migs

The film started wholesome then when Jiwoo's stalker tried to touch her inappropriately, Taehyun pushed away the stalker and tackled. Security arrived to arrest her stalker. Everything went fine after that incident.

Jiwoo hugged him and cried on his chest. Thanking him for saving her. I tried my best to stay in character. Instead, I thanked the heavens for giving me this opportunity. Getting hugged by my bias is a dream come true.

Slowly, they get to know each other deeply as the movie progressed. Taehyun learned that Jiwoo wanted to become a Kpop Idol but her mother disapproved it and forced her to work on their make-up business that she ends up being an owner and endorser.

Because of her beauty, she went viral and people brought their products. Their business grew as well as her followers count.

Meanwhile, Taehyun talked about his days as a Special Forces then about his mother's ongoing cancer treatment. The bills are high and he doesn't want to see his mother go.

Jiwoo held his hand and vowed to cover the hospital bills. That made Taehyun hug Jiwoo, thankful for her kindness.

One night, Jiwoo is drunk from the afterparty of an event. Taehyun carried Jiwoo to her bedroom. He removed her heels and tucked her in a blanket. Before he walked away, Jiwoo held his arm to stop but then she pulled him to a kiss.

That kiss crumbled Taehyun's defences (and mine) and slowly making out with Jiwoo. I was enjoying this once in a lifetime opportunity to make out with my bias but then the director called a cut. Leaving us panting after what it feels like an eternity.

"Okay, We're prepping up for the bed scene. As wrtitten on the script, only upper bodies are shown to the camera while the lower bodies are covered by a blanket. Missionary position and lots of kisses. Both of you can touch each other, make people feel the desire in this scene." The director stated as the crew starting to set up the lightning and cameras.

Me and Dahyun nodded. This is it. The nerve wrecking scene is coming up. Ever since that table read, I couldn't stop myself thinking about that bed scene part. Surely when the film released, her fans will either love it or hate me for it.

I was zoned out until I felt someone tapping my shoulder. I turned and saw Dahyun's concerned face. "Hey. You okay?"

"Y-Yeah.. I'm okay..." I nodded frantically. But it seems like Dahyun isn't convinced.

"Are you nervous about the bed scene?" She tilted her head. Eyes still glued to mine.

"Well... Yeah. I was. I mean.. I'm used to kisses and touches but this time, it's sex. It's my first time doing this as an actor."

Dahyun hums in agreement. "Me too. This is my first time doing a bed scene and honestly, I was curious about people's reactions to this scene."

Dahyun takes a sip of her water. "Bae Doo-na, Lim Ji-Yeon, Kim Go-Eun, Song Ji-hyo. They are well-knowned actresses but they shocked everyone because they did a daring nude and sex scenes."

"Me as an actress also someone who looked up to them, I was amazed. Daringly showing their naked bodies to the camera and people around them. I respect them for doing that." She added. I sense her confidence, total opposite as my intense nervousness.

"Kim Min-hee and Kim Tae-ri's scenes in 'The Handmaiden' are just well done. The moans, the heavy breathing, their naked bodies moving in such lust and desire. It makes me think they are doing it for real."

I just nodded at her words. I know Dahyun is trying to make me calm down but for some reason, I can't calm down. Dahyun is my bias and I never ever think sexually about her. Kissing is normal thing but seeing her naked and acting like we are making love is just whole different story.

"Director-nim." Dahyun suddenly called the director. He was talking to the camera crew then rushed closer to us.

"What is it, Dahyun?"

"My partner is super nervous right now. Can we go outside for a fresh air?" Showing him a smile that makes people weak.

"Yeah! Sure! Go ahead and freshen up. But don't be long, we will going to finish this bed scene tonight."

Dahyun held my hand and dragged me away from the busy crew. "Don't worry, manager-nim. We will come back after a late night walk outside." Her manager nods and watched us leaving the set.

The cold breeze outside brushed us both. The silence of a breezy night is a total opposite of a noisy busy set.

We walked slowly through the street. But then I found a courage to tell the reason why I was so nervous about the bed scene part.

"Dahyun.. The reason why I was nervous because... you're my bias in TWICE. Being your leading man is a dream come true but the bed scene part is nerve wrecking."

"I... I never ever ever fantasize you at all. I swear! I liked you because how pretty you are, you're talented and funny. I religiously watching your fancams. I watched you afar on your concerts. I just... can't take my eyes from you." I blurted out all my years long pent-up feelings for her.

Dahyun looked up at me with a playful smirk. "Oh really now? You've never thought about seeing me naked after we both know we're going to have a bed scene?" She stepped closer, her shoulder pressed against mine as we walked.

Her melodious laugh echoed through the quiet street. "I find that hard to believe, handsome. A guy like you, all nervous and flustered at the thought of sharing a bed scene with me? I think deep down, you're just as excited as I am~"

"Wha… What do you mean?" I gulped hard. Heart beating fast at our close proximity.

Dahyun pressed herself even closer to me. Her soft curves molded against my body as she gazed up at me through long lashes.

"You know, I'm absolutely thrilled about this bed scene opportunity with you." she purred, her warm breath tickling my ear. "Everyone always sees me as the wholesome member of TWICE. But there's so much more to me than that sweet image."

She traced a finger lightly down my chest, making me froze. "I saw my fans writing me on their fluff fanfictions. Barely seen something that's more than just kisses and handholding, unless I dig further."

"I want to shock everyone, to show them a different side I keep hidden. And who better to help me unleash that naughty side than my handsome co-star?"

"I..." My words cutted off short as her finger pressed against my lips to shush me.

Dahyun's lips brushed against my earlobe as she whispered huskily. "Just think, you're going to be the first man to ever see me completely naked. To run your hands over every inch of my skin…" Her hand slid lower, fingers wrapping the erection through my pants.

"I bet thousands of guys want to trade places with you right now. To have the chance of touching me, of worshipping my body…"

"You should feel honored. Most men can only dream of being in your position, but here I am, offering myself to you willingly~"

I could only moan as Dahyun simply holds my erection through the pants. Dahyun chuckled at my pathetic moaning then held my wrist and dragged me along the woods.

Dahyun led me deeper into the secluded woods, her grip on my wrist firm yet gentle. The cool air caressed our skin as moonlight filtered through the leaves above.

We saw an abandoned hut nearby. We entered cautiously then Dahyun spun me around and pushed me against the wall. Her petite body pressed flush against mine as she gazed up at me with lust.

"We need to rehearse that scene here." she breathed, busy fingers working on my belt. "And I wanted more than just missionary, baby."

Dahyun freed my throbbing cock from the confines of my pants. She licked her lips hungrily at the sight. "After I suck your cock, I need you inside me. Raw. I want give my fans what they've always dreamed of seeing~"

Dahyun started licking from base to tip. Her slimy tongue mixed with her hot breath makes my cock twitch.

It didn't take long until Dahyun wrapped her lips around the head and slowly taking me inch by inch. "Fuuucckk..." I just groaned in response.

Dahyun took me deeper until the entire length disappeared between her plump lips. Her skilled tongue swirled around the sensitive head as she bobbed up and down.

"Mmmph~" She hummed around my shaft, sending vibrations straight to my balls. Slimy saliva coated my cock as she worked me with enthusiasm.

Pulling off with a lewd pop, strings of drool connecting her mouth to my spit-shined erection, Dahyun gazed up at me with eyes full of lust.

"We don't have much time. I need you inside me. Now." She commanded breathlessly, shimmying out of her skirt. No panties underneath revealed her glistening pink folds.

Next, she lifted off her cardigan top. Exposing her perky breasts, dusty pink nipples harden under the chill wind. Dahyun laid down on the creaking wooden floor and spread her legs invitingly.

Seeing Dahyun fully naked infront of me. All my worries are gone instantly. My mind is now full of lust, my body went auto-pilot as I removed my remaining clothes.

Now, naked as hers. I positioned between her legs. Hands at the sides of her head. Her hand aligned my cock to her dripping core, ready to do the deed.

With a swift thrust of my hips, I buried myself to the hilt inside Dahyun's slick heat. A throaty moan escaped our lips at the sensation of her walls gripping me tightly.

"Ahhh~ Yes, fill me up!" Dahyun cried out in ecstasy, her back arching off the dusty floor. Her nails raked down my back as I began to move, setting a steady rhythm.

Our bodies moved together in such a passion, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing in the small hut, being the only noise through the quiet night in the woods. Dahyun's breasts bounced with each powerful thrust, her pink nipples just begging at me.

Leaning down, I captured one of the hardened buds between my teeth, nibbling and sucking as I continued my relentless pace.

"Mmmm! yes! just like that! Don't stop!" Dahyun mewled, her voice high and breathy with pleasure. She tangled her fingers in my hair, holding me close as I busied myself tasting her breasts.

The feeling of her warm walls fluttering around my pistoning cock was indescribable. I couldn't believe this was really happening. I was balls deep in my ultimate fantasy, my gorgeous bias writhing beneath me.

"Harder, please!" Dahyun begged shamelessly, her ankles locked behind me to urge me on. The lewd squelching of her arousal filled the room as I pounded into her sopping wet cunt.

Sweat glistened on our entwined bodies as we lost ourselves in carnal desire.

I stopped lavishing her breasts to kiss her lips. Our tongues danced and twined together sloppily as we made out with desperate hunger. Saliva dribbled down our chins but we don't care how we looked.

Breaking away with a gasp, Dahyun locked eyes with me, her gaze reflects mine with unrestrained lust. "Fuck me harder, baby... I won't break." she demanded breathlessly. "Ruin my fucking cunt!"

She tightened her thighs around my waist, using the leverage to meet my increasingly forceful thrusts.

"Yes, yes, YES! Right there! Right FUCKING there! Oh my god!" Dahyun keened, her walls starting to flutter and clench erratically around my cock. She was getting close, I can feel mine as well.

"Almost! Almost- AGGGHHHH!!" Dahyun's high pitched shout ringing my ears. Her back arched off from the wooden floor, whole body tensed before twitching. Felt her warm squirt coating my balls and thighs.

She came undone but I'm not done yet. I still thrusting her oversensitive pussy, chasing for my orgasm. "Fuck! I'm gonna cum! Where to?"

"Inside me, please!" Dahyun begged wantonly, her voice raw with need. "Fill me up with your hot cum! I want to feel you deep inside me!"

She clenched rhythmically around my cock, trying it's best to milk me. The moment that she gave me a permission to do it inside, sent me hurtling towards the edge.

With a few more erratic thrusts, I buried myself to the hilt and exploded. Thick ropes of hot semen painted her spasming insides as I grunted through my intense climax.

"FUCK yes! Pump me full!" Dahyun wailed as she felt my semen filling her up, her second orgasm crashing over her. Her velvety walls rippled and squeezed, greedily accepting every drop of my cum.

We came down from our high. My face is burried at the crook of her sweaty neck. Inhailing her natural body scent mixed with arousal. Her arms and legs still wrapped around me. My cock still burried inside of her well-used cunt.

The sudden ringing of Dahyun's phone shattered our post-coital bliss. She groaned softly as I reluctantly pulled out of her well-used pussy with a wet pop.

"Damn, reality comes knocking." she sighed, reaching for her phone. "It's my manager. Looks like our little 'rehearsal' session is over."

Dahyun answered the call, trying to keep her voice steady despite the lingering feeling of sex. "Yes, Manager-nim… We were just… um, discussing the scene. We'll be right there."

Hanging up, she turned to me with a mischievous grin, despite the slight blush coloring her cheeks. "Guess we'd better get dressed and head back before they send a search party. Wouldn't want to raise suspicions about what we just did, right?" she chuckled with a teasing smile, stretching like a satisfied cat. Globs of my cum trickled out of her gaping pussy.

Dahyun's next move is what made me surprise. She collected my cum by her fingers and sucked it clean. "Hhmm~~ Taste good!"

We rushed to dress ourselves. "That was amazing, by the way. Far better than we could film tonight."

As we hurried back towards the set, Dahyun took my hand and gave it a squeeze. "Don't worry, once we're completely done this film, maybe we can continue at my place, hm?"

The thought of sex with her at her place made my mind spin with possibilities. "Y-Yeah.. Sure."

As we arrived back on set, the crew bustled around preparing for the bed scene. A makeup artist touched up Dahyun's dewy skin and slightly swollen lips while a stylist fluffed her tousled hair.

"You two look a bit… flushed. Did you rehearse the intimate parts already?" One of the staff members asked with a knowing smirk, eyeing our disheveled appearances.

Dahyun just giggled coyly. "Something like that! We wanted to make sure our chemistry was perfect for the cameras."

Once prepped, we went position ourselves on the plush bed, flesh-colored patches placed on our genitals.

When the director shouts 'Action'. Me and Dahyun started making out while undressing ourselves.

A blanket is covering our lower bodies as the cameras filming our naked upper bodies. Capturing our facial expressions during the fake missionary sex.

Under the covers, I slowly dry humping into Dahyun's covered pussy, capturing her soft moan with a deep kiss. Her back arched as I 'filled' her, perky breasts bouncing enticingly above the blanket line.

"Mmmm~" Dahyun whimpered realistically into my mouth, wrapping her legs around my waist to pull me deeper. The camera zoomed in on our passionate faces, her eyes fluttering shut in bliss, my jaw clenched in concentration.

I set a slow, sensual rhythm, rolling my hips to grind against her with each fake thrust. Dahyun's hands roamed my back, blunt nails raking lightly down my skin.

"Ohhh yesss…" She mewled, voice breathy and needy. "You feel so good inside me!"

Moments later, we sped up. Our fake moans and fake intercourse under the blanket makes the scene more real.

"I'm… I'm almost there! Almost there!" Dahyun squealed as she held me close to her.

"Me too! Shit! I'm going to fill you up! Fuck!" I shouted as I tried my best to make our acting looks real.

Our combined moans and fake twitching of our bodies, shows that we reached on our orgasm together. We kissed deeply at the end.

As the director called cut, we broke apart, both panting softly. The sexual tension on set was obvious. Several male crew members shifted uncomfortably, obvious bulges tenting their pants. Female staffs crossed their legs tightly, faces flushed.

"Wow, that was intense!" Dahyun giggled breathlessly, sitting up and letting the blanket pool around her waist. Her pert breasts heaved with each calming breath. "Did you see their reactions? They thought it's real."

"Yeah.. We're good actors after all." Indeed, the bed scene looks so real to them despite they know that it's all fake. Some averted their eyes while others openly stared, jaw dropped even our managers.

The rest of the filming has ended smoothly. The film is finally done after almost a month of filming.

Today, I got a text from Dahyun. Inviting me to her place as she messaged me her address.

I arrive at Dahyun's upscale apartment building, heart pounding with anticipation. After a quick call up, the doorman buzzes me in.

Taking the elevator to the top floor, I smooth down my shirt nervously. "This is really happening."

Dahyun greets me at the door wearing a silky robe that clings to her curves. "A wine huh? Nice choice." she purrs, pulling me inside. "But I need you more than this wine, darling." She placed the wine at the coffee table before launching herself to me.

She captured my lips in a searing kiss. Hands roam appreciatively over my chest as I carried her easily toward to her bedroom.

"I want you to fuck my brains out." Dahyun breathlessly says between kisses. "Don't hold back. I am giving you a permission to use my holes."

"Not at all," he replied, his voice keeping that tranquil, composed cadence, so at odds with the heat radiating between us. "You look beautiful, as always. But if you go out looking like that, you’ll have to fight them off with a stick."

A warm, pleasant hum buzzed in my chest at the compliment. I loved how he looked at me—not just as a mother, but as a woman he desired. It was a dangerous, addictive thrill. I turned away from the mirror and sauntered towards him, my heels clicking rhythmically on the wooden floor. The air in the room felt thick, charged with that familiar, electric tension that always seemed to spark when we were alone.

"They can look all they want," I murmured, stopping just inches from him. I reached out, flattening my palm against his chest, feeling the steady, rhythmic thumping of his heart. "But they can't touch. Only you get to touch, don't you, sweetheart?"

He closed the gap between us; his arms circled my waist, pulling me against him. His face was so close to mine. I felt his breath on my neck, and it made me shiver. He kissed my neck; his lips were soft and gentle. I moaned softly and arched my back, pressing my body closer to his. I ran my fingers through his brown hair, pulling him closer to me. His hands moved down to my bum, squeezing firmly. I loved how confident he was becoming, how he took what he wanted from me.

"Only me," he whispered against my skin, his voice vibrating through me.

I couldn't help the giggle that bubbled up, mixed with a desperate gasp as his teeth grazed my collarbone. It was absurd, really. I was supposed to be heading out to Roppongi to dance and drink, to lose myself in the thumping bass and coloured lights, yet here I was, melting in the arms of a fifteen-year-old boy who was rapidly becoming the only thing that could satisfy the insatiable hunger inside me.

"Are there any chances for you to remain here or for me to come with you as your knight?" He asked, his voice muffled slightly against my skin, the vibrations of his words sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in my abdomen.

I pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, my hands resting on his shoulders. "My knight? Are you planning to fight off all the bad men with a sword, then?" I teased, though the idea was tempting. The thought of having him by my side, his possessive eyes on me all night while I danced, made my thighs clench together. "If you promise not to make a scene if someone tries to flirt with me... I want you to be there with me to have fun, not to be my guardian."

My sweet boy nodded. I instructed him on what to wear, forcing him to put on something a bit more sophisticated than his usual school attire. It felt delightfully sinful, dressing him up like my own personal doll, preparing him for a night where the lines between mother and lover would be blurred amidst the neon lights of Tokyo.

The taxi ride into Roppongi was a blur of passing streetlights and the electric anticipation humming beneath my skin. My hand rested on his thigh the entire way, my fingers tracing teasing circles higher and higher, relishing the way his breathing hitched. He stayed calm, outwardly tranquil, but I could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the predator waiting to be unleashed.

When we finally stepped out of the cab, the city assaulted our senses in a dizzying wave of sound and colour. The bass from the nearby clubs was a physical thump in my chest, vibrating through the soles of my high heels. I took his arm, pressing my body against his, revelling in the possessive glances he shot at anyone who dared to look my way. We walked past the queues, the bouncer recognising me and ushering us inside with a knowing grin.

The club was a sensory overload, a swirling vortex of neon lasers, pounding bass, and the sweet, musky scent of expensive perfume and desire. I held onto his arm tightly as we navigated the throng of bodies, feeling like the queen of the night with her handsome young prince. The heat was palpable, but nothing compared to the fire burning in my blood as I felt his protective presence beside me.

We made our way towards the VIP section, a raised platform swathed in velvet ropes and bathed in purple light. There, waving enthusiastically amidst the bottles of champagne and ice buckets, were my girls. Mina, with her feline eyes and mischievous smirk; Nayeon, glowing with that bunny-like charm; and Tzuyu, tall and elegant, looking like a runway model who had wandered in for a drink.

"Sana! Over here!" Nayeon shrieked over the music, her eyes widening as she took in my entourage. I dragged him over to the plush, crescent-shaped booth, watching their faces drop in varying degrees of shock and appreciation as they got a good look at him. He stood there, calm and composed, looking utterly delectable in the dark button-down I’d picked out for him. It was unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of the smooth skin beneath, the shirt tucked neatly into his trousers.

The booth, however, presented a minor logistical dilemma. It was designed for four, perhaps five people at a squeeze, but there were four of us, and the table was cluttered with buckets of Moët and assorted cocktails.

"Oh, bother", I pouted playfully, looking around the tight space. "It seems we're a seat short, aren't we?"

Tzuyu, ever the graceful one, started to shift towards the edge to make room, but I was already moving. I wasn't about to let my knight sit on the hard cushion outside the circle, nor did I want him pressed up against Nayeon, no matter how much I adored her.

With a mischievous glint in my eye, I turned to my son, patting my thigh invitingly. "I suppose you’ll just have to be my chair for the night, sweetheart. Unless you object to having the best view in the house?"

He didn’t miss a beat. He settled onto the plush leather seat, his legs spread slightly in that inherently masculine way, and looked up at me with a raised brow. "I think I can manage that," he murmured, his voice steady, though I caught the subtle darkening of his pupils.

I didn't hesitate. I gathered the hem of my short dress and turned, sinking onto his lap. The sensation was immediate and electric. I felt the firm muscles of his thighs beneath my bottom, and as I wiggled to get comfortable, I couldn't ignore the distinct, hardening length pressing against my backside. A flush of heat shot through me, and I bit my lip to stifle a moan. Being this full and heavy against him, in public, of all places, was a wicked thrill.

His arms instinctively wrapped around my waist, pulling me flush against his chest, grounding me amidst the dizzying atmosphere of the club. I settled back against him, revelling in the heat of his body seeping through the thin fabric of my dress. It was a possessive hold, one that silently claimed ownership, and I felt a heady rush of adrenaline knowing that my friends were watching every second of it.

"Well, hello there," Mina purred, leaning her elbows on the table to get a better look. Her dark, feline eyes roamed over his face with undisguised interest, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "Sana, you really didn't do this handsome young man justice in your stories. He’s absolutely gorgeous."

I felt a sharp pang of jealousy in my chest, primal and fierce, but I suppressed it with a bright, bubbly laugh. I leant back, resting my head on his shoulder, and tilted my chin up to look at him. "Isn't he, though? I told you he was special. But try to control yourselves, ladies. He’s a bit shy."

"He doesn't look very shy to me," Tzuyu countered, her voice cool and sultry as she took a slow sip from her flute of champagne. Her gaze was heavy, lingering a little too long on the way his hands rested possessively on my hips, his thumb tracing idle circles against the bone. "In fact, he looks like he knows exactly what he's doing. Those eyes... they aren't innocent at all."

I felt him stiffen slightly behind me—not in fear, but in recognition. It was the hunter acknowledging he was being watched. He didn't flinch under Tzuyu's scrutiny; instead, he met her gaze evenly, that tranquil mask firmly in place, though I could feel the rapid thrum of his heart beating against my spine.

"He’s just composed," I corrected them, waving a hand dismissively, though my pulse quickened at their praise. I reached for the bucket, grabbing a bottle of Moët. "Don't scare him off, you lot. He’s used to quiet nights at home, not..." I gestured vaguely at the writhing mass of bodies on the dance floor below, "this chaotic madness."

"He is far too composed for a boy his age," Nayeon chimed in, her bunny-like teeth flashing as she grinned. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his arm—a touch that lingered a second too long for my liking. "Usually, boys are tripping over their own tongues around us. You seem... unbothered, young man."

I felt the muscles in his jaw tighten against my shoulder, a subtle shift that only I would notice. He didn't pull away, but his hand on my hip gave a firm, reassuring squeeze, silently reminding me—and perhaps her—that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

"I prefer to observe," he replied smoothly, his voice cutting through the thumping bass with an ease that surprised me. He lifted his glass of champagne, his blue eyes locking with Nayeon's over the rim. "And right now, the view is quite extraordinary."

Nayeon’s cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink at his smooth retort, and she let out a surprised, delighted laugh, pulling her hand back as if she’d been burned. "Oh, he’s got a tongue on him, too! Sana, where on earth did you find this one? You’ve been hiding a diamond in the rough."

"I told you he was full of surprises," I preened, swirling the golden liquid in my glass. The possessive pride swelling in my chest was intoxicating. Seeing my friends—women who were used to men fawning over them—rendered slightly flustered by my son’s quiet confidence was a massive ego boost. I shifted my weight on his lap, grinding down slightly, and felt his breath hitch imperceptibly against my ear. I knew exactly what I was doing to him. The friction, the heat, the public nature of our seating arrangement—it was all calculated to drive him mad, and I could feel the rigid proof of it beneath my thigh.

"I like him," Mina decided, her dark eyes narrowing speculatively. She poured a fresh glass of champagne and slid it across the table towards him. "He’s got a presence. It’s... intense. You don’t see that in boys his age. Usually, it’s all pent-up aggression and awkwardness. He’s calm. Controlled."

I watched him take the glass with that same steady hand, offering Mina a nod of gratitude that was polite yet kept a distinct air of detachment. "Thank you", he said, his voice low and smooth, managing to make a simple pleasantry sound like a command. "It is... interesting to meet the women Sana speaks of so often."

"Speaks of us?" Tzuyu arched a perfectly sculpted brow, setting her glass down with a deliberate clink. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, her gaze locking onto his with predatory curiosity. "I wonder what exactly she says. Do tell!"

He took a slow sip of the champagne, his eyes never leaving Tzuyu’s. "Only that you are beautiful, lively, and... intense", he replied, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. The playfulness in his tone was so subtle; if I didn't know him so well—if I didn't feel the way his fingers were gripping my hip possessively—I might have missed it.

"Intense?" Tzuyu repeated the word rolling off her tongue like dark chocolate. She seemed to taste the subtext there, her eyes glinting with amusement. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment. Though I have a feeling you're the one who enjoys a bit of intensity, aren't you?"

I felt the vibration of his low chuckle against my back before I heard it. It was a rich, surprisingly deep sound for a boy of fifteen, and it sent a shiver of delight straight down my spine. "I suppose you could say I appreciate focus," he answered smoothly, his hand idly stroking the silk of my dress just above my hip.

"Oh, I bet you do," Mina chimed in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that she didn't bother to hide. She leaned in closer, invading our personal space just enough to be daring. "So, tell us, handsome. Does Sana boss you around at home, or are you the one in charge there? You seem very... obedient."

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, I felt the hand resting on my hip glide slowly downwards, his fingers splaying wide over the curve of my thigh, pulling me tighter against him until there was absolutely no space left between us. The movement was subtle, hidden beneath the table and the shadows of the VIP booth, but the message was clear. He was staking his claim, right in front of them.

"I think you’ll find," he said, his voice dropping an octave, silencing Mina’s playful teasing instantly, "that we have a very equal partnership. Isn't that right, Sana?"

I looked down at him, my breath catching in my throat at the dark, predatory look in his blue eyes. He wasn't the shy, tranquil boy I had dressed up an hour ago; he was something else entirely now—something dangerous and thrillingly possessive.

"Equal?" Mina repeated, her feline eyes narrowing as she picked up on the shift in the air. She tapped a manicured nail against her glass, a knowing smirk curling her lips. "Is that what we're calling it? It looked an awful lot like you were taking orders back at the door, sweetheart."

"He lets me think I'm in charge," I interjected quickly, my voice sounding breathless even to my own ears. I took a hasty sip of my champagne to hide the flush rising in my cheeks, the bubbles doing little to quell the heat pooling in my stomach. I shifted on his lap again, trying to find a position that didn't press his hardened length so directly against my bottom, but it was a futile effort. He was rock hard, and he wanted me to know it.

"He's very good at that," Tzuyu observed, her gaze still fixed on him with an intensity that usually made lesser men wither. She swirled her drink, the ice clinking softly. "Listening, observing. But smart boys know when to stay quiet and when to... speak up."

Nayeon let out a loud, unladylike snort, breaking the heavy tension that had settled over the table. She reached for the bottle of vodka, topping up her glass with a generous pour. "Oh, don't mind Tzuyu," she said, waving a dismissive hand in our direction. "She’s just salty because she hasn't found a man who can keep up with her yet. You're doing alright, kid. As long as you can keep Sana smiling, you're good in my books."

"I second that", Mina purred, her gaze softening as she took a long sip of her drink, though her eyes continued to flicker between us, clearly enjoying the show. "There is something very... alluring about a young man who knows his place. Or yours," she added with a wicked grin.

I felt the tension in his jaw ease slightly against my shoulder, the predator receding just enough to let the tranquil mask slip back into place. He was incredibly adaptable, shifting seamlessly from the dominant lover to the polite, composed son whenever the situation required. It made my head spin.

"Would you girls mind a question?" He  asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the thumping bass and the steady hum of conversation.

"Anything for you, handsome," Nayeon replied instantly, leaning forward with a playful glint in her eyes, clearly enjoying the attention.

He didn't look at her, though. His gaze remained fixed on the dance floor below, watching the writhing mass of bodies with a detached, analytical interest, even as his hand continued to stroke my hip, his thumb rubbing slow, maddening circles against my skin. "Sana mentions she often comes here to... let loose. Does she attract a lot of attention when she's alone?"

The question hung in the air for a moment, heavy with implication, before the girls erupted into a chorus of laughter. It was a bright, musical sound, but underneath it, I could sense the shift in atmosphere as they exchanged knowing glances.

"Attract attention?" Mina repeated, wiping a tear of mirth from the corner of her eye. "Sweetheart, Sana doesn't just attract attention; she absorbs it. When she walks onto that floor, she becomes the centre of gravity."

"It's true", Nayeon added, leaning back and draping her arm over the booth behind her, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "You have to beat them off with a stick. Men, women... they all want a piece of her. She’s a firecracker, that one. Always has been."

Tzuyu hummed in agreement, her gaze drifting from the chaotic dance floor back to us, her eyes lingering on the possessive grip he had on my waist. "She's right. Sana feeds off the energy. She loves being looked at, being wanted. But she rarely goes home with anyone. Usually, she just likes to tease and leave them wanting." Tzuyu’s eyes locked onto his, a challenge glittering in their depths. "She seems to have found a solution to that problem lately, hasn't she?"

I felt the muscles beneath me bunch and tighten, a subtle reminder of the power contained in that youthful, lean frame. He didn't rise to the bait, though. Instead, he took another slow sip of his champagne, his eyes never leaving Tzuyu’s.

"It's up to her to say it," he replied with a calm voice. "I can only grant you; she knows she can rely on me."

The table went quiet at that, the bass-heavy thrum of the club seeming to swell in the sudden silence. Tzuyu held his gaze for a long, lingering moment, her analytical expression cracking just enough to reveal a flash of genuine surprise. Then, a slow, appreciative smile spread across her face.

"Smart and dangerous", Tzuyu murmured, lifting her glass in a silent toast. "I like that. You’re not just a pretty face, are you?"

"I told you", I beamed, wiggling my hips again, unable to resist the urge to torment him just a little more. I felt the heavy ridge of his erection twitch beneath me, a silent response to my movement. "He’s perfect."

His hands moved down to my thighs; his touch was light like a feather. "Objectively", he stated. "You are all gorgeous women, and I cannot fathom why there is no one at your side."

Mina let out a soft, incredulous laugh, the sound like silk rubbing together. She tipped her head back, exposing the slender line of her throat as she looked up at the ceiling lights. "Oh, darling," she sighed, bringing her gaze back down to him with a heavy, hooded look. "It’s because we eat men like you for breakfast and spit them out before lunch. Finding someone who can handle us is... a full-time occupation."

"Especially when you have high standards," Nayeon added, though her eyes softened as she looked at him. She swirled the vodka in her glass, the ice clinking rhythmically. "Most boys are either terrified of us or trying to get into our knickers within five minutes. You don't seem to be doing either. It’s... refreshing."

"I have everything I need right here," he said simply, his voice vibrating through my back where I leaned against him. The hand on my thigh gave a gentle squeeze, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin just above the lace of my stockings. The friction was maddening, a slow burn that was making it increasingly difficult to maintain the bubbly, carefree façade I usually wore around them.

"I'm sure you do," Mina purred, her gaze lingering on his hand where it disappeared under the hem of her dress. The dark, knowing look in her eyes suggested she suspected exactly what those fingers were up to beneath the table. "But surely you don't intend to keep Sana all to yourself every night? That’s rather greedy, isn't it?"

"He’s young, Mina," Nayeon teased, though there was a slight edge to her voice. She leaned closer, invading his space again, her perfume—a sweet, intoxicating mix of jasmine and vanilla—clouding my senses. "He’s in the prime of his youth. He should be out having fun, making mistakes, breaking hearts. Not playing the devoted husband."

I felt a ripple of unease pass through him, a subtle stiffening of his spine against my back. The tranquil mask slipped for a fraction of a second, revealing a flash of that protective, territorial instinct I admired so much. He didn't like the implication that he was missing out, or worse, that I was holding him back.

"He isn't missing out on anything," I said quickly, perhaps a bit too sharply, keen to defend my darling boy before his tranquil veneer could crack completely. I reached up, threading my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, a soothing gesture meant to calm us both. "He’s exactly where he wants to be. Besides, who says he can't have fun with me? We have plenty of fun."

"Fun," Mina repeated, drawing the word out until it sounded positively filthy. She took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving his face. "I'm sure you do. But variety is the spice of life, isn't it, handsome? Surely your mother has told you about our... little traditions?"

The air in the booth seemed to thicken, charged with a sudden, heavy tension. I knew exactly what Mina was hinting at. Our nights out often ended in a blur of tangled limbs and shared partners, a hedonistic free-for-all that we had indulged in for years. But this was different. This was him. The very idea of sharing him, of watching Mina or Nayeon run their hands over the body that was currently pressed so intimately against mine, sparked a violent rush of jealousy that I wasn't entirely prepared for.

"Mina, calm down," Tzuyu interjected smoothly, though her eyes danced with wicked amusement as she watched the interplay. "You're going to scare the poor thing."

"Don't talk like you are not interested, Tzuyu," Mina retorted. "I saw you ogling him."

Tzuyu didn't deny it. Instead, she swirled the champagne in her glass, her eyes fixed on me with a predatory glint that made my skin prickle. "I'm just appreciating the view, darling. There's no harm in looking. Though I must admit," she paused, her gaze dropping to my lips, "I am curious to see if he tastes as good as he looks."

My son stiffened beneath me, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly on my thigh. It wasn't fear; it was a territorial warning. "Hold your knickers, ladies," I told them. "Before even considering doing anything to him, you have to ask me. He is my son, and although I've never been greedy, I'm not exactly ready to share him. Especially when I know how good he is."

I felt his chest expand against my back as he took a deep breath, his tranquil mask slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of dark amusement. He didn't seem offended by their hunger; if anything, he appeared to view it as a scientific curiosity, like a specimen under a microscope that had just learnt it could bite back.

"Wouldn't be helpful to blow a bit of steam to dance?" He  asked, his voice a smooth counterpoint to the rising tension at the table.

Tzuyu let out a low, appreciative hum, setting her glass down with a decisive click. "He’s got a point," she declared, standing up in one fluid, graceful motion. The hem of her slip dress rode up just enough to show miles of leg, but her eyes were fixed squarely on us. "Sitting here is all well and good, but the music is calling. I’d love to see how our young knight moves."

"I second that," Nayeon chimed, already wiggling out of the booth. She grabbed my hand, her grip firm and insistent. "Come on, Sana! Bring your boy and let's go show this floor how it's done."

I allowed Nayeon to pull me up, the sudden loss of contact making me feel oddly cold despite the stifling heat of the club. My son rose smoothly behind me, adjusting his cuffs with that infuriatingly calm demeanour, though his eyes burnt with a dark, possessive light as he glanced at the other women.

I saw him offering his hand to Mina and Tzuyu with that old-school, gentlemanly charm that seemed so incongruous with his youth, yet fit him perfectly. Mina accepted immediately, her eyes glinting with mischief, while Tzuyu simply smirked, placing her elegant fingers in her palm with an air of regal acceptance. Nayeon, ever the bundle of energy, was already dragging me towards the pulsing heart of the dance floor, weaving through the crowd with practised ease.

The transition from the plush, purple-hued sanctuary of the VIP booth to the main floor was jarring. Here, the air was thick with humidity and the scent of sweat and expensive cologne. The bass was no longer just a sound; it was a physical force, vibrating in my lungs and rattling my teeth. Strobe lights slashed through the darkness, illuminating the writhing mass of bodies in fragmented snapshots of ecstasy.

We found a small pocket of space amidst the chaos, and I immediately turned to him. The girls formed a loose circle around us, a protective yet predatory formation that isolated us from the rest of the club. Nayeon was the first to start moving, her body fluid and rhythmic, her arms raised high as she lost herself in the beat. Mina and Tzuyu followed suit, their movements more sultry, more calculated, designed to draw the eye.

"Well then, my knight," I shouted over the deafening roar of the bass, stepping into his personal space. "Show us what you've got. Don't leave me hanging!"

I didn't wait for a verbal response. I couldn't. The music was a frantic, electro-house beat that demanded movement, a primal rhythm that vibrated in my very marrow. I turned around, pressing my back against his chest, and began to move. I let my body take over, rolling my hips in slow, deliberate circles that I knew would drive him insane. My hands came up, tangling in my hair, arching my back to press my bottom firmly against the front of his trousers.

His response was immediate and electrifying. His hands, of course, settled firmly on my hips, gripping me with a confidence that made my knees weak. He didn't just stand there; he moved with me, matching the roll of my hips with a fluidity that contradicted his usual tranquil stillness. It was a dominant rhythm, a silent assertion that he was the one leading this dance, even if I was the one setting the pace.

I could feel every inch of him against my backside, hard and insistent, separated only by the thin layers of our clothes. The friction was maddening, a delicious tease that promised so much more. I leaned my head back against his shoulder, letting out a breathless laugh that was swallowed by the pounding music. I felt invincible, grinding against the most handsome man in the room, who just happened to be my son.

"Looks like our knight can move," Mina purred, appearing in front of us. She didn't stay at a distance; she closed the gap, moving with a feline grace that brought her body flush against mine. She placed her hands on my waist, her fingers brushing tantalisingly close to where his hands held me.

Mina’s presence was like a sudden wave of heat, her dark eyes locking onto mine with a mischievous glint as she pressed closer. The three of us were fused together in a rhythm that felt illicit and dangerously thrilling. My son didn't falter; if anything, his grip on my hips tightened, anchoring me against him while Mina invaded our space from the front. I was sandwiched between the two of them, caught in a crossfire of desire and tension that made my head spin.

"Having fun, knight?" Mina mouthed, her lips brushing against my ear, though her gaze was fixed pointedly over my shoulder at him. Her hands slid down to my waist, teasingly close to mine, her fingers tracing the sequins of my dress.

"He seems to be enjoying himself," I managed to gasp back, feeling the hard evidence of his enjoyment digging into my lower back. He was rolling his hips in time with the bass, a slow, dirty grind that mimicked exactly how he moved when we were alone in my bed.

"Careful, Mina," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, managing to cut through the relentless thud of the bass. His lips grazed the sensitive shell of my ear, sending a violent shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the music. "You're playing a dangerous game getting this close."

Mina didn't so much as flinch. Instead, she threw her head back and laughed, a dark, sultry sound that seemed to resonate in her chest. She pressed even closer, her body flush against mine, trapping me between her softness and his overwhelming hardness. "I like danger," she mouthed back, her eyes flicking down to his hands on my hips before meeting his gaze again. "And I think you do too."

Before the tension could snap something vital inside me, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist from the side, pulling me slightly away from the centre of our heated triangle. It was Nayeon, vibrating with an infectious, bubbly energy that cut through the heavy fog of lust.

"Come on, you two! Don't hog all the fun!" Nayeon shouted, her voice a bright bell against the deep thrum of the bass. She tugged me away with surprising strength, breaking the seal between my back and his chest. I stumbled slightly, the sudden loss of his warmth leaving me feeling bereft and dizzy, but Nayeon just laughed, spinning me around until I was facing her. "Let's show these kids how it's done, Sana!"

I threw my head back and laughed, the sound bubbling up from my chest, instantly swept up in her chaotic energy. We danced together, moving in sync like we had done a hundred times before, our bodies mirroring each other, hands roaming freely over each other's arms and waists. It was familiar and safe, a grounded anchor amidst the storm of illicit desire swirling in my head.

But I couldn't keep my eyes off him.

He stood there for a moment, a solitary pillar of calm amidst the chaotic sea of writhing bodies, his blue eyes tracking my every movement with an intensity that made my skin flush. He looked dangerous, a predator waiting patiently for his prey to return to the fold. But he wasn't alone for long.

Tzuyu, graceful and silent as a panther, slid into the space I had vacated. She didn't bounce or shimmy like Nayeon; she flowed, moving with a hypnotic, liquid grace that drew the eye instantly. She stopped right in front of him, close enough that I could see the challenging arch of her brow even from a few feet away.

I watched, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs that had nothing to do with the music, as she began to dance around him. It was a calculated seduction, a slow orbit designed to test his composure. She turned, pressing her back to his chest, mimicking the position I had just occupied, and rolled her hips in a slow, agonising grind.

A sharp, visceral pang of jealousy pierced through the haze of alcohol and bass, sharp enough to make me falter in my steps. Seeing another woman—any woman, let alone Tzuyu with her model-good looks and effortless grace—press her body against his felt like a violation. He was mine. The possessive instinct that roared to life inside me was terrifyingly primal, far beyond the protective maternal urges I was used to.

I was about to pull away from Nayeon, ready to march over there and stake my claim with my claws bared, when I saw how he reacted.

He matched her movement without crossing the line, a fluid, synchronised grind that was technically perfect yet emotionally detached. His hands rested lightly on Tzuyu’s hips, not with the hungry, proprietorial grip he used on me, but with the polite, distant restraint of a dance partner executing a choreography. He looked over her shoulder, his gaze instantly finding mine amidst the flashing lasers and swirling crowd. The corner of his mouth ticked up in a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk, a silent reassurance that shouted, 'I'm right here, Mum.' I’m only playing the game.

It was the look in his eyes that undid me—the calm, unwavering blue anchor that held me steady whilst the club threatened to spin out of control. He knew I was watching. He knew exactly what he was doing, stoking the fires of my jealousy just to prove a point: he could handle them, but he belonged to me.

"Earth to Sana!" Nayeon’s voice cut through my trance, accompanied by a playful shove to my shoulder. "You're staring like a lovesick puppy! If you keep looking at them like that, you might burn a hole in Tzuyu’s back."

I blinked, tearing my gaze away from the sight of Tzuyu grinding against my son, and forced a laugh that sounded slightly strangled even to my own ears. "Can you blame me?" I shot back at Nayeon, trying to regain my bubbly composure. "I have the hottest date on the floor. It’s only natural I want to keep my eyes on the prize."

Nayeon cackled, throwing her head back, her blonde hair whipping around her face. "Possessive, much? I like it. It’s fierce." She grabbed my hand, spinning me around again, but my body was resisting the momentum, yearning to be back where the heat was radiating from.

"I'm just saying, he’s quite the catch." Nayeon leaned in close, shouting over the beat. "Even if he is a bit... young for the usual crowd. He handles himself well."

The track transitioned from a frantic electro-house beat into something deeper, a sensual R&B remix that thrummed through the floorboards like a slow, steady heartbeat. The change in tempo was my cue. I peeled myself away from Nayeon, ignoring her playful pout of protest, and cut a path through the dancing crowd with single-minded determination.

I didn't walk; I stalked.

Tzuyu was still grinding against him, her movements fluid and hypnotic, but as I approached, she sensed the shift in the air. She turned her head, a knowing smirk plastered on her face, and stepped aside with the graciousness of a queen relinquishing her throne—though her eyes lingered on him with a hunger that made my blood boil.

I didn't hesitate. I stepped straight into the space she’d vacated, claiming my territory with a possessive determination that surprised even me. Pressing my back against his chest, I felt the immediate, hard contact of his body, solid and reassuring. The contrast between Tzuyu’s distant grace and the heated reality of him was stark.

"Missed me?" I purred, tilting my head back to look up at him, letting my body roll sensually to the slower, sultry rhythm of the new track.

His hands instantly found my hips, his fingers digging in with that familiar, hungry grip that had been absent when he danced with Tzuyu. "Immensely", he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "She dances well, but she doesn't feel like you."

I let out a breathless sigh, letting his words wash over me, soothing the jagged edges of my jealousy. "She certainly doesn't," I agreed, grinding my hips back against him with a deliberate, slow roll that left him in no doubt about who he belonged to. "And don't you forget it, knight."

He didn't reply with words, but the sharp intake of breath I heard against my neck and the way his hands flexed on my waist were answer enough. We moved together in the dim light, isolated in our own little bubble of lascivious intent while the club throbbed around us. The music was slower now, a heavy, sensual beat that allowed for bodies to press closer, for movements to become more suggestive, more intimate.

I was lost in the sensation of him—the hard planes of his chest against my spine, the thick ridge of his erection nestled against my bottom, and the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint smell of our shared arousal. It was intoxicating, a heady cocktail that made me feel bold and invincible.

After a bunch of songs more, we all retreated to the booth, breathless and glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration. The alcohol had flowed freely, and the girls were positively buzzing, a chaotic tangle of limbs and laughter as we collapsed onto the plush leather. My son sat down first, looking remarkably unruffled save for the darkened intensity in his eyes, and I immediately reclaimed my place on his lap, draping my arm around his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"So", Nayeon drawled, fanning herself with a cocktail napkin, her cheeks flushed a pretty pink. "Are we doing this, or what? My place is empty, and I just bought a new bottle of gin that is screaming to be opened."

I stiffened slightly, the implication hanging heavy in the air. We often ended our nights at one of our apartments, continuing the party in more intimate surroundings. But tonight, I wasn't just with the girls. I felt the muscles beneath me tense in agreement; he had no intention of becoming a plaything for the group, no matter how much they seemed to covet him.

"I won't let you play with him," I replied. "But I am going to be merciful; you can watch."

The silence that descended over the booth was absolute. For a moment, even the relentless thumping of the bass seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the sheer weight of my declaration. The three of them stared at me, their expressions a frozen tableau of shock, quickly followed by a dawning, wicked comprehension.

"Watch?" Tzuyu repeated, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. She slowly placed her glass on the table, the movement deliberate and predatory. She leaned forward, her dark eyes gleaming with a mixture of intrigue and lascivious hunger. "Do you mean...?"

"Exactly what I said," I confirmed, feeling the thrill of the forbidden course through my veins like liquid fire. I shifted slightly on his lap, relishing the way his hardness pulsed against me, a silent testament to his arousal at the prospect. "You want to see if the knight can match the fair maiden's stamina? You want to see if he's truly as good as I claim? Then you can sit back, sip your gin, and enjoy the show."

A collective shiver seemed to run through the group. Nayeon’s mouth fell open slightly before snapping shut with a click of her teeth, her eyes sparkling with unadulterated delight. Mina let out a low, appreciative hum, her gaze darkening as it bored into us, already undressing him in her mind. But it was Tzuyu’s reaction that satisfied me the most. She didn't look away; she leaned in, hungry and unblinking, accepting the challenge I had laid down.

"Bold", Tzuyu breathed, her voice barely audible over the music. "I didn't think you had it in you to share even a glimpse, Sana. But I accept. If I have to settle for watching, I intend to see everything."

Nayeon’s apartment was a sleek, modern expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows and white furniture, currently bathed in the soft, amber glow of the city lights below. The air was thick with anticipation and the sharp scent of gin as we filed in, the chaotic energy of the club having dissolved into a focused, predatory tension.

I felt my son’s hand resting firmly against the small of my back, a silent anchor in the storm. He was calm, exuding that tranquil aura that always made my heart race, but I knew him well enough to sense the coiled spring beneath his composed exterior. He was ready.

"Drinks first, I think," Nayeon announced, heading straight for the kitchen. She returned moments later with a crystal decanter and four tumblers, pouring generous measures with a shaky hand that betrayed her own excitement. "To the show," she toasted, her eyes glinting as she handed a glass to Tzuyu, then Mina.

Mina accepted hers with a languid grace, her eyes never leaving my son, who politely declined the alcohol with a soft "No, thank you. I prefer to keep a clear head for... performance."

"Smart boy," Tzuyu murmured, taking a slow sip of her drink before gesturing towards the expansive white rug in the centre of the living room. It lay before the floor-to-ceiling windows like a stage, the city lights of Tokyo sprawling out beneath it, a glittering backdrop for the depravity about to unfold. "The floor is yours. Don't disappoint us."

I felt a tremor of nervous excitement race down my spine, mixing with the champagne’s potent buzz. This was it. The ultimate exhibition. I was about to let my friends witness the most intimate, forbidden part of my life. I looked up at him, searching for any sign of hesitation, but found only that dark, bottomless ocean of blue staring back at me, filled with a quiet, burning intensity.

I took a deep breath, letting the alcohol fizz in my veins, giving me that extra push of courage I needed. I didn't wait for him to make the first move; the night had been about me taking what I wanted, and I wasn't about to stop now. I reached for the hem of my sequined dress and, with a fluid motion, pulled it up and over my head.

The air in the room was cool against my heated skin, but the looks from my friends were incinerating. I stood before them in nothing but my sheer black stockings, suspender belt, and a pair of lace panties that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. I kicked the dress aside, hearing it rustle softly on the hardwood floor.

"Ready to see what all the fuss is about?" I asked, my voice breathless and high, pitching it to carry across the room.

The three of them didn't answer with words. Instead, they settled onto the long, white sectional sofa like queens awaiting a spectacle, their drinks held loosely in their hands but their eyes fixed unblinkingly on me. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on, a heady mix of voyeuristic curiosity and raw lust.

My son, ever the composed actor in my play, stepped forward. He didn't look at them; his attention was entirely focused on me, stripping away the audience until it felt as though we were the only two people in Tokyo. He reached out, his fingers grazing the bare skin of my waist, sending a jolt of electricity through my system.

"You are breathtaking," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, meant solely for my ears despite the acoustics of the room.

He didn't wait for a response, nor did he give me time to succumb to the sudden rush of bashfulness that threatened to colour my cheeks. With a gentle but insistent pressure on my shoulders, he guided me down onto the plush white rug. The fibres were soft against my knees, a stark contrast to the hard floor of the club, and the sensation of being centred in the room—like a prize exhibit—made my blood hum with a mixture of shame and exhilaration.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the three of them shifting on the sofa. Nayeon had perched on the edge of her seat, her knuckles white as she gripped her glass, her bunny-like eyes wide and unblinking. Mina had reclined, her dark gaze hooded and heavy, trailing over my exposed skin with a slow, deliberating heat that felt like a physical touch. And Tzuyu... Tzuyu was simply watching, her chin resting in her palm, a small, satisfied smirk playing on her lips as if she were observing a particularly interesting experiment.

My son knelt before me, blocking out the city lights, his frame dominating my vision. He reached out with those long, elegant fingers and hooked them into the lace of my panties. The drag of the fabric against my thighs as he slid them down was agonisingly slow, a tease that drew a ragged gasp from my throat. When they pooled at my knees, he helped me extricate my legs, leaving me clad only in stockings and suspenders.

The cool air of the apartment kissed my heated skin, raising gooseflesh along my thighs, but the heat in his eyes was enough to burn me alive. He didn't rush. His hands, those large, capable hands that had been teasing me all night, trailed back up my legs, his thumbs pressing into the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs, urging them apart.

I obeyed without thought, opening myself to him, to them. The sheer debauchery of the situation hit me with a dizzying rush—I was Sana, the bubbly, vivacious friend, usually the one teasing the men, but here I was, exposed and vulnerable on my knees before my fifteen-year-old son while my best friends watched like hawks.

"Look at you," he murmured, his voice a rough scrape of sound that seemed to echo in the silent room. "So eager."

I didn't care about their eyes on me anymore; all that mattered was the dark, predatory glint in his blue gaze. He leaned forward, his breath ghosting over my exposed, slick folds, and I shivered violently. The anticipation was a taut wire pulled tight inside my abdomen, ready to snap.

"Do not take your eyes off her," he commanded, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip crack. He didn't look back at the sofa to see if they obeyed, but I heard the collective intake of breath and the rustle of fabric as they shifted to get a better view. "I want you to see who she belongs to."

With a groan that sounded more like a growl, he buried his face between my thighs. The first drag of his tongue against my clit was electric, a shockwave that ripped a cry from my throat and bowed my spine. He didn't start slow; he attacked with a hunger that mirrored my own insatiable need, licking and sucking with a fervour that made my head spin.

The sensation was overwhelming, a white-hot surge of pleasure that obliterated the thought of our audience from my mind, at least for a moment. His tongue was wickedly clever, flicking and circling my clit with a precision that spoke of hours of practice—practice that I had happily provided. He knew exactly how to flatten it to maximise surface area, then curl it to tease that sensitive bundle of nerves, driving me closer to the edge with every pass.

"God, look at that," Nayeon’s voice drifted to me, sounding distant and warped, as if she were speaking underwater. "Look at how he devours her. I've never seen a man eat pussy like that."

"He certainly doesn't eat like a fifteen-year-old," Mina agreed, her tone thick with appreciation. "Sana, you lucky bitch. His technique is... impeccable."

"Impeccable?" Tzuyu’s cool, analytical voice cut through the haze of my pleasure, forcing me to blink my eyes open and focus on the three women watching us. She hadn't moved from her relaxed pose, but her eyes were dark, fixed intently on the point where my son’s mouth met my body. "It’s not just technique, Mina. It’s devotion. Look at the way he holds her thighs. He’s not just doing it for the pleasure; he’s worshipping."

She was right. Even in the throes of my rapidly unravelling control, I could feel it in the way his fingers dug into the soft flesh of my hips, anchoring me to him. He was devouring me with a single-minded intensity that went far beyond simple lust. He was proving a point to every woman in that room—*and* to himself. I was his. Completely.

He shifted his attention, dragging his tongue lower to circle my entrance, collecting the slick arousal that was practically dripping from me. The sound of his lapping was obscenely loud in the quiet room, a wet, rhythmic noise that made my face burn even as my hips bucked instinctively against his face.

He groaned against me, the vibration shooting straight up my spine and making my toes curl in the carpet. The sound was primal, a possessive rumble that seemed to say mine and mine alone. He brought a hand up, those long, slender fingers that had been resting so innocently on my thigh all night now sliding effortlessly inside me. The stretch was exquisite, a sudden, full pressure that made my breath hitch in a broken sob.

He didn't pump aimlessly; he curled his fingers upwards, finding that spongy, sensitive spot inside me with unerring accuracy, while his mouth resumed its assault on my clit. It was a double-pronged attack of sensory overload, a masterclass in pleasure that had my thighs trembling around his head. I could feel the pressure building rapidly, a tight, coiling knot in my stomach that threatened to snap at any second.

"She's close already," Tzuyu observed, her voice maddeningly calm and analytical. "Look at the way her stomach muscles are contracting. He’s found the spot, hasn't he?"

"He certainly has," I managed to gasp out, my voice sounding ragged and foreign to my own ears. I couldn't have stayed quiet if I’d tried. The dual sensation of his fingers crooking inside me, stroking that hidden place with devastating precision, and his tongue working my clit with relentless, rhythmic pressure was too much to bear. "He... oh god... he knows exactly what he's doing."

"He's relentless," Mina murmured, her voice husky with desire. I could hear the distinct sound of glass clinking against a coaster; she was shifting, unable to sit still. "Look at the control he has. Most boys would be rutting by now, but he’s taking his time. Savouring it."

My son didn't react to their commentary, save for a low, vibrating hum against my flesh that sent fresh jolts of electricity arcing through my nervous system. He was locked in, entirely focused on the task of unravelling me. He increased the pace of his fingers just slightly, a subtle adjustment that felt like turning up the dial on an electric current, while his lips sealed around my clit and sucked hard.

The dam broke. It wasn't a gentle tide but a violent, crashing wave that obliterated every thought in my head. My back bowed off the floor, a sharp, keening cry tearing from my throat as the orgasm slammed into me with the force of a freight train. My vision blurred, the expensive lights of the Tokyo skyline streaking into indistinguishable lines of colour, and for a moment, I was weightless, suspended in a void of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

He didn't stop. He rode me through it, his tongue flicking mercilessly against my over-sensitive clit while his fingers continued to curl inside me, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until I was a trembling, sobbing mess beneath him.

When he finally pulled away, the cool air rushing in to replace the heat of his mouth felt almost like a physical blow. I lay there gasping, my chest heaving, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Through the haze of my afterglow, I could hear the ragged breathing of my friends from the sofa, a collective sound of arousal that matched my own.

He rose slowly, towering over me like a colossus, his face glistening with my essence in the low light. It was an obscenely beautiful sight. He didn't immediately reach for his belt; instead, he looked down at me with that tranquil satisfaction, as if I were a canvas he had just finished painting.

"You know what to do," he urged me.

The command hung in the air, thick with authority and an unspoken challenge. My body, still humming with the residual tremors of my orgasm, moved on autopilot. I wanted to please him, to show these women—these beautiful, cynical women who thought they knew everything about pleasure—that what we had was something else entirely.

I pushed myself up from the floor, my muscles feeling like jelly, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins gave me strength. I knelt before him, reaching out with trembling fingers to the leather belt of his trousers. The buckle clinked softly in the quiet room, the sound sharp and distinct against the backdrop of heavy breathing.

I looked up at him, my eyes wide and submissive, seeking his approval. He gazed down at me, his expression unreadable but for the darkening of his blue eyes, which burned with a possessive fire. He didn't help me; he simply watched, letting me serve him, letting me put on the show he had demanded.

I undid the button with trembling fingers; the sound of the zipper sliding down seemed deafening in the hushed apartment. With a tug, I freed him, his erection springing forth to slap heavily against his abdomen. The sight of him never failed to steal my breath—thick, flushed, and angrily erect, the veins standing out in stark relief against the pale skin.

"Oh my," Nayeon whispered, the sound breaking the spell. "Sana... you weren't exaggerating. He's... magnificent."

I wrapped my hand around the base, savouring the familiar, velvety heat of him. He was steel encased in silk, throbbing in my grip. I leaned in, inhaling his scent—musk, sex, and that clean, unique smell that was purely him—before darting my tongue out to lap at the bead of precum glistening at the tip. He tasted salty and bitter, a flavour that made my mouth water and my core clench in desperate need.

I wrapped my lips around the head, sucking gently, swirling my tongue over the sensitive slit. A low hiss escaped him, his hand moving to the back of my head, his fingers tangling in my hair, but he didn't force me down. He held me there, a grounding weight, letting me set the pace even though we both knew he was the one in control.

I took him deeper, relaxing my throat to accommodate his impressive girth, hollowing my cheeks as I bobbed my head. I could feel the eyes of my friends boring into us, their gaze a physical weight that only heightened the intensity. I wanted them to see. I wanted them to see how well I took him, how perfectly we fit together.

"Look at the enthusiasm," Tzuyu murmured, her voice thick with a rare, unguarded lust. "She really is insatiable, isn't she?"

"He's lucky to have found a match," Mina replied, her voice raspy. I heard the distinct clink of ice against glass as she took a desperate sip of her drink, as if she needed it to cool down. "Most men would have spent themselves by now. Look at him. He’s holding back."

The praise washed over me, mingling with the salty taste of him on my tongue. I redoubled my efforts, taking him deeper until the tip hit the back of my throat, suppressing the gag reflex through years of practice and sheer determination. I wanted to devour him whole, to prove that I was the only one who could handle him like this.

"Enough", he said suddenly, his voice tight with restrained effort. His hand in my hair tightened, not to hurt, but to still my movements. "I don't want to finish in your mouth. Not tonight."

The word was a command, sharp and absolute, cutting through the heavy, lust-charged air like a knife. I froze immediately, my lips still wrapped around the velvety head of his cock, my eyes darting upwards to meet his gaze. His jaw was set tight, a muscle fluttering beneath the skin, and his blue eyes were dark, swirling storms of need and dominance.

He pulled me up by my hair, not roughly, but with an insistent, guiding force that made me gasp as I was hauled to my feet. My legs felt shaky, weak from the orgasm that still hummed in my nerve endings, but he steadied me with a hand on my waist, spinning me around to face the sofa.

"Look at them," he murmured against my ear, his breath hot and ragged. "Look at your audience."

I blinked, the sudden reorientation of the room sending a fresh wave of dizziness through me. I was facing them now—the three women who had been my confidantes, my partners in crime, and now my voyeurs. Nayeon was leaning so far forward I thought she might tumble off the sofa, her eyes wide and glassy, darting between my face and the imposing figure looming behind me. Mina had abandoned all pretence of composure, her legs crossed tightly, a flush creeping down her neck. And Tzuyu... Tzuyu’s gaze was fixed on my son’s face with an almost frightening hunger.

"He really is magnificent, Sana," Tzuyu breathed, her voice barely carrying over the sound of her own ragged breathing. "I hope you appreciate what you have there."

"I do," I whimpered, the truth of it hitting me with the force of a physical blow. I appreciated every inch of him, every dark, possessive thought that crossed his mind.

I felt the heavy heat of him against my lower back, a stark reminder of what was to come. He didn't give me a moment to gather my scattered thoughts. With a firm hand between my shoulder blades, he guided me down, bending me over until my hands braced against the soft cushions of the sofa, right in front of Nayeon.

My face was inches from Nayeon’s knees. I could smell her perfume—sweet and cloying—and feel the radiant heat coming off her body. She was trembling, her eyes wide and locked onto mine, mirroring the shock and exhilaration coursing through my own system.

"Are you ready, Mum?" he asked, his voice a low, dark rumble that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards and straight into my very core.

"I was born ready, sweetheart," I breathed, arching my back to present myself to him, a wanton offering amidst the expensive decor. The position was humiliating and exhilarating all at once. I was bent double, my face inches from my best friend's lap, about to be taken by my son while the city lights watched indifferently through the glass.

I felt the blunt, heat-heavy head of his cock nudge against my entrance, slicking itself through my wetness. The anticipation was a sweet torture. Behind me, he was the picture of composure, but I could feel the tremor in his thighs where they brushed against the back of my legs. He was just as affected as I was, despite the mask.

"Look at me, Sana," Nayeon whispered, her voice trembling. She reached out, her hand hovering for a moment before she gently brushed a stray lock of hair from my face. Her eyes were swimming with a mix of shock and dark fascination. "I want to see your face when he... when he claims you."

"Then watch closely," he growled, the sound barely human, and then he drove forward.

The invasion was absolute. He didn't ease into it; he took me with a single, powerful thrust that seated him to the hilt, sheathing every inch of his hard length inside me. The force of it punched the air from my lungs, a ragged, silent scream tearing at my throat as my body stretched to accommodate him. My fingers dug into the expensive fabric of Nayeon’s sofa, knuckles turning white as I braced myself against the sudden, overwhelming fullness.

"Fuck!" I gasped, the word exploding from me as my head fell back, my eyes squeezing shut. It felt like he was splitting me open, a perfect, burning stretch that obliterated every thought in my head except for the sheer, blinding reality of him inside me.

It was a possession, pure and simple. He didn't wait for my body to adjust to the sudden, searing intrusion; he withdrew almost entirely, leaving me feeling achingly empty, before slamming back in with a force that made my teeth rattle. The sofa creaked in protest, a rhythmic accompaniment to the wet, obscene sound of our bodies colliding.

"Look at her face," he commanded, his voice a guttural growl that seemed to come from deep within his chest. One hand gripped my hip hard enough to bruise, anchoring me in place, while the other tangled in my hair, pulling my head back just enough to force my gaze upwards. "Don't look away. I want them to see who owns you."

My eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus through the haze of overwhelming sensation. Nayeon was right there, her face a mask of enraptured shock. Her lips were parted, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps that mirrored my own. She wasn't looking at him; she was looking at me, drinking in the expression of twisted ecstasy on my face as if it were the finest champagne.

"God, she's taking all of it," Mina murmured from her perch on the arm of the sofa, her voice sounding distant and warped, as if I were hearing it underwater. Her dark eyes were fixed on the point where our bodies joined, watching the ruthless, rhythmic thrusting with a clinical fascination that only heightened my shame. "Look at how she stretches around him. It’s... mesmerising."

"He’s ruining her for anyone else," Tzuyu added, her tone cool but laced with a thick, heavy heat. She hadn’t touched her drink since the performance began; her hands were resting on her knees, clenched into tight fists. "I’ve never seen anything like this. The power... it’s intoxicating."

I could feel the heat of their gazes like a physical weight, burning my skin, but the pleasure was a tidal wave that threatened to drown me completely. He was hitting a depth inside me a place that made my vision blur and my toes curl against the plush rug. The wet, slapping sound of skin against skin was obscene, echoing in the high-ceilinged room, but it was the sound of his ragged breathing, hot and heavy against my ear, that undid me.

The pressure inside me built to an unbearable crescendo, a tight coil of heat wound deep in my stomach that was ready to snap. Every thrust knocked a fresh cry from my lips, raw and unfiltered music to his ears. The stretch was exquisite, a burning fullness that made me feel possessed, owned, entirely at his mercy.

"Look at them, Mum," he gritted out, his rhythm never faltering, the slap of skin against skin echoing through the hushed room like a vulgar metronome. "We are giving them a show."

"They certainly can't say they didn't get their money's worth," I gasped out, my voice trembling with the force of his thrusts. I was vaguely aware that this night was costing Nayeon a fortune in champagne and booth fees, but the performance she was giving was worth infinitely more.

My fingers were clawing at the sofa cushion, knuckles white, as I tried to anchor myself against the onslaught of pleasure. He was pounding into me with a relentless, calculated rhythm, each stroke hitting that spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids. I felt like a ragdoll in his hands, completely at his mercy, and I loved every second of it.

"She's beautiful like this," Tzuyu murmured, her voice sounding strained. She shifted closer, her eyes never leaving my face. "You've broken her, haven't you? Shattered that bubbly exterior and left her raw."

"She isn't broken," he corrected, his voice a smooth, dark velvet that cut through the ragged sounds of my breathing. He slowed his pace just fractionally, grinding his hips against my bottom in a way that made me see stars, emphasising his point. "She's free. Aren't you, Sana?"

I couldn't form words, only a high, broken whimper that spilt from my lips. He was right. In this moment, stripped of all pretence and social niceties, bent over before my closest friends with my son buried deep inside me, I had never felt more liberated. The bubbly, energetic mask I wore for the world was gone, leaving only the raw, burning need that defined us.

"Look at me," Nayeon breathed, her hand trembling as she reached out. She didn't touch me—she wouldn't dare, not without his permission—but her fingers hovered just inches from my flushed cheek, her eyes wide and glassy, reflecting the chaotic mix of shock and lust swirling in the room. "I've known you for years, Sana. I've seen you dance, I've seen you drink, I've seen you with men. But I've never seen you look like this."

"Like what?" I managed to choke out, my voice barely recognisable over the wet slap of flesh and the ragged gasps tearing from my throat. The question was a desperate attempt to maintain some shred of dignity, but it came out sounding wrecked and needy.

"Like you've finally found something real," Nayeon whispered, her eyes tracing the contours of my face as if memorising a map of ecstasy. "Like you're not pretending anymore."

It was the truth, and it cut deeper than his thrusts. I wasn't pretending to be the cool, experienced older woman nor the dutiful mother. I was just a vessel for pleasure, caught in a storm of my own making. My body was singing, every nerve ending firing in a symphony of sensation that threatened to short-circuit my brain. I could feel the sweat trickling down my spine, cooling in the air conditioning before being instantly reheated by the friction of his body against mine.

"Baby, I'm so close," I moaned. "Don't stop."

"I have no intention of stopping," he replied, his voice steady despite the ragged rhythm of his breathing. "I want to feel you fall apart around me."

His hand released my hair and snaked around my waist, finding my clit with unerring precision. The calloused pad of his thumb pressed down, circling the tight bundle of nerves in time with his thrusts. It was the final straw. The coil inside me snapped, releasing a tidal wave of pleasure that obliterated everything else.

The world didn't just shatter; it disintegrated. A white-hot supernova exploded behind my eyelids, wiping out the expensive apartment, the city lights below, and the three women watching my every move. My body seized, arching into a rigid bow as the orgasm ripped through me with the force of a tsunami. I screamed, a raw, guttural sound that was swallowed by the plush cushions of Nayeon’s sofa, my inner muscles clamping down around him like a vice, desperate to keep him inside, to milk him for everything he was worth.

"God, yes!" I sobbed, the words tumbling out incoherently as wave after wave of pleasure rolled over me, drowning me in ecstasy. My fingers tore at the fabric beneath me, my knuckles white, my entire existence narrowing down to the thick, hard length pulsing inside me and my thumb still rubbing ruthless circles against my oversensitive clit.

He didn't let up. He rode me through the storm, his thrusts becoming shallower, harder, driving into my convulsing body with a relentless precision that prolonged the agony until I was a trembling, gasping wreck. He was owning it, owning every second of my fall from grace, and the sheer power of it was intoxicating.

"Get on your back," he told me. "I don't want you to exhaust yourself on the sofa."

The command in his voice left no room for argument, though I doubt I could have formed a coherent sentence even if I’d tried. My legs were trembling violently, the aftershocks of my orgasm still rippling through my nervous system like electric shocks. He withdrew from me slowly, the sudden emptiness aching and profound, making me gasp at the loss.

He gripped my waist, steadying me as I slid down from the edge of the sofa onto the plush white rug. The fibres were soft against my overheated skin, a welcome contrast to the cool air of the room. I looked up at him, sprawled out on the floor like a sacrificial offering, my chest heaving and my skin slick with sweat. I felt utterly wrecked, exposed in the most primal way, yet as I looked into those tranquil blue eyes, I saw a reflection of myself that wasn't shameful but revered.

