Karinaholic

Hii, I'm Karinaholic! She/Her, I mainly write for aespa and occasionally other ggs! My requests are always open. I need ideas to write about, so let me know what you want to see from me!

Aespa Chapter 1 - The "Unbreakable" Bond (ft. Karina Aespa)

Chapter 2 - The "Unbreakable" Bond (ft. Karina Aespa)

Jiminjeong Karina x Winter (Minjeong) Word Count : 1.4k - Chapter 1 "The Gala's Secret Pulse"

The gala’s crystal chandeliers cast a dizzying prism of light over the crowded ballroom, but all Minjeong could focus on was the low, insistent hum against her inner thigh. It was a phantom pulse, a secret heartbeat known only to her and the woman watching her from across the room.

Karina stood near the marble column, a sleek silhouette in an onyx gown that seemed to drink the light. She held a champagne flute casually, her smile a cool curve as she listened to the balding CFO from Lee Holdings drone on. Her thumb, Minjeong noted with a shuddering breath, rested idly on the small, matte-black remote in her palm.

Buzz.

A gentle vibration, level two. A reminder. A promise. Minjeong’s fingers tightened around her own glass of mineral water. She had to be sharp tonight. She was the linchpin, the lure. She offered a polite, professional smile to the young tech executive who had been hovering near the shrimp tower for the last ten minutes, his eyes repeatedly darting to the neckline of her emerald green dress.

“The synergy between our cloud infrastructure and your AI models is undeniable, Mr. Park,” Minjeong said, her voice steady despite the warmth pooling low in her belly. She crossed her legs, the silk of her dress whispering, the movement pressing the small, egg-shaped device more firmly against her.

“Please, call me Jaehyun,” he insisted, leaning in. His cologne was overpowering. “Your analysis on the quarterly projections was… insightful.”

It was the analysis Karina had dictated to her this afternoon, while Minjeong was on her knees under the desk, her mouth otherwise occupied. The memory alone made her cheeks flush. Karina’s voice, calm and authoritative over the speakerphone with a client, while her other hand fisted in Minjeong’s hair…

Buzz-buzz.

Level three. A sharper pulse. Minjeong’s breath hitched, a tiny, almost imperceptible sound. Jaehyun Park mistook it for interest. He stepped closer, his shoulder brushing hers. “Perhaps we could discuss the details over a proper drink? Somewhere more private?”

From her pillar, Karina’s gaze sliced through the crowd and pinned Minjeong in place. She gave the barest, most elegant tilt of her head. Proceed.

“My evening is quite accounted for,” Minjeong demurred, letting her gaze drop to Jaehyun’s mouth for a fraction of a second before looking away, a classic show of flustered interest. “But I’m sure Ms. Yoo would be pleased to schedule a follow-up. Your offer is certainly the most… stimulating we’ve heard tonight.”

Bzzzzzzzt.

Level four. A sustained, teasing vibration that made Minjeong’s knees feel weak. She pressed her thighs together, a desperate, hidden motion. The pleasure was a live wire, sparking under her skin. She was acutely aware of every brush of fabric, every point of contact. Jaehyun was puffing his chest out, emboldened. Another executive, from the rival Choi conglomerate, was now watching their exchange with keen interest. The game was in motion.

Karina finally extricated herself and glided over, the crowd parting for her effortlessly. “Mr. Park,” she said, her voice a velvet blade. “I see you’ve found my most valuable asset.” Her eyes flicked to Minjeong, holding a universe of possession. “Don’t monopolize her. We must share.”

She placed a hand, cool and heavy, on the small of Minjeong’s back. It was a brand. A claim. The vibration ceased abruptly, leaving a shocking, aching emptiness. Minjeong almost whimpered at the loss.

The next hour was an exquisite torture. Karina played them all, Jaehyun, the Choi executive, a nervous venture capitalist, like a master conductor. With a smile, she would send Minjeong to fetch a specific document, knowing the walk across the open floor in her heels, with the constant threat of the vibrator’s return, was its own ordeal. With a pointed comment, she’d force Minjeong to lean over the table to point out a clause in a contract, the position straining her dress and her composure. Each time Minjeong returned to her side, Karina’s hand would find her back, her waist, her arm, a casual touch that sent fire through Minjeong’s veins.

