the more he moves. making you feel every inch of him, each thrust touching your brain. making you feel so good.

is that not what friends are for?

Across the room in his dark suit, tailored to his perfect body, his shoulders sat squared, in perfect posture. Your dress matched, a long, navy gown, if anyone paid attention, they’d know you belong to him. You know you belong to him, Yunho knows you belong to him, Yeosang knows you belong to him, but somehow you think the message has been lost along the way. 

Deep red hair sitting perfectly over his cheekbones, hiding the birthmark beneath his eye you’ve seen a thousand times, Yeosang does look good. He always looks good, biceps stretching the sleeves of every shirt, filling out every pair of pants he owns like they were made for him, it doesn’t help that he has the most contagious laugh you’ve ever heard. A silly joke, a stupid one that left him snorting, made the laughter creep up from your chest and force its way out of your lips until you were folding forward, a hand clutching your stomach. 

He’s funny without even trying to be and you fall victim to it every time, every hangout, whenever you and Yeosang are in the same room. Yunho notices, of course he does, a sixth sense embedded in his veins that he says is named after you. Usually his jealousy with Yeosang is under wraps, he can see your friendship for what it is– but tonight of all nights, at the company gala where Yunho is receiving an award for his efforts, tonight is about him. And here you are, across the room, chopping it up with Yeosang instead of standing by his side so he can introduce you to everyone in the room. 

You can feel his stare, harsh eyes like blades cutting into your skin, it makes your spine straighten, your heels click together. Even without words you can feel his command, summoning you to him like there was a part of him inside your head, you excuse yourself from the circle of people you were conversing with and walk back to your boyfriend, a low rumble in your belly because you know exactly what’s awaiting you. 

Leaning over the tall, circular table dressed in a black tablecloth long enough that it touches the floor, one of Yunho’s knees is bent into it, his arms crossed over the surface. He watches you, eyes following your every step, aware of each person you pass like every one of them could be a threat. You keep your face innocent, your eyes big and doe-like, your hands politely holding your clutch in front of your body, a small smile on your face as you approach him at the table, nothing else on it besides two full glasses of prosecco. 

“Wipe that look off your face,” he says as soon as you can hear it, his voice low and stern, “damage is already done.”

Excitement blooms in your chest, you swallow down your smile. “What do you mean?”

He steps back from the table, picking up the flute of prosecco, holding it close to his chest. He shifts his view upward, examining the crowd, “You know exactly what I mean, stop pretending, you look stupid.”

You can’t fight the smile this time, throwing an elbow over the surface of the table with your clutch, leaning on it as you pick up the glass of prosecco instead. He turns to you, eyes slimming, “You’ve had enough.”

Your brows furrow, head tilting, “I’m not even tipsy–”

“I said you’ve had enough.”

Slowly, you set the glass back on the table, his tone was clean cut, no room for disobedience. You frown, ankles crossing beneath your gown, “I was just talking, Yunho.”

“Talking,” he repeats, a ghost of a smile clawing at his lips, “laughing, leaning into him like I don’t fucking own you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as the word leaves his lips, it always ignites something deep in your gut, turns your mind to fuzz. Ownership, being his, so deeply his you don’t need to think if you don’t want to, Yunho can see the warmth spreading through your body like your skin was transparent. 

He takes a step toward you, leaning down, breath ghosting the shell of your ear, “You belong to me. Never fucking forget it.”

You swallow, heart picking up speed in your chest, your voice is a little shakier than you want it to be as you whisper, “I could never forget that.”

Standing up tall again, he smiles like he remembered there’s other people in the room, “Good.” Turning his head to examine the crowd again, coworkers, staff, people who have all praised him tonight, congratulated him on his hard work. You drink in his figure, long legs that stretched on forever clad in navy, his suit jacket unbuttoned, showing the white button-up beneath. The tie that laid in the center, snug beneath his collar, just from a few words your mind escaped to the gutter, brain drifting to the things he could do with it. 

“Let’s go,” he says simply, turning toward you again. 

“Already?” You look around, standing straight, dessert hadn’t even been served yet. “I don’t think it’s appropriate–”

“I don’t give a fuck about what’s appropriate.” You’re lucky there’s no one around you to hear the sharp words leaving his lips, “I don’t care about this, and clearly neither do you if you’d rather go talk to Yeosang.”

“Yun–”

“Come,” the word is firm, a wall splitting your defense. He grabs your clutch from the table, tucking it beneath his armpit, placing his glass of prosecco delicately on the table, “We’ll make our goodbyes, I’ll text the driver.”

He shoots a quick text before laying a heavy hand on the small of your back, bringing you on his round of goodbyes where you smiled politely, shook hands, gave small hugs to every person you made eye contact with tonight– except Yeosang. You didn’t even meet his eye, standing off to the side while Yunho gave him a tight hug, a wide grin on his face like he wasn’t planning on tearing you apart the moment you stepped foot in your apartment. 

You didn’t talk on the drive home, in the backseat of a black car you didn’t know the name of, your driver nodding his head along to what was playing on the radio. A small, muted hum, it stood as background noise for your raging thoughts, adrenaline ripping your tummy to shreds as you wonder about what comes next. It’s rare for Yunho to react like this, he’s generally a grounded, secure man, he knows you’d never leave him, he knows you’d never cheat. He’s asked you the same rhetorical question a thousand times: Who could possibly be better than him?

No one. That person doesn’t exist. You love him too much to ever even consider someone else, he was too engraved in your being, the blood in your body circulated for him, your heart beats to the rhythm of his name. Yunho was everything, everywhere, he was half of your body, your soul. 

But he doesn’t play nice when it comes to his toys. 

He punched in the code to your apartment with steady hands, opening the front door softly, holding his arm out for you to walk inside first. Hanging your coat on the rack, there’s a pit in your stomach, a blooming warmth of fear and adrenaline beneath your skin. You begin, “Yunho, we shouldn’t have left, I was just talking–”

He’s at your back, hands on your hips, head standing tall above yours, “You think I give a fuck about what you were doing?” His voice is rough, gravelly, tone bleeding dominance, it makes your toes curl in your heels, back straightening against his presence. “I don’t care if you were giving him the fucking heimlich, you’re mine. Do you understand what that means?”

Your breath catches, fingers tingling at your sides, eyes wide as you stare at the pale yellow wall in front of you, art covering the walls. The paintings seemed to stare back, snickering at your disobedience, saying you reap what you sow. 

“Yes,” you whisper, accompanied by one singular nod.

“Yes what?”

You fight the sound that claws at your throat, “Yes, sir.”

“This body is mine,” his hands trail from your hips up to your waist, squeezing the skin beneath your gown before traveling up to your chest, holding his palms there to prove a point. “It belongs to me. Your pleasure, your pain, your actions, your mistakes, they’re all mine.”

His palms leave your chest to unzip the gown at your back, you can feel the chill of metal all the way down to the base of your spine. Pooling around your feet, you don’t move, back straight, chin held high, heels clicking together, presenting yourself for him how he taught you. Every bone in your body begged you to turn around and kiss him, you ached to touch him, to wrap your arms around him, to feel him inside you, curved and pulsing and hitting every spot that made you scream. When he steps around you, fear simmers, you come to terms with the fact that none of which is on the itinerary for tonight. 

Shoulders squared, jaw locked, eyes dark, brooding. He watches you, still fully clothed, shoes kicked off, his suit remains. His eyes drink in your naked figure, already well aware of the lack of anything beneath your form fitting gown, watching how your upper body expands with each breath, the tremble in your legs, the glint of nerves in your eyes, how you’re already struggling to keep still under his heavy stare. He watches like he’s mapping out a plan, debating what he’ll do to you, how loud he should make you beg, deciding what he’s in the mood for. 

He always wants obedience. Expects it. You’ve learned to not expect anything. 

“What do you think you deserve tonight?”

The question sets your body aflame. Meeting his eyes, you swallow, “I don’t deserve anything, sir.”

He nods slowly, arms crossing over his chest, he hums. “Do you think you deserve my cock inside you?”

He watches how your spine bends, the slightest movement. It tells him the words out of your mouth are a bold-faced lie, “No, sir.”

“Why not?”

You can feel the heat in the tips of your ears, embarrassment, guilt, it curls into the flame of arousal flickering brighter in your gut with every second he keeps his eyes on you. “Because,” you pause. His brows raise, waiting. Your voice cracks, “B-because I was, um– talking. To Yeosang.”

“Why are you stuttering?” He tilts his head a fraction of a degree. “You know what you did. Say it with your chest.”

“I was laughing,” you continue, feeling the sweat forming at your brow, the light of the foyer too warm, too bright. You swallow, “I was laughing with him when I should have been with you.”

He hums again, debating. “Do you think you deserve to cum at all?”

“Only if you think I deserve it, sir,” there’s a shakiness to your voice, one he knows all too well, it means please. 

He looks you up and down once. “Bedroom,” is the only thing he responds, a sharp word that sends your heeled feet clicking over hardwood to the room at the back of your apartment. The lights are dim, soft, misleading; the way it lays over your duvet, your furniture, a streak creeping into the bathroom, it breeds comfort. You’re scared you won’t get any tonight. 

“Kneel beside the bed, face it.” 

You wince when your knees splinter the hardwood beneath you. Back straight, hands flat on your thighs, you sit on your calves, ass just meeting the heel of your stilettos. He doesn’t smile, he doesn’t praise you for following directions, following order, he watches. 

One second, two, five, ten. Sitting on your shared bed, suit jacket discarded, knees spread, heels of his feet edged on the base. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows before they meet his knees as he leans over his thighs, giving you a full view of his size above you. A display, one that makes you shiver every fucking time. 

“You disappointed me tonight,” his voice is low but his tone is calm and it’s worse than loud, edged, spit-soaked anger. “You know how to behave, you know better. Correct?”

“Yes, sir,” you nod once. 

“Do you have anything to say about your behavior tonight?”

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. His brow arches. Louder, you repeat, “I’m sorry for my behavior tonight, sir.”

He stares, waiting, watching. One second, two, five, ten.

“Save the apologies,” he stands, fingers working at the prongs of the black leather belt, so close to your face you almost flinch at his movement. “You’ll make it up to me properly.”

You nod, words breathy, “Yes, sir.”

With one step he’s behind you, you can feel him squat down just from the heat of him, you hear the metal of the belt buckle dragging against the hardwood floor, it makes your thighs clench together. His palms are warm when he wraps his long fingers around your arms, just above your elbows, he pulls them behind your back. Silently he wraps the belt around your wrists, tying it off securely, tight enough for you to feel the restriction but not enough to cut circulation. 

With another step he’s in front of you, veiny hands tugging at his tie, loosening it before throwing it, unbuttoning the top two buttons of his shirt. He works the fastening of his slacks open, fingers tugging down his zipper, with thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, he pulls them both down over his hips until they reach mid-thigh. Your eyes flicker upward to meet his gaze, holding a question in your stare– he’s not even hard yet. 

“Why are you looking at me?” His brows raise, “Do you not know what to do with a cock in your face?”

Your cheeks burn as you lift up, the tips of your toes meeting the hardwood, adjusting your height to meet his flaccid cock, there’s no hesitation as you bring your head forward, tongue poking out to catch the tip of him in your mouth. You hear the change in his breathing, a small, sudden intake of air, if it wasn’t so quiet in your bedroom you’re sure it would’ve gone over your head. 

The breath is enough praise to take him into your mouth with confidence, to massage your tongue slowly against the underside of him, you feel him expand; length doubling in size, the width of him stretching your lips, the weight heavy on your tongue. Slightly salty, the taste of skin, bland and neutral, he mutters a curse when you take him deeper, but you don’t struggle bobbing your head, working up a rhythm, your movement quickening with each run of your tongue over his ridged tip. 

“You can do better than that,” his tone is condescending, it makes your stomach drop. His hips buck into your mouth, cock reaching the back of your throat, making you gag, an ugly noise; his small hum of pleasure is worth a thousand words of praise.

“Is this what I have to do? Fuck your throat so you take me properly?”

Your eyes fill with salty tears as his cock fills your throat, you take him deeper, faster, nose meeting the tuft of hair at his base, inhaling, moaning, gurgling around him with each bob of your head. He groans, a hand coming up to meet your styled hair, ruining it as soon as his fingers tighten in your scalp. “Don’t cry, it’s pathetic, suck my cock like you mean it. Or do you want me to think you’d rather have your mouth on Yeosang?”

Your brows knit together and you hope it’s enough, that he sees the answer you can’t communicate. He hisses when you swallow around him, “He couldn’t fuckin’ handle you, couldn’t put you in your place, he wouldn’t know what to do with you. Do you understand? That you’re something that needs handling?”

You can’t answer– he knows you can’t answer, he isn’t expecting one, he knows your response. He flashes his teeth in a nasty grin when your tears spill, hot on your cheeks, streaking your makeup. “You need to be owned, need to be used, tied up with nothing left to do but take.”

The noise you make gets muffled by his cock, he hears it, his hips roll deeper into your throat, fingers gripping tighter at your scalp. 

“You love it, don’t you? When I use your mouth? Turn you into a toy?” You whine around his cock, drool gathering at the sides of your mouth, you can hear the squelch of spit. “I know you do, bet your thighs are stickin’ together already. Should I fuck them instead? Cum all over your legs while your little pussy begs me for attention? Begs me just to look at her?” 

Your eyelids flutter, eyes rolling back behind them, your thighs squeeze, wrists tugging at the leather binding them. His chuckle is dark, patronizing, when he speaks the words come out tighter, “Look at you, already begging for it when you can’t even talk. Is this what you wanted? Is that why I had to watch you flirt with my fuckin’ coworker? You needed a reminder that this is all you’re worth?”

Tears flow, makeup stinging your eyes, blurring your vision, his cock so heavy, so deep in your throat, each gag around him breeds more. His other hand meets your hair, rocking your head at the same pace of his hips bucking into your mouth, you breathe through your nose, your nails cut into your palms. 

“Fuck,” it’s sharp, under his breath. “There you go, make me fuckin’ cum, ‘s all this mouth is good for.” 

Drool spills from the corners of your mouth, dripping onto your thighs that start to shake, knees burning where they dig into the hardwood. You’re clenching around nothing with every other thrust, wishing he was fucking into your pussy with the brutal pace he’s using on your mouth. 

“Don’t you dare waste a single drop,” his voice is ragged like his breath, the only proof he was enjoying this. His palms meet your cheeks, forcing your eyes open so he can ask, “Do you hear me?”

Your eyelids flutter, ignoring the sting of tears your gaze darts upward to see his face, veiny forearms in your peripherals. Jaw slacked, cheeks splotched with pink, eyes so dark they’re burnt, pleasure etched in each line of his perfect face. His button-up splits at the hem, showing you the pocket of skin between, the veins that swim from his hipbones up to where they disappear behind the v of fabric swollen, prominent. 

“Gonna ruin this throat,” he uses pressure on your flaming cheeks, holding your head still as he fucks into your mouth faster, harder, ignoring how you choke around him. “Mine to do as I fuckin’ please.” 

Your face is covered by saliva, tears and melted makeup, bubbles of spit popping before they sink down your jaw, down your neck, between your breasts. The sounds you make around his cock are brutal; loud, wet, unbecoming– they push him over the edge.

He cums with a strangled noise like it was caught in his throat, his chin dropping to his chest, his eyes squeezed shut. Ropes of warmth shoot straight down your throat and you’re disappointed you can’t taste the salt, feel the slimy consistency as if it were intentional, like you fucked up so bad he was keeping his cum from you, too. You whimper when he pulls out, sucking in a needed breath, swallowing down the spit in your mouth, feeling the cool air of the bedroom brushing against the streaks of liquid on your body. 

You don’t move without direction. You don’t speak without order. 

He runs a hand through his hair, chest heaving beneath his shirt, he gives you no praise. He doesn’t even look at you kindly. He gives you a one-over, top lip lifting in distaste, “You’re a fucking mess. On the bed.” 

Your legs are wobbly beneath you as you climb onto the white duvet, hands still secured at the base of your spine, you lay on top of them, knees still burning, swollen, uncomfortable. He doesn’t get on the bed with you, he tugs you back down to the edge by your ankles, pushing your legs up until they’re dangling. Hands on your swollen knees, he parts them, ignoring the way you suck in a sharp breath. 

“Be quiet,” he’s staring between your legs, “I don’t want to hear a sound out of that mouth. Holes don’t speak.” You clench your jaw to keep it closed, thighs twitching. He continues, “Knew this slutty cunt would be soaked. ‘S all over your thighs, aren’t you embarrassed?”

You meet his eye, lips parted, but you don’t speak. His lips curve at the corner, “No? Proud of how wet you get from being used? Being nothing?”

He’s baiting you, you force your breath into submission, calm despite your heart pounding against your ribs, wild and arrhythmic. You clench around nothing, air catching on the wetness between your legs, coating your thighs, you’re not embarrassed. You could never be, not when his eyes light up, his lips curve, staring at you like he wants to do nothing less than devour you when you’re spread out for him like this. 

You’re built for him, by him, and he knows it. 

Warm palms sear your thighs, one sinking down your calf, fingers ghosting over one of your heeled feet. He pushes it forward, towards your chest, staring at the silver stiletto, finger following the shape of the arch, touching the pointed heel. Not even looking at you, keeping his eyes on your pedicure, he mutters, “These stay on.”

Your bottom lip quivers, trembles, fingers clawing at the mattress behind your back. His eyes find yours, “Being so obedient now, is this what happens when you’re guilty? When you know you fucked up? I get a sweet girl for once?”

Your entire body reacts to his words, a full-blown shiver that racks through you like a wave. His voice is a spell, his words are tantalizing, laced with sweetness, it throws your mind for a loop, you almost reply. Your lips open and then close, he grins like he knows he’s on the right track. 

His fingers wrap around your ankle, placing it over his shoulder, his other hand leaving your thigh to paint a finger through your folds. Your lips tighten, teeth clamping down, brows furrowing at the stimulation, noise climbing up your throat with claws bared. His touch leaves as quickly as he gives it, he brings his finger up past his lips, moaning at the taste, loud and obnoxious, “It’s too bad you don’t deserve my mouth, wanna eat her so bad. I think Yeosang would like the taste too, don’t you?”

Your jaw clenches, he stores the reaction. Bringing his hand back down to your center, he uses two fingers to spread your folds, watching as you clench around nothing, as your body begs for what your mouth isn’t allowed to say. He hums, leaning down, gathering spit in his mouth before shooting it straight onto your mound, your body jumps in response. With his thumb at your clit, he adds the smallest pressure to spread the slick, your lips part, a quiet gasp sneaking through. 

His eyes flicker upward, “Behave.” He rubs slow circles, barely any pressure, following your hips that buck into his hand, “Stop moving. Take it.”

Your face contorts, abdomen flexing, spine bending, teeth clamped down over your bottom lip. You try to keep your hips flush to the bed, you fail. His hand leaves your calf over his shoulder, falling to your belly, pushing down to keep you flat, “Right after I said you were being obedient, too. Shame.” 

His thumb leaves your clit to push two fingers inside and your elbows bend, hands sliding up your spine, pulling at the belt keeping you restrained. A desperate moan pushes past, hips jerking against his hand pinning you down, his name falls off your lips right after, “Yunho! Fuck, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Lips pursed, his head shakes slowly, disappointed. Your body burns, hot with embarrassment, blood carbonated, sizzling with fear, your eyes stay blown wide, watching him calculate what comes next. He doesn’t react further, instead his fingers work you open, pads of his fingertips massaging against the spongy spot inside you, your breathing becomes verbal. Shallow, chest moving rapidly, wrists fighting against the restraint, it feels too good not to move. Not to react. 

He knows your weak points, knows your strengths; he uses them both to his advantage. 

“Do you think I’m doing this for your pleasure?” He doesn’t look up, voice steady, he watches how your slick gushes around his digits instead, how your core takes his fingers so easily, greedily. “I should shove my cock inside you without prep, that’s what you deserve for being a whore. But I decided to be kind, and this is how you repay me? By being greedy?”

You keep your lips glued together until his eyes meet yours, “Speak.”

“I’m sorry!” Your voice is pitched, face scrunched together, he can hear the shame in your voice, feel how your body disagrees. “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t deserve it, I- I, please just–”

“Shut up,” he cuts you off, “Forgot how fucking irritating it is to hear you whine.”

You feel the pressure in your face again, swimming up your sinuses, filling your waterline with salty heat. He doesn’t notice until your breathing breaks, tears already spilled, pleasure wound tight in the pit of your belly, below his palm that sits heavy and harsh. 

“You’re crying again?” He sounds bored, annoyed. “You’re useless, you know that? Can’t follow simple fuckin’ directions.” 

He sighs before he slips his fingers out, two hands finding the plush of your ass beneath your lifted thighs, pushing you up the bed. 

“Maybe you should fuck Yeosang,” he crawls on top of the mattress with you, fingers working his buttons open while you shake your head, tears falling silently, he stares at you with lifted brows like he couldn’t be more uninterested. “You’re nearing worthless at this point.” 

He throws the button-up off the bed, pulling his white tank over his head, his slacks and briefs already gone, discarded before your back hit the mattress. Face still reading uninterested, he grabs both of your legs by your ankles, throwing them over his shoulders as he spreads his knees, lowering himself until his eyes lock on your glistening folds. 

“You don’t deserve my cock,” he says it like it’s something you already know. A mewl stirs in your throat, you swallow it down as he wraps his fingers around the base, pushing it through your folds. “So fuckin’ wet, she’s begging for it. You think you deserve it?”

He looks up at you just to see you shake your head no, his eyes follow the way your tear-streaked cheeks shine in the dim light. 

Circling his tip over your clit, he asks again, “Not even the tip?”

You release a shaky breath, sniffing through your clogged sinuses, every bone in your body screaming yes, you’d beg for it, on all fours, you’d do anything for it. But that’s not what he wants to hear, so you shake your head once more.

“Alright,” he says it passively and it makes your brows knit together. Like if you said yes, he’d do it. 

Your lips part, face warped into confusion, voice coated in a cry, “W-wait.”

“No,” he moves one of your ankles to his other shoulder, crossing them, “You made your bed.”

“Yunho–”

His eyes flicker upward, warning enough, your lips smack together to silence yourself. The tip of his cock prods at the seam of your thighs, so thick and hot and wet it makes you squirm, ankles locking over his shoulder. He smacks the side of your thigh once, “Clench ‘em for me. Be a good sleeve.”

Your breath is shaky as you tighten your thighs, body rigid, wrists fighting their restraints. Tears spill hotter, heavier when he groans out in relief, cock passing between your thighs, so close to your aching cunt you can feel your composure getting pushed to its limit. One hand holds your ankles over his shoulder, the other squeezes one of your thighs, you watch how his abdomen flexes with each roll of his hips, how his throat bobs when his head falls back in pleasure. 

“Feels good,” his voice is gravelly, laced with arousal, his hips moving slow enough to draw out his own pleasure. You try to keep yourself tight, composed, enjoyable for him, but your patience is a thin band, one running taut too quickly. He picks up the pace, his hips smacking against your sensitive legs, they start to shake where they lay hooked over his shoulder.

“Stay still,” he gruffs out, “Stop shaking.”

A defeated cry escapes through your parted lips, mumbling a wilted, pathetic, “Please.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, doesn’t address that you’ve spoken. You’re drifting as his grip turns tighter, fingers on your ankles, palm on your thigh, tight enough to bruise; his hips pick up speed, filling the room with the sound of skin smacking skin. You’re clenching around nothing again, so strung out and sensitive that the ripple of his cock between your thighs is close enough to friction. You can feel your pulsing clit, muscles tightening, heart picking up speed as it starts to feel somewhat pleasurable. Better than nothing, not nearly enough to get you off. 

He does a double take when he notices your brows knitted up, lips parted, breath layered. His laugh is punched, taunting, “You’re getting off on this?” A whimper escapes. “I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut. This is a punishment, not a fucking position.”

You seal your lips together again, your lashes becoming a waterfall, his hand leaves your thigh just to land against your skin heavier, harder, the sound striking through the room, nearly blending in with the sound of his hips against your thighs.

 “I’d be inside you if you listened. If you didn’t speak, if you didn’t flirt with my friend in front of my goddamn face,” his voice is as rough as his movements, he watches where his cock disappears, grinds his teeth when your thighs clench. “Can’t believe this is getting you off. Nothing but a cockhungry whore, doesn’t matter where I fuckin’ put it, does it?”

Your thighs clench again and he cracks ever so slightly, a splinter in his demeanor. The sound he lets out is pitched, something of a moan, small and wanting as he chases his release, “Fuck, almost as good as your pussy. Maybe I don’t need to use her at all anymore, maybe I’ll tape her shut.”

Another sob falls past your lips, head tilting to the side, “No.”

“No?” His eyes meet yours, “No?”

“I need you–”

“You’re mine,” his voice is harsher now, like you’ve finally hit a nerve. He pulls out, throwing your legs to the side, one arm scooping under you to flip you onto your stomach. Pulling you upright, on all fours, knees together, your face is buried in the bed, another sob cracking through your shaking body. “I’ll do whatever I want, this body is mine, you belong to me. You’re my property, when are you going to get that through your thick fucking skull?”

When his cock pushes past the seam of your thighs again, legs on either side of yours, it's lower. Farther away from your slippery cunt, skin still lubed up with how much you’ve spilled, his voice is edged as he lands a harsh smack on your ass, biting, “Squeeze your fuckin’ thighs, you can’t afford to disappoint me again.”

He holds his hands tight on your hips, steadying you, groaning low and long when he picks up the pace tenfold, harsher than the rhythm he was giving you before. He plants a foot on the bed, choking out a moan, “Gonna cum all over these thighs, this ass, then I’m gonna make you eat it.”