I manoeuvred myself onto my back, the movement slow and heavy, my limbs feeling like they were made of lead and honey. The rug beneath me was soft, caressing my shoulder blades, but it was nothing compared to the scorching heat of his gaze raking over my exposed body. I spread my legs instinctively, an open invitation, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. The city lights cast long, dancing shadows across his form as he loomed over me, a dark god against the glittering backdrop of Tokyo.

The audience on the sofa had gone eerily quiet, save for the ragged, synchronized sound of their breathing. They were leaning forward, a three-headed hydra of voyeuristic hunger, their eyes glued to the space between my thighs.

"He's... he's not done?" Nayeon whispered, her voice cracking slightly. She sounded almost frightened, but there was a feverish glint in her eyes that betrayed her arousal. "After that?"

"He has not come yet, Nayeon," I managed to pant out, a breathless, euphoric laugh bubbling in my chest as I looked up at the ceiling, the city lights spinning lazily above me."

My son ignored our words . His attention was entirely consumed by me, a heavy, palpable weight that pinned me to the floor more effectively than his body ever could. He settled between my spread thighs, the heat of his skin radiating against mine, searing me. He paused for a moment, his hands resting on either side of my head, framing my face, and simply looked at me. His blue eyes were dark, the pupils blown so wide they almost eclipsed the iris, swimming with a tumultuous mix of love, lust, and a fierce, terrifying pride.

"You look like a goddess," he murmured, the words spoken so softly they were almost lost in the quiet of the room. "My goddess."

Before I could respond—before I could preen or tease or even draw breath—he shifted his weight and sank into me. The return of his thick length inside my sensitive, convulsing channel forced a sharp cry from my lips. It was a tight fit, a stretch that burned so sweetly it bordered on pain, but I welcomed it. I needed it. I needed to be filled by him, to be completed by him, in front of the whole world if necessary.

"Is it too much, Mum?" he asked, his voice strained but still retaining that veneer of calm that he wore like armour. He held himself still, buried to the hilt, giving me a moment to adjust to the overwhelming intrusion.

"Never," I gasped, wrapping my legs around his waist, digging my heels into his lower back to pull him impossibly closer. The movement caused him to slide against that sensitive spot inside me, making us both groan. "I want all of you. Every inch."

He didn't need any further encouragement. He began to move again, a slow, deliberate grind that allowed me to feel every ridge, every vein of him. This position was different; it was more intimate, more exposing. I was completely splayed out, unable to hide a single reaction, and he was looming over me like a conqueror claiming his territory.

"A slow rhythm suits this," he murmured, more to himself than to the room. He lowered his weight onto his elbows, caging me in, bringing our faces so close that our noses brushed. The frantic, pounding pace from before was gone, replaced by a deep, rolling grind that felt impossibly intimate. In this position, I couldn't hide from him. I couldn't lose myself in the sensation; I had to feel every inch, every drag of his skin against mine, every deliberate rotation of his hips.

"Kiss me, baby", I breathed against his lips, my eyes fluttering shut. The need for connection, for that final anchor amidst the storm of sensation, was overwhelming. "Please."

He obliged me without hesitation, sealing his mouth over mine in a kiss that was slow, deep, and devastatingly tender. It was a stark contrast to the ruthless way he was fucking me, a duality that made my head spin. His tongue swept into my mouth, dominating the rhythm there just as he was dominating the rhythm between my thighs, tasting me, claiming me. The taste of him—mingled with the lingering scent of gin and perfume from the air—was intoxicating.

The intimacy of the position, the slow, deliberate drag of his hips, and the gentle sweep of his tongue were unravelling me in an entirely different way than before. This wasn't just about physical release; it was an emotional dismantling. I felt exposed, not just physically to my friends but spiritually to him. I was pouring my soul into his kiss, letting him see the raw, unfiltered need that drove me.

The kiss broke, leaving me gasping for air, my lips tingling and swollen. He didn't pull away far, just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath mingling with my own ragged exhalations. The slow, torturous rhythm of his hips never faltered, a relentless, deep grind that was stoking the fires of my arousal all over again, building something different this time—heavier, deeper.

He shifted slightly, rising up on his hands to change the angle, and the new depth made me cry out, my nails digging into the shoulders of his crisp white shirt. He hadn't even bothered to undress fully, and the sight of him—the buttons straining, the fabric dishevelled while he ruined me—only added to the illicit thrill.

"Look at them," he whispered against my lips, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my chest. He didn't break eye contact, forcing me to hold his gaze while he spoke. "Look at your friends. They are mesmerised."

I managed to tear my gaze away from his face, turning my head slightly towards the sofa. My neck felt weak, my body boneless, but the sight that greeted me sent a fresh jolt of electricity through my veins.

My friends were statues of frozen desire, their drinks forgotten in their hands. Mina was perched on the very edge of the cushion, her dark eyes wide and unblinking, fixed intently on the joining of our bodies. Nayeon had her hand pressed over her mouth, her cheeks burning a bright, feverish crimson, her bunny-like eyes shimmering with a mixture of shock and unmistakable arousal. Even Tzuyu, the cool and collected ice queen, looked unravelled. She was leaning forward, her elbows on her knees, her gaze locked onto my face with a burning intensity that felt like a physical touch.

"Let's give them a proper finale," he proposed. 

The word finale hung in the air like a promise, dark and sweet as molasses. He didn't give me time to wonder what he meant. With a strength that never ceased to thrill me, he gripped my waist and rolled us. The world spun—white ceiling, city lights, the shocked faces of my friends—until I was straddling him, my knees sinking into the plush rug on either side of his hips.

But he didn't let me settle astride him facing him. His hands guided my hips, turning me like a doll until my back was to his chest. It wasn't until he planted his feet flat on the floor and urged me to lean forward that I realised what he intended. This wasn't just cowgirl; this was reverse cowgirl, a position designed entirely for the benefit of our audience.

"Lean back," he commanded, his voice a low thrum against my spine. "I want them to see everything."

I obeyed instantly, bracing my hands on his thighs for leverage and arching my back until my heavy breasts were thrust towards the sofa. The angle shifted him inside me, hitting a spot so deep and sensitive that I saw stars. I was spread wide, completely on display, my slick, stretched centre inches away from the hungry gazes of Mina, Nayeon, and Tzuyu.

"God, look at that," Nayeon breathed, her voice barely a whisper. She had abandoned her drink entirely, her knuckles white as she gripped her knees. "You can see everything. I can see... I can see him inside you."

The obscenity of her words sent a jolt of pure electricity through me. I looked down at myself, at the place where we were joined, and saw what she meant. My folds were glossy and swollen, wrapped tightly around his thick shaft as it pistoned in and out of me. It was pornographic, intimate, and utterly mesmerising.

His hands gripped my hips, guiding me to move, and I didn't need to be told twice. I lifted myself, the friction of his withdrawal leaving me gasping, before slamming back down, taking him to the hilt. I set a brutal pace, riding him with a desperate, rhythmic need that was fuelled as much by the exhibitionism as by the physical pleasure. Every time I descended, the wet slap of our bodies echoed through the silent room, a vulgar metronome to the ragged breathing of our audience.

"You're taking it so deep, Sana," Mina murmured, her voice thick with arousal. She leaned in closer, her dark eyes fixed on the sight of my son's cock disappearing inside me. "Look at how you stretch around him. It's... it's art."

Art. The word floated through my hazy mind. It felt primal, beyond art, but the intensity in Mina’s gaze suggested she saw a beauty in this raw, filthy act. I looked at them, really looked at them. Nayeon was squirming, pressing her thighs together as if trying to alleviate an ache. Tzuyu’s eyes were blazing, tracking the movement of my breasts as they bounced with every thrust.

The rhythm I set was punishing, a frenetic bounce that had my thighs burning and my breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps. I was chasing something, a high that hovered just out of reach, a precipice I was desperate to throw myself off. The friction of him dragging against my inner walls was exquisite, a tight, hot coil winding tighter and tighter in my belly, but it wasn't enough. I needed more.

"Touch me," I cried out, throwing my head back against his shoulder, my damp hair sticking to my flushed skin. "Please, baby. Make me explode."

He didn't hesitate. One hand left my hip, sliding down through the slick sweat coating my stomach until his fingers found my clit. He didn't tease this time; he rubbed tight, fierce circles over the swollen nub, matching the relentless rhythm of my hips. The dual stimulation was electric, a shockwave that had my vision whitening out.

The pressure built with terrifying speed, a roaring tidal wave that obliterated every thought in my head. His fingers were a blur on my clit, ruthlessly exploiting that sensitive bundle of nerves while his cock hammered into that secret place inside me. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only feel the terrifyingly tight coil of pleasure winding in my abdomen, ready to snap.

"Don't hold back," he growled in my ear, his voice a dark command that cut through the haze. "Let them see what you really are."

It was too much. The visual of my friends watching, the feeling of being so incredibly full, the relentless circling of his thumb—it all converged into a single, blinding point of no return. I threw my head back, a silent scream tearing from my throat as my body seized up.

My vision shattered into a million fragments of white light. The world as I knew it ceased to exist; there was only the blinding, electric pulse originating from my core and radiating out to my extremities with the force of a supernova.

I wasn't just climaxing; I was detonating.

A guttural, animalistic cry tore from my throat, raw and unfiltered, as the dam broke. The coil inside me snapped with a violence that left me breathless, and then came the flood. It wasn't a metaphor. My body convulsed violently, arching away from his chest, and a sudden, sharp jet of fluid erupted from me, spraying out in a hot, clear arc towards the sofa.

I was vaguely aware of the shocked gasps that erupted from the sofa, followed immediately by the wet, splattering sound of my release hitting the coffee table and, judging by the startled cries from Mina and Nayeon, the front of their dresses. But I couldn't stop. The sensation was blinding, a torrential release that ripped a scream from my lungs and left me shaking uncontrollably.

The fluid sprayed in powerful, rhythmic pulses, drenching the expensive upholstery and my friends in a clear, glistening testament to the pleasure he was wringing from them. I watched through blurred, tear-filled eyes as Nayeon recoiled slightly, her hands flying up to shield her face, though her eyes remained wide and fixed on the source. Mina, ever the bold one, simply sat there, mouth agape, letting the liquid rain down on her chest, mesmerised by the sheer force of it.

But he didn't let me stop. He didn't give me a moment to come down from the high. Even as my body twitched and spasmed in the aftershocks, he kept his fingers working my clit, the stimulation almost agonising against my oversensitive flesh. His other hand held my hips down, impaling me on his length, refusing to let me retreat from the intensity.

He was relentless, a machine of singular purpose. Even as I convulsed, the aftershocks of that cataclysmic release still rippling through my limbs, he didn't pause. His hips continued to snap upwards, driving into that overly sensitive, spongy spot with an accuracy that was almost terrifying. The wet, slapping sound was louder now, obscene and squelching, fuelled by the slick warmth of my own climax.

"No... please, it's too much," I sobbed, my head lolling back against his shoulder, my body heavy and boneless in his grip. I felt like a ragdoll, entirely at his mercy, unable to do anything but take the punishing rhythm he dictated. The overstimulation was a sharp, biting pain that bled dangerously close to pleasure, blurring the lines until I didn't know where one ended and the other began.

"You can take it," he murmured against my ear, his voice a low, dark rumble that vibrated through my chest. "You're not done, Mum. Not until I have cum."

His words were a trigger. The moment he uttered that command, I felt the impossible happen. My body, which I thought had been drained dry, seemed to draw from a hidden, endless reservoir of arousal. The sensation shifted from agonising overstimulation to a rapidly climbing crescendo of pure, unadulterated ecstasy.

"I can't... I'm going to... again!" I screamed, my voice cracking as the coil tightened once more, impossibly fast.

He didn't let up. He jackhammered into me, his hips snapping upwards with a speed and force that stole the breath from my lungs, while his fingers tortured my clit with ruthless precision. The friction was indescribable, a blazing heat that seared me from the inside out.

The second peak didn't just arrive; it exploded with the force of a bomb. My entire body went rigid as a board, a silent scream tearing from my throat as the pressure inside me imploded. My inner muscles clamped down around him like a vice, desperate to milk him and to pull him deeper as the universe fractured apart.

Then, the dam broke again.

It was even more violent than the first. A torrent of clear, hot fluid erupted from me, a gushing wave that surged out with unstoppable force. I heard the liquid spray through the air, a sharp, hissing sound that was immediately followed by the wet slap of it hitting the women on the sofa.

The sound was wet and heavy, a distinct splattering as the arc of fluid sprayed across the short distance to the sofa. I watched, dazed and convulsing, as Nayeon let out a high-pitched squeal, throwing her hands up in a futile attempt to shield herself, but the sheer force of it drenched her front, soaking her blouse and leaving her dripping. Tzuyu, closest to the spray, didn't flinch away; she merely squeezed her eyes shut as the liquid hit her chest and face, her mouth open slightly as if catching rain, her composure shattering entirely.

I was a broken record, screaming as my body expelled wave after wave of liquid, a humiliating, liberating deluge that ruined Nayeon's pristine rug and soaked my friends to the bone. I was painting them with pleasure, marking them as witnesses to my absolute debasement.

"God! Sana!" Mina shrieked, though her voice was thick with awe rather than anger. She was wiping her face, but her eyes were glued to the spasming juncture of my thighs, watching the liquid gush out of me around his cock. "You're... you're soaking us!"

"Look at the mess you've made, Sana," Tzuyu breathed out, her voice ragged and utterly devoid of its usual composure. She wiped a glistening trail of fluid from her cheek with the back of her hand, her dark eyes wide and fixed on me with a terrifying intensity. "You've absolutely ruined us."

I couldn't answer. I couldn't do anything but tremble and gasp, my lungs burning for air that wouldn't seem to come. My body was still twitching in the throes of the most violent orgasm of my life, my inner muscles still fluttering weakly around the thick hardness buried deep inside me.

"Turn around," he whispered. "I need to see your face while I finish."

I didn't think I had the strength to move. My limbs felt like lead, heavy and uncooperative, but the dark authority in his voice cut through the fog of my exhaustion. With a soft, whimpering sob, I managed to lift myself off him, the sudden loss of his thick length leaving me feeling achingly empty and gaping.

I turned, my movements clumsy and graceless, swinging my leg over his hips to face him. The rug beneath me was soaked, a dark, damp testament to what had just transpired, but I didn't care. All I cared about was the boy looking up at me with eyes that burnt like blue fire. He was still fully dressed, his shirt sticking to his chest in patches of sweat and his trousers open just enough to free himself. The contrast between his composed attire and my utter ruin made my heart hammer against my ribs.

"Come here," he murmured, reaching out to grip my waist. He pulled me down, positioning me so that I was straddling his thighs, his angry, flushed erection standing proud between us, slick with my essence.

I didn't need to be told twice. I braced my hands on his chest, feeling the frantic thud of his heart beneath the damp cotton, and lifted my hips. I sank onto him, the stretch familiar and welcome, taking him to the hilt in one fluid motion. We both groaned at the contact, a sound of relief and desperate need.

He began to pound into me, his hips snapping with a desperate, relentless rhythm that signalled his own end was near. He abandoned the slow, torturous grind for a frantic, seeking pace, driving into me with a force that rattled my teeth. The wet, squelching sounds of our coupling were obscene, echoing in the sudden, heavy silence of the room, louder than the distant hum of the city outside.

"You've been amazing, Mum," he gritted out, his voice barely recognisable, rough with strain and raw emotion. "Absolutely perfect."

"So have you, my love," I sobbed, overwhelmed by the sheer ferocity of his passion. I collapsed against his chest, burying my face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of sweat and sex that clung to him like a second skin. I held on for dear life as he used my body, chasing his release with the single-minded focus that defined him.

The world narrowed down to the friction of our bodies and the ragged sound of our breathing. He was moving with a desperate, jagged rhythm, his hips snapping upwards to meet my downward rolls, driving himself impossibly deep. I could feel the swell of him inside me, the thick veins pulsing against my sensitive walls, signalling that he was hovering right on the edge.

"Look at me," he demanded, his voice cracking slightly on the words. He gripped my chin, forcing my head up so I had to meet those burning blue eyes. "I want to see you when I cum."

I locked eyes with him, my vision swimming with tears of overstimulation and overwhelming love. His face was flushed, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead, matting his brown hair to his skin. He looked beautiful, feral, and entirely mine. I clenched my inner muscles around him, rippling my walls along his length, trying to pull him over the precipice with me.

"Mum, I'm cumming," he whined, his voice cracking and losing all of that cool tranquillity he wore like armour. It was the sound of the boy, not the man, breaking through in the final moments of ecstasy.

"Let go, baby," I whispered, cupping his flushed face in my hands, my thumbs stroking his damp cheeks. "Fill me up. It’s yours."

With a raw, guttural groan that seemed to be wrenched from the very depths of his soul, he obeyed. His grip on my waist became bruisingly tight, anchoring me down as he buried himself to the hilt one last time. I felt him pulse inside me, a thick, hot throb that signalled the start of his release. His whole body stiffened, his back arching off the floor, and then he was flooding me with

The sensation was intense and intimate—a deep, scorching heat that spread through my core, claiming me in a way that went far beyond the physical. Rope after rope of his cum painted my insides, marking me, filling me until I could feel the slick warmth threatening to overflow. He cried out my name, a broken, desperate sound that was the sweetest thing I had ever heard, his eyes squeezing shut as the ecstasy overwhelmed him.

"Yes, baby, that's it," I crooned, pressing soft kisses against his damp forehead as he shuddered through the final throes of his release. "Every last drop. It’s all yours."

I held him close, my fingers combing through his sweat-slicked hair, offering comfort as the waves of pleasure subsided into a heavy, satiated languor. Inside me, I could feel the warmth of his essence, a glowing reminder of what we had just shared, a tangible claim that made me feel possessed most wonderfully. His grip on my waist slowly loosened, his fingers trailing idly over my spine as his breathing slowed, the frantic thumping of his heart against my chest gradually returning to its steady, tranquil rhythm.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were our ragged breaths mingling together and the distant, rhythmic hum of the city air conditioning. It was a bubble of peace amidst the chaos of the night, a quiet afterglow that felt sacred.

The bubble of peace, however, was destined to burst. As the fog of ecstasy began to lift, replaced by the cool clarity of the apartment's air conditioning, the reality of our surroundings crashed back in. The scent of sex and expensive gin was heavy in the air, mingling with the sharp, metallic tang of utter debauchery.

I slowly lifted my head from the crook of his neck, my muscles protesting the movement. I felt wrecked in the best possible way, a delicious ache radiating from my centre out to my fingertips. But as I shifted, I became acutely aware of the silence from the sofa—a silence that wasn't peaceful, but stunned.

I turned my head, my damp hair sticking to my cheek, and looked at my friends.

My gaze travelled over the scene, and I couldn't suppress the breathless, slightly hysterical giggle that bubbled up in my chest. It was a picture of utter devastation. The pristine white aesthetic of Nayeon’s apartment had been thoroughly violated.

Nayeon sat frozen, her expensive designer blouse soaked through, turning the sheer fabric transparent where it clung to her skin. Her blonde hair was plastered to her forehead in damp tendrils, and her mascara was beginning to run, giving her a smudgy, raccoon-like appearance. Mina was in a similar state, wiping her hand across her face in a daze, looking like a cat that had been caught in a downpour. And Tzuyu... Even Tzuyu, the unshakeable ice queen, looked thoroughly unravelled. Her cheek glistened with the evidence of my climax, and her dress was spotted with damp patches; her composure drowned in a literal wave of fluid.

"Well," I gasped out, my voice hoarse and wrecked, sounding miles away from the bubbly tone I usually adopted. "I guess we really made a splash, didn't we?"

The silence stretched, taut and trembling, before Nayeon let out a high-pitched, disbelieving laugh. She looked down at her drenched blouse, then up at me, her eyes wide and sparkling with a mix of shock and sheer, unadulterated awe.

"A splash?" she choked out, wiping a stray droplet from her chin. "Sana, you didn't just make a splash. You created a monsoon season in my living room. I’m going to need a squeegee to get this out of the carpet."

Mina shook her head slowly, droplets of fluid flying from her dark hair like a wet dog shaking itself dry. She ran a hand through her damp tresses, her feline eyes glued to where I still sat atop my son, our bodies still joined in the aftermath. "I've seen a lot of things in this city," she murmured, her voice husky and filled with genuine respect. "I've seen orgies that would make a porn star blush. But I have never... never seen anything like that. That was... biblical."

Tzuyu reached for the box of tissues on the coffee table, pulling out a handful and dabbing ineffectually at the sticky trail on her cheek. She didn't look angry, though; if anything, the cool, analytical mask had slipped entirely to reveal a woman deeply, thoroughly shaken.

"Biblical" is one word for it," Tzuyu said, her voice lacking its usual smooth polish, sounding slightly breathless. She tossed the used tissues onto the growing pile of debris on her pristine table. "I think the technical term is 'female ejaculation', but 'biblical' seems more appropriate given the volume." She paused, her dark eyes fixing on my son with an expression that was half-fear, half-worship. "You really broke the dam, didn't you?"

I felt a surge of possessive pride warm my chest, even as my cheeks burned with the remnants of shame. I leaned back, allowing my son to support my weight, feeling the sticky, slick heat between us where our bodies were still connected. The reality of what we’d done—the sheer, unadulterated depravity of it—was settling in, but instead of regret, I felt a strange, light-headed euphoria.

I glanced down at him, my chest swelling with an affection that was so fierce it almost hurt. He was recovering quickly, that tranquil mask slipping back into place over the boy who had just screamed my name in ecstasy. He looked up at me, his blue eyes clear and focused, though a faint blush still dusted his cheekbones—a charming reminder of his youth.

He gently helped me dismount, the separation leaving me achingly empty and a thick, warm trickle of his release escaping me, sliding down my inner thigh in sticky rivulets. The sensation was lewd, a clear reminder of his claim, and I made no move to hide it. Let them look. Let them see exactly who I belonged to.

As I scrambled to my feet, my knees wobbling like a newborn fawn, I felt the full extent of the mess I had made. The plush white rug was a disaster zone, a dark, sodden map of our debauchery. I looked back at my friends, expecting to see disgust, or at the very least, a plea to leave.

Instead, I was met with a tableau of dazed fascination. Nayeon was still dabbing at her wet blouse with a cocktail napkin, though the effort was entirely futile; the sheer fabric was plastered to her skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. Yet, she wasn’t looking at her clothes with annoyance. Her eyes were fixed on the slick warmth trickling down my inner thigh, her expression a mix of scientific curiosity and raw arousal.

"I think I need a shower," Tzuyu announced, breaking the heavy silence. She stood up slowly, her designer dress sticking to her in awkward places, but she carried herself with a regal sort of calmness. She looked down at us—my son, who was calmly tucking himself back into his trousers with that maddeningly serene demeanour, and me, standing naked and shivering in the centre of a vast wet patch. A slow, incredulous smile spread across her face. "That was... without a doubt, the most impressive thing I have ever witnessed. And I have seen the pyramids."

"I second the shower," Mina purred, rising with a feline grace that was slightly compromised by the squelch of her heels against the wet rug. She stepped closer to us, invading my personal space to press a soft, lingering kiss to my cheek. She smelled like gin, expensive perfume, and me. "You really are a lucky woman, Sana. To find a man who can do that... let alone one who looks like him." She turned her dark gaze to him, offering him a sultry wink. "You're welcome back anytime, knight. Just... maybe bring a tarp next time."

My son offered Mina a small, polite nod, accepting her teasing with that same unflappable calm he displayed when I handed him his maths homework. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied smoothly, reaching out to adjust the strap of my bra, which had slipped down my shoulder during the festivities. "Though, I suspect Sana prefers spontaneity over plastic sheets."

"Spontaneity is good," Nayeon groaned, finally abandoning her futile attempts to salvage her blouse. She peeled the wet fabric away from her skin with a sticky thwack, looking down at the damage with a mixture of horror and amusement. "But next time, let's be spontaneous in the shower. Or a tiled room. Somewhere with drainage."

"I'll call the cleaners," Tzuyu said, already pulling her phone from her clutch, her thumb flying across the screen. She paused, looking over the rim of the device at us, a genuine, appreciative smile curving her lips. "And don't worry about the rug, Sana. It was worth the price of admission. That was... a masterpiece."

"You'd better order some food as well," Nayeon chimed in, dropping the sodden cocktail napkin onto the table with a wet splat. She stretched her arms above her head, her joints popping audibly, a testament to the tension she had held while watching us. "I’m starving. Watching a performance like that works up an appetite."

My son, who had just finished buttoning his trousers and was now smoothing down the front of his shirt, looked at Nayeon with a polite tilt of his head. "What is on tonight's menu?" 

"Something greasy and entirely inappropriate for this time of night," Nayeon declared, rubbing her stomach which gave a surprisingly loud, unladylike growl. "Pizza. The kind with extra cheese and pepperoni that clogs your arteries just by looking at it. We need comfort food after that... athletic display."

"Pizza sounds adequate", my son agreed, his tone suggesting he was discussing a diplomatic treaty rather than a takeaway order. He turned to me, his eyes scanning my body with a critical, assessing gaze. "But first, Mum, you need to clean up. You’re trembling."

I looked down at myself and realised he was right. My skin was prickling with gooseflesh, the rapid cooling of my sweat and the drying fluids making me shiver violently. I felt sticky, used, and utterly magnificent. I reached out for him, needing his grounding presence, and he immediately stepped into my embrace, wrapping his arms around my naked form and sharing his body heat.

He rubbed his hands up and down my arms, generating friction to warm my chilled skin, before pressing a kiss to my forehead that was filled with a tender, protective affection. It was a stark contrast to the raw, animalistic dominance he had displayed just moments ago, but that duality was what made him so intoxicating.

"I'll take care of you," he murmured against my skin, his breath warm and steadying. "Let's get you sorted."

He didn't seem to care that I was naked and sticky and that my friends were watching our every move with bated breath. He simply scooped me up into his arms, bridal style, with an effortless strength that made my head spin. I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my face in the crook of his shoulder, inhaling the scent of him—sweat, sex, and that clean, comforting smell that was uniquely his.

"A gentleman to the last," Mina purred, her voice thick with admiration as she watched him carry me towards the hallway. "Don't be too long, you two. The pizza won't wait forever." 

The bathroom was a sanctuary of white marble and polished chrome, a stark contrast to the sticky, chaotic wreckage of the living room. As he set me down on the cool tiled floor, the silence enveloped us, heavy and soothing. He didn't immediately turn on the water; instead, he stood behind me, his hands resting gently on my shoulders, his warmth seeping into my chilled skin.

"You were incredible," he murmured, his voice low and reverent, echoing off the tiled walls. "I've never seen you let go like that."

I leant back into him, closing my eyes as I felt the tension drain from my muscles. "I couldn't help it," I admitted softly, a shy smile tugging at my lips despite myself. "You made me feel... things I didn't know I could feel. And knowing they were watching..." I shivered again, but this time it wasn't from the cold. "It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once."

He turned me around gently, his expression softening as he cupped my face in his hands. His blue eyes, usually so tranquil and guarded, were swimming with a depth of emotion that made my breath hitch. He looked at me not as the sultry woman who had just performed for an audience but with the tender, protective gaze of the boy I had raised.

"They were terrified of you," he corrected, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "Mina and Nayeon... they've seen everything, or so they thought. But tonight, you showed them a power they couldn't comprehend." He brushed a stray damp hair away from my forehead, his touch feather-light. "And Tzuyu... she respects strength above all else. You earned her worship tonight."

I felt a flush rise to my cheeks, a strange mixture of maternal pride and feminine satisfaction warming me from the inside out. "I just wanted to make you proud," I whispered, reaching up to cover his hand with mine.

"You always make me proud, Sana," he replied, his voice steady and sincere, stripping away the last of my lingering insecurities with a single sentence. "But tonight... tonight you were the protagonist of a story they won't ever forget."

With that, he reached past me, his arm brushing against my shoulder, and turned the chrome dial of the shower. The water hissed to life, cascading from the wide rainfall head in a steamy deluge that instantly began to fog up the glass enclosure. He checked the temperature with his hand, ensuring it was perfect before guiding me inside.

The feeling of the hot water hitting my skin was transcendent. It washed away the sticky, cooling evidence of our exertions, the fluids and sweat swirling down the drain at my feet. I stood under the spray, letting it soak my hair and run over my face, feeling myself slowly return to my body after being so thoroughly shattered apart.

He joined me a moment later, the small space instantly feeling warmer and more intimate with his presence. But unlike the frantic, needy coupling of moments ago, his touch now was purely utilitarian and tender. He reached for the expensive, jasmine-scented body wash that sat in a caddy on the wall and poured a generous amount into his palm.

"Tilt your head back," he instructed softly.

I obeyed, closing my eyes as he began to lather the soap into my hair. His fingers were strong, massaging my scalp with a slow, rhythmic pressure that made me hum with contentment. It felt so domestic, so strangely normal after the depravity we had just indulged in, that it brought a lump to my throat. This was the boy who needed help with his homework, now washing my hair with the care of a lover who had worshipped every inch of me.

He took his time, working his way through the tangles with a patience that belied his youth. The scent of jasmine filled the steamy air, replacing the musk of sex and gin that had clung to us like a second skin. I stood there, eyes closed, surrendering to the sensation of his fingers moving deftly against my scalp. It was a stark, beautiful contrast to the way his hands had gripped my hips only minutes ago—bruising, demanding, and possessive. Now, they were gentle, reverent almost, treating me as though I were something fragile and precious that needed to be pieced back together.

"Rinse", he murmured, guiding me gently under the spray.

I ducked my head, letting the hot water wash away the thick lather, the suds cascading down my back and over my curves before swirling into the drain. When I straightened up, wiping the water from my eyes, he was waiting with a face cloth soaked in more soapy lather.

He moved with a deliberate, unhurried grace, starting at my shoulders and working his way down. The cloth was warm and soft, gliding over my skin in soothing circles. He washed away the sweat and the lingering scent of the club, his touch attentive and thorough. There was nothing sexual in the way his hands roamed over my body now; it was purely an act of devotion, a silent acknowledgement that he had taken me to the brink of destruction and was now carefully putting me back together.

I watched his face through the steam, the droplets of water clinging to his long eyelashes. He looked so focused, his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, as if cleaning me were the most important task in the world. It made my heart ache with a fierce, overwhelming love.

"You're staring," he murmured, not looking up from where he was gently scrubbing my arm.

"Can you blame me?" I replied softly, my voice echoing slightly in the tiled enclosure. "I'm just admiring the view. You're incredibly handsome, you know that? And to think, just a little while ago you were making a mess of me with those very hands."

He paused, his hand resting on my hip, and finally looked up. A small, knowing smile curved his lips, the water running in rivulets down his handsome face. "I think we established that the mess was mostly of your making, Mum. Though I suppose I acted as the catalyst."

He moved lower, his hand guiding the cloth over my stomach, washing away the sticky residue that had dried there. The touch was soothing and hypnotic, making my eyelids grow heavy. The heat of the shower, combined with his gentle ministrations, was lulling me into a state of blissful lethargy.

"And a very effective catalyst you were," I sighed, leaning into his touch as he ran the cloth down my thigh, careful around the sensitive skin. "I feel like I've been wrung out and put back together again. I don't think I've ever come that hard in my life."

He knelt before me, the water streaming over his shoulders and dampening his shirt, which he was still wearing, the wet fabric clinging to his torso. It was a surreal image—my fully dressed son, on his knees in a shower, bathing me with the devotion of a penitent monk. He washed my legs with meticulous care, lifting one foot and then the other to clean the soles, his grip firm and sure.

"You let go of all your inhibitions," he opined, looking up at me from beneath his wet lashes. "It was beautiful to watch. The way you surrendered to the pleasure... it was honest. Raw." He pressed a kiss to my knee, a chaste, tender gesture that contrasted sharply with the debauchery we had left outside. "The girls were right to be awestruck. You were magnetic."

I felt a blush rising, not from shame, but from the sheer intensity of his gaze. Even here, under the guise of caretaking, he was stripping me bare. "You make me feel safe enough to be raw," I whispered, running my fingers through his soaking wet hair, pushing the strands back from his forehead. "I know you'll catch me when I fall."

He stood up, water cascading down his clothed form, and squeezed a little more body wash into his hand. "Then I'll always be here to catch you." He reached around me, his hands gliding over my back, washing away the tension that had settled there. His fingers found the dip of my spine and traced it down, a soothing, repetitive motion that made me want to purr like a contented cat.

"Though", he continued, his tone shifting slightly, a hint of that dry, analytical wit creeping back in, "I suspect Tzuyu is currently calculating the fluid dynamics of what just occurred. She looked like she'd witnessed a miracle or a natural disaster."

"I think she witnessed both," I laughed, the sound echoing brightly off the wet tiles, finally feeling the last of the heavy tension in my chest dissolve. "A natural disaster of the very best kind. Did you see her face? I think I actually broke Tzuyu. The unshakeable ice queen, covered in... well, me."

"It was a look of scientific wonder," he agreed, his hands moving to wash my stomach, the cloth gentle against my sensitised skin. "Mina, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to join in. She has a voracious appetite, that one; I felt her eyes on me the entire time."

"Jealous?" I teased, arching a brow at him, though a familiar sharp pang of possessiveness pricked at me nonetheless.

"Perhaps a little," he admitted with a refreshing honesty that made my heart skip a beat. He didn't avert his gaze; he held mine steadily, the water plastering his brown hair to his forehead. "But not because I wanted her. It was more... overwhelming. Like standing too close to a fire. But you..." He stepped closer, the wet fabric of his shirt pressing against my bare skin, his hands settling on my waist. "You are the one who burns me, Mum. In a way that no one else ever could."

The possessive flutter in my chest settled into a warm, glowing hum. I reached up, undoing the buttons of his sodden shirt with clumsy fingers. The fabric was heavy and clinging, and I wanted to feel his skin against mine, not the barrier of wet cotton.

"Let's get this off you," I murmured, pushing the shirt down his shoulders. He obliged, shrugging out of it and letting it fall with a wet slap to the tiled floor. "You're overdressed for a shower, knight."

He offered no resistance, simply standing there with that tranquil patience as I revealed the body beneath the soaked fabric. The sight of him never failed to steal the breath from my lungs. He was lean and sculpted; the definition of his muscles cast in shadow by the dim lighting of the shower, water coursing down the lines of his chest and stomach in rivulets that traced the paths I had mapped with my tongue and hands a hundred times before.

"Better?" he asked, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as I ran my palms over his shoulders, feeling the warm, slick skin beneath my fingertips.

"Much", I murmured, stepping closer until our bodies were flush, the water cascading over us both. The contrast was thrilling—my soft, yielding curves pressed against his hard, firm planes. "Now you look like part of the ensemble."

I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him under the spray with me, letting the water saturate us both until we were drowning in the warmth. The scent of jasmine swirled around us, heady and sweet, masking the lingering traces of sweat and sex. I rested my forehead against his, the steam wrapping us in a private little world where nothing existed but the rhythm of our breathing and the steady beat of his heart against my chest.

"Do you think they'll ever look at me the same way again?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper over the rushing water. The thought had been niggling at the back of my mind—a tiny crack in the armour of my euphoria. I had just performed the most intimate act imaginable in front of them, crossing a line that could never be uncrossed.

He pulled back slightly, framing my face with his hands, his thumbs stroking my cheekbones. "They will look at you with more respect," he said firmly, his blue eyes piercing through the mist. "Before tonight, to them, you were Sana—the bubbly, beautiful friend who loves a party. Now..." He paused, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips. "Now, you are a force of nature. You showed them a side of yourself that is raw and real. People either fear that or worship it. With them? I suspect it will be the latter."

The thought settled over me, warm and comforting, like the steam filling the small glass cubicle. I believed him. He saw the world with such clarity, such terrifying precision, that his analysis was rarely wrong. If he said they would worship me, then they would. It was a heady power trip, one that rivalled the physical pleasure we had just indulged in.

"Worship", I repeated, testing the weight of the word on my tongue. I looked up at him, a playful glint returning to my eyes as the water continued to cascade over us. "I suppose I could get used to that, though I prefer being worshipped by you in... more practical ways."

He huffed a soft laugh, the sound vibrating against my chest where our bodies were pressed together. "I think I’ve demonstrated my capacity for practical worship quite thoroughly tonight. But", he added, his hands sliding down my back to rest on the curve of my bottom, squeezing gently, "I am always willing to reaffirm my devotion.”

We stayed like that for a while, locked together under the steaming spray, the water running over us in a rhythmic, soothing cascade. The conversation faded into a comfortable, heavy silence, the kind that only exists when two people are entirely in sync. I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart, feeling the tension of the night finally bleed out of my muscles, leaving me loose and languid. There was no need for words now; the washing had been an act of communion, a silent promise that despite the storm we had unleashed, we were grounded, we were whole, and we were together.

Eventually, the water began to cool, signalling that it was time to face the world again. He reached out, turning off the tap with a decisive click. The sudden silence was deafening for a moment, broken only by the drip, drip, drip of the residual water from the showerhead.

He stepped out first, grabbing two thick, fluffy white towels from the heated rail. He wrapped one around his waist, covering the lean, powerful lines of his body, before holding the other open for me. I stepped into his embrace, sighing contentedly as he wrapped the towel around me, tucking the corner in securely to keep the warmth trapped against my skin. He dried me with the same gentle attention he had washed me with, patting the water from my hair and smoothing the towel over my shoulders and arms, treating me like something precious he had just polished.

"I think that's sufficient," he murmured, stepping back to admire his handiwork, though his eyes lingered on the patch of skin exposed at my chest where the towel gaped slightly. "Unless you intend to prune?"

I laughed, shaking my head. "Heaven forbid. Wrinkles are the enemy." I quickly rubbed the towel over my legs and tucked it tighter around myself, revelling in the plush softness against my skin. "Robes?"

"Indeed", he opened the linen cupboard, retrieving two thick, white waffle-kimono robes. He helped me into mine first, guiding my arms through the sleeves and tying the sash around my waist with a tenderness that made my heart flutter. Once I was covered, he shrugged into his own, the white fabric contrasting starkly with his tanned skin and damp, dark hair. We looked like spa refugees, albeit ones who had just engaged in the most debauched activity imaginable.

"Ready to face the music?" he asked, offering me his arm with a courtly grace that made me want to giggle.

"As ready as I'll ever be," I replied, looping my arm through his and resting my head briefly against his damp shoulder. "Though I suspect the music has been replaced by the sound of chewing."

We walked back down the hallway, the plush carpet muffling our footsteps. The air outside the bathroom was cooler, carrying the rich, savoury aroma of melting cheese, pepperoni, and baked dough. It was a grounding, homely scent that clashed beautifully with the lingering memory of sex and expensive perfume.

When we emerged into the living room, the scene had transformed. The harsh, erotic tension that had saturated the air earlier had dissipated, replaced by a cosy, chaotic camaraderie. The lights had been dimmed, casting a warm, amber glow over the space, and the massive wet patch on the rug—which had looked like a crime scene minutes ago—had been tactfully covered by a throw blanket.

The girls were clustered around the coffee table, which was now cluttered with open pizza boxes and fresh glasses of soda and water. They were no longer the sleek, predatory observers of earlier; they looked like a group of friends having a sleepover, albeit in designer dresses that were slightly worse for wear.

"Look who's alive!" Nayeon announced through a mouthful of cheese, waving a half-eaten slice in the air. She was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, wearing a fluffy dressing gown she had clearly conjured from her bedroom, her face scrubbed clean of makeup. "We were about to send a search party or just eat all the pepperoni."

"Rescue accepted, but unnecessary", my son replied with that dry, tranquil wit of his, offering a polite nod to the group as he guided me towards the sofa. "Though I believe the pepperoni is safe with us."

Mina, who was reclined on the chaise longue with a slice of pizza poised daintily between her fingers, smirked as we approached. Her eyes, still holding that dark, predatory glint, swept over us. "You look positively glowing, Sana. Honestly, it's unfair. Most people look like death warmed up after... that level of cardio. You look like you've just had a month at a Swiss spa."

"It's all down to the excellent aftercare service," I teased, sinking gratefully onto the soft cushions. I kept the robe tight around me, relishing the feeling of cleanliness and warmth. My body felt heavy, used in the best possible way, a delicious ache lingering in my muscles that served as a constant reminder of what had transpired.

My son sat beside me, close enough that our thighs touched beneath the fabric of our robes. The contact was grounding, a silent reminder of the shift in our reality. He didn't reach for the food immediately; instead, he poured me a glass of water from the pitcher on the table, his movements precise and economical.

"You need to rehydrate," he declared quietly, pressing the cool glass into my hand. His blue eyes scanned my face with a clinical intensity that softened into affection. "Physiologically speaking, you lost a lot of fluids tonight."

I took the glass, fighting back a blush that had nothing to do with the heat of the room. "I think we established that rather spectacularly," I murmured, taking a long sip. The water was crisp and cold, exactly what I needed. I looked over at Tzuyu, who was sitting in the armchair, her legs tucked beneath her. She was watching us with that analytical gaze of hers, swirling a glass of soda thoughtfully.

"It is a matter of simple thermodynamics and biological limits," Tzuyu replied, her voice regaining its usual silky smooth cadence, though her eyes remained fixed on me with a new, unsettling intensity. She took a slow sip of her drink, condensation dripping onto her finger. "The human bladder shouldn't be capable of that volume without spontaneous rupture. I'm half-tempted to ask for a medical analysis."

I nearly choked on my water, spluttering slightly as I set the glass down. My son immediately reached out, his hand resting firmly and comfortingly on my lower back, rubbing small, soothing circles.

"I assure you, no medical intervention was required," he claimed calmly, his tone cutting through Tzuyu’s clinical curiosity with a polite finality. "It was merely a... intense release of tension. Perfectly natural, given the circumstances."

"Natural?" Tzuyu repeated, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. She set her glass down with a soft clink, her gaze drifting from my face to his, a flicker of genuine amusement breaking through her analytical veneer. "I've studied biology, sweetheart, and what happened out there was nothing short of a statistical anomaly – a delightful, terrifying anomaly." She picked up a slice of pizza, eyeing it with a sudden voraciousness. "But I suppose we can leave the scientific inquiry for another night; I'm starving."

"Please do", I replied, my voice regaining some of its usual bubbly strength as the food and water revitalised me. "I'm not sure my ego could survive a post-coital peer review of my... performance."

"Performance?" Mina laughed, a low, throaty sound, as she shifted on the chaise, making room for Nayeon to steal a crust from her box. "Sana, darling, that wasn't a performance. That was an exorcism. You were channelling something primal." She looked at my son, her eyes softening with a genuine warmth that caught me off guard. "And you... you have very steady hands for a boy of your age. You kept her safe."

"I'm her knight," he responded her. "It's my duty and outmost pleasure to keep her safe."

The table went quiet at that, save for the rhythmic crunch of Nayeon attacking her pizza crust. It wasn't an awkward silence, but rather a heavy, contemplative one, as if the title he had claimed so casually carried a weight none of us had anticipated. Mina paused, her slice halfway to her mouth, and looked at him with a new-found softness that stripped away her usual feline sarcasm.

"Her knight," she repeated, rolling the phrase around her mouth like a fine wine. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing against his where it rested on his knee. It wasn't a sexual advance this time, but a gesture of genuine respect. "You really mean that, don't you? It’s not just a roleplay thing for you."

"I take my responsibilities seriously," he replied, his voice low and calm, his blue eyes meeting hers without flinching. "And Sana is the most important responsibility I have.”

"Mina has a point, you know," Nayeon mused around a mouthful of spicy pepperoni, washing it down with a generous swig of soda. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes darting between us with a speculative gleam that I knew all too well. It was the look she gave a pair of shoes she wanted to borrow, or a holiday destination she was determined to drag us all to. "You can't hoard a treasure like that forever, Sana. It’s... greedy."

I froze, my hand hovering halfway to the pizza box. The air in the room shifted instantly, the cosy camaraderie cooling into something tenser, heavier. My son’s hand on my back stilled, his fingers pressing slightly more firmly against my spine—a silent signal of support, or perhaps a warning. I looked at Nayeon, expecting to see a joke in her bunny-like smile, but her expression was deadly serious.

"Don't look at me like I'm asking for your kidney," Nayeon laughed, though her eyes remained fixed on him with a hungry curiosity. "I'm just saying... an exclusive contract is so last season. Why not open the bidding? Think of the fun we could have."

"I'm not asking for a bidding war," Mina interjected smoothly, her voice like dark velvet. She had abandoned her pizza, her focus entirely on us. "I'm asking for a loan. A... private exhibition. One on one." She glanced at Tzuyu, then back to me, her feline gaze heavy with intent. "We saw how he handles you, Sana. We felt the energy in this room. We’re curious to know if that focus... that intensity... translates. Surely you can understand the scientific curiosity?"

"And the sheer boredom," Tzuyu added dryly, though her eyes betrayed her. She wasn't bored; she was fascinated. "We’ve exhausted the dating pool in Tokyo. It’s either boys who play games or men who want to buy us. He..." She gestured towards him with her pizza crust. "He is a paradox. I want to deconstruct him."

"He's not a puzzle to be solved, Tzuyu," I said, my voice sharper than I intended, the protective flare sparking instantly in my chest. "And he's certainly not a toy to be passed around like a novelty bottle of champagne."

I looked at them—my three best friends, the women I had shared clothes, secrets, and beds with for years. They were gorgeous, successful, and accustomed to getting what they wanted. But this wasn't a designer handbag or a table at a VIP club. This was him. My son. My knight.

The silence stretched, thick and tense, broken only by the low hum of the city air conditioning. I felt the weight of their gazes, hungry and expectant, and for a moment, I felt the old Sana—the bubbly, people-pleasing pushover—trying to resurface. But then I felt his hand shift on my back, his thumb stroking my spine with a steady, grounding rhythm. He wasn't panicking. He was waiting. Trusting me.

I looked down at him, really looked at him, expecting to see a flicker of panic or perhaps a burning desire to say 'yes' to three of the most beautiful women in Tokyo. But he was perfectly composed, his profile serene in the warm light of the room. He took a casual sip of his water, his Adam's apple bobbing gently, completely unbothered by the auction taking place over his head. If anything, he seemed faintly amused by the notion that he was a prize to be won.

He wasn't just a boy I was hiding away; he was a partner who had just held my hand through a hurricane of pleasure and come out the other side holding me up. The idea of sharing that—the depth of his focus, the way he made me feel safe and wildly exposed all at once—it wasn't an act of charity. It was an act of pride. I wanted them to know exactly what I had. I wanted them to understand the quality of the man—no, the male—I was raising.

But I wasn't about to send him into the lion's den alone. The very thought of Mina's sharp nails or Tzuyu's cool, dissecting gaze on him without me there to anchor him made my stomach twist with a nausea that had nothing to do with the champagne. I wasn't jealous of the pleasure; I was terrified of the disconnect. What we had was a symbiotic thing, a feedback loop of love and lust that required us both to function.

"You want to borrow him?" I repeated, my voice dropping to a murmur as I turned the idea over in my mind. It was a dangerous thought, volatile and thrilling, like playing with matches in a dry forest. I looked from Mina’s hungry gaze to Tzuyu’s clinical dissection, and finally to Nayeon’s eager, bouncing anticipation. They wanted a taste of the fire that had nearly burned the apartment down. 

I looked down at my son again. He was watching me now, his blue eyes calm and clear, devoid of fear or objection. He was waiting for my lead, trusting my judgement with a faith that made my heart ache. He knew I was the gatekeeper. He knew that I held the keys to the kingdom.

I took a deep breath, the decision settling in my chest with a heavy, final kind of click. It was madness, absolute insanity, but as I looked at their faces—faces I loved as much as my own—I realised I didn't want to deny them anymore. I wanted to share my masterpiece. But on my terms.

I reached out, taking a slice of pizza from the box and biting into it without really tasting it, using the motion to buy myself a few seconds of thinking time. The cheese was hot and stringy, a mundane comfort against the wild, chaotic thrum of my thoughts.

"You want to know if he's as good as he looks," I stated finally, wiping my mouth with a napkin and meeting Mina’s eyes directly. "You want to see if that calm, tranquil demeanour cracks when he's inside you. If his hands are as steady when they're on someone else's skin."

"Well," Nayeon drawled, grinning unrepentantly. "When you put it that bluntly... yes. We’re only human, Sana. We just witnessed a religious experience. We want to know if we can get a ticket to heaven too."

I swallowed the rich, heavy cheese, washing it down with a gulp of water to clear my throat. The silence in the room was absolute, the kind that only happens when everyone is holding their breath, waiting for a verdict. I could feel the weight of their anticipation pressing against my skin, but more importantly, I could feel the steady, grounding warmth of my son beside me. He hadn’t flinched, hadn’t tensed; he was simply there, a solid pillar of support waiting for my command.

"I suppose," I began slowly, my voice gaining strength as I articulated the wild thought taking root in my mind, "I could be persuaded to share my... assets."

A collective exhale swept through the room, followed immediately by the sharp intake of breath that signalled victory. Nayeon actually pumped her fist, a childish gesture of delight that made me laugh despite the gravity of the situation.

"But," I continued, my voice hardening just enough to cut through their celebration, "there are conditions. Non-negotiable ones."

The smiles on their faces froze, hovering between delight and apprehension. I felt my son’s hand on my back give a gentle, reassuring squeeze, a silent acknowledgment that he was with me, whatever I decided. I looked at each of them in turn—Mina’s predatory intrigue, Nayeon’s wide-eyed eagerness, Tzuyu’s cool assessment—making sure they understood exactly what they were agreeing to.

"I'm not sending him off alone like a takeaway delivery," I stated firmly, picking up another piece of pizza and using it to gesture for emphasis. "If you want to experience what he has to offer, then you get both of us. We are a package deal."

"Both of you?" Nayeon repeated, her eyes going wide as she processed the caveat. She looked from me to him, and then back again, her brain clearly working overtime to calculate the logistics. "You mean... a threesome? Or a foursome? Or...?"

"I mean where he goes, I go," I clarified, taking a deliberate bite of my pizza to let the words sink in. I chewed slowly, watching the realisation dawn on their faces. "You want his focus? You get his mother watching him give it to you. You want his body? You have to deal with me directing the traffic. We are a unit, ladies. A symbiotic entity. You don't get to isolate the variable."

The silence that followed was heavy, charged with a sudden, electric tension. I half-expected them to laugh it off, to call me a clingy mother and demand the boy on his own. But instead, I watched the wheels turn. Mina’s dark eyes narrowed, her tongue darting out to wet her lips as she visualised the scenario. Tzuyu’s analytical gaze shifted from him to me, her brow furrowing slightly as if running a complex simulation in her head. And Nayeon... Nayeon looked like all her Christmases had come at once.

"Deal," Nayeon breathed, the word escaping her lips like a prayer. She didn't even blink. "Absolutely, one hundred percent, deal. God, Sana, you really know how to negotiate. That sounds... infinitely better, actually."

Mina was slower to respond, her gaze shifting from me to him with a heavy, languorous curiosity. She took a sip of her drink, her dark eyes smouldering. "A package deal," she murmured, rolling the phrase around her mouth like a decadent chocolate. "I suppose it makes sense. You two operate on a frequency the rest of us can't quite hear. Separating you might dampen the signal."

"I concur," Tzuyu added, her analytical mask slipping just enough to reveal a flash of genuine excitement. She set her glass down with a decisive click. "It adds a layer of complexity that is... intriguing. And honestly, after tonight, I wouldn't trust anyone else to curate the experience. You have the artistic vision, Sana."

"I want you to be an active participant in what we are going to do, not just the architect behind it," my son opined. 

I blinked, surprised by his sudden interruption. It wasn't like him to steer the conversation, especially when I was in the middle of laying down the law. I turned to look at him, finding his blue eyes fixed on the three women with a calm, predatory intensity that made the air in the room feel five degrees colder.

He took a slow sip of his water, his throat working, before placing the glass down on the coffee table with a deliberate clink. "Sana is protective," he asserted, his voice smooth and unruffled, cutting through the hum of the air conditioner. "And she has every right to be. But if we are to proceed with this... arrangement, I require an active partner in the room, not just a chaperone."

The three women stared at him, momentarily silenced by the quiet authority in his tone. It was the voice of the boy who had just commanded the room without raising his volume, the one who had held me while I shattered.

"You see," he continued, his gaze shifting from Tzuyu to Mina, and finally landing on Nayeon. "The connection we share is what gives me the capacity to perform as I do. If you want the experience Sana described, then you must accept that my focus relies on her presence as an active participant. I want her there, touching, guiding, and being touched. We feed off each other. Take away the interaction, and you're left with just a mechanic, not an artist."

The room was so silent you could have heard a pin drop, or more accurately, the distinct sound of three women simultaneously holding their breath. My son’s words hung in the air, heavy and charged, effectively shifting the dynamic from a business transaction to a collaborative art project. He wasn't just an asset to be leased; he was the conductor, and he was demanding his first violin.

I stared at him, a fresh wave of arousal mixing with a profound sense of pride. He hadn't just defended my presence; he had defined it. He was telling them that without me, the magic didn't exist. It was a validation so potent it made my chest tight.

"I think that's a fair point," Tzuyu said finally, her voice low and thoughtful. She looked at me, her eyes stripping away the last of my reservations until I felt naked under her gaze—more naked than I had been on the floor earlier. "And, if I'm being entirely honest, a more appealing proposition. Watching is stimulating, yes, but participation..." She trailed off, her tongue darting out to wet her lips, a gesture of pure, unadulterated hunger. "Participation is immersive.”

"You've made your case, knight," Tzuyu murmured, a slow, satisfied smile spreading across her face as she surveyed the four of us. She stood up, the movement fluid and graceful despite the lingering exhaustion in her limbs. "And I, for one, am ready to see where this... collaborative art... leads us. But that is a discussion for tomorrow. My brain is currently fried, and my bed is calling my name."

"Seconded," Nayeon groaned, practically rolling off the sofa in her exaggerated fatigue. She stretched her arms high above her head, her joints popping audibly, before padding towards the hallway on bare feet. "I love you all dearly, but if I don't get horizontal within the next five minutes, I might actually die. Sana, you know the drill—top and tail, or squeeze in the middle. Just... no more energetic gymnastics until I've had at least eight hours of REM sleep."

Mina rose with a languid stretch, her movements like a cat uncurling in a sunbeam. She offered us a mysterious, feline smile as she followed Nayeon. "Sweet dreams, you two. Try not to dream too... loudly."

The hallway to Nayeon’s bedroom was dimly lit, guided only by the soft amber glow of recessed floor lights. We walked in a loose procession, the silence broken only by the rustle of our robes and the soft thud of bare feet on the hardwood. My son’s hand was warm and steady at the small of my back, a constant anchor that kept me grounded as the adrenaline of the night finally began to ebb, leaving a heavy, pleasant lassitude in its wake.

Nayeon’s bedroom was as bold and vibrant as her personality—a sprawling space dominated by a massive king-sized bed piled high with velvet cushions and a faux-fur throw. The walls were painted a deep, moody plum, and the air smelled faintly of the vanilla candle she always kept burning on her nightstand.

It was a sanctuary, and right now, it looked like the most inviting place on earth.

"Left or right?" Nayeon mumbled, already halfway to burrowing beneath the duvet, her blonde hair fanning out across the dark pillowcases like spilled ink. "But don't you dare kick me. I have an early photoshoot tomorrow, and if I have bruises on my shins, Sana, I'm sending you the bill."

"Centre," I decided without hesitation, patting the expanse of mattress between us. "I need to be in the middle. It's... a strategic necessity."

The girls didn't argue, merely shifting with sleepy murmurs to create a space. Mina curled up on the edge, her breathing already slowing into the deep, rhythmic pattern of sleep, while Tzuyu lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling with a thoughtful expression that suggested she was still running calculations in her head. I climbed in, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the lingering heat in my skin, and immediately felt the bed dip as my son slid in beside me.

He moved with a fluid grace, settling onto his back and immediately opening his arm in a silent invitation. I didn't hesitate; I shuffled closer, moulding myself against his side with a familiarity that felt as natural as breathing. I rested my head on his chest, right over the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart, and draped one leg across his thighs, tangling our limbs together beneath the heavy duvet.

"Is this comfortable?" he murmured, the vibration of his deep voice resonating through my cheek.

"Perfect," I sighed, closing my eyes as the lingering tension in my muscles finally began to unspool. The scent of him—clean skin, soap, and that underlying musk that was uniquely his—was the most soothing lullaby I could imagine. "You're my personal radiator now, sweetheart. Don't you dare go cold on me."

"No danger of that," he replied softly, his breath ruffling the hair on the top of my head. His arm tightened around my shoulders, pulling me impossibly closer until there was no space left between us, creating a warm, protected bubble amidst the soft tangle of limbs and expensive bedding. "I believe I generate sufficient thermal energy to keep you satisfied."

I let out a quiet, sleepy giggle, nuzzling my face into the crook of his neck. "You certainly do. You’re like a furnace. A very handsome, surprisingly strong furnace."

Around us, the sounds of the apartment began to settle. Nayeon’s breathing had already deepened into a soft, rhythmic snuffle, completely dead to the world. I could hear Mina shifting restlessly for a moment on the far edge before she too stilled, and even Tzuyu seemed to have abandoned her calculations, her breathing slow and steady in the dim light.

"I never want to move from this spot," I whispered into the darkness, the confession spilling out of me unbidden. The safety of his embrace, combined with the physical and emotional exhaustion of the night, had stripped away my last defences. "Tonight was... a lot. But being here, like this... it feels right."

"Sleep now, Sana," he murmured, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead, a benediction in the dark. "The world will still be there when we wake up."

Look at doctor Sung Jinwoo, isn't he handsome and charismatic. I heard he was very popular among the doctors in the hospital, handsome and smart, the type of husband you want.

It's a pity that he just married a Japanese woman, Minatozaki Sana, His wife is so beautiful, a famous fashionista and has a large number of followers on social media. Even though she already has two children but her body shape curves hourglass, I even heard that she is a fashion model.

You know his eldest son, Sung Suho, isn't athletic and I heard he was selected as a basketball captain at his high school. Didn't his team win the gold climb thanks to his role as team captain.

Her stepdaughter is also beautiful as an angel, her name is Sullyoon, isn't it. I heard that she is the most outstanding female student in the academic field at school, always ranked first and is a representative of the science competition at her school.

That's what everyone who knows Jinwoo's family says but they don't know what it really is....

****

The cake sat in the center of the dining table, its frosting gleaming under the dimmed chandelier.

"Happy Family Anniversary" looped across the surface in elegant cursive, the letters slightly smudged where Sana's fingertip had swiped through the icing earlier—testing the sweetness, she'd claimed, though the hungry flicker in her eyes suggested something else entirely. Jinwoo adjusted his glasses, watching as Sullyoon traced the edge of the cake knife with deliberate slowness, her usual academic precision replaced by something far less clinical.

Suho leaned back in his chair, the basketball captain's jersey stretched tight across his shoulders.

"Shouldn't we cut it already?" he asked, but the way his gaze lingered on Sana's lips betrayed his impatience for something other than dessert.

Jinwoo cleared his throat, loosening his tie as the air thickened—not from the summer heat, but from the unspoken tension coiling between them.

The cake wasn't celebrating twelve years of marriage. It marked twelve months since they'd stopped pretending this was a normal family.

Sullyoon's laughter rang like wind chimes as she settled onto Jinwoo's lap, her school skirt riding up just enough to reveal the lace trim of her thigh-highs.

"Let me feed you, daddy," she murmured, pressing the forkful of cake toward his lips with an exaggerated pout.

The sweetness exploded on his tongue—vanilla layered with something darker, like the way her hips shifted ever so slightly when his fingers dug into the plush curve of her ass. Neither of them acknowledged the touch; Sullyoon merely tilted her head, strands of hair brushing his cheek as she asked.

"Delicious , right?"

Jinwoo nodded as swallowed another bite of cake, the sugar turning cloying as Sullyoon squirmed in his lap—whether from discomfort or encouragement, he couldn't tell, and the ambiguity sent a thrill down his spine. His thumb hooked under the waistband of her panties, the pad grazing warm skin.

Across the table, Sana cradled Suho's head in her lap, her manicured nails trailing idle patterns along his jawline. The basketball captain's jersey had ridden up, revealing a strip of toned abdomen as he leaned into her touch, his lips parting obediently when Sana pressed a bite of cake between them.

"Is it delicious , baby?" she murmured, thumb swiping a fleck of frosting from his lower lip.

Suho's answering groan vibrated against her thigh, his fingers tightening around the hem of her silk slip dress. The fabric slid higher, baring the smooth expanse of her legs, but neither of them glanced at Jinwoo—no hesitation, no guilt, just the quiet certainty of shared rituals.

Sullyoon exhaled sharply against Jinwoo's collar, her breath warm as she twisted to watch the scene.

"Mom's being greedy again," she whispered, nipping at his earlobe with sudden teeth. Her hand guided his deeper beneath her skirt, the lace of her panties already damp beneath his fingertips.

"She knows Suho can't resist her cakes."

The double entendre curled like smoke between them, underscored by the wet sound of Suho sucking Sana's fingers clean. Jinwoo's pulse stuttered—not from shock, but from the familiar ache of watching his family slot together in ways that should've fractured them.

After a years marriage, actually Jinwoo and Sana have no interest in each other, for one reason, not my type.

Instead, Jinwoo is more attracted to Sullyoon, Sana's daughter. Cheerful and spoiled girl.

Jinwoo remembered the first time he met Sullyoon—how her gaze had skittered away from his like a spooked deer, how her fingers had twisted the hem of her school blouse into wrinkled knots. He’d pretended not to notice the way her cheeks pinkened when he reached across the table for the salt shaker, how her breath hitched when their fingers brushed. Later, he’d lie awake replaying that accidental contact, the phantom warmth of her skin lingering on his fingertips like a brand.

Meanwhile, Sana prefers the type of young man who is full of enthusiasm, confidence and athleticism. That's what Sana found in the figure of Sung Suho.

Sana remembered the first time she met Suho—really met him—with the kind of clarity that made her fingertips tingle even now. Jinwoo had been fussing with his watch, lips pursed in that tight-lipped disapproval he reserved for tardiness, when the café door swung open with a gust of summer heat. Suho stood there, his basketball jersey clinging to his chest in damp patches, hair plastered to his forehead from whatever impulsive sprint had brought him here late.

"Sorry," he'd panted, flashing a grin so bright it should've come with a warning label. The apology was perfunctory; his eyes, though—those locked onto Sana with an intensity that made her stir her iced coffee three times too many. The straw clinked against the glass like a nervous metronome.

Jinwoo had known from the start that Sana wasn’t the kind of woman who would ever fit neatly into the role of a demure housewife—not that he’d wanted one. Likewise Sana, also doesn't like Jinwoo's rigid style.

It wasn’t disliked; it was something closer to mutual recognition, two predators circling each other without ever bothering to clash. He’d married her for convenience, a tidy arrangement that gave them both social legitimacy while leaving their real desires untouched.

The wedding had been a masterclass in plausible deniability—peonies arranged just so to obscure the way Sana's fingers lingered on Suho's bicep when they posed for family photos, the cut of Jinwoo's tuxedo jacket hiding how his palm slid beneath Sullyoon's bridesmaid dress during the first dance. The guests sighed over the blended family's picture-perfect harmony, never questioning why the newlyweds exchanged rings with more ceremony than a kiss.

Later, when the hotel suite door clicked shut behind them, Jinwoo loosened his tie with one hand while the other tugged Sullyoon into the adjoining bedroom by her sash.

"You looked beautiful today," he murmured against the shell of her ear, savoring the way her pulse fluttered under his lips like a trapped bird.

The chiffon of her dress pooled around her ankles with a whisper, and for once, the straight-A student had no clever retort—just a gasp when his teeth found the sensitive spot below her jaw.

In the suite's main bedroom, Sana perched on the edge of the king-sized bed, her wedding gown unzipped to the small of her back. Suho hovered near the minibar, cracking open a soda can with excessive force, the fizz echoing his nervous energy.

"You don't have to pretend with me," Sana said, peeling off one satin glove with her teeth.

The deliberate slowness of the gesture made Suho's throat bob—she'd practiced that move in the mirror for weeks, timing it to the exact second his resolve would fray. His basketball captain's discipline crumpled when she hooked a finger into the waistband of his slacks, pulling him closer with a laugh that vibrated against his collarbone.

"All those trophies," she mused, "and you're still scared of little old me?”

Present day.

The king-size bed creaked under their combined weight as Father and son seemed to be waiting for something that made them impatient.

The bathroom door remained stubbornly closed, the faint sound of giggles and rustling fabric slipping through the gap like a promise. Jinwoo adjusted his glasses, the lenses fogging slightly from the steam curling beneath the doorframe.

"They're taking longer than usual," Suho, remarked.

“Just wait it, Son”, The father pointed to the direction of his glasses.

The bathroom lock clicked open with theatrical slowness. Sana emerged first, her hips swaying with the practiced ease of a runway model—except no fashion week had ever featured lingerie this deliberately indecent. The pastel pink straps of her teddy clung to her curves like a second skin, the lace barely containing the swell of her breasts as she paused at the foot of the bed.

"Happy anniversary, boys," she purred, dragging a manicured nail down Suho's skin. The basketball captain's breath hitched audibly, his fingers digging into the sheets as Sana climbed onto the mattress with feline grace, her knees bracketing his hips.

Sullyoon's entrance was quieter but no less devastating. She hovered in the doorway, her white chemise translucent under the bedroom lights, the shadow of her nipples visible through the fabric as she bit her lower lip in faux shyness. Jinwoo's throat went dry. She'd worn her hair down tonight—a rare deviation from her usual schoolgirl ponytail—and the dark waves framed her face like a Renaissance painting gone deliciously wrong.

"Daddy," she murmured, padding toward him with bare feet, "Do I look hot and sexy enough for you, tonight ?" The question was a blade wrapped in silk, a reminder of all the times he'd called her his little girl while his hands taught her otherwise.

Jinwoo’s fingers twitched against Sullyoon’s thigh, the lace of her panties damp beneath his touch as if she’d been waiting for this all evening—maybe longer. Her breath hitched when his thumb slipped beneath the fabric, tracing the crease where her leg met her hip with deliberate slowness.

"You're so beautiful, princess," Jinwoo murmured against Sullyoon's jaw, his breath warm where it ghosted over the rapid flutter of her pulse.

The endearment made her squirm—not from discomfort, but from the way it coiled heat low in her belly, the contradiction of being called childish while his fingers mapped the adult curves beneath her chemise. When she opened her mouth to protest, Jinwoo swallowed the words with a kiss that started slow, almost chaste, until the tip of his tongue traced the seam of her lips and she gasped into his mouth.

The aggression came not in force but in persistence—the way Jinwoo's hands slid from her hips to her waist, then higher, as if cataloging every inch of her. Sullyoon arched into the touch, her fingers tangling in his hair to pull him closer, nails scraping his scalp when his thumb finally brushed the peaked hardness of her nipple through the sheer fabric. The sound she made was half whimper, half moan, swallowed by Jinwoo's mouth as he deepened the kiss, his teeth catching her lower lip in a way that sent sparks down her spine.

Looks like the shy princess has started to get bold," Suho drawled from across the room, his voice dripping with amusement as Sullyoon's fingers twisted tighter in Jinwoo's hair.

She broke the kiss just long enough to shoot him a glare sharp enough to carve glass, her chest heaving against Jinwoo's in a way that made Suho's smirk widen. Then she was surging back into Jinwoo's mouth with a hunger that left no room for hesitation—tongue tangling with his, teeth nipping at his lower lip like she wanted to devour him whole.

Sana caught Suho's chin between her fingers, tilting his face up to hers with effortless dominance.

"Let your little sister have fun with your father," she murmured, her thumb brushing over his parted lips before she dragged it downward, tracing the column of his throat.

"Let's both enjoy ourselves."

The command was velvet-wrapped steel, and Suho shuddered as she guided his head against the plush swell of her chest, the lace of her teddy scratching deliciously against his flushed cheeks. He inhaled sharply—vanilla and something darker, the scent of her skin layered with the musk of want—before Sana's fingers carded through his hair, holding him there as she arched into his mouth.

Suho's fingers trembled against the clasp of Sana's teddy—not from inexperience, but from the way her smirk dared him to fumble. The pink straps fell away with a whisper, her breasts spilling into his palms like overripe fruit, still warm from the heat between them. Moonlight caught the light flush spreading across her skin, the pink of her nipples darkening as Suho's thumbs circled them with worshipful slowness.

"Look at you," Sana breathed, arching into his touch with a roll of her hips that made the mattress creak. "My greedy little athlete."

The first lick was tentative, Suho's tongue darting out to trace the stiff peak before he sealed his mouth over it with a groan that vibrated against her flesh. Sana's fingers fisted in his hair, holding him there as he suckled with the single-minded intensity of a starving man—teeth grazing, lips pursing around the areola until her back bowed off the bed.