Finally, Karina announced their departure with a regal air. The executives were left competing over who had made the best impression, completely unaware the real prize had never been on the table.

The silence of the private elevator was deafening. The doors slid shut, sealing them in a mirrored box. Minjeong leaned against the wall, her composure crumbling. Her chest heaved. Karina didn’t look at her. She simply lifted the remote.

BUZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Level eight. A brutal, immediate onslaught. Minjeong cried out, her head thunking back against the mirror. Her hands flew to the wall for support as her legs buckled. The vibration was no longer teasing; it was a demand, a direct line to the core of her need. It rattled her teeth, blurred her vision.

“You were perfect,” Karina murmured, finally turning. She watched Minjeong unravel with dark, hungry eyes. “Every smile, every blush. You had them eating from your hand, and they never knew you were eating from mine.”

She advanced, the remote held steady. Minjeong was panting, little desperate sounds escaping her lips. She was so close, teetering on a razor’s edge, the public tension coiling into a private, screaming need.

The elevator chimed. Penthouse level.

Karina killed the vibration as the doors opened, and Minjeong slumped, gasping. Before she could recover, Karina had a fistful of her hair, guiding her firmly out of the elevator and across the dark, spacious living room towards the master suite. She pushed Minjeong through the door, following close behind.

“On the bed. On your back. Now.” The command was guttural, all pretense of the polished CEO gone. This was her Domme, her keeper, the woman who owned her nights.

Minjeong scrambled onto the vast bed, the duvet cool beneath her feverish skin. Karina followed, kneeling over her, one knee on either side of Minjeong’s hips. She didn’t touch her yet. She just looked down, drinking in the sight of her secretary, flushed, disheveled, dress ridden up, utterly exposed and wanton.

“All night,” Karina said, her voice low. “All night you belonged to them, and yet you were utterly mine. Do you know what that does to me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Her hands, finally, found Minjeong’s breasts, cupping them through the silk, thumbs circling her nipples which were already hard peaks. The touch was electric after the hours of remote torment.

Minjeong arched into it, a moan tearing from her throat. “Karina… please…”

“Please what?” Karina leaned down, her lips a breath from Minjeong’s ear. “Use your words, kitten. You’ve been so quiet all evening.” One hand slid down, over Minjeong’s trembling stomach, past the waistband of her lace panties. She didn’t go for the vibrator, still nestled in place. Her fingers found the soaked, swollen flesh beneath it. Minjeong jerked, a sharp cry escaping her.

“Tell me what you want,” Karina commanded, her finger tracing slick, maddening circles around Minjeong’s clit, avoiding direct contact.

“I want… I need you to touch me. Really touch me. Please, I can’t ” a gasp cut off Minjeong’s plea as Karina finally, blessedly, slid a finger inside her. It was a deep, slow penetration that made Minjeong see stars. Her hips rolled, seeking more.

Karina added a second finger, the stretch exquisite. She began a slow, devastating rhythm, her thumb now applying perfect pressure on Minjeong’s clit. “You need this, don’t you?” she breathed, watching Minjeong’s face contort in pleasure. “You need to come after being my good little toy all night.”

“Yes! God, yes, I need it, I need you ” Minjeong babbled, her world narrowing to the feeling of Karina’s hand moving inside her, the weight of her body, the smell of her perfume mixed with arousal. The coiled spring from the gala was snapping, violently, wonderfully. Karina’s pace increased, her fingers curling, finding that spot that made Minjeong’s back bow off the bed. The pleasure was a cresting wave, huge and inevitable. Minjeong clutched at the duvet, her cries growing louder, unabashed.

“Come for me,” Karina ordered, her own breath growing ragged. “Come for your Mistress. Show me what I own.”

The command shattered the last of Minjeong’s control. The orgasm ripped through her, a silent scream breaking into a raw, broken wail. It convulsed through her, wracking her body, pulling Karina’s fingers deeper as she clenched around them. Sparks danced behind her eyelids, the intensity magnified a thousandfold by the hours of denied, public teasing.