You moan, it’s a soft noise, too soft for how unforgiving he was at your backside. Your mind is cloudy, in your head, his degrading words are close enough to praise, your body responds. He lands another heavy smack to your ass, sending you deeper into the plush of the mattress, into the fuzz, you moan. 

He sounds almost surprised when he says, “That’s not a fucking reward, you’re disgusting.”

Your wrists pull at the belt, thighs clenching, another shameless moan pushing past your lips. His hips stutter, fingertips tightening at your hips, “Fuck, nasty fuckin’ thing.”

He slips from between your thighs, leaving them vibrating and hot. You can hear how fast his fist moves over his length, slick and wet, lewd, his groan is a stutter as he cums, thick ropes of white landing over your ass, your thighs, warm, heavy, you can’t help but moan at the feeling. Being marked, owned, being his, however he wants you, however he’ll have you. 

You hear him panting, tight breaths pushed from his lips, you know he’s staring, watching it drip, admiring the mess he made like it was art. With one hand still on your hip, he uses the other to wipe his painting off your skin, gathering it on his fingers, a glob of wet sticky warmth, your mouth waters knowing he’s about to feed it to you. 

Your thighs shake as he knocks your knees apart for stability, reaching one arm forward to wrap under your belly, pulling you upward. You whimper at the force but your body follows without hands to help you. 

“Here,” he sounds like he’s giving you a gift as your back hits his chest. He moves your hair out of your face, your jaw already pried open, he stuffs his cum-coated fingers past your lips and your eyes roll back. Salty, thick, nasty, you moan at how fucking dirty it feels, abdomen flexing because he’s finally giving you something. Mouth closing, tongue sucking his fingers clean, your thighs squeeze. 

“Good girl,” he whispers, “Eat it all, lick my fingers clean.” You moan again, eyes opening, low-lidded as you stare at him from under your brows, swallowing. His face scrunches, lips parting, “Fuck.”

He watches as your spit-stained mouth opens when he presses down on your tongue, no evidence of his release leftover. His fingers move slowly, spreading inside your mouth like he wanted to feel the texture of your tongue, they drag down until your bottom lip folds over, your own spit hitting your chin.

“So pliant,” he whispers, watching, analyzing, “You’ll let me do anything right now, won’t you?”

You whimper, so soft and light you barely register it came from you. His other hand wraps around your front, two fingers dipping between your legs, adding pressure to your clit. You fold, or try to, his other arm wraps around your front, forearm between your breasts, fingers landing steady at the base of your throat, holding you flush to him. 

“Still.” Despite the order being direct, his voice is calm, sweet almost, eyes dancing over your features, watching how your face contorts in pleasure. He keeps his pace slow, circling his fingers lightly, “Cum, just like this.”

Your instinct tells you not to trust his kindness, pressure building steadily at the base of your belly, but he works you so easily, even with small circles and light pressure, your body responds like a live wire, as if two light fingers were a vibrator on its highest setting. Your moans mix with tiny gasps, body fidgeting at the pleasure, so sensitive you think you might be running from it. 

He cooes, “Come on, baby. I’m letting you cum, might be the only orgasm I let you have tonight. Impress me.”

The need to deliver, obey, appease him is too embedded in you not to listen, even if you know better. You choke on a moan, reaching your peak quicker than you should, sounds climbing in staccato, so close you could fucking taste it– he rips his fingers away just as you approach the edge and you sob, body lurching forward, “No!”

He pulls you back against him, keeping you locked in place. He shushes you, running his hands over your skin, your thighs, your stomach, comforting touches that pull tears from your eyes for the third time. You choke on a cry, crumbling into him, leaning your weight against him. 

“So good for me,” he praises, voice candy-sweet. Confusion makes you whimper a mumble of his name. 

He waits until your twitching subsides, still brushing his fingers over your skin, soothing the loss until you’ve forgotten it. When your sobs quiet, your breathing evens a little more, he dips his fingers between your thighs again.

“Yunho!” You gasp, bucking against him, “T-too much.”

“Shut up,” he grinds out in your ear, “Take it.”

His fingers work quicker, more pressure, pleasure builds inside you like it never stopped.

“I can’t–” You hiccup, “Please let me cum, sir, p-please let me, I can’t take it–”

The arm that’s wrapped around your front reaches farther up until two fingers push past your lips, sitting heavy on your tongue like stone. You gag around the length of them, knuckles hooked between your teeth while his other hand works quicker, tighter circles on your clit.

“Don’t remember telling you to speak,” you feel his breath on your ear, words chopped, rough, mean. “I remember telling you not to make a fucking sound.”

You’re gurgling around his fingers, more ugly noises, you’re too close to care. Electricity zaps through every limb, legs trembling, hips bucking away from his fingers because you can’t handle the pleasure even if you need it. 

You’re babbling over the weight on your tongue, looking up at him with pleading eyes, mumbling begs in-between every gag, he stays focused on his fingers between your legs, pulling you as close as he can to the finish line. 

“Y’gonna cum?” His eyes finally meet yours, searching your face for the answer before you can make a sound. You nod, tongue flexing under his fingers, pressure built up so tight and heavy in your body you might blow if he doesn’t let you release. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, so sticky sweet it makes you moan. His voice is sharp against your skin, “Slutty cunts don’t get to cum.”

There’s a millisecond to process his words before he rips his fingers away and that’s how long it takes for your sanity to slip. Sobs, real ones rip from your chest; ugly and booming, he lets your body go, lets you fall forward, flat against the mattress, wrists clawing at the belt, twitching and jerking so fucking shamelessly it makes Yunho smile. 

“Am I breaking you, baby?” He crawls on top of you, flipping you over like your dead weight means nothing to him. “Are you finally understanding what it means to be mine?”

The word yes leaves your lips between each sob like a chant, wrists aching beneath leather, your skin was probably inflamed and swollen by now from how much you’ve thrashed against the belt, but you don’t feel it, you don’t care. You need more. You need release.

He pushes your knees up, humming, ignoring your choked sobs like they didn’t exist. “You think Yeosang would want you like this?” He smacks his teeth, “A crying, begging whore? You think he’d touch this slutty, swollen cunt?”

“No! I’m s-sorry,” you hiccup, sounding so distraught it’s almost deranged, “Please.”

“Please what?” His cock lays heavy over your leaking cunt, reaching well over your pubic bone, it makes your trembling worse. “What are you asking me for?”

“I– I–”

“Shut up,” he lowers his grip down to your thighs, the sensitive part on the inside, rutting his hips ever so slightly against your folds. Your head tilts back, letting out a sound of tight pleasure mixed with frustration, his cock on you isn’t enough. You need him inside.

“He wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole,” he continues, wrapping his fingers around the base of his length, adding pressure as his hips rut against you again. “This pussy is used. I’ve ruined it for anyone else, ruined you.”

Your spine bends at his words as he works up a rhythm, pace combined with the added pressure, his cockhead runs over your swollen clit with each thrust, it’s almost enough for you to start climbing again. You moan out in relief, in euphoria, just from having him on you. 

His grip tightens on your thigh, “You like that? Being ruined? Like the idea of another man being repulsed by you?”

“Yes,” your face contorts, tears hot in the lines stretching across your skin, breath ragged, hips bucking against him when his rhythm slows.

He curses under his breath as he feels you clench, “Of course you do. This pussy only wants me. Trained to only respond to me.”

“Yes,” a little louder, laced with your climbing pleasure, “Only you.”

“Don’t cum.” You watch his knuckles turn white at the base of his cock. “You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Please!” You cry, so completely at his mercy, body shaking, heels piercing your thighs with each roll of his hips. “Please l-let me, I’ll be good– I’ll listen, I won’t ever look at him again–”

Your fingers curl into the duvet beneath you, pleasure, desperation, the stimulation you’re getting from his cockhead over your clit is enough, it’s fast enough, he said no. He’s focused on your core, how his cock slides against your slick, how it bubbles and swirls around your folds with each thrust of his hips.

 “Yunho,” you cry, a little louder, more severe, “Inside, p-please!”

He grits through tight teeth, “Shut the fuck up.”

Your body locks, bones feeling tight, stuck to each muscle like one look from him had turned you to stone. Small, stuttered breaths escape you one after another, rising in pitch, he can feel the stemming pleasure in your gut, he knows it’s building, he can see it on your face. 

You’re close, but he’s closer. He takes the chance, fucking into his fist before his cock meets the wet heat your folds, he grunts out a curse, fingers so tight around your thigh it hurts.

“You wanna cum?” His eyes flicker upward and your heart stops dead in your chest. 

“Y-Yes– Yes Yunho, please, I’ll do anything–”

“Beg for it.”

Incoherent babbles disguised as pleas, nothing more, a display of desperation that was music to his ears. His hips stutter with each whimper, each whine, the wetness on your cheeks, your body that’s steaming under his touch, it’s so hot his stomach curls with his approaching orgasm.

He chokes on a groan, “You’re so fucking stupid, you don’t learn. Nothing but a dumb, desperate whore.”

You moan and he gasps, thighs twitching as he ruts into his fist like an animal, fucking himself through the orgasm that leaves your cunt, your belly, your thighs covered in cum, his third orgasm. Your knees tie together, a sob so defeated and tired ripping from your gut, your cunt pulses, he can see it. He can’t stop himself from pushing his cock inside.

“Yunho!” You all but whisper, wrecked voice bouncing off the walls, body thrashing against him. 

He moans, small but there, it’s suffering and overstimulated. Your wrists burn, halfway up your back, arched so high the leather doesn’t touch you. You can feel your tears pooling in your ears, sobbing in relief and satisfaction and sheer fucking pleasure. 

He doesn’t move. He sits there, face tied together in overstimulation, lips caught between his teeth, fingers holding onto your legs for purchase like he might die if he didn’t grab onto you with all his strength. 

“Please,” you cry, “Move.”

His jaw clenches, breathing manual, chest rising and falling so heavily you regret the word as soon as it passes through your lips. 

“I can’t take it,” you continue through the regret, another mistake. “I’m yours, Yunho, I- I belong to you, I’m your whore, your sleeve–”

“If you were my fucking whore you wouldn’t disobey me,” he grits out, you can feel his thighs shaking, but he adjusts himself to fuck into you properly. “Say it if you need to, but you’ve taken it before and I know you can take it again.”

The word is nowhere near your tongue and he knows it. 

“Quit crying, then,” he moves his hands, fingers sinking beneath your back to hold your waist, thumbs sliding where they slipped through his cum on your sides. “I’m tired of hearing it. You’re getting what you want.”

“I want to cum,” you cry out, you’re sure you’ve broken skin at the heel of your palms from how hard your nails have cut into them, you can barely feel the sting. His fingers bruise your back, keeping you still, forcing you to take it as he slips out agonizingly slow, and pushes back inside. 

“I don’t think you deserve it,” he sounds unaffected by being inside you, like fucking your thighs really was the same, if not better. Your sobs reflect the thought, feeling so used, full of shame; the flame of desire that dwells within your gut is nowhere close to being smothered, you need more, you need to be full of him, you need to cum around his cock. 

“Ple– ase,” you choke on the word, “Y-Yunho, please.”

“Pussy missed me,” he sounds like he’s reminiscing, “Listen, she’s suckin’ me in.”

You hear it then, the squelch, the ungodly sound of his cock sliding into you fluidly. You wallow in it, the humiliating noise, the feeling of him running over that spot with every thrust, filling you up like he’s carved himself space inside you, whittled at your womb until you could take him and him only. 

“There you go,” it’s not praise, it’s relief, “Finally giving up. So much better when you’re easy.”

There’s nothing left inside you but sound, desperate and aching, it fills the room on top of the sound of his hipbones slapping against your thighs, the room sounding wet and disgusting. Pressure builds, steady and true, his rhythm daunting, pushing you closer to an edge you don’t know if he’ll let you fall off of. 

“This is all you need,” his voice sounds heavier, layered with pressure, “My cock fucking you full. You don’t need to think, don’t need to breathe, you don’t need to be.” 

You breathe out a noise, a babble about getting close, he doesn’t hear it. You sink deeper into the haze with each thrust, consumed by pleasure, cheek sliding against the duvet every time his cockhead kisses your cervix. 

“You all dumb for me?” You can hear his smile, “Fuck, are you finally broken, baby? Feel nothing but me? Thinking of nothing but me?”

The leather binding your wrists feels miles away. You’re reaching, he knows it.

His hips snap against yours, so brutal and unforgiving, pleasure is an unwrapped gift with how your orgasm hits, catching you off guard. The sound that rips through you is deafening, limbs thrashing against the duvet, your restraints, it’s too late for him to slip his cock out. He knows it, even if he does it anyway, you cry out, hips bucking against nothing searching for friction to extend your orgasm as long as you can. 

He doesn’t speak when he flips you over. His hands are rough, movements quick, his cock splits you open the moment your knees hit the mattress. You don’t get a second to feel relief.

“You’re nothing but a greedy fucking whore,” each word is punched, animalistic, angry and ragged; your spine bends toward him, cunt clenching around him, toes digging into the heels on your feet. He pushes you down with one hand, “Keep that fucking back down.”

“Again,” you cry, weak and desperate, “Again.”

He’s fucking you like he hates you, like your pleasure meant nothing to him. Brows furrowed, jaw sharp like a blade, he’s angry as his cock drills inside you, chest red and splotchy, sweat beading down his mismatched skin. 

“Shut the fuck up,” he growls, “Stupid bitch, you’re only making it worse for yourself.”

“I’m sorry–”

He lands a sharp smack to your ass, “Don’t fuckin’ apologize. Deal with the consequences.”

“I’m sorry!” It’s louder this time, strained. Your hips fuck back, knees buried in the bed for stability, “I need you, I need it, I need to cum again, please– please Yunho, I’ll–”

He reaches down to push your face into the mattress, “I told you to shut the fuck up, listen for once in your goddamn life.”

Mouth meeting cotton, you can’t catch your breath, shins kicking against the mattress. His pace is angry, brutal, you can feel yourself falling apart, pleasure and pain melting together, desperation and satisfaction blending into one. Your head feels fuzzy again from the loss of air, cloudy in a way that means submission, your body softens.

He lets go of your head to grab onto the belt with one hand, pulling you up, back level with your hips, your sobs becoming verbal once again. Your head hangs low, deadweight for him to hold.

“Say you’re sorry.”

Light, airy, your cloudy eyes meet the duvet, “I’m s-sorry–”

“Say it like you fucking mean it.”

You wince, “I’m so sorry, sir.”

His voice sounds rigid, like he might cum again. “Tell me what you are.”

The answer comes easy, “I’m a whore.”

He lands a sharp smack to your ass, “You’re less than that.”

“I’m n-nothing,” you whimper, “A h-hole, a sleeve.”

He lets go of the belt and you fall against the mattress, a rough sound muffled as your chest hits cotton. He flattens you with his palms, lowering his weight over your back until his skin sticks to yours, he slides one arm beneath you, under your chest, cupping your jaw with one huge palm. He guides your head to the side to see him, sweaty and angled and fucked out, but he rounds out when he sees you– face flushed, wet with saliva, tears, splotched and messy, your eyes glossy and huge and somewhere else. 

He starts rolling his hips into you again, slower, just as damning, “You’re missing something.”

Your brows furrow, clenching around him, mewling out something incoherent before asking, “M-missing?”

He rolls his hips, cock brushing over that spot, you shake against him, body trembling. He bites his lip roughly like he’s forcing himself into composure before he asks, “Who’s hole? Who’s sleeve?”

“Y-Yours!” You’re scrambling to correct your mistake, “I’m y-yours. Your whore, your hole, your sleeve. Yours to use.”

He moans, soft and wilted and fucking angelic. His rhythm doesn’t falter, patient but aimed, like he wanted you to feel every inch, every vein. You can’t move, stuck under his weight, held in his palm, your face forms to gratification, lips open but silent, eyelids fluttering, you feel like you’ve given him all of you. Your pleasure, your pain, he holds it all in the palm of his hand, he holds you like you’re something sacred. 

“Made for me,” his voice is quieter, soft at the edges. “Only I could love you like this. Broken, small.” He drops into just above a whisper, “Ruined.”

“Please,” you whisper, a single tear running down your cheek, “Cum inside me.”

Hot salt meets his fingers, his grip tightens ever so slightly, cock twitching inside you. “Cum for me first. Show me how well you listen.”

Your brows furrow, instinct at war with his tone, his words. Even if you don’t know how honest he is, your body reacts, rutting against his thrusts, clenching around his length that sails over the front of your walls with purpose. Climbing, reaching, you stare into his dark, focused eyes, softly whimpering, “Yunho.”

“I got you, I’ll let you,” he encourages, his tone not fully sweet. “Just this once.”

Your body trusts him, enough that your peak approaches in a cloudy haze; you tremble in pleasure, choking on a cry, crumbling against his arm that holds you still, steady, safe. 

“Fuck,” it’s a hot word in your ear, “So fucking tight.”

His hips pick up and you move, tears falling hot again, overstimulated and forced in a cycle of pleasure, your wrists pull, your legs thrash, your whines pick up, his grip tightens on your jaw. 

“Want me to fill this pussy up?” His breathing is as verbal as his question, “You think you deserve it?”

“Yes,” you answer in a cry, “I do, I do, please– inside, sir, Yunho, please–”

He gruffs out a noise squeezed from his throat, hips smacking against your skin, stuttering. His fingers push up on your jaw until it closes, silencing you with fingers pressed in your face, his head dipping low as he chases his orgasm. 

“Slutty fucking cunt,” he growls out, lips just grazing your shoulder he lifted, “No you don’t.”

You don’t process the rejection as he lifts himself, you turn over with haste in the second it takes to settle, pleas on your tongue; he’s already crawling over you, knees beside your shoulders, fist wrapped around his cock. 

“Yunho, no–”

“Learn from this.” He pumps his length with fervor, knuckles white, hips bucking into his own hand. “Remember this the next time you think about giving my property away.”

You don’t know how you have any more tears to give. Sucking down air, body thrashing beneath his thighs that pin you down, you wail. He watches, lips parting, brows furrowing, like your face and your pain was getting him off, it doesn’t take long until he’s groaning, cock spilling ropes of white onto your cheeks, your nose, your hair, your chest. 

Heartbreak blooms. Chest cracking, you succumb to the tears, slipping from your half-open eyes down to the streaks of white on your face, mixing into salty, thick heat. You might be talking, repetition of no filling the air like it’d rewind time, convince him to fill you up again and leave his mark behind. 

He takes his time crawling off you, turning you halfway, one hand skillfully prying the belt undone. Your arms are free but you can’t feel the air on your wrists, even as he moves them in front of you. Sitting beside you he lifts your wrists, checking them, moving the pads of his thumbs over your swollen veins on the inside. 

“Fist,” it’s soft; a direct order, one without malice. You barely hear it over your cries, but you flex your fingers, make a fist, he nods once in approval, thumbs ghosting over the red, broken crescents in the heels that your nails left behind. 

Tangling his fingers with yours, it’s not a show of affection, he moves your wrists in a circular motion, clockwise, then counter-clockwise, watching your face for any sign of pain or discomfort. There’s none, other than your dejected cries, he knows you well enough to know the difference. 

Laying your wrists softly beside you, he crawls downward, lifting one leg, untying the buckle at your ankle. He slips your heel off your foot, pressing a kiss to the underside of your toes, another to your ankle. He moves to the other after gently laying your leg down, repeating the process, his lips soft against your skin.

He leans forward again, stretching his legs out beneath him, slinging an arm under your shoulders to tuck you into his chest. Your forehead meets his skin, wet and sticky with sweat, his cum, saliva; being eased into comfort after so long of not having it just makes you cry harder. He lets you release, one hand in your scalp, the other grazing your back, he doesn’t speak until your sobs lower, when you’ve reached a point that you have nothing else to spend. 

“You did so well for me,” he whispers, lips softly meeting your roots. “Took everything I gave you, I’m so proud of you.”

All you can respond is a whimper, soft and light, the only sound you have left inside. Exhaustion lays heavy like a blanket, its weight on your eyelids, on your legs, in the arches of your feet. 

“I’m gonna go get you some water.” 

Your shaky arms reach, neck bending, holding him close with your palm on his waist. Meeting his eye, seeing him, you hope he can see the not yet in your eyes. His face deflates into roundness as his thumb meets your cheek, wiping slick off your skin that’s gone cold by now. His eyes sparkling and soft, he’s in caretaker mode– the doing after he takes, you aren’t ready for it yet. You need him. 

His eyes flicker to your lips and he can feel the way you bend for him, into him, asking for it without saying a word. His lips meet yours with delicacy, a soft graze of his lips before you part for him, beckoning for more. He lets his lips mold with yours, open and sweet, no haste, gradual and slow, his hands exploring your skin, your palm reaching upward to cup his cheek. 

“One more,” you whisper into his mouth, using all your might to form words. Your ankle hooks over his back, a shaky breath escaping you when your body meets the cold slick of his spent length. He hisses at the friction, head beginning to shake, you cut him off before he can speak. “Please.”

His eyes study your face for a moment. “You can handle it?”

“I need it,” your voice cracks on the second word. “Need to feel that you love me.”

His brows furrow, “Baby.”

“Yunho,” you whimper in the same tone, “Please.”

He catches your lips in a kiss and you’re not met with any more haste than before. It’s slow, passionate, he’s burning words onto your tongue, making you feel it instead of him saying it. He reaches down between your bodies, pumping his cock once, twice, pushing a small sound into your mouth, one you swallow down, tucking it beside your heart. Running his tip through your folds, you brace yourself, legs already shaking, bruised and battered and still aching for more. 

You wince as he starts pushing inside, his lips meet your jaw. On your sides, facing each other, you throw your arms over his shoulders, his hands sinking down around your waist, from how close you lay there’s barely any room for him to feed you a full thrust. He tries, grinding his cock against that spot inside you, eating every soft, wrecked moan you spill. 

“I love you so much,” he finally says, “Every inch of you, every part of this body.”

You whimper, fingers curling into his hair with no force, succumbing to the pleasure, the slight sting of overstimulation. 

“You take everything,” he whispers, lips against your cheek, you feel his breath, the severity of his words. “Do so fucking well for me every time. I need you.” Your heart jumps, clenching around him, pressure stemming. He repeats, voice a little louder, “I need you, love you s’much, ‘d do anything for you.”

Your hands drop to his shoulderblades, nails sinking in, breath growing heavier, a soft moan slipping past your lips, into his mouth. You whimper, voice cracking, “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” his fingertips curl into your back, “I know, baby.”

“I love you,” your voice cracks again, breath going uneven, he kisses you softly. 

Your hips move with his, meeting each roll, the slick sound of your still-soaked center a symphony in your dimlit bedroom. He hears when your breathing shifts, as you start to climb. “Yes,” he encourages, voice dripping in praise, “Cum for me, baby, you deserve it. Did so good for me.”

Your breath hitches, hips twitching against him, he rolls into you a little harder. He kisses you, tongue sloppy inside your mouth, tasting everything you’d given him tonight, taking responsibility for it all. He turns you just slightly, angling you onto your back a little more so he can piston his hips higher, against that spot inside you. Your leg dangles, leaving your body spread and open, so trusting it makes his stomach do a flip. He presses two fingers against your clit, rubbing quick, tight circles.

He knows you’re seeing stars by the loud, pitched cry from your throat, he curses under his breath, “C’mon, cum for me. Give it to me, let me have it, I need it.”

Your spine bends on command, thighs shaking, pleasure washing over you in tremors. Eyes squeezing shut, he kisses your unmoving mouth, fingers working your clit, fucking you through it, extending your release, pulling it deeper, hotter, longer. 

He kisses your cheek when a tear slips out, wiping his upper lip with his tongue. Your face is bent up in pleasure, eyes big and doe-like, pupils dilated. You mumble, voice little and weak, “Please cum inside me.”

His pace quickens, chasing instead of supplying, voice caught in his chest. You kiss him again, sloppier, moaning into his mouth as he fucks into you steadily, fingers curling into his hair while you fuck him back. He chokes on a moan, hand splayed across your abdomen, hips losing their rhythm before he stutters, legs shaking, spilling everything that’s left inside him to give. 

Winded, breathing heavy, Yunho’s spent. There’s nothing but the sound of your breath in the room, he keeps his cock inside you until it’s soft and even then you wait until discomfort knocks on your door to part. 

“Can I clean you up?” He asks into the silence, palm still heavy over your sticky stomach. 

You moan your disagreement. “We need to shower.”

He rolls over, pressing a soft kiss onto your cheek, “Are you strong enough to?”

Your head turns, meeting his eye, a smile curving your lips to a singular degree. “I don’t really have a choice. You came on me twice– three times?”

He plants his palms on either side of your head, eyes meeting the ceiling in thought. “Mouth, thighs, stomach, face, inside. Three.” 

You throw your arms over his shoulders, bringing him down to kiss you. A soft, quick peck, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he smiles into your lips, “I’ll carry you and clean you, you don’t have to do anything. I’ll change our sheets, we’ll eat something, watch our show…”

You nod slowly, brain drifting. From the most vulnerable part of your foggy mind comes a question, voice thin as you ask, “You know I don’t want Yeosang, right?” 

His eyes flicker over your face, searching for the emotion that asked the question.

“Of course,” he replies, full of confidence, already spitting quick reassurance, “We’re perfect. I’m not angry at you, I’m not upset with you, I don’t have any feelings that will fester over tonight. Are you okay? Did I push you too far?”

You shake your head, “No.” Biting your lip, they scrunch to one side. “I’m okay, I just… Don’t stray too far away from me tonight. Please.”

He leans down to press another kiss on your forehead, “I won’t leave your side. I promise.”