"Urgh... You love it, dear," she gasped, her other hand guiding his head to her neglected breast. "Your stepmother's breasts taste better than any trophy, don't they?"

Suho lifted his head just enough to pant, "Yes, Mom," before diving back in, his lips glistening with her arousal as he switched sides.

"Your tits are so soft and fluffy", that turned pain into pleasure, the angle of his tongue that made her thighs clamp around his hips.

Meanwhile Jinwoo's fingers moved with the precision of a surgeon—slow, deliberate strokes that made Sullyoon's breath stutter against his collarbone. The lace of her panties had long since been pushed aside, the fabric damp where it pressed against his wrist as he curled two fingers inside her, the heel of his palm grinding against her clit in lazy circles.

"Urgh... Daddy, your fingers are inside me..." Sullyoon gasped, her hips jerking into his touch like a marionette whose strings had been tugged too hard. Her chemise rode up around her waist, the sheer fabric clinging to her sweat-slicked skin as she arched against him.

"I like that... Oh god."

Jinwoo grinned against the flutter of her pulse, his teeth scraping the delicate skin of her shoulder blade before soothing the sting with his tongue.

"You're too wet for dad, princess," he murmured, the words hot against her ear as his thumb circled faster, the pad rubbing rough over her swollen clit.

glock glock

The wet echoed obscenely through the bedroom, syncopated with the creak of mattress springs as Sana bobbed her head with the practiced rhythm of a woman who'd rehearsed this in mirrors.

Her lips stretched obscenely around Suho's cock, the pink lace straps of her discarded teddy still draped over one shoulder like a fallen banner of surrender. Suho's fingers clenched in her hair—not pulling, just anchoring himself as his hips jerked involuntarily, the head of his cock bumping against the back of her throat before she swallowed him down again with a hum that vibrated along his length.

"Urgh... Fuck... Mom," he gasped, the honorific twisting into something filthy as her tongue curled under his shaft, "your mouth feels so awesome around my cock."

The compliment dripped from his lips like the spit slicking her chin.

Sana smiled around the thick length filling her mouth, her lips stretched taut as Suho's cock bumped against the back of her throat—not a flinch, not a gag, just the deliberate press of his swollen tip against the tight ring of muscle before she swallowed him down deeper. The sound he made was ragged, half-strangled, his fingers tightening in her hair as she hollowed her cheeks and took him to the hilt.

Sullyoon arched against the sheets with a choked gasp, her fingers twisting in Jinwoo's hair as his tongue lapped at her with the desperation of a man who'd found his only source of hydration.

"Mmph... Daddy... Daddy... Your tongue—" The words shattered into a moan when he curled it just so, the flat of his tongue dragging slow and wet from her fluttering entrance to the swollen bud at her apex.

Her thighs trembled around his ears, the musky scent of her arousal thick enough to taste—and Jinwoo did, savoring the tang on his tongue like a connoisseur of some forbidden vintage.

He'd mapped this terrain a dozen times before, could navigate the hitch in her breath when he flicked over that sensitive spot just left of center, the way her hips jerked when he sealed his lips around her clit and sucked gently.

But tonight—anniversary night—he took his time, tracing lazy circles with the tip of his tongue until her whimpers turned pleading, until the lace straps of her chemise dug into her shoulders from how hard she was pulling at them.

"Please," she gasped, her voice cracking on the syllable, "please, daddy, I need—”

Jinwoo's breath hitched—not at the words, but at the way Sullyoon's fingers trembled against his scalp, her usual eloquence reduced to fractured syllables.

He kissed that dip slowly, savoring her shudder before murmuring, "Say it again." His teeth grazed her pulse point. "Properly."

Sullyoon's hips jerked against his mouth, her thighs clamping around his head as she gasped, "I need your cock, Daddy—" The last word cracked into a moan when Jinwoo's tongue plunged inside her without warning, fucking her with shallow thrusts that left her dripping.

The mattress groaned under their combined weight as Sana rolled her hips with the precision of a dancer, each downward thrust spearing herself deeper onto Suho's cock. Moonlight caught the sweat slicking her spine, the damp strands of hair clinging to her neck as she arched back, her hands braced against Suho's thighs for leverage.

"Oh... fuck..." she gasped, the words fracturing as Suho's hips jerked upward to meet her, the slap of skin against skin punctuating each movement.

"Fuck Mommy like that, baby—your cock feels so good inside me."

Suho's hands slid up her thighs, fingers digging into the plush flesh of her hips as he guided her movements, his grip tight enough to leave bruises.

"Mom, I love inside you—" he choked out, the honorific twisting into something filthy when she clenched around him, her inner muscles fluttering like a vice. Sana's laugh was low and throaty, her nails raking down his chest as she leaned forward, her breasts swaying just above his mouth.

"Say it again," she purred, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles that made Suho's back bow off the bed. His cock twitched inside her, the thick length of him stretching her impossibly wider with each shallow thrust.

"Tell Mommy how much you love it.”

The pillow muffled Sullyoon's cries but did nothing to hide the way her fingers clawed at the sheets, the fabric twisting between her knuckles as Jinwoo's thrusts drove her forward with each snap of his hips. Her chemise had ridden up around her waist, the delicate lace straps sliding down her shoulders to pool at her elbows—a half-undressed vulnerability that made Jinwoo's grip tighten on her hips, his thumbs digging into the dimples just above her ass.

"Oh, Daddy—" she gasped, the words fracturing when he angled deeper, the swollen head of his cock grinding against that sweet spot inside her that made her vision whiten.

"So deep, daddy, your cock... So deep inside me—"

Jinwoo's chuckle was dark, roughened by lust as he leaned over her, one hand sliding up to fist in her hair and tug just enough to arch her back. The new angle made Sullyoon sob, her thighs trembling as he pistoned into her with relentless precision, each stroke measured to drag against her walls in a way that left her dripping.

"You're so tight, princess," he murmured, his breath hot against the shell of her ear as his free hand groped her bouncing breast, pinching her nipple between thumb and forefinger until she keened, "Daddy isn't bored by your pussy."

She could feel him everywhere: the stretch of him filling her, the calloused drag of his palm over her nipple, the possessive grip on her hipbones that would leave bruises by morning. But it was the way his cockhead ached against her deepest point that unraveled her, the relentless friction coiling heat low in her belly until her moans turned pleading.

"Please—" she whined, her voice breaking as Jinwoo's pace stuttered, his thrusts turning shallow just to watch her squirm. "Daddy, please—”

The headboard slammed against the wall with the force of a battering ram, each impact timed to Sana's ragged cries as Suho drove into her with the single-minded intensity of an athlete chasing victory. The mating press pinned her beneath him—her legs hooked over his shoulders, her spine arched into a perfect curve that left her completely vulnerable to his relentless thrusts. Sweat dripped from Suho's brow onto Sana's heaving chest, mingling with the smeared lipstick around her gasping mouth.

"Fuck... fuck... harder, baby," she demanded, nails raking down his back hard enough to leave crimson trails.

"Break me."

Suho obeyed with a snarl, his hips pistoning faster, the obscene slap of skin echoing through the bedroom as he bottomed out inside her with every stroke. "Feel that, Mom?" he panted, his voice rough with exertion. "How your son's perverted dick stretches you open?" The vulgarity sent a jolt through Sana—not shock, but arousal, her cunt clenching around him as if trying to milk the confession straight from his cock.

"I like it," she gasped, her head thrashing against the pillows. "I love it—the way my stepson abuses my hole like I'm some cheap slut." The words unraveled into a scream as Suho angled deeper, his balls slapping against her ass with each brutal thrust.

The kiss was slow, deliberate—Jinwoo's lips moving against Sullyoon's with the same measured precision as his hips, each thrust timed to the flick of his tongue against hers. Her moans vibrated between them, muffled but unmistakable, the syllables fracturing whenever he bottomed out inside her with that particular angle that made her toes curl.

"Yes daddy... Mmph... So God... Like that... Oh—" Sullyoon gasped, her fingers clutching at his shoulders as he withdrew almost completely, only to push back in with excruciating slowness, the swollen head of his cock pressing against her deepest point until her back arched off the bed.

Jinwoo swallowed her whimpers, his hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, tugging just enough to tilt her head back and expose the flutter of her pulse.

He licked a stripe up her throat, savoring the salt on his tongue before murmuring against her ear, "You take me so well, princess", His hips rolled forward again, deeper this time, the stretch drawing a broken cry from Sullyoon's lips.

"Like you were made for daddy's cock.”

The moon hung heavy and swollen over the bedroom window—a voyeur painted silver by its own guilty light—as Jinwoo's thrusts stuttered into ragged, uneven jerks. Sullyoon's thighs trembled against his hips, her nails scoring crescents into his shoulder blades when he buried himself to the hilt with a groan that ripped from his chest like a confession. Heat pulsed between them, thick and syrupy as his release flooded her in waves, each throb wringing a whimper from her lips.

Across the room, Suho's hips snapped forward one final time, his spine bowing like a drawn arrow before he collapsed against Sana with a sound that was half-growl, half-prayer. The wet slap of skin stilled as he emptied himself inside her, his cock twitching with each spurt that painted her walls white. Sana arched beneath him, her fingers knotting in his sweat-damp hair as she milked him through it, her inner muscles fluttering around him like a vice.

The air hung thick with musk and sweat, the only sound their ragged breathing as the four of them lay tangled in the aftermath. Jinwoo's fingers still gripped Sullyoon's hips, his thumbs pressed into the bruises he'd left earlier, watching with dark fascination as his release spilled from her in slow, viscous rivulets. It pooled between her thighs, dripping onto the rumpled sheets with obscene finality—white against the flushed pink of her skin, stark as spilled ink on parchment.

Across the bed, Sana arched her back with a lazy sigh, her fingers trailing through the mess Suho had left between her legs. "Look at this," she murmured, holding up glistening fingertips to the moonlight, the strands of cum stretching like spider silk before snapping. She turned her head to catch Jinwoo's gaze, her smirk wicked as she dragged her wet fingers across Suho's panting chest.

"Your son fills me up so well."

Jinwoo’s chuckle was low and rough, his fingers still tangled in Sullyoon’s hair as he turned his head to meet Sana’s gaze.

The moonlight caught the smug curve of his lips, the sweat-slicked sheen of his throat as he rasped, "Your daughter can’t stop milking me too."

Suho's grin was all teeth when he turned to Jinwoo, his fingers still slick with Sana's arousal as he wiped them lazily across the sheets.

"Dad," he drawled, the word dripping with mischief, "you've gotta feel Mom's pussy at least once. Bet it's tighter than Sullyoon's."

Sullyoon’s lower lip jutted out in an exaggerated pout, her fingers tracing idle circles on Jinwoo’s sweat-slicked chest as she flicked her gaze toward Suho.

"At least Daddy’s bigger than your tiny cock," she sing-songed, her voice dripping with saccharine malice.

Suho and Sullyoon bickering like ordinary brother and sister in argue. This situation made Jinwoo and Sana chuckle

Sana's grin curled like smoke as she rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand while the other traced idle patterns through the drying mess on Suho's abdomen. "How about you two fuck each other?" she purred, the words dripping with mischief as her gaze flicked between Sullyoon and Suho.

Jinwoo chimed in, "That's exactly what your mother said," his voice rich with amusement as he watched Suho and Sullyoon's nose wrinkle in disgust.

"Never" . Both of them were rejected.

That's how the night happened—like any other night, woven into the fabric of stories the four of them shared: bodies tangled, breaths mingling, lewd warmth pooling between sheets damp with sweat and other things.

Park fucking Jihyo. Twice’s leader. The woman whose voice had been blasting through his earbuds during late-night gym sessions for years. The same Jihyo whose stage presence could make stadiums full of grown men scream like teenagers. Jihyo, whose thighs—God, those thighs—had their own fan accounts, whose hourglass figure had trended worldwide more times than he could count, and whose smile was weaponized sex appeal wrapped in sunshine.

And now she was standing in his family’s living room, barefoot on the hardwood floor his mom had just polished that morning, wearing nothing but a thin white T-shirt and tiny black cotton shorts that looked painted on.

Minwoo’s brain flatlined.

He’d walked in from the kitchen carrying a tray of fruit his mom had forced him to cut, expecting the usual weekend family chaos—his dad yelling at the TV, his little sister scrolling TikTok, and Chaehyun probably bragging about some new car part he’d installed.

Instead, he walked straight into a fever dream.

Jihyo turned when she heard his footsteps.

Her long dark hair was loose, slightly messy from whatever playful wrestling she and Chaehyun had been doing on the couch five minutes earlier. The white T-shirt was thin—way too thin—and stretched tight across her full, heavy breasts. No bra. He could see the faint outline of her nipples pressing against the cotton every time she breathed. The shirt rode up just enough to show a sliver of toned midriff, the kind of flat, defined stomach that came from years of grueling choreography and core workouts.

And those shorts.

Jesus Christ, those shorts.

They were barely more than boy shorts, hugging the generous curve of her hips, digging slightly into the soft flesh of her thick, sculpted thighs. The material was so snug it outlined every dip and swell—inner thighs that looked plush enough to bruise under a hard grip and outer thighs carved from endless squats and dance practice. When she shifted her weight, the fabric pulled even tighter, creating a perfect camel toe that made Minwoo’s mouth go dry in under two seconds.

He froze mid-step.

The tray wobbled. A grape rolled off and bounced across the floor.

Jihyo smiled—bright, sweet, and completely innocent—and bent slightly to pick it up.

Her ass flexed under the shorts. Round. Full. The kind of ass that made leggings manufacturers rich and grown men stupid. The shorts rode up higher as she bent, exposing more of those creamy thighs and the faint tan lines from whatever bikini bottoms she wore on secret beach trips with Chaehyun.

Minwoo’s cock jerked hard in his sweatpants.

Instant. Painful. No warning.

He could feel it thickening, lengthening, pressing insistently against the soft cotton, the head already leaking a wet spot; he prayed no one would notice. His balls tightened as someone had just yanked them. Heat flooded his groin so fast he almost groaned out loud.

She straightened, held a grape between delicate fingers, and popped it into her mouth.

Her lips closed around it. Cheeks hollowed for a split second.

Minwoo’s vision tunneled.

He could picture it too clearly—those same full lips wrapped around something much thicker. Sliding down. Tongue swirling. Throat working. The same innocent smile she gave fans on Bubble Live is now smeared with spit and precum while she looks up at him with those big doe eyes.

Chaehyun laughed from the couch, completely oblivious.

“Yo, Minwoo, you good? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Jihyo giggled—softly, melodically—and walked over to him, hips swaying naturally.

“Here, let me help with the tray,” she said, voice warm and friendly, like she wasn’t currently the center of every filthy fantasy he’d ever had.

She reached for the tray.

Her breasts brushed his forearm—soft, warm, heavy—even through the shirt. No bra meant he felt everything. The faint drag of her nipple across his skin sent electricity straight to his already aching cock.

He nearly dropped the tray again.

“Thanks,” he managed, his voice hoarse.

She tilted her head, smiling up at him.

Up close, she smelled like vanilla body cream and something faintly floral—probably whatever expensive perfume Twice’s sponsors sent her. Her skin was flawless, poreless, and glowing under the living room lights. A tiny beauty mark sat just below her left eye. Her lashes were long and dark, even without makeup.

And those thighs.

God, standing this close, he could see the faint muscle definition when she shifted. The way the shorts dug in created the softest, sexiest little roll of flesh at the top of her thighs. He wanted to grab them. Spread them. Bury his face between them until she was shaking and screaming his name instead of his brother’s.

Chaehyun called from the couch, “Babe, come sit. Minwoo’s just being dramatic.”

Jihyo laughed again—that bright, addictive sound—and turned, giving Minwoo a perfect view of her ass as she walked away.

Each step made her cheeks bounce slightly under the tight fabric. The shorts wedged higher with every movement, outlining the perfect heart shape of her backside. When she sat down next to Chaehyun, she crossed one leg over the other.

The motion made her thigh flex: muscle and soft flesh in perfect harmony.

Minwoo stood there like an idiot, tray still in his hands, cock so hard it hurt to breathe.

Jihyo had moved in quietly after dating Chaehyun for a year—she said it was easier with her schedule, easier to avoid paparazzi, and easier to just be normal for once. She cooked breakfast in tiny silk camisoles. Did yoga in the living room, wearing nothing but leggings and a sports bra that left very little to the imagination. Took showers so long the bathroom mirror stayed fogged for twenty minutes afterward, and Minwoo had caught himself standing outside the door once, listening to the water hit her body, imagining every droplet sliding down those curves.

Minwoo had barely unpacked his duffel bag in the dorms before the semester break hit like a gift from the universe. Four whole weeks. No lectures, no group projects, no pretending he gave a shit about macroeconomics. Just one thing on his mind the entire train ride home: Jihyo.

He hadn’t lived under the same roof as her for almost two years now.

College had forced him out—dorm life, a part-time job at a café, and the usual broke-student grind. He’d missed the chaos of family dinners, missed the way his mom fussed over everyone, and missed the low-key thrill of hearing Jihyo’s laughter echo through the house at odd hours.

But mostly, he’d missed her.

Not in any innocent, brotherly way.

He’d missed the way she padded around the kitchen in oversized hoodies that still managed to hug her curves. Missed catching glimpses of her stretching in the living room after vocal practice, sports bra clinging to sweat-damp skin, those legendary thighs flexing with every deep lunge. Missed the nights when Chaehyun was out late, and she’d sit on the couch in tiny sleep shorts, legs tucked under her, scrolling her phone while humming Twice songs under her breath—completely unaware (or maybe very aware) that Minwoo was stealing glances from the hallway, cock half-hard just from the sight of her bare thighs pressed together.

Back then, she’d been new to the house. Polite. Sweet. Always asking if he wanted snacks, always thanking him when he carried her heavy stage bags up the stairs after late-night schedules. She’d treated him like a little brother.

And he’d jerked off in his room afterward, thinking about bending her over the kitchen island while she called him “oppa” in that breathy voice she used on variety shows.

Now he was twenty-two. Taller. Broader from inconsistent gym sessions fueled mostly by spite and sexual frustration. And he was finally home.

The front door clicked open at 7:14 p.m.

The smell of kimchi jjigae hit him first—his mom’s signature, simmering on the stove. Laughter floated from the living room. His dad’s booming voice is arguing with a sports commentator on TV—Chaehyun’s lower chuckle.

And then her voice—bright, melodic, unmistakable.

“Minwoo-ya! Is that you?”

He dropped his bag in the entryway without thinking.

Jihyo appeared around the corner, barefoot, wearing loose gray sweatpants that still managed to cling to her hips and a cropped black tank top that ended just above her navel. Her midriff was on full display—toned, smooth, with a faint line of definition running down the center from endless core work. Her hair was up in a messy bun, a few strands falling around her face. No makeup. Just naturally flushed cheeks and those full, pouty lips curved into a genuine smile.

She looked softer than on stage. More real. More fuckable.

Minwoo’s throat went dry.

“Hey, noona,” he managed, voice rougher than he intended.

She bounced forward—actually bounced, tits jiggling under the thin tank—and threw her arms around him in a quick hug.

Her breasts pressed firmly against his chest. Soft. Warm. No bra again. He could feel the faint outline of her nipples through the fabric, brushing his shirt as she squeezed him.

“Welcome home!” she chirped, pulling back but keeping her hands on his upper arms, squeezing like she was checking if he’d grown. “You got taller again? Or buffer? Look at these shoulders.”

Her fingers dug in playfully.

Minwoo prayed she couldn’t feel how fast his heart was hammering—or worse, how his cock was already stirring in his jeans at the simple contact.

“Yeah… gym,” he lied. The gym had seen him maybe six times this semester. Most of his “gains” came from carrying heavy boxes at the café and pure, pent-up horniness.

Chaehyun wandered in from the living room, beer in hand, grinning.

“Little bro’s back. Don’t let Jihyo feed you too much. She’s been stress-baking again.”

Jihyo swatted Chaehyun’s arm. “Yah, I only baked because your mom said she missed my red bean buns.”

She turned back to Minwoo, eyes sparkling. “I made extra. For you.”

The way she said “for you” shouldn’t have sounded like an invitation.

But it did.

His cock twitched.

He forced a smile. “Thanks, noona. Smells amazing.”

Dinner was torture.

Jihyo sat directly across from him.

Minwoo sat there at the dinner table, trying to act normal, but his eyes kept betraying him. Every few seconds, they'd dart across to Jihyo, zeroing in on those perfect, full breasts straining against her cropped black tank top. No bra meant every little movement made them jiggle—soft, hypnotic bounces that sent heat pooling straight to his groin. When she reached for the kimchi jar, her arm lifted just enough to make her tits shift and wobble, nipples poking faintly through the thin fabric like they were teasing him on purpose. And when she laughed—head thrown back slightly, that bright, melodic sound filling the room—her whole chest shook with it, the jiggle more pronounced, making the tank top ride up another inch to expose more of her toned midriff. He could see the faint sheen of sweat on her skin from the warm kitchen, making her glow under the overhead light. His cock throbbed in his jeans, already half-hard from the hug earlier, and he shifted uncomfortably, hoping no one noticed how he was staring like a starving man.

The whole family was seated now, the table loaded with steaming bowls of kimchi jjigae, rice, banchan, and grilled meat. Chaehyun plopped down to Jihyo's left, his arm casually draping over the back of her chair as he owned her—which he did, technically. Their dad, Hongshik, settled in to her right, his broad frame making the chair creak as he grinned and started dishing out portions. Mom sat next to Minwoo, across from Dad, fussing over the napkins and making sure everyone had enough. The conversation flowed easily—Dad bragging about his latest fishing trip, Mom asking about Minwoo's college classes, and Chaehyun cracking jokes about Twice's latest comeback and how Jihyo had been practicing dance moves in the living room at 2 a.m. Jihyo laughed along, her voice light and flirty, leaning into Chaehyun now and then so her shoulder brushed his. But Minwoo's mind was elsewhere, replaying the way her breasts had pressed against him during that hug, imagining how they'd feel in his hands—soft, heavy, nipples hardening under his thumbs.

They talked and laughed about everything—old family stories, Jihyo's funny fan encounters, and even teasing Minwoo about whether he'd found a girlfriend yet. "With a sister-in-law like Jihyo, you've got big shoes to fill," Chaehyun said with a wink, making everyone chuckle. Jihyo blushed playfully, her tits jiggling again with the motion, and Minwoo forced a laugh while his cock twitched harder. He was so distracted that he barely tasted the food, his eyes flicking down to her cleavage every time she leaned forward.

Then it happened—his chopsticks slipped from his fingers mid-bite, clattering to the floor under the table. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, cheeks heating as he bent down to grab them. The tablecloth draped just enough to hide him from above, but from this angle, he had a perfect, shadowy view under the table. And there they were—Jihyo's legs, crossed casually in those loose gray sweatpants. But loose didn't mean much on her; the fabric still clung to her thick, sculpted thighs, outlining the plush curves where her legs met her hips. The pants were soft cotton, riding up slightly from sitting, exposing a few inches of bare calf—smooth, toned skin that begged to be touched. He froze for a second, admiring the view like a pervert. Those thighs—famous for a reason—looked even sexier up close, the material dipping into the soft valley between them, hinting at the warmth hidden higher up. He could imagine spreading them apart, burying his face between them, and tasting her through the fabric before yanking it aside.

As he reached for the chopsticks, still staring shamelessly, a hand suddenly appeared on her left thigh—from the side, sliding in slowly and deliberately. Big, rough fingers splayed out over the sweatpants, caressing the curve of her thigh with a possessiveness that made Minwoo's stomach twist. The hand rubbed up and down, thumb digging in just enough to make the fabric bunch, tracing the inner seam like it was mapping her out. At first, Jihyo's legs tensed—her thighs clamping together slightly, muscles flexing under the touch. Minwoo could see it all: her bare feet curling against the floor, toes flexing in surprise. She froze, her body going rigid for a heartbeat, and he imagined her face above the table—maybe a quick hitch in her breath, a subtle shift in her posture while the family kept talking.

But then, like she was used to it, her thighs relaxed. Completely. She uncrossed her legs slowly, spreading them wider under the table—inviting, almost begging for more. The hand took the cue immediately, fingers sliding higher, rubbing firmer now, kneading the soft flesh of her inner thigh through the pants. Minwoo gritted his teeth, jealousy burning hot in his chest. Lucky bastard, he thought, picturing Chaehyun's smug grin above the table. Getting to touch those thighs whenever he wants. Feeling her spread for him like a good little slut while we're all sitting here eating dinner.

But something felt off. He blinked, staring harder in the dim light under the table. The hand—it was coming from the right side. Jihyo's right thigh. And Chaehyun was on her left. Minwoo double-checked, heart pounding now—yeah, Chaehyun's legs were angled left, away from her. That hand... those thick fingers, the faint age spots on the knuckles, the wedding ring glinting dully... that wasn't his brother's hand.

It was his dad's.

Hongshik's hand. Their father's hand. Sliding possessively over Jihyo's thigh as if it belonged there.

Minwoo's world tilted. Shock hit him like a punch to the gut, freezing him in place under the table. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe. No fucking way. His mind reeled, unwilling to process it, denial surging up hot and bitter. This couldn't be happening. Not his dad—the same guy who lectured them about respect and family values, who went to church every Sunday, who still called Jihyo "daughter-in-law" with that proud smile. Touching her like that? Under the table, right in front of everyone? While Mom sat across, clueless, passing the rice?

But it was happening. Right in front of his eyes. The hand didn't stop—emboldened now, fingers creeping higher, rubbing slow circles on her inner thigh, inches from her crotch. Minwoo could see the fabric tent slightly as the hand pressed in, kneading deeper, and Jihyo's thighs trembled—subtle quivers that made her legs shake just a little. She was enjoying it. Fuck, she's actually enjoying it. Her thighs spread even wider, one knee brushing against Hongshik's leg under the table, giving him full access. The hand took advantage, sliding up to the crease where her thigh met her hip, thumb brushing dangerously close to her pussy through the sweatpants. Minwoo's cock—traitor that it was—throbbed harder at the sight, a twisted mix of rage and arousal flooding him. He wanted to scream, to yank the tablecloth up and expose it all, but he couldn't tear his eyes away. The kinkiness of it—the forbidden, dirty secret unfolding while the family laughed above—made his balls ache.

Did she know? Did Jihyo mistake his father's hand for Chaehyun's? Why else would she allow the old man to grope her like that, spreading her thighs like a needy whore? She had to think it was her boyfriend—some playful under-the-table teasing. But even as Minwoo thought it, doubt crept in. The way she relaxed so quickly, the way her thighs parted without hesitation... it felt too familiar. Too practiced. Like this wasn't the first time. His stomach churned with unwillingness, a sour knot of betrayal twisting inside him. He couldn't believe this—his idol sister-in-law, the perfect Park Jihyo, letting his dad feel her up while Chaehyun sat right there, oblivious. While he watched, hard as a rock, hating every second but unable to stop staring as the hand rubbed higher, making her tremble again.

Minwoo stayed bent under the table longer than he needed to, fingers numb around the fallen chopsticks, heart slamming so hard he could feel it in his throat. The scene unfolding inches from his face was impossible and obscene, and yet it was happening in real time—his own father’s thick, weathered hand buried deep between Jihyo’s spread thighs, hidden only by the loose gray sweatpants and the tablecloth’s shadow.

He forced himself to straighten slowly, movements mechanical, face blank as he sat back up and placed the chopsticks on his napkin like nothing had happened. Above the table, everything looked perfectly normal.

Jihyo was smiling sweetly at something Chaehyun had just said, nodding along, her voice light and melodic as she replied. “Really? That’s hilarious, oppa.” Her tone was the same bright idol voice she used in lives and interviews—innocent, bubbly, and untouchable.

But Minwoo could see the cracks.

Her shoulders were subtly hunched forward, like she was trying to keep her upper body composed while her lower half was being dismantled. Every few seconds, a tiny shiver ran through her—barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. Her full lips parted on a silent breath, then pressed together again. She bit the lower one—hard—teeth sinking into the plump flesh until it turned white and then released with a soft, wet pop. The gesture was small, almost cute, but Minwoo knew exactly what it meant: she was fighting not to moan.

Chaehyun’s arm was still casually slung around the back of her chair, fingers playing idly with the ends of her hair while he rambled on about some funny story from work. Completely oblivious. His other hand rested on the table, gesturing as he talked. Nowhere near her lap.

Across from Minwoo, Hongshik looked bored—chin propped on one hand, eyes half-lidded as he stared at his bowl like the jjigae had personally offended him. To everyone else, he was just an uninterested old man waiting for dessert.

But Minwoo knew better now.

He watched his father’s right arm disappear under the table again, elbow barely moving; the motion was so practiced and subtle it could have been him reaching for his napkin. Except that Minwoo could see the faint flex of forearm muscles under the rolled-up sleeve and the slow, deliberate rhythm of his wrist. Hongshik’s fingers were working inside those sweatpants—rubbing, circling, pressing—exactly where Jihyo’s body was betraying her the most.

Jihyo’s chopsticks trembled in her grip. She clutched them so tightly the wood creaked. A soft, involuntary gasp slipped past her lips—barely audible, disguised as a surprised laugh at Chaehyun’s joke—but Minwoo heard the edge of pleasure in it. Her eyelids fluttered. She bit her lip again, harder this time, trying to trap the next sound before it escaped.

Their eyes met for a split second.

Hongshik glanced sideways at her—casual, almost lazy—and Jihyo looked back. The look they exchanged was electric, loaded, and filthy. No words. Just raw understanding. Her pupils were blown wide, and her cheeks flushed a deep pink that had nothing to do with the warm kitchen. She bit her lip once more—deliberately this time, seductively—and her thighs shifted wider under the table. Inviting. Begging.

Minwoo’s stomach twisted with a sick cocktail of shock, jealousy, and unwanted arousal. His cock—already traitorously hard from watching her tits jiggle earlier—was throbbing painfully now, trapped against his zipper. He hated himself for it, but he couldn’t look away.

Hongshik’s hand moved again—higher, deeper. Minwoo couldn’t see exactly what his fingers were doing anymore, but he could see the effect. Jihyo’s body jerked once—subtle, hidden by the table—then again. Her breath hitched audibly this time. A tiny, needy whimper escaped before she could swallow it, disguised as a cough. She pressed her thighs together around his father’s wrist, trapping his hand there, grinding subtly against it.

Then Hongshik did something—curled his fingers, pressed harder, rubbed faster—and Jihyo broke.

She leaned back in her chair suddenly, spine arching, head falling back against the headrest. Eyes squeezed shut. Mouth falling open in a silent, ecstatic O. Her chest heaved—those perfect, heavy breasts rising and falling rapidly under the cropped tank, nipples visibly stiff and poking through the fabric like bullets. A full-body shudder rolled through her—shoulders, arms, and thighs—her chopsticks clattering softly against the edge of her bowl. Another soft, broken gasp slipped out, this one impossible to hide.

Chaehyun turned to her immediately, concerned. “You okay, babe?”

Jihyo forced her eyes open, lashes fluttering. She managed a shaky smile, her voice breathy and wrecked. “Y-yeah… just… the stew is really spicy today.” She fanned her face weakly with one hand. “Whew.”

Mom laughed. “I told you I added extra gochujang! You always say you like it hot.”

Chaehyun chuckled and rubbed her back comfortingly—completely unaware that his girlfriend was still trembling from his father’s fingers buried inside her pants.

Hongshik, meanwhile, slowly withdrew his hand—calm, unhurried—wiping his fingers discreetly on a napkin as he’d just finished eating. He picked up his spoon again and took a casual bite of rice, expression blank.

But Minwoo had seen everything.

The way Jihyo’s thighs had trembled and clenched around his dad’s wrist.

The way her body had arched like she was coming undone.

The way she hadn’t pulled away—hadn’t even tried to stop him.

The way she’d looked at Hongshik with pure, pleading lust right before she threw her head back in pleasure.

This wasn’t a mistake.

She hadn’t confused his father’s hand for Chaehyun’s.

She knew exactly whose fingers had been stroking her clit, fingering her pussy under the dinner table while her boyfriend, his mom, and his little brother sat inches away.

And from the practiced ease of it all—the subtle signals, the silent eye contact, the way her body responded like it had been trained—this wasn’t the first time.

Questions exploded in Minwoo’s mind, each one dirtier and more twisted than the last.

How long had this been going on?

How many times had his dad fingered Jihyo under this very table while the family ate?

Did Chaehyun really not know? Or was he just that blind?

Did Jihyo sneak into Dad’s room at night when Chaehyun was asleep?

Did she ride his father’s cock in the guest bathroom while everyone was downstairs?

Did she moan “appa” instead of “oppa” when she came?

Minwoo’s hands shook under the table. His cock was so hard it hurt—leaking steadily into his boxers, a shameful wet spot spreading. He hated how turned on he was. Hated that the sight of his perfect, untouchable sister-in-law getting secretly finger-fucked by his own father was making him throb like this.

But he couldn’t stop watching.

Jihyo took a shaky sip of water, lips trembling around the rim of the glass.

Hongshik calmly asked Mom to pass the kimchi.

Chaehyun kept talking and laughing, none the wiser.

And Minwoo sat there—silent, stunned, painfully aroused—knowing the perfect idol image the world worshipped was nothing but a carefully constructed lie.

Underneath the table, in his own house, Park Jihyo was someone else’s dirty little secret.

And now Minwoo was the only one who knew.

*****************

Dinner ended in the usual blur of clattering dishes and overlapping goodnights. Mom started clearing plates with her cheerful efficiency, Chaehyun stretched and yawned dramatically while complaining about how full he was, and Jihyo—sweet, perfect Jihyo—suddenly stood up a little too quickly.

“I’ll… um, go change into something more comfortable,” she said, her voice still light but edged with something breathy that only Minwoo seemed to catch. She flashed her trademark idol smile—bright, practiced, flawless—then turned and hurried toward the stairs without waiting for anyone to respond.

Minwoo watched her go.

The gray sweatpants clung to her thick thighs with every hurried step; the soft cotton darkened noticeably at the crotch. A wet, unmistakable stain bloomed right between her legs—darker gray turning almost black where her arousal had soaked through. The fabric stuck to her skin there, outlining the plump shape of her pussy lips in obscene detail as she climbed. Each step made her ass cheeks flex and jiggle under the material, but Minwoo’s eyes were locked lower—on that spreading damp patch that proved exactly how much she’d enjoyed what happened under the table.

His goddess. Park Jihyo. Twice’s leader. The woman was worshipped by millions of fans for her strength, her voice, and her untouchable beauty. Dripping wet from his own father’s fingers.

Minwoo’s jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.

He could still picture it: her thighs parting willingly, hips subtly rocking to meet Hongshik’s thick, calloused digits as they slid inside her soaked folds. The way her body had shuddered and arched when he’d curled them just right, hitting that spot that made her bite her lip and throw her head back in silent ecstasy. She hadn’t flinched away. Hadn’t whispered “stop.” She’d spread wider. Invited him deeper. Let the old man finger-fuck her right there while the family laughed and ate like nothing was happening.

It should have been him.

Not his grumpy, balding, fifty-something father with the perpetual scowl and the beer belly hidden under loose shirts. Not the man who still called her “daughter-in-law” in that overly formal tone during family photos. Minwoo stared across the table at Hongshik, who was now calmly sipping the last of his tea like he hadn’t just had his hand buried knuckle-deep in idol pussy five minutes ago.

How the hell had he done it?

How had this ordinary, unimpressive old man seduced someone like Jihyo? She could have anyone—actors, idols, CEOs, or fans who threw money at her feet. Yet she’d let Hongshik grope her under the dinner table and let him make her come (or at least edge her to the brink) while her boyfriend sat inches away. The memory of her trembling thighs, the way she’d clenched around his wrist, the soft, broken gasp she’d failed to hide—it replayed in Minwoo’s head on loop. She’d been into it. Desperate for it. Her body language screamed consent, craving, and familiarity.

It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t a one-time mistake.

This was routine.

The thought made Minwoo’s stomach churn with jealousy so sharp it hurt, but his cock—still traitorously hard—throbbed harder at the same time. He hated how turned on he was. Hated picturing Jihyo on her knees in front of his dad instead of him. Hated imagining her moaning “appa” in that breathy idol voice while Hongshik’s thick fingers stretched her open.

A few minutes later, Hongshik pushed back from the table with a low grunt.

“Long day,” he muttered, his voice gruff and disinterested as always. “Gonna head up and rest.”

Mom nodded absently. “Don’t forget to take your blood pressure pill, yeobo.”

Chaehyun waved without looking up from his phone. “Night, Dad.”

Hongshik didn’t reply. He just stood, stretched once—joints popping—and headed for the stairs.

Minwoo watched him go.

Every heavy step up the wooden staircase felt like a countdown. He knew—knew with sick certainty—where his father was really going.

Not to his own bedroom.

To Jihyo.

She is up there right now. Probably already peeling off those soaked sweatpants, the wet cotton clinging to her swollen pussy lips as she tugged them down her thick thighs. Maybe she was standing in front of the full-length mirror in Chaehyun’s room, fingers trailing over the slick mess his dad had left between her legs. Maybe she was biting her lip again, remembering how good those rough fingers had felt, how they’d rubbed her clit in slow, firm circles until she almost came right there at the family table.

And now the old man was climbing the stairs to finish what he started.

Minwoo’s hands curled into fists under the table.

He pictured it too clearly: Hongshik slipped into the bedroom while Chaehyun was still downstairs scrolling Twitter. Jihyo turned toward him with that same needy look she’d given him under the table—eyes dark, lips parted, thighs already trembling. Maybe she’d drop to her knees without a word, tugging down his dad’s pants to worship the cock that had no right being anywhere near her perfect mouth. Maybe she’d bend over the bed, ass up, spreading herself open and whispering, “Please, Appa… deeper this time.”

The images burned into Minwoo’s brain.

His cock leaked steadily into his boxers, the wet spot growing cold against his skin.

He should feel disgust. Rage. Betrayal on behalf of his brother.

Instead, he felt… hungry.

He wanted to follow them. Wanted to crack the door open just enough to watch. Wanted to see exactly how far Jihyo would let the old man go—how many filthy things she’d do behind Chaehyun’s back while the house slept.

He stayed seated, staring at the empty staircase, listening to the faint creak of floorboards overhead.

Somewhere up there, his perfect sister-in-law was waiting.

And his father was about to claim what should have been his.

*****

Minwoo’s heart hammered so loud he was sure someone downstairs would hear it. He moved like a shadow up the stairs, bare feet silent on the worn wooden steps he’d known since childhood. Every creak felt like a gunshot, but the TV noise from the living room—his mom’s drama serial and Chaehyun’s occasional laugh—covered him.

The hallway at the top was dim, lit only by the soft glow spilling from under the doors. Chaehyun’s room—their room now—was at the far end. The door wasn’t closed all the way. A thin vertical line of warm yellow light sliced through the darkness, and through that crack, Minwoo could already see movement.

He froze at the top of the stairs, breathing shallow.

Hongshik was there.

His father stood just outside the doorframe, his broad back filling most of the opening. He glanced left, then right—a quick, practiced scan of the empty hallway—before pushing the door open another few inches and stepping inside without a sound.

Minwoo didn’t think. He just moved.

Feet flying over the carpet, he closed the distance in seconds, heart in his throat, cock already straining painfully against his jeans again. He reached the doorway just as Hongshik disappeared inside. Minwoo pressed himself flat against the wall beside the frame, then leaned in—slowly, carefully—until one eye could see through the narrow gap.

The sight hit him like a fist to the gut.

Jihyo stood in the middle of the room, back to the door, facing the full-length mirror propped against the wall. The overhead light was off; only the soft bedside lamp glowed, painting her skin in warm gold. She’d already peeled off the cropped black tank top. It lay crumpled on the floor beside her feet. Her bare back was flawless—smooth, toned from years of choreography, with faint tan lines from a bikini top crossing her shoulders like secret invitations.

Her hands were at her hips now, thumbs hooked into the waistband of the gray sweatpants.

She dragged them down slowly—agonizingly slowly—like she knew someone was watching.

The soaked crotch peeled away from her skin with a faint, wet sound. The dark gray fabric had clung obscenely to her pussy lips, outlining every swollen fold. As the pants slid past the fullest part of her ass, the material finally released with a soft snap against her thighs.

Minwoo’s breath caught.

Her ass was perfect—round, firm, impossibly full. The kind of ass that made shorts ride up and leggings look painted on. Two deep dimples sat at the base of her spine, right above the swell. A tiny red thong—barely more than a string—disappeared between her cheeks, the front triangle completely drenched. The thin cotton was dark and clinging, molded to her puffy outer lips like a second skin. A glistening trail of arousal had already trickled down the inside of one thick thigh, shining wet under the lamplight.

She bent forward slightly to step out of the pants, her ass pushing out toward the door—toward them. The thong string pulled taut, digging into her flesh, outlining the tight pucker hidden between those glorious cheeks. Her pussy lips shifted under the soaked fabric as she moved, swollen and puffy from the earlier fingering, begging to be touched again.

Minwoo’s breath caught in his throat as he pressed his eye tighter to the narrow crack in the door.

Inside the softly lit bedroom, Hongshik stepped right up behind Jihyo like he owned every inch of her.

His big, rough hands slid around her bare waist from behind, pulling her back against his chest in one smooth, possessive motion. Jihyo didn’t flinch. Didn’t gasp in shock. Instead, her body melted instantly—spine arching, thick ass pushing back to meet him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Minwoo could see it clearly in the mirror’s reflection: the thick bulge in his father’s slacks pressing hard between those perfect, round cheeks. The gray sweatpants were already down around her ankles, kicked aside. All she had left was that tiny, soaked red thong—clinging wetly to her swollen pussy lips, the thin string disappearing deep between her ass cheeks. Hongshik’s cock—obviously rock-hard—rubbed right up the center of her crack through his pants, slow and deliberate, dry-humping the plush flesh like he was claiming territory.

And Jihyo liked it.

She leaned back heavier against him, rolling her hips in a slow, filthy grind. Her thick ass cheeks flexed and squeezed around the ridge of his bulge, trapping it, teasing it. A soft, breathy laugh slipped from her lips as she tilted her head just enough to look back at him over her shoulder.

“Naughty old man,” she purred, voice low and teasing, dripping with that idol sweetness twisted into something downright pornographic. “Fingering me under the dinner table like that… making me soak through my pants in front of everyone… and now you just barge into my room as you own it?”

Hongshik chuckled—deep, rough, smug. The sound vibrated against her neck as he leaned in and dragged his lips along the sensitive skin just below her ear.

“Can’t help it, baby girl,” he rasped, his voice gravelly with lust. “This body… fuck. Look at you. Can’t resist even for a second.”

He thrust forward hard—his hips snapping so his clothed cock jammed deeper between her ass cheeks. Jihyo gasped sharply, mouth falling open, eyes fluttering half-shut in pleasure. Her knees dipped for a second before she caught herself, grinding back even harder, her ass cheeks spreading wider around his bulge like she was trying to swallow it through the fabric.

Hongshik’s mouth latched onto the side of her neck—sucking hard, teeth grazing, leaving a fresh red mark right where her pulse hammered. He inhaled deeply, nose buried in her hair, breathing her in like a drug.

“God, that perfume… smells so fucking good on you,” he growled against her skin. “Makes me want to eat you alive.”

Minwoo’s teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached. Jealousy burned white-hot in his chest, twisting with raw, shameful arousal. How the hell was this happening? His own father—grumpy, boring, fifty-something Hongshik—had Jihyo, Park fucking Jihyo, grinding her soaked thong-covered pussy back against him like a needy slut. The woman whose thighs and tits had launched a million fan edits, whose stage presence made arenas scream, was right now letting the old man hump her ass and mark her neck while she moaned like she couldn’t get enough.

Jihyo let her head fall back onto Hongshik’s broad shoulder, long dark hair spilling over his shirt. Her bare tits—full, heavy, perfect—jiggled with every slow roll of her hips. In the mirror, Minwoo could see everything: the way her dark pink nipples stood stiff and aching, begging to be touched. The faint sheen of sweat was already glistening between her breasts. The soft curve of her toned stomach rises and falls with quick, shallow breaths.

Hongshik’s big hands roamed up her bare torso, palms sliding over the smooth, defined ridges of her abs—abs that thousands of fans drooled over in crop-top stages and gym selfies. He rubbed slow, possessive circles, fingers digging in just enough to make her skin dimple. One hand drifted higher, cupping the underside of one breast, thumb brushing teasingly close to her nipple without quite touching it.

“You’re so fucking tight here,” he murmured against her neck, fingers flexing over her abs like he was memorizing every line. “All that dancing… makes these abs so hard… but this ass…” He gave one cheek a hard squeeze, making it jiggle. “…this ass is soft as hell. Perfect for grabbing. Perfect for fucking.”

Jihyo whimpered—soft, needy, desperate. Her hips rolled faster now, grinding her soaked thong right along the length of his clothed cock. The wet fabric made obscene little slick sounds every time she dragged herself over him. Minwoo could see the dark patch on her thong growing bigger, fresh arousal seeping through, dripping down the inside of one thick thigh.

She reached back with one hand, fingers threading into Hongshik’s hair again, holding his mouth against her neck while the other hand braced on the mirror. Her reflection stared straight ahead—eyes glassy, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep pink—as she rode back against his father’s bulge like she was already close.

Hongshik thrust again—harder this time—making her tits bounce wildly in the mirror. He pinched one nipple between rough fingers, rolling it slowly, tugging just enough to make her gasp and arch.

“Gonna make you come again, baby,” he growled low. “Just like under the table. Gonna make this pretty pussy soak my fingers while your boyfriend’s downstairs playing on his phone.”

Jihyo’s only answer was a broken moan—head lolling further back on his shoulder, body trembling, thighs shaking as she ground faster, chasing the friction of his cock against her dripping slit.

Minwoo stood frozen in the hallway, hand pressed hard against the front of his jeans, squeezing his throbbing length through the denim. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t look away.

His goddess was falling apart for the wrong man.

And the worst part?

He was so fucking hard he could barely think straight.

Minwoo’s fingers dug into the doorframe so hard his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the mirror’s reflection—every filthy detail crystal clear, lit by the soft bedside lamp like some private porn set just for him.

Hongshik’s big hands slid higher from Jihyo’s toned abs, cupping the heavy undersides of her bare tits from behind. He lifted them slowly, weighing the soft, fleshy mounds in his palms like they were priceless treasures. Jihyo’s breasts were even more perfect up close—full, round, defying gravity despite their size, and with pale skin flushed pink from arousal. Her dark nipples stood out, stiff and swollen, already begging for attention.

She tilted her head back against his shoulder again, that signature sweet-sexy Jihyo smile curving her full lips as she looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. Her mouth parted just a fraction—soft, glossy lips opening in silent invitation.

That was all the invitation Hongshik needed.

He leaned down and claimed her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle.

It was raw. Hungry. Filthy.

His lips crashed over hers, sucking hard on her lower lip before his tongue plunged inside, tangling with hers in a wet, aggressive dance. Jihyo moaned straight into his mouth—soft, needy, the sound muffled but unmistakable. Minwoo could see everything: the way her tongue curled eagerly around his father’s and the slick slide of spit as they devoured each other. Thick strands of saliva escaped the corners of her mouth, trickling slowly down her chin, dripping onto the swell of her tits, and leaving shiny trails over her skin.

Hongshik’s hands never stopped working on her breasts. He kneaded them roughly—squeezing the soft flesh until it spilled between his thick fingers, then trapping her hard nipples between thumb and forefinger. He pinched. Rolled. Tugged. Each little twist made Jihyo’s body twitch violently—her hips jerking back against his bulge, thighs pressing together as fresh wetness soaked the front of her tiny thong even more.

Minwoo gulped hard, throat dry, cock throbbing so painfully against his zipper he thought he might come in his pants just from watching. The view was fucking obscene. His goddess—Park Jihyo, the woman who commanded stadiums with a single hip sway—was being kissed into complete submission by his grumpy old father. Hongshik ate at her mouth like he was starving, sucking her tongue deep, licking into every corner, while his rough palms mauled those perfect tits. Her nipples looked painfully hard—dark pink peaks pinched and pulled between his calloused fingers, glistening with the faint sheen of sweat and spit that had dripped down from her chin.

Jihyo’s knees buckled again. Her legs trembled, thighs quivering as another wave of pleasure rolled through her. She reached back blindly, small hands stretching up to clutch at Hongshik’s neck, fingers threading into his short, graying hair, holding him against her like she never wanted the kiss to end.

She moaned louder into his mouth now—sweet, broken little sounds that vibrated through the quiet room. “Mmmph… ahh…” The noises were muffled by his lips, but Minwoo heard every one. Each whimper made her tits jiggle in Hongshik’s hands, nipples trapped and tortured, sending visible shivers racing down her toned stomach.

Hongshik broke the kiss just long enough to growl against her swollen lips.

“Fuck, these tits… so heavy, so perfect,” he rasped, giving them another hard squeeze that made her gasp. “Been thinking about them all through dinner. Wanted to rip that little top off and suck on these nipples right at the table.”

Jihyo’s only response was a shaky laugh that turned into another moan as he pinched both nipples at once—hard—rolling them between his fingers until her back arched sharply off his chest.

“Yes… Appa… harder…” she whispered, voice wrecked and breathy, the honorific slipping out like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Minwoo’s stomach flipped.

Appa.

She was calling his father "appa" while he played with her tits and ground his cock against her ass.

The jealousy burned hotter, twisting with sick arousal until Minwoo could barely breathe. His hand moved on its own—pressing harder against the front of his jeans, rubbing the aching length through the denim just to take the edge off. Pre-cum soaked through the fabric in thick pulses; he could feel the wet spot spreading.

In the mirror, Jihyo’s reflection looked completely lost—eyes glassy, cheeks flushed deep red, lips swollen and shiny with spit. Her bare tits bounced with every rough squeeze, nipples trapped and throbbing between Hongshik’s fingers. She kept grinding back against him, thick-ass cheeks flexing around his bulge, thong string pulled so tight it dug into her flesh.

Hongshik kissed her again—deeper, dirtier—tongue-fucking her mouth while his hands kept tormenting her nipples. One palm slid down her stomach again, fingers tracing the defined lines of her abs before dipping lower, hooking into the front of her thong.

Jihyo whimpered into the kiss, hips bucking forward instinctively.

Minwoo watched—transfixed, jealous, and painfully hard—as his father slowly tugged the soaked fabric aside, exposing her dripping pussy to the cool air.

He knew what came next.

And he couldn’t make himself leave.

Hongshik’s rough hands gripped Jihyo’s hips tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above her thong string. With one slow, deliberate spin, he turned her around to face him fully.

Minwoo’s breath stopped.

There she was—Park Jihyo, Twice’s untouchable leader, sex icon of K-pop, the woman whose every hip thrust in fancams had sent millions of fans scrambling for tissues—standing completely bare from the waist up in the soft bedroom light.

Her big, beautiful, heavy tits bounced free as she completed the turn. Full, round, and impossibly perky despite their size, they swayed heavily with the motion, pale skin glowing, dark pink nipples stiff and pointing straight ahead like they were begging to be sucked. The faint bounce sent ripples through the soft flesh, making it jiggle side to side before settling into that perfect, natural teardrop shape that had launched a thousand thirsty comments and endless edits.

Minwoo gulped so hard his throat clicked audibly.

This was the body that made grown men lose their minds. The same tits that strained against tight stage outfits during “Feel Special” performances, that bounced hypnotically in “Alcohol-Free” dance practices, and that had entire fan accounts dedicated to zooming in on every jiggle. Millions fapped to those fancams—pausing, rewinding, and coming hard to the way her breasts moved when she hit a sharp choreo point. And now they were right here—bare, flushed, nipples hard and aching—in front of his own father.

He wanted to shove past the door. Wanted to be the one standing there instead of Hongshik. He wanted to cup those heavy mounds in his own hands, feel their weight spill over his palms, squeeze until she gasped, then lean down and suck one stiff nipple deep into his mouth—tongue swirling, teeth grazing—until she was moaning his name, thighs shaking, pussy dripping down her legs.

But he couldn’t move.

Jihyo smiled up at Hongshik—sweet, filthy, utterly seductive. That famous idol smile twisted into something pornographic, eyes half-lidded and sparkling with mischief. She arched her back just a little, pushing her tits forward proudly, offering them up like a gift.

“Look at them, appa,” she purred, her voice low and teasing. “You like?”

Without waiting for an answer, she gave a playful little shake—shoulders rolling so her big breasts bounced and jiggled side to side. The heavy flesh slapped softly together, nipples tracing little circles in the air before settling again. Another shake—harder this time—making them wobble wildly, the motion so obscene it looked straight out of a high-budget AV scene.

Hongshik’s eyes darkened instantly—pupils blown, jaw slack with raw lust. His breathing turned rough, nostrils flaring like he could smell how wet she was from across the room. His cock strained visibly against his slacks, thick and angry, tenting the fabric so hard Minwoo could see the outline of the head.

Jihyo laughed softly—breathless and delighted—watching the hunger bloom across his face.

“You’re so easy, old man,” she teased, reaching up to cup her own tits, lifting them higher, squeezing them together until deep cleavage formed and her nipples almost touched. “Just one look at these, and you’re drooling. Bet you’ve been hard since dinner, huh? Thinking about sucking on them while everyone else ate jjigae.”

Hongshik growled low in his throat, hands shooting out to replace hers. He grabbed both breasts roughly—palms engulfing as much as he could, fingers sinking deep into the soft flesh. He kneaded them hard, thumbs flicking back and forth over her nipples, making them pebble even tighter.

“Fuck yes,” he rasped, his voice thick. “Been staring at these tits all night. Wanted to pull that little tank top down and bury my face in it right at the table. Make you moan while your boyfriend talked about his day.”

Jihyo whimpered, knees buckling slightly as he pinched both nipples at once—hard twists that made her gasp and arch into his touch. Her thong was a soaked ruin now; Minwoo could see fresh wetness trickling down the inside of her thick thighs, glistening trails that caught the lamplight. She was leaking like a broken faucet—pussy clenching on nothing, clit throbbing visibly under the drenched cotton.

She loved it.

Loved seeing the raw, animal thirst in his eyes. Loved knowing this grumpy old man—her boyfriend’s father—was losing his mind over her body. The power of it made her even wetter; she could feel another gush soak through the thong, dripping onto the carpet between her feet.

“Poor Appa,” she cooed, voice dripping honey and sin. “So hungry for these big tits. Want to suck them? Bite them? Fuck them?”

Hongshik answered by leaning down and latching onto one nipple—mouth wide, sucking hard, tongue lashing the stiff peak while his hand mauled the other breast. Jihyo’s head fell back, mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, fingers tangling in his hair to hold him there.

Her hips rolled forward instinctively, grinding her soaked thong against the bulge in his pants, chasing friction while he devoured her tit like a starving man.

Minwoo stood paralyzed in the hallway, hand shoved down the front of his jeans now, gripping his leaking cock through his boxers. He stroked once—slow, desperate—pre-cum slicking his palm as he watched the woman of his dirtiest fantasies get worshiped by the wrong man.

Jealousy burned.

Arousal drowned it.

He couldn’t look away.

Not when Jihyo’s free hand slid down her own stomach, fingers dipping under her thong to rub slow circles over her swollen clit while Hongshik sucked and bit her nipple.

Not when she moaned louder—sweet, filthy sounds that echoed in the quiet room.

Not when she looked straight into the mirror—almost like she knew someone was watching—and smiled that wicked, satisfied smile while her body trembled on the edge.

She was dripping for the old man.

And Minwoo was dripping for her.

Hongshik’s grin turned downright feral—wide, predatory, eyes gleaming with pure, unfiltered lust as he stared down at her bare, heaving tits.

He yanked her forward by the waist, thick fingers digging into her soft hips hard enough to leave faint red marks. Jihyo gasped—sharp, needy—then melted against him instantly, arms flying around his neck in a tight, desperate hug. Her laugh bubbled out—breathless, delighted, and filthy—as she felt his hunger radiating off him in waves.

Those massive, heavy boobs crushed against his chest, soft flesh spilling over the rough fabric of his shirt. Her rock-hard nipples dragged across the material with every tiny shift, scraping deliciously, sending electric jolts straight to her dripping clit. She moaned low and broken right into his ear, hips twitching forward so her soaked thong pressed against the thick ridge of his cock.

“Fuck… appa…” she whimpered, her voice wrecked and sweet at the same time.

Hongshik’s big hand slid up, cupping her chin firmly, tilting her beautiful face up to his. His thumb traced the plump curve of her lower lip—slow, teasing—watching her eyes glaze over in a daze. Her mouth fell open automatically, tongue peeking out just a little, begging without words.

“Good girl,” he growled, his voice gravelly and thick.

His thumb slipped inside her mouth. Jihyo closed her lips around it instantly, sucking hard, her tongue swirling like she was starving for any part of him. Saliva coated his digit as she bobbed her head shallowly, moaning around it like it was his cock instead.

All the while, his other hand trailed down—slow, deliberate—fingers dragging over the dip of her waist and the flare of her hips until he reached that legendary ass.

He cupped both cheeks at once—rough palms engulfing the toned, plump flesh that had broken the internet a thousand times over. Millions jerked off to these exact curves in tight stage shorts and dance practice leggings, fantasizing about grabbing them, spanking them, and burying their faces between them. And now an old man’s hands were kneading them like dough—squeezing hard, spreading them apart, thumbs dipping into the crease where the thong string disappeared.

Jihyo moaned louder—raw, shameless—her hips rolling back into his grip, pushing her ass deeper into his palms. The motion made her soaked thong slide against her swollen pussy lips, clit throbbing with every grind. Fresh wetness trickled down her inner thighs, shiny trails catching the lamplight.

“These cheeks…” Hongshik rasped against her ear, squeezing harder, making the flesh spill between his fingers. “Been dreaming about this fat ass since the day you moved in. So fucking soft… so fucking perfect… gonna mark it up later. Leave my handprints all over it while you ride me.”

Jihyo’s knees buckled again. She clung tighter to his neck, tits mashed against his chest, nipples scraping torturously with every breath. Her tongue swirled faster around his thumb, sucking like a desperate little slut, drool leaking from the corners of her mouth and dripping onto her collarbone.

She pulled off his thumb with a wet pop, looking up at him with glassy, pleading eyes.

“Then do it, Appa,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Grab it harder… spank it… fuck it… make it yours…”

Hongshik growled deep in his throat, one hand leaving her ass to fist her hair at the nape, yanking her head back so her throat arched beautifully.

The other hand delivered a sharp, possessive slap to her right cheek—loud enough to echo in the quiet room.

Jihyo yelped, then moaned—long, filthy, dripping with pleasure—as the sting bloomed into heat.

Her pussy clenched hard, another gush soaking through the thong, dripping onto the carpet between her spread feet.

Minwoo watched from the crack in the door—hand shoved down his pants now, stroking his leaking cock in slow, desperate pulls—jealousy and arousal twisting him into knots.

His goddess was being manhandled, worshipped, and claimed by the wrong man.

And she was loving every filthy second of it.

Hongshik’s hands never stopped roaming—rough palms sliding over her bare skin, one still kneading the heavy swell of her tit while the other gripped her ass cheek hard enough to make the flesh bulge between his fingers. Jihyo was pressed flush against him, her soaked thong the only scrap of fabric left, grinding slowly and needily against the thick bulge in his pants like she couldn’t help herself.

He pulled back just enough to look down at her flushed face, his thumb brushing a strand of hair from her sweaty forehead. His voice came out low, gravelly, almost casual—like he wasn’t currently groping the hottest idol in Korea in his son’s bedroom.

“So… you and my boy,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers. “How’s that going these days? Still playing the perfect couple downstairs?”

Jihyo’s lips curved into a slow, wicked smile. She let out a soft, breathy laugh—half moan, half tease—as she rolled her hips again, dragging her dripping pussy along the ridge of his clothed cock.

“Really, Appa?” she purred, voice dripping honey and sin. “I’m standing here completely naked… bare tits pressed against your chest… My pussy is so wet it’s dripping down my thighs… and now you want to talk about your son?”

She arched her back deliberately, pushing her heavy breasts harder into him so her stiff nipples scraped against his shirt. A fresh shiver ran through her body, making her moan low in her throat.

Hongshik chuckled—dark, smug—and slid one big hand down the front of her body. His thick fingers traced the edge of her thong, then dipped lower, running slowly along her soaked pussy lips over the thin, drenched fabric. He didn’t push inside yet—just stroked up and down her slit in lazy, teasing glides, pressing just enough to make her swollen clit throb under the cotton.

Jihyo gasped sharply, knees buckling as her hips jerked forward into his touch. Her hands clutched at his shoulders for balance, nails digging in.

“Fuck… Appa…” she whimpered, eyes fluttering.

“Answer me, baby girl,” he growled, fingers circling her clit once—slow, firm—making her whole body twitch. “You still fucking my son? Still letting him think he’s the only one who gets this perfect little cunt?”

Jihyo’s head fell forward against his chest for a second, panting, before she lifted her gaze again—eyes glassy, lips parted, completely wrecked.

“I would’ve broken up with him months ago,” she confessed in a shaky whisper, her voice trembling with need. “If… if I could bear to leave you.”

Hongshik’s fingers paused—then pressed harder, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over her clit through the thong. Jihyo’s thighs shook, another gush of wetness soaking his hand.

She kept talking—words spilling out between gasps and moans—like she couldn’t hold them back anymore.

“I haven’t… ahh… fucked him in months,” she admitted, hips rocking desperately against his fingers. “My body… it doesn’t feel anything for him anymore. Nothing. He touches me, and… it’s just… empty. Soft. Boring.”

She looked up at him with pure, filthy honesty, eyes shining.

“But you…” Her voice cracked as he slipped two fingers under the thong edge, finally brushing bare, slick folds. “You touch me, and I drip. You finger me under the table, and I almost come in front of everyone. You grab my tits, slap my ass, call me your dirty little girl… and I can’t stop shaking.”

Hongshik growled low, pleased, and possessive. He pushed one thick finger inside her—slow, deep—curling it against her front wall while his thumb kept rubbing her clit.

Jihyo’s mouth fell open in a silent scream, her back arching so hard her bare tits bounced against him.

“That’s right,” he rasped against her ear, pumping his finger in and out in slow, filthy strokes. “This pussy belongs to me now. Not his. Mine. Been stretching it, filling it, making it gush for months while he jerks off thinking you’re still his good girl.”

Jihyo nodded frantically, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around his finger like it never wanted to let go.

“Yes… yours… only yours, Appa…” she whimpered, grinding down onto his hand. “He doesn’t make me feel… anything… like this. Only you… fuck… only you make me this wet… this needy…”

Hongshik added a second finger—stretching her open wider—thrusting deeper while his thumb circled her clit faster.

“Then say it,” he ordered, his voice rough. “Tell me who this cunt belongs to.”

Jihyo’s eyes rolled back, her body shuddering violently as she teetered on the edge.

“You… it’s yours… all yours… appa’s dirty little pussy… ahh—fuck—please don’t stop…”

Minwoo stood frozen in the hallway, hand wrapped tight around his leaking cock through his jeans, stroking in time with his father’s fingers pumping in and out of hers.

Jealousy burned hotter than ever.

But so did the sick, twisted heat pooling in his balls.

He couldn’t look away.

Couldn’t stop.

And Jihyo—his perfect, untouchable goddess—was moaning louder now, thighs shaking, ready to come all over the old man’s hand while confessing everything.

Hongshik’s tongue dragged slowly and wetly up the side of Jihyo’s exposed neck, tracing the pulsing vein like he was savoring every inch. She tilted her head back farther—offering more—her throat arched beautifully, long hair spilling over his shoulder as she surrendered completely. Her fingers dug harder into his back, nails scraping through his shirt, clinging like she’d fall apart if she let go.

He licked again—a broad, filthy stripe from her collarbone to just below her ear—then sucked lightly on the sensitive spot that made her whole body jerk. Jihyo’s breath hitched, turning into a long, trembling moan that vibrated against his mouth.

“Tell me, baby girl,” he murmured between slow, teasing licks, his voice low and rough. “What does this pretty body miss when I’m not touching it? Who’s the only one who can make it feel good?”

Jihyo’s hips rolled forward instinctively, grinding her soaked thong against the thick ridge of his cock. Her bare tits pressed harder into his chest, stiff nipples scraping torturously with every breath. She tried to speak, but another long lick along her neck turned the words into a broken whimper.

“Only… ahh… only you, Appa…” she gasped, voice wrecked and needy. “Your tongue… fuck… your tongue on my neck, on my tits, between my legs… it makes me drip so much…”

Hongshik chuckled darkly against her skin, teeth grazing her pulse point just enough to make her gasp again.

“And my cock?” he prompted, thrusting his hips forward so the hard length rubbed right along her slit through their clothes. “Who fucks this needy little pussy the way it needs to be fucked?”

Jihyo’s knees buckled. She clutched him tighter, thighs trembling, pussy clenching around nothing as another gush of wetness soaked through her thong and trickled down her inner thigh.

“Only your cock…” she moaned, words slurring with pleasure. “Only your thick, old cock can stretch me… fill me… make me come so hard I can’t see straight… your son’s… ahh… his doesn’t do anything… doesn’t make me shake… doesn’t make me beg…”

She threw her head back even farther, offering her throat completely as Hongshik sucked a fresh bruise into the soft skin.

“Only you… only appa’s cock can make me feel like this… like a bitch in heat… dripping and desperate… please… please fuck me…”

Minwoo stood frozen in the hallway shadow, one hand shoved down the front of his jeans, gripping his leaking cock so hard it hurt. His other hand pressed flat against the wall to keep from collapsing.

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Park Jihyo—the sweet, powerful, untouchable leader of Twice, the woman whose smile melted arenas, whose body had trended worldwide for years—was confessing in broken moans that she hadn’t fucked his brother in months. That Chaehyun’s touch did nothing for her anymore. That only his father’s tongue, only his father’s cock, could make her body come alive.

Minwoo’s mind reeled.

His old man—grumpy, balding, ordinary Hongshik—had somehow turned the sexiest idol in Korea into a whimpering, dripping mess who begged for his dick like it was oxygen. He’d trained her. Molded her. Taken Chaehyun’s girlfriend and reshaped her into this needy, cock-hungry bitch in heat who spread her legs under the dinner table, soaked her thong for his fingers, and now stood half-naked in his son’s bedroom moaning about how only Appa’s cock could satisfy her.

The jealousy was suffocating—sharp, burning, twisting in Minwoo’s gut like a knife. It should have been him. He was young and fit, the same age as her fans who threw money at fancams. He’d jerked off to her for years—picturing her riding him, moaning his name, and her tits bouncing while she screamed for more.

But she was here—bare tits heaving, thong drenched, neck covered in hickeys from his father’s mouth—begging the old man to fuck her senseless.

And the worst part?

Minwoo was harder than he’d ever been in his life.

His cock throbbed painfully in his fist, pre-cum slicking his palm with every slow, helpless stroke. Hearing Jihyo confess—voice cracking with need—that only Hongshik could make her feel pleasure, that his brother’s dick was nothing compared to his father’s… it was humiliating. Enraging.

But it was also the hottest thing he’d ever witnessed.

She was completely broken for him—trained to crave the old man’s rough hands, his thick fingers, and his experienced tongue. She’d become exactly what Hongshik wanted: a dripping, obedient slut who got off on being claimed by someone she shouldn’t want.

Minwoo’s strokes sped up—quiet, desperate—his eyes glued to the mirror reflection of Jihyo’s arched back, her heavy tits bouncing with every grind, her thighs shaking as Hongshik kept licking her neck and teasing her soaked pussy over the thong.

He hated his father in that moment.

But he couldn’t stop watching.

Couldn’t stop stroking.

Couldn’t stop imagining it was his tongue on her neck, his cock making her moan like that.

And deep down—twisted, shameful—he wondered if she’d ever look at him the way she looked at the old man right now.

Like he was the only one who could make her come undone.

Hongshik’s hands tightened on Jihyo’s hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above the string of her thong. With a slow, deliberate tug, he pulled her backward toward the small vanity table against the wall—the one usually cluttered with her makeup and perfume bottles.

“Back up, baby girl,” he rasped, his voice thick with command. “Lean on the table for Appa."

Jihyo obeyed instantly, letting him guide her until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of the wooden surface. She braced her palms behind her, leaning back slowly, arching her spine so her upper body tilted toward him. The motion thrust her heavy, bare tits forward like an offering—big, round, perfect mounds heaving with every shallow breath. Her dark pink nipples—already swollen and painfully stiff—jutted out proudly, begging to be touched, to be hurt, to be worshipped.