As the tremors began to subside, Karina slowly, gently, withdrew her fingers. She brought them to her own mouth, her eyes locked on Minjeong’s dazed ones, and slowly sucked them clean. The act was more possessive, more intimate, than anything that had come before.

Male OC is experiencing betrayal as he saw his fiancee had another man. He just wanted to surprise her a visit to her workplace. He drove away, heartbroken. He just wanted to get drunk to ease the overwhelming ache of his heart.

Meanwhile, Ningning is just waiting for her client to pick her up infront of the nightclub. She's working as an high class escort and the client told her that his car is black sedan. She just saw the car parked near her. Ningning went and slid herself into the passenger seat. Male OC was surprised yet pissed that a stranger women just got inside his car. Ningning realized that he was not her client but she's interested on him. She thinks that sex can heal him.

Aeri Unchinaga (Giselle) x m!reader Word Count : 1.1k - Chapter 1 Written for @darklucielle999 "The transaction."

The air in the penthouse was cool, sterile, like the contract that bound them. Giselle stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, the city’s neon glow painting her silhouette in muted blues and reds. She watched the traffic below, a river of disconnected lives, just like us. He entered without a word, the familiar sound of his key in the lock, his footsteps on the marble. Her husband. The man whose name she shared, whose bed she used, whose body she knew in the most clinical, efficient way possible. He dropped his briefcase by the sofa. Your perfume is different tonight,” he said, his voice flat. It wasn’t a compliment. It was an observation, like noting a change in the stock market.

“I went out,” she replied, not turning. “The club. Met a friend.” A man with laughing eyes who touched my waist and made me feel… something.

Good.” He walked to the kitchen, poured himself a scotch. “I had dinner with the representative from the German firm. Her assistant was quite… engaging.”

A cold knot tightened in Giselle’s stomach. It was the usual script. The reporting of extracurricular activities. It had never bothered her before. Why did it now? Why did the image of him smiling at some young, engaging assistant send a prickling heat across her skin?

She finally turned. He was already looking at her, his gaze as assessing as ever. Tall, impeccably dressed, handsome in a way that belonged to magazine ads. A stranger.

“We should fulfill the arrangement,” he stated, sipping his drink. He undressed her methodically, as always. The dress pooled at her feet. His own clothes followed jacket, shirt, belt, and trousers folded neatly on a chair. Their nakedness was not intimate. It was a state of operation. He guided her to the wide, cold bed. She lay back, looking at the ceiling. He positioned himself between her legs. The routine began. His first touch was where it always started: his fingers parting her, testing. Usually, she was dry, requiring patience or lubrication. Tonight, she was already wet. A slick, warm readiness that confused her. His thumb circled her clit, and she gasped. It was a sharp, involuntary sound. He paused, looking down at her face. “You’re responsive.” “I…” she had no explanation. He didn’t wait for one. He leaned down, his mouth replacing his thumb. Oh. The heat of his lips, the soft pressure of his tongue, it was not routine. It was a deliberate, focused assault. He licked her, slowly, then with a firmer rhythm, tracing the swollen edges of her flesh. Pleasure, thick and urgent, coiled low in her belly. Her hips lifted off the bed, seeking more. This isn’t just maintenance. This felt like… consumption." When he rose up, his eyes were darker. He reached for a condom from the bedside drawer, always safe, always distant, and rolled it on. Then he pushed into her. The entry was smooth, filled her utterly. She cried out, a short, sharp sound. He began to move, a steady, deep rhythm. But tonight, the rhythm wasn’t mechanical. His thrusts had a new cadence, a push that lingered, an almost reluctant retreat. His hands gripped her hips, holding her tight to him. The slap of skin, the smell of sex and her perfume mingling, the sound of his breath growing ragged… She looked at his face. His jaw was tight, his forehead slightly damp. He was looking at her, really looking, not at the wall or the ceiling. His gaze held hers, and in it, she saw a flicker of something, not kindness, not love, but a raw, shared hunger. It mirrored the ache building inside her. “Touch me,” he grunted, the command breaking their usual silent protocol. Her hands, uncertain, rose to his chest. She felt the hard muscle, the heat, the quick beat of his heart. She slid them up to his shoulders, feeling the strength driving into her. It made her feel connected, anchored. Possessed. Her own climax approached, not as a distant possibility but as a crashing wave. The friction of his cock, the grind against her clit, the visual of his intense focus on her, it all fused into a white-hot point. Her back arched, her legs locked around his waist, pulling him deeper. “I’m… I’m going to…” she choked out. “Come,” he ordered, his voice thick. “Come for me.” The permission, the ownership in those words, shattered her. The orgasm ripped through her, convulsive, blinding. She screamed, a raw sound that echoed in the sterile room. Her body clenched around him, milking his length, and she felt him pulse inside her. He followed, his own release triggered by her violent contraction. He thrust hard, once, twice, three final times, burying himself as deep as he could go. A low, guttural groan tore from his throat, and he collapsed over her, his weight pressing her into the mattress, his breath hot on her neck. For a moment, they lay there, joined, panting. The silence was different. It wasn’t empty. It was charged. He pulled away, the sudden separation making her feel cold. He disposed of the condom and stood up. The transaction was complete. But as he walked towards the bathroom, he stopped, glanced back at her lying spent on the bed. “You… you were different tonight.” She stared at him, her body still humming, her mind reeling. Was I? Or were you?