The bar has been refurbished since the last time you came here.

The overall layout is still generally the same; during your search for your friends, you’ve looked in the ladies’ room - still to the left of the bar, cramped, only two stalls, line way too long, though it isn’t the hospital powder pink it once was - and in the smoking area, thus far. The latter looks pretty much the same, although you admit they can’t really change that much; beneath your denim jacket, you’re still only wearing a minidress and boots and it’s fucking cold. 

Escaping back inside seems the best idea. Realistically, if they’re not there or in the restroom or here, in the main room with the bar, you may as well just get over it. There’s no signal in this place for you to text them either - there never has been - and you don’t want to leave this early. You can still have a good night. You undoubtedly know some of the people here anyway - hell, maybe you’ll find a man. 

It’s the overall vibe that’s changed more than anything else; you think they must be going for some sort of seventies concept now, while before it was largely unthemed. It seems to bring more customers like this - the place is packed full on a tacky illuminated dancefloor, no one dressed the part, though beneath the flashing lights and disco ball you can't really tell. It’s flashy, somewhat exciting; it’s why you decided to wear your vintage denim jacket, even if no one else was going to play along.

The drink you’ve been nursing is still over half full, so you bypass the bar and go straight to the dancefloor. The music doesn’t match the vibe either, but you’re not bothered, swaying in your spot to the random dance song they have playing and taking a generous gulp of the liquid to ease yourself in.

Okay, it definitely feels like a better time now. Perhaps the rebrand has had some effect. You move your hips, jacket falling down your bare shoulders before catching on the strap of your bag. 

Lost in your own world, you almost miss it as you turn around to look amongst the crowd; but no, clear as day, tall and attractive enough to make your heart stop - two men, one in baggy clothes and an obnoxious fur coat and one in tighter, flared jeans, long sleeve tight across a toned, broad chest, sipping on their drinks, staring at you like a pint of water in the middle of a desert. 

You see them after they see you. You’re not sure how long they’ve been looking at you, these two men, but god they’re fixated and it makes you stop too. They can’t look away, both of their gazes trailing down your body as you move and sway with your drink in your hand, and your breath catches in your throat - not that you’re complaining, though. They’re handsome, though you assume they came together and will be leaving together too, judging by the way they’re glued to each other’s sides. 

The taller one seems to have more of a grip on the situation than the other man, but they’re both intimidating, domineering. He whispers something in the other man’s ear, long fingers brushing at his neck. Their eyes still don't leave you though, and the shorter’s plump lips break into a grin, leering, too satisfied for someone who hasn’t even spoken to you - let alone touched you. He must’ve said something he likes. 

You can’t help yourself. You smile back, and he flicks a few dark blue strands out of his forehead, taking a sip of the liquid he’s got in his glass before he slams it down on the table decisively. He says something else to the other man, something you can’t even try to lip read because he turns his back to you. He gives him a cheeky smile, almost like he’s doing something wrong, and begins to push through the crowd on the dancefloor. You stand dead still.

You wonder about the situation between them. Clearly, they’re more than friends, and it seems like the taller is the one in control, but - what’s this? The shorter man is approaching you, his too-large brown fur coat seeming ridiculous in the heat of the bar, but you see as he gets closer that he’s got nothing but a waistcoat and baggy trousers underneath. He shoots a few amused looks back at the other man, who looks less than pleased at his misbehaving, but it doesn’t sway him - once he’s at you, he pulls you into him so your back is pressed against his front and whispers in your ear just loud enough for you to hear him.

“Wanna dance?”

Do you? Fuck yeah, you do - and with his partner too, if he’s up for grabs. For now though, you suppose one will have to do, because as you smile flirtatiously in response and the DJ changes the music to something else - something sultry, heavy, with a solid beat - the man starts to grind his hips so sensually you forget everything else. He’s good at this, angling you with a firm palm on the plush of your tummy, fingers wrapping in the fabric of your minidress so that your hips grind back against him. 

The fur of his coat is expensive, you can tell just by feeling it when your hands go back to grip on his arms, and his teeth bite into his bottom lip when you grab at him.He lets you balance yourself with your hold, his own hand moving up to your chest, both of you moving in a sinuous movement that has you realising how good he’d be in bed if he dances like this. 

Just before you forget, ring-clad knuckles come to the bottom of your chin and angle your head towards where you were previously looking. He’s still there, the other man, and this time he looks positively engrossed, arms folding over his chest - his eyes don’t leave the two of you, a smirk playing at his lips like he can’t quite believe it. It’s as if you’re performing for him, the two of you, nowhere near in control of the situation; you wonder what it is, this situation, and if it’ll end in you getting fucked by both of them.

The man next to you chuckles before fully humping into the curve of your ass, unashamed; the line of his cock presses against you, half hard, fat and steadily growing like you’re doing a lot more than just grinding on each other in a packed bar. You gasp, muffled by the music but he seems to have heard it despite the noise - he nudges his nose into your neck, impatient.

“We came together, me and him,” he says, tone casual though he has to shout a little to be heard. The words say everything despite being so few, but you don’t falter, hoping that you’re moving against him in a way that’s still inconspicuous enough to be passed off as a dance. “That okay?”

You shrug as casually as you can, skin starting to feel a little heated. This is the jackpot, you think. “I don’t mind taking two.”

“I bet you fuckin’ don’t.” He huffs out a laugh. “Don’t mind putting on a show either, do you? I’m Mingi, by the way.”

“Mm, hi Mingi,” you giggle, and Mingi shakes his head, disbelieving, a smile pulling at his lips. You can’t believe it either, quite frankly, how well the night’s turned out, and your head lolls back against his broad shoulder as you move, fur coat soft under your head, a grounding presence. The other man is still looking, and you find yourself drawn to his eyes, holding eye contact with him as you manage your next question, “what’s your boyfriend’s name?”

A hum, and then plump lips press a gentle kiss to your jaw. A shiver wracks through you, straight down your spine, and he does it again a few times just to watch the effect it has on you. “Yunho,” he breathes, “his name is Yunho. Shake this ass on me, let him see it.”

“He likes to watch, huh?” You say, as if you have any problem with it whatsoever. The song changes, a dance track with an even dirtier beat now and you do as he says - you’re shaking your hips to the rhythm before you can feel embarrassed about it, everyone around you too occupied with their own dancing or flirting. 

“That’s a good fuckin’ girl,” he hums, hand moving from your front to your hips, fingers ghosting over the curve of your asscheeks where your hips get plusher and move into your thighs. Hands dig into flesh, and he groans, rutting against you once, twice, enough to have you squirming, starting to worry someone might notice. “Fuck, look at that. Shit, should we just take you back now? I wanna tear this ass apart.”

You can’t help it - you laugh again, hand coming to Mingi’s jaw to pull him forwards, his cheek pressed against yours. Yunho rolls his neck, tongue poking over his bottom lip before he’s placing his drink down and you think he’s made the decision for all three of you. 

 “And him?” You murmur.

Mingi’s nose brushes against your cheek. “He’ll tear you apart too. Might even be nastier than me.”

“I find that hard to believe.” His hips hit you just right, slow, to the beat, and you breathe heavily when he spins you around to face him like he’s going to kiss you. He’s pretty up close, sharp nose and dark blue hair and plump lips that form a predatory smile. “Fuck, Mingi, take me home.”

“Eager girl.” His head drops down, kissing you chastely square on the lips once, then twice. His lips are buttery soft and you chase them when he pulls away. He doesn’t care that you’re in public, so neither do you - you press yourself against him harder, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “We need to talk to Yunho.”

“No need.” Another voice, and another set of big, big hands that wrap around your waist and pull you back into him. You’re trapped between them now, because despite being unfamiliar with them you know who’s just gripped you and gotten involved. “She’s right, we should take her home. You’re an aching little thing, hm?”

Fingers dip up under the hem of your minidress where it hangs around your thighs, nails scratching against your skin, teasing. You’re not sure who it is this time, but the touch is so close to your panties that you whimper, the sound so broken that Yunho’s head dips into the other crook of your neck with a deep sigh, mirroring where Mingi continues to bite at you the other side. “P-please, I can’t take this anymore, I want you both, can we-”

“Fine,” Yunho breathes, exasperated, and a firm, guiding grip comes to rest on the back of your neck. “Let’s get you home, tiny.”

“On your knees.” A firm hand pushes on your shoulder, forcing you down before you can decide to obey; you drop to your knees in your pretty dress, your legs bare, their carpet scratching against your skin. Like this, they’re looming over you in a different way than before, and all you can see is long, long legs in baggy jeans and firm torsos heaving - they’re waiting, perceiving you, seeing if you’ll do anything else. Yunho’s the first to speak again, grin wide when he turns to his partner, “that’s it. She’s pretty like this, isn’t she? Quiet, so needy she’ll do anything, waiting for us to just say.”

“She’s beautiful,” Mingi says, fingers pulling your hair backwards to force you to look up at them properly. “Slutty, too.”

You whimper, squirming in his grip, though not enough to be told off for it. You wonder if they’re hard already, fat lengths trapped in the confines of their pants, but you don’t have long to think about it - Yunho’s long fingers start working at his belt, and before long the leather is pulled out from the prongs and his button is being pushed open. 

It exposes his black boxers, and you realise you’re not even looking at him anymore. Fixated on his crotch, you wait, mouth open and spit pooling at your bottom lip like a drooling dog. They both sound amused, but they don’t make you wait, Yunho pushing down his boxers and revealing his tan shaft. 

Thick, long and veiny, it springs against his stomach. It curves upwards, tip a darker shade and swollen, but not leaking just yet. The moan leaves your throat before you can help it. If Yunho’s is like this, you can’t imagine the other man - but fingers tighten in your hair and redirect you back before you can even turn to try and get a lot. 

“Mm, no,” Yunho murmurs, and you look back up at him. He looks pleased by how enthralled you are, a smile pulling at his lips, and his hand comes down to slap his shaft against your cheek once, twice. You shiver. “You can show her yours too, Mingi, really get the slut going. She wants two at once, after all, don’t you?”

“I do, I want both.” You nod dumbly, pathetically; Mingi’s resulting groan is delighted, low in his throat. His tongue licks at his teeth as he works at his own belt, and his baggy jeans drop with a rustling noise at his ankles, unashamed. Yunho has tucked his boxers underneath his balls but Mingi’s less reserved, shunning his boxers as quick as he can as Yunho starts slowly stroking half of his shaft inches away from your face.

Fuck.

Mingi’s big too, a little shorter but thicker again and his tip is leaking like a fucking faucet. If he’d left his boxers on a little longer you’d have seen the drops beading upon the fabric but he’s too impatient for that, already stroking his cock quicker than Yunho, moving hip to hip with the other man. 

“You want both?” He smacks his cock against your other cheek, laughing delightedly when you moan, nodding eagerly. “Open your mouth then, there’s a good whore.”

You blink, in a daze. “I- I can’t fit both-”

“Obviously,” Yunho scoffs. “Use your hand for the other. Are you stupid?”

Oh. Something must show on your face, a wordless reaction to his words because Yunho’s grin turns predatory then, and when he grips your hair now it’s harsher, firmer than his boyfriend had done. You scramble to say something to quell this harshness, stammering, “N-not stupid, I’ve just never…”

Yunho bursts out laughing. Your gut clenches and your pussy burns in your panties, so slick and needy that you try to rut down the floor, to no avail. “Never had two cocks at once? We all know that’s a fucking lie, baby. I think you need to stop talking.”

He’s forcing you down on his cock before you can retort.

You still try to splutter something out despite your lips being wrapped taut, barely fitting just half his length into your mouth though he tries to fuck past the resistance of your throat anyway. Your words die in your throat, replaced by a strangled whine; Mingi grabs your hand himself, impatient and wraps your fingers around his cock - putting you to use.

He’s wet from his precum already, soaked and sticky and veiny and it makes a slick noise when you start to move your fingers. It’s hard to concentrate on both but thankfully you don’t have to do much thinking; Yunho fucks himself into your mouth for you, skin salty with his own precum. Unable to do anything more than just be a ragdoll for them, you allow yourself to slump a little, mouth wrapped tight around one and hand around the other, hips just barely squirming where you’re sat. A noise leaves your throat when Yunho fucks into the resistance a few times, a deep groan leaving his own mouth.

“Tight fucking throat, hm? How tight is that cunt gonna be?”

Mingi groans, and his fingertips press at your cheeks, feeling the thickness of Yunho’s cock through your skin. He manages to move you over to him, and his shaft burns when it stretches your lips apart, thicker, wetter - you start to drool with tears biting at your eyes and he chuckles breathlessly at the sight of you.

“You like it mean, huh?” He doesn’t expect a response, voice gravelly as he starts to fuck your mouth. He’s sloppier than Yunho, a little more careless, and the strangled noise you make is embarrassing when he forces his cock all the way down. It hurts your throat but he presses your nose into the tuft of his pubes like he doesn’t really care, grinding his hips against your jaw, fingers pressing at your throat where he now bulges it instead.

When you manage to look up through a glassy gaze, you see them both together. Mingi captures Yunho’s lips with his own, one hand leaving you to cup the other man’s jaw, their tongues intertwining messily between spit-slick lips. They both groan, deep and from their chests like they’ve been waiting for this all night - your whine is louder though, nails scratching at their thighs because you’ve wanted to see it since you saw them together on the dancefloor. It forces saliva to bubble down your occupied lips, dripping over your chin and down to your throat, over Mingi’s rings.

If they’re amused by your reaction, they don’t separate for long enough to show it. Yunho tugs you to him again without even glancing your way, long fingers in your hair, and this time you’re able to get a momentum. Your mouth sinks down on him before he has time to force you there, your other hand coming to grasp Mingi’s slippery length, the saliva giving more than enough lubricant when you start to pump. 

Like this - not being yanked around - you’re able to focus, and you can’t help the noises that spill from your chest; your pussy is wet, drooling and dumb already, and they continue to make out above your head like it’s nothing that should affect you. Your gut burns, wrenching with need and want and something embarrassing because all you’ve done is suck their cocks and you’re this desperate, but it doesn’t stop you trying to get their attention.

Tongue digging into the underside of Yunho’s tip, you pool spit into your mouth and it bubbles over your lips messily, letting you sink back down on him with a wetter, tighter suction. He’s still too big to take too much comfortably but you force your mouth down, jaw be damned, hand occupied with another cock that you think you’re doing a decent rhythm with, and on the upwards stroke you press your tongue into his piss slit and suck hard.

It works. You hear the sharp inhale of breath, and he pulls away sharply from Mingi, lips parting in a louder noise just as the blue haired man moves to messily press open-mouthed kisses against his neck. He doesn’t stop him, one hand going to his head to hold him there.

“Dirty girl, knew you had it in you,” he murmurs, before his jaw goes slack in a groan, head rolling back where Mingi kisses him. Your hand has paused on the other man but if he’s annoyed, he doesn’t show it, shaft bobbing uselessly as he bites at the curvature of Yunho’s neck with his eyes on you, where you’re kneeling below them. “Bet she’s all gooey down there from sucking cock, too. Little hole clenching around nothing, slicking up her thighs, clit all swollen and hard.”

Mingi grunts, a primal noise. “Can’t wait to look. Taste it, too. I know it’s fuckin’ pretty, all soaked and tight and- ah, fuck this, I gotta-”

Two hands underneath your armpits, and you’re thrown chest first onto the comfortable bed by a very strong grip. You have enough space left in your brain for the moment to present yourself, pushing up onto your knees and letting your front lay flat to curve your spine - Mingi groans in appreciation, wasting no time before he’s pulling your dress up to your waist and your panties down to your knees. 

The cold air hits your cunt and you moan, trying to turn your head to the side to have a look at what he’s about to do to you before someone - you’re unsure who - pins it right back down, flat, suffocating. 

“Let me have a look,” Mingi coos, and two thumbs come to pull your sticky folds apart. You’re soaked, you can feel it - it’s smeared up to your asshole from how you’ve pooled in your panties, and though you hope he hasn’t noticed it, hasn’t gotten any ideas, a deeper part of you hopes he ignores your pussy and eats that hole instead. “She’s so fuckin’ messy. Fat little cunt too. When did you start leaking like a virgin, baby? When you were on your knees in front of our cocks, us stood above you like we fuckin’ own you?”

You can’t reply - again, you don’t think he wants you to. Is he even talking to you, or is he talking to her?

It was Yunho that pushed you down, you realise, because it’s the same second pair of hands that slide the straps of your dress down over your shoulders. Nudging the fabric down so that it all bunches at your waist, he scratches his fingernails over your spine on the way down, leaving you bare but feeling quite like something animalistic. 

“Mm, actually…” A nose nudges at your core and then a tongue, fat and steady, is sliding through your folds and humming when he tastes your arousal, smacking his lips messily like he’s eating a good meal. “You’ve been wet even longer, haven’t you? Since we danced in the bar. Oh, that’s something. How pent up are you, sweetheart?”

You whine. There’s no way he could know that, not really, and you know he’s just teasing you but he’s right - you were.

He continues, wet tongue moving to lick circles over your clit as he slurs. “Can’t blame you, ‘m desperate for this too.”

“Stop talking and eat.” Yunho sounds amused. “Poor thing looks like she’s gonna die if she doesn’t get something.”

At least it makes Mingi move, his lips smacking wet over your pussy before his tongue slides through the plush of your folds. The bridge of his nose is sharp when it bumps into your perineum, his tongue tracing your hole before it pushes inside and he savours your arousal from the inside with a deep, gravelly moan, something that ricochets through you and makes you finally beg.

“Yuyu,” You sound broken, too needy to think, and you feel it too - your head spins and you know you haven’t done well verbalising it but Yunho somehow knows what you need, sliding two long fingers past your lips for you to suck on. It doesn’t help, Mingi’s plush lips kissing down to your clit and making a home there, tongue darting underneath the hood to rub over you so intimately that you would never be able to stop the way you buck. Your hips fuck back onto his face but his strong forearm hooks around your tummy to keep you steady, your eyebrows furrowing in a subdued keen.

Yunho smiles, fucking his fingers into your mouth, watching the way you suck earnestly like it’s a cock - can you even tell the difference right now? It’s like you can see the wonder on his face before he speaks, cock half hard against his thigh, “Do you need something inside, honey?”

Your resulting noise is loud, deep from your chest - you’d forgotten that was an option with the way his boyfriend’s lips are working over you, but before you can beg properly the man grunts, lips leaving you for a moment.

“I’m gettin’ her ready for you, babe. She can wait.”

“Mm.” Yunho raises an eyebrow, confused, although his fingers leave your lips and brush over the base of his tummy almost instantly. “You don’t wanna go first? You were desperate a second ago-”

“Are you kidding me?” Mingi grins, all teeth that nip into your thigh as an afterthought, making you squeak. He ignores you, continuing like you can’t hear him, “a pussy like this is even better when it’s been nutted in already. I love me some sloppy seconds.”

Before you can raise any kind of objection to being talked about like that, right over you while he’s between your legs, Mingi’s tongue dives back between your folds. He licks up your arousal and drools onto your heat, pushing further up, where his hands spread your cheeks and expose the smaller hole, the one that makes your face flush and gut wrench in embarrassment. 

“Bet you’d let us fuck this too,” he grumbles, and you nod, squirming in your place, as much as you can with the way his boyfriend’s pushing you down. “How fucking filthy. You just met us and you’d already let us fuck your asshole open. God, you’re amazing, might be fuckin’ made for us.”

Something bubbles in your gut, something so needy that you can’t help the garbled wail you let out. It’s incoherent at first, but Yunho lets your head move just enough to verbalise what you need to, “Want you both, anything, please, please, give me cock-”

“Give me cock,” Yunho giggles, shaking his head in disbelief. “What a bimbo. Fine, I’ll give you cock, honey. Mingi, lemme move her.”

Mingi obeys instantly, pulling away from your slick cunt and thighs, letting you be manhandled again by the taller man onto your side. You know this one, deep in your lust-muddled brain, and you let one leg slide forward to display your core as he slides behind you, chest to your back. He’s fully naked now - you’re not sure when this happened - and the palm he smooths your hair down with grounds you a little, other hand moving secure on your tummy.

“Y’want it?” He murmurs, and you see Mingi moving next to you, naked, muscled, distracting - your mouth waters. His eyes move down your body, over your flushed cheeks, teary eyes and down to your nipples, the curve of your tummy and the swell of your thighs; his hand moves to his cock, and you see his gaze move down Yunho, too, before he finally grips the base and starts to move up the vast length. Yunho’s fingers tighten in your hair a little, bringing your attention back to him. “Don’t get distracted, tiny. Talk to me. Do you want it?”

He moves his cock to the mess between your legs, pushing through arousal to get to your folds and at the resistance of your hole. The weight of it makes you gasp wetly, but he doesn’t let you squirm away when you try, only pulling you back into it. 

“S-So big, Yunho, I want it, please.”

“There you go, good little slut,” He coos, satisfied, and pushes just the first inch in. Your hole clenches tight from the stretch, almost pushing him back out and he groans, using his grip on your thigh to pull you back onto it. “Let me in, baby.”

“C-Can’t help it, ah-“

Something shifts in him then, and the next thrust of his cock is stronger, meaner, something that makes your walls give way to more of him, accompanied by a sharp bite to your neck. It hurts a little but it feels so good; your eyes roll back in your head with a keen, and Mingi huffs out a breath.

“Oh, little bitch is so fuckin’ tight,” he moans, one palm coming to push your leg upwards, against your side, trying to open you up further. It doesn’t help - he’s just far too big, your pussy tightening in protest despite how bad you fucking want it. “Do I have to split your hole open to get inside? Funny, ‘cause it’s fucking drooling around me like it can’t get enough.”

One of his hands comes to rest on your breast, idle but firm, and his thumb swipes over your nipple just to make you gasp. You try to fuck yourself downwards but he really is too big, cockhead already hitting your cervix and it knocks the wind out of you. Mingi’s hand tightens on an upwards stroke of his shaft and he smiles, amused, eyes flicking between you and his boyfriend.

“Let him in, sweetheart. He’ll make it hurt.”

You try your best; squirming and whining in Yunho’s hold you manage to slack your gummy walls enough for him to push more of his cock inside but it makes you squeal, too much all of a sudden, and his fingers move from your chest to your clit. His nails dig into it and you gasp, writhing away before his grip pulls your back to his chest again. 

“What the fuck is this for if I can’t fuck it? Useless little cunt otherwise, hm? Maybe I should just pull out, leave you-”

“No, nonono, please, Yunho,” You babble, moving around enough that it forces more of his length in. This time he seems to push past something that allows him to sink in balls deep, and it’s so far inside, pressing at your cervix and you think you might cum already.

Yunho huffs, placated now that you’ve let him in, yanking you backwards by your ass, letting the plumpness of it rock him into a bounce. It works, and he starts to fuck you steady, slow at first, letting you get used to it - his knuckles graze at your nipple before he pinches meanly, a breathless, chuckle of pleasure leaving him at your jolt.

“Fu-uck, ‘s so- need more, more, please-”

“More?” He asks, like he didn’t know, and you nod dumbly. You’re shocked by Mingi responding, not Yunho; walking on his knees towards you, his fingers come to your clit and roll it between his fingertips. It’s too much all of a sudden, and Yunho starts to speed up, his long, ridged shaft cutting into your gummy walls. Mingi’s ministrations make your pussy easier, more slack, and Yunho’s able to fuck quicker, cock not prohibited by how tight you’re squeezing around him. “That’s it. There you go, Min, cocksleeve’s gushing like a little whore now.”

“Mm, can feel it,” The man in question murmurs, eyes fixated on you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. Your eyebrows knit in pleasure, lips parting in a squeal when his thumb rubs over your bud firmly, and this time you feel it, the slick, sticky gush of your pussy with every thrust. It leaks over Mingi’s fingers and further down, to your thighs, Yunho’s balls and his own lithe legs. 

You feel dumb with it all, and you’re not even halfway through taking one. 

“Feels nice like that, doesn’t it?” Yunho sounds unaffected, and you whimper, nodding, “I can tell. Dirty cunt gushing like that, I’d swear you came already.”

Mingi leans down on the bed, distracting you momentarily before there’s something wet pressing at your clit. It’s his tongue, you realise, and you can’t control the hand that goes to that dark blue hair - he moans at the feeling of your fingers tightening, tugging, and you force his mouth closer, wet lips mouthing over your pussy until he hits Yunho’s cock. 

“Shit, that’s so-” you gasp, hips bucking, “oh, I- fuck, I’ll cum, please-”

Mingi’s tongue moves over you again, licking over the intrusion of his boyfriend inside of you. It doesn’t stop his movement, his cock still pistoning in and out while you’re forced to take, take, take, and when the shorter man’s lips purse and suck on your bud you writhe away, pleasure all-consuming.

Your orgasm hits you hard, beginning in the base of your tummy and making your thighs shake. One hand holds Mingi steady, and the other moves to Yunho’s side, anchoring you through it, but your pussy clenches dumbly in a rhythm that makes the man inside grunt and bite your neck sharply. Your own noises are abused, loud and too incriminating, but neither men make a move to quiet you.

“Ride it out, c’mon,” Yunho says, voice hoarse, and you find it in your static body to fuck yourself on both men while your legs lock and your toes curl. “Good girl. There you go, that’s it.”

It helps, quelling the strong climax into something steadier, nicer, and Mingi’s tongue flicks over your clit just enough for you to come down from it. 

The kiss the older man gives you is controlled, a little awkward from the angle but it tells you everything you need to know. You’re safe, you’re looked after and it’s exactly what you need after an orgasm that strong - his nose bumps your cheek when he kisses you deeper, giving you a few pecks as he pulls away; it makes you want more, but he’s already moving.