Minwoo’s breath caught in his throat. A soft, involuntary gasp slipped past his lips before he could stop it.

God, those tits.

They were everything the fancams and tight stage outfits had promised—and more. Full, heavy, defying gravity with that natural teardrop shape, idols paid surgeons millions to imitate it. The way they jiggled with each quick inhale made his mouth water. Perfect creamy skin, faint blue veins visible under the surface, nipples standing erect like little pink bullets, flushed darker from all the pinching and twisting earlier. Every tiny breath she took sent another ripple through the soft flesh—gentle bounces that made them sway side to side before settling again.

He wanted to bury his face between them. Wanted to suck one nipple deep into his mouth until she screamed. He wanted to slap them, watch them bounce, and mark them with his teeth so everyone—especially his brother—would know they’d been claimed.

But the old man was already there.

Hongshik stepped between her spread thighs, crowding her against the table. His eyes were locked on her chest like a starving man staring at a feast. A slow, filthy grin spread across his face as he watched her tits rise and fall.

“Look at these perfect fucking tits,” he murmured, his voice rough with awe and hunger. “So big… so heavy… been dying to play with them properly all night.”

He reached up with both hands, cupping the undersides first—lifting them, weighing them, thumbs brushing just below the areolas. Jihyo’s back arched harder, pushing them deeper into his palms with a soft whimper.

Then he flicked.

The pad of his right index finger snapped against her left nipple—a quick, sharp, upward flick that made the stiff peak bounce.

Jihyo gasped—sharply, needily—her whole body jerking.

He did it again. And again. Alternating between nipples, flicking them up and down like he was playing a tiny instrument tuned only to her pleasure. Each little snap sent a visible jolt through her—her tits jiggling wildly, nipples throbbing harder, turning an even deeper shade of pink.

“Ah—fuck—appa—” she moaned, voice cracking. Her thighs rubbed together frantically, slick sounds audible even from the doorway as her soaked thong slid against her swollen pussy lips.

Hongshik never let go. His fingers kept tormenting—flick, pinch, roll, flick again—keeping her right on the razor’s edge. Jihyo’s head fell back, long hair cascading over the table surface, mouth open in a constant stream of broken moans and whimpers.

“Please… please… more…”

She stared up at him with pure, glassy lust—eyes dark, pupils blown, and lips swollen from earlier kisses. That famous idol smile twisted into something filthy and desperate, like she was begging him to ruin her completely.

Minwoo’s cock throbbed so hard it hurt. He stroked faster through his jeans—quietly, frantically—pre-cum soaking his boxers in thick pulses. Watching her like this—spread out on the table, tits bouncing with every flick, thighs rubbing desperately—was almost too much. She looked like pure sex: sweaty skin glistening, chest flushed red, nipples throbbing under his father’s cruel fingers, and pussy dripping so much he could see the dark wet spot on the thong growing bigger by the second.

Hongshik leaned in closer, one hand still flicking her nipples while the other trailed down her toned stomach, circling her navel teasingly before stopping just above her mound.

“You’re dripping like a faucet, aren’t you?” he growled, voice smug. “Can smell how wet you are from here. This little cunt’s crying for Appa’s cock while your boyfriend’s downstairs watching TV.”

Jihyo nodded frantically, biting her lower lip so hard it turned white.

“Yes… yes… so wet… for you… only for you…”

He switched tactics—fingers now circling her nipples in slow, torturous spirals, tracing the puffy areolas without ever quite touching the peaks. Goosebumps erupted across her chest, down her arms, and over her stomach. Her whole body shuddered violently, thighs clenching and rubbing faster, slick sounds growing louder as her arousal leaked steadily.

She was a mess—sweating, flushed, heaving, her eyes locked on Hongshik with pure worship. Every circle around her nipples made her twitch harder, made her moan louder, made her grind her soaked thong against nothing in desperate search of friction.

Hongshik watched her fall apart with patient, sadistic pleasure—never rushing, never giving her what she really needed. He kept her on edge, kept her high on the razor’s edge of orgasm, letting the pleasure build until she was trembling uncontrollably.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice dark and pleased. “My perfect little idol slut… shaking and leaking just from having your nipples played with. Gonna come like this? Gonna soak your thong and drip all over the table without me even touching your pussy?”

Jihyo’s answer was a broken sob—half moan, half plea.

“Please… appa… I need… need more…”

But he didn’t give it.

He just kept circling, flicking, and pinching—slow and relentless—watching her body betray her completely.

Minwoo couldn’t take it anymore. His hand moved faster inside his jeans, stroking his aching cock in time with her desperate moans. Jealousy burned, arousal drowned him, and all he could do was watch as the sexiest woman alive—his brother’s girlfriend, his lifelong fantasy—was edged to insanity by his own father’s patient, cruel hands.

And she loved every filthy second of it.

**********

CHAPTER 2

Jihyo was gone—completely, utterly gone. The fierce, confident Twice leader who commanded stages and charmed millions had melted into a trembling, needy puddle of lust right there on the kitchen table. Her famous body—toned from endless dance practice, curves sculpted by years of discipline—was now soft and pliant under Hongshik’s rough, experienced hands. Sweat glistened on her collarbones, between her heavy breasts, and down the flat plane of her stomach. Her thong was ruined; the black lace darkened and clung obscenely to her swollen pussy lips, the wet fabric outlining every fold. A thin trail of her arousal had already leaked past the edge, dripping slowly onto the polished wood beneath her ass.

She stared up at Hongshik with glassy, worshipful eyes—pupils blown so wide the iris was almost invisible. Her swollen lips parted on shallow, desperate pants. That iconic Twice smile—bright, playful, and perfect for CFs and fancams—was twisted now into something filthy: open-mouthed, trembling, and begging without words.

Hongshik’s large, calloused hands never left her chest. He cupped the undersides of her big, soft tits, lifting them, squeezing them together until deep cleavage formed, then letting them spill over his palms. He bounced them once—hard—watching the heavy flesh jiggle and ripple. Jihyo’s back arched off the table with a sharp, broken moan that echoed off the kitchen tiles.

“Fuck… Appa…” she whimpered, her voice cracking.

He did it again—lifted, squeezed, released—making her breasts bounce lewdly. Each jiggle sent a fresh jolt straight to her clit. Her hips rolled helplessly, grinding her soaked thong against nothing, chasing friction that wasn’t there.

“Look at these perfect tits,” Hongshik growled, his voice thick with possession. He slapped the side of one breast lightly—enough to make it wobble and sting sweetly—then caught the nipple between his knuckles and tugged upward. Jihyo’s moan turned into a high, keening whine. “So big, so soft… they bounce so pretty when I play with them. Does my son ever make them dance like this?”

Jihyo’s head thrashed side to side on the table, long dark hair sticking to her sweaty cheeks. “N-no… Minwoo… he just… grabs… quick… never… never like this…” Her voice was wrecked, breathy, and almost childlike in its desperation. “He doesn’t… doesn’t take time… to appreciate…”

Hongshik’s grin was feral.

“Poor baby,” he mocked gently, thumbs circling her areolas now—slow, torturous spirals that avoided the aching peaks. Goosebumps erupted across her chest and down her arms. “He doesn’t know how to worship these gorgeous tits the way they deserve. Doesn’t know how sensitive they are… how much you love having them teased until you’re crying.”

Jihyo nodded frantically, tears of overstimulation gathering in the corners of her eyes. “Yes… yes… please… Appa… more…”

He rewarded her by finally capturing both nipples between his fingers—pinching, rolling, and tugging in perfect rhythm. Her whole body jolted like she’d been shocked. A fresh gush of wetness soaked through her thong; she could feel it trickling down her ass crack, pooling beneath her.

That was when her slender hands—shaking, desperate—reached for him.

She ran her palms up his thick forearms, tracing the corded muscle, then higher to his broad chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. She clawed at him like she needed to anchor herself to something solid while pleasure tore her apart. Her nails scraped down his sides, then back up, greedy, worshipping.

Hongshik groaned low in his throat at the touch.

“Fuck… that’s it, baby. Touch your Appa. Feel how hard you make me.”

Jihyo’s legs—long, toned, dancer’s legs—moved on instinct. She hooked them around his thick thighs, ankles locking at the small of his back. With a needy little whimper, she pulled him closer, forcing his hips flush against hers. The hard ridge of his cock—still trapped in his pants—pressed right against her soaked thong, the heat of him searing through the thin layers.

She tilted her head up, lips brushing the shell of his ear, her voice a trembling, bitten-off whisper:

“He… he doesn’t take time… like you do… Appa… he just… fucks… quick… never… never looks at me… like you look… never touches me… like you touch…”

Hongshik’s control frayed at the edges.

He growled—deep and animal—at her throat.

“Then let Appa show you how a real man appreciates a body like yours.”

He attacked her tits again—with his mouth this time. He latched onto her left nipple, sucking hard, tongue flicking the tip rapidly while his hand mauled the right—squeezing, kneading, slapping lightly so the flesh jiggled. Jihyo’s back bowed off the table, a raw, broken cry tearing from her throat.

“Yes—yes—Appa—suck them—please—”

Her legs tightened around him, heels digging into his ass, pulling him impossibly closer. The friction of his clothed cock grinding against her thong-clad pussy was maddening—too much fabric, not enough pressure, but still enough to make her clit throb with every roll of his hips.

Hongshik switched nipples—biting the right one gently, then soothing it with slow, wet circles of his tongue. His hand kept playing with the left—pinching, tugging, rolling—keeping both peaks hypersensitive, swollen, and dark red.

Jihyo was babbling now—high, frantic, filthy.

“Appa… your mouth… so good… better than him… so much better… please… don’t stop… make them bounce again… make me feel… owned…”

Hongshik lifted his head just long enough to growl against her lips.

“You are owned, baby. These tits? This pussy? This whole perfect idol body? Mine now.”

He slapped both breasts at once—sharp, stinging slaps that made them jiggle wildly—and Jihyo came undone.

Her eyes rolled back, mouth falling open in a silent scream as the orgasm ripped through her without any touch to her pussy. Her hips bucked violently against his, grinding her soaked thong against the hard length of his cock, chasing the friction. Pleasure exploded behind her eyes—white-hot, blinding—coursing from her abused nipples straight to her clit, making her inner walls flutter and clench around nothing. A fresh gush of slick soaked through her thong, dripping down to wet the table beneath her ass.

Hongshik watched her shatter with dark, possessive pride.

“That’s it… come for Appa… just from having your big tits played with… such a needy little slut…”

Jihyo’s body kept shaking through the aftershocks—legs locked tight around him, hands clawing at his back, and tears of overwhelmed pleasure slipping down her temples.

When she finally sagged, panting, Hongshik leaned down and claimed her mouth in a brutal, possessive kiss—tongue invading, claiming every corner, and tasting the salt of her tears and the sweetness of her submission.

Jihyo kissed back desperately—tongue tangling with his, moaning into his mouth, her legs still wrapped around him as if she never wanted to let go.

Minwoo’s hand moved faster inside his jeans—jealousy, arousal, and humiliation twisting together until he couldn’t tell them apart.

Minwoo pressed his eye to the narrow crack in the doorframe, his heart hammering so loud he was sure it would give him away. The kitchen light spilled out in a warm golden stripe across the hallway floor, and through that sliver, he saw everything.

Jihyo—the Jihyo, Twice’s powerhouse main vocalist, the woman who commanded stadiums of thousands with a single note—was completely lost in his father.

She was kissing Hongshik like she was starving for him.

Her full, glossy lips were locked to his in a deep, filthy open-mouthed kiss, tongues visibly sliding together, wet and hungry. Her slender fingers were buried in his father’s thick gray hair, nails scraping at his scalp as she pulled him even closer, tilting her head to deepen the angle, moaning softly into his mouth with every slow, greedy pull. The sound was low, throaty, and desperate—nothing like the polished, stage-ready voice the world knew. This was raw, private, and ruined.

Hongshik’s big hands roamed her body with shameless ownership.

One palm slid up the outside of her bare thigh, fingers splaying wide to feel the smooth, warm skin. A light sheen of sweat glistened on her toned legs, catching the overhead light every time he stroked higher. He squeezed the soft flesh just below the curve of her ass, then dragged his hand inward, tracing the sensitive inner thigh with deliberate slowness. Jihyo’s legs parted wider on instinct, knees falling open on the kitchen table, offering herself without a word.

Minwoo’s cock jerked painfully in his jeans. He could see the dark wet spot on her black thong growing larger, the lace clinging transparently to her swollen pussy lips. A thin string of arousal stretched and snapped as her thighs shifted.

Hongshik broke the kiss just long enough to growl against her jaw.

“Fuck… you’re soaked, baby.”

Jihyo whimpered, nodding frantically, eyes fluttering shut.

One of his hands stayed on her neck—long fingers wrapping around her throat in a firm, possessive grip, not choking but just holding and controlling. The other hand trailed up between her spread thighs, knuckles brushing the soaked center of her thong. He pressed two fingers against the drenched fabric, rubbing slow, firm circles right over her clit.

Jihyo’s head fell back with a sharp gasp, throat exposed under his grip, long dark hair spilling over the edge of the table like ink. Her mouth dropped open, eyes squeezed shut, and a soft, broken moan slipped out.

“Ah… Appa…”

The word was barely a breath, but it hit Minwoo like a punch to the gut.

His father’s thumb hooked the edge of her thong and tugged it aside, exposing her completely. Jihyo’s pussy was flushed dark pink, lips puffy and glistening, and clit swollen and peeking out from its hood. A fresh bead of slick welled up and slid down toward her ass.

Hongshik groaned low in his throat.

“Look at this pretty little cunt… dripping for an old man while your boyfriend’s right downstairs.”

He dragged two thick fingers through her folds—slow and deliberate—coating them in her wetness before circling her entrance. Jihyo’s hips rolled up to meet him, a needy little whine escaping her.

“Please… touch me… inside…”

Hongshik pushed in—two fingers at once—stretching her slowly, curling upward to rub that spot deep inside that made her whole body jerk.

Jihyo’s back arched off the table, tits bouncing, nipples visibly hard. Her hands flew back to his hair, pulling him down so she could kiss him again—messy, desperate, and moaning directly into his mouth as he fingered her with steady, deep strokes. Minwoo’s hand was inside his jeans before he could think, stroking his aching cock in frantic, quiet jerks. Pre-cum soaked through his boxers in thick pulses. Jealousy burned hot in his chest, but the arousal was stronger—watching the goddess Jihyo, the woman he’d jerked off to for years, reduced to a whimpering, dripping mess by his own father’s hands.

She looked like pure sin: thighs spread wide, sweat shining on her skin, pussy clenching around Hongshik’s fingers, moaning brokenly into his mouth while he owned her completely.

Minwoo couldn’t tear his eyes away, even though every second burned like acid in his chest.

Jihyo—the Jihyo, the goddess who owned stadiums and who made grown men cry with one high note—was writhing under his father’s hands like she’d been born for this exact moment.

Her slender fingers were everywhere on Hongshik—greedy, desperate, worshipping. She dragged her nails lightly down his thick forearms, tracing the corded veins, then slid her palms up under his shirt to feel the hard planes of his stomach and the coarse gray hair scattered across his chest. She moaned softly into his mouth every time her fingertips found new skin, like touching him was its own kind of orgasm.

Hongshik leaned in until his lips brushed the shell of her ear, voice low and filthy.

“You’re dripping like this, baby… what would your fans think if they knew?” He paused, letting the words sink in, letting her feel the shame twist with the pleasure. “Their perfect goddess, their role model, leaking all over a kitchen table for an old man three times her age. An old man who’s not even her boyfriend. Just some gray-haired bastard who knows how to play with her slutty little body.”

Jihyo’s reaction was instant and obscene.

Her sexy pink lips—already swollen from kissing—parted on a sharp gasp. She bit down hard on the lower one, teeth sinking in until the flesh turned white, eyes glazing over with fresh, glassy lust. Hongshik’s words didn’t shame her—they ignited her. Her pupils blew wide, dark, and hungry, and a fresh gush of slick leaked out of her pussy, soaking the ruined thong even more. Minwoo could see it—the dark wet spot spreading, the thin string of arousal stretching and snapping as her hips rolled helplessly.

That was the thing that broke her hardest—not just the way Hongshik fucked her senseless, not just the stretch of his thick fingers or the cruel way he toyed with her nipples.

It was who he was.

An old man. Her boyfriend’s father. Thrice her age. Gray hair, rough hands, the kind of body that had seen decades more life than hers—and yet here she was, Twice’s Jihyo, global idol, dripping like a bitch in heat because he was touching her.

The taboo of it—the wrongness—made her pussy clench so hard Minwoo could almost hear it from the doorway. More slick dribbled out, sliding down the crack of her ass, pooling on the table beneath her, and then dripping in slow, obscene drops to the hardwood floor. Plip. Plip. Plip.

She groaned—low, animal, filthy—and lunged forward.

Her mouth found his neck like a starving thing.

She licked him first—long, slow, wet stripes up the side of his throat, tasting the salt of his skin, the faint musk of cologne, and older-man sweat. She moaned against him, the sound vibrating through his flesh, her tongue dragging over his Adam’s apple, circling the pulse point, sucking lightly until a faint red mark bloomed under her lips.

Hongshik groaned deep in his chest, his hand tightening on her throat just enough to make her whimper.

“That’s it, baby… taste your Appa. Show me how much you love being a dirty little idol whore for an old cock.”

Jihyo’s hands flew to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons in her eagerness. She popped them open one by one—too frantic to be neat—until the fabric parted and she could press her palms flat against his bare chest. She moaned again at the contact—coarse gray hair under her fingers, solid muscle beneath, and warm skin that smelled like man and sin.

She kissed lower, open-mouthed and sloppy, licking a trail down the center of his chest, nipping at his collarbone, and sucking a bruise just above his nipple. Her tongue swirled around the flat disc, teasing it to a hard peak before she moved to the other side, giving it the same filthy attention.

All the while her hips kept rolling—slow, desperate grinds against nothing, chasing friction, her soaked thong rubbing uselessly against her clit. The puddle beneath her ass grew bigger, slick trails running down the table legs now, dripping steadily to the floor.

Hongshik’s free hand slid up her thigh again, fingers dipping between her legs to trace her dripping slit through the thong.

“So fucking wet for me,” he growled. “This cunt’s crying because an old man’s touching it. You love that, don’t you? Love knowing you’re betraying your pretty boyfriend for gray dick.”

Jihyo’s answer was a broken, needy sob against his chest.

“Yes… yes… love it… love being bad… for you… only for you…”

She sucked harder on his skin, leaving a dark hickey just over his heart, claiming him the way he was claiming her.

Minwoo’s hand moved faster inside his jeans—jealousy and lust twisting into something poisonous and addictive. He watched the goddess he’d worshipped from afar turn into a shameless, dripping slut for his own father, and all he could do was stroke himself in the shadows, pre-cum soaking his fingers, breath ragged, knowing he’d never be able to unsee this.

And Jihyo—perfect, untouchable Jihyo—was too far gone to care.

Jihyo leaned down over him like a woman possessed, her heavy tits dragging across Hongshik’s chest, nipples scraping against his coarse gray hair as she lowered her mouth to his skin. Her tongue flicked out—hot, wet, greedy—and caught one flat, dark nipple. She circled it slowly at first, teasing the pebbled flesh with feather-light licks, then flattened her tongue and dragged it in one long, filthy stripe from the center outward. Hongshik groaned low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his ribcage straight into her lips.

She sucked the nipple into her mouth—hard—hollowing her cheeks, tongue flicking the tip rapidly while her other hand found his left nipple and pinched it between thumb and forefinger. She rolled it, tugged it, and twisted it just enough to make his hips jerk up off the table. His cock—still trapped in his boxers—throbbed violently against her thigh, thick and hot and impossibly hard, the sheer size of it pressing insistently into her soft flesh like it was trying to brand her.

Jihyo moaned around his nipple, the vibration humming through him. She could feel every pulse of that monster dick—long, girthy, and veined, a beast she never imagined she’d worship. She’d dated before—nice boys, sweet boys, boys with average cocks that fit neatly in her hand and finished quickly. But this? This was a culture shock. Korean men weren’t supposed to be this big, were they? Not like this—thick as her wrist, long enough to bump her cervix on the first thrust, and veiny enough that she could feel every ridge dragging inside her even now, just from memory.

The first night he’d fucked her—really fucked her—she hadn’t been able to walk straight the next morning. Her legs had shaken, her pussy was sore and swollen, her inner thighs were bruised from his grip, and every step had reminded her of how deep he’d been and how thoroughly he’d ruined her. She’d limped through rehearsal, trying to hide the wince, thighs rubbing together and making her clit throb with aftershocks. And every time since then—every stolen night, every quickie in the bathroom, every slow, filthy session on this very table—she’d come harder than she ever had with anyone else.

The memories flooded her now as her eager hands slid down his body.

She traced the hard ridges of his abs, nails scraping lightly through the trail of graying hair that led downward. Her mouth followed—kissing, licking, and sucking little marks into his skin as she worked her way south. She dragged her tongue through the coarse hair just above his boxers, tasting salt and musk and man, moaning at the raw, animal scent of him. Hongshik’s cock jerked under the fabric, the head outlined perfectly against the thin cotton, a huge, obscene tent that made her mouth water.

She could see the wet patch blooming at the tip—thick, clear pre-cum soaking through, darkening the gray material until it clung transparently to the fat mushroom head. A bead of it welled up, seeping through the weave, glistening in the kitchen light.

Jihyo whimpered.

She flattened her palm over the bulge—feeling the heat, the pulse, and the sheer size of him—and gave one slow, firm stroke from base to tip. Hongshik hissed through his teeth, hips bucking up into her hand.

“Fuck, baby… touch it… feel how hard you make Appa…”

Her fingers found the slit through the fabric—circling, rubbing, and smearing the leaking pre-cum in slow, slippery loops. The wet patch grew bigger, the cotton turning almost sheer, outlining every vein, every ridge. She pressed her thumb right against the tip and rubbed in tight circles, milking more pre-cum out until it oozed steadily, soaking her fingertip.

She licked her lips, eyes glassy with lust.

She needed it in her mouth. Needed to taste him and needed to choke on that thick, veiny monster until tears ran down her cheeks and her throat burned.

But first, she dragged her tongue lower, painting a wet stripe across the front of his boxers, tasting the salty pre-cum through the fabric. Hongshik groaned louder this time, hand fisting in her hair, not guiding yet—just holding, letting her worship.

Jihyo moaned against his cock—vibrations humming through the cotton straight to his shaft.

She was dripping now—her own pussy clenching around nothing, slick sliding down her thighs, pooling beneath her ass on the table. The thought of sucking him while she was this wet, this desperate, while her boyfriend was probably still downstairs playing video games… It made her clit throb so hard she nearly came untouched.

She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down just enough to free the head, fat, flushed, purple, and slit; weeping steadily. She leaned in and flicked her tongue over it once—quick, kittenish—tasting the salty-bitter pre-cum, moaning at the flavor.

Hongshik’s grip tightened in her hair.

“That’s my good girl… taste your Appa… show me how much you love this old cock…”

Jihyo’s eyes fluttered shut, lips parting on a shaky breath.

She was already lost.

And she hadn’t even taken him in her mouth yet.

One manicured hand pressed flat against Hongshik’s broad chest, pushing him backward with surprising strength. He let her—grinning like a wolf who’d already won—step back until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed in the next room. The hallway door had been left cracked open just enough for Minwoo to see everything, and now the scene shifted into full view.

Jihyo followed him like a predator stalking prey, hips swaying, heavy tits bouncing softly with each step. When Hongshik sat heavily on the mattress, she stopped right in front of him—close enough that her knees brushed his.

She smiled.

Not the bright, camera-ready Twice smiled the world knew.

This one was darker. Hungrier. Lips swollen, eyes half-lidded and glassy with lust, corners tilted in filthy promise. She looked like sin wearing a goddess’s face.

Then she turned.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Giving Hongshik—and unknowingly Minwoo—a full, devastating view of her back.

Her long black hair cascaded down her spine like ink poured over porcelain. The elegant curve of her shoulders led down to the dramatic dip of her waist, then flared into the lush, heart-shaped swell of her ass—round, firm, still flushed from earlier slaps. But it was lower than Minwoo's, breath strangled in his throat.

From this angle, he could see everything.

Her bare tits hung heavy and perfect in profile—full, teardrop-shaped, nipples dark red and still glistening from Hongshik’s mouth. Her stomach was flat and toned, a faint sheen of sweat making the skin glow. And between her creamy thighs…

Her pussy.

Neatly shaved, completely bare, lips puffy and flushed a deep, aroused pink. They were swollen, parted slightly from how wet she was, the inner folds shining slick. A thick, slow trickle of her arousal slid down the inside of one thigh, glistening like liquid diamond under the bedroom lamp. Another drop followed, then another—dripping steadily, obscenely, marking her as already ruined.

Minwoo’s cock jerked so violently in his boxers that he nearly came untouched.

Jihyo bent forward at the waist—slowly, pornographically, her back arched like a bow. Her tits swung forward, nipples brushing the air. Her ass lifted, cheeks parting just enough to show the tight pucker between them and the dripping slit below. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her thong—the black lace already soaked, dark, and clinging transparently to her pussy—and tugged it down.

Inch.

By torturous inches.

The fabric peeled away from her swollen lips with a wet, sticky sound. A long string of her arousal stretched between the thong and her clit, then snapped, swinging down to join the trail already leaking down her inner thighs. She dragged the panties slowly over her toned thighs, past her knees, and down her calves, stepping out of them one delicate foot at a time. The ruined lace dangled from her finger like a trophy.

She straightened, turned, and tossed them.

Hongshik caught the thong midair with a low chuckle. He brought it straight to his nose and inhaled deeply—eyes closing in pure, animal pleasure as he breathed in the thick, heady musk of her arousal. The scent was so strong that Minwoo could almost smell it from the doorway: sweet, tangy, feminine, and overwhelming.

Jihyo watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, biting her swollen lower lip.

She was completely naked now.

No clothes. No shame. No pretense.

Just Jihyo—Twice’s Jihyo—standing naked in her boyfriend’s childhood bedroom, soaked and ready for his father’s cock.

Minwoo’s hand moved faster inside his jeans—frantic, desperate—pre-cum soaking through the fabric in thick, pulsing waves. His cock throbbed so hard it hurt, but he couldn’t stop watching.

And Jihyo—perfect, untouchable Jihyo—was already turning back toward Hongshik, crawling onto the bed on all fours, ass high, pussy glistening, ready to give herself completely to the old man who’d ruined her for anyone else.

Jihyo crawled toward him on all fours like a panther in heat, every slow, deliberate movement making her heavy tits sway beneath her. The soft, full mounds dragged along Hongshik’s legs—first brushing the rough hair on his calves, then sliding up the thick muscle of his thighs. Her stiff nipples scraped against his skin with every inch she advanced, the friction sending sharp, electric tingles racing straight to her clit. Each drag of those sensitive peaks over his coarse leg hair made her gasp softly, pussy clenching hard around nothing, fresh slick leaking out to coat her inner thighs in a shiny trail.

She moaned low in her throat, the sound vibrating through her chest and into her tits as they rubbed against him again and again. The rough texture of his skin against her tender nipples was torture and heaven at once—every scrape made her ache deeper, made her pussy throb harder, and made her want to grind against something, anything, to ease the building pressure.

But she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

Her beautiful face—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, glassy eyes dark with pure, filthy need—finally hovered right above the obscene bulge in his boxers. His cock was so hard it had forced the waistband down just enough for the fat, flushed head to peek out over the top, glistening with a thick bead of pre-cum that slowly rolled down the veined shaft still trapped beneath the fabric. The sight made her mouth water instantly.

She leaned in closer, nose brushing the cotton, and inhaled deeply.

The scent hit her like a drug—musky, salty, thick with arousal, and with the sharp tang of pre-cum. It was the smell of him, of raw man, of the cock that had ruined her over and over again. She’d come to crave it like oxygen: that heady mix of sweat, skin, and leaking desire that clung to his boxers after every time he’d fucked her senseless. It made her head spin, made her clit pulse, and made her drip even more.

Jihyo whimpered—soft, needy, shameless—and extended her tender tongue.

She started at the base, right where the thick root of his cock strained against the cotton. Her tongue flattened, pressing hot and wet against the fabric, and she dragged it upward in one long, slow lick—tasting him through the material, tasting the salt of his skin, and the bitterness of pre-cum that had already soaked through. The wet patch spread instantly under her tongue, darkening the gray cotton, outlining the fat vein that ran along the underside of his shaft.

She moaned again, louder this time, the vibration humming straight through the fabric and into his cock. Hongshik’s hips jerked upward, a rough groan tearing from his throat.

“Fuck… baby… lick it… taste how hard you make Appa…”

Jihyo obeyed.

She lapped at him again—longer strokes now, tongue swirling over the cotton-covered length, tracing every ridge she could feel beneath. The pre-cum kept oozing, seeping through faster, until the front of his boxers was drenched, clinging transparently to the swollen head. She could see the slit clearly now—flared, weeping, begging for her mouth.

Her pussy ached so badly she could feel her own slick sliding down her thighs in steady rivulets. The emptiness inside her was unbearable; she wanted that thick, veiny monster stretching her open again, splitting her wide, filling her until she couldn’t breathe. But first…

She needed to worship it.

She needed to taste him.

She needed to choke on the cock that had turned her from Twice’s perfect main vocalist into this dripping, desperate, cock-hungry slut.

Jihyo pressed one last open-mouthed kiss to the wet fabric—lips molding around the fat head through the cotton—then looked up at Hongshik with pure, glassy lust.

Jihyo’s hands moved like they had a mind of their own—slow, greedy, trembling with need.

She slid them under the stretched waistband of Hongshik’s boxers, fingers brushing the coarse hair at the base of his cock before dipping lower. Her palms found his heavy balls first—full, warm, drawn tight against his body from how badly he wanted her. She cupped them gently at first, rolling the sensitive sack in her soft hand, feeling the weight, the heat, the way they pulsed under her touch. A low, filthy moan slipped from her throat as she squeezed just enough to make him hiss.

Then her other hand wrapped around the thick, throbbing shaft still trapped inside the cotton.

God, it was massive.

Even through the fabric, she could feel every vein, every ridge, and the way it jumped and leaked when her fingers closed around it. She stroked him slowly—base to tip—inside the boxers, her grip firm but teasing, her thumb brushing the underside where the fat vein throbbed hardest. Pre-cum pulsed out in thick, steady waves, soaking the cotton even more until the front was drenched and clinging transparently to the swollen head.

All the while, she lowered her chest.

Her big, soft tits—still flushed and swollen from earlier abuse—sandwiched his rock-hard cock right through the boxers. The heavy mounds enveloped him, nipples dragging along the wet fabric as she rocked forward, letting her breasts rub up and down his length in slow, obscene glides. The friction was maddening—her sensitive nipples scraping over the cotton, his leaking cockhead bumping against the soft undersides of her tits, smearing precum across her skin in shiny streaks.

Jihyo whimpered at the sensation, her pussy clenching hard, another thick trickle of her own slick sliding down her inner thigh.

She looked up at him—eyes glassy, pupils blown, that famous Twice smile twisted into something depraved and desperate—and dove for the tip peeking over the waistband.

Her tongue flicked out first—quick, kittenish—lapping at the fat, flushed head like it was candy. The taste of him exploded on her tongue: salty, bitter, and thick with pre-cum. She moaned loudly against his cock, the vibration humming straight through him. Hongshik’s hips jerked, a rough groan tearing from his throat.

“Fuck… baby… lick it… clean up that mess you made…”

Jihyo obeyed.

She flattened her tongue against the slit, lapping up the steady ooze of pre-cum like she was dying of thirst. Each slow drag of her tongue made more bead up, and she chased every drop—circling the flared head, dipping into the slit, sucking gently on the very tip until her lips sealed around it through the cotton. She looked up at him with every lick—eyes locked on his, dark and worshipful, moaning softly as she tasted him.

Minwoo couldn’t breathe.

He stood frozen in the hallway shadows, hand shoved down his jeans, stroking his own aching cock in frantic, silent jerks. He was pretty sure he’d cum any second just from watching—watching Jihyo, the goddess he’d jerked off to for years, reduced to this: naked, dripping, worshipping his father’s monster cock like it was the only thing that mattered.

How the hell was his old man still holding on?

Hongshik’s cock was obscenely hard—thick, veined, leaking like a faucet—and yet he hadn’t lost control. He just groaned low and rough with every lick, every suck, every slow stroke of Jihyo’s hand inside his boxers. His hand fisted in her long black hair—not guiding, just holding—letting her work, letting her degrade herself for him.

Jihyo sucked harder on the tip—lips stretching around the fat head through the soaked cotton—tongue swirling, lapping up every fresh drop of pre-cum that welled up. Her hand kept stroking him inside the boxers—slow, firm pumps from root to tip—while her tits continued to rub up and down his length, nipples scraping the wet fabric, leaving shiny trails of her own arousal mixed with his.

She was a mess—drool slipping from the corners of her mouth, pussy dripping steadily onto the floor between her spread knees, thighs shaking with how badly she needed to be filled.

And still she worshipped.

Still, she licked.

Still, she moaned like a whore in heat, completely owned by the old man’s cock.

Minwoo’s balls tightened.

He was going to cum.

And he hadn’t even touched her.

Jihyo watched, mesmerized, as Hongshik’s pre-cum kept dripping—thick, clear ropes oozing from the slit, sliding down the swollen head, then catching in the coarse gray pubes just above his waistband. The droplets pooled there in a shiny little mess, clinging to the wiry hair, glistening under the bedroom lamp like liquid sin. More came—slow, heavy pulses—each one making the dark patch on his boxers grow bigger, the fabric so soaked now it molded perfectly to every thick vein and ridge of his monster cock.

She licked her lips—slow, deliberate—tongue dragging across her swollen bottom lip, tasting the ghost of his flavor still lingering there. Her eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, that famous idol face twisted into pure, depraved hunger. She leaned in closer, heavy tits swaying beneath her, nipples brushing his thighs again, sending fresh sparks straight to her dripping cunt.

Then she extended her tongue.

Long, pink, trembling with need.

She dragged it flat across his pubes—right where the pre-cum had pooled—lapping up the salty, musky mess in one slow, filthy stroke. The taste exploded on her tongue: bitter, thick, pure man. She moaned—low, broken, shameless—feeling the warm slick coat her taste buds. Hongshik’s cock jumped violently at the contact, and the old man—watching his son’s girlfriend debase herself so completely—groaned deep in his chest.

The sight pushed him over some invisible edge.

Another thick spurt erupted from his slit—right where her tongue was waiting.

It hit her tongue in a hot, pulsing jet, oozing out in a steady, creamy flow. Jihyo moaned louder—vibrating against his pubes—as the fresh pre-cum flooded her mouth. She didn’t waste a single drop. She sealed her lips around the base of his cock through the boxers, sucking gently, tongue swirling to catch every bead that welled up. She licked and lapped like a woman starved—long, greedy strokes through the wet cotton, sucking harder when more leaked out, making sure she swallowed every thick, salty drop. Her cheeks hollowed, lips working, and filthy wet sounds filled the room as she cleaned him, worshipped him, and drank him down like it was the only thing keeping her alive.

“Fuck… baby… drink it all… every fucking drop… that’s my good little cumslut…”

Hongshik’s voice was rough and wrecked, hand fisting tighter in her hair—not forcing, just anchoring—as he watched her degrade herself for him.

From the doorway, Minwoo had the perfect, devastating angle.

Jihyo’s ass was pointed straight at him—round, firm, creamy cheeks spread just enough from her bent position to show everything. Her leaking pink pussy was fully exposed: lips puffy and dark, clit swollen and throbbing, inner folds shining with fresh slick. Every time she rocked forward to lick his father, her pussy opened a little more—clenching, fluttering, begging to be filled. A steady stream of her juices flowed out—thick, clear, dripping in long, sticky strings down her inner thighs, trailing all the way to her knees. Her toned, sexy ass cheeks flexed with each movement, muscles tightening and releasing, the soft flesh jiggling slightly when she bobbed her head.

Her heavy tits hung down beneath her, swaying with every lick, nipples brushing Hongshik’s thighs, leaving shiny trails of her own drool and his pre-cum. The sight was obscene—Jihyo, Twice’s perfect main vocalist, reduced to a dripping, cock-worshipping whore, ass in the air, pussy leaking like a broken faucet, tits swinging while she sucked and licked his father’s leaking dick through his boxers.

Minwoo couldn’t hold back.

His hand flew faster inside his jeans—frantic, desperate—stroking his aching cock in time with Jihyo’s slow, greedy licks. The jealousy burned hotter than ever, but the arousal drowned it completely. Within seconds, he came again—hard, silently—thick ropes of cum spilling into his boxers, soaking his hand, his thigh, his shame. His knees buckled slightly, vision blurring, but he couldn’t look away.

And still—impossibly—his father hadn’t come.

Hongshik’s cock stayed rock-hard, throbbing, leaking steadily into Jihyo’s eager mouth. He just groaned—low, rough, satisfied—with every lick, every suck, every slow pump of her hand inside his boxers, and every drag of her tits along his thighs. He didn’t lose control. He just watched her—gray eyes dark, possessive, proud—like he’d tamed the untamable idol and was savoring every second of her total, filthy surrender.

Jihyo moaned louder against his cock, tongue swirling faster, hands stroking harder, completely lost in worshipping the thick, veiny monster that had ruined her for anyone else.

She didn’t know Minwoo was watching.

She didn’t know her boyfriend’s brother was cumming in his pants again just from the sight of her bare, dripping body and her desperate mouth on his father’s cock.

And she didn’t care.

All she cared about was the taste flooding her tongue, the heat in her pussy, and the old man who owned her completely.

Jihyo pulled back just enough to look up at Hongshik, her lips shiny with his pre-cum, chin glistening, and eyes dark and glassy with pure, desperate lust. That famous Twice main vocalist's face—usually so polished, so perfect for cameras—was wrecked: cheeks flushed deep pink, mascara slightly smudged from earlier tears of overstimulation, and swollen lips parted on shaky breaths. She licked them slowly, tasting him again, then spoke in a voice so wrecked and needy it barely sounded like her.

“Appa…” she whispered, trembling. “I want to suck your cock… please… let me take it in my mouth… I need it… I need to taste you… all of you…”

Hongshik’s low, rumbling chuckle vibrated through his chest and straight into her core. His hand tightened in her long black hair—not pulling, just holding—tilting her head back so she had to meet his eyes.

“Greedy little idol slut,” he growled, voice thick with dark amusement. “You want Appa’s cock that bad? Then climb up here. Get on top of me. Let me see that dripping pussy right in my face while you choke on this old dick.”

Jihyo’s breath hitched—sharp, needy—and a fresh gush of slick leaked out of her, sliding down her inner thigh in a visible, shiny trail. Her eyes lit up with filthy happiness, pupils blown so wide they were almost black.

“Yes… yes, Appa…”

She moved fast—eager, clumsy with lust—crawling up his body like she couldn’t wait another second. Her heavy tits dragged along his stomach, nipples scraping through the coarse gray hair, leaving wet streaks of her own drool and his pre-cum. She straddled his chest first, then shifted higher, knees planting on either side of his shoulders until her dripping pussy hovered right above his mouth—pink, swollen, glistening lips parted and leaking steadily onto his chin.

From Minwoo’s cracked-door view, the angle was devastating.

He could see Jihyo’s beautiful face—flushed, wrecked, lips swollen and shiny—now inches from the fat, leaking head of his father’s cock still trapped under the soaked boxers. The black fabric was stretched obscenely tight, the outline of every thick vein and the flared mushroom head perfectly visible, pre-cum still oozing through in thick, steady pulses. Jihyo’s tongue was already out again—pink and wet—lapping at the tip through the cotton, slow, hungry circles that made more pre-cum well up and soak the material even darker.

And lower—fuck—Minwoo had a clear, unobstructed view of her ass pointed right at him.

Her toned, sexy ass cheeks were spread just enough from the position—round, firm, creamy skin flushed pink from earlier slaps. Between them, her leaking pink pussy was fully exposed: lips puffy and dark, clit swollen and throbbing, inner folds shining with fresh slick. Every time she rocked forward to lick his father’s cock, her pussy opened a little more—clenching, fluttering, dripping in long, sticky strings that trailed down her inner thighs. The creamy flesh of those sweet, sexy, fit thighs glistened with her arousal, the slick running in rivulets all the way to her knees, pooling on the sheets beneath her.

Minwoo’s hand was a blur inside his jeans—stroking frantically, pre-cum soaking his fingers, his balls tight and aching. He could see her jerk suddenly—hips twitching forward, a muffled moan vibrating against Hongshik’s cock—and he knew exactly why.

Hongshik’s big hands had slid up her thighs, thumbs spreading her pussy lips wide. His thick fingers traced her slick folds—slow, teasing—then one digit circled her swollen clit while another pressed against her entrance, dipping just inside. Jihyo’s whole body jolted, ass clenching, pussy clenching, and another thick gush of slick dripping down onto his waiting tongue.

She moaned louder against the boxers—vibrations humming straight through his cock—her tongue never stopping, lapping desperately at the leaking tip while her hips rocked back against his father’s mouth.

Minwoo came again—hard, silently—thick ropes spilling into his boxers, soaking his hand, his shame. His knees nearly gave out.

Jihyo’s trembling fingers finally hooked into the waistband of Hongshik’s boxers.

She tugged downward—slow, reverent, like she was unwrapping something sacred and filthy all at once. The elastic stretched, caught for a heartbeat on the thick base of his cock, then gave way.

The monster sprang free with a heavy slap—springing upward so fast the fat, flushed head nearly smacked her across the cheek.

Jihyo gasped—sharp, needy, eyes widening in that same dazed, worshipful shock she felt every single time she saw it.

There it was.

Thick. Long. Veiny. Brutal.

The shaft curved slightly upward, thick veins bulging along the length like ropes under the flushed skin, pulsing with every heartbeat. The head was swollen, mushroom-shaped, dark purple and shiny, the slit still weeping thick, clear pre-cum in slow, heavy beads that rolled down the underside and dripped onto her waiting tongue. It was obscene—bigger than any cock had any right to be, especially on a man three times her age. Korean men weren’t supposed to be built like this. But Hongshik was. And this cock—this brutal, beautiful beast—had ruined her.

Completely.

She stared at it like it was the only thing in the universe.

This was the thing that had made her unable to walk straight after their first night. Legs shaking, pussy sore and gaping, inner thighs bruised from his grip, every step a reminder of how deep he’d been, how thoroughly he’d split her open. She’d limped through dance practice the next day trying to hide the wince, thighs rubbing together and making her clit throb with aftershocks, panties soaked just from remembering.

Even on tour—when she was halfway across the world, locked in hotel rooms between schedules and concerts—she couldn’t escape it. She’d lie in bed after shows, legs spread, fingers buried in her pussy, rubbing frantic circles over her clit while she pictured this cock pounding her senseless. She’d cum hard—back arching, biting her pillow to stay quiet—whimpering his name into the dark, thighs shaking, wishing it was him stretching her instead of her own fingers.

She’d even taken a picture once—right after he’d fucked her raw on this very bed. He’d pulled out, cock still hard and glistening with her slick, and she’d grabbed her phone with shaking hands, snapped a quick, filthy shot of that thick, veiny monster before he could stop her. She kept it hidden in a locked folder, password-protected, and late at night when the ache between her legs became unbearable, she’d open it, zoom in, stare at every ridge, every vein, and finger herself until she came crying his name.

Now it was right in front of her again—real, hot, throbbing, leaking.

Jihyo gulped—loud, audible—throat working visibly.

Her hands—small, manicured, shaking—reached out and wrapped around the shaft.

She couldn’t even close her fingers all the way around the girth.

She stroked him slowly—base to tip—feeling every bulging vein under her palm, feeling him pulse and jump in her grip. More pre-cum welled up instantly, thick and pearly, dripping down the head and onto her knuckles. She moaned at the sight, low and broken.

Her beautiful face—still flushed, lips swollen, eyes glassy—hovered right above the fat head.

She leaned in and sealed her mouth around the tip.

No hesitation.

She sucked—hard—cheeks hollowing as she drew the leaking slit into her mouth, tongue flicking rapidly over the opening to lap up every fresh drop of pre-cum. The taste flooded her—salty, bitter, thick, pure him—and she moaned around the head, the vibration humming straight through his cock and making his hips jerk.

Hongshik groaned—deep, rough, hand fisting tighter in her hair.

“That’s it, baby… suck Appa’s cock… take that pre-cum like the greedy little idol whore you are…”

Jihyo did.

She sucked harder—lips stretching wide around the fat mushroom head, tongue swirling, dipping into the slit, milking him for more. She bobbed shallowly, just enough to take the head and a few inches, cheeks hollowing with every pull, drool slipping from the corners of her mouth and dripping down his shaft. Her hands kept stroking the rest—slow, firm pumps—while her heavy tits swayed beneath her, nipples brushing his thighs, leaving wet trails.

From the doorway, Minwoo watched, frozen, hand still wrapped around his own cock, stroking in helpless time with her rhythm.

He could see her face perfectly—beautiful, wrecked, completely devoted—lips stretched obscenely around his father’s thick cock, tongue working the tip, and eyes fluttering shut in pure bliss every time another spurt of pre-cum hit her tongue.

He could see her ass too—pointed right at him, cheeks spread, pussy leaking in steady, shiny rivulets down her thighs.

And he could see the way her body jerked—hips twitching forward—every time Hongshik’s tongue flicked across her clit or his fingers curled inside her. Minwoo stared—couldn’t look away if his life depended on it.

For the first time in his life, he saw his father’s cock.

And it fucking destroyed him.

Hongshik’s dick stood proud and brutal—thick as a wrist at the base, long enough that even fully hard it curved slightly upward like it knew exactly where to hit to make a woman scream. The shaft was a roadmap of bulging veins—thick, ropey cords that pulsed visibly under the flushed skin, running from the root all the way to the fat, mushroom-shaped head. That head was obscene: swollen, dark purple, shiny with pre-cum and Jihyo’s spit, the slit still weeping thick, pearly beads that rolled down the underside in slow, heavy trails. The whole thing throbbed—visibly, angrily—like it had a heartbeat of its own, demanding worship.

Minwoo felt it hit him all at once.

Dejection—sharp, cold, sinking into his gut like lead.

Shame—hot and choking, burning up his neck and cheeks because he was standing here in the hallway jerking off to his own father stealing his girlfriend.

Helplessness—bone-deep, because there was nothing he could do, nothing he could say, nothing that would change the fact that Jihyo was on her knees in front of that monster right now, moaning as she’d never moaned for him.

And worst of all—acceptance.

Because he understood now.

He understood exactly why Jihyo—Jihyo, Twice’s main vocalist, the woman millions called a goddess—had let his father finger her senseless on the kitchen table. Why she’d arched her back and spread her legs and begged for more when Hongshik’s rough hands mauled her tits. Why she’d kissed him like she was drowning and he was air.

Because that cock deserved it.

That thick, veiny, brutal beast deserved to be worshipped. Deserved to stretch her, ruin her, and own her in ways Minwoo’s dick never could.

He looked down at himself—his hand still wrapped around his own cock inside his jeans—and the comparison was cruel.

He wasn’t small. Average, maybe a little above. But next to his father?

He wasn’t even half the size.

Half the thickness.

Half the length.

Half the fucking presence.

Minwoo’s cock twitched in his grip—pathetic, leaking, nowhere near the monster that had Jihyo drooling and dripping on the bed right now. He knew—deep in his gut, in the sick twist of jealousy and arousal—that his brother wasn’t even close either. If Minwoo was average, his brother was probably smaller. No wonder Jihyo had never made those broken, filthy sounds for him. No wonder she’d never squirted like a fountain, never begged, never looked at him with that glassy, worshipful stare.

Because she’d never had this.

This thick, veiny, gray-haired beast stretched her so wide she couldn’t walk straight the next day. This cock that made her finger herself in hotel rooms on tour, staring at a secret photo she’d taken of it, cumming and crying his father’s name.

Minwoo’s hand moved faster—shameful, helpless—pre-cum soaking his fingers as he watched Jihyo lean in again, tongue flicking out to lap at the leaking slit like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.

He came again—silent, shuddering—thick ropes spilling into his boxers while his father’s cock throbbed untouched, still hard, still leaking, still owning the woman Minwoo loved.

And Minwoo—dejected, shamed, helpless—accepted it.

Because that cock deserved her. Jihyo deserved a cock like that.

A woman built like her—thick thighs, heavy tits, that perfect hourglass waist flaring into a fat, juicy ass—was literally made to be plowed by something this brutal. Made to be split open, stretched until she screamed, and bred until she was dripping with cum and couldn’t walk straight for days. Minwoo knew it now, staring through the cracked door with his hand still wrapped around his pathetic, twitching dick. Jihyo’s body wasn’t meant for soft, quick fucks from boys her age. It was built for this—for an old, thick, veiny monster that could ruin her completely and leave her begging for more.

Hongshik’s cock throbbed right in front of her beautiful face—fat, angry, glistening with her spit and his endless pre-cum. The head was swollen and dark purple, with a slit weeping steadily, veins bulging like ropes under the flushed skin. Every heartbeat made it pulse, made it jump, and made more thick pre-cum bubble up and roll down the underside in slow, heavy trails.

Jihyo’s tongue never stopped circling.

She lapped at the fat head like it was her lifeline—slow, worshipful swirls around the ridge, dipping into the slit to scoop out every fresh bead of pre-cum that welled up. Her lips parted wider, sealing around the tip, sucking gently while her tongue flicked the underside, coaxing more out. She moaned—low, broken, vibrating against his cock—every time another thick pulse hit her tongue. She didn’t let a single drop escape. She swallowed it down greedily, tongue chasing the trails that escaped down the shaft, licking back up to the head to start all over again.

Minwoo came again.

Hard.

His cock jerked in his fist—once, twice—and thick ropes of cum spilled into his boxers, soaking his hand, his thigh, his shame. He bit his lip so hard he tasted blood, knees buckling, vision blurring at the edges. He couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t stop stroking through the aftershocks even as his own pathetic release dripped down his fingers.

And his father?

Hongshik didn’t even flinch.

He just groaned—low, rough, satisfied—hips rolling forward slightly to feed more of his leaking cock into Jihyo’s eager mouth. His hand stayed fisted in her long black hair, not forcing, just guiding—letting her worship at her own desperate pace. More pre-cum spurted out—thick, creamy pulses—right onto her waiting tongue. She moaned louder, eyes fluttering shut in bliss, swallowing every drop like it was holy nectar.

“Fuck… baby… drink it all… that’s it… take every drop Appa gives you…”

Jihyo whimpered in response—high, needy, filthy—her tongue never stopping, lips never leaving the fat head. She sucked harder, cheeks hollowing, pulling more pre-cum out of him while her heavy tits swayed beneath her, nipples brushing his thighs, leaving shiny trails of her own drool and his leaking mess.

Minwoo’s balls ached—already spent twice—but his cock stayed hard, twitching in his hand, because he couldn’t look away from the sight of Jihyo—Twice’s goddess, his brother’s girlfriend—completely owned by his father’s massive, unrelenting cock.

She was made for this.

Made to be plowed.

Made to be bred.

Jihyo opened her mouth wider—jaw aching already—and took more of Hongshik’s monster cock inside.

The fat head pushed past her lips, stretching them taut around its girth, the veiny shaft sliding over her tongue like hot velvet steel. She cushioned the thick underside with the flat of her tongue, feeling every bulging ridge drag slowly across her taste buds as inch after thick inch disappeared into her warm, wet mouth. Her cheeks hollowed, lips sealed tight, saliva pooling instantly and dripping down the corners of her mouth in shiny strings. She moaned around him—low, muffled, vibrating straight through his cock—and the sound made his hips jerk forward, feeding her another inch.

She could barely breathe.

But she didn’t care.

She wanted it deeper.

She needed it deeper.

At the same time, Hongshik’s big hands clamped around her waist—rough palms digging into the soft dip above her hips, holding her down like he owned every inch of her. He pulled her pussy harder against his face, nose buried in her slick folds, tongue spearing deep into her dripping core.

He ate her out like a starving man.

His tongue was thick, hot, and relentless—plunging inside her, curling upward to lap at her sensitive walls, tracing every fluttering ridge, every slick crease. He fucked her with it—slow, deep thrusts—then flattened it to drag in long, filthy strokes from her entrance up to her swollen clit. When he reached the little nub, he sucked it into his mouth—hard—tongue flicking the tip rapidly while his lips sealed around it, pulling, tugging, milking it until her whole body seized.

Jihyo’s hips shuddered violently—trying to buck away from the overwhelming pleasure, trying to grind down harder for more—all at once. But his iron grip on her waist kept her pinned, forced her to take every brutal lick, every deep thrust of his tongue, every suck on her clit. She could feel him invading her—hot, wet muscle stretching her open, lapping at her inner walls like he was trying to drink her dry. Her pussy clenched around his tongue, fluttering helplessly, gushing fresh slick straight onto his chin, down his throat.

She moaned louder around his cock—vibrations humming down his shaft—making him groan into her pussy, the sound rumbling through her clit like thunder.

His cock twitched hard inside her mouth—thick, angry pulses that made the veins bulge against her tongue. She felt it swell even bigger, the head bumping the back of her throat with every shallow bob of her head. Pre-cum leaked steadily now—salty, thick, coating her tongue, sliding down her throat. She swallowed around him, throat working, milking him for more, desperate to take every drop he gave her.

Hongshik growled against her cunt—voice muffled, feral.

“That’s it, baby… choke on Appa’s cock while I eat this greedy little pussy… feel how deep my tongue is inside you? Gonna make you squirt all over my face again…”

Jihyo’s hips tried to jerk again—shuddering, shaking—but his hands held her down mercilessly, forcing her to take the relentless assault. His tongue curled harder, rubbing that spot deep inside that made stars explode behind her eyes. Her thighs trembled, ass clenching, pussy spasming around his invading tongue as another wave of slick poured out.

She sucked harder on his cock—desperate, sloppy—lips stretched wide, tongue swirling around the head, cheeks hollowing as she tried to take more, more, more. Drool spilled from her mouth, running down his shaft, soaking his balls. Her heavy tits bounced beneath her with every bob of her head, nipples scraping his thighs, sending fresh sparks straight to her clit.

Minwoo watched—frozen, hand still stroking his own leaking cock—seeing his girlfriend’s perfect idol face stretched around his father’s massive dick while her dripping pussy was devoured like a feast.

She was breaking again.

Jihyo took half of that monster cock into her mouth in one slow, greedy slide.

Her lips stretched obscenely wide around the thick shaft—cheeks hollowing as she forced herself down, inch after fat, veiny inch disappearing past her glossy lips. The head bumped the back of her throat, and she paused there—frozen, eyes watering, throat fluttering around him—giving herself a desperate second to breathe, to adjust, to feel how full she already was.

Saliva poured out of her instantly—hot, messy, and unstoppable.

It spilled from the corners of her stretched mouth in thick, shiny strings, dripping down the veiny length of his cock, coating every bulging ridge, and running in rivulets over his heavy balls. The whole shaft glistened now—slick and wet and filthy—her drool mixing with his pre-cum until it looked like he’d already cum all over her pretty idol face.

She moaned around him—deep, muffled, vibrating straight through his cock—and the sound made Hongshik’s hips jerk upward, feeding her another half inch.

“Fuck… baby… look at you… drooling all over Appa’s big dick like a perfect little cocksleeve…”

Jihyo’s eyes fluttered, tears gathering at the corners from the stretch, but she didn’t pull off.

She couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

She needed more.

She braced her hands on his thick thighs—nails digging into the hard muscle—and pushed forward again.

More cock slid into her mouth—slow, relentless—stretching her jaw wider, filling her until the fat head nudged the back of her throat again. Her tongue flattened along the underside, cushioning the pulsing vein, swirling around the ridges as she took him deeper. Saliva kept pouring—messy, obscene—drenching his balls until they shone, dripping onto the sheets below in wet little splats.

Hongshik groaned—low, rough, primal—and brought one big hand down on her ass.

Slap.

The sound cracked through the room—sharp, filthy—his palm connecting hard with the right cheek.

Jihyo’s whole body jolted.

Her ass jiggled—round, firm, creamy flesh rippling from the impact, a perfect red handprint blooming instantly on her pale skin.

She moaned—loud, broken, vibrating wildly around the thick cock stuffing her mouth.

The vibration shot straight through him—his cock twitched hard inside her throat, swelling even thicker, pre-cum spurting in hot, heavy pulses right against the back of her tongue.

She loved it.

Loved how his cock jumped and throbbed inside her mouth every time she moaned. Loved how alive it felt—hot, pulsing, leaking—completely at her mercy even though she was the one choking on it.

Another slap—harder—left cheek this time.

Crack.

Her ass jiggled again, flesh wobbling deliciously, the sting blooming into sweet heat that shot straight to her clit.

She moaned louder—muffled, wet, desperate—around his cock.

Hongshik’s dick twitched violently inside her mouth—once, twice—and another thick spurt of pre-cum flooded her tongue.

Jihyo swallowed greedily, throat working, milking him for every drop.

She pushed forward again—taking even more—lips stretched to their limit, saliva dripping in long strings from her chin onto his balls below. She could feel the head nudging her throat, the veins pulsing against her tongue, the sheer girth making her jaw ache in the best, filthiest way.

She wanted it all.

Every thick, veiny inch.

She wanted to choke on it until tears ran down her cheeks and her throat burned.

She wanted to prove she could take the cock that had ruined her—over and over and over.

And Hongshik—gray-haired, rough-handed, impossibly in control—only groaned again, hand tightening in her hair, the other slapping her jiggling ass once more.

Crack.

Jihyo moaned around him—long, broken, vibrating—and took another inch.

Deeper.

Wetter.

Filthier.

Minwoo’s world had shrunk to the narrow crack in the door and the obscene scene unfolding on the bed.

Jihyo—his Jihyo, Twice’s Jihyo, the woman he’d dreamed about for years—was giving his father a blowjob like her life depended on it.

She had half the monster cock in her mouth already—lips stretched obscenely wide, cheeks hollowed, saliva dripping in thick, shiny strings down the veiny shaft and onto his heavy balls. Her tongue was visible even from this angle—pink and wet, flattened along the underside, cushioning every ridge as she slowly worked more inside. She paused again—eyes watering, throat fluttering visibly around the thick intrusion—giving herself a second to breathe, to adjust, to feel how full her mouth was.

Hongshik groaned low and rough, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into her pussy, still hovering over his face.

Then she moved.

She started slow—achingly slow.

Her head bobbed in shallow, deliberate motions—lips sliding up to the fat head, tongue swirling around the leaking slit to lap up the fresh pre-cum that welled up, then pushing back down, taking another inch, and stretching her jaw wider. Saliva poured out with every pull—messy, wet, and filthy—coating his cock until it shone, dripping onto his balls in long, sticky strands. She moaned around him—low, vibrating moans that made his shaft twitch hard inside her mouth, with more pre-cum spurting onto her tongue.

Minwoo could see it all: the way her throat worked when she swallowed around him, the way her eyes fluttered shut in bliss every time another thick pulse hit the back of her tongue, the way her heavy tits swayed beneath her with each bob, nipples brushing his father’s thighs.

Hongshik’s response was immediate—his groan muffled against her dripping pussy as he ate her out harder. His tongue plunged deep again—curling, thrusting, lapping at her sensitive walls—while his hands clamped tighter on her waist, holding her down so she couldn’t escape the relentless assault. The vibration of his groan hummed straight through her clit, making her hips jerk, her pussy clenching, and another gush of slick dripping onto his waiting mouth.

Jihyo moaned louder around his cock—broken, desperate, vibrating wildly—and sped up.

She adjusted fast—jaw relaxing, throat opening, and greed taking over.

Her head moved faster now—bobbing deeper, taking more of that thick, veiny length with every downward slide. The wet, sloppy sounds filled the room—gluck, gluck, gluck—as she fucked her mouth on him, lips stretching to their limit, saliva pouring out in messy rivulets, soaking his balls completely. She hollowed her cheeks harder, tongue swirling around the shaft on every upstroke, sucking the fat head like it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.

Hongshik groaned again—louder, rougher—his tongue thrusting deeper into her pussy in retaliation, curling hard against that spot that made her whole body seize. His lips sealed around her clit, sucking—pulling—while his tongue flicked the swollen nub rapidly. Jihyo’s hips shuddered violently, ass clenching, pussy spasming around his invading tongue, but his iron grip kept her pinned, forcing her to take every brutal lick, every deep thrust.

She moaned around his cock—high, muffled, and desperate—the vibration making him twitch harder inside her mouth. More pre-cum spurted—thick, hot pulses—flooding her tongue, sliding down her throat. She swallowed greedily, throat working, milking him for every drop while her head bobbed faster and deeper, taking almost three-quarters of that monster now.

Minwoo watched—hand flying inside his jeans—seeing his dream girl’s perfect idol face stretched around his father’s massive dick, saliva dripping, tits bouncing, and pussy dripping onto his father’s chin while she moaned like a whore in heat.

Hongshik’s groans grew louder, vibrating against her clit, pushing her closer to the edge.

Jihyo’s pace turned frantic—head bobbing wildly now, lips stretched to breaking, throat taking him deeper with every downward thrust. She was choking herself on his cock—gagging softly, tears slipping down her cheeks—but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

She needed it.

Needed to feel that thick, veiny beast in her mouth the way it owned her pussy.

And Hongshik—still rock-hard, still leaking, still in complete control—only groaned louder, tongue fucking her harder, hands pinning her down as she shattered again.

Hongshik’s hands tightened on Jihyo’s waist like iron clamps, pinning her dripping pussy right against his hungry mouth. She was already shaking—thighs quivering, hips twitching—but he didn’t let her escape even an inch. His tongue plunged back inside her soaked cunt—thick, hot, relentless—curling deep to rub that spongy spot that made her see stars. At the same instant, two thick fingers joined his tongue, sliding into her stretched entrance with a wet squelch, stretching her wider, filling her completely.

Jihyo’s whole body seized.

A raw, muffled scream vibrated around his cock as her mouth was stuffed full—lips stretched obscenely, cheeks hollowed, drool pouring down his shaft in thick rivulets. The double invasion was brutal and perfect: his tongue thrusting and lapping at her walls, swirling over every sensitive ridge, while his fingers pumped deep—curling, scissoring, rubbing her G-spot in merciless circles. The pressure built fast—too fast—her pussy clenching and fluttering around his fingers and tongue like it was trying to pull him deeper.

She bobbed her head harder on his cock—desperate, sloppy—taking more of the thick length with every downward plunge. Saliva spilled from her lips, soaking his balls completely, dripping onto the sheets in wet little splats. She sucked harder—cheeks hollowing, tongue swirling around the bulging veins, throat working to swallow around the fat head that nudged her tonsils. Every time she took him deeper, her moans vibrated through his shaft, making his cock twitch and spurt more pre-cum straight onto her tongue.

Hongshik growled into her pussy—the sound rumbling straight through her clit like a vibrator.

He sucked her swollen nub into his mouth—hard—lips sealing tight, tongue flicking the tip rapidly while his fingers thrust faster, deeper, curling harder against her G-spot. His other hand slid up to grip one ass cheek, spreading her wider, giving his tongue better access to lap at her fluttering walls.

Jihyo shattered.

Her first squirt hit like a geyser—hot, forceful, spraying across Hongshik’s chin and cheeks in messy pulses. She screamed around his cock—muffled, wet, desperate—body convulsing, hips jerking against his hold. Her pussy clamped down on his fingers and tongue, spasming wildly, squirting again and again—clear, hot jets soaking his face, dripping down his neck, and pooling on the sheets beneath them.

She didn’t stop sucking.

Even as her body bucked and shuddered through the orgasm, her head kept bobbing—faster now, sloppier—lips stretched to their limit, throat taking him deeper with every thrust. She licked her own juices off his chin when she could reach—tongue darting out between bobs, tasting her own sweet-salty slick mixed with his pre-cum, moaning louder at the filthy combination.

Hongshik didn’t let up.

His tongue kept thrusting—fucking her through the orgasm—while his fingers curled harder, rubbing that spot relentlessly. He sucked her clit again—pulling, tugging—milking another gush from her spasming cunt. Jihyo’s second squirt was even messier—spraying across his face in forceful arcs, dripping down his cheeks, and soaking his gray hair. Her body shuddered violently—back arching, tits bouncing wildly beneath her, thighs trembling so hard they nearly gave out—but his grip held her down, forcing her to ride every wave.

She moaned—high, broken, vibrating around his cock—making him twitch and spurt more pre-cum straight down her throat. She swallowed greedily—throat working, milking him—while her own pussy kept squirting, kept clenching, kept flooding his mouth and fingers with her release.

Her third orgasm crashed through her almost immediately—no break, no mercy. Her hips jerked hard against his face, her pussy spasming so violently his fingers were squeezed tight inside her. Another hot jet of squirt sprayed across his chin, his lips, his tongue—drenching him completely. Jihyo’s muffled screams turned into wet, gurgling moans around his cock—drool and pre-cum spilling from her lips, dripping onto his balls in thick strings.

She was a shaking, squirting, babbling mess—body convulsing, pussy gushing, mouth stuffed full of cock, worshipping him even as he broke her again and again.

Hongshik groaned—deep, satisfied—tongue still lapping, fingers still thrusting, drinking every drop she gave him while his cock throbbed harder inside her throat.

And Jihyo—ruined, owned, dripping—kept sucking, kept moaning, kept squirting, completely surrendered to the man who had turned her into this perfect, filthy, squirting idol slut.

Hongshik’s thick, muscular thighs suddenly flexed—hard, unyielding—and clamped around Jihyo’s head like a vice.

In one brutal, possessive motion, he locked her in place, legs wrapping tight around her skull, heels digging into her upper back. Her beautiful face was trapped—nose buried in his coarse gray pubes, lips stretched to breaking around the base of his monster cock, the fat head lodged deep in her throat.

Jihyo’s eyes flew wide—glassy, panicked, and lust-drunk all at once. Her hands flew to his thighs, nails digging into the hard muscle, but there was no escaping. She was pinned. Owned. Stuffed full.

A choked, wet gurgle escaped her—muffled, desperate—as her throat spasmed around the thick intrusion. Saliva poured from her stretched lips in thick, messy ropes, bubbling around the base of his cock, dripping down his balls in shiny strings. Her tongue flattened helplessly against the underside, feeling every bulging vein pulse against it, every heartbeat throbbing deep in her gullet.

Hongshik groaned—low, feral, triumphant—and pushed his legs down harder.

The motion forced her head lower, forcing every last inch of that girthy beast down her throat until her nose was mashed against his pubic bone. Her throat bulged visibly—a thick, obscene outline of his cock stretching her neck from the inside, the fat head lodged so deep it distorted her elegant throat into a lewd, protruding bump.

Minwoo saw it all.

From the cracked door, he watched his brother’s girlfriend—Twice’s Jihyo, global idol, main vocalist—being face-fucked like a cheap whore. Her throat swelled with every brutal thrust, the bump sliding up and down as Hongshik used his legs to piston her head. Her eyes watered, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, mascara running in black rivulets. Drool and pre-cum bubbled from her lips, spilling over her chin, dripping onto her heavy, swaying tits below. She gagged—wet, choking sounds muffled around the cock stuffing her—but she didn’t fight.

She couldn’t.

Her hands clawed at his thighs—not to push away, but to hold on—as her body shuddered through the assault. Her pussy—still dripping from earlier—clenched and leaked fresh slick down her thighs, pooling on the sheets beneath her knees. Every time Hongshik pushed her down, forcing his cock deeper, her throat convulsed, milking him, squeezing him like a hot, wet fist.

Hongshik growled—voice rough, wrecked—hips rolling up to meet each downward pull of his legs.

“That’s it… take it all, baby… choke on Appa’s big cock… let that throat stretch for me…”

Jihyo’s gags turned into wet, gurgling moans—vibrating wildly around his shaft, making him twitch and spurt more pre-cum straight down her gullet. She swallowed reflexively—throat working visibly around the bulge—milking him, drinking him, completely surrendered. Her eyes rolled back slightly, lashes fluttering, tears streaming, but her hips kept rocking—grinding her soaked pussy against nothing, chasing friction even as her throat was ruthlessly fucked.

Minwoo’s hand flew faster inside his jeans—shameful, helpless—watching the obscene bump in her throat slide up and down, watching her choke and spit and drool all over his father’s thick cock. He could see the outline clearly—every ridge, every vein—stretching her elegant neck into something pornographic, something ruined.

Jihyo was being face-fucked—hard, deep, mercilessly—and she was loving it.