Giselle and Male OC are married. Arranged by their parents for their business. They met before but never attracted to each other. Both of them decided to act as a married couple but when they are alone, they act as strangers. The only thing they do is sex and after that, they are in their own business like Giselle lets him meet other girls while OC lets her attend to clubs / parties and having fun with other men.

Everything is well until Giselle slowly felt jealous whenever she saw him with another woman. She felt something missing in their 'relationship'. At first, She thought love is just a myth but then it slowly made her believe it.

Kim Minjeong x m!reader Word Count : 1.1k - Chapter 1 "The First Pour."

The air in the lounge was cool, scented with bergamot and money, but Minjeong felt a bead of sweat trace a path between her shoulder blades. Her crisp white shirt felt like a costume. She was a fraud here, a nonprofit grant writer playing bartender in a world of low-lit opulence and silent judgments. She polished a crystal tumbler, her movements precise, a quiet focus against the murmur of deals and discreet laughter. That’s when he walked in. The atmosphere didn’t so much shift as polarize. Conversations dipped, glances flickered. He was older, maybe late forties, with a leonine grace in his tailored suit. His hair was silver at the temples, his gaze a calm, assessing blue that swept the room and landed, with unnerving finality, on her. He didn’t sit at the bar. He occupied it, taking the corner stool with an air of possession. For an hour, he conducted business on his phone, speaking in low, commanding tones, while she served him a Macallan 25, neat. He thanked her, his eyes holding hers a beat too long. She felt seen, not as staff, but as a puzzle. Her shift ended at 1 AM. As she gathered her bag from the staff closet, a deep voice spoke from the doorway.

“Minjeong.”

She jumped. He stood there, silhouetted against the dim hallway light. “Mr. Vane,” she stammered, having heard his name from the manager.

“A word.” It wasn’t a request. He led her not out, but up a private elevator to the building’s penthouse, a vast space of glass and dark wood overlooking the city’s glittering grid. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said, pouring two glasses of water at a wet bar. “You’re efficient. You’re observant. You have a quiet intelligence most of the chatter in that lounge lacks.” He handed her a glass. His fingers brushed hers. A spark, simple and electric. “I have a proposition.”

He laid it out with the clarity of a contract. A live-in position. A salary that made her nonprofit salary look like a rounding error. Duties: accounting, logistics, managing aspects his executive assistant deemed beneath her. And then, his voice dropping to a velvet rumble, the other duty.

“You would also be mine,” he said, the words hanging in the air between them. “A personal comfort. A release. Your body, at my discretion, for my pleasure. You would learn to crave it. To need it. In return, you would want for nothing.”