You realise too late that Yunho still hasn’t finished, and he pushes you onto your front, leg still slightly raised from the way he had you. His hips hit your ass as he bottoms out again, and you gasp - it’s so deep, so much that you want him to cum soon, hope he’ll cum soon and fill you up, and you remember you have another one to take after this. The realisation makes your pussy clench as he fucks inside and he lets out a stuttered breath against your shoulder, bumpy nose nudging at your jaw.

“You’re okay,” He soothes you, and you nod, whimper soft. “I’m gonna cum soon, baby. Gonna make you take it, ‘kay? Then Mingi’s gonna fuck it back into you.”

“Y-yeah,” you nod, and when Yunho starts to thrust again, punishing, Mingi seals your lips with his and swallows your noises. He kisses messy, teeth nipping at your bottom lip and he lets you suck on his tongue when you need something in your mouth again, not minding at all that your hands scramble at his broad shoulders for purchase.

You feel Yunho pull backwards, hands on the small of your back to hold you down, and it’s the sight of you and his boyfriend kissing that does him in. He gasps, letting out a shaky breath as he presses his hips tight to the plush of your ass, cockhead fucked so deep that it makes you try to squirm away again; Mingi keeps you still, giving you dirty, open-mouthed kisses and licking over your teeth.

Between your legs, you feel thoroughly used - when Yunho pulls out, cock softening a little, your pussy gushes fresh cum and as if it’s his queue, Mingi’s already moving over.

Yunho slaps your ass as he moves away from you, “Atta girl. She’s ready for you, Min.”

Fingers prod at your swollen hole, messy, creamy rivulets slicking down to Mingi’s rings as he spreads it open and inspects. If you had anything left in you, you’d feel embarrassed at the way he’s looking at you so intimately but well, he’s already done it once and you’re still horny. You shift back on the bed and chase his touch when he moves away, although you don’t have long to be disappointed because the feeling of a blunt cockhead against you makes you push your hips up, front going slack again.

“Look at that. Dumb slut knows how to present for a cock,” Mingi chuckles, although there’s no real bite to his words - his breath is shaky as he shuffles towards you, and seconds later there’s inches of fat cock spearing you open because he can’t wait himself at this point.

“O-oh,” You stutter, head raising and knocking back. You see Yunho, in front of you now, face so close to yours but it’s comforting rather than threatening. “Fuck, it’s-”

“Ssh, just feel it,” Yunho murmurs, stroking your cheek with one, big hand, and your eyes roll back into your head when he starts to thrust. His movements are deep and slow at first, letting you feel all of it, every vein and ridge and you swear you feel him leaking inside, too, when he pushes deep and pulls you flush against him like he isn’t fucking your pussy open in front of his boyfriend.

Mingi whines, sharp, “Tiny little pussy, so small, fuck-” his fingers hook around your shoulders, pulling you back onto him, “how are you still so fucking tight?” Your own hands scramble in the sheets until your fingers hook into them for leverage, and you writhe, moaning so viscerally that Yunho pets your hair to calm you down. Mingi’s thicker than him so despite taking the older man first, the stretch of your hole to accommodate him has your eyes watering, his hips stuttering into the creamy mess of a hole that his boyfriend left. “Can I- fuck, I can’t, I can’t, can’t play anymore-“

“Mingi,” Yunho warns, but it’s softened by the grin curling his lips, fond.

“Can’t, fuck, baby, I love your pussy,” Mingi babbles, and his hands move to your asscheeks, spreading them further, watching where his cock disappears into you. It’s slick when he starts to move, a creamy ring around the base of his cock, wet plaps echoing around the bedroom when his balls begin to hit your clit steadily. “Love- love it, love it everytime- I love you.”

Something dawns on you. You’re not playing anymore, not really, not the elaborate scene Yunho came up with late at night before you headed out to the bar you three met at - and your back bows towards the bed, curling away from your boyfriends, 

“Mmgh- I love you too,” You whimper, scrambling on the sheets for your third, your other boy. Fingers intertwine with yours immediately and he kisses your hairline, your nose, your lips; you cry out, head lolling against his. “Yunho- Yuyu, Yuyu, love you-“

“I love both of you, although you’re both fucking pathetic,” Yunho laughs, smoothing your hair. “Can’t even roleplay properly. Both of you cry like virgins as soon as I let him get inside of you.”

Mingi’s head drops to your shoulder, his weight pinning you down when he collapses atop of you. You’re separated from Yunho but you don’t mind at all when he starts to drill you properly - this is his favourite position, after all, it didn’t matter if it was you or Yunho underneath him. 

His hips don’t stop moving, pistoning into your cunt where you’re flat on the bed, his lips parting in a deep groan, “Pussy’s too good to think. Sorry, Yunho, p-promise it was hot.”

He’s not sorry at all, you all know that. Yunho scoffs. “I know it was. You two acting like sluts on that fuckin’ dancefloor, just like you were all those years ago. Hard, leaking, wet in your pants looking at me. I could see how horny you were.”

“Mmhm,” Mingi nods, delirious. You’re not able to respond, chest clenching in pathetic wails every time he pushes deep, fucking the noises out of you, and his hand moves to your back, soothing over your spine until he slaps your ass hard just for the sake of it. “G-Good little toy, that’s right, don’t have to speak, just take it. Good girl.”

He’s babbling again, nonsensical, praises and degradation into one - he’s always the same, and it always makes you gush easy for him. Yunho slides your hair out of your face, exposing flushed cheeks and spit slick lips, your eyes crossed with pleasure. The sight of you makes them both groan, and the older man plants a gentle slap on your cheek, gripping your jaw when you gasp.

“Fucked dumb,” He muses. “How pretty. Why don’t you cry a little for him, hm? You know he loves that.”

“It’s so much,” you manage, and he nods, cooing at you. It’s that which finally breaks you, and your chest bubbles with a sob, ripped harshly from you. “‘S so much, I can’t- can’t take it, daddy, please!”

They laugh at you again, you hear them, though Mingi’s is a lot more in awe than the other man’s. 

“Who’s your daddy, baby?” Yunho’s asking you, and it’s something he asks you often but it feels like you’re trying to move across clouds to respond to him. Everything’s so soft, comforting but your pussy continues to get rammed, overwhelmed, and you squeal, legs knocking together when you feel his thrusts start to get harsher but staggered. 

“B-both of you.” You slur. “Both- daddy, fill me up too-”

It ignites something in Mingi - he pulls out, gripping himself at the creamy base and flipping you over by your waist again. You’re on your back now, able to see them both, your boys; Yunho has that cheeky glint in his eyes that you love, looming over you with a half-hard cock and tousled, boyish hair - if you didn’t know him, you would trust him. 

Mingi distracts you, crowding into your space with furrowed eyebrows, thick thighs knocking your legs apart again before he sinks back inside. Yunho laughs at his impatience, hand smoothing over the younger man’s back as he starts to fuck you again and you know he’s really gonna cum now, moving so fast and hard that you both get knocked up the mattress a little.

You keen, “Fucking- oh, oh, that’s-“

“Language,” Yunho’s hand moves and pinches your thigh, and you wince, legs locking around Mingi. He pins you back down and then moves his focus to your clit, rolling it between his fingers; it’s so wet that it feels too good too quickly. “Gonna cum, aren’t you, baby?”

Your eyes roll back into your head when his fingers move over you instead, firmer, rubbing circles that make you heave, trying to catch your breath. Unable to answer him again, he hums, displeased.

That’s right, you almost forgot. He lets you get away with some things earlier but you don’t act like that around him, not really, only when you’re pretending like you don’t know them. Now, you know them, and there are rules - that also means you beg to cum, and you thank whatever higher powers there be because you remember before you fall off the edge.

“Please,” You struggle, nails scratching at both of them again, their arms this time, “please, please let me cum. Daddy, daddy, please-“

Mingi growls, fixated, “I’m gonna fuckin’ cum, you better cum with me, tiny.”

“There you go, honey. Your daddy said you can,” Yunho says, almost too sweet for you to believe but no, they did say that, and you’re squealing from it before they can take it back. 

You gush again, fluttering and writhing where you lay and halfway through it, Mingi nudges the dark haired man’s head to press his cheek against yours at an angle and kisses you both. 

Barely knowing what to do in your haze, they hold you still, tongues both messily sliding over yours, over each other - the man inside of you whimpers, thrusting harshly one last time, gasping against your mouths before he fills you with a fresh wave of cum. His cock throbs with it, pumping into you and when he can’t take it anymore he collapses, head on your chest, full weight a little overwhelming. 

Yunho kisses you a few times, fingertips moving to rub soft circles into your shoulders, your upper arms, before moving across your boyfriend’s scalp, massaging him too. He moans gratefully, exhausted, and you feel the same - your limbs are stiff and you groan when Mingi finally rolls off, slumping next to you in the wet sheets.

“I’ll just be cleaning you up, honey.” Yunho’s voice is gentler, and you hum, a smile creeping on your face - there he is, always in control. Mingi mumbles something that you don’t quite catch, arm hooking around your tummy, but your boyfriend hears him, chuckling, “That was referring to you, too.”

You want to laugh. “Don’t tell me he was trying to move.”

Yunho shifts closer, wet towel suddenly soft against your skin, and when you finally open your eyes he’s there, still naked, cock soft against his thigh and you wonder if he came again, sometime during it all. “Like I said, both of you fuck like virgins. Dead afterwards. Perished, even.”

You can’t argue. You’re not planning on moving any time soon; although the sheets are ruined, you’re exhausted after all that. The boys’ roleplay ideas are always crazy but well, there’s some that get a bit out of hand, like recreating the night you all met.

For the second time, Mingi grumbles nonsensically next to you. Yunho kisses the mole on the younger man’s cheek before kissing your hairline again. 

“Speaking of perished,” He murmurs, eyes shifting down to you playfully, putting on a dramatic voice, “I still think the next scene should be me, as Spider-Man, saving you and Min from possible perish-“

“Enough,” You grumble, kicking him softly with your foot. “Go to sleep.”

His laugh is so loud it makes Mingi kick him too, half-asleep, but then he really does settle, towel discarded on the floor. As if he was waiting for his presence to drop off properly, the younger man squirms closer on the mattress and reaches over you to tug Yunho in, pulling you into a pile, legs intertwined and a little sticky. It’s soothing though, naked and cuddling with your men, and Mingi starts to snore almost instantly.

The man plastered to your back sighs, though you know he’s not really bothered. “Sleep? With that?”

You huff, “Then just talk to me, duh.”

“Duh. You can actually just watch me play video games, if you want. Remember, my new monitor came yesterday, it’s curved and sexy and it’ll show you everything in-“

he had a way of making you feel guilty that you were allowing him to get his hands on you and do what he pleased. guilty that he knew what buttons to press and what knobs to twist in a way that made you feel so good it hurt.

it was wet, dirty, and hot. a shower afterward was a non-negotiable.

it was hard to make your moans sound pretty when they were so pure. guttural and broken, unfiltered with how deep mingi was pounding your puffy cunt. but he liked it more when you sounded like that, when you sounded like one more thrust might kill you.

when you sounded like you were in pain, but in truth, he was just fucking you so good that maintaining a front of “pretty” was not your main concern at the moment. your main concern was not passing out while he was inside you. fucking your pussy like he was trying to commit the feeling to memory.

"god, im so deep thats gotta hurt huh, baby? does it hurt you?”

you cries and groans are muffled in the pillow you’ve shoved your face into, your hands gripping the sheets by your head like they might ground you on earth. mingi is on his knees behind you, strong thighs keeping him upright, while his palms held your hips in place for him as he shoved his cock inside of you.

arched so prettily in front of him, your ass bouncing off his body every time his hips slammed against you, a filling, heavy rhythm that sends vulgar “plap” sounds bouncing off the walls.

you were covered in sweat, skin shiny and wet, your hair sticking to your neck from all the exertion. mingi was just as sweaty as you, surely more. but god he was having so much fun.

all the adrenaline that he channeled on stage when he performed, he funneled it into the bedroom too. acting nasty like he was performing for someone.

he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue, his eyes lasered in on where his dick slid in and out of your gushy cunt, coated in a white cream that only seemed to build every time he filled you up again.

he laughs lowly as a string of saliva falls from the tip of his tongue and lands directly on the length of his cock in just enough time as he shoves it back inside of you, his fat mushroom tip catching that sensitive ridge along your walls that makes your legs shake.

“she’s creaming on my cock, baby,” he moans as he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and drags his hands away from your hips and up to the rippling flesh of your ass. he palms the soft skin with his big, heated hands and spreads them slowly so he can get a better look at his cock filling you out.

it bewildered you every single time because mingi liked to embarrass you. he wanted you to hear the sounds that your body made, the filthy, sticky sounds that you couldn’t control.

“shhh, baby. not so loud, listen to yourself.” he reached over your arched body and pressed his hand flat against the back of your head to further muffle you against the pillow. “listen to her talk back to me.”

and hearing it always made you ashamed beyond comprehension. and yet he always felt you get so tight around him when the noises registered.

his spit, your arousal, the stirred-up sounds of your guts being rearranged hit your ears like a truck. mingi’s hungry groans that you could feel all throughout your body with every deep stroke he pounded into your cunt.

he’s big, and thick, and very purposeful with his hips. you’ve seen him on stage, rolling his body with sensual intentions that only allow a glimpse into how he could really put those hips to use.

he watches, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as your wetness clung to his v-line in a white sticky web. the shine of your ass from the sweat and all the times he’s practically drooled on your body.

he purposely slows his hips so the sounds get deeper, hollow and louder. your moans break into breathless whines that only make mingi wanna abandon any remaining composure and fuck you til you snap.

“yeah, yeah… cunt’s asking for a baby. isn’t she?” he takes his hand off your head and moves both of them to your shoulders, curling them over the bone and pulling your body up, arching you even more.

you whine when you feel him slip his soaked dick out of you, a gross, slick sound as he pulls out. and god, it seems endless when the tip finally pops out of you. you cry at the emptiness, and mingi giggles as he watches you shake your ass side to side to try and coax him to fill you up again.

your head throws back as he pulls your head out of the pillow, and you could hear him spitting into your stretched pussy, the saliva dripping down your puffy folds.

“gotta keep you messy, sweet girl, makes this more fun for both of us.” he digs his nails into your shoulders and groans so low you could feel it in your belly as he glides right back inside of you.

there was really no friction at all, and he's nearly kept slipping out since you started. each stroke of his veiny cock is punctuated with a deep, staccato rumble in his chest.

his lips part in misty pants, watching with enamored adoration as the stickiness of your combined arousal clings to your bodies like this was really some kind of perverted home video.

the wet noises fill your ears again, and now you can’t muffle your moans in the pillow anymore with the way he holds your body up. they come out primal and desperate, helpless as mingi forces your pussy to take his shape.

“mmhm, wish i could see your pretty face.” he mumbles, the loud slaps of his hips against your ass nearly drowning out his voice.

“but i'd rather see this pussy keep sucking me in.” he laughs again and enunciates with a deep, rough thrust that makes your toes curl.

“wanna see her dripping with me once i fill her up. fuck a baby into my pretty girl.” his moans are an encouragement that further tighten that knot in your stomach, your cunt clenching around him like a vice with every nasty word that leaves his mouth.

he presses his palms into your lower shoulders, simultaneously working out a building knot of stress, all the while he fucks you into a worthless puddle in his sheets.

“fill this pussy up all the way to the fucking back.” he leans over your body and presses his lips to the small of your back, his mouth opened in low moans as he eases his hips into a swifter pace, pressing wet kisses against your fluttering skin.

his dick glides in and out of you with painful ease, every full thrust that drags the thickness of him against your gspot pulling you more and more under.

“get you all pretty and swollen with my babies.” he whispers against your back, and you whine so loud you swear it was going to tear up your throat.

if the sloppy mess between your legs wasn’t a cry for just that, you weren’t sure what was.

“p-please-!” you cry out, and you shiver when you feel his lips form into a pout and kiss your back like he was trying to soothe you. “w-want… want you t-to-“

“think it’ll take like this?” he teases, shoving his cock so hard and so deep inside of you he might’ve breached your throat. he stays there, unmoving, forcing you to feel the twitching and the throbbing of his dick against every inch of your gooey pussy.

he hums, and suddenly you’re empty again, and you whine at the loss. but then you’re moving, his hands grab your waist and turn your body over, your back hitting the mattress. “probably not.”

seeing him nearly undoes you, a sweaty, crazed wreck. his hair sticking up everywhere, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his v-line a sticky mess. his hands grab the backs of your thighs and push your legs up so they’re pressed against your shoulders.

you squeal and are hardly given ample time to register what was happening before he slides his cock back inside of you, the new position having him deeper than ever before. mingi’s entire body shivers when he fills you to the hilt, your own body pulling taut at the invasive fullness.

his hands keep your thighs against your shoulders, folded in half underneath him in a mating press. “fuck, that’s better,” he sighs, immediately rolling his hips into you with every deep thrust. his lips spread into a greedy smile, his tongue swiping over his teeth. “hi baby, look so fuckin pretty.”

you cry out and throw your head back against the pillow, your hands reaching around and clawing at his broad shoulders.

“lemme pound this pussy, need you to cum before i breed you mkay? work for me pretty, give me what i need.” mingi chews on his bottom lip, his moans filling your ears, you’re unable to look away from where his cock disappears into your cunt, the wet noises seemingly even louder now.

he slides inside with slippery ease and glides right back out coated in a sheen of white. over and over and over again. maddeningly deep and too fucking fast.

his eyebrows are knitted in such a pretty, concentrated expression, his cheekbones poking through his skin from where his mouth begins to part with every thrust that seems to only drag him further towards his own orgasm.

“cum for me, baby. wanna feel this pussy cum around me, wanna fill you up so bad. wanna give my beautiful girl a baby.”

and as always, you do as he says, shattering like glass while he fucks you through it, determined to drag your orgasm out of you until you've been completely wrung dry.

"atta girl." he growls through his teeth, leaning down and taking your nipple in his warm mouth, suckling and circling his thick tongue around the softness of it. "can't wait till these are full of milk," he moans around them, muffled. "i'm sure the baby wouldn't mind sharing."

it clicks with you then and there that he was completely serious. the man literally wanted you pregnant. he sinks his teeth into your areola, and you cry out when you feel him slow his hips to a punishing, intentional grind into your cunt.

"you're gonna make such a good mommy, baby." he drools around your nipple, stilling his hips and damn near whimpering like a bitch as he holds himself there. you could feel him spilling inside of you, hot ropes of cum that seep to the back of your cunt just right.

mingi purrs and groans while he rides it out, massaging the backs of your thighs, his cock throbbing deep inside of you.

sticky, filled, and spent. he doesn't move yet, holding himself inside of you while you both take a moment to catch your breath. when you shift underneath him, he pressed his palms harder against the backs of your thighs to hold you still.

"uh uh, don't move. tryna keep you plugged, can't have any spilling out right?" he smiles and trails wet kisses up the side of your neck and you sigh and relax under his body.

you hope to god it works, because you're not sure if you'd be able to handle another session of "trying" with him and make it out with your legs intact.

you tried sitting on the bed and just... existing, prettily so. you're in one of yunho’s hoodies and nothing else, legs bare, socks with cute little hearts on them. usually that's enough to make him drop everything, usually he'd be on you within seconds, all long limbs and eager hands.

but valorant has your boyfriend in a chokehold tonight, and frankly, you're tired of competing with a video game.

so you wait, you watch, and you plan.

yunho's got this thing he always does when he's focused — his tongue pokes out just slightly, wetting his lower lip, and his eyebrows pinch together. he's so so beautiful like this, all sharp concentration, but you want him beautiful in a different way; you want him wrecked.

you slide off the bed quietly, padding across the carpet until you're right behind his chair. he doesn't notice. of course he doesn't notice; his friends are yelling something about a rotate, and yunho's voice is all clipped efficiency:

"i'm anchoring, i'm anchoring, just push—"

you drop your hands onto his shoulders.

yunho startles, just a little.

"oh—hey, baby. one sec," his eyes never leave the screen.

you don't say anythin, you simply start kneading the tension out of his trapezius muscles, slowly and cautiously. yunho’s shoulders are tight as rocks under your palms, and you feel him exhale as your thumbs dig into a knot.

"that's nice," he murmurs. "feels good."

you lean down, mouth brushing the shell of his ear.

"yeah?"

yunho shivers; you feel it travel down his spine, but his hands keep moving on the keyboard, and his brown eyes stay fixed on that glowing rectangle of chaos.

you could cry from frustration, but instead, you get creative.

your hands slide down from yunho’s shoulders, over his chest, dragging slow across his pectorals; you can feel his heartbeat under your palm — steady, but picking up just a little.

your fingers find the hem of his t-shirt and slip underneath, skating across the warm skin of his stomach.

yunho's breath hitches.

"babe, i'm in the middle of—"

"i know," you say sweetly against his ear. "you're doing so so good, yun."

his stomach tenses under your touch.

you slowly trace the lines of his abdominals, feather-light, watching yunho’s grip tighten on his mouse. his character on screen does something jerky — misses a shot, probably, and one of his friends groans over comms.

"yunho, what the hell was that?"

"nothing," he says, voice slightly strained. "misclick."

you smile, and your hands drift lower, thumbs hooking into the waistband of his gray joggers; they're soft, slightly worn, and they hang low on his hips, and it’s so fucking hot—

"baby," his voice has a warning edge now, but it's shaky. "can this wait? we're in overtime."

you don't answer, you simply slip one of your hand under the waistband, palm flattening against his lower belly, fingers trailing through the fine hair below his navel.

yunho is already half-hard; you can feel it, the way his cock twitches against your questing fingers, the way his hips push forward just a little, involuntarily.

"oh," you breathe. "someone's distracted."

yunho's jaw clenches. his character is standing still in a corner of the map, and his teammates are yelling at him.

"yunho! move! they're pushing A!"

your boyfriend forces his hands to move. you watch his fingers fumble on the keyboard, and something hot curls low in your belly. he's trying so hard to focus. it's adorable.

your hand dips lower, wrapping around his half-hard length through his boxers. he's warm, already leaking a little, and you stroke him once — slow, measured, from base to tip.

yunho makes a sound. it's barely a whimper, swallowed down fast, but you hear it, and your body responds instantly, a rush of heat spreading through your core.

"shh," you whisper. "don't want your friends to hear, do you?"

he shakes his head, a tiny, frantic movement. his ears are now completely red; you can see the flush creeping down his neck, disappearing under his t-shirt collar, and he's gripping his mouse so hard his knuckles are white.

you pull your hand out of his joggers, just for a moment, and yunho makes a confused, almost wounded noise — but then you're hooking your fingers into the waistband and tugging down just enough to free him.

yunho’s cock springs up, flushed and already leaking, the tip shiny and pink. he's not fully hard yet but he's close, and god, you love this part, you love watching him get there.

you spit into your palm, and you hear yunho's breath catch as you wrap your hand around him again, slick and warm.

"oh," yunho breathes. "oh—fuck."

"language," you tease, but your voice is lower now, rougher.

you start stroking him properly, slow and firm, twisting your wrist at the top the way you know he likes, and yunho's hips naturally buck into your hand.

his character is still standing in that corner, and someone on his team is screaming about a spike.

"yunho, what the fuck are you doing?"

"i—" his voice cracks. "i got—someone's at the door, hold on—"

he's lying, and it's terrible. you're both aware of how terrible it is, but you don't call him out, you just keep stroking him, steady and unrelenting, and watch him fall apart in real time.

yunho’s thighs are trembling; you can feel it through the fabric of his joggers, the way his muscles keep twitching, fighting the urge to just shove back from the desk and drag you onto his lap. but he doesn't. he stays in his chair, hands still on keyboard and mouse, because he's stubborn and competitive and he really wanted to win this game.

well… too bad for him.

you speed up just a little, and your thumb swipes over yunho’s slit, spreading the slickness there, and your boyfriend makes a sound that's almost a sob.

"baby, please," he whispers, just loud enough for you to hear.

"please what?" you ask innocently, still stroking, still watching the way his stomach is clenching and unclenching.

yunho doesn't answer, because he can't.

one of his friends is yelling something about a flank, and yunho forces his character to move, running him across the map in a straight line that makes no tactical sense. he's not even trying anymore, he's just going through the motions, and you can feel how close he is — the way his cock is throbbing in your hand, the way his breath is coming in short, sharp pants.

"you're gonna cum," you murmur. "aren't you, baby?"

yunho nods frantically.

his bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and his eyes are glassy, staring at the screen without really seeing it.

"not yet," you decide, and you let go.

yunho actually chokes; it was a desperate, punched-out sound that he tries to turn into a cough.

"what—why—"

"i want to taste you."

you don't wait for permission, you simply drop to your knees behind yunho’s chair, nudging his thighs apart with your shoulders, and then you're leaning in, your mouth closing over the head of your boyfriend’s cock. yunho tastes like salt and skin, that familiar warmth that makes your mouth water.

you swirl your tongue around the tip, lapping up the precum that's beaded just there, and yunho's whole body convulses.

"oh my god," he gasps. "oh my god, oh my god—"

"quiet," you remind him, pulling off just enough to speak. "mic."

yunho slaps a hand over his own mouth, and his pretty eyes are huge, panicked and desperate all at once, and you don't give him time to recover; you take him deeper, sinking down until he hits the back of your throat, and you hear the muffled sound of his scream behind his palm.

his hand flies off the keyboard. his character is running into a wall now, and one of his friends is saying something like:

"yunho, are you okay? your character's just—"

but yunho doesn't answer. hell, he can't.

you're bobbing your head now, setting a rhythm that's relentless, your hand wrapped around the base of his cock to stroke what your mouth can't reach. you're messy about it; spit is dripping down your chin, down his length, and you don't care at all. you just want to make him fall apart.

and he completely is.

yunho’s thighs are shaking violently, his hips jerking up into your mouth even though he's clearly trying to stay still. his hand is still clamped over his mouth, but the sounds are escaping anyway — whimpers, high and desperate, barely muffled by his palm. his other hand is still on his mouse, but he's not moving it; he's just gripping it like a lifeline, knuckles white, his whole arm trembling.

you pull off with a wet sound, just to watch him, just to see the way his chest is heaving, the way his eyes are screwed shut, tears clinging to his lashes.