Her body shuddered—once, twice—pussy clenching hard as another small squirt leaked out, dripping onto the sheets. Her moans turned into choked, gurgling pleas around the cock stuffing her throat—muffled, broken, and worshipful.

She was breaking again.

And Minwoo—cumming silently in his pants for the third time—could only watch as his brother’s perfect girlfriend was turned into a drooling, choking, throat-stuffed mess by his own father’s massive, unrelenting cock.

Hongshik’s thighs clamped tighter around Jihyo’s head, heels digging into her back like steel bars, locking her in place with no mercy, no escape. His hips snapped upward in short, brutal thrusts—fucking her face with ruthless rhythm, the fat head of his cock bullying past her tonsils and deep into her throat over and over. The obscene bulge in her elegant neck slid up and down visibly with every plunge—stretching her throat into a lewd, protruding outline that Minwoo could see clearly from the cracked door.

Jihyo choked—wet, gurgling gags muffled around the thick shaft stuffing her mouth. Saliva bubbled from her stretched lips in thick, messy ropes, spilling down his balls in shiny rivers, dripping onto the sheets in wet splats. Tears streamed down her flushed cheeks, mascara running in black streaks, but her eyes stayed glassy with lust, pupils blown wide, completely surrendered. Her hands clawed at his thighs—not pushing away, but gripping, holding on for dear life as he used her throat like a tight, wet sleeve.

Hongshik groaned—a deep, animal voice wrecked with pleasure.

“Fuck… take it, baby… choke on Appa’s cock… milk me with that pretty throat…”

He thrust harder—faster—hips rolling up to bury himself to the root every time. Jihyo’s nose mashed against his pubic bone with each deep plunge, pubes tickling her nostrils. the musky scent of him was overwhelming her senses. Her throat convulsed around him—spasming, squeezing, and swallowing reflexively—milking his cock like it was trying to pull every drop out of him.

Minwoo watched—frozen, hand still wrapped around his own leaking dick—seeing his brother’s girlfriend’s throat bulge and ripple with the shape of his father’s massive cock. The sight was obscene, impossible, and devastating. Jihyo—perfect, untouchable Jihyo—was being face-fucked like a cheap whore, drool and pre-cum bubbling from her lips, tears streaming, body shuddering with every brutal thrust.

Hongshik’s groans grew louder—rougher—his thighs trembling now, muscles flexing around her head as his balls drew up tight.

“Gonna cum… fuck… gonna fill that pretty mouth… swallow it all, baby… every fucking drop…”

Jihyo moaned—high, muffled, vibrating wildly around his cock—her own pussy clenching hard, dripping fresh slick down her thighs even as her throat was ruthlessly used.

Then Hongshik thrust one last time—deep, hard, burying himself to the hilt—and came.

His cock pulsed violently inside her throat—thick, hot ropes of cum erupting straight down her gullet in powerful jets. Minwoo could see it—the moment it happened. Jihyo’s throat worked visibly—gulping, swallowing, the bulge in her neck pulsing with each thick spurt as she drank him down. She gulped again and again—desperate, greedy swallows—her throat bobbing rapidly, milking every last drop from his twitching cock. Cum overflowed anyway—thick white cream leaking from the corners of her stretched lips, dripping down her chin in messy strings, and splattering onto her swaying tits below.

Hongshik groaned—long, low, and satisfied—hips jerking with each pulse, feeding her more until he finally emptied himself completely.

Only then did he release her.

His thighs loosened, legs falling away from her head. Jihyo pulled off his cock with a wet, obscene pop—gasping, coughing, and panting—thick strands of cum and saliva connecting her swollen lips to the glistening head. She slumped sideways—weak, sweaty, and trembling—collapsing onto the bed beside him, body spread-eagled, completely spent.

Her chest heaved—breasts rising and falling rapidly, nipples still dark red and swollen, glistening with sweat and stray drops of cum. Her toned stomach quivered, abs flexing with each ragged breath. Between her creamy thighs, her pussy lips twitched visibly—puffy, dark pink, still leaking slick in slow, lazy pulses that trailed down her inner thighs and soaked the sheets beneath her ass. Sweat rolled down her body in shining rivulets—across her collarbones, between her breasts, over the soft curve of her stomach—making her skin glow under the bedroom lamp.

She coughed once—wet and hoarse—then panted, huffing for air, flushed from her hairline to her chest. Her long black hair stuck to her sweaty cheeks and neck, framing her wrecked, beautiful face.

She turned her head weakly toward Hongshik, her voice cracked and trembling with awe.

“Appa… that… that was so good…” she whispered, words slurring with exhaustion and bliss. “My orgasm… felt so fucking good… your tongue… your fingers… I squirted so much… and your cum… so thick… so delicious… I drank it all… every drop… I love your cum… love how full it makes me feel…”

She reached out a shaky hand, trailing her fingers along his still-hard cock—still twitching, still leaking the last drops—smiling dazedly, completely broken and completely owned.

Hongshik chuckled—low, dark, satisfied—reaching over to stroke her sweat-damp hair.

“Good girl,” he murmured. “You took it all so well… my perfect little idol cumslut.”

Jihyo whimpered softly—her body twitching again, her pussy lips fluttering—as another small aftershock rippled through her.

Minwoo stood frozen in the doorway—hand still wrapped around his spent cock—watching his brother’s girlfriend lie there, sweaty, weak, coughing and panting, body spread and trembling, praising his father like he was a god.

And in that moment, Minwoo knew—deep in his gut, in the sick twist of jealousy and arousal—that Jihyo was gone.

Minwoo finally peeled himself away from the cracked door, legs shaky and weak, his boxers soaked and sticky with his own shame. The hallway felt colder now, the house quieter, but his ears still rang with the wet, filthy sounds of Jihyo’s choking moans and his father’s low growls. His cock—spent three times already—twitched uselessly in his pants, raw and sensitive, but the ache in his chest was worse. He stumbled back toward his room on numb feet, each step heavy with the weight of what he’d just witnessed.

He didn’t go far.

He left his door open just a sliver—enough to hear, enough to know. He sank onto the edge of his bed, head in his hands, breathing hard. The images wouldn’t leave him: Jihyo’s throat bulging around his father’s thick cock, her tears streaming, her pussy dripping while she swallowed load after load like it was her only purpose. She’d looked so broken, so completely owned. And she’d loved it. Loved every second of being ruined by the old man who’d raised him.

The house settled into an uneasy silence. Minutes dragged—maybe ten, maybe twenty—until he heard movement again.

Soft footsteps. Bare feet on hardwood.

Jihyo emerged from the master bedroom, walking like she’d forgotten how legs worked.

She was trembling—full-body shivers that made her heavy tits jiggle with every unsteady step. Her long black hair was damp and tangled, clinging to her sweat-slicked shoulders and back. She’d clearly tried to clean up in the bathroom: her face was freshly washed, mascara smudges gone, but her skin still glowed with that post-orgasm flush—cheeks pink, chest blotchy red, nipples dark and swollen. Her thighs rubbed together as she walked, slick with her own juices and probably some of his father’s cum that had leaked out after he’d finished in her mouth. Every few steps, her knees buckled slightly, forcing her to grab the wall for support. She looked wrecked—beautifully, thoroughly wrecked—and Minwoo’s spent cock gave one last pathetic twitch at the sight.

She didn’t notice him watching from the dark doorway. She just shuffled toward the guest bathroom down the hall, weak legs shaking, one hand braced on the wall, the other pressed low on her stomach, as she could still feel the stretch of that massive cock inside her.

Minwoo’s throat tightened.

Then—movement from the master bedroom.

Hongshik slipped out quietly, shirt still unbuttoned, cock tucked back into his boxers but still half-hard, the front dark with Jihyo’s spit and his own cum. He glanced down the hallway, saw Jihyo’s shaky retreat toward the bathroom, and let a slow, satisfied smirk curl his lips. He adjusted himself once—casual, possessive—then padded barefoot toward the living room, probably to check if Minwoo was still “asleep” downstairs.

Minwoo stayed frozen in his doorway, heart pounding.

He was sure now—bone-deep certain—that this was only the beginning.

His father wasn’t done with her. Not even close.

And Jihyo—shivering, trembling, barely able to walk—was already ruined for anyone else. She’d come back from that bathroom still flushed, still leaking, and still aching, and she’d crawl right back into that bed. She’d spread her legs for that old cock again. She’d moan his father’s name again. She’d squirt and choke and beg again.

Throughout his entire stay here—at his own childhood home—Minwoo would hear it. See it. Feel it.

Every night.

Every stolen moment.

Every time Jihyo thought no one was watching.

He’d watch.

He’d listen.

And he’d hate himself for how hard it made him.

Because the goddess he loved—the woman he thought was his—had already been claimed.

By his own father.

And she wasn’t coming back.

************************

CHAP 3 OF WHY NOT ME - LINK

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The roar of the crowd still echoed in Jihyo’s ears long after the final encore lights had dimmed. Los Angeles had been electric tonight—fifty thousand ONCEs screaming their names, waving lightsticks in perfect waves of pastel pink and white. The “This Is For” World Tour stop at SoFi Stadium had been one for the history books, another sold-out night in a run that was already shattering records for K-pop girl groups in North America.

Backstage, the usual post-concert chaos reigned. Staff hurried with equipment cases, stylists touched up makeup for final photos, and the members laughed and hugged, adrenaline still pumping. Jihyo, ever the leader, made her rounds—complimenting Nayeon on her ad-libbed high note during “I Can’t Stop Me,” teasing Chaeyoung about the confetti still stuck in her hair, and checking that Mina had iced her ankle properly after all those sharp choreo turns. Her voice was hoarse from singing and hyping the crowd, her shoulders burned from the weight of the harness during the aerial sections, and her legs felt like jelly after hours in heels.

By the time she slipped into a black SUV with tinted windows, Jihyo was running on fumes. She’d changed into a simple oversized hoodie, leggings, and a baseball cap pulled low—her standard “don’t recognize me” disguise for rare moments of freedom in a foreign city. The members were heading back to the hotel for rest and recovery before tomorrow’s flight, but Jihyo had asked for a few extra hours. Management wasn’t thrilled, but after ten years of this life, they knew when their leader needed space.

She met Hye-jin at a quiet Korean café in Koreatown, a late-night spot that stayed open for homesick expats and idols passing through. Hye-jin was an old friend from trainee days who’d moved to the States years ago for university and now worked in entertainment law. They hugged tightly at a corner table, the scent of doenjang jjigae and fresh kimchi wrapping around them like comfort.c923c7

“Unnie, you were incredible tonight,” Hye-jin said, eyes sparkling as she poured Jihyo a glass of barley tea. “I was in the pit—lost my voice screaming for ‘Feel Special.’ The way you hit that belt in the bridge… still gives me chills.”

Jihyo smiled warmly, the kind of genuine, dimpled smile that made fans melt. She leaned back in her chair, stretching her arms overhead with a groan. “Thank you, Hye-jin-ah. It felt good out there. The energy was insane. LA always shows up so hard.” Her voice was a little raspy, that signature powerful tone softened by exhaustion. She took a sip of tea, letting the warmth soothe her throat. “But god… these tours are no joke anymore. Back-to-back shows, time zones, the pressure to make every night perfect. My back is killing me. Shoulders too. I feel like an old lady at 29.”

Hye-jin chuckled, stirring her own drink. She was the type of friend who always had that mischievous glint—sharp-witted, loyal, and a little bolder than Jihyo remembered from their JYP days. “You? Old? Please. You’re out there doing full choreography while carrying the vocal load for nine. The girls rely on you so much. But yeah… I can see it in your posture right now. You’re all knotted up.”

Jihyo nodded, rolling her neck slowly. The café was dimly lit, soft K-indie playing in the background, giving them privacy. “A good massage would fix me right up. Something deep tissue, you know? I’ve been craving that release. The hotel spas are always booked or too public. I just want to melt for an hour without worrying about someone snapping a photo.”

Hye-jin’s lips curved into a smirk. She leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Funny you say that. I know exactly the place. A friend recommended it—super discreet, Korean-owned, caters to high-profile clients who need real relief. Not your basic hotel rubdown. They specialize in full-body work, pressure points, the kind that gets everything flowing again.” She winked. “Trust me, you’ll walk out feeling like a new woman. No schedules, no cameras, just you and skilled hands working out every tight spot.”

Jihyo laughed softly, the sound tired but grateful. “You’re a lifesaver. I’ve been so stressed—mentally too. Leading the group, the solo stuff from Zone still on my mind, keeping morale high on the road… Sometimes I just need to turn my brain off and let someone else take control for a bit.” She sighed, her thoughts drifting to the weight she carried: the trainee years of scolding and doubt, the endless practice, the pride in TWICE’s success, and the quiet loneliness that came with fame.

They chatted more naturally—catching up on Hye-jin’s life in LA, Jihyo sharing funny tour anecdotes like Sana’s endless heart throws to fans or the time Jeongyeon pranked the dressing room. The conversation flowed easily, laced with nostalgia and laughter. Jihyo felt herself relaxing just from the familiar Korean banter, the way Hye-jin teased her about still being the “mom” of the group even across the Pacific.

As they finished their food, Hye-jin pulled out her phone and texted Jihyo an address. “Here. It’s not far from here, about 20 minutes by car. Tell them I sent you—ask for the ‘premium relaxation package.’ They’ll know. Go now while you have the window. You deserve it, unnie.”

Jihyo hugged her friend goodbye, feeling a surge of affection. “Thank you, really. I’ll text you after. Love you.”

The Uber ride through the glittering LA night was quiet. Jihyo stared out the window at passing palm trees and neon signs, her body humming with residual concert energy mixed with deep fatigue. She replayed the show in her head: the powerful opening with “THIS IS FOR,” the emotional swell during ballads, the way the crowd sang back every word. Pride swelled in her chest, but so did the ache in her muscles. A proper massage sounded heavenly—strong hands kneading her calves, her lower back, maybe even her thighs after all that dancing. She imagined the oil, the warmth, the slow release of tension. Her mind wandered innocently at first, then with a faint, guilty flutter of curiosity. What would it feel like to fully surrender?

The driver dropped her off on a quiet side street in a nondescript commercial area. The address led her down a short block, away from the main road. Jihyo adjusted her cap, pulling her hoodie closer. The night air was cool against her flushed skin. She checked the map on her phone again—yes, this was it.

She finally stood in front of the building.

It was a single-story structure tucked between a closed laundromat and a storage facility, unassuming from the outside with a plain beige facade and frosted windows that revealed nothing. A small, elegant sign above the door read “Lotus Serenity Spa” in both English and Korean, with soft ambient lighting glowing faintly from within. No flashy advertisements, no menu posted outside—just a discreet wooden door with a small bell and a security camera. It looked professional enough, yet something about the seclusion and the late hours made her pause. She stared it up and down, taking in the details: the carefully manicured small plants by the entrance, the faint scent of incense or essential oils drifting out when a breeze stirred, the heavy curtains visible through the glass. Her heart beat a little faster—not from fear, exactly, but from that edge of the unknown. Hye-jin had said it was special. Different.

Jihyo took a slow breath, her tired body craving relief, her mind buzzing with the remnants of stage adrenaline and the quiet thrill of doing something just for herself.

Jihyo pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside Lotus Serenity Spa. The air was thick with the warm scent of sandalwood and lavender, a subtle haze of essential oils hanging in the low lighting. Soft instrumental music played from hidden speakers—slow, rhythmic, almost hypnotic.

An American woman sat behind a sleek reception desk, her dark hair pulled into a neat bun. She looked up with professional poise, her eyes widening slightly in recognition. “Ms. Jihyo?” she asked, a questioning tone in her voice.

“Yes,” Jihyo replied in English, offering a small polite smile.

“Ms. Hye-jin booked an appointment for you. Please come this way.” The receptionist stood and gestured down a narrow, dimly lit hallway lined with frosted glass doors. Despite the receptionist’s somewhat accented English, Jihyo understood enough and followed quietly.

They stopped at the last door on the right. The receptionist opened it and motioned for Jihyo to enter. “Enjoy, Ms. Jihyo,” she said with a knowing little smile before gently closing the door behind her, leaving Jihyo alone in the VIP room.

The space had an unusual vibe—relaxing yet undeniably intimate. Warm amber lighting cast soft shadows across dark wood paneling and deep burgundy accents. A large, padded massage table dominated the center, draped in crisp white sheets with a circular face cradle at one end. Thick towels were folded neatly nearby. The walls held shelves of oils and lotions, and a faint mirror on one side reflected the low glow of candles. The air felt heavier here, warmer, with a subtle sensual undertone that made Jihyo’s skin tingle. It was more private than any hotel spa she’d visited.

She walked slowly around the room, trailing her fingers along the edge of the massage table, feeling the smooth vinyl and imagining the relief her aching muscles would soon get. Her shoulders were still tight from the harness, her legs heavy from hours of sharp choreography.

The door opened quietly behind her.

A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click. He had a strong, manly physique—thick arms that strained slightly against his black short-sleeved uniform shirt, a well-groomed mustache and attractive beard framing a chiseled, handsome “Chad” face with confident dark eyes. His presence filled the room.

“Hi, Ms. Jihyo. How are you doing?” he asked, his voice deep and smooth with a slight American accent.

Jihyo turned, offering a slight bow out of habit. “I’m doing great… a little tired,” she replied in her relatively awkward but decent English.

“You’re in the perfect place to relieve all that stress and exhaustion,” the masseuse answered, his tone warm and reassuring. He gave her a professional once-over, noting her posture. “We’ll take good care of you tonight.”

He walked over to a small side table and picked up a small, folded white towel—short and standard for coverage in full-body sessions. He handed it to her with a calm, steady gaze.

“To get the best results from the premium relaxation package, it’s best to work directly on the skin. Please get comfortable and remove your clothes. You can use this towel to cover yourself. Lie face down on the table when you’re ready, and I’ll step out for a moment to give you privacy. Take your time.”

He offered a small, polite nod and turned toward the door, waiting for her confirmation before stepping out.

Jihyo stood alone in the warmly lit VIP room, the soft instrumental music weaving through the air like a gentle caress. Her body still hummed from the concert—muscles tight, skin flushed. She was 29 now, a woman who had grown into her fame with curves that fans obsessed over in candid photos and stage outfits. Her breasts were especially prominent: heavy, massive cups that sat full and rounded but with that natural, slight sag from years of intense performances, gravity, and the realities of an adult woman's body. Online fan discussions and leaked concert photos often highlighted how they strained against her bras and tops, soft yet weighty, with a realistic bounce and subtle droop that made them look all the more sensual and human.

She took a deep breath, heart fluttering with a mix of nervousness and anticipation. The masseuse's instructions echoed in her mind. Best results from working directly on the skin. She peeled off her oversized hoodie first, revealing a simple sports bra that barely contained her heavy tits. Next came the leggings, sliding down her thick, toned thighs—strong from years of choreography but soft in the right places, her ass full and plush. She stood there in just her underwear, the cool air kissing her skin.

Jihyo paused, glancing at the towel. Her hands moved almost instinctively to her breasts, cupping their heavy weight. She squeezed gently, feeling their fullness and the slight natural sag, thumbs brushing over her nipples through the fabric. They were sensitive tonight, already perking up from the adrenaline and the intimate atmosphere. Should I keep the bra and panties on? she wondered, a flush creeping up her neck. It would be safer, more modest. But the ache in her back, shoulders, and legs screamed for full relief. Hye-jin's words rang in her ears: skilled hands working out every tight spot. She wanted to melt completely—no barriers.

"Fuck it," she whispered to herself in Korean, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Just go all out and relax to the fullest."

She reached back, unclasping her bra. Her massive tits spilled free, heavy and swaying with the motion, the slight sag making them hang beautifully as they settled against her chest. She hooked her thumbs into her panties and slid them down, stepping out to leave herself fully naked. Her pussy was neatly trimmed, a soft mound above smooth lips. Grabbing the small white towel, she climbed onto the massage table, lying face down. She adjusted the towel to drape modestly over her round, plump ass, the fabric just barely covering the lower curve while leaving her back, shoulders, and legs exposed. Her heavy breasts pressed softly against the padded table beneath her, squishing outward. She nestled her face into the cradle, exhaling deeply. The position felt vulnerable... and thrilling.

The door clicked open a minute later. The tall, broad-shouldered masseuse returned, his presence commanding yet professional. He didn't comment on her state, simply nodding with quiet approval as he saw her ready. "Good. We'll begin."

He prepared his equipment with calm efficiency—warming a bottle of scented oil between his large hands, arranging extra towels, and dimming the lights just a fraction more. The rich aroma of lavender and sandalwood intensified. Then he approached the table.

He started by pouring a generous stream of warm oil directly onto her upper back. The liquid felt like liquid silk, sliding down her spine in slow rivulets. His strong hands followed immediately, spreading it with firm, masterful strokes. He was exceptionally skilled—thumbs digging into the knots along her spine with perfect pressure, palms gliding in long, sweeping motions from her lower back all the way up to her shoulders. The oil made everything slick and heated, his fingers working deep into the muscle tissue, releasing tension she didn't even know she carried from the harness and endless dancing.

Jihyo let out a soft, involuntary moan as he kneaded her shoulders. The touch was therapeutic yet undeniably sensual—the way his large hands enveloped her, thumbs circling and pressing into tight spots while his fingers brushed the sides of her ribcage, grazing the outer swell of her heavy breasts where they spilled against the table. Heat bloomed under her skin, a delicious mix of deep relaxation and building warmth that pooled lower in her belly. Her massive tits felt heavier, more sensitive as they were compressed, nipples hardening against the sheet.

He moved lower, pouring more oil along her spine and working her lower back with powerful, rhythmic kneads—almost like he was molding her body. His hands ventured to her hips, strong fingers digging into the glutes just beneath the edge of the towel, lifting and separating the plush flesh in ways that made the towel shift teasingly. Her thick thighs received the same treatment: long, gliding strokes from knee to upper thigh, the oil making her skin glisten as his palms pressed firmly, thumbs tracing inner lines that came dangerously close to her core without touching. Every motion was professional precision laced with erotic undertone—the steady pressure, the heat of his body near hers, the occasional low murmur of "Breathe and let go" in his deep voice.

Jihyo's breathing grew heavier, her body melting into the table while a different kind of heat built. She felt relaxed to her bones... and undeniably hot, her pussy tingling with subtle arousal as his hands continued their magic, teasing the boundaries of pure therapy.

The masseuse continued his masterful work on Jihyo’s lower back, his large, oil-slicked hands gliding with expert pressure. Without warning, he boldly hooked his fingers under the small white towel covering her plump ass and set it aside completely, letting it drop to the floor. Her round, full cheeks were now fully exposed—soft yet toned from years of intense dance practice, with that natural jiggle and fullness that fans admired in stage outfits.

Jihyo’s eyes widened in surprise, her body tensing for a split second. “Wait—” she started, but the words dissolved into a low groan as his strong hands immediately cupped and kneaded her ass cheeks with perfect, deep pressure. His thumbs dug into the muscle, spreading her plush flesh apart and then pressing it back together in slow, rhythmic circles. The oil made everything slippery and hot, sending waves of relief mixed with electric pleasure through her core. It felt heavenly—better than any professional massage she’d ever had. The tension from hours of choreography melted under his skilled palms.

Soft, involuntary moans escaped her lips despite her efforts to contain them. “Mmm… ahh…” She bit her lower lip, trying to stay quiet, but another deep knead made her groan louder, her voice raspy and breathy from the concert. The masseuse smirked confidently, clearly enjoying her reactions as he worked her ass with firm, possessive strokes—lifting, squeezing, and rolling the heavy flesh in ways that made her hips subtly push back against his hands.

Then, without pausing, one of his hands slid boldly between her thighs. His slick fingers found her pussy, cupping the soft, warm mound before beginning to massage it with the same professional prowess—slow, circular rubs that pressed against her outer lips, then gently parted them to stroke the sensitive inner folds. The warm oil mixed with her growing wetness made the glide smooth and intoxicating.

Jihyo’s body reacted instantly and intensely. Her pussy compressed and tightened around the intrusion of his fingers, clenching rhythmically as heat flooded through her core. A fresh rush of slick arousal coated his hand as her body betrayed her surprise. “W-wait… that’s too much…” she protested softly in her awkward but decent English, her voice laced with moans. “Ahh… you… you shouldn’t…” But the words came out weak and trembling, more like encouragement than refusal as another wave of pleasure hit her.

Her hands clenched into fists on the sides of the table, knuckles turning white. Her toes curled tightly, feet flexing as the sensations shot up her legs. Her breathing grew ragged and heavier—short gasps mixed with longer, shuddering exhales that fogged the face cradle. Her heavy, massive tits (DD-cups with that natural slight sag) pressed harder against the table as her back arched slightly, nipples stiff and aching from the friction. Her thick thighs trembled, instinctively parting a little wider despite her soft protests, allowing his skilled fingers better access. The combination of deep therapeutic pressure and direct stimulation on her clit and folds left her mind hazy, torn between the professional relaxation she came for and the building erotic heat that made her pussy throb and leak.

The masseuse leaned in closer, his deep voice calm and reassuring while his fingers never stopped their expert massage—stroking, circling, and pressing her swollen clit with masterful rhythm. “Just relax and go with the flow, Ms. Jihyo. This is part of the premium package. Let my hands take care of everything… you’re so tight here. Breathe and enjoy it.”

Jihyo moaned again, louder this time, her body surrendering even as her mind spun.

The masseuse slowly withdrew his hand from between her thighs, leaving her pussy throbbing and slick with a mix of warm oil and her own arousal. Jihyo let out a shaky, disappointed whimper at the sudden absence, her hips twitching once before settling. He remained composed, his strong hands returning to her plump, oil-glistened ass cheeks. He kneaded them deeply once more—firm, professional strokes that still sent sparks of pleasure radiating through her core—before gliding upward along her spine in long, sweeping motions. His palms pressed firmly into her lower back, then mid-back, working out the lingering knots from the concert harness with expert precision. Each pass of his large, heated hands made her melt deeper into the table, her heavy breasts squishing sensually beneath her.

“Time to flip over, Ms. Jihyo,” he said in that deep, smooth American accent, his voice calm and professional. “Let’s take care of the front.”

Jihyo’s mind was already hazy, her body buzzing with unfulfilled heat. She nodded weakly and turned over onto her back, her movements slow and languid. As she settled, her tits—full, heavy, and naturally a bit saggy from their generous weight—settled heavily against her chest, spreading slightly outward with that soft, realistic bounce. Her nipples were stiff peaks, dark and sensitive, begging for attention. She looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. That tall, broad-shouldered Western “Chad” look—chiseled jaw, well-groomed beard and mustache, confident dark eyes—made her pussy clench visibly. A fresh rush of wetness leaked from her as pure lust hit her harder. God, he’s so fucking hot… she thought, biting her lip.

The masseuse kept his expression professional, though his gaze did linger appreciatively for a brief moment on her magnificent, exposed body. He poured more warm oil onto his palms and started at her lower abdomen. His large hands spread the slick oil in slow, firm circles across her soft stomach, thumbs pressing gently along her sides, working the muscles there with perfect pressure. The heat from his touch radiated inward, making her belly flutter.

He gradually worked upward, his palms gliding just beneath the heavy undersides of her tits. He lifted and kneaded the soft, weighty flesh from below—cupping the natural sag and gently rolling it upward in slow, deliberate motions that made her breasts jiggle and sway erotically. The sides of her massive tits received the same treatment: his strong fingers stroking and pressing into the outer curves, thumbs tracing the sensitive line where breast met ribcage. Every touch sent jolts of pleasure straight to her core. Her pussy throbbed rhythmically, clenching around nothing as her arousal dripped slowly down onto the sheet.

Jihyo’s breathing grew heavier, her chest rising and falling as her heavy tits moved with each breath. Soft, breathy moans escaped her despite her efforts to stay quiet—“Mmm… ahh…”—each one raspier than the last. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, trying to ease the aching emptiness between them, but it only heightened the sensitivity of her swollen clit. Her hands gripped the edges of the table, toes curling again as waves of heat washed over her. The contrast between his perfectly professional technique and the intimate, erotic way her body was responding left her dizzy with desire. Her nipples ached, painfully hard, and every time his fingers came close without quite touching them, she felt a fresh pulse of need deep in her dripping pussy.

He continued upward to her shoulders, his strong hands working the tension there while his forearms occasionally brushed against the outer swells of her breasts, sending sparks through her. The air felt thicker, hotter. Jihyo was lost in the sensation—relaxed yet burning, her body a live wire of anticipation.

The masseuse’s hands lingered on Jihyo’s shoulders for a few more moments, his strong thumbs working deep circles into the tense muscles while his forearms brushed teasingly against the heavy outer curves of her breasts. Jihyo’s breathing was already ragged, her massive tits rising and falling with each exhale, the soft natural sag making them spread invitingly across her chest. Her dark nipples stood painfully erect, aching for attention, flushed a deep pink from the building heat flooding her body.

He finally gave in to the inevitable. With a low, appreciative hum, the masseuse poured a fresh stream of warm oil directly over the tops of her heavy breasts. The slick liquid cascaded down their full, rounded slopes, tracing glistening paths over the soft, slightly drooping undersides before pooling in the valley between them. His large, powerful hands followed immediately, cupping her magnificent tits fully for the first time.

“Oh… fuck…” Jihyo gasped in a breathy mix of English and Korean, her back arching instinctively off the table as his palms enveloped her. His fingers sank deeply into the plush, heavy flesh—kneading, lifting, and squeezing with expert pressure that was somehow both therapeutic and devastatingly erotic. He lifted the weighty orbs, feeling their natural sag and fullness, then let them settle heavily back into his grasp, rolling them slowly in circles. The oil made every motion slippery and obscene, her tits jiggling and bouncing softly with each deliberate stroke.

His thumbs swept upward, teasing the sensitive undersides before circling her stiff nipples without quite touching them yet. Jihyo’s pussy clenched hard at the sensation, a fresh gush of wetness leaking from her swollen lips onto the sheet beneath her ass. Her toes curled tightly, fingers gripping the edges of the massage table as waves of pleasure radiated from her chest straight down to her dripping core.

The masseuse smirked faintly, his chiseled, bearded face hovering above her as he focused on her nipples. He caught each hard peak between his thumbs and forefingers, pinching lightly at first—gentle tugs that made her whimper—then rolling them slowly. He flicked the left nipple with a quick snap of his finger, then the right, alternating in rhythm while continuing to knead the heavy, oily flesh of her breasts. Each pinch and flick sent electric jolts through her body. Her massive tits quivered in his hands, the soft sag making them sway heavily as he manipulated them.

“Mmm-ahh! Yes… there…” Jihyo moaned louder, no longer trying to hold back. Her voice was hoarse and raspy from the concert, but the sounds coming out of her now were pure lust. Her heavy breasts felt hypersensitive, every squeeze making her pussy throb in time. She could feel how wet she was—her inner thighs slick, her clit swollen and pulsing with need.

After several long, indulgent minutes of worshipping her tits, the masseuse’s hands began to glide downward. He poured more oil over her lower belly and thick, toned thighs. His palms smoothed down her sides, then onto her powerful legs, kneading the muscles with the same masterful pressure. Jihyo’s thighs parted almost instinctively as he worked, but he helped them along—his strong hands gripping her inner thighs and slowly spreading her legs wider, exposing her glistening, needy pussy completely.

The cool air of the room kissed her soaked folds as he opened her up. He massaged higher and higher up her inner thighs, his thumbs pressing firmly into the soft, sensitive flesh just inches from her dripping entrance. Every stroke brought his hands closer, brushing teasingly against her outer lips before pulling away again, building unbearable anticipation. Jihyo’s hips rolled upward subtly, chasing his touch, her heavy tits jiggling with the motion, nipples still glistening with oil and standing obscenely hard.

While his hands were busy between her spread thighs, Jihyo’s hazy mind and burning desire pushed her to act. Her right hand released the table edge and reached out blindly toward him. Her fingers found his waist, then slid lower, boldly cupping the massive, rock-hard bulge straining against his black uniform pants.

She gasped at the size of it—thick, throbbing, and impressively long even through the fabric. Her hand squeezed gently, stroking the outline with curious, needy fingers. “So… big…” she whispered in awkward, aroused English, her eyes half-lidded as she looked up at his handsome Western face. Feeling his hardness made her pussy clench visibly, a fresh trickle of arousal dripping down between her spread cheeks. Her hand continued exploring, tracing the length of his cock through his pants, feeling it twitch and throb under her touch.

The masseuse let out a low, deep groan, his professional facade cracking slightly as her hand worked him. But he didn’t stop the massage. Instead, he rewarded her boldness by finally sliding his right hand fully between her spread thighs. Two thick fingers glided along her slick pussy lips, parting them slowly while his thumb found her swollen clit and began rubbing firm, perfect circles.

Jihyo cried out, her back arching sharply. Her massive tits bounced heavily with the motion, nipples pointing toward the ceiling. “Ahhh! Yes… oh god…” Her hand tightened around his clothed cock, stroking faster as pleasure overwhelmed her. His fingers on her pussy were masterful—spreading her wetness everywhere, teasing her entrance without pushing inside yet, while his thumb kept perfect pressure on her clit. The dual sensation of her hand on his huge erection and his skilled fingers between her legs left her mind blank with lust.

He continued kneading her left breast with his free hand, pinching and flicking the nipple in time with the strokes on her clit. Her body was a live wire: heavy tits heaving, thick thighs trembling and spread wide, pussy dripping and clenching rhythmically around nothing, toes curled so tight they hurt. Sweat and oil mixed on her glowing skin. Every breath came out as a moan or whimper. The scent of lavender, sandalwood, and her own arousal filled the warm room.

The masseuse leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, “You’re so fucking wet, Ms. Jihyo… Your pussy is gripping at my fingers. These perfect heavy tits… so soft and full in my hands.” He emphasized his words by squeezing her right breast harder, rolling the nipple between his fingers until she moaned loudly. His other hand kept working her soaked cunt—sliding his fingers up and down her slit, occasionally pressing just the tip of one finger against her tight entrance before pulling back, teasing mercilessly.

Jihyo’s hand rubbed him more desperately through his pants, feeling the heat and thickness of his cock. She wanted it. Needed it. Her hips bucked against his hand, chasing more friction as her massive, oiled tits jiggled with every movement. The slight natural sag made them look even more erotic as they moved—full, womanly, bouncing heavily under his relentless kneading and pinching.

Time seemed to stretch. He kept the exquisite torture going: massaging her breasts, teasing her nipples with pinches, flicks, and rolls, while his other hand worked her spread thighs and dripping pussy with expert, erotic precision. Jihyo was lost in a haze of pleasure, moaning openly, her body trembling on the edge of release but not quite there yet. Her hand never left his throbbing bulge, stroking and squeezing as if promising what she wanted next.

The room was filled with the wet sounds of his oiled hands on her body, her breathy moans, and the occasional low growl from deep in his chest. Jihyo’s pussy was soaked, her clit throbbing under his thumb, her heavy tits aching deliciously from his constant attention. She was completely surrendered to the sensations, body glistening, legs spread wide, one hand shamelessly feeling his hard cock while he pushed her closer and closer to the brink.

The masseuse kept teasing her relentlessly—thick fingers gliding through her soaked folds, thumb circling her swollen clit with perfect pressure, while his other hand kneaded and pinched her heavy, oil-slicked tits. Jihyo was trembling on the edge, her massive cups heaving, pussy dripping, mind hazy with desperate need.

She couldn’t hold back anymore.

With a shaky, determined breath, Jihyo pushed herself up from the massage table. Her oiled, glistening body moved with surprising urgency. She swung her thick thighs over the side, heavy tits swaying and bouncing heavily with the motion, nipples stiff and aching. Her bare feet touched the warm floor as she slid off completely, leaving the table behind. The cool air kissed her soaked pussy and flushed skin as she turned to face him fully.

Without hesitation, Jihyo dropped to her knees right there in front of him. The movement was smooth yet eager—her plump ass settling back on her heels, thick thighs pressing together, massive breasts hanging forward with that natural, sensual sag as she looked up at him. Her face was now level with his newly freed cock, flushed and throbbing heavily just inches from her lips. The position made her feel exposed, submissive, and incredibly turned on—kneeling naked on the floor of the private spa room, oil and her own arousal still slick between her legs.

Jihyo stared at his thick, veined cock with hungry eyes. She reached out aggressively with both hands, wrapping her fingers tightly around the impressive girth. Her small hands barely closed around it. She gave it a firm, possessive squeeze, stroking slowly from base to swollen head as she leaned in.

“Fuck… so big…” she whispered hoarsely.

She pressed her nose against the warm, musky shaft and inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as she savored his raw masculine scent. The smell made her pussy clench hard, another trickle of wetness running down her inner thigh. She nuzzled her cheek and lips along the length, kissing the thick vein underneath, before finally opening her mouth.

Jihyo dragged her warm, wet tongue slowly up the underside from base to tip, then swirled it around the glistening head, tasting the salty precum. With a needy moan, she parted her full lips and took him into her mouth, sucking the first few thick inches with wet, eager sounds. Her heavy tits rested against his thighs as she bobbed her head, using both hands to stroke what she couldn’t swallow yet. Saliva quickly dripped down her chin and onto her swaying breasts as she worked him harder, hollowing her cheeks and moaning vibrantly around his cock.

The masseuse groaned deeply, one hand resting on the back of her head as she worshipped him on her knees

The masseuse kept his strong grip in her hair after pulling his cock from her messy mouth. Jihyo was still gasping, lips swollen and shiny with thick strands of saliva, when he suddenly tightened his fist—grabbing a thick handful of her hair close to the scalp with dominant authority.

“Up,” he commanded in his deep voice.

Jihyo let out a sharp, surprised moan as he pulled her firmly to her feet. She wasn’t used to this. Jihyo was TWICE’s leader—confident, in control, the one who directed everything and everyone. She had never been the type to submit so easily. But tonight, in this private room, something was different. The exhaustion from the concert, the oil on her skin, the overwhelming arousal, and his commanding presence had completely melted her resistance. A thrill she rarely allowed herself ran through her body as he took control.

He didn’t give her time to think. Still fisting her hair, he spun her around and pushed her forward toward the massage table. Jihyo’s heavy tits swayed pendulously as she stumbled the few steps. He bent her over the padded table with firm pressure, pressing her upper body down until her soft, massive cups squished hard against the sheet. Her cheek rested against the warm surface, ass pushed up and presented to him.

Jihyo’s breath hitched. Then, willingly—almost greedily—she spread her legs. She shifted her thick, toned thighs wider apart, planting her feet firmly on the floor and arching her back to offer her soaked pussy. The movement made her plump ass cheeks spread naturally, exposing her dripping wet folds completely. Her pussy glistened obscenely, clit swollen, inner thighs shiny with her arousal.

She twisted her head to the side, looking back at him over her shoulder. Her face was flushed, eyes hazy with lust, strands of hair stuck to her sweaty forehead and tear-streaked cheeks. The strong, responsible leader was gone. In her place was a woman who desperately needed to be fucked.

“Please…” she whispered hoarsely in that raspy post-concert voice, pushing her ass back toward him. “I want it…”

The masseuse smirked, his chiseled bearded face dark with desire. He kept one hand fisted tightly in her hair, holding her head in place so she stayed looking back at him. With his free hand, he gripped his thick, spit-slicked cock and rubbed the fat head up and down her slippery pussy lips, teasing her entrance and coating himself in her wetness.

Then he pushed in.

Jihyo’s mouth fell open in a loud, broken moan as he stretched her open. Inch after thick inch sank into her tight, dripping cunt, filling her completely. Her walls clenched hard around his girth, fluttering and squeezing as he buried himself to the hilt. The sudden fullness made her toes curl and her thick thighs tremble.

“Fuck—! So deep…” she gasped, eyes rolling slightly.

He didn’t wait. Still gripping her hair possessively, he started fucking her with deep, powerful strokes—pulling back until just the head remained inside, then slamming forward again. The wet, rhythmic sound of his hips slapping against her plump ass filled the room. Her heavy tits squished and dragged against the table with every thrust, nipples scraping pleasurably against the sheet.

Jihyo moaned shamelessly, pushing back to meet his thrusts, her ass rippling with each impact. She kept her head twisted to look at him, eyes locked on his dominant gaze as he claimed her from behind.

The masseuse kept his fist tightly wrapped in Jihyo’s hair, yanking her head back slightly as he slammed into her from behind with long, powerful strokes. The wet slap-slap-slap of his hips against her plump ass echoed through the room, her thick cheeks rippling with every impact.

Jihyo moaned loudly, her usual confident persona shattered. She pushed her ass back harder to meet his thrusts, pussy clenching greedily around his thick cock. “Ahh—fuck… yes!”

He suddenly pulled her hair harder, using it like a rein to yank her upper body off the table. At the same time, he hooked one strong arm under her left thigh and lifted it high, spreading her wide while still buried deep inside her. Jihyo’s foot left the floor as he shifted them both into a standing doggy position — her bent forward over the table, one leg raised and held open, giving him an even deeper angle.

The new position made his cock hit spots that made her see stars. He immediately started pounding her mercilessly — harder, faster, more aggressive. His hips slapped loudly against her ass as he drove into her dripping cunt with brutal force.

SMACK!

His free hand came down hard on her plump right ass cheek, leaving a red handprint. Jihyo cried out in pleasure, her walls fluttering wildly around him.

SMACK! SMACK!

Two more firm spanks landed as he railed her, his grip on her hair keeping her head pulled back so she stayed arched for him.

“Fuck—! Too deep… I’m—ahhh!” Jihyo’s voice cracked, raspy and broken. Her massive tits swung heavily beneath her with every violent thrust, the natural sag making them bounce and slap together obscenely.

He reached around with his free hand and grabbed one of her heavy swinging breasts roughly. His large palm squeezed the soft, oily flesh hard, fingers sinking deep into the weighty mound. He slapped the side of her tit, making it jiggle wildly, then pinched and tugged her stiff nipple while continuing to pound her soaked pussy.

“These fat fucking tits,” he groaned, slapping the other breast as well. “So heavy and soft… perfect for a good fucking.” He kneaded them aggressively, switching between rough groping, slapping, and pinching her sensitive nipples as he railed her standing up with one leg held high.

Jihyo was completely lost. Her thick thigh trembled in his grip, pussy gushing around his pistoning cock. She had zero control — just taking his dominant pounding, hair pulled tight, ass spanked red, massive tits being mauled and slapped while he stretched her deep. The contrast with her normal strong-leader self only turned her on more. Her moans grew louder and more desperate, eyes half-rolled back as she took everything he gave her.

The masseuse stood tall beside the table, his muscular body glistening with a light sheen of sweat and oil. He kicked off his shoes, then shoved his pants and underwear the rest of the way down his strong legs, stepping out of them completely. His massive cock stood proudly erect — thick, veined, and still slick from Jihyo’s saliva and her pussy juices. His heavy balls hung below, and his chiseled abs and broad chest were fully exposed now. He looked every bit the dominant, masculine figure as he climbed onto the large massage table, lying on his back in the center. The padded surface creaked under his weight.

Jihyo watched him with heavy-lidded, lust-drunk eyes. Her massive breasts rose and fell rapidly with her breathing, nipples still red and shiny from his sucking. She pushed herself up, swung her thick thighs over, and climbed onto the table after him. She straddled his waist eagerly, her plump ass hovering above his throbbing cock as she looked down at him.

She was completely in love with his massive cock.

Jihyo reached down with both hands, wrapping her fingers around the thick shaft and stroking it reverently. “So fucking big… so perfect,” she whispered hoarsely in that raspy, post-concert voice. She lifted herself higher on her knees, positioned the fat, swollen head right against her dripping entrance, and slowly sank down.

Her pussy lips stretched obscenely around his girth. The thick head pushed her soft, puffy folds apart, spreading her wide as she lowered herself inch by inch. Jihyo’s mouth fell open in a long, shuddering moan. “Ahhh… fuck… it’s splitting me open…” The sensation was intense — a delicious burning stretch as her tight walls yielded to his thickness. She felt every vein, every ridge dragging along her inner walls as she took him deeper. Her juices coated him generously, making the slide smoother but still incredibly tight.

The masseuse groaned deeply, feeling her scorching hot pussy envelop him. Her walls fluttered and clenched rhythmically around his cock, gripping him like a velvet vice. The heat, the wetness, the way her pussy kept pulsing and sucking him in deeper made his balls tighten. “Shit… you’re so fucking tight and wet,” he growled, his hands gripping her thick hips.

Jihyo kept sinking until her plump ass finally rested against his thighs — his entire massive length buried inside her. She paused there, eyes rolled back slightly, savoring the full, stuffed feeling. Her heavy tits hung forward, swaying with her trembling breaths. Then she began to ride.

She started with slow, deep rolls of her hips, grinding her clit against his pelvis while his cock stirred deep inside her. Her pussy made wet, squelching sounds with every movement. She leaned forward, planting her hands on his chest for leverage, and started bouncing. Her massive, slightly saggy tits bounced heavily in his face — soft, heavy, and hypnotic.

“God… I love this cock,” Jihyo moaned shamelessly, completely lost in pleasure. She rode him harder, her thick ass slapping down against his thighs with every drop. The feeling of her pussy being stretched so wide, filled so completely, made her mind hazy. Every time she bottomed out, the head of his cock pressed firmly against her cervix, sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure through her core.

Then she shifted into a full squat cowgirl. Jihyo planted her feet flat on the table on either side of his hips, squatting low over him. Her thick, powerful thighs flexed beautifully as she used her leg strength to ride him aggressively. She bounced up and down with deep, rapid strokes — her plump ass rippling each time she slammed down, taking every inch of his massive cock.

The new position made her pussy spread even wider. The masseuse could see everything: her stretched lips gripping his thick shaft on every upstroke, creamy juices coating his cock and dripping down his balls. He groaned loudly, hands gripping her ass cheeks and spreading them as she fucked herself on him.

Jihyo was addicted. Her head tilted back, moans growing louder and more broken. “It’s so deep… filling me so much… I can’t get enough…” Every squat drove him balls-deep, her pussy clenching and fluttering wildly around his throbbing length. The masseuse felt her walls massage him perfectly — hot, silky, and incredibly tight — while her heavy tits bounced wildly above him.

The masseuse gripped Jihyo’s thick hips tighter, his fingers digging deep into her soft flesh as she squatted and bounced on his massive cock. Her powerful thighs flexed with every aggressive drop, her plump ass rippling loudly against his pelvis, wet squelching sounds filling the room as her soaked pussy swallowed him balls-deep over and over.

“Fuck yes—ride that dick, you horny little Korean star,” he growled, voice low and rough. “Big artist back home but here you’re just a dripping slut for American cock, huh?”

Jihyo’s face flushed deeper, half-lidded eyes rolling as she moaned brokenly. “Ahh—! Too big… neomu kip-eo… mmmph!” Her English came out shaky and limited. “You… so deep inside me… ahh!” She tried to keep riding hard, but her legs started trembling from the intense stretch and the building orgasm.

He suddenly bucked up hard, meeting her downward slam with a brutal thrust that made her heavy tits bounce wildly. “That’s right. Keep bouncing those fat tits in my face.” He slapped the side of one swinging breast hard, then the other, watching them jiggle with that natural sag. Jihyo cried out in pleasure, a mix of English and Korean spilling out: “Ahh! Yes—! More… please…!”

Without warning, he sat up, wrapped both strong arms around her waist, and flipped them. Jihyo yelped as her back hit the padded table, the masseuse now on top in full missionary. He hooked her thick legs over his broad shoulders, folding her almost in half, and drove back inside her with one savage thrust.

“Fuck—! So deep!” Jihyo gasped, her raspy voice cracking. Her huge cups squished between them, nipples rubbing against his hard chest as he pounded her mercilessly. The new angle let him slam even deeper, his heavy balls slapping against her ass with every aggressive stroke.

“Yeah? You like that, celebrity pussy?” he taunted, sweat dripping from his beard as he railed her. “All that stage dancing and you still this tight? Gonna wreck you.” He pinned her wrists above her head with one large hand and used the other to roughly grope and slap her bouncing tits while hammering into her soaked cunt.

Jihyo’s body shook under the assault. “A-ahh! Strong… too strong—! Nae mom-i… ahhh!” Her Korean moans mixed with broken English as her pussy clenched and gushed around him. She was completely overpowered now, dominated, her thick thighs quivering beside her head as he folded and fucked her senseless.

He leaned down, biting and sucking on her neck and tits, leaving marks while his hips never slowed—long, punishing strokes that made the table creak. “Cum on this cock like a good girl. Let me feel that famous Korean pussy squeeze me.”

Jihyo’s eyes rolled back, body arching as the orgasm crashed over her hard. She came with a loud, hoarse cry, walls pulsing wildly around his thick shaft.

But he didn’t stop. He kept pounding through her climax, turning wilder—pulling out suddenly only to flip her onto all fours and mount her again from behind, yanking her hair like reins as he railed her even harder, ass rippling with each impact, tits swinging heavily beneath her.

The masseuse kept pounding Jihyo through her shattering orgasm, her pussy spasming wildly around his thick cock, but he wasn’t done. With a deep growl, he suddenly pulled out, leaving her gaping and clenching around nothing. A thick string of her creamy juices stretched from her swollen pussy to his glistening shaft.

“On your knees. Clean your mess off my cock, you filthy celebrity slut,” he commanded, voice rough with lust.

Jihyo, still trembling and breathless, slid off the table on shaky legs. Her massive DD-cups swayed heavily with that natural sag as she dropped to her knees obediently. “Y-yes… I clean…” she whispered in broken English, face flushed with shame and arousal. She wrapped both small hands around his massive, vein-ridged cock—still slick with her own cum—and leaned in. Her full lips parted, and she dragged her warm tongue slowly from base to tip, tasting herself mixed with his musk. “Mmm… ahh… neomu jjaritan…” she moaned in Korean as she licked every inch clean, sucking her juices off his heavy balls before swallowing the head again with wet, sloppy sounds.

He didn’t let her stay gentle for long. Grabbing a thick fistful of her hair, he forced more of his cock into her mouth. “Deeper. Suck it like you mean it.” Jihyo gagged as he pushed past her tongue, her eyes watering while she hollowed her cheeks and bobbed messily. Saliva dripped down her chin onto her oily, heaving tits. He started face-fucking her with controlled aggression—hips thrusting forward, using her mouth like a toy while she moaned and slurped around him.

After several deep thrusts that made her throat bulge, he yanked her up by the hair. “Enough. Face down on the table.”

He spun her around and shoved her forward. Jihyo’s heavy breasts squished hard against the padded surface as she lay flat in prone bone position, thick thighs pressed together, plump ass slightly raised. He climbed on top, his muscular body pinning her completely. His weight pressed her down deliciously as he lined up and slammed back into her soaked pussy in one brutal thrust.

“Ahhh—! Kip-eo! Too deep—!” Jihyo cried out, voice raspy and broken. Her body was trapped under him, completely helpless as he started pounding with long, powerful strokes. Each thrust made her ass ripple and her tits drag against the sheet. He wrapped one strong hand around her throat from behind, applying light pressure that made her head spin with submissive pleasure.

“Take this dick, big star. All that power on stage and you’re just getting pinned and fucked like a whore in my spa,” he taunted, hips snapping harder. His heavy balls slapped against her clit with every deep plunge. Jihyo’s moans turned into desperate, muffled Korean whimpers—“Eung… ahh! Joah… more…!”—as her pussy clenched rhythmically around him. The position was overwhelming; she could barely move, only feel every thick inch stretching and claiming her.

After several minutes of merciless prone bone, he pulled out again, flipped her onto her back, and straddled her chest. “Time to use these fat fucking tits.”

Jihyo looked up at him with hazy, lust-drunk eyes as he poured more warm oil over her heavy breasts, making them glisten obscenely. He pressed his throbbing cock between the soft, pillowy mounds and squeezed them together around his shaft with both hands. The natural slight sag made them envelop him perfectly—warm, heavy, and yielding.

He started thrusting aggressively, titfucking her with deep, sloppy strokes. The head of his cock punched up toward her face with every forward motion, smearing precum on her lips and chin. Jihyo obediently stuck out her tongue, licking and sucking the swollen tip whenever it reached her mouth. “So big… my tits… for you…” she gasped between licks, her hands pressing her own breasts tighter around him. The sight of her massive, oiled DD-cups being fucked hard—jiggling and rippling with every thrust—drove him wild. He slapped the sides of her tits repeatedly, watching them bounce and turn red while she moaned and drooled.

The full domination finale began when he grabbed a nearby towel and quickly tied her wrists together loosely above her head, securing them to the top of the massage table. “You’re mine now. No escaping this cock.”

Jihyo tested the light restraint, tugging weakly, her body trembling with fresh arousal at being fully bound and helpless. He used her relentlessly—flipping her into every position imaginable. He fucked her in missionary with her tied wrists pinned down, legs over his shoulders, pounding so deep her belly bulged slightly. Then back to doggy, yanking her bound arms back like reins while spanking her plump ass bright red. He made her squat and ride him again, but this time with his hand around her throat, choking her lightly as she bounced desperately on his massive length, tits flopping wildly.

Every movement was emphasized in raw detail: the wet squelch of her dripping pussy stretching around him, the heavy slap of her ass against his thighs, the way her saggy yet full tits bounced and swayed with every brutal thrust, nipples stiff and hypersensitive. He bit, sucked, slapped, and groped them constantly while talking dirty. “This is what you needed after your big concert, huh? Getting dominated and stretched by real cock.”

Jihyo was a complete mess—sweat, oil, and tears mixing on her flushed skin, hoarse voice cracking between English pleas and Korean moans: “Please… more…! Fuck me harder—! Ahh! Nae pussy… breaking…!” Her body shook through multiple orgasms, pussy gushing around him as she lost all control.

Finally, he untied her wrists, flipped her back into a deep mating press—her thick thighs folded all the way to her shoulders, ass up, pussy completely exposed and presented. He railed her with savage, jackhammer strokes, the table creaking violently under them. His heavy balls tightened as he felt his own climax building.

“Gonna fill this famous Korean pussy up,” he growled, beard brushing her ear. “Take every drop.”

Jihyo could only nod frantically, eyes rolled back. “Yes—! Inside… cum inside me… please!”

With a deep, animalistic roar, he buried himself to the hilt and exploded. Massive, thick ropes of hot cum flooded her womb in powerful spurts—pulse after pulse, more than she could handle. Her belly slightly swelled from the sheer volume as it overflowed, creamy white seed leaking out around his cock and dripping down her ass. Jihyo screamed in ecstasy, her final orgasm crashing through her as she felt him pumping her full.

They collapsed together, bodies slick and heaving, his cock still twitching inside her as the last spurts filled her.

After several long minutes of heavy breathing, the masseuse slowly pulled out, a huge gush of his cum pouring from Jihyo’s abused, gaping pussy onto the sheets. He gently untied the last remnants of the towel and helped her sit up, his touch turning surprisingly professional again as he wiped her down with warm towels and offered her water.

Jihyo’s legs were jelly. She could barely stand, her body covered in marks, oil, sweat, and cum. Her mind was blissfully blank—the deep exhaustion from the concert finally replaced by total, euphoric release. She dressed slowly in her simple hoodie and leggings, wincing with every movement but smiling faintly.

The masseuse walked her to the door with a respectful nod. “You were incredible, Ms. Jihyo. Come back anytime you need… real relief.”

She bowed slightly, voice still hoarse. “Thank you… I feel… new.”

Outside, the cool LA night air hit her flushed skin as she called another discreet Uber. Sitting carefully in the back seat, she felt the warm leak of his massive creampie soaking her panties, a secret reminder of how thoroughly she had surrendered. For the first time in years, her body and mind were completely relaxed—no leader responsibilities, no pressure, just raw satisfaction.

She gets rid of the quilt and turns to you, her eyes sparkle with need. You bend her over the railing and spread her legs a little further. Her lower body sticks itself further back, pussy already glistening in anticipation. You can’t wait any longer, desperately wanting to be back in her body just as you’ve been for most of the day, so you position your cock by her pussy and gently thrust it in.

She lets out a satisfied sigh when you’re inside her once again, her body tight but gradually opening up to you. A perfect match for you, you’re glad you didn’t let this gem slip away. Thankfully , she needs you as much as you need her, forming this wicked, dark relationship.

You work your hips harder, your cock hitting the depths of her body. An instant reaction, a loud cry for all still lingering by the pool to hear, and you continuously draw her moans out with deeper harder thrusts. You hold her ass instead of her waist and take a few squeezes, enjoying the feel of her flesh. 

Tzuyu is so engrossed in the dirty fucking, barely able to remember that you’re in a very public position. Her eyes blurry, scanning the poolside and hoping no one looks up. Even with her unobstructed cries, you both go unnoticed, that is until you begin to slap her ass.

Not hard enough to inflict too much pain or leave a handprint, but just nice that the spank adds to your noise. It catches Tzuyu off guard and you feel her get wetter and tighter after such an unusually loud moan. You sense her fear soon after, her arm held across her chest and her mouth trying to seal shut and not make any noise. 

“What’s the matter, princess? Don’t you want to show off how sinful you are?”

You peel her arm away and tug her body so that it’s upright and flushed with yours. Gently cupping her tits, she’s now leaning back against you, hips rocking back to meet yours, eyes shut as she quietly moans and enjoys the fuck. 

“I think there are people watching.”

“Oh?” You’re not fazed, still continuing to fuck her, even planting more kisses on her cheek before you look down. “Let’s go princess.”

In an instant, you pull out of her and pull her back into the room and onto the messy bed. She falls next to you and you both look at each other before bursting into giggles. A lovely different symphony, an anomaly from the usual sounds of pleasure from Tzuyu. She’s staring into your eyes and you’re sweeping stray strands of hair off her face. You lean over her and kiss her forehead, then her cheeks. A warmth washes over both of you, you sense her melting deeper into the bed while your strength begins to fade.

Her eyes, they’re so pretty. You’ve tainted this princess already, ruined her for an entire afternoon, but you see her, for the stunning woman she is at her core, and you lose more control. You’re falling, moving lower, and you’re kissing her, softly. She’s soft too, jelly, and you feel her lips press back against yours. 

Mere seconds later, what felt like eternity, you’re right back to watching her, watching her eyes sparkle, her pretty face shine as she smiles oh so beautifully.  

You fall even further, this time with her aid. Her palm rests on your cheeks, her chin tilts up just a little to close the gap, and she guides you back onto her lips. A gentle kiss, her mouth parts so slightly to sigh into yours. You smile when your forehead touches hers and you hold her head and kiss her again. 

“I want you,” her eyes pleading, her voice almost cracking, so vulnerable, “make love to me.”

“Anything for you princess.”

You’re kneeling between her legs but you nudge it a little wider. The hand on her cheek shifts onto her chest, briefly going over her breast, the slight pressure causes a gasp, until you’re holding her waist. Your tip presses against her wet entrance and you glance back at her. She is an utter mess as you insert yourself inside her body, her walls tightening around you. Perfect, you’re like the missing piece of a puzzle in her life, as wrong as it all is, but she doesn’t care, not in this moment, maybe not ever from here on out. 

You take slow and deep thrusts, filling her completely, ensuring she feels every bit of you. She’s melting into the bed, surrendering, giving herself up to you, all thoughts gone except how much she needs you. A whole afternoon later and she still can’t get enough of you. She’s so wet and tight, her legs wrap your waist, as if she doesn’t ever want to let you go. 

But it only drives you to go faster. You’re losing control of yourself too, having never seen her this pleasure stricken before. It’s all you. Her face in pure ecstasy is all thanks to you.

“You’re so pretty for me, princess. I love it when you’re like this.”

A blush, a shy smile that’s immediately covered by a hand. 

“No no. No hiding from me.”

No, you can’t have that, so you pull it off, hold her hand by her waist. You squeeze her hand, Look deeply into her eyes, you’re met with hers, half lidded from the pleasure, but the glint of affection is still there.

“I’m going to cum.”

“Not yet, just a little longer princess.” 

Her back arches, her heels hook around your waist. She pulls you close by the back of your head. Every little  sound she makes goes straight into your ears. 

“I can't, I can't, I’m cumming.”

Her pussy is so tight and wet around you, making a small mess at your lower body. She’s melting, and even though you’re whispering soothing calming words to her, you’re not exactly helping with your cock still drilling her at full speed. She feels so good, a near perfect fit for you, and a few more rapid pumps into her body later, you’re cumming too.

“I’m going to breed you princess.”

Your words barely reach her ears, a soft moan in return before you shut her up with a deep passionate kiss. You’re shooting hot white cum in her, pumping and burying your load in the depths of her womb. 

Your lower body works on autopilot and lazily thrusts a few more times while you’re focused on Tzuyu. Your hand is on her cheek and your lips still on hers, just so gently tasting her sweet lips for the hundredth time but you know deep down it’ll never be enough. 

Your body finally cools down from the feral fervour and you slip out of Tzuyu’s body with some of your cum following suit. Tzuyu musters her strength and turns you onto your back while she straddles you. She collects the cum staining her thighs and licks them clean while you’re appreciating her body again and gently caressing her curves. 

“It’s time I really should go back home.”

“Clean yourself up before you leave. Don’t want you smelling like sex when you’re with your  boyfriend.”