It was obscene. It was impossible. She should have run. But the number he named… it was freedom. It was her student loans gone, her mother’s medical bills paid, a life without the grinding anxiety of two jobs. And beneath the fear, a treacherous, hot curl of something else ignited low in her belly. His gaze was stripping her, not just of her clothes, but of her careful, timid life.

“Do you understand?” he asked.

She could only nod, her throat dry.

“Good. The interview begins now.”

In two strides he was before her. His hand came up, not to strike, but to cradle her jaw. His thumb stroked her lower lip. “Open.” The command was soft, absolute. Her lips parted on a shaky breath. He leaned in and kissed her.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was a conquest. His tongue swept into her mouth, claiming, exploring, tasting the faint lime from her shift drink. He kissed her until her knees weakened, until her hands, which had risen to push him away, instead fisted in the fine wool of his suit jacket. He broke the kiss, his breath hot on her cheek. “You’re mine now,” he murmured, and it felt less like a threat and more like a truth being seared into her skin.

He walked her backwards until her calves hit the cool leather of an enormous sofa. He sat, pulling her down to straddle his lap. Her skirt rode up, the cool air of the penthouse a shock against her thighs. His hands settled on her hips, large and warm through the thin cotton of her shirt.

“Look at me,” he said. She forced her eyes up to his. He held her gaze as his hands moved. One slid up her spine, unbuttoning her shirt with deft, practiced motions. The other cupped her breast through her plain bra, his thumb circling her nipple until it pebbled into a tight, aching point. A soft whimper escaped her.

“Quiet,” he whispered, but his eyes glinted with approval. He pushed the shirt off her shoulders, then unhooked her bra with a single twist. Her breasts spilled free, and the hungry, approving sound he made sent a jolt straight to her core. He bent his head, his mouth closing over one peak. The sensation was devastating, hot, wet, the suction deliberate and perfect. His tongue lashed the stiff peak, his teeth grazing it with just enough pressure to make her cry out and arch into him.

His other hand slipped between their bodies, pushing her panties aside. His fingers found her slick, swollen flesh. “So wet already,” he growled against her breast. “For a man you just met. My innocent little bartender is a quick study.”

He didn’t tease. One long, thick finger pushed into her, and her inner muscles clenched around it instantly. It was an invasion, a revelation. He added a second, stretching her, a delicious burn that morphed into a deep, throbbing need as he began to pump them, his palm rubbing against her clit with every stroke. Her head fell back, a moan tearing from her throat. The city lights blurred outside the window. Her world narrowed to the rough texture of his suit under her thighs, the scent of his cologne and her own arousal, the relentless, building pressure of his fingers.

He worked her with a ruthless expertise, watching her face unravel. Her hips began to move of their own accord, riding his hand, chasing the coiling tension. Just as she felt herself teetering on the edge, he stopped, withdrawing his fingers.

“No,” she gasped, the denial raw and instinctive.

A slow, predatory smile touched his lips. He brought his glistening fingers to her mouth. “Taste.”

Hesitation lasted a second. Then, driven by a hunger she no longer recognized, she opened her mouth. His fingers slid over her tongue, the taste of herself musky and primal. She sucked them clean, her eyes locked on his, and the heat in his gaze could have melted steel.

“Good girl,” he purred. He unzipped his trousers, freeing his erection. It was thick, veined, the head flushed and leaking. He positioned her over him, the blunt tip pressing against her entrance. He gripped her hips hard. “This is what you are for now. Take it. Take all of it.”

He pulled her down, impaling her in one slow, devastating stroke. She cried out, a sound of shock and overwhelming fullness. He was so deep, stretching her unbearably, filling a void she hadn’t known existed. He held her there, seated fully on him, letting her adjust, letting her feel every inch of him buried inside her.

Yu Jimin (Karina) x m!reader (Male POV) Word Count : 1.4k - Chapter 2 "The gift."

The suite was silent, save for the hum of the city outside and the heavy thrum of my own heartbeat. Karina lay on the floor, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of our shared climax. The taste of the director's salty, foreign, conquered still lingered on my tongue. I rolled onto my back, breathing hard, feeling the sweat cool on my skin. Her hand found mine. “Jaewook,” she whispered, her voice a husky thread of sound.