"look at me," you say.

he does. yunho’s eyes open, and they're so blown out you can barely see the brown. his lips are wet and parted, and there's a tear already tracking down his cheek.

"so pretty," you tell him. "you're doing so well."

he shakes his head frantically.

"i can't—i'm gonna—"

"i know."

you take him back in your mouth before he can finish, and this time you don't hold back; you suck him like you mean it, hard and fast, your throat working around him, and you feel the exact moment he breaks.

yunho cums with a strangled cry, muffled by his own hand, his whole body arching up out of the chair. his release hits the back of your throat, hot and thick, and you swallow it down without stopping, without slowing, even as his hips are jerking and his thighs are trembling and he's making these broken, keening sounds that you know his friends can probably hear.

but you don't stop.

yunho's hand drops from his mouth.

"wait—wait, please, i just—"

but you keep going.

your tongue drags slow and flat over the head, and the noise yunho makes isn't human; it's a raw, punched-out gasp that cracks in the middle, and his whole body seizes — not just a flinch, but a real convulsion, spine bowing forward, shoulders hunching, his hips snapping back like he's trying to escape. but the chair traps him. there's nowhere to go.

"s’too much," yunho wheezes.

his hands fly down to your head, but his fingers don't push you, they just tangle in your hair, gripping hard, knuckles pressed against your scalp.

"s’too much, baby, please—"

you ignore him, and you suck gently, just the tip, and yunho’s thighs slam together around your ears; you have to push them apart again with your forearms, and you feel the muscles there jumping, spasming, completely out of his control.

"i can't—" his voice breaks into a real sob, wet and loud, and you hear one of his friends on the mic go quiet for a second.

"yunho? dude, you okay?"

you've taken him deeper again, and his hips are twitching in these short, jerky little thrusts that he's clearly not deciding to do. his body is just doing things now. his stomach keeps clenching and unclenching under his shirt, and you watch a bead of sweat roll down his temple, catching in his eyebrow.

you pull off to breathe, and the sound yunho makes is almost angry, and so so so desperate.

"please," he gets out. "please, it's so much—it's so much—"

your hand wraps around him again, loose and wet, and you don't move it, you just hold him, feel how hard he's trembling.

"i'm gonna die," yunho whispers, and his voice is tiny.

you laugh softly and lean back in, and this time you don't even take him all the way; you just mouth at the side of his shaft, lips dragging over the sensitive skin, and yunho jerks so hard his elbow knocks his water bottle off the desk. it hits the floor with a loud thunk, but neither of you look at it.

you can feel him softening a little, his body trying to retreat from the overstimulation, but you don't let up.

no, instead, you lick a slow stripe from the base of his cock to tip, and yunho’s breath hitches into a rhythm that's not breathing anymore — it's just gasping, open-mouthed and wet, his chest heaving like he's been running.

"one more," you say against his skin.

"i can't," he gets out, but his voice cracks on the vowel. "i can't, i literally cannot—"

you take him back in your mouth, just the head, and you suck.

it's not hard, it's almost gentle, but it's too much for him now, and you feel it the second his body gives up fighting. his whole frame goes rigid first — every muscle locked, his hands fisting in your hair hard enough to sting — and then he shatters.

it's not a normal orgasm; there's barely anything left, just a weak pulse, a few drops of fluid that you taste more than feel, but yunho’s body doesn't care.

he convulses like he's having a seizure, hips bucking off the chair, back arching so hard his shoulder blades press together. his mouth falls open in a silent scream, no air left to power it, and then the sound comes after — a raw, guttural cry that tears out of his throat and doesn't stop.

yunho’s legs kick out; one of his feet catches the desk leg, and the whole thing rattles.

his mouse skitters off the pad, his keyboard clacks as his chest slams into it, and he's still shaking, still convulsing, little aftershocks rippling through his thighs and his stomach and his hands, which are still twisted in your hair, holding on like you're the only solid thing in the room.

you stay where you are, mouth soft around his cock, but you’re not moving, you’re simply waiting.

it takes a long time for the spasms to slow down.

yunho’s breathing is all over the place — three short inhales, one long shuddering exhale, then nothing, then a gasp like he forgot how to breath. his long fingers loosen in your hair one by one, and his hand falls limp against the side of your face, palm sweaty and trembling.

you pull off slowly, carefully, and yunho’s whole body flinches at the loss of contact.

"hey," you whisper. "baby, you're okay."

he's not okay.

yunho’s is wrecked — tears and snot and spit all smeared together, his lips chapped and bitten raw. his eyes are half-closed, unfocused, the pupils still blown wide, and there's a wet patch on his shirt collar from where he's been crying.

you sit back on your heels and just look at him.

he's still shaking; little tremors, constant, running through his shoulders and his hands. yunho’s chest is hitching with these tiny, involuntary sobs that he doesn't seem to be aware of anymore. his character is dead on the screen — you notice distantly that his team lost, that the defeat screen is glowing on the monitor — but neither of you care.

finally, finally, you stand up.

you reach out and brush the damp hair off yunho’s forehead, and he flinches at your touch, too sensitive, still. but then he leans into it, just a little, his eyes flutter closed.

"baby," you say softly.

"you're mean," he whispers, his voice is completely destroyed, raw and cracked.

yunho just lies there, breathing in shaky hitches, while you stand up and grab a towel from the bathroom to clean him up. you're gentle this time, wiping away the mess, and he hisses when you brush against his cock but doesn't pull away.

you're tucking him back into his joggers when you hear it; a small, tinny voice from his headset.

"uh... yunho? dude, your mic is still on."

yunho's eyes snap open, and all the blood drains from his pretty face, then rushes back twice as fast, turning him crimson from his chest to his hairline.

"oh my god," he whispers.

you bite your lip to keep from laughing, you really do.

"oh my god," yunho says again, louder this time.

and you can hear his friends in the headset — someone is wheezing, someone else is saying; "i'm never letting him live this down," and the third person just keeps repeating "i heard everything, everything, i need therapy—"

yunho rips the headset off and throws it onto the desk, and he buries his face in his hands, shoulders shaking, and you can't tell if he's crying or laughing or both.

"i'm never playing with them again," yunho says, muffled. "i'm moving to a new country. i'm changing my name."

you climb into his lap, ignoring his weak little protest, and wrap your arms around his neck. yunho still trembling, still so so so oversensitive, but he holds you back, completely burying his face in your shoulder.

"you lost your game," you say, pressing a kiss to his temple.

"i don't care about the fucking game."

you grin. "good. because i want round two."

yunho groans, but his hips twitch against yours, and you feel him start to stir again, and you know he's definitely going to let you ruin him all over again.

and the first time he ever found out about your little infatuation, he seemed to have grown a little more comfortable with roughing it up a little.

“oh god… oh baby. fuck, you feel so good.” on your stomach, face pressed into the sheets, san’s face nudged in the tight space where your neck meets your shoulder. his arms caged either side of your head, resting his forearms next to your ears.

his chest was glued to your back, your spine digging into his stomach. bare and hot and wet, your bodies pressed against each other without an inch of space to speak for. your entire body shivered when he forced himself deeper into you, his curved, thick cock splitting your cunt open.

this position had him so deep, so invasive, so full. his hips rolled against the flesh of your ass, san’s voice dipping low in needy moans when you squeezed around him while he pulled his hips back, listening to the slick sound your pussy made, trying to keep him inside.

“pussy’s so warm today, baby.” he lets his mouth fall open against the shell of your ear, panting and groaning to make your brain melt. “making me feel so fucking crazy, you make me feel crazy, pretty.”

you forced your head out of the pillow when you felt his thrusts slow to a deep grind, pulling a ragged whine from your mouth. you pried your eyes open to watch as his arms moved around your head.

“turn, look at us.” he kisses below your ear, and drags his tongue up the side of your cheek. his right arm reaches and grabs his phone from the corner of the bed, holding it tight in his hand and scrolling and pressing buttons.

you forget he keeps a tall mirror against his bedroom wall, right next to the end of his bed. you can see the top halves of your melded bodies. his big, broad shoulders shadow your littler form under him. his soft, flushed face meeting your eyes in the reflection, his big, meaty arms flexing and twitching around your head every time he moved.

you watch to try and see what he was doing, and he punishes your nosiness with a sharp, deep thrust that makes your calf lock up.

“mind your business, babydoll.” he grumbles, then you feel it. his left arm curls around the front of your throat, tight. the muscles twitch and contract over your neck, just enough to limit your breathing. snug, warm and secure around the front of your throat.

he feels you tighten around his cock, and it makes his skin prickle. “ooh, fuck…” he groans and you feel his voice vibrate against your back. you forced your eyes up and you can see his phone recording your reflection in the mirror. catching the fucked out look on your face, his thick arm wrapped around your throat in an owning headlock.

his mouth spreads into a sly grin when your eyes roll when he pulls back his hips and then sinks his cock back into you so slowly, so smoothly, your legs jerk under him to try and escape the feeling.

“my soft little slut…” san leans down to whisper in your ear, the flash of his camera moving with each thrust. he licks the tears that pool at the corner of your eyes before he drags his head back up to watch you both in the mirror.

“look at you go, baby.” he praises around a heated smile. “drooling all over my arm like some kind of puppy. does that feel good? hm?”

you whimper out an incoherent agreement, and he giggles softly, littering the nape of your neck with soft kisses. he adjusts his hips to drag against that deeper, sweeter spot, that makes you still and lightly sink your teeth into his arm.

he keeps that meaner pace, deep heavy strokes in your guts that you can do nothing but lie under his body and take. his arm around your neck made clouds swim around in your brain. he tightens the hold, and you squeal loudly, barely catching the way he zooms in with his phone to better catch the pretty look on your face.

your cheeks squished by his muscles, your eyes desperate and heavy-lidded. he thought you looked so cute, and who would’ve thought that all he had to do to get you this needy was to put you in a headlock.

san fucks you greedily, the curve of him perfectly hitting that spot that turned your mind off. his voice egged you on, his low moans, and his pretty heavy breaths. groaning ’mhms’ of approval with every thrust into you as if he was grading the feel of your cunt around him. with every stroke, you only seemed to get even wetter, and the proof was the sticky web of your slick that clung to his base.

“mm, i love fucking my baby, slow… and stupid.” he attaches his lips to the pulse point on your neck, sucking and running his tongue over the sensitive spot of skin. “jus wanna fuck you so deep it hurts.”

he’s in your ear, talking to you and only you. all the while his phone catches every moment, every thrust and every moan.

his lower stomach repeatedly brushes against your back, his cock stirring up your insides at the most, torturous and delicate pace. the slow smack of flesh, the sticky hollow sound of your cunt swallowing all of him.

you feel his knees brace against either side of your hips again, adjusting his posture a little. his arm around your throat tightens to your near limit, his head nudges against your neck, his lips whispering against your cheek.

this way he uses your neck as leverage to anchor is body to allow him to fuck his cock into you a little faster, a little rougher.

“yeah, baby, yeah. take all of me. all of me.” san’s voice drops into a breathy purr, pressing his lips directly against your ear, the soft skin tickling you. “givin this pussy a workout hm?”

you groan and kick your feet, and he laughs at you as hand from the arm he’s got your neck trapped in buries itself in your tangled hair and yanks your head to the side so you’re fully facing the mirror, your ear resting below his jaw.

“you like to be lazy. you like to lie here— fuck… lie here and take dick, helpless and limp. let sannie do all the work huh, princess? let this pussy do all the work for you?”

he turns his head and your eyes catch in the mirror. his eyes are lidded, competent and heated. yours are foggy, tear-glazed, spent. he smiles at your expression and growls under his breath when you clench around his dick again.

his fingers scrape against your scalp with every heavy stroke of his hips, his pretty grunts and moans making your belly twist into swirls.

your hands grasp at the sheets, your cries coming out choked and breathy then more san fucked you, and he seemingly forgot that you needed to breathe until you tapped on his bicep to tell him to let up.

he does immediately, loosening the hold on your throat. you gasp and choke, but he doesn’t stop moving his hips, fucking you slow and deep while you regain your breath.

“aww, ‘m sorry babydoll.” he kisses your temple and you could feel him giggle against your skin. his voice lowers to that brain ticking whisper and you feel your air stolen from you again.

“bet you would’ve looked so pretty passed out on my cock.” he finally sets down his phone and takes his now free hand and trails it down your body, running along the side of your waist, his hips never stopping that deep, languid push and pull.

“looking all soft and sleepy.” his hand snakes between your body and the bed and finds your clit with his coarse fingertips. you gasp and squirm under him, your body shaking as a plea for mercy. san only laughs, circling upwards against the sensitive nerves while he splits your pussy open, over and over and over again.

“think i could still make you cum in your sleep princess?” he whispers against your throat and you feel as his arm tightens its hold around your throat once again. you feel the bed start to shake and your cunt start to burn with pleasure as he picks up the pace of his thrusts, filling you long and deep at just the right angle.

“mmhm, soak my cock baby.” he growls under a moan, letting his tongue fall from his mouth and tasting the flushed skin on your throat. “make it smell like you.”

he bites his bottom lip and his eyebrows furrow, his cock pounding into you so full he just might had been close to fucking your cervix.

his fingers on your clit continue to move at that dragging, spherical pattern that helps that pressure build slowly. stroke my stroke, praise by praise. you melt under his body while he uses you as he sees fit. your pussy sucks him in everytime he draws back, your pretty little moans make san’s head spin.

“gonna fuck myself to that video everynight while im on tour.” he promises against your skin, your orgasm dangerously close to sweeping you onto the floor. he rolls his hips with every thrust, forcing his fat tip to press against your gspot.

“eee..every n-night..?” you whimper deliriously, his cock effectively having cut off all cognitive function, a stupid smile spread across your face.

he laughs and kisses your shoulder as he rolls his hips a little harder. “mhm, every night baby. i'll send you some videos so this pussy-” he thrusts hard this time, as if acknowledging her himself. “-doesn't miss me too much. want you to remember how good i make you feel while i'm gone.”

you shake violently when his tip nudges that spot just right, and right at that moment you cum on the spot. your limbs jerk and twitch and once san’s felt you cumming he eases his hips into a faster rut, pounding your pussy through your orgasm, fucking you through it.

“there we go, there we go. let it take you baby, keep cumming, keep cumming for me.” he pinches your clit and teases it with gentle brushes while he mounts you on his mattress.

his arm is covered in your drool, the red indentations of your bite marks inflamed on his skin. san looks back at you in the mirror, and you’re too out of it to notice as he pulls out his phone again and starts to record the reflection.

your eyes are shut and your brows are furrowed in bliss, lips parted in pathetic whines, your cheek resting against his bicep. he keeps his eyes on the mirror as your face twists in overstimulation when he starts to grind his cock deep into you.

his muscles flex, and he can feel the strain in his wrist from continually holding the camera up to capture you two. your shoulder twitches every time he bottoms out into your pussy, and your eyelids flutter every time he presses his palm against your lower stomach. he catches every change in expression, every twitch of your body, every lilt in your moans.

he always misses you so bad when hes away, so he always makes sure he fucks you so unbelievably well that you could probably do without him for at least a few days.

until you’re sore, or your stomach burns, or you physically can’t cum anymore. and he’ll be so methodic, so thorough, so gentle. anything to get you satiated for the first few days in his absence.

he's gotta work you out of his system somehow anyway, or else he'll be a horny, delirious wreck on tour.

the videos help with his withdrawal symptoms.

He stops. The shift is sudden—your body still clenching around his dick, desperate for friction that’s no longer there. His hand fists in your hair and jerks you up hard, arching your spine until your back meets his chest. One arm locks around your waist, ribs pressed to his forearm. The other grips your jaw, fingers pressing into the hinge until your mouth falls open.

You can feel his pulse against your cheek.

You can feel your own everywhere.

“What did you just call me?” His voice is low, dangerous, a heat against your ear. You feel it more than hear it, vibrating through your ribs where he’s got you pinned. The air is hot and thin.

Your breath comes shallow, uneven. “I—”

“Say it again.” Hongjoong’s hips shift, just enough to make you gasp, but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t give you what you need. His thumb drags across your bottom lip, smearing spit at the corner. “Go on.”

You swallow. Your pulse hammers against his palm. “Da—”

He tsks, the sound soft and cutting. His grip tightens on your jaw until your eyes sting. “Wrong answer.” His thumb pushes your chin up.

His hand slides from your jaw to your throat, not squeezing yet. “You know better.” The words are barely above a whisper, but they land heavy. He pulls out almost completely, the drag lighting every nerve, then slams back in without warning.

Your body jerks forward with the force, a broken cry tearing from your throat. The slap of skin is sharp. The mattress stutters under your knees, the headboard slams again.

“Daddy—” The word comes out garbled, desperate, exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Good girl.” His grip on your throat softens, becomes almost tender. “Again.”

“Daddy,” you gasp, the word punched out of you with another sharp thrust. Your fingers curl uselessly in his grip, your whole body wound so tight you think you might shatter. “Please—addy, I need—” Your own spit threads from your mouth to his thumb where it drags your lip and you taste metal from your bitten tongue.

Hongjoong’s laugh is dark, satisfied. “Need what, love?” The hand on your throat slides down to palm your breast, rolling your nipple between two knuckles until heat spikes. He pinches it and the pain blooms sweet and mean. “Use your words.” His breath hits damp hair stuck to your temple.

You moan uselessly, the sound ragged and broken. Words won’t come—just desperate, incoherent noise that makes him groan against your ear.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, satisfaction dripping from every word. Your knees skid an inch on the sheet and his hand leaves your breast to clamps your hip and hauls you back so you feel the blunt head punch deep again. He holds you exactly where he wants you as he starts thrusting deep inside you. “Can’t even speak anymore, can you?”

You shake your head frantically, or try to—his hold on you barely allows the movement. Everything’s gone white‑hot and overwhelming, your body trembling in his arms as he takes you apart piece by piece. Your mascara is a damp smear at your lashes; a tear salt‑burns the corner of your mouth where it meets his thumb.

“Mmpf—please—” The words break on a sob as the tension coils impossibly tighter, your walls fluttering around him. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably. The mattress squeals. Hongjoong groans when your cunt strangles him, like the sound is dragged from somewhere he doesn’t show anyone.

“I’ve been a good girl, Daddy, please—” Your voice breaks on the words, desperate and pleading. “Please let me—fuc—k—let me cum, I need—”

“Not yet. Listen to yourself—messy little thing, slobbering on my hand and still trying to think you get a say.” His pace doesn’t falter, each thrust hitting that devastating spot that has your vision blurring. He changes nothing just to prove he controls everything. “You’ll cum when I say.”

“Daddy—” It’s a sob more than a word, your body trembling violently as you fight against the edge. “Please, I can’t—I can’t hold it—”

“Yes, you can. You’re a hole when I tell you to be a hole.” His lips brush your ear, voice dropping lower, amused and cruel. “Be useful.” His teeth take the soft flesh of your shoulder, a quick bite that stings and his tongue soothes, then he bites again, harder.

A broken whimper tears from your throat as tears prick at your eyes. “Yes—yes, I’ll wait—fuck—please—” The word breaks because he drives in meaner, holding you down with his forearm across your ribs until your breaths come shallow and quick.

“That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it? Taking.” The room narrows to the slick drag and the hot thud of him and the damp heat where your bodies meet. “Just a wet little thing I wreck.”

Your eyes sting, vision blurring as the first tear slips free. It tracks hot down your cheek, and Hongjoong’s rhythm stutters for just a beat like he’s savouring it. His grip on your jaw shifts, thumb catching the wetness before it falls to the sheet.

“Look at you,” he breathes, hungry. “Crying because you can’t keep up. Cock‑drunk already and I’m not even trying.” He drags the tear across your cheekbone, reverent and mean at once. “So fucking pretty when you beg with your eyes.” He licks the salt from his thumb, eyes fixed on your wrecked mouth. “Open that useless mouth and try again.”

Another tear follows, then another. A sob catches as he drives deeper. His groan vibrates against your spine. “Pathetic,” he murmurs, almost fond.

Hongjoong’s hand moves from your jaw to cup your face, fingers gentle even as his hips maintain their brutal pace. “Let me see what a mess you are.” He turns your face just enough to catch the tear‑tracks in the low light, pupils blown. “Crying so pretty on Daddy’s cock.”

The praise and the cruelty braid together and break something in you. “Please—” Your voice frays to a thread.

“So good for me,” he says, and then ruins it: “Good for nothing but this.” He catches another tear with his thumb. “My perfect little toy.” His palm slides down your belly, heat making your muscles jump. “Say it.”

“T—toy,” you gasp, shame and want tangling.

“Show Daddy how pretty you look when you break.” He hooks two fingers in the corner of your mouth, yanking it open so spit strings glitter from your lip. “There. Pretty mouth.”

His thumb presses your bottom lip then pushes past. Two fingers follow, flattening your tongue until drool pools at the corners of your mouth. “Keep it open,” he orders, voice rough. “Show me that useless tongue.”

You do, jaw slack, spit threading down your chin while he fucks you deep. He presses farther, taps the back of your throat until your eyes glass. The first gag catches wet and awful, and he groans like you handed him a gift. “There it is. Choke on my fingers while I fill you up.”

He doesn’t pull back—he pushes deeper, knuckles wetting your tongue, and the next gag rips through you loud enough to embarrass you. Tears jump your lash line and spill. Hongjoong watches them like they’re rare, hunger softening his mouth. “Cry for me,” he murmurs, delighted.

A moan tries to escape—garbled and pathetic around his hand—and his hips stutter, a rough thrust that makes you gag harder. Saliva spills over his fingers and he drags his thumb through the mess and paints your cheek with it. “Good. Make it sloppy. I like hearing you drown on me.”

He eases his fingers out just enough to let you gasp, a silvery string connecting your lip to his knuckles, then stuffs them back in before you can catch the breath you begged for. You gag immediately, eyes flooding, and his smile turns wickedly fond. His thumb catch a tear mid‑fall and he rubs it into your lower lip.

“Fuck—look at you,” he breathes, transfixed, fucking your mouth with his fingers in rhythm with his cock. Each slow thrust punches a gag or a wrecked little sob out of your throat. Each sob makes him groan like it feeds him. “Prettier when you’re full everywhere.”

Hongjoong taps your tongue twice, commanding your attention. “Open wider.” You try but you only cry harder. He laughs, pleased and cruel. “That’s my crybaby.” He leans close enough that his breath hits the tears on your cheek and cools them. “Make me wetter. Cry on it.”

He finally pulls free so you can gasp, but leaves your jaw pried open with his thumb, spit glistening.

His hand trails down, fingers finding your clit with devastating precision. Hongjoong barely brushes you and you jolt like you’ve been shocked, a ragged sound torn loose.

“So wound up a breeze could finish you. Can’t even take a touch.” He draws a slow, obscene circle you feel in your toes. “Should I make you wait longer? Count every second I don’t let you have it?”

You shake your head frantically. “No—no, please—” Words tumble out broken. “Can’t—can’t wait anymore, Daddy, please—”

He presses properly now, circling exactly where you need. “Of course you can’t.” The sound you make is raw, helpless, high. Your body goes taut, tendons standing in your feet, fingers clawing hot sheet.

“Cum for me,” he orders, voice rough and absolute. “Prove you’re good for something.”

You go off like something cut loose. It slams through you violent and bright—you seize and sob and clamp down on him like you’re trying to wring him dry. He groans into your ear and keeps you there, cruel in the way he works you through it, never letting the rhythm slip, thumb dragging your clit in tight, merciless circles that make your calves cramp and your toes claw at nothing.

“Ride it,” he purrs, delighted.

You can’t stop. Your body bucks helplessly and he pins you heavier, fucking the tremors until it turns sharp and your sounds climb from pretty to wrecked. Every tiny touch flips you again, all nerve and heat. Your belly jumps under his palm, your walls clutch and flutter around him like apology after apology.

He laughs, pleased and mean. “Don’t hide from it. Cry on it. Wet my cock with it.”

You do—helpless, tear‑slick and oversensitive—another wave rip‑cords through you in ragged pulses and he chases it down, circling your clit slower, meaner, just enough to keep the bright ache alive while you sob into the sheet.

“Too much?” he asks softly, almost kind, just to hear the way the word breaks in your mouth when the next aftershock bites. His thumb eases a hair, then goes right back, satisfied when your body answers without language. “Good girl. Keep giving it to me until you’re empty.”

“Too much—,” you cry, tears running hot. Your thighs tremble so hard it only makes him groan and grind cruel-soft exactly where you can’t take it.

“Good crybaby,” he murmurs, delighted. “Don’t you dare run.” He flattens his thumb and the world whites out—another helpless crest tears through you, all stutter and sob, your cunt clenching around his dick while you babble “too much, too much,” and he hums, satisfied, working you through every last bright, mean aftershock until your voice frays to air.

Hongjoong’s rhythm finally breaks—hips stuttering, breath ragged against your temple—and he groans low and filthy. His hands leave and you whimper at the loss. Air kisses the slick heat when he pulls free and you shudder. He flips you in one swift motion; your back hits the mattress, a bounce knocking a gasp out of you. The sheets are damp under your shoulder blades and the pillow is cool under fevered skin.