Her lower body stumbles off the bed. Tzuyu pauses, then turns to smiles before entering. She doesn’t need to say anything, you get the message.

~~~~~~

You’re back in that natural, comfortable position, with arms wrapped around Tzuyu’s waist and head resting on her shoulder, this time in the shower. You can’t get enough of her. Her body, her warmth, her relieved smile as you wash off the last bits of soap left on her body. 

She hurriedly dries herself off and begins to dress up. She frantically looks around the crumpled dress and presses on any wrinkles, while you lean against a wall, wrapped in a towel and watch in amusement and adoration. 

Dressed and about to leave, her hands hesitate at the door. She turns to you, words choked in her throat. But she doesn’t need to say anything.

“Just one more, princess.” You hold her hand and lean into her. “Please.”

Tzuyu nods, closes her eyes and kisses you. 

You wish you had more time. You just want to get dirty with her again. You know that she has to go, but you also know that she is yours as much as you are hers and that you’ll see her very soon.

When she pulls away, when your foreheads touch, when she sighs, you fall even deeper. 

“My place, this Saturday?”

“I’d love that.”

Her hand slips away from yours and you watch her leave the hotel room. 

A regret for you both, but you know this isn’t the end, not by a long shot.

******

The doll known as Nayeon sat before you, a teasing smile on her lips as she stared at you. She rubbed her legs together, already knowing what was to come. Her short black leather dress rode up, revealing her slick slit. The young woman before you didn’t bother to lower her dress; it would come off soon enough anyway. That and she knew the sight would be enough to make your cock stiff, and it was. “Already hard for me, Daddy?” She asks, teasing you once more. The little song and dance between the two of you was a classic. 

“Do me a favor?”

Nayeon licks her lips, eyes shifting from meeting your gaze to the bulge in your pants and back again. “What is it you want?” 

“Put that pretty mouth to good use.”

Nayeon chuckles; she didn’t have to be asked twice. “Daddy wants my pretty pink lips around his big, hard cock?” Nayeon asks, placing her hand over your bulge. Her tone was half mocking, half lustful. It was hard for her to resist you; even now, she felt a hunger within her. It was like her stomach was growling. 

“Don’t make me say it again,”

“Yes, sir,” Nayeon jokes as she kneels before you, her hands moving quickly to remove your clothes, showing her impatience. The moment your cock sprang free was one of joy, even as it smacked her face. Nayeon let it rest on her as she took in a deep whiff of your scent. It was like a drug for her. One hand made its way to her slit, rubbing her wet folds as she opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out. Nayeon’s tongue traced your veins as she made her way to the tip, her hand wrapped around your length. You groan at her tight grip, watching as the young woman reaches the head of your cock, flicking the tip with her tongue. Nayeon’s hand slowly moved along your shaft as she gathered her saliva, her glossy pink lips stealing your attention. They part slowly, small bubbles popping up between them before her saliva drips onto the tip. 

The young woman works her saliva across your cock, making it slick. While listening to your groans, she plants her full lips on the tip, tracing them with the head before slipping it inside. Nayeon keeps her lips tightly wrapped around your shaft as her tongue lashes against you. “Such a good girl,” you grunt. “You always know just what to do.”

“Pleasing Daddy is my job. I have to know what you like,” She says sweetly before returning to her work. Nayeon stares at you with big doe eyes as she bobs her head, taking more of your length with each turn. It would be cute if her act weren’t so lewd. You place your hand on her head, guiding her along, your cock settling into the back of her throat as she reaches your base. You can feel her throat vibrating around you; it amplifies the pleasure. You stare at Nayeon, watching as her lips curl upward. Even with your cock in her mouth, she can’t help but smile at her work. It certainly helped that her fingers were knuckle deep in her cunt. Nayeon continued to focus on you, her tongue snaking along the underside, following your veins as she pushed you closer to your orgasm. As Nayeon pulls away, strands of saliva keep the two of you connected. 

“Where are you going to cum? Maybe down my throat?” Nayeon licks her fingers before running them down to her chin. She tilts her head back and moves her hand lower. Then she tilts her head, “Or does Daddy want to cum on his baby's pretty face?” Nayeon smiles at that option. As much as she could drink your cum for days, there was something about facials that turned her on even more.

“We’ll see,”

The lack of a clear answer disappoints Nayeon, but she gets back to pleasuring you. Her heartbeat quickens. You wouldn’t disappoint her, right? She was certain you would paint her pretty face with your thick white seed. When Nayeon went back to your cock, she worked quickly, slobbering all over it, going as far as rubbing it against her cheeks, making it clear what she wanted as she dirtied her face. As you got closer to cumming, your target became clear. Spit was already making its way down Nayeon’s cheeks; it wouldn’t hurt to paint her pretty face. You hurry the process along, grabbing the back of Nayeon’s head and forcing your cock down her throat. You thrust your hips forward, making her gag on you as you hit the back of her throat. Nayeon doesn’t fight you; she places one hand on your thigh while the other works her clit furiously. She was getting off on your roughness, even as her mind considered you might deny her a facial. She could feel your cock throbbing; you were close. 

Moments before you came, you pulled out of Nayeon’s warm mouth. You jerked yourself off and began to paint your canvas. Nayeon felt the first spurt land across the bridge of her nose. The young woman tilted her head back, shut her eyes, and opened her mouth, making herself the perfect target. As more of your thick semen splattered across her face, Nayeon came. She pressed her legs together, trying to stay steady as you cover her eyelids and coat her forehead. You place the tip back into her open mouth, letting her taste the last spurt. Nayeon's tongue swirls around the tip as she savors your salty cum. As you take a step back to admire your work, Nayeon wipes the cum away from her eyes before turning towards a mirror, staring at her whorish appearance. She brings her fingers to her lips, tasting more of your cum. 

Before she can say a word, you pick the young woman up, carrying her bridal style to her bedroom. You toss her onto the bed, making her lie on her stomach as you unzip her dress and strip it off her. 

Nayeon rises onto all fours, “Do it, Daddy. Put that big juicy cock in me,” Nayeon cooed, one hand on her cheek, pulling it away from her core. She shook her ass for you, making the prospect even more tantalizing. You had had enough waiting; you brought your hand down on Nayeon’s ass, making her flesh ripple. Nayeon sucks in a breath, then expels it, letting out a loud moan as you drive yourself deep into her cunt. “Fuck,” she groans as you squeeze her soft cheek, your other hand wrapping around her hair, pulling it back. Nayeon’s legs shook as she felt you splitting apart her warm, slick folds. The pleasure was mind-numbing for the young woman. Considering she had been waiting for your arrival, this moment was nothing but pure bliss for her. You were practically being pulled in, and you had no complaints. “Oh, Daddy, you’re so big,” she mumbles, hands gripping the bedsheets tightly as she plants her face against the bed, her back arching deeply. You yank on her hair, keeping her head up, as you thrust into her welcoming cunt. Each one pushes her petite body further into the bed. You bring your hand down on her ass once more, the sting from your strike adding to her pleasure. 

“You were waiting for this, weren’t you?”

“All fucking day. It’s your fault. I wouldn’t be like this if Daddy didn’t have such a good cock. It’s all I can think about.” Nayeon responds through heavy moans. You spank her again, her cheek turning a bright red as you add in a fourth strike. “I need it so bad, Daddy.” 

Nayeon slips her hand between her legs, her long fingers stroking her clit as you slide in and out of her tight, warm cavern. “Harder, fuck me harder,” Nayeon moans, tongue hanging out of her mouth as you bring your hand down on her ass again. As your thrusts speed up, Nayeon’s body tingle, pleasure coursing through her. As much as you want to keep pulling on her hair, you gave up your grip on it. You place your hands on her waist; each movement from you fills the room with more moans from the young woman. Nayeon bites the bedding, muffling her moans a touch as her climax builds inside her. Feeling the pressure building within her, Nayeon grabs the sheets. Any more pleasure with her fingers would send her over the edge too quickly, and while she knew you’d keep going anyway, she didn’t want to be driven crazy with the overstimulation. At least not yet.

Nayeon’s attempts to keep herself from cumming too quickly were useless; your fingers replaced her, rubbing her aching clit as your thrust continued to fill her. Nayeon whined in her high-pitched voice, taking over as she got closer. You stretch your arm out, your fingers by her plump lips. You push your fingers past the barrier, hooking her mouth. Nayeon uses what little strength she has to push herself up. You feel her tongue lashing against your fingers as her walls tighten around you. “Go on, cum. I know you’re already close. Daddy is giving you permission.”

Nayeon cries out, her body shuddering as she cums on your cock. Her walls squeeze you like a vice as you continue to impale her with every thrust. “Oh God,” Nayeon says in a long, drawn-out moan. The pleasure she feels reaches a new peak as she’s overstimulated. The fingers around her clit speed up, making her body tense up as another orgasm begins building. You add to the pleasure, bringing your hand out of her mouth and playing with her modest mounds. You pinch and pull at Nayeon’s soft nipples, feeling them grow hard as you play with them. “D-daddy,” Nayeon mumbles, unable to say anything more as you tug on the now hard nub. “Ooh, fuck.” Nayeon's breathing is ragged; she shuts her eyes tightly as a second climax washes over her. Her cries of pleasure are music to your ears.  

You pull Nayeon against you, continuing to play with her body as you near your climax. Nayeon’s walls try to milk you, squeezing you tightly. You shift your hands to her waist, fingers digging into her soft flesh as you bury yourself inside Nayeon. The young woman cries out again as she feels your warm, thick cum spurting into her, painting her walls as you claim her. Nayeon falls forward, collapsing onto the bed as she feels your semen flooding her body, its warmth spreading slowly. “You get tired so quickly, baby.”

“It’s your fault.” Nayeon huffs, trying to catch her breath as you give her small thrusts. “Y-you’re too much.” Nayeon’s voice goes into a high whine as you bury yourself in her again. You turn the young woman onto her side and lean over her, pressing your lips against hers. “Don’t try to act sweet now,” she mumbles between kisses. “You just fucked me like a piece of meat.” Nayeon’s body shivers as your hand wanders along her back. You nip at Nayeon’s neck as you drag your fingertips along her back. 

“You love it.” Nayeon did; she loved every second of it. She avoids your gaze, “Think you can go one more round?”

“Mm, one more,” Nayeon says, raising a single finger. “Just one more!” Nayeon moans as you rapidly plunge back into the depths of her cunt. “Fuck, just like that.” Nayeon’s slick walls offer little resistance, allowing you to slide deep into her with ease. With her legs pressed together, the pressure you feel is greater. You put more strength into your thrusts. Nayeon’s body starts to lurch forward, her moans growing louder as she feels you reaching her depths. You grab onto one of her arms, pulling her back as you continue to ravage her. Nayeon’s high-pitched whines begin to crescendo as she nears her climax. You lean forward, stealing a kiss from the young woman. She doesn’t resist, can’t resist, and wouldn’t resist in this moment. She wanted you as much as you wanted her. Your tongues fold and press against each other as you give one final thrust, burying your throbbing cock inside Nayeon.

Nayeon’s body tenses, her senses overwhelmed as she feels you flooding her womb with another load of cum. She cums with you, her nectar coating your cock and leaking onto the bedding below. When you break the kiss, she lets out a long, contented sigh. Nayeon’s hands find a place on her chest, squeezing the soft mounds as she revels in the pleasure of her latest orgasm. You drag your length out of Nayeon slowly, her walls still gripping you tightly. “Looks like you still want more.”

He was hovering over me, his lean frame tense with effort, his youthful stamina a stark contrast to the day’s languid heat. He looked down at me with those dark, intense eyes, a mixture of adoration and concentration that made my heart hammer against my ribs. I pulled him closer, mashing my heavy, heaving breasts against his chest, relishing the friction of his skin against mine. I could feel his pulse racing, thudding rapidly where his neck met his shoulder, betraying his inexperience even as he tried to mimic the lessons I had drilled into him. He was a voracious pupil, eager to please, his hips moving with a desperate, rhythmless need that I was slowly moulding into something useful. I ran my hands down his spine, feeling the dampness gathering there, savouring the power I held over him in this dim, stifling room.

"Slow down, boy," I breathed against his ear, though my body betrayed me, tightening around him instantly. "Let me feel you. Don't just rut; use what I taught you." He let out a shuddering moan, his face buried in the crook of my neck, inhaling the scent of my perfume mixed with the musk of our exertion. It was intoxicating to see him like this, usually so tranquil and reserved, now unravelling completely in my arms. I guided his hips, showing him the angle that made me gasp, my curvaceous body rising to meet his, demanding the pleasure he was built to provide.

Over his shoulder, through the haze of lust, my gaze drifted lazily toward the heavy oak door. I knew Yujin was just beyond it, likely in her own room, perhaps listening to the obscene sounds of her mother and her brother. The thought sent a dark, illicit thrill through me, tightening the coil in my belly. She wasn't a saint, my daughter; she knew exactly what went on within these four walls, maybe even craved a taste of it herself. I locked eyes with my son again, a wicked smirk playing on my lips as I clenched around him, determined to make him loud enough for the whole household to know exactly who he belonged to.

"You are so nasty," he moaned. He took my legs and placed them over his shoulders, his hands gripping the meat of my thighs with a strength that belied his lean build.

"And you love it," I retorted, breathless. "Don't stop."

He obeyed, his pace quickening, the bedframe slamming against the wall with a violent rhythm. The sounds of our bodies slapping together filled the room, a wet, carnal melody that echoed off the high frescoed ceilings. I was drowning in him, in the scent of his skin, in the heat of his body, in the way he was finally starting to understand just how to make a woman scream. My hands fisted in the sheets, my head thrown back, and my eyes squeezed shut as the pressure built to an excruciating peak.

"You are so demanding, but so worth it," he affirmed, voice contorted in the effort. "But you are so damn worth it."

The boy began to pound me for real, his youthful stamina finally kicking in to override his nerves. The pleasure was blinding, a white-hot heat that radiated outwards from my centre, obliterating every thought but the desperate need for more. I moaned, a long, broken sound that was half sob, half prayer. I was a woman possessed, a creature of pure need, and he was the only one who could satisfy me.

"Mum, I'm going to—"

"Not yet," I commanded, though my voice was trembling. "Not until I say so. Hold it."

His eyes darkened, seeing his climax being postponed. His fingers went between our connected bodies, his thumb finding my sensitive nub with a precision that made my entire body jolt. He began to rub circles, the sensation sending electric sparks up my spine. My breath hitched in my throat, and I knew I was close, dangerously close. The room was spinning, the colours of the sunset blurring into a kaleidoscope of red and gold.

"So bossy, and yet you are trembling," he taunted me.

I glared up at him, though the effect was ruined by the ragged gasps tearing from my throat. My usual composure was fracturing, splintering under the relentless pressure of his hips and the devilish precision of his thumb. The boy was learning far too quickly, his confident smirk replacing the shy uncertainty he used to wear. It was maddening. I dug my heels into his back, trying to regain control of the rhythm, but he was having none of it. He held me pinned, driving into me with a force that made my teeth rattle, obliterating the facade of the mother and leaving only the desperate, hungry woman beneath.

"You cheeky bastard," I hissed, my nails raking down his chest to leave red welts on his pale skin. The dual sensation of being filled and the friction on my clit was a sensory overload, dragging me closer to the edge with every brutal thrust. My toes curled, my thighs clamping around his head in a vice grip as the tension in my belly snapped, white-hot and blinding. I came with a silent scream, my back bowing off the mattress, my entire body convulsing as waves of pleasure crashed over me, drowning out everything but the roar of blood in my ears and the feel of him still moving relentlessly inside me.

As the aftershocks rippled through me, leaving me boneless and trembling, I felt his rhythm falter. But instead of continuing, he withdrew and let my legs drop. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, watching the dust motes dance in the dying light as my heart slowly returned to a normal rhythm.

"So bitchy that you deserve to be workshipped." 

He positioned himself on my side, mouth on my tits and fingers on my sensitive, swollen folds. He was focused on the task, his tongue swirling around the areola, his fingers tracing the entrance to my body, teasing me without entering. It was a torture I had taught him myself, a lesson in patience and anticipation.

I looked down at him, running a hand through his damp hair, pushing it off his forehead so I could see his face. He looked so innocent, but his actions were anything but. I closed my fingers in his hair and pulled his head back, forcing him to look at me. "And who taught you that, my love?" I asked, my voice husky with satisfaction and the lingering tremors of my release. "Who made you the man you are today?"

He looked up at me, a playful glint in his dark eyes. "You did, Mum," he whispered, leaning up to capture my lips in a searing kiss that tasted of salt and sin. "You taught me everything."

His fingers curled inside me, finding that spot that made my vision blur, and he began to pump them slowly, deliberately, drawing out every last drop of pleasure until I was a writhing mess beneath him. I broke the kiss, gasping for air, my head falling back against the pillows. "Don't you dare stop," I managed to choke out, my hips bucking involuntarily to meet his hand.

"Never," he promised, his voice thick with desire. He lowered his mouth back to my breast, biting down gently on the hardened peak, sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. He was insatiable, his youthful stamina a gift that kept on giving, and I was the lucky, if exhausted, recipient.

"You're getting too cocky for your own good," I chided him weakly, but there was no real heat behind my words. I loved seeing him like this, confident and in control, a far cry from the shy boy who had blushed the first time I touched him. He was becoming a man who knew what he wanted—and what he wanted was me. That knowledge was a potent drug, more addictive than any vintage wine we had in the cellar.

The thought of Yujin lingered at the edges of my consciousness, a tantalising spectre in the next room. She was her mother's daughter, possessing the same insatiable appetite and a body that rivalled my own—taller, perhaps, but cut from the same cloth. I knew she wasn't oblivious; the walls in this old palazzo were paper-thin, and the sounds of our depravity must have been drifting under her door for weeks. A dark, delicious curiosity took hold of me, wondering if she was lying on her bed right now, touching herself to the rhythm of her brother's grunts and my moans. Perhaps she was even imagining herself in my place, wondering what it would feel like to have that well-endowed boy stretching her open instead. The idea of corrupting them both, of keeping this twisted pleasure strictly within the confines of our little family, made my pulse race all over again.

I pulled him up for another kiss, tasting the salt on his lips, my hand wandering down to grip his heavy length. He was still hard, a testament to his youthful resilience, and I stroked him slowly, feeling the throb of his heartbeat against my palm. "You've ruined me for anyone else, you know," I murmured against his mouth, my voice a sultry purr. "No other man could ever compare to what you do to me, how perfectly you fill me up." It was a dangerous thing to say, perhaps, but it was the truth. I had trained him to fit me like a glove, to know every curve and crevice of my body, and to anticipate my needs before I even voiced them. He was mine, crafted by my own hands and desires, a lover made specifically for me.

"Good," he growled, his eyes darkening with possession as he rolled us over, settling me on top of him. "Because I'm not done with you yet, Mum." His hands gripped my waist, holding me steady as I sank onto him, taking him to the hilt. I threw my head back, revelling in the stretch, the feeling of fullness so exquisite it bordered on pain. The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, leaving the room bathed in the soft, violet glow of twilight, the shadows dancing across our entwined bodies like silent witnesses to our sin. I began to move, riding him with a slow, rolling grind of my hips that made us both groan, knowing that tonight was far from over and that in the quiet of Florence, we would push each other to the brink until dawn.

"Make cum, please," he begged me.

I obliged him instantly, knowing what he liked. I leaned forward, giving him access to my swaying breasts. I braced my hands on his chest and started to ride him in earnest, my thighs burning with the effort, but the pleasure was too great to stop. His hands roamed over my body, gripping my arse, fondling my tits, urging me on. The air was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, a heavy, primal atmosphere that felt entirely separate from the world outside our window.

"Harder," he urged, his voice a strangled gasp. "Fuck me harder."

I rode him as a woman possessed, my hips slamming down onto his, the sound of flesh meeting flesh filling the room. The coil in my belly wound tighter and tighter, the pressure building until I thought I might explode. I was so close, teetering on the edge, just needing that final push to send me over.

"Look at me when you come," I commanded breathlessly, sweat dripping from my forehead onto his heaving chest. I didn't let up, grinding down onto him with a ferocity that bordered on violence, chasing that final precipice. His eyes flew open, wild and unfocused, locking onto mine as his hands bruised my hips, pulling me down to meet his erratic upward thrusts. With a guttural roar that I was sure had startled the pigeons on the terracotta roof outside, he emptied himself inside me, the heat of his release triggering my own second climax. I shattered around him, my vision whiting out as my inner muscles clenched rhythmically, milking him for every last drop while the world narrowed down to nothing but the pulsing connection between our bodies.

We collapsed in a tangled heap of limbs, the air in the room now stifling and heavy with the musk of our exertion. For a long while, the only sounds were our ragged gasps for air and the distant chiming of a church bell signalling the hour of Ave Maria. I rested my head against his damp chest, listening to the frantic thud of his heart slowly returning to a steady rhythm, a stark contrast to the tranquillity of the Florentine evening settling over the city. A satisfied lethargy began to seep into my bones, but even as my body relaxed, my mind began to sharpen once more, the familiar hunger stirring in the back of my thoughts like a waking beast.

I lifted my head to look at him, smoothing the dark hair plastered to his forehead with a possessive tenderness. He looked utterly wrecked, his lean frame spent and pliant beneath me, but I knew it wouldn't be long before that youthful stamina of his recharged. The knowledge that I was the one who had moulded him, who had taken his innocence and shaped it into this weapon of pleasure, was a heady rush that not even exhaustion could dim. "Rest now, my love," I whispered, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering salt and sex on them. "But don't think for a moment that we are finished for the night."

"Shouldn't we have dinner?" he questioned; after that, his stomach growled.

I laughed, a low, throaty sound that vibrated against his chest. "We will eat eventually," I promised, my fingers tracing lazy patterns on his stomach, feeling the muscles twitch beneath my touch. "But for now, I need to recover. And besides," I added, a mischievous glint returning to my eyes as I thought of my daughter just a wall away, "I'm sure Yujin is wondering what's keeping us. It would be rude to leave her waiting too long, don't you think?" The implication hung heavy in the air, a silent acknowledgement that the boundaries of family were blurred and rewritten in the heat of the Tuscan night.

I pulled myself from the tangled sheets, the cool air of the room pricking at my overheated skin as I padded barefoot across the terracotta tiles. The antique mirror over the vanity caught my reflection: dishevelled hair, flushed skin, and the satisfied smirk of a woman who had just been thoroughly worshipped. I took a moment to smooth my hands over my curves, admiring the marks he’d left on my thighs, visual proof of his desperate need. The silence of the apartment felt heavy now that our noises had ceased, but the air was still thick with the scent of us, a musky perfume that I knew would linger long after we’d cleaned up.

With a silk robe loosely belted at my waist, I slipped out into the corridor, the dim light from the streetlamps outside casting long shadows against the frescoed walls. I paused instinctively outside Yujin’s door, my hand hovering over the wood. The thin partition offered no secrets; the faint, rhythmic creaking of her own mattress reached my ears, accompanied by the soft, hitched breaths that were unmistakably not ones of sleep. A dark, satisfied curl touched my lips as I leaned my forehead against the cool frame, realising my daughter was indeed touching herself to the sounds of our depravity, proving she was every bit the creature I was.

Deciding to leave her to her fantasies for a moment longer, I continued to the kitchen, my bare feet silent on the cold stone. The apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of Florence nightlife drifting up from the street. I moved to the counter, my body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure, and poured two glasses of chilled Chianti. The condensation beaded instantly on the glass, cool against my fingertips as I turned back towards the bedroom, my mind already racing with the possibilities of the evening to come. The glasses almost dropped on the floor when Yujin walked out of her room all decked out in a revealing dress.

She looked a vision, a younger, taller mirror of me, poured into a dress that clung to her curves like a second skin. The fabric was a deep emerald green that contrasted sharply with the pale flush of her skin, the cut low enough to showcase the ample cleavage she had inherited from me, with a slit that rode dangerously high up her thigh. She stood in the hallway, her hair loose and tumbling over her shoulders, her eyes dark and unreadable in the low light.

"Mum," she said, her voice steady, though a faint blush coloured her cheeks. "I thought... I thought I'd go out for a bit."

I leaned casually against the doorframe, the silk robe parting slightly to reveal the fresh marks marring my skin, and took a slow, deliberate sip of wine. "Do you?" I asked, my voice laced with a dry amusement that cut through the thick tension in the hallway. My eyes swept over her, taking in the meticulous makeup and the deliberate allure of her outfit. It was far too much effort for a solitary night stroll in Florence. "Dressed to kill like that? I thought you were... occupied."

A flicker of defensiveness sparked in her eyes, quickly masked by a feigned innocence that didn't quite reach the corners of her mouth. She adjusted the strap of her dress, her gaze darting momentarily towards the open door of my bedroom where the boy lay. "I just needed some air, that's all. It’s stuffy in the apartment. And unlike you, I don't like staying cooped up inside all evening." She stepped closer, the scent of her floral perfume mixing with the musk still clinging to me, a heady cocktail of innocence and depravity. "Besides, I didn't realise I required a schedule to leave the house."

I pushed off the frame and moved into her space, close enough that she could smell the sex on me, close enough to see the dilation of her pupils. I reached out, smoothing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, my touch lingering on the warm skin of her neck. "You don't, sweetheart," I murmured, my tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But the way that you are dressed ... It tells a different story. You’re looking for trouble, aren't you? "I let my hand trail down her arm, feeling the gooseflesh rise under my fingertips. "Or perhaps," I added, my eyes darting back towards the bedroom, "you’re just hoping to run into someone who can give you what you’ve been hearing through the walls."

Yujin swallowed hard, her composure cracking under my scrutiny. She glanced at the bedroom door again, then back at me, a mix of shame and longing warring in her expression. "I... I'm just going for a walk," she insisted, though her voice lacked its earlier conviction.

I took a slow sip of my wine, savouring the way her eyes tracked the movement of my throat. "Don't lie to me, Yujin. It’s unbecoming. I know exactly what you were doing in your room. I heard you." Her eyes widened, panic flaring briefly, but I didn't let her look away. "Did you finish, or did the sounds of us make it too difficult to concentrate?"

The colour in Yujin’s cheeks deepened to a dark, mortified crimson, her attempt at nonchalance shattering completely. She looked like a trapped animal, her chest heaving slightly under the tight fabric of her dress, unable to meet my gaze. I could practically smell the arousal radiating off her, a scent that mirrored my own, proving that despite her supposed innocence, she was every bit the creature of desire that I had raised her to be. It was intoxicating to see her this way, the power dynamic shifting effortlessly between us; the daughter who tried to assert her independence was now standing bare before my scrutiny, her secret desires laid as naked as the thoughts running through my own mind.

"It's not fair to tease me like that, Mum," she whispered finally, her voice trembling with a mixture of frustration and need. Her eyes darted back to the open doorway of my bedroom, where the low, heavy breathing of my son could still be heard. "You have everything I want... right there in the next room." She shifted her weight, the slit in her dress falling open to reveal a long, toned leg that quivered ever so slightly. "I just wanted to go out to forget, but I can't stop listening. It drives me mad."

I stepped closer, invading her personal space until our bodies were almost touching, the heat radiating from her seeping through the thin silk of my robe. I reached out, my fingers brushing the soft skin of her exposed thigh, relishing the sharp intake of breath she couldn't suppress. "I know you are frustrated; I would be as well if I were you in this situation," I replied softly, my voice a velvet caress that belied the sharp edge of my authority. "But you are my daughter, and you will not go out there dressed like a common tart looking for a stranger to scratch an itch. If you need some air, your brother will come alongside with  you." I gestured vaguely towards the bedroom. "I need to rest anyway. I'm sure he would love to see Florence by night. He’s been studying too hard; he needs the distraction."

The silence stretched between us, thick and heavy with unspoken implications. Yujin stared at me, her lips parting in shock, the flush on her cheeks spreading down her neck to her chest. The proposal hung in the air, scandalous and laden with a dark, delicious irony. Sending her out with him—the very source of her frustration—was a cruelty born of my own possessive nature, a way to mark my territory even while I relinquished his physical presence for a few hours. I watched the realisation dawn on her face, the gears turning behind her eyes as she weighed the humiliation against the overwhelming desire she was so desperately trying to hide.

"But... Mum," she stammered, her eyes wide and glistening. "You can't be serious. You... you just..."

"I just finished with him, yes," I cut her off with a nonchalant shrug, taking another slow sip of wine to hide the dark thrill racing through my veins. "He's exhausted, Yujin, but he's young. A bit of fresh air and the promise of a beautiful view will do wonders for his recovery. And you..." I let my eyes rake over her figure again, lingering on the heave of her chest. "...you look like you need to burn off that excess energy before you do something regrettable with a stranger. Consider it a favour. I’m letting you borrow him."

I turned before she could formulate a protest, calling out into the dim room where my son lay. "Darling, get up. Yujin is going to take you out for a walk. She needs some air, and you’ve been cooped up inside studying all day." I heard the rustle of sheets and a low groan of confusion, but I didn't wait for his agreement. I pressed the wine glass into Yujin’s trembling hand, my fingers lingering over hers, feeling the frantic pulse at her wrist. "Take him to the Piazzale Michelangelo," I ordered softly, my voice dropping to a possessive murmur. "The view is exquisite at this hour. Just remember... bring him back in one piece. He’s still my favourite toy, after all."

With a final, enigmatic smirk, I retreated into the shadows of my bedroom, leaving them standing in the corridor, the air between them thick enough to choke on. I closed the door just enough to hide myself from view but left it slightly ajar, the better to hear the sound of their voices as they prepared to leave. I poured the remainder of the bottle into my glass and settled back onto the tangled sheets, the scent of our exertion still rising from the mattress to greet me, patient and predatory as I waited for the silence to return, wondering just how long it would take before my son realised he wasn't the only one in the family who was insatiable.

As the hours stretched thin and the cool night air of Florence seeped through the cracks in the window, I found myself drifting in and out of a light doze, the wine heavy in my limbs and the exertions of the evening taking their toll. The apartment was silent again, save for the settling of the old building and the distant hum of the city below. It was peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaotic lust that had ruled the earlier hours, but the peace was fragile, waiting to be shattered.

The sound of the front door clicking open and shut jolted me back to consciousness, followed by the heavy tread of footsteps in the hallway. I sat up, the silk robe falling from one shoulder, listening intently. It wasn't the sound of two people; it was the solitary, heavy gait of my son. He paused at my door, his shadow stretching across the floorboards from the hallway light, before pushing it open fully. He stood there, carrying his sister, who was moving against his body like a second skin, her mouth fused to his.

My heart gave a traitorous leap, not of jealousy, but of dark, twisted approval. The hallway light spilt over them, illuminating the scene with clinical precision. Yujin’s dress was hiked up to her waist, her long legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her fingers buried in his hair as she devoured him with a hunger that mirrored my own. He stumbled into the room, kicking the door shut with his heel, the darkness of the room swallowing them whole.

I didn't move. I merely watched from the bed, my eyes adjusting to the gloom, taking in the way his hands gripped her thighs, supporting her weight with an ease that made my breath hitch. He was hard already; I could see the outline of his arousal straining against his trousers even in the dim light. The scent of the night air clung to them, mixed with the sharp tang of alcohol and perfume, but beneath it all was the raw, animalistic scent of arousal that I knew so well.

"I tried to stop her," he rasped out, though his actions betrayed his words as his hands roamed over her body, cupping her backside and pulling her flush against him. "She was all over me the moment we got to the Piazzale."

I couldn't help the low, dark chuckle that escaped my throat, reverberating in the quiet room. It was absurd, really, that he thought he needed to apologise for fulfilling the very destiny I had orchestrated for him. The irony was delicious; I had sent them out to test his resolve, to see if he would crumble under the temptation of a body so similar to my own, and he had returned with the proof of his failure—or perhaps, his success—tightly wrapped around his waist. "Stop her?" I teased, leaning back against the headboard, the silk robe slipping further to pool at my hips. "Oh, my sweet, naive boy. You didn't stand a chance. Look at her. She’s been starving for it, listening to us, imagining exactly what you were doing to me. You didn't fail; you just gave her exactly what she was begging for."

He didn't answer with words, but the groan that tore from his lips as Yujin ground herself against his trapped erection was a response enough. He carried her to the foot of the bed, dropping her unceremoniously onto the mattress where I had just lain. She landed with a soft bounce, her hair spilling across the duvet like spilt ink, her chest heaving with anticipation. She looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, then her gaze shifted to me, seeking my approval or perhaps my permission. I offered her a slow, predatory smile, raising my glass in a silent toast to her corruption. It was a heady power trip, sitting there like a queen on her dais, watching my daughter prepare to take the place I had just vacated. The air was thick with tension, the scent of their mingled arousal overpowering the lingering smell of my own exertions, and I realised I wasn't repulsed; I was fascinated, eager to see how my lessons would translate to this new, eager student.

"Don't disappoint her, darling," I murmured, my voice husky and thick with renewed desire. I reached out, trailing my fingers down Yujin’s exposed calf, feeling the muscle tense beneath my touch. "She has the same appetites as her mother, perhaps even more voracious because she's had to wait so long. Show her that I haven't been lying about your talents." As he fumbled with his belt, his eyes never leaving mine, I felt a spark of electricity shoot through me. This was no longer just about us; it was a legacy of sin I was passing down, a shared addiction that would bind the three of us together in this decadent Florentine apartment. I settled in, preparing to enjoy the show, knowing that when they were finished, it would be my turn again, and this time, I would have them both.

The belt clattered to the floor with a sharp, metallic sound that seemed to echo through the silent room, a starting gun for the debauchery that was about to unfold. He didn't bother undressing her fully; the urgency was too palpable, the need too raw. Instead, he simply hiked that emerald dress up around her waist, exposing the delicate lace of her knickers, which were already soaked through. He hooked his fingers into the fabric and tore them aside with a guttural growl, making Yujin gasp, her back arching off the mattress in anticipation. I watched with rapt attention as he freed himself, his cock springing forth heavy and eager, glistening with the pre-come that betrayed his own desperation. He didn't wait for her to adjust; he lined himself up and thrust into her in one brutal stroke, claiming her with a possession that made my own breath hitch in sympathy. Yujin cried out, a sound of shocked pleasure that was halfway between a sob and a moan, her legs instinctively locking around his waist to pull him deeper, erasing the line between brother and sister in an instant.

I took another sip of wine, the dark red liquid staining my lips, as I watched the rhythm of their bodies find a violent sync. It was mesmerising, seeing my son move with the same expertise I had drilled into him, yet applying it to a body so fresh and eager. Yujin was no passive participant; she met him thrust for thrust, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, her head thrown back in ecstasy as she finally experienced what she had been listening to through the walls for so long. The wet slap of skin against skin filled the room, interspersed with their ragged breathing and the creak of the bed frame, a cacophony of sin that stirred the embers of my own desire. I saw his hand slide between them, his thumb finding her clit with the same precision he had used on me earlier, and within moments, she was shattering beneath him, her body convulsing as she screamed his name, a sound of pure, unadulterated release that seemed to shake the very foundations of the old palazzo.

Even as Yujin trembled through the aftershocks of her climax, my son showed no signs of stopping, his youthful stamina driving him onwards as he chased his own end. He looked over at me then, his eyes dark and wild, locking onto mine with a silent plea that sent a jolt of electricity straight to my core. He was fucking his sister, but he was looking at me, seeking my approval, my presence, my guidance in this twisted trinity we had become. I set the wine glass down on the nightstand and crawled towards them, the silk robe falling away completely, leaving me bare. I reached out, gripping his sweat-slicked hair and pulling his face towards mine, kissing him deeply, tasting the lingering salt on his lips and the ghost of Yujin’s breath. "Fill her up," I whispered against his mouth, my voice a dark command. "Give her everything you have. And then," I added, grazing my teeth against his lower lip, "you’re going to come back to me.”

With a guttural roar, he obeyed. His hips slammed forward one final time, burying himself so deep I could see the tension in his abdomen, the corded muscles standing out in sharp relief as he spilt inside her. Yujin arched off the mattress, a silent scream tearing from her throat as she milked him for every drop, her body shuddering in the throes of her own overwhelming release. The room seemed to spin, the heavy velvet curtains blurring into the darkness as the silence rushed back in, punctuated only by our ragged gasps for air. I collapsed back against the pillows, pulling them both down with me into a tangled, sweaty heap of limbs, feeling the rapid thud of two hearts beating in sync with my own, revelling in the dark.

"Mum", he addressed my attention. "I long for you."

He stood off the bed, offering me a hand. The room was steeped in shadows, the only light coming from the city outside filtering through the cracks in the shutters. He pulled me up, his grip firm and possessive, and I went willingly, my body humming with a strange, electric energy that defied exhaustion. He pulled me into his arms, his chest heaving against mine, the heat of his skin searing through the thin silk of my robe.

I looked up at him, smoothing the damp hair away from his forehead. He looked wrecked, his eyes dark and unfocused, but the intensity of his gaze was anchored solely on me. "I know," I whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, tasting the lingering salt and the musk of Yujin on his lips. "What do you want to do?"

He spoke with his hands; my robe was left pooling at my feet before I could even protest—though protest was the furthest thing from my mind. His touch was desperate, needy, mapping every inch of my skin as if he needed to reassure himself of my presence. He guided me towards the open window, the cool night air of Florence washing over my heated skin, raising gooseflesh along my arms. The Arno river glittered black and silver below, the lights of the city reflecting in the dark water like fallen stars.

I gasped as he turned me around to face the window, bending me slightly forward over the sill. The stone was cold against my palms, a stark contrast to the feverish heat of his body pressing against my back. "Someone will see," I breathed, though the thrill of the risk shot straight to my core, making my knees weak. My voice was a mix of warning and enticement, knowing full well that the height and the angle offered a view of the ceiling to anyone looking up, but the thought of being watched—of the city witnessing my corruption—only made the pulse between my thighs throb harder.

"No one will see if you can stifle your moans," he murmured in my ear, his breath hot against my neck. He entered me in one smooth stroke, filling me, the sudden stretch making me cry out. His hand immediately clamped over my mouth, stifling the sound, his other hand gripping my hip to hold me steady as he began to move.

I braced myself against the stone sill, the cool night air teasing my hardened nipples as they brushed against the frame. His rhythm was relentless, a deep, grinding pace that forced me onto my toes with every thrust. The position was demanding, bending me at the waist, the stone digging into my palms, but the pleasure was blinding. I could feel every inch of him, the thick head of his cock dragging against my inner walls with a precision that made my eyes roll back in my head. He had learnt well, too well; he knew exactly how to angle his hips to hit that spot inside me that made my vision blur and my toes curl.

"You are insatiable," he groaned against my ear, his voice rough with exertion. He didn't let up, his hand still firmly over my mouth as he drove into me, the wet sounds of our coupling obscenely loud in the quiet room. I could hear Yujin shifting on the bed behind us, watching, perhaps even touching herself again at the sight of her mother being taken like this. The thought made me clench around him, my body eager for more, eager to be used and filled until I was nothing but a vessel for his pleasure.

The cool stone of the windowsill was a harsh anchor against my palms, contrasting sharply with the feverish heat radiating from my son's body as he pressed me forward. He moved with a renewed, almost punishing rhythm, each thrust forcing a muffled cry into his palm that he kept firmly clamped over my mouth. Below us, Florence slept in ignorant bliss, the golden glimmer of the Ponte Vecchio stretching across the dark Arno like a static bracelet of light, oblivious to the debauchery playing out in the shadows above. The risk of exposure was a live wire, sparking through my veins and heightening every sensation until I felt entirely suspended between the cold night air biting at my exposed breasts and the inferno of his possession behind me.

I could feel Yujin’s gaze burning into my back from the tangle of sheets, a silent witness to the second act of this twisted performance. My son’s grip on my hip tightened, his fingers digging into the flesh hard enough to bruise, claiming me with a primal urgency that bordered on violence. He pulled me back to meet his thrusts, the wet slap of our bodies echoing rhythmically against the glass, a carnal percussion that seemed to drown out the distant sounds of the city. "Look at you," he growled, his voice hot against my ear, his hand finally loosening over my mouth to allow my desperate gasps to escape unimpeded into the night air. "Taking it like a greedy bitch right in front of the window. You love that they might see, don't you?"

My legs were trembling violently, the coil in my belly winding tighter and tighter until it threatened to snap. The dual stimulation of being filled so completely while the world turned lazily beneath us was overwhelming, stealing the air from my lungs and replacing it with pure, unadulterated need. I pushed back against him, silently demanding he give me everything he had, uncaring of the neighbours or the scandal that would erupt if the city chose to look up at this exact moment. My sweet boy delivered as trained; he railed me with wild abandon, the sound of flesh meeting flesh wet and rhythmic, his grip on my hips bruising. I squeezed my eyes shut, seeing stars behind my eyelids, my mouth opening in a silent scream as the tension in my core snapped, sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating outwards to my fingertips. I came hard, my inner muscles clamping down on him like a vice, my body convulsing as the world narrowed down to the point where we were joined.

He rode out my orgasm with a few deep, grinding thrusts, prolonging the pleasure until I was a trembling mess, barely able to hold myself up against the window. He didn't stop there, however. With a dominant growl, he pulled me back from the sill and spun me around to face him, lifting me effortlessly as if I weighed nothing. My legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, my arms circling his neck as he stumbled back towards the bed, falling onto the mattress with Yujin.

We landed in a tangle of limbs, Yujin shifting to make space for us, her eyes wide and dark as she watched us, her hand drifting between her own legs once more. He didn't give me a moment to recover. He was inside me again before I could catch my breath, the angle allowing him to hit even deeper than before. I cried out, my head falling back against the pillows, my nails digging into his shoulders as he set a rhythm that was purely for his own satisfaction now. He was taking what was his, marking me as his territory, and I let him, revelling in the loss of control. He leaned forward, capturing my lips into a searing kiss, swallowing my moans as he moved, his weight pinning me to the bed, making me feel small and possessed.

On my other side, Yujin shifted closer, her hot breath fanning against my neck. She reached out, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw before tangling in my hair, turning my face towards her. She didn't speak, but her eyes were full of a dark, hungry curiosity. She leaned in, her lips brushing against mine in a tentative, exploring touch that tasted of wine and shared secrets. I opened for her, deepening the kiss, my tongue duelling with hers as my son continued to pound into me, the sensory overload pushing me dangerously close to the edge again. The three of us moved together, a tangled knot of limbs and desire, the boundaries of our family blurring until they ceased to exist altogether.

He groaned into the kiss, his hips stuttering as he watched his sister and mother kissing above him. The sight seemed to push him past his limits. With a final, brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he found his second release. I felt the hot flood of his seed deep inside me, triggering my own final climax. I shuddered around him, my body arching off the bed, a silent scream tearing from my throat as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over me. The room spun, the shadows dancing on the ceiling merging into a kaleidoscope of colour, and then, darkness descended as I collapsed back onto the pillows, utterly spent.

"We have a morning lesson tomorrow at the Uni," Yujin whined, curling beside her brother as he plopped on his back.

I lay panting in the tangle of limbs, my chest heaving as I stared up at the dark ceiling, the frantic thrum of my heart slowly beginning to decelerate. The heavy scent of sex and sweat permeated the room, a musk that clung to our skin like a second layer, far more potent than the stale air of Florence drifting through the window. I turned my head on the pillow, watching the lazy rise and fall of my son's chest, his lean, exhausted body glistening with a sheen of exertion in the dim light, and felt a dark, possessive swell of affection that had nothing to do with maternal instincts. He had pleased us both, exceeding the expectations of even my rigorous tutelage, and as I reached out to trace the damp, sweat-slicked contours of his abdomen, I realised with a thrill that I had created a masterpiece of desire.

"Oh, stop your whining," I chided softly, though my voice was thick with satiation and lacking any real bite. I shifted, the ache in my muscles a delicious reminder of the vigorous workout I had just endured, and propped myself up on one elbow to look down at my daughter. She looked the picture of debauched innocence, her emerald dress ruined and twisted around her hips, her eyes glazed and heavy as she curled instinctively towards the source of her pleasure. "You can miss one lecture, Yujin. Consider it a practical session in human anatomy. I’m sure you learnt far more tonight than you ever would in a dusty lecture hall surrounded by bored Italians."

Lower down, matching leopard-print bottoms hugged her hips, held in place by an elaborate wide belt studded with oversized circular metal plates. Some glowing rose-gold, others deep bronze with intricate patterns that caught every flicker of light and accentuated the dramatic curve of her waist. Thick, fluffy brown cuffs wrapped around her upper thighs like luxurious leg warmers, contrasting sharply with the sleek black knee-high socks peeking out beneath. The whole look screaming raw, untamed sensuality that matched the fierce choreography she’d just delivered.

Her dark hair, once styled in sultry waves for the opening numbers, now hung in damp, tousled strands that framed her face and stuck to the flushed skin of her neck and shoulders. The bold stage makeup had softened in all the right ways—the crimson lipstick from the final chorus now faintly smudged at the corners, her sharp winged liner slightly blurred from the heat, giving her cat-like eyes an even more intense, almost predatory depth. A tiny headset microphone still curved along her cheek, the wire disappearing behind her ear, a lingering reminder of the way her voice had filled the dome moments ago. Tiny droplets of sweat traced slow paths along her jawline, down the elegant column of her throat, and across the exposed skin above the leopard bra, catching the light like tiny diamonds. She looked every bit the idol who had just owned the stage exhausted, exhilarated, and radiating that unmistakable post-performance glow that made her impossible to look away from.

The hallway pulsed with the usual post-show whirlwind: staff members weaving through with headsets crackling, stylists rushing by with garment racks and touch-up kits, the other members laughing and chattering further down the corridor as they peeled off their own costumes. Yet Momo moved through the chaos like she existed in her own private spotlight, the metal discs on her belt jingling softly with each step, the fur on her thighs brushing against her skin in a way that only heightened the lingering adrenaline. Her eyes scanned the familiar faces until they found you, exactly where she knew you’d be—leaning against the green-room doorframe, her favorite oversized black hoodie draped over your arm and a chilled bottle of her favorite electrolyte drink in your hand, condensation already beading on the plastic.

The moment her gaze locked onto yours, that tired but wicked little smile curved her lips—the one she saved only for you, the one that promised the stage version of Momo was about to give way to the real one. She didn’t slow down. Instead she closed the distance with deliberate, swaying steps, the leopard-print fabric of her top shifting enticingly with each breath, the decorative belt catching the light and drawing your eyes exactly where she wanted them. When she reached you, she didn’t stop at a polite distance. She stepped right into your space, the heat radiating from her overheated body enveloping you instantly. The sheer mesh top brushed against your shirt, damp and warm, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the faint tremor in her shoulders from muscles that had worked overtime for hours. The scent of her wrapped around you—vanilla body lotion mixed with clean stage sweat, cherry gloss, and the faintest trace of the smoky stage effects that still clung to her skin.

“Tokyo never lets me down,” she murmured, her voice low and slightly hoarse from singing through the entire setlist, that soft Japanese accent wrapping around the words like velvet. Her fingers grazed your forearm as she reached for the water bottle, but she didn’t take it immediately. Instead she let her touch linger, tracing a slow, absent circle against your skin while her dark eyes held yours without blinking. “The way the crowd screamed during that last unit stage… I could feel it in my bones. Still can.” She tilted her head slightly, messy strands of hair falling across one eye as she added, her breath warm against your ear, “And you standing here like this, waiting for me every single night? Makes it so hard to come down from the high.”

She bit the inside of her lower lip lightly, the motion drawing attention to the faint smudge of lipstick and the way her chest still heaved from the aftereffects of the performance. For a heartbeat she looked almost vulnerable—beautifully undone, skin glistening, fur cuffs slightly askew from the final bows—but then that familiar spark returned, the playful confidence that always surfaced when the two of you were finally alone. Her hand slipped lower, fingers wrapping around your wrist with a grip that was firm yet gentle, still slightly slick from the stage. Without another word she tugged you toward the green-room door, the metal plates on her belt chiming softly as she moved.

The heavy door clicked shut behind you, sealing out the hallway noise until only the quiet whir of the air-conditioning unit and the distant murmur of staff remained. Inside, the green room was bathed in the soft golden glow of a single vanity lamp left on by the stylists. Makeup palettes, half-empty water bottles, and scattered hair tools covered the counter like colorful aftermath. The floor-to-ceiling mirror on the opposite wall reflected the glittering Tokyo skyline through the tall window, a serene contrast to the storm of energy that had just ended inside the Dome. Momo finally released your wrist but didn’t step away. Instead she leaned back against the edge of the counter, palms braced on either side of her hips, the motion causing the sheer mesh top to pull taut across her chest and the leopard bra beneath to shift invitingly. The decorative belt sat low on her hips, the metal discs cool against her flushed skin, while the fluffy fur cuffs framed her thighs like an invitation.

She let her head tilt back for a moment, exposing the long, glistening line of her throat as she drew in a slow, deep breath. Beads of sweat still traced lazy paths down her neck and disappeared into the shadows beneath the fabric. When she straightened again, her gaze had changed—darker, heavier, the post-concert adrenaline still crackling through her veins like electricity that refused to dissipate. Her eyes raked over you slowly, deliberately, the corners of her mouth lifting into that signature half-smile that always made your pulse jump.

The silence stretched between you, charged and intentional, the only sound the faint jingle of her belt as she shifted her weight. She could feel the high still burning bright inside her—the same rush that had made her perform like the stage belonged to her alone—and being alone with you in this quiet, dimly lit room only seemed to fan the flames higher.

Her voice came out soft, but there was no mistaking the commanding edge beneath it, the same tone she used to call out formations during rehearsal when she wanted everyone’s full attention.

“Come here.”

You didn’t hesitate. The moment the word left her lips—low, velvet-wrapped, impossible to ignore—you crossed the short distance between you in two unhurried steps, the soft click of your shoes against the tiled floor the only sound besides the steady hum of the air conditioner. Momo’s dark eyes tracked your approach like a predator watching prey that had willingly walked into her territory, that half-smile deepening until it was a pure, wicked invitation. When you reached her, she straightened from her lean against the counter just enough to meet you halfway, her body still radiating heat from the stage like a furnace that refused to cool.

Your hands found her waist first, fingers sliding over the cool metal discs of her belt before digging into the warm, damp skin just above it. Hers came up instantly, one tangling in the front of your shirt, the other cupping the back of your neck with surprising strength, pulling you down to her. The kiss wasn’t gentle. It was starving—mouths crashing together in a hot, open-mouthed mess of lips and tongue and shared breath. She tasted like cherry gloss and salt and the faint sweetness of the electrolyte drink she’d stolen a sip of earlier. A soft, needy sound vibrated from her throat into yours as she tilted her head, deepening the angle, her tongue sliding against yours in slow, filthy strokes that made your knees feel unsteady.

You pressed her back against the counter, bodies flush now, and her legs parted just enough for you to slot between them. The fluffy fur cuffs around her thighs brushed teasingly against your hips as your hands began their journey—roaming, claiming, memorizing. One palm skimmed up the bare expanse of her midriff, feeling the way her abs fluttered under your touch, then higher, tracing the edge of the sheer mesh top where it clung to the curve of her breasts. The other hand slid down to grip the back of her thigh, right where the fur met smooth skin, squeezing hard enough to make her gasp into the kiss. She wasn’t shy either. Her fingers raked down your chest, nails scraping lightly over fabric before slipping under the hem of your shirt to find bare skin. She explored every inch she could reach—your sides, your back, the dip of your spine—while her other hand stayed buried in your hair, tugging just hard enough to send sparks down your neck.

You broke the kiss only to drag your mouth along her jaw, tasting the salt of her sweat, then lower to the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “We’ve got time,” you murmured against her skin, voice rough. “All the time we need tonight. No one’s coming in. No schedule. Just you and me… and I’m not letting you rush a single second of this.”

Momo let out a breathy laugh that turned into a moan when your teeth grazed her pulse point. “Good,” she whispered, the word half-swallowed by another hungry kiss she pulled you back into. “Because I don’t want to be quick. Not after that stage. Not with you.” Her hands grew bolder, sliding up under your shirt to map the planes of your chest and stomach, fingertips pressing into muscle like she was memorizing the feel of you. You answered by sliding both palms up her back, feeling the damp fabric of the mesh top shift under your touch, then down again to cup her ass through the leopard-print bottoms, pulling her harder against you. The metal belt dug into your lower stomach, cool and heavy, a sharp contrast to the burning heat of her body.

The makeout turned messier, wetter—lips sliding, tongues tangling, little nips and sucks that left her lipstick even more ruined and your mouth tingling. You swallowed every sound she made: the soft whimpers when your thumb brushed the underside of her breast through the layers, the sharp inhale when you squeezed the plush flesh of her thigh. Her hips rolled against you instinctively, chasing friction, the decorative plates on her belt jingling softly with the motion. One of her hands slipped lower, palming you through your pants with zero hesitation, while the other tugged at the collar of your shirt, demanding you closer.

You pulled back just far enough to look at her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, eyes half-lidded and gleaming with that same post-concert fire. “Let me take this off you,” you said, voice low, fingers already hooking under the hem of the sheer mesh crop top. She nodded once, biting her lower lip again, and lifted her arms without protest. You peeled the top upward slowly, savoring every inch of revealed skin: the way the fabric clung stubbornly to her damp curves before giving way, the leopard bra coming into full view, black mesh and spots stretched tight over her breasts. You tossed the top aside onto the counter, then let your hands glide back down her sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts before tracing the line of her ribs.

Next came the belt. You unbuckled it with deliberate care, the heavy metal warm now from her body heat, and let it slide free with a soft clatter onto the floor. The leopard-print bottoms followed, but not quickly—you hooked your fingers into the waistband and dragged them down her hips inch by inch, dropping to one knee so you could kiss the newly exposed skin of her stomach, her hip bones, the top of one thigh where the fur cuff began. She shivered visibly, one hand resting on your shoulder for balance as you worked the fabric lower, past her knees, until she could step out of it. The black knee-high socks stayed for now—you wanted to leave something on her a little longer.

Momo watched you the entire time, chest rising and falling faster, that commanding spark still in her eyes even as she let you undress her. When you stood again, she didn’t give you a chance to speak. Her hands were on you immediately, mirroring your patience but with a hungry edge. She tugged your shirt up and over your head, nails scraping lightly down your chest the moment it was gone. Then came your pants—she popped the button, dragged the zipper down slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time, and pushed everything down your legs until you kicked them aside. Her palms roamed freely now over your newly bared skin, tracing every line, every muscle, squeezing and teasing as she pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone and down your sternum.

“You’re mine tonight,” she breathed against your skin between kisses, voice husky and full of promise. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear next, sliding them down with the same torturous slowness you’d used on her. “All of you. And I’m going to take my time too.”

By the time the last piece of clothing hit the floor, the green room felt ten degrees hotter. The mirror across the room reflected everything back at you—her almost completely bare except for the black knee-high socks and the fluffy fur cuffs still hugging her thighs, your bodies pressed close, skin flushed and marked by wandering hands and eager mouths. Momo’s fingers traced lazy patterns down your back as she pulled you in for another deep, lingering kiss, slower this time but no less intense, like she was savoring the fact that the night was only just beginning.

The kiss stretched on like it had nowhere else to go, slow and deep and utterly consuming. Your mouths moved together in a lazy, heated rhythm now—less frantic than the first collision but no less desperate. Momo’s tongue traced the seam of your lips before slipping back inside, coaxing yours into a slick dance that made your pulse thunder in your ears. She tasted like salt and cherry and pure want, her breath hitching every time you angled your head just right and sucked on her lower lip. One of her hands stayed tangled in your hair, nails scratching lightly at your scalp in time with each stroke of her tongue, while the other roamed lower, mapping the curve of your spine, the dip at the small of your back, then sliding around to press flat against your stomach like she needed to feel the way your muscles tensed under her touch.

You answered in kind, hands never still—gliding up the bare, sweat-damp length of her back, fingertips tracing the delicate knobs of her spine before dipping lower to cup the perfect swell of her ass. You squeezed, pulling her tighter against you, and she rewarded you with a soft, broken moan that vibrated straight into your mouth. Her fluffy fur cuffs brushed teasingly against your thighs every time she shifted, the contrast of soft plush and her burning skin driving you a little crazier. She rocked her hips forward in a slow grind, the heat between her legs pressing against your thigh, and you could feel how wet she already was, how the leftover adrenaline from the stage had turned her body into something electric and insatiable.

You broke away just enough to drag open-mouthed kisses along her jaw, down the elegant column of her throat, tasting the faint sheen of sweat that still clung there from the encore. “Fuck, Momo… you’re still so worked up,” you murmured against her pulse point, voice rough and low. “I can feel your heart racing like you’re still out there under the lights.”

She let out a breathy laugh that melted into a whimper when your teeth grazed her collarbone. “Because I am,” she whispered, tilting her head to give you better access. Her fingers tightened in your hair, guiding your mouth back up to hers for another long, filthy kiss. “That stage… the way they screamed my name… it’s still buzzing under my skin. But this—” She nipped at your bottom lip, sucking it between her teeth before soothing it with her tongue. “This is what I’ve been thinking about since the final bow. Just you. Just us. No cameras. No choreo. Just… this.”

The kiss deepened again, wet and messy and perfect. Tongues sliding, lips sliding, breaths mingling until the room felt ten degrees hotter. Your hands explored every inch of her—cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples, then sliding down the flat plane of her stomach to the flare of her hips. She mirrored you, palms dragging down your chest, nails scraping lightly over your abs before wrapping around your already aching length. She didn’t stroke yet—just held you, feeling you throb in her grip, a teasing promise that made you groan into her mouth.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of shared heat and wandering hands, she pulled back. Her lips were swollen and shiny, eyes dark and heavy-lidded with lust. A thin string of saliva connected you for half a second before it broke. She looked up at you through her lashes, that signature Momo smirk playing at the corners of her mouth—the same one she flashed at the crowd during her solo spot, only this time it was all for you.

Without a word, she slid her body down against yours in one fluid, deliberate motion. Her breasts dragged along your chest, nipples grazing your skin, then her stomach, then the soft fur of her thigh cuffs brushing your thighs as she sank gracefully to her knees on the cool tiled floor. The vanity light caught every angle of her—flushed cheeks, messy dark hair falling around her shoulders, leopard-print remnants of the stage look still somehow making her look like the sexiest woman alive even half-undressed. Her face hovered right in front of your cock, so close you could feel the warmth of her breath ghosting over the sensitive head.

One of her hands came up, delicate fingers wrapping around the base with a firm, confident grip. She gave you a slow, luxurious pump from root to tip, thumb swiping over the slit to spread the bead of precum that had already gathered there. “Look at you,” she murmured, voice husky and teasing, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “So hard for me already… after just kissing? I must’ve really put on a show tonight, huh?” Another slow stroke, tighter this time, twisting just a little at the head. “Or maybe it’s the outfit. You liked the fur, didn’t you? Felt it against you the whole time I was grinding on stage in my head.”

She tilted her head slightly, then leaned the thick length upward with her hand, exposing the underside. Her face moved forward, dark eyes never leaving yours as she dragged her tongue in one long, slow, wet stripe from the very base all the way up to the tip. The flat of her tongue was hot and silky, pressing firmly along the throbbing vein, collecting every drop of precum and the faint salt of your skin. She lingered at the head, swirling once, twice, before pulling back just enough for you to see the glossy sheen she’d left behind.

“Mmm… tastes even better than I imagined,” she breathed, the words vibrating against you. Her free hand rested on your thigh, nails digging in lightly for balance as she leaned in again. She wasted no time now—lips parting as she took the swollen head into her mouth, enveloping it in wet heat. Her tongue worked expertly, swirling around the sensitive ridge, flicking against the slit, sucking with just the right pressure while her hand continued those slow, steady pumps along the shaft. She treated it like it was the only thing in the world that mattered—humming softly around you, the vibration shooting straight down your spine, cheeks hollowing as she bobbed shallowly, taking a little more each time.

You watched her through half-lidded eyes, one hand threading gently into her messy hair, the other braced against the counter behind her. “God, Momo… your mouth feels incredible,” you groaned, thumb brushing her cheek. “Don’t stop… just like that.”

She hummed again in response, the sound turning into a pleased little moan. Then, without warning, she sank down further—taking you deeper, inch by inch, until the head nudged the back of her throat. She held there for a few long, breathtaking seconds, throat fluttering around you, eyes watering slightly but still locked on yours with that fierce, determined spark. Her lips stretched wide around your length, the warmth and tightness almost overwhelming.

But then her gag reflex kicked in—her throat constricting suddenly, a soft, wet choke vibrating around you as her eyes fluttered. She didn’t pull off right away, though. She stayed there just a moment longer, letting you feel the way her throat spasmed, before easing back with a gasp, strings of saliva connecting her swollen lips to your glistening cock. Her chest heaved, tongue darting out to lick her lips clean as she looked up at you with a mix of pride and raw hunger.

“Too much?” she asked breathlessly, voice raspy, a wicked little smile tugging at her lips even as she stroked you slowly again. “Or do you want me to try that again…?”

You threaded your fingers through her damp hair, not guiding yet, just holding. “Keep going….” you murmured, voice rough. “I want to hear every sound you make when you take me deeper. Let me hear you choke on it. Gag for me, baby. I know you can.”

Momo’s eyes flashed with pure heat at the words. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t pull back for air or permission. In one smooth, determined glide she sank down until her nose pressed against your stomach, taking every inch until her throat fluttered and convulsed around you. The wet, obscene sound that ripped from her was everything you’d asked for—raw, desperate, a choked gag that made her eyes water instantly. But she didn’t stop. Her throat tightened rhythmically, muscles working hard to swallow around the intrusion, and the wet, gagging noises only grew louder as she fought her own reflex. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, smudging the liner even more, but she kept her gaze locked on yours, defiant and needy all at once.

She pulled back just enough to gasp in a ragged breath, strings of saliva connecting her swollen lips to your cock, before she dove down again—deeper this time, if that was even possible. Her throat spasmed violently around you, the sound wet and filthy, a broken gag that vibrated through her whole body. Her hands gripped your thighs, nails digging in through your pants as she held herself there, fighting the urge to pull away. Saliva dripped down her chin, onto the leopard bra, making the fabric glisten. She bobbed her head in short, forceful motions, each one forcing another choked noise from her stuffed throat—gurgles and wet clicks and desperate little whimpers that only made her push harder.

You could feel the way her throat squeezed and released, the tight heat milking you as she battled her gag reflex and won every single time. Her cheeks hollowed with effort, tears now slipping freely down her flushed cheeks, mixing with the sweat still beading along her jaw. The fluffy cuffs on her thighs shifted as she rocked on her knees, ass swaying slightly behind her, the wide belt jingling softly with every bob of her head. She was a mess—makeup ruined, hair sticking to her damp skin, lips stretched obscenely around you—but she looked more alive than she had under the Tokyo Dome lights. Every gag, every wet choke, every muffled moan told you she was loving this just as much as you were.

You kept talking to her, low and steady, praising the way she took it, telling her how perfect she sounded falling apart on your cock. She responded by pushing even further, nose buried tight against you again, throat convulsing in long, rolling waves that had your hips twitching despite yourself. The sounds filled the green room—obscene, slick, utterly unrestrained. Her breathing came in sharp, desperate snorts through her nose whenever she managed a fraction of air, but she never once tapped out. She just kept working you, tongue swirling on the underside when she could, throat fluttering wildly when she couldn’t.

Minutes stretched like that—her on her knees, gagging and choking and moaning around you, eyes glassy but still burning with that fierce, unyielding hunger. The mirror showed it all in perfect, filthy detail: the way her back arched, the way her leopard-print top clung to her heaving chest, the way her thighs pressed together under those fur cuffs like she was just as turned on as you were.

Finally, when her throat had gone hoarse from the effort and her cheeks were streaked with tears and saliva, Momo pulled off with a long, wet pop. She sat back on her heels, gasping, chest rising and falling rapidly. Strands of spit still connected her lips to you, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing it across her chin. Her voice came out wrecked, raspy and low. “Fuck… you taste so good when you’re this hard for me.”

She rose slowly, legs steady despite the tremble in her thighs, and pressed her body against yours again. One hand roamed up your chest, fingers tracing the lines of muscle beneath your shirt, nails scraping lightly over your collarbone. The other hand wrapped around your slick cock, stroking it lazily, rubbing the wet head slowly back and forth across her plump lower lip like she was savoring the taste. Her breath ghosted hot against your ear as she leaned in, voice a sultry whisper.

“Tell me,” she breathed, lips brushing your earlobe, “which hole do you want to wreck first? I’m aching for you… pick whichever one you’re going to ruin tonight.”

You answered without missing a beat, voice low and rough from the pleasure she’d just given you. “I’ll choose the one you want me to make sore. The one that’s going to be aching for days after I’m done with it.”

Momo let out a soft, throaty chuckle that vibrated against your neck. She pulled back just enough for you to see the wicked sparkle in her eyes, the way her swollen lips curved into a knowing smirk. Without another word she stepped away, hips swaying with that signature dancer’s grace, the metal plates on her belt chiming like a promise. She turned toward the far wall, the one lined with mirrors and the glittering Tokyo skyline beyond the window, and planted her hands flat against it. She arched her back deeply, pushing her ass out toward you, the leopard-print bottoms riding up just enough to show the perfect curve of her cheeks.

She glanced over her shoulder at you, hair falling messily across one eye, that same predatory smile playing on her lips. “Then you already know exactly which one I need you to make sore,” she purred, voice still hoarse from the way she’d just choked on you. She gave her hips a slow, deliberate wiggle, the fluffy cuffs shifting on her thighs, the belt discs catching the low light. “Come on… make it hurt so good I feel you every time I move on stage tomorrow.”

Your footsteps echoed softly across the green-room floor, the low hum of the distant arena lights still buzzing faintly through the walls like leftover adrenaline from the show. Momo stayed exactly where she was—palms pressed flat to the cool mirrored surface, back arched in that perfect, practiced curve, ass presented like an offering she’d been dying to give all night. The leopard-print bottoms had ridden up high between her cheeks from the way she was bent, the fluffy brown cuffs on her thighs framing the sight perfectly. Her belt discs dangled and chimed with every tiny shift of her weight, catching the low light and throwing tiny sparks across the room. You could see her reflection in the mirror: flushed cheeks, ruined makeup, lips still glossy from the mess she’d made of you earlier, eyes locked on yours with that hungry, challenging stare.

You closed the distance slowly, deliberately, one hand already wrapped around your cock—still slick and throbbing from her throat, veins standing out from how hard she’d worked you. The heat of your palm felt almost too much against your own skin after the cool air, but you stroked once, twice, just to feel the weight of it, the way it jumped in your grip at the sight of her waiting. She watched every step in the mirror, hips giving another teasing little wiggle that made the belt jingle louder.

When you were right behind her, close enough that the head of your cock brushed the warm curve of her ass, you tapped it against one cheek—firm, deliberate, the wet slap echoing sharply in the quiet room. Then the other cheek, letting the heavy length rest there for a second before lifting and tapping again, harder this time, watching the soft flesh ripple under the impact.

Momo let out a breathy laugh that turned into a low moan, pushing back against the taps like she couldn’t help herself. “Mmm… you’re teasing me now?” she purred, voice still rough and wrecked from choking on you. Her eyes never left yours in the reflection. “After I just gagged myself stupid for you? Come on, baby… I can feel how hard you are. That cock’s been dripping since I was on my knees. Don’t make me beg… or do. I don’t care which.”

You tapped again, right between her cheeks this time, letting the swollen head drag slowly up and down the cleft, spreading the wetness from her own spit and your pre-cum over her skin. “You’re the one who bent over like this,” you murmured, voice low and rough. “Ass up, legs spread, looking like you need it more than air. Tell me again—what hole am I supposed to make sore tonight? The one that’s going to have you walking funny on stage tomorrow?”

She bit her lower lip, eyes fluttering for a second as another tap landed, this one right against her tight little hole. A shiver ran down her spine, visible in the mirror, and her thighs pressed together under those fluffy cuffs. “You already know,” she whispered, voice dropping into that husky stage-whisper she used when she was trying to drive you insane. “The one I’ve been clenching just thinking about since the encore. The one that’s going to stretch so fucking good around you… Make it burn, make it ache. I want to feel you for days every time I hit a high note.”

You kept the taps coming—light, rhythmic slaps that made her ass jiggle and the belt chime like some filthy little melody. “Yeah? You want it raw? No warming up? Just me splitting you open the second I decide you’re ready?”

Momo’s breath hitched, her fingers curling against the mirror like she was fighting the urge to reach back and pull you in herself. “God, yes. Stop playing and—fuck—”

You didn’t let her finish the sentence.