I turned my head. Her eyes weren’t dazed anymore. They were sharp, calculating, alive. A predator’s eyes.

“He gave me something else,” she said. I waited. The air grew thicker.

“A gift. For next time.” She rose, a languid, powerful movement. She walked to the closet, her steps confident on the plush carpet. When she returned, she held a small, black velvet box. She opened it. Inside lay a set of lingerie. Not silk. Leather. Black, harness-like, with intricate silver chains linking the pieces. It was severe. Beautiful. Utterly degrading.

“He said it would suit my new role,” Karina murmured, running a finger over a cold metal link. “The dominant one.”

A hot spike of jealousy drove into my gut. “You’re going to wear it for him?”

Her smile was a slow, cruel curve. “No. I’m going to wear it for you. Right now.” She let the statement hang, a challenge in the quiet room. “But there’s a condition.”

I sat up. “What condition?”

“You fuck me while I wear it. And you make it hurt. You make me feel every strap, every chain. You make me remember who put it on me.” Her gaze locked with mine. “And you do it while I call him.” My breath caught. “Call him?”

“On video. Let him see.” Her voice dropped lower, a seductive trap. “Let him see what his gift really does to me. Let him hear.”

The idea was obscene. It was perfect. It was everything. My cock, already half-hard from her mere presence, thickened completely, aching against my thigh. “Get it on,” I commanded, my voice rough. She didn’t hesitate. She shed the ruined silk dress, letting it pool on the floor like a discarded skin. Then, piece by piece, she assembled the leather harness. It was a complex thing, straps that cinched around her waist, bands that crossed over her chest, pulling her breasts into sharp, defined curves. The chains draped between them, cold against her warm skin. Finally, the main piece: a leather cuff that wrapped around her throat, connected by a short chain to a matching belt around her hips. It forced her posture into a subtle, arrogant arch.

She stood before me, transformed. The lingerie didn’t cover her; it framed her. It highlighted every dip and curve, making her look like a captured queen, a prize bound in black and silver. Her nipples, hardened by the cool air and the leather’s pressure, pressed against the crossed straps. “Phone,” I said.

She fetched it, her movements slightly restricted, deliciously stiff. She opened a video call app, her fingers trembling with a thrill that wasn’t fear. She found the director’s contact. She looked at me. “Now?”

I stood up, my naked body towering over her bound form. I took the phone from her, held it up. I tapped the call button.

The screen flickered, then connected. The director’s face appeared, older, smug, in his own luxurious setting. His eyes widened instantly, taking in the sight of Karina in his gift, standing beside my bare, muscular frame.

“Karina,” he said, his voice smooth. “I see you’re… appreciating the present.”

I didn’t let her answer. I grabbed her by the chain at her throat and pulled her towards me. “She’s about to appreciate it more,” I growled into the phone, then I angled the camera.

I pushed her forward, bending her over the same glass table. The leather creaked. The chains jingled. I positioned the phone on the table, propping it up so the director could see her face, her bound back, and me behind her.

My hands went to her leather-cinched hips. I squeezed, feeling the rigid material under my palms. “Describe it,” I ordered her, my voice low and direct.

She turned her head, her eyes meeting the camera’s lens. “It’s… tight,” she began, a breathy whisper. “The leather is smooth but it… it binds. It reminds me of your hands.”

I rubbed my cock against her exposed entrance, already glistening from our earlier session. She was slick, hot, ready. I didn’t enter yet.

“Keep talking,” I commanded.

“The chains,” she continued, her voice gaining a shaky intensity, “they’re cold. They feel like… like control.” She gasped as I slapped her ass, the sound sharp in the quiet room. The leather absorbed some of the impact, but her flesh beneath it jolted. “They feel like you.”

That was enough. I pushed inside.

The entry was a slow, brutal conquest. She was open, but the leather harness around her hips resisted, pulling against my thrust. I felt every millimeter of my invasion, the tight heat of her sheath welcoming me while the foreign artifact on her body fought me. It was perfect.