“Look at me.” Jaw tight, eyes wild, control fraying. A vein jumps in his neck. He looks like sin and victory.

“Hands above your head.” You obey, wrists crossing. “Don’t move.” His palm pins your wrists; the heel of it grinds the bones together until you whine. The other drops to his cock and works himself once, twice, your slick shines on his length.

“Eyes on me.”

“Fuck—” The word breaks as his release lashes hot across your stomach and chest. Cum splashes your throat, a line streaks your collarbone. He doesn’t look away from your face while he watches it drip. Ragged breath. Shuddering shoulders.

He drags two fingers through the mess and paints your lips with it, slow. He pushes his fingers past your tongue. “Suck it up like a good little slut.” You do, cheeks hollowing, and he hums approval when you gag around his knuckles then he pulls free with a wet pop.

Hongjoong smears the rest of his cum across your cheek and jaw, then rubs what’s left into your throat.

“Hands stay.” Your wrists ache deliciously. His palm presses your sternum, shortening your breath; he lifts it just enough to give you air, like charity. Then he kisses you deep, filthy, tasting salt and himself on your tongue. He palms the back of your thigh and hikes it high to his hip. “Round two,” he says like a sentence.

“No—no—” Your thighs slam shut on instinct, trembling violently. Oversensitive doesn’t begin to cover it—every nerve ending feels raw, exposed, like touching a live wire. Your knees knock together as you try to curl away, breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

Hongjoong’s hand catches your knee before you can fully close yourself off. His grip is firm but he doesn’t force—not yet. He watches you shake apart, eyes dark and assessing.

“Too much?” The question sounds almost curious, like he’s cataloging your limits for future reference.

“I can’t—” Your voice breaks on a sob. “Please, I need—just a minute—”

His thumb traces idle circles on your kneecap, a mockery of gentleness while your body still trembles from the aftershocks. “That’s not how this works, love.” He leans down, lips brushing your temple. “You don’t get to decide when we’re done.”

His hand slides up your thigh, not forcing your legs open yet, just resting there with casual ownership. “You know how we end things.” It’s not a question. His eyebrow arches, that familiar challenge, and your stomach drops because you do know. You know exactly what he’s waiting for.

The word sits on your tongue—red. Simple. Final. It would stop everything.

But it won’t come.

“No?” His thumb strokes once, twice, maddeningly gentle against your feverish skin. “Then I’ll make it easy for you.” His voice drops, taking on that edge that makes your pulse stutter. “Three seconds. Say it or I’m not stopping.”

Your breath catches. Every nerve ending screams that you can’t, that you’re too wrecked, too sensitive, too much—

“One.”

The word is right there. Red. Your lips part.

“Two.”

His fingers trail higher, barely a whisper of touch, and you tremble. Your mouth stays open, empty.

“Three.” He waits one more heartbeat, eyes locked on yours, searching. When nothing comes—when you just stare back at him, panting and wrecked and silent—something shifts in his expression. Satisfaction, dark and absolute. “That’s what I thought.”

“Let daddy in.”

Your thighs fall open slowly, a surrender that feels like defeat and relief tangled together. He drags the blunt head through your slick and slaps it against your clit—wet, obscene—once, twice, just to watch your whole body jump. When he pushes in—slow, deliberate, watching every micro-expression that crosses your face—the oversensitivity makes you keen, a broken sound that's half-sob, half-moan.

“Good girl,” Hongjoong murmurs, and doesn’t move. He stays buried to the hilt, making you feel every inch, every slow pulse. Your walls flutter around him and he hisses through his teeth. “Still.”

“Daddy—” You twitch, trying to adjust to the obscene fullness, and his hand clamps your hip hard enough to bruise.

“I said still.” His voice is steel. He shifts a mean millimeter deeper, a promise you’re going to hate loving. “You said you ‘can’t’ anymore? Cute.” He settles like a stake driven into the earth. “Then be useful.” Hongjoong’s hand lifts your thigh and hooks your knee higher, forcing the angle open until the stretch sits deep and electric. “Keep Daddy’s dick warm,” he says, bored and cruel.

Heat licks up your spine. Hongjoong doesn’t thrust. He doesn’t have to. You try to breathe around it. He shifts another millimeter—just a cruel reminder of his thickness—and the sound that leaks out of you is humiliating.

You twitch—instinct, pathetic—and his cock slides against a nerve that makes your whole body jolt. You try to chase it, hips rolling a greedy inch before you can stop yourself.

“Did I say you could move?” His voice cuts through the haze, razor-clean. His palm slams your hip back to the mattress, pinning you flat with bruising force. “Greedy little sleeve. One rule. You can’t even manage one.”

A wrecked whimper leaks out. The stillness is torture—every ridge, every vein, the obscene stretch of him pulsing inside you while your body screams to grind, to rub, to take. Your thighs tremble. Your toes curl like you’re trying to scratch at the air.

“Please—” you gasp, voice shaking. “I need—”

“You need?” He laughs, low and mean. “You need to learn to take what you’ve given.” His fingers dig into your hip, owning the flesh. “Move again and I pull out. I leave you empty and leaking with your little hole clenched around nothing. Is that what you want?”

“N—no, Daddy, please—”

“Then be fucking still.” He settles a breath deeper, a hateful inch that makes you sob, and holds you there like a knife sheathed to the hilt. “Keep me warm like I told you.” His mouth brushes your ear, the smile audible. “Stop acting like a desperate slut who can’t control herself.”

You feel the words burn through you; your walls flutter helplessly around him. You can’t stop the tiny drag of your hips—barely there, shameful—and he feels it immediately.

“Ah‑ah.” He smiles against your cheek.

“Please—” It scrapes out of you, ragged.

“Please what.” Flat as a verdict. “Use your stupid mouth.” His thumb strokes your jaw, mock‑gentle.

Your body shakes with effort. Your calves cramp. “Please—” The word fractures before it can form, dissolving into a sound that’s barely human—just need and surrender wrapped in breath.

The fullness skates the edge of too much; oversensitivity turns every slow beat into bright heat. Hongjoong only watches, pleased and dark, while you struggle to hold still around him. A whimper leaves you, broken and desperate.

“Quiet,” he says, almost bored. “Toys don’t whine.” He shifts deeper just to hear the noise you make. “Hands flat. Eyes open. Count your breaths if you need to. Don’t twitch.”

You count breaths because he told you to and lose the thread at eight, at nine, at nothing, because your body betrays you—tiny flutters you can’t control. Each one earns you a hum against your temple, a lazy squeeze at your throat that says he felt it.

“Pathetic,” he croons finally, sounding pleased.

“Daddy—” slips out again, ruined.

“What do you think you’re going to ask for? You’re full. You’re not getting more. You’re keeping me.”

“Please—”

“Please what?” His voice goes flat. “No babbling, no noise. Full sentence. Ask to be used.”

Shame burns hot. “Please use me, Daddy.”

“Mhm.” He rewards you with a single, slow grind that rolls through you like thunder, then stops dead. “Ask better.”

Your throat tightens. The words stick—humiliating—but his silence is worse, patient and hungry, like he has all night to watch you crack. “Please use me however you want, Daddy,” you whisper, voice breaking. “I’m yours—I’m just—please, I need you to—”

“Need me to what?” His thumb traces your bottom lip, almost tender in a way that makes you want to sob. “Say it clear or I’ll sit inside you and watch you shake until morning.”

“Please fuck me,” you gasp, shame scorching every syllable. “Please—use me like the toy I am. I can’t—Daddy, wreck me, please—”

“There it is.” His smile cuts wicked against your jaw. “See? Useless little mouth can learn.” He drags out of you slow—obscenely slow—until only the tip sits at your entrance. The loss rips a whimper out of you. “Since you asked nicely.”

He slams back in with no warning. Your toes curl hard enough to hurt. Your nails bite your palms. You don’t move. You don’t dare.

“Better,” he decides, and finally gives you motion—small, shallow, nothing like mercy. Short, ruthless strokes that never leave you, just rock deep enough to make your breath hitch on every one. “Count them.”

“One,” you whisper. “Two.” By four your voice shakes. By seven it thins to air. By ten you’ve lost the number and he has to murmur it for you against your mouth, amused.

“Ten,” he says, and nips your bottom lip. “Hopeless little counter.” He pulls out to the edge again and you whine without meaning to. He catches your chin hard. “What did I say about whining?”

“Toys don’t whine,” you breathe, panicked and obedient.

“That’s right.” He slides back in, the stretch a bright, tearing relief, and sets a new pace that is nothing like earlier—just deep and slow and devastating, like he’s proving he can keep you here forever.

You feel it rising again—desperation clawing up your throat, that helpless way your body starts chasing friction on its own. Your hips twitch forward, greedy without permission. His fingers bite down instantly.

“Stop.” Ice-cold.

But you don’t. You can’t. You’re wrecked and stupid with need, and your body rolls again—small, hungry little pulses that betray every order he’s given you. A whine slips out, high and broken.

“Daddy, please—I can’t—I need more, please—”

“You can’t?” His voice drops to something dangerous. “Or you won’t?”

“I can’t—” Another whimper. Your hips buck again, chasing the friction he’s withholding, and the sound that leaves you is pathetic. “Please, Daddy, I need—need you to move, need it harder, need—”

He goes dead still inside you. The absence of movement is worse than any punishment.

“Greedy little thing,” he says, tone flat with disappointment. “I give you my cock to keep warm and you can’t even manage that without turning into a whining, desperate mess.”

“I’m sorry—” You’re babbling now, words tripping over themselves. “I’m sorry, Daddy, please—just—please fuck me, I’ll be good—”

“You’ll be good?” He laughs—sharp, cruel, joyless. “You’re not being good now. You’re being a greedy slut who can’t follow a single fucking instruction.” His hand slides from your hip to your throat—fingers wrapping lightly. Your pulse hammers against his palm. “I don’t like you like this.”

It hits like a slap. Shame floods hot and immediate, and still your body trembles, still clenching around him, still needing.

“Please—”

“Please what? Please keep giving you what you clearly can’t handle?” He shifts just enough to make you whine, then stops again. “You’re not ready for more. You can’t even take what I’ve already given you without falling apart.”

“I can—I can take it—” Your voice breaks on a sob.

“No.” Firm. Final. “You can’t. Look at you. Shaking and whining and begging like you forgot how to be still.” His thumb strokes your throat once—almost gentle, which makes it worse. “I told you to be useful. Instead you’re being pathetic.”

The disappointment punches something open in your chest. You force yourself still—every muscle screaming—swallowing the whine clawing up your tongue. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, small and wrecked. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

He watches you for a long, measuring beat. Then, slowly, he withdraws completely. The emptiness is a knife.

“Daddy—no—please—”

“Quiet.” The word drops like a brick. He stays out of you, cock wet against your slit, heat without mercy. “You want more when you can’t even fucking hold still?” His laugh is flat and ugly.

Your chest hitches. “Daddy, I—”

“Don’t talk.” He drags the swollen head through your slick once, slow, and you gasp like a drowning thing. The emptiness screams. “You don’t get my cock. You get consequence.”

“Do you want Daddy to go find himself another hole?” His words hit like acid, eating under your skin. “A quiet one. An obedient sleeve that doesn’t twitch, doesn’t whine, doesn’t make me repeat myself like I’m training a puppy.”

“No—” It tears out of you, small and panicked. “No, Daddy, please—”

“No?” Hongjoong sounds almost curious, like he’s already halfway out the door. “Because you’re not acting like you want to keep me. You’re acting like a spoiled toy that forgot what it’s for.”

“I do—I want to keep you—” Your voice breaks. “Please don’t—I’ll be good, I promise—”

“You promised to stay still five fucking minutes ago and look where that got us.” His thumb drags across your bottom lip, cruelly tender. “Maybe I should find a hole that knows how to listen. One that doesn’t babble, doesn’t beg, and doesn’t forget every rule the second it gets full.”

The image scalds—him leaving you empty and shaking while he goes somewhere else—and the sob that rips free is ugly.

“Please, Daddy—please—I’ll do better, I swear—don’t leave, please don’t, I need you—”

“Need me?” His voice goes flat. “You need to learn to fucking behave.” He drags the head of his cock on your swollen clit like a threat and your body jerks up desperately. “See? Even now you can’t stay still.”

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—” Tears slip hot into your hair. “I’ll be good, I promise, please just—stay—”

“One. More. Chance.” Soft and lethal. “You twitch, you whine, you breathe wrong—and I’m done with you tonight. I’ll go find that quiet hole, and you can hump the sheet and think about why I left.”

The burn in your eyes sharpens.

“Say the rule.”

You swallow. “Keep—keep you warm.”

“At a minimum.” He taps the head against your clit again—light, mean—once. Your twitch and his hand locks your pelvis to the mattress with bruising pressure. “And you couldn’t even fucking do that.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, shaking.

“I don’t want sorry. I want silent, still, useful.” He lays the fat tip at your entrance and holds it there. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to keep me right here and not twitch. You breathe wrong, we reset. You beg wrong, we reset. You whine, you don’t get me at all.”

“Daddy—”

“Start.” His thumb presses your throat, not choking, just owning. “Five breaths.”

You count, voice wrecked and tiny. One. Two. Your body claws for friction and he hears the minuscule drag in your hips like it’s a confession.

“Reset,” he says, bored. The head lifts off you. The loss is a knife. He sets it back and you whine before you can strangle it.

“Reset.” He smiles without warmth.

Shame burns through you. “Please—” You bite it off and force your lungs to move. One. Two. Three. At four he ghosts the head forward—no entry, just stretch on the skin—and you hiccup a sound you barely recognise.

“Reset,” he repeats, almost amused now. “We’d be done by now if you weren’t such a needy fuckup.”

“I can do it.”

“Doubt it.” He pats your cheek condescendingly. “But try again.”

You count, lips trembling. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

He stares down at you, unimpressed. “Now thank me for not fucking you.”

The sentence scrapes your throat raw. “Thank you for not fucking me, Daddy.”

He hums, pleased—and disappointed anyway. “Again, like you mean it.”

“Thank you for not fucking me,” you rush the words out, “For making me still. For making me useful.”

“Finally.” The head presses, a murderous inch, then stops dead inside—no thrust, just fullness that feels like a verdict. You choke on a sound; his fingers tighten on your jaw.

“Now you hold me there and you don’t move,” he says, low and lethal.

Your body locks into place, every muscle screaming against the stillness. The stretch sits there—barely inside, not enough, too much—and he doesn't move. Just watches you shake around that single cruel inch, his expression flat and clinical, like he's studying how long it takes before you break again.

He watches your thighs quiver around that single inch like he’s timing a lab experiment. “Three breaths,” he says, voice clinical. “Earn another inch.”

You breathe. One. Two. On three your belly flutters; he feels it. The head slides in a second inch and stops dead. You whimper through your teeth.

“Again. Three.”

You make it, barely—every nerve screaming—and he feeds you another inch like he’s measuring with a ruler. “See?” he murmurs, disappointed anyway. “When you shut up and follow orders you almost pass for useful.”

“Daddy—”

His palm covers your mouth, not to mute, to own.

He waits, indifferent to the shake, then seats the rest in a slow, inevitable push and locks your hips to the mattress. Utterly full. Utterly still.

“There.” His fingers tap your jaw, condescending. “Now ask me for nothing.”

You swallow hard, nod against his palm because language might ruin you. He smiles—cold, pleased—and starts the smallest motion imaginable, a cruel internal drag that never lets you chase. Your body tries anyway. He feels the microscopic reach.

“Aaand there she is,” he sighs, disgusted.

“On your fucking knees,” he says, voice flat and final. “Ass up.”

He pulls out completely—the emptiness is brutal—and you scramble to obey, limbs clumsy with need. Your knees hit the mattress, your chest drops, and you arch your back the way he likes, presenting yourself like an apology.

“Higher.” His palm cracks across your ass—sharp, unforgiving—and you gasp, lifting until your spine curves obscene. “There. Now stay exactly like that and think about why you're here instead of full of my cock.”

The air feels too cold on your exposed cunt. You hear him move behind you, deliberate and unhurried, and the anticipation is its own kind of torture. His hand smooths over the curve of your ass once—almost tender—then his palm comes down again, harder. The sound cracks through the room.

“Count.”

“One,” you breathe, shaking.

Another, lower—right on the tender hinge where ass meets thigh. You jerk, then wrench yourself back into place.

“Two—”

“Louder. Like you fucking mean it.”

The next lands before your mouth can catch up. You yelp. “Three!”

“Better.” He pauses, fingers trailing through the slick mess between your thighs, not giving you anything, just reminding you what you're not getting. The touch is featherlight—clinical, almost—and it makes you ache harder than if he'd pressed down with intent. Your clit throbs where his knuckles barely graze it, swollen and desperate, and the emptiness inside you feels like a wound. Every nerve ending screams for more.

“Why are you here?”

“Because I couldn’t stay still—couldn’t—”

“Because you’re greedy.” The slap is vicious and precise. “Four.”

“Four,” you sob.

“Because you take what I give you and immediately beg for more like it’s not enough.” His hand comes down again, twice in quick succession, and you lose count, scrambling to catch up.

“Five—six—“

“Pathetic.” He sounds disgusted and pleased at the same time. His knuckles skim the burn, then slide meanly through your slick, circle your clit once and abandon it like a test you failed. The touch makes you clench around nothing, empty and aching, every nerve ending screaming for more pressure, more contact, more of him. The abandonment feels like a punishment you can’t name—your body chasing something he’s already taken away. “Still dripping. Still desperate. Still not listening.”

“I’m sorry, Daddy—”

“You will be.” His fist knots in your hair, yanking your face off the sheet. “We keep going until your body remembers how to obey. You twitch or gasp wrong, we reset to one.”

The next strike lands; you choke the whimper into your teeth and hold. “Seven!”

“Let’s see you make it to ten without falling apart.”

Eight snaps high on the curve; nine brutal on the sit spot. You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste iron and force the numbers out steady—“Eight. Nine.”—and you don’t move.

Ten comes down perfect, right where it hurts prettiest.

“Ten.” Your voice is raw but even. Silence drops heavy around it.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, palm smoothing over the heat, reverent like he’s polishing his work. “Directions aren’t complicated when you’re not busy failing.”

His fingers trace the marks he’s left, then slide lower, through the slick mess between your thighs. You bite down hard on your lip to keep from making a sound, from pushing back into his touch.

“Don’t you dare chase,” he says softly.

You lock your hips but Hongjoong rewards you with nothing. Then—finally, cruelly—one slow circle on your clit that makes your calves charlie-horse and your lungs forget.

You wait. You hold perfectly still, thighs shaking, breathing shallow through your nose. You wait for the praise—for him to tell you you’re good, that you’ve finally done it right, that you’ve earned something. The silence stretches. His thumb stays maddeningly light, circling without pressure, and the words don't come.

They’re not coming.

The realisation settles cold in your chest even as heat coils tighter in your belly. He’s not going to give it to you.

“Please,” you whisper, a thread. “Please tell me I did good.”

Hongjoong’s hand stills. The silence stretches, and you feel the weight of his gaze on you.

“Ask properly.”

You swallow hard, forcing the words out even as shame and need tangle in your chest. “Please, Daddy. Please tell me I’m good. I need to hear it. I need to know I did well.”

His thumb resumes—tight, deliberate circles that you meet with perfect stillness because you want the words more than air. “You want praise?” he asks, almost curious. “After the shitshow you put on?”

“I made it to ten,” you rasp. “I stayed still. I didn’t move.”

“You finally did what you were told,” he concedes. Pressure sharpens and every muscle in you locks so you don’t grind into it. “Miracles.”

“Please,” you breathe. “Please, Daddy—”

“Shut the fuck up,” Hongjoong says, voice flat. His thumb stops mid-circle and lifts off entirely. “I didn’t ask for begging. I asked for obedience.”

The loss of contact is devastating. You bite back a whimper, holding position even as your thighs shake.

“You think making it to ten earns you anything?” He sounds almost bored now, disgusted. “That’s the bare minimum of not being completely fucking useless.”

Your eyes burn. You keep your face pressed to the sheet, don’t move, don’t speak.

“You want praise for doing what you should’ve done the first time?” His hand comes down once more on your ass. “For finally shutting up and following a simple fucking instruction?”

Silence. You don’t answer because he didn’t ask a question you’re allowed to respond to.

“That’s what I thought.” His fingers trail back between your thighs, maddeningly light, and you hold so still you forget to breathe. “You don’t get praise for meeting expectations. You get my cock when you exceed them.” His voice drops, cruel and clinical. “And you? You’re so far below the bar I’d need a fucking shovel to find where you started. You think ten slaps and some tears make you special? You’re not even average. You’re just finally less of a disappointment than you were five minutes ago.”

His fist knots in your hair again and yanks you upright—sharp, brutal—until your spine arcs and your knees scream against the mattress. Your scalp burns; your throat opens on a gasp you can’t swallow back.

“Look at me.” His voice is low, final. You force your eyes open, vision blurred, and meet his gaze. It’s flat. Clinical. Like he’s deciding whether you’re worth the effort.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He tightens his grip until tears spring hot and immediate. “Attention. Validation. My fucking time.”

You can’t nod—his hold won’t let you—so you whisper it, wrecked. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Then stop fucking wasting it.” He drags you closer by the hair, your body folding backward, chest exposed, throat vulnerable. “Stop begging for praise you haven’t earned. Stop moving when I tell you to be still. Stop acting like you don’t know exactly what I expect from you.”

He releases your hair and you collapse forward, gasping. Before you can catch your breath, his hands are on your hips, hauling you upright and off the bed entirely. Your legs don’t work right—numb and shaking—but Hongjoong doesn't care, dragging you across the room until your palms hit cold glass.

“Hands flat,” he orders, positioning you facing the window. The city glitters below, oblivious. “Don’t you fucking move them.”

You press your palms to the glass, the chill biting into your overheated skin. The window is floor-to-ceiling, and you’re on the twentieth floor—exposed, visible if anyone bothered to look up. The thought makes your stomach drop.

“Daddy—“ you start, voice thin with panic.

“I don’t remember asking you to speak.” His hand lands between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest forward until your breasts press flat against the glass. The cold shocks through you, nipples hardening instantly, and you gasp at the contrast. “You wanted my attention? Congratulations. Now everyone down there gets a front-row seat to what happens when you finally shut the fuck up and do what you’re told.”

His breath is hot against your ear as he leans in closer, caging you against the window. “Look at them. All those people going about their boring little lives, and if even one of them glanced up right now, they’d see you—spread out, dripping, desperate. They’d see exactly what kind of slut you are. The kind who begs for cock pressed against a window twenty floors up.”

He grinds his hips forward slightly, not entering yet, just letting you feel the threat of it. “Think about it. Some guy walking his dog. Some woman coming home from work. And there you are—tits against the glass, ass out, waiting to be fucked like you’re on display. Like you’re a show I’m putting on for the whole goddamn city.”

He kicks your feet apart, wider than stable, until you’re on display—open, vulnerable. His hand trails down your spine, over the burning marks on your ass, then lower.

“Stay exactly like this,” he says, voice deadly calm. “Hands on the glass. Don’t move. Don’t make a sound."

You feel him line up behind you, the blunt pressure of his cock against your entrance. Your breath fogs the window. Every instinct screams to push back, to take what you need, but you lock your muscles and hold.

“Everyone can see you,” he says, breath hot against your ear as he leans over you, caging you between his body and the glass. “See how desperate you are.”

The angle is punishing. He bottoms out so deep you feel it in your throat then he pulls to the edge and shoves back in in one rude stroke. Your gasp splashes white on the glass. Hongjoong watches it bloom and fade and times the next thrust to erase it. He does not tease. He does not test. He just takes—hips snapping in a pace with no mercy—each impact a proof that your body belongs exactly where he’s putting it. When your thighs start to shake he only tightens his hand at your hip, grinding you into the glass so the cold bites your nipples and the heat bites everywhere else

Your reflection stares back at you—fucked out, wrecked, mouth open on silent gasps you’re not allowed to voice.

“This is what you needed,” he continues, rhythm brutal and unrelenting. “Not praise. Not softness. Just someone to put you exactly where you belong and fuck the desperation out of you until you remember how to behave.”

Your legs are shaking so hard you can barely stand, but his grip on your hips is iron, holding you in place, keeping you upright and on display as he uses you against the window.

You’re e so full. The stretch is devastating—not painful, but so complete it rewires every nerve ending, makes you hyperaware of every inch of him inside you. Your body clenches reflexively, trying to adjust, and the friction makes your breath stutter. He’s so deep you feel it in your stomach, a pressure that borders on too much but somehow isn’t enough.

The heat of him is overwhelming. You can feel every throb, every shift of his hips, the way he fills every space until there’s nothing left but him. Your walls flutter around his length, trying to accommodate, trying to hold on, and the sensation makes your head spin.

You feel owned. Claimed. Like your body was made specifically for this—for him to fill and use and shape however he wants. The thought makes you clench again, and you hear his breath catch behind you.

Hongjoong’s hand clamps your hip and drags you back onto him while his mouth finds the slope where neck becomes shoulder. He bites—hard, deliberate—until your breath splinters on the glass, then sucks wickedly slow to pull the bruise up dark and pretty. “Mine,” he says into the mark, not for you, for the mirror of your face in the window.

Rings grind into your skin as his fingers hike your waist higher, leaving crescent dents along your side. He shifts his grip to your ass and you almost hiss—the flesh is still burning from before, hypersensitive—but he doesn’t care, squeezing until your skin crests his knuckles. Then he smacks the same handprint in place—once, twice, a third time—each impact landing on already-raw skin that makes you gasp sharp and broken into the glass.