In one smooth, powerful motion you lined up and thrust forward, burying every thick inch straight into her tight asshole without a single pause. The sudden stretch ripped a sharp, broken cry from her throat—half gasp, half moan—as her body clenched hard around the invasion. She was scorching hot inside, velvet-tight and gripping you like she never wanted to let go, the ring of muscle fluttering wildly as it tried to adjust to the abrupt fullness. You didn’t give her time to breathe; you just kept pushing until your hips were flush against her ass, buried to the hilt, the base of your cock pressed tight against her.

“Fuuuuck—!” Momo’s voice cracked, forehead dropping against the mirror with a soft thud. Her eyes squeezed shut for a second, then snapped open again, wide and glassy in the reflection. “Yes… just like that. So deep already… shit, you’re so big like this.”

You stayed buried for a long, throbbing moment, letting her feel every inch, letting the burn settle into something hotter, wetter. Her walls rippled and squeezed around you in rhythmic pulses, milking you instinctively even as she panted through the stretch. One of your hands slid up her back, fingers tracing the line of her spine before tangling in her damp hair. You gave a light tug, pulling her head back just enough so she had to watch herself in the mirror—watch the way her mouth fell open, the way her tits pressed against the cool glass through the sheer mesh top, nipples hard and visible.

“Look at you,” you growled against her ear, hips grinding in tiny circles that made the belt discs rattle softly. “Taking it all in one go. Such a greedy little hole.”

She let out a shaky laugh that dissolved into a whimper when you started to move—slow, deep drags at first, pulling out almost to the tip before sliding back in, letting her feel the drag, the way her body opened up around you. Every thrust made her ass cheeks ripple, the leopard fabric of her bottoms bunched uselessly to the side now, the fluffy cuffs brushing your thighs as she widened her stance a little more. The wet, filthy sound of skin meeting skin started to fill the room, mixed with her breathy moans and the constant soft jingle of her belt.

Momo pushed back to meet you on the next thrust, rolling her hips in that perfect dancer’s rhythm, taking you even deeper. “Harder,” she gasped, voice hoarse. “Don’t be gentle—I can take it. Ruin it. I want bruises from your hips tomorrow.”

You gave her exactly what she asked for, picking up the pace, snapping your hips forward with more force. The slap of your body against hers grew louder, sharper. Your free hand came down on one ass cheek in a firm smack, watching the skin bloom pink under your palm. She moaned louder at that, clenching around you so tight it made stars flicker behind your eyes. Another smack, then a soothing rub, then another thrust that punched the air out of her lungs.

The mirror gave you everything—the way her back arched deeper with every stroke, the way her hair fell messily across her face, the way her lips stayed parted in a constant stream of broken curses and pleas in that wrecked, sexy voice. Sweat was starting to bead along her spine again, mixing with the remnants of stage glitter that still clung to her skin. You leaned over her, chest pressing to her back, one arm wrapping around her waist to hold her steady while the other kept its grip in her hair.

You kept the rhythm relentless but controlled—long, punishing strokes that dragged against every sensitive inch inside her, angling just right to make her cry out every time you bottomed out. Her asshole fluttered and squeezed around you in waves, the heat and pressure almost overwhelming, but you held back, savoring the way she fell apart instead of chasing your own edge. Momo’s hand left the mirror to reach back, nails digging into your thigh, urging you on.

“More—fuck, right there,” she panted, voice breaking on a particularly deep thrust. “You’re so deep… I can feel you in my stomach. Don’t stop… make me yours.”

You switched it up then, pulling her hips back a little more, changing the angle so every thrust hit even harder, faster. The room filled with the wet sounds of you fucking into her, her moans turning into high, needy whines that echoed off the mirrors. Her thighs trembled under the fluffy cuffs, but she kept pushing back, meeting you thrust for thrust like the performer she was—giving everything, demanding everything in return.

You could feel her getting closer, her walls starting to pulse in that telltale way, but you weren’t done playing yet. You slowed again, grinding deep and dirty, letting her feel you throb inside her without letting either of you tip over. Your hand slid down between her legs, fingers teasing along the edge of her soaked leopard bottoms, brushing her clit just enough to make her jolt and clench even tighter around your cock.

Momo’s head fell back against your shoulder with a desperate sound. “You’re evil… teasing me while you’re balls-deep in my ass. I love it. Keep going—use me however you want. I’m not tapping out tonight.”

Your hips snapped forward again, the wet slap of skin on skin ringing out sharper than before as you drove deeper into her. Momo’s breath fogged the mirror in front of her, her palms squeaking faintly against the glass every time you bottomed out. The leopard-print bottoms were completely shoved aside now, the fluffy brown cuffs on her thighs trembling with each punishing thrust. Her belt discs clattered wildly, a chaotic metallic rhythm that mixed with the obscene, slick sounds of your cock sliding in and out of her tight asshole.

She was clenching around you harder than ever, velvet heat rippling in waves that made your vision blur at the edges. You could feel every flutter, every desperate squeeze as her body fought to pull you even deeper. Sweat trickled down the curve of her spine, catching the low light and making her skin glow. You leaned over her completely, chest pressed to her back, one arm banded tight around her waist while your other hand slid down between her legs. Your fingers found her soaked folds through the thin fabric and rubbed firm circles over her clit, matching the brutal pace of your hips.

“Fuck—yes, right there,” Momo gasped, voice cracking into a broken whine. Her eyes met yours in the mirror, pupils blown wide, mascara streaks painting dark rivers down her flushed cheeks. “Don’t stop… I’m so close already. You’re wrecking me so good—ahh!”

You growled against the side of her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there before you bit down just hard enough to make her jolt. “That’s it, baby. Let me feel you fall apart with my cock buried in your ass. I want to feel this greedy little hole milk me when you cum.”

The added pressure on her clit sent her spiraling. Her thighs shook violently under the fluffy cuffs, knees threatening to buckle as she pushed back desperately to meet every thrust. The mirror showed it all in filthy high definition: her mouth open in a silent scream, tits bouncing inside the sheer mesh top with each impact, the way her ass rippled every time your hips slammed home. You kept the angle perfect, dragging against that spot inside her that made her voice climb higher and higher until it shattered.

Momo came with a guttural cry that echoed through the green room, her entire body locking up around you. Her asshole clenched down like a vice, pulsing in long, powerful waves that tried to pull you over the edge right then and there. Hot, slick wetness flooded your fingers as she soaked through the leopard fabric, thighs quivering uncontrollably. She kept moaning through it, high and needy, pushing back even as her orgasm tore through her like a second encore.

You didn’t slow down. If anything, you fucked her harder through her climax, chasing the way her walls fluttered and squeezed around your throbbing length. The pressure was building fast now—tight, electric, coiling low in your gut with every wet slide. Her wrecked voice filled your ears, hoarse and filthy.

“Cum for me,” she begged, still trembling from her own release. “Fill me up—please. I want to feel you pulsing inside my ass. Give it to me, baby. Breed this hole until it’s dripping with you.”

That was all it took.

You buried yourself to the hilt one final time, hips stuttering as the orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Thick, hot ropes of cum erupted deep inside her, painting her walls in pulse after heavy pulse. You groaned loud and low against her shoulder, grinding deep as you emptied yourself completely, the sheer intensity making your vision white out for a second. Momo moaned right along with you, clenching rhythmically like she was trying to wring out every last drop, her body still twitching from the aftershocks of her own climax.

You stayed buried deep while you came, hips giving tiny, involuntary thrusts as the last spurts flooded her. The heat of it was overwhelming—your release mixing with the slick mess already inside her, making every tiny movement even wetter, filthier. When the final wave finally ebbed, you stayed pressed against her, chest heaving, cock still twitching inside the tight, cum-filled heat of her ass.

Momo let out a soft, satisfied laugh that turned into a breathless whimper when you gave one last shallow grind. “Mmm… so much. I can feel you leaking already.” She reached back with one hand, nails scraping lightly down your thigh as she squeezed around you deliberately, milking the last few drops. Her eyes were glassy in the mirror, lips curved in that post-orgasm smirk that always promised more trouble later. “Look at the mess you made… my ass is so full of you now. I’m gonna be feeling this every time I sit down tomorrow.”

You kissed the side of her neck, slow and lingering, tasting the salt of her sweat while your hand gently rubbed soothing circles over her clit to ease her down. The mirror reflected the two of you tangled together—her bent and claimed, you still buried deep, the belt discs finally still against her skin. The green room smelled like sex and vanilla and the faint cherry of her gloss, the distant hum of the arena lights the only sound besides your slowing breaths.

After a long moment you eased out carefully, watching with dark satisfaction as a thick trickle of your cum leaked from her stretched hole, sliding down her thigh and catching on the fluffy cuff. Momo shivered at the sensation, then turned in your arms, pressing her sweat-slicked body against yours. She captured your mouth in a lazy, filthy kiss, tongue sliding against yours like she was savoring the taste of her own effort from earlier.

…

Tzuyu stood and went with Dahyun, who was still shivering with her legs fully spread from the orgasm IU had given her.

"She k-kissed me," the pale girl stuttered at the touch of the maknae.

"I think she did way more than that," the tall woman smirked, kneeling to lick her folds, inhaling Dahyun's musk and admiring the little puddle of squirt on her white butt.

"Tzuyu, we haven't really…"

"Do you want to?" The tanned woman chuckled, raising her eyebrows as she crawled over Dahyun, watching her nod shyly.

Gently, Tzuyu leaned to kiss her. Just a brush of the lips, waiting for her to confirm if she really desired to continue. One second of doubt, and Dahyun stretched her neck to follow along, giggling as their lips finally joined for one profound kiss.

Hearing Seungdae's voice in the back, the maknae got her knees up on the couch, using her massive thighs to keep Dahyun's equally meaty legs spread, letting her torso get as close to her friend as possible, causing both of them to laugh when they felt their nipples caressing each other's skin.

Carrying Chaeyoung with one arm, he turned to see Tzuyu's tanned ass and pussy contrasting with Dahyun's pale butt and pink folds. "You have no idea how much I wanted to see that," he told the slim woman in his arms.

"Can you manage the three of us?" She grinned devilishly.

"Only one way to find out," he laughed, carefully placing Chaeyoung on the couch, at Dahyun's right, before kneeling to caress Tzuyu's ass while her hands ran all over her sensitive friend. While the tattooed woman leaned to witness her friends' lips kissing, making both of them flush at her not-so-subtle presence, Seungdae's tongue tickled her lover's puckered hole.

The now familiar sensation triggered in both a rush of lust, causing the man to devour Tzuyu's butt, while the maknae pulled Chaeyoung for a fervent kiss. With their previous makeout session, where IU ate the woman's pierced cunt, the two younger members had lost any restraint with each other, surprising Dahyun with their bites and giggles.

Swaying her ass, Tzuyu guided the kiss to the pale woman's lips, again, seeing a bit of doubt in her movements, but quickly adapting to Chaeyoung's plump lips, even pulling her to bite her properly. Satisfied with the up-close show, she moved to kiss Dahyun's neck, giggling at her gasps of surprise as her small hand grabbed the maknae's hair.

Seungdae moved down to those precious folds he had come to memorize. Even though he wanted to go further down to please Dahyun, he could not help but get lost in Tzuyu's nectar, gently kissing her outer lips before spreading her inner petals to take a deep lick of her walls. With his hands running down to the pale woman, slowly sliding down to her groin, he gave one last tour through the tall woman's pussy, planting a few kisses on her clit as a way to tell her he'll return to her.

He felt the incredible heat and delicious musk emanating from Dahyun. The puddle of squirt was still there. Eager, he sipped it, savoring the result of Jieun's fingers doing her magic on those beautiful pink folds. 'Time to drink from the fountain,' he thought, kissing her inner thighs, slowly getting closer and closer to her cunt until his tongue ran through her slit.

Her instant moan triggered flashbacks of the afternoon they shared. From the moment she stripped naked, revealing her tiny waist and child-bearing hips, to her belly bulging, and her screams asking him to cum inside her.

The more he ate her, the more he felt his energy coming back, and the more his tongue swirled through her creases and her clit. Just like that time, it seemed that a direct lick to her sensitive bean wiped away any self-restraint she had.

In a second, Dahyun's breathing could be heard. She had taken Chaeyoung by her cheeks, taking her meaty lips for a lustful kiss, leaving her hands free to roam on her friend's bodies, finally giving herself the chance to play with their pierced nipples, pinching and pulling them as hard as her delicate digits could.

"Can I— Can I taste your pussy?" Dahyun panted in the slim woman's lips, sliding a finger through the ring on her nipple to pull her closer to her.

"Only if I can taste yours," Chaeyoung grinned, biting her lips. Since Tzuyu heard them, she pulled Dahyun for another kiss before sitting on the couch to give them space. "My turn," the tattooed woman smirked to Seungdae while Dahyun wiggled her way to rest her head comfortably, staying close to Tzuyu's thighs.

With the maknae's gentle petting and the man's impressed but approving nod, she got ready to welcome Chaeyoung's pierced petals into her mouth. Dahyun's eyes widened, surprised by how much her tongue could pull the rings, but mostly because of the one piercing on the hood of her friend's clit.

"I still remember the first time I played with it," Tzuyu smirked flirtily at Seungdae, wiggling her ass.

"Truly an unforgettable experience," he replied, spanking those tanned buttcheeks and rubbing his shaft against her drenched slit. "You want to see them, don't you?"

"How did you know?" The maknae grunted, impaling herself on his length, and stretching her back to pull his head to her neck.

"I know what my angel likes," he whispered, kissing the spot behind her left ear while his right hand pressed on her lower abdomen, feeling his own cock move as she swayed her hips.

"I love it when you call me that," Tzuyu giggled, keeping her eyes on Chaeyoung's lower back as she leaned to lick Dahyun's folds.

"My angel?" He chuckled, holding her as close to his own body as he could. "That's what you are."

"Are you sure IU sunbaenim doesn't mind?" She moaned, letting him guide her hand to her womb.

"That I call you my angel or that I'm fucking you?" He grinned, thrusting harder into the tall woman.

"Both," she let out in a gasped moan, unable to hide her smile.

Seungdae held Tzuyu's jaw and turned her to behold Jeongyeon's multitasking skills, scissoring with Nayeon and making out with Jihyo, both busty women fiercely pulling each other's nipples while the older girl chuckled at them. Then, she looked down to find IU, lying flat on the floor, legs spread with Sana eating her cunt, Momo making her suck her nipple, and Mina sitting on her hand.

"This was all her idea. She wanted us all to go wild," he explained as he fucked her, slowly increasing his pace. "Trust me, she likes you. You've got nothing to fear."

His words soothed any worry in her system. Ogling at the way her sunbae was used by the three Japanese members, but also lusting over Dahyun and Chaeyoung, Tzuyu melted in his embrace. "Fuck me," she demanded, twisting her torso to bite his lip before getting on all fours.

Her pussy was already used to accommodating him from all angles, gripping onto his girth for almost as long as she wanted to. The immediate ramming was exactly what she wanted.

Dahyun saw that in Tzuyu's trembling eyes as her smile showed pleasure and satisfaction. Locking eyes with the maknae only drove the pale woman's lust even higher. While she tried to focus on playing with Chaeyoung's piercings and enjoy the way she was licking her folds, Dahyun could not help but remember the striking visuals of Seungdae's cock making her belly bulge when he fucked her.

The more vividly the memories hit her, the more she craved it. Still fixed on Tzuyu's eyes, her hand reached the tall woman's navel, pressing it to feel the man's tip hitting right below it with every hard thrust.

The lovers noticed her hunger. Seungdae went even harder, making their flesh clap as he shoved his full length into the maknae every time. Tzuyu arched her lower back to give him full access to her insides, biting her lower lip, making her whimpers sound as arousing as possible.

"Tzu…" Dahyun managed to whine, biting Chaeyoung's rings, pulling her inner lips.

"Yes?" Tzuyu replied teasingly, raising her eyebrows and leaning toward her face.

"Can I?" She asked, making the tattooed woman stop, turn back to see what was happening, and understand right away.

A deep moan came out from the maknae. "Can you what?" She insisted as Seungdae increased his speed and Dahyun's fingers hugged the outline of his girth.

"Can he fuck me?" She battled to request. Seungdae slammed his manhood into Tzuyu and stayed there, leaning toward both women.

"Don't stop until she cums," the tall woman told him, turning to kiss his lips, clenching her walls as he slid out of her pussy. "Enjoy it," she added as Chaeyoung moved from Dahyun, allowing them to kiss.

"Can I go next?" Chaeyoung asked him with a wide grin, quickly gasping at the sudden pull on her nipple rings.

"Just like last time?" He wondered, biting her plump lower lip. She nodded, feeling his fingers run through her folds to play with her adornments. "And how do you want it?" He turned to see an eager Dahyun, kneeling on the sofa.

"Hard." No doubt in Dahyun's words, just thirst and hunger.

The next thing she knew, her knees were pressing against her boobs, and Seungdae was already carrying her in the air as he sat on the couch, aligning his shaft, drenched in Tzuyu's nectar, right at her entrance.

They locked eyes. Despite the clear fear in her face, she nodded quickly, and he let her fall on his length. Both grunted, instantly hugging each other.

"Do it," Dahyun let out, trembling as her walls gripped onto his girth right before he fucked her as hard as he was fucking Tzuyu mere moments ago. There was no need to see her belly or touch it; she felt his cock rearrange her insides at every pounding, hitting her cervix at first, and then fucking its way to her fornix, scratching his back more and more every second.

Seungdae felt time dilate around him. Loving the way Dahyun's walls felt around his shaft at every strong movement, he spotted Jieun fully locked between the Japanese members, too lost in her pleasure to notice anything around her, too close to her climax to care. Then he noticed the two younger members leering at him and Dahyun, as if awaiting instructions. Hugging Dahyun with both arms and grabbing her meaty ass, he called them.

Chaeyoung went to his left, forcing Dahyun to look up. They smiled at each other, sharing the understanding that they needed to feel their insides stretched and reshaped. Both stared at each other's lips until they kissed.

Tzuyu, however, let herself admire Dahyun's butt rippling as her lover fucked her. She got closer to his right, sitting to kiss him while her right hand went between her friend's buttcheeks. First, she spread her digits around his girth, taking a bit of the pale woman's juices to cover her digits. Then, she let her fingers wander on that pink pucker hole, already slightly stretched by Seungdae's girth.

The first digit getting into her rectum made her hum in confusion, but the second one made her grunt and tremble. "That's another first for today," the maknae giggled, moving her fingers in and out of Dahyun's ass, leaning to kiss her lover.

The instant clench and added bounce from Dahyun pushed Seungdae closer to his climax, but the glance of Jieun, experiencing her own orgasm, trying her best not to explode in Sana's face, added the arousal that called for him to announce it.

"Where?" He grunted while Tzuyu bit his lip, keeping him close to her.

"Inside," Dahyun whimpered, feeling Chaeyoung pinching her nipple.

"For real?" Seungdae turned, going harder on the pale woman without noticing it.

"Fill me," she nodded, lusting in his eyes. "I want to feel it," she added with a smile, a moment before being pulled by Chaeyoung for another kiss, the same as Tzuyu did with him.

He could tell Dahyun was also close. Trusting in his own ability and the helping hands of the two women at his sides, he allowed himself to feel his orgasm approaching, hugging the pale woman as hard as her walls hugged his manhood, and getting drunk on Tzuyu's lips.

Dahyun knew what was coming, but the added twist on her nipple and fingers in her butthole intensified the warm explosion on her insides. The sensation of his semen spurting right against her cervix triggered her animalistic side, making her grind over his shaft until her own climax arrived, squeezing every remaining bit of sperm that was inside of him.

Without breaking her kiss with Chaeyoung, which served to calm her down from her orgasm, she felt Tzuyu's fingers slipping out of her ass. Even through her shivering, she purposefully clenched her cunt to feel his load spread inside of her.

Seungdae was surprised by the maknae's fingers joining their make-out session, bringing a slightly bitter taste coming from Dahyun's rectum. Once the flavor was gone, Tzuyu continued kissing him, giggling at his curious eyes.

He was scanning the panorama around him, primarily Jieun having her pussy eaten by Mina, keeping her on the edge of another climax. Then he noticed Momo looking for a good dildo to attach to the strap Sana and Nayeon were helping her adjust.

"No, use that one," he instructed, pointing to the toy shaped like two realistic cocks, one slightly larger than the other, merged by their undersides, clearly designed for one hole. His words left the members in disbelief. "She's taken Jongsuk and me at the same time; she can handle that," he stated, winking at IU. She shook her head, laughing with him from afar while the attentive members were awed by his comment.

While Sana pulled Nayeon for a kiss, and Momo made Mina stand up by shoving a few fingers up her ass before carrying a weakened Jieun to fuck her, Seungdae took Dahyun's face, staring at her eyes. A gentle nod, and he kissed her.

"You feel great," he chuckled, clenching his manhood inside of her.

"It feels even better without all the stress," she giggled, contracting her walls, embarrassed by her friend's laughs.

"My turn to eat her," Tzuyu grinned, locking eyes with Dahyun.

"His turn to use me," Chaeyoung smiled devilishly, pushing him to the corner of the couch while the maknae took the pale woman to make her lie on the other end of the sofa.

"Clench all you want, but I'm taking that load out of you," the tall woman warned Dahyun as she kissed her body, neck to pussy, ready to savor her friend.

"Mister?" The tattooed girl sat on her legs, obediently waiting for his instructions.

Scoffing at the marvelous sight that she was, but not wanting to miss a second of his girlfriend getting fucked by Momo and Mina while they had her eat Sana's cunt, he let his back rest on the couch. "Ass up here," he commanded.

Chaeyoung grinned and obeyed, placing her legs over her shoulders, facing down to his cock until she wiggled her way so her pussy brushed his mouth. He pushed her back, letting her torso rest on his, and her mouth get his semi-hard dick within reach. Happily, she took his shaft with both hands and began licking his glans, ensuring he would feel her plump lips with every frequent kiss.

Seungdae used the time to relax and eat Chaeyoung's pierced cunt, going over each ring, leaving the one on her hood at the end, all while he witnessed Momo stretching IU's walls and Mina's trickery hands play with the soloist's butthole.

He took a moment to admire Chaeyoung's pussy. Her inner lips, hanging wherever the weight of the rings dictated, and the piercing on the hood of her clit, revealing her small bean, stimulating it every time his tongue moved it to either side.

He breathed her musk. He didn't know what it was about her, but even if she wasn't so willing to be treated like a rag doll, her scent alone awakened the need to fuck her as wildly as possible. Inhaling her directly from her folds and her tight asshole, in addition to the show happening on the other couch, brought back his full erection, causing Chaeyoung to grip his girth tightly to maintain it on her mouth.

Taking advantage of her eagerness, Seungdae hugged her hips tightly and reached for her hair. He felt her giggle as her mouth opened wider, letting him force his shaft into her throat, even though the position and the curvature of his length made it way more difficult than the last time.

She battled, unconsciously making his dick thicker by gripping onto it tightly until her gagging and retching produced enough spit for one final push to allow her throat to engulf his whole manhood.

There, losing the fight with her reflexes, unable to move or breathe, and getting more blood to her head, Chaeyoung wondered how many times Seungdae had used her sunbae's throat just like he was using hers. Right there, while she watched IU's holes fucked by that double dildo and now an extra toy in her butthole, courtesy of Mina, who caught her lusting.

The loving eyes of her girlfriend and her beautiful gummy smile served as an extra drive to handle the cock in her throat. Motivated to make her beloved proud, Chaeyoung bobbed her head, triggering a series of hard thrusts from the man, bringing tears to her cheeks until he grabbed her hair and pulled her all the way to his face. The thick thread of drool hung all the way from her mouth, through her torso, down to his dick, now brushing her folds.

Between the gasps, an unintentional laugh, and her heart pounding through her chest, she could not cough. Still, her eyes remained on Mina, who, shocked by the abrupt maneuver, let go of the dildo she was using on IU and took the chance to quickly shove Seungdae's replica up the soloist's ass, smiling back at Chaeyoung.

"Do you know what I like so much about you?" Seungdae whispered, running his hand through her soft tummy all the way up to her firm, pierced tits, her slim neck, and her pretty face, spreading her thick spit all over her.

Chaeyoung smirked, gawking at Mina, knowing she loved to see her degraded. "My small size next to your big cock? My tight pussy dripping for you?" She asked him, grinding over his shaft, letting her back press against his warm skin as his hand covered her face in drool. "My dick-sucking lips all over you?" She added, turning to see his face, purposefully exhaling to his nose.

"All of the above," he replied, pulling her for a sloppy kiss. "But I was thinking of how incredibly obedient you are."

"Mhmm," she let out on his lips, taking his slippery meat against her adorned slit. "You can use me however you want," Chaeyoung grinned playfully.

"Then don't cum until I tell you," He ordered, pulling her whole frame over the tip of his manhood right as Jieun turned to see him. "No matter what."

Chaeyoung grunted as he slowly lowered her, forcing her to feel every part of her walls stretching to take his girth and his length, locking eyes in the process until another tear ran down her face, this time because of the pleasure she felt. When his glans hit her cervix, the pain started, but he pushed her down, bringing a wave of chills through her system as he made his way to her posterior fornix, allowing for the rest of his meat to enter her body.

"F-Fine," She chuckled after her folds touched his groin, feeling her cunt on fire due to the stretching and the pleasure she was subjected to. With troubled breathing, she let herself be played with, whimpering as quietly as she could so they could hear IU's self-produced grunts after the soloist forced her ass to take the girthy dildo attached to Momo's strap.

The added pinching on Chaeyoung's nipples made her aware of her own actions and her surroundings. She noticed her hips were rocking on their own, taking his length back inside her pussy as soon as he pulled out. Her nails dug into his thighs, but he had her firmly grabbed by her tits. One, massaging her left boob, the other, playing with her piercing, pulling the ring to pinch her nub from below the metal piece.

Around her, she found more depravity. At her left, the familiar picture of Tzuyu's thick thighs and tanned folds as she shared a deep kiss with Dahyun. This time, passing the load Seungdae had deposited on the pale woman's cunt some minutes ago from mouth to mouth.

In front of her, the older members were eating each other's pussies. Jihyo was lying on the couch's armrest with her legs fully spread to allow Nayeon to lick and finger her cunt. The oldest member was in a perfect doggy style position, offering her slit to Jeongyeon, who was grabbing her friend's meaty butt to devour that fat pussy.

The three of them had their eyes fixed on IU, now turned into a bitch in heat, moving her own hips against Momo's relentless thrusts and locking Sana into place to drown in her folds. Chaeyoung then saw Mina's thighs below their busty friend. She knew that face; her girlfriend was already in a trance to explore more of their sunbae's limits, and nothing external would get her out of that state.

Chuckling, she let her focus return to the manhood using her pussy. Chaeyoung rested her back on his warm chest and turned to see his face, forcing him to look at her. "M-more," she begged, whimpering with a weak smile.

"You really love being in here, don't you?" He growled; she nodded. "No cumming until I say so, remember?" She cried at his words, nodding quickly. "Such an adorable fuck doll you are," he grinned, choking her tightly with his left hand, actually blocking her pipe as he rammed her cunt.

Both got carried away by their own sensations as they enjoyed the show the Japanese members were giving everyone, using IU to a level not even Seungdae had witnessed in person. His free hand ran through her slim frame, going through her tits, to her adorned nipples, to her cute stomach, until his fingers slid down to her trimmed bush to find her most useful enhancement.

"Mhmmm!" Chaeyoung cried, feeling him pull the ring on her hooded clit to reveal her sensitive bean, using the tip of his finger to rub it directly. She gasped right away, feeling her whole existence thrown towards the doors of her climax. "M-more," she moaned, barely audible as the grip on her neck tightened and his thrusts intensified.

As much as she wanted to focus on her sunbae, trying to imagine how insanely good she must feel, Chaeyoung felt her own body crossing the line to her orgasm. Obediently, she put all of her energy into stopping it, clenching her whole core as if that would make it easier.

Seungdae, however, was a lost cause. Not only was he physically absorbed by the tattooed woman's tight grip on his length, but he was also enchanted by Jieun's animalistic moans. The harder they fucked his girlfriend, the harder he fucked Chaeyoung without even realizing it, at least until the short woman suddenly began trembling with her whole body.

Her climax was already there, present, flooding her body, but still, she held it back. She could feel it growing inside every pore and every nerve. The lack of air did not help. Her eyes could barely focus on IU drowning in Sana's squirt, just like she was getting drowned in the immense pleasure that was building inside of her.

She saw her sunbae's lower half tweak so hard that Momo had trouble keeping the huge dildo buried in IU's asshole.

Things got blurry. One moment, the actress was on her knees, the next one, she was on the floor, convulsing and squirting with the round head of a magic wand fully shoved in her pink cunt.

Seungdae was almost in a similar state to his girlfriend, going crazy on her, ravaging her pussy, inside and out, adding more and more to hold in her small frame.

Then, IU stood up. Chaeyoung battled to continue admiring her sunbae, almost stumbling with every step of her shaky legs. She grinned, watching her walk towards them, with her cunt firmly gripping a magic wand buzzing from within. IU was soaking in Sana's squirt, and a mixture of fluids dripped through her inner thighs. Her firm tits bounced at every wobbly step. She was broken, used, drunk in her own lust. To Chaeyoung's eyes, the idol had never looked more beautiful, never more perfect.

"Fuck it!" She heard Seungdae growl as his thrusts became shorter with the same amount of force inside her pussy. "Cum now!" He commanded her, flooding her walls with the heat of his seed.

Chaeyoung, however, was too focused on IU to process his order and the fact that Tzuyu and Momo had helped the actress get close to them. The short woman weakly linked eyes with her sunbae, raising her arms for her, yearning for more of her attention.

At the touch of IU's hand, Chaeyoung let go of her own climax, the one she had obediently contained for Seungdae.

No longer in control of herself, she shuddered in place, squirting her juices at every twitch of his manhood inside her cunt. Even with that, Chaeyoung still tried to erase the space between her and IU, unaware that her slender hands pressed the soloist's hypersensitive flesh, catching her tits and instinctively twisting her nipples as she pulled her towards them.

She felt IU's delicate lips brush her own, sending more and more waves of electricity through her frame, adding a more intense twirl on her hands, keeping her sunbae as close to her as possible with her stiff wrists as she felt her walls overflowing with his load, covering every part of her womb with his sperm.

"God…" Seungdae panted, holding both women in his arms, already lying on the couch after his girlfriend fell on them thanks to Chaeyoung. Jieun let go of the tattooed girl's lips to meet her boyfriend's eyes.

Squirming, Chaeyoung witnessed IU's warm smile towards him. She recognized herself in the actress, seeking reassurance from her partner after an intense session.

"I love you so fucking much," he chuckled, kissing IU gently.

"Slutty s-side and all?" Jieun asked him, still trembling and releasing a whimper as Chaeyoung, still high on the aftermath of her climax, captured her nipple in her mouth.

"Every side of you, including the slutty one," he scoffed, kissing her again, twitching his cock inside the short woman.

…

Author's note: Of course, if you want more of this, you can read the whole orgy here. But yeah, this is the last bit of smut I needed to get out of my system to jump into the next thing. I really hope you enjoyed it, but all I got to say is, man, I love writing Chaeyoung... After writing TPT (and all the Chae content I've consumed), she's jumped into my top three along with Tzuyu and Mina. This means, of course, there will be more of her. If you've followed the timeline with their releases, you can imagine what will be her next big fic of mine.

The shoot for her brand’s upcoming launch had gone smoothly, professionally. You’d captured the effortless chic, the playful confidence. But the moment the last flash died, the atmosphere shifted. It was subtle, like the temperature dropping a degree.

Now, in her private suite, the air felt thick, charged.

“You have a beautiful way of seeing things,” Momo said, not looking at the camera but directly at you. Her gaze was a laser, cutting through your professional facade. “It’s not just technical. There’s… feeling in your shots.”

“Thank you,” you replied, keeping your eyes on the viewfinder. “It’s just about capturing what’s there.”

“Is it?” She took a slow step closer. The scent of her perfume, something expensive and floral with a dark, musky undertone, invaded your space. “I think it’s about capturing what you want to see.”

Your finger tightened on the camera body. “The client’s vision guides me.”

“My vision is quite simple today.” Another step. She was now just outside the frame. “I want you.”

The words hung in the air, blunt and undeniable. Your throat tightened. “Ms. Momo, I’m here to work. My wife—”

“Sehee.” She said the name like a tasting note, rolling it around her tongue. “The ex-idol. Sweet girl. Tragic how her career ended, isn’t it? Such a waste of… potential.”

Your blood ran cold. “That’s not a topic for discussion.”

“Everything is a topic,” she countered, her smile never faltering. It was a placid, knowing curve of her lips. “You love her. You protect her. It’s admirable. Pathetic, really, but admirable.”

You lowered the camera. “The shoot is concluded. I’ll deliver the proofs tomorrow.”

“The shoot is not concluded.” Her voice dropped, losing its playful lilt, becoming something low and deliberate. “I hired you for a full day. The sun isn’t even down.”

She walked past you, her hips swaying with a deliberate rhythm, to a small bar set against the wall. She poured two glasses of amber liquid, the clink of crystal sharp in the silent room. She handed one to you. You didn’t take it.

“I don’t drink while working.”

“You’re not working anymore,” she said, holding the glass out, unwavering. “You’re having a drink with a friend.”

“We are not friends.”

“We could be.” She let the glass hover between you. “Sehee is a lovely woman. But lovely doesn’t pay the bills. Lovely doesn’t open doors. Lovely just… exists. You exist with her in that little box of your life. It’s cozy. It’s safe. It’s dull.”

Each word was a needle, probing at the secret fears you’d buried. The financial strain you never voiced to Sehee. The envy you felt watching other photographers land bigger contracts. The quiet desperation that sometimes woke you in the night.

“What do you want?” you asked, the question gritted out between your teeth.

She finally placed the glass on a table, untouched. “I want a different kind of picture. A private one.”

Your stomach clenched. “No.”

“Not for publication,” she continued, as if you hadn’t spoken. “For me. For my… collection. I have a fascination with authenticity. With raw, unguarded moments. You capture those so well.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.” She turned and walked towards the bedroom door of the suite, leaving it open. “Because if you don’t, that cozy little box of yours might get a little drafty. Sehee’s name… it still has some currency in certain circles. Not positive currency. The wrong story, a whispered rumor from a credible source… it could stain what little she has left. Her peace. Your peace.”

You stood frozen. The threat wasn’t shouted; it was laid out like a fact, cold and clean. The predatory gaze wasn’t just lust—it was calculation. She’d studied you, studied your life, found the pressure point.

“You’re bluffing,” you said, but the words sounded hollow.

Momo paused at the doorway, looking back over her shoulder. Her eyes, usually bright with performance, were flat and dark. “Come and see.”

A war erupted inside your skull. Pride screamed to walk out. Fear, a colder, more rational voice, whispered about consequences. About Sehee’s fragile smile. About the security this job promised. The money was a lifeline, one you’d sold to your wife as a guarantee of stability. This is our chance, you’d told her. I love you, she’d said, trusting you completely.

You moved, your legs carrying you forward against every instinct. You crossed the lavish living area and stood at the threshold of the bedroom.

It was larger, dominated by a massive bed with a pristine white duvet. The evening sun streamed in here too, casting long, accusing shadows. Momo stood by the bed, her back to you.

“Close the door,” she said.

You did. The click of the latch was the sound of a cage locking.

She turned then, and the performance was gone. The idol facade melted away, leaving a woman of stark, intimidating beauty. Her confidence was no longer for the camera; it was a tool, a weapon aimed at you.

“The camera is on the dresser,” she said, pointing to your equipment bag you’d left there earlier. “Set it up. I want you to use the prime lens. The one that sees everything.”

Your hands felt numb as you retrieved your camera, mounted the 85mm lens. Its clarity was brutal, unforgiving.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice a low rasp.

“I’m giving you a new subject.” Her fingers went to the clasp at the side of her dress. A soft click. The silk sighed, loosening around her frame. “You’re going to photograph me. Not as ‘Momo from Twice.’ As me. As a woman.”

“I won’t take nude photos,” you stated, gripping the camera like a shield.

“Not nude,” she corrected, her gaze locking with yours. “Revealed. You’ll start where you’re comfortable. And we’ll see where we end.”

She let the dress fall from her shoulders. It slid down her body, a cascade of expensive fabric, pooling at her feet. She stood there in nothing but a pair of delicate, lace-trimmed black panties and a matching bra. The afternoon light sculpted her, highlighting the taut lines of her stomach, the curve of her hips, the proud lift of her breasts constrained by the sheer lace.

Your professional eye noted the composition—the contrast of shadow and light on her skin, the elegant lines. Your personal heart hammered against your ribs.

“Take the picture,” she commanded, her tone devoid of its earlier teasing. It was absolute.

You raised the camera, your viewfinder framing her. It felt like a violation. You pressed the shutter. The sound was a guilty slap in the quiet room.

“Good.” A faint smile touched her lips. “Now, come closer. Get the details.”

You inched forward, the lens focusing on the swell of her breast above the lace, on the dip of her collarbone. You took another shot.

“Your wife…” Momo began, her voice a murmur now. “Does she look at you with the same hunger I see in your eyes right now? Or does she look at you with… gratitude? With relief that you’re her safe harbor?”

You didn’t answer. You took another picture, capturing the defiant set of her jaw.

“She doesn’t know you,” Momo continued, stepping closer to you. The space between you shrank to inches. Her heat radiated against you. “She knows the version you show her. The provider. The protector. She doesn’t know the man who looks at a woman like me and feels his pulse in his throat. She doesn’t know the want.”

“Stop,” you breathed.

“I’m not doing anything,” she said, her hands coming up to rest lightly on your shoulders. Her touch was electric, paralyzing. “You’re the one holding the camera. You’re the one capturing me. You’re the one whose breath is shaking.”

Her fingers traced down your arms, over the camera, and then her hands covered yours on the device. She was guiding you, her grip firm. She turned the camera, pointing it downward, at her own body.

“Get the texture,” she whispered, her lips near your ear. Her scent, that intoxicating mix of flower and musk, filled your head. “The lace. The skin underneath.”

You took the shot, her hands over yours. It felt like a collaboration in a crime.

“Now,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky, intimate register, “the bra.”

Your eyes snapped to hers. “No.”

“It’s just fabric,” she reasoned, her gaze unwavering. “Just another layer to remove. You’re a photographer. You document things. Document this.”

Her hands left yours and went to her own back. With a deliberate slowness, she unhooked the bra. The straps slackened. She didn’t remove it yet, letting it hang loosely, the cups gaping away from her skin.

“Focus,” she said, her eyes challenging you.

You looked through the lens. The black lace was a frame for the soft, pale flesh beneath. The shadowed curve of a nipple was just visible. Your finger trembled on the shutter button.

Click.

The sound echoed in the room.

She let the bra fall away then. It slipped down her arms and she dropped it to the floor. Her breasts were bare, full and perfectly shaped, tipped with taut, pink nipples that hardened in the cool air of the room. She didn’t cover herself. She stood, offering herself to the lens, to your gaze.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” she asked, not a question, but an assertion. “Take the picture. Capture the truth of them.”

You couldn’t. Your arm lowered, the camera hanging uselessly at your side.

Momo’s smile returned, but it was different now—victorious, cruel. “You’re fighting it. The professional wants to obey the command. The husband wants to run. But the man… the man wants to look. He wants to touch.”

She stepped into you, her bare chest brushing against your shirt. The contact was a shock, a bolt of illicit sensation straight to your core. You stumbled back a step.

“Sehee would forgive you,” Momo said, her voice a seductive poison. “If it meant security. If it meant protecting her little world. She’d understand it was a transaction. A necessary… compromise.”

“Don’t talk about her,” you growled, the anger finally breaking through your fear.

“I’m just helping you justify it,” she purred, following your retreat. “You’re not a bad man. You’re a pragmatic one. This is just a moment. A secret. It doesn’t change what you have with her. It just… enhances what you could have for yourself.”

Her hands reached for your shirt, her fingers deftly finding the buttons. You grabbed her wrists, stopping her. Her skin was hot, smooth. Your grip was tight, but she didn’t struggle. She just looked at your hands on her, then up at your face.

“See?” she whispered. “You’re already touching me.”

You released her instantly, as if burned.

She laughed, a soft, dark sound. “So principled. So scared.” She undid the first button herself. Then the second. “Let me help you. Let me show you what you’re missing. What you’ve been denying yourself.”

Each button undone felt like a lock opening. Your shirt gaped open. Her palms slid inside, against your chest. Her touch was exploratory, possessive. Her thumbs brushed over your nipples, a teasing, circular motion that made your breath catch.

“You’re strong,” she murmured, her face close to yours. Her eyes searched yours, reading the conflict, the shame, the rising, unwilling arousal. “You’re tense. All this pressure you hold for her… for yourself. You need release.”

Her lips were close now. Too close. The scent of her, the warmth of her bare skin against yours, the dizzying reality of her—Momo, the idol, naked and pressing against you—it created a vortex in your mind. Sehee’s trusting face flashed, a ghost of guilt, but it was drowned by the immediate, physical overwhelm.

“This isn’t…” you started, but the sentence died.

“It is,” she finished, and her mouth found yours.

It wasn’t a kiss from your wife. Sehee’s kisses were soft, knowing, a language of comfort and love. This was conquest. Momo’s lips were demanding, her tongue invading your mouth with a swift, confident stroke. She tasted of the expensive whiskey and of something darker, something primal. Her hands roamed over your chest, down your stomach, dipping below the waistband of your trousers to grip the hard muscle there.

You stood rigid, a statue being claimed by a force of nature. Your mind screamed no, but your body… your body responded. A traitorous heat spread through you. Your hands, which had been frozen at your sides, lifted. They didn’t push her away. They settled on her hips, feeling the incredible, sleek firmness of her body through the thin silk of her panties.

She moaned into your mouth, a low, satisfied sound. Mmhh. She broke the kiss, her eyes blazing with triumph. “There he is,” she breathed. “The man underneath the husband.”

She pulled your shirt off your shoulders, letting it fall. Her eyes swept over your bare torso, a hungry appraisal. “Nice,” she said, her fingertips tracing the lines of your abdomen. “Better than I imagined.”

Then her mouth was on your skin. Not kissing, but tasting. Her lips traveled over your collarbone, down your chest. Her teeth grazed your nipple—a gentle, sharp bite that made you jerk, a bolt of pleasure-pain shooting through you. She soothed it with her tongue, a slow, wet circle.

“You like that,” she observed, her voice muffled against your flesh. “A little bite. A little pain. It wakes you up.”

Her hands went to your belt. The click of the buckle was deafening. The zip of your trousers being undone was the sound of your defenses crumbling. She pushed them down, along with your underwear, her movements efficient, ruthless. You stood naked before her, exposed, vulnerable, aroused despite the storm of guilt in your head.

She knelt then, not in submission, but in study. Her gaze swept up your body, from your feet to the undeniable evidence of your physical response. A slow, wicked smile spread on her face.

“Look at you,” she said, her voice a throaty whisper. “All that principle… and here you are. Hard. Ready. For me.”

She leaned forward, her face inches from your straining flesh. She didn’t touch you with her hands. She just looked, her breath warming you. “Sehee never sees you like this, does she? She never makes you like this. She just… accepts what you give her.”

Her words were a corrosive acid, eating at the foundation of your loyalty. They twisted your love into something small, something passive.

Then she rose, her body aligning with yours again. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her own panties and slid them down. They joined the pile of clothing on the floor. Now she was completely bare, a vision of curated, powerful beauty. Every line was perfect, every curve designed to draw the eye. And she offered it all to you.

“The last picture,” she said, taking your camera from your limp hand where it had fallen to the floor. She turned it on, pressed it into your grip. “Take it. Capture this. The moment before.”

She backed up a step, presenting herself fully to the lens. The golden light caressed every inch of her, highlighting the subtle swell of her stomach, the elegant junction of her thighs, the delicate, secret folds between them. She was a masterpiece of human form, and she was demanding you document her conquest.

Your hand raised the camera. The viewfinder framed her. Your finger hovered over the shutter.

Through the lens, you saw her smile. It wasn’t kind. It was the smile of someone who had dismantled you, piece by piece, and was now admiring the wreckage.

Click.

The final picture was taken.

She moved then, fast and decisive. She took the camera from you and tossed it onto the bed. Then her hands were on your face, pulling you back to her mouth for another searing kiss. Her body pressed against yours, skin to skin, heat to heat. The feeling was overwhelming, a sensory flood that drowned your conscience. Her breasts crushed against your chest, her stomach against yours, the entire, terrifying intimacy of her naked form against your own.

Her lips trailed from your mouth to your ear. “Now,” she whispered, the word a hot promise against your skin, “you’re going to fuck me. And you’re going to remember every second. And you’re going to know that this is what you needed. That this is what you’ve been starving for.”

She guided you backwards, towards the massive bed. Your legs moved, compliant. Your mind was a white noise of panic and desire. She pushed you down onto the soft duvet, and then she climbed atop you, straddling your hips. Her weight settled on you, her core hovering just above your aching flesh.

She leaned down, her hair falling around her face, a dark curtain. Her eyes held yours, absolute and commanding.

“This is for you,” she said, her voice dropping to a guttural, possessive tone. “This is for the man who hides behind his camera and his wedding ring. This is your release.”

Her hand reached down between your bodies. Her fingers, cool and deliberate, closed around you. She guided you, not inside her, but to the hot, damp entrance of her body. She held you there, the tip pressed against her, a promise of violation.

“And when you’re done,” she breathed, her lips brushing yours, “when you’ve given me everything you’re holding back… you’ll go back to your sweet wife. You’ll kiss her. You’ll hold her. And you’ll know that a part of you belongs to me now.”

She didn’t move. She just held you there, at the threshold, letting you feel the heat, the wetness, the terrifying proximity of the act. The corruption was complete. The line was crossed. Your body was ready, betraying every vow you’d ever made.

Her eyes glinted with a dark, victorious fire.

The silence after her declaration was a physical thing, thick and hot and heavy with the scent of her perfume and the anticipation of skin. You lay beneath her, trapped not by her weight but by the war inside you—a screaming chorus of no drowned out by the roaring, primal yes of your body, pressed insistently against her damp heat.

Her eyes held yours, unblinking. “You’re waiting for permission,” she murmured, her hips making a tiny, circular grind that smeared her wetness against you. The sensation was electric, a bolt of pure, illicit pleasure that tightened your stomach. “You don’t need it. I’ve already taken it.”

She shifted then, her hand leaving your shaft to brace herself on the duvet beside your head. The movement made her breasts sway, the hardened peaks brushing your chest. A low groan escaped you, unbidden. It was a sound of pure surrender.

A triumphant smile touched her lips. “There.”

In one fluid, powerful motion, she sank down onto you.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t tentative. It was a claiming. She took you inside her in a single, slow, devastating slide that stretched her, filled you, and stole the air from your lungs. The heat was immense, a velvet, clutching furnace that enveloped you completely. Your head pushed back into the pillows, a strangled curse hissing through your teeth.

Oh god.

Momo let out a long, shuddering sigh, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment as she acclimated to the feel of you. When they opened, the darkness in them was molten. “Finally,” she breathed, the word vibrating through her body and into yours. “You feel that? That’s real. That’s now. Everything else is just noise.”

She began to move. Not with frantic need, but with a controlled, rolling rhythm that was all the more maddening for its deliberation. She rose up, almost letting you slip free, then sank back down, taking you deeper, harder. Each descent was a punctuated, perfect shock of pleasure. The wet, soft sound of your joining filled the room, a lewd soundtrack to your betrayal.

Your hands, which had lain stiffly at your sides, finally moved. They found her hips, your fingers digging into the firm, sleek muscle there, as if to steady yourself against a tidal wave. Her skin was like heated silk under your palms.

“Yes,” she encouraged, her voice a throaty purr. “Hold on. You’ll need to.”

She increased the pace, her movements becoming more assertive, her inner muscles clenching around you in a rhythmic, milking pressure that made you see stars. Her breath came in hot gusts against your neck. You could only watch, mesmerized, as her body worked above you—the flex of her abdomen, the glorious bounce of her breasts with each impact, the sheen of sweat beginning to glow on her collarbone.

The guilt was still there, a cold stone in your gut, but it was being eroded, wave by carnal wave, by the sheer physical reality of her. Of this. This was not the loving, familiar union you shared with Sehee. This was something feral, something transactional and raw. And your body, the traitor, was screaming its approval.

“Look at me,” Momo commanded, her rhythm never faltering.

Your eyes, which had been fixed on the ceiling, snapped to hers. They were blazing, pupils wide with pleasure and power.

“You’re thinking of her,” she accused, driving down with particular force, making you grunt. “Stop it. She isn’t here. I am. Feel me.”

To emphasize her point, she leaned forward, changing the angle. The new position drove you even deeper, brushing a spot inside her that made her cry out—a sharp, genuine sound that cut through her performance. Her composure cracked for a second, revealing a glimpse of pure, unvarnished sensation. She bit her lip, her eyes squeezing shut.

It was the most honest thing you’d seen from her all day.

The sight of it, that momentary loss of control, unleashed something in you. The passive resistance shattered. A guttural sound ripped from your throat and you rolled, using the strength in your arms and the surprise of your movement to flip her onto her back. The duvet swallowed her gasp.

Now you were above her, pinning her wrists to the bed on either side of her head. You were still buried inside her, connected in the most intimate way possible. Her eyes widened, not with fear, but with blazing, exhilarated surprise.

“Good,” she hissed, a wild grin spreading across her face. “There’s the anger. Use it.”

And you did. You pulled almost all the way out, watching her face, watching her lips part in anticipation, and then slammed back into her. The bedframe groaned in protest. Momo’s back arched off the mattress, a cry tearing from her throat that was half shock, half euphoria.

You set a punishing pace, driven by a furious cocktail of shame, rage, and unleashed desire. Each thrust was an attempt to fuck away the memory of Sehee’s goodbye kiss, to drown out Momo’s poisonous words, to punish yourself and her both. The room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, of the bed’s relentless creaking, of her ragged, encouraging moans.

“Harder,” she demanded, her heels digging into the small of your back, pulling you deeper. “Is that all you have? For her?”

You growled, obeying, pistoning into her with a force that made her head thrash against the pillows. Her perfect hair was a wild mess now. Her makeup was smudged. She looked utterly ravaged, and more beautiful for it. Her legs locked around your waist, her inner walls fluttering and tightening around you in waves that felt like she was trying to pull your very soul out through your cock.

“You’re mine right now,” she chanted, her voice breaking on the words. “Mine. Say it.”

You couldn’t. You just drove into her, your own breath coming in ragged sobs.

Her hands twisted free from your grip and her nails scored down your back—sharp, stinging lines of fire that made you jolt and thrust even deeper. The pain was a bright, clarifying focus, anchoring you in the violent, exquisite now.

“I can feel you… getting close,” she gasped, her hips meeting yours thrust for thrust. “Don’t you dare hold back. Don’t you dare give her what’s mine.”

Her words were the final trigger. The coil of tension in your abdomen, wound tighter and tighter with every slide into her wet heat, suddenly snapped. A white-hot detonation erupted from your core, rushing down your spine and bursting out of you. You cried out, a raw, broken sound, as you plunged into her one last, final time and came.

It was a convulsive, emptying release that felt like it lasted forever. You pulsed inside her, your entire body shuddering with the force of it. You buried your face in the crook of her neck, your sweaty skin sticking to hers, as the waves of pleasure slowly, mercilessly receded, leaving behind a hollow, aching clarity.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of your combined, heaving breaths. You were still inside her, still connected, but the frantic energy was gone, replaced by a spent, sticky stillness.

Then, Momo moved. She pushed gently at your shoulder. You rolled off her, collapsing onto your back, staring blankly at the ornate ceiling. The scent of sex—musky, sweet, and deeply private—hung in the air, choking you.

You heard her shift beside you. You couldn’t look.

Her finger traced a slow, damp path through the cooling sweat on your chest. “See?” she said, her voice hoarse but regaining its composed edge. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The coldness of her tone was a bucket of ice water. The reality of what you’d just done came crashing down, sharp and sickening. You’d come inside her. You hadn’t used protection. The implications—practical, moral—swarmed your mind like wasps.

“I… we didn’t…” you stammered, finally turning your head to look at her.

She was propped on one elbow, looking down at you with an expression of cool satisfaction. The post-coital glow on her skin did nothing to soften the calculation in her eyes. “It’s fine,” she said dismissively. “I’m covered. One less thing for your conscience to juggle.”

The casualness of it, the premeditation, made your stomach turn. She’d planned for this. Every step.

You sat up abruptly, the room spinning for a second. You needed to be away from her, from this bed, from the smell of your own transgression. You swung your legs over the side, your back to her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Her voice was a lazy whip.

“I’m leaving,” you said, standing up. Your legs felt like rubber. You began gathering your clothes from the floor, your movements clumsy, hurried.

“You’ll deliver the proofs tomorrow? The professional ones?” she asked, not moving from the bed. You could feel her gaze on your naked back.

“Yes.” The word was ash in your mouth.

“Good.” A pause. “And our private collection? I expect those files, too. Password protected. For my eyes only.”

You froze, your shirt halfway on. The camera. The pictures. The damning, graphic proof of everything. You turned. The camera lay on the rumpled duvet near her hip. She picked it up, holding it loosely, a silent reminder of her leverage.

“You wouldn’t,” you said, but the threat had already been proven real.

“I keep what’s mine,” she said simply. “The photos. The memory.” Her eyes traveled down your body, then back to your face. “The taste of you.”

You finished dressing with fumbling, angry hands, not bothering to tuck in your shirt or properly fasten your belt. You just needed to be gone.

“A shower is through there,” she offered, nodding toward a door. “You’ll want to clean up before you see your wife. She might notice the scent.”

Every word was a needle. You ignored her, snatching your equipment bag and shoving the camera with the prime lens into it. You didn’t look back as you walked out of the bedroom, through the opulent living room, and to the suite’s main door. You yanked it open.

“Until next time, photographer,” Momo’s voice floated after you, sweet and lethal.

You slammed the door shut, leaning your forehead against the cool wood of the hallway. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic, guilty drum. You could still feel her. The ghost of her heat, the ache of her nails on your back, the phantom sensation of being inside her. You could still smell her on your skin.

Sehee.

The thought of your wife was a physical pain, a stab of such profound shame it made you nauseous. You pushed off the door and stumbled down the hall towards the elevator, your mind a chaotic jumble of her trusting smile and Momo’s triumphant eyes. The elevator doors opened to an empty car. You stepped in, pressing the button for the lobby with a trembling finger.

As the car descended, you caught your reflection in the polished brass. You looked like a stranger—hair disheveled, shirt untucked, a wild, haunted look in your eyes. You quickly tried to smooth your hair, tuck in your shirt, to reassemble the façade of the man who had left Seoul that morning. But the man in the reflection kept staring back, a silent accuser.

The lobby was a blur of marble and muted chatter. You kept your head down, walking swiftly through the polished halls and out into the Parisian evening. The cool air was a shock, but it did nothing to cleanse you. You hailed a taxi, gave the address of your modest hotel in a voice that didn’t sound like your own.

In the backseat, watching the City of Light glide by, the full weight descended. You had done it. You had crossed the line. And Momo was right—you had wanted to. In the moment, you had reveled in it. The memory of her body, of the fierce, uncomplicated passion, surged back, hot and vivid, followed immediately by a cold wave of self-loathing so intense it stole your breath.

The taxi stopped. You paid and got out, walking into your hotel like a ghost. Your room was dark, quiet, sterile. You dropped your bag and went straight to the bathroom, turning the shower to near-scalding. You stripped again, staring at the red, raised lines on your back in the mirror. Proof. You stepped under the blistering spray, scrubbing your skin raw with the cheap hotel soap, trying to erase the scent, the feel, the memory.

It was no use.

You got out, toweled off, and stood in the dark room, dripping on the floor. Your phone sat on the nightstand. You picked it up. The screen lit up with a photo of you and Sehee, taken on a weekend trip to the coast. She was laughing, her head thrown back, her eyes crinkled with joy. You were looking at her, not the camera, with what you knew was naked adoration.

Your thumb hovered over the call button. You needed to hear her voice. You needed the anchor of her. But what would you say? The lie would be there, thick in your throat. I miss you. The shoot went well. Could she hear it? Could she sense the corruption through the phone line?

You put the phone down, unable to bear it.

Instead, you lay down on the hard, narrow bed, staring at the dark ceiling. The memory of Momo’s final, slow, possessive ride played on a loop behind your eyes. The feel of her climax around you—because she had, with a sharp, shuddering cry you now realized was real—clenching you, milking your own release from you. Your body stirred traitorously at the recollection, a fresh pulse of heat in your groin that made you groan in despair.

You were exhausted, but sleep was a continent away. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw them both. Sehee’s gentle smile. Momo’s predatory grin. One a promise you’d shattered. The other a chain you’d willingly clasped.

A vibration from the nightstand made you jump. You snatched the phone. It wasn’t Sehee.

It was a text message. From an unknown number.

Unknown: The proofs were excellent. Our private session was even better. I’ve reviewed the files. Chapter One is captivating. I look forward to Chapter Two. Sleep well. – M.

A photo was attached. You thumbed it open, your blood turning to ice.

It was one of the pictures. Not a nude. It was a shot from earlier in the professional shoot. Momo, in her silk dress, looking over her shoulder at the camera. But in this version, her expression was different. The playful confidence was gone, replaced by the same flat, dark, knowing gaze she’d leveled at you in the suite. The look that said, I own you.

She’d edited it. Or maybe that had been her real look all along, and you were only seeing it now.

The message was clear. This wasn’t over. It was just intermission.

You threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall with a plastic crack and fell to the carpet. You curled onto your side, pulling the thin pillow over your head, as if you could block out the world you’d irrevocably changed.

But in the darkness, under the cheap polyester, all you could hear was her voice, a seductive whisper in the ruins of your conscience.

The terminal was alive with the usual chaos—flashing signs in Korean and English, the low hum of rolling suitcases, excited fans clustered behind barriers with lightsticks and banners—but none of them mattered to him right now. He had the perfect spot: right at the front of the official fansite line, press pass clipped to his black hoodie, body angled just enough to get the cleanest, most unobstructed view of the arrival gate.

Minjun adjusted the strap of his camera one more time, fingers brushing the worn leather out of habit. The arrival board above the gate flipped to “Landed,” and a ripple of excitement rolled through the crowd behind the barriers. Lightsticks waved in synchronized patterns, and chants of her name rose and fell like ocean waves, but Minjun stayed perfectly still. He had learned long ago how to become invisible in a sea of fans—how to breathe shallow, keep his elbows tucked, and never block anyone else’s view while still claiming the absolute best angle.

He had been doing this for four years now.

Four years of red-eye flights, sold-out stadiums, handshake events in tiny convention rooms that smelled of instant coffee and nervous sweat, fan meetings in brightly lit studios where the air conditioning was always too cold. Four years of memorizing her schedule the way other people memorized train timetables. Four years of standing in the exact same spot at every arrival gate, departure lounge, and hotel lobby drop-off—always first row, always press-pass-level access, always silent.

He could still count them if he wanted to.

The first time had been pure chance. A last-minute ticket to her first solo fan meeting in Busan, back when she was still mostly known for that one viral drama OST and a handful of magazine covers. He’d gone because a friend dragged him along, handed him a spare lightstick, and told him to “just experience it.” Minjun had stood near the back, arms crossed, camera slung over his shoulder out of professional habit. Then the lights dimmed, the intro VCR played, and she walked out in a simple white dress, smiling that soft, slightly shy smile that would later become her trademark.

Something inside him had shifted.

Not dramatically. Not like in the movies. Just… quietly. Irreversibly.

After that night he started going to every event he could afford. Handshake lines first—those agonizingly short ten-second encounters where she would look straight into his eyes, say his name (because he always wrote it clearly on the name tag), and thank him for coming. Her hand was always warm, her grip gentle but firm. She never rushed. Even when the staff tapped their watches, she lingered a half-second longer with him than with most others. He told himself it was nothing. Professional courtesy. But every time her fingers brushed his, something electric zipped up his arm and lodged somewhere behind his ribs.

Concert after concert followed. He upgraded from general admission to standing section, then to fanclub priority seating, then to soundcheck passes when he finally joined her official fanclub under the name “MJ_0419” (her debut date plus his initials). He learned the fanchant by heart. He bought every version of every album. He photographed her from every possible angle—wide shots of her silhouette against stage lights, close-ups of the way sweat glistened on her collarbone when she laughed during moments, and candids of her waving at fans from the side of the stage during VCR breaks.

And slowly—agonizingly slowly—he fell in love with her.

Not with the idol version that appeared on music shows or variety programs. Not with the perfect, filtered persona on Instagram. With her.

The way she scrunched her nose when she was trying not to cry during a heartfelt moment.

The way she always bowed extra deeply to the staff after every performance.

The way her voice cracked just slightly when she sang the high notes of her ballad title track live.

The way she remembered names—not just his, but dozens of others—pulling them out of thin air during fan calls or surprise visits was remarkable.

She knew his face now. Of course she did.

He had been at too many events, stood too close to too many barricades, and submitted too many perfect fancams that got reposted on her official fancafe with credit to “MJ_0419.” Staff recognized him. Security no longer asked to see his pass twice. Once, during a small Japan fan meeting, she had glanced over at the press line, caught his eye, and given him the tiniest nod—like a private acknowledgment—before turning back to the crowd.

That nod had lived rent-free in his head for months.

But she didn’t know anything else.

She didn’t know he worked night shifts at a small photography studio to afford the flights.

She didn’t know he kept every single Polaroid she signed for him in a locked drawer, arranged chronologically.

She didn’t know he had a folder on his laptop labeled “Her” containing over twelve thousand photos—none of them ever leaked and none of them ever sold.

She didn’t know that on bad days, when his own life felt like it was crumbling, he would open one of her live performances on YouTube and let her voice fill the silence.

To her, he was simply “MJ_0419”—the quiet, polite fanboy who always had good angles, never screamed, never pushed, never asked for more than the ten seconds she gave everyone.

And that was enough.

Or at least, he had convinced himself it was enough.

Until today.

Today felt different.

The arrival board now read “Baggage Claim,” and the crowd’s energy spiked again. Minjun lifted his camera, checked the settings one last time—ISO 800, shutter 1/250, aperture f/2.8—and exhaled slowly through his nose.

He didn’t know why his heart was hammering harder than usual. Maybe because this was her first domestic schedule after a three-month overseas tour. Maybe because the last time he’d seen her in person was four months ago at Incheon, and she had looked tired—beautiful, but tired—and he had spent the entire flight home worrying about whether she was sleeping enough.

Maybe because somewhere deep inside, in a place he never let himself look at too closely, he still hoped that one day she would look at him the way he looked at her.

The automatic doors at the end of the corridor slid open.

A wave of flashes erupted behind him.

And there she was.

A black bucket hat pulled low, an oversized hoodie, and a mask covering half her face, but the way she walked—light, graceful, shoulders relaxed—was unmistakable.

Minjun raised his camera.

The shutter clicked once, twice, and three times in rapid succession.

She lifted her head just enough to scan the crowd.

Her eyes found his.

For one heartbeat—maybe less—she held his gaze.

Then she smiled.

Small. Private. The same smile she gave him during every handshake line.

And just like that, Minjun felt the familiar ache bloom behind his ribs again.

Four years.

Thousands of photos.

Hundreds of handshakes.

One smile.

And he was still falling.

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…

Scoffing, he walked to Mina's back. "Since our girlfriends are busy…" He whispered as his hands took her waist, letting his member rest on her skin.

"I've been thinking about this for two weeks already," she chuckled, tilting her neck to let his lips run through her skin, reaching for his dick while she enjoyed the trail of kisses on her neck.

"How can I pay you for keeping the secret?"

"What?" Nayeon asked in an almost offended tone, trying to ignore the improvised foursome made by IU, Jeongyeon, Chaeyoung, and Tzuyu. "Did you know?"

Mina and Seungdae stared at each other, then back at Nayeon. "I'll tell you more during dinner," the short-haired girl giggled before they cornered the eldest member against the L-shaped couch. Mina pinned her down, using her knees to keep her friend's legs slightly open as she kissed her plump lips.

Seungdae let his hunger take over him. He knelt, admiring the meaty set of thighs and buttcheeks he had in front of him. Taking advantage of Mina's legs having stopped Nayeon's from closing, he kissed the older woman's thighs, spreading them as he got to her groin until he reached her bum. He took his time to lick Nayeon's ass, feeling her clench when his tongue ran through the small creases of her puckered hole.

Her coy moans were muffled in Mina's lips. In only a matter of seconds, she had already acclimated to her new spot. In another minute, just as Seungdae's tongue ventured inside her butthole, she had already accepted that she had no domain, say, or power between him and her friend. Her legs relaxed, and her thighs went up to be held by Mina, giving the man full access to eat her holes.

"Always so obedient," the Japanese beauty whispered, holding Nayeon's cheeks.

"It's not fair with that face," she whispered, weakened by Mina's eyes and warm smile, feeling her hands run down her neck to kiss her again.

Watching up close how her pussy clenched at the touch of Mina's lips, Seungdae chuckled and gave a few more licks to her asshole, fucking her a bit with his tongue, before going a few centimeters up to kiss Nayeon's fat pussy, licking her already drenched folds.

His tongue and how it went as deep inside her cunt as he could felt glorious. His subtle giggle let her know he liked her taste, and the immediate subsequent swirl of his muscle throughout his inner lips confirmed he was hungry for her.

That gave Nayeon the little push she needed to let her hands run free all over Mina, taking her neck first, then slowly going back and forth between her waist and her small boobs, subconsciously mirroring her friend's actions as their tongues danced together, encapsulating her whimpers as soon as Seungdae captured her clit.

He loved her taste and how quickly her pussy got drenched, even after having licked all of her juices thoroughly. Her flavor, her heat, her musk; he could truly spend hours licking that cunt and not get tired, but he had just started, and he knew he would get more time with Nayeon later. He kissed, licked, and bit her inner thighs, her groin, her fat outer lips, and every corner of her slit, before sucking on her clit, stopping when her hips shook, leaving her begging for more.

"Why?" She whined, rocking her pelvis, looking for his touch.

"Shush," Mina purred before he could say anything, rubbing Nayeon's clit. She heard a scoff coming from Seungdae, and remembering how good she made her feel their first night together, she arched her lower back to present her pussy to him.

"I love my life," he sighed, shaking his head with an ear-to-ear smile. He took a second to contemplate Mina's glistening folds surrounded by her meaty thighs and ass. Shoving his fingers into Nayeon's cunt, he outlined Mina's slit with slow kisses, using the time to breathe her scent, letting her folds gather more of her precious nectar before he went wild on her.

The trio moved smoothly together. The background of Chaeyoung's cute moans, muffled in Tzuyu's lips, and the intense breathing of Momo, vigorously fingered by Jihyo, guided them on their own tempo.

Mina showed her eagerness by moving her pussy towards his lips, finally getting his tongue to run through her folds while she chuckled mid-kiss devilishly, letting her fingers go crazy on Nayeon's bean.

Nayeon reciprocated it. Her ankles hugged Mina's back, forcing their torsos to touch completely. Her big hands went down to that juicy pair of buttcheeks and spread them wide open.

'Dinner is served,' Seungdae thought, enjoying Mina's flavor, kissing her clit very carefully, making her flinch at every gentle touch until she relaxed, no longer afraid of any attack on her sensitive bean. Instead, he focused on the entrance of her cunt, purposefully shoving his tongue into her walls, resting his nose right on her pucker hole.

Their hunger pushed them to demand more of each other. Nayeon's fingers moved down to Mina's abs, caressing them as her hand reached her friend's pussy, pushing Seungdae's mouth from those slippery folds to the relaxed, already gaping asshole of the Japanese woman. Mina moaned hungrily as Nayeon's long fingers curled in her walls, doing the familiar dance only her unnie could perform inside of her. The man's lips kissed her rim eagerly, shoving his tongue in and out, making her tickle in that particular way she loved so much.

Seungdae allowed himself to go from Mina's tight slit to her puckered hole. Regardless of how roughly that first night with her ended, savoring that gaping pink butthole was a highlight worth repeating at any cost. Having it offered in a room with his girlfriend and the rest of Twice getting frikier by the second gave him the perfect opportunity to shut any thoughts.

The sound of Momo grunting as Jihyo shoved Seungdae's replica into her cunt caused the same reaction in the trio. His fingers stiffened against Nayeon's G-spot, causing her to mirror the same reaction inside Mina's pussy, which made her hips tremble and her asshole shut tightly, capturing the man's tongue.

"I want it," she moaned, reaching for his hair, pulling him.

"Can I go first?" Nayeon whined, pinching one of Mina's nipples. Her giggle and smirk suddenly turned into a moan, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head as Seungdae impaled her guts with his whole shaft.

"I'm sorry," he scoffed, already rocking his hips against Mina. "Queen's orders. You'll have to wait."

"Why?" She complained, kneeling on the couch with him lying on his left, lifting Mina's left leg as they spooned, Nayeon's fingers firmly curled inside the short-haired woman.

"Because you'll love what Jin and I will do to you later, and because you're a good whore who'll do as she's told," Seungdae scoffed, running his right hand through Mina's body until he reached her jaw to kiss her, keeping his eyes on Nayeon.

She loved the view. Her friend was thriving. Eyes closed, tongue swirling with his, hips swaying against his shaft, left hand pinching her own nipple, right hand softly scratching Nayeon's tummy. It was her subtle way to beg her to move her digits.

"Unnie," Mina whispered, moaning, getting the woman out of her trance.

"Will you keep her waiting?" He chuckled, letting the Japanese beauty bite his lower lip.

"Will it be worth it?" Nayeon asked, slowly moving her fingers inside Mina, more so to feel his length moving than to please her friend.

"I wouldn't dare disappoint my favorite slut?" He grinned, bringing a slight blush to her cheeks.

"Am I not your favorite?" Mina pouted, taking her delicate fingers to her mouth, and clenching her ass tightly.

He moaned, feeling her take his soul from his cock. "You may be an evil anal-addicted lunatic, but not a slut," he panted, smirking at her, making her smile with his words.

"Can you two fuck me like one?" She replied, biting her lip, staring cutely at them without stopping her hip movement.

"Any day," he scoffed, choking Mina with his right hand and ramming her butthole. "Nayeon?" He raised his eyebrow, challenging her.

The older woman shook her head, getting off the couch to kneel and kiss him while she shoved her thumb in her friend's mouth. This time, her fingers moved inside Mina's pussy as hard as Seungdae was thrusting into her.

Mina smirked warmly, gazing at their tongues swirling while she sucked her digit. She could spend hours getting her ass drilled, simply enjoying the constant reshaping of her guts, but it was Nayeon's fingers that slowly pushed her towards her first orgasm of the day. Not caring one bit to hold back, she let her lust guide her body, looking for her own climax, holding the man's hand on her neck and Nayeon's wrist in place.

For a moment, all Seungdae could process was the tightness of Mina's butt. No matter how insanely wide she could gape, or how absurdly deep she could get a dildo lost her guts, the control she had over her muscles made her insides feel incredible. The only thing that brought him back to reality was Jieun's grunt. That tone that combined her lust with a tint of pain.

Without stopping, he stretched his neck to find his girlfriend in all fours over Dahyun, chuckling as she pressed Jeongyeon's hand on her own asscheek.

Finally, he witnessed Jeongyeon's dominant side, ramming Jieun's butt while the soloist scanned the room and found his eyes. Unconsciously, he had stopped for a moment, drawing Mina's and Nayeon's attention to IU, although the older woman kept fingering her friend.

The look in the soloist's eyes was clear. Jeongyeon was moving just like she liked it, and she wanted more. They grinned, as if encouraging each other.