I began to move, pulling out almost completely before driving back in. Each thrust was a deep, claiming piston. The table shuddered. The chains rattled with every impact.

“What do you feel?” I demanded, my pace increasing.

“I feel… full,” she moaned, her face contorting in pleasure on the screen. “I feel the leather digging in… I feel you… splitting me open…” Her words dissolved into a cry as I angled a thrust particularly deep, hitting a spot that made her legs quiver.

The director’s face on the screen was a mask of stunned arousal. He watched, silent, a voyeur to his own gift’s destruction.

I grabbed the chain at her throat again, using it to pull her back onto me with more force. “Tell him about my cock,” I snarled.

She obeyed, her voice breaking. “It’s… thick. So thick. It’s stretching me… wider than anything. It’s pounding into me… it’s reaching… deep…” Her description was pornographic, a live audio feed of her degradation. “I can feel every vein… every pulse… it’s claiming me…”

I fucked her harder, the slapping sounds of our joining mixing with the metallic jingle of the chains. My world narrowed to the heat of her core, the resistance of the leather, the sound of her voice, and the watching eye on the phone screen. Her body began to tighten around me, the familiar fluttering starting deep within. I reached one hand around, finding her clit, still exposed, untouched by the harness. I rubbed it, hard and fast, in time with my thrusts.

“I’m… I’m going to come,” she gasped, her eyes rolling back.

“On his gift,” I growled. “Come on his gift while I fill you.”

The command pushed her over the edge. A sharp, shattered scream ripped from her throat, echoing in the suite and through the phone. Her body convulsed, the leather straps straining against her shaking form. A fresh gush of warmth flooded around my shaft, and I felt her inner muscles clamp down in rhythmic, desperate spasms.

I didn’t stop. I kept pounding through her orgasm, my own release coiling tight, burning in my base. The visual was too much her bound body jerking, her face a portrait of ecstasy, the director watching his prize be ruined.

I leaned forward, my mouth near her ear, my voice a low, private thunder for the camera to hear. “Now,” I hissed, “tell him who you belong to.” Through her panting, through the aftershocks, she whispered, “I belong… to Jaewook. Only… to Jaewook.”

That was it. My control shattered. My thrusts became frantic, final, a race to my own peak. The sensation of her leather-bound hips against my skin, the sound of the chains, the sight on the phone, it all fused into a white-hot point of release. With a final, deep drive, I erupted inside her.

My orgasm was a long, shuddering burst, filling her with my own claim. I held myself there, buried to the root, as my pulses subsided. On the screen, the director’s face was frozen, a complex mix of envy, arousal, and defeat.

I slowly pulled out. Karina slumped forward over the table, breathing ragged. I reached for the phone, my fingers slick. I ended the call. The screen went black.

Yu Jimin (Karina) x m!reader (Male POV) Word Count : 1.1k - Chapter 1 "She would do anything for the profit."

The hotel suite’s air was thick with the scent of her perfume and something else, something male, something foreign. Karina stood before me in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the city lights behind her, that same dangerously short silk dress she’d worn to the Agents of Mystery press conference now looking like a trophy, or a confession. Her smile was lazy, victorious, drenched. In something unknown and unfamiliar. “Jaewook,” she purred, stepping inside and letting the door swing shut. “You watched, didn’t you?” she said, her tone softening. I didn’t answer. My eyes were glued to the slick, unmistakable shimmer on her inner thigh, just above the hem of her dress. It practically gleamed under the low light. She saw me looking. Her smile widened. She walked towards me, not with guilt, but with a swagger that made my pulse hammer in my throat. “The director loved my… commitment,” she said, her voice a low, husky thing. “He said my performance was convincing.” I reached out, my fingers brushing that damp spot on her thigh. It was cool, sticky. My stomach tightened, a knot of heat and anger and a sick, thrilling curiosity. “He touched you,” I said, my voice rough. “At the conference. His hands were on you. You didn’t stop him.” “It’s business,” she shrugged, but her eyes were blazing, challenging me. “And tonight… it was more than business.” She took my hand and guided it higher, up her thigh, until my fingertips met the wet evidence pooled at the apex of her legs. The silk was soaked through. “He was very generous.” I pulled her against me, crushing her mouth with mine. The kiss was fierce, punishing, but she met it with equal hunger, her tongue sliding against mine, tasting of champagne and sin. My hands gripped her ass, squeezing through the thin fabric, feeling the heat of her skin beneath. “You fucked him for a role,” I snarled into her ear, my teeth grazing past her cheek. “And I got it,” she breathed back, her hips grinding against mine. “Now you fuck me because I’m yours.” It was a command. A dirty, perfect command. I spun her around, pushing her towards the large, glass table in the center of the room. With a firm shove, I bent her over it, her palms splaying on the cool surface. The short dress rode up, exposing everything: the bare curve of her ass, the glistening, used slit between her legs. The sight was. Beautiful.