His mouth trails lower, teeth scraping the curve where your shoulder meets your throat. He sucks hard enough to sting, working the skin until you feel the heat bloom under his lips. When he pulls back, you know there's a mark—dark and obvious, a claim you'll see tomorrow and every day after until it fades.

“Everyone’s going to know,” he murmurs against your skin, moving to a new spot. His teeth catch again, sharper this time, and you whimper before you can stop yourself. He doesn’t scold you for it. Instead, he hums, pleased, and works his way across your throat, your collarbone, the top of your shoulder—each love bite deliberate, territorial. His tongue soothes over the marks before his teeth return, and the contrast makes you dizzy. Your reflection in the glass shows the trail he’s leaving. A constellation of bruises that spell out exactly who you belong to.

“Prettier when you bruise,” he murmurs, and you feel him smile against your throat. He shoves your wrists wider on the glass, laces his fingers over yours so you can’t hide the way you shake, and fucks you harder—short, piston drives that press your chest flat and stamp the rhythm into your spine. Your breath paints messy halos on the pane. Hongjoong leans forward and bites your ear, low laugh ugly against your skin.

His mouth moves to the curve of your neck, lips dragging slow over the sensitive skin just below your ear. The gentleness is unexpected—devastating. Your body doesn’t know what to do with tender after brutal, and the contrast hits like a live wire. He kisses once, soft, then again lower, and your breath catches wrong in your chest.

“Daddy—“ you try to warn him, but it comes out broken.

“Quiet,” he murmurs against your throat, and kisses you again. His lips are warm, almost reverent as they trail down to your shoulder, and the rhythm of his hips never falters—still deep, still unrelenting, but now paired with this impossible softness that’s unraveling you faster than anything brutal ever could.

It builds wrong. Too fast. You weren’t ready for it—one second you’re holding on, the next you’re free-falling, your orgasm slamming into you without warning. Your whole body locks up, spine arcing away from the glass as the pleasure rips through you in violent, uncontrollable waves. He feels the clamp coming—a greedy, panicked grab—and rips out in one brutal drag.

The world snaps wrong. Heat turns to air, slick to cold, friction to nothing. Your cry out raw and too loud, fog exploding across the glass in a white star. Your thighs slam together on instinct and find only his palm, flat and merciless, forcing your knees wide again. Everything skids, your body still pitched for impact while the impact is gone, nerves misfiring, the ache in your belly pitching higher with nowhere to go. Your clit throbs, your calves seize, your nipples spark on the pane.

“Did I say you could cum, you filthy slut?” His voice is ice and venom.

”Please-” Your voice cracks into a ragged wail you can’t swallow. The sound embarrasses you even as it keeps coming-thin, high, animal-your chest scraping the glass as you shudder.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” Hongjoong’s hand clamps your jaw brutal and drags your open mouth to the window so you hear yourself against the pane-hot breath, pathetic little whimpers bouncing back. “Disgusting. Look at this mess.” Two fingers slide through the slick pouring out of you and slap your clit mean, the sting bright and metallic and your whole body jerks like a current ran through you. “Dripping like a bitch in heat. You’re fucking pathetic.”

He does it again-lighter, crueler-just enough to sharpen the ache and keep it blooming. “Greedy cunt couldn't wait, could she?” The cold on your front feels like punishment, the heat at your back feels like a dare. You can taste blood where you bit your tongue, you can feel his ring scrape your hip as he drags your pelvis higher and pins you there, open and empty and shaking. “Worthless little whore. Can’t follow one simple fucking rule.”

“Could’ve asked. Could’ve been good. But no-you had to be a desperate fucking cumslut,” he snarls at your reflection, voice dripping contempt. He paints your hipbone with your own slick like a stripe, degrading, then presses his thumb into the fresh bruise on your shoulder hard enough to make you gasp. “Now hold it and suffer.”

Your body argues in every language it has—fluttering, pleading squeezes at nothing, a pulse between your legs that hurts, a tremor you can’t stop—while he gives you exactly no motion where you need it and too much where you can’t take it. He bites the hinge of your jaw, sucks until colour swells up pretty and dark, and when your breath stutters toward that helpless climb again, he taps your clit once—just once—and the wave collapses with a sob that fogs the glass and runs. “Filthy fucking thing. This is what disobedient sluts get.”

Your body is betraying you—hips rolling in tiny, desperate circles even though he’s not inside you anymore, chasing friction that isn’t there. The orgasm he denied you earlier left everything raw and oversensitive, and now every nerve ending is screaming for release. Your clit throbs in time with your pulse, swollen and aching, and the emptiness inside you feels like a physical wound.

You can feel it building again—that terrible, inevitable climb. Your thighs are shaking so hard they might give out. Heat pools low in your belly, coiling tighter with each ragged breath. It’s different this time—sharper, more desperate, edged with something that feels dangerously close to panic because you know what happens if you fall over without permission.

“Daddy—please—” Your voice cracks on the plea. “I need—I can’t—”

The pressure builds and builds, your body pulled taut as a wire, every muscle locked in anticipation of a release you’re not allowed to have. You’re so close it hurts—that edge right there, shimmering just out of reach, and your body keeps reaching for it anyway, mindless and greedy and completely beyond your control.

His fingers barely touch your clit, just the ghost of pressure—and begin to circle with agonising slowness. Not enough to give relief, just enough to make everything worse. Each lazy pass sends sparks shooting through your nerves, stoking the fire instead of quenching it.

“You gonna try cumming again without permission?” His laugh is cruel against your ear, all sharp edges. His hand spreads over your throat, thumb under your jaw to keep your face to the window, forcing you to watch yourself fall apart. “Be still. Feel every second of what you don’t deserve. Feel it, you needy little whore.”

Your body doesn’t listen—can’t listen. The orgasm crashes through you anyway, ripping a broken cry from your throat as you clench and pulse around nothing. Your legs give out completely, only his grip on your throat keeping you upright against the glass as pleasure tears through you in waves you can’t control.

“Did I fucking say you could?” Hongjoong’s voice is ice.

Your vision blurs with tears—shame and oversensitivity and the cruel ache of cumming empty. “I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I couldn’t—”

“Pathetic.” He releases your throat and you crumple, legs buckling, but he catches you by the hips before you hit the floor.

Hongjoong peels you off the window by the back of your neck and walks you to the bed like he owns the hinge of every joint. The mattress hits the backs of your knees, he doesn’t guide you down so much as throw you, a bounce knocking a breathless sound out of you.

His hand cracks across your face—not hard enough to hurt, but sharp enough to snap your attention back to him. The sting blooms hot across your cheek, shocking you into stillness.

“Eyes on me,” he commands, voice low and dangerous. “Don’t you dare look away.”

He slaps you again—same cheek, harder this time—and the sound that rips from your throat is pure, shameless need. A moan, broken and desperate, that makes his eyes go dark.

“Fuck,” he breathes, almost reverent. His thumb traces the reddened skin, the heat of it blooming under his touch. “You like that, don’t you?”

Before you can answer, he slaps you again—lighter this time, almost playful—and watches your pupils blow wide. “Yeah,” he confirms, reading your body like a book he’s memorised. “You fucking love it.”

He’s on you a second later—knee between yours, shoving them wide—hands mean on your hips as he lines up and drives in with one brutal stroke that punches the air out of you.

“Quiet,” he snaps, palm clamping over your mouth. “Swallow it.”

Your moan dies behind his hand, trapped in your throat where it burns. No easing, no rhythm—just slam, slam, slam—his pelvis clapping your thighs, the headboard starting to complain in hard little knocks that match your pulse. The angle is obscene with your hips tipped; each drag feels like he’s stripping you to the studs and hammering you back together wrong. Every sound you want to make gets caught behind his palm, building pressure in your chest until you’re choking on your own desperation.

“Look at me,” he grits. You do—eyes glassy—and it only makes him rougher. Heat builds thick and fast in your belly again, that off‑the‑cliff drop, the ache and burn at your clit. The sounds are wet and humiliating and loud, but your moans stay trapped—swallowed down like he ordered, leaving only the whimpers that leak through your nose and the desperate way you’re breathing against his palm.

Hongjoong’s close—you can feel it in the way his breathing saws, in the vicious set of his mouth, in the way his rhythm goes intent and ugly, grinding at the end of each thrust like he’s carving his name into the spot that makes you see static. His hand stays firm over your mouth, forcing you to take it in silence, to keep every wrecked sound locked inside where only you can feel how thoroughly he’s breaking you apart. You catch the first stutter in his hips and reach for him without thinking, greedy, pleading.

“Don’t.” The word is a snarl. He stuffs you full and holds there, cock thick and pulsing inside you, then drags out slow enough to scrape sparks and snaps back in hard enough to jolt your spine. “You don’t deserve Daddy’s cum.”

The sentence lands like a slap. Heat spikes behind your eyes; your body clenches around him in panicked apology.

“Please—” you manage against his palm, the word muffled and desperate.

“You need to learn.” Another slam—deep, punishing—and the next rolls through you like thunder, heavy grind at the end that drags a high, torn sound from your throat.

Your hands scramble for purchase on his shoulders, nails digging in, but he catches both wrists in one hand and pins them above your head. His other hand finally leaves your mouth.

“Please,” you sob, shameless now. “Please fill me—please let me have it—I’ll hold it—I’ll be good—”

He laughs—short, cruel—breath burning your cheek. “Will you?” His hand slides to your throat, thumb under your jaw to tilt your face up so he can watch you fall apart. “Say it properly.”

“Please, Daddy,” you gasp, voice breaking on the word. “Please cum inside me. I need it. I need you. I’ll keep it. I’ll—” Your voice knifes up because he grinds just right and the lights stipple again. “Please—I’ll be useful—please—”

His control frays; you feel it in the nasty little shiver that runs through him, in the way he clamps your hip like it’s the only thing stopping him from painting you from the inside. He bares his teeth, eyes sharp and dark. “Beg better.”

“Please—use me properly—mark me from the inside—please, Daddy—”

“Mhm.” The sound is a threat and a promise. He slams you deeper, deeper, harder—headboard knocking time, breath brutal at your ear—then rips out at the last second and fists himself once, twice, the wet slick of you shining his length while you wail.

“No—no, please—" The words tumble out desperate and broken. You reach for him with shaking hands, shameless now, all pride dissolved. “Please fill me up—mark me—use me—” You’re babbling, hips canting up obscenely, trying to tempt him back.

His eyes darken as he watches you fall apart, a cruel smirk playing at his lips. “Look at you,” he breathes, voice dripping with condescension. “Begging like a bitch in heat.” His fist keeps working himself, slow and deliberate, making you watch every stroke.

Your thighs spread wider without him asking, presenting yourself like an offering. “Please cum in me—I'm begging—I'll do anything—” Tears stream down your face, your voice cracking. “Need to feel you—need Daddy’s cum so bad—please don’t waste it—please use my hole.”

“Shut the fuck up.” His voice is dead calm, which makes it worse. “You think you deserve Daddy’s cum?" He laughs—short, cruel. “No. You’re going to lie there empty and watch me waste it. Watch what you don’t get to have.” His eyes are vicious, mouth twisted. “Pathetic little cumslut can’t even follow simple fucking rules. Open your eyes wider. I want you to see every drop you’re not getting.”

“Please, Daddy,” you sob, voice breaking on every word. “Please use your cumslut—please fuck me —I’ll be so good—I’ll take everything—please.”

You look at him—eyes glassed, mouth open, body clenching on nothing—while he edges himself cruelly, letting every half-breath of relief flash and die on his face. He squeezes himself hard, strangling the tremor, and lets the edge bleed away while you sob beneath him, trembling empty and open.

His hand fists in your hair, “What are you?"

“A slut,” you whimper, shame burning through you.

“A what?” He pulls harder, making you gasp.

“A pathetic slut—Daddy’s pathetic slut—”

“That’s right.” He releases your hair with a shove, letting your head fall back against the mattress. “And you love it,” he continues, voice dark with satisfaction. “Love being Daddy’s desperate fucktoy. Love being used and degraded and filled up like the greedy whore you are.”

“Yes,” you sob, because it’s true, because you can’t deny it when your body is still trembling with need.

“Tell me what you are.”

“I’m Daddy’s greedy whore,” you gasp out, shame and arousal twisting together. “I’m a desperate cumslut—I’m pathetic—I need you—”

“Fucking right you do.”

Then he flips you onto your stomach before you can process it, one hand shoving between your shoulder blades to pin you flat. The sheets are hot against your cheek, your breath trapped in the mattress.

“Stay down," Hongjoong orders, voice low and mean behind you. You feel him shift, feel the mattress dip as he repositions, and then his hands are on your hips, dragging them up, arching your back until you’re presented exactly how he wants you. You’re face-down, ass up, completely exposed with no way to see what he’s doing, no way to brace for what comes next. Your fingers twist in the sheets.

“Daddy—” you start, voice muffled.

“No,” he cuts you off. “You don’t get to look at me. You don’t get to see if I’m close. You just take what I give you and be grateful.”

He lines up and shoves in without warning, the angle deeper like this, meaner. Your cry gets swallowed by the pillow as he sets a brutal pace, hips slamming against your ass with each thrust. The sound is obscene—skin on skin, the wet slide of him inside you—and you can’t see any of it, can only feel and hear and drown in it.

“You’re lucky Daddy loves your hole,” he growls, and the words hit like a brand. His hand comes down hard on your ass, the sharp crack echoing in the room. The sting blooms hot and immediate, and you whimper into the pillow.

“Lucky I don’t leave you empty and aching.” He punctuates it with another thrust, deeper, meaner, grinding at the end until you’re sobbing. “This greedy little cunt,” he mutters, almost to himself. “Always so desperate for me. Always begging so pretty.”

“Say it,” he demands. “Say you’re lucky.”

“I’m—I’m lucky,” you gasp out, voice wrecked and muffled. “I’m lucky Daddy loves my—”

“Louder.”

“I’m lucky Daddy loves my hole,” you sob, shame and arousal twisting together until you can’t tell them apart.

“That’s right.” His rhythm turns vicious, each thrust punching the words back into you. “Don’t you forget it.”

“Please, Daddy—please—I'll do anything—I'll be so good—please just fill me—please cum inside me—” You sob again, pushing back against him even though you know better, trying to take him deeper. His breath hitches and you chase it, sensing weakness.

His hand finds your clit immediately, two fingers pressing down with just enough pressure to make you jolt. “This what you needed?” he asks as he starts to rub tight, mean circles that have you gasping.

“Yes—fuck—yes, Daddy—” You can barely get the words out, your whole body arcing up into his touch. His fingers work your clit in ruthless little circles while he fucks into you, the dual sensation making your vision blur at the edges.

“Gonna make you cum on my cock this time,” he growls. “Gonna feel you squeeze me while you fall apart.” His fingers speed up, the pressure perfect and devastating, and you’re already so close you can taste it.

“Please—Daddy—I can't—” Your voice breaks, thighs shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up. The pressure builds too fast, too much, coiling tight in your belly until it feels like something’s going to snap.

“You can,” he snarls, “You will. Show Daddy what a good little slut you are.”

The angle shifts just enough and suddenly you’re there again—past the point of holding back, past the point of control. Your orgasm slams through you with brutal force, and this time it’s different. Wetter. Your whole body locks up as you gush around him, soaking his cock, the sheets, making a mess you can’t stop even if you wanted to. The sound that rips from your throat is inhuman.

“Fuck—” Hongjoong chokes out, and his rhythm shatters. “Fuck—that’s it—” He feels you clenching and pulsing around him, feels the hot rush of your release, and it destroys him. Three more brutal thrusts and he’s gone, slamming deep and grinding as he finally, finally fills you. You feel every pulse, every throb as he empties himself inside you, his groan low and wrecked against your spine.

His hips stutter through the aftershocks, grinding shallow like he can’t bear to pull out yet. Your body is still twitching, still clenching around him in weak little aftershocks while his cum starts to leak out around where you’re joined. He stays buried deep, breathing hard against your shoulder blade.

“Good girl,” he finally murmurs, voice hoarse. “Such a good fucking girl for me.”

He doesn't pull out. Instead, his hips roll forward again, fucking his cum deeper into you, the obscene wet sound making you whimper. “One more,” he growls against your ear, his voice rough and commanding. “Give me one more.”

“Daddy—I can’t—” Your voice breaks, oversensitive and wrecked, every nerve ending screaming. It hurts—the drag of him inside you feels like fire, too much sensation on already brutalised nerves. You try to squirm away but his grip on your hips is iron.

“You can.” His hand slides back to your clit, fingers still slick, and starts those same ruthless circles. The first touch makes you sob—it’s too much, bordering on painful, your body trying to reject the stimulation. “You’re going to cum on my cock again with my cum inside you. Going to make a bigger mess.”

The sensation is overwhelming—too much, too sensitive—and it hurts. Each thrust feels like he’s grinding against raw nerves, the wet slide obscene and filthy but painful in its intensity. You can feel his cum leaking out around him, coating your thighs, but all you can focus on is how much your body is screaming at you to stop.

“Daddy—please—it hurts—” you sob, tears streaming down your face.

Hongjoong stills immediately. Completely. His fingers freeze on your clit, his hips lock in place, and the sudden absence of movement is almost jarring after the relentless intensity.

“Colour,” he demands, voice cutting through the haze with sharp clarity. “Give me your colour right now.”

You’re gasping, trying to process the question through the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body.

“Green,” you manage to choke out between sobs.

“Don't lie to me.”

“Green,” you repeat, more firmly this time despite how wrecked your voice sounds. “Promise—it's green—just hurts—overwhelming— don’t stop”

“I know,” he murmur gently, his hips moving again. “I know it hurts, baby. Just breathe through it.”

You try to obey, gasping for air, and somewhere in the burning oversensitivity, something shifts. The pain doesn’t disappear, but it starts to blur at the edges, transmuting into something else. Your body adjusts to the intensity, and suddenly the hurt starts to feel good—sharp and bright and desperate.

“Feel that?” he asks, grinding deep. “Feel how full you are? That’s all Daddy’s cum, and you’re going to squeeze it out when you cum again.”

“Please—” The word comes out broken because you don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore. His fingers work your clit with practiced cruelty, and the oversensitivity that was making you sob is suddenly driving you higher. You can feel it building again—impossibly, devastatingly—your wrecked body finding another peak despite everything.

“That’s it,” he encourages, voice dark with satisfaction. “Knew you could take it. Feel you getting close again. Such a greedy little thing. Can’t get enough of daddy’s cock, can you?”

“No—no, I can't—” you gasp, pushing back against him mindlessly. The pressure builds impossibly fast, sharp and brutal and bright now instead of painful. Every nerve that was screaming in protest is now singing, driving you toward the edge with vicious intent.

“Come on,” Hongjoong growls, his fingers pressing harder, circling faster. “Give it to me. Show Daddy what a mess you can make.” His cock grinds deep, hitting that devastating angle. “Cum on Daddy’s cock right fucking now.”

Your body obeys before your mind catches up, the orgasm ripping through you with devastating force. You clench around him so hard it hurts, your walls spasming and tightening in a vice grip. The sound you make is broken and desperate, somewhere between a scream and a sob.

“Fuck—” Hongjoong chokes out, his rhythm faltering. “Fuck—you’re so tight—” His voice breaks on the last word because you’re squeezing him so hard he can barely move, your body milking him with each brutal pulse. “Gonna make me—fuck—”

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence. Your cunt clamps down on him one more time and it destroys him completely. He slams deep with a guttural groan, grinding against you as he cums again, harder this time, filling you even fuller. You feel every throb, every pulse as he empties himself inside you for the second time, his whole body shuddering against your back.

“That's my good girl,” he gasps out, voice wrecked. “Making such a pretty mess for Daddy. So fucking tight—milked it right out of me.”

You gush again—harder this time, wetter—your body wringing itself out around him in pulsing waves while his cum floods you. The release is so intense it borders on violent, liquid heat flooding between your legs, soaking everything. You feel it run down your thighs, hear it drip onto the already-ruined sheets, and the humiliation of it only makes you clench harder, forcing more of his release to leak out around where you’re joined.

“There it is,” Hongjoong breathes, reverent and filthy at once. “So fucking messy for me.” His hips keep grinding shallow, working you both through it, forcing every last drop out while you shake and sob beneath him. “Such a good little squirter. Making Daddy so proud.”

Your whole body goes limp, muscles giving out completely. You collapse face-first into the mattress, boneless and used, trembling with aftershocks. Hongjoong finally stills, cock still buried deep, and lets his weight settle against your back. His breathing is ragged against your neck.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your sweat-slick shoulder. “You did so fucking perfect, baby. Squeezed me so tight I couldn’t help it.”

You can’t move, can’t think, can barely breathe. The sheets beneath you are soaked—cum and your own release mixing in a cooling puddle. Hongjoong shifts slightly, cock still buried deep, and you whimper at the oversensitivity. You can feel how full you are, how much he’s filled you, and it leaks out in thick rivulets with even the smallest movement.

When he finally pulls out, the loss is immediate and devastating. You whine—high and broken—feeling unbearably empty after being so full. His cum starts to leak out in earnest now, thick and warm, dripping down your thighs in slow rivulets. The sensation makes you shudder.

“Shh,” Hongjoong soothes, his hand stroking down your spine. He shifts his weight, hands sliding under your shoulders as he carefully rolls you onto your back. Your body settles against the mattress, and you feel more of his cum leak out with the position change, thick and warm between your legs.

“There we go,” he murmurs, settling between your spread thighs. “Look how much Daddy filled you up. So much it can’t even stay inside.”

You whimper, hips twitching uselessly, body still trying to clench around nothing. The emptiness feels wrong after everything, like you’ve been carved hollow. More of his release spills out with each aftershock, and you can feel it cooling on your skin.

“So pretty like this,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “All fucked out and dripping. Made such a mess of you.” His thumb drags through the slickness, spreading it further, and you keen at the oversensitivity. “My perfect mess.”

You can’t form words, can only lie there trembling while he touches you with a gentleness that feels almost cruel after everything.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and the praise makes something warm bloom in your chest despite your exhaustion. Your body is wrecked, oversensitive, every nerve ending raw and singing. But when his fingers brush over your entrance again, gathering more of the mess he’s made, you find yourself pushing back into the touch despite the sensitivity.

“Oh?” Hongjoong’s voice lifts with surprise, his fingers stilling. His eyes darken as he watches you move against his hand—mindless, instinctive—seeking more despite everything. Despite being so thoroughly fucked out that coherent thought is impossible. “Still greedy for it, baby? Even with that pretty head all empty?”

You can't answer with words—don't even fully understand the question—but your body knows. Your hips roll weakly against his palm, chasing the touch with clumsy desperation. A soft whine spills from your lips, needy and thoughtless. Parts of you crave the continued touch. The emptiness feels worse than the sting.

“Greedy thing,” he murmurs, but there’s wonder in it now, not just teasing. His fingers slide through the mess again, more deliberately this time, and you whimper. “Even after I fucked you senseless. Even after you came so hard you soaked the sheets twice. You still want Daddy’s touch.”

“Puh—please,” you manage, the word barely forming through drool-slicked lips, voice completely destroyed and slurred beyond recognition.

Hongjoong’s expression shifts—something possessive and tender at once. “Okay, baby,” he soothes. “Daddy’s got you. Always got you.” His fingers circle your entrance gently now, gathering the cum that’s still leaking out and pushing it back inside with careful pressure. The sensation makes you gasp, oversensitive but good, filling that devastating emptiness just slightly.

“There,” he whispers. “Is that what you needed? To stay full?”

You nod frantically, pushing against his hand, and he obliges—two fingers sliding in deeper, keeping his release inside you. The stretch is almost too much on your abused walls, but it’s what you want. What you need.

“Such a good girl,” he praises softly. “Taking everything Daddy gives you and still asking for more.”

His fingers work slow and steady inside you, and something in your brain just... shuts off. The constant buzz of thoughts, the ability to form coherent words—it all dissolves into nothing but sensation. Your mouth falls open, soft moans spilling out with each gentle thrust of his fingers.

“There she goes,” Hongjoong murmurs, watching your expression go slack with satisfaction. “There’s my girl. Nothing left in that pretty head but how good Daddy makes you feel, huh?”

You can’t even nod properly, just a loose movement of your head, eyes unfocused and glassy. Another moan slips out, breathy and mindless. His fingers curl slightly and your hips twitch, but there’s no urgency to it—just your body responding on pure instinct while your mind floats somewhere far away.

“Look at you,” he says softly, almost reverent. “Fucked you so good you can’t even think anymore. Just my empty-headed baby now, aren’t you?”

“Mm,” is all you can manage, the sound quiet and blissed-out. Your eyes flutter, struggling to focus on his face. Everything feels distant and warm, your body heavy and pliant beneath his touch.

“That’s right,” Hongjoong coos, his free hand stroking your cheek. “Don’t need to think. Just need to feel. Just need to let Daddy take care of you.” His fingers maintain that slow, gentle rhythm, keeping you full, keeping you floating. “Such pretty sounds you’re making. Can’t even form words anymore, can you?”

You shake your head—barely—another soft moan falling from your parted lips. The oversensitivity has melted into something dreamlike, each movement of his fingers sending lazy waves of pleasure through your wrung-out body. There’s no edge to chase anymore, no building tension—just the mindless contentment of being touched, being full, being his.

“Perfect,” he whispers. “Absolutely perfect like this.”

His hand slides up from your hip, palm warm against your ribs as it travels higher. When he cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple, you keen—high and broken. The sensitivity is different here, less raw but somehow more direct, each touch shooting straight through you.

“So responsive,” Hongjoong murmurs, watching your face as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. Your back arches weakly, pushing into the touch despite your exhaustion. “Even here. Every part of you is so fucking sensitive for me.”

His fingers inside you curl slightly in time with the pinch of his other hand on your nipple, and the dual sensation makes your eyes roll back. Another mindless moan falls from your lips, your body responding without thought, without control.

“That’s it,” he coos, switching to your other breast, palm kneading gently before his fingers find that peaked bud. “Just feel it, baby. Don’t think. Just let Daddy play with you.” He tugs slightly and you whimper, hips twitching against the fingers still buried inside you. “So pretty when you make those sounds.”

His touch alternates between gentle and firm—thumbs circling your nipples, palms pressing against the soft weight of your breasts, fingers occasionally pinching just hard enough to make you gasp. Each touch keeps you floating in that mindless space, pleasure washing over you in slow, lazy waves.

“Could play with these all day,” he murmurs, dipping his head to press a kiss to the curve of your breast. “Watch you fall apart from just this.” His tongue flicks out, circling your nipple before his lips close around it, and you gasp—the wet heat of his mouth making everything sharper, more intense.

Hongjoong sucks gently, tongue working the sensitive bud while his fingers continue their slow rhythm inside you. Your hands find his hair, holding on weakly, not pulling—just needing something to anchor you. When he grazes his teeth across your nipple, your whole body jolts, a strangled sound escaping you.

“Good girl,” he whispers against your skin. “Taking everything so well. My perfect, empty-headed doll.”

Your thighs shake harder now, trembling under his attention, muscles twitching with aftershocks that won’t stop. Each suck of his mouth, each curl of his fingers inside you makes them quiver more violently, until you can’t keep them still even if you tried.

“Joong,” you whimper, his name barely coherent, your voice destroyed and small. His mouth releases your nipple with a wet pop, switching to the other side, and the attention makes your back arch off the mattress weakly. “Can’t—too much—”

“Shh, I know, baby,” he soothes, releasing your breast to press kisses along your sternum. His fingers slow inside you, gentling their rhythm as your thighs continue to tremble uncontrollably. “But you’re doing so well for me. Just a little more, okay? Let me take care of you.”

You nod weakly, unable to do anything but submit, your body no longer your own—just something for him to play with, to care for, to keep floating in this mindless space. Your thighs won’t stop shaking, trembling against his sides as he settles between them again, and you can feel more of his cum leaking out despite his fingers still working to keep it inside.

“One more, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “Give Daddy one more and then I’ll let you rest.”

You manage to look at him through heavy-lidded eyes, vision blurred and unfocused. It takes effort to keep them open, each blink longer than the last. His face swims above you, features soft and concerned, and you can barely make out the dark intensity of his gaze.

“There you are,” he murmurs, his free hand cupping your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “Stay with me, baby. Just a little more. Can you do that for Daddy?”

You try to nod, but your head feels impossibly heavy, movements sluggish and uncoordinated. Another weak sound escapes you as his fingers curl inside you, and your eyes threaten to slip closed.

“Eyes on me,” Hongjoong coaxes gently, tapping your cheek to keep you present. “Want to see you when you fall apart one more time. Need to watch my baby come undone.”

It takes everything you have to keep your gaze on him, eyelids fluttering with the effort. His fingers work inside you with deliberate care, coaxing your body toward that edge one more time despite your exhaustion.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises softly. “Keep those pretty eyes on me.” His thumb finds your clit, circling with barely-there pressure, and your mouth falls open on a silent cry. “Almost there, baby.”

His hand moves from your face to slide two fingers past your parted lips. The touch is unexpected, gentle but insistent as they press against your tongue. Your eyes widen slightly, trying to focus on him through the haze.

“Suck,” Hongjoong commands softly, his voice dropping lower. “Show Daddy how good that mouth can be.”

You obey automatically, lips closing around his fingers, tongue working weakly against them. The taste is clean, just skin and the faint salt of sweat, and something about the act—the fullness in your mouth matching the fullness between your legs—makes you whimper around his fingers.

“Pretty,” he murmurs, watching your lips wrap around his digits with dark satisfaction. “Such a perfect mouth. Takes everything I give you so well.” His fingers inside you curl harder and you moan around the ones in your mouth, the sound muffled and desperate.

He pushes them deeper, making you gag slightly, and your eyes water as you struggle to accommodate them. “Shh, relax,” he soothes, easing back just enough. “Just like taking my cock. You can do it.” The comparison makes you clench around his other hand, and he groans. “Feel that? Your body knows what it wants.”

His thumb on your clit presses firmer now, circling with intent, and you keen around his fingers. Drool starts to leak from the corners of your mouth as you struggle to keep sucking, your jaw slack and uncoordinated. Everything is too much—the stretch in your mouth, the fullness between your legs, the relentless pressure on your clit.

“So messy,” Hongjoong says with satisfaction, watching the spit drip down your chin. “Can’t even keep it together anymore, can you? Just my brainless little toy.” He pulls his fingers from your mouth with a wet sound, dragging the saliva down your neck, your chest, leaving a glistening trail. “Open.”

You obey without thought, mouth falling open, tongue out. He leans down and spits directly onto your tongue, the act filthy and possessive, and you moan at the degradation of it. “Swallow,” he commands, and you do, throat working visibly.

“Good fucking girl,” he praises darkly. His fingers push back into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue, keeping your mouth open and exposed.

Your hand moves without thought, fingers wrapping weakly around his wrist. You pull it down, guiding it to your throat, settling his palm against the vulnerable column of your neck. The request is silent but unmistakable.

Hongjoong’s eyes darken immediately, understanding flickering across his face. “Yeah?” he asks, voice dropping lower. “Want Daddy’s hand around your throat while he makes you come?”

You nod as much as you can with his hand there, a desperate whimper escaping you. His fingers curl around your neck—not squeezing yet, just holding, the weight of his palm a promise.

“Please,” you manage, the word barely a whisper, and that’s all he needs.

His hand tightens around your throat, pressure building slowly, controlled. Not enough to cut off your air completely—just enough to make each breath something you have to work for, something you have to earn. The restriction sends your body into overdrive, every nerve ending lighting up as his fingers inside you curl relentlessly and his thumb grinds against your clit.

“That’s it,” Hongjoong growls, watching your face flush darker as the oxygen thins. “Give it to me. Come for Daddy one more time.” His grip shifts slightly, thumb pressing against your pulse point, and he can feel your heartbeat racing beneath his palm. “Feel how hard your heart’s pounding for me? Your body knows who it belongs to.”

Your vision starts to blur at the edges, stars dancing across your sight as the pleasure builds impossibly higher. His fingers don’t let up, working you with practiced precision, and you’re teetering right on that edge—desperate for release but unable to tip over without his permission.

“So fucking beautiful like this,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe and desire. “Completely at my mercy. Taking everything I give you so perfectly.” His hand loosens slightly, letting oxygen rush back in, and the sudden clarity makes everything sharper. “You'’re doing so well, baby. So good for Daddy. Just let go—I’ve got you.”

The praise combined with the pressure returning to your throat is what breaks you. The orgasm hits different this time—slower, deeper, rolling through you like a wave pulling you under. Your mouth opens on a silent scream, no sound escaping with his hand locked around your throat, and the deprivation makes everything more intense.

“Perfect,” Hongjoong breathes, watching you fall apart beneath him. “That’s my perfect girl. Look at you—so beautiful when you come for me. Did so fucking well, baby.” His hand stays firm on your throat through every wave, controlling even this, drawing it out until you’re shaking uncontrollably.

When he finally releases your throat, you don’t even gasp for air. Your body just goes limp, every muscle surrendering at once. Your eyes slip closed despite trying to keep them on him, and the last thing you register is his voice—distant, concerned—calling your name.

“Baby? Hey—” Hongjoong’s hand immediately cups your face, patting your cheek gently. Your head lolls to the side, body completely unresponsive. You’re still breathing—he can see your chest rising and falling—but you’re utterly gone, consciousness slipping away into the exhaustion he’s wrung from you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, but there’s no panic in it. Just concern mixed with something like awe. He carefully withdraws his fingers from inside you, and you don’t even twitch at the loss. More cum leaks out onto the sheets, but you’re too far gone to notice or care.

He shifts immediately into caretaker mode, moving with practiced efficiency. His hand stays on your face, thumb stroking your cheekbone as he checks you over. Your pulse is steady under his fingers when he presses them to your throat—the same throat he was just restricting. Your breathing evens out into something deeper, more peaceful.

“Did so good,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Too good. Gave me everything.” There’s pride in his voice, but also guilt—he pushed you right to your absolute limit and over it.

He stays close, watching the slow rise and fall of your chest, making sure you’re really okay. After a moment, he tries again, voice soft but insistent. “Hey. Baby, come on.” His hand cups your jaw, thumb brushing across your cheek. “Need you to wake up for me.”

You don’t respond, body still limp and unmoving. He sighs, shifting to sit beside you, one hand sliding to your shoulder to shake you gently. “Can’t let you sleep yet. We need to get you cleaned up first.”

Still nothing. Your breathing stays deep and even, completely out of it. Hongjoong’s expression softens, guilt flickering across his features again. He really wore you out this time.

“Okay,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Guess we’re doing this the hard way.” He slides one arm under your shoulders, the other beneath your knees, lifting you carefully against his chest. Your head lolls against his shoulder, body pliant and unresisting.

He carries you toward the bathroom, your weight comfortable in his arms. “You’re going to be so mad at me later if I let you sleep like this,” he says quietly, nudging the bathroom door open with his foot. “All sticky and messy. You’ll complain for days.”

He sets you down carefully on the edge of the tub, one hand staying on your shoulder to keep you upright while he reaches for the faucet. Your head tips forward, chin nearly touching your chest, and he has to catch you before you slump completely.

“Baby,” he tries again, patting your cheek a bit more firmly. “Come on. Just need you awake enough for a bath. I’ll do everything else.” The water starts running, warm steam beginning to fill the small space as he tests the temperature.

Your eyelids flutter—barely, but it’s something. A soft, incoherent sound escapes you, and Hongjoong takes it as a victory.

“There you are,” he encourages, both hands cupping your face now, lifting your head. “Let’s get you in, okay?” He helps you into the tub, supporting your weight as he eases you down into the warm water. The heat envelops you immediately, and you let out a small, contented sigh.

He kneels beside the tub, one hand still steadying you, about to reach for the washcloth when your fingers weakly grasp at his wrist.

“With you,” you mumble, eyes still closed, the words barely coherent but unmistakable.

Hongjoong’s expression softens immediately, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Yeah? Want me to get in with you?” He doesn’t wait for another response—just climbs into the tub behind you, pulling you back against his chest. His arms wrap around you, steadying you in the water, and you let out a small, satisfied hum as you melt into his warmth.

“Stay still,” he murmurs against your skin, voice soft and gentle—so different from how he sounded minutes ago. His lips press to your shoulder, kissing over the marks he left there. Some are already darkening into bruises, others are just faint impressions of his teeth. He maps each one with careful attention, like he’s cataloging the evidence of what he did to you.

You lean back into him, boneless and pliant, letting him support your weight completely. The warm water laps around you both as he reaches for the washcloth, soaping it up with one hand while the other stays wrapped around your waist.

“You’re going to be so sore tomorrow,” he says quietly, dragging the cloth along your arms with gentle strokes. His lips find the curve of your neck, pressing soft kisses to the red marks his hand left on your throat. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“Don’t be,” you mumble, the words thick and drowsy. “Wanted it.”

He makes a soft sound—half laugh, half sigh—and kisses the bruise at the junction of your neck and shoulder, the one from his teeth. “I know you did. Doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you after.” The washcloth moves to your chest, your stomach, washing away the sweat and evidence of everything that happened.

His other hand comes up to tilt your head to the side, giving him better access to your neck. He kisses every mark there too, lips tender against the sensitive skin. “So pretty,” he whispers. “Even covered in bruises. Especially covered in bruises.”

You hum contentedly, eyes still closed, completely surrendered to his care. His hands are so gentle now—washing you clean, touching you like something precious. The contrast makes your chest ache in the best way.

“I love you,” you murmur, barely audible.

Hongjoong's hands still for just a moment before continuing their careful work. “I love you too,” he says against your shoulder, punctuating it with another kiss. “So much. Even when I’m mean to you.”

Especially when he’s mean to you, maybe—but that’s something you both understand without saying.

He brings the cloth to your inner thighs, cleaning away the evidence of your releases, his movements are especially gentle, aware of how sensitive you must be.

“Almost done,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your shoulder. The washcloth moves down your legs, over your calves, taking his time to make sure he’s gotten everything. You feel yourself drifting again, lulled by the warmth of the water and his tender care.

When he’s finished, he sets the washcloth aside and just holds you for a moment, his arms wrapped securely around your waist. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, steady and reassuring.

Something stirs in your chest—gratitude, affection, love.

With effort, you turn your head slightly, just enough to press your lips to his cheek. It’s a soft kiss, lazy and uncoordinated, but full of feeling.

Hongjoong goes still, then lets out a breath that sounds almost like relief. His arms tighten around you, pulling you closer against him. “What was that for?” he asks quietly, though there’s a smile in his voice.

“Thank you.”

His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, turning to press his own kiss to your temple. “Don’t thank me for taking care of you,” he says softly. “That’s my job. Especially after I’ve wrecked you like that.” But his voice is warm, fond, and you can hear how much your simple gesture affected him.

You shift in his arms, turning more fully despite the exhaustion weighing down your limbs. The movement sends water sloshing gently against the sides of the tub, but Hongjoong adjusts easily, his hands sliding to your waist to help stabilise you as you face him.

His eyes meet yours—dark and searching, still carrying traces of the intensity from before but softened now with concern and affection. You lift one hand, fingers trembling slightly as they trace the line of his jaw, then cup his cheek.

“Hey,” he whispers, his own hand coming up to cover yours against his face. “You okay?”

Instead of answering, you lean in and kiss him. It’s slow and deep, nothing like the desperate, hungry kisses from earlier. This one is grateful, reverent—a thank you and an I love you and an I trust you all wrapped into one. Your lips move against his with deliberate tenderness, and you feel him sigh into it, his body relaxing as he kisses you back with equal softness.

His arms wrap around you properly now, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head while the other stays secure at your waist. He angles his head to deepen the kiss just slightly, still gentle but more present, more him. When you finally pull back, it’s only enough to rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing the same air.

You catch the softness in his expression—the way he’s looking at you like you’re something precious—and a small, teasing smile tugs at your lips despite your exhaustion. Your fingers trace lazy patterns on his chest.

“You know,” you murmur, voice still thick with exhaustion but laced with amusement, “for someone who just fucked me unconscious, you’re being awfully soft right now. What happened to the mean Joong from like ten minutes ago?”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrow slightly, though there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “Are you complaining?”

“No,” you say, still trailing your fingers down his chest lazily. “You’re just being so sweet.”

His eyes narrow slightly, though there’s amusement flickering in them. “You want him back? Because I can arrange that.”

“Mm, no,” you hum, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I like this version too. All gentle and worried about me.” Your smile turns a little wicked. “It’s cute.”

“Cute,” he repeats flatly, though you can see the way his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile.

“Very cute,” you confirm, your fingers walking up his chest to tap against his collarbone. “Taking care of me, kissing all the marks you left, being so—” You pause, pretending to search for the word. “—domestic.”

Hongjoong’s hand slides up to catch your wrist, his grip firm but not rough. “You’re lucky you can barely move right now,” he says, voice low, “or I’d remind you exactly how un-cute I can be.”

You laugh—soft and breathless—and let yourself collapse back against his chest. “See? Cute. You’re threatening me while holding me in a bubble bath.”

He groans, but his arms wrap around you again, pulling you close. “You’re impossible,” he mutters against your hair, but there’s no heat in it. Just fondness, and maybe a little exasperation. His hand strokes down your back in slow, soothing motions. “Rest. You’ve earned the right to be a brat for a few minutes.”

“Only a few minutes?” you tease, already feeling yourself starting to drift again.

“We’ll see how long my patience lasts,” he replies, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. But his tone is warm, and you know he’s not actually annoyed. If anything, he sounds relieved that you’re coherent enough to give him a hard time.

You shift again, the water rippling around you as you turn to face him fully. His hair is damp, some strands clinging to his forehead, others pushed back haphazardly. His eyes are dark and deep, watching you with that same careful attention he always has, like you’re the only thing that matters.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmurs, close enough that your breaths mix. His thumb strokes your cheek like he’s checking you’re really here.

“Like what?” you ask while your fingers starts tracing idle circles on his chest.

His gaze narrows, suspicious. “Like you’re about to start something.”

You tilt your head, considering him with exaggerated seriousness. “Maybe I am.”

A quiet, disbelieving laugh slips out of him. “You can barely keep your eyes open.”

“And yet,” you say, letting your fingers trace his jaw again, feather-light, “you’re still watching me like you’re trying to figure out what I’m thinking.”

His hand closes around your wrist—not tight, not controlling. Just there. Grounding. Possessive in a way that doesn’t hurt.

“I don’t have to figure it out,” he says. “I know you.”

“Oh?” You lean in, just enough to brush your mouth against the corner of his—almost a kiss. Almost. You stop a heartbeat short, letting him feel the tease in the pause. “Then tell me.”

His eyes drop to your lips. “Don’t get cocky,” he warns, but the warning sounds thin, like it’s already losing.

You hum, pretending to think about it. “I’m not cocky.”

He gives you a look that says liar.

You meet it without flinching. “I’m just… curious.”

“About what?” he asks, voice low.

You press a soft kiss to his cheek, then his jaw, then the place under his ear where you know it makes him go quiet. You feel his breath hitch, and it makes you brave.

“About how long it takes,” you murmur against his skin, “before you stop being sweet and start being mean again.”

He exhales a laugh—one of those quiet ones that means he’s trying not to show how much you got to him. His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb brushing your pulse. “You’re teasing me,” he says.

You blink slowly, innocent on purpose. “Am I?”

He leans in, close enough that his nose brushes yours. “You should rest.”

You let your smile widen, just a little. “Make me.”

His gaze drops, then returns to your eyes, darker now. “Careful.”

You press a final kiss to his lips—soft, brief, unhurried—then pull back before he can deepen it.

“Or what?” you whisper.

He looks at you for a long second, like he’s deciding how honest to be. Then he tucks you closer, forehead to yours, and his voice goes quieter.

“Or I’m going to stop pretending I’m patient.”

You sigh like you’re satisfied with that answer, and let your eyes fall closed, still smiling.

“Mm,” you hum. “There you are.”

His jaw ticks. You feel it more than see it—the subtle shift in his expression that says you’re walking a line.

“You’re pushing,” he says quietly.

“Am I?” you ask again, tone dripping with false innocence. Your fingers trail down his chest, nails dragging just lightly enough to make him inhale sharp. “I’m just sitting here. Being good.”

“You don’t know how to be good,” he mutters, but there’s heat creeping into his voice now, the kind that makes your pulse kick up.

You tilt your head, letting your smile turn sharper. “That’s not true. I was very good earlier. You said so yourself.”

His hand tightens on your waist—just enough to make you aware of it. “That was different.”

“How?” you challenge, leaning in until your lips brush his ear. “Because you were in charge?”

Hongjoong goes still. Dangerously still. The kind of stillness that means you’ve officially gotten under his skin.

“Baby,” he says, voice dropping into that low register that usually makes you shut up and listen. But right now, it just makes you bolder.

“What?” you ask sweetly, pulling back to look at him with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m just asking questions.”

His thumb presses into your hip—not hard, but deliberate. A warning. “You’re being a brat.”

“Me?” You press a hand to your chest in mock offence. “I would never.”

“Liar,” he says flatly.

You bite your lip to keep from grinning too wide. “Prove it.”

His eyes flash. “You really want to do this right now?”

“Do what?” you ask, all fake confusion as your fingers walk up his chest again, tracing the line of his collarbone. “I’m just sitting here in this nice bath you drew for me, being so grateful—”

“—being a pain in my ass,” he interrupts, but there’s a crack in his composure now. You can see it in the way his gaze drops to your mouth, then back up. In the way his grip on you shifts, like he’s deciding whether to pull you closer or push you away.

You lean in, close enough that your breath ghosts over his lips. “You love it,” you whisper.

He stares at you for a long moment, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, deliberately, he smiles—and it’s not the soft, fond smile. It’s the dangerous one. The one that means you’ve successfully woken up the version of him that doesn’t play nice.

“Okay,” he says simply. His hand slides up to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “You want to be a brat? Go ahead. But don’t complain when I remind you what happens to brats who push too far.”

Your stomach flips—half anticipation, half genuine thrill. You should probably back down now. You’re exhausted, barely recovered, and you know he’s serious.

But instead, you smile back at him, just as sharp. “Promises, promises.”

His eyes narrow. “Last chance.”

You press a quick, teasing kiss to his lips—there and gone. “Make me stop.”

He exhales slowly through his nose, like he’s physically restraining himself. “You’re going to regret this.”

“Maybe,” you say, trailing your fingers down his chest again, slower this time. “But that sounds like a future me problem.”

Hongjoong’s eyes sharpen. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you ask, innocent as a knife. “Use your words.”

His jaw ticks. For a second you can see the exact moment his patience runs out.

Then he moves.

His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, grip firm enough to make your breath catch. “You want me to use my words?” he says, voice dropping low and dangerous. “Fine. Stop teasing me before I forget I was trying to be gentle with you.”

You roll your eyes at him, the gesture slow and deliberate—practically daring him to do something about it.

His grip tightens fractionally. “Did you just—”

“What?” you interrupt, blinking up at him with exaggerated innocence. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You rolled your eyes at me.”

“Did I?” You tilt your head, playing dumb.

Hongjoong’s stare lingers, heavy and unimpressed, like he’s deciding how much patience you’re allowed to borrow before he takes it back with interest.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, almost thoughtful. “You did.”

Before you can respond, he shifts—slow, deliberate—until you’re pressed back against the edge of the tub, his body caging yours.

He kisses you then—deep and consuming, the kind that steals the air from your lungs and replaces it with heat. His hand tightens at the back of your neck, holding you, and you can’t do anything but take it. His mouth moves against yours like he’s proving a point, like he’s reminding you who’s in control here, and it works. God, it works.

When he finally pulls back, your eyes are half-closed, breath coming in short, uneven gasps. You feel dazed, unsteady, like the world tilted and forgot to right itself.

He’s watching you, and there’s that smirk—slow, satisfied, dangerous. “Is this what you wanted?” he asks, voice low and rough.

You nod, still catching your breath, unable to form words yet.

‘Just look at yourself, my angel… See how beautiful you are…’ Hwa whispers in awe, his breath touching your earlobe coldly, causing a slight shiver to run down your spine. You can feel how the pointed tips of his elongated fangs brushing against the delicate, silky thinness of your skin on your neck, exquisitely tearing it open, allowing thick, tiny drops of your blood to appear on the surface immediately, which Seonghwa slowly and leisurely licks off with his velvety, icy tongue. The deep, purry vibration of his low, hypnotic voice sends subtle charges of electric excitement through your nerves, reverberating in every cell of your body and pulsing hotly right on your swollen, sensitive clit. He hovers over you like a predator who has finally cornered his prey — beautiful and terrifying at the same time, like a wild animal merged into one with the dark angel of death, while you kneel before a huge antique mirror in a heavy gilded frame, completely naked and defenceless against the insatiable hunger and desire of the magnificent artist. Black silk ribbons tightly bind your fragile, tender wrists, holding your hands securely behind your back, leaving you open and vulnerable to his touch.

Seonghwa's long, graceful fingers, stained with bloody-red ink, painfully slowly slide across your skin, exploring the lush, seductive curves of your body, shamelessly and possessively touching your most intimate parts, and leaving behind a trail of wet, cooling traces that only further inflame the arousal between your legs and make your needy, oozing cunt clench around nothing.

‘I want to capture you in eternity, my love, so that even hundreds of thousands of years from now, I can admire and idolize you as I do now.’

Every night that you spend with Seonghwa, brings you closer and closer to the dangerous edge, the one where you consciously flirt with death, inviting it to dance, but nevertheless, as soon as the bleeding sun sinks below the horizon, plunging the world around you into darkness, you run to him like a moth to a flame.

Your dates felt like feverish rituals, lines from a novel that were repeated countless times: here he is again, pressing you against the blood-spattered canvases, deeply penetrating you with his thick, sinewy cock, relentlessly thrusting into your pussy with such force that the loud, obscenely wet echo of his big, velvety balls smacking against your dripping, swollen vagina echoes throughout the house. Hwa digs his fingers into your soft thighs, making bloody roses bloom under your skin, which will serve as a long-lasting reminder of his hot, passionate touches and his big dick that stretches your little, tight hole perfectly.

Each of his thrusts makes you see stars, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of pleasure, until at some point you can no longer control yourself and cum on his cock with a mighty squirting orgasm. But for Seonghwa, all this is nothing more than a usual prelude, since even your sweet, warm pussy can't compare to the intoxicating flavour of your blood, if only… If only he doesn't drink from your groin vein while simultaneously licking your pretty cunt and feeding himself.

When Hwa drinks from such an intimate, delicate place, and his tongue tirelessly glides over your skin, greedily licking up your juiciness mixed with blood, your whole body arches for him, desperately craving more of his touch, more of that long, skilled tongue and hungry, insatiable mouth that drives you crazy and makes your blood boil with lust, and your legs spread even wider. Never in his infinitely long life had he wanted anyone as badly as he wanted you, and the countless hundreds of paintings he had made of you in the most indecent, filthy, and lewd poses were proof of that. You breathed life into him, made him feel inspired again, and every night after you fell asleep in his bed, exhausted from hours of nasty, dirty, vampire sex, covered with traces of his bloody kisses, rough touches and painted with his sperm, Hwa began to create, recreating the most mesmerising scenes of sex and orgies on canvas.