He resumed his pounding at Mina's asshole, reactivating his own threesome right before Jeongyeon pulled IU's hair.

"Nayeon," Seungdae hissed, causing her to shake her head and turn to see Mina's needy eyes. "Should we?"

"Eh?" Mina voiced, confused at the mutual glance they shared before staring directly at her. His grip tightened around her neck, and he thrusted so hard and fast into her guts it seemed a whole audience was clapping.

Nayeon's fingers went equally intense inside her cunt, pushing her G-spot with enough precision and technique that she could have made Mina explode without any other stimulation. Knowing that, her free hand captured her nipple to pinch it and twist it.

Mina melted on the couch, unable to face them as her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Her core shook first, a sign of her last bit of control before her whole existence convulsed in place, squirting in Nayeon's hand.

Seungdae had to focus on his grip and Mina's face to avoid exploding in her guts. Lost in the Japanese beauty's face, he managed to endure it until her pupils were visible again. She giggled, shrinking in their embrace, victim of her own sensitivity.

"Adorable, isn't she?" Nayeon grinned, biting her lower lip.

"A work of art," he smiled at Mina, leaning for a peck, then giving space for Nayeon to do the same.

"Can you keep going?" The short-haired girl asked, grinding her hips on him.

"You're never satisfied, are you?" He chuckled, and she shrugged, biting her lips seductively. Not waiting any further, he pulled her with him until his knees were on the floor, and her ass was on the edge of the sofa while her legs made a full split.

With a smirk, Nayeon knew what to do. She made her way to straddle Mina's face. When she looked down, her friend's mouth was open wide, and her tongue was moving eagerly, welcoming those dripping folds.

Mina acted immediately, rubbing her clit, rocking her hips on Seungdae's manhood, and devouring her friend's folds. Despite the evidence literally dripping from Nayeon's hand into her mouth, to any witness, it would appear as if the Japanese woman was just getting started.

Aided by Seungdae holding her ankles, Mina gripped onto the older woman's buttcheeks, spreading them to taste her folds. Soon, she had her grinding her hips over her face, leaning to the man, and trying to contain her moans.

Nayeon ogled at Seungdae, watching his girth captured by Mina's rim. "I need your cock," she panted, reaching for his abs, almost pleading.

"Told you: Queen's orders," he chuckled, leaning forward to lick her plump lips.

"Please!" Nayeon moaned, licking his tongue, exhaling on his mouth.

As much as he liked feeling her breath and her helplessness, and as much as he would love to demolish her pussy, he also needed to wait. "Uh-uh." He hugged Mina's legs with one arm, practically framing their faces with them. "I don't want any toy entering this precious cunt, understood?" He grunted, biting her lip as his free hand reached for her slit, pulling her a little forward, forcing Mina to eat Nayeon's ass.

"W-why would I torture myself with so much to play with around me?" The older woman smirked, failing to pretend she wasn't already shaking on his hand, and loving her friend's tongue entering her butthole.

"Because, as much of a nympho as you can be, you are a good and obedient whore. So you'll do as you're told." He growled, staring at her eyes as closely as possible. She nodded, whimpering as his middle finger pushed her G-spot. "Hold it until you can't bear it anymore."

Nayeon hummed in confusion, even more so when he offered her Mina's right foot. "I hate you," she shook her head, moaning louder as he fingered harder and harder. Giggling, she welcomed her friend's cute toes into her mouth, sucking on them as intensely as her ass was getting eaten.

She felt Mina's chuckle on her puckered hole. It felt degrading. Despite having licked all of the members' feet, doing that under his command, knowing she'd have to wait to get his meat inside of her pussy, was slightly humiliating, but incredibly arousing; as much as witnessing him take Mina's left toes to his mouth while locked eyes with her. She understood it was his own way of saying 'look what you're missing,' and rubbing it on her face.

With his gaze on her, Nayeon let him take her to her climax, no longer trying to ignore how good his fingers felt inside of her and how deliciously wild Mina's tongue was running in her butthole. Her pleasure built up, letting it show not only by the occasional clenching of her holes, but also by how desperately she licked her friend's toes, going between her digits so quickly her drool was already falling.

She obeyed, feeling every bit of pleasure accumulating and holding it until her orgasm filled her whole system.

With eyebrows frowning as she begged with her eyes, a tear shed down her cheek. He nodded so subtly that blinking may have made her miss it.

Nayeon succumbed in front of him. In a millisecond, her eyes disappeared on the back of her head. She shuddered, held in place by Mina, who somehow got enough force to maintain her hovering over her face, and Seungdae, choking her firmly. At the same time, his fingers stormed her G-spot, letting the first waves of squirt fall on his hand until his stiffened fingers came out of her cunt and attacked her clit, causing Nayeon to convulse violently.

The sudden movement caused Mina's ass to clench tightly while the never-ending squirt gushing from Nayeon's pussy rained all over her torso. The Japanese beauty continued rocking her hips, however, at least until she heard Seungdae grunting.

Close call to his climax, but Mina stopped just in time. Panting, he admired Nayeon's broken smile and the seductive way her eyes returned to ogle at him, thanking him for already making up for their last encounter, even if it wasn't with his dick.

He hugged her tightly to kiss her, knowing every brush on her skin was sending little shock waves of pleasure through her brain.

"I may not h-hate you," Nayeon panted with a weak smile.

"I shouldn't have made you cum, then," he smirked at her, shoving his fingers back in her cunt to lift her from Mina's face. He stopped for a moment to see her run her digits through her torso and savour her friend's squirt.

"I can't lick myself clean," she scoffed, proudly displaying her body at them.

In a blink, she had both of them licking and sucking every part of her, from her lips to her neck, going down her collarbones and her small tits.

"Thought you'd drain me with that cute, little hole," he whispered to Mina, kissing her jawline.

"It would be a waste not to inject that load into someone's cunt," she giggled, fully relaxing. Seungdae took his time, enjoying Nayeon's flavor from Mina's midriff, while Nayeon herself went further down to lick her friend's folds and then her gaping hole.

"Can't I get at least a little bit?" The older woman pleaded, holding his thigh.

He eyed Mina. "I need to get my dick clean before shoving it in someone else's cunt," he smiled, taking a seat to Mina's left. Surprisingly, the short-haired woman wiggled her way into the corner of the couch, instantly taking his glans into her mouth.

"Yah, that was for me!" Nayeon whined.

"You can clean the rest," she scoffed. "Let me enjoy my own taste," Mina smiled cutely, biting the tip of her tongue as she licked his slit.

Nayeon set her eyes on him. His smirk and shrug made her angry, but he, having the boldness of reaching for Mina's folds with his right hand, may have pushed her a bit further. Just as he lay his back on the sofa, she pulled him a bit down and to his left, and jumped over his face, pressing her fat pussy on his mouth.

He welcomed it, enjoying her juices while their tongues swirled through his shaft, running over every bit of skin. The relaxation was so deep that he didn't mind when he stopped feeling their mouths, as long as his fingers were still inside Mina's walls and his mouth was filled with Nayeon's flavor.

"Great One," Jieun called him, causing Nayeon to jump from his face.

"Yes, my queen?" He turned quickly to see her with Sana and Momo standing behind his girlfriend. Seungdae chuckled, removing his fingers from Mina's cunt and kneeling to kiss his IU's bald pussy, tracing a path of kisses until he met her lips. "Is it time?"

She nodded quickly, biting her lower lip. "You may want to see your little sweetheart; you won't want to miss what she's doing," she winked at him, stroking his dick.

"Take Mina, I'll drop this one with Jeongyeon and Jihyo." Both nodded, and the man turned quickly to carry Nayeon in his arms, causing her to yelp.

"When will you fuck me with this cock?" She asked him, reaching for his meat.

"Oh, Jin and I have something in mind specifically for you," he smirked before interrupting Jihyo from eating Jeongyeon's folds, and Chaeyoung from drinking milk directly from the leader's udder while she fingered her. "Take one, leave one, right?" He joked as he left Nayeon in their embrace, quickly taking the tattooed girl as she playfully raised her arms for him.

With just one arm, he carried Chaeyoung, shoving his Mina-flavored fingers in her mouth before turning to see Tzuyu's tanned ass and pussy contrasting with Dahyun's pale butt and pink folds. "You have no idea how much I wanted to see that," he told the slim woman in his arms.

…

Author's note: While writing the whole orgy, I had to decide where I wanted the focus to be, so this wasn't fleshed out in the actual fic. Since I have a lot of other things waiting to be written and I'm not sure if I'll have another chance to write MiNayeon, I also had that little itch begging me to write this little piece. Of course, if you want more of this, you can read the whole orgy here. Also, a few extra pics because I love them together, and they've been so clingy lately.

The lights in the massive LA arena dimmed to a pulsing red, the crowd's roar hitting like a tidal wave. Thousands of ONCEs waved lightsticks in perfect sync, chanting "JI-HYO! JI-HYO!" as the intro to one of TWICE's hottest tracks kicked in—deep bass rumbling through the floor, synths building tension. The 360-degree stage lit up slowly, spotlights sweeping across the in-the-round setup, and there she was.

Park Jihyo, TWICE's leader and main vocalist, stepped out from the rising platform at center stage like she owned every inch of the venue. The outfit hugged her athletic, curvy figure in all the right ways—sexy, confident, and teasing without apology.

She wore a black lace-trimmed halter top, the thin straps crossing delicately over her shoulders and tying in a loose bow at the nape of her neck. The fabric was sheer in places, black lace overlaying a nude lining that gave teasing glimpses of skin underneath, especially across her toned midriff and the swell of her full breasts. The top plunged low in a deep V, the neckline dipping dangerously between her cleavage, barely containing her as she moved. A bold white cropped bandeau-style overlay sat on top—emblazoned with big black letters spelling out something fierce like "13" or a sponsor nod to "AIRLINES CENTER" or "CENTER"—cinched tight just under her bust, accentuating her tiny waist and pushing her chest up even more. The contrast of black lace against crisp white made her glow under the lights.

Her lower half was pure temptation: a short, ribbed lavender-gray miniskirt in soft, stretchy material that clung to her hips and thighs like a second skin. The skirt had a fuzzy, faux-fur trim around the hem—plush and playful—adding a touch of cozy edge to the otherwise sultry look. It rode high on her toned legs, the hem barely skimming mid-thigh, flashing smooth skin with every step and hip sway. Underneath, black shorts peeked out just enough when she spun or bent, keeping it stage-safe but still teasing the eye.

Gold chains glinted around her neck—a delicate choker with a small pendant dangling right at her collarbone—matching the layered necklaces that caught the light every time she threw her head back. Her long dark hair was loose and wavy, cascading down her back, a few strands sticking to her dewy skin as sweat started to sheen from the performance heat. In-ear monitors tucked neatly, sunglasses pushed up on her head like a headband, and that signature Jihyo smile—bright, confident, a little wicked—lit up her face as she grabbed the bedazzled microphone.

The opening beat dropped harder, and Jihyo launched into the choreography with effortless power. She rolled her hips slowly and deliberately on the first chorus, hands sliding down her sides, tracing the curve of her waist before gripping the mic stand like it was something much more intimate. The crowd lost it—screams piercing the air as she popped her chest forward, making the lace top shift just enough to show more of that teasing cleavage. She turned sideways, giving the side sections a perfect view of her arched back and the way the skirt hugged her round ass, the fur trim bouncing with each sharp move.

During the dance break, she dropped low—thighs spreading wide in a squat, skirt riding up dangerously high—before rising slowly, dragging her free hand up her inner thigh, over her stomach, and between her breasts. She bit her lip playfully, eyes scanning the audience with that leader stare that said, "I know exactly what you're thinking." Fans in the front rows were going feral, phones up, lightsticks waving frantically.

She teased harder on the bridge—backing up against one of the elevated platforms, rolling her body against it like she was grinding on a partner. One hand slid into her hair, tugging lightly as she tilted her head back, exposing the long line of her throat and the choker pulling tight. The other hand trailed down her front, fingers splaying over her abs before dipping lower, hooking the waistband of her skirt, and tugging it down an inch—just enough to flash more toned midriff—before snapping it back up with a cheeky grin.

Jihyo spun toward the main camera rig, hips swaying side to side in time with the heavy bass. She brought the mic close, voice husky and powerful as she hit her high notes, but her body language was pure seduction—shoulders rolling, chest thrusting forward on every beat, making the white crop top strain against her curves. Sweat glistened on her collarbones, trickling down into her cleavage, catching the stage lights like diamonds.

The fans ate it up. Chants of "JIHYO! SEXY!" mixed with the official fanchants. She responded by dropping to her knees for a moment—legs spread, skirt hiked, ass popping as she bounced to the rhythm—before popping back up with a laugh, blowing kisses to the crowd. Every move was calculated to drive them wild: a hair flip that sent waves cascading over one shoulder, a slow body roll that made her breasts bounce just right, and a teasing wink as she dragged her tongue across her lower lip.

By the end of the song, she was breathing hard, chest heaving, and skin flushed and glowing. She stood center stage, one hand on her hip, the other holding the mic as she addressed the arena in that warm, commanding voice.

"LA... are you ready for more?" she purred, voice low and sultry over the speakers.

The response was deafening.

Jihyo smirked, turning slowly so every section got a full view of her from behind—the skirt clinging, fur trim swaying, and hips cocked. She glanced over her shoulder, eyes dark and playful.

"Then let's keep going."

The lights shifted, the next track intro hit, and Jihyo dove back in—body moving like liquid fire, teasing, owning, and seducing 20,000 fans at once.

As the final notes of the encore track faded into the roaring cheers of the LA crowd, Jihyo stood center stage under the blinding spotlights, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. Sweat glistened on her exposed collarbones and trickled slowly into the deep V of her black lace halter top, making the sheer fabric cling even more transparently to the curves of her full breasts. The white cropped overlay strained against her every inhale, the bold lettering stretched taut across her pushed-up cleavage. Her short lavender-gray miniskirt rode up slightly from the last sharp hip roll, the fuzzy trim brushing the tops of her toned thighs as she shifted her weight.

The arena lights dimmed just a fraction for the closing moment, giving her a moment to catch her breath and scan the sea of lightsticks. Her eyes flicked instinctively toward the VIP section—front-row center, the prime spot reserved for special guests, family, and... him.

Yun Seung Bin—Yoon Sung Bin, the Olympic gold medalist, the unbreakable skeleton racer whose body was carved from years of explosive power and discipline—was there. Seated casually in a black hoodie and cap pulled low, trying to blend in among the screaming fans, but she knew exactly where he was. She'd spotted him the second the platform rose at the start of the show. Their eyes had locked for a split second during the opening number, and that single glance had ignited something low in her belly that hadn't cooled since.

Now, as she smiled brightly for the cameras and waved to the crowd, her mind drifted. She imagined him watching her every move—the way she'd rolled her hips low and slow during the chorus, ass popping just enough to make the skirt hike higher; the deliberate chest thrust that made her breasts bounce under the lace; the teasing thigh spread in that squat drop when she'd dragged her hand up her inner leg. Thousands of fans were losing their minds over her body, chanting her name, filming every sway and grind... but only one person in the entire arena knew what it felt like to claim that body completely.

Her core clenched at the thought. Heat pooled between her thighs, sudden and insistent, making her shift her stance subtly so her legs pressed together for a moment of friction.

Yesterday night... God, last night.

They'd barely made it through the hotel door after her late rehearsal. Seung Bin had pinned her against the wall the second it closed, big hands gripping her waist, lifting her effortlessly so her legs wrapped around his hips. His mouth had crashed into hers—hungry, demanding—while he carried her to the bed like she weighed nothing. She'd been soaked before he even touched her properly, her practice shorts already damp from thinking about him all day.

He'd stripped her slowly at first, savoring it. Peeling off her top, freeing her big, heavy breasts—always so sensitive, always responding instantly to him. He'd groaned at the sight, voice rough: "These tits... fuck, Jihyo, they're perfect." Then he'd buried his face between them, tongue lapping broad stripes over the soft undersides before zeroing in on her nipples.

She remembered exactly how he'd feasted. No teasing at first—just raw hunger. Mouth latching onto one hard peak, sucking deep and hard, tongue flicking fast while his hand kneaded the other breast roughly, pinching and rolling the nipple between calloused fingers. The dual assault had her arching off the bed, moaning his name like a prayer. He'd switched sides, teeth grazing just enough to sting, then soothing with slow, wet circles. Her nipples had throbbed under his relentless mouth—swollen, dark pink, hypersensitive—and he'd kept going, sucking harder, tugging with his lips, flicking the tips until pleasure-pain shot straight to her clit.

She hadn't needed anything else. No fingers, no cock—just his mouth on her tits. Her hips had bucked wildly, pussy clenching around nothing, thighs trembling. "Seung Bin—oh god—don't stop—" And he hadn't. He'd growled against her skin, vibrations buzzing through her, and sucked even harder, twisting one nipple while his tongue lashed the other.

She'd come so hard she'd screamed—back bowing, toes curling, a gush of wetness soaking her panties as waves crashed through her. Just from nipple play. Just from him worshipping her big boobs like they were his favorite thing in the world. Afterward, he'd flipped her over, yanked her shorts down, and finally slid that thick, long cock inside her—stretching her wide, hitting deep with every thrust until she'd come again and again, senseless and shaking, pussy milking him dry while he groaned her name.

The memory hit her like a freight train right there on stage. Her pussy throbbed painfully, clit swollen and aching under the thin fabric of her stage shorts hidden beneath the skirt. Fresh wetness slicked her inner thighs; she could feel it—warm, slippery, threatening to drip if she moved wrong. Her nipples hardened instantly against the lace, poking visibly through the top, sensitive enough that the slightest brush of fabric made her bite her lip to stifle a whimper.

Fuck... if the set hadn't ended soon...

She imagined it—mid-performance, body rolling to the beat, mind lost in flashbacks of his cock pounding her from behind last night, thick and veined, curving just right to drag against her G-spot. The pressure was building, her pussy clenching rhythmically, thighs shaking... she would've squirted right there on stage. A hot, uncontrollable gush soaked through her skirt, dripping down her legs while 20,000 fans screamed her name, none the wiser that their leader was coming undone, thinking about her boyfriend's dick filling her up.

Luckily, the concert was wrapping up. The final bow, the group wave, the hearts thrown to the crowd. Jihyo forced a bright smile, waving as the lights began to fade, but her mind was already racing ahead—to the backstage hallway, to the private car waiting, to the hotel room where Seung Bin would be waiting.

She glanced toward VIP one last time as the platform lowered. He was standing now, clapping slowly, eyes locked on hers through the dimming lights. That knowing smirk on his face said he could tell exactly what she was thinking.

Her core pulsed again. "Hurry up and get me out of here," she thought, thighs pressing together as she disappeared below the stage.

The final bow lingered just a second longer than usual. Jihyo’s arms stayed raised high, sweat-slick skin catching the dying stage lights, her chest still heaving from the last high note. The arena echoed with thousands of voices screaming her name—“JIHYO! JIHYO!”—mixed with the fading roar of “Thank you, ONCE!” chants. She blew one last set of flying kisses, flashed that signature megawatt leader smile, then dropped her arms and turned toward the wings.

The moment her heels hit the off-stage ramp, the performance mask cracked just enough for raw need to bleed through.

Backstage was controlled chaos—staff rushing with water bottles, towels, and spare mics; members laughing breathlessly, high-fiving; and stylists already reaching for robes and makeup wipes. Jihyo moved through it like she was still center stage, hips swaying, lavender-gray miniskirt riding high on her thighs with every purposeful step. The fuzzy trim bounced. The black lace halter top clung damply to her breasts, the deep V neckline shifting with each breath, nipples still visibly peaked beneath the sheer fabric from the memory that had nearly undone her mid-show.

She didn’t stop for a robe. Didn’t ask for a quick change. She wanted to stay in this exact outfit—the one that had made 20,000 people lose their minds. The one Seung Bin had been staring at for two full hours from the VIP seats. She wanted him to rip it off her later… or maybe not rip it at all. Maybe he’d just shove the skirt up around her waist and fuck her with the fuzzy hem brushing his hips, the white, cropped bandeau shoved up over her tits, and gold chains jingling against her throat while he pounded into her.

First, though—responsibilities.

She clapped her hands sharply twice, the sound cutting through the post-show buzz like a whip.

“Everyone—circle up for one minute. One minute.”

The members turned instantly—Nayeon wiping sweat from her forehead, Jeongyeon already loosening her in-ears, Momo stretching her hamstrings, Sana fanning herself dramatically, and Jihyo’s voice always having that effect. Staff paused mid-task, too. Runners, sound techs, lighting crew, even the security guys near the exit—all gravitated toward her.

Jihyo stood in the middle of the hallway, legs slightly apart, hands on her hips, still glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights. Sweat trickled down the side of her neck and disappeared into her cleavage; she didn’t bother wiping it.

“First—thank you,” she said, voice firm but warm. “Tonight was insane. You all felt it, right? The energy? LA gave us everything they had, and we gave it right back. That’s because of every single one of you in this hallway. Sound team—perfect mix, not a single drop-out. Lights—you made us look like goddesses. Stylists—thank you for keeping us comfortable and sexy even when we were dying up there. Dancers, vocal line, rap line… my girls…” Her gaze softened as it swept over TWICE. “You were flawless. Every step, every note, every smile. I’m so proud I could cry.”

A few “awws”s and soft laughs rippled through the group.

“But listen,” she continued, her tone dropping lower and more serious. “We still have two more shows. Tomorrow we come back hungrier. Sharper. No slacking. No coasting on tonight’s high. We rest tonight—really rest—then tomorrow we destroy again. Eat something good. Stretch. Sleep. And when we step back on that stage, we remind them why TWICE is untouchable.”

She pointed at each member in turn, quick and affectionate.

“Nayeon-unnie—keep owning those high notes. Jeongyeon—your stability is our backbone. Momo—legs don’t quit, okay? Sana—keep melting hearts. Mina—your elegance kills every time. Dahyun—energy never drops. Chaeyoung—keep spitting fire. Tzuyu—maknae on top, always.”

They all grinned, some saluting playfully, others nodding solemnly.

Jihyo clapped once more. “Now go. Shower, eat, and crash. I love you all. See you tomorrow at call time—sharp.”

A chorus of “Love you, unnie!” and “Fighting!” echoed back. The circle broke—members hugging quickly, staff dispersing with smiles and tired waves.

Jihyo didn’t wait for anyone to ask if she needed help changing or if she wanted water. She turned on her heel, the short skirt swishing against her thighs, and strode straight toward the private corridor that led to the VIP suites.

Her heart hammered harder now than it had during the final chorus.

Security nodded as she approached—no questions, no delays. They knew exactly where she was headed. One guy even gave her a small, knowing grin before opening the heavy door.

The hallway beyond was quieter—carpeted, dimly lit, and reserved for high-profile guests. She could hear muffled music from the after-party down the corridor, but she ignored it. Her heels clicked faster.

Room 7. VIP 7.

She didn’t knock.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Jihyo pushed the heavy door of VIP Suite 7 open with her hip, the soft click of the latch echoing in the sudden quiet after the hallway noise. The room was bathed in the warm, diffused glow of the Los Angeles city lights streaming through the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that overlooked the glittering downtown skyline. No overhead lights were on—just the soft amber wash from the city below and the faint blue pulse of a single LED strip along the base of the window.

She stepped inside, still in her full stage outfit: the black lace halter top clinging damply to her sweat-slicked skin, the white cropped bandeau stretched tight across her full breasts, the short lavender-gray miniskirt with its fuzzy trim riding high on her thighs, and gold chains glinting between her cleavage. Her heels clicked once, twice on the polished floor before she froze.

Yun Seung Bin stood directly in front of the massive window, completely naked.

His broad back was to her—muscular shoulders tapering down to a carved V at his waist, every ridge of his spine and the deep dimples above his ass perfectly illuminated by the city glow. His powerful legs were planted wide in a relaxed stance, thighs thick and corded from years of explosive skeleton training. And there, hanging heavy between those thighs, was his cock—thick, even soft, and long enough that it swayed slightly with his breathing, the fat head brushing against the inside of one leg. The entire picture was raw, shameless, and devastatingly masculine.

Her eyes widened. A sharp inhale caught in her throat.

She hadn’t expected… this. She’d pictured him waiting in jeans and that black hoodie, maybe leaning against the bar with a drink, smirking like he always did when he knew he had her worked up. Not this. Not him standing nude in front of the glass like he was on display for the entire city twenty stories below—though the tint was one-way and no one could see in.

Her mouth went dry. Her pulse slammed in her ears, in her clit, and between her legs. Heat surged through her so fast it made her knees tremble. The horniness she’d been fighting since the third song exploded—straight, vicious, undeniable. Her nipples tightened painfully against the damp lace. Fresh wetness slicked her inner thighs beneath the skirt. She could feel her pussy clench around nothing just looking at him—at the way his glutes flexed subtly when he shifted his weight, at the heavy hang of his cock, at the sheer size of the man who’d fucked her senseless less than twenty-four hours ago.

Words failed her. What could she even say? “Hi, I’m here.” “You’re naked?” Nothing felt right. Nothing felt adequate.

Instead, she reached behind her without looking, pushed the door shut with a quiet but firm click, and turned the lock.

The sound made him tense—just a slight ripple across his back muscles—but he didn’t turn around yet.

Jihyo kicked off her heels in two quick motions, bare feet silent on the carpet now. She walked toward him slowly, hips swaying on instinct, the fuzzy hem of her skirt brushing her thighs with every step. Her breathing came shallow and fast. She could smell him already—clean sweat from the arena heat, his woodsy cologne, and the faint masculine musk that always made her weak.

When she reached him, she didn’t speak.

She simply pressed herself against his back.

Her arms slid around his narrow waist, palms flattening over the hard ridges of his abs. Her huge, soft breasts squished firmly against his shoulder blades—still trapped in the lace halter, still damp with performance sweat, nipples so hard they ached as they dragged against his warm skin through the thin fabric. She rested her cheek between his shoulder blades, inhaling deeply, letting her body mold to his as if it belonged there.

Seung Bin let out a low, rough exhale—the sound vibrating through his back into her chest.

He didn’t need to ask who it was.

He knew.

The way her tits pressed so heavily against him, the familiar curve of her body fitting perfectly to his, the little shaky breath she let out against his spine—he knew exactly who had just walked in and wrapped herself around him like she was starving.

One of his big hands came up to cover both of hers where they rested on his stomach, fingers lacing through hers, squeezing once, possessive, steady.

The other hand stayed at his side, but she felt the subtle flex of his entire body, cock twitching visibly between his thighs as blood rushed south.

Neither of them spoke.

They didn’t need to.

Not yet.

Jihyo's palms stayed flat against his abs at first, just feeling. The hard ridges under her fingers flexed subtly with each of his slow breaths—eight perfect, carved blocks that she'd traced with her tongue countless times, but never got tired of. She spread her fingers wider, letting her nails drag lightly down the center line that divided them, then back up, tracing the deep V-lines that arrowed toward his hips.

Seung Bin exhaled roughly through his nose, the sound almost a growl. He didn't turn around yet—letting her play, letting her set the pace.

"You watched me the whole show," she murmured against his back, lips brushing his skin between his shoulder blades. Her voice was still a little hoarse from belting high notes for two hours. "Didn't you?"

"Every second," he answered, low and gravelly. "Couldn't look away. That skirt riding up every time you dropped low... those tits bouncing when you hit the chorus... fuck, Jihyo. You were teasing the whole arena, but I knew who you were really performing for."

She smiled into his back, pressing her huge breasts harder against him. The lace of her halter top scraped deliciously against his skin as she rolled her shoulders forward, squishing them even more firmly into his back. Her nipples—still painfully hard from the stage adrenaline and the memory of last night—dragged across him like little points of fire. She rocked subtly, rubbing them in slow circles, the friction sending sparks straight between her own thighs.

"Mmm... you liked watching me grind on nothing while thinking about your cock?" she teased, voice dropping into that sultry register she usually saved for late-night voice messages.

"Liked?" He chuckled darkly, the vibration rumbling through his chest into hers. "I was hard the entire encore. Had to cross my legs so the people next to me wouldn't notice."

Her hands slid lower now—slow, deliberate. Fingertips danced along the lowest row of his abs, tracing the sharp cut where muscle met hip bone. She hooked one nail under the edge of that deep V, tugging lightly like she was testing how far she could push before he snapped.

"Poor baby," she purred, nipping softly at the skin between his shoulder blades. "All hard and aching while I was out there rolling my hips for twenty thousand strangers. Bet you wanted to drag me off stage right then."

"Still do." His voice had gone rougher, tighter. "Wanted to bend you over the stage barrier and fuck you in front of everyone. Let them see exactly who that body belongs to."

A fresh gush of wetness soaked her inner thighs at the words. She moaned quietly, pressing her breasts even harder against him—practically grinding them now, the soft weight squishing and dragging, lace rasping, nipples throbbing with every roll.

Her hands finally dipped lower.

One palm flattened over the thick root of his cock where it hung heavy between his thighs. Even soft—or semi-soft now—it filled her hand, warm and velvety, the weight of it making her core clench. She didn't grip yet—just rested there, feeling him twitch against her palm as blood rushed in response to her touch.

The other hand kept playing—fingertips skating teasingly along the underside, tracing the thick vein that ran from base to tip. She followed it slowly upward, feather-light, until her nails grazed the sensitive frenulum. His cock jerked hard, thickening noticeably in her hand.

"Already waking up for me," she whispered, lips curving into a smile against his back. "Missed me that much?"

"You have no idea." He finally moved—reaching back with one hand to grip her hip through the fuzzy skirt, fingers digging in possessively. "Been thinking about bending you over this window since the second I walked in. Skirt shoved up, tits pressed to the glass, letting the whole city watch me ruin you."

She shivered, pussy throbbing at the image. Her hand finally wrapped around his shaft—slow, firm—giving one long, teasing stroke from root to tip. He was half-hard now, growing thicker with every heartbeat, the head already starting to peek out from the foreskin, glistening with the first bead of precum.

"Not yet," she teased, thumb circling the sensitive head once, spreading the slickness. "I want to play first. Want to feel you get so hard it hurts... just like I was hurting out there on stage thinking about this cock splitting me open again."

He groaned—low, tortured—hips rocking forward into her hand on instinct.

"Tease," he muttered.

"Learned from the best." She squeezed him gently, stroking again—slow, deliberate, letting her palm glide over every ridge and vein. Her other hand came around to join the first—both now wrapped around his thickening length, stroking in tandem, thumbs brushing the head on every upstroke.

All the while she kept rubbing her breasts against his back—slow, needy circles, the lace dragging, nipples aching so badly she whimpered into his skin.

"You gonna keep hiding from me?" she asked, voice breathy now. "Or are you gonna turn around so I can see how much bigger you're getting for your girl?"

He laughed once—dark, hungry—then started to turn in her arms.

But not before he reached back, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and tugged her head gently to the side so he could murmur against her ear:

"Keep playing with my cock like that, princess... and I'm gonna fuck you against this glass until your legs give out and your screams echo down to the street."

Her pussy clenched hard at the threat-promise.

She didn't stop stroking.

She just smiled wickedly against his neck and whispered back:

"Good. That's exactly what I came here for."

Jihyo’s hands slid from his thickening cock with deliberate slowness, letting her fingertips trail one last teasing drag along the veined underside before she stepped back just enough to break the full-body press. Seung Bin turned fully now, eyes dark and hooded, cock already half-hard and jutting proudly between his powerful thighs, the fat head flushed and glistening with the first heavy bead of precum.

She didn’t give him time to speak.

With a sudden, playful shove—both palms flat against the hard planes of his chest—she pushed him backward. He let her, grinning wickedly as he stumbled a single step, then another, until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the wide leather sofa that faced the massive window. He dropped onto it with controlled grace, thighs spreading wide, cock slapping audibly against his lower abs as he settled.

Jihyo didn’t hesitate.

She hiked her short lavender-gray miniskirt higher—fuzzy trim bunching around her hips—revealing the black lace boyshorts underneath, already soaked through at the crotch, a dark wet patch clinging transparently to her swollen pussy lips. She climbed onto his lap in one fluid motion, knees sinking into the soft leather on either side of his hips, straddling him wide.

The moment her drenched core made contact with his bare cock, she moaned—low, filthy, unashamed. Her soaked lace dragged along his thick shaft, coating him instantly with her slick heat. She rolled her hips forward in a slow, grinding circle, letting her clit catch on the rigid underside of his length, the friction sending sparks shooting up her spine.

“Fuck… you’re dripping already,” he rasped, voice gravel-rough.

She leaned in, breasts squishing heavily against his chest through the damp lace halter, nipples scraping his skin like little points of fire. Her lips hovered a breath from his.

“Been dripping since the third song,” she whispered, brushing her mouth against his in a teasing ghost-kiss. “Thinking about this fat cock stretching me open again… about how you made me come just from sucking my tits last night…”

She sealed their mouths together then—deep, hungry, tongues sliding immediately in a wet, messy tangle. Saliva mixed, lips bruised from the force. Between kisses she kept whispering filthy little confessions against his tongue.

“You watched me grind on nothing… pretending it was you…” Kiss. “Knew you were hard in the VIP seats…” Deep lick into his mouth. “Bet you wanted to climb on stage and fuck me right there… in front of all my fans…”

His hands found her waist first—big palms spanning her tiny midriff, fingers digging into the taut, sweat-slick skin just above the skirt’s waistband. He groaned into her mouth when she rolled her hips again, harder this time, pussy lips parting around the thick ridge of his cock through the soaked lace, clit grinding shamelessly against him.

“Goddamn, Jihyo…” he muttered between kisses, one hand sliding up her abs—tracing the faint, sexy definition she’d earned from years of core work and choreography. “These abs… fuck, I love feeling them flex when you ride me.”

She smirked against his lips, nipping his bottom one hard enough to sting.

“Obsessed with my body, huh?” she teased, voice breathy and taunting. She arched her back deliberately, pushing her huge breasts forward until they mashed even tighter against his chest. “Especially these big tits… you can’t keep your hands or your mouth off them.”

He growled low, both hands finally sliding upward—cupping the heavy undersides of her breasts through the lace, thumbs brushing the stiff peaks of her nipples. He squeezed—firm, possessive—making the soft flesh spill over his fingers.

“Whole Korea’s obsessed with these tits,” he shot back, voice dark and smug as he pinched her nipples through the fabric, rolling them slowly between thumb and forefinger. “Every time you wear something low-cut on stage… every fancam… fans lose their fucking minds. They spam heart-eyes, call you ‘boob goddess,’ make edits with slow-mo zooms on your chest when you jump.”

He leaned in, lips grazing the shell of her ear as she kept grinding—slow, filthy circles, pussy soaking his cock more with every pass.

“But I’m the lucky bastard who gets to enjoy them for real,” he murmured, squeezing harder, making her gasp. “I get to suck them until you come untouched… get to watch them bounce while I fuck you stupid… get to mark them with my teeth and my cum.”

She whimpered, hips stuttering at his words. Her hands flew to his shoulders for leverage as she ground down harder—lace dragging wetly along his now fully hard length, the fat head nudging insistently against her covered entrance.

“Look,” he said suddenly, nodding toward the massive window behind them.

She followed his gaze.

The concert had just ended—fans were spilling out of the Crypto.com Arena below, a sea of lightsticks still glowing pink and white, groups of ONCEs hugging, taking selfies, some crying happy tears, others jumping and chanting TWICE chants even as they walked toward the exits.

From up here—twenty stories high, tinted one-way glass—they had a perfect, voyeuristic view of the celebration.

Seung Bin’s hands slid under the cropped white bandeau, shoving it upward until her lace-covered breasts spilled free—nipples dark and swollen, begging. He palmed them roughly, thumbs flicking the peaks.

“All those fans down there screaming your name… celebrating you…” he growled, pinching her nipples hard enough to make her cry out into his mouth. “None of them know their perfect leader is up here right now… skirt hiked up… pussy dripping all over my cock… about to get fucked senseless by the man who owns every inch of this body.”

Jihyo moaned—loud, broken—grinding faster now, lace soaked through, clit throbbing against his shaft.

“Then own it,” she whispered against his lips, tongue flicking out to trace his. “Fuck me in this outfit… right here… let me come all over your cock while they cheer for me downstairs.”

His hands tightened on her tits—one last brutal squeeze—before he reached down, hooked two fingers into the crotch of her drenched boyshorts, and yanked them aside.

The cool air hit her soaked pussy for only a second before the thick head of his cock nudged her entrance—hot, blunt, promising.

“Say please, princess,” he taunted, holding himself there, letting her feel every inch she was about to take.

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear, voice wrecked and needy.

Jihyo broke the kiss with a wet gasp, lips swollen and shiny, a thin string of saliva still connecting their mouths for a split second before it snapped. She sat up straighter on his lap—thighs spread wide around his hips, drenched lace boyshorts shoved aside, her slick pussy lips still kissing the thick underside of his cock with every tiny roll of her hips.

Her hands moved to the thin white straps that tied behind her neck—the halter part of her cropped top.

She tugged one bow slowly, teasingly, letting the knot loosen inch by inch while she stared down into his eyes.

“You’ve been staring at these all night,” she purred, voice husky from singing and lust. “Every time I jumped, every time I rolled my chest… You were imagining ripping this off, weren’t you?”

Seung Bin’s hands flexed on her waist, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts through the fabric. His cock throbbed hard beneath her, leaking steadily now, smearing precum along her folds.

“Every fucking second,” he growled. “Wanted to bury my face between them right there in the VIP seats. Suck those fat nipples until you scream my name in front of twenty thousand fans.”

She smiled wickedly, pulling the final knot free. The white cropped bandeau loosened, but she didn’t let it fall yet. Instead, she reached behind her back, fingers finding the tiny clasp that held the black lace halter in place beneath it.

“These big tits have been aching for your mouth since the opening number,” she whispered, arching her back to push them closer to his face. “So heavy… so full… nipples so hard they hurt every time the lace rubbed them. You gonna suck them like you did last night? Gonna make me come just from your tongue on my nipples again?”

“Fuck yes,” he rasped, voice thick. “Gonna latch on and never let go. Gonna bite them, lick them, milk them until you’re crying and squirting all over my cock.”

Her fingers worked the clasp—slow, deliberate. One hook popped free. Then the second.

The black lace suddenly gave way.

Her huge, heavy breasts spilled out with a glorious, pendulous bounce—finally free after being confined for hours under layers of stage costume. They jiggled enticingly as gravity took over, full and round, pale skin flushed pink from arousal and the heat of performance. Her nipples stood out dark and swollen, already puckered into tight, needy peaks begging for attention. The sheer volume of them was obscene—soft yet firm, more than a generous handful even for his large palms, swaying hypnotically with her breathing.

Seung Bin groaned like he’d been punched in the gut, eyes locked on the sight.

“Goddamn… look at these perfect fucking tits,” he muttered, almost reverent. “So big… so heavy… Korea’s obsessed, and they don’t even know how much better they feel in real life. Bouncing like that… nipples begging to be sucked raw…”

Jihyo laughed breathlessly, cupping the undersides herself for a moment—lifting them, squeezing them together so the deep cleavage deepened even more—then letting them drop again with another delicious bounce.

“They’re all yours tonight, baby,” she teased, leaning forward so the soft weight brushed his chest, nipples dragging across his skin. “No more hiding them under lace. No more teasing the fans. Just you… and these fat tits… and that greedy mouth of yours.”

He didn’t waste another second.

His hands shot to her back—rough, impatient—fingers finding the bra clasp she’d already loosened. One sharp tug and the last hook gave way. The black lace fell away completely, sliding down her arms and pooling at her elbows before she shrugged it off entirely.

Her breasts bounced free one final time—completely bare now, heavy and perfect, nipples pointing straight at him like they knew exactly where they wanted to be.

Seung Bin stared for a heartbeat—taking in the sheer sexiness of them: the gentle upward curve, the faint blue veins under the pale skin, the way they sat high despite their size thanks to her athletic frame, and the dark areolas crinkled tight around those stiff peaks.

Then he lunged.

One big hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her down into a bruising kiss, while the other wrapped around the base of one breast—lifting, squeezing, and flicking the nipple hard with the thumb.

“Gonna worship these tits until you can’t think straight,” he growled against her mouth. “Gonna suck them so hard you come all over my cock before I even slide inside you.”

Jihyo moaned, grinding down harder—her soaked pussy sliding along his length, clit catching on the thick head with every roll.

“Then do it,” she challenged, voice wrecked. “Suck my big tits, baby. Make them yours. Show me why you’re the only one who gets to play with them.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

His mouth descended—hot, wet, hungry—latching onto her left nipple with a filthy, open-mouthed suck that pulled half her breast inside. Tongue lashed the peak fast and rough while his hand kneaded the other roughly, pinching and rolling the neglected nipple.

Jihyo threw her head back with a sharp cry, hips stuttering, pussy clenching hard around nothing as pleasure shot straight to her core.

“Fuck—yes—just like that—suck harder—”

He obliged—teeth grazing, tongue swirling, sucking so deep her nipple throbbed in his mouth. His free hand slid down to grip her ass through the bunched skirt, guiding her to grind faster, slick sounds filling the room as her juices coated his cock completely.

Down below, the fans were still celebrating—lightsticks waving, voices chanting—but up here, in the VIP suite, Jihyo’s world had narrowed to one thing:

His mouth on her tits.

And the thick cock waiting to claim the rest of her.

Seung Bin's mouth was already on her left nipple—hot, wet suction pulling the swollen peak deep inside, tongue lashing fast and rough against the sensitive tip while his hand cradled the heavy underside, squeezing the soft, overflowing flesh like he was trying to milk every last drop of pleasure from it.

Jihyo's head fell back with a broken, throaty moan. “Ahhh—fuck—yes, suck it harder, baby… mmmph—”

The sound was obscene—wet, slurping pops every time he released her nipple, only to dive back in, teeth grazing just enough to sting before soothing with slow, filthy circles of his tongue. Her right breast wasn’t neglected; his other hand mauled it roughly—fingers sinking deep into the plush mound, kneading, rolling the nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching and tugging until it throbbed dark and shiny.

“These tits are fucking unreal,” he growled against her skin, voice muffled as he switched sides—mouth latching onto the right nipple now, sucking so hard her back bowed. “So big… so heavy… bouncing like this while you ride me… fuck, Jihyo, I could come just from playing with them.”

She whimpered—high and needy—hips rolling faster on instinct. Her drenched pussy lips dragged along the thick length of his cock, coating every veined inch in her slick heat. The fat head, flushed dark and leaking, peeped out from between the firm cheeks of her ass—long enough that even with her skirt bunched high and her ass grinding down, the tip nudged insistently against the small of her back.

Her arms slid behind her without breaking rhythm. Small hands reached down, finding his cock where it jutted up between her thighs. She wrapped both palms around the slick shaft—fingers barely meeting around the girth—and started stroking in time with her grinding hips.

“Mmm… so thick… so hard for me already…” she purred, voice trembling with pleasure as he bit down lightly on her nipple. “Ahh—yes—pinch them, baby… make them hurt so good…”

He obliged—twisting both nipples at once, pulling them outward until the peaks stretched, then releasing with a wet pop. Her breasts bounced heavily with the motion, jiggling enticingly against his face.

“Goddamn, listen to you moan,” he rasped, blowing cool air over one wet, throbbing nipple before sucking it back in deep. “The whole arena was screaming for you tonight… but right now you’re moaning like a needy little slut just for my mouth on your tits.”

Jihyo laughed breathlessly—half moan, half tease—her hands working his cock faster now. One palm circled the swollen head in slow, slippery loops, the thumb rubbing the sensitive slit where precum oozed steadily. The other hand stroked the thick shaft—up and down, twisting gently at the base, feeling every pulsing vein under her fingers.

“Fuck—Seung Bin—your cock’s so long it’s peeking out from my ass cheeks…” she whimpered, grinding down harder so the rigid length slid between her plush cheeks, the head nudging the base of her spine with every roll. “Feels so good… so hot… mmmph—stroke it with me, baby… feel how wet I’m making you…”

He groaned into her breast—deep, animalistic—the vibration buzzing straight through her nipple to her clit. One hand left her tit to grip her ass cheek, spreading her wider so his cock could slide even deeper between her cheeks, the slick head kissing the dimples at the small of her back.

“Grind that pretty ass on me, princess,” he ordered, voice wrecked. “Let me feel how soaked you are… how bad this pussy wants to swallow every inch.”

She obeyed—hips circling in filthy, slow grinds—ass cheeks squeezing around his shaft, pussy lips parting wider to drag along the underside. Wet, squelching sounds filled the room every time she rolled forward, her juices dripping down his balls, making everything slick and obscene.

“Ahhh—yes—right there—” she cried when he switched back to the left nipple, sucking hard while his fingers twisted the right one mercilessly. “Suck them harder… make them ache… fuck—your mouth feels so good—mmmph—don’t stop—”

Her hands never slowed. One kept circling the fat, leaking tip—smearing precum in glossy rings, thumb pressing into the slit to coax more out—while the other stroked the full length in long, firm pulls, nails lightly scraping the sensitive underside.

“Look at you… playing with my cock like it’s your favorite toy,” he taunted between sucks, teeth grazing her nipple until she yelped. “While your big tits bounce in my face… dripping sweat… nipples so hard they could cut glass…”

Jihyo moaned louder—shameless, wrecked—hips stuttering as pleasure coiled tighter in her core.

“They’re yours to play with, baby… suck them… bite them… make me come just from your mouth again…” She leaned forward, pressing her breasts harder into his face, smothering him in soft, heavy flesh. “You love how they fill your hands… how they bounce when I ride you… Don’t you?”

“Fuck yes,” he groaned, voice muffled between her tits. “The whole country jerks off to fancams of these bouncing… but I’m the one who gets to feel them shake while I fuck you raw… the one who gets to mark them with my teeth… my cum…”

He sucked harder—cheeks hollowing—tongue flicking the peak in rapid, merciless strokes while his hands squeezed both breasts together, pushing the nipples close so he could alternate between them in quick, hungry switches.

Jihyo’s moans turned into desperate cries—high, broken, and echoing in the suite.

“Ahh—fuck—yes—don’t stop—gonna come—gonna come just from your mouth on my tits again—Seung Bin—!”

Her ass ground down harder—cheeks clenching around his cock, pussy lips sliding wetly along the shaft, clit throbbing against the thick ridge. Her hands pumped faster—palms slick with his precum, circling the head in tight, teasing twists—milking him while he devoured her breasts.

The wet sounds—slurping sucks, slick strokes, her dripping pussy dragging along his length—mixed with their filthy words and moans filled the room.

Downstairs, fans were still celebrating.

Up here, Jihyo was seconds away from coming undone—tits worshipped, cock stroked, ass grinding—completely lost in him.

Jihyo pulled back from the bruising kiss just enough to catch her breath, lips hovering over his, swollen and glistening with their shared spit. Her heavy breasts still pressed against his chest, nipples dragging slow, teasing circles across his skin every time she shifted. Her hips never stopped their filthy grind—drenched pussy lips sliding wetly along the thick underside of his cock, clit catching on every ridge and vein while her plush ass cheeks squeezed around the leaking head that peeked out behind her.

She leaned in close, mouth brushing the shell of his ear, voice dropping to a husky, trembling whisper between soft, wet pecks along his jaw.

“I want to suck your cock…” she breathed, tongue flicking out to trace the lobe of his ear. “…right in front of them.”

Another slow, open-mouthed kiss—tongues sliding lazily, filthy and deep—before she pulled back again, eyes dark and glittering with mischief.

“Want to drop to my knees… take every thick inch down my throat… while they’re still down there waving my lightsticks… screaming my name…” She nipped his bottom lip hard enough to sting. “Imagine it, baby… me choking on your cock… drooling all over it… while my fans cheer for their perfect leader… none of them knowing I’m being such a dirty little slut for you right now.”

Seung Bin’s entire body tensed under her. A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest—and then she felt it.

His cock gave a violent, involuntary twitch—thick and heavy—slapping up hard against the underside of her ass cheeks with a lewd, wet smack. The fat head bounced once, twice, smearing fresh precum across the cleft of her ass before settling again, throbbing insistently between her plush flesh.

Jihyo’s lips curled into a slow, wicked smile. She could feel the heat of his blush against her mouth and the way his breathing stuttered.

“Mmm… you liked that idea, didn’t you?” she purred, grinding down harder so her ass cheeks clenched around his twitching length. “Your cock just jumped so hard it hit my ass… fuck, baby… you’re leaking even more now…”

She kissed him again—slow, filthy, tongues tangling—while one hand reached back to stroke him between her cheeks, palm gliding slickly over the head in lazy circles.

“Bet you’d love it,” she whispered against his lips. “Me on my knees… skirt hiked up… tits bouncing while I gag on you… and all those ONCEs down there holding my merch… my photocard keychains… my banners with my face on them… cheering like good girls and boys… while their Jihyo-unnie is swallowing your cum like a greedy whore.”

His hips bucked up involuntarily—cock sliding hot and slick between her ass cheeks again, the head nudging the base of her spine.

“Fuck, Jihyo…” he groaned, voice wrecked. “You’re going to kill me talking like that.”

She laughed softly—breathless, teasing—then slid off his lap in one fluid motion.

Before he could protest, her small hand wrapped around his wrist and tugged.

“Come here.”

She pulled him toward the massive floor-to-ceiling window, the city lights of LA glittering far below like scattered diamonds. The tinted glass reflected their bodies back at them—her in the disheveled stage outfit, skirt still bunched around her hips, breasts bare and bouncing with every step; him completely naked, cock rock-hard and glistening with her slick, jutting proudly in front of him.

Jihyo stopped right in front of the glass, turned to face him with a devilish smile, then slowly bent forward—palms pressing flat against the cool window, back arching, ass pushing out toward him. The short lavender-gray skirt rode up completely now, fuzzy trim framing the soaked black lace boyshorts that clung transparently to her swollen pussy lips. Her heavy breasts hung free beneath her, swaying gently, nipples still dark and wet from his mouth.

She looked over her shoulder at him—long hair cascading down her back, lips parted, eyes half-lidded with pure lust.

“Like this?” she asked innocently, even as she reached back between her legs and wrapped her fingers around his throbbing cock.

She stroked him slowly—firm, twisting pulls from base to tip—guiding the fat head to nudge against her ass cheek, then between them again.

“Look down there, baby…” she whispered, nodding toward the streets below.

Fans were still milling around the arena exits—groups clustered under streetlights, waving TWICE lightsticks that glowed pink and white in the night. Some held up banners with her face smiling brightly; others clutched limited-edition merch—photocards of her in this exact outfit dangling from keychains, T-shirts with her name in huge letters stretched across chests.

“They’re still celebrating me…” she breathed, stroking him faster now—palm gliding slickly over the head, thumb circling the slit to coax more precum. “Waving my face around… screaming ‘Jihyo! Jihyo!’… while I’m up here… bent over… stroking your big cock… ready to let you fuck me against the glass they can’t even see through.”

Seung Bin stepped closer—hands gripping her hips hard, cock sliding hot and heavy between her ass cheeks as she kept pumping him.

“You’re so fucking dirty,” he growled, leaning over her back so his chest pressed to her spine, mouth at her ear. “Teasing me with your fans right there… knowing they worship you… while you’re dripping for my dick.”

Jihyo moaned—soft and needy—pushing her ass back harder against him.

“Then take what’s yours, baby…” she whispered, guiding his cockhead to nudge right against her soaked entrance through the thin, drenched lace. “Fuck your dirty little idol… right in front of them… make me come so hard they hear me screaming your name from twenty stories up.”

Her hand never stopped stroking—slow, firm, filthy—while she smiled wickedly at their reflection in the glass.

Down below, the fans kept cheering.

Up here, Jihyo was already lost.

Seung Bin’s hands gripped her hips hard enough to bruise, fingers digging into the soft flesh just above the bunched lavender-gray skirt. He spun her around in one swift motion, so her front faced the massive window, then pushed her forward—firm, commanding—until her palms slapped flat against the cool glass.

Jihyo gasped at the sudden chill against her sweaty skin, breasts squishing forward, heavy and bare, nipples scraping the smooth surface with every shaky breath. Her back arched instinctively, her ass pushing out toward him, the short skirt still hiked high around her waist like a useless belt now. The fuzzy trim framed her exposed cheeks, black lace boyshorts shoved to the side, and soaked crotch clinging transparently to her swollen, dripping pussy lips.

Below them—twenty stories down—the streets around Crypto.com Arena were still alive with ONCEs. Pink and white lightsticks bobbed in slow-moving clusters, banners with her smiling face fluttering in the night breeze, and groups of fans hugging, filming TikToks, and chanting “JIHYO! JIHYO!” even as they drifted toward the subway and parking lots. Some held up massive posters of her in this exact outfit—cleavage on full display, confident smile frozen in print—completely unaware that the real Jihyo was right above them, bent over and trembling.

Seung Bin stepped in close behind her, thick cock slapping hot and heavy against her ass cheek before sliding down between them. The fat head nudged her slick entrance—teasing, not entering—just rubbing slow, deliberate circles along her folds, coating himself in her wetness.

“Feel that?” he growled low against her ear, one hand sliding up her spine to fist her long hair, tugging her head back so she had to look down at the fans. “All those people worshipping you… holding your merch… screaming your name… and here you are, dripping like a whore for my cock.”

Jihyo whimpered, hips twitching forward on instinct, trying to chase the pressure. His cockhead caught on her clit—once, twice—sending sharp jolts through her core.

“Please…” she breathed, voice cracking. “Seung Bin… stop teasing…”

He chuckled darkly, hips rolling so the thick length dragged up and down her slit—slow, torturous—never quite pushing inside. The head nudged her entrance again, stretching the rim just enough to make her feel the promise of fullness before pulling back.

“Beg for it properly, princess,” he ordered, free hand sliding around to cup one heavy breast, thumb flicking the nipple hard. “Tell me exactly what you want while you watch them cheer for you.”

Jihyo’s palms pressed harder against the glass—fingers splaying wide—leaving sweaty prints that slowly fogged. She stared down at the fans: a girl in a TWICE hoodie waving a lightstick with Jihyo’s face printed on it, another group taking selfies with a banner that read “Jihyo Queen ♥”. Their voices carried faintly up through the night air—joyful, adoring.

And here she was—idol, leader, goddess to millions—bent over and shaking, pussy throbbing, dripping down her thighs while her boyfriend teased her mercilessly.

“I want your cock inside me…” she whispered at first, voice trembling.

“Louder.”

She swallowed hard, eyes locked on the crowd below.

“I want your thick cock inside me… please… fuck me… stretch me open… fill me up while they cheer for me… ahh—fuck—Seung Bin, please… I need it… I’m so empty without you…”

His cock twitched hard against her clit at her words—another fat drop of precum smearing across her folds.

“Good girl,” he rasped. “Keep looking at them.”

He lined himself up—fat head pressing insistently at her entrance, stretching the slick ring of muscle. Then—slowly, deliberately—he pushed forward.

The first inch sank in with a wet, obscene sound. Jihyo’s mouth fell open on a long, broken moan.

“Ahhh—fuck—yes—”

Another inch—thicker, hotter—stretching her wider. Her walls fluttered desperately around him, trying to pull him deeper.

“More… please—more—”

He didn’t rush. He fed her another thick inch—then another—watching her reflection in the glass: eyes half-lidded, lips parted, cheeks flushed deep pink, breasts swaying heavily with every tiny thrust forward.

“So fucking tight…” he groaned, hands gripping her hips to hold her steady. “Even after all that teasing… still gripping me like you’re scared I’ll pull out.”

Jihyo’s moans grew louder—higher—echoing in the empty suite.

“Oh god—Seung Bin—it’s so big—stretching me—ahh—fuck—deeper—”

Halfway now. Her pussy clenched hard around him, juices dripping down his shaft, coating his balls. She could feel every vein, every ridge dragging against her sensitive walls.

The fans below kept celebrating—oblivious—lightsticks waving like a glowing sea.

Finally—inch by torturous inch—he sank home. His hips met her ass with a soft slap, cock fully sheathed, buried to the hilt inside her pulsing heat.

Jihyo’s entire body seized.

“Ahhhhh—FUCK—!”

She almost came right then.

The stretch was overwhelming—full, burning, perfect. His cockhead kissed her cervix, the thick base grinding against her swollen clit from the angle. Her walls fluttered wildly around him, fluttering in frantic little spasms as pleasure coiled razor-sharp in her belly.

“I’m—gonna—come—” she sobbed, voice wrecked, forehead pressing to the glass. “Just from you inside me… after all that teasing… all those fans down there… oh god—Seung Bin—don’t move—don’t—ahh—!”

He stayed buried deep—perfectly still—letting her feel every throbbing inch while her pussy clenched and fluttered helplessly around him.

“Look at them,” he growled, tugging her hair back so her neck arched, forcing her to stare down at the celebrating crowd. “They’re still screaming your name… waving your face… while you’re up here stuffed full of my cock… about to come untouched again…”

Jihyo’s moans turned into desperate, broken cries—body trembling violently, thighs shaking, pussy spasming around his unmoving length.

“Please… move… fuck me… I can’t—ahh—I’m so close—please—”

He leaned over her back, lips at her ear, voice dark and filthy.

“Beg one more time, princess… loud enough that if the glass wasn’t soundproof… they might hear their perfect idol begging to be fucked like a slut.”

Jihyo’s nails scraped the glass.

“Please—fuck me—please—Seung Bin—fuck me hard—fill me—make me come—make me scream—please—!”

He pulled back—slow—until just the head remained inside, then slammed forward in one deep, brutal thrust.

Jihyo’s scream echoed through the suite—raw, unrestrained—body jerking forward against the glass as pleasure crashed over her like a tidal wave.

And the night had only just begun.

Seung Bin kept his grip iron-tight on her hips, thumbs pressing deep into the soft flesh just above the bunched skirt. He pulled back slowly—agonizingly slow—until only the swollen head remained inside her, stretching the slick ring of her entrance. Jihyo’s walls fluttered desperately around the thick crown, trying to suck him back in.

Then he pushed forward again—inch by torturous inch—letting her feel every single ridge, every pulsing vein as his fat cock split her open once more.

“Ahhh—fuck—yes—” Her voice cracked into a long, trembling moan, forehead pressed to the cool glass, palms sliding slightly with sweat. “So deep… so thick… I can feel all of you…”

He didn’t speed up. He kept the rhythm deliberate, punishing—pulling out almost to the tip before sliding back in with the same unhurried glide, bottoming out each time with a soft, wet slap of skin on skin. The head kissed her cervix on every deep thrust, grinding against that sensitive spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids.

“Look at you,” he growled low against her ear, one hand sliding up to wrap loosely around her throat—not choking, just holding—while the other stayed clamped on her hip, controlling the pace. “Bent over like a needy little slut… tits pressed to the window… pussy dripping down my balls… while your fans are still down there waving your face on banners.”

Jihyo whimpered, hips twitching back to meet him even as he held her steady.

He leaned closer, lips brushing the shell of her ear.

“Imagine if the members walked in right now,” he murmured, voice dark and filthy. “Nayeon, Jeongyeon, Momo… all of them seeing their perfect leader like this—skirt hiked up, ass out, moaning like a whore while I stretch this tight cunt. They’d be so shocked… so jealous… watching you take every inch like you were made for it.”

She moaned louder—high and broken—pushing back harder, fucking herself onto his cock in shallow, desperate rolls even as he controlled the depth.

“God—yes—talk more—” she gasped, voice wrecked. “Tell me—”

“This pussy was fucking made for my cock,” he rasped, punctuating the words with another slow, deep thrust that made her knees buckle. “So wet… so hot… gripping me like it never wants to let go. Perfect little hole… sucking me in every time I pull out… fuck, Jihyo, you’re clenching so hard right now… you love being filled, don’t you?”

“Yes—yes—fuck—love it—” Her words dissolved into another long moan as he bottomed out again, grinding his hips in a slow circle so the thick base dragged against her swollen clit.

Her knees trembled violently—threatening to give out—each time his cock kissed that deep spot inside her. She could feel him everywhere—stretching her walls, pressing against every sensitive ridge, filling her so completely she felt split open and claimed at the same time.

He slid two fingers past her lips without warning.

“Open,” he ordered softly.

She obeyed instantly—mouth falling open, tongue curling around his fingers as she sucked them deep. Her eyes fluttered closed, lashes dark against flushed cheeks, completely lost in the sensation of his cock sliding in and out, in and out, slow and relentless.

“Mmmph—” She moaned around his fingers, sucking harder, tongue swirling, drool slipping from the corners of her mouth and dripping down her chin onto her swaying breasts.

“That’s it… suck them like you suck my cock,” he growled, thrusting a little deeper on the next stroke, making her choke out a muffled cry around his fingers. “Look how perfect you are… taking my dick so deep… trembling like this… knees shaking every time I hit that spot… you’re so close, aren’t you? But I’m not gonna let you come yet.”

She whined—high and desperate—hips rolling faster, fucking herself back onto him even as he kept the rhythm slow and torturous. The intoxicating drag of his cock—thick, hot, unyielding—kept her teetering right on the edge. Every deep thrust sent shudders racing through her core, her walls fluttering wildly, clit throbbing against his base, but never quite enough to tip her over.

Her whole body trembled—thighs quivering, knees buckling again and again—only his grip and the window keeping her upright.

“Please—” she gasped around his fingers, voice slurred and needy, drool coating his knuckles. “Seung Bin—please—let me come—need to come on your cock—please—”

“Not yet, princess,” he whispered, pulling his fingers free with a wet pop only to smear her own saliva across her swollen lips. “Feel every inch… feel how perfectly you were made to take me… shudder for me… tremble… but hold it. I want you shaking and begging before I let you fall apart.”

Another slow, deep thrust—grinding hard at the end—made her cry out, body jerking forward against the glass, breasts flattening, nipples scraping, pussy clenching so hard around him he groaned low in his throat.

“Fuck—yes—just like that—” he rasped. “Keep trembling for me… keep fucking yourself back on this cock… show me how bad you need it.”

Jihyo’s moans turned continuous—soft, broken, endless—hips rolling in helpless little circles, chasing that intoxicating rhythm that kept her right on the razor’s edge, shuddering, trembling, full to the brim, but not allowed to break.

Not yet.

Seung Bin's hands left her hips in one swift motion, sliding up her sweat-slicked sides until his big palms cupped the heavy undersides of her bare breasts. He squeezed them firmly—possessively—fingers sinking deep into the soft, overflowing flesh as he pulled her back harder against his chest.

“These tits are mine,” he growled low against her ear, voice rough with lust. “Bouncing like this while I fuck you… fuck, Jihyo, they feel even better when you’re stuffed full of cock.”

He started thrusting faster—not brutal yet, but deliberate, deeper, each stroke pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in with a wet, obscene slap. The thick length dragged along her sensitive inner walls, stretching her wider with every push, the fat head grinding against that deep spot that made her vision blur.

Jihyo’s moans escalated instantly—louder, higher, more desperate—echoing off the glass and the empty suite.

“Ahh—fuck—yes—harder—!” Her voice cracked on every thrust, her body jerking forward against the window with each powerful snap of his hips. Her palms pressed flat to the glass for leverage, fingers splaying wide, leaving sweaty streaks as her breasts bounced heavily in his grip.

He kneaded them roughly—thumbs flicking her dark, swollen nipples before pinching them between forefinger and thumb, twisting just enough to send sharp bolts of pleasure-pain straight to her clit. He squeezed the full mounds together, pushing them up and together so they spilled over his hands, then let them drop with a jiggle only to grab them again, mauling them in time with his faster rhythm.

“Listen to you moaning like a slut,” he rasped, breath hot against her neck. “So loud… bet if the windows weren’t tinted, those fans down there would hear their perfect leader screaming while I fuck her senseless.”

Jihyo’s head fell back against his shoulder, mouth open in a continuous stream of broken cries.

“Ahhh—Seung Bin—fuck—your hands—on my tits—feel so good—don’t stop—pinch them—harder—!”

He obeyed—pinching both nipples at once, rolling them between rough fingers, tugging outward until the peaks stretched taut and throbbed. Her breasts bounced wildly with every thrust—slapping softly against his palms—sweat and spit from earlier making them glisten under the city lights reflecting off the glass.

“Goddamn, these tits were made to be played with while I pound this perfect pussy,” he groaned, hips snapping faster now—deep, rhythmic strokes that filled her completely each time. “So full… so heavy… bouncing every time I bottom out… You love it, don’t you? Love me grabbing them like this while I fuck you raw?”

“Yes—yes—fuck—love it—grab them harder—squeeze them—ahh—!” Her moans turned into sharp, needy yelps, her voice climbing higher with every thrust. Her pussy clenched hard around his cock—fluttering, spasming—gripping him like a vice as the faster pace pushed her closer to the edge.

Her knees buckled again—threatening to give out—but he held her up, one arm banding around her waist while the other kept kneading her breast, thumb circling the nipple in tight, relentless spirals.

“Feel that?” he murmured, voice dark and filthy. “Every time I thrust deep… your tits bounce… your pussy squeezes… you’re shaking so hard already… you’re gonna come for me soon, aren’t you? Gonna soak my cock while I play with these fat tits?”

Jihyo could only sob in response—moans turning continuous, loud, and unrestrained—body trembling violently as he fucked her faster, hands never leaving her breasts, squeezing, pinching, and rolling her nipples until they ached deliciously.

“Ahhh—Seung Bin—I’m—close—fuck—don’t stop—grab them—harder—!”

He pinched both nipples at once—hard—twisting as he slammed in deep one final time, grinding against her cervix.

Her scream shattered the air—raw, broken, echoing through the suite—body convulsing as pleasure coiled impossibly tight.

And he didn’t let up—not on her tits, not on her pussy—keeping her right on that razor’s edge, moaning louder than she ever had on stage.

Seung Bin’s thrusts had been slow and torturous for what felt like forever, each deep glide keeping Jihyo teetering on the edge without letting her fall. Her begging had grown more desperate with every passing minute—voice hoarse, broken, cracking on every “please”—until finally he decided she’d suffered enough.

“Alright, princess,” he rasped against her ear, one hand sliding down from her breast to the slick heat between her thighs. “You begged so pretty… now come for me.”

His fingers found her swollen clit instantly—middle finger pressing firm circles right over the sensitive bud while his thumb kept the hood peeled back, exposing every nerve. At the same moment, he picked up speed—hips snapping forward harder and faster, cock driving into her with wet, rhythmic slaps that echoed through the suite.

Jihyo’s entire body jerked like she’d been shocked.

“Ahhh—fuck—yes—right there—!” Her palms slapped the glass harder, fingers scrabbling for purchase as pleasure surged white-hot through her core. “Don’t stop—don’t stop—gonna come—gonna come so hard—!”

He fucked her relentlessly now—deep, powerful strokes that bottomed out every time, the thick head grinding against her cervix while his finger rubbed fast, merciless circles on her clit. The dual assault was devastating. Her pussy clenched hard around his cock—fluttering, spasming—trying to pull him deeper even as he pounded into her.

“Look at them,” he growled, free hand grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back so she had to stare down at the fans still celebrating below. “They’re still cheering for you… waving your banners… while you’re up here getting fucked stupid… coming all over my cock like a needy little slut.”

The words tipped her closer.

Her moans turned into sharp, continuous cries—high and frantic—hips bucking back to meet every brutal thrust. Her breasts bounced wildly, slapping against the glass, nipples scraping with every jolt. Sweat poured down her spine, dripping between her ass cheeks where his balls slapped wetly against her.

“Seung Bin—fuck—I’m—close—please—make me come—make me—ahhh—!”

He rubbed her clit faster—tight, rapid circles—while slamming into her with punishing force. The wet squelch of her pussy taking him filled the room, obscene and loud.

“Come on, baby,” he snarled, voice rough with his own building release. “Come all over this dick. Soak me. Let me feel that perfect cunt squeeze me while you scream.”

One last deep, grinding thrust—cock buried to the hilt, grinding hard against her G-spot—and his fingers pinched her clit between thumb and forefinger, rolling it sharply.

Jihyo shattered.

Her scream ripped through the suite—raw, unrestrained, and louder than any stage performance she’d ever given.

“Ahhhhh—FUCK—!”

Her whole body convulsed. Hips jerked violently, thighs trembling so hard they gave out. Seung Bin released his grip on her waist at the exact moment her climax peaked—letting gravity and the force of her orgasm pull her forward.

She collapsed face-first against the glass—cheek pressed to the cool surface, palms sliding down, breasts flattening painfully against the window—as her legs buckled completely. Her hips kept twitching uncontrollably, her ass still pushed back toward him, and her pussy clenched and fluttered wildly around his cock in rhythmic, powerful spasms.

Each contraction milked him hard—walls rippling, gushing fresh wetness that dripped down her trembling thighs and coated his shaft. Her moans turned into panting, broken sobs—chest heaving, breath fogging the glass in short, frantic bursts.

“Oh god—oh god—still coming—fuck—Seung Bin—” Her voice cracked, weak and wrecked, her body shuddering through aftershock after aftershock. Her knees knocked together uselessly, thighs quivering like jelly, pussy twitching visibly around his buried length as small spurts of clear fluid leaked out around his cock and trickled down her legs.

He stayed deep inside her—perfectly still now—letting her ride out the waves while his hands returned to her breasts, cupping them gently this time, thumbs brushing softly over her oversensitive nipples.

“That’s it, princess,” he murmured, voice low and satisfied. “Come all over me… look how hard you’re shaking… pussy still twitching like it can’t get enough…”

Jihyo could only whimper—soft, helpless sounds—body limp and trembling against the glass, completely spent, completely his.

Down below, the fans kept celebrating—lightsticks waving, voices rising in joy.

Up here, their leader had just come harder than she ever had in her life—face pressed to the window, legs shaking, pussy still pulsing around the cock that owned her.

Jihyo was still slumped against the glass, chest heaving, body trembling through the final aftershocks of her orgasm. Her thighs quivered uncontrollably, slick trails of her release glistening down the insides of her legs, pooling slightly at her bare feet on the carpet. Her pussy kept fluttering weakly around nothing now—Seung Bin had pulled out right after she collapsed forward, letting her feel the sudden emptiness while her walls clenched on air, aching for him to fill her again.

His thick, hard cock stood proud between them—veins pulsing, slick with her juices, the fat head dark and glistening, bobbing slightly with every heartbeat. He hadn’t come yet. He was saving it.

One big hand smoothed down her spine in a slow, possessive stroke while the other cupped the plush curve of her ass cheek, squeezing firmly, spreading her open just enough to watch his cum-mixed arousal drip from her swollen folds.

Then her phone buzzed—sharp and insistent—on the low table near the sofa.

Jihyo let out a dazed, breathless whine.

“Nooo… ignore it…” she panted, voice wrecked, forehead still pressed to the fogged glass.

Seung Bin chuckled darkly behind her. His fingers dug deeper into her ass flesh, kneading the soft globe while his thumb traced lazy circles over her puckered hole—just teasing, not entering—making her hips twitch forward involuntarily.

“Answer it,” he murmured, voice low and commanding. “Let them hear how fucked-out their leader is.”

The phone kept vibrating. She groaned in protest but reached back blindly with one shaking hand until her fingers closed around it. The screen lit up: “Nayeon 🐰 calling.”

Jihyo swiped to answer with a trembling thumb and brought the phone to her ear, trying—and failing—to steady her breathing.

“H-hello…?” Her voice came out high and shaky, laced with little huffs and pants she couldn’t hide.

Finally!” Nayeon’s bright, slightly worried voice burst through the speaker. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. The team bus is ready—they’re waiting downstairs to take us back to the hotel. Where are you? Everyone’s already on except you and… well, you.”

Jihyo bit her lip hard to stifle a moan as Seung Bin chose that exact moment to slide both hands down to her ass cheeks. He spread them wide—thumbs hooking under the fuzzy hem of her skirt and pulling upward even higher—exposing her completely. His thick cock slapped hot and heavy against her inner thigh once, twice, the leaking head smearing fresh precum across her skin.

“I—I’m… ahh—” She choked on a gasp when he squeezed both cheeks hard, kneading them like dough, fingers digging in deep enough to leave red marks. “I’m… c-coming… soon…”

Another huff escaped her—loud, obvious. She clamped her free hand over her mouth, eyes squeezing shut.

There was a tiny pause on the line.

You okay?” Nayeon asked, sounding confused. “You sound… out of breath. Did you run somewhere? Or… are you with someone?”

Seung Bin leaned over her back, lips brushing her ear as he whispered just loud enough for her to hear.

“Tell her you’re getting fucked so good you can barely stand.”

Jihyo whimpered—soft, helpless—hips rocking back instinctively, chasing the heat of his cock even though he wasn’t inside her yet.

“I’m f-fine,” she managed, voice cracking on the lie. “Just… just finished… stretching… in the gym… hah… upstairs… I’ll be down… in a minute…”

Seung Bin’s hands kept playing—palms sliding over the full, round globes of her ass, squeezing, spreading, letting his thumbs brush teasingly close to her dripping entrance without touching. His cock throbbed against her thigh, hot and insistent, the head nudging her clit from behind every time she shifted.

Momo’s voice suddenly piped up in the background—playful, teasing.

“Stretching, huh? Are you sure you’re not secretly working out with someone hot? You sound like you just ran a marathon… or got railed.”

Jihyo’s eyes flew open. A mortified, aroused squeak escaped before she could stop it.

“N-no! I’m—ahh—coming! I mean—I’m coming down! Right now!”