I didn’t undress. I just unzipped, freed myself, and stepped forward. My cock was hard, aching, a stark contrast to the cool air. I pressed the tip against her entrance, which was already so wet, so open.

“He was inside you,” I muttered, pushing in slowly, feeling the incredible, slick heat of her. She gasped, her back arching. “His cock was here.”

“Yes,” she moaned, the word vibrating through her body into mine. “Yes.” I filled her, a slow, deliberate invasion. She was impossibly loose, ready, stretched by another man. The thought sent a violent thrill through me. I began to move, pulling almost all the way out before driving back in, each thrust a claim, a reclamation. Her moans grew louder, unfiltered. “Fuck me, Jaewook fuck me harder!” she cried, her nails scraping on the glass table. I obliged, my pace turning brutal, my hips slamming into her with a force that shook the table. The wet, slapping sounds of our joining filled the room. Every plunge deep into her heated core was a mix of possession and perverse celebration.

Her body clenched around me, then relaxed, then clenched again, riding the wave of my thrusts. I could feel her getting closer, her inner muscles beginning to flutter. I reached around, finding her clit with my thumb, rubbing it in tight, frantic circles. “You’re going to come,” I growled. “You’re going to come on my cock while you’re still full of his.”

That was the trigger. A sharp, shattered cry ripped from her throat as her body convulsed. Her back arched wildly, and a fresh gush of warmth flooded around my shaft as her orgasm tore through her. I kept pounding into her, riding her through the spasms, my own release coiling tight in my base.

When her tremors began to subside, I pulled out abruptly. She whimpered at the sudden emptiness. I turned her around, her face flushed, eyes dazed, lips parted.

“On the floor,” I ordered, my voice guttural. She obeyed, sinking onto the plush carpet, looking up at me with a look of utter surrender and excitement. I stood over her, my cock glistening with her juices. “Now,” I said, pointing to her thigh, to that visible, drying streak. “Clean it.”

Her eyes widened, then darkened with understanding. A slow, wicked smile spread on her lips. She leaned forward, her tongue extending. She didn’t hesitate. She brought her mouth to her own skin, to that foreign stain, and licked.

The first touch of her tongue to the director’s residue was a silent, electric shock in the room. She closed her eyes, savoring it, then opened them to look at me as she cleaned it. A long, deliberate swipe of her tongue along her inner thigh, collecting the salty, foreign proof of her deal.

“It’s good,” she murmured, her voice thick. “Taste it.”

My control snapped. I knelt, grabbing her head, and brought my mouth to the same spot. My tongue followed the path hers had taken, lapping at the faint, tangy remnant. The taste was other, man, victory. She moaned, her hands coming to my hair, pulling me closer.

“You’re a star now,” I said against her skin, my own arousal boiling over. “You earned it.”

“With your help,” she whispered, guiding my face upward towards hers. Her kiss was deep, sharing the taste between us. Then her hand found my cock, stroking it fiercely. “Now finish. Come for me. Mark me again.”

I didn’t need more encouragement. I pushed her back, laying her flat, and positioned myself between her legs. I plunged into her one last time, the familiar, welcoming heat now mixed with our shared, dirty secret. My thrusts were final, desperate, a race to the peak. Her hands clawed at my shoulders, her cries urging me